people using generative ai to write fanfiction for them is CRAZY. stay up until four in the morning hopping back and forth between your pinterest boards, a random synonyms website, and google docs where you’re stuck in the middle of a sentence deciding whether to refer to a character by their name or hair colour as the lord intended.
1. You swiped right on the Tinder profile of JB, 33, only to discover that it was the profile of Bucky Barnes.
2. Bucky Barnes stole your heart then ghosted you all in the span of a single year.
3. You are totally and completely over him.
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
bucky barnes has had me in a chokehold since 2011 and it really took me all this time to write something for him smh. anyway, big thank you to @chaotic-mystery and @dindjarinslegs for letting me scream about this. and i’m coming for bob reynolds next, mark my words.
WARNINGS/TAGS:
fatws!bucky AND thunderbolts!bucky, mild thunderbolts* spoilers, second chance romance, alcohol consumption, mild angst, declarations of love, pet names (doll/sweetheart/baby)
explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact): kissing, dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f receiving), choking, unprotected p in v, multiple positions (missionary/prone bone), cream pie.
LINKS:
main blog | masterlists | ao3
Then
It’s Friday night and you’re on the couch, flicking through Tinder profiles to the soundtrack of a shitty reality show playing on your TV. You’re two glasses of wine deep and you’ve stopped scrutinizing most of the profiles and have settled for swiping right as long as they’re not holding a fish, a flag, or a baby.
You’ve had a shit week and you’re hoping to find someone to help you de-stress. If not, you’ll have to take care of things yourself (again) and while your vibrator is reliable (and doesn’t ask you questions about your investment profile like it’s foreplay), you’re craving something more. The weight of someone on top of you, the feel of them between your thighs, the rush of something new and exhilarating and hopefully satisfying.
The app dings, announcing a match between you and JB, 33. A message comes through shortly after.
JB: Are you okay?
You frown. Weird thing to ask in the first message. Surely it’s better to wait for the third date to ask something so personal.
Yeah, why?, you reply.
JB: Your profile says, “I need to be taken out. On a date or by a sniper.”
Don’t worry, it’s a joke. My therapist didn’t think it was very funny either.
JB: I’m pretty handy with a gun.
You snort.
Is that a euphemism for your dick?
JB: No, actually.
What a shame.
JB: I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk about my dick on here.
You click on JB’s profile and swipe through the pictures. He looks familiar and it takes your wine-addled synapses a few tries to make the connection but when it clicks you realize you’re looking at pictures of Bucky Barnes. As in, Captain America’s best friend, American prisoner of war turned Soviet assassin turned Avenger. You frown. There’s no way the Winter Soldier is on Tinder.
Swiping back to the chat, you begin to type.
You’re right. It’s much safer to talk about your gun.
JB: That sounds like sarcasm.
It definitely wasn’t sincere.
JB: Anyone ever told you that you have a smart mouth?
Anyone ever told you that catfishing people on Tinder with pics of an Avenger is a stupid idea?
At least pick someone who isn’t famous.
JB: Those are my pictures.
JB: And I’m not an Avenger.
Sure they are.
JB: Why would someone lie on their dating profile?
That does sound like something a 100 year old would say.
JB: 106.
You can’t help the laugh that bursts free, the sound bouncing off the walls of your tiny apartment.
If you’re really Bucky Barnes, then prove it.
JB: How?
Send a video of you waving in the mirror.
With the metal arm.
He doesn’t respond and for a while you think it’s because you’ve backed him into a corner. Whoever JB is can’t send you the requested video because he’s not Bucky Barnes and that’s the end of your excitement for the evening.
But then your phone pings with a new message from the app.
A video.
From JB.
You click play and the camera shows a tile floor before panning up to reveal a man’s reflection. His face is hidden by the phone but then he moves it a little to the right to reveal a chiseled jaw covered in stubble and pretty blue eyes, thick brows drawn together in either confusion or concentration.
He lifts a metal arm up in a wave and suddenly you’re desperate for the Earth to swallow you whole (maybe you shouldn’t say that — given the shit you’ve been through as a resident of New York, you can’t rule out the possibility of that actually happening).
You’re really Bucky Barnes, you finally manage to type.
JB: In the flesh. And metal.
So you are good with a gun then.
JB: I am. But I think I’d rather pick the first option.
You bite back a smile.
You want to go on a date?
JB: Isn’t that the whole point of the app?
You’ve got me there.
I’m free tomorrow.
JB: It’s a date.
Bucky asks you to meet him at a nearby bar the following night and you spend the day alternating between feelings of giddy excitement and nauseating anxiety.
You arrive a few minutes early to a quiet bar you never noticed in the years you’ve lived in your shoebox of an apartment a few blocks over. It’s all dark wood and moody lighting with booths along one wall and a stately bar taking up the other. There’s quiet jazz playing through the speakers and the bartender has an impressive handlebar mustache.
You choose one of the empty barstools and the bartender floats by to place a cocktail napkin and menu in front of you. You’re looking over your options when the door opens you look up to see Bucky entering the bar. He’s wearing a t-shirt that stretches across his impressive chest, highlighting his trim waist, a leather jacket and dark jeans that hug his legs.
He smiles when he sees you, a quick flash of teeth before he ducks his head and approaches you, taking a seat on the stool to your left. The bartender returns with another menu and napkin.
“Hey,” you say, voice cracking. Smooth. So smooth.
“Hi,” he replies. “Did you, uh, have any trouble finding the place?”
“No, not really. I’ve never been here, though. It’s nice.”
“Did you order already?”
“I was waiting for you.”
As if summoned by the conversation, the bartender returns to take your orders. Bucky opts for bourbon and you choose one of craft cocktails from the menu because you’re a sucker for a well made drink and Mr. Handlebar Mustache looks like he can deliver.
After one sip to calm your nerves (you were right, the man can make a damn good drink), a second for confidence, and a third for luck, you turn slightly on your stool, knees bumping Bucky’s beneath the bar.
“So,” you say, drawing out the single syllable. “I have to ask. Why are you on Tinder?”
He laughs. “Starting with the hard questions?”
“If you consider that one hard, I have bad news for you.”
“My therapist suggested it,” he admits. “Something about getting out of my comfort zone.”
“Well, they’re right about that. Nothing comfortable about online dating.”
“Right?” He takes a sip of his drink. “I’ve seen…a lot of shit and somehow I’m still surprised by some of the messages I got.”
“What’s the worst one so far?”
“A woman asked if the metal arm vibrates.”
You try not to laugh at the look of utter disappointment that flashes across his face. “Well? Does it?”
“No,” he deadpans. “But it is waterproof.”
“You might call that,” you wiggle your eyebrows, “handy.”
Bucky laughs and you watch him, the way he tips his head back and his shoulders shake with the force of it.
He has a nice laugh.
“That was terrible,” he tells you, but he’s wiping at the corner of his eye.
“Guess I won’t be quitting my day job to pursue my comedy dreams anytime soon.”
The rest of the evening is much the same, easy conversation and even easier laughter from you both. You steer clear of certain topics — superhero activities and pardoned war crimes among them. Your one drink turns into two and then you switch to water because Mr. Handlebar Mustache has a heavy hand and you don’t want to end up drunk enough that what little filter you have disappears entirely.
The bar has gotten a bit busier and you’ve drifted closer into Bucky’s orbit, your legs now tucked between his as you lean in close to be heard over the hum of a dozen conversations. You’ve caught him staring at your mouth with half lidded eyes more than once and it makes warmth pool between your thighs.
“It’s getting a little loud, do you want to head out?” You ask, a hand on his thigh, just above his knee. He nods.
Bucky takes care of the bill despite your objections and follows you out of the bar with a hand low on your back, just barely touching. On the sidewalk, he gently pulls you to the side, out of the way of pedestrians.
“I had a good time,” he says. “Best date I’ve been on since 1943.”
“Oh, yeah?” You step a bit closer, chest to chest. His hand grips your waist. “How did dates used to end back then, old man?”
He rolls his eyes. “Smart mouth. First, I’d walk you back to your apartment. Like a gentleman.”
“Mhm,” you hum. “Then what?”
“Then, you’d give me a kiss on the cheek.”
You tilt your face toward his, pressing your lips to his cheek. “Like that?”
“Just like that. But then, when you’re about to pull away—“ he reaches up, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, “I’d pull you right back.”
You’re so close that you can feel his breath on your lips. “And then?”
“I’d kiss you.”
“You better start walking me home, Barnes,” you tell him. He smiles.
“Lead the way.”
The walk to your apartment is quiet but the tension between you is damn near corporeal and you’re practically buzzing with anticipation by the time you reach your building.
“This is me,” you tell him as you turn to face him. “I had a great time, too, you know.” You loop your arms over his shoulders. “In fact, I’m not sure I’m ready for it to end.”
“That so?” He asks, boyish smirk tilting the corner of his mouth.
You shrug. “If that doesn’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”
Bucky leans in and your eyes flutter shut just before his lips touch yours. The scent of leather and bourbon wraps around you and the rush of your blood in your ears drowns out the late night noises of the city around you. The kiss is sweet, gentle, until his teeth nip at your bottom lip and you gasp, giving him the opening to make it deeper, hungrier, an edge of desperation in the way his fingers curl against your neck.
He pulls away first, tongue darting across his lips like he’s trying to capture the faint taste of you on them.
“Wow,” you mumble. “That was…do you want to come upstairs?”
“But my delicate sensibilities,” he says, laughing as you smack him on the chest. He kisses you again, though it’s less of a kiss and more the two of you smiling against each other. “I’d like that.”
Bucky carves himself a place in your life.
His toothbrush next to yours on the bathroom counter. The coffee that he likes in your pantry. A book he’s been trying to read for a few weeks on your nightstand. A side of the bed that you consider his.
He brings you flowers from the farmer’s market and your favorite snack from the bodega down the street when he knows you’ve had a rough day. He makes you laugh so hard that your muscles ache with it.
You are so in love that your chest hurts just to look at him.
And then he disappears.
Now
Running into an ex-boyfriend at a coffee shop is already an uncomfortable enough experience. Add to it that your ex-boyfriend is Bucky Barnes, the devastatingly handsome face of the New Avengers, New York’s newest batch of superheroes, and you’ve got a recipe for the most awkward situation imaginable.
He’s waiting by the pick up counter, metal arm covered by his jacket and wearing a hat that you think it meant to act as some sort of disguise though it falls short of being effective, considering he has one of the most recognizable faces in the nation. You shuffle over to the same spot, keeping your head down and attention fixed on your phone, hoping he doesn’t notice you.
Despite the fact that he was there before you, the barista calls out your name first, placing your drink on the counter. Bucky lifts his head and looks around, a furrow between his brows. Then, as if the universe is playing a sick joke, another barista sets a second drink next to yours and calls out, “James!”
He doesn’t immediately reach for his drink and you just know he’s waiting to see if hearing your name called was just a coincidence. So, with a desperation for your caffeine fix and a healthy dose of feminine rage, you square your shoulders and march up to the counter, taking your drink without looking at him.
Bucky steps in front of you just as you’re about to make your escape and you look up into his familiar blue eyes, mouth going dry and stomach plummeting to the ground.
“Hey,” he says. “I thought that might be you.”
“Hi,” you reply tersely. “I knew it was you.”
He flinches slightly. “That’s…that’s fair. Uh, how’ve you been?”
“Pretty good. Well, except for that whole bit with the,” you wiggle your fingers near your head, “weird cinematic loop of traumatic experiences.”
“Right, right. That wasn’t great.”
“I’d ask how you are but I’ve already seen the headlines.”
Bucky sighs, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “Look, I know—“
“Motherfucker,” you whisper, ducking your head down. Bucky frowns.
“What—“
Someone calls your name. Well, okay, not just someone. Your boyfriend, David, enters the coffee shop, walking up to you and wrapping an arm around your waist.
“I thought I was early enough to beat you here but I guess not,” David says, nodding toward the drink in your hand. He glances at Bucky, then does a full on double-take. “Holy shit, you’re Bucky Barnes.” He sticks his hand out toward him. “I’m a big fan.”
And Bucky, asshole that he is, looks you dead in the eye as he shakes David’s hand and says, “Thanks, man.”
“People used to tell me I looked a lot like you,” David continues, digging your grave of embarrassment deeper and deeper. “When you had short hair.”
“Is that so?” Bucky asks. “Yeah, I can see the resemblance.”
Which, okay, you understand how this looks. David does kind of resemble Bucky. He’s got blue eyes and a strong, square jaw and dark hair but it’s not like you went looking for a boyfriend that looked like Bucky.
You just have a type.
Besides, David was shorter than Bucky. There are definitely differences.
“I’m going to grab a drink. It was great to meet you,” David tells Bucky, shaking his hand again. “Be right back,” he says to you, leaning in for a kiss. You turn your head, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth.
“He seems nice,” Bucky says when David has taken his place in line across the room.
“Shut up,” you hiss. “You don’t get to judge.”
“I’m not judging.”
“You’re definitely judging.” You cross your arms. “Don’t you have superhero things to do?”
“I’m on vacation.”
“Nice to hear the New Avengers offer a robust benefits package.”
“You still have a smart mouth,” he comments, voice dropping low. Your brain short circuits and in your moment of weakness he reaches for the phone still in your hand, plucking it from your grasp with ease.
“Hey—“ you start to protest, but he’s handing it back before you can even finish the sentence. The screen is open to his contact information and it looks like he’s updated his number. “What’s this for?”
“If you need me,” he says easily. “I gotta get going. It was good to see you.”
Bucky leaves with the last word. You curse his existence even as you watch his broad shoulders disappear through the door and out into the wave of New York pedestrian traffic. David returns with his drink in hand, looking at you curiously.
“What?” You ask.
“How do you know Bucky Barnes?”
You shift your weight from foot to foot, searching for the right response. “We have…history.”
“History,” David deadpans. “Platonic?”
“Well—“
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he interrupts. “You dated an Avenger?”
“He wasn’t an Avenger at the time!”
“As if that makes this any better!”
“Why is this an issue?” You ask with a groan. “It was two years ago!”
“Are you only dating me because I look like him?”
“What? No!” You lower your voice. “Can we please just talk about this later.”
He seems to realize that you’re both still standing in the middle of a coffee shop, a dozen curious stares turned to you. “Fine,” he acquiesces.
You leave together, shoulders brushing on your walk to the nearby park where you planned to have your coffee that morning before everything was interrupted by a ghost from your past.
Things with David only get worse. He digs for more details about your relationship with Bucky and you snap at him to leave it alone. He grows tired of asking and you grow tired of avoiding until finally, inevitably, you get a phone call from him a week later.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he sighs. “I think we should just call it quits.”
“Fine,” you reply. “I’ll get a box of your stuff together for you to come get.”
“Seriously? That’s it?” He asks. “You’re not even going to ask me why?”
You can’t help but laugh. “Because you’re insecure that I dated Bucky Barnes and won’t go into excruciating detail about my sex life and how you compare to him.”
He sputters indignantly before finally landing on, “You’re such a bitch.”
“Charming,” you reply. “I’ll text you when your shit can get picked up.”
You hang up before he has the chance to respond. Tears of frustration prick at the corners of your eyes. You’re not upset about the relationship ending, not really, you just hate that somehow, Bucky Barnes managed to be the reason.
You call your best friend and she makes the appropriate noises of sympathy, followed by empty threats of bodily harm to David, before suggesting the two of you go out to get your mind off of the breakup.
You probably should have declined the invitation and stayed home because now you’re staring into the mirror of the bar bathroom, clutching the sink like it’ll make the world stop spinning (it doesn’t). Your friend is nowhere to be found and you’re ready to go home but the thought of calling an Uber in this state makes your stomach roll.
You pull up your contacts, finger hovering over Bucky’s name. Before you can change your mind or drop your phone in the sink, you tap the call button.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Barnes,” he says. His voice makes your breath hitch.
“Hey…it’s me,” you reply, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Are you okay?” He asks immediately. You huff a laugh.
“I’m okay. Just…I’m a little drunk and I think my friend left and I could really use a ride but if you’re busy, I could call an Uber!” You’re rambling. Bucky, thankfully, puts you out of your misery.
“Where are you?” You give him the name of the bar. There’s a shuffling noise and then he’s telling you, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
You wait outside the bar on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself. A blacked out SUV pulls up to the curb and Bucky steps out, turning heads as he rounds the front of the car to the sidewalk and looks around for you.
You take a tentative step forward and his gaze snaps to you, softening from mission mode in a way that makes your head feel fuzzy. He opens the passenger door for you, holds a hand out to help you into the seat, still a gentleman.
Your breath catches when he leans over, tugging the seatbelt across your chest and buckling it into place. He smells the same, you think, like leather and metal and mint. No bourbon, this time.
When you’re buckled, he shuts the door and walks to the other side of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You tilt your head back against the headrest, letting your eyes fall shut. It’s good to be sitting.
“You okay?” He asks.
“You already asked me that,” you reply, keeping your eyes closed. He sighs.
“Why didn’t you call Daniel?”
“David,” you correct. “We broke up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
You turn your head, opening your eyes slightly. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
And that shouldn’t make your heart beat faster, shouldn’t send warmth coursing through you but it does because it’s Bucky. You close your eyes again. This seat is very comfortable.
“You still in the same apartment?” He asks. The question sounds fuzzy.
“No,” you mumble. “Moved.”
“Can you give me the address?”
But you don’t hear that last question because you’re already asleep in the passenger seat.
You wake up in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar (but extremely soft) bed, tucked beneath unfamiliar sheets. Your mouth is dry and your head hurts a little bit but not nearly as much as you deserve given how much you drank. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand and a bottle of Tylenol. You crack the lid and pour out two capsules, throwing them into your mouth and chugging down the water until the glass is empty.
You slowly get up and make your way across the room, checking to see if one of the doors leads to a bathroom. You’re thrilled that you’re right and that there’s even a conveniently placed towel, unopened toothbrush, and new set of clothes waiting for you on the counter. You briefly wonder where the clothes came from but given the opulence of the bathroom you’re standing in, you imagine anything is available at the press of a button.
By the time you’ve finished in the bathroom, you feel about ninety five percent human. The other five percent is the part of you dreading the conversation to come.
Because you know Bucky is somewhere beyond the bedroom door and the thought of seeing him in the light of day, after calling him to come to your rescue, fills you with dread. You give yourself a pep talk in the mirror and lift your chin, ready to face what’s beyond your bubble of safety.
You peek outside the bedroom door and find the hall clear. There’s soft music playing from somewhere further in the apartment and you follow the noise to the kitchen, where you find Bucky at the counter, his back turned to you. He’s in a tank top, which gives you an open view of muscles that you haven’t seen in two years but definitely remember. In vivid detail.
Bucky turns to face you when you’ve stepped into the room. He has two mugs of coffee in his hands and he slides one across the counter separating you. He’s already made it the way you like.
Asshole.
“Morning, doll,” he says.
“You don’t get to call me that.” You take a sip of your perfect coffee.
“You used to like when I called you that.”
“That was before you made me fall in love with you and then you disappeared,” you tell him. “And the next time I saw you was on TV, announcing your run for Congress.”
He at least has the decency to look a little chagrined. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” You raise your eyebrows but say nothing. “I was ready for normal but I keep getting dragged back into fights.”
“Are you dragged or do you answer the call?” You ask. He stays quiet for a minute, thinking, the muscle of his jaw ticking beneath the stubble on his chin.
“Both, probably,” he admits. “I’ve done so much bad that it’s hard to pass on the opportunity to do something good.”
A tiny fracture forms in the wall you’ve built. “If not you, then who, I guess. Right?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Something like that.”
Silence settles, thick with what needs to be said and, worse, with what should have been said two years ago. He abandons his mug on the counter, coming around to stand in front of you, close enough to touch. His dog tags hang in the middle of his chest and you reach up to tangle your fingers in the chain, like you used to. He smiles, a tiny, uncertain twitch of his lips.
“I missed you,” he says quietly. “You have no idea how much.”
“You could have called,” you tell him.
“I didn’t know what to say.” His hand catches your. “You loved me?”
“I did,” you admit. “Still do, if we’re having an honesty hour right now.”
Bucky laughs, low and warm. God, you missed him. You didn’t realize the depth of it until he was within your reach.
“I did, too.” He wraps an arm around your waist. “Still do.”
“Yeah?”
He leans in close, lips ghosting across yours. Barely a kiss but every nerve ending lights up at the contact, making you feel like a live wire. He smiles.
“Can I call you doll now?” He asks. You act like you’re considering it, like the answer isn’t an immediate yes.
“Only if you’re going to make it up to me,” you tell him.
“How would you like me to do that?”
“Well, you are really good with your gun—“
Your response is cut off by your yelp when Bucky picks you up, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees. You laugh as he marches back to the bedroom you woke up in, kicking the door open and tossing you on the mattress. You bounce slightly with the force of your landing.
“Someone’s eager,” you tease, lifting yourself up on your elbows. He smirks, crawling toward you on the mattress.
“You have no idea, doll,” he says, wrapping his metal hand around the back of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss that’s hungry and messy, a borderline desperate creeping in as he settles more of his weight on your body, hips cradled between your own.
His teeth dig into your lower lip, hard enough to make you gasp. He takes the opportunity to kiss your jaw, stubble dragging across your sensitive skin. He drifts lower, down your neck, sucking the skin over your pulse and making you squirm.
“So sensitive,” he teases, his hand working its way beneath your shirt, warm palm sliding up your belly. He pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making you whine. “And so needy.”
Bucky pulls away, just enough to get both hands on your shirt to lift it up and over your head. Both hands cup your breasts and you arch into the sensation. You’ve always loved the difference in sensation between his hands, soft flesh and unyielding metal but the same reverent touch. He bends forward to pull one nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it until you’re writhing beneath him.
He drags his mouth lower, down your belly, until he reaches the leggings he left for you. His fingers curl into the elastic, dragging the fabric down your thighs until he can pull them off and toss them to the floor. You’re left in just your underwear and Bucky smiles beatifically at you.
“Already soaked,” he says, settling on his stomach between your thighs. He drags a thumb over your clothed pussy, circling the digit lightly when he reaches your clit. “All for me, huh?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, before slipping his fingers beneath the gusset of your underwear and yanking the fabric to the side. He drags his tongue from your entrance to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with broad, flat strokes.
“Bucky,” you moan, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. He groans, the vibration adding to the delicious torture of his mouth. “Oh, fuck.”
You lose the ability to speak shortly after that as Bucky lavishes you with attention. Two of his metal fingers join his tongue, sliding into your wet heat with ease.
“Christ.” He tilts his head against your thigh to watch you as he pumps his fingers in and out of you with an obscene noise. “Fuck me,” he groans, dragging out the syllables.
“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Bucky.”
“Not until you come,” he says, curling his fingers and dragging them across that sensitive spot inside of you. “Come on, sweetheart.”
He slips a third finger inside of you and the stretch borders on painful, a slight sting that makes you feel like you’re on fire, ready to burst. When he returns his mouth to your clit, you’re a goner. Your orgasm crashes over you as you moan his name, grinding yourself up against his mouth and down onto his fingers.
Bucky eases you through it, waiting until your hips drop to the mattress before pulling away. The scruffy hair on his chin is shiny with your release, his blue eyes are dark with lust, and his hair is a mess from your hands.
“Open your mouth,” he commands, reaching up to slip his soaked metal fingers past your lips. “Clean ‘em real good, doll.”
You do as he says, keeping your eyes fixed to his. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his hand away and settles it at the base of your throat.
“You missed this, didn’t you?” He asks, squeezing gently. You smile up at him, bringing your hands to his forearm. “Yeah, you did. Bet you thought it about when those other guys fucked you, too.”
He releases your throat and gets off the bed only long enough to shove his pants to the floor. You get a brief moment to stare appreciatively, taking in the chiseled muscles and the old scars that you once had memorized.
“You’re so beautiful, Bucky,” you murmur. His expression goes soft as he crawls back onto the mattress and settles his weight above you, his cock dragging through the wet mess he’s made of your thighs.
He kisses you deeply, thoroughly, like he’s trying to erase any lingering memory of anyone who came after him. His hips flex against yours and you hitch your legs up, changing the angle of your body enough that the head of his cock dips inside of you, just slightly, just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He pulls back, staring down at you as he sinks deeper, stretching you in the most perfect way.
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “Just like that, huh?”
The only answer you can give is a desperate noise as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, his chest against yours. He starts an achingly slow rhythm that has stars bursting in your vision, your belly tensing with the first signs of release.
“You have no idea,” he mumbles against your neck, “how much I’ve missed you.”
“I think I have an idea,” you whisper, bringing a hand to his jaw. “Missed you so much, Buck.”
He bites at your pulse and moves his hips faster, driving you to the brink before pulling out completely. Your responding whine is cut short by his hands gripping your hips, twisting you beneath him until you’re flat on your stomach and he’s sliding back into you, the new angle making you feel impossibly fuller.
His weight settles on your back and he slips his metal hand around your neck, using it to lift your head up from the mattress. He squeezes your throat as he drives into you mercilessly, hips smacking lasciviously against your ass.
“You’re going to come on my cock, sweetheart,” he growls into your ear. “I need it so bad, come on, baby, finish so I can fill you up just the way you like, okay?”
Your second orgasm hits you like a lightning strike and your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your muscles tense and you squeeze around his cock. He moans a broken prayer of your name as his hips stutter in their rhythm and then go still as he comes, warmth pulsing inside of you.
Bucky collapses on the bed, careful not to drop his full weight on you. He gathers you up in his arms, holding you with your head on his chest. You listen to the beat of his heart as it slows from a frantic pulse to a smooth rhythm.
You tilt your head to look at him and he smiles. The whole scene reminds you of your first night together and a bubbly feeling blossoms in your chest.
“This won’t be easy,” he murmurs, bringing a hand to your jaw. His thumb rubs against your cheek. “I’m still fighting.”
“I know,” you reply. “As long as you come back to me after the fight, I think we’ll be alright.”
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging or commenting — I love hearing from you!
Summary: Your ex invites you to his wedding and you don't have anyone for a plus one, that is until Javi volunteers just to make your ex jealous.
Content Warning: Discussions of a break up, drowning out pain with work, hung up on your ex who's an asshole!, fake dating, mentions of alcohol, reader and Javi go to a bar, shitty cop terminology but idc sorryyyy, other tags are not listed to keep the surprise! reader has NO physical descriptions. no use of y/n
Author's Note: IM BAAAACK (keep your pants on!) this is for The Magic Number writing challenge hosted by the lovely @schnarfer , @mothandpidgeon & @whocaresstillthelouvre ! Thank you for creating this challenge for us and I hope you like it mwah mwah <3 divider by @/saradika-graphics <3 also nawt beta'd. fuck it we ball.
word count: 4.5k | main masterlist | ao3 |
“What do you mean he sent you an invitation? Tell me more, damnit!” your friend gushes over the cubicle wall you shared, his cup of coffee in his hand, practically spilling over into your area.
“Okay okay, just a peak before we get yelled at again and they make me do patrol work with Peña” you joke as you lean down into your purse and pull out the small pale yellow envelope, the wedding invitation sticking out from when you read it last night.
You brought it with you to show Marco, knowing he’d get a kick out of it. Marco knew all about your ex and how badly he treated you, even worse when you broke up and he stole your dog. You only got her back because Javi pulled some strings and threatened him, the one and only time Javi did you a good favor.
Marco observes the glued lace border on the cream colored cardstock, the photo of the two of them in the center of an oval printed frame on top, the gold clashing with everything to do with this nightmare of an invite.
“This is god awful, who the hell made these?” he asks, reading over the details at the bottom, smirking at the boxes unchecked where it asks if you were bringing a plus one or not for the headcount.
“So are you bringing anyone to make him jealous?”
You roll your eyes and log into your computer, “I don’t know about jealous, but yes, you’re coming with me” you retort as you open your emails to get caught up already this morning.
“No, I can’t. This is when I’m going on vacation with Randy's family, remember?”
Your stomach drops as you look at the corner of the screen, pulling up the calendar for next month, July.
Fuck.
You completely forgot Marco telling you about this, the first vacation he was taking with Randy's family since they got married three years ago. Thomas went with you to their wedding and complained the entire time about being tired and how he was ready to go. Your head dips back and rests between your shoulder blades in defeat, stumped with what to do now. There was no way you could go to Thomas’ wedding without a plus one, it was all out of spite. The invitation, the need to see if you’d show up, especially with someone else. He wanted to toy with you.
“Marco, who the hell am I going to bring now? You’re going on vacation, Cami's going to the Bahamas to see her sister. I am so screwed.” Shaking your head trying to rack your brain about who to take, no one was coming to mind. Work took up so much of your time, you hardly spent time with anyone other than Cami and Marco. When Thomas and you split, you dived headfirst into a new position to keep yourself busy and out of the house until you could feel somewhat normal being there alone.
He comes around the corner of your cubicle and leans over your chair, right next to your head as he wraps an arm around you, his purple tie falling on your shoulder, “You could always ask Peña, you know?” he teases, knowing you’d rather choke than do that.
“I’m not asking him a damn thing, Marco. He’s-”
“I’m what? What were you going to ask me?” the voice erupts as he comes into your area, Marco standing straight up as you turn your chair around to look at him.
His navy blue suit and tie fit his body so well, the maroon tie under his palm as it rests against his stomach, his brows knitted together as he repeats himself once more. Marco looks at you and walks back to his desk, waving at Javi politely in passing. Standing up and smoothing your blouse, you smile and shake your head, not wanting to repeat anything you just said.
“Nothing, Javi. It’s nothing, Marco’s just being silly today, that’s all” you try to worm your way out of the conversation, walking to the break room to get a drink.
Javi’s hot on your heels as he follows, continuing to press the question. He stops in the doorway and leans against the wooden frame as you get a mug from the cupboard, setting it down on the counter to pour steaming hot coffee inside.
“What did you need to ask me, rookie?” he urges, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you closely.
You bite the inside of your lip as you look out the small window to the left of you, the dozens of people standing outside, like tiny specks from how far up you were.
“Thomas, my ex, do you remember him?”
Javi nods, hanging on your every word to see what’s wrong.
Swallowing a sip of coffee and meeting his eyes, you let out a breath and sit at the small round table in the middle of the room.
“He’s getting married, and he invited me to the wedding. It’s in a month and I was going to take Marco but he has plans and I don’t want to go alone. I wanted to go and im disappointed I’m not, in a slightly fucked up way.”
He sits down across from you, taking in your body language and noticing how it still affects you talking about Thomas. He found someone new and married her after being with her for less than a year. Meanwhile, you were together for almost seven years and shot down the thought of marriage every time it was thrown at him at a family gathering. The night usually ended with him accusing you of telling them to bring it up because he could never give you a straightforward answer.
Javi folds his fingers together after running his palm over his stache and down the sides of his mouth, a look of confusion on his face.
“I don’t think it’s fucked up to want to go just so he can see how better you are without him. He clearly hasn’t learned from the last time though, I see. When is it again?”
“July twenty-sixth. I think if I just toss it in the garbage I’ll feel better, ya know?” You take another sip of coffee and Javi nods before knocking once on the table, something clearly brewing in his mind.
Getting up and heading for the door when he stops and turns back around, Javi plants his hands on his hips, a smirk growing on his lips, “Okay, I’ll be your fake boyfriend for the night”
You nearly spit out the hot liquid and hastily set the mug down, brows furrowed with so much confusion. Nowhere did you ask him to come with you and put on a show and yet here he was, throwing himself in the position.
“W-what? Javi, no. I didn’t ask you to d-”
“Yeah, well look at it this way. You don’t have time to find half a decent person, plan some random date and meet up with them, get to know them, think they’re well enough to bring to this wedding without embarrassing you, you know, all that fun stuff. I’m the only other option you have and let’s face it, I’m not terrible to look at” he shrugs and looks down the hallway, giving you a minute to think about your response.
“What do you get out of this, Peña?” you stand up and walk slowly over to him and stop in front of him, your arm barely touching his.
He wasn’t ugly, not in the slightest. You’d heard about the stuff he did back in Colombia and to most it would make them run for the hills but it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You just didn’t want to go near anyone until you worked through the shit Thomas did to you. It was no one's responsibility to fix you when they didn’t break you. Or at least that’s what you told yourself to feel a little less alone at night.
Javi takes note of how close you’ve gotten to him, causing him to smirk and push it a little further, “What can I say? I like helping women and I love humbling assholes.”
-
Fast forward a few weeks that were full of you and Javi hanging out in his apartment, learning more about each other so you sounded like a real couple and undetectable it was all a sham. Needless to say, you were learning more about him than you ever thought you would. Marco helped you shop for a dress and insisted you go with the strapless maxi one, knowing the cowl neck on it gave you just what you were wanting and the emerald color complimenting your skin tone perfectly.
Javi already declared he was strictly wearing black and white to match whatever you chose, knowing it was the easiest thing he could do for you, given the fact you went to several dress shops and left empty handed and sad.
The doorbell dings and you look at the clock on your microwave, small green numbers showing you had less than an hour before you needed to put on a brave face and pretend you were okay, perfect, actually. You swing the front door open to face Javi’s back before he turns on his heel, giving himself a little surprise to your outfit. His eyes widened as he took in every inch of you, down to the one shoe you were in the middle of fastening before he rang the doorbell.
“C-can you say something, Peña? You’re freaking me o-”
“I don’t have any words. You look so…beautiful” Javi admits, his eyes meeting yours as he finishes his sentence, to make sure you’re listening to every word he’s saying.
“Oh, cmon, very funny” your hand drops from the door handle as you walk away to the living room to retrieve your other shoe.
He steps inside and looks around at what little he can take in quickly as he follows you, his hand tucking in his pocket to grab a cigarette. You hear the flick of the lighter and stand straight quickly, grabbing the cigarette from between his lips.
“Hey, come here,” he whispers, keeping you still for one second, long enough to grab your chin delicately to look at him fully.
Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden contact of his fingers on your skin, a comfortable silence falling between you two before he licks his lips quickly to speak once more.
“When have I ever lied to you, hm? I mean it, you’re breathtaking.”
“You lied to me on my first day and said the copier was voice activated and laughed your ass off hearing me down the hallway screaming at it” you chuckle remembering how embarrassed you were at the time, meanwhile Javi was basking in it.
He looks away trying to stifle his laugh given the serious moment but breaks as soon as he hears yours and glances at your smile quickly.
“Okay, okay, yes I did lie about that. But this, I’m not lying.”
Javi’s thumb grazes your cheek softly to reassure you he was true to his word, for once you have nothing to counter with to make it less awkward for you.
Compliments were not really your strong suit, much less from Javi.
The grandfather clock tucked away in the corner chimes, yanking you back down from the clouds to the moment at hand, causing you to lean out of his grasp before bending down to the floor, finishing putting your other heel on.
“We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave now, c’mon, Peña” you urge and grab the tiny gold beaded clutch off the table by the front door coat rack, tucking it tightly under your arm as you walk to his car. The red paint sparkles under the sunlight like it was coated with rubies, making you wonder if he washed it before coming to pick you up. He took pride in his car, the way he presented himself to others, he wanted to be the best version he could be, at least, to pretend for you.
He makes sure to blow the cigarette smoke out his window and not into the car, careful to keep you from smelling anything other than your sweet perfume you made sure to put on extra of. The drive to the church was everything but quiet, going over your answers to make sure you were correct, down to the date you allegedly started dating, everything.
At some point during the drive, probably when he was turning at a corner or something, Javi’s hand ended up on your knee, slow circles drawn into your soft skin from the pad of his thumb. It felt innocent, like he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible before seeing Thomas, take as much pressure off you as he possibly could.
Javi parks the car and gets out adjusting his suit as he walks over to your side of the car, opening the door with a hand out to help you. His gold watch glistens in the afternoon sunlight and catches your eye while you smooth down your dress to make sure everything is in place. There were more cars there than you expected, maybe it was her friends and family?
“Now, if at any point you want to leave, just squeeze my hand and I’ll take you home, okay?” Javi reminds you as he fishes out a small silver flask from his inner jacket pocket, unscrewing the cap and tilting his head back as the liquid burns down his throat.
A shaky breath enters your lungs and with no hesitation you take the flask from him to get a drink yourself, already wanting this to be over. When you finish swallowing and return the container to him, a smirk lingers on his face, more so surprised at your sudden behavior but he didn’t say a word, he just left it alone and walked you across the street to the big wooden doors that were still open for guests.
A small red carpet runner shows you to the steps and there was white lace wrapped everywhere, trying to cover the stair railings as best as they could, the brown wood not going with their theme. Everything was maroon and gold with white accents, feeling like you jumped into a time capsule to someone's school dance being this color scheme. The organ music fills your ears as you step inside the church, small tables in the foyer littered with wedding gifts and only then did it dawn on you that you didn’t get them anything.
“Javi, we didn’t get them a gift” you whisper, freaking out a little.
Of course you forgot a gift. It wasn’t helping your case of not looking like the bitter ex and there was no way you could leave to get something now.
He takes off his yellow sunglasses and tucks them away before grabbing a gift bag with a tag hanging on it, a family last name scribbled into the white paper. Javi looks around before ripping the tag off and writing your name first followed by his with a pen left sitting out as a wedding favor.
“Problem solved, sweetheart”
He takes your hand and walks you inside to find some room in a pew, one bench almost entirely empty towards the front half of the left side. Javi lets you in first and follows closely to sit on the outside, his right arm resting on the back of the bench for you to rest against. You scan the room to get a feel of the crowd and notice his family over on the other side of the room, fanning themselves with what looks like extra wedding invites they didn’t use.
The energy seemed to be upbeat for the most part, except from the dirty looks from your old shared friends that you no longer speak to. Thomas’s mother waves at you and smiles from ear to ear, excited that you even showed up. You elbow Javi to wave back and he does, getting a thumbs up and a wink from her.
“She thinks you’re cute. You wanna save her from that marriage next?” you mutter through your fake smile, Javi chuckling in your ear as he looks away.
“No, no. She’s not my type,” he starts and squeezes your shoulder, “I’ve got my eye on someone else right now.”
Just as you’re about to ask who he was talking about, the music starts up and suddenly Javi’s so interested in the wedding party slowly making their way down the aisle. You hear the beginning notes and your hand covers your mouth in shock, realizing they chose the same song Thomas jokingly said he’d make you walk in to and got upset when you said no.
Javi leans in your ear and whispers, “Is this from Lord of The Rings?”
You snap your head in his direction, completely surprised he even knew that. You nod and look back towards the center of the room, trying to keep your composure at this entire thing. Thomas stands at the altar with his hands folded in front of him as his wife-to-be makes her way down with her pudgy father in arm, her ginger hair tucked under the veil in what seems to be a braided bun, traditional. She was beautiful in her gown. Maroon flowers with beaded centers cover the bottom of her dress, getting smaller as they go up to her waist, the rest being bright white and her gloved white hands holding her bouquet in front of her abdomen.
Everyone takes their seats and once it's quiet, the officiant starts to talk and make his speech about love and why everyone is here today. Javi wraps his arm around you once more, making sure you remember he was there for you, whatever you needed. You didn’t really know what you needed at that moment.
On one hand, that was supposed to be you. It was supposed to be you up there with Thomas, listening to the ordain talk about marriage and the trials and tribulations it has, but how you stick together because that’s what love is. You stay for the hard times and work it out, because you don’t walk away from someone you care about.
You didn’t realize you zoned out and were staring at the bibles tucked away in the pocket on the back of the pew in front of you until you heard Thomas’s voice giving a welcome and thank you for attending, to which you tried not to roll your eyes at. Javi whispers something you can’t make out and you listen closely to the vows Thomas was reading off the piece of paper in his hand, everything sounding familiar.
Javi was the one who noticed your leg bouncing restlessly and once more leaned his head on yours to quietly ask if you were okay. The truth was you were far from it. When you let Thomas come by the house to get the rest of his things, there was one thing you couldn’t find and chalked it up to being lost forever.
That was until now.
The tears stung your eyes and threatened to spill out and you refused to let anyone here see you cry, none of them deserving that. You shake your head and don’t answer Javi at the moment as Junie begins to say her vows. Her tears were running down her face from behind her glasses but she didn’t care, not even a little. She managed to get through them and Thomas impatiently asked if he could kiss his wife, the room erupting in laughter.
It was as if something inside you clicked finally. Being here today and seeing who Thomas turned into was the harsh reality that he wasn’t the person you fell in love with in high school. He was older than you and you thought you were so smart that a senior wanted to date you, a freshman, but before you knew it, he trapped you in an endless cycle of “of course I love you, I just can’t get married yet because…”.
The overhead speakers crackle as their outro music plays, the intro to Pirates of the Caribbean. Classy, Thomas.
Javi manages to light a cigarette as soon as his dress shoes hit the concrete steps off to the side of the door, trying to keep the smoke away from everyone.
“Why were you crying?” he asks, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke roll from his lips.
Your hand rests against your hip as you squint at him taking another drag, his back against the stonewall of the church, waiting for you to respond.
“He stole my journal and took the vows I wrote and read them just now, to Junie. Ya know, just when I think he can’t do anything else to hurt me, he finds a way to top it. The vows didn’t even make sense considering it was from my point of view and we were high school sweethearts. I mean of course he changed some of it to fit, but wow.”
He grins and holds the cigarette but down by his leg and stands up straight to step closer to you.
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t marry him? Couldn’t be bothered to write his own vows? Are...are you okay though?” Javi’s brown eyes find yours as flower pedals blow by behind you in the wind, the wedding crowd tossing them as the couple walks down the stairs to their car waiting for them.
Sighing calmly like you can breathe for the first time in a long time, you nod and Javi smiles. You hear heavy footsteps behind you and when you turn, Thomas was dropping Junie’s hand to come closer where you and Javi stood.
“Hey, thanks for coming, I uh…I didn’t think you’d show. I see you brought a plus one” it sounded bitter the moment it left his lips, still insecure when Javi was present.
“Congrats, man. I’m happy for you, I am. Tell me, what was the hardest part about today; reading stolen vows from your ex that you strung along for years or finding out she’s with me now?” Javi asks condescendingly, a slight gasp coming from your mouth. He may have been talking shit and lying, but something felt different this time hearing him call you his.
“Javi come on, let’s go” you insist, not wanting anyone to get punched in the face in front of so many potential witnesses.
Junie stands there unknowing to all of what was just said, her face painted with so much happiness to be married. Your heels click as you walk towards her, smiling sincerely at her.
“Congratulations, you look amazing. I hope you have a happy marriage, Junie” and you meant it. Every word you said to her. Maybe he was a different Thomas with her than he was when he was with you. All you could hope for was for her to be happy.
You couldn’t say the same for him.
As you and Javi make it back to his car, he gets in and turns to you, “So you don’t wanna go to the reception? All that hard work of getting to know you was for nothing?”
You gasp and smack his chest playfully, “You think it was for nothing?” you giggle and toss your clutch on the open space between you two.
“No, I don’t think it was for nothing. I actually wanna take you out for drinks right now, you look too good to drop off at your house quite yet.”
Nodding in agreement, you click on your seatbelt and take one last glance at the shit show in front of you that you were finally writing off and closing the book on. There was no way you could’ve ever been what Thomas wanted to marry and you understand that now. He didn’t want to get rid of you because he was afraid to be alone, he just decided to break you down so you didn’t want to leave. He wanted someone who was obedient and never questioned him, who takes the likes of his interests over your own, someone who was willing to look beyond the treatment he gave because he will always be insecure.
-
“What was with the music choices for that anyway?” Javi laughs as he takes another shot, biting into the lime to cut the taste.
Your head tosses back in laughter as you clap your hands, hoping he would bring it up first so you could joke about it together.
“I have no clue. I know he is really into Lord of The Rings, but don’t ask me about the second one. I’m wondering if that was her choice” you answer and toss another shot back, following it with a beer.
Javi rests his arms on the bartop in front of his chest, nestling his head right on top with his gaze falling on you.
There he goes again, making you nervous and forgetting how to speak.
“Don’t look at me like that” you murmur, covering his eyes with the palm of your hand.
Javi doesn’t move away until you do, letting him see you once more. His pink lips part slightly, “Why can’t I look at you like that? You look pretty, I wanna look at my date” he states, turning his stool to look at your face straight on.
“We’re not on a date, Javi. Monday will be here before we know it and this will all go away, we’ll be coworkers again and it’ll be like this never happened.”
His face changes with seriousness and he pauses for a second before scratching his forehead and clearing his throat.
“Yeah, you’re right. This is all pretend.”
He stands up and puts his jacket back on that had been sitting on the back of the stool for the last couple hours, the moment feeling stale and heavy now for some reason.
“I’m gonna go get the car, close the tab out for me?” he tosses his credit card on the napkin that once held your drink, not giving you a chance to answer before he walks away.
Even if you wanted to date him, there’s no way it could ever work. You two were too opposite and in different places in your life. Not to mention work, that would be a mess of paperwork to do.
You hand the bartender his card and give a soft smile when they tell you to have a good night, your clutch in hand as you step outside to see Javi leaning on the side of his car, the glowing orange light dangling between his fingers as the smoke rolls upwards.
“For the record,” he starts, stepping between you and the car with his hand on your chin so you can’t look away, “I don’t want this to just be like nothing happened.”
Your face softens as you look into his eyes before his lips meet yours softly, both of his hands cupping your face as you squeeze his jacket, not wanting him to pull away quite yet.
Scotty Doesnt Know| Max Phillips x Fem!Reader (smut)
summary: your max’s secretary/assistant who been helping him in more ways than one, behind your boyfriend’s back.
wc: 3k
Warnings: boss/employee power dynamic, cheating. workplace/office sex (unprotected p in v), mention of blood and blood sucking, side-effects of losing blood.
a/n: a max phillip fic based on Scotty Doesn’t Know by Lustra, this is for @chaotic-mystery’s wired for you and birthday celebration (happy birthday!!) first time watching this movie and writing for him.
"Yes, yes, we've managed to increase sales by 10% more than last month under my management. I aimed for more, but we may have to change our current employee situation and let a few slow ones go."
You listen to Max on the phone as you take him further into your mouth, sucking his cock. His hand press onto the back of your head as he talks unbothered, like you don't currently have his cock down your throat. You feel him push down more onto your head, forcing you to take him even deeper, making your eyes water as you choke around his dick, your nose against the brown hairs at the base of it. He lets out a soft groan. Your eyes flutter up to see Max leaning back on the black office chair, eyes closed, breathing heavily, and pretending to listen to his boss on the phone as his hand continues to move your head up and down his shaft. You hollow out your mouth as your head bobs up and down on his shaft. You're unsure how much of the lewd blowjob sounds the office phone is picking up, hoping, being under his desk, muffled most of it.
You have been sleeping with your boss for 3 months now. It started when you two were working alone one night, going over the finance, and you were "helping him" when you really didn't know shit about the finances. You left to get a coffee from the break room when Max joined you in the empty break room and fucked on the break room couch. You swore it was a one-time thing and wouldn't happen again. Then he ate you out on his desk, and it continued from then behind your boyfriend and coworker's, Scotty, back. It was going on three months of fucking your boss, you do plan on breaking up with Scott. Eventually. The right time just never came.
"Of course, sir, we're-"his soft groan cuts himself off. "Sorry, we definitely do have some very dedicated and talented employees here." he looks down at you as he speaks slowly, moving, giving you a wink. He lets you come off his cock, letting you take a minute to breathe. You feel his hand come to your lips, gently wiping the spit from them with his thumb.
"Okay, sir. I'll talk to you another time. Bye. " He hangs up the black phone and looks down at you, giving you a small smile as he runs his thumb over your lips.
"Now, back to actually important things." You move your hand around his shaft, jerking him off. You look up at your boss smiling before putting his cock back into your mouth, making Max moan.
"Should add this to your performance review. Amazing and motivating oral skill." Max teases, making you laugh, taking him out of your mouth, and shaking your head at him.
"You're ridiculous. You're lucky they didn't have the budget to buy those cameras Ted wanted." Max's hand lighting grabs your hands, making you stand up.
"Don't want to make a sex tape with me? I'm offended, I have the perfect title, "Boss Bangs Hot Employee." We could do it in the break room. I've seen that's a pretty popular place for office sex tapes." You laugh again, shaking your head at him.
"Of course you have." You feel him slowly guiding you to his desk, and you automatically bend over it. He slides his hand under your skirt, grabbing your ass over your pantyhose. You hear a small rip before you feel the fabric of your tights rip, exposing your black lace thong.
"I'm running out of pantyhose I can wear to work, Max! "Do you have to rip all of them?" You complain as he continues squeezing your ass for a little longer until he presses himself against you. You feel his bulge through his black pants, poking your ass.
"You can still wear them. No one will know, and it'll give me easy access. But I'll buy you more relax." He moves your hips, making you grind against him. "Speaking about that, I've been getting a lot of complaints about your attire piling up on my desk, baby girl." You move your ass over his pants. He pulls your thong down to your thighs. Moving his thumb against your clit slowly as he mentions your hr complaints. You let out a moan as you lean forward against his desk, spreading your legs and giving him better access to your wet core.
You have been testing the bounds of the office dress code lately, coming in with your short mini skirt, a few unbuttoned button-ups, and low-cut blouses.
"Have you really? Huh. Wouldn't know why?" You play dumb as he slowly turns you around, gently pushing you down until you sit on his wooden desk. He runs his hands up your stomach before unbuttoning your white blouse, exposing the matching lace bra to your lace black thong. Max's hands run over your tits, squeezing and groping them. He reaches to the back of the claps on your bra, takes it off, and tosses it over some files on his desk.
"You don't, huh? Well, we've gotten a few about these small skirts almost flashing the other employees when you bend over to put paper in the printer or distracting them as you lean over at your desk reaching for a pen, and these pretty tits almost spill out." You let out a small moan as he pinches your nipples, twisting them a bit and enunciating his point.
"You're lucky H.R. has to go through me to fire you, or they would've let you months ago, sweetheart." He turns you around, bending you over his desk, his hand on the small of your back. You hear his belt unbuckling as he pulls his cock out, not bothering to take his pants off. He runs his fingers down your wet folds.
"Maaaxxx" you whine pressing yourself against him, desperate for him to fuck you. He laughs, mocking you as he plants a smack against your ass.
"So bratty. If you want something sweetheart, you're gonna have to use your words. Or is that mouth only good for sucking my cock, huh?" He spanks you again,
"Please fuck me." It comes out low, barely audible, and you already knew he wasn't going to accept it.
You're only met with another spank on your ass harder than the last one, stinging, making you moan louder.
"Please, please fuck me, Max." You beg louder, hoping it was enough for him to get you what I want.
"Thats better, baby. Bet you don't beg Scott this badly to fuck you huh?" He slides his thick cock inside you, drawing out a moan from you.
"Aw, fuck baby you feel so fucking good baby." Max holds your hips, stretching your out on his cock filling you up; you moan as his large hands spread your ass, sliding out till it is just his tip, before slamming back inside you.
He was right. You didn't beg Scotty to fuck; Scotty barely fucks you. It's more like four sloppy thrusts in you, then finishes and rolling off of you. Mutters something like "youre the best", or "love you." Then he'd lazily kiss your cheek and lay down and go to sleep. Leaving you there in bed, horny and frustrated. You can't remember the last time your orgasm didn't come from your rabbit vibrator or your dildo. Until Max. The first time he ate you out on his desk you came so hard, seeing stars, leaving a mess all over the papers on his desk and he still fucked you. Max gives you orgasm after orgasm. On his desk, over his desk, in his office chair, in the breakroom. He'd try to convince you to fuck at the other cubicles, especially Scotty's just to fuck with him but you refused. You know it's wrong, but you couldn't give him up. Maybe it's part of his vampiric powers having a hold on you, controlling your mind. Or maybe it was just you, being unable to resist him.
He thrusts, fucking you from behind, are you bend over his desk, his files pushed to opposite sides of it leaving room for your body ininto you against the wooden desk, the way you needed, the way you boyfriend never does. You feel him deep as he runs his hands over your lower back
"Look at how good you take it, baby. This pussy belongs to me know huh, poor scotty doesn't even know it." You nod gripping his desk, pushing your hips back against his cock, as you moan his name loudly, taken advantage of being the only people in the office.
"Fuck Max! It's yours. It belongs to yous." you cry moaning as he fucks you
"Damn right about that baby. Fuck." he groans, gripping your hips tighter.
Suddenly intercepting the sounds of moans and skin slapping together, your phone goes off, ringing from the where you left it on Max's desk before you got on your knees to suck him off. You don't even hear at first, not until Max stops fucking you. You sit up, reaching for it while Max remains still balls deep inside you. You look at the incoming call screen glowing as it buzzes off the wooden desk.
Incoming Call: Scotty
You look at your boyfriend's name as it rings. You're about to decline when Max reaches and takes it out of your hand, looking to see who it was.
"Damn… not even boyfriend…or any heart emojis baby? Harsh." Max taunts before holding it up to your ear as he accepts it. Your eyes widen, speechless, not expecting him to answer it. You hear Scotty's voice over the phone, still feeling Max's cock inside you.
"H-Hello?" you answer as max continues fucking you holding your hips
"Hey, are you still working?" You pull the phone away from your mouth as a few moans slip out before placing it back.
"Yea…yes, um, I'm going over some spreadsheets and all that, um….you know Max really-fuck um- really hates me being on the phone when I'm on the clock." You try to compose yourself enough to not sound like you're getting your back blown out by your boss. You hear him talking about something or another, and you can't really focus. You move the phone away from your face again, turning back to Max, silently asking him to stop, at least until you hang up. Max smirk,s smiling as he slowly pulls out. You assume he's heard your silent plea and try to stand up straight when he hands push you down forcing you to stay as he lefts one of your leg up onto his desk, before inserting his cock inside you reaching that spot, to hitch deep inside you.
"OH MY GOD!" You shout, unable to conceal the moan any better. You flinch remembering who you were on the phone.
S-Scotty is this like life or death because I'm really fucking busy." You say rudely and pointed, your voice filled with annoyance.
"No, I just wanted to tell you that I'll be home late hanging out with boys tonight." It was strange that the he's planning on getting wasted on a wedesnday night, but in the moment the only think you can think about is Max's cock fucking deep inside you.
You sigh, rolling your eyes, nodding. "Sure, okay. Bye. " You hang up and go to set your phone on his desk when you see Max's hand grab it out of yours. He turns it off before slipping it into his pant pocket.
"Am I gonna have to start confiscating this thing, huh, baby? You know, hate when you're on your phone in the office." Max's voice going into your head, his condescing tone making you wetter, as he continues fucking you gripping your hips tightly.
You leave your desk near Max's office and walk over to the break room when your boyfriend Scotty comes up to you. He's actually the one who told you about the company as an intern, intending on getting a promotion to sales manager. The two of you would work your way up like a real corporate power couple. Of course, that was until max.
"Hey, I was thinking about going out again tonight. I'll probably be home late. But you've been working so late, too," he says, gently rubbing your arm. You nod, smiling a bit, as you hold your empty coffee mug.
"Yea, well, you know how Max is," you say vaguely as you look at him. "But can we maybe, um, actually talk about something I want to talk to you about?" You suggest, hoping he agrees, that you really have been planning on breaking up with him but never got the chance or have the right moment.
Scotty nods, not really paying attention. " Um... sure, not tonight, but maybe tomorrow or something we could—" Before your boyfriend could finish what he was implying, you hear your boss's voice behind you, appearing suddenly out of nowhere, like he often does.
"Trying to bang your girl on company time, Scott?" He asks in his familiar patronizing and condescending tone, looking at the two of you. A few moments of awkward silence before Max's laugh breaks it. "I'm just messing around. Well, partially, I can't have you getting some during company hours. If I let you two in, I have to let everyone, and we're not really going for a brothel." Max joked, smiling as he looked at Scotty before turning his attention towards you. "Go ahead and get your coffee, then head back to my office. I have calls I need you to make. Thanks, sweetheart."
Max starts to walk away before turning around to you two. " Remember, not on company time." He makes small thrusting motions before shaking his finger and going back to his office.
"Hes such an asshole. can't believe they chose him as our fucking manger." You look at Max as he goes to talk to Linda from marketing a few cubicles down, admiring how hot he is, how gorgeous his side profile is. You didn't even hear Scotty complaining. You finally snap out of it, nodding at whatever your boyfriend had said before mumbling about needing to get back to work.
You return to Max's office, closing the door behind you, and return to your work in Max's office.
A few hours later, you're watching the clock, watching as the small hand moves to the 6 while the big is on the 5. Finally, it's 5:30, and everyone is out of the office except you and Max. You look up from your computer, and Max is still on the phone with a different supplier.
"Who the fuck sell this shit anyway, god why couldn't I be the sales manger of anything else besides stupid shake weights." Max sighs, leaning back in his office chair with his hands over his face. Obviously annoyed and stressed. "Come here."
You walk over and sit on his lap, and he rubs your back before placing his lips on yours, softly kissing you for a moment.
"I skipped my lunch today." Max's finger drags slowly across your chest, unbuttoning the buttons on your black top slowly as he speaks. You wouldn't mind, would you, baby? " You shake your head, tilting your neck for him. Expecting him to sink his fangs into your neck like usually
"No, not at all," you tell him, but he feels your bra and pulls it down, shocking you a bit. You let out a moan as he leans down, sucking in your nipple.
"Fuck… Max." You look at the door, making sure no one is still in the office, before looking back at Max as his tongue swirls around your nipples. "I thought you said I was hungry?"
He nods, lifting his head as he squeezes your tits with his large hand, making you shudder a bit, moaning more. He leans down you see his fang project down as he bites your boob, just about your nipple, right over your heart, sinking them into your skin. You feel him drinking the blood from your chest. Feeling him press his face against your tit deeper. You're frozen, unsure what to do. You take another glance up at the door, making sure no one is there, before looking back down at Max. You hold the back of his head as drips of blood fall down your chest.
He has drunk your blood before many times. From your arm and your neck, but not from your chest and not while he was squeezing, rolling your other nipple between his fingers. Making you wetter, squeezing your thighs together trying to get some sort of relief from the ache between your thighs.
"Max," you moan, not knowing it would turn you on this much, that you'd enjoy him sucking blood from your boob this much, youre pretty positive he's over an artery from the pain that came once he peirced your skin but your concern is clouded my your arousal. Your eyes close as Max moves his hands under your skirt, sliding his finger underneath your panties.
"Max" you moan as he rubs his fingers along your folds, never moving his lips from your boob as he continues drinking your plasma, making your eyes roll back closed. He slips his finger inside you thrusting it in and out, for a few enjoying the way your hips roll and buck against his hand until you cum on his fingers, stifling a moan. He drinks more of you as you cum. You feel him remove his hands from between your thighs, then his fangs pull out from your chest. He lifts his head up, wiping your blood from his mouth. You stare into his red eyes, watching them return back to their gorgeous brown color, your chest moving fast as you try to process what just happened.
Max smiles before pulling you into a deep kiss you return, tasting your blood on his lips. He pulls away, but his hand remains on your neck.
"Did you know you taste sweeter when you cum, you heart rate increasing, more blood pumping, I've heard some other…my friend… say but its different when you experience it." he leans over grabbing a tissues to stop some blood that was starting to spill from your boobs, he holds it applying pressures as he reaching in his office drawer with the other hand taking out a band-aid, he has for the moments after drinking your blood.
"No-no…no Max, how would I know that…." you say quietly, slowly feeling light-headed. He holds your chin, looking at you closely.
"Sorry about that, baby girl. I probably took a few more pints than I should've. You tasted so…I just got caught in the moment." Max stands up, walking over to his mini fridge, opening it, and grabbing a bottled orange juice he also started keeping in his office. he goes back to you, untwisting the cap off. He slowly brings the bottle to your lips as you drink the orange juice. He holds the bottle still. He sets the bottle on his desk, slowly rubbing your back.
"Go ahead and go to the break room and take a few of the cookies; the sugar should help." You nod, listening to him, and leave, going to the break to grab a few of those cookies. You open the break room door expecting it to be empty. I mean, it's almost 6. Who else would be here this late?
You step inside, seeing you boyfriend, fucking another one your coworker against the counter. You freeze for a second. Scotty pulls his head from the neck of your coworker. You don't know what to say. You quietly just grab the plastic box of chocolate chip cookies you came in for.
"I just needed these, " you say, leaving but turning around and looking back. "Oh, and it's over, by the way." You go back into Max's office, a cookie in your mouth. Still dizzy but at least you don't have to worry about Scotty anymore, you smile popping another cookie in your mouth.
