occasionally subtle
#extradirty
wallacepolsom
YOU ARE THE REASON
Cosmic Funnies
blake kathryn
Cosimo Galluzzi
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Noah Kahan
Stranger Things
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
gracie abrams
🪼
shark vs the universe
izzy's playlists!
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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pixel skylines
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@emeraldjs
intro 🖤
•ash•28•she/her•aries☀️•queer•MDNI•
🎥~movies/shows~🎬
•the mandalorian•the lord of the rings•the hobbit•the rings of power•criminal minds•brooklyn 99•sailor moon•critical role•
🖤~comfort characters~🖤
•thranduil•bard the bowman•aaron hotchner•emily prentiss•din djarin•pike trickfoot•
fic requests are OPEN 🖋️
master list🪻
Fics with an asterisk * are NSFW and are 18+ only, MDNI!
Criminal Minds🔎
hotch x reader
power struggle
banana pancakes
drunk dial
through love and loss
after hours *
how do we carry on?
reconciliation (pt.2 to how do we carry on?)
from across the bar *
stricken
stuck
unstuck (pt.2 to stuck)
savoring the moment
alex blake x reader
the crossword can’t wait *
emily prentiss x reader
for her, i’d endure
live a little *
tied up in knots*
hotch x emily
come home with me
emily x jj
lavender bath salts
The Materialists 💳
years gone by*
The Last of Us 🍄
joel miller x reader
true north *
Narcos 🚬
javier x reader
those things will kill you *
pillow talk
a haze of vices *
The Mandalorian 🪐
din djarin x reader
don’t punch beskar, you’ll break your hand*
lost and found
𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚍-𝙷𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜
𝒢𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂⁴⁴ 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
3.7K words
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ viral trends: if you were athletic, what sport would you play? brat!reader, teasing, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, spanking, praise, pet names (baby, pretty, princess, bunny, good girl + no y/n), rough-ish sex + ‧˚꒰🍨꒱ #bruised male ego ₊˚⋆
“Pissin’ me off. You know that?” He looks over at you with a scowl. You give him a little face and he rolls his eyes, blowing out a frustrated breath that sends the curl peeking out beneath his hat skittering across his forehead.
He looks back at the tv screen, lifting the spoon to his lips, eating a little ice cream, trying to act like he's not rolling that stupid question you had over ten different ways.
His arm is wrapped around your shoulders still, lying lazily on the back of the couch, but his body angles away slightly like the suggestion of “pissed-off-boyfriend”. Just enough for you to notice—just enough for you to snort to yourself.
He shakes his head to himself, still finding it irritating several minutes after the fact. You scoop another bite into your mouth, feeling his eyes follow the movement.
You keep your attention fixed on the television with the most innocent expression you can manage, determined not to acknowledge the giant sulking hockey captain sitting mere inches away from you.
The silence drags on for another few seconds before he finally shakes his head.
“What? You wanna try mine?” you ask, lifting your spoon to his lips but he pushes it away with two fingers.
“I still can’t believe you.”
“Seriously?” you giggle.
“Yes, seriously!” he insists as you take the bite yourself. “The audacity.”
Your shoulders bounce as you fight off the laugh threatening to break past your lips.
“I’m being so serious right now, baby.”
“I know,” you whisper, the words barely breathing past your lips as you try not to crack.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You absolutely do not,” he counters.
He looks down at you, waiting for your undivided attention. You turn your head, looking up at him, watching the forgotten ice cream on his spoon drip off onto his bare chest.
You lean in, grinning, running your tongue up his warm, tight skin and he scoffs again, pushing your head away.
“Knock that shit off,” he scolds you through a half-laugh. “You don't get to lick me.”
His arm slips away, shifting from you completely, putting space between the two of you. He fixes his hat, muscles flexing with it, the gold chain around his neck flickering in the low light, just a pair of grey Briar sweats and cozy socks on his body.
Your cheeks puff as you trap another laugh behind them when he gives you a jaded look for checking him out after all that.
“What?” His eyes narrow at you, voice still dancing between irate and amused. “You’re laughin’.”
“M’not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally eating dessert, Graham.”
“You can do both,” he mutters through a mouthful of ice cream himself.
“I don’t think I can.”
“You absolutely can because you’re doing it right fucking now—”
“Calm down,” you laugh when his voice cracks as it tumbles from his lips.
He thumps you on your head with his spoon and you push him away. Garrett leans a little closer, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “I don’t appreciate being mocked.”
“I’m not mocking you, baby.”
“Yes, you are,” he snips. “You're extremely easy to read.”
“Can't a girl ask questions?” you ask, looking back toward the movie.
He mutters under his breath, sliding a rough finger under the strap of your tank top, lifting it, letting it fall with a little snap, stinging comedically versus ever-so-slightly like he hoped it would.
“I have never been so disrespected in my own home,” he mumbles like a tired father.
The laugh slips free before you can stop it. “You’re so dramatic.”
“So dramatic?” he asks, turning his body toward you, sitting up straighter. “So dramatic?”
You have to bite the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurts just to keep yourself from laughing again. “I just asked what sport would you play if you were more athletic? I didn't mean to make you emotional.”
He pivots toward you slowly, eyebrow cocked, begging the silent question. Emotional… Are you fuckin’ kidding me?
You keep your eyes on the movie for another second before finally glancing over, and he's there for a question you'll hear loud and clear.
“What did you call me now?”
“…Unathletic?”
“No. Emotional.” He chuckles, letting out a long breath through his nose, shaking his head like he’s trying very hard to stay calm as a smile threatens at the corner of his mouth. “You know hockey is like the most athletic sport.”
“Mhmm?” you hum.
“We average like five miles a game.”
“Wowzers,” you giggle.
“My slapshots are over a hundred miles an hour, princess. You can't even drive that fast. And you're gonna sit there and act like that shit isn't athletic?”
Garrett lets out another long groan, dragging a hand over his face before pointing the spoon at you.
“You know what?” He sits forward. “I’m not done.”
You angle toward him, already trying not to smile. “You’re not?”
“I bench three-fifteen.”
“Hot damn.”
“Three-thirty-five on a good day.”
“Oh, thank god—”
“I squat four-fifty.”
“Sensational,” you answer, watching his nostrils flare.
“I’m givin’ you actual stats and you don’t give a fuck—look at this shit, baby,” he huffs, flexing for you, trembling with the effort. He rolls his shoulder, showing off his triceps too.
“Wow…” you murmur, letting your eyes wander over his broad body. “…Big boi.”
“…Did you just call me big boi?” he asks, staring at you another second before his eyebrows lift.
“Good boy?”
Garrett’s lips fall open like that title might have very well crossed the line “…I hate that,” he admits.
“Huh?”
“I hate that I liked that. Stop sweet talkin’ me when I’m pissed at you.”
You blink at him, all innocence again. “…Why are you pissed?”
“Shut up… Fuckin’ brat.”
Your head snaps toward him, acting offended yourself. “Garrett Graham.”
“Garrett Graham,” he mocks you, lifting his voice to a higher octave.
“Don’t be a bitch about it. It was just a question.”
His eyebrows shoot up so fast they practically disappear beneath his curls. “Thin ice.”
“What?”
“That's what you're skatin’ on,” he mutters, his abs tightening with his laugh, the ice cream-slicked spoon gliding along his tongue, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.
Garrett drops his spoon back into the bowl with a dramatic sigh, settling his big body into the couch a little more before he looks over at you.
“Can't even enjoy my sweet treat right now.” He points at you again. “Fuck you.”
“Ughhh,” you scoff, “I’m just messin’ with you, baby.” You reach forward, plucking your phone out of the place you had it resting, thumb tapping with a beep before you toss it to the side.
"…You're joking?"
“‘Bout what?” you ask, your lips curling into a smile.
“‘Bout what, my ass,” he scolds. “You were recording that shit.”
“Well…” You tilt your head, scraping the last bit out of your bowl. “I could lie—” You gasp as his hand closes around your wrist, eating your last bite of ice cream before you can react. “RUDE!”
“ME?” he fires back with the same offense. “You’re rude. And wrong. I’m athletic as fuck. Take it back.”
“I know, baby. I know,” your voice turns impossibly sweet, more sympathetic than not, like you’re trying really hard to believe that just as much as he does, which only fires him up more.
He lets your wrist go and you lean across the little space between you, cupping both of his cheeks in your hands and squishing his face until his lips pucker into an unwilling pout before you kiss him.
He lets you do it too, chuckling through it as you rub your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks.
“I believe you,” you breathe. “So fast.” Your lips pushing against his again. “So talented.”
“Shut up,” he mumbles.
“Six miles a game is so damn impressive, baby.”
“I said five.”
“You’ll get there,” you breathe as his hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you into his lap, his other arm hooking tight around your waist.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters.
He kisses you deep, sugar lingering on his soft lips before his tongue slips in. Garrett’s hand drifts lower, dipping between the waistband of your leggings, squeezing the supple flesh underneath in his big palm.
“Should make you suck my cock right here for teasin’ me, pretty,” he mumbles into your kiss. His hand reaches farther, your panties already soaked when his finger traces along the fabric. “You get wet off tormenting me, or what?”
“Maybe,” you breathe.
“Hmm… I got a question for you, baby,” he mutters, letting the tip of his thick finger dip in your wet hole. He pushes in and out slowly, letting that comment dangle in the air for a moment.
“What?” you ask impatiently.
“You athletic, bunny?”
You chuckle against his lips, your chest pushing a little tighter to his. “Maybe,” you whisper, and a crooked smile slides across his lips.
“Run.”
“…What?” you laugh breathlessly, the man still teasing your pussy with his fingers even after the threat.
“You heard me… You. Better. Run,” the words drip past his lips into yours.
“Garrett.”
“I’ll even give you a ten-second head start, baby.”
“You’re kidding—”
“One.”
“…Garrett.”
“Two.”
You scramble over his lap so fast you stumble a little, feet finally finding the hardwood with a slap, fixing your tank top, tugging up the back of your pants as you scurry toward the steps, but he’s already to seven.
“Eight… Nine…”
Behind you, Garrett’s voice follows at the exact same steady pace, his spoon scraping up the last bit of his ice cream, completely unconcerned by your growing panic as your foot hits the first step.
“Ten…”
You squeal, grabbing the banister to keep yourself from slipping as your socks slide against the polished wood.
By the time you hit the middle of the staircase, you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe, glancing over your shoulder, your eyes matching his.
Garrett’s long legs eat up the distance, moving like the captain of Briar’s hockey team—fast, ridiculously athletic, and somehow already much closer than you could ever imagine.
Your scream echoes through the stairwell, bouncing off the high ceilings while Garrett’s laugh follows right behind it.
It isn’t even a normal laugh anymore. It’s loud and completely unhinged. Your heart pounds against your ribs, feet scrambling for any extra bit of traction while you practically throw yourself up the stairs two at a time.
You make it maybe three more steps before a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist, tossing you over his shoulder. Your entire world flips upside down, your eyes landing somewhere around the back of his gray sweats.
“Garrett!” you squeal—Crack! His hand lands against your ass with a playful smack.
“You’ve been runnin’ that mouth for thirty minutes,” he pants. “We threw gloves. I caught ya. Not my fault you’re slow as shit.”
He turns his head, chuckling against your skin before he bites teasingly. He isn’t actually angry—you know that much—but he’s absolutely decided you’re not getting away with tormenting him for the better part of half an hour without paying for it somehow.
“You’re in trouble,” he informs you matter-of-factly as he clears the last few stairs. You groan dramatically, going limp over his shoulder.
Your heart races wildly, every laugh stealing what little air you have left as you throw yourself farther up the staircase.
Garrett’s breathing barely changes. His footsteps never slow, never stumble, his strong legs carrying him up the stairs with the same effortless burst that gets him to loose pucks before anybody else on the ice.
And somewhere in between the first step and the last, you realize you probably should’ve picked a less athletic man to bully for the last thirty minutes.
“I’m sorry. Okay?” you giggle.
“Nah,” he chuckles, shouldering his bedroom door open, kicking it shut behind him with the heel of his foot. “Told you to run,” he reminds you, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Gave you a ten-second head start like a gentleman.”
You smack his ass in mock protest, still breathless from laughing all the way up the stairs but before you can say anything he’s flipping you back over.
Your body lands on the comforter, a surprised gasp tripping past your lips as you press yourself up on your elbows to get a better look, but he’s already climbing over you.
The mattress dips beneath his weight as he catches your face with a single hand, smiling so hard he can barely keep a straight face.
The two of you end up rolling sideways, tangled together in a mess of limbs and discarded clothes.
“Fuck, baby,” he teases, cupping your cheek in his hand as his body presses down on top of yours, watching you struggle to catch your breath. “Breathin’ hard and I don’t even have my fingers in you yet.”
“—You should though,” you whisper, the sweetness in your voice almost breaking him. “Felt so good downstairs.”
“Is that so? Glad you were enjoying yourself, pretty,” he mumbles, and you can just hear the “but” waiting to leave his lips after all of that bullying. “You’re not gettin’ off that easy.”
His mouth parts against yours, tongue sweeping slow and hungry, tasting you as his hand moves away. You moan into him as your hands slide up his chest, finger twisting into his curls, dragging him closer.
Garrett’s hips press forward, grinding slow and heavy between your legs, gold chain swinging at his collarbone, dragging cool against your skin.
His hand slides up your body as his lips toy with your breast, biceps swelling when he tilts down, mouthing at your chest and sucking at the gentle skin of your cleavage. He moans around you when you bring his fingers to your lips.
His eyes flick up to yours—dark and heavy as you slide two into your mouth. The tips press against your tongue and your lips seal tight, cheeks hollowing.
He lets out the filthiest groan as you swirl your tongue—just like you would if it were his cock in your mouth—and you know from the look on his face that he’s remembering that little threat he made downstairs.
“You want it, huh?” he asks as you whimper a soft ‘yes’. “Suck it. Maybe I’ll forgive you.”
“Baby,” you sigh, your lips trembling at the corners when you fight back a smile, forcing your lips into a pout.
“You want me to feel bad for you?” he chuckles, rolling you effortlessly on top. You giggle with delight, your hand slapping against his muscular chest as you steady yourself.
His hand tangles in the back of your hair, pulling you down to his mouth. His lips brush against yours, humming out a pleased sound having you on top like this. “Got twenty more minutes of teasin’ you. Do a good enough job and I’ll make it ten—”
“Football,” you grin.
“What?”
“I would have said football.”
“Keep talkin’,” he warns, his palm reaching up, resting on the top of your head, guiding you down. You laugh breathily, dragging your tongue along the deep ridges of his stomach, pressing kisses as you work lower and lower.
He sinks a little deeper into the pillow, lashes lowering as your fingers wrap around his thick dick, pumping as a line of spit falls from your lips.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “That’s it.” The praise falls from his lips as his hand rests behind his head, propping himself up for a better look as you tap his swollen tip against your tongue.
The thick muscles in his thighs clench with each slap, jaw dropping as your lips wrap around him tight, one hand slipping into your hair.
You moan around his length, taking him deep, watching his eyes roll back. “Christ… Just—Just like that, baby,” he pants, guiding your head, using your mouth to stroke him.
You let him use you—let him fuck your throat—spit slicking your chin as your eyes water and your hands grip his thighs for balance.
The wet sounds fill his room—every moan, every gag, every obscene sound making you more and more desperate.
His big hands rest on the back of your head, eyes pinching shut, fucking up into your mouth from the bottom. Your nails drive into his thighs, throat hot with the effort as his dick swells on your tongue.
You can tell he’s close, his breathing quickening with each passing second—that praise leaving his lips coming out a little more slurred as your soft lips glide up and down his dick.
“Thinkin’ about cummin’ just like this, pretty. What do you think?” he grits through his teeth—a smug smile painting his features.
You mumble around his dick and he grins, pulling you off him, leaving you reaching for air.
He rolls you again, spreading you open, a scream leaving your lips when he slaps your pussy. Your legs clamp together and all he does is shake his head with a grin, clicking his tongue, gripping your thigh to pin it down again.
He drives into you, burying himself to the hilt, your hands finding his hips, trembling at how deep he is.
Your gasp snaps into a moan, back arching off the mattress, when he draws his hips back, the muscles in his chest and stomach flexing tighter when he drags his body. His eyes fall, eyeing his wet cock, the head dropping between his shoulders as he blows out a deep breath.
“Wanted you so bad I barely made you beg,” his words grumble past his lips as his chain swings in your face.
You pull him down by his necklace, crashing your lips to his again. Your teeth scrape his lip, his tongue licking into your mouth. You’re so wet he slides in and out of you with ease, slick sounds echoing between your bodies.
He grinds down, hips circling, making your breath catch. “Yes,” you cry, clenching around him, and he groans—loud and filthy.
“Look at you. Crying on my cock—” he grunts, slamming his hips forward so hard your body jolts, skin smacking against his. “Fuck, pretty girl. You made a goddamn mess for me, huh?”
Sweat drips off his brow, biceps flexing as he squeezes your hip, keeping you flush to him, using the leverage to slam into you harder.
His hands hook behind your thighs, folding you in half, pinning you to the bed as he drives into you. Your nails claw at the sheets, then at his back, then into his hair, pulling at the roots.
“Garrett—Garrett, holy shit—” he dips down to kiss you—his cock sinking impossibly deep.
“You’re right there. C’mon, pretty girl. Stop bein’ a brat and fuckin’ give it to me.”
Your head falls back, mouth open in a silent cry as your body tightens, every muscle trembling as he keeps hitting that exact spot.
“C’mon, baby. Let him hear who makes you cum.”
Your orgasm rips through you hard, a choked sob escaping your lips as you clamp around him, shaking under his weight.
“That’s it,” he whispers against your mouth, still thrusting through the aftershocks. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”
You’re soaking him, dripping down your thighs, pulsing around him as he keeps fucking you through it, working you toward another.
“Feel that mess you made?” he asks, smugness laced in every word. “Proud of you, baby. So filthy for me. Need you on top.”
He pulls out fast, making you whine at the loss of him. Garrett wraps his hand around his dick, pumping as he watches you climb on top, hovering over him, delicate fingers circling your clit as he licks his bottom lip.
You spread your thighs, sinking on his tip, taking the first few inches, moving up and down teasingly before you take the rest—eyes locked on his, nails digging into his chest.
You ride him hard, your bodies colliding in messy, rhythmic slaps, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room.
Garrett grabs your waist, lifting you just enough to slam back up into you. “You’re gonna cum for me again,” he rasps. “Right fucking now.”
And you do—your belly tightens, the band snaps, and his name tumbles past your lips as your head falls back. Your throat’s ragged from sobbing his name, thighs drenched in sweat and slick, shining under the low light.
“Goddamn, baby… I’m almost there,” he mutters, reaching up to hook a hand around the back of your neck and kiss you, his hips stalling out as a whimper slips from his lips when he sighs that he’s cumming, filling you with his heavy load.
You shut your eyes in exhaustion, his smile sliding against yours as his nose nuzzles yours. His cock throbs inside you still, his heartbeat thudding against yours.
He kisses you again anyway, both of you still breathing hard, forehead resting against yours. His smile lingers, lazy and completely satisfied at how exhausted and fucked-out you look.
“You know…” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You still haven’t apologized.”
“Yes, I did,” you laugh.
“Mm-mm,” he grunts, pressing a kiss against your forehead.
“Literally said I was sorry,” you pant, drawing in a breath as he waits for you to finish your sentence, not even trying to hide the teasing look on his face.
“For ruinin’ my sweet treat?” he lifts an eyebrow. “No, you fuckin’ didn’t.”
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
“This?” he asks, tipping his chin toward your body. “This reaction’s apology enough for callin’ me unathletic, baby.”
His eyes drift over your face, taking in your damp skin, the little wisps of hair stuck to your forehead, the way you’re still trying to catch your breath.
“Stop,” you chuckle, turning your face away a little as he looks up at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
“Look at you… So sweaty,” he teases softly, his voice losing most of its bite as his fingertips tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”
Heat climbs into your cheeks, your lip bitten to hold back your smile. “Stop teasing me, Garrett Graham.”
“Coming from you?” he smiles, grabbing your cheeks between his fingers before stealing another slow kiss. “That more than made up for you fuckin’ with me,” he whispers, the words deep—vibrating against your mouth. “…Now delete that fuckin’ video.”
“Absolutely not.”
Garrett’s smile spreads against your lips before he lets out a quiet, defeated chuckle, already knowing exactly what your answer would be. He gives your hip a playful squeeze and shakes his head once.
“Well, fuck,” he sighs. “Round two, princess.”
✨🍨taglist on my pinned post 🏒 @rafesthroatbaby @liss2709-blog @sushi-girl04 @judesgfirl @cdiaz18 @abbottjunior01 @obsessedwrafe @vanillaiceyhot @maialopez23 @rexit-mo @georgiastars13 @princessaaa13 @dragonvalyria @livlovesfastcars @thebitchylibra @corvusmorte @st8rkey @imperfectlyperfect78 @winchestersbgirl @glitterandviolence13 @miramindlesslywriting @slut-4-rafey @emelia07 @maybankslover @archxve @jujuonthatbeat1357 @parker-barnes-af @aria1108 @magcon7280 @kristenm74 @dancerbailey3 @phoebesatoru @purplerainx1 @simp4f1 @at-arax-ia @just-hopeful @kkkkisworld @hearts4norris @styles-sturniolo @angelnameddani @macbaetwo @tangledinmyfeelings @ethanthequeefqueen @taliescapes @grahamsbunny
dividers @dollywons
invitation to murder (series) | jjk
⤷ it was supposed to be a simple dinner, a chance for you to meet your boyfriend’s closest family friends. instead, the evening ends with a murder, shattering the carefully crafted image of one of the country’s most influential families. together with jungkook, you decide to uncover the killer’s identity hiding amongst them, only to discover buried secrets, and in a world built on appearances, the most dangerous secrets are the ones hiding in plain sight.
— pairing: jungkook x female reader
— genre: murder mystery au, established relationship, angst, fluff, and smut
— rating: 18+
— words : tba
— status: ongoing
— all parts contain mature content & warnings listed in each part
— author’s note: this is a story i’ve been working on for over a year now; however, this has never been intended to be a fanfic at all! this whole universe has been thought and written originally in french, but after struggling with its continuation, i decided to transform it into a jungkook fic. a part of the plot has been rearranged so it’ll still be different, and of course, it has been translated into english. can’t wait to share this all with you & hope you’ll enjoy it 💜
join the taglist ✨
precious heart
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
summary: a little girl rushes over to you when lost, you are quickly introduced to her father, an ex-army sergeant with worry in his eyes and yet is flustered at the sight of you.
warnings: single father!bucky (slightly grumpy), archivist!reader, soft and fluffy, smut, p in v, missionary, use of nicknames (doll, sweetheart), no use of y/n, not beta read, all mistakes are mine
author's note: I started on this one back in January (?) then it was announced Sebastian was going to be a father. I put it on the back burner because I was not happy the media were being so intrusive into people’s personal lives, and didn’t want to condone it with my actions. With nearly hitting 500 followers, I thought it was high time I finished this, it does jump around a lot but I hope you all enjoy it! And thank you all for continuing to read things I write for fun! 💜
word count: < 12k words
credits: divider by thekagemusha
It was short, the tug on your leg.
You peer down to see a little girl. Soft brown hair with little clips to keep it out of her face, round face and blue eyes that were full of fear.
“Hey there,” you say, and crouch down. “You okay?”
She blinks, tears falling down her cheeks. “I can’t find my daddy.”
“Hey, hey,” you reach to rub her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
She lets out a sob, unable to control the hysteria shaking her small frame.
“Oh sweetheart,” you breathe, and offer her your hand. “Hold my hand, we’ll find your daddy. Don’t worry.”
She continued to sob, unrestrained sounds that twisted your heart.
You walked slowly down the aisle, allowing her to keep pace with you, heading for the large central aisle where it would be easiest to be found.
“El!” You hear someone shout.
“Daddy?” The little girl turns her head, her eyes alert and wide.
You peek over your shoulder to see a man rushing over.
“Oh my babygirl,”
The girl lets go of your hand, her little feet pushing her forward into the arms of the man.
You smile to yourself, relieved, yet feeling a little out of place at witnessing the reunion.
The man presses his forehead to the little girl’s, his daughter you assumed.
“Are you okay?” He spoke quickly. “You aren’t hurt?”
She shakes her head. “I saw glitter pens, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he spoke as if to himself. “You’re safe.”
It was then his eyes flicker up to you. They are the exact same shade as his daughter’s, a light blue that gave away more emotion than any expression. His hair was the same colour also, pulled back into a messy bun. His face differed from hers entirely, a strong jawline marked with stubble peppered with grey, and faint lines across his forehead and eyes.
He scoops his daughter up with ease, her body looking tiny next to his large build.
“Hi, uh,” he shifts awkwardly.
“Hi,” you press your lips together nervously.
“I, uh, thanks for taking care of my Eileen,” he says.
You shake your head. “It was nothing, only for a few minutes.”
“Still,” his lips twitched. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” you shrug and turn to walk away.
“Come back!” the little girl, Eileen, called.
“El,” you hear her father hiss. “Leave the lady be.”
You feel a tug on your hand, and peek down to see the girl, who must have forced her way down and rushed to catch you.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
You tilt your head, giving it quietly.
“Pretty,” she smiles. “You’re pretty.”
“Eileen Barnes,” you hear her father call out disapprovingly.
“What?” Her eyes moved to her father. “She’s pretty.”
Her father sighs. “She’s busy, babygirl. Let her go.”
“It’s okay,” you say quietly, and crouch to Eileen’s level.
“I think your dad is wants to get going,” you tell her softly.
She frowns, her eyes appearing watery once again. “I don’t want to.”
Her father stepped closer.
“Eileen,” he put a hand on her back. “That is enough.”
His voice was gentle yet firm.
“But Daddy,” she began to protest. “She’s pretty and kind. Can we be friends?”
“El, it’s not that easy,” he breathes.
“It’s okay,” your voice came out stronger. “Eileen?”
She peeks up, her eyes meet yours.
“I can be your friend,” you say to her.
“Daddy’s friend too,” she insists. “Daddy is always alone. Daddy needs a friend.”
“Eileen,” her father’s face was starting to go red.
You laugh quietly. “That’s up to your daddy.”
She looks up expectantly at her father.
“El, I—” he looks at you, eyes moving up and down you.
“You are pretty,” he murmurs. “Really pretty.”
You feel blood rush to your cheeks.
Eileen beams, her eyes moving between you and her father.
“I’m Bucky,” he holds out a hand to you. “Bucky Barnes, this is my daughter, Eileen.”
You reach out, allowing him to shake your hand, his hand rough to touch, yet gentle.
“Hi,” you breathe, still a little flustered from his compliment.
Bucky smiles, an expression that makes your heart stutter a moment. The pull of those pink lips, the way it crinkled at the edges of his eyes. It felt like you could stare at him for days and never tire of him.
“I—” he cleared his throat. “Look I know this is, uh, weird. But, Eileen likes you, and she won’t stop until I ask. Would you… do you want to get coffee sometime?”
“Oh,” you stammer. “Yeah, sure.”
You reach into your bag, ripping off the bottom of your shopping list and pulling out a pen, then scribbling down your phone number.
You fold it in half and hold it out between your fingers.
He takes it carefully.
“Text me?” You ask with a small smile.
“Uh,” his eyes move to your lips for a moment. “Yeah, yeah. I will.”
Your smile widens and you pat Eileen on the head.
“See you around then,” you say. “Eileen… Bucky.”
Eileen looks up at her father grinning.
“She’s nice,” she says as if it were the most important thing in the world.
Bucky holds the piece of paper tightly between his fingers, eyes on you walking away.
“Yeah, she is.”
That evening you’d checked your phone constantly, waiting for the text that never came. You checked again the next morning to nothing, and began to wonder if you’d written the wrong number.
A few more days pass, when you hear your phone buzz once.
You reach over from your place on the sofa, eyes still on the comforting program you are watching.
A quick glance shows a text from an unfamiliar number.
Hey, it’s Bucky. We met at the grocery store the other day. Do you still want to meet for coffee sometime?
A small smile graces your face, warmth filling your veins. He hadn’t forgotten.
I’d love to. Any recommendations? x
You send the text without thinking, jerking slightly as you realise that you’d put a kiss on there out of habit.
A few minutes pass before the next buzz.
There’s a coffee shop in the park?
Immediately another text followed.
Eileen will be coming, she can play on the swings whilst we chat x
Your lips part, seeing him also put a kiss made you smile wider.
That’ll be nice. I’d love to see Eileen again! x
She’s dying to see you again, been pestering me every day to skip work to take her x
You laugh at that.
I’d skip work for her x
There is a brief pause.
I would too, if I could. Would Saturday work for you? Say around 9am? x
You check your calendar briefly, confirming what you already knew - you weren’t busy.
That will be fine. Pretty early don’t you think? x
El will be asking when we are going all day if not. She likes to get me up at 6, and there is no stopping her once she is up x
You laugh again to yourself, there was something endearing about how this man complained about his daughter, yet you could hear his adoration for her.
I’ll be sure to get there in time for Eileen x
Appreciate that, doll. See you Saturday x
You duck your head slightly at the nickname, slightly embarrassed at how your heart squeezed despite being alone.
The park is quiet, filled with only a few people running or cycling and the distant sounds of birds.
It takes a few minutes to walk to the coffee shop, the temperature is warm, not too hot to be uncomfortable but cool enough you could wear a light jacket.
The air fills with the smell of freshly baked goods and coffee, the shop itself is small, most of the seating outside on paving slabs overlooking a playground.
You linger a moment, only seeing people enter to take out and then depart. You turn, scanning the area before reaching for your phone checking for a message. There was none.
You silently remind yourself it is only ten to nine, he wasn’t late.
The sound of your name startles you. Your head whips around until you notice little Eileen running at you.
You crouch down allowing her to fling her little arms around you.
“You came!” She declared as you broke apart.
“Of course,” you reach and boop her nose with your index finger. She grins, reaching to do the same to your nose.
You hear someone chuckle above you, and look up to see Bucky. He’s in dark blue jeans, a wool jacket with a hint of red peeking underneath.
“Hi,” you smile at him.
“Hey,” he greets you.
“Daddy!” Eileen rushes back to her father, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.
“She came! She came!” The little girl bounced in place with enthusiasm.
“Easy El,” he speaks softly. “I’ve already lost one arm, I don’t need to lose another.”
You get to your feet, noticing the girl pulling on his metal fingers.
You feel yourself smiling at the sight. “Shall we go in?”
Bucky nods politely, wrapping his hand around El’s.
“Ohhhh,” Eileen pulls away from her father, the moment you enter. “Look daddy! Pain a-“ she frowns as she thinks. “Pain Aux Chocolat!”
Bucky chuckles with a shake of his head.
“She has a lot of energy,” you note.
“Yeah,” he puts his hands on his pockets, glancing at you a moment before returning his gaze back to the little girl. “She’s always like this.”
“She wanders off a lot?”
“Mhm,” he sighs. “She saw some glitter gel pens when you found her. One minute he was next to me, I turned to reach for some tins and then she was gone.”
“All that for gel pens?” You ask, amused.
“Yep,” he gives a slight smile. “They kept her busy whilst I made dinner.”
You let out a snicker.
“What?” His eyes now return to you.
“I’m sorry,” you press your lips together to suppress your smile. “That’s cute.”
“Hm,” he huffs. “Cute, eh?”
You give him a timid shrug and step forward to join Eileen.
“Hi,” you greet the barista. “Can I have a Latte, one croissant, a pain aux chocolate…” you look down to Eileen. “Would you like a drink, El?”
“Hot chocolate!” She declares. “Please.”
“A hot chocolate,” you turn to Bucky. “Bucky, what would you like?”
He recoils in surprise and approaches, your back tingles as you feel him behind your back. “A black coffee please.”
The barista puts it all in and you pull out your card, tapping it against the reader.
“They’ll just be a few minutes,” the barista tells you.
“Thanks,” you smile and walk around.
“You should have let me pay,” Bucky shakes his head, his hand holding El’s again.
“It’s fine, I wanted to get Eileen something,” you give her a grin.
Bucky sighs.
“Is he always grumpy?” You ask El, teasing him.
“Yes,” she nods.
“El,” his lips twitch and eyebrows scrunch together. “Please.”
The barista then placed down the drinks with two paper bags.
“Thank you!” El chimed in a sing-song voice, eagerly reaching for the drinks.
You get there first, picking up the ones in her reach.
“Thanks,” Bucky sounds immensely grateful. “Eileen, please be careful, they’re hot.”
She gives him a sassy look.
“Why don’t you take the food?” You compromise.
Eileen nods, reaching to take the paper bags.
Bucky reaches to take his coffee. “Let’s find a seat.”
He leads you outside, it remains quiet, peaceful. Bucky strolls to the table closest to the playground, whilst your eyes remain on his back, his wide shoulders.
He pulls out a chair, then another, places his cup down and picks up his daughter to help her up into the chair.
“Take a seat, doll,” he gestures, letting you sit first before taking the last seat.
You carefully reach over placing the hot chocolate in front of Eileen and taking the Croissant.
Eileen seems too distracted by her own food to pay any mind to anything else.
Bucky chuckles fondly before taking a long sip of his drink.
“Want any?” You ask him as you pull part of the croissant apart to eat.
“Hmm,” he considers for a moment. “Sure.”
You smile, ripping off the other end. He leans over parting his lips slightly, you carefully put the piece in his mouth. His mouth closed and he chewed carefully.
You have to sift your eyes away, a warmth filling you at how he’d trusted you.
“Daddy never eats here,” Eileen cuts through your reverie, her blue eyes on her father as she concentrated. “Says it's bad for his muscles.”
You raise an eyebrow and smirk at Bucky.
He leans back, sipping his coffee and doesn’t say a word.
“You enjoy the gym?” You ask.
“Not as much as I’d like,” he places his cup down again. “I’m ex-Army.”
“What do you do now?” You ask, taking a sip of your own drink.
“Boring office job,” he admits. “But I can work from home, and take care of this one.”
He pats his daughter on the head.
“What about—“ you pause, hesitating.
“Eileen’s mother?” He finishes.
Eileen looks at her father, as though sensing the tension of the moment, then at you.
“Mummy works away,” she speaks as if she has said it a thousand times, her eyes suddenly appearing tired.
“Busy lady,” you reply.
“Mmm,” you hear the disapproval in Bucky’s tone. “Eileen, do you want to go try the swings whilst we chat?”
“Huh?” She perks up, then drops from her seat. “Yay!!”
She runs off eagerly into the playground.
“Stay in my sight!” He calls after her.
You watch Bucky once more, his face smooth yet his eyes soften, betraying the love he has for his daughter.
“El’s mother,” he begins, eyes still on his little girl. “She doesn’t come to see Eileen much. El barely remembers her.”
“I’m sorry,” you mutter, unsure what to say.
He shrugs. “We have each other. It’s enough.”
You gently place a hand on his arm. “You’re a single parent, you shouldn’t have to face it alone.”
“Despite what El told you, I do have friends,” his eyes return to you. “They are few, but I couldn’t have gotten this far without them.”
You nod, relieved. Bucky’s eyes then flicker over you, taking you in.
“You look lovely,” he comments.
“Thank you,” you lean back, hoping the distance will hide the blush on your cheeks.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have a real first date,” you allow your eyes to drift back to him, his eyes on his daughter - now climbing steps on a slide. “You deserve to be taken out for dinner.”
“You don’t need to explain,” your voice is soft. “Your little girl has to come first.”
His head turns slightly, giving you a faint smile. “Thank you.”
“Besides, I wanted to see El again,” you continue. “She’s adorable.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, she is.”
There is a moment of silence. You keep your eyes on Bucky, taking in how his eyes never strayed from his daughter, occasionally drinking his coffee whilst his other hand lay on his lap.
“What do you do for work?” Bucky’s voice is quiet.
You twitch a second. “It’s pretty boring. I'm an archivist. Spend all day typing up what is written in old dusty books, or help people find old dusty books.”
He chuckles. “Sounds like it makes you happy.”
Your voice gets caught in your mouth for a moment. “It does,” you admit.
Bucky shifts then, turning his seat towards you.
“Would you like another drink?” He asks, the creases in his expression giving away his nerves.
“No, thank you,” you shift to face him. “I would like to just talk.”
He smiles then. Not the faint twitches of his lips before, a real smile. It seemed to light up his whole face, brightening his eyes, crinkling at the edges and his forehead.
“Your eyes,” you lean forward, heart thrumming a little harder from his gaze. “They’re incredible.”
His face drops, lips parting slightly as he drinks in your words.
“Uh, thank you,” he stammers.
You smile at him, and reach over to place your hand on his.
He swallows, suddenly nervous. “Do you like Italian food?”
“Yeah,” you respond. “Why do you ask?”
“There’s a little Italian restaurant not far from my place,” he says. “We could go, if you’d like.”
“With Eileen?”
He shakes his head. “Eileen is staying with my friend on Tuesday night. It would be just the two of us.”
“I think I’d enjoy that,” your lips twitch.
“More than this?” He playfully responds.
“It’s nice,” you smirk. “And I adore Eileen. But I’d also like to get you alone.”
“Alone, huh?” He chuckles. “That might be difficult.”
You grin at his face, he seemed so happy, a far cry from the grumpy man from earlier.
“I can share,” you tease.
“Yeah?” He turned his hand over, fingers interweaving with yours.
“Yeah.”
Bucky squeezed your hand. “You know in a fight she’d win, every time.”
“I know,” you nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Daddy!” Eileen was running over. “Did you see? Did you see? I was so fast.”
You suppress a laugh.
“Oh, I’m sorry, babygirl. I missed it,” he responded. “Go again, I’m watching.”
The little girl’s eyes narrow, eyes flickering between the two of you before running back, climbing the steps and flinging herself down the slide at speed.
“Oh my—” you begin to get to your feet in fear for her.
“Relax,” Bucky mutters. “She’ll be alright.”
“Did you see, Daddy?” Eileen shouts.
“I saw,” he calls back. “You were faster than my bike.”
Eileen beamed, running back over the bark chips to the table.
“That was fun!” She declared.
Bucky grins, pleased to see his little girl so happy. “Need a rest?”
She nods, climbing onto the chair. “I need a drink.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow at his daughter.
“Please,” she adds.
“Good girl,” he shakes his head fondly, reaching down into a bag Eileen had been carrying, passing over a drink bottle from the side to her.
She happily slurped through the straw.
“You’re a good dad,” you nudge him gently.
“I try,” he murmurs.
“Daddy’s happy,” she notices and then looks at you. “You’re happy.”
She takes another sip. “You make Daddy happy.”
“Don’t sound so surprised, El,” he chuckles.
“You laugh when I’m silly. Or Uncle Sam is silly,” she says.
“Uncle Sam?”
“My best friend,” Bucky explains. “He’s a pain, but he takes care of El when I can’t.”
“It’s nice of him to take care of Eileen,”
“I love Uncle Sam!” El declares in agreement.
“Because Uncle Sam lets you stay up till 8pm, and brings you chocolate,” Bucky shakes his head in disapproval.
She shrugs, taking one more sip from her drink before taking off again.
“What time do you want to meet on Tuesday?” You ask.
“I’ll book the table for seven,” his eyes were on his daughter.
You nod. “Seven then.”
He nods, his eyes flickering back to you.
“I’ll be waiting.”
You shift from one foot to the other, tugging at the material of your dress praying it’s not too short. You chose a simple red dress that hung just above your knees, in the hopes of being alluring yet modest.
You hear someone call your name, your eyes flicker around, seeing no one until you turn and spot Bucky.
He’s dressed semi formally, jeans, black boots, a light blue shirt that matched his eyes and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Hello,” his voice is quiet yet warm, his left hand holds out a small bunch of flowers with a nervous smile. “These are for you.”
You cannot contain the smile that crosses your face. “Thank you.”
His face remains still, but his eyes betray his relief. “I wasn’t sure what you would like,” he confessed.
You shake your head, stepping closer. “They are beautiful.”
“Shall we—” he hesitated. “Shall we go in?”
You nod, holding the flowers in one of your hands and reaching out with the other to offer your hand.
Instinctively, the fingers of his right hand weave between yours. They are gentle yet slightly rough to touch, yet somehow the feel of them sends a slight tingle up your arm.
Bucky guides you forward to the door, holding his jacket with his thumb and the rest of his fingers grasping the handle, holding it open for you.
“Thank you,” you give him a smile.
His lips twitch slightly upward, and follow you into the restaurant.
It’s small, yet quiet, simplistic in its decor.
You blink as you take it in, eyes flickering as he tugs your hand carefully to speak to the server.
“Table for two, under the name Barnes,” his voice is low.
The server nods. “Ah yes, I have it. Good to see you Mr Barnes.”
They pick up two menus and lead you to a small table to the side, a little out of earshot of the nearest table.
“Here,” Bucky pulls out a chair for you as the server places down the menus.
“Thanks,” you sit, place the flowers carefully under your chair and shrug off your jacket.
Bucky gives you a nod of satisfaction before taking his seat, slinging his jacket casually over the back.
“Any allergies we need to be aware of?” The server asks.
You shake your head.
Bucky doesn’t speak, his eyes remain on you.
The server nods and departs.
“You’re quiet,” you notice.
“I normally am,” he leans back, his gaze still intense.
Now it felt like a first date, the momentarily silence, the awkward feeling sinking into your stomach. Was this a mistake? Did he really like you?
“I come here with Sam,” he breaks the silence.
“Like— on a date?” Your tone is casual yet teasing. His nose crinkles together for a moment before he lets out a soft chuckle that shoots through you, the sound of it makes you want to join in.
“No,” a slight smile remains on his face. “We’d end up killing each other at the mere suggestion of sharing anything.”
You smile easily. “I share.”
“I remember,” he exhales. “Not sure I can say the same.”
Your lips part slightly at the implication.
“You look nice,” he adds, before allowing his eyes to move slowly over you.
There was something there, in the tenor of his voice, the way he was so obvious, yet taking it slow. It drew you in dangerously fast.
You feel blood rush to your face.
“So do you,” you admit quietly, eyes on the stubble of his jawline. Even with his long hair slicked back and the stubble, he looks smart, and the shade of his shirt brings out his features. “You’re— you’re pretty.”
His eyes widened a moment before a real smile graced his face. “Not sure I’ve been called pretty before.”
You pursue your lips. “Well, I think you are.”
He leans over the table as if to speak for no one to hear. Instead a voice interrupts you, the server.
“Can I get you any drinks?”
You see a flash of frustration on Bucky's face, and observe him inhale as if to calm himself.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” you say, giving the server a polite glance.
“I’ll have a beer,” Bucky’s voice was low, tight with emotion that was barely contained.
“I’ll be right over with them,” they walk away again.
Once out of earshot you hear Bucky make a noise of dissatisfaction, one that makes you cover your mouth to hide laughter.
“Eileen is right, you are grumpy,” you allow yourself a small giggle once the server is out of earshot.
“Aren’t you?” His eyes never strayed away from yours. “They had to interrupt when things were just getting interesting.”
“There is no rush,” you say softly.
“I only get tonight with you sweetheart,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know when we will get time like this again.”
“I don’t mind Eileen coming,” you remind him.
“I’d rather not have the questions,” he admits. “El was so young when her mother and I separated. I never expected to meet someone else. I never prepared her for it.”
Your head tilts, sensing guilt.
“Bucky,” you lean forward. “We don’t have to rush, or do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to feel any guilt.”
His eyebrows come together. “It’s not—” he pauses. “It’s been me and El for so long. She has always been my priority.”
You nod. “As it should be.”
The server then approached again, placing drinks on the table, then asked for the order. The pair of you are quick to order, wishing to return to the conversation.
As soon as they left, Bucky reached to take his glass, having a sip.
“I can’t give you what I’d want to give you,” his voice is quiet, almost tired. “I can’t put you first. If my babygirl needs care when we have a date, I have to pick her.”
He sounded as if he were convincing himself.
“Well, we aren’t there yet,” you speak lightly. “Why don’t we see how today goes before worrying about the future?”
He closes his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath.
“You’re right,” he nods, and his right hand reaches over. “We have to make the most of this.”
You copy him, stretching to take it — his large hand eclipsing yours.
“I’ve never seen you around town before,” his voice was quiet. “Not before the other week, have you just moved here?”
“Mm,” you hum the affirmative. “About six months ago, I was offered a higher paid position at the museum. Thought it might be more of a challenge.”
“And is it?”
You sip your wine at the thought of your job. “It feels like I’m doing three people’s jobs,” you admit. “There is more to record, more things to go wrong, more people to cover for.”
You finish your drink and sigh.
“I love it, but I’m not sure the pay is worth the workload,” your voice is quiet.
“Mm,” he hums. “You’re overworked.”
You shrug. “For now,” you give him a half smile. “It’s been stressful the past few months. The move, new job… but meeting you gave me a little bit of normalcy.”
You pause before admitting the next part.
“I was looking at my phone to see if you’d text me, rather than panicking over bills,” you keep your eyes to the table. “It was nice.”
He chuckles softly.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to text you,” he breathed. “I— I was afraid. It’s been so long since I did this.”
“You’re good at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel seen. You’re listening to me, paying attention to me even when I’m not asking you anything.”
“You’re more interesting,” he says, his fingers now making patterns on the back of your hand.
You shake your head slowly. “You’re an ex-army vet, with a metal arm and an adorable little girl. You are far more interesting.”
It was then your food was brought over and placed before you continue.
“I might have many stories to tell, but many of them aren’t pleasant, sweetheart,” his tone is dark and warning. “I haven’t lived a pleasant life.”
You let go of his hand, picking up a doughball from his plate and holding it between your fingers in front of him to eat.
Bucky eyes you for a moment before biting into it. Something about feeding the man felt strangely intimate.
“If you give me a chance,” your voice came out quiet yet determined. “I’d like to help you create some nice stories. Happy stories. Some about Eileen that you can embarrass her with when she’s older. Some about you and Sam… and maybe some about you and me.”
His brow furrows, contemplating.
“I'd enjoy that,” he admits.
You squeeze his hand a moment before starting to eat. The two of you eat, not quite in silence but in a comfortable quiet where you’d occasionally speak to comment on the food.
You peek up to look at Bucky, the blue of his eyes seem endless as he ponders.
“What is it?” You ask.
“What do you do outside work?” His eyes flicker up to you.
“Currently, not much, I’m still decorating,” you admit. “I like going on walks.”
“Hmmm,” he leans back.
“What about you?”
“Most of my time is taken up by Eileen,” he admits, his eyes still distant. “Or I tinker with my bike.”
“You ride motorbikes?” You tilt your head in interest.
Bucky nods. “Even when I was a kid. My friends and I used to piece together scrap to ride around.”
He pauses a moment, measuring your interest before continuing. “Working on bikes led me to the Army. I thought I could get a degree through them. Didn’t turn out as I planned.”
He looks down to his hands. “I ended up a Sniper. Turns out my hands were good for things other than fixing bikes.”
You could hear the stiffness in his voice, but he continued as if he could no longer contain himself.
“I got promoted to Sergeant,” he then twitched, his metal arm flexing slightly. “Then I lost my arm, and was allowed to resign my commission.”
“I met El’s mother a few months later,” his eyes then locked on yours. “I was still recovering, and she didn't look at me with pity. Things went fast, El came along and…”
His eyes appeared to look behind you, distant as though reliving a memory.
“When I proposed she said no,” his jaw came together, eyes watering slightly. “She screamed about how she’d put up with me for the past two years, and how Eileen and I were holding her back, keeping her life on hold, stopping her career.”
His eyes flicker back to yours.
“El thinks her mother walked away,” his voice was quiet. “But in truth, the next morning I packed up and took El with me. She was seven months old. Her mother never even contested when I requested custody of her.”
“You never got in trouble for taking El?” You wonder.
“No,” he shakes his head. “As I said, my custody was never contested. In truth, I believe she wanted me to walk out and take El with me.”
You lean over, taking both his hands in yours.
“You did the right thing,” you speak softly.
“So I’m told,” his eyes are sad, guilt etched into the lines of his face.
“What would you like for dessert?” You ask, keeping your eyes fixed on him, trying to distract him from his train of thought.
“Hmm?” He blinks. “I don’t know…”
“I was thinking of a tiramisu,” you say. “But the sorbet also looks good.”
“I usually skip and have a coffee,” he admits.
“We could share,” you suggest. “If you’d like.”
His eyes refocus.
“I can’t remember last time I had a tiramisu,” a semblance of enthusiasm began to seep into his voice.
You smile, heart fluttering slightly at your success.
You remove the silk gown slowly before hanging it up, and slipping into your bed.
You allow yourself a soft sigh, eyes closing your eyes as your fingers interlock, remembering the feel of his hands on yours.
Just as your hands begin to trail up your arms, there is a faint buzz. You ignore it, shifting under the covers in an attempt to keep warm.
You hear another buzz, and groan slightly as your eyes flicker open.
Your hand aimlessly reaches for your phone on your bedside table. With a tug, the cable disconnects and you pull the phone in front of your face to see Bucky’s name on the screen.
Your thumb lingers for a moment before pressing the green button and raising the phone to your ear.
“Hello?” You keep your voice quiet, to avoid disturbing others.
“Hey,” you hear the soft rumble. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” you admit. “Just got to bed.”
“Mm, sounds nice,” you hear him rummaging around. “El insisted on a bedtime story, and that I stay with her until she fell asleep.”
He inhales slowly, and you hear his heavy footsteps. “Haven’t got a shower yet.”
“Go and get one,” you encourage him sleepily.
He chuckles on the other end. “Are you falling asleep, sweetheart?”
“Your voice is nice,” you admit in a haze.
His laugh is brighter. “Good. I’m sorry I called, I— I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Bucky,” you blink in an attempt to keep awake.
“It’s been a long time since I met someone who seemed intent on my happiness,” he goes quiet for a moment. “My life is dedicated to Eileen, there is no room for myself.”
You shift to sit up.
“You deserve to be happy,” you say softly. “Eileen wants you to be happy too.”
“Mm,” he murmurs. “I’d like you to come with us.”
“Bucky?”
“Eileen and I were planning to go to a Science Museum in a few weeks,” he says. “I would like you to come with us.”
“I thought you didn’t want to confuse El?”
“Well,” he exhales. “Fuck it. She likes you. I like you. I want you there and I know El would too. It’ll be hard, and we may have to struggle. But, how I feel — it is worth it, you are worth it.”
You blink away at your tired eyes.
“Bucky, I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.
“You don’t have to, sweetheart,” his voice is smooth, like butter, soothing. “Just be there. That's all I ask.”
“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be there.”
It took three weeks before a date was set.
So here you stood, in the shadow of the museum, a large backpack on your back and eyes flickering across the car park.
You hear a screech of excitement before you feel something collide with your legs.
“You’re here!” You peek down and smile at the girl clinging to your legs
“Hey El,” you greet her, and attempt to crouch down. She backs off for a moment before seeing your open arms, and jumping into them, almost launching you backwards.
You hear a chuckle from above and you give her a squeeze. Your eyes flicker up to Bucky, his shadow casting over the pair of you, protecting you.
“Hey,” he says softly. He is wearing a plain shirt and jeans, a backpack over his shoulders.
Your eyes are unable to resist flickering over the broadness of his shoulders to the way the shirt clung to his arms, down to the veins along his forearms. Seeing him in person like this suddenly made all those video calls and texts worthwhile.
Eileen backs away, stepping back towards her father and giving you a grin.
Without even thought you straighten up, still overshadowed by the man slightly.
“Hey,” you greet him. “What’s with the bag?”
“It’s for a picnic,” he shrugs. “Didn’t want to pay for the cafe.”
You tilt your head and look at Eileen. She looked unfazed, as if it were normal.
“I made ham and cheese!” El declared proudly. “And boring salad for Daddy.”
Bucky visibly rolled his eyes. “It's chicken, and my salads are to die for.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Is there enough to share?”
“I made two,” El bounced in excitement.
He pats her on the head gently.
“She insisted we make enough for you,” he shrugs casually. “El, hand please.”
The little girl reaches up automatically, taking his hand whilst Bucky holds out his metal hand to you.
“Shall we?” He suggests.
The inside of the museum is wide and open, a glass roof overhead of the central rocket filling the auditorium.
“Oooo,” El begins to rush forward, dragging her father with her. “A rocket!”
Bucky smirks in amusement at his daughter and gives you a wink.
“It’s a replica of the Rocket from Apollo 13,” Bucky keeps his eyes fixed forward.
Eileen bounds forward to the glass fence. “Three, two, one… Blast off!”
You smile and look over to Bucky who you also see smiling.
“She likes space?”
“I showed her the Artemis launch, and she’s been obsessed ever since,” he squeezes your hand. “She gets it from her father.”
“You like space?”
“Anything Physics,” he nods. “Engineering especially.”
“Nerd,” you tease him.
“Remind me what your job is again?” He sasses back, eyes returning to his daughter. You gently nudge him playfully with your arm, fingers still interlocked with his.
A slight tremor runs through him as he chuckles.
“You’re cute,” he keeps his eyes on Eileen, who is now standing entranced by a small screen showing the launch of a rocket. “People usually aren’t brave enough to tease me.”
“Because you are ex-Army, and built like a house?” You ask, your eyes remain on him, taking in how his hair was down — kept behind his ears.
“Mm,” he agrees. “I have what Sam calls a resting bitch face.”
You snicker, and feel Bucky’s eyes flicker to you.
“You aren’t denying it?”
“You do have this tendency to look a little…” you pause. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“No?” His lips twitch for a moment.
“No,” you repeat. “You’re gorgeous even with the resting bitch face.”
“Mm,” he lifts your joined hands, brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Thanks.”
The next few hours were filled with the excited squeals of Eileen at the different exhibits. Space suits, moon rocks, and a long documentary on the International Space Station. The three of you ended up in the large auditorium, sat on a bench with the picnic spread out in front of you.
Eileen sat talking animatedly about space, about all the planets she had looked up in books, what astronauts did in space and how much she wanted to see the stars.
Through it all Bucky never once interrupted her, to try to deter her from her dream. He nodded and spoke to her casually, almost like an adult.
“You okay there, honey?” Bucky’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.
“You’re such a good Dad,” you say without thinking about it.
He gives you a gentle smile, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “Thank you.”
You look over to Eileen who seems content eating her sandwich, whilst carefully colouring in a page she’d been given. Her eyebrows were scrunched together slightly, and the grip on her small pencil was tight.
“Is it like this all the time?” You wonder. “With you and Eileen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Peaceful, just out having fun,” you say.
“No, this is a treat,” he admits. “Normally we spend our weekends at home, we might go to the park or take a walk.”
“Just father-daughter time,”
“I guess,” he shrugs.
“Daddy colours with me,” Eileen interrupts, taking a sip of her juice. “In our NASA colouring book.”
You smirk and from the corner of your eye spot Bucky, placing his metal hand over his face.
“Daddy bakes with me. We made cookies!” She declares proudly.
Bucky chuckles, allowing hand to fall back to the table. “The icing was everywhere.”
“It was yummy!” She waves her arms in excitement. “Can you make cookies?”
You give her a gentle smile. “Yeah.”
Eileen gasps in excitement. “Come to my house! Let’s bake cookies.”
You laugh quietly.
“Maybe another time,” Bucky reaches over to calm her. “We have more of the museum to see.”
Another hour passed, walking through the long exhibit on the Solar System. The corridors were dark, covered with small lights to represent stars, every so often opening up into a room for each planet, projections of the planet flowing onto the walls, with paintings of the surface of the planet.
Upon reaching Saturn, you hear the sound of rocks for Saturn’s Rings.
“This is incredible,” you murmur.
Ahead, Eileen was bounding forward, keeping a close but far enough she could watch first.
“It is,” he agrees, squeezing your hand. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,”
“Would you like to visit an observatory?” He sounded nervous.
“With El?”
He shook his head. “She’d get bored of the talk. I— I have always wished to go.”
“Bucky,” you smile at him, flattered that he was willing to openly be himself with you. “Of course, I will.”
“You will?”
“Sure, sounds kind of romantic,” you shrug shyly. “Sat looking up at the stars.”
“Maybe,” he sounds unsure.
You squeeze his hand as you speak. “Bucky, you don’t need to give excuses. If you want to go to an observatory, we can go. All I want is to be with you.”
He stiffened a moment before keeping pace with you again, his eyes moving from your face to his daughter.
“You really want that?”
“Yeah,” your voice is quiet against the vast expanse of projected space. “I like spending time with you both.”
You feel a kiss against your hair. “Thank you.”
Your eyes flicker to glance at the lights crossing his features, then forward again. Your mind slowly began to list other date ideas, not just an observatory. Walks under the night sky, visits to climbing walls for El, maybe a motorcycle show or two.
A small smile remained on your face as you leaned into Bucky, feeling a sense of contentment amongst the stars.
One, two, three.
You count the knocks as you tap against the door.
Immediately you hear the sound of rushed footsteps, before the door flings open.
And there he is.
It takes a moment to process the sight in front of you. Bucky stood inside in a white tank top, with simple grey sweatpants and slips on his feet.
“Hey,” his voice is soft. “I’m glad you’re here.”
You feel heat creep up your cheeks, recalling the dazed rush you’d been in. Receiving his text asking you to come round, changing frantically from your loose shirt and leggings into a summer dress, checking yourself in the mirror, once, twice and then a third time before leaving.
“Did you need something?”
He gives you a simple nod and steps aside. “Come in.”
You step inside, taking care to remove your shoes as you hear the click of the door shutting.
“Here,” Bucky passes you, heading straight to the sofa. You glance around the room, it isn’t as messy as you anticipated. There were no signs of El or her toys. Just a glass of water on the coffee table, and a beer bottle on the side table.
He slumps onto the leather, one arm up perched on the back as he nods down next to him.
You pursue your lips as you sit down, curious.
“Breathe,” his voice is soft. “I wanted to spend time with you.”
You take a shaky breath. “I thought you might’ve—“
You blink to try and hide the tears in your eyes. “I thought you were breaking up with me.”
His lips parted for a moment before he allowed his head to fall back slightly, chuckling.
“It’s not funny,” you protest weakly.
He stills a moment, tongue moving visibly inside his mouth, leaving you slightly entranced. The things he could do with that tongue…
“I’m sorry I worried you,” his tone was gentle, the fingers of his metal hand tracing your collarbone over your shirt. “Eileen is having a sleepover with a friend.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”
He gave a soft smile as he nodded. “She’s been begging me for months. I thought it might be time.”
“And you invited me?” You twitch, beginning to understand.
“I’ve missed you,” he admits. “The phone calls don’t feel like enough.”
A surge of warmth filled your heart softly running through your veins.
“I missed you,” you reach over to lay your hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you.”
His fingers begin to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. “You’ve been busy, I understand.”
You lean into his hand, the cool metal cupping your cheek.
“So have you,” your voice cracks.
“Hm,” his face relaxes into its usual expression, slightly grumpy with the lines on his face plain. “Too busy.”
Almost of its own accord your hand most up, brushing against the cotton stretched across his chest before allowing the tops of your fingers to linger on the stubble on his jaw.
“I was going to cook you dinner,” he confesses. “Got too eager and invited you before I could decide what to cook.”
You begin to smile, thumb brushing his chin. “That’s okay, I’m just glad to be here.”
Bucky shakes his head. “You’ve dressed up, and I didn’t even cook you dinner.”
The leather of the sofa squeaked as you shuffled closer to him, legs brushing.
“We can order take out?” You suggest. “Order pizza, lounge around with bad TV on.”
He chuckled. “Now that is a good idea.”
He reached into his pocket for his phone, flicking his fingers across it.
The next few minutes were filled with the quiet chatter of debating which pizza to order. Unconsciously, you find yourself pulled closer to him, practically leaning on him as you look at the screen.
“Hm,” he grunted. “It’s going to be a while, sweetheart.”
You allow your head to fall into his shoulder, allowing your eyes to close. His metal arm tightens slightly around your waist.
“What a shame,” you murmur sarcastically.
“Did you have plans?” he teases back.
You tilt your head up as your eyes open. “I wasn’t sure how late you’d want me to stay.”
“Oh,” he breathed and shook his head. “Doll, I want you to stay all night.”
“All night?”
“You think I’d let my baby girl out of my sight for the night if I didn’t?” He points out.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. “You wanted to—“
“I hoped,” his flesh hand was in your hair now, holding you in pace whilst his left kept you against him. “I can’t keep up this façade, pretending I don’t want more with you. Like you don’t brighten both our lives with your presence.”
“Bucky,” your breaths are shallow, fast, eyes fixed on his.
His face contorted, several emotions passing across his face whilst his eyes softened.
“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he pleads. “I couldn’t bear to go through it again.”
Your eyes water slightly, heart tightening in empathy. The past month he’d held back, only holding your hand, or pressing a kiss to your forehead. You’d feared the lack of intimacy indicated no interest, but now you knew otherwise.
He had avoided moving too fast out of fear of repeating the past.
“It’s not too fast,” you promise. “I did wonder why you held yourself back.”
“I’m sorry,” he frowns. “I— I didn’t want to lead you on. I like you, in fact, I adore you. You’ve worked past the steel I’ve forged around my heart to make your home there, and you’ll never leave.”
You swallow audibly.
“When I met you,” your voice is quiet. “All I wanted to do was try and put a smile on that face. You looked so shaken from El wandering off, and concerned about disturbing me. My heart went out to you. The more time we spent together, the more you showed me every facet of who you are. The more I found myself wanting to be around you. Ironically, you make me happy when all I wanted was to do that for you.”
“You make me happy,” he gives you a nod before licking his bottom lip. “Let me show you.”
His breath fans across your face, and you faintly smell beer on it. A slight movement and his lips are on yours, keeping you secure against him as you reciprocate feeling the softness of his lips but not pushing any further.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is thick as his forehead leans against yours.
“Have you been drinking?” You say quietly, your heart sinking at the thought of him being drunk.
“Oh,” he hand drops from your face, reaching behind him to pick something up and show you the brown bottle — mostly full. “I took a sip when I heard you knock, I needed some courage.”
You glance at the bottle, feeling your muscles loosen up and give a relieved laugh.
“Sorry,” you apologise.
“Don’t apologise,” he shakes his head. “Want one?”
“No, thanks,” you reach up to allow your fingers to tangle in the hair, flowing from above his ear to the base of his neck.
“Fair enough,” he takes a long sip before placing it back on the side table behind him. You quietly laugh again. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” you grin. “Needing a beer like you’ve never spoken to a woman. It’s cute.”
“I don’t need a beer to speak to a woman,” he pretends to be offended. “I need a beer to speak with you.”
You snort. “Corny.”
Unable to hold the serious expression, he laughs lightly.
“I am,” he agrees, then leans forward to press a quick peck to your mouth.
“Hey!” You complain with a laugh of your own. “Bucky!”
His left arm tightens around your waist a moment, and he continues to tease you. “Sweetheart.”
“You’re so—” you wave your arm in mock frustration.
“Devastating handsome?” He winks.
Your voice gets caught in your throat, making a choking noise. His eyes widen slightly his horror, hand moving up to rub your back.
“You okay?” His tone dips in concern.
“You made me choke on my own spit!” You accuse him.
A relieved look passes his face.
“Thank fuck,” he breathes, his hand still gently moving up and down your spine.
The sight of him suddenly felt too much. The fear in his eyes, the pink of his lips pressed together, the way his jawline twitched slightly as he strained.
“You are handsome,” you admit, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to the edge of his mouth.
“Yeah?” His lips twitch up slightly.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “And kind, and funny.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “And you’re the most generous woman I have ever met. Beautiful, gentle and caring. You ask nothing of me, you accept my poor excuses for not being with you—”
“Taking care of your daughter isn’t a poor excuse,” you interrupt.
“Let me finish,” he presses a finger to your lips. “You don’t mind Eileen being on our dates. You ask after her, treat her as your own.”
His blue eyes soften. “She loves you, you know?”
Your lip trembles slightly. “I love her.”
Bucky’s lips pull up into a proper smile, a rare sight. “As do I.”
The doorbell then rang.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Coming!”
In a flurry of shuffling and cursing, Bucky got off the sofa and headed to the door. The sight of such him stumble around, almost tripping brought a giggle to your lips.
You hear him grumble at you down the corridor before enthusiastically greeting the delivery driver, exchanging pleasantries before re-emerging into the room, carrying several boxes under his arm.
“You remain wordless, amused as he lays out the boxes onto the coffee table.
“Ah,” he slumps back next to you, remote in hand to turn on the TV. The chatter and music seemed faint compared to the sound of Bucky shifting to grab his beer again and reach for a slice with the other.
“Happy now?” You tease.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Been a long time since I had an evening like this.”
“Should I leave you alone with—?” You nod to the food.
“No,” he answers quickly, placing his beer down, then swapping the pizza from one hand to the other before holding out his free arm. “Get over here.”
You shuffle over, half your body covering his, as he finishes off his slice.
“Here,” his left arm holds you as his right reaches over for another slice. “Open.”
You blink a second before opening your mouth to allow him to feed you. You chew slowly, taking in his relaxed expression.
“This is nice,” you admit. “Domestic, comfortable. Like… home.”
He freezes for a moment. “Like home?”
You nod softly. “Better, because you’re here.”
“Yeah?” He asks rhetorically. “We could make this more permanent, honey.”
“What do you mean?”
“You could stay over,” he suggests. “Spend the weekends with El and me.”
“I thought you didn’t want to cause Eileen any confusion?” You say quietly.
He snorts. “I’d cause her more by keeping you away.”
“And what if we sleep together?”
“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” he snags another piece, taking a big bite to avoid speaking further.
“Bucky,” you voice is almost a whine.
“Hush and eat your food,” his voice is gentle, no semblance of harshness in his tone.
“Yes sir,” you mutter, reaching over to join him in having pizza.
Slowly, as the take out boxes emptied, you ended up laid down, Bucky underneath, his back against the armrest, whilst your head was on his chest as your fingers brushed against his shirt.
Every so often, you’d move up and kiss him, softly. Taking your time to make the most of being alone with him. Then he’d occasionally move, tilting his head down to push his lips against the crown of your head, then tilting your head back to kiss you lazily, no force behind it, only a tempered heat that sparked the desire for more.
“Hey,” you hear him murmur. “You awake, sweetheart?”
“Barely,” your voice is a whisper, his body rumbles as he chuckles.
“Need me to carry you to bed?” His tone is teasing again.
“I— I don’t have any clothes,” you don’t move despite the comment.
“You can have some of mine,” he promises. “Come on, doll. Let’s get you in bed.”
As he moved, keeping you on his lap before turning and picking you up with surprising ease, it occurred to you that this is what he probably did with Eileen every night. Let her tire herself out before scooping her up and gently putting her under the covers.
It was a basic act of love. Something Bucky was used to, rather than the awkwardness of trying to force something on a date.
You barely notice where you are until he pops you onto what you assume is his bed. He goes to his drawers pulling out several pieces of clothing
“Here,” he gently tosses you a grey shirt. “I’m gonna change. Feel free to use the bathroom.”
He leaves through the open door, and you hear his footsteps as he heads down the corridor.
The room is dimly lit by the light filtering from the neighbouring bathroom, the bed sheets a simple navy blue, and upon the drawers were framed photos. Several were of Eileen, one was of Bucky, his arm around a man you didn’t recognise — Sam, you assumed. Then there was another, a new one, that you recognised. It was you, sat next to Bucky on the bench in the Space Museum. The photo was blurry, having been taken by Eileen herself, but even so you could see the happiness in Bucky’s eyes, the slight tilt in his lips.
You hadn’t realised you were standing until you reached to touch it, eyes watering slightly at his sentimentality.
“Hey,” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “You okay, doll?”
“You framed this?” Your voice is shaky.
“Of course,” he speaks casually. “It’s the only picture I have of you.”
“It’s only been two months,” you peek over at him from the corner of your eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” you feel him step behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “Whether you know it or not, you’ve brightened my life. You’re important to me.”
“Bucky,” tears begin to fall down your cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m not worth your tears, baby.”
“Yes, you are,” you sniffle, placing your hands on his. “You’re worth it all.”
You feel his breath against your ear, lips brushing faintly against your hairline.
“Still sleepy?” He asks.
Your head twists to look behind you then up at him. “A little, but I want you more.”
His eyes widen slightly at your words. “You’re sure?”
You nod, turning in his arms, and wrap your own arms around his neck.
“Yes,” you agree. “Nice and slow. Like you said.”
“I can do that,” he pulls you forward, stepping back until he falls back onto the bed, bringing you with him.
“Buck!” You laugh as you land on his chest, the thin cotton of his pyjamas gave little protection when your hands brushed his hardness of his chest.
He chuckles. “Buck, eh?”
You feel heat rush to your cheeks. “It kind of slipped out.”
“It’s okay,” he pulls you up carefully until you are face to face. “It’s more than okay.”
“You don’t mind?”
He shakes his head with a gentle smile. “I only allow those closest to me to call me Buck.”
“Yeah?”
The smile turns into a smirk as he hums in approval, leaning up to kiss you.
The kiss is different again, slow like before but with clear intent. A hand reaches to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone. His lips move with precision, taking care not to push too far.
“Slow,” he murmurs against your lips as if reminding himself. You lean down this time, pressing gentle kisses across his face, working down to his neck before giving it a nip with your teeth.
“Easy,” his fingers brush through your hair. “Gonna get me off before our clothes are off.”
You giggle quietly. “Sorry.”
“No apologies,” his hand moves from your head to tilt your chin up. “Don’t be sorry for any of this. This is perfect.”
You pull back, and catch the hurt in his eyes. Your chest tightens with guilt, and you manage a deep breath before reaching under your skirt — pulling the dress off in a single movement.
“Oh,” his hands fall to your hips, eyes locked on your bare chest only covered by a simple bra. “That’s not slow, sweetheart.”
“I want to feel you,” you admit as you reach down, hands roaming up his arms as you lower yourself back down onto him.
He doesn’t say a word, instead his right hand moves up your skin, leaving a soft tingle in its wake, before stopping just at the hem of your bra.
“May I?” His voice is low with desire, eyes on your chest.
You nod, feeling enraptured by the sensation of his hands on you. His hand slid under your bra cupping your breast, then brushing his thumb over your skin.
“They’re real soft,” he murmurs, concentrating on how his fingers seemed to disappear into them.
“Been a while?” You guess.
His eyes flicker to yours. “I never got to experience this — to just touch. To get to know someone so intimately.”
“Here,” you reach up and pull down the straps on your bra, then unhook from behind you and throw it on the floor. “I trust you.”
He pulls himself further up, keeping you seated on his lap whilst his hands hovered over you.
“Still okay?” He asks, and you nod.
The sensation of one hand cold and the other warm, sent your mind into overdrive with sensation. Your nipples perking up slightly in interest as his fingers squeezed.
You reach forward, humming quietly at the feel of him on you, and reach for the bottom of his top.
“May I?” You whisper.
“Please,” he removes his hands and allows you to pull it over his head. Your breath catches in your throat for a moment at the sight of him.
You had known he was well built, and big, but seeing him without a shirt felt altogether different. Large shoulders framing his chest. Curiosity breaks through, your hands drift onto his chest, brushing softly against his chest, downwards as you notice there is no six pack, only the feel of muscle with a healthy layer of fat. It felt soft, like somewhere you wished to lay your head on every night.
“You okay there, sweetheart?” He asks, eyes fixed on your every expression.
“It feels nice,” you admit.
“Don’t exactly look like I’d fit the cover on Men’s Health, do I?” His tone is joking, but you scowl at him regardless.
“Yet you probably could lift a small car with those muscles,” you say, fingers now pressing into the muscles of his arm, one hand exploring soft muscle the other tracing the plates of his arm.
“That’s what the metal arm is for,” he jokes and leans forward to press a kiss to your mouth again.
You laugh as you pull away from the peck. “Could you lift me?”
“Easily,” he admits casually.
“Very humble,” you tease him, as his fingers begin to trace your sides.
“You asked,” he smirks.
“I did,” you agree, brushing your nose against his. “I’m curious what else,” your hand roams over his metal arm. “This arm can do.”
Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Dirty.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. He laughs then, all tension removed from the moment.
”Bucky,” your voice is almost a whine.
“Breathe,” his voice turns soft. “It’s just us. You don’t have to hide anything.”
You give him a playful scowl, then shake your head.
“Are you asking me to talk dirty?” Your voice is slightly hesitant.
”Only if you want to,” his fingers made patterns on your bare sides. “Or I can…”
You feel his lips brush your cheek before speaking low in your ear. “You have no idea how hard it has been to keep our dates safe for El’s eyes. Trying to keep my eyes off you. When we first met—”
He pauses, shifting back to stare at you, suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about that. I checked you out and spoke without thinking. I was as embarrassed as you were, it’s why I wished to escape, and why it took me so long to text you.”
Your arms tighten around his neck. “You’re only human.”
He lets out an awkward chuckle, licking his bottom lip anxiously. “Thanks”
You lean forward to press a kiss to his mouth, moving slowly as you press yourself against him. One hand presses against the small of your back as the other slides up to cradle the back of your neck.
You gasp as he turns, causing you to land on your back head against the pillows looking up at him.
“Had enough talking?” His voice breaks slightly.
You nod, still slightly wide eyed.
“Good,” he buries his head into your neck, inhaling through his nose as his hands moved down to your underwear.
Your own hands mirrored his, reaching to pull him free. The moment dragged, suddenly the urgency of made it feel like no matter how hard either of you tried the clothes were just not coming off.
“That was more difficult than when it was my first fucking time,” he grumbles, kicking his leg to ensure he was completely bare.
You laugh quietly and shake your head. “Come here.”
He leans down again to kiss you. Even as your lips moved with his your could feel him against you, the warmth of his skin against your chest, your hands feeling the muscles of his back.
With a groan, his hips roll over yours to allow you to feel how hard he was. Your legs lift instinctively to allow him easier access.
There were no words passed between you. Bucky only lifted himself slightly to look into your eyes as you give a tiny nod to confirm you were consenting to all of it.
A hand abruptly landed on your thigh, curling inwards before moving between your bodies reaching to grasp himself and line himself up.
“It’s been a while,” he admits. “If I do anything it hurts, or anything you don’t like. Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“Okay,” your voice is breathy, almost silent from the tension of the moment.
His blue eyes stay fixed on you, reading your expression before you feel the tip of him press against you.
He moved slowly, as if he feared that moving too fast would break you in half. Yet somehow it made everything better. You gasped as you stretched around him, friction building despite your arousal and the an ache that had previously gone unnoticed seemed to soothe as he bottomed out.
You exhale slowly as he pressed his forehead against yours, the room silent other than the sound of heavy breathing.
“You okay?” His voice broke slightly at the intensity.
“Yeah,” you respond, reaching so your arms wrap around him, hands grasping his shoulders. From the corner of your eyes you see the showdown of his own arms bracing himself above you.
Bucky keeps his eyes on yours. “Keep yours eyes on me, please.”
His hips move and withdraw slightly before pushing forward gently. A moan gets caught in your throat as you feel the stretch again.
The look in his eyes is intense, focused and his jaw ticks slightly as he concentrates.
“You’re making it real hard to hold it together honey,” he voice come from between clenched teeth.
“Slower?” You suggest and he shakes his head sharply.
“That’ll kill me,” his lips twitch in amusement at the thought. “I need to move.”
You brace your feet against the softness of the bedsheet, allowing your thighs to wrap around his hips lightly.
“Then move, Bucky,” you whisper your encouragement. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”
He remains still, his eyes still focusing on you.
“Trust me?”
The words seem to stir something in him, his face softens, jaw loosening and he lets out a sharp exhale as though he had been holding his breath.
In a single movement he pulls out, then in an instant he pushes back in, watching as you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
His body begins to move in rhythm, faster than the first few thrusts but enough you find yourself keeping up, attempting to sync up with him.
The room felt oddly quiet only than the soft slapping of skin and your breathy sighs of pleasure.
“Feels good,” he murmurs, and leans down brush his nose against yours. He begins to move faster, just enough that you see him groan, his mouth passing yours a moment before leaving a trail of saliva from the edge of your lips to jawline.
“Bucky,” you moan as you feel him give a hard thrust and hold it there.
“More?” He suggests, his lips at your ear.
“Please,” your eyes sting slightly as your chest tightens slightly, desperate.
He pulls himself up to hover over you. One hand grasping your thigh, pulling it up, swinging your calf over his shoulder and pressing down.
“Oh f—” you cry out as you feel him push deeper, brushing against a spot that sends a flood of warmth through you.
“There,” he inhales, taking a moment whilst his left hand brushed your side, the cool of the metal leaving tingles in its wake before slipping down between your legs. “I’ve got you.”
The headboard banged against the wall with his next thrust, your voice gets caught in your throat, lips still parted as he hits with such precision you begin to fear being overheard at the noises you suppress.
“Let it out,” he commands, tone gentle. “I wanna hear it.”
Your voice cracks slightly as a long moan escapes you. “Bucky, please—”
“Close?” He asks and you nod frantically.
It was then he leaned down to kiss you, your bodies still rocking in an attempt to sync up, your legs begin to tremble around him. The metal of his fingers brushed the swollen nub between you, forcing your apart just a moment as your back arches into him with a soft cry, before he presses himself down on you. His weight holding you in place, mouth suppressing your sounds. His fingers continue, rubbing hard against you as he snaps forward hard.
Your body clamps around him, your cries muffled by his mouth. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, as you feel him continue, the friction against your walls making your eyes roll.
Bucky kisses your deeper then, almost as through to push you further into the mattress as he presses hard against your walls before his large frame shudders, and you feel a rush of liquid alongside your own.
His forehead lays softly on top of yours, and you watch his entire face soften. His eyes are shut, lips slightly parted as he breathes deeply before letting out a quiet laugh.
“Bucky?” You whisper, his eyes flicker open. The blue piercing through you.
“That was reckless,” he chuckles, shifting his weight to prop himself on both arms. “No condom.”
“Oh,” heat rushes to your cheeks as you realise the slight faux pas. You lips part to apologise.
“Don’t apologise,” he cuts you off. “I haven’t felt like this in nearly a decade. Just doing something because it’s fun, consequences be damned.”
You swallow, fingers reaching up to brush against his cheek. “I like that.”
“Yeah, enough to do it again?” His voice is quiet, nervous.
“Now?” You suppress a smile.
“Maybe in an hour,” he shrugs. “Was thinking of a bath? Then we can sleep, get El and maybe brunch?”
“That sounds…” your eyes gaze over for a moment, consumed by domestic thoughts. Sitting in the living room, colouring with Eileen. Having Bucky laid on your lap, running your fingers through his hair. Maybe a day would pass when you’d surprise Eileen with a sibling.
“Sounds nice,” you agree.
His shifts instantly, scooping you into his arms to carry you into the bathroom. His arms tighten around you instinctively and you hear him murmur above you.
“As long you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”
author's note: thank you for reading. and thank you all again for nearly hitting 500! i am still a bit unsure on this fic, it felt like it jumps around a lot, but it was meant to be a snapshot of something more realistic.
Hiii welcome to my obsession of Bucky Barnes!
Masterlist:
He’s in your head, I’m in your heart. - complete
Summary: Someone can only handle so much before they become numb. Can only handle so much hurt and anger before it consumes them. You couldn't, wouldn't, become that. You had to get away. You did. And met him.
Can you see me in the dark? - complete
Summary: A loyal companion helps find your rescue when you happen to take your evening walk in an unfamiliar park.
Blessed be thy Corpse. - pending
Summary: when a knights quest leads him on a darkened path to Necropolis-an undead world he was told to fear-he must find salvation with an unlikely ally. A descendant of Nephalem bloodline, you welcome the wounded knight. Only to learn within light and darkness, can be balance. (Moodboard Event by @artficlly )
Left Alone - pending
Summary: In a world where Bucky is free from Hydra, and stays free. His brain is still healing, the triggers still linger, but no one is hunting him. It’s just him, his small apartment in Bucharest, and a pretty florist who makes his head, and heart, calm.
Need a Ride? - complete
Summary: After a shit night out with coworkers, you catch the eye of a mysterious biker who looks every part of a dirty fantasy.
BACK TO ME (ft. John Logan)
blurb: a broken down car. boston. one phone call to your ex. a loft apartment. you did not expect this much from your weekend trip.
warnings: fem!reader, exes to lovers, angst but happy ending, alcohol, smut, oral (f. receiving), king of yearning john logan, celibate!logan, cumming untouched (m.)
“If your car ever needs a tune up, call me.”
The memory of Logan’s words was a harsh bite of mockery sneaking up on you in the middle of a surprise Boston rain shower, soaking you down to a lesser person.
Your thumb hovered over his contact name on your phone. The pitter patter of the rain hitting your screen like an underlining meant to emphasize his existence.
my hockey boy ❤️🏒
You hadn’t bothered to change it after the breakup. But frankly, that wasn’t entirely true.
You hadn’t come around to changing it. And if you’re really being honest—something you only do on Wednesdays at 4 pm with your therapist—you hadn’t changed it because you hoped that you wouldn’t have to.
You hoped that maybe keeping him as your hockey boy meant that he’d come back into your life and stay that way.
Now, as the sky continued to rumble and weep above, you prayed that Logan’s generosity was not limited to your relationship. And tonight, you were going to test that.
The phone rang three times before the call connected.
“Hello?” His voice was raspy, laced with more perplexity than anything else.
You closed your eyes. You hadn’t heard his voice in a year. “Hey, Logan?”
He could hear the faint yet rhythmic thuds of rain hitting your car window through the speaker. You had gone back inside your car to make this phone call.
“Is everything okay?”
He sounded concerned. That’s good, you thought. That means he cares.
You took a deep breath, “No, I…I’m not okay. My car stopped working and I’m stuck in the middle of this rain storm.”
“You’re in Hastings?” He asked.
You swallowed. “Boston.”
The line went so quiet you had to check your screen to make sure you hadn’t been disconnected.
Then, “You’re here in Boston?”
You bit your bottom lip, “Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“Boston Common.”
You heard the soft metallic jingle of keys and your heart skipped a beat at the implication. You almost wanted to take it back, undo this call, pretend it never happened.
“Listen, Logan, I don’t know where you live. You could be miles away from where I am, but I didn’t know who else to call—”
“I will be there in 10 minutes. Do not leave your car, alright?”
Your heartbeat spiked. For a moment, you felt like a selfish monster—making him leave his home, reopening a chapter in his life he might’ve wanted to close, clawing your way back in on your terms. Logan had always been too kind for his own good.
He called your name softly and you snapped out of it.
“You hear me?” He repeated.
“Yes, I won’t leave my car.”
“And lock your doors.”
You pressed the button on your car door.
After he hung up, you did nothing but stare out your window. You put the windshield wipers to tedious work, watching as they slid water across the glass in futile efforts.
You didn’t notice the time passing. And you certainly didn’t notice Logan’s figure until his knock on your window made you jump out of your skin.
You quickly unlocked and pushed your door open. Logan was drenched. His cotton t-shirt clung to his torso, catching the ridges enough to leave an imprint of his abs. Droplets of rain dripped from his brown locks, falling and sticking to his forehead. He looked like a vision.
Logan helped you out your car, guiding you with a strong arm behind your back—not touching—towards his jeep. He opened the passenger door and made sure you settled inside before closing it and going around to his side of the car.
You were breathing heavily, still recovering from the heavy downpour. When Logan got in and shut the door behind him, you looked over.
He threw his head back to push the wet strands of hair out of his face. When he turned to face you, you felt a dip in your stomach.
“I’m really sorry,” you said right away.
He held his hand up to stop your apology. “Are you alright? Did you leave anything important in your car?”
You shook your head. Phone, wallet, keys. All tucked safely—albeit sodden—in your deep coat pockets.
He shifted the gear out of park mode and drove the two of you away from the street.
The car ride was silent. The ambience of the outside storm filled enough gaps that should have been packed with conversation.
God, when was the last time you had a conversation with Logan?
It must’ve been junior year for you. He had just moved to Boston after being drafted by the Bruins, got a place of his own, playing hockey professionally like he always wanted. And you were back at Briar, studying hard, doing long distance with him, sharing dreams whenever he came to visit you on campus.
“It needs to be a loft apartment.”
“Why a loft?” Logan furrowed his brows.
“Fun downstairs, cozy upstairs,” you replied.
He smiled and nodded along, “Okay.”
“With floor to ceiling windows, so we can always have a view.”
His arms wrapped around you, “And what view is that?”
“Fenway Park.”
Logan rolled his eyes and buried his face in your neck, making you squeal. “You baseball brat! I can’t believe you’re choosing that over hockey.”
The stubble on his handsome face made you ticklish, squirming in his hold. “I never even heard of the Bruins before I met you!”
He gasped in mock betrayal, “Oh you’re gonna pay for that, Red Sox masshole!”
Your laughter filled the air as Logan attacked your neck with kisses and tickles.
It had been going so well.
Until it wasn’t.
Long distance was hard. It wasn’t gracious or patient, not easy on fragile hearts such as yours. It wasn’t the type to harbor kindness that saved you from the rain despite everything.
No, it was cruel, and you never wanted your love for Logan to be that. He was a rising star in the hockey world. He deserved so much. So much more than a college girlfriend who lived away, more than FaceTimes every night and short weekend trips whenever your schedules aligned—like the sun and moon trying to meet.
You blinked out the passenger window when Logan drove onto a familiar freeway. “Wait, why are we—”
“I live down the block.”
You finally tore your gaze out the window and towards him for the first time since he started driving. Logan’s eyes remained steady on the road ahead, his grip on the steering wheel unwavering.
You didn’t say anything else as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, or when the two of you walked into the lobby where the doorman greeted Logan with ease, or when you took the elevator upstairs to the 21st floor where he lived.
When he unlocked his door, he held it open for you to step in first. You entered with hesitant steps, like an elephant finding home inside a mouse’s hole in the wall. You pulled your coat off—now damp thanks to his car heater—and hung it up on the coat rack.
Logan’s apartment was beautiful. Polished with exquisite furniture—from the fine leather couches, to the shiny marble island, even the brick veneer fireplace in the living room. The deeper you ventured in, the more you were left in awe.
The floor to ceiling windows.
Your footsteps paused as you reached the far end of the room. You peered out the glass, coming face-to-face with the same Fenway Park the pair of you just drove by on the way here. The one you almost asked Logan about.
You turned around and met his eyes. He stood behind the couch, holding onto the cushions to keep him upright.
Your eyes glanced to the side of the apartment, where the floating staircase led to his quaint upper deck bedroom. Your eyes flicked back to his.
An unspoken exchange lingered between you.
“How’d you know where my car was?”
Logan pursed his lips before shrugging, “I just looked for the blue Toyota Camry.”
You nodded, “Of course you did.”
Logan walked over to his open kitchen, pulling out a bottle of something. “Reliable car,” he remarked.
You let out a huff of amusement, “Oh, for sure. Except when it’s pouring, right?”
Logan popped open the cork, “Cars don’t like water. They’re like cats.”
You sauntered your way into his kitchen. “Wish I knew that before I bought it.”
“I told you that when you bought it.”
Right. Logan had been the one who accompanied you to the dealership when you finally saved enough money to put a payment down for a car. He had spoken to the salesperson, checked out everything, told you all that you needed to know about cars. He was the reason you got a Camry because he said it wouldn’t let you down unless you let it down.
Perhaps that applied to more than just cars.
He held out a glass of wine towards you. You accepted it with a grateful smile, taking a sip.
Logan watched you over the rim of his own wine glass. “I’d give you the house tour but…this is pretty much it.”
“No, it’s nice,” you responded, looking around.
He nodded, “I’m glad you think so.”
Neither of you were willing to acknowledge his influence on your car preferences and your influence on his architectural choices.
You cleared your throat, “Thank you. Really. For saving me. You didn’t have to.”
Logan tilted his head, “No, I kinda had to.”
Your smile faded away.
He leaned against the kitchen island, “I told you if you ever had car troubles, I’m your guy.”
Your guy.
“Yeah, I know.” You replied. “I just…I wasn’t sure if you still meant that. After…everything.”
Logan looked away, finding sudden interest in the ceiling chandelier. “I’m gonna change out of this,” he pointed to his clothes.
You nodded, putting your glass down.
“You’re welcome to stay.” He told you, meeting your eyes once again. “We can go get your car in the morning—if it isn’t still raining—and I’ll fix it up for you.”
You wanted to decline his benevolent offer. Why was he so nice to you after you broke up with him? You didn’t deserve this—
Logan tugged you by your hand, his touch was electric after all the time apart. “C’mon, let me get you a change of clothes, too.”
He led you upstairs to the loft bedroom. The room was warmer, literally and figuratively. It wasn’t as chic as the downstairs, but definitely more homey.
Logan pulled open his dresser drawer and took out a t-shirt and pair of boxers. “These should still fit you,” he commented as he tossed them over to you.
You held them up. It was your favorite shirt of his, the one you always stole because of how soft the fabric felt. And the boxers, they had hockey sticks on them, something you bought him for his birthday one year.
He pointed to the en suite bathroom, “You can change in there, wash your face, whatever you want.”
You watched him for a moment as he pulled out his own change of clothes. Your mouth ran out of apologies and words of gratitude, so you simply nodded and made your way inside his bathroom.
By the time you stepped out in his apparel, Logan had already dressed in a fresh set of sweatpants sitting low on his waist and a white wife beater.
He paused when he saw you, needing to reintroduce the image of you in his shirt and boxers, as though it were a long-lost language he once spoke fluently.
He cleared his throat after a moment, “You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, Logan, it’s your place.” You argued.
“It’s fine, you’re my guest—”
“No, really, you should—”
“I insist—”
“But I—”
“Babe.”
You both froze when the word slipped out Logan’s lips so effortlessly. Your eyes met in a loaded exchange, but at least it got you to shut up about the bed. He cursed himself internally for allowing that to happen, and even more so when it felt so right doing it.
Logan let out a sigh and picked up a pillow and blanket, “Just…sleep on the bed. Please.”
This time, you didn’t shoot out a retort. You simply observed as Logan went down the stairs with his bedding.
You tried.
You really did.
But sleep would not find you no matter how many times you tossed and turned on Logan’s smooth sheets. Your mind replayed memories of him instead of dreams.
“Why are you doing this?” Logan’s voice was equal parts exasperation and anguish.
You sniffled, “Logan, I want what’s best for you. That’s all I want.”
“You’re what’s best for me!”
“No, I’m not—”
“You don’t get to decide that!” He held your arms with a desperate grip. “I’ve been making hard decisions my whole life. And this? You? It’s the easiest choice I ever made; it’s the only one I know that’s right.”
“You’ll change your mind, you’ll meet so many wonderful people in Boston. And I don’t want you to resent me for keeping you.”
“Resent you?” He repeated. “I love you. You’re it for me, baby. Don’t you get that?”
You sat up on his bed, your heart beating faster than normal. When you stood up and leaned forward on the loft’s railing, you spotted Logan sitting by the tall apartment window, staring out into the nighttime view.
“Since when do you like baseball?”
Logan turned his head and saw you at the bottom of the staircase. He huffed, “Boston brainwashed me.”
You smiled and sat across from him, your knees brushed against each other but neither of you pulled away. You followed his gaze out the window and towards Fenway Park.
“You been to any of their games?”
“One or two,” he answered.
“You a Red Sox fan now?” You teased.
“I have to be or else I’d get beat up on the streets,” Logan quipped.
You chuckled quietly. “What a waste of real estate.”
His expression sobered. He fiddled with his fingers before looking at you. “I only got this place because it’s what you always wanted.”
Your eyes darted to him.
He shrugged like the confession was helpless, inevitable, even. Logan wasn’t ashamed nor did he regret it.
“Logan,” you called softly.
“What do I have to do to show you that I want this? That I want us.”
Your chest tightened, “Logan.”
“It’s been a year, baby. I haven’t seen anyone else. I can’t. They’re not you.”
“Logan—”
“And you can try to tell me that this is what’s best for us, or whatever bullshit mature answer you have, but I won’t buy that. Nothing you say will change how I feel about you. I meant what I said when I told you that you were it for me.”
You kissed him.
He wouldn’t shut up if you hadn’t.
Neither of you complained.
Logan groaned against your lips like you were the first drop of rain in the midst of a drought. His hands buried themselves into your hair, pulling you closer until you settled onto his lap.
You found purchase on his broad shoulders, bringing your chests flush together. Your fingers tips brushed against the hairs on the nape of his neck, remembering what it felt like to tug on them.
As if he could read your thoughts, Logan pulled back enough to ask: “Please, baby, can I eat you out? I haven’t tasted you in so long.”
You must’ve looked pathetic when you nodded so quickly.
Logan pushed you to lay on your back. He lifted your shirt up enough so he could admire your bare chest. The sound that escaped him was even more pathetic than your eager consent.
His lips latched onto one of your nipples, flicking the bud and wetting it with fervor. His free hand kneaded your other breast with ample attention.
Your breath came out in shaky puffs. You closed your eyes and sighed, “Fuck, Logan.”
Your voice went straight to his groin. He switched to the other breast and showered it with the same affection.
You blinked down at him in a daze, weakly tugging at his top. He sat up immediately and pulled it off his frame, chucking it aside. Your eyes wandered over the bare expanse of his torso. His defined pecks and abdomen, the blooming bruises he earned from hockey slowly fading into yellow-green patches.
You didn’t have time to admire him in the way he deserved because Logan impatiently hooked his restless fingers under his boxers that you wore.
“Raise your hips for me, baby.”
You complied without hesitation. When your bottom half was left exposed, Logan sat back on his haunches and stared. His eyes glazed over with a subtle sheen and you almost worried that he’d start crying.
“You’re unfair,” he mumbled with softly arched brows. He reached down and propped your legs over his shoulders.
You cried out when his tongue slid between your folds in a tantalizingly slow glide. You weren’t sure if the sound you heard came out of your own mouth or Logan’s.
“Tastes better than I remember,” he said.
His lips left a small peck on your clit before he sucked on it. Your hips flinched upwards, but Logan’s strong arms held you down.
“Reactive, huh? Did you miss my mouth?”
You huffed, “Yes.”
He smirked. So smug.
“Yeah, I bet you did. I can tell.” His fingers swiped against you and gathered your slick.
“You’re so wet for me.”
“Don’t tease.”
Logan’s smile widened. He leaned forward so his face hovered over yours. “I can do whatever I want, baby. I earned it.”
Fuck was he right.
He devoured you. He left your legs shaking and heart racing. His tongue prodded your hole so skillfully, just the right amount of pressure that made you yank at his hair.
“Right there,” you gasped out.
Logan doubled down on his ministrations. His hands lifted your ass up so he could bury his face deeper between your thighs.
Your eyes rolled back, “Baby, I’m close.”
Baby.
Logan hadn’t heard that name of endearment from you in a year and it made him grind down on his erection to relieve some tension.
“You’re so pretty when you’re about to cum,” he said, admiring the view of you. He could always tell when you were close to finishing.
He dove back in, rapidly shaking his head from side to side, resulting in a crude squelching noise to echo in the air. You shrieked, arching up towards him.
“Let me have it, angel. I need it. I deserve it.”
His words were enough to send you over. When you came, you both let out a moan. Logan held you through it, working his tongue to ride out your wave of pleasure. You had to shakily push his head away when it became too much to bear.
Logan threw his head back and sat down. You both panted, forcing air back into your lungs, holding eye contact. When your gaze dragged downwards, you spotted the dark stain on the crotch of his sweatpants.
Your eyes widened.
Logan let out a small chuckle.
“It’s been a while,” is what he said.
“Since you ate a girl out?” You queried.
His adam’s apple bobbed, “Since I came.”
The room went quiet.
The thought of Logan being celibate since the two of you broke up did dangerous things to your heart. It weaved precarious hopes that you feared would blossom into something neither of you could promise.
Logan pulled one of your legs into his lap and started caressing your foot. He stared down at your skin, allowing the moment to settle. You watched him, biting your lip in thought.
“Let me take care of you,” you offered.
“It’ll take a while,” he said.
Your eyes automatically glanced between his legs.
Logan let out another amused laugh that faded into a deep sigh. His expression shifted into something more thoughtful as he looked at your face.
“Come back to me, baby.” He murmured.
Your heart ached at the pleading tone.
“We can live here,” he gestured around the apartment. “Sleep in our loft, have dinner on the kitchen island, make love on the couch, look out at Fenway Park at night…”
That was the life you wanted with Logan.
It was perfect.
He was perfect.
He did everything perfectly.
And you had let your fears ruin that.
But not anymore.
You reached for his hands and pulled him closer. Your foreheads rested against each other. He closed his eyes for a second before looking deep into yours.
“You’ll have to go to every Red Sox game with me,” you whispered.
Logan’s chuckle came out sounding like a breath of relief. He nodded slowly.
“Whatever you want,” he murmured.
You tilted your head, “You. I want you.”
Logan squeezed your hands, “You have me.”
And that was the easiest decision you ever made, too.
logan’s spotify wrapped the year you guys broke up included party 4 u by charlie xcx and back to me by the marías iktr
Tears | JL22
Pairing: John Logan x Female!Reader
Summary: Logan loves going down on you. He lives for it, he craves it, he loves everything about it. But what he didn’t expect was your reaction when you were the one who goes down on him.
Warning/s: Minors do not interact. Smut. Mature. 18+. Oral sex (F and M receiving). Unprotected sex. Comfort. Crying. Established relationship. They are unhinged, horny, and thinking about sex all the time but they love each other too. Be responsible for your own media consumption. Grammar/Spelling. If I missed anything, let me know kindly!
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: I’m in no way a pro when it comes to writing smut but I try and this is me trying (and probably experimenting on my writing too). Got inspired while listening to Tears by Sabrina and a conversation I had with my best friend.
I have another Logan fic in progress but it’ll be some time before it’s up since I’m not confident about it yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Like, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and appreciated!
MASTERLIST.
Please do not translate and repost.
Divider by chrisssiren.
Logan is sick, he’s sure of that. But the thing is, as cliche as it may sound, you are the only person who could cure him. He had known a long time ago that he loves going down on girls, he lives for it. But nothing ever prepared him for you and the changes you brought into his sex life.
He’d been with many girls before you, yes. What you and he are doing—at least, some of it—he had done it before. You knew it, having to be one of the witnesses of some of those sexcapades he did in the past. However, that’s never been an issue between you two. Sex with you is something that Logan has never experienced before. But no, it’s not some, “You’re different from other girls” kind of bullshit. It’s the feeling that was different.
You see, the girls he had been with? It was always rushed, short-lived. It was only for the sake of sleeping together. But with you? You build up the moment, but still make sure not to waste time. You make him feel hot and excited, but give him what he wants to balance it out. You let him do what he wants, but signals him when to stop. You make him crave for you, crave for it. And when you especially know when he needs it? You give it to him, no questions asked.
And Logan would always savor the moment when you just unfold your legs for him, when you let him lap at your center like a starved man, and when you encourage him to keep going; even stretching your legs further so he could have more space.
Logan loves your pussy, and he loves every single second of being down on you and if he could live between your legs, he would.
There’s something so addicting about having them wrapped around his head, or when you spread it for him so he could bite on your inner thighs, or the way it almost suffocates him when you’re on top of him, riding his face while he busies himself admiring the swell of your breasts; the way they move when you jerk forward because his tongue hits a certain spot, or the way your chest falls up and down so you can get enough oxygen in your lungs, or when your nipples hardened he just had to let go one of your legs so he could play with them.
Yet he loves it more when you tugs at his curls, moaning for him. The sound you make going straight to his cock, thrusting on the bed or in the air depending on where you got him eating you out. He loves the look on your face—how your mouth forms an o-shape when he sucks at your sensitive nub or when you cover it to muffle the sounds because his friends are sleeping, how your eyes glaze when you’re near, how your lips turn swollen from too much biting, and how your head falls backwards to reveal your neck, thinking about biting the flesh once he’s fucking you.
Logan swore he could cum by just eating you out, but looking at you enjoying yourself? That’s another thing he needs to control. He could combust with a single, “Making me feel so good, Johnny.” but he’d do his best to restrain himself. He’d only allow himself to finish once you do because for him, it’s you before everything else. There were times that even after making you cum three times, he’d hold it in because that won’t be enough. He’d wait for you to say, “Please, let me feel you. I want it.”, that he’d permit himself to let go and you’d be so full of him. Then, he would look at your face only to see you smiling at him, so lost in the pleasure and so fucking beautiful, and he’d take pride knowing he’s the one who made you feel that way—and he feels like cumming again, his cock hardening inside you once more.
He thought that would be it, nothing else could make him feel like he’s doing it for the first time aside from eating you out and you, looking so pretty for him. But boy, was he wrong.
It happened for the first time when Logan felt a little more beaten up after practice. Completely drained and exhausted from all the physical and mental challenges hockey takes from him. You knew the moment he slumped beside you on his head, dropping his gym bag on the side, that he’s spent.
“Hey, gorgeous. I missed you.” Logan’s hands automatically searched for your waist as his head hits your lap, his hair still damp from the shower. He relaxes the moment your hands massage at his scalp, down to the back of his neck, and to his shoulder blades. His usual protective guard is down and at that moment, under your gaze, he’s just a guy who needs comfort.
Your boyfriend needs comfort.
“I missed you too, baby. How are you?” Logan lifted his head a bit, his eyes cast downward, his body barely holding his weight, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you before seeking your warmth again. You bit your lip and maybe, seeing him like that—sore, tired, worn out—is what triggered your desire to take care of him. He spends so much energy in hockey, in studying, in the garage, in everything that he does, including looking out for you without being asked that seeing him vulnerable makes you want to put him first. So an idea popped in your mind.
“Hey, come on, lay down properly.” Logan obliged, rather slowly. You were standing at the foot of the bed, supporting his movements. Once he’s comfortable, you start removing his clothes. He didn’t think much of it at first, he always sleeps with only his boxers on and you learned about it early on in your relationship. It even got to a point that you were the one undressing him and you’d cuddle under his covers.
However, Logan felt your hands caressing his legs as you crawled on top of him. Your fingers tugged down at his boxers until it reached just above his knees, but before you could take it off, Logan caught your hand, crease forming between his brows. He understands immediately what you were trying to do, and it’s not that he doesn’t want it. He’s just not sure if he could do any action tonight and he will never forgive himself if he allows it to happen only for you to not to feel good.
“Thank you, gorgeous, but I don’t think I can do—”
“Who said you’re doing anything?” You raised one eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curving into a tempting smile that had Logan heaving a deep breath. He knew it’s happening, you looked so good and while the rest of his body is tired, his cock sure isn’t as it slowly grows hard between his thighs, directly under you. “Just lay down for me, John, okay? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to be rewarded for it.”
And nothing ever prepared him for what happened next.
Logan never presented the idea of blowjob, nor you brought it up yourself. In the entirety of your relationship, you never went down for him. You never put his length in your mouth, you never gagged at the feeling of him hitting your throat, and you never knew what it was like to look up at him over your lashes. But just because it never happened, doesn’t mean you never wonder what it would be like.
It’s not like you never gave head before. You have a fair share of experience yourself like Logan, but you keep on wondering if it would feel like the way it made him feel. He told you about it, how going down on you made him feel like an entirely different person. That the way your pussy feels against his mouth was nothing like he ever felt before. That if your legs suffocate him and he dies accidentally, he’d still thank you for it.
You knew it wasn’t about the experience, you knew it was the feeling. Because you trust him, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and comfortable with him that the intimacy instantly feels different. So, you took advantage of the moment to test it out yourself.
“Are you sure about this? You know you don’t have to, right? We can just—”
But Logan’s head dropped back down on his pillow when he felt your hands around him, pumping him slowly, getting him to completely relax for you. A heavy and ragged sigh escaped his lips at the feeling, his broad shoulders sinking into the mattress, shutting his eyes close to regain some control. And he thought that he’s doing a great job at it, he’s getting used to the feeling of the slow movements of your hands that he willed himself to open his eyes.
“Fuck, that feels good, gorgeous.” He rasped, voice thick and rough at your ministrations. The exhaustion of the day leaving his body. The tension, the expectations, the brutality of the world outside his room fading behind him as he let you take care of him. His hands gripped at his bed, not wanting to pressure you to take anything further by putting them on your head.
You shifted your weight, finding a more comfortable place between his thighs. And then you see it before you feel it; the intimacy did feel different.
You saw how Logan does his best to keep his hands to himself, you feel how he tries not to thrust upwards in your hands, you feel from the way he remains so compliant with your touch that he’s not rushing you, and you saw how his eyes glint with encouragement to do whatever you want next—continue or stop, entirely up to you.
The moment was slow and heavy with trust. And that did something to you, probably the way it did something to Logan.
It made you feel good, confident, trusted, and loved.
When Logan felt your movements have slowed, he peeked at you to see that you got this dazed look on your face. He was about to reassure you that it’s okay to stop when you looked down at his dick and leaned forward, replacing your hands with the warmth of your lips. Logan choked on his breath, the words caught in his throat as he felt his self control leaving his body as he completely surrendered to you.
Logan’s entire body went still for a second, a low, guttural moan vibrated in his chest before he forced himself to relax again. His fingers gripped at the sheets again, tighter this time as his knuckles turned white. You saw this from the corner of your eyes and tapped at his thighs, reaching for one of his hands and guided it above your head. He had to fight every instinct to take over because of the action, but he reminded himself that tonight, this is what you want.
You moved over him, finding your rhythm as your eyes flicked up to look at him. His head was still thrown back, buried in his pillow, exposing his adam’s apple. His sweat glistened on his collarbone and you moaned at the sight, he looked completely undone and ruined by your touch. And the same feeling came back.
Looking at Logan, completely at your mercy and stripped of his usual protective and strong stance made you clench your thighs together. You continue pumping at his length while switching between sucking and lapping at the head, his tip leaking pre-cum. Logan’s grip on your head tightened and it should hurt, but you just took him further inside your mouth. You gagged slightly, the sound causing him to massage your jaw, motioning for you to breathe through your nose as he guided your head to stay in place.
“That’s it, gorgeous, don’t forget to breathe.” You understood what he said, you knew when to stop if it gets too much for you, but your mind started to jumble. Because how could he be so sweet and caring yet so filthy at the same time? When you felt your lungs needing some air, you pulled back, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. And Logan was about to throw a praise when you lick from his base before taking him whole again.
“Fuck me—slow down, gorgeous. You’re killing me.”
It feels too good; the thickness in your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum oozing out directly on your tongue, the control he’s trying to gain, the way he grips at your head and caresses your cheeks just to feel himself bulging from it. Everything feels too good and without meaning to, a stray tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek and landing softly on his thighs. Logan snapped up immediately at the unwelcomed feeling, only to see you crying. The immense pleasure brought by your mouth dissipates in the air as he scrambles to seat.
“Woah, woah, hey, talk to me.” He whispered, afraid that if he went a little louder, you'd cry even more. He wanted to move to your side, but for some reason, your hand is still wrapped around his length and you’re still between his legs. Logan tried his best to meet you eye-to-eye with the position, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on your skin. “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it something I did? Was I too much?”
You only shook your head at him and Logan had to stop the sigh that wanted to escape his lips when he felt your hand gripped him, and instead focused on making sure that you’re okay. “Hey, it’s alright, we can stop now, hmm? It’s alright, I got you.”
But then you opened your mouth and Logan cursed at himself because maybe he heard it wrong, maybe he heard you wrong. There’s no way you’re crying because of that, right? His girlfriend, who is usually composed, independent, strong-willed, and doesn’t take shit from others, is crying.
All because of his dick.
He studied your face, your eyes that were blown out with lust, your lips hanging open in anticipation, your brows creased together awaiting his response. But above everything, he saw honesty and trust and it dawned on him that he didn’t hear it wrong. Logan heard you correctly.
“I don’t want to stop. I want your cock.”
Because that’s what you really said and you didn’t plan on taking it back.
Not when Logan’s eyes darkened with want as he held your face so softly, waiting for you to take your words back. Not when the words made you shudder when it left your lips, not when it caused you to rub your thighs together, not when your eyes basically watered again at the thought of it in your mouth, in your hands, in your pussy. Not when you’re pushing Logan back on the bed to hover above him, so sure of yourself, repeating the words.
“I love your cock, Johnny.”
Logan doesn’t know what to do. You are equally as obsessed as he was and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He never cried when he’s down on his knees, trapped between your legs, but he sure felt like it every single time. You make him addicted, you make him starve and crave, and you make him mad about it. And seeing you, like a reflection of himself, enjoying yourself, destroys him in a delicious way.
You spent the rest of the night sobbing at the feeling of his length in your mouth and Logan lives for it. He’d smile at you, comfort you, and praise you for it while anchoring himself to keep it together.
“Fuck, gorgeous, you take me so well.”
“You love it? Say it again, come on.”
And between his praises and the fullness of him inside your mouth, you’d look up at him just to ask, “It’s my dick now too, right?”
And Logan had to physically stop himself from pulling you back down his length, his grin widening with mischief and his eyes twinkle with something you’ve never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, his thumbs traced your lips before sliding it inside, your tongue automatically swirling around it as you await for his answer.
“So fucking right, gorgeous, it is.”
The night ended with both of you tangled in his sheets, satisfaction and pride swimming in your system. You were safely tucked beside him after your unexpected discovery, Logan peppering your head with kisses. And he thought, that was it. What he didn’t know was that behind your peaceful form, you discovered another thing.
You love Logan when he respects you in bed. But you love it more when he gets filthy.
He was on his way back to the hockey house when it happened the second time. He just bid goodbye to a classmate when his phone buzzed in his jeans. It was a message from you. An entirely unhinged message from you.
“I need it, please.”
Logan drove so fast back to the house and when he opened the door of his room, there you were, dressed in his jersey. But it didn’t take long for both of you to get undressed. The moment escalated so quickly as you dropped to your knees in front of him, tugging at his pants.
“Take it out, baby.”
And Logan never complied so fast in his life. Not even when Coach Jensen told him to do better with his moves, to skate faster. But you got him on chokehold with just your words and the next second, you were taking him in your mouth, the dirtiest words escaping his lips.
“You want it so bad, yeah? You missed it?”
“So pretty like this. Keep going. Come on, you got it.”
“Open your mouth wider, gorgeous. I thought you said you wanted it?”
And you’re equally as bad as him. The words you thought that you’ll never say are encouraged out of you because of Logan, and the way he looks at you with so much adoration and pride.
“This is only mine, right? It’s mine.”
“It feels so good in my mouth, Johnny, I don’t want to stop.”
“Yes, I wanted it. I can take it. Please.”
Logan thought—once again and he’s wrong—that would be it. But you’re sneaking into the shower room when you know he’s the only one using it and would join him. Saying how you could not wait any longer and you’d end up spending an extra hour in the showers because both of you couldn’t get enough of each other.
Or at Beau’s party, when he looks too good drinking with his friends and he’d throw teasing glances your way and he’d take it far by sending you a message, mentioning how one of the rooms was his for the night and he’d be waiting for you. Both of you would end up making out and eventually, him on top of you. He fucks you like he’s never done before, but you’re crying for it and he’d be damned if he doesn’t make it worthwhile.
And Logan is fucking sick. Because he couldn’t take the image of you crying for him, for his dick. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re thinking about it too, because he does. In the middle of the class, during practice, while showering. Any chance that he could get, he’ll think about it. During those times, he’d shoot you messages.
“Can’t stop thinking about you, gorgeous.”
“Bet you’re soaking wet for me right now.”
“So fucking hard for you, gorgeous. Is your class over?”
He’d smile so hard because your replies matched his energy, it matched his freak. He’d go over them, read them over and over again just to make sure that he’s reading it right.
“I dreamed of you fucking me and I want it now.”
“Can I come over before practice? I’ll just suck a little.”
“Do you think we can get a replica of your dick? Just for study purposes.”
Both of you are so obsessed with each other that even your friends noticed it right away. The changes in your relationship that weren’t there in the beginning, the stolen glances, the mischief behind the smiles, the sneaking in the middle of a conversation. When you and Logan disappear at the same time, they'll understand what’s happening quickly. When they catch one of you smiling at your phone, they know that you’re exchanging unhinged messages yet again.
But underneath all that—the sole reason why both of you are crazy about the sex, about each other—was the foundation you built together over time; the trust, the intimacy, the care, the love, and the understanding where the pleasure should end and begin. The respect you put into the relationship and the boundaries you’ve set, the communication between what you can cross and not.
So, yes, Logan is sick, but at least you cure him and he does the same to you—in more ways than one.
A/N: Thank you for reading, lovely! Stay safe always ♥️
- Set it up -
Summary: John Tucker teaches you how to play pool. A.k.a you both make your move in hopes you feel the same.
> Shoot your shot
- John Tucker x Figure skater!reader - (Fluff) -
Ever since Hannah started dating Garrett, you’d found most of your time merged with your friends and his. Malones had upgraded another area and added a few pool tables, which you had never set foot in till tonight. You’ve been exchanging heated glances with one particular hockey player, southern charmer John Tucker.
Athletes weren’t your usual type, your last late night hookup or a string of spontaneous sex was with an older guy. Easier to fuck someone you don’t bump into on campus. That and your figure skating coach/mother would go crazy if you were even breathing in a hockey players presence. You can’t help it though, John Tucker’s danced around your short replies and coaxed actual conversations out of you each time you’ve seen him.
“Just, like lean over,” Allie says, she’s perched on the edge of the pool table, gaze flitting to the guys near the bar and you’re terrible hold on a cue stick. Always the lookout, she’s a hundred percent sure Tucker’s interested in you and you’re hoping so too. She’s backed it up with intel, but won’t tell you who the trusted source is.
“Least you’re terrible enough to draw him in naturally,” Hannah grumbles, her hand covering her mouth as she tries to muffle her laugh. Her trembling shoulders give her away though. The band playing in the next room aren’t enough to calm your nerves or the doubts swimming in your head.
Garrett’s the first one to approach, his arm draped over Hannah shoulders as he steals her away. His head lowered as he whispers something in her ear. The guys set up another game of pool on the other side of the room, the nearest free one available and you exhale a long breath, thankful they aren’t teasing you. Allie’s palm pats your back as she disappears into the crowd, something about checking out the band or Photo Booth. You don’t get a glimpse of whoever she’s making a beeline for.
“Wow, this is a rare sight.”
You turn to face Tucker, nearly knocking him in the thigh with the stick. “What me in Malones or me sucking at pool?” You can’t help, but mirror his smile it’s infectious. Everything about him melts away the ice around you, the walls you built falling like water and for the first time it doesn’t scare you. You want him closer.
“Both,” Tucker says. He pushes the stray spring of curls out his face, bicep flexing as he raises his arm. His white T-shirt taunt across his defined chest, silver chain dipping between his pecs.
“Celebrating,” you say, nodding along with him till you realise the guys don’t follow figure skating. “I made it to sectionals, got a new sponsorship. Kinda a big deal.” Well you and your skating partner, Alek had made it. Another reason your mother doesn’t want you having a public relationship, she prefers to let others think you’re dating Alek.
Tucker wraps his arms around you, “congrats, that’s a big fucking deal,” he gives you a reassuring squeeze, the weight of his embrace leaving as quick as it came. You sway on the spot, the knot in your stomach twisting as you second guess your move. No, you don’t close the distant between you and him. Maybe he just sees you as friend.
He’s never hugged you before, the closest you’ve come to touch are your thighs brushing against each others on the sofa or that one time you bumped into him in the corridor leading to the rink. He was all geared up in his hockey kit and nearly knocked you clean on your ass. He caught you though, before you could fall. Maybe that’s when you first fell for him. His kindness. The soft lilt of his voice asking if you’re okay. You were too embarrassed to stick around and he never mentioned it since.
You’re staring, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His dark eyes trailing up and down your form. Oh he’s going to be trouble. He scratches his neck, the column of his throat stealing your attention. You saw a girl on his lap kissing his neck the first time you met him. That was months ago though and you haven’t seen him with anyone else.
“Want some pointers?” He nudges his head towards the table, his hand reaching around you to grab the chalk on the side. You stumble back to the edge, watching him pry the cue stick from your grasp with little effort and he preps the cue stick, blue staining the white tip. He blows the extra leftover residue off and your eyes dart to his lips.
You face the table, unable to meet his gaze, “uh, sure,” you say, there’s nothing else forming in your brain other than the thought of his lips on yours.
Tucker hovers behind you, sliding the cue stick on the table and he instructs you on how to hold it correctly. You place your right hand on the black handle, but his hand covers yours and guides it lower, “here,” is all he says, as if he too has to summon his own courage to speak out loud.
His hand lifts from yours on the handle and he leans forwards, “you wanna, put your left hand like this, balance the stick between your thumb and here,” Tucker says, his back pressing into yours and his weight makes you lean over the pool table. His left hand cups your elbow and the other returns to the handle and he draws the cue stick back and forth, practice.
“Okay, now try this one,” he says, pointing to the white ball, which you have to lean further over the table to get a better shot.
“Like this?” You ask, peering over your shoulder and he doesn’t move an inch. His lips a hair width from yours, he nods, nose bumping yours. You focus returns to the plush green velvet surface of the table in front you, acutely aware of his body moulded to yours.
“Follow the line of the cue stick, set up your shot,” his deep raspy voice rumbles in your ear, hot breath fanning the side of your face. “You wanna hit the ball in the centre, take your time.” His hands settle on your hips and he adjusts your body, guiding you closer to the edge of the pool table.
You jolt at his sudden touch fumbling your shot. The cue stick slips, white ball bouncing over the green surface and onto the floor. Tucker’s laugh shakes his chest and you feel it tremble through you too.
Tucker steps back. “Thought you figure skaters were graceful?” He says, cocking his head to the side to meet your gaze. That damned smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, curls tumbling over his forehead. One hand trails to the small of your back, a small splinter of hope that he’s interested in you.
“Only on ice.” You spin around to face him and his hand follows the movement, the warmth of his palm stinging the bare skin beneath your blouse.
“What else do figure skaters do off the ice then?” He lifts you up, setting you on the side of the pool table and steps between your legs. Your heart hammers in your chest as you look up at him.
You grasp the front hem of T-shirt, “we kiss handsome boys.” It’s now or never.
Tucker’s lips press to yours, teeth clinking as you meet him halfway. Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt and you tug him closer, deepening the kiss. Hot and heavy, he leans back for a breath. His forehead resting against yours, you place your hand on his chest and feel the fast beat of his heart beneath your palm.
“You wanna know what hockey players do off the ice?”
thinking about john tucker headcannons i think he would do whilst you two are dating ⋆ ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟
content warnings: 18+, mentions of smut towards the end!
⤜ john tucker is the most gentleman of a boyfriend, he always opens and closes the doors, walks on the outside of the road, places his hand on the small of your back when walking into a crowded area. just the little things like that make you want to grab him by the shirt and kiss him deeply.
⤜ john tucker is the king of communication, IDC!!! that man actually has night terrors if you two go to bed and you haven’t fixed whatever issues that have occurred in your relationship. if you’re upset about something, he recognizes and notices IMMEDIATELY! he is fortunately #ilovemygirlfriend final boss.
⤜ john tucker loves a good night in. now don’t get me wrong that man can and WILL go out and party and have a good time just like any other college student but there’s just something about him staying home with his girlfriend, having a nice home cooked meal that either he cooked or his girlfriend and him cooked together and after eating turning on a stupid comedy movie and just being in each others presence.
⤜ john tucker gets you flowers every month and not just like those store bought ones with the plastic, no no no. he goes to the farmers market and finds the best bouquet he thinks you’d like and buys them and of course you love them because he knows his girl. (i know that’s right)
⤜ one of john tucker’s favorite sex positions is you being bent over while he chokes you (gently of course), he loves the way you get a little woozy, babbling and drooling all over his arms. he teases you once you two finish because of all the bite marks adorning his beautiful beefy arms.
⤜ john tucker LOVES the way you act while he’s eating you out. the way your thighs tighten around his head, or even the way you squirm a little when he adds a third finger inside your dripping cunt, or even the way you softly tug on his curls while he looks at you with those pretty brown eyes.
john tucker fucking loves his woman!!!!!!
part two
˖ ⸝⸝ ৎ୭ authors note : hii, this is my first time writing on tumblr so please be kind to me world papa is #nervousasf posting this! if you have any constructive criticism/feedback, PLEASE send it in my inbox im forever open to that but just be kind is all i ask <3 also, if you did enjoy this please like, reblog, && comment and let me know if there’s anyone else you want me to do headcannons for i do everyone!!
the first smutty headcannon was absolutely from my post in which i absolutely was NOT expecting to gain some kind of traction in which i love you all for. okay bai for real this time 💖💖
more john tucker headcannons i personally think he does with his girlfriend (but make it smutty) ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱
content warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of fingering, the word cunt, dirty talk, and pussy and ass slapping.
⤜ one of john tucker’s favorite things is making you watch as he fingers you. he has his legs hooked over yours, slowly pumping two of his thick fingers in and out of you, making you watch him and yourself in the big floor mirror you have in your room.
⤜ john tucker loves slapping your pretty cunt. he does it when he wants you to focus your attention back on him, he does it when he’s punishing you, hell he even does it when he’s rewarding you for taken him so well.
⤜ john tucker is an ass man in my eyes, argue with a wall. he loves slapping your ass while he’s eating you out, while you’re bent over, or even while you’re simply just standing and he’s behind you. an ass slap a day keeps the sadness away in his eyes!!!
⤜ bro is the KING of dirty talk, he might be fucking you nice and slow but he’s whispering in your ear all the dirty things he wants to do to you and with each rock of his hips, another curse word brings you both closer and closer to the edge.
⤜ john tucker might fuck you rough but he is SOOOO gentle with his words and other actions. he constantly checks up on you while he’s fucking you deeply, he makes sure you’re 100% comfortable with everything you’re doing, and if he sees even a hint of uncomfortableness he’s stopping immediately and making sure you’re okay.
⤜ speaking of his care, his aftercare is out of this WORLD. he cleans you up well and sends you off to pee, and while you’re doing that, he lays out some fresh clothes for the both of you and also quickly grabs some waters and snacks just in case you’re hungry or thirsty. (you definitely are).
safe to say having sex with john tucker is genuinely a beautiful thing!!!!
part one
˖ ⸝⸝ ৎ୭ authors note: hi guys! i just wanted to say thank you so much for the love on my previous headcannons, i was NOT expecting for you guys to like it so much and i appreciate it so much for the bottom of my heart <3. my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to start requesting because truth be told, i actually have zero idea on what to write sometimes! i write for off campus, the pitt, percy jackson, && more so just ask and im sure i can whip something up!
LAY YOUR HANDS ON ME | John Tucker
Summary: Post-game drinks brings YN and Tucker to Malone’s, where YN runs into a familiar (but not friendly) face from her college days, and Tucker is more than happy to put on a show.
Pairing: John Tucker x Paralegal!Reader
Warnings: talks of a toxic friendship, 18+ smut at the end which will include Tucker in a cowboy hat, loads of giggling and emotional intimacy. I wrote most of this in a day because I spent too much time thinking about it at work and it distracted me almost all day.
Malones was busy. The bar was filled to the brim with drunk college students, the blinds closed to shut out the setting sun as speakers boomed Top 40 karaoke hits.
She had only been there once the entire time she was in college, and it had been to celebrate the end of the semester with a group of people she wasn’t even sure she was friends with any more.
The hockey group found a booth close to center stage, where John Logan was currently butchering ‘Why Don’t You Get A Job’ by The Offspring.
“Oh, Jules!” She shouted, catching the blond as they went around with the sign up sheet. “You run The Fifth Line, right?”
Jules nodded. “Yeah, what about it?”
“For the sake of my job, I need you to keep me off it. I can’t be seen publicly doing anything that would make the firm look bad, and I’m pretty sure ending up on a varsity hockey gossip page would definitely make the firm look bad.”
Jules laughed. “So nobody knows you’re dating Tucker?”
“Just my cubicle mate. She’s in her fifties and her son is a big fan of Garrett’s. So covered for me earlier, which is the only reason I made it to the game on time.”
“Ok, I get it. I respect the hustle. Nothing about you and Tuck will end up on Fifth Line.”
“Thanks, Jules.” She smiled genuinely, reaching for Tuck’s hand under the table. “I really appreciate it.”
As Logan’s song finished and he took a dramatic bow, Tucker kiss her forehead softly, leaning in to whisper to her.
“You want a mocktail or anything?”
Her heart melted, smile breaking out on her features. “Get me that virgin Pineapple Express from last time. No mint.”
“You got it.” Tuck beamed, kissing her softly before leaving the booth to head to the bar.
She watched him leave, Allie gently ribbing her about the love struck look on her face. Garrett asked her a few questions about work, which she did her best to answer without breaking any confidentiality rules.
She was midway through a story about someone who tried to buy a row house on Craigslist when she heard the shout carry over the bar.
“Ohmigosh, Y/N?”
She recognized the voice instantly, her stomach dropping to the floor when she turned around to face the dark haired woman who was walking towards their table. She wore leather pants and a corset top, and had a figure that made YN envious.
And to think, the two had once been friends.
“Hayden, hi.” She said nervously, shooting a worried look at Allie. She had no interest in carrying on a conversation with someone who ended their two and a half year long friendship over text.
“I didn’t realize you liked hockey!” Hayden gushed, the sound of her voice grating against YN’s ears. This was the same voice that had spent two years delivering insults as if they were compliments. The same person that had spent so much time trying to make YN feel small to make herself feel bigger, and somehow still didn’t realize what she had done wrong.
Her chest felt tight, and she started to toy nervously with the pendant on her necklace. In Tucker’s absence, it was Dean who noticed first, jumping in to try and smooth the situation over.
“I’m dating her cousin.” He offered. “She just came to support.”
“Well, it’s so good to see you!” Hayden continued, completely ignoring Dean. “What are you up to these days?”
“Working, mostly.” Her voice was small, and it set everybody else at the table off. This wasn’t the YN that they knew.
“Hey, sweetheart!” The sound of Tuckers voice made her chest relax, and she was happy to get air back in her lungs as she shifted closer to Hannah, making space for Tuck to slide in next to her. He passed her her drink, taking a sip from his beer.
“Hi,” he said, extending his hand. “John Tucker, YN’s boyfriend.”
Hayden’s eyes opened wide, some imperceptible flash of emotion running across them. “Oh, you have a boyfriend now? I love that for you!”
“Hey.” Hannah said sternly. “Don’t talk to my friend like that.”
“It was nice talking to you, Hayden,” YN cut in. “But I was having a night out with my friends, and I would like you to leave.”
It took a lot for her to be civil. Under the surface, she was a boiling mess of words she never got to say to Hayden’s face because Hayden was too much of a coward to end the friendship face to face in their last semester of college. That one text message had stripped away every ounce of self-confidence YN had, and it wasn’t until she got hired practically straight out of school that she had started to gain some of it back.
“Who was that?” Hannah asked quietly as Hayden walked back to the bar. “You handled yourself well.”
She visibly relaxed when Hayden was gone, taking a huge sip from her mocktail. “Someone I used to know. Someone I once shared my deepest secrets with.”
“Oh shit,” Tucker said softly, resting a hand on her thigh. “That was Hayden, wasn’t it? Do you want me to go over there and give her a peice of my mind.”
“I’d pay to see that.” Jules laughed. “She looks like she could out you in the floor in seconds. Did you see the arm muscles on that woman?”
“Jules,” Logan warned, licking his sibling under the table.
“You don’t have to do that.” YN reasoned, relaxing into Tucker’s touch. “I’m trying to be the bigger person.”
But John Tucker wasn’t. To defend his woman, John Tucker was willing to get down and dirty.
A fact that YN would discover two songs later, after Allie’s dramatic performance of ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’. When the familiar guitar chords cut through the air, coupled with Tucker practically sprinting to the stage, she fought the urge to bury her head in her hands as her face heated up form embrassment.
“Lay your hands on me, lay your hands on me, lay your hands on me!”
When the guitar kicked off, he winked at her, slowly undoing two extra buttons on his dress shirt as he swayed his hips. The table burst out into cheers, Hannah practically pushing her out of the booth.
She stumbled to the middle of the floor, Tucker jumping down from the stage to meet her halfway.
“You’re ready, I’m willing and able, help me lay my cards out on the table.” Tucker sang, dropping to his knees on the floor in front of her. Her hands were covering her mouth, and Tucker reached up with a sly grin to move them, revealing her bright smile. “What you get ain’t always what you see,” he got back to his feet, hips moving dangerously close to her. “But satisfaction is guaranteed. If you want me to lay my hands on you!”
As she looped her arms around Tucker’s neck, trying and laughing as she matched his movements with hers, everything faded away.
Suddenly she wasn’t thinking about Hayden, or about her job, or even about the fact that she was in a bar full of strangers who were watching her practically dry hump Briar’s power forward in the dance floor.
All she cared about was Tucker, and the fact that he looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky.
Back at the booth, Allie was watching it all with a smile, relieved to see her cousin happy. She hadn’t looked that happy in a long time. Jules had their phone out, subtly filming the whole thing.
“Jules, she said no Fifth Line. A video of her jumping Tuck’s bones during karaoke is definitely getting her fired.” Logan warned.
“Please,” Jules snorted. “It’s not for the site. It’s for her. She’s going to want to remember this.”
As the song made its way to the end, Tucker dropped the mic and bent down to wrap his steady arms around her thighs, triumphantly lifting her into the air before kissing her deeply in the middle of the bar, the room erupting in cheers.
She still felt giddy as she followed Tucker home in her Passat, parking delicately behind Garrett’s Jeep. The group slowly dispersed for the night, with Logan heading towards the living room with Garrett and Hannah to watch the Fast and the Furious. Tucker and YN headed upstairs, Dean and Allie close behind them, with the two couples disappearing to their respective rooms.
She kicked off her Vans and socks, joining Tucker on the edge of his double bed. She curled up in his lap, kissing him softly.
“How are you feeling?” Tuck asked softly, slipping a gentle, warm hand up her sweater. “After seeing Hayden?”
Tucker knew all about how Hayden had manipulated and belittled YN in their freshman year, when she was so desperate to make new friends that she didn’t realize how toxic Hayden was.
“You know what, I actually feel perfectly fine. She was a mess when I knew her, and even if I don’t know what her life is like now, I know that mine turned out better than I could have hoped for. Last I heard, she was still working at Dunkin Donuts. At least I have something stable and high paying.”
“You didn’t deserve what she did to you, you know that, right? You deserved better friends.”
“I know.” She smiled, kissing him again. “I might take yours, they seem pretty great.”
Tucker laughed, squeezing her thigh. “You can have ‘em. They love having you around. So do I, for that matter.” He kissed her again, one hand coming up to cradle her neck as the kiss deepened.
She shifted in his lap to grind down gently against his crotch, the boy moaning softly into her mouth. She slipped her fingers underneath the hem of her Hawks sweater, pulling it over her head and casting it off somewhere in Tuck’s room.
He loved it when she was the one to make the first move. To Tucker, it was the ultimate show of trust. A shining example of how she trusted him to take care of her and treat her right.
Her nails scraped faintly against his chest as she undid the buttons on his shirt, scrabbling to push it off his shoulders without breaking the kiss.
Tucker laughed as she gave up, moving to kiss his jaw instead. He took the shirt off himself, hooking his fingers into her belt loops before leaning back, curls fanning out across his pillow.
She landed on top of him with a dramatic flop, the straps of her camisole falling down her shoulders and her hair brushing against his face.
“Hi.” She giggled, leaning down to kiss him.
“Hey, beautiful.” He beamed back, hands slipping up her black lacy camisole. She sat up to help him pull it off, hands finding purchase across the hard ridges of his stomach. His hands came to rest on her jean-clad thighs, rubbing reassuring circles into the fabric. “Baby girl, you are going to be the death of me.”
She looked radiant sitting on top of him, the deep pink of her bra offsetting her skin tone, hair tumbling in messy waves down her back. He’d take a picture of it if he could. Not for sexual reasons, of course. Just to remind himself how beautiful his girlfriend was.
He sat up underneath her, pressing kisses to her jaw as his hands fumbled with her bra clasp. “You’re so fucking sexy, darling.”
“Tuck!” She squealed as he sucked at her neck, finally undoing her bra.
“Hold onto me, baby.” He said, wrapping his arms around her waist as he got up from the bed, carrying her towards the squeaky leather armchair in the corner of his room. It was piled high with clean laundry and pillows, making for a soft landing when he set her down.
He got to his feet, pressing a few buttons on his phone before music started to fill the room. Soft guitar grunge, Chris Cornell’s later work with Audioslave. Tucker grabbed the cowboy had from his desk, and she watched with a bright smile as place it on his head. He stalked towards her, sinking to his knees in the carpet. He ran his thumb over her silver ankle bracelet, leaning in to kiss the small number 46 that rested just below the ball of her ankle.
“Tuck, you’re spoiling me.” She laughed. “You just played a three hour long game, and got hit against the boards more times than I can count.”
He grinned cheekily, looking up at her as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Spoiling you makes me feel good, sweetheart. Now shut up and take your jeans off.” He said playfully, nipping at the skin just above her jeans.
She giggled, gently nudging his bare shoulder with her toes before undoing the button on her jeans. Tuck eagerly helped her get the cuffs of her jeans over her heels, tossing her legs over his shoulders. He kissed her softly through her panties, clasping her hand in his before nipping gently at the plush of her thigh.
He used his teeth to start creeping her panties down her thighs, eventually getting impatient and pulling them down with his hands before slipping them in his back pocket.
“For later.” He winked, kissing her knee. “Come on, cowgirl.”
She laughed, a light and chipper sound that was cut off with a moan when Tuck sucked at her clit.
“Tucker.” She moaned, canting her hips towards his mouth. “Fucking hell.”
He smiled against her as he lapped at her juices, loving the way that her thighs framed his face, squeezing at his ears as he slipped his tongue inside her, moaning against her lips. Her nails dug into the armrests of the chair, and she forced herself to look down at Tucker, who met her eyes through the curls that fell from under his hat. His hand crept towards hers, squeezing it tightly as she moaned again, head thrown back.
“Come on, baby.” He moaned. “Give it to your cowboy.”
She locked her ankles together, squeezing her thighs around Tucker as she practically screamed. He flicked his tongue in and out of her, slowly replacing it with his finger as he moved to suck at her clit.
“You can do it, baby. I’m right here.”
She screamed his name as she came, head thrown back as she bucked her hips against his hand. Her knee knocked the cowboy hat off his head, and Tucker took it like a champ, lapping up every drop of her release until her legs went slack around his head and her hand loosened its grip on his.
He pulled away, the bottom of his face shiny with her fluids, which he ungracefully wiped off with one of the shirts she had knocked from the chair. His gaze softened when he saw her lift a hand to her heaving chest, resting it right above her heart.
“Chest pains?” Tuck asked softly, pressing a kiss over her heart.
She shook her head, gently twirling a strand of his sweaty hair around her finger. “My back, I think. Those stupid arena seats fucked it up.”
Tucker laughed, kissing her forehead. “Let me see what I can do.”
He moved a few things around on the bed before he picked her up again, laying her out on a firm body pillow.
“How does that feel? Enough support for your back?”
“Perfect.” She hummed, getting comfortable before pulling Tucker back in. She kissed him softly, moaning gently at the taste of herself on his lips.
Tuck pulled back, Bush’s Glycerine playing softly in the background as he stripped out of his jeans and boxers. He grabbed a fresh condom from his nightstand before settling between her legs.
“I love you.” He hummed softly, kissing her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him almost impossibly closer.
He slid in softly, lips parted as he watched himself. She moaned, tilting her head back. Her head hung off the edge of the bed, hair dusting the floor as she dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades.
“There’s my girl.” Tucker beamed, leaning in to kiss her as he began to thrust. “Mark me up, baby. Do your worst.”
“Yes, God, yes!” She moaned as his hips sped up, thrusts getting deeper as she wrapped her legs around him, heels against his ass to try and pull him deeper.
She got really clingy during sex. She used to think it would be embarrassing, that it would push men away. She had been a virgin when she met Tucker, and never once did he make her feel bad for being clingy. In fact, he relished in it.
“That’s my girl.” His voice was husky as he pressed his lips against hers. “You’re doing so well, darlin’. So good for me.”
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging sharply as he hit a particularly deep spot inside her. He smirked into the kiss, breathing heavily into her ear. “Right there, baby? That the spot?”
“Fuck, yes. Right there.” She moaned, scraping her nails down the back of his neck. “Harder.”
He took one of her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and pinning her hand to the mattress as he picked up the pace.
“Tucker, honey,” she breathed as he started to kiss down her neck, his free hand toying with one of her nipples. “I’m getting close.”
“Let go for me, honey. Let me feel you.” He hummed, taking her other breast into his mouth and sucking gently at her hard nipple.
She dug her nails into his back so hard that she feared they might break when he started to rub her clit. She screamed his name as she tightened around him, and he offered up his neck for her to press her face into.
“I’ve got you, baby. Tucker’s got you.” He cooed, his own thrusts starting to falter as he held her close. All at once his body went slack as he came with a guttural groan, peppering gentle kisses along her collarbone.
They lay together in the quiet for a few minutes, trading lazy kisses as his playlist continued softly in the background.
“Is this the song I think it is?” She laughed as Creed’s “Higher” began to play. “Can’t be worse than when I lost my virginity to ‘Man In The Box’”
“You are never going to let me forget that, are you?” Tucker laughed, drawing gentle shapes on her shoulder.
“I found it endearing.” She smiled, kissing him softly. “You have the music taste of a forty year old divorced dad.”
“You love it.” Tucker joked, pressing kisses to her flushed skin.
“I love you.” She corrected, curling closer to his side. She realized she had been so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten to say it back earlier.
“Do you want anything? A bottle of water? Gatorade? A granola bar?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Gatorade?”
Tucker laughed. “Garrett and Logan did the Costco run yesterday and now I trip over Gatorade bottles every time I go in the garage.”
“Grab me a fruit punch. And a heat pad for my back, if you can.”
Tucker beamed at her, leaning down to kiss her one last time. “Be back in five. Make yourself comfortable, sweet girl.”
john tucker finding out his girlfriend has nipple piercings ৎ୭˚˖٠
❥ PAIRING : john tucker x fem!reader
❥ BLURB : as you and john tucker are about to have sex for the first time, he finds out something… rather interesting about your appearance.
❥ CONTAINS : mentions of nipple piercings, suggestive content, swearing, boobs, and that’s it!
❥ AUTHORS NOTE : hii! firstly again, i want to just thank everyone for the love on my two tucker headcannons, it truly means so much that so many people love and appreciate it because i truly believe we need more tucker love in the world! also, this is my first full fic so if you find any errors please note that this is not proofread! and lastly, thank you to this lovely anon who sent this request, feel free to also send a request. i hope you all enjoy <3
tucker’s lips were firmly pressed against the side of your neck, creating a hickey that you know you’ll have trouble covering up for tomorrow’s class. soft moans escape your lips as he continues his attack on your neck, trailing it down towards the top of your boobs.
“you sound so pretty for me,” tucker mumbles as he kisses back up to your lips. you smile as you kiss back, his hands reach for the end of your shirt, silently asking for permission. you nod without hesitation, lifting your arms up over your head.
he grins, slipping the shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra and skirt. he throws the shirt somewhere that you don’t care to look for before his lips are back on yours, kissing you deeply but gently, wrapping his arms around your waist before lifting you up and placing you on his desk. you gasp softly before kissing back, wrapping your arms around his neck.
his hands roam from your waist up your back and eventually to where the clasp of your bra sits. he pulls back from the kiss, “can i take it off baby?” he asks, looking at your eyes for any uncertainty.
you nod, trying to go back in for a kiss but he stops you. “i need words from you angel,” he deadpans. “yes tucker, you can,” you answer with visible desperation. being satisfied with that answer, he unclasps your bra, throwing it in the direction of your shirt.
he pauses once his attention is set on your boobs, confused by his expression on his face you immediately start to think something’s wrong. “what’s the matter tuck?” you push. when he doesn’t answer, you follow his line of vision down your boobs and realize why he’s staring so hard.
your pierced nipples that you got down freshman year of college.
you smirk, grabbing his jaw with your hand, snapping him out of his trance. “you like them?” you ask. unable to form coherent thoughts, he nods. your smirk widens, “i bet they’d look even better with your mouth around them,” you tease.
his mouth closes around your left nipple, sucking on them. your back arches into his mouth, your hands flying to his hair, tugging on his pretty curls gently. “you’re gonna be the death of me baby,” he mutters around your nipple before picking you up and placing you on his bed, fucking the shit out of you while watching your pierced tits bounce. <3
❥ TAGLIST : @misswarmsoul (comment or send an ask to be added)
Dirty John
MINORS DNI! dividers by @cafekitsune
pairing: john tucker x fem!reader synopsis: your friends can't believe you like john tucker that much, but nobody knows the side of briar's southern sweetheart only reserved for you. nobody knows how john tucker is under the sheets, and it better stay that way.
words: > 1k disclaimer: english is not my first language! warnings: smut! very little plot, hookup culture. oral (f! receiving). missionary + doggy style. implied dom!tucker but no dialogue! second person, no use of Y/N, the images are purely for aesthetic purposes, no explicit description of the reader. not proofread!
chye's corner: no one was writing about my guy, i had to whip out something! for my ppl who asked more john tucker, here it is!!!!! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist) requests are open!
When you began this… thing with John Tucker, your friends had looked at you and laughed. They said you should’ve picked someone else to have your fun with. They said that Dean could’ve given you the ride of your life, that Logan was really good with his hands, that Garrett could have held you up in any position. That was probably true.
But the first time Tucker came over to talk to you, the golden boy everyone adored spilled his drink all over himself from pure nervousness. His cheeks flushed, his usual smooth southern charm completely gone as he fumbled and stammered. You found it oddly endearing… and hot. And that's why, without hesitation, you had grabbed his hand and took him straight upstairs, away from the party and prying eyes.
Now, sex with John Tucker hits like a secret explosion of raw need hidden behind his perfect public mask.
In front of everyone he’s the ultimate warm, sweet golden boy with gentle smiles, soft-spoken southern charm, respectful hands that never linger too long, always the attentive, kind presence that makes people feel safe and seen. But the moment you’re alone, that carefully built facade shatters completely. The pent-up tension from maintaining that image all day unleashes in a flood of primal passion.
He grabs you with strong, demanding hands, shoving you against the wall or door as his mouth crashes into yours. His kisses are deep, sloppy, and possessive, tongue thrusting aggressively into your mouth while he yanks your clothes off, groping your tits, squeezing your ass, and grinding his already rock-hard bulge against you. Thick fingers waste no time sliding between your thighs, rubbing your slick pussy lips before plunging two, then three digits deep into your cunt. He fingers you roughly, curling and pumping fast, stretching your tight walls while his thumb grinds circles on your swollen clit until your juices are running down his wrist.
John drops to his knees like he’s desperate for it, spreading your legs wide and burying his face in your pussy. His tongue is relentless, broad licks dragging from your leaking hole up to your throbbing clit, then sucking that sensitive bundle of nerves hard between his lips. He eats you out with messy hunger, groaning into your cunt as he fucks you with his tongue and fingers at the same time, lapping up every drop of your arousal, sucking and slurping noisily while your thighs shake around his head.
When he finally stands, his thick, veiny cock is flushed dark and leaking precum, you know it's intimidating. He pushes you onto the bed, spreads your legs obscenely wide, and slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying every inch of that fat cock balls-deep into your clenching pussy. The stretch is intense, filling you completely as he starts pounding with powerful, punishing strokes. Skin slaps loudly against skin, his heavy balls smacking your ass with every deep drive. He fucks you hard and fast, hips snapping, sweat dripping down his chest, muscles flexing as he rails your cunt like he’s releasing every bit of daily restraint.
He flips you onto your stomach or all fours, gripping your hips bruisingly tight as he re-enters you from behind, pounding even deeper. One hand fists your hair, pulling your head back while the other reaches around to rub your clit roughly. His cock drags against your g-spot with every savage thrust, stretching and owning your pussy until you’re dripping and creaming all over his shaft. Your orgasm rips through you violently every single time, walls spasming and squeezing his thick cock like a vice, juices gushing as waves of pleasure make your whole body shake.
John doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you through it with deep, stuttering thrusts, chasing his own release until he buries himself to the hilt. His cock throbs and pulses hard inside your fluttering cunt as he unloads, flooding you with thick, hot ropes of cum, pumping every drop deep into your pussy until it’s overflowing and leaking out around his shaft.
So yeah, you could’ve definitely picked Dean, Logan or Garrett, but none of them would have given you what John Tucker does the second you’re alone.
john tucker vs. the never smudging eyeliner his girlfriend wears ꒰১♡໒꒱
❥ PAIRING : john tucker x fem!reader
❥ BLURB : you’ve mentioned to tucker once that your eyeliner has never smudged, and because tucker loves a challenge, he tried hard to make it smudge.
❥ CONTAINS : 18+, smut, dacryphilia, fingering, soft!dom tucker, overstimulation, mentions of cunt, and praising. let me know if i missed any!
❥ AUTHORS NOTE : hii! at first this fic was gonna be a hurt/no comfort fic and then i realized i was over complicating it like no other so i turned it into this!! also this is my first time like actually fully writing smut and i realized i absolutely suck at it but it’s okay! based on this request, and my requests are currently open, so send in requests <3
you always wore eyeliner, you have since you were in high school and there’s been few days after that you haven’t worn it. you even lucked out by finding one that doesn’t smudge which is a blessing and a curse sometimes.
when you and tucker first started dating, he asked about your eyeliner and you mentioned to tucker that it doesn’t smudge and of course he didn’t really believe you. so, he took it as a challenge to get it to smudge: playing really sad movies, making extremely spicy foods, having you chop onions and the list goes on.
which now brings you to now, you’re sitting on tucker’s bed, naked as he sits behind you with his legs locked around yours, holding you in a firm position. his strong hands that you’ve probably spent entirely too much time looking at, trails down your chest, circling your nipple as you let out a soft whine.
“tell me what you want, baby,” he says against the skin of your neck as he continues to touch and tweak your nipple. “please tuck, i need you to touch me,” you beg as you lay your head on his shoulder.
complying with your request, his free hand trails down your body and towards your wet cunt. he spreads your wetness around before taking his thumb and softly rubs your clit. moans escape your lips as he teases a finger in towards your hole.
“please,” you whine, rolling your hips trying to gain more friction. he chuckles against your ear, slipping a finger inside of you, slowly thrusting it in and out of you. your moans gradually become louder as he speeds up with his finger before sliding in a second finger.
“look at you, so pretty and wet for me,” tucker says as he looks at you through the mirror in front of his bed. you moan again in response, grinding down against his hand.
“such a needy girl yeah? want another finger, angel?” he taunts, you nod as he slips a third finger into you.
between the hand that’s still taunting your nipple, the three fingers inside of you plus the thumb circling your clit, the erotic sight in the mirror, and tucker praising you in soft murmurs, tears prick your eyes smudging your eyeliner down your cheeks.
tucker smirks, “look at you, crying from my fingers looking absolutely gorgeous,” you clench around his fingers as you feel yourself coming closer and closer to your orgasm.
“i’m gonna cum,” you moan out as you cum all over tucker’s fingers.
tucker continues to move his hand in and out of you as you squirm against his chest, “too much t, please,” you plead.
he finally slips his fingers out of you with a smile. “well, i accomplished my goal, don’t you think?” he asks as he moves his other hand from your breast to your chin, forcing you to look at you tear and eyeliner stained cheeks.
you take in your appearance and unfortunately he is very much correct.
john tucker successfully your so called never smudging eyeliner.
doors
John Tucker x Reader
(songfic, noah kahan - doors)
you're holding the door shut against everything you’re terrified to feel, but tucker's not interested in the barrier—he’s just waiting for you to realize he’s already on the other side.
word count : 4k — FWB dynamic — little bit of angst — smut, minors DNI — enjoy and please tell me what you think !
The sheets are still warm, tangled around your ankles as the biting winter air of the bedroom hits your bare skin. You reach for your underwear on the dark hardwood floor, the rustle of lace and denim loud, almost violent, in the heavy quiet.
From the shadows of the mattress, a hand reaches out. Fingers light, almost tentative, trace the line of your spine. Tucker props himself up on an elbow, his dark hair a messy halo, his eyes heavy with sleep and that soft, unguarded warmth he only wears in the dead of night.
"You could stay a bit," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that vibrates straight to your chest. "Just sleep here tonight."
You don't let yourself look at him for too long. If you look, the armor splinters. You slide your shirt over your head, pulling your defenses back on piece by piece, hiding the skin he just spent hours worshiping. Leaning down, you press a quick, dry kiss to his lips—a boundary line disguised as affection—and offer a tight, practiced smile that doesn't reach your eyes.
"Can't, Tuck. Early morning tomorrow."
The lie tastes like ash, but you say it smoothly. You never stay the night. That was the unspoken law governing the arrangement you both shook hands on weeks ago. Friends with benefits. No strings. No emotional overhead. You had made him repeat it back to you, forcing the words out of his mouth before you ever let him touch you, because you knew the danger of a boy like John Tucker.
John Tucker feels like a hundred lifetimes of safety meant entirely for a version of you that doesn't exist. If you ever let him look past the surface, if you ever open the door, the sheer weight of his disillusionment would kill you. It’s a mathematical certainty in your head : eventually, he will see too much, he will realize you aren't worth the trouble, and he will leave. So you leave first. Every single time. You take what you can get—the physical heat, the temporary distraction—and you run before the sun can expose you.
I grew up pretendin' sticks were little guns
I would point 'em at my dad, and he'd get mad
Cause God forbid I hurt someone
I'd hurt anyone I could
Anyone who got too close, and anyone who wouldn't look
But the problem with John Tucker is that you can’t stay away from him. No matter how many times you tell yourself this is the last time, no matter how many walls you build during the day, the moment the sun goes down, the magnetic pull between you becomes a physical ache. It’s an addiction you both share, a mutual gravity that constantly drags you back into his orbit. You find reasons to cross his path, and he always, always stops to look at you.
And slowly, without permission, things start being more than just sex.
It happens first at a crowded house party. The air is thick with beer, loud music, and sweaty bodies, and you’re trying to navigate the narrow hallway to the kitchen when a hand grips your wrist. Before you can gasp, you're pulled into the shadow of the linen closet, and Tucker is there, towering over you. You expect the usual routine. You expect him to mutter a low, dirty suggestion, to tell you to meet him upstairs in the bathroom in ten minutes, or to feel his heavy hands immediately sliding up your skirt to find your naked thighs.
Instead, he just places his palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. He looks down at you, his chest rising and falling, his eyes burning with a desperate sort of hunger that has nothing to do with a quick thrill. He leans in and kisses you. It’s deep, slow, and breathtakingly thorough. His tongue tangles with yours in a way that feels like a quiet conversation, his lips soft and demanding all at once. He tastes like basil and warmth. He doesn't touch the rest of your body—he keeps his hands flat on the wall, entirely focused on your mouth, breathing you in like he's trying to memorize the taste of you before you can slip away again. When he finally pulls back, his breath is shallow. He doesn't say a word. He just looks at you, lets out a soft, breathtakingly sweet smile and walks back out into the party, continuing with his night. You’re left leaning against the wall, your knees shaking, realizing with a spike of terror that he is rewriting the rules without your permission.
The shift bleeds into his bedroom, mutating every touch into something holy, something that threatens to break you wide open. A week later, you’re on your stomach, the sheets bunched beneath your knuckles as he takes you from behind. His weight is heavy and grounding over your back, his fingers wrapped firmly around your throat in a tight, possessive chokehold that makes your vision blur with heat and yielding submission. He’s driving into you, deep and relentless, but there is no cruelty in it—only a desperate need to be as close to you as humanly possible. With every thrust, a low, ragged moan tears from his chest, and he keeps saying your name. Over and over. Your name. On his lips, it doesn't sound like a dirty word muttered in the dark. It sounds sacred. The reverence in his voice makes your throat tight and your chest ache with a violent, beautiful agony. You feel the tears leaking into the pillowcase, because you know that if he says your name like that just one more time, you will completely melt. All your locked doors will fly open, and he’ll see the wreckage inside.
I was born into a one-hundred-year storm
Foot of ice across Vermont
And in that dark, and in that frost, a heart was formed
Malcontented and unwarm
The breaking point comes on a sunday afternoon when he coaxes you into the bath. The water is steaming, smelling faintly of the expensive soap he keeps just for you. Tucker is leaning back against the porcelain, his long legs framing yours, and you are sitting between them, your back pressed flush against his chest. The water laps at your collarbones, warm and enveloping. It’s supposed to be casual, but it’s entirely too sensual.
His right hand slides beneath the surface, his fingers moving inside you with an agonizingly slow, rhythmic pressure that makes you whimper, your head dropping back against his shoulder. He’s reading every shudder of your body, mastering your pleasure with a quiet confidence. But it’s his other hand that ruins you. His left hand rests on your wet thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small, gentle shapes against your skin. You track the movement through the clear water, and your heart stops when you realize what he's doing.
He’s drawing little hearts. Over and over, tracing the shape against your skin without even realizing he’s doing it, a subconscious manifestation of what he’s actually feeling.
A cold wave of absolute panic cuts through the heat of the water. He’s getting too close. He’s slipping beneath the armor, finding the softest parts of you, and if you let him stay there, the fall will kill you when he inevitably realizes you aren't enough. So you push his hands away, scrambling out of the tub onto the cold bath mat, ignoring the confused look that crosses his face. You wrap a towel around yourself tightly, your teeth chattering from the sudden drop in temperature—and the sudden realization that you have to end this before it destroys you.
You were unsuspecting, not unwarned
That I'm the trouble ahead, that I scream in my sleep
You're putting money on red, I'm a sure bet at a losing streak
I keep showing you doors, but you can't open them up
Cause it gеts harder to see me the closеr you try to look
I just live here, babe, but you're the one who decided to knock
You knocked
Which brings you back to tonight. The aftermath of another night where you tried to use his body to forget your soul, and failed. You’re almost fully dressed now, your hand resting on your bag, while Tucker stands by the bed, his chest bare.
He reaches out, his hand hovering over the empty side of the mattress for a second before he shifts, patting the soft fabric. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, his voice soft, trying to make it sound casual, like a joke he doesn't entirely mean. "There's still room for two in this bed, you know."
You look down at your feet, your voice completely flat, detached. "I can't, Tuck. We talked about this. I don't do sleepovers."
The lack of warmth in your tone makes something shift inside him. The softness drains from his face entirely, replaced by a sharp, stung look that makes his jaw tighten until the bone shows. He steps out of bed, blocking your path to your clothes, his bare chest heaving.
"Stop doing that," he whispers, frustrated, his voice cutting through the peaceful silence of the room. "Stop putting the wall up the second you get out of bed."
You force yourself to look up, hardening your expression into a mask of pure indifference, though your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "We agreed on this. No strings, no expectations. You can't get mad at me for sticking to it."
"We agreed, yeah," Tucker steps closer, a desperate, angry heat rolling off him. "But don't look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel what's happening every time we're in this room together."
You do. Of course you do. It’s a terrifying, living thing that sits in the space between your chests every single time his skin hits yours. It’s there in the way his breath catches when he touches you, and the way you completely lose your bearings the second he pulls you close. You feel it so acutely that it makes you feel naked even when your clothes are still on, a heavy, unshakeable truth that you are completely powerless against. You feel it, and it scares the hell out of you.
"Believe me," you say, your voice dropping to a harsh, skin-crawling whisper, desperately trying to save him from yourself. "You don't want this. You think you do, but you don't."
Tucker’s gaze drops, his jaw tightening as he absorbs the dismissal, the quiet exhaustion in his posture mimicking your own. He doesn't yell, he doesn't press closer. He just stands there, a heavy, suffocating silence settling between you as the distance feels more like an ocean than a few feet of floorboards.
Have you ever stared directly at the sun?
Have you ever shared some closeness, so exposed
To have it spit back by someone?
So, forgive me if I jump
At the rattle of your keys
"Oh, are you leaving?," "No, babe, I'm just waking up"
And now what?
I'm left staring at the ceiling, listing reasons you should pack all your shit up
History had taught you that letting someone beneath your skin was a guarantee of definite, absolute ruin. Every time you had dropped your guard, if only by a fraction, it had merely offered a roadmap to your undoing for the person walking away. You couldn't handle the fallout of another ending. Not from him, and not when the reverent, terrifying way he looked at you meant the fall would be fatal.
So you protect yourself by bracing for the impact of the end before it can even start, counting down every flaw, every hesitation, every single reason why you shouldn't let this happen. You convince yourself that staying away is the only way to survive, turning his kindness into a deadline you have to beat.
"You're already gone, aren't you?" Tucker's voice shatters the silence, sharp and bleeding with a new kind of realization. He looks at you, seeing the way your eyes have gone totally distant. "You're standing right here, but you're already gone."
You don't say anything. The silence between you stretches, heavy and agonizing, as you pull your jacket over your shoulders. You reach down and lift your bag, your knuckles white against the strap, your jaw locked so hard it aches.
He looks at you—really looks at the rigid line of your shoulders, the frantic, defensive look in your eyes—and a quiet, crushing realization washes over him. He can't make you stay when you’ve already decided to leave.
His hands drop slowly to his sides. The silence that follows is deafening, heavy enough to crush the air right out of your lungs. His chest heaves, a profound, exhausting hurt settling into his features. The fierce, fighting light in his eyes slowly dulls, leaving him looking entirely hollow, entirely defeated.
"Fine," he says quietly, his voice flat, completely stripped of all the southern warmth you’ve grown so used to leaning on. "Just leave then." He walks past you, stopping at the bathroom door to look back at you one last time. There is no anger in his eyes, just a heavy, hollow exhaustion as he throws a tired line over his shoulder. "You know where the door is."
The click of the lock feels like a physical blow to your chest.
I'm the trouble ahead, and I scream in my sleep
You're putting money on red, I'm a sure bet at a losing streak
I keep showing you doors, but you can't open them up
Cause it gets harder to see me the closer you try to look
I just live here, babe, but you're the one who decided to knock
You knocked
The moment the door closes, your knees give out. You collapse onto the edge of his bed, the sheets still smelling like him, and a violent, silent sob tears through your chest. You have to clamp both hands over your mouth to stifle the sound, terrified he’ll hear you through the thin bathroom wall, terrified he’ll come out and see the absolute disaster you are. You shake so violently you can barely pull your jeans up, your fingers fumbling uselessly with the button. Blinded by a steady stream of hot tears, you gather your things, shove your shoes on, and practically flee the room.
Days blur into a week. Then two.
Every single second is a slow, agonizing torture. Without the distraction of his touch, the truth you’ve been running from settles into your bones like lead. You do love him. You love him so much it physically hurts to breathe, a constant, dull throb in the center of your chest. But when you think of Tucker, you see the sun—something bright, pure, and life-giving, and if you go back, you’ll just choke out his light. You can't bear the thought of becoming the reason he loses his warmth. So, you starve yourself of him. You stay in your room, ignoring the ache, choosing to bleed out in silence rather than drag him down with you.
Meanwhile, Tucker is a ghost of himself. He doesn't joke around in the locker room anymore. At home, he sits in the quiet of his room, staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over your name, waiting for a text that never comes. He’s furious at you for quitting, furious at you for deciding his limits for him, and furious at himself for letting you walk out into the dark.
By midnight on the fourteenth day, the guilt becomes too heavy to carry. You can't keep his spare key on your nightstand anymore; it feels like a physical brand, a constant reminder of the safety you threw away because you were too terrified to hold it. You decide to get rid of it when you know he won't be around to stop you.
The university ice rink is a tomb at midnight, the massive building shrouded in shadows and the smell of damp leather and pulverized ice. You slip through the side door, your sneakers making no sound on the rubber mats. The plan is simple: drop the silver key into his hockey locker through the metal vents and vanish back into the dark before the winter can catch you.
The heavy door clicks shut behind you, the latch locking into place with a definitive, echoey thud.
You take three steps inside, and your entire body locks. The air leaves your lungs as if you’ve been punched. He’s there.
Tucker is sitting on the wooden bench at the very end of the row, his massive frame hunched over, a roll of black stick tape clutched in his large hands. He’s still half-dressed in his gear, his heavy nylon hockey pants on, but his chest is bare, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat from an extra hours-long practice he clearly used to beat himself into exhaustion. He doesn't look up, but his voice stops you dead.
"You really thought you could just disappear, didn't you?"
He lifts his head, his eyes locking onto yours and you feel the floor vanishing beneath your feet. He stands up slowly, the movement languid and predatory. He doesn't look like the resigned boy who let you walk out of his bedroom two weeks ago. He walks toward you, his heavy steps unhurried, until he’s standing directly in your space, radiating a suffocating heat that cuts through the metallic chill of the rink.
“It was the only way I knew how to handle this," you whisper, clutching the key so hard it bites into your palm.
Tucker stops. He looks at your hand, then slowly up to your eyes, his expression stripping away everything but a tired, raw frustration. He reaches out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist, his grip burning. He doesn't pull you in; he just holds you there, forcing you to face him.
"Handle this?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "You think cutting me off and ghosting me for two weeks is handling it?" You look at him, really look at him, and see the exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes. "You don't get to decide that you’re not worth the risk."
I'm the trouble ahead, and I scream in my sleep
You're putting money on red, I'm a sure bet at a losing streak
I keep showing you doors, but you can't open them up
Cause it gets harder to see me the closer you try to look
I just live here, babe, but you're the one who decided to knock
You knocked
He gently pries the key from your hand, letting it clatter to the concrete. He takes a half-step closer, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. You can feel the air between you charging, the silence stretching until it feels like a physical weight, thick with the scent of cedar, sweat, and something inevitable.
"I got scared," you admit, your voice cracking. "I'm still scared."
"Yeah," he mutters. "I noticed."
He leans down, his mouth hovering just a breath away, and you can feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace. You bring your hands up, your fingers trembling as they find the damp skin of his shoulders, and the stupid, desperate reality of how much you missed him just collapses the rest of the distance.
When his mouth finally hits yours, it isn't an invitation—it’s the frantic, starving wreck of fourteen days of silence, a collision that tastes like copper and desperate, long-overdue relief. He tears your coat aside, and his hands, burning hot, move with ruthless speed—shoving your sweater up and over your head, his fingers catching on the fabric in his hurry. He doesn't stop, his palms dragging down your skin, tugging your jeans down until you’re shivering and exposed in the cold, dim air of the locker room. He lifts you, your legs locking instinctively around his waist as his heavy hockey pants drop to the bench with a heavy thud.
He steadies you against the steel lockers, the metal biting into your back as he guides himself to you.
The first push feels like a homecoming and an invasion all at once—he is thick and searingly hot, stretching you until the air leaves your lungs in a sharp, broken gasp. You claw at his shoulders, your eyes blown wide as he fills you completely, the cold room turning irrelevant against the crushing, rhythmic weight of his body.
Your bodies align with terrifying, natural precision—two halves of a broken whole finally finding their center. You move with an urgent, ravenous hunger, a primal need that transcends speech. With no space remaining between you, there is only the friction of skin against skin, the frantic hitch in your breathing, and the profound, overwhelming sense that this—being joined like this—is the only way to silence the noise in your heads.
Your hips collide in a chaotic, beautiful symphony of desperation. You ache for his weight, for the way he fills the void and anchors you to reality. As he drives into you, the brittle walls of your self-doubt crumble, replaced by the jarring, exquisite reality of his presence. You aren't just being taken, you are being reclaimed. He is here, he is real, and he is entirely yours to hold. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down until you are flush, heartbeat against heartbeat, skin against skin, until you can no longer tell where you end and he begins.
He pushes into you with a steady, bruising rhythm, crowding his weight down until his mouth is pressed against your throat, swearing softly under his breath.
"I'm not leaving," he grunts against your skin, his hips slamming into yours.
He pulls back to look you in the eyes, his face flushed, his breath coming in broken hitches. "I'm not leaving," he repeats, his voice vibrating through the hollow steel at your back.
He drives into you again, slower now, with a terrifying, agonizing control that forces you to realize that this—this weight, this heat, this absolute refusal to let go—is exactly what you needed all along. He leans in, his forehead pressed against yours, his movements syncing with the frantic, newfound rhythm of your own heart. He moves with a purpose that is almost holy, a slow erosion of your defenses until the panic is gone, replaced by a clarity so sharp it hurts.
"I'm not leaving," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.
He grinds his hips against yours, hitting that sweet, devastating spot that forces a sob from your throat. He doesn't let you look away—he captures your gaze, locking it to his, even as he drives into you one last time.
"I'm not leaving," he vows, his voice a final, breathless promise that settles deep in your bones.
I just live here, babe, but you're the one
I just live here, babe, but you're the one
I just live here, babe, but you're the one
@addisondavenport @linnygirl09 @unknownsangel2 @rollsonrollss @parker-barnes-af @fandom-princess-forevermore @nessaasstuff @maditasap
John Tucker Masterlist
Branch
Summary: Eight years ago, John Tucker and Y/N L/N fell in love. Unfortunately, they realized it three weeks before graduation. With Y/N leaving Briar for a journalism internship and John staying behind to figure out his future, they did what seemed easiest at the time—they walked away. Now, eight years later, a reunion weekend brings the old Briar crew back together. John is expecting nothing more than beer, hockey stories, and a trip down memory lane. What he isn't expecting is Y/N. The girl he never forgot. The woman he can't stop staring at. And the second chance he never thought he'd get. Sometimes timing is everything. Sometimes it's worth waiting eight years for.
Warnings: none yet :)
P1, P2, P3, P4, P5, P6, P7, P8, P9, P10, P11, P12, P13, P14, P15, P16, P17, P18, P19, P20, P21, P22, P23, P24, P25
Taglist {Open}: @kmc1989 @yogurts-things @parker-barnes-af @spooky-librarian-ghost @thecraziestcrayon @distantlyshatteredshard @ilocuras24 @garrettgrahamssexysnaps @katrinaellie
Off Campus Masterlist
minors do not interact. 18+ only.
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𝓀𝑒𝓎
🍓 smut
♡ fluff
☁️ angst
💌 suggestive
🧺 comfort
📝 requests
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𝑔𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂
Closing Time 🍓
Dean's Sister AU, pt 2 🍓 💌 ♡
Admin's Favorite 💌 ♡
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𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝑔𝒶𝓃
Rough Night 🍓♡🧺✧
Emergency Contact 🍓💌 📝
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𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝒾 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓈
Bad Idea 🍓 ☁️ 💌
Don't Freak Out ☁️🧺♡
Hot Mic Series ♡ 💌 ✧
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𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓉𝓊𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓇
My Girl 🍓♡🧺
John, Actually 🍓♡💌📝
Save A Horse 🍓 ♡ 🤠
Ask Me Again ♡☁️ 💌📝✧ (Coming Soon)
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𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊 𝓂𝒶𝓍𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁
The Trio, Pt 2 🍓 ♡ 💌
