The Sang siblings honestly make me emotional cause they're both the biggest comfort in their partners' lives. They saw how broken Duan Jiaxu and Wen Yifan were and chose them regardless, treating them with the outmost love and care
pairing: dilf golfer!bucky barnes x cart girl!reader | 6k words
warnings: explicit sexual content 18+, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, public sex, dirty talk, thigh-grab moments, praise kink, lap riding, consensual power dynamics, mild degradation, smut from top to bottom, and one very ruined bad day
summary: you’ve had the day from hell—rude golfers, missing drinks, and a stray ball that almost ends you—but Bucky notices the second you pull up to his tee. after buying out your entire cooler “just so you can close early,” he tells you to drive him somewhere quiet and proceeds to make it his personal mission to erase every scrap of irritation from your body. one lap, one slow stretch of him inside you, and one wicked grin later, he succeeds spectacularly.
authors note: received from this inbox request. i haven't stopped thinking about it since i got it. this was so fucking delcious i can't!!! i was also a bev cart girl in college so the slander towards fuck ass nasty men is very much projected
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By the time your cart rattles up to the twelfth tee, you’re pretty sure the universe has it out for you.
It started with the guy on hole three who thought “service with a smile” meant he could snap his fingers to get your attention and then complain the beer wasn’t cold enough—despite the literal ice in the cooler. Then there was the bachelorette party with matching pink visors who ordered twelve different drinks, changed their minds three times, and somehow managed to knock over an entire row of perfectly lined-up seltzers while giggling that “oops, that’s a you problem, right?”
By hole seven, the sun had turned brutal, baking the course in a hazy shimmer that made the grass look like it was melting. Half your backup inventory went missing from the shed, so you’ve been playing a fun game of “how many ways can I apologize for not having their favorite brand of light beer.” Your head aches, your lower back is a knot, your thighs are damp with sweat under your shorts, and your polo sticks to your spine in the most irritating way possible.
And then, somewhere around hole ten, a stray ball comes screaming in from the neighboring fairway and misses your head by inches, slamming into the cart with a loud, sharp thwack that nearly stops your heart.
You’re still a little shaky from that one.
So yeah. Worst day.
You plaster on your practiced “totally fine, not dying inside” smile as you pull up to the next group. Four men in various degrees of polo and khaki crimes stand around the tee box. Three of them are strangers.
The fourth one isn’t.
James “Bucky” Barnes leans on his driver and looks up the second your cart squeaks to a stop. His cap is pulled low against the sun, strands of brown hair curling at his neck, beard neatly trimmed around a smirk that has more than once made your brain skip a beat. The navy polo he’s wearing clings to his chest and biceps, the sleeves hugging thick, muscled arms that flex when he shifts his weight.
You’ve seen him a lot this summer. He’s become one of the course regulars: the guy who tips well, flirts harmlessly, never lets his buddies get away with treating you like a walking vending machine. You like him. A little too much, if you’re honest.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” you chirp, even though your voice feels frayed. “What can I get you?”
Two of the strangers immediately ask for beers and something cold, complaining about the heat, the walk, their score. The third wants to paw through your entire selection to see if you have a specific brand you already apologized for being out of five times today.
Through it all, Bucky is quiet.
You can feel his gaze on you, steady and thoughtful, like he’s peeling back the bright service-industry veneer and clocking exactly how close you are to snapping. When you hand over change and force another smile, his eyes dip to your mouth, then back up.
“You good, doll?” he asks, voice low enough that the others don’t really hear it.
You inhale. “Peachy.”
His brows twitch, like he wants to call you on the lie, but you’re already turning to shove the cash box back under the cooler. Before you can straighten fully, a familiar clatter sounds in the empty space behind you.
You turn.
He’s standing there with his wallet in his hand, a thick wad of bills pinched between two fingers.
“I’ll take the rest of it,” he says.
You blink. “The… rest of what?”
He tips his chin toward the cooler. “All of it, sweetheart. Every bottle, every can, the sad little energy drinks hiding in the corner. I’m buying you out.”
The other guys laugh like it’s a bit. “What, you starting a bar at home, Barnes?”
“Something like that,” he says absently, eyes never leaving yours. “What do you say, cart girl? You wanna close up early?”
Your heart thumps, sudden and hard.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to.” His mouth curves around the words. “I want to.”
The way he says it does something to you that has nothing to do with the cash he’s holding and everything to do with the way his gaze warms, soft but unyielding. He’s not teasing. Not really. He looks… concerned. Determined. Like he’s decided something, and that thing includes you not having a meltdown on the eighteenth hole.
“Barnes, man, that’s—” one of the guys starts.
“Put it on my tab if you want,” Bucky interrupts easily. “But I’m serious. She’s done. You all good? You got your drinks? Great. We’ll catch up.”
The golfers grumble good-naturedly, shrug, and wander back to their game. They’re already popping cans and complaining about their swings as they move down the fairway. Within seconds, their voices blend into the general hum of the course.
Silence settles around the cart.
You stare at Bucky. “You really gonna drink an entire cooler’s worth of alcohol by yourself?”
“Who says I’m drinkin’ it?” He steps closer, folding the bills and tucking them neatly into the front pocket of your polo, fingers brushing the fabric over your chest just enough to make you swallow. “Maybe I’m just highly motivated to improve staff morale.”
You snort despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“There she is,” he murmurs, pleased, because he got you to crack a little. Then, softer: “Seriously, honey. Let me buy you out. You’ve looked ready to bite somebody’s head off all afternoon.”
“You’ve been watching me all afternoon?” you say, because reacting to the first part feels like it might break you open.
He doesn’t deny it.
“Drive me somewhere quiet,” he says instead, voice lowering in a way that threatens to melt your knees. He taps the empty seat next to him as he slides in, his big body making the cart rock gently. “Let Daddy make your day better, doll.”
Heat crawls up your neck.
You shouldn’t love how that sounds as much as you do. You shouldn’t like that he says Daddy like it’s a promise and a question all at once, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you ample space to say no. You shouldn’t love the lazy confidence, the way he moves like the world bends around him, except when he’s talking to you, he’s… careful. Always careful.
You think of the golf ball that nearly cracked your skull. Of the leering guy who tried to talk you into “riding something more fun than that cart.” Of how tired your legs are, how hot your skin feels, how bone-deep worn out you are.
And then you climb into the driver’s seat and put your hands on the wheel.
“Buckle up,” you tell him, because your mouth is braver than your brain.
His answering grin is slow and sinful. “Yes, ma’am.”
He twists to snag the seatbelt—not even pretending he’s just doing it for safety—and the motion pulls his polo tight across his chest. Muscle presses against cotton, veins shifting in his forearms as he settles in. You put the cart in drive before you can stare too openly.
The path that loops behind the back nine winds through a cluster of trees, where the land dips just enough to tuck you out of sight from the main fairways. You’ve seen couples sneak down here before, in stolen afternoon moments they hope the clubhouse cameras can’t catch. It’s shady and quiet, the air cooler where sunlight filters through leaves instead of blinding off glossy turf.
You guide the cart down the slight slope, gravel crunching under the wheels. The usual hum of the club feels distant now, like something you can shrug off with your uniform in the locker room. For a few minutes, it’s just you, the low whine of the motor, and the solid weight of Bucky at your side.
He rests one arm along the back of the seat, fingers draping behind your shoulders without quite touching. His thigh is a solid line of heat next to yours, stretching his slacks tight. He smells like cedar and cologne and sun-warmed cotton, with a hint of something darker, muskier, underneath.
“You okay?” he asks quietly after a moment. “Really?”
You keep your eyes on the path. “I almost got decapitated by a Titleist. Found out half my stock mysteriously walked off. Got called sweetheart, honey, and ‘hey you’ in roughly equal measure by grown men who still don’t know how to read the menu on the back of my cart. But sure. I’m fantastic.”
His hand slides down from the back of the seat to rest lightly on your shoulder, thumb rubbing a slow circle through the fabric of your polo. “You shoulda called me over to smack some sense into ’em.”
“What, you gonna beat them with your nine iron?” You glance at him, lips twitching.
“Don’t tempt me.” His eyes flick over your face, softer now. “I really am sorry, doll. You don’t deserve to have your day go like that.”
“Oh yeah?” Your voice goes quiet. “What do I deserve, then?”
The look he gives you makes your breath catch. Heavy and warm and molten, like he’s cataloging every answer he’s been holding back all summer.
“Park,” he says, rough around the edges. “Then I’ll tell you.”
Your pulse thuds in your throat.
You pull the cart off the path into a shaded alcove between two large oaks, wheels bumping over uneven ground until you find a relatively level spot. The canopy above throws dappled shadows across the front of the cart, the air cooler, birds chattering somewhere deeper in the trees. No other golfers in sight. No stray balls.
Just the two of you.
You put it in park. Your hands linger on the wheel like you’re afraid to let go.
Bucky’s fingers still on your shoulder. “Look at me, baby.”
You turn.
It’s not like he hasn’t flirted before. The playful comments, the lingering tips, the way he sometimes slides an extra five into your hand with a wink and a soft “for you, not the cart.” But this—this feels different. Not casual. Not easy.
Focused.
“Any of this too much?” he asks quietly. “We stop, I walk back, you tell the manager I bought out your cooler and took off. You never see me again if that’s what you want.”
The idea hits you like a punch. “I don’t want that.”
“Good.” Relief flickers over his face. “’Cause I’ve been thinkin’ about getting you alone in this damn cart since the first day you rolled up and tried to upsell me on overpriced trail mix.”
“You bought three,” you remind him.
“Yeah, because your lips did this little pout when I said I didn’t want any.” His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth lightly, the touch so gentle it makes your lungs forget how to work. “Drove me insane. Still does.”
Your pulse hammers. “You really notice everything, huh?”
“Hard not to, doll.” His gaze dips to your throat, then lower, sliding down the line of your body. “You’re my favorite part of this course.”
He says it like it’s fact, simple and solid as the trees around you.
Your hands finally leave the wheel and find his chest instead, fingers curling into his polo. The fabric is warm and slightly damp from the heat; under it, his heart beats steady and strong. You don’t even remember leaning in, but suddenly his breath is ghosting over your lips, the brim of his cap casting you in shade through the thin space between you.
“Still wanna make my day better, Daddy?” you ask, the word tasting decadent as it leaves your tongue.
His eyes blow dark.
“Baby,” he rasps, “you got no idea.”
Then he’s kissing you.
It’s not tentative. It’s not careful. It’s hungry in a way that scrapes the bad mood right off your skin. His mouth claims yours like he’s been holding himself back for weeks and finally decided he’s done pretending. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tipping you exactly where he wants you. His other hand spans your waist, tugging you closer across the small space between your seats until your chest is pressed to his and the steering wheel digs into your hip.
You make a small, startled sound against his lips. His tongue swipes along the seam of your mouth, coaxing you open, deepening the kiss until thought melts away under pure sensation. He tastes like mint and beer and something that makes your toes curl in your sneakers.
“Come here,” he murmurs, breaking away only long enough to haul you more fully into his lap.
You go easily, straddling his thighs, your knees braced on either side of the seat. The cart rocks with the shift in weight, a soft creak of metal and suspension. It only makes your heart race more. His hands slide down to your ass, fingers biting through the thin cotton of your shorts as he pulls you down until you’re seated firmly against the thick, growing press of him beneath his zipper.
“Oh,” you breathe, a little helpless.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction. “There you go, princess. Just like that.”
He kisses you again as he rocks you forward gently, the slow grind sending heat spiraling through your body. The friction of your shorts against him, the solid flex of muscle under your thighs, the sheer size of him—everything conspires to make your head spin.
You break away, panting softly. “We’re really doing this in the cart.”
He smirks, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Got a problem with that?”
“No,” you say, voice breathy, honesty spilling out before you can catch it. “Kinda hoped we would.”
He groans, head tipping back against the seat for a beat like he needs a second to get himself together. When he looks at you again, his eyes are molten.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, fingers gripping your hips tighter. “Gimme a sec. I wanna taste you before I lose my damn mind.”
Your brain stutters. “Taste—”
“Mm-hm.” He taps your thigh. “Turn around for me. Knees on the seat. Hold onto the back rail.”
You blink at him, then at the empty tree line, and feel heat roar to life low in your belly.
“Out here?” you whisper, but you’re already moving, sliding off his lap to kneel on the passenger seat. Your fingers curl around the metal bar at the back of the cart, knuckles whitening. The position makes your shorts stretch tight across your ass, your back arched, your breath catching.
“Out here,” he confirms, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep watch.”
His hands skim up the backs of your thighs, slow and appreciative, fingertips leaving trails of heat on your sticky skin. He hooks his fingers in the hem of your shorts, dragging them up just enough that the fabric rides higher, baring more of you to the warm air.
You gasp as he leans forward and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another on the back of your thigh. It’s almost reverent. Nothing crude, nothing rushed. Just his mouth following a path up, up, up, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along skin that’s never felt particularly special before and now feels like it might catch fire from the attention alone.
“You’ve been running around this course all day for assholes who don’t appreciate you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Least I can do is worship a little.”
Your grip on the bar tightens. “That’s not—ah—necessary.”
“Feels necessary to me, doll.” His thumb strokes the side of your hip. “You want me to stop?”
“No,” you say instantly, voice gone thin. “Please don’t stop.”
“That’s my good girl,” he praises softly.
The words send a shiver straight down your spine.
You feel him shift behind you, the seat creaking, and then he’s undoing the button of your shorts with deft fingers. He takes his time, like every little movement is deliberate. The metal teeth of your zipper whisper down, your shorts loosening around your hips. He tugs them, inch by inch, over the swell of your ass, carefully maneuvering them down until they’re bunched mid-thigh. Your panties cling to you, damp with heat, the thin fabric doing little to conceal how much you want this.
You make a faint, embarrassed noise. He catches it immediately.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and soothing. “None of that. You know how many times I’ve thought about this? About you?”
You swallow. “You have?”
“Baby,” he almost laughs, the sound incredulous. “The way you smile, the way you talk, those little shorts you wear when it’s hot out? I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time in the clubhouse shower tryin’ not to be a creep about it.”
Your face flames, but your chest swells too—some fragile part of you softening at the idea he wanted you this much and still kept his distance until you were ready. Until you parked the cart and climbed into his lap and said Daddy like you meant it.
His hands slide up the backs of your thighs again, thumbs pressing into tight muscles, working circles that make your knees wobble. He rises slightly behind you, and then his breath is ghosting over the backs of your thighs, the curve of your ass, the thin cotton between your legs.
You gasp sharply when his mouth finally lands over that thin barrier, warm and open and possessive. He kisses you through the fabric, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the taste even dulled by cotton.
“Sweet little thing,” he hums, the vibration making your toes curl in your shoes. “Knew you’d be delicious.”
Your hips jerk involuntarily. “Bucky—”
“Hold on tight for me,” he tells you, fingers curling into the sides of your panties. “Gonna take good care of you.”
He eases the damp fabric aside, baring you to the air and his gaze. You can’t see his face, but you feel the way he stills for a heartbeat, breath catching like he’s been punched. Then—
Then he settles in.
The first slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue against you rips a sound from your throat you don’t recognize. You slap a hand over your mouth too late, muffling the rest of it into your palm as your whole body bows against the bar.
“Easy,” he murmurs between slow, thorough licks. “Got you, baby.”
Your legs tremble as he works you, unhurried but relentless, like he’s got all the time in the world and every second is dedicated to mapping exactly what makes you gasp, what makes your hips twitch back toward his mouth. He alternates between long, languid strokes and firmer, more focused attention, letting you ride the waves of it, encouraging you quietly when you whimper and shift.
“That’s it,” he soothes, voice rough with arousal. “Don’t hold back on me. Wanna hear you.”
“We’re—we’re outside,” you manage weakly.
“Tree line’s clear,” he counters, lips curving against you. “Only thing out here is you and me, doll. And right now, you’re the only thing I care about.”
He proves it, too.
His hands bracket your hips, holding you steady when your knees threaten to give out, thumbs spreading you just enough to angle you exactly where he wants you. Every slow drag of his tongue, every swirl, every gentle suck pulls another frayed sound from your chest. You’re vaguely aware of the cart rocking slightly as you brace against it, of the birds still chattering in the distance, of the faint hiss of wind through leaves.
Mostly, you’re aware of him.
Of the way his mouth moves over you like he’s devouring something he’s craved for a long, long time. Of the way his quiet praises spill against your skin, hot and reverent.
“Look at you,” he groans softly when your hips start to roll against his face. “Grindin’ on me like that. Such a good girl, givin’ it to Daddy just how he wants.”
You whine, your hand dropping from your mouth to grip the bar again, because each time he calls himself that, your whole body tightens.
“Please,” you gasp. “Bucky, please—”
“Please what, sweetheart?” His tongue slows to a torturous pace. “Use your words.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Please don’t stop. I’m so close, I—”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, and you can hear how smug he is about it. “Then you better hold on.”
He gives up on slow entirely.
He works you with focused intensity, tongue and lips and the steady anchoring pressure of his hands. The pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in your belly, winding higher and higher until your breath is nothing but short, stuttering gasps.
You hear yourself babbling—nonsense words, his name, the occasional broken Daddy when the pleasure spikes hard enough to blur the edges of your vision. He groans each time you say it, like the word feeds him, spurring him on, his grip tightening enough that you’re sure you’ll feel his fingerprints on your hips later.
“That’s it,” he urges against you when your thighs start to shake in earnest. “Give it to me, doll. Wanna feel you fall apart for me.”
You break with a shuddering cry you barely manage to smother against your forearm. Fireworks explode behind your eyes. The world narrows to a point of blinding heat and the slow, grounding sensation of his hands holding you steady while your body convulses.
He keeps his mouth on you through it, easing you down, swallowing your sounds like a man starved.
When you finally slump against the back rail, boneless and trembling, he presses one last, lingering kiss to your tender skin, like he’s sealing something there.
“Still with me?” he asks, voice hoarse.
You nod weakly, forehead resting on your arm. “Gimme a minute. I think my soul left my body.”
He laughs, soft and delighted. His palm sweeps up your spine, warm through the thin cotton of your polo. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
You carefully hitch your panties back into place and shimmy your shorts up enough that they won’t fall off your hips, then turn and practically collapse into his lap. He catches you easily, arms wrapping around your waist, his big hand splayed across your back.
Your legs bracket his thighs again, but this time you’re more aware of the very prominent, very hard ridge pressing against you through his slacks. Your eyes flick down, then back up to his face.
“You didn’t have to—” you start.
“Yeah,” he says dryly, “I kinda did.”
You swat his shoulder weakly. “I mean, you didn’t have to do that without… y’know. Getting anything out of it.”
“Oh, I got plenty out of it.” His eyes darken. “But if you’re worried about fairness, we can fix that real quick.”
Your stomach flips.
“You sure?” he asks, though his hands are already sliding down to your hips, impatient. “You want me?”
You meet his gaze and let him see it—the want, the relief, the trust. The way he made your hellish day feel distant and small with his attention, his care, his mouth.
“Yes,” you say simply. “I want you.”
“Fuck,” he whispers like a prayer. “Okay. Okay, come here.”
He lifts your hips slightly, maneuvering you closer as he reaches down with one hand to undo his belt. The soft jingle of metal and the muted rasp of his zipper fill the shaded space. Your pulse races anew. You feel him free himself from the confines of fabric, the blunt, hot press of him against you making your breath stutter.
He pauses, breathing hard. “You on anything, doll?”
“Yes,” you answer, heart pounding. “And I’m clean. You?”
“Same,” he says without missing a beat. “But say the word and we stop. I’ll just sit here and kiss you stupid instead.”
You don’t think you’ve ever liked someone more in your life.
“We’re okay,” you assure him, cupping his jaw. “I want all of you.”
His eyes flare.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, then slides one hand down between your bodies.
He slips his fingers under the edge of your panties again, finding you still warm and slick from his mouth. You whimper quietly when he drags his fingertips through the wetness, coating himself with it. The blunt head of him nudges at your entrance, the pressure already enough to stretch your breath into a thin line.
“Nice and easy,” he soothes, eyes locked on yours. “Just sink down on me, baby. I got you.”
You brace your hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into solid muscle as he slowly guides you down.
The first inch makes you gasp, a sweet, aching stretch that borders on too much. He’s big, your body adjusting to the intrusion with a mix of burn and pleasure that curls your toes. He watches your face carefully, jaw clenched, restraint written in every tense line of his body.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing your hip. “There you go. You’re doing so good.”
You exhale shakily, letting your weight settle bit by bit. He fills you, hot and thick, the sensation almost overwhelming. It’s not just the physical stretch of him—it’s how utterly encompassing it feels to have him here, under you, inside you, his arms around you, his voice grounding you.
When you finally sink fully onto him, your thighs flush to his, you both release a sound in unison—his a guttural groan, yours a breathless, disbelieving moan.
“Jesus Christ,” he grits out, head tipping back as he squeezes your hips. “You’re so tight, sweetheart. So fuckin’ perfect around me.”
You shiver. “You’re… big.”
“Good big or bad big?” he manages, trying for humor and mostly just sounding wrecked.
You roll your hips experimentally and feel him hit deep, pleasure sparking so bright you gasp. “Very good big.”
He laughs once, breathless. “That’s my girl.”
The cart shifts beneath you as you begin to move, the old suspension protesting with soft creaks each time you lift yourself a few inches and sink back down. The slight sway adds a strange thrill, a reminder that this is reckless and public-adjacent and absolutely the best decision you’ve made all week.
Bucky’s hands guide you at first, steadying your rhythm, helping you find a pace that keeps the stretch delicious without tipping into discomfort. Once you do, he loosens his grip, letting you ride him how you want.
You take him up on it.
You find a slow, grinding motion that lets you savor every inch, every shift of him inside you. Each time you rise and fall, his eyes darken further, his hands flexing on your hips like he has to physically stop himself from flipping you onto your back and taking over.
“You feel so good,” you whisper against his mouth when you lean in for a messy kiss. “So deep.”
“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he groans, kissing you back with matching hunger. “Look at you. Bouncin’ on Daddy’s lap in the middle of the damn back nine like you own the place.”
“Maybe I do,” you murmur, then yelp as he snaps his hips upward, meeting you halfway with a sharp thrust that steals your breath.
“Maybe you do,” he agrees, voice gravelly. “Especially lookin’ like this.”
His hands slide up from your hips to your waist, your ribs, your throat. He doesn’t squeeze—just cradles the sides of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up so he can see every flicker of pleasure on your face.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Fuck, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Take what you need from me.”
You do.
You pick up the pace gradually, your body chasing that familiar coil of pleasure low in your belly. The cart sways more obviously now, rocking on its wheels with each slower, deeper pump, the creaks blending with your soft sounds and his broken groans.
You’re vaguely aware of the absurdity—having the best sex of your life in a golf cart while the rest of the world whacks little white balls around manicured grass—but it only makes you hotter. Only makes the whole thing feel more like a stolen secret carved out of a bad day.
Bucky’s breathing turns heavier as you ride him harder, his hands dropping back to your hips to steady you, to pull you down onto him with each thrust. He meets you halfway now, his own control fraying, the low, filthy sounds spilling from his chest doing nothing to help your impending unraveling.
“Look at you,” he praises, fingers digging in. “Look at the way you’re takin’ me. Fuckin’ yourself on my cock like a good girl. You know how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”
Your eyes flutter, head dropping to his shoulder as the pleasure stars to crest. “Wanted you too,” you confess, words tumbling out unchecked. “Since—since the first time you smiled at me. Thought I was going crazy.”
He curses softly, lips finding your temple. “You’re not crazy, baby. Or if you are, you’re not alone.”
He shifts his angle, dragging a hand down between your bodies to stroke where you’re joined, thumb circling in maddening, perfect little patterns that make you jerk and gasp.
“Daddy’s got you,” he murmurs against your hair when you start to tremble, your rhythm becoming disjointed. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give it to me. Ruin that bad mood for good.”
The combined sensations—him buried deep, his thumb working you just right, his voice in your ear—are too much. You shatter around him with a soft cry, clinging to his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing left in the world. Pleasure rips through you, hot and blinding, every muscle tensing and then melting in waves.
He groans when he feels you clench around him, his own control finally snapping.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls, driving into you with a few more sharp, stuttering thrusts. “That’s it, doll. Just like that—”
He buries himself deep one last time and goes still, his whole body tightening beneath you as he comes with a low, guttural sound against your neck. You feel the shudder roll through him, feel him hold you tight, almost crushing, like if he lets go you’ll evaporate.
For a long moment, the only sounds are your mingled breathing and the faint rustle of leaves overhead.
The world slowly tilts back into place.
You sag against him, boneless, your forehead pressing to the side of his neck. His hands stroke up and down your back in slow, soothing arcs, fingers tracing the line of your spine through your polo.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, his voice rough but gentle.
You nod against his skin. “I can’t feel my legs.”
He huffs a soft laugh, chest vibrating under your cheek. “I’ll take that as a good review.”
“Best I’ve had in a golf cart,” you mumble.
He snorts. “There’s a scale for that?”
“Apparently.” You smile, eyes closed, soaking in the feeling of being fully, gloriously ruined and, for the first time all day, completely at peace.
After a few minutes, you reluctantly shift, wincing at the sensitivity as you lift yourself off him. He helps, steadying you, his touch careful again. You readjust your clothes, smoothing your shorts and tugging your polo back into place. He tucks himself away, zips up, and fixes his belt, all while stealing small, fond glances at you.
When you finally flop back into the driver’s seat, your hair a mess and your lipstick long gone, he whistles softly.
“What?” you ask, self-conscious.
“You look happy,” he says simply.
You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm. “Yeah, well. Someone just bought out my cooler and gave me a very thorough… morale boost.”
He grins, teeth flashing white in the dappled shade. “Anytime, doll. Seriously. I meant what I said. You work too hard for people who don’t appreciate you.”
You snort. “You sound like you’re about to unionize the cart girls.”
“Oh, I absolutely am,” he deadpans. “First order of business: mandatory breaks with one James Barnes, who will personally oversee your stress relief.”
You laugh, reaching for the small clipboard you keep clipped to the dash out of sheer habit. Before you can reach it, he catches your wrist lightly.
“Hang on.”
You raise a brow as he reaches into his pocket again, pulling out the wad of cash he never actually gave you earlier. He flips through it, peels several crisp bills off the top—more than you usually make in tips in an entire day—and then crooks a finger at you.
“C’mere,” he says, voice dropping into something that makes your skin prickle.
You lean in automatically.
He takes the folded bills and carefully tucks them into the cup of your bra, fingers sliding under the edge of the fabric with slow, deliberate intent. His knuckles brush the soft swell of your breast, and your breath catches even though you literally just had him inside you.
“There,” he murmurs, smoothing your shirt lightly. “Hazard pay. For nearly gettin’ your head taken off by a ball, surviving the assholes on this course, and letting me wreck you in a company vehicle.”
You stare at him, speechless for a second. “Bucky, this is too much.”
He shakes his head. “No such thing. Take it, princess.”
You bite your lip, then sigh and sit back, fingers brushing the hidden wad. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously into you, yeah,” he agrees easily. “Also ridiculously serious about taking you out sometime when you’re not technically on the clock and I’m not ambushing you with golf-cart sex.”
Your heart does a funny wobble.
“Like a real date?” you ask, hating how uncertain you sound suddenly. “You don’t have to feel obligated just because we—”
“Hey.” His hand finds yours, fingers wrapping around your knuckles, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. “Look at me.”
You do.
He holds your gaze steadily, all the smirk and swagger dialed down into something quieter, more sincere.
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” he says firmly. “I wanted you before today. I’m gonna want you tomorrow. And the day after that. And every time you roll up in this cart lookin’ like sunshine and sarcasm. Today just… accelerated the timeline a bit.”
Your throat feels tight.
“I, uh,” you manage, trying not to melt entirely. “I’d like that. A date. With you.”
“Good.” His smile tilts warm. “Then it’s a plan.”
He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, the gesture surprisingly sweet after everything you just did together. It makes your chest ache in a different way.
You breathe in slowly, then glance at the time on the digital clock by the wheel.
“I should probably… y’know. At least pretend to work for another hour before I clock out.”
He chuckles. “Fair. Don’t want anyone gettin’ suspicious that you disappeared with the course menace.”
“You’re only a menace on the green,” you tease. “And apparently in secluded wooded areas.”
He winks. “You haven’t seen me at the driving range yet.”
You groan. “Terrible.”
“You love it.”
You do.
You guide the cart back toward the path, feeling his eyes on you, the weight of his hand resting comfortably on your thigh now like it belongs there. The course noise gradually swells again as you approach the fairways—the occasional shout, the whack of clubs, distant laughter.
But your bad mood?
Gone. Obliterated. Shredded beyond recognition by a man who noticed you were having a crap day, decided he wasn’t going to let that stand, and followed through with his words and his mouth and his body.
When you stop near the next hole, he reluctantly drops his hand from your leg.
“I’ll text you,” he says as he climbs out, adjusting his cap. “And, uh, maybe don’t tell management the exact reason you’re outta stock.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely writing ‘one very persuasive golfer’ in the inventory log,” you retort.
He grins wide, then leans back in for one more quick, searing kiss that leaves you dazed in the driver’s seat.
“See you later, doll,” he murmurs against your lips. “Try not to miss me too much.”
“Demanding,” you mutter, but you know your smile gives you away.
He laughs, shakes his head, and strolls back toward his friends, who are already mock-booing him for ditching them. You watch him go, the swing of his shoulders, the easy way he moves, then force yourself to turn back to your route.
Your cooler is technically empty.
Your pockets, however, are full—of cash, of the phantom warmth of his hands, of the echo of his voice calling you good girl. Your day started with a stray ball nearly taking your head off.
It’s ending with the memory of Bucky’s mouth on you, his body under you, and a promise of something more than stolen moments in a golf cart.
You can live with that.
You put the cart in drive and head off toward the next hole, humming under your breath, the worst day you’ve had all summer officially, thoroughly ruined.
----
tags: @firingstars @iamthatonefangirl @its-in-the-woods @houseofhyde @superbassbuck @chateaubarnes @earthsmightiestbenders @barnesonly @54nboo @winterdecember18 @unificsation @juniebjonesin @blowingbarnes @bckyslover @grumpysunnybarnes @imwjon @taintedstranger @frombkjar @minminswag04 @missvelvetsstuff @daisynotquake @colettebarnes @lokirogersgirl @sapphire882 @buckyfmd @yvesjgk @justadaydreamingfangirl @quantumbarnes @overwintering-soldier @buckyboudoir @herpeanutzombie @domitaylorsversion @multiversefanfics @avgdestitute @meowrz1a @wherewinterblooms @barnes-babydoll @globetrotter28 @mariamorales1998 @okaytrashpanda @icantfindanamenottakenn @happygooberpastel @cautiouscas17 @infinitewithenvy @yexbarnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @pinksplace
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synopsis: You've always lived down the street from the Kent Farm in a broken home. You were always the barefoot, soft-spoken, and easily forgotten little girl. Except now, Clark is running the family farm, and you're not so little anymore.
warnings: age gap, abused!poor!reader, injured reader, caregiver dynamics, emotional manipulation, dubcon, hurt/comfort, possessive!clark, morally gray clark, power imbalance, krypto being a menace
word count: 5k
The knock on the door was so faint that Clark was sure he was the only person on planet Earth who heard it. He lowered the mug of hot coffee that he’d almost taken a sip of. Krypto was already at the front door. He let out a single bark before he rested back on his hind legs. He thought of every visitor as a new toy for him to play with. Clark stepped in front of the unruly beast, protecting whoever was on the other side of the door, before cracking it open.
Clark’s brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of you. He didn’t expect how much he would have to lower his gaze to take all of you in. Your head tilted so far down he could barely make out your features. That was your intention, undoubtedly, as you held out a wicker basket in front of you, towards him.
Krypto tilted his head at the sight of you and whined.
Inside the basket were at least a dozen eggs, each wrapped in straw. “Pa said to bring these to you …he’s, uhm, sorry about what he said last night.”
It clicked then, who your father was, and then who you were. Last time he’d laid eyes on you, you were lining up with your older brothers at the bus stop just at the end of Maple Street. They always ran ahead of you, tackling each other to get on the school bus, not paying any mind to how your small legs could never keep up with them. Clark didn’t pay much attention either, always home visiting from college, with his intentions of spending all his free time with his parents, who’d gone months without seeing him. He remembered how fragile you always looked.
Even now that you were a young woman standing in front of him, that hadn’t changed. Clark didn’t take the basket from your hands for fear that you’d turn and run once you accomplished your mission. He let the door swing open, kneeling lower until your eyes had to meet his. He kept one arm around Krypto, holding him steady, as he continued to whine.
He wanted to play with you, clearly, but Clark feared he’d break you in half if he got too excited.
“Your Pa sent you?” Clark asked, and he watched you shiver at the sound of his voice.
You nodded, “He said to bring these to you. He’s sorry about, uhm, what he said last night,” You repeated the rehearsed line.
“So it was your Pa who wanted me to have these. Not you?”
“Uhm, I-I …I want you to have them, too. Please take them.”
Your father was a violent drunk, and your three older brothers were even rowdier. Last night, Clark was walking back to his pickup truck from inside the gas station when your father quite literally ran into him. Clark knew he had blacked out simply by the fact that he tried to pick a fight with a man three times his size. Some resentment had built between Clark and your Pa after Jonathan and Martha’s passing. Jonathan never charged your father a cent when your family needed to use the larger farm’s equipment. But after his parents were gone, Clark couldn’t afford to keep giving things away. The act wasn’t meant to be cruel. It had taken Clark a full two years for the Kent farm to turn a profit again after his parents passed away.
Your stomach growled, and Clark’s blue eyes locked on yours.
“Have you had breakfast, Y/N?” Clark asked, and your eyes drifted down to the basket of eggs you were holding. The basket of eggs was undoubtedly meant to be your family’s breakfast.
“I’m okay,” You said quickly, “My Pa wanted you to have these.”
You set the basket down, and Clark quickly reached towards you, his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. He kept you from flying away.
He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. Your lips were plump, your eyes big and sad, and the curls of your hair were barely restrained by the white ribbon you used to tie them from your face. Your grey sweater was not nearly warm enough for the cool, November air, and your feet were dirty and bare.
“Will you come inside and warm up?”
“I can’t–”
Clark had kind eyes. Even when he was being firm, his face was gentle. “I’ll accept the eggs and your father’s apology if you come inside and warm up.”
Your tune changed as you realized Clark wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I can’t stay long. I have chores.”
Clark could only imagine the reaction your father would have if he were to send you away and turn down his offer. You were painfully aware of what your father’s reaction would be. Maybe it was manipulative, but Clark had already decided that he needed to see you up close.
“I won’t keep you long,” Clark assured you, his deep voice rumbling. Things were easy after that. The way he stood, taking the basket in one hand and pulling you inside with his other hand. You stared at him like the giant he was.
Clark expected you might pull away from him, but you only stepped closer as you realized he was the only one protecting you from Krypto. For a girl who grew up on a farm, you appeared skittish around Clark’s dog.
Clark pulled you along, through the living room, and towards the kitchen, which overlooked the backyard. Surprisingly, Krypto remained cautious, keeping his distance. It was as if he recognized how fragile you were, too. “Sit,” Clark insisted, grabbing one of the wooden chairs tucked into the kitchen table. Your body no longer felt like it was yours to control. He guided it so easily that it felt like you were floating. He let you go as soon as you lowered your bottom down onto the seat, “Coffee?”
You watched him, muscles straining through his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, which made him look even more All-American.
Your lips parted to answer, although your brain was still trying to compute that you were in an unfamiliar kitchen with your neighbor, one you’d only admired from a distance. You didn’t have to answer. Clark was setting a hot cup in front of you and taking the seat adjacent to yours, “I’m assuming you like cream and sugar.” You nodded shyly, “Lots of cream and sugar?”
You nodded again, your eyes fixed on your hands as you fidgeted in your lap. The warmth creeping through you had little to do with the coffee and everything to do with Clark’s steady gaze.
Clark reached toward the center of the table, where the basket of eggs sat next to a blue-flowered cream and sugar set.
“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” You whispered as Clark poured cream and sugar into your drink.
Clark waited patiently as you stared at the cup of coffee in front of you. He leaned back in his chair, finally taking a sip of his own. He sensed how overwhelmed you were. Your nervous system had yet to let your body know that you weren’t in immediate danger.
Your dress was a faded pink paisley, the nicest one you owned. Undoubtedly, your father had chosen it for you. Your lack of shoes, though… maybe it had been a while since he’d bought you a new pair.
When you finally did reach out to take a sip, Clark let the silence stretch between the two of you. A reprieve from your loud and moody household. It felt necessary, not awkward.
He decided not to ask if you were hungry. He used two of the eggs you’d brought him and scrambled a plate of eggs for you. “Those eggs were for you.”
“These eggs are for you,” Clark insisted, “Not fair they made you give away your breakfast. C’mon, I won’t tell your Pa.”
Clark waited for you to work up the courage, and you eventually did.
“Are you in school?” Clark asked after you’d taken a few bites. The thought did cross his mind that he didn’t know exactly how old you were. If the lustful thoughts in his head were to continue, he should at least establish what rules he was breaking.
You shook your head, “No.”
“You graduated?” Clark pressed further.
“I couldn’t go anymore. Had lots to do at home. Still do.”
“Your Pa didn’t make sure that you graduated from high school?”
You gave him a look of confusion. “It’s not like I was gonna go to college.”
“Your Pa told you that?” Clark watched as you shrank into your sweater and realized he’d pushed too far. “Sorry, I’m just trying to understand. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I really do have chores. Thank you for having me for breakfast, Mr. Kent.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“It’s just a mile down the road–”
“You’ve got no shoes on, Y/N.”
“I really don’t mind.”
“Of course you don’t.”
You didn’t fight him on the topic for long. Just as you didn’t fight back when it came to your brothers and father, you would shrink into yourself eventually. You reminded him of the petrified women he was used to saving from runaway trains and falling skyscrapers. Except you seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety.
Clark drives you in his Pa’s old pickup truck the short mile down the road. Much to your satisfaction, your brothers weren’t hanging around outside smoking and roughhousing like usual. “Thank you,” You whispered, and you moved so quickly out the passenger door that Clark and his superhuman speech almost missed your hand when he reached out to grab it, “Mr. Kent–”
“You come over anytime you want, you hear me?” Clark's eyes narrowed sharply at yours. Your chest rose and fell as you took in shallow breaths, “If you don’t feel safe or if you just want some quiet. You’re welcome at mine. You understand?”
“I’ll be okay.” You’d made it to this point, hadn’t you?
“But are you listening to me?”
You nodded quickly, “Yes, anytime I-I want.”
“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Clark released his grip, although it took more strength than he anticipated. It felt wrong as he watched you skitter across the gravel road and head inside your family’s double-wide. It felt even worse knowing how much more he wanted to see… to feel.
The next time Clark heard from you was two weeks later. Friday. Payday. The roughest nights were when your Father had enough money to be drunk for the entire weekend. He’d come home from the bar a little before one in the morning. You could usually sleep through the chaos and stay hidden behind your locked door. This time, for some terrible reason, your father had gotten into it with your oldest brother. You tucked yourself into the corner of your bed and tried to ignore the crashing glass plates and the holes being punched into the walls.
Smell the flowers, you reminded yourself, blow the candles out. The panic only gets worse when you don’t breathe properly. The method works until your Father starts beating at your door. You can only make out your name as he slurs his words. It won’t be good if he breaks down the door. Not at all. You have to make a decision.
You could open the door now. He might be less angry if you do exactly what he wants and when he wants. If he beats down the door and you’re still inside, he’ll be pissed at you. But he already sounds pissed? What had you done? The house was spotless when he got home. There were plenty of leftovers in the fridge. You hadn’t asked for anything.
You chose the third option. You grabbed your robe hanging on your twin-sized bedpost and made your way over to your window. It’s a short jump down to the dirt patch in the backyard, but somehow you land funny. You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. Hard. The pounding continues. Your heart beats even louder in your ears.
It’s adrenaline that sends you limping into the woods. Although you move quickly, more air fills your lungs the further you get away from your house. Half an hour later, the Kent farm comes into your view, and for some strange reason, you feel relieved.
You can’t bring yourself to knock on the front door. It’s almost two in the morning. You limp through grassy fields, mosquitoes bite at your bare legs, and you head towards a tall, red barn. It sits a little apart from the Kent house. That will be warm enough for the night. And you won’t have to bother Clark. You just have to wait out your father’s tempers. In the morning, he’ll act like nothing happened.
It’s Krypto who notices first that the Kent farm has an intruder. His head snaps up, ears pricked, before his muscles go rigid. He awakens Clark roughly, practically stomping his paws against the Kryptonian’s chest.
“All right, all right.” There’s no chance he’ll fall asleep again anytime soon. He follows the unruly beast outside to investigate, but Krypto flies in the direction of the barn as soon as he steps outside.
“Krypto — hey!”
Clark shouts, but the super dog continues to disobey him. Clark sighs before he launches himself after him. He lands gently in front of the barn doors that Krypto has already broken through. He hears a woman shriek, and Clark's heart fully stops before he barrels inside the barn next.
Krypto is on top of you, his front paws on either side of your head, as he laps at your cheek. Your shrieks have turned into giggles, but Clark is still panicking. Luckily, the dog hadn’t put his entire weight on you; he’d known better, but if you continued to encourage him, Clark knew he’d lose control.
“Krypto, off!” Clark hurried forward, wrapping his arms around the dog’s torso before lifting him away from you. Clark has to hold his collar to keep him from tackling you again. “Bad boy! No!”
Clark looks you over. Although your face is delighted, Clark realizes you’re in a thin camisole and pajama shorts, cold skin only covered by a flimsy robe. He noticed your right ankle next, and the way it was starting to turn purple.
“He flew!” You shout, and it’s the most animated Clark has ever seen you, “I swear, he-he flew!”
“Krypto–look what you… Oh gosh. Stay!” Clark commands, and the dog whines but keeps his place, far from you. Your face falls.
“He’s okay,” You add as you realize Clark has noticed your ankle, “He didn’t hurt me, Mr. Kent!”
“Your ankle–” Clark starts as he hurried to kneel by your side. He’s already taken your leg in his hand, lifting it gently.
“I fell,” You add, trying to ignore the way his touch was making your body feel. His hands were firm, careful, and his touch felt far too intimate. “I fell, it wasn’t him.”
“You fell?” Clark’s eyes darkened, “Your Pa did this?”
You think for a moment about lying. What if he tried to get your Pa in trouble? You needed your Pa. Things got bad when he was home, but it was even worse when he was locked up. You find you don’t have any energy left to lie. “I jumped out of my window. My Pa…he was trying to get into my room. He was drunk. I was scared.”
He’s still angry, you can read that much, but he remains calm. He lifts you swiftly, careful to avoid putting any extra pressure on your ankle, and starts to carry you outside.
“You did the right thing,” Clark states, his voice deeper than before. He carries you towards the house, and Krypto follows obediently behind the two of you. He doesn’t specify exactly what the right thing is that you did — jumping out the window? Coming here? Telling the truth? You assume he means everything. It’s praise, but it feels so foreign that it’s hard for your mind to process.
He takes you to the main bedroom and lays you down on the bed. It smells like him. The sheets are soft and plaid. The comforter is a quilted pattern that looks handmade, and there are so many knick-knacks that decorate the shelves and family photos on the walls. It’s a happy and lived-in room.
Clark works methodically, propping your leg up on a pillow, applying an ice pack, and bandaging up your bruised skin.
“I think it’s sprained.” He says, concentrated, almost to himself.
“I’m okay, really,” You tried, but he’d only shush you and tell you to lie back down. “At least it’s not broken.”
Clark grits his teeth at that. You worry that you’ve upset him.
“You won’t tell on him, will you?” You ask quietly, and your eyes are hopeful.
Clark sighs and pauses for a long moment, “No, if that’s not what you want.” The words sound almost painful as they leave his lips. His curly hair falls gently against his forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows against his thighs.
You nodded, “Thank you.”
“But I don’t think you should go back.”
“What?”
“I think you should stay here.”
“I can’t–”
“Don’t decide now, okay? Either way, I’ll find a way to handle your Dad.”
“Handle him?” You ask cautiously.
Clark doesn’t answer, not directly, but his face says it all. He’s struggling with the thoughts in his mind.
“I’m sorry for all this.” Tears prick your eyes, your head tilts back against the pillows, and you cover your eyes, “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”
Your tears start to fall as the bed dips beside you. He’s heavy, and your body tilts in the direction that his body weight pulls you. His hands are impossibly warm when they touch yours. Gently, he moves your hands from your face.
“I’m sss-sorry, Mr. Kent.”
Maybe your vision is blurry from your tears, but you almost swear Clark licks his lips as he looks at you. It almost doesn’t register that you’re lying in his bed with him, your older neighbor. As soon as it does, you feel a lump in your throat. You swallow. Hard.
“Don’t be,” he says, his warm breath fans over your nose, your mouth. Your heart beats in a strange pattern. “I don’t like that you’re hurting, but I think you were meant to be right here. Right at this moment.”
You try to blink your tears away, “You … think so?”
“Mhm,” Is all he manages, and suddenly, you feel his hand on your waist. He feels the exposed flesh there, “Are you … are you hurting anywhere else?”
“Just my ankle…” He’s just concerned, you know that, but it also feels like … his fingers dance against the thin waistband of your pajama shorts. They’re covered in faded butterflies. “You’re not mad at me?”
You already know that deep down, anger is the last emotion he’s feeling as he moves his hands over your skin. It takes everything in you not to squirm. It feels strange. “I could never…have you … have you ever …”
Your brows furrow as you search his face. His expression is almost painful. “Have I ever what?”
He pulls his hands away suddenly, almost ashamed. Once again, you feel like you’ve mistepped. “Nothing,” He smiles sadly, “I’ll go get you something for the pain. And then I want you to sleep. It’s late.”
You nod solemnly. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Kent.”
“Call me Clark, please.”
“Thank you, Clark.”
You wake to a whining Krypto. He lies beside you, his tail wagging furiously, and as your eyes blink open, he licks your face. You groan and laugh at the same time, wiping your cheek. You reach out to pet behind his ears. You’d gotten the best sleep you had in a while, even given the sprained ankle. You pulled he comforter away from your body, attempting to move your foot, only to find it still sore. You could see your ankle swelling even from beneath the bandage.
Slowly, you pulled yourself up. You lifted your ankle from the pillow, grimacing, as you tried to move both your legs to the side of the bed. “Hey, hey, hey,” As if he’d sensed your movement, Clark appeared through the bedroom door, “You gotta let me help you.”
Shyly, you looked up at him. A kitchen towel was tossed over his shoulder, like he was in the midst of cooking. The smell of bacon and pancakes wafted through the open door, confirming your suspicion. He stood in front of you, blocking your exit, and you continued to wince as you gently placed your right foot on the ground.
“I’m okay…” You strained to say through the pain, “Please, Clark.”
“I’ll lift you. Grab onto my shoulders.”
You hesitate. “I … I have to pee. I swear I-I can make it on my own.”
Reaching down, tucking one of his arms beneath your knees, and the other around your back, he lifts you easily. He leaves no room for argument. You’re not one to argue, anyways. You should feel embarassed as he sets you down in front of the toilet. There’s an awkward moment where you’re afraid he’ll try to help you further but he say, “Shout when you’re done and I’ll help you to the sink.”
You nod quickly, silently.
Throughout the day, you get used to Clark being a little bit too close for comfort. He brings you to the breakfast table, to the couch, and that night he helps you to the shower. He figures out a solution that offers you the most privacy but it still involves him being on the other side of the shower curtain. You plan to undress and dress inside the confines of the shower. “Be careful, please,” Clark warns you and halfway through trying to bathe yourself, you realize you’ve overestimated your abilities. You’re basically forced to hop on one foot on the slippery shower floor and after almost falling twice, Clark decides he can’t risk you hurting yourself further.
You yip when he pulls the shower curtain back, “I won’t look, I promise,” He assures you as your eyes widen. It’s futile. You reach out to grab onto his arms. You use him for balance as you finish rinsing the soap from your body. You’re shaking and you wish he couldn’t feel how nervous you were. You don’t know if he takes a peek at you because you’re averting your eyes from him out of embarrassment. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” You say although you’re not sure what for. He clearly finds some satisfaction out of helping you.
You’re surprised when he lifts you easily from the tub, his arms tucked underneath your armpits, and you marvel for a moment at his strength. He continues to promise that he’s not looking as he helps you into one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers.
“Clark, you should really take me home tonight.”
“You know why that’s not happening.”
“My father will be expecting me–”
“He won’t.” Clark says. “I already talked to him.”
“What?”
“He’s not gonna get mad at you. He’s not going to do anything to you, do you understand that?” Clark steadies you, his hands tight against your waist as he stares down at you, “All of that is over.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing a lady needs to hear,” He insists, “I want you to stay. You’re not a burden to me. You look good here. In my clothes and with me.”
“Whatever he agreed to, he’ll go back on it, he won’t keep his word. He never has.” You respond, your anxiety growing, knowing how angry Clark must’ve made him. Clark lifts you again, this time settling himself on the bed, and then setting you next to him. Your legs crossed over his lap, his hand against the small of your back. Your hand finds his hard chest as you try not to squirm, to not show your discomfort, “I-I’m serious. He’ll show up her and he’ll do something stupid.”
“You don’t think I could handle him?”
“I don’t want you to handle him. This is my fault, not yours–”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Clark’s head dips as he tucks his head into the side of your neck. He squeezes you and pulls you closer. “I don’t think you’ve ever done anything wrong in your life.”
“What are you doing?” Your hand presses harder into his chest, “Clark, that feels… weird.”
“Weird, huh?”
He kisses you on the sensitive skin there, and now, you can’t help but squirm. You feel warm in places you didn’t know could feel warm. He moves your right leg carefully, spreading your legs, and you panic inside. His hand travels up your leg and then moves to your inner thigh. Jesus, this is wrong. So wrong.
“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” Clark asked, his voice husky and deep. The kind stranger who’d taken you in had taken another shape. “Tell me no one has.”
He massages the meaty flesh of your thighs, grabbing you like a stress toy, and there’s a groan in his throat that’s animalistic. “Wait, please–”
“You’ll like it, I promise,” When he reaches into the fabric of the short, something flutters in your core, and his strong fingers start to run over your sensitive folds. He makes long strokes, up and down your center. He wants to feel a part of you no else has ever seen.
And the sad thing is, you like it more than you thought you would. The attention. No one had ever paid you this much attention. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been held. You were undiscovered. Uncharted territory. And so painfully innocent.
You feel warm and wet now. Clark’s icy blue eyes meet with yours and your cheeks heat from embarrassment. He kisses you softly as he massages your center. He’s right. You like it. You’re moving your hips weakly against his fingers. Your lips part and he presses his lips against yours. He takes the lead and you try to move your lips in sync with his.
“You like it, don’t you?” He asks against your lips.
You nod although you hate that he can see you like this.
You’re so wet now. He easily slips the tip of his finger inside of you, “Clark–” You gasp, “More.”
“You can handle more, can’t you?” You nod as he pushes his finger deeper. You’re grinding against his finger in weak circles. “Good girl. Sweet girl. I’ve got more for you.”
His finger goes deeper, curling against a spot that has you shaking. It’s so slow. Torturous. “You gonna cum on my finger, Y/N?”
“I-I…” You moan, “I feel like I have to pee.”
Clark’s chest rumbles and you feel mortified knowing that he’s amused. “That’s okay. Don’t run from it.”
You turn your face into his chest, shyly, as you do your best not to run from the feeling. “Let me make you cum, baby,” It’s a slow building and then it happens all at once. You’re screaming into his the fabric of his shirt, hips shaking, but he keeps holding onto you even as his finger slips from inside you.
You feel empty without him.
He takes the opportunity while you’re dazed and mumbling incoherent to move you from his lap. He lays you down beneath him. Gently, he sets your right leg down on one of the bed’s pillows. He grabs onto your left leg as he settles between you. He lifts the fabric of your shirt, settling his face between your breasts, he takes each one into his mouth, licking the buds of your nipples.
You feel the sensation is what sends him over the edge. Its quick. How he tears the fabric over the boxers and presses his hard length at your entrance. He holds your leg, keeping you spread wide open, and presses further. It’s his turn. You see it in his eyes. The lack of control. He stares down at you, watching your face contort with pain as he takes you for the first time.
He’s more than appreciative, grunting your name, as he makes the first, shallow thrusts. He goes deeper as your body adjusts, squeezing tightly around him. He knows how lucky he is. You’re perfect and he never has to let you go. He could keep you tied to this bed and use you over and over again. You’re so polite that you’d thank him for it.
“You’ll stay with me,” Clark grunts, moving your hips into him, “I’ll look after you.”
“Clark, I can’t stay–” His eyes darken at that and he positions himself to go even deeper. His hand wraps around your throat and he turns your head roughly so he can growl into your ear.
“I wasn’t asking, sweet girl. I need you too bad. You see that, don’t you?” Clark asks although it’s rhetorical. He’s against your cervix now and you’re not sure he’s even registering how much you’re screaming, “I’m going to take you for hours.”
“Please,” You gasp, “Oh my —”
Another orgasm rushes through you, forceful and unyielding. He continues his pace and as you feel your body growing impossibly tired, you wonder how he can keep going. You don’t even feel him sweating.
You never really imagined for your first time but you thought you might be awake enough to remember most of it. It’s like a dream. You lose consciousness and awake to find him still inside of you. When he finally finishes inside of you, you’re stretched, and completely empty. When you awake again, you’re fully naked and tucked into the sheets. He lifts your head to feed you a glass of water. He pets your head and tucks your hair behind your ears. He runs his fingers all over you, down your back, over the curves of your hip and soothes you back to sleep.
And you sleep for days, safe and cared for.
reblog with your thoughts to be added to my clark taglist :)
Summary: You've loved him quietly, patiently, and faithfully. But when he makes you an offer you cannot accept, you need to distance yourself to protect your heart. Will he figure out his feelings in time or be too late?
Trigger Warnings: FwB offer; lots of angst; he grovels!!
Author’s Note: I wanted this to hurt, but I’m afraid it falls short. I don’t know, but I can't keep looking at it. (Also, I was exceedingly kind and did not, in fact, make this a two-parter and leave you with a cliffhanger. You’re welcome.)
After-Market Edit: Y'all need to TELL ME if I forget to add a "Read More"!!! I'm so sorry I missed it for like the first 12 hours. 😭 I know that's so annoying to have to scroll and scroll to get past it. I'm having an off week. (No, literally, I was taking this week "off", but finished this fic earlier than I expected so I threw it up. Turns out I'm really bad at taking time off... 😅)
Masterlist
The Ask
You noticed the way he stirred his coffee, always counter-clockwise, in three slow, deliberate loops, before tapping the spoon once against the rim of the mug. It was a small, mundane ritual that should have faded into the background of everyday life, but somehow, it became a part of your mornings too, quietly mirrored, as if syncing your rhythm to his could tether you to him.
You hadn’t even realized when you started doing it yourself, three soft swirls, a single tap, and then setting the spoon down gently beside the cup. It wasn’t conscious at first, just a silent mimicry, an unspoken yearning to belong in his space in whatever way you could.
After missions, your eyes found him without thinking. You watched his jaw and knew its language by now, the way the muscle beneath his cheekbone clenched before he spoke. A flicker of tension was a subtle warning. You’d learned to read it, telling you more than words ever could: whether things had gone wrong, whether someone got hurt, or whether something in the field had dredged up a memory he’d never speak aloud. You quietly ached for him in those moments.
But there were softer things, too, fragments of gentleness he rarely showed the world. You saw it when he crouched to pet a stray cat near the compound gate, his metal fingers brushing behind its ears with an almost reverent tenderness. Or when he leaned in when you laughed, as if your laughter was gravity and he couldn’t resist being pulled in.
You told yourself not to read into it. You tried, at least.
But you felt every brush of his hand when you passed in the hallway, every joke that only the two of you would find funny, every movie night that ended with you curled into the corner of the couch, too tired, or maybe too content, to move.
There was a rhythm to your movements and his. He'd sit close enough that your thighs touched, and never once did he shift away. He passed you the popcorn without asking. He’d already be there, waiting, when you wandered into the common room at night, remote in hand, eyes flicking up like your arrival had settled something in him. He never said stay, but you always did.
And most nights, that felt like enough. Or you convinced yourself it did.
But sometimes he walked beside you after a long day, his shoulder brushing yours as if drawn by instinct. Or he said your name, low and soft, like it was something precious in his mouth.
You would laugh, and smile, and you play it light.
But truth lived inside you like a bruise you couldn’t help but press. And in the quiet of your room you replayed every glance, every shared silence, every breath that passed between you.
You told yourself you shouldn't feel this way. That he didn’t want that, didn’t want you, not in the way you wanted him.
But wanting didn’t stop just because it was one-sided.
You longed for him in a way that didn't fit neatly into words. It lived in your body, in the softness of your curves and it slipped beneath your skin and made a home there, humming low like a secret only you knew how to carry.
You wanted more, but you swallowed it like guilt and held it down like something shameful.
And still, you stayed.
Because proximity to him, his voice, his presence, his soul, felt like oxygen. Because being even a small part of his world, even just in the shadows of what could have been, felt better than being without him at all.
You told yourself you could live with this.
But some nights, the truth whispered louder than your lies.
*****
It was so late the tower felt abandoned. Even the hum of the electricity in the walls seemed muted.
You were both still in your mission gear. The sleeves of your top were smudged with ash, your boots leaving faint, muddy prints on the pale tile of the kitchen floor. The scent of smoke clung to your skin, settling into your hair and the soft fabric that clung to the curve of your waist. You hadn’t had the energy to shower. Neither had he.
You sat across from each other at the kitchen island, elbows propped, mugs of tea slowly growing cold between your hands. His jacket hung open, and his shirt beneath was creased, marked by the weight of the vest he’d worn. His hair, damp with sweat, had fallen from its tie. Strands curled at the ends, brushing his jaw.
He looked so human in this light, and a little too beautiful.
He said something dry and half-heartedly funny about the mission: a play on words about how the extraction plan hadn’t gone to plan. You laughed, too tired not to.
He gave you the soft, crooked version of his smile that he only gave in the quietest moments. But then it faded, and you felt a shift in him before you saw it.
His gaze drifted, from your mouth, to your shoulder, to the hand you rested against your mug. It wasn’t predatory, or even overtly suggestive, but it lasted beat too long, and in that moment, something changed in the air between you, like the wind had shifted.
“Hey,” he said, his voice pitched lower and softer.
You looked up, and your chest tightened like your body was trying to warn you.
His tone was too neutral; you’d only ever heard it when he was defusing a threat he wasn’t sure he’d win against.
“You know…” He hesitated, tapping a rhythm with his thumb against the ceramic. “I was thinking… if you ever wanted to, I don’t know—blow off steam sometime. I’m around.”
You blinked.
He continued, careful and measured.
“No pressure. No strings. Just… comfort. We know each other. We’re… comfortable with one another, right?”
Comfort. Comfortable.
The words felt wrong in your gut. They were too casual, and for a moment, you didn’t understand what he was offering. And then, all at once, you did.
He said it too easily, like it was nothing. Like it was simple. Like it just made sense.
And you could see why it would did make sense to him. Because you were never more than comfortable.
Your fingers tightened around your mug, just so you could hold on to something tangible when every thread inside of you had been cut loose and you were drifting.
You couldn’t breathe.
You felt your body still and cold, the shock sinking into your bones before your mind could catch up.
He was still watching you, waiting and carefully composed, as if he thought he was being kind. Like this was a gift, something thoughtful. An offer of intimacy dressed up as generosity. And maybe, to him, it was.
Your mouth went dry. Your throat burned.
You nodded, small and mechanical, not in agreement, but in acknowledgment of his words. You didn’t trust your voice not to break. You felt the moment shift around you, irreversibly.
When you looked up again, your expression was smooth. You’d practiced calm, and you could wear it now like a mask.
“I’ll… think about it,” you said.
His shoulders eased just slightly, as if he’d been bracing for something harsher than that. He nodded back once, simple and unfazed, and leaned away, his gaze drifting to a corner of the room, the matter settled.
He didn’t press. He thought that was enough.
The least thing seemed to be enough for him.
You stood slowly, legs a little too stiff, heart a little too loud. The chair scraped gently against the tile, but he didn’t look over. You made some excuse, mumbled something about needing rest, or a shower. You weren’t entirely sure, and you didn’t hear if he replied.
You walked away, your body moving on autopilot. Down the hall, past the training room, around the corner to the elevator. The button lit up beneath your touch, but you didn’t feel it.
And when the doors closed, sealing you into that quiet, metal box, you let your breath tremble out of you. The tears didn’t fall yet, but they hovered, burning the backs of your eyes.
Now you knew there would never be more.
He didn’t see you, not in the way you’d secretly hoped and dared to let yourself believe. To him, you were soft curves and steady hands. Familiar and trusted, but not cherished.
He wasn’t offering a beginning, he was offering an end before anything ever had the chance to start.
You leaned your back against the cold wall of the elevator, arms folded tight around your middle like you could hold yourself together through sheer force of will.
Because the truth was unbearable.
You had loved him in all the ways he would never notice. And in return, he had offered you his body, nothing more.
And God help you, a part of you wanted to say yes.
Not because it would’ve made it easier, but because it would’ve meant being close to him, maybe even for long enough to pretend he was really yours.
But you knew it would hollow you out.
So you closed your eyes and let the silence settle over you, and you stood there, waiting for the elevator to carry you anywhere else.
Anywhere that didn’t contain him.
*****
You didn’t sleep that night.
The offer echoed through you long after he’d gone to bed, replaying itself over and over until it stopped feeling like words and started feeling like a wound. You lay on your side in the dark hush of your room, the moonlight catching faintly on your skin, and tried to breathe around the ache pressing against your ribs.
No strings. Just comfort.
The phrase itself seemed harmless, almost gentle. But you knew what it meant.
It would mean touching him.
It would mean him touching you.
You closed your eyes, and your mind, traitorous and tender, painted the scene for you in vivid, aching detail. You imagined the warmth of his body pressed against yours, his breath heavy and human against your neck, his hands tracing the lines and curves of you like they were something he’d always known, always wanted. You imagined him saying your name so tenderly, imagined that he’d see all of you and want you still.
You let yourself hover there for a moment, suspended in that fantasy, where your body wasn’t an afterthought and your softness was something desired. Where your curves weren’t tolerated, but revered. Where his touch wasn’t born of loneliness, but of need.
But the warmth in the dream turned cold too quickly.
Because you knew how it would end.
He would leave. Maybe not immediately, but quietly, gently, and with that careful distance he’d mastered. No mess, no fight, just a soft closing of a door you’d never see reopen.
And you’d be left behind, stripped bare, trying to gather pieces of yourself from the floor.
You knew the shape of this kind of heartbreak. It wasn’t sharp and sudden, it was slow, patient, and all-consuming. It would bleed you dry in small, invisible ways.
You knew, because you could already feel it happening.
You pressed the heel of your hand to your chest, trying to breathe through the ache that wouldn’t fade.
You had given him your laughter, your patience, and your silence. You had given him loyalty and warmth and a quiet love. You had been steady and kind and constant. You had offered him your gentleness in a world that had rarely been gentle to him.
Your reward was an opportunity of physical pleasure. You had no doubt you’d enjoy it, no doubt he would make it good for you.
But if you said yes, if you took what little he offered, you’d be agreeing to live in fragments. You would be held only when it was convenient.
You’d spend your nights pretending that the warmth of his skin was enough, even as your heart cracked under the weight of what it wasn’t.
Because being wanted wasn’t being loved.
He’d move on eventually. To someone lighter, easier, or simpler. Someone who wouldn’t hand him her heart before he asked for it. And you wouldn’t be able to get angry when he did, because you’d agreed to the terms. Even though it would break you.
You sat up in bed, wrapping your arms around your knees, your forehead resting against them. The tears finally came, hot and quiet. They slipped down your cheek and disappeared into the fabric of your shirt.
Your chest felt hollow. He had reached in and carved out the part of you that still believed this could ever be more. Your throat was raw from swallowing sobs that refused to stay buried.
You’d spent so long convincing yourself that just being near him was enough, that his company, his smiles, the sound of your name on his breath could sustain you. That you could survive on scraps if it meant staying close.
But this wouldn’t be survival, this would be surrender.
This would be letting him take the pieces of you he wanted and leaving the rest behind. This would be letting yourself become a convenience to him, a body without a soul attached.
You’d felt that before.
You hadn’t always believed you could be loved.
Growing up, you learned early how to be useful instead. You knew how to earn your keep with silence, with steadiness, with not asking for more. The belief that wanting something tender was selfish, even shameful had followed you into adulthood.
And no one had ever chosen you before, not romantically, not openly. You had always been the safe friend, the reliable one, the comfort, never the spark. Never the first pick.
But with Bucky, you reserved hope like a flame.
He had looked at you once, in the kitchen, just after a mission, bruised and exhausted, and said simply, “You make it easier to breathe.”
You’d clung to that moment because it had felt like a glimpse of being put first, like maybe you weren’t invisible to him the way you always had been to everyone else.
But you were wrong.
You glanced toward your phone, dark on the nightstand. You didn’t need to text him. You knew he wasn’t waiting. He probably thought you’d come to him when you were ready, that you’d knock on his door in the middle of the night, shy but willing, maybe even grateful.
He probably thought it was a generosity.
And maybe it would have been, to someone who didn’t love him.
But you did love him. You loved him with a devotion that asked for nothing and gave everything. You loved him with a faithfulness that deserved to be returned, not used up.
And for the first time, you let yourself see that truth.
You deserved more than to be a resting place for someone else’s loneliness.
You deserved the same love you had been giving: an unconditional love that reached for you in the light and stayed through the dark. A love that didn’t need to be earned, or bargained for, or reduced to simple comfort.
You drew in a trembling breath, your chest aching with both grief and clarity.
You loved him, yes. Maybe you always would. But you couldn’t give him pieces of yourself just to stay close.
You wanted to be loved whole. Not just because he was lonely and you were soft and willing. But because you were you.
You wiped your cheeks with both hands and whispered to the dark, barely loud enough for the words to exist, “I can’t survive pretending I mean less to him than he means to me.”
And somehow, saying it out loud didn’t destroy you.
It saved what was left.
*****
It took you a few days to find your voice again. The words lived inside you, coiled and patient, but you hadn’t spoken them because once they existed in the open air, they couldn’t be unsaid. And there was still a part of you that wasn’t ready to feel the weight of them yet.
Late evening pressed soft and heavy against the compound walls, seeping through the windows. Almost everyone had retreated to their own corners of the building, and silence settled in. There were no meetings, no training, and you had no more excuses.
You found Bucky in the common room. He was sprawled across the couch, a half-read book resting in his lap, fingers idly brushing the edge of a page he hadn’t turned in a while. The low lamplight made his features look softer, tired but with a rare peace.
When you stepped into the room, he looked up, and expectation flickered in his eyes.
That lack of tension, lack of uncertainty broke something small and fragile inside you.
He thought you were here to say yes. And of all the things you felt in this moment, you foolishly hated disappointing him.
There was a subtle shift in his body, his spine straightened, his legs uncrossed slightly, and he leaned forward a bit. His gaze dipped, catching on your mouth before returning to your eyes, relaxed in a way that tried to hide how closely he was watching you.
You saw it all.
You’d always seen him, read him more easily than the books he left half-finished around the common room.
And you saw the quiet confidence in his posture, the quiet assumption that you’d chosen him. Not in love, but in convenience. You would make it easy. You would accept what he could give.
You hated how much you wished that could have been enough for you.
But it wasn’t. It never would be, not without breaking something vital in you.
You crossed the room slowly, every step heavier than the last, and sat beside him on the couch, close, but not touching. Your hands folded in your lap to keep them steady. You didn’t trust them otherwise.
“I thought about your offer,” you said, voice soft and carefully measured.
His eyes flicked to yours again. He nodded slowly, as though he'd been expecting this, waiting for it.
You took in a shallow breath. Any deeper, and you knew it would rattle in your chest.
“And I need to be honest with you.”
He leaned in, barely, giving you his full attention. He gave off a quiet anticipation, like he was sure this would end with you in his bed. He thought you were searching for the right words to agree, maybe set a few conditions.
You couldn’t look at his face, so you looked at his hands.
Those hands, so steady, so careful, hands you’d watched assemble and disassemble rifles at speed and throw knives with precision. Hands, cold and warm in tandem, that you’d imagined against your skin. But now you looked at them as though you’d never let yourself look again.
“I can’t do casual with you,” you said, each word slow and deliberate. “I wish I could. I wish I could separate it all. But the truth is, I’d only end up loving you more. And I don’t think I’d come back from that.”
The silence that followed was all-encompassing.
Your eyes flicked up in time to see the subtle flinch and shift of his posture. Not away from you entirely, but back, like your truth had knocked the wind out of him and he didn’t know how to brace for it.
His mouth parted just slightly, then closed again, but he didn’t speak.
His eyes scanned your face, searching for another version of this moment. Maybe one where you took it back, or where this wasn’t the truth, just nerves or second thoughts or hesitation. He was looking for something he could counter with a look or a soft word.
You gave him a small, tired smile. It hurt to make it, but you gave it anyway, because you still loved him. That hadn’t changed.
“I know my heart too well to lie to myself,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I love you too much to pretend that being just comfort is something I could survive.”
You watched his jaw tense, but he offered you no words.
And somehow, you weren’t surprised.
You stood slowly, your body suddenly so heavy, like your bones were made of the densest metal. You hesitated only once in the doorway, something in you needing to look back.
He was still there, still staring at you, still stunned in that quiet, unreadable way of his.
“I deserve love,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite your heart tearing open. “The kind I was willing to give you.”
For half a heartbeat, you thought he might say something. His mouth opened, a sharp breath catching in his throat like the beginning of a word, maybe even your name, but it never came.
His hand twitched, like he might reach for you, and your chest went still waiting for it, waiting for anything.
But then his gaze dropped, and the moment passed.
Whatever he almost said lived and died in that breath.
After a moment, almost too soft to carry across the room to him, you let him go, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
It hurt how much you meant it.
Because even as your chest ached and your throat burned and your vision blurred, you still wanted him to be happy. Even when that happiness would grow in someone else’s hands. Even though you'd have to watch him become the version of himself you’d only ever seen glimpses of, but for someone not you.
You still hoped he found it, because he deserved that love.
You only meant to let him see that you weren’t angry, that you hadn’t denied him out of cruelty. But you may have revealed too much, shown him how much you were breaking.
You held his gaze for a moment longer, then said, quiet, wistful, and aching, “Goodbye, Bucky.”
You turned, swallowing around the lump in your throat. You hadn’t cried in front of him, had sworn you wouldn’t. But as you escaped down the hall one tear slipped free. One silent fracture you could no longer hold back.
And you knew, with a dull certainty that settled in your heart, that he wouldn’t come after you. He never had before.
*****
The Aftermath
He sat there long after you left.
The door was still open a crack, letting in a thin sliver of hallway light. He could have moved, stood up, shut it, followed you, done something, but he didn’t. He just stared at that sliver of light like it might shift, like you might change your mind and step back through it.
He hated that he was hoping for that.
His hands felt wrong. The flesh one stayed curled too tightly on his knee, the metal one twitching uselessly against the couch cushions. His shoulders were drawn up with tension he hadn’t noticed until now, and his chest was folding inward slowly.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe a soft laugh, a shy nod. Maybe, in the wild, foolish part of him he rarely listened to, you’d touch his hand and say yes.
But not this.
Your voice had been gentle, so careful it almost didn’t hurt.
“I can’t do casual with you. I wish I could. But I’d only end up loving you more.”
He didn’t know how to process that. Because looking back, it all made sense. He had been blind to every time you laughed at his jokes, every time your eyes found his like you shared some secret.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands twisted together. The air still smelled like you, a trace of something soft and warm and familiar. It clung to the cushions, to his clothes, to the hollows of his lungs.
And it hit him like a punch: you’d been sitting right there, within his reach. You hadn’t sounded angry or bitter, but your voice held a weary knowing, like you'd already made peace with the fact that he wouldn't fight for you.
And you’d been right. He hadn’t stood up. He hadn’t said a word. He let you go. He pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes until he saw red and black.
“How did I misread this?” he muttered under his breath, the words half-exhaled.
That was the worst of it, because physically you did want him as much as he wanted you. He could hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes, and that made this unbearable. You hadn’t walked away because you didn’t care, you’d walked away because you cared too much.
They're better off, he told himself. I’m not built for that kind of thing. Not anymore.
But the words felt like someone else’s lie, not his own.
He got to his feet eventually, pacing the length of the room, like motion might distract him from the weight sitting squarely on his chest. His hand dragged through his hair until it came loose from its tie, falling around his face.
He told himself not to think about the way you’d looked at him, right before you said goodbye. Not to linger on the softness in your eyes, like you were already grieving the part of him that wouldn’t open.
But the memory circled back anyway, again and again until it hollowed him out.
So over the next few days, he made himself scarce.
He started taking his meals earlier or later than the rest. He trained at odd hours, waiting until the gym was empty, lights dimmed and the silence so thick he could hear his own pulse.
He made himself scarce in your world.
When he passed you in the hallway (and it happened more than he’d expected) he nodded once, polite and neutral, careful not to linger or meet your eyes for too long.
He told himself he was giving you space. That it was what you wanted. That it was the right thing to do.
But when he caught the faintest trace of your perfume in the corridor, or heard you laughing from another room, warm and open and free, something twisted in his gut, sharp and cruel.
You were slipping away from him, and the worst part was that he was the one who had cut the line.
You handed him something real, something fragile and true, and he’d turned away, like if he didn’t name it or feel it, then he wouldn’t lose it.
That was always the game. Keep everything locked down: don’t reach, don’t ask, don’t want.
But this time it wasn’t working.
He could shut it down all he liked, slam the doors, deadbolt his chest, but still, the memory of you kept bleeding through the cracks.
That last, soft line you left him with rang in his ears: “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
You wanted that for him, even if it broke you. Even if it meant watching him find it in someone else.
And maybe he could find someone easier to lie to, who didn’t see right through him. But no one else would have your unique blend of softness and strength, patience and bravery. No one else would smile like you, smell like you, or look at him like you did.
So he straightened his spine the way soldiers do when their ribs are cracked, but there’s still a war left to fight, and he told himself, firmly, repeatedly, and uselessly, that this was for the best.
That if he didn’t let himself feel it, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so damn much.
*****
Sleep didn’t come easily anymore.
Not that it ever had, but now it wasn’t just the past clawing through his nights, it was you.
He lay on his back, still as stone, staring at the ceiling like he might find absolution up there. All it offered was the same silence he’d handed you.
That night, his sweatshirt had been waiting for him, hanging freshly laundered on his doorknob.
There was no note or explanation, but he knew it was from you. You were the only one he’d ever lent anything to.
One night after a mission, when your hands were shaking and your words had dried up behind your teeth. You hadn’t asked for anything, but he saw the way your shoulders curled in, like you were trying to disappear. So he’d tugged the sweatshirt over his own head, and handed it to you. You put it on with such reverence, and he remembered how you smiled up at him.
He hadn’t known what to do with that smile so he pretended it was nothing more than a simple gesture.
And he had let himself pretend that as long as you still had it, still wore it, there was some part of him you were choosing to carry.
But now it was back in his hands, because you didn’t want anything from him anymore. You had returned it like you were unbinding a thread he hadn’t realized was holding him together.
It wasn’t just a sweatshirt anymore. It was something that had touched your skin, something that had, even for a little while, lived in the hollow spaces between the two of you.
His thoughts circled like vultures: your voice, your eyes, the unbearable softness in your goodbye, it all played on repeat until it made something in him ache in a place he thought he’d numbed long ago.
You didn’t accuse him, didn’t ask him to explain himself, didn’t even call him a coward, though you’d have been right to.
You just walked away.
You were protecting yourself from him, from what he hadn’t even realized he was asking of you, and that gutted him.
He sat up and dropped his feet to the floor, elbows braced to his knees, hands curled into fists so tight the bones in his knuckles ached and metal ground against metal. There was a knot lodged behind his sternum, thick and immovable. His mouth tasted like regret, metallic and dry.
He heard your words again, soft and steady, still echoing like a ghost in his chest.
“I love you too much to pretend that being just comfort is something I could survive.”
Survive, you’d said, like loving him was a wound you wouldn’t walk away from.
And what had he offered you in return for that love?
No strings. Just comfort. Not commitment, not promise, just his body. He offered a place to pass through when you wanted a home. His throat ached. He tried to swallow around it and failed. He didn’t deserve the grace you’d given him.
You’d loved him. Maybe quietly, maybe carefully, but you had.
And he’d reduced you to convenience, a physical release. A way to take the edge off without the risk of being known. He’d made you small in his fear, when you’d been so much more to him.
He hadn’t even seen what you were offering him until it was hanging left behind on a doorknob.
He gripped fistfuls of his hair, the motion rough and punishing. He didn’t try to push the memories away this time.
You waiting up for him after missions, curled on the couch, always half-asleep but never gone until you saw he was back. You never asked for details. You just looked at him, relieved to simply see him.
You laughed when he didn’t expect it, when he mumbled something dry or dark or absurd, and you’d throw your head back, eyes crinkling, like he’d given you something worth keeping.
You touched him like he was breakable: a hand on his shoulder in passing, a brush of your fingers against his wrist when you handed him a mug. All small things, barely there, but they’d made warmth spark in his chest. He’d ignored it every time.
You made him feel human and he’d offered you nothing real. The weight of that truth settled across his ribs like stone.
He didn’t even have the energy to lie to himself anymore, didn’t try to rationalize it or reframe it or tell himself you were asking for too much.
He knew you weren’t. You were only asking for what you deserved. And you deserved to be chosen, not just needed, or tolerated, or touched in the night and ignored in the day.
He hadn’t chosen you, he’d chosen fear. He’d chosen distance and control, because loving you would have meant surrendering something he wasn’t sure he knew how to let go of.
He hadn’t said no to love, he hadn’t even seen it. It had been offered to him in hands that had only ever reached for him gently, and he had been blind to it.
He leaned back, head thudding softly against the cool wall behind his bed. He exhaled hard, eyes closing.
You’d seen something good and worth loving in him. And he’d looked at that gift and spat on it; not out of cruelty, but because he didn’t know how to accept it without breaking it.
And now your hands were gone and his were empty.
He thought the silence would be better than the weight of loving someone he might lose, thought it was safer to keep you at a distance than to risk falling short.
But he’d been so damn wrong.
The silence now wasn’t safety, it was grief.
You had offered him something so whole, something he didn’t think he deserved but now wanted more than he’d ever let himself admit.
And he hadn’t just turned it down, he’d made you feel like a placeholder and that made him sick.
He dropped his face into his hands, dragging them down slowly, like maybe he could scrub the truth out of his skin.
But it was in him now. You were in him, and it was too late.
Because when it came down to it, he hadn’t been strong enough to choose you.
And now he had to live with the echo of the love you tried to give him, that he’d thrown away like it was too heavy to carry.
*****
Bucky noticed in a thousand small devastating ways how you’d stopped waiting for him.
You didn’t linger anymore, not at doorframes, not beside the couch, not near the coffee pot like you used to, pretending to fix something or check your phone just to buy yourself a few more seconds near him. The silences between you used to hum with possibility. Now they didn’t hum at all.
You were still kind, still polite, still as warm with him as with everyone else. But the quiet intimacy that used to thread itself through your every glance, every softened smile, every half-whispered offer of “need anything?,” that was all gone.
You didn’t wait up after missions anymore. You didn’t ask if he wanted tea. You didn’t follow the sound of his voice with your eyes.
And he felt the absence of all those little things like internal injuries, unseen but slowly bleeding him out.
It wasn’t until he saw you laughing across the room with John that the ache sharpened into something undeniable.
You looked beautiful. You always had, but it was different now.
You wore something bolder that day, something that hugged your body in ways he wasn’t used to seeing, not because you’d never been beautiful before, but because now you weren’t hiding yourself. There was something deliberate in the way you held yourself, more confident, more alive.
He sat in the far corner of the room, posture perfect, jaw still, expression schooled into neutrality. But inside, he was nothing but a raw wound, watching you lean into conversation, your fingers brushing John’s arm, laughing with abandon.
He had no right to feel the way he did. And it wasn’t jealousy, though the resemblance was there.
It was despair.
Because you weren’t his. You never had been, but he lost you anyway.
And then, for just a second, you glanced over your shoulder and met his eyes.
It was fast and involuntary, a habit you hadn’t quite broken. Your gaze still sought him, but this time, it wasn’t with hope. It wasn’t with yearning. It was with a quiet, distant sadness.
You looked at him like someone who had loved him. And now you were someone who used to.
And still, your eyes didn’t blame him, just ached from mourning something you had no choice but to let go of.
You looked away and Bucky’s stomach turned.
He clenched his jaw, dug his fingers into the armrests, anything to stay grounded, to keep from getting up and crossing the room right then and there. No one noticed how hard he had to work just to sit still. No one saw how close he was to unraveling.
Because you’d been hurting, and he hadn’t stopped it. You’d been loving him, and he hadn’t seen it.
And worse, when you gave him your heart, not recklessly, but with the courage real love requires, he’d turned away. He hadn’t just missed the moment, he’d refused it entirely.
And now your smile didn’t curve toward him, your softness didn’t settle around him like a balm, and your kindness no longer reached for him first.
He had gutted something good and soft and pure.
And you had never once asked him to be someone he wasn’t. You had never asked for more than honesty, never asked to be anything more than held like you mattered.
You had loved him without condition. And when he asked you to accept less than that in return, you had been brave enough to refuse.
And now he understood that if you had been brave enough not only to love him, but brave enough to walk away when he failed to meet you where you stood, then he had to be brave enough to change.
Because what you gave him, every look, every small laugh, every moment of quiet presence, was a love that chose him every day.
And he hadn’t chosen you.
He had chosen emotional armor, because he still looked like a man who didn’t deserve peace.
But that was cowardice and you deserved more than a coward.
You deserved someone who would stand beside you and reach back when you reached out.
You were still hurting. He could see it in the way your smile didn’t stretch the way it used to, in the slight stiffness to your shoulders, in the sadness that hadn’t yet left your eyes.
He had done that to you.
He pressed a hand over his chest to feel the pain there. He didn’t know when the ache inside him had changed from guilt to something deeper, pulling at him, but it was there now, undeniably.
He loved you.
And he wanted to be the one who loved you well.
Not just someone who needed you or took comfort in your touch when it suited him.
He wanted to be the man who earned your laughter, your trust, and your time. The man who stood beside you with his hands open, ready to accept what you had to offer, and offer himself in return.
The man who chose you, finally, fully, and without excuses.
The idea of reaching for you terrified him. He didn’t know if you’d reach back or if your heart had moved too far beyond him now.
But the idea of losing you entirely, that was unbearable.
So he sat in the fear, the regret, and the love. He let it in, let himself feel it all, without running or pretending this time.
You had given him something precious. You had believed in something better within him.
And he wanted to become it, for you.
You made him want to be worthy.
And maybe, if he was lucky, it wasn’t too late to try.
*****
He paced for a long time before he left his room.
Each pass across the floor felt heavier than the last, like his body was trying to convince him that silence was still safer than truth.
But he couldn’t live in that silence anymore, not after everything he’d realized and decided.
Flowers sat on his desk. He’d bought them on impulse that morning, after seeing them in the same sidewalk stand you always slowed near. Soft blooms in the color you gravitated to, as if your hands could already imagine holding them.
He picked them up, put them back down. His hands shook with the regret of wanting something he thought he’d already lost.
He’d practiced what to say more times than he cared to admit, but each attempt sounded stiff, too clean, like he was performing grief instead of living inside it.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed. He looked like a man preparing for war. Only this time, the fight wasn’t to survive, it was to earn the chance to love.
He grabbed the flowers, then paused.
The note was tucked under the corner of his keyboard, half-hidden, folded down to a softened square. Don’t forget to eat, okay? You’ll feel like hell if you don’t. I left your favorite in the fridge.
It was a simple domestic thing, a care most people overlooked.
He’d kept it without thinking, unfolding it again and again, fingertips finding the crease in the paper.
Now he knew why he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.
It had been a mark of your love, shown without spectacle or demand. And now it made him brave.
You were curled on the couch in the common room, staring into space. Your posture betraying a tired that wouldn’t be fixed with sleep; it lived in the bones, in the heart.
He saw the way you tensed the second he stepped inside.
When your eyes fell to the flowers in his hand your face flickered, brief and bitter, a wound you didn’t bother hiding. You turned away, eyes closing as if bracing yourself for the worst.
As if he’d brought them for someone else.
As if you couldn’t survive being hurt by him so much, so soon.
He hated himself for that. Hated that you were expecting pain where you’d once looked toward him in hope.
He took a slow step forward, then another.
“I know I should’ve come to you sooner,” he said, voice rough and low. You didn’t respond, just stared at the flowers with a wariness he’d never seen from you before.
“I brought these for you,” he added, holding them out like they weighed more than they should. “And—” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the note, holding it up gently. “I wanted to show you this.”
Your brow furrowed slightly as you recognized the paper from weeks ago, eyes narrowing in faint confusion.
“I never threw it out,” he said. “Didn’t even know why I kept it at the time. But… now I do.”
You took both, slowly, like they might disappear if you moved too fast.
He let out a breath, shaky and uneven. His heart was pounding harder than it had in any firefight.
“I think I knew from the moment I saw this note that… you loved me. And I couldn’t handle that weight—being loved like that.
“And so I offered you comfort, because I figured it was better than the nothing I felt I could give,” The words came out quieter than he meant them to, but they were the heaviest he’d ever spoken.
“But all I did was make you feel disposable—like you were nothing more than a warm body to me,” he said, slowly, shame curling at the edges of his voice. “And you’ve never been that. You’ve never been anything less than everything.”
He paused, to let you see the honesty of it in his expression.
“I thought I was protecting us, by keeping things… emotionless. Simple. But—” he looked away, for a moment, but forced himself to meet your eyes again, “I was only ever protecting myself.
“You told me you’d only end up loving me more. And I didn’t say anything. I just sat there.”
He swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying to get the words out.
“But the thing is… I think I already did. Love you… that is. I just didn’t know how to name it. I didn’t know how to let myself have something that good—something that didn’t come with pain.”
The silence between you stretched, but it didn’t feel to him like rejection, it felt like you were listening.
“You were right to reject me. You gave me a hundred chances in the quiet moments, and I missed every single one.
“And I’m so sorry that it took me losing you to finally admit that I love you.”
His throat worked around the weight of it, around the truth he should’ve said long ago.
“I had something rarer than gold—and I let it slip through my fingers. And if I’m too late, I’ll respect that.” His voice cracked and broke, still he took a quiet step forward and continued.
“But I need you to know that I see it now. You deserve someone who chooses you. Not just someone who needs you. And if there's even the smallest part of you that hasn't stopped… I’d like the opportunity to be that. If it’s not too late, I want to try to be that.”
You said nothing for a moment, but your expression cracked in the way only honest emotion does.
Your hands trembled slightly as you looked down at the note in your lap, your thumb brushing the softened edge.
Then you looked up.
“There were days I thought you’d never come,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “And there were days I almost convinced myself I didn’t want you to.”
He nodded slowly; he deserved that.
You swallowed hard. “But I loved you. I did. I still do. And the only thing I ever wanted was for you to choose… me.”
Bucky knelt at your feet, still not touching, still giving you space.
“I see everything I was too scared to face before,” he said, his voice roughened by something close to awe. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll make sure you know that. Every day.”
Your eyes shimmered, your fingers curled tighter around the note, and your smile, small, tentative, allowed hope to bloom in him.
“I’d like that,” you said softly, the words trembling just slightly. “But I’m not sure I believe you yet.”
He nodded in quiet understanding, with no protest or quick promise.
“Then I’ll show you,” he said. “As long as it takes.”
The corner of your mouth lifted, not a smile, but something that might become one.
He didn’t reach for you, but he stood there, hands at his sides, letting you see him unguarded for once.
And you both let the silence sit between you, more heavy than it used to be, more real.
It wasn’t a clean beginning. But it was an honest one.
✦ Inspired by some of my favorite romantic movies (each fic is based on a different film I picked)
✦ All stories are part of the Better Than the Movies series ✩ (title inspired by the book I love so much + thought would fit perfectly for this project!)
✦ Will be updated on Thursday every week (starting in November)
✦ Masterlist
✦ Author Note: This series is something I’ve been planning for a while, mixing my love for rom-com movies with writing (I'm literally so corny goodbye-). I thought it’d be really fun to reimagine those classic film vibes with Enhypen, and since Better Than the Movies is one of my comfort books, the title just felt meant to be. Hope you enjoy this little passion project!
—𝓛ᴇᴇ 𝓗ᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ: 10 тнιηgѕ ι нαтє αвσυт уσυ
Heeseung is your academic rival, the boy who drives you insane, until a bet spirals into secret study dates and tension you can’t shake.
Genre: rivals to lovers, academic AU, fluff + smut
Pairing: enemy!academic rival!Heeseung x academic rival!reader.
Release Date: Thursday, 6th November
Inspired by: 10 Things I Hate About You
-> Read: Here!
—𝓟ᴀʀᴋ 𝓙ᴏɴɢꜱᴇᴏɴɢ: мя. αη∂ мяѕ. ѕмιтн
Jay is your husband. He’s also your target. Neither of you knew you were both assassins until the night he had a gun pressed to your head.
Genre: action, enemies to lovers, married couple AU, smut
Pairing: assassin spy husband!Jay x assassin spy wife!reader
Release Date: Thursday, 13th November
Inspired by: Mr. & Mrs. Smith
-> Read: Here!
—𝓢ɪᴍ 𝓙ᴀᴇʏᴜɴ: ¢яαzу, ѕтυρι∂, ℓσνє
Jake is the city’s ultimate playboy; he's fucked more people in a week than you have fingers, until he takes you under his wing to help you get over your ex. The problem? You might be falling for your wingman.
Genre: romcom AU, friends with benefits, smut
Pairing: Playboy!Jake x fratgirl!reader
Release Date: Thursday, November 20th
Inspired by: Crazy, Stupid, Love
-> Read: Here!
—𝓟ᴀʀᴋ 𝓢ᴜɴɢʜᴏᴏɴ: нσω тσ ℓσѕє α gυу ιη 10 ∂αуѕ
When Sunghoon finds out you’re writing an article about how to drive a man away, he makes a bet that he can make you fall for him first. Neither of you expects who will win.
Genre: enemies to lovers, fake dating, comedy + smut, social experiment
Pairing: football captain!Sunghoon x school editor!reader
Release Date: Thursday, November 27th
Inspired by: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days
-> Read: Here!
—𝓚ɪᴍ 𝓢ᴜɴᴏᴏ: ℓα ℓα ℓαη∂
You and Sunoo met chasing the same dream in the city. Love bloomed under neon lights, but in a world where ambition burns bright, will love be enough to outlast?
Genre: bittersweet romance, angst + fluff + smut, second chances
Pairing: rising singer!Sunoo x aspiring actress!reader
Release Date: Thursday, 4th December
Inspired by: La La Land
-> Read: Here!
—𝓨ᴀɴɢ 𝓙ᴜɴɢᴡᴏɴ: ƒяιєη∂ѕ ωιтн вєηєƒιтѕ
You swore it was just physical. No feelings, no strings. But Jungwon’s late-night texts and morning kisses start to feel dangerously real. Tangled in him, your slow, shallow breaths mixing together don't really seem any emotions attached, now, do they?
Genre: friends to lovers, smut, soft angst
Pairing: fwb! Jungwon x fwb! reader
Release Date: Thursday, 11th December
Inspired by: Friends With Benefits
-> Read: Here!
—𝓝ɪꜱʜɪᴍᴜʀᴀ 𝓡ɪᴋɪ: тнє ησтєвσσк
Every summer, you and Ni-ki burned with young love, until reality tore you apart. Years later, he’s back, and he still remembers every word you wrote in the letters you thought he never read.
Genre: angst, romance, smut, second chance and forbidden love
Pairing: countryboy!Niki x citygirl!reader
Release Date: Thursday, 18th December
Inspired by: The Notebook
-> Read: Here!
Directed by: @swiftjay23
Produced by: late nights and bad decisions
Starring: Enhypen
{Genre: smut, nda signing, secret relationship, 18+ so (mdni).
{Synopsis: You joined a fan sign raffle for a chance to speak to the members of Enhypen, but specifically your ult bias Lee Heeseung. You joined for the heck of it, not thinking you would win but to your luck you did. Not only did you get a chance to speak face to face with Heeseung, you got to sign an nda with him…
{Warnings: Softdom heeseung, sub reader, rough sex, unprotected sex, (use protection my lovelies), oral ( f receiving), big dick hee, kissing, titty play, doggystyle, fingering, breeding kink, creampie, cum eating, squirting, dirty talk, pet names.
You screamed to the top of your lungs, as you read the email stating that you won an entry to an in person Enhypen fan signing event, in Seoul South Korea. You couldn’t believe what you were reading right now, you out of all people got selected to meet the Enhypen face to face, in the flesh.
You’ve always been a big fan of Enhypen, being that you’ve been supporting them since I-land, and you literally own every single one of their albums and posters. You loved all the members of Enhypen, but there was one particular member you loved a little bit more.
Lee Heeseung, he was your ult bias and you were so in love with him. You’ve been biasing Heeseung since the beginning, and you have all of his photo cards, as well as his pictures and posters all over your wall. The fact that you will get to meet and speak with Heeseung in person, has all types of butterflies erupting in your stomach and so many emotions going through your head all at once.
You quickly started searching for flights to Korea, and browsing many hotels and airbnbs. Finally after hours of looking for the perfect hotel and the appropriate flight, you booked them both squealing in excitement as you jumped up and down on your bed. You got ready for bed, but you knew sleep wouldn’t come so easily for you, because of how excited and shocked you were, you couldn’t wait for the day to come.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
Fast forward, it’s now been a week since you found out you’re going to meet Enhypen in person, to meet Heeseung in person. You are now in Seoul, and you’re currently in your hotel room, doing your makeup and getting ready to head to fan sign. That’s right, today is the day your dreams come true and you couldn’t be more happier. You honestly still can’t believe you won the freaking fan sign, and on top of that you get to visit South Korea, one of your dream destinations.
You finally finished your makeup, going with a natural yet soft pink look. You also wore a cute little light pink crop top, with a denim mini skirt showing off your beautiful curves, and you styled your hair in a slicked back bun, your edges laying nicely. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, admiring your beauty loving how your makeup and hair turned out, you hoped Heeseung would think the same.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
You’re now standing in line, waiting to enter the building. Your nerves are all over the place and your heart is racing in anticipation as you wait to go inside. It’s really fucking happening, you thought to yourself as reality sets in that you’re about to be face to face with 7 Korean men you’ve only seen on tv, and in concert.
Finally after what felt like eternity, the line moves as the staff starts letting people in, you practiced deep breaths, as you make your way inside the venue, you’re so nervous and anxious you don’t know what to expect. You made it in, and a staff member checks your invitation, before leading you to your seat in the front.
Your heart beats out of your chest, when you realize just how close you are to the stage. Your hands trembled as you held up your phone to snap a picture of the stage. Just as you’re about to take the picture, the crowd of engenes burst into a fit of screams, shouting the members names as they arrived on stage.
You smiled with excitement, waving and screaming for the members as they introduced themselves and bowed to the crowd. Your eyes were on Heeseung the whole time, you couldn’t believe how much more handsome and ethereal he looked in person. Suddenly Heeseung made eye contact with you, his stare lingering a little longer before he turned away smirking to himself.
Did Heeseung just smirk at me, you thought to yourself as you try to process what just happened. Not long after you were being called up for your turn to interact with the members. You started with Jungwon, telling him how much you adored him, and appreciated all his hard work as a leader.
Then it was Sunoo, you expressed how much you enjoyed his vocals and how beautiful he was. Finally after speaking to the rest of the members you then made it to Heeseung. Your palms are sweaty and your knees felt stiff, as you take your seat in front of him. Heeseung gazes at you, studying your facial features.
“Oh my god, Heeseung I love you so much I’m sorry I just don’t know what to I-“ you tripped over your words, feeling nervous from his intense gaze and the fact you are sitting right in front of him, is a bit overwhelming. Heeseung smiled brightly at you, showing off his pearly white teeth, as he reached his hand to hold yours. You were a little taken aback by his sudden move, but you quickly complied, holding his hand with yours.
“Tell me your name princess” he smirked, swaying both of your hands back and forth. You blushed hard at the pet name, not being able to hold eye contact with him. He noticed that, as he titled his head to the side a little as he waited for you to answer his question.
“My name is Y/n, I came all the way from the U.S to meet you Heeseung” you explained with enthusiasm, a wide grin displaying your face. As you both continued to talk, you noticed how Heeseung listened so attentively at what you had to say, and you weren’t so sure, but you would think that Heeseung was into you, by the way he seemed so interested in your day to day life.
Unfortunately it was time to move on to the next fan, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that it went by so quickly. You expressed your love and appreciation towards Heeseung one last time before standing up to take your leave. What you didn’t notice was that Heeseung was watching you the whole entire time as you walked back to your seat, not even noticing that the next fan had sat in front of him.
Heeseung knew he had to have you, you were the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and he couldn’t deny you intrigued him so much, it was just something about you that he couldn’t quite grasp, but he was determined to have you in his bed by the end of the night. So he quickly called over one of the staff members, whispering something in their ear. The staff member nodded in agreement before walking off.
As you’re grabbing your things getting ready to leave, you feel someone tap you on your shoulder catching your attention. You looked up to see a Tall Korean gentleman with a black mask covering his face. You looked at him confused, wondering if you done something wrong.
“Miss if you don’t mind, would you be willing to follow me to the backstage” he asked you politely, you looked at him a little suspiciously, wondering why on earth would he be asking you to come backstage with him.
“I don’t understand, did I do something wrong?” You asked him, feeling nervous and anxious. The man quickly shook his head no, you immediately felt relief wash over you, hoping you didn’t say or do anything to make any of the members feel uncomfortable.
“No miss you’ve done nothing wrong, it’s just” he leaned in closer to whisper in your ear. “One of the members has requested your presence backstage” he replied, you stared at him in a state of shock, trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth. You wondered which one of the members actually asked for you backstage.
“U-Uh okay” you stuttered, feeling a little skeptical and worried, you were just hoping you weren’t being tricked and you’re actually being led to your death. Only one way to find out right? The man nodded, as you followed him backstage.
Finally he stopped at a door, that had a sign on it that said “Staff Only” You swallowed down your nerves, as you prepared yourself for the worst. The gentleman opened the door and behind it was two other Korean gentleman, who were sitting at a desk, one of them holding a stick of papers.
“Please come in and take a seat please” the man with the stack of papers said, as he gestured you towards the seat. You gulped before taking a seat. The man then laid the stack of papers in front of you, as well as a pen. You looked up at him confused, why was he handing you a contract??
“I know this is a bit out of the blue Miss Y/n, but it seems that one of our Artists has taken a liking to you and has requested for a one night stand with you” the man spoke with seriousness in his tone, you stared at him wide eyed, did he just say what you think he just said. You looked down at the paper in front of you, and at the top of it read the words “𝑵𝑫𝑨” in bold letters.
“Umm may I ask which artist has requested for me” you replied, as you shifted in your seat, feeling a little uncertain about this whole situation. The other man then spoke, you recognized him before, you’ve seen him with the members when you saw them at their world tour.
“My apologies, let me introduce myself. My name is Park Sunwoo and I’m the manager for Enhypen. And to answer your question, Lee Heeseung has requested for you Miss Y/n” he nodded. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when he said that, the Lee Heeseung wanted to sign an NDA with you?!
“Before we get started, I do want to let you know that you have every right to decline this offer Miss Y/n. But for me to further explain any more information about this, I would need you to sign your signature on this line right here on the paperwork” he pointed to the line, indicating that you sign your name. You bit your lip nervously, debating whether you should sign it or not.
But when will you ever get the opportunity to have a one night stand with Heeseung, when will you get the chance to do anything like this. You’ve never been the one to do one night stands, or just give up your goodies the first time you meet a guy, but this was so much different. This was Lee Heeseung from Enhypen we’re talking about it, so without any further thought you signed your name on the paper.
“Very well then. Thank you so much for agreeing to the terms Miss Y/n, I will now explain how this whole process works. So you have agreed to signing an NDA, with Artist Lee Heeseung. This means that whatever You and Lee Heeseung decide to do tonight is strictly prohibited from the public eye, do you wish to continue?” He asked, scanning through the pages of the paperwork.
“Yes, I-I do” you responded, fiddling with your fingers. This was just too much to process, you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t a little excited though. He then flipped to the last page of the contract.
“Going forward, we also want to make you aware that failing to comply with the rules of the contract is automatic breach, that goes for both parties. So without further ado, would you please sign your name one last time and we can move forward” Your trembling hands grabbed ahold of the pen, signing your name on the line once again.
“Great, everything has been finalized. We would be contacting you with information regarding your evening plans with Heeseung, once your background check comes back clean. Thank you for your time Miss Y/n” Park Sunwoo stood up to shake your hand. You shook his hand and thanked him before you were led out the back exit.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
As you got back to your hotel, you had been checking your phone nonstop, feeling anxious and impatient. Finally your phone dinged with a notification, and you grabbed your phone so fast, opening your messages.
Unknown Number: Hello, Miss Y/n. Just informing you that your background check came back clean, and I will now be sending over a personal driver to pick you up from your hotel, to bring you to Heeseung’s private accommodation.
You: Oh okay, thank you so much.
Ten minutes later, you received another text from an unknown number, stating that they’re waiting for you down at the lobby. You quickly grabbed your things, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror, before heading downstairs. You were now in the back of a Black Mercedes Benz Van, with the windows tinted. Not shorty after, you were pulling into a parking lot of very nice modern style Airbnb.
“We have arrived” the man hopped out of the driver’s seat to open your passenger seat door for you. You thanked him and smiled, and he bowed before getting back into the van and driving off.
You nervously walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. Not long after, none other than Heeseung himself answered the door. You gasp inaudible at the sight of Heeseung clad in a white tank top, gray sweats pants, and his hair damp from the shower you assumed he just finished.
“Come in please” he moved to the side to let you by. You nervously walked into the house, taking in the scenery of the place. It was nice and cozy and looked lived in. It’s like Heeseung read your mind when he said “This is my place actually, I stay here when I’m not out on schedules or on vacations” he nodded and smiled, as he walked closer to you.
“It’s really beautiful Hee, I love it” you blushed shyly, feeling a little hot from the close proximity of your bodies almost touching. “Hee?” He questioned as he smirked and wrapped his arms around your waist. You damn near melted, your knees feeling like they’re going to give out on you any minute now.
“I-I mean Heeseung, sorry it’s like a nickname all of us fans call you” you stuttered, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. Heeseung chuckled, biting his lip, then leaning down to be face level with you because he towers over you. You’d breath hitched, as you feel his lips ghosting over yours.
“Is this okay, do you mind if I kiss you baby girl” he spoke lowly, his voice sounding husky and laced with desire. You whimpered, feeling your arousal starting to leak through your panties.
“God yes, yes you can kiss me plea-“ before you could even finish your sentence, Heeseung’s lips crashed against yours, kissing you with hunger and fervor. You moaned into the kiss, when you felt Heeseung’s hands gripping your ass. You let out a yelp, when Heeseung suddenly picked you up leading you to the bedroom.
“Fuck, you don’t know how bad i want you baby, fucking took everything in me not to pull you into one of the dressing rooms and fuck you stupid” he groaned, laying you on the bed as he got on top of you, attacking your lips once again. You could only moan in response, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Heeseung, please I need you please do something” you begged shamelessly, still not processing that you’re about to fuck Lee Heeseung, someone you thought you would never have the chance to meet, but here you were about to get your brains fucked out by him.
“Shhh, patience baby I’m gonna give you what you want” he smirked, as he started to undress you. He tugged your top off, and unclasp your bra effortlessly starting to suck on your brown nipple, his other hand fondling the other. You arched your back, rubbing your thighs together trying to gain some type of friction.
“God baby, you’re so fucking sexy gotta taste your sweet little cunt now” he growled, tugging your panties off and spreading your legs wide. You whined, when he dragged his long fingers through your wet folds, sliding his finger inside.
“Fuck, this slutty pussy so tight, fuck can’t wait to stuff you full of my cock mama” he hissed, as he watched the way your tight pussy sucked his finger in. He then leaned down to lick a stripe of your pussy, licking and sucking your clit softly.
“Oh my fucking god, shit Hee baby feels so good” you screamed in pleasure, your legs shaking uncontrollably, as you grabbed ahold of his fluffy hair. His wet tongue felt like heaven on your pussy and you couldn’t get enough.
“Shit baby, wet little pussy taste so good, fuck I could eat your sweet cunt forever” he groaned, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure through you, you gripped his locks a little harder, feeling your climax approaching dangerously.
“Ughh, fuck Hee I’m g-gonna cum” you cried out, your legs trembling as the band in your stomach threatens to snap any minute.
“Cum for me, cream on my face pretty little slut” he flicked his tongue faster against your clit, plunging his fingers deep inside your tight pussy. Not long after you were coming undone on his mouth and fingers, squirting your essence everywhere. Heeseung cursed under his breath at the sight of your spent pussy, leaking out your juices.
“Damn sweetheart, that was so hot I’m so hard I need to feel you wrapped around my cock” he whined, as he quickly rid himself of his clothes, showing off his perfectly lean build, and his long hard cock that leaks precum from the tip. You mouth watered at the sight, as you grabbed his dick stroking him slowly.
“Ah-fuck, shit that feels so good Y/n” he whined, his hips buckling up involuntarily. You bit your lip at the way his heavy cock twitched in your hand so desperately. Before he could come undone, he swatted your hand away, earring a whine from you.
“Get on all fours for me baby” his voice sounding strained, as tugged at his hard cock. You quickly, laid your face down in the pillows, and poking your ass out arching your back. Heeseung smacked your ass before aligning his cock up at your hole. He started to push himself inside you, his cock sliding in easily from how wet and turned on you are. He lets you adjust to his size for a minute before setting a rhythm, rocking his hips back and forth.
“Fuuckkk, you’re so fucking tight, god baby sucking me in so good” he lets out deep grunts as he pounds into you from behind. You gripped the sheets roughly, feeling every inch of Heeseung’s cock penetrating your walls.
“Yes yes yes, fuck me harder please harder” you screamed, throwing your ass back at him as you desperately chased after his thrusts. Heeseung threw his head back, showing off his flushed neck. You clenched your pussy tighter around him, earning a whiny moan from him.
“Ahh f-fuck, stop clenching baby or I’m gonna cum” he hissed in pleasure, gripping your waist tighter as he slammed into you roughly. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head, the head of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over again.
“Please Daddy, fill me up with your babies, I want your load inside me” you looked back at him, tears gathering in your waterlines, from the intense pleasure you’re feeling. Heeseung’s hips stuttered, as his strokes became sloppy, losing his pace.
“Shit shit shit, I’m about to cum Nghh fuck” he moaned deeply, his thrusts became erratic as he chased his high. Not long after his hips stilled, shooting ropes of thick cum inside you. The feeling of his hot cum, triggered another orgasm out of you, squirting and creaming all over his dick. He pulls his softening cock out, watching the way his cum and your arousal leaks from your spent hole.
He collapsed on the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. You smiled weakly at him before snuggling your face into his neck.
“Wow baby, that was the best sex I ever had in my life” he chuckled weakly, his breathing still uneven from the intense orgasm he had.
“I can’t believe I just fucked Lee Heeseung” you said in disbelief, as you looked up at him before kissing his lips. He kissed you back, as he rubbed your back softly.
A/n: FUCK FUCK FUCK, if I ever get to sign an nda with Heeseung, just know ima fuck the life out of this man🤭 but honestly I’m thinking about making a part two of this where reader and hee possibly start dating secretly 👀. Let me know if you guys want it, hope you guys like it and reblogs are greatly appreciated. ᯓᡣ𐭩
╰₊ 𓂂➢ warn!ngs: unprotected sex, cumming inside, back shots, orgasm denial (kind of), oral !female receiving, slight pain (in beginning), big dick!jungkook, (let me know if there’s more please!)
╰₊ 𓂂➢ summary: you are the cover girl for jungkook’s upcoming clothing line, JJK. said man, just can’t keep his eyes off of you as you model his designs.
╰₊ 𓂂➢ word count: 3.7k
You almost break your fucking neck trying to pose in the six inch pumps you have on—
in front of all of these cameras, in front of all of these people, in front of him. But of course, like the boss ass, talented, flawless model you are, you stay on your ten toes. Falling into another pristine pose matter of fact.
The photographers take their photos of you and the staff on the sides of the room doesn’t shy away from shouting praises at you. You slickly slide your hands into the back pockets of the denim miniskirt that barely covered the curve of your round ass. Back facing the camera, as you turned your upper body to eye it.
A large quantity of “ooh’s” and “aah’s” echoes through the brightly lit room once everyone gets a glimpse of your immaculate figure.
Your eyes couldn’t help but fall on the built individual standing low-key in the corner. He’s been eying you for the past half hour since you stepped out of the dressing room with this outfit. Truth be told, this man has been staring you down since you took his place in front of the cameras. He’s only now mentally undressing you. (not that your current outfit left much to the imagination).
You’re sporting a black tie that hangs over the skimpy white laced bra that’s clutched your chest, hanging on for dear life. On your feet are a pair of plain black pumps and of course— the main piece.
That denim miniskirt you’re wearing. ‘JJK’ initials embroidered on the back pockets, the sides are laced together with black ribbon, and it’s just long enough to walk in— short enough to the point you’d be flashing someone if you bent over the slightest bit.
If he could suck his own dick for making such a masterpiece, he would. But Jungkook would much rather you do it instead, because damn… did you look absolutely heaven sent. ‘Second to none,’ he thought as he watched you from the corner of the room.
Jungkook knew that choosing you as the covergirl for his new line was the perfect idea. He fought for it, fought for you. Having a black woman as the cover model of the Jeon Jungkook’s brand new fashion line wasn’t something the board wanted to approve.
Other than the fact you are black, you’re a fairly new up and coming model, leaving you very little experience. Jungkook discovered your instagram account just a few months before he completed his line. At first glance he knew you were something special. Different from all of the slim, long legged, fair skinned Korean women his team had continuously suggested. There was absolutely nothing wrong with those women— at all.
But Jungkook was looking for something else, something new, fresh, something natural. As an idol, he naturally falls into a clean, pure and innocent category. Despite being a grown ass man. Jungkook desperately is clawing to get out of that box. He wanted to prove it and expose the mature side of him through this fashion line. So no, Jungkook didn’t want a put together woman, or a pretty princess, or even a grunge queen. He wanted a natural sex symbol.
The perfectionist that Jungkook is, he never fails to second guess all of his actions and choices. But you, no— he knew that he needed you.
Needed you to wear his designs, needed you to be his covergirl, needed you all up in his face… amongst other things.
To which you were more than excited to do. Like, be serious! It’s Jeon Jungkook. The man with the mouth watering sleeve of tattoos, toe curling wavy mullet, the gut turning physique.
When his team reached out to you, you were more than ecstatic. You wondered how god had seemingly blessed you with the opportunity to model for the a-list idol.
You’re a huge fan of Jungkook’s music, listening to his panty dropping vocals daily. So the fact that you’re actually modeling for him and the fact that he’s currently staring you down like he wants you to be his last meal has you shaking in your six inch pumps. The unwavering tension between the two of you goes unnoticed by the others in the room.
But the way your smooth brown thighs clenches together definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook… neither does the way Jungkook is holding that clip board over his crotch go unnoticed for you.
Shit. You desperately needed for someone to just—
“That’s a wrap!” You hear someone yell and you let out a sigh of relief. Quickly bowing and spreading “thank you’s” to the staff that approached to compliment you.
You make your way back into your dressing room in the back of the studio. First thing you do is take off the tight tie around your neck, then the pumps off of your feet, exhaling in relief when your feet meet the ground.
There’s still an uncomfortable feeling in between the thick of your thighs. Damn, he really got you all worked up… more than you had realized it seems. You slip the soaked laced thong that matches your white laced bra down your legs and it gets flung into the waste bin. Leaving you naked under the famous miniskirt you still have on.
You distract yourself with the gorgeous sight you see in the mirror, then a light knocking hits your door. Before you could even say “come in,” in walks the finest man you have ever laid eyes on… and the reason why your favorite laced thong is in the trash.
“Hey,” he whispers to which you slightly raise a brow. Because yes, he’s fine as hell but at the same time, who told him he could enter? “Sorry for barging in. I didn’t want anyone to see me near your dressing room.” You nod your head understandingly. That would be a nightmare if anyone saw the two of you interacting and decided to go yapping about it.
Which is why this just so happens to be you and Jungkook’s first interaction. How low of you to get turned on before a proper conversation.
“Then again, I couldn’t leave without speaking to you first.” He smiled softly at you, part of his cute bunny toothed smile beamed in your eyes and the butterflies in your stomach start doing flips.
You return the smile. “Yeah, I guess that would be a bit odd. Ya know, since I’m your covergirl or whatever.” He’s intrigued by your wording. Of course, you are his cover girl, Jungkook knows that. But the way you said it just now sounded so fucking sexy to Jungkook.
“My covergirl?” He sing as he leans his shoulder on the wall. Nodding your head, butt pressed against the vanity behind you— confidently. Because the sexual tension between the two of you couldn’t even be cut by a knife. “Yeah, that’s usually what people call it. I think it’s funny how this is my first time speaking to my employer. Scared of me?” You test. Jungkook’s eyebrows flick up at your ‘sass’.
“Your employer?” You actually let out a little chuckle this time. “Are you gonna keep repeating everything I say?” You sarcastically ask before slickly eying him up and down. The white, short sleeved crew neck he has clinging onto all of his muscles and the exposure of his tatted right arm has tears rolling down your thighs. And the black cargo pants that are swallowing his tiny waste makes you bite your bottom lip. But we must stay focused!
“No, just a little intrigued.” He says, pushing himself off of the wall. “And no. I’m not scared of you. Just figured I’d keep my distance.” He trails off his sentence as you boost yourself up to sit on the white vanity behind you. The miniskirt rides up your thighs even more (if that’s even possible), your thighs press against the vanity top makes them look even more attractive and edible to the man standing in front of you— he almost forgets why he came in here in the first place.
“Why’d you figure that?” You tilt your head to the side innocently. But absolutely nothing is innocent about it. You are purposely teasing him— in attempts to seduce him. See if the good boy, ‘youngest’ is as good as people say he is.
Ask and you shall receive, because Jungkook is once again picturing you without that skimpy laced bra and with your legs wide open. The thought has him hard as a rock underneath his baggy cargo pants.
“Wanted to keep things professional.” He forces out. The underlying message doesn’t go over your head but you choose to ignore it. “So what are you doing here now?” With that, Jungkook lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Stepping away from the wall, he makes his way closer to the large white vanity you’re sitting on.
“I just wanted to compliment you on the amazing performance you did today. Everything went smoothly and it’s been a great week.” He says genuinely and you gladly take the compliment, letting out a small “thank you”— to which he battles.
“No, thank you. You really made this whole thing come to life so really, thank you.” You smile from ear to ear at his sincerity, feeling overwhelmingly gratified and proud… and still wet.
“Well your designs are amazing so you should have majority of the credit— by the way, can I keep this!” Asking, pointing to the miniskirt that hugs your hips. Jungkook’s tongue slides out of his mouth, wetting his lips, slightly playing with his lip ring.
“Of course, it’s all yours. Can’t think of anyone who’d wear it better than you do anyways.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. He didn’t even mean to flirt he just said what he was thinking and it remains true. You are the sexiest woman Jungkook has laid eyes on. And if he doesn’t get out of this dressing room right now, his balls might explode.
But in the midst of the internal war Jungkook’s facing, you hum. “Is that why you kept staring at me all day? At first I thought you regretted your decision.” You say and before you could continue your overly sarcastic remarks he interrupts with the rapid shaking of his head.
“I could never regret choosing you.” Your heart dropped to your ass at his words and you’re scared if you move the wrong way the arousal between your thighs (that has been lathered onto the vanity) may drip onto the floor. Without saying much else, he doesn’t let his nerves stop him from stepping closer to you— nearly in between your legs.
He places his hand beside yours that rests on top of the vanity. Slowly his hand intertwines with yours. His touch so soft; the hair on your neck stands tall. His eyes glazing over your plumped lips, layered in lip gloss that shined under the light
“You’re perfect,” is the last thing he says before his lips slowly meet yours.
You could hear angles singing from close range as you finally snag the taste of his lips. His lip ring tickles your lip, sending a shiver down your spine. A soft moan escapes your mouth and Jungkook feels like he just won the lottery.
His tatted hand glides up your thigh, basking in the feeling of your soft brown skin under his touch. He gently caress your naked thighs, spreading them apart to properly stand in between them.
You let out a little huff as you feel him licking and leaving open mouth kisses against your jawline. “From the first moment I laid eyes on you,” he says in between kisses and you feel his breath on your neck, making your clit pulse. “I knew you were perfect.”
You pull your lips away to look at him. The heavy breathing fills the dressing room as the two of you look into each other’s eyes, the similar look of need in both of your eyes.
You slide your hands up Jungkook’s torso, to his broad shoulders, resting them on his neck. Pulling him down closer to you, you say, “Touch me.”
Which was all Jungkook needed to hear before attacking your lips again, your hand wrapped around his shoulders as you slightly grind into his clothed member. You could feel the bulge through his pants, exciting you even more.
“Oh my god— Jungkook.” You whine when he bites at your neck. His hands move to your chest, caressing your boobs through the fabric of the bra you still had on. Until he unfastens it, sliding the bra down your arms with your help.
His hands worry themselves with the feel of your tits again fitting perfectly under his hold. You bite your bottom lip to hold back the moans from the sensitivity of his fingers pinching your nipples. Within seconds his hands are replaced with his mouth and he sucks and nibbles on your nipples.
Your hips grind faster against his hard-on. “Jungkook, I need you.” You whimper impatiently. He removes his mouth from your chest, giving you a quick peck on the lips before smirking down at you which takes you for a whirl. Taking a step back he looks down in between the close proximity of you two.
He spreads your thighs father apart to reach down under your miniskirt to find your bare pussy wetter than the Caribbean Sea.
“No panties— are you nuts?” He exclaims with the raise of his eyebrows. “If I would’ve known I was talking to you like this I would’ve bent you over this fucking vanity once I walked in.” He sexily groans against your swollen lips. The heat between your bodies are making you even more needy than usual.
The two of you share breaths as your lips hover over the other’s. You gasp heavily into his mouth as his finger drags down your slippery slit.
He lets out a low groan at the feeling of your slickness and the feeling of his dick growing harder inside of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Making matters worse, you remove your hand from his shoulder to grip the thick bulge between his legs, almost flinching at the size of it. You look up at him with that needy look you have in your eyes that’s driving him up a wall.
“Then do it,” pulling him down to lick up his sharp jawline. “Bend me over and fuck me good.” You whisper into his ear.
Jungkook snaps, he pulls you off of the vanity, pulling you closer to him to taste the sweet taste of your lip gloss again. The kiss is cut short when he spins you around to bend you over the white vanity top, true to his word.
You let out a high pitched gasp as your bare chest hits the vanity top. He stands over your form, hands caressing your thighs, slowly moving up to your plump ass. His hand smacking against your ass echoes throughout the room and Jungkook’s dick twitches at the sight of your ass jiggling.
“So fucking pretty.” He says before crouching down, face all in your cookie. He bites his lips as you spread your legs further apart, desperate for his mouth.
Again, he drags his thumb down your slit and you let out load moan of pleasure from the sensation of his touch. Your hand quickly covers your mouth. “You have to be quiet princess.” The words smoothly passed through his mouth like butter making your knees weak. However, they actually buckle once you feel his tongue swipe through your slick. Your head lowers into your chest to try to keep your composure.
“Mmm,” he moans while licking through your folds, eating your cunt like it’s his favorite meal. “You taste so damn good.” He aggressively spreads your legs wider to attack your pussy with his mouth.
Your legs shake as you fee his tongue going in and out of your hole, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit. The grip of his hand on your ass doesn’t let up as you squeeze your legs together around his head.
“R—right there! I’m gonna—” Your hole clenches around his tongue as you felt your stomach tightening. Just when you feel yourself releasing, he stops. He pulls away.
“What the fuck.” You curse in frustration. He leans his body over yours, gripping your hair to turn your head to the side. You let out a moan at his roughness.
“You’re too pretty to be cursing, princess.” He says against your lips before attacking them with a wet, sloppy kiss. You push your ass against his dick, needy from the absence of his tongue. You whimper against his mouth.
“You want me to fuck you bad, huh?” He teases, roughly brushing his bulge over your wet folds. He lets out a groan at the feeling. “Yes— mm! Fuck, yes Jungkook. I need your dick inside of me.” Jungkook places one last sloppy kiss on your lips, lets go of the grip on your hair and began unbuttoning his pants.
They instantly falls down to his ankles and he lowers his boxer briefs, letting them fall the his ankles as well, his dick smacking his stomach. You can’t see his length that he pumps in his hand behind you— but god, when he starts thrusting it in between your ass cheeks you can feel it.
It makes you nervous because you didn’t expect him to be so big. But you grow more aroused at the thought of him fucking you silly, wrecking your tight little pussy. He slowly rubs the tip of his dick over your folds, coating his dick with your arousal, layering over his pre-cum. “I hope you’re fine with me going in raw, didn’t really have me fucking you in mind before I came here today.” You nod your head faster than you ever did in your life.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Just p— put it in.” He chuckles at your impatience and without a second thought, he slowly thrusts himself inside of you. Both of your moans fill the room as his dick penetrates your tight hole. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls back, just for him to thrust inside of you again.
The pain of his length ripping through you has your head spinning. As he thrusts again, he bends down over your shaky body to leave a light kiss on your shoulder. “You okay?” He softly asks and you hesitantly nod your head with your eyes shut close. “Y— yeah, just getting used to it. I’m… fine.” With that, he softly leave a kiss on your cheek before lifting back up and thrusting into you again.
He whisper out curses as your tight pussy swallows his dick and he relishes the sight of it.
After a few more thrusts the pain subsides and it is quickly replaced with the feeling of pleasure. Jungkook, wraps his hand under you to caress your tit as he continues to plunge himself deeper into your sex.
“Faster p— please,” you whisper out and you couldn’t even brace yourself for the next thrust. His hard dick hits your spot and your knees give out on you. He holds your waist out with his hands as he continuously abuses your hole. Your bodies jerk forward with each thrust.
“Your pussy feels so good around my dick, _______.” He says and you let out another high moan— hitting notes you’ve never hit before. He roughly grabs your hair again, lifting you up to make your back arch. You can see the both of you through the mirror, you can see him fucking you dirty, the way his eyebrows furrow looking down at the way your cunt swallows his length, the sight gets you even more aroused— if that’s even possible.
He finally looks up at you through the mirror. He sends you a smirk before going absolutely feral. “Hold on for me, princess.” His grip on your hair tightens as he fiercely thrusts into you. Faster, deeper, harder, he is literally blowing your back out. Your eyes squeeze shut and loud screams escape your mouth. The hand gripping your hair quickly covers your mouth to block out the lewd sounds you let out.
You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening at the fast pace and the constant pounding on your cervix. The feeling grows with Jungkook wrap his free hand over your thigh to rub your clit as he sloppily thrusts into you.
“Cum for me baby.” He says lowly and out of breath as his pace quickens. Your moans are muffled into his hand while he penetrates your cunt and stimulates your clit. “Fuck,” he says as you cum around his length, your legs shaking as Jungkook reaches his high. The sounds of your juices lapping together fills the room and you feel Jungkook’s warm release flow inside of you.
The two of you breathe heavily as Jungkook’s dick rests inside of you. After Jungkook has gotten his composure back, he pulls out, watching as your cunt discharges his cum down your thighs. Quickly pulling his pants up and jogging over to the corner to grab a paper towel, he comes back to clean you with it.
Your body is still limp over the vanity as he does so. “I hope I wasn’t too rough.” He says. You lift up, standing on your own, pulling the miniskirt down over your ass. Shaking your head. “No,” you let out a little chuckle. “That was amazing.”
Your eyes sparkle as they look up at his. He’s almost hypnotized by them, he drops his head to yours, kissing your lips again, his hands on the small of your back. “You have no idea how long I’ve been holding back.” You giggle at him.
“How long?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hand reaches your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he basks in your beauty and the feeling of your arms around him.
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