He can't stop fucking you. You're already so full that you're dripping around his cock as he grinds his cum back inside your swollen aching cunt.
But its not enough for him.
He needs you to come again, needs to feel your soft, warm walls clench down around him, needs you to scream his name. He doesn't know what he'll do if you don't fall apart for him. You have to give him one more. Be a good fucking girl and give him what he wants.
You don't know how many times you've cum tonight, orgasm after orgasm surging through you until its a never ending spiral. It's messy and loud and it feels so incredibly good you can't think anymore. He wants to hear his name on your lips but all you can do is whimper and moan and sob as you take him.
You're debauched and almost as greedy for it as he is.
And it’s still not enough for Bucky.
Bucky lifts your hips with one hand and braces against the headboard with the other. His hips slam down, pushing you into the bed, his large, warm body pinning you down as he grinds into you. Frantic, languid strokes. Deep, hard thrusts. You're so full. So full. You can’t take it, god 'going to split you in two. You watch as your belly bulges, a gasp of I can’t, its too much Bucky spills out.
And it makes him feral to know he's so deep.
His thick cock hits that sensitive spot inside you like he fucking owns it. Pleasure jolts through your veins like a live wire, white-hot sensations climbing higher and higher in your belly, crushing your chest from the inside out.
A silent broken sob settles in the base of your throat, his hand curves around it so he can feel your moans. Your legs tighten around him, every single part of you stiffening from the sheer, unbearable pleasure crashing through you in heady, endless waves. Your pussy spasming around him as he circles his hips. He keeps stretching you around his cock, and the thick, veiny swollen ridges slides across your spot only to slowly drag over it, again and again, every time he pulls out until you shatter.
He feels your orgasm hit you, feels wave after wave roll through you, leaving you a sweaty, breathless trembling wreck under him.
You gave him what he was so desperate for and Bucky's proud of you, you took him so well, made him feel so good.
It's almost enough for him.
He almost feels bad it becomes clear that you think he's finally done with you. Bucky meant everything he told you earlier when he was begging to come for him again. He is going to take real good care of you, praise you for being so good for him, give you everything you need.
Summary: Your man wants you in nothing but a pair of thigh high socks while you drench his beard and he’s not above begging to get his way.
Pairing: Beefy Biker Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 1.9K
Warnings: Oral (fem receiving), thigh high kink, body worship, Bucky loving your thighs, smut, no minors.
A/N: Beta’d by the lovely @midnightf but all mistakes are my own. Inspired by this ask
Masterlist|Beefy Biker Series|
Ever since you dressed up in a pair of thigh highs for his birthday, Bucky’s been obsessed with getting you back in them. He wants you wearing those and only those inside the house. You keep finding new pairs in your lingerie drawer and he’s been dropping not-so-subtle hints about all the things he has planned for you whenever you’re wearing them.
You’ve been teasing him all morning, wanting him to snap because honestly you love it when your man becomes feral.
Which is why you’re pretending you didn’t notice him laying a pair, burgundy with a striped pattern, on the bed after your shower. He’s lounging in front of them, wearing only some gray boxers, his dog tags on his tattooed chest glistening under the bedroom light.
Bucky’s watching you, unable to keep his rapt gaze off your thighs as you dry off. He loves your body exactly the way it is, always insisting that you’re flawless, he’ll look right at your stretch marks and declare them beautiful because they’re a part of you.
You’re pushing him closer to the edge each time your hands smooth over your skin as apply the vanilla-scented lotion he loves so much.
“A little slower Gorgeous,” he says, continuing to unabashedly stare like you’re his favorite show and he can’t tear his eyes away from you. His cock hardens in his briefs, a familiar ache settles in your pussy when he has to reach in and adjust himself, the power you have over him is enthralling. You put more of your lotion on your thigh and he groans. “Yeah just like that.”
Recap: Joel isn’t late to the party with this stuff at all, he just doesn’t know yet that most of the things he does in the bedroom are kinks, but you will educate him and together, you will have a lot of fun. Suppose you suggested the right book for him to read, although a Lovers Fairytale is only the tip of the iceberg to your collection.
There’s plenty more where that came from.
Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Established Relationship. Mentions of Menstrual Cycle (again, the reader is experiencing the symptoms, but is not actually on her period). Fluctuating Hormones/Mood Swings. Reader making a mess of herself and feeling embarrassed about it. Joel being a cocky tease, but sweet and reassuring as well. Sexy Shower Scenes. Lots of Kissing & Fluff. Smut. Mentions of Cockwarming. Voyeurism. Mutual Masturabation. Dirty Talk. Praise Kink.
AN: Hey, lovelies! The timeline of this chapter takes place right after the prologue (A Lovers Fairytale) hence the recap instead of a summary on this one. I hope you enjoy the read and have fun exploring Joel’s kinkier side.
Hours passed like minutes before you opened your eyes again. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon and you couldn’t believe it at first when Joel showed you the time on his wristwatch. It’s apparent that you’re still feeling the symptoms of your menstrual cycle. You didn’t plan for this to happen. You were supposed to make yourself a cup of tea and take a shower, not fall back to sleep.
Perhaps it’s because Joel was so cozy to lay against that made you feel even more tired today. You just nuzzled into his chest and dozed off in a matter of seconds, the heat resonating from his body kept you snug with the blanket he placed over your back, and that’s probably the reason you feel extra sleepy. This is your first day off work in six weeks and you’ve spent the majority of it snoozing, and even though Joel doesn’t seem to mind all that much, you don’t really like to waste the day like this. You much prefer to be productive and keep active, so the first order of business is to wake up and stay awake this time. There’s still plenty of time left before the day is over.
“I gotta get up,” you mutter. Peeling yourself away from Joel’s chest and sitting upright, you gasp softly upon realizing that he’s still inside of you. It was a surprise that you weren’t expecting to feel. The shift in your position buried his semi-hard cock deeper into your cunt, making him gasp as well and dart his hands out to your hips, as if keeping you steady.
“Easy there, darlin’,” he says, shuddering with the sensation of your warm velvety walls tightening around him.
“Easy? You’re telling me easy?” You scoff lightly. Holding onto his hands and relaxing around him, you savour the feeling of being so full. He was twitching inside of you, growing harder and harder with each passing second. “You should’a warned me, baby. Don’t tell me to take it easy.” You whine and clench around him purposely, the action making him grunt and grit his teeth.
It was quite amusing to watch him suffer pleasurably, although it never occurred to you before just how many times you have fallen asleep in such an intimate position like this. In fact, you now realize that he rarely pulls out and you wonder if he likes to keep his cock warm inside of your cunt or if he does it because he thinks you like it. You do like it, and you want him to do it more often.
Maybe you can play around with the idea of cock warming in the near future with Joel, but right now though, the only thing you want is to take a much needed shower.
Slowly and carefully, you lift your hips up and moan in unison with Joel as he slips out of you. A mixture of your desire and his slipped out too. It was warm and generous.
“Makin’ a little mess on my leg there, sweetheart,” Joel chuckles, and boastfully admires the way his spend was oozing out your cunt now. “Damn. I really filled you up, didn’t I?”
“Shut up. I need a shower,” you snap with embarrassment before readjusting your panties to catch the rest. It’s not ideal, and you feel dirty, hence why you snapped at him in the first place, even though he doesn’t seem to care. “You really should have woken me up, babe.” You complain, your hormones making you feel grouchy. “It’s not normal how much I’ve slept in the last twenty four hours.”
“Naw, that’s nothing sweetheart,” he shakes his head. Removing the blanket from your back and placing it over the sofa, you notice your book laying face down on the cushion and see how many pages are left. He’s been reading while you were sleeping and it’s no surprise that he was still somewhat hard inside of you. There were a lot of sexual scenes near the end and he’s practically finished the story.
“Hey,” he calls your attention back to him, snapping you out of your thoughts, “You obviously needed the rest so quit beating yourself up about it, darlin’.” He chides, and although you appreciated his reassurances, you still felt awful for sleeping so much.
You need a shower, and some food too, but a shower will make you feel so much better. It will zap some energy into you and cleanup the mess you’re still making between your legs. Joel was right. He really did fill you up, and now that your sudden grouchiness has passed on, you feel bad for being snippy with him just now. He’s always so understanding, even when he doesn’t really understand your hormones. You don’t really understand them either. They can be extreme and confusing at times, especially when your moods change suddenly.
“Thank you, handsome,” you express your gratitude with a smile, reaching out to cup his cheek and rubbing your thumb across his skin. He leans into your touch and gently shakes his head, as if to say ‘it’s no problem’ or ‘don’t mention it’.
You really appreciate the guy. He’s a good man, and a good boyfriend. The way he looks at you now speaks of nothing but love, and while you most definitely noticed the way he leaned in slowly, his face softened and his eyes honeyed, you closed the gap quickly and pressed a few chaste kisses to his lips.
You didn’t want to, but if you spend another moment in his presence then you won’t ever make it to the bathroom. You’ll end up having sex on the sofa again and be back to square one with another mess between your legs. However, your chaste kisses weren’t enough for Joel. He wasn’t satisfied and wanted more. He took more by pulling you in close, kissing you back fervently whilst smiling against your lips.
“Joeel,” you protest between giggles, “Stop that. I really need a shower,” you pull back, feigning disgust in your expression, “And you know what? So do you.”
“I need a shower?” He barks out a laugh and acts like he was insulted. Shaking his head at you with a big grin on his lips, you nod to him and still wear an expression of disgust like he smells bad when in actuality, he smells so darn good. He always does. But whether or not he can actually tell you're being smart and playful right now, he relents and nods in agreement with you.
“Okay then, darlin’. We’ll take a shower together… even though I know that’s what you really want.” He mumbles with a smirk, and it confirms that he did in fact know you were being smart and playful. “Go on then. Get,” he smacks your ass lightly. “I’ll be right behind yer.”
Laughing to yourself with victory, you stand up and immediately squeeze your thighs together, the action making Joel chuckle as he knew why you were squeezing your thighs together. You roll your eyes to the man, still feeling slight embarrassment for the mess you're making, but the sense of pride reverberating from his smile makes you feel better about it. Made you feel less ashamed. It is a natural occurrence after sex and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.
“See you up there, stud,” you throw over your shoulder as you exit the lounge. Making your way upstairs and into the bedroom, you retrieve two sets of clean clothes, one for you and one for Joel before heading into the bathroom and turning the shower on.
Joel has to make sure everything is running smoothly with the water flow first before joining you, hence why he didn’t just follow you up the stairs in the first place. Jackson has electricity and a piped supply of water running through the homes, and it’s a real blessing too, but sometimes there are shortages or problems with the heating. And considering you stood with your hand under cold running water for a few moments before it gradually warmed up, you guessed that he was fixing the heater.
Taking off your clothes and dumping them into the laundry basket just as he entered the bathroom, he stood at the doorway and drank in the sight of you fully nude with fire behind his hazel eyes. Just seeing the way he looks at you, like you were so sexy and hot, makes your skin heat up with passion and lust.
“You know how beautiful I think you are?” He asks, to which you nod and reach out for him. “M-hm. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me, handsome.” You whisper in response.
Taking hold of his hands, he slips his fingers between yours and kisses your lips again like he couldn’t ever get enough. You walk backwards together and carefully step inside the shower, humming with the contact of warm water hitting your skin. It was soft. All of it was; the water, his embrace and the kiss. You broke off reluctantly to turn around and press your back against his chest, only because the water could shut off at any given second and you shouldn’t waste a single drop.
Although Joel wasn’t in dire need of a second shower today and he most definitely didn’t smell bad - you just wanted the company - he rested his cheek against yours and lapped up every ounce of warmth showering down from above. He even wrapped his arms around your lower stomach and caught the big foamy bubbles in his hands to lather your skin. When you held your arms out to wash them, he took advantage of the opening and caressed your breasts carefully while keeping in mind that your nipples might still be sensitive. They were, but not as bad as they once were hours ago.
After you were satisfied with your top half being cleansed of post-coital sweat, he let the water wash all of the bubbles off his hands before cupping your pussy, acting like it’s just part of the routine to help wash your body when you could feel the man smirking against your neck. He’s quite clearly enjoying himself, and you’re enjoying his ‘help’ too, but you remind yourself of the water limits.
“Hair, baby. Watch your head.” You warn. Grabbing the shampoo and squeezing a small amount in the palm of your hand before massaging the substance through your hair, you only warn him to watch his head in case your hair hits him in the face. He moved back, but kept as close as he could, and the scent of your shampoo flooding his senses was euphoric. He loves the way it smells. It’s fruity and tropical.
Once you were finished, he returned to his prior position and rested his cheek against yours again. “We’re wasting water, you know.” You lightly chide.
“I’ll find more if I have to,” he argues, then nuzzles his nose, mouth and chin into your neck.
“M-hm. Whatever you say, Joel.” You retort with a laugh. Shaking your head as you feel the man nipping your skin, he had been subtly grinding into you from behind ever since you stepped into the shower and it’s really rather surprising just how horny he is today.
Sex usually takes a lot from Joel. He’s not a young man anymore and the breaks in between making love have become longer with his age, albeit it’s not a problem and hasn’t ever been. He satisfies your needs exceptionally, but today you’ve noticed that his stamina is longer lasting than it usually is. His cock is hard and he’s using the friction of him grinding against your ass to get himself off, but you had an idea and turned the shower off, momentarily disturbing the self-pleasuring rhythm he was building just now.
“Killjoy,” he tuts softly, “I was just getting started, babydoll.”
“I got something to show you, babe -” you pause briefly, “- Well actually, I should say that I got something to teach you instead.”
“Lead the way, ma’am,” he carefully steps out of the shower with you, still keeping his body pressed against yours, “I’m ready to learn whatever you have in mind, so long as you teach me without any clothes on.” He chuckles deeply, making you laugh with endearment. It’s not very often that you feel self-conscious or insecure about your body because Joel makes you feel beautiful in more ways than one. He adores you.
After drying off all the excess water dripping from your bodies, you lead him into the bedroom and ask him to take a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. “The chair?” He questions, confused. “But the bed is comfier.”
“I know, but just trust me on this.” You reply. Walking over to said chair in question, you pull it across the floor and place it just at the bottom of the bed before patting the cushion. “Go on. Sit your ass down, Miller.”
“Oooh, ok,” he throws his hands up sarcastically, but looks at you with a wild grin on his lips. “Keep talking like that darlin’ and you can have anything you want,” he winks, and you recognise the look in his eyes. He’s taken aback by your demanding tone, and he loves the shift in authority.
Perhaps that’s something else you can explore in the near future, but not right now though. Right now you’re taking it one step at a time with spicing things up in the bedroom and first up is the kink Joel already has, but didn’t know there was a name for it - voyeurism.
He takes a seat for you without any further protest and patiently awaits for your next command. It makes you cheer internally with delight. He’s acting submissive and it’s something you’ve never even thought about trying with him before. Not yet, but soon, you tell yourself, trying to contain your enthusiasm around the concept of being dominant in the bedroom.
You crawl onto the bed and take position right in front of him, noticing the way he places his hands on the armrests, his knuckles turning white from how he was gripping the wood. It’s as if he’s dying to lunge forward and take you, but he resists the urge for now.
You lay back comfortably and spread your legs, watching his eyes drop to your cunt immediately with a puffing breath escaping his lips. “Hmm,” he growls, “Whatever the lesson is, I’m liking it so far, darlin’.”
“I thought you would,” you bite your lip under his hungry wanton gaze, observing the way his cock twitches against his stomach. Although, he doesn’t remove his hands from the armrests to ease the ache he undoubtedly feels right now. He instead opts to look at your pussy, then your breasts and finally, your face.
When your eyes meet with his, you notice the way his expression softens with a smile, as if he’s completely enthralled with your beauty. “We’re going to have some fun, baby,” you whisper seductively and explain. “You like to watch me undress and get naked or pleasure myself, and that’s a form of voyeurism. It’s quite a common kink to have.”
“That doesn't surprise me,” he shrugs, his eyes dropping down to your cunt again, “Who wouldn’t love looking at this?” He asks rhetorically, smirking. You watch as he leans forward in his chair whilst biting his lip, the movement stealing your breath away as he gets closer and closer to your heat. “Hmm darlin’,” he growls again, his voice getting deeper with arousal, “Won’t yer be a good girl for me and touch yourself?” He requests, oh so kindly.
“God Joel,” you close your eyes, shaking your head with sexual excitement, “You drive me crazy and I love it-” you nod feverishly, “-Yes baby. Yes, I’ll touch myself for you, but only if you’ll do the same?” You counter offer, and the man simply couldn’t refuse even if he wanted to. He was too worked up and needed to ease the ache between his legs and feel that familiar electrifying feeling coursing through his veins. His dick was throbbing and his balls, so full and round, were filled with yet another load that belongs to you.
“Show me what yer got, doll,” he prompts confidently, jerking his chin outwards for you to begin while leaning back into his chair. He spreads his legs wide for you to see everything before he wraps his fingers around his length, stroking himself firmly. You love to watch Joel pleasure himself as much as he loves to watch you. The sight is beautiful and erotic, sinful.
You watch his chest rise and fall steadily, the muscles in his arms flexing with his languid movements. He likes it slow at first, and gradually gets quicker when taking care of himself, saving the harsh and rough pace for your pussy instead.
You hold his direct line of sight when licking the tip of your finger, even though you didn’t need to - you’re still wet - but he loved it nonetheless and smirked while following the direction of your hand with attentive eyes.
“Oh,” you gasp, starting with your breasts first. You held your nipple between your fingers, rolling the bud around gently whilst lowering your other hand to your cunt. You were moaning with rapture, but for Joel, it was yet another, recurrent, struggle for the man as he didn’t know where to look.
The facial expression you wore spoke of nothing but delight, and it was mesmerizing to look at. Your breasts were voluptuous, jiggling ever so slightly because of the sparks of pleasure you were inflicting on yourself and your cunt was stirring up something wild and fierce inside of him. He wanted a taste, wanted to delve his tongue inside your quivering entrance and drink your desire right from the source.
He kept his eyes focused on the beauty between your legs and his mouth fell open with a groan slipping out. “Ohh, that’s it,” he says, rewarding your actions, “Keep going. Just like that, darlin’.”
“Oh, you mean like this?” You ask teasingingly, then slide two fingers inside your canal. The substance in which he desires so much was oozing out of you generously, making him feral and ravenous.
“Yeah baby,” Joel sighs heavily, and begins stroking himself faster, “Yeah, just like that… Nnghh,” he chokes, his brows contorting with bliss as he watches you finger yourself skilfully. You produced the prettiest little whimpers for him and wiggled your hips with pleasure, your legs threatening to close any second now with your peak nearing. “Yer look so sexy like this,” he babbles compliments while vigorously fucking his fist, “Yer legs spread wide with everything on display… Mhmm God-damn, I really like that,” he groans.
“J-Joel…” You gasp and stutter his name, barely able to form a coherent sentence. He was driving you closer and closer to the edge, that familiar peak approaching steadily. “Keep t-talking like that,” you plead, wanting him to help you see stars. The sound of him beating his dick roughly was making your eyes close and roll to the back of your head. He sounded so whacked out with ecstasy and lost within the pleasure he was giving himself, making you whine. “Holy shit.”
“Oh, I know, I know darlin,” Joel looked at you, his bottom lip protruding mockingly, “Just feels so good, doesn’t it?” He asks, to which you writhe on the bed and whimper breathily in reply, “Yes J-Joel. Feel’s s-so good…” you nod frantically.
Watching the way he was looking at you was exhilarating, another form of pleasure that only he knows how to give. You were so close. You could feel it as you continued to finger yourself in a come hither motion whilst using your free hand to rub nameless shapes on your clit. “Oh God!” You cry out when hitting that sweet spot inside out of you.
“That’s it, keep going,” he quickly sings the praises upon noticing you were about to fall apart, “Mhmm, I can see your cunt squeezing your fingers, baby. S'okay baby. Come for me…. Oh there you go,” he groans with you, mimicking the noises you make whilst focusing on you and only you. He watches attentively as you come undone by your own hands, the sight making his balls pull up tightly and release dribbles of pre-come out the tip of his cock, a warning of the load in which he’s about to release.
“Joeeel…” You mewl his name, your vision blurred with lust as the tears prickle the corner of your eyes. It was too much, felt too good.
You begin to pant heavily, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths making your throat dry, thus causing your voice to sound rough. It was sexy to Joel’s ears. He loved it; loved every second of your pleasure and every little sound you made, but your legs shake violently and close together before he quickly darts both his hands out to your knees, prying them open. His touch was electric, shooting shockwaves through your skin. It made you enter the realms of a new high. A powerful high.
“Good girl,” he praises, noticing your slick dripping around your fingers plunging in and out of your cunt, leaving a mess on the blankets beneath you. “God-damn, that’s a good fucking girl, Y/N,” he growls another praise. You just looked so hot like this - a whimpering mess before him. It made him fall over the edge without even touching himself. He still held onto your legs and reassured you through touch as you came down from your high, but could feel himself spurting ropes upon ropes of hot cum across the hairs on his lower stomach, the sensation blissful and the sight filthy.
While he breathed through his climax, his hands gripping at your legs tightly, you slowly began to relax and revel in the post-coital bliss. The little grunting sounds he made between puffing and panting made your eyes close instinctively with a satisfied smile splayed across your face. It felt like you were floating on a cloud in seventh heaven, lost in the hysteria of your orgasm.
You were so exhausted and too distracted to notice that Joel stood from his seat and made his way into the bathroom. Only until he returned with a shockingly cold wet rag between your legs did you snap out of your trance and gasp with the contact.
“Sorry darlin’,” he apologizes quickly. Wiping your inner thighs and cleaning off the remnants of your desire, he was gentle with his movements, making you relax once again and lay your head back. “You okay there?” He asks.
“Yeah. I’m okay, babe,” you reply, humming contently with the delicate stroke of his hand against your body. “Are you okay?” You ask, then pull yourself to sit up on the edge of the bed and look at him, taking note of his cheeks tinted a pretty pink in color and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He looked so beautiful. He always does and you can’t think of a time where you haven’t found him beautiful. It’s as if you just find him more and more attractive each and every day.
You reach out and take his hands in yours, closing the gap to seal your lips over his in a loving kiss. He hums into your mouth, deepening the kiss as he slowly leans forward and lays you back down to the bed. “Never been better, doll,” he mumbles, finally answering your question before breaking off to move up the bed, seeking a comfier position to lay in.
Even though you don’t feel tired, you lay beside him and look into his heavy eyes. He struggles to keep them open, but smiles bashfully and asks: “Can we do this more often? I really like watching yer pleasure yourself and-” he pauses briefly, his gaze dropping your lips then back to your eyes, “-I’d like yer to take the lead sometime as well. Took me by surprise with that bossy tone earlier, and I like that too.”
You smile upon hearing the man say those words. It was all the confirmation you needed to know that he was interested in giving you the control for a change. You reach out and cup his cheek, kissing the corner of his lips once as he closes his eyes. “Sure baby, I can do that,” you whisper, “We’ll talk more about it soon, but rest up for me, okay? I’ll go make us dinner.”
Moving away from the bed and taking the blankets with you to be washed, you retrieve a couple fleece blankets from the cupboard and lay them over Joel’s body, making sure he is comfortable and warm, but the sound of him snoring softly makes you suppress a laugh. He had fallen asleep in a matter of seconds, and it made your chest swell with pride knowing you’re the reason why he’s out cold.
You spent a few moments admiring the man with a little endearing grin on your lips. He looked so peaceful, inviting and relaxed, making you feel warm inside and grateful to have such a fine man as your partner in life.
Tags/warnings: Dubcon, rough piv sex, that thing when you want it but you're too dry so it hurts - don't do it please just don't, creampie, Joel is bossy, enemies with benefits, unprotected sex (it's a postpandemic military dictatorship, there ain't no condoms, but there is in the real world, so slap rubber on that meat before inserting it), canon typical violence.
Summary: You are a FEDRA agent who find Joel Miller outside the QZ, but let him go because he saves your life. The next time you meet, he thanks you in his own special way.
Words: 2,546
You have just entered the building for a sweep when you hear a clatter in the next room. Pointing your gun and flashlight against the door, you approach it on light feet, your eyes fixed on the dark opening. Nothing more is heard, and you can’t see anything, so you enter and immediately check behind the door.
The room is cluttered with debris and dust, a mausoleum picked out by years of raiders. There's a pushed over wardrobe in the middle of it, and you move around it to secure the back of it.
In the same moment as you see him, a man stands up from behind the wardrobe, pointing a shotgun at you.
"Drop it," you command him immediately, shining the light into his face. You recognize him from the QZ: he's one of those who burn bodies. And he deals drugs, you know that, too. The local FEDRA agents are well aware of him breaking curfew and doing supply runs outside the QZ, but as long as he keeps his head down, keeps them with pills, and doesn't cause trouble, they're willing to look the other way.
Actually finding him here is another thing, though. There is no way you can look the other way now.
He's staring at you, eyes as black as coal. You know from hearsay how dangerous it is, but this is the first time you see it for yourself. He looks ready to leap at you: his broad body is as tense as a pulled bowstring. All he needs is a window, a crack, and he'll have you.
"I'm warning you," you add, but you know that this is just about who draws first. He will pull the trigger on you. He does not move, he barely even blinks.
That's when you hear the hiss slightly behind you. You turn your head towards it just as the infected monstrosity attacks, and in the next moment a gun goes off, the shot making your ears ring. You jump back, expecting to be hit, but the infected has stumbled onto the floor and is bleeding out fast.
Heart racing, you turn back to the man, gun pointed at him. He, in turn, has his shotgun pointed at the infected, but directs it immediately back to you.
You take stock of the situation, and twitch when your walkie crackles. Your CO wants a report on the shot.
The man is completely still, finger on the trigger, waiting for your next move. It only takes you a second to decide. You lower the flashlight but keep the gun pointed at him. You press the com button on the walkie-talkie.
You receive confirmation from your officer, and start to back out of the room, eyes and gun trained on the man, flashlight lowered. Even in the half dark, you can see his obsidian eyes watching your every move. When you're out the door, you stop for a second and just look at him.
Last chance.
You lower your weapon and leave the building. When you step out to the sunshine, you realize you've been holding your breath since the attack.
Night has descended and with it, curfew. You patrol the dark, deserted streets of Boston, nodding to a passer-by that you know from previous patrols: he works late, and has a permission slip. You're not going to bother him again. His droopy eyes and shuffling steps tell you everything you need to know: he just wants to get home, to his bed, and sleep for as long as he can before it all starts again tomorrow.
QZ night watch might seem much easier than running missions outside the city walls, but it's just another side of the same coin. You're on your own, and you know how dangerous smugglers can get. Your arm will always bear the scar from one that got a little too close with a knife once.
A searchlight from one of the watchtowers passes by, illuminating the street, before continuing over the buildings. In the wake of the passing light, you see a figure slipping out of an alleyway and hurrying across the street. You raise the rifle and switch on the flashlight.
"Stop!"
The figure does not slow down, so you start to run. It disappears into another alley, with you in pursuit. As you turn the corner, you run into a tall, broad frame. The rifle is yanked from you, and you're slammed face first into the brick wall. You're wearing a helmet, but the impact makes you bite your tongue, and the taste of blood fills your mouth.
Before you've even gotten a good look at him, you know that Joel Miller is standing right behind you, sturdy arm pressed against the back of your neck, the length of his body pressed up against you, one of your arms twisted behind you back.
You made inquiries about him, discreetly, after the episode outside the QZ. The things you found out would have been blood-curdling to pre-pandemic you, but since the outbreak, you've done some heinous shit yourself. Joel Miller’s rap sheet, had he had one, seems almost normal now.
In the harsh light of day, inside the QZ, you would watch him carry bodies and throw them onto the burning heap of dead people. His ruddy face half concealed behind a bandanna, he was still easily recognized by the gray in his dark hair, the scowling intensity of his stare, and the way he carried himself. He seemed to be fueled by a quiet rage that only needed a spark to flare up and consume everyone around him, moved with fatigued determination. He had boldly met your stare from across the pyre, and there was something about the look he gave you that moved something deep inside of you, something you thought was dead and forgotten.
"Release me," you now spit, trying to snake your other arm behind you, looking for a grip of his head. Joel twists your arm a little tighter, and you let out a hiss. A little more, and he'll dislocate your shoulder or break a bone.
"Any other weapons?" he demands in a low rumble that does something to you despite - or perhaps because of - the threatening tone.
"Glock. Right hip," you yield, and Joel quickly finds the holster, snaps it open, and pulls out the gun. You hear it clatter to the ground further away.
The second he's holding the gun, you shoot out from the wall, using the momentum to bang your head back against him, hitting his chin. He curses but slams you back against the wall, like you are just a ragdoll who didn’t just use all your strength to try to break free.
“Don’t do that again,” he tells you, “For your own good.” Is that amusement you hear in his voice?
You spit blood but stay still. Joel is pressing you against the brick wall with his body, and you haven’t had a man this close to you in… well, a long time. There’s something stiff rubbing against your ass cheeks and your head swims when you realize that it could be something other than his holster. His warm breath burns the little stretch of skin that shows at the back of your neck, between your helmet and jacket. You smell him; smoke and stale clothing with a hint of dusty leather. Swallowing, you hope he can’t feel your pulse, because your heart is racing at an embarrassing speed.
There’s a scratch of static from your walkie as the tower wants a report from you.
“Tell them everything is okay,” Joel says immediately, releasing you enough so that you can answer and confirm that all is well. As soon as your hand is off the HT, Joel captures your wrist and turns you around. Just as you face him, the moon breaks out from behind the clouds, and you gaze up at Joel’s face, lit by silvery light. He comes across as even more menacing in the cold moonlight that deepens the shadows in his face, sharpens his nose, makes the gray in his hair and beard almost glow. His glower is the same as before, but there is something else there: curiosity.
And something deeper, darker. Your gut drops, your pussy clenches.
“Please, let me go,” you ask him, ridiculously polite. Joel releases your hand and slides his palm up your arm, fingers closing around your throat as he eyes you so intensely that you find yourself wishing you could just sink through the ground.
“I will,” he lets you know in a voice that despite its calm lets you know that he’s issuing a threat, “but only after you take what I give you.”
You swallow hard when you realize what he means, and he feels your throat muscles flex. His thumb comes to a rest over your windpipe, rough pad caressing your prickled-over skin.
“I… I let you go earlier!” you stutter, mouth going dry, yet pussy growing wet. Joel smirks as he pushes down on your windpipe.
“I know.”
With that, he leans in as if to kiss you, but hovers right in front of your face. Your face burns in shame when you realize that you’ve come forward in anticipation of the kiss despite the added pressure on your windpipe. He cocks his head, the dark smirk spreading.
“You might enjoy this after all.”
He’s embarrassingly right. When he releases your hands to unzip your jacket, you just stand there, passive in the moonlight, letting him pull open your jacket to throw an almost uninterested glance at your chest. He proceeds to your belt, unbuckling it and pulling your pants down without ceremony, your shorts following.
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” he murmurs as he shoves his hand between your legs, fixing you with his stare. Burning under the intensity of his dark eyes, you want to cast down your eyes, but find yourself hypnotized by him. His fingers push through your wet lips, causing a shiver to run through you. You whimper when he slips one finger inside you, not far, but enough for you to clench around it.
His grin is infuriating and makes your cheeks burn even hotter.
"Just be quiet and it'll all be over soon."
I don't want it to be over soon. The thought lands in your mind, makes itself comfortable, and renders you pliable as Joel manhandles you so that you're back to facing the wall. You hear his belt buckle snap open, his hot breath is on your neck, and then you feel his stiff shaft at your entrance. You press your eyes shut in anticipation and whine when he starts to push inside. You're wet, but not wet enough for him to just slip in. The friction makes you groan, and Joel immediately covers your mouth.
"I said be quiet."
You bite back on another whimper as he pushes deeper. Sweat breaks out on your forehead and you lean it against the cold brick wall. You should stop this, you should elbow him in the side, fight back, bite his fingers to cease his slow, painful invasion. But you can't, and you won't. Your fingers grasp at the coarse wall, and you clamp your teeth together, and you take it, let him claim you, inch after unwilling inch. When he's all the way inside, hips connected to yours, he stops still, hand sliding slowly down until his fingers slowly curl around your throat. You stay completely still, afraid to move, unwilling to move in case your non-compliance inspires him to just leave you where you stand. And that is the last thing you want, to be discarded and disregarded by Joel Miller.
"Is this what you've been thinking about up in that high and mighty tower of yours?" he growls into your ear, pulling out a little before thrusting back in, making you choke on your held back moan.
"You've been thinking about me fucking you in an alley like this, haven't you? I could see it in your face the first time I laid eyes on you."
Your Yes comes out as a pathetic little snivel, and he rewards you with another thrust. Your pussy is beginning to coat him in enough lubrication to move with less resistance, but you're still gulping at how tight a fit you are providing him with.
He ruts into you, faster and harder as lubrication starts to permit more movement. Nailing you to the wall, he releases your throat and places his hands on your hips instead, to help him ravage you with greater force. It's fast, it's brutal, and it's fucking good to be used, be useful, not just a pawn or hired gun for some faceless government agency, no, now you mean something to a real person, and you haven't been meaningful to anyone in a very long time. And it feels so good, his cock just feels so good the less traction there is, maybe you'll even be able to cum, fuck, when was the last time you had an orgasm? You push your ass out as your teeth sink into your lower lip, and Joel immediately picks up the pace, as if understanding what you are trying to accomplish. There is no more speaking, only muted moans, panting breaths, and the lewd, wet slapping filling the alleyway. You keep your voice down by biting down on the sleeve of your jacket, choking for every time Joel slams his hips into yours. Then he slows down, his breathing becomes strained, and he buries himself in you, all the way in, and you feel your fluttering core fill with thick, hot semen. His hips twitch, driving himself even deeper, however that even is possible, and your hipbones scrape against the wall. One of his hands is released from your hip and covers yours on the wall for just a fraction of a second before he pulls out and takes a step back.
You hear him zip up his jeans, and you turn around slowly, hoping your legs will carry you. He's looking at you from under heavy eyelids, the hint of a smirk on his lips.
"We're done."
You pull up your pants and find your voice. "I didn't even cum." You hear how whiny and bratty you sound, and lower your eyes when Joel steps up to you again. He places two fingers under your chin and raises it, forcing you to look at him.
"Maybe next time you won't chase me into an alley and try to shove a gun in my face," he instructs you in a voice that makes your pussy clench around the cum seeping out of you. His thumb drags over the corner of your mouth, and you become aware of the dried blood there.
"You're bleeding. Clean yourself up."
With that, he backs further in between the buildings, kicking your Glock to you before disappearing into the shadows. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, sort out your clothing, pick up your handgun and rifle, and step back out of the street. An excited smile spreads on your face.
tags - soft smut, established relationship, sloppy make out session, softdom!joel, grinding/dry humping, teensy bit of jealousy, teasing, begging, PiV, 1 spank, creampie
A/N: one-shot! (but could be read as a sequel to renegade)
“I want you to kiss me until I’m begging for it.” You can barely make out his eyes in the dim light, the dark glitter as they drop to your mouth.
“And then you can have me any way you’d like.”
The couch creaks as you shift your weight on it - the old frame worn down after the years. No longer built for a family. Barely strong enough for two.
But this is better, his thigh fitting snug between yours. Giving you another few inches to move closer, while your lips press against his neck.
It’s cold - the sun fleeing the sky before dinner. The clouds above heavy and grey, the cry of the wind and a steady swirl of snowflakes keeping everyone inside.
That chill is what has you here, sharing a couch with him. The body heat warming you both - the two of you at a loss, the sudden storm wiping out any carefully-laid plans.
So used to never being able to take a breath.
Funny that after the earth came to a stop, there never seemed to be enough time.
His skin is hot under your mouth. The flex of his muscles as he swallows, jumping beneath your tongue as it peeks out to taste him.
With this angle, you can feel him. A rock of his hips, a strong thigh pressing against your core. The nudge of his clothed cock dragging across your under thigh, hip.
Your teeth scrape his jaw on the way to his mouth, your own fingers smoothing across a half-unbuttoned shirt. Sliding over worn fabric, the coarse hair dusting over his sternum.
Eventually traveling up. The rough sound in his throat as his lips press to yours. Another shift as he tugs you closer, a bright spark seeming to throb in your core as his tongue brushes your lip.
The hand at the small of your back drifting down, to the waistband of your prized pair of sweatpants. Rolled up at the ankle and pilling - but after everything, it feels like a soft luxury.
Sliding under the fabric, against the swell of your ass at he starts to tug it down.
But you want more of this. The soft gasps as Joel’s lips slot with yours, as your tongue meets his. The way he leans into it - his licking into your mouth - as your hips roll again.
Everything was so rushed, now. Barely enough hours or energy for a slow seduction - a quick brush of mouths and fumbling hands was usually all you had time for.
“Wait.” You gasp into his mouth.
He goes still. Leaning back, as his hand withdraws.
“What is it?” Joel’s voice is a low drawl, the mark between his brows deepening.
“Sorry. Nothing is wrong.” Your hands smooth over his chest, “Just… can we do this, a little longer?”
This was nice. Finally warm and half-dressed and kissing him. You think you could do this all night. It’s been years since you kissed someone like you used to.
Close to ten years, you think. Not since college. Not since it happened.
Soft things that turned messy, teeth and tongue as something low in your belly built and built. The need that grew until your were both desperate.
“This?” He asks - always wanting to know the details, seeking clarification.
“Yes, this.”
You mouth tips up, but he stays just out of reach. Waiting for more, until you’re sucking in a breath. Your answer coming as an exhale, the confession of what you truly want.
“I want you to kiss me until I’m begging for it.” You can barely make out his eyes in the dim light, the dark glitter as they drop to your mouth.
“And then you can have me any way you’d like.”
He makes a sound then, a low noise in his throat.
Joel wasn’t kissed often. There were years where he hadn’t been kissed at all. It can be easier that way, sometimes.
There was something too intimate about it. Something he never had to worry about before - but that was a different lifetime, now.
But you’re soft and sweet.
And he thinks he likes kissing you. Likes the little moan in your throat when he licks into your mouth.
When he kisses down your stomach. To where you’re so warm and wet for him. It’s easy then, he knows he likes kissing you there. His own groans hidden under your cries as he fucks you with his tongue.
Much less vulnerable.
He doesn’t know how to answer, so he deflects.
“You already beg for it, whether or not I kiss you.”
His words, so deep and smooth, make you clench. Fingers twisting in his shirt, another button slipping free.
You both know you do. He’s able to wind you up like no one else. Just thinking about him gets you squirming, and you can’t pretend that you don’t already need him now.
“Sure do.” You huff a laugh, an acknowledgment, “Don’t have time to make out like a couple of college kids. But I miss that sometimes, you know?”
He watches you, a tilt of his head. There’s a shine on his lower lip from your own tongue, a flutter in your stomach as you think about it.
Joel hums, and you frown.
“We have time tonight, don’t we?” You ask, and then you’re pushing yourself up on an elbow, “Are there other things we need to be doing?
It’s half-rhetorical, half-confirming.
There’s a few things he could be getting to.
Cleaning his gear properly, instead of the quick wipe down from yesterday. Finally taking a look at the sink in the kitchen, that slow drip that’s been going on for about a week, now.
But then again, it’s cold. And you’re warm and in his arms, and if he’s being honest - he wouldn’t mind staying like this.
For a long time.
He could leave the sink. With the freezing temperatures, he would have needed to leave it running anyways.
Your voice breaks his train of thought.
“Please, Joel.”
He can pretend it’s your idea.
That he’s doing this just for you.
A hand cups the back of your neck, twisting in your hair. Holding you in place as his mouth lifts to press to yours again.
You moan gratefully, kissing him. Shifting against him as your hand cups the back of his, feeling the curls with your fingertips.
Another whine as it turns a little sloppy - his teeth scraping over your lower lip, his other hand finding your breast over your top. Palming you, the brush of his thumb as you arch into him.
Rocking against his thigh, the press against your core easing a bit of the ache that has you so worked up already.
Fingers pinch the tight bud of your nipple. His mouth dropping to your chin, lips dragging to the hollow under your ear. All the things he does to you when you’re bare, the sensations dampened with the layers of clothes.
But the memories are fresh.
Your own hands wander. Plucking the last of the buttons free. Roaming over scarred skin, feeling the muscles jump under your palms. His own hips grinding into yours, starting a slow rhythm, as his hand drops from your hair to curve around your waist.
Holding you against him. The brush of his facial hair against your neck as his lips seal against your skin. Sucking a bruise for later, marking you for himself.
In the dark like this, all the hard edges soften. Going blurry and fuzzy, your thoughts going with them.
“Joel,” You moan, meeting the rock of his hips. The seam of your sweatpants rubbing against your clit - his mouth an accelerant to the pleasure that burns in your belly.
His lips lift from your neck, “You beggin’ already, honey?”
Fuck, you’re tempted. It would be so easy to say yes - for him to give you what your both need.
“Not yet.” You manage, in a voice that’s almost level.
The smooth hum of his laugh is like sin.
“Guess I’ll have to try harder, then.”
His hand drifts low, again. To your waistband, and then under the fabric of your shirt. Palm flat against hot skin as his fingers trace patterns, rising higher.
Your mouth finding his greedily again, and this time it’s your tongue brushing against his lip, waiting for them to part for you.
As his fingers tug down the cups of your worn bra, knuckles sliding over the tight peaks beneath.
The moan seems to come from your chest, high and long - pushing into his touch. Letting him move you with him, the steady grind where you need it most enough that you’re sure you’re dripping and soaked beneath.
Your fingers skating lower - down past where his shirt hangs open. Tracing the dark trail of hair that disappears below his jeans, your hand cupping where he’s thick and hard for you.
He grunts with your touch, a harsh thrust that presses you against the back cushions of the couch.
Before he’s curving over you, and you’re pressed half-beneath him. His hips grinding against yours, your hand.
Leaning back, his eyes opening. His gaze heated, burning for you, “You touch the others like this, while you were makin’ out?”
Your fingers flex against him, the tips dragging over where his length presses against the fabric. Back and forth, your answer coming out breathless, “Only if I liked them.”
He inhales a breath, hissed through clenched teeth. The word “fuck” ground out, a harsh bite to it as your lips press against his jaw.
“What about you, cowboy?” You ask, your voice rasping with want, “You drive all the girls crazy like this?”
There’s a look in his eyes, as he hovers above you. A moment where his guard drops, his voice low and smooth.
“Only if I-”
Even though the words cut off, they feel as sweet as the honey of his voice. It’s not the same admittance as yours.
But for Joel, it was more than enough.
He swallows, and you come to his rescue. Bringing out mouth to his. He doesn’t have to continue.
Because by now, you know.
The hand at your breast mirroring your own. Trailing down, working between his thigh and yours so he can touch you. Fingers pressing against your cunt over the thick fabric of your sweatpants.
Slow circles right where you need it, as you moan again. Pressing the damp fabric against your slick skin, over and over.
The touch isn’t enough - too teasing, too slow. Your breaths growing shorter, gasping as you rut into each other’s touch, until it’s too much.
“Okay, okay.” You whine, your fingers fumbling to the button on his jeans, “Fuck, Joel. I can’t-“
He lets you tug his zipper down, easing some of the pressure, before his hand grabs your wrist.
“Show me how much you want it.”
You blink up at him - lips parted, brow pinched. Making a needy sound in your throat, but all he does is ease back, holding himself over you.
Leaving you to tug your shirt up, show him the soft curves of your breasts. The pretty flush of your nipples where they peek out from your bra, from where he tugged it down.
A shift of your legs as you work the waistband of your sweats and underwear down, your knees falling open. Baring yourself to him.
His eyes dropping down, to where you’re glistening. Dripping - not used to the slow tease anymore.
Joel’s hand moves without thought, fingers sliding over slicked skin. Your moan bursting loudly from your chest when a calloused tip drags over your clit, your hips jerking into his hand.
“Joel, please-”
He hums, low in his throat, “Turn over, darlin’.”
Rocking back onto his heels so you can roll over, push up onto your knees. Hands bracing on the padded arm of the couch, your back arched as you glance over your shoulder.
Watching as his shoulders roll, the shirt dropping on the couch. Broad hands tugging at his jeans, unable to help watching him pull his cock free, hanging flushed and heavy.
His fist closes around the base, the other bracing on the small of your back. Dragging himself against your slit, smearing his length with your arousal.
You’re bracing yourself - ready for the sweet stretch when he presses into you. Shifting and eager as your fingernails press into the fabric.
But he doesn’t. His cock dragging against you again, pulling away when you rock back against him.
“Joel.” You bite out, glancing back again.
His eyes are fixed down, and the heat in your chest creeps up to your ears. Where he’s looking at you, all of you.
The tip presses against you, parting your swollen folds. Barely nudging inside, as you sigh - before he’s drawing back again.
Before doing it again.
You whine, rocking back again. The hand on your back keeps you from moving too much - from taking more of him.
“Keep beggin’.” Joel’s voice is ragged, the words drawn out, “Once more, for me.”
Fuck. He’s cruel - turning your own word against you like that.
“Please fuck me.” You beg, just like he asked, “Joel, I need you so fucking bad.”
Months ago, it would have been “I need your cock so fucking bad.”
You both know it - you’d been so careful with your words back then.
It does something to him, finally giving you what you need. Fitting himself into you - filling you - as you moan at the stretch.
His own sound, echoing yours.
Until his hips are flush with your ass, and you’re already squirming back against him. Your release simmering with all the teasing, his words.
It’s funny how things work, now. Words meaning more and less at the same time.
Not many spoken when you fell into bed together, the first time.
Fewer, the night when you snuck in for the last time. How you had just stayed - a silent offering late one night, and an equally silent acceptance.
For all the communication needed in the day-to-day, sometimes words weren’t needed if things were working out right.
And they were, because your things have mixed with us. His shirts on your back when you go out. Your scent on his pillows and on some mornings, he finds himself wanting to stay for just a moment longer.
Wanting to keep you for himself.
Like he’s wanting now.
There’s something about seeing you like this - eyes glassy and half-lidded when you look back at him. As his hips work in quick circles, all those words in your head getting lost on their way to your lips.
How tight and warm you are around him, how you thrust back to meet him because it’s never deep or close enough.
He never leaves you waiting long. Drawing back before he fills you again. The sound of skin-on-skin, and the wet suck as you take him.
Heavy breaths and the creak of the couch as he sets a rhythm that sends sparks up in your head.
You won’t be able to hold on for long. He’s deep like this, hands on your hips, tugging you back as he drags against your inner walls.
The sound you make is just noise - a long, high whine, your eyes closing. Focusing on the swift coil in your belly, each stroke winding it tighter.
He can’t fuck you like he wants to. The couch is too old, wouldn’t survive the way he wants to pound into. The old girl would break, and you’d end up sitting on the floor for the next month while he looked for something else.
But it works, this way. Each thrust deep and long and slow, as you concentrate on where you’re connected. Each one knocking you higher and higher.
“Fuck.” The rasp of his voice has your eyes fluttering open, the hand on your back tracing around your hip, then thigh, “Makin’ all those pretty noises. You gonna come already?”
You hadn’t realized you had - each of your breaths open-mouthed, ragged gasps. When his fingers reach their destination, pressing down against your clit, you keen.
“Yes. Oh my god, please-”
He makes a low groan in his throat, fingertips teasing the tight bud as his hips snap just a little bit faster.
“Did they fuck you like this?”
You can barely breathe, right on the cusp. About to fall over. It takes you a second to realize he’s asking about those boys again - all those years ago. Never taking him for the jealous type, but maybe he’s as good at hiding things as you are.
“Make you come as hard as I do?”
Or maybe - he just likes hearing how much you want him.
“No.” The word is ragged, a rough gasp, “J-Just you, Joel. Only you-”
Your voice cuts off, failing you. Turning into a long moan as you’re there - hurtling off the cliff. A hand comes down to crack against your ass, more sound than pain, and it’s enough to tip you over.
Crying out with relief as you come hard, pulsing around his cock. Gripping him as he fucks you through it, his fingers rubbing until you’re grasping at his wrist, holding them still.
You weren’t stroking his ego - only Joel makes you come like this, makes you see stars. Turning you into a mess as you soak his cock, as he tells you just how fucking good you feel.
Joel’s grown tired of a lot of things, but not this. Your pretty sounds, the tight, hot flutter. His name on your lips, sounding like salvation.
How you want him. Need him.
He can’t deny there was something about this, tonight. Won’t say it out loud, but he too was affected by the soft touches, the slow build. The pressure ignited low in his own belly, even before he sunk into you.
Liking the way you wanted. How you begged.
Delayed gratification, he notes for later - tucking it away.
One of the last coherent thoughts before his thrusts turn shallow and quick. Unable to help but follow, gritting out a string of curses as he finds his end. One of them standing out, because you know it. It’s a part of you, bone-deep.
Your name.
Pretty on his lips as you feel him flood you. Warmth spreading as his hands curl around your hips, pulling them flush against his own. Letting you milk every drop as you clench down.
It’s new. Something you haven’t done with him until recently, but you like how he feels in you. The way he curves over your back, an arm wrapped around you to keep you tugged close. The slight twitch of his cock, the pulse that slows ebbs until he starts to go soft.
Staying like that, for just a second. Hands sweeping over skin as your head turns. One last press of his mouth to yours, sharing a sigh.
Before he’s gently easing from you. Sitting down heavily on the sofa with a deep, contented groan. As you follow, twisting around - legs feeling like jelly.
Before you push yourself up, a cozy warmth spreading from fingers to your toes - before padding off to the bathroom to clean up.
Leaving him on the couch, where the cushions are still warm from where you laid beneath him. He fits himself into the space, waiting for you to come back, for his own turn.
Head turned to look out the window. The chipped white frame with it’s locked latches. Almost looking like a painting, with the quiet streets outside, the swirl of drifting flakes that still fall down. Just as heavy as before.
He thinks… maybe he wouldn’t mind.
If it kept snowing.
Would love to know what you thought! 💕 Thank you for reading!
an aaron ff where the reader is like completely obsessed with aaron’s hands and she thinks he doesn’t notice her staring all the time but he does and he puts it to use🥰🥰
Hands | [A.H]
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 1.6k | CW: MDNI, 18+, SMUT!!!, Fingering, hand necklace, 1% short of having a good girl in there, secret relationship, It's pretty mild smut, very little plot.
The bullpen had been a whirlwind of activity during the day. Ringing phones, rapid-fire keyboards, and the low murmur of agents piecing clues into profiles.
But as the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting shadows through the windows, the chaos had given way to an almost eerie stillness. The bullpen was nearly deserted now, only a few stragglers finishing reports under the soft glow of their desk lamps.
The faint hum of computers powering down and the occasional creak of a chair were the only sounds breaking the silence. You sat at your desk, a stack of case files spread out before you, but your mind was elsewhere—specifically, on Hotch.
You and Hotch had been together for a couple of months at this point, carefully trying to conceal your relationship to avoid the inevitable scrutiny of HR and the eyes of the team members who usually stayed behind while the rest of you flew out on cases.
The secrecy was part of the allure: stolen glances during briefings, the brush of his fingers against yours in the elevator, late-night "debriefs" in his office that usually ended with you pressed against the door, his lips on yours.
And tonight was no different; the air was thick with that same electric anticipation. You could feel it in your bones, this was going to be one of those nights.
You watched him through the open blinds to his office. Hotch sat at his desk, his jacket discarded over the back of his chair, tie loosened just enough to hint at the rare vulnerability he allowed himself when no one was watching.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins standing out against his skin. But it was his hands that held you captive tonight.
Those hands—God, they were your obsession.
Strong, capable, with long fingers that moved with a precision that made your pulse quicken. Whether he was signing a report, gripping the steering wheel, or tracing the curve of your spine in the quiet of his apartment, his hands were a study in control. You’d been caught staring before, by Morgan or JJ, their teasing smirks making you flush, but you thought you’d been careful around him. You thought he hadn’t noticed.
You were wrong.
His head tilted slightly, catching your gaze through the glass. His eyes did a quick sweep of the bullpen before they locked onto yours, intense and unyielding.
A subtle nod toward his office was all it took to send your heart into overdrive. It was a silent command, one you’d come to recognize as an invitation to something more than work. You gathered your files, more for show than necessity, and stood, smoothing your skirt.
Your heels clicked softly on the floor as you crossed the bullpen, every step heightening the anticipation curling in your stomach. You pushed open his office door, closing it behind you with a soft click.
Aaron stood from his chair, his presence commanding even in the quiet. He rounded the desk, closing the blinds, his movements deliberate, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into his arms.
“Long day?” He asked, his voice was low and warm as it vibrated against your skin.
“Yeah,” you said, as you melted into his embrace, the familiar scent of his cologne clouding your senses. “But it’s better now.”
He chuckled. His hands—Ahhhh, those hands—slid down your back, resting at the curve of your waist.
The touch was light yet still possessive. “You’ve been distracted all afternoon,” he said, pulling back just enough to study your face. “Staring again?”
You tried to play it coy, tilting your head with a mock-innocent smile. “Staring? At what?”
His eyes narrowed, a playful glint softened the usual severity of his gaze. One hand lifted, fingers cupping your chin to tilt your face up. “My hands,” he said, his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. The way you watched them in meetings today, while I was driving this morning, even now.” To punctuate his words, he flexed his fingers against your skin, the slight pressure sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”
Heat flooded your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and desire. There was no point denying it, not to him, not when he could read you like an open book.
“They’re… distracting,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t help it. They’re just… perfect.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “Perfect, hm?” he murmured. “Then let me put them to good use.” He guided you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of his desk.
You expected him to lift you onto it, to pin you there as he had so many times before, but he paused, his expression shifting to something more commanding. “Not like this. Not today.” He murmured, mostly to himself.
In one fluid motion, he sat in his chair, pulling you with him until you were straddling his lap. Your skirt rode up, bunching around your thighs, and his hands settled on your hips to steady you. The position was intimate, your bodies pressed close, the hard line of his arousal evident beneath you.
You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, and it sent a thrill through you, your pulse racing as you settled into his lap.
“Aaron…” you whispered, your hands finding his neck, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. Your eyes flicked to his hands, one resting on your hip, the other now sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher. The sight alone was enough to make you ache.
“Shh,” he muttered, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine.
His fingers teased the edge of your panties, tracing the delicate fabric with a featherlight touch that made you bite your lip to stifle a gasp, while your hips betrayed you by bucking into his palm. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “About how you watch my hands, imagining what they can do to you.”
He moved his other hand slowly toward your neck, fingers wrapping around it in a light, possessive hold. The gentle pressure sent a jolt straight to your core, amplifying the heat pooling there. You’d explored this dynamic before, in the quiet of his apartment or yours, but here, in the heart of the BAU, it felt thrillingly illicit.
You nodded, words failing you as his fingers moved your panties to the side, finding you already slick with anticipation.
“So wet for me,” he growled, his thumb circling your clit with slow and torturous movements that made your breath hitch. The sensation was electric, each movement building the tension in your body.
Hotch's hand on your neck tightened just a fraction, not enough to restrict your breathing but enough to anchor you, to remind you who was in control. He slowly slid a finger inside you, watching your reaction before adding another, curling them upward to find just the right spot, the one that made your vision blur and your lashes flutter just the way he liked.
You moaned, your hips rocking instinctively against his hand, seeking more of that pressure. The chair creaked, a soft protest to your movements, but it only heightened the intimacy of the moment, the world narrowing to just you and Aaron.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough with desire as he watched you move. “Ride my fingers. Show me how good a girl you can be. Show me how much you want this.” His thumb never stopped its relentless circles on your clit, and the sensations had you trembling in his lap.
His other hand remained on your neck, his thumb occasionally brushing your pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of your heart, or tracing a line along your jaw.
The office melted away, the files stacked on his desk, the phones silent on their cradles, the world beyond the blinds—Gone.
It was just you and him, the heat between you building to a fever pitch. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a desperate, messy kiss, tasting the faint bitterness of his coffee on his breath.
His tongue met yours, hungry and demanding, as his fingers worked you higher, each thrust and curl pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“You’re close,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice vibrating through your haze as he felt the way you clenched around his fingers. “Let go for me, sweetheart.” The endearment, so rare from his usually preferance of using your name, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
His words unraveled you. With a cry muffled against his shoulder, waves of pleasure pulsed through your body as his fingers coaxed every last shudder from you. His hand on your neck loosened to a gentle caress, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your skin as he guided you through the aftershocks.
His other hand slowed but didn’t stop, drawing out your pleasure until you were boneless, slumped against him, your breath ragged.
When you finally stilled, he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his lips and tasting you with a low, satisfied hum that made your stomach flutter. “Beautiful,” he said, his eyes dark and full of promise as they met yours. “But next time you stare at my hands during a briefing, remember this and know I’ll be thinking about doing it again.”
You laughed softly, still catching your breath, your head resting on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you.
pairing | new!avengers!bucky x new!avengers!reader
word count | 8.8k words
summary | when a world-famous diamond vanishes during a mission, all eyes fall on you—former jewel thief, current new avenger, and the possessive obsession of bucky barnes—who will defend you to the grave, whether you're guilty or not.
a/n | i swear to you, chat, I really really tried to make this 4-5k words, idk wtf happened
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @uzmacchiato
“Do you always shuffle like that, or is that just for show?”
Alexei’s voice boomed across the living room like it had nowhere better to be. He leaned back in the leather chair with a grin too wide for someone three rounds down.
You didn’t look up. Just slid the cards through your fingers with practiced ease, the movement smooth, fluid — sensual, even, if you did say so yourself.
“I find the theatrics help distract lesser players,” you said, cutting the deck without so much as a glance at him. “Consider it a handicap, sweetheart.”
From her spot on the couch, Yelena snorted, one knee pulled to her chest, tablet glowing faintly in her lap. “More like an ego massage.”
“She has to entertain herself somehow,” Ava added, eyes still glued to the book in her hand. She hadn’t looked up once since you'd started the game, but somehow still managed to insert herself exactly where it annoyed you.
You dealt the cards slowly, deliberately, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel like power.
“Jealousy’s not a good look on either of you,” you replied mildly, flicking the final card across the table toward Alexei. “But keep talking — I win faster when I’m being underestimated.”
Alexei picked up his hand like he was holding a newborn. “You know, in Soviet Russia, we play with knives. Much more interesting.”
“I’m not opposed,” you said, crossing your legs, silk robe falling open just enough to make Alexei blink. “But then I’d have to clean blood off the carpet. And I’m allergic to manual labor.”
Yelena cracked a lazy grin. Ava turned a page.
The Watchtower’s common room was dimly lit, warm from the flickering fireplace that Yelena insisted made the place feel “less clinical.” The rain outside painted slow-moving shadows across the hardwood floors. No one else was around — just your little core, spread out like some mismatched after-hours club.
You leaned forward just enough to reach for your bourbon — untouched, but placed with intention. Every move was deliberate. You’d worn the silk for yourself, technically, but you knew exactly what it did to the room.
Alexei scratched his beard. “One of these days, you’re going to lose. And when you do—”
You cut him off with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “When I do, you’ll still be boring, and I’ll still be beautiful. It’ll be tragic, truly.”
Yelena let out a low whistle, muttering something in Russian under her breath.
Ava finally looked up. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you’ve managed to drag her into something that doesn’t sparkle.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” you said, “Not everything has to sparkle to be valuable.”
Footsteps echoed from the kitchen.
“Oh, you guys are playing?” John's voice cut through the warmth of the room like wet socks. “Deal me in.”
You didn’t even look up. “No.”
Alexei chimed in at the same time. “Nyet.”
Walker stopped mid-step. “Seriously?”
Alexei gave a lazy shrug, raising his glass like it might soften the blow. “Room already has enough energy. Don’t want to shift vibe.”
You finally lifted your gaze, eyes raking him up and down with a slowness that bordered on cruel. “Besides, I don’t play games with men who can’t take losing. And you, Boy Scout Barbie, are a sulker.”
Walker blinked. “I’m not a sulker.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Yelena muttered.
He muttered something under his breath and made his way toward the other end of the room, slumping into the seat next to Bob like a moody teen. Bob immediately stiffened like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Probably breathing too loudly.
“I mean,” Walker called out again, clearly not done, “what are you guys even playing for, anyway? Bragging rights?”
“No,” you replied, slow and dry. “We’re playing for dignity. You wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
Yelena snorted. Bob looked like he wanted to disappear.
Alexei chuckled beside you, swirling the last of his drink. “So, what I get if I win, devushka?” he asked, eyes narrowing with faux confidence. “Something real. Something good.”
You tilted your head, lips pursing. “If you win…” You let the pause stretch, dragging the silence like velvet. “You get to say you beat me. Once. And then I’ll let you frame the cards.”
Alexei groaned. “Bah. No fun. Okay, okay—what you want if you win?”
You leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms overhead just enough to make it distracting. “Hmm. What do I want from a man who has nothing I need?”
Alexei leaned forward on his elbows, cards fanned lazily in one hand, smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. “Okay, devushka. If you win… I get you something made of vibranium. Real Wakandan stuff.”
You scoffed, slow and unimpressed, barely glancing up from your hand. “I already have something made of vibranium.”
Walker twisted from his spot on the couch, scoffing. “No, you don’t.”
You turned your head toward him, the motion fluid, calculated. “Yes, I do.”
He raised a brow. “What, like jewelry? Pretty sure that’s not on the market for—”
“No,” you cut in, voice syrupy with disinterest. “Unlike you… with your cheap excuse for a shield.”
Bob blinked next to him. “Damn.”
Walker bristled. “My shield is—”
You held up a hand. “Please don’t embarrass yourself further.”
Ava didn’t even look up from her book. “Secondhand symbolism isn’t a personality trait.”
Walker opened his mouth again, then promptly closed it.
Alexei chuckled, sipping his drink. “So, what is mystery vibranium treasure you claim to own, hm?”
You looked at him over the top of your cards, shrugged one shoulder, and said casually, “James’ arm.”
There was a full beat of silence.
Yelena lowered her tablet slowly, blinking at you like you’d just recited an entire monologue about tax law. “I want you to really hear what just came out of your mouth,” she said flatly. “You just… took ownership of someone else’s arm.”
You didn’t even flinch. “Whatever’s his is mine.”
Simple. Like gravity.
Ava turned a page with a deliberate flick. “So, whatever’s yours is his, then?”
“I never said that.”
That earned a huff from Yelena, who muttered something in Russian under her breath that sounded vaguely like delusional but committed.
Walker looked between you all like someone had changed the language setting on the conversation.
Alexei exhaled, long and put-upon, setting his cards down as if they weighed something. “Okay, okay… what do you want, then?”
You tilted your head, lips curving slow, deliberate — the kind of smile that meant trouble and absolutely no regret. Feline and dangerous.
“The Orlov diamond.”
There was a beat of silence.
Alexei turned to look at you fully, eyes narrowing like he was sure he’d misheard. Yelena’s tablet dropped to her lap as she cut you a sidelong glance, brows raising.
You just blinked, perfectly serene.
“You’re not serious,” Alexei said finally, half-laughing like he hoped it was a joke.
“You asked what I wanted,” you replied, your voice light, almost bored. “I answered.”
Alexei sat up straighter, suddenly far more animated than any poker game warranted. “That is Mother Russia’s diamond,” he declared, gesturing like he was rallying a crowd. “It belongs in our history, our legacy. It is symbol of strength—of endurance! Stolen by the West, admired by the world, but born of Russian greatness—”
You didn’t even lift your head. Just slid a glance toward him, eyes half-lidded, unimpressed. “It’s originally from India.”
He blinked. “What?”
Yelena let out a sharp laugh, hiding her grin behind her hand. Ava didn’t even bother pretending not to smirk.
Alexei sputtered for a second, searching for a comeback. Finally, he puffed up his chest with exaggerated pride. “Well then, I simply make sure you don’t win.”
You gave him a slow, sweet smile. “You can try.”
And then, with your eyes locked on his, you slid another chip into the pot.
Alexei cracked his knuckles. You tapped your fingers against your knee, calm but coiled. The game shifted. The easy banter faded into something quieter, more serious — the room narrowing down to the felt, the cards, the chips.
Everyone else had settled in to watch.
Bob sat hunched over on the armrest of the couch, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was observing a bomb defusal. Walker sat stiff beside him, arms crossed, a faint scowl pulling at his mouth.
Ava leaned back in the corner, legs stretched out, expression unreadable behind her book. Yelena was the only one who looked remotely entertained, chin on her fist as she watched with open amusement.
The pile in the center of the table grew. Slow. Deliberate. Neither of you moved quickly now.
Alexei furrowed his brow as he looked down at his hand, chewing the inside of his cheek. You sat still, legs crossed, a fingertip trailing the rim of your untouched glass. Your eyes never left his.
He blinked. Put down one card. Drew another. Tried not to flinch.
You played your move a moment later — no theatrics. Just quiet, smooth certainty. You placed your final bet, then leaned back, completely relaxed. The kind of calm that made people nervous.
Alexei hesitated. Looked at you. Looked at his cards again.
He sighed through his nose. “I regret offering anything.”
“Everyone regrets something,” you said, your tone light.
Finally, he matched your bet.
Cards were laid.
Alexei’s face fell before the last one even hit the table. His shoulders slumped, and he gave a groan like he was genuinely in pain.
You only smiled.
“You’re kidding me,” Walker muttered.
Bob made a small, strangled sound that might have been applause or shock — hard to tell with him.
Yelena just shook her head. “Of course she won.”
Alexei leaned back in his chair, defeated, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was pure luck.”
You gathered your chips with graceful efficiency, not bothering to hide the satisfied glint in your eyes. “Mm. I don’t believe in luck.”
Alexei gave you a side-eye. “So you really want diamond?”
You stacked the final chip on the pile, then leaned your elbow on the armrest and rested your chin on your hand, gaze cool and certain.
“I want it,” you said. “By the end of the month.”
Alexei groaned again. “Ridiculous.”
Watchtower — Conference Room, One Week Later
Everyone hated when Val came to the Watchtower.
She never arrived quietly. Always in heels, always carrying too many opinions and too little respect for the people who had enough evidence to lock her away forever. If she wasn’t here to corner them into another PR gala or some glossy photo-op for the press, then she was here to rip someone apart with thinly veiled passive aggression and backhanded insults dressed up like “feedback.”
This morning was no different.
You were seated next to Bucky, like always, mind somewhere else entirely as she paced in front of the projection screen, throwing her usual mix of threats and barely tolerable sarcasm around like rice at a wedding.
You had one arm looped casually through his, hand resting lightly on his forearm. Your legs were crossed, posture relaxed, entirely unbothered by the stiff tension that filled the room like smoke.
It had become routine. You in his space, wrapped around him like a claim. Him, settled beside you like he belonged there.
“Hong Kong and Japan are furious,” Val announced, clicking her remote like it owed her money. “You know, the kind of fury that comes with lawsuits, diplomatic tension, and entire governments not returning our calls.”
Yelena arched an eyebrow from her seat beside Ava. “So, same as last time.”
Val didn’t bother dignifying that with a response.
Walker leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “We literally saved Tokyo from a nuclear detonation last week. They could’ve had another Hiroshima and Nagasaki on their hands.”
Silence.
It was instant. Heavy.
Even the hum of the projector felt loud in comparison.
Ava looked up slowly. Bob blinked. Yelena tilted her head at him like she was trying to figure out how much brain damage a person could suffer and still hold a government clearance.
Walker glanced around. “Was that too soon?”
You didn’t even blink. “It’s centuries too soon to make a joke like that.”
His jaw twitched, but he didn’t respond.
Val sighed, like she wasn’t even surprised. “This,” she muttered, waving a hand vaguely at Walker, “is why you guys need media training.”
She clicked through another slide she wasn’t even pretending to care about. The projector whined against the silence.
“And now,” she said, tone sharpening, “we have a completely separate mess to clean up — one that’s about to make headlines if we’re not careful.”
Yelena sighed audibly. “You say that like it's new.”
Val ignored her. Of course.
“Same day you all landed in Tokyo,” she continued, her eyes sweeping the room slowly, “something else went missing halfway across the world.”
She clicked again. The screen lit up with a high-resolution image — the glint of light catching on flawless facets.
“The Pink Star Diamond,” she said. “Gone. From its private exhibition in Hong Kong. Security footage? Wiped. Guards? Drugged. No signs of forced entry.”
The room went still.
And then — every head turned.
Toward you.
Slow. Simultaneous.
Ava didn’t even try to hide her stare. Yelena gave a soft snort. Bob blinked like he wasn’t sure if he should make eye contact or duck for cover. Walker just sat there, frowning.
You didn’t react. Not even a twitch.
Val folded her arms. “Coincidence?”
You finally turned to her, face cool, mouth poised in that bored sort of half-smile. “Absolutely.”
Alexei leaned forward slightly. “We were in Tokyo.”
You leaned forward slightly in your seat, arm still threaded through Bucky’s as you rested your other hand on the table, fingers tapping once — slow and deliberate.
“I was never in Hong Kong,” you said smoothly, voice level. “I didn’t leave Tokyo the entire time we were deployed. Ask the field team. Ask Ava. Cross-reference satellite data. Internal comm logs. Flight manifests. Movement trackers.”
Ava didn’t deny it — just narrowed her gaze slightly, studying you with that unnerving, analytical expression of hers.
Val arched a brow. “The diamond was taken by someone who avoided every sensor in a high-security vault. Who moved with precision and didn’t leave a single trace.”
Yelena gave a small shrug. “I mean… she didn’t leave the drop zone. That I saw.”
Walker snorted. “Please. You’ve snuck past tracking before. No one’s doubting your ability, that’s the problem.”
You looked at him like he was gum on the sidewalk. “If I’d stolen it, you think I’d be dumb enough to let it get traced back here? Have some faith in my standards.”
“Oh, we have faith,” Ava cut in, folding her arms and staring you down. “Just not the kind you’re hoping for.”
You arched a brow, waiting.
Val took a step closer to the head of the table. “You were a jewel thief when I found you. Let’s not rewrite history. You were halfway through smuggling the Laurent Emeralds out of Geneva when I made you an offer.”
You smiled slowly, almost sweetly. “Correction. I was halfway out of Geneva. The emeralds were already in Paris.”
Bob blinked like he wanted to take notes.
“Let’s talk logistics,” you added, sharper now. “You think I snuck out of Tokyo in the middle of a live operation, somehow got to Hong Kong, cracked a vault with no gear, took a priceless diamond, and made it back — all without being seen or throwing off the mission timeline?”
Silence.
Then, “…Yeah, kind of,” Walker muttered.
You stared at him. “You can’t even open your own locker without help.”
Yelena snorted again.
Ava narrowed her eyes. “Just because we can’t prove it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“You act like this is personal,” you said, eyes skating over the room. “It’s not. It’s logistics. And none of you have a leg to stand on.”
Yelena didn’t even look up from her seat. “I can’t trust someone who doesn’t own a single pair of sweatpants.”
You turned to her with a lazy blink. “And I can’t trust someone who surrounds herself with rodents.”
Her head snapped toward you. “He’s not a rodent, he’s a hamster, and his name is Nathaniel. And you better keep that white she-devil away from him.”
Bob whispered, “I think Nathanial and Alpine are both adorable…”
Walker cut in, loud and self-righteous. “You’re a kleptomaniac. Just admit it already.”
“I’m selective,” you corrected. “There’s a difference. If I were a kleptomaniac, your watch would be missing.”
Walker looked down at his wrist instinctively.
Val stepped forward again, clearly running out of patience. “If you have the diamond, just give it back. We can clean this up before it escalates.”
You stared at her, jaw tight, smile gone.
“I’m not giving it back,” you said evenly, “because I don’t have it.”
“You know what?” Ava said sharply. “Even if you didn’t take it — which, let’s be honest, is a stretch — you still act like this team’s your personal playground.”
You didn’t respond.
“You don’t answer to anyone,” Walker snapped. “You don’t follow protocol. You steal. You lie. And we’re just supposed to deal with it because Bucky lets you crawl into his lap like a damn—”
Your head turned.
Eyes on Bucky.
No words this time. Just a look.
And that was all it took.
He stood like someone had flipped a switch — slow, calm, but absolute. A wall rising between you and the room.
“That’s enough.”
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
Everyone went still.
Bucky looked around the table, one hand still resting gently over yours, the other loose at his side — but the tension in his shoulders said he was ready.
“You’re accusing her with nothing. No proof. No data. Just gut feelings and guesses because you don’t like how she operates.” His voice stayed steady. “She’s not obligated to win you over with small talk and trust falls. She gets the job done. Every time. And if you can’t keep up with how she does it, that’s on you.”
Yelena opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“She was accounted for. We all saw it. And unless someone here can produce actual evidence that she left the mission zone, I suggest you stop throwing accusations like you’re on trial for your own insecurities.”
The room was dead quiet.
You sat back, watching the way his shoulders rose and fell, the way his jaw stayed tight.
Yelena leaned forward, voice sharp. “That’s so unfair.”
You blinked, tilting your head with faux innocence. “What is?”
“That.” She pointed toward Bucky — now standing like a sentinel at your side. “Every time we call you out, you don’t have to defend yourself. You just look at him like a Disney princess and suddenly he’s barking at all of us.”
You raised your brows, lips parting slightly. “Are you suggesting I’m not a princess?”
“We’re suggesting he’s your guard dog,” Ava muttered. “Trained, loaded, and ready to bite.”
Walker scoffed. “You say ‘James’ and suddenly we’re all the enemy.”
“Maybe don’t act like enemies,” Bucky said flatly, still standing tall beside you.
You let out a quiet hum, fingers gently brushing along his forearm. “You all seem very emotional about this.”
Bob, barely breathing at this point, whispered, “She’s doing the thing again where she pretends she doesn’t know what’s happening…”
Val looked like she wanted to rip her own hair out.
Alexei finally spoke, voice low and deliberate. “You say you want me to steal Orlov diamond for you — and we all laugh. But then Pink Star goes missing and suddenly it’s out of question?”
You gave him a look like he’d just said something painfully unoriginal. “It was a joke,” you said coolly. “One you're all now taking way too seriously.”
“Because it’s not unbelievable,” Ava shot back.
“And yet, still unproven,” you replied, voice even, unbothered. “So what are we really doing here? Group therapy?”
Bucky let out a quiet breath and finally lowered himself back into his seat beside you, arm brushing yours.
“The conversation’s over,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “She didn’t steal the diamond.”
A pause.
“Very sorry for Hong Kong,” he added, almost deadpan. “But that’s their own fault for losing it.”
Yelena threw up her hands. Walker stared at the ceiling like he was praying for divine intervention. Ava just blinked slowly, lips pressed into a thin line.
Val looked around the room like she was considering setting the whole table on fire, but finally closed the file in her hand with a tight snap.
“Fine,” she said, “Whatever.“
And no one argued. Not after that.
You leaned into Bucky just slightly, your tone airy as ever. “I thought I handled that well.”
He didn’t smile—not really—but you felt the way his hand found your thigh under the table.
“You always do,” he murmured.
Your bedroom, That night
“James, you’re not admiring me enough.”
Your voice came out in a lazy drawl, like it wasn’t the first time you’d said it tonight—or ever.
Bucky didn’t look away from you, not even for a second. “I am, baby.”
His voice was quiet. Rough. The kind of hoarse that came from restraint, not disinterest.
He was seated in your vanity chair, his long legs spread wide, arms resting on his thighs. The golden light from a dozen candles danced across his face—across the sharp set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his throat bobbed when his eyes dropped lower.
The room smelled like rose oil and candle wax. The windows were cracked open just enough to let the cool New York summer air creep in, stirring the silk curtains. The rest of the Watchtower was asleep—or pretending to be.
You were stretched across your bed like something out of a painting, legs bare, skin glowing under dim candlelight. The rose gold silk of your nightgown clung to you like it was made for this moment, slipping dangerously off one shoulder.
And on your right hand—on your ring finger—the Pink Star Diamond glittered in a way that could never be mistaken for synthetic.
It sparkled as you moved, slowly dragging your hand down the curve of your own body, letting the diamond catch the light—your collarbone, your sternum, the dip of your waist.
Bucky's jaw clenched.
“Do you like it?” you asked, eyes meeting his through your lashes.
“You know I do,” he murmured.
“Mm. You haven’t said it.”
“Sayin’ it doesn’t do shit compared to what I wanna do, sweetheart.”
You stretched just enough to shift the way the silk slid over your skin, the gown riding high over your thigh as you tilted your chin toward him. The diamond caught another sliver of candlelight as you turned your hand, admiring it like it was a museum piece.
“I think it pairs nicely with this,” you said, voice honeyed, fingertip grazing the diamond choker around your neck — icy white, square-cut stones sitting flush against your collarbone.
Bucky’s gaze dropped instantly, breath catching in his throat.
“This one,” you murmured, drawing your hand slowly down between your breasts, “I stole in Prague. Four years ago.”
His tongue swiped along his bottom lip. His fists clenched on his thighs.
You watched him watch you. Watched his restraint unravel one breath at a time.
The gown dipped as you rolled one shoulder forward, then the other. Silk slid down your arms, slow and fluid, catching briefly on your wrists before slipping away entirely.
The fabric pooled at your waist.
You made no move to cover yourself.
Instead, you lifted the hand with the Pink Star and cupped your breast — a subtle arch of your back pressing into your own touch, thumb brushing lazily over your nipple as you let out a soft, unaffected hum.
“I think it looks best like this,” you said, eyes locked on his. “Don’t you?”
Bucky looked wrecked.
Absolutely still.
Like touching himself would be a sin, but staying still was agony.
His voice broke low. “Jesus, baby…”
You adjusted your hand slightly, the Pink Star flashing as your fingers squeezed around your breast just enough to make him twitch in his seat.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
Just stared — like you were sacred and obscene all at once.
“You’re being very well-behaved tonight, Jamie.”
Your voice was soft, mockingly sweet — the tone you used when you wanted to draw blood with sugar. You dragged your thumb in a lazy circle, making your breath hitch just slightly, enough for effect.
“Is that for me?” you asked, tilting your head, eyes dropping briefly to the very obvious, very strained bulge in his pants. “Or are you just always that hard when you see me with something expensive on my body?”
His jaw flexed, a vein in his neck twitching. He still didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
This wasn’t new. Not for either of you.
Every time you acquired something rare — something stolen, expensive, yours — you made him sit like this. Made him watch as you modeled it, draped in nothing but luxury and intent. A necklace, a bracelet, a pair of earrings you'd lifted off a diplomat's mistress in Vienna.
Your thumb dragged over your nipple again, slow, absent, like you were just adjusting—like you hadn’t just knocked the breath out of him. The diamond on your finger flashed with the movement, sharp and pink and impossibly perfect.
“I think,” you said softly, “it deserves to be seen on something beautiful.”
Bucky was dead silent. Tense. Hard. Eyes fixed to your chest like he couldn’t look anywhere else.
You pinched your nipple between two fingers and let out a quiet, breathy sound that wasn’t quite a moan—just enough to let him feel it. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
You let your hand trail down the center of your chest, past the soft dip of your sternum, fingers skating over your stomach before curling over the edge of your thigh. The candlelight made your skin look warmer, shinier—like satin layered over heat.
You shifted on the bed, spreading your legs just enough for the silk to fall open between them.
And then you smiled — slow, satisfied, dangerous.
“Don’t worry,” you purred, lifting your chin slightly. “You’ll get to touch.”
A beat.
“When I say.”
You watched his throat bob, the way his metal hand gripped the arm of the chair like it might snap.
You bit your bottom lip and let your legs fall a little wider.
“But for now…” your fingers ghosted across your inner thigh, just high enough to make his breath catch again, “you can keep watching.”
You let your knees fall wider, silk gathering at your hips, the cool air licking at the wet heat between your thighs. You could feel how soaked you already were—just from him watching, from the look in his eyes like he was praying and dying at the same time.
His breath was shallow now. Barely held.
You brought the hand with your diamond down, the weight of it glinting across your knuckles as your fingers brushed through your folds, slow and slick.
Bucky exhaled like he’d been punched.
You dragged your middle finger through your wetness again, slower this time—gathering everything at your entrance before circling your clit with the kind of practiced ease that made you hum in your throat.
“See?” you murmured, eyes locked on his. “Looks good with everything.”
Your finger dipped lower, slid inside—just the tip—and then pulled back out, glistening under the candlelight. You let him see it, held it up briefly like you were about to taste yourself, before trailing it back down again.
His legs shifted like he might stand, but you shook your head once, gently. “Stay.”
He froze. Swallowed hard.
You pushed two fingers in this time—slow, deep, your wrist angling to curl against that soft spot that always made your thighs twitch. You let out a quiet breath and arched, back pressing into the mattress as your palm flexed against your own heat.
The diamond caught the candlelight again as your hand moved—subtle, steady, your breathing picking up as the slick sound of your fingers filled the room.
“Do you know what turns me on the most?” you said softly, your voice catching on a gasp as you pressed deeper. “Knowing you’re sitting there, aching, while I get myself off with your favorite view in the world.”
Bucky’s hands gripped the chair again—one flesh, one metal—white-knuckled and silent, his eyes glued to your fingers moving in and out, knuckles glistening, thighs flexing.
You rolled your hips into your hand, thumb circling your clit now, pressure building fast.
And still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You looked at him—sweaty, wrecked, waiting.
And you smiled.
“Good boy.”
You barely had time to pull your fingers out before he was on his feet.
The chair scraped back against the floor, and then Bucky was moving—fast, silent, like a man pulled off a leash. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, hands braced on either side of your thighs, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he’d been running.
You tilted your head, smug even now. “Took you long enough.”
He didn’t respond.
He just hooked his hands under your thighs, yanked you closer in one hard pull, and buried his face between your legs.
Your gasp hit the ceiling.
His mouth was hot, wet, desperate. There was no easing into it—no slow, teasing warm-up. He licked you like he needed it, like he’d been starving for it. Tongue flat at first, dragging up your folds, collecting the mess you’d made on your fingers. Then he sucked your clit into his mouth, slow and firm, moaning like he was the one getting off.
You fisted the sheets, eyes slamming shut as your hips jerked up into his face.
“Fuck—James—”
His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, dragging you closer, his nose pressed right against you as his tongue worked in tight, devastating circles. The stubble on his jaw scraped against your skin in the best possible way. Your breath hitched with every pull of his mouth, every little sound he made like he was drunk on the taste of you.
And when he shifted lower, dragging the tip of his tongue down to your entrance, you felt him moan—felt it, the vibration of it buzzing right through your core as he fucked you with his tongue, messy and slow and deep.
“James—” you breathed, your voice breaking. You reached down, hand tangling in his hair, diamond flashing as your fingers curled against his scalp.
He groaned again, the sound raw, needy, and gripped your hips tighter, rutting his face into you like he was trying to drown. One hand slid up—flesh—and pressed down firmly on your stomach, pinning you to the bed like he knew you were about to come.
And he was right.
You shattered in seconds.
Your thighs clenched around his head, your hand dragging through his hair as your orgasm ripped through you sharp and fast, your hips jerking under his mouth as he kept going, licking you through it like he needed to make sure you felt every second of it.
He didn’t stop until you pushed at his head with a shaking hand, breathless and ruined.
Even then—he kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and reverent, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. Your slick was smeared across his chin, his lips red and glistening.
“Fuck,” you murmured, voice hoarse.
He looked up at you like you were holy. “Now let me fuck you.”
You lay back against the pillows, your thighs slick and parted, the diamond catching flickers of candlelight as your hand dropped to your side. Breath steadying. Body humming.
Bucky stood slowly, still panting slightly, eyes never leaving you. You watched him reach for the hem of his shirt, grip it tight, and pull it over his head in one smooth motion.
You always loved watching him strip.
It wasn’t even about the muscle—though that was perfect too, buff and scarred and solid—it was the way he offered himself. Like the moment his skin was bare, he belonged to you again.
He unbuckled his belt next. His pants hit the floor in seconds, and your eyes dropped to his cock—already flushed, thick, twitching, and leaking for you.
You bit your lip, letting your legs fall wider.
“Come here.”
He climbed onto the bed without hesitation, crawling between your thighs with a low grunt, hands already spreading you open again like he couldn’t get enough.
But he didn’t line up just yet.
No—he stared.
Then he reached for your cunt with his flesh hand first, sliding two fingers through your slick, watching them glisten. He dragged them up, circled your clit lazily, and then brought them back down to tease at your entrance—slow, just enough to make you twitch.
“Still so wet,” he rasped, his voice thick with awe. “Fuck, baby…”
You lifted your chin, smirking through your haze. “That’s what happens when you use your mouth instead of your attitude.”
He huffed a laugh against your inner thigh, then pushed his fingers in—two at once, filling you with ease. Your back arched slightly, the stretch so much bigger than your own touch had been.
He curled them just right. Pressed deep. His thumb rubbed at your clit again in tight, controlled circles as he watched your face like it held all the answers.
You moaned, soft and breathy. “Just like that. Fuck—James.”
He groaned, forehead pressing to your thigh for a second, then looked back up at you, pupils blown wide.
“I can’t wait anymore,” he said, voice rough, honest.
You just smiled and tilted your hips toward him, cunt still fluttering around his fingers. “Then don’t.”
Bucky pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching the way your cunt clenched even after they were gone. You were still dripping, the insides of your thighs slick, the scent of your arousal thick in the air.
He shifted forward on his knees, hand wrapping around the base of his cock.
Thick. Hard. Heavy. The head flushed, already leaking pre-come.
He didn’t thrust in right away.
No.
He dragged the tip through your folds first, slow and deliberate, groaning low in his throat as your slick coated him. Up and down, again and again, catching on your clit just enough to make you jolt.
You sucked in a breath, thighs twitching, but didn’t tell him to stop.
He pressed his cock against your entrance—not pushing in, just resting there, teasing you with the weight of it—then pulled back to glide through your heat again, slower this time.
“Fuck,” he breathed, jaw clenched. “You’re so wet. I could slide in without even trying.”
You grinned, your voice low and mocking. “Then stop trying so hard.”
He huffed a laugh, his free hand gripping your thigh, holding you open.
Another slow grind of his cock through your folds.
And then—
He lined up properly. Pressed forward.
And sank into you.
Your mouth dropped open, a breath catching deep in your chest as he filled you in one steady, unforgiving thrust. No rush, no hesitation—just a smooth, deep slide that had you gasping by the time his hips met yours.
“Fuck—” he groaned, head dropping for a moment, his forehead brushing yours. “You feel like heaven.”
You clenched around him, pulling him deeper, dragging your nails across his back.
“You feel like mine,” you whispered.
And then he started to move.
He started slow—just for a second—dragging his cock out until only the tip remained inside you, then slamming back in with a force that knocked a sharp moan out of your throat.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
Relentless. Deep.
The sound of his hips slapping against your ass filled the room, loud and filthy, mixed with the wet drag of your cunt pulling at him like your body knew it was built for this.
You gripped his arms tight, nails digging into muscle and metal— and for a split second, your eyes caught on the contrast of your hand against his vibranium bicep.
The Pink Star flashed.
The diamond, shining and delicate, pressed against matte vibranium.
“Oh,” you gasped, laughing breathlessly even as he fucked you through it, “that looks so good together—”
Bucky grunted above you, hips stuttering just a bit. “Baby—”
You squeezed tighter, legs wrapping around his waist, dragging him in deeper, tighter. “Don’t stop. Just—god, sweetie—look at it.”
He didn’t.
He couldn’t.
His face was buried in your neck now, teeth scraping your skin as he rutted into you, desperate, panting, gone.
“Fuck, you feel so good—so fucking tight, always—can’t—”
You clenched around him on purpose, smiling through your moans. “You gonna come already, baby? Or do I have to ride you ‘til you cry?”
He groaned—deep and broken—his thrusts growing erratic, harder.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re mine.”
You arched beneath him, the diamond catching one last flicker of candlelight as he slammed into you over and over, the bed creaking, your body singing.
“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Yours, baby. Just don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
Not until he was buried so deep inside you it felt like you were one breath away from breaking apart completely.
His vibranium hand pinned both your wrists above your head, the cool metal firm against your skin, holding you open, helpless beneath him—not that you ever minded. You loved when he held you like this. Controlled you like this.
You felt his rhythm stutter for just a moment—his breath catching as his eyes flicked up, just barely—
To your hand.
To the Pink Star glittering on your ring finger, pressed tight beneath his palm, your fingers flexing under his grip every time his cock punched into you deep.
“Yeah,” he rasped, letting out a breathless, wrecked laugh. “You’re right, baby. That does look good.”
Then he slammed into you, harder, rougher—dragging a cry from your throat as your back arched off the bed.
“Fuck, baby—this pussy’s mine,” he gritted out, jaw tight, fucking you like he needed to brand it into your body.
“You are mine,” you panted, breath breaking into soft, frantic sounds as your orgasm coiled sharp in your gut. “All of you—this cock—your mouth—your fucking arm—mine.”
His head dropped to your shoulder as he groaned, full-body shaking, thrusts messy now, erratic, hips slamming into you over and over. The head of his cock dragged right against that perfect spot inside you, over and over, until your legs trembled and your cunt clamped around him—until suddenly he pulled out, slick and heavy, leaving you gasping at the loss.
You didn’t have time to complain.
He grabbed your hips, hands rough and urgent, flipping you with practiced ease. His metal hand pressed into your lower back, firm but not harsh, guiding you down to the mattress until your spine arched perfectly, ass up, face against the sheets.
You loved when he got like this.
When the control slipped just a little. When his restraint cracked open and you could feel the desperation underneath.
“Just like that,” he muttered, voice hoarse, reverent. “God, look at you…”
You felt him stroke the head of his cock through your folds again, dragging it through the mess between your thighs.
Then—he slammed back in.
Hard. Deep.
You let out a choked moan, fingers clutching the sheets as he gripped your hips and fucked you harder than before. The angle was brutal — his cock hitting deeper, faster, the sound of skin on skin now filthy and loud.
“Fuck, darlin’, you’re so tight like this,” he growled, pounding into you with sharp, perfect thrusts. “You love it—don’t you? Letting me bend you. Letting me take you.”
“Yes—yes, James—fuck, don’t stop—”
He grunted, grabbing a fistful of your hair with his flesh hand, pulling you up just slightly, your back still arched, mouth slack and moaning. His other hand stayed locked on your hip, keeping you in place, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Your whole body was shaking, orgasm coiling tighter, your cunt clenching around him again and again.
“You gonna come for me like this?” he rasped against your shoulder. “Bent over like my perfect fuckin’ toy?”
You nodded, nearly sobbing, hips pushing back against him. “Yeah—I’m—fuck, James—I’m gonna—”
“Come,” he growled. “Do it for me.”
And you did.
Your orgasm hit hard, but Bucky wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
He pulled out just long enough to haul you back against him — one strong arm wrapping around your waist, the other anchoring your thigh as he dragged you into his lap. Your back met his chest, slick skin to slick skin, his cock sliding between your folds again as he settled you down on top of him.
You let out a sharp gasp as he thrust up into you from below—hard and deep—the new angle making your whole body jerk, your cunt already pulsing from how wrecked you were.
He held you there, tight against him, your legs spread wide across his thighs, his metal hand gripping your jaw as he turned your head.
You didn’t resist.
Your mouth found his in a hungry, desperate kiss — your tongues tangling immediately, breathing each other in like you needed it. His kiss was filthy and soft at once, the kind that tasted like devotion wrapped in lust, the kind that said I’d die for you, but first I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name.
He fucked up into you hard and fast, your bodies slapping together, your breasts bouncing with every thrust as he moaned into your mouth.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, lips dragging to your jaw, your neck, kissing everything he could reach. “You take it so fucking good… tight little cunt just pulling me in—fuck—I’m so close—”
You could barely breathe, your head dropping to his shoulder, one hand gripping his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as he fucked you through another aftershock, your body shaking in his arms.
“James—fuck—I want it—want you to come inside me—”
His whole body jerked.
And then he did.
With a broken groan against your neck, his cock throbbed deep inside you, pulsing hard as he spilled into you, hips stuttering with each twitch, his arms wrapped around your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.
He held you there. Still. Breathing hard.
Your cunt still fluttered around him, your whole body sticky and spent and trembling.
You smiled against his shoulder, breathless, boneless, full.
And he kissed the side of your face like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then his breathing slowed, heartbeat thudding heavy against your back as the last few pulses of his orgasm faded. You stayed there, slumped against him, skin sticky with sweat, his arms still locked around your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go.
But then he shifted — carefully, gently — kissing the curve of your shoulder as he pulled his cock from you, slow and deliberate.
You whimpered softly at the loss.
The stretch, the heat, the fullness—all of it slipping away as his cock slid free, dragging through your soaked folds one last time.
And then you felt it.
Warmth.
His come leaking out of you, thick and heavy, trickling slowly down the inside of your thigh.
You sighed, content. Possessed. Ruined.
Bucky let out a soft, wrecked sound behind you—half groan, half awe—as he looked down between your bodies and saw it.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low, reverent. “Look at that.”
His metal hand drifted down your stomach, tracing over your pelvis before his fingers slipped lower—collecting his own spend as it spilled from your cunt.
He rubbed it in. Slow. Gentle. Almost like he was marking you with it.
“Messy girl,” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck. “You love when I fuck it this deep, don’t you?”
You let out a soft, satisfied hum, still dazed, your hand reaching back to curl around his thigh. “Just like I said…” you whispered, voice lazy, lips curling into a small smile. “Everything that’s yours is mine.”
His chest rumbled behind you. And he didn’t argue.
You exhaled slowly as you slid off his lap, your legs wobbly, your thighs still sticky with him. He caught your arm gently to steady you, but you were already shifting back onto the bed, sprawling lazily across the sheets like a queen returned to her throne.
You stretched, just a little, then sighed.
“Run me a bath,” you murmured, voice hazy but firm. “And bring me another nightgown, please. One of the white silk ones.”
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question.
“Yes, baby.”
He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder, then stood — naked, flushed, his cock still glistening with you as he padded toward the bathroom first to start the water.
The soft sound of running water filled the space.
Then he disappeared into your closet.
The doors opened into a space almost as large as your bedroom — walls lined with mirrors, plush carpet underfoot, the scent of your perfume hanging faint in the air.
One side was filled floor to ceiling with clothing: dresses, robes, gowns, coats arranged by fabric and color. Beneath them, rows of heels, boots, and custom shoes in velvet-lined cubbies.
The other side?
Glass cases and open displays sat under soft lighting, each one housing a piece that could bankrupt a small country. Famous jewels that had vanished off the face of the earth—now resting silently in your private gallery.
The Luxembourg Sapphire.
The La Peregrina Pearl.
The Florentine Diamond.
Bucky walked past it all with the quiet, familiar interest of someone who’d seen it all before… and still felt like he wasn’t supposed to.
He didn’t touch anything.
He just found the white silk nightgown you asked for—thin, sleeveless, soft enough to slide over your skin like water—and brought it back to you.
You were still on the bed, eyes half-lidded, legs open, the candlelight dancing on your still-exposed skin.
“Bath’s almost ready,” he said softly, offering the gown.
You took it without a word, slipping it on slowly, deliberately. And smoothed the silk down over your thighs, the fabric catching just slightly where your skin was still sticky and flushed.
You looked up, and there he was.
Still watching you.
His body was relaxed, but his eyes were locked on yours — heavy-lidded, reverent. Like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to touch you again or just stand there and thank god you let him breathe the same air.
You lifted your arms slowly, languidly, wrists loose, fingers curled just slightly.
“Take me to my bath?”
Your voice was low. Barely a question.
His mouth twitched, lips curling into something soft, a little wrecked.
“‘Course, darlin’,” he murmured.
And then he stepped close, bent down, and slid his arms under your legs and behind your back — lifting you like it cost him nothing.
You sank into his hold, arms curling around his shoulders, nose brushing his neck as he carried you into the bathroom.
Later That Night
The room was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the city through the barely cracked window and the occasional creak of the bed shifting under your bodies.
The candles had mostly burned down, little pools of wax cooling in their glass bases, shadows soft and heavy across the walls. The sheets were a mess beneath you—kicked halfway off the bed, damp with sweat, and still carrying the scent of sex and silk.
You were naked again, your white nightgown discarded somewhere on the floor after round two had turned slow and rough—deeper, more desperate.
Now, you were draped half on top of him—chest to chest, your thigh slung over his hips, toes brushing his shin. His cock lay soft and spent between you, trapped under the weight of your thigh, resting against the hard plane of his stomach, still tacky with the evidence of just how hard he’d come inside you.
Your cheek was pressed to the side of his throat, your nose brushing lazily along the sharp line of his jaw as your lips planted slow, wandering kisses.
His arms were around you, one hand splayed wide on your lower back, the other lazily gliding up and down your spine—not really comforting you, more like soothing himself. Like keeping you close was the only thing holding him steady.
Your fingers toyed lightly with his hair, the weight of the Pink Star still glinting faintly in the low light as it caught against the strands at his temple. You hadn’t taken it off.
You never took your newest prize off the first night. It was a rule. Possession needed to be felt after all.
But this?
This was the part of the night no one else ever got to see.
No cruelty. No teasing. No commands.
Just you. A little sleepy. A little warm. Nuzzling his neck like a cat in her favorite sunspot, soft kisses trailing down his pulse point.
Bucky didn’t speak. He never did first. He just let you have this—his body, his warmth, the silence.
Because this was the closest thing you ever came to asking for comfort. And he knew that.
Your lips brushed his neck again, slower this time—less a kiss, more a lingering press of your mouth against his pulse. Your breath was warm on his skin, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw.
You didn’t lift your head. Didn’t change your tone. Just whispered.
“You won’t make me give back my diamonds… will you, James?”
The question hung in the dark between you—delicate, heavy, threaded with something that wasn’t quite fear but not far from it.
It wasn’t about the Pink Star.
Not really.
It was about the whole closet of them. The ones you stole before you met him. The ones you wore like armor. The ones no one ever understood. The ones that made people think they knew you—when they didn’t.
But he did.
You didn’t look at him as you said it. Just buried your nose in the crook of his neck, lips brushing his collarbone as you pressed another soft kiss there—almost like an apology.
He was quiet for a moment.
Then his arm curled tighter around your back.
His vibranium hand slid up the length of your spine with that same slow rhythm, fingertips dragging gently, almost reverently, like he was tracing the edges of something precious.
“No, baby,” he said softly. “I won’t make you give back anything.”
Your lashes fluttered against his skin as you breathed him in—warm and steady and always there. You didn’t answer his words. Didn’t say thank you. You just pressed another kiss to the hollow of his throat, your hand now lazily tracing down the slope of his chest, not teasing—just feeling.
It was quiet again.
But you weren’t done. Your voice was barely more than a whisper.
“You love me, don’t you?”
It wasn’t coy. It wasn’t playful. Just soft. Raw. Honest.
Like if he didn’t answer, the silence might fill with something too sharp to swallow.
He turned his head just slightly, lips brushing your temple, breath fanning across your hair.
“I do,” he whispered. “God, I do.”
Your hand stilled against his chest.
Then, a little quieter—
“You need me?”
His grip on your back tightened for just a second, like his body responded before he could.
“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “More than anything.”
You didn’t speak right away. Your mouth just trailed lower along his jaw, pressing the kind of kisses you never gave anyone else. Slow. Thoughtful. Like you were imprinting yourself into his skin.
And then—
You breathed it into the space between his throat and shoulder. Quiet. Dangerous.
“You’ll never leave me…?”
His hand lifted to the back of your head, cradling it gently, thumb brushing your hairline.
“Never.“
His voice was firm now. Steady. Certain.
“Even if the whole world turns on you,” he murmured, “I won’t. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
You didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.
His hand stayed at the back of your head, stroking slow, mindless circles as your body finally started to sink against him—your breathing evening out, your leg still thrown over his hips like you were anchoring him to the bed.
The Pink Star glinted faintly in the low light, still on your finger, resting against his ribs as your hand settled over his heart.
And somewhere, in that half-conscious haze between desire and sleep, your mind wandered.
Diamonds.
You had hundreds of them.
Tucked away in velvet and glass, sealed behind locks and systems no one could break.
Each one rare. Priceless. A little dangerous.
But none of them compared to him.
He wasn’t flawless. Wasn’t carved or polished. He was scarred. Weathered. Real.
And he was yours.
Your most precious diamond.
You wouldn’t give him back either.
Ever.
Not even if the whole world demanded it.
You smiled against his neck, the last of your thoughts slipping into sleep as his arms tightened just slightly around you.
And you didn’t need to say you’re his.
That part was obvious.
Bucky when his girl is so obviously guilty and in the wrong:
Summary || Bucky is away on a business trip, but that doesn't stop you from giving him a steamy show in his office over the phone. The next morning, he returns early to give you exactly what you deserve for teasing him.
Authors Note || Back with a fic :) Hopefully more to come soon...
Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!
CEO!Bucky Masterlist
Bucky had been gone for three days.
Three days of back-to-back meetings overseas, constant phone calls, time zone differences, and barely a moment to breathe, let alone talk to you.
You weren't supposed to miss him this much. He was your dad's best friend. His business partner. His co-CEO. The man you were never supposed to be involved with. But that hadn't stopped you from falling into bed with—let alone falling for entirely.
But you had. A long time ago.
Monday — 8:47 PM
The office building was dark and quiet after hours. You slipped inside Bucky's office like you had done so many times before, only this time, he wasn't there waiting like he usually would.
The scent of his cologne lingered in the room—musky, expensive, familiar, and so delicious, making the ache between your thighs worse.
You flicked on the desk lamp, bathing your scene, the mahogany surface, in a soft glow. With trembling fingers, you propped your phone, framing the shot—making sure it caught the desk and you. The phone caught your reflection: hair done, lips glossed, tight black skirt hugging your curves, and heels on.
You looked like temptation, and it would drive Bucky insane.
Your heart thudded against your chest as you reached into your purse and pulled out the small metal toy he had left you, the weight cool and heavy in your palm.
You swallowed the nervous flutter in your chest and hit the call button. The phone barely rang once before his voice came through.
"Miss me already, doll?"
You bit your bottom lip, cheeks warming at the sound of him, knees nearly giving out.
"More than I should," you murmured, already breathless.
"You in my office?" he hummed, the smirk evident in his tone. He already knew the answer. He had cameras in the building and in the room. Of course he knew.
"Just me, your desk," you purred, slow and sultry, "and the butt plug you gave me."
A harsh, guttural groan tore through the line, making your knees buckle again. "Fuck. Turn the camera on. Now."
Not a request. A demand.
You turned it on, making sure it captured the desk, and then slowly you stepped into view, hips swaying, your ass tight in the skirt he loved.
"You gonna be good for me tonight?" he murmured, voice thick and possessive. "Or are you gonna be my filthy girl?"
You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, lips curled into a smirk.
"Why can't I be both?"
That earned you a low, dark, and dangerous laugh. "Show me."
You kicked off your heels and slowly peeled off the skirt with teasing slowness, giving him a show, revealing a lace thong that barely covered anything, earning a deep growl on the other end.
"Look at you, baby," he rasped. "Fuck, look at that ass."
You gave it a little shake, earning another growl, before sliding your panties down and crawling onto the desk on all fours. Your elbows rested on the cool surface. Back arched, ass high.
You spread your legs a little wider, letting the glow from the lamp catch the glistening between your thighs, both your holes on display for Bucky. Your body ripe and aching for his touch. You could feel your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, pounding against your chest.
You reached down and teased your clit in slow, tight circles, making Bucky's breath catch.
"That's my girl," he rasped, hot and ragged. "Just look at that fucking view. Your sweet little pussy dripping for me, and that tight ass... fuck, baby. All for me. All mine."
Your fingers reached for the plug, slicking it through your folds, coating it in your arousal, before guiding it to your tight rim. You gasped at the cold kiss of metal, breath shaking as you slowly pushed it in until the plug stretched you open and filled you completely.
Bucky witnessed it all—the tremble of your hips, thighs quivering, the glistening pooling where you needed him the most.
You imagined him on the other end—eyes dark with need, jaw clenched, palming himself over his trousers as he watched you give yourself over to the pleasure on his desk. And the worst part? He wasn't here. He couldn't touch you.
"I feel so full, Bucky," you whispered, rolling your hips in slow, needy circles while teasing your clit.
"Yeah?" His voice was wrecked. "Fuck, baby. I know you're making that fucked-out expression I love. You always do when I've got you stuffed like that. Ass full with my cock as I tease your clit."
You whimpered, rolling your hips more firmly to feel the plug press deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, your orgasm threatening at the edges.
"I wish you were here, Bucky," you panted. "I wish you were here to fuck me through it."
"Trust me, princess," he said, voice tight, "when I get back, I'm wrecking that pussy, and ass. You won't be able to sit properly for days when I'm done with you."
"I'll let you ruin me on your desk," you whispered, playing with your clit, fingers teasing your entrance. "Bend me over and use me."
His growl was pure sin. "Oh, I will." He promised. "I'm gonna fuck both your holes until you forget your name."
You moaned, pussy clenched around nothing, yearning for his dick inside you, filling you, completing you.
"Tell me what you want, doll," he demanded. "Talk to me while you fuck yourself on my desk."
You plunged two fingers deep in your pussy, curving them like Bucky would. Your vision blurred with heat and need as you moaned at the fullness.
"Fuck," you whimpered. "I-I want your mouth all over me... I want your fingers inside me, your tongue on my clit... I w-want you to choke me while you fuck me deep and hard... Bucky, please."
"You're such a filthy girl for me," he rasped into the phone, groaning. "Jesus fuck."
You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, eyes hooded, fingers deep in your pussy, butt-plug stretching your ass. "Only for you, Bucky."
You pulled out, rubbing slow, teasing circles on your clit as your hips rocked back and forth, the plug hitting the perfect spot inside you.
"F-fuck," you gasped, plunging your fingers deep again and curling them. "I-I'm gonna come..." Your voice was almost a sob now.
"Don't you dare," he cut in, rough and commanding. "Not until I say so."
You whimpered, the need for release clawing at your insides, making your back arch. "Please, Bucky. I need it, I need you..."
"Tell me what you'll do when I get home," he demanded, voice firm. "Tell me how you'll make it up to me for being such a bad girl and teasing me like this. Then, I'll let you come."
"I'll let you bend me over and fuck me raw, stretch me open, make me come until I can't speak... then I'll get on my knees and suck your cock until you're shaking..."
His breath hitched. "You're gonna be the fucking death of me. Jesus fuck," he groaned.
Your fingers moved faster, desperate, pressure building fast. "Please... let me... please, let me come, Bucky. Please..." you whimpered, clenching around your fingers.
A beat of silence, making you teeter on the edge of bliss. Then:
"Come for me, doll. Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart."
And you did. Hard.
You cried in bliss. Your body shook as the orgasm ripped through you—back arched, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around your fingers while the plug held firm and deep. Your mouth dropped open, the moan long and broken in the empty office, hips bucking against the pressure.
"Fuck," Bucky groaned heavily. "You're so fucking perfect, baby."
You collapsed onto the desk, cheek pressed against the cool surface, heart racing, breath ragged.
"You better hurry home soon, Bucky."
"You better be waiting for me like that," he uttered." Legs spread, plug in, pussy wet and ready for my cock."
You smiled to yourself, slow and wicked. "I'll be here..."
Thursday — 8:07 AM
Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, nerves buzzing beneath your skin as you crossed the familiar lobby of your father's company. Polished tile, towering glass. All the same as yesterday.
But today it felt different.
Off.
You hadn't slept.
Not really.
Not after last night. Not after what you did in Bucky's office, bent over his desk, ass in the air, moaning his name into the silence while he watched from thousands of miles away.
You could still feel the weight of the plug inside you. The ache between your legs. The rasp of his voice through the phone as you came for him.
He wasn't supposed to be back yet.
Two more nights. Two more days of pretending your skin didn't burn when your dad said his name. Two more days of pretending you weren't so far gone for the man you were never supposed to touch.
But when the elevator doors opened, your body froze.
There he was.
Bucky Barnes.
In the flesh.
Standing beside your father, calm and composed in a tailored suit that hugged his broad chest, perfectly pressed as though he hadn't just spent hours on a plane.
His expression was unreadable, smooth and professional, but his eyes?
His eyes were on you.
Your pulse skipped, and you almost choked on your breath. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. And he sure as hell wasn't supposed to be looking at you like that. Like he was already imagining what he's going to do to you once he gets you all alone.
You forced your legs to move, stepping into the elevator between them, trying to keep it casual, but your heart was racing.
"Morning, sweetheart," your dad said, barely glancing from his phone, distracted. "Bucky surprised us. Landed early and came straight here."
Your gaze flicked to him.
Bucky met your eyes, calm and cool, but behind that exterior was fire. Possession. Hunger. Amusement.
His jaw ticked as his gaze dropped to your lips, then lower, to the fitted skirt you wore.
"Couldn't stay away," he said, voice smooth and rich. "Business here needed my attention."
Bullshit.
You knew exactly why he came back.
And judging by the heat in his eyes, you were the reason.
5:26 PM
You had barely made it halfway across the quiet office floor after hours when a firm grip wrapped around your wrist—Bucky. He didn't say a thing as he walked to his office, pushing you inside.
"Bucky—" you started, but your breath was stolen when he pressed your back against his office door, one hand gripping your jaw while the other slid around your waist, pulling you flush to him.
He kissed you hard, all tongue and heat. It was messy, desperate, teeth grazing lips, tongue sliding into your mouth like he couldn't get enough. Everything about it—the pressure, the scent of his cologne, the scrape of stubble against your skin—made you head spin and knees go weak.
"You think I was gonna sit through another fucking night without touching you after your little show for me?" he growled against your mouth. "That tight little skirt. That fucking temptress body of yours. Bent over my desk. Playing with that plug. Touching yourself in my office. Calling my name like that..."
You whimpered, clutching his suit jacket as he lifted your thigh up against his hip.
"I wanted you to see," you whispered, voice shaky. "Needed you to know how much I missed you. How much I needed you."
His mouth found your neck, licking and biting the same spot he always claimed when he needed to remind you who exactly you belonged to.
"You think I didn't watch that shit on repeat the second you hung up. You think I didn't jerk off in the hotel bathroom like a fucking animal because I couldn't wait to get back to you?"
You moaned at his words. "Please," you gasped, "need you, Bucky."
"Fuck, need you naked," he muttered, tugging at your blouse buttons, undoing them with impatient fingers until the fabric slipped from your shoulders.
You let it fall.
His eyes dragged down your body, devouring every inch like he hadn't already seen it a thousand times.
"So fucking gorgeous," he growled under his breath as his hands slid around your back, undoing your bra with ease before tossing it aside.
His mouth was on your chest before you could speak, kissing, sucking, biting your breasts like he was trying to mark every inch of you.
You gasped as he licked across your nipple and tugged it between his teeth, while his hands worked on pulling your skirt down your hips.
You stepped out of it with trembling legs, now standing almost naked in his office, back pressed against his door.
"Been thinking about this body for three fucking days," he muttered, eyes drinking you in. "Thought about your little hole stretching around my cock. Thought about you dripping down your thighs just like you were last night on the phone."
He pushed your panties aside and slipped two fingers inside without warning. You clenched around him, body already close from the teasing tension built all day.
"So tight, baby doll," he groaned. "You wet like this all day thinking about me?"
You nodded, barely able to breathe.
He withdrew his fingers and shoved them into your mouth. "Taste yourself. Taste how ready you are for me."
You sucked on them greedily, eyes wide, throat bobbing.
"Lock the door and then get on my desk," he ordered as he started to undress and walk backwards.
You did as told, heart racing, hands trembling. As soon as the lock clicked, you scrambled to him, and he was on you again: jacket off, shirt half-open, belt unbuckled.
His mouth found yours with an urgency that made your whole body ache. He lifted you effortlessly onto the edge of his desk. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, and he stepped between your legs like he never left—like he hadn't been halfway across the world just this morning. You moaned softly as his hands slid up your thighs.
"Missed this," he whispered, kissing along your collarbone. "Missed you."
Your eyes fluttered closed when his lips brushed over your nipple. But just as he was about to claim your body—
His phone rang.
He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder with a sound that was nearly a growl. "Fucking hell."
You giggled, breathlessly. "Ignore it."
"I can't." His voice was thick with annoyance as he fished it out of his pocket and checked the screen.
Your dad.
Bucky pressed the answer button and lifted the phone to his ear, but he didn't move away from you. If anything, he slid his hand higher on your thigh, fingers brushing where you needed him the most. He was playing a dangerous game.
"Hey," he said, voice impressively calm.
You couldn't help yourself in playing a dangerous game as well. You leaned forward, brushing your lips along his neck, your teeth nipping gently at his jaw.
His hand squeezed your thigh in warning.
"No, I'm still at the office," he said casually, clearing his throat. "Yeah, figured I'd knock out a few things before heading home."
You ran your fingers down his chest, slow and light, until you reached the bulge in his pants.
He didn't flinch, but the muscles in his jaw ticked as you palmed him through it.
"Uh-huh... no, I've got that handled. I'll send it over tonight." His voice stayed smooth, but his free hand was gripping your thigh so tightly now, you were sure it would leave marks.
You mouthed you're so good at lying, then bit your lip.
He shook his head slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Thanks. Yeah, I'll catch you in the morning."
He hung up. The second the call ended, he tossed the phone to the side.
He grabbed your chin and kissed you again, slower, deeper. All tongue and heat.
"You fucking tease. So desperate for me even when I'm on the phone with your father. You have no idea what I'm about to do to you."
"Show me."
He dropped you to the floor and then turned you around. Bending you over his desk and spreading your legs, discarding your panties with urgency.
His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he dropped to his knees behind you. You gasped and arms buckled slightly against the desk when you felt the hot drag of his tongue along your folds—one slow, deliberate lick from your clit to your entrance.
"So sweet, baby," he murmured, breath brushing over your wetness. "Been thinking about this pussy ever since you hung up last night."
"Bucky—" you moaned, words dying on your tongue as his mouth returned to you, hungrier now, relentless.
His tongue flattened and licked you open, tasting every drop like it was the last thing he would ever eat, savouring you.
His groan vibrated against your clit, making your thighs tremble. He gripped your hips harder, pulling you back onto his face, burying himself deeper.
"God, baby," he growled into your pussy, "you're soaking for me. You taste so fucking good. I missed this pussy. Mine. All fucking mine."
You whimpered, nodding, forehead pressed against the cool surface of the desk. "Yours, Bucky. All yours."
He hummed in satisfaction and zeroed in on your clit, tongue flicking fast, purposeful strokes before switching to slow, lazy circles that had you gasping. He sucked your clit between his lips, drawing tight, wet pulls that made your eyes roll back into your skull.
"F-fuck," you cried, voice cracking, pushing your hips back against his face. "Bucky, please. Please don't stop."
He didn't. He latched on tighter and fucked you with his mouth like he was trying to pull the orgasm straight from your soul. Every lick, every suck sent sparks down your spine, and it was hitting you fast.
"You gonna come on my tongue, doll?" he rasped, voice low and filthy as he thrust his tongue into your dripping entrance, fucking you shallowly before sucking your clit again. "Come on. Let me taste it."
"Oh my God! Bucky—"
Your whole body tightened as the heat coiled up, higher and higher until it finally snapped. You came with a cry, thighs shaking, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you.
"That's it," he growled against your pussy, licking you through it, mouth wet and messy as he devoured your orgasm like he had been starving for it. "That's my good fucking girl."
You were panting hard, your wetness dripping down your thighs as he pulled back with one last soft lick.
When he stood, his chin was glistening, lips swollen, eyes dark and wild.
"Good girl," he rasped, running his palm over your ass before giving it a sharp slap. You yelped—the sting delicious.
He undid his pants and lined up behind you, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance, making your thighs tremble at the sensitivity.
"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, low and rough.
"Yes, sir," you moaned, the title falling off your tongue without a second thought.
He groaned and slammed into you in one deep thrust, your back arching as your mouth fell open in a wordless scream.
Full. Finally full. His cock stretching you to the brink.
Bucky fucked you like he meant it. No teasing. No holding back. Just brutal, perfect strokes that made the table creak and your voice break.
"Mine," he grunted, fingers digging into your hips. "This pussy. This body. All fucking mine."
His hips snapped forward again, burying himself to the hilt as your nails clawed at the slick surface of the desk for something to hold onto. His cock dragged along your walls, thick and perfect, hitting that spot that made you see stars every time.
"Fuck, Bucky," you gasped, voice cracking as you pushed back to meet his punishing thrusts, desperate for more. "You feel so good... I needed this," you cried.
"I know you did," he growled behind you, one hand sliding up your spine before fisting in your hair and yanking your head back just enough to make your breath catch. "You wanted to tease me? Rile me up? Play with that plug and tight little pussy? Make me watch?"
You whimpered. Part guilty, and part turned the fuck on.
His free hand landed a sharp smack to your ass. "Answer me."
"Yes! Yes, sir," you gasped.
"Goddamn right you did. I fucking knew what you were doing. Bent over my desk like a perfect little slut, showing me both of your tight holes. You wanted me to wreck you when I came back, didn't you?"
"Yes. Yes, Bucky. I wanted to drive you crazy."
"You did, princess."
He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in again. The slap of skin on skin was loud and filthy in his quiet office. Your body jolted with every thrust, tits bouncing with each powerful roll of his hips.
You were a mess, drooling, moaning, back arched so deep your spine ached. But Bucky didn't slow down. If anything, he went harder. Rough, claiming strokes that sent shockwaves of pleasure up your spine.
"Tell me whose pussy this is," he snarled, fucking you deep, his grip bruising on your hips.
"Yours," you sobbed. "It's yours, Bucky. Always yours."
"Say it again," he growled, smacking your ass.
"Yours! All yours, Bucky. Fuck!"
"Good fucking girl."
He bent down, chest to your back, his mouth hot and dangerous against your ear. "You're gonna be leaking me all night and day, baby. Every time you sit down tomorrow at a meeting, you'll feel me dripping out of you. Just like I fucking want."
A helpless moan fell from your lips, your body trembling under him, every word sinking deep and making your pussy clench around his cock like it never wanted to let go.
Your whole body was shaking now, legs starting to give out as the pleasure built hard and fast in your core.
"B-Bucky," your voice was weak, wrecked. "I-I'm gonna—"
He didn't let up for a second, hips thrusting into you, each stroke deeper than the last. His hand slid around your waist, pressing flat against your belly to anchor you in place, to feel how deep he was inside you.
"Yeah?" he panted, teeth gritted. "You gonna come for me, babydoll?"
You nodded frantically, tears stinging at your lashes. "I can't... fuck! I can't hold it!"
"Yes, you can," he growled, voice pure sin against your ear. "You're my good girl. You take this cock so fucking well."
His hand dropped lower, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing rough, messy circles while he kept slamming into you from behind. The overwhelming sensation shattered through you like lightning.
"Come for me, doll. Come on this cock. Let go. I need to feel it."
And that was all it took.
Your scream cracked in your throat as the orgasm ripped through you—legs shaking, eyes rolling back, mouth dropped open in a silent cry of bliss. You came around him hard, clenching down so tight on him that Bucky let out a strangled fuck as he chased his own release.
"Bucky! Oh, fuck!"
You were shaking, twitching, wrecked, and still, he didn't stop. His hips pushed into you with punishing force, dragging your sensitive pussy into overstimulation.
"Fuuuuck," he dragged out. "Shit, baby," he grit through clenched teeth, head dropping to your shoulder. "You're gonna make me come."
You whimpered something under your breath, body spent beneath him, helpless to do anything but take it.
"Keep squeezing me like that. Fuck, good girl," he snarled, his voice breaking on a groan. "You want my cum, don't you? Want me to fill up this pretty pussy?"
"Yes," you sobbed. "Please, please, Bucky. I want it, want all of it—"
With a loud, guttural moan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, cock pulsing deep inside you. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as thick, hot ropes of his release filled you up and dripped down your thighs. The heat of it made you shiver.
"Fucking hell," he rasped, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, completely wrecked. "You're perfect, baby. You're fucking perfect."
His breath stuttered against your back. Neither of you moved, both too ruined to do anything but pant in silence.
He slowly softened inside you but stayed buried deep, like he couldn't bear to pull away. You could feel his heartbeat against your spine, feel the way his hands softened where they gripped your waist.
And then he kissed your shoulder softly. Like an apology for how hard he had just ruined you.
You both stayed like that for a moment, tangled in sweat and panting breaths. His heartbeat thudded heavy against your back as his cock twitched inside you, still buried deep, still claiming you.
But you weren't done.
With a wicked little smirk tugging at your lips, you shifted beneath him, and Bucky groaned as he slipped out of you. You turned, ass resting on the edge of the desk, your fingers stroking down his abs, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.
"You came so hard," you whispered, licking your lips as your hand wrapped around his softening cock. "Bet I can make you do it again."
"Fuck, doll," he muttered, voice gravelled and thick, "you're gonna kill me."
You smiled sweetly and then dropped to your knees.
He sat back in his chair, muscles tense, arms hanging heavy over the armrests as you crawled between his spread legs. You kissed along his inner thigh, slow and teasing, making him groan, before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. He was still slick from fucking you, salty and warm, and you moaned at the taste of both of you together.
"Jesus fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, head tipping back.
You took him into your mouth slowly, wet and warm, letting your spit drip down his shaft as your tongue swirled around his tip. He was already hardening under your touch.
You sucked him deeper, letting your throat relax as you took more and more, until your nose was brushing the trimmed hair at his base. You gagged softly around him, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, and he growled low in his chest.
"God, look at you," he groaned, fisting your hair. Not pulling, just holding. "Taking my cock like a good fucking girl."
Your eyes flicked up to meet his, watery and blown wide with lust. His cock throbbed on your tongue as you bobbed your head, the room echoing with lewd, wet sounds—messy, filthy, and perfect. Your spit coated his shaft, dribbling down your chin, strings of it connecting your lips to his cock every time you pulled back and dove back in. His thighs trembled under your palms as you gripped them for balance.
"Shit, doll... just like that... fuck, baby..."
You sucked harder, letting your tongue drag up the underside of his cock with each stroke, tracing his thick vein. One of your hands moved to cup his balls, rolling them gently as he bucked his hips up, chasing the wet heat of your mouth.
"Gonna come," he warned, voice tight and strained. "Wanna come down that tight, pretty throat."
You moaned around him in approval, humming low and greedy against his cock, and that was all it took.
"Fuck, baby! Shit. Take it. Take it like a good fucking girl."
Hot salty ropes of his release spilled into your mouth, and you swallowed every drop, eyes fluttering shut as he groaned your name—loud, rough, ruined.
He twitched as you kept sucking, coaxing every last bit of his cum from him. Only when he hissed from the oversensitivity did you finally pull off, licking your lips, spit and slick glistening on your chin.
You wiped it away with the back of your hand, looking up at him with that soft, fucked-out smile he adored. You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky was on you again, devouring you with his eyes.
Still panting, still wrecked. He was not done with you yet.
He reached down and grabbed your arm, pulling you gently but firmly to your feet. You barely had a moment to react before he lifted you with ease and placed you back onto the desk, right where he'd had you earlier. Only this time he didn't turn you around.
"You think I'm gonna let this pretty pussy go without one more taste?" he rasped, voice low, dark, and absolutely feral.
Your breath caught in your throat as he spread your legs wide, fingers digging into your thighs, pushing them up and back until your knees were nearly against your chest. You gasped as the angle bared you completely to him. He looked down at your tight rim and glistening pussy—still, swollen, still dripping, still twitching from everything he had done to you.
"Look at this fucking view," he groaned, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he spread your pussy with his thumbs. "You're a mess, doll. My mess. That's what fucking heaven looks like," he muttered, and dropped to his knees.
The second his tongue touched you, you moaned—loud and helpless. Your body jolted at the sensation, still so sensitive but craving more. You always craved more with Bucky.
His mouth was slow at first, lapping gently at the slick and mess between your folds, tongue parting you and dipping into your entrance before dragging up to your clit, sucking just enough to make your hips jerk.
"So good, baby," he murmured against you, eyes flicking up to watch the way your head fell back. "My gorgeous girl. Mine."
You reached for the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as he buried his face in you. He sucked your clit, hard, tongue flattening and circling, his groan vibrating through your core. The wet, obscene sound of his mouth on you echoed in the office, and it was fucking perfect.
"Bucky! Oh my God..."
You gasped as he lifted your legs just a little higher, spreading you wider. His fingers gripped your thighs hard, and you felt his tongue drift lower, licking through your arousal, tracing wet circles and open-mouthed kisses further down until he hovered just over your other hole.
Your breath caught.
"Bucky—"
"Shh, baby," he murmured, spreading your cheeks a little wider. "I just wanna taste all of you," he growled, voice thick and ruined.
You whimpered as his tongue dragged between your cheeks, slow and dirty, licking your tight little hole with just enough pressure to make your head spin.
"Fuck! Fuck, Bucky!"
He moaned against you like he was starved for your ass, like this was his reward for every second he had been away. Wet, greedy circles around your rim, teasing and filthy, while one hand moved back up between your thighs to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles.
"Such a perfect fucking ass. Next time I'm fucking it hard," he muttered, biting the soft curve before diving his tongue back in between your cheeks.
You couldn't speak. You could barely breathe as he alternated between your pussy and ass, licking and sucking, tasting everything. Your body trembled under the attention, toes curling, thighs quivering as he moved back to your clit, lips wrapping around, needing you to fall apart on his tongue.
"B-Bucky—fuck! I-I'm gonna—"
"Yeah? You gonna come? You gonna give me one more, baby?" he asked, voice wrecked and full of hunger. "Wanna feel you come all over my face, doll. Just one more."
"Yes!" you cried, arching into him. "Please, don't stop! Don't stop—"
He didn't.
His tongue moved fast, relentless, and when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you were overwhelmed by sensation. You tried to close your legs, but he growled and slapped them open. "Take it, baby," he said roughly. "Give it to me. Right now on my fucking tongue."
And you did.
You shattered, again. Your back bowed, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm ripped through you. Your thighs shook around his head, and still, he didn't stop, making you sob.
He licked you through it like a man possessed, tongue, finger,s and lips dragging out your release until you were gasping and trembling, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
When he finally pulled back, his chin was slick with your release, his lips swollen from his actions, and his eyes feral with satisfaction.
He pressed one soft kiss to your trembling thigh before he stood and leaned over you, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach... then your breasts... then your mouth.
You tasted yourself on his tongue, and it made you moan into the kiss.
"You okay, doll?" he murmured, brushing hair from your face, his voice a little smug, but also soft and tender.
You nodded, breathless, eyes heavy-lidded. "Better than okay," you breathed out. "That was... fuck... amazing."
He chuckled softly, pressing one last soft kiss to your lips before he helped you down, tugging you into his lap as he dropped into his chair. His arms wrapped around you, your cheek pressed against his chest, his heart beating hard beneath your ear.
6:24 PM
You were curled up on Bucky's lap in the leather chair behind his desk, your body completely spent. His dress shirt hung over your shoulders like a makeshift blanket. It smelled like him—delicious and expensive—and it made you feel safe.
He had one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you snug against his chest, and the other hand gently stroked your hair.
His lips pressed to your temple in a kiss so soft it made your breath catch.
"Next time," he murmured against your skin, voice dark and warm, dangerous in the way that made your toes curl, "you film yourself in my office, I expect to be in it."
You giggled softly and tilted your face up to look at him. "Yes, sir."
He smirked, eyes dark, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. "Not just watching. In it. Balls deep. Hands around your throat. You moaning my name like it's the only word you know."
Heat fluttered between your legs again, even though your body had already been pushed past its limit.
"You're insatiable," you whispered with a grin.
"And you're mine," he simply replied. "So yeah, I get greedy."
You leaned into his chest again, cheek against his skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. His hand slipped under the hem of the shirt, rubbing gentle circles into your bare thigh. Not with lust this time, but with something softer—protective and grounding.
"I missed you," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "I feel empty without you by my side."
Bucky's hand stilled for a second, then curled tighter around your leg.
"I missed you too, doll." He kissed the crown of your head. "And now that I'm home... I'm not letting you out of my sight."
You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. Whatever happened tomorrow—in the office, with your dad, with the secrets you still had to keep—none of it mattered right now. Not here. Not with Bucky holding you like this.
Because for tonight, you were exactly where you belonged.
Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people! I would really appreciate it 🖤
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you need to understand that i have two sets of headcanons. there's the set of realistic headcanons based on my genuine reading of the show, and then there's me playing pretend with my dolls.
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