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aquaticmercy · 2 months ago

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In Another Life

Summary : Bucky is certain you only see him as a friend. It only took him travelling to a different reality to realise otherwise.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : slight cursing, very slight suggestion of sex, Yelena being a third wheel, and multiversal travel!!!

Requested by : anon

Word count : 3.9k

Note : This was really fun to write. And yes, I slipped Yelena into this because I can. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

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“I’ll miss you,” you mumbled as Bucky handed you a knife to sharpen. As he sat there in your living room, the evening light reflected on your curtains, casting a soft shadow across his face. You sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, so close yet not quite close enough. He had asked if he could come over the day before his mission, claiming he needed help sharpening his knives. He has said ‘no one sharpens knives as good as you’. To some degree, you both knew it wasn’t the only reason he was here.

“Weren’t we supposed to see that new World War II exhibit at the museum tomorrow?” you asked, your voice riddled with a tinge of disappointment.

“We were,” Bucky admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. If there was one thing he hated, it was letting you down, especially over a mission he couldn’t refuse.

“Who does Strange think he is anyway— that lunatic wizard?” you quipped, with a little gossipy tone. “Showing up at your doorstep and just… demanding you drop everything last minute?”

A small smile tugged at Bucky’s lips, enjoying this sassy part of you. “It's a bit annoying, but I can’t exactly turn him down.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you worked. “What’s so important that he needs you and Yelena for, anyway? This isn't one of those ‘end of the world’ things, is it?”

Strange had basically asked him to commit theft, and not just any theft— he wanted Bucky to steal something from a multiversal variant of himself in another reality.

Still, Strange had made it sound urgent. It would be most obvious to partner him with you, since you were proven to work well together, but you had just returned from another mission in Antarctica. Both Bucky and Strange knew you needed time to recover.

That left Yelena and Sam. Sam, with his unmovable sense of duty, would’ve questioned every detail and repercussion. He was growing more and more into his Captain America mantle, and that wasn’t a bad thing— it was just inconvenient sometimes. Yelena, on the other hand, would do what needed to be done and ask fewer questions, which was why Strange approached her instead.

If the mission worked out, Bucky would have earned himself a favour owed by one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. That was a card he couldn’t afford to pass up.

Bucky hesitated, feeling the familiar weight of secrets settle on his shoulders. “It’s classified,” he finally said, which was technically true. He didn’t want to trigger your anxieties with the details, especially when he didn’t fully understand the whole multiverse mess himself.

You gave a small nod. You’d been around the hero-type for so long to know there were things you weren’t always allowed to know. Even though you were laser-focused on sharpening another knife, you could tell something was off.

“Are you okay?” you asked, watching his fingers dance along one of the blades, tension flowing through his body like a wave he cannot tame.

He didn’t answer immediately, but you could see the conflicting spark in his eyes. He didn’t mind the danger. But the multiverse, something that was so unknown to him? That was a different kind of fear.

He didn’t want to leave things unsaid with you. Not when there was a chance he might not come back.

He called your name softly. “Can I talk to you?”

There was something in the way your name left his lips that made your chest tighten. Bucky wasn’t the nervous type—not with you, anyway. Your hands stilled on the sharpening stone. “Of course,” you said, setting the tools aside.

He took a deep breath, glancing down at his hands, gathering the courage to speak. “You mean a lot to me,” he started, his voice low but steady.

Your heart skipped a beat. Bucky’s hands reached out to gently clasp yours, the cool metal was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his human hand. It was such a Bucky thing to do, to find a simple, human way to connect, even as he struggled with the mechanical parts of him.

“I need to tell you—”

A loud, insistent knock thundered the door, startling both of you. Bucky’s fingers slipped from yours as you turned towards the sound.

“Yelena!” you exclaimed, standing up.

“Yelena?” Bucky echoed, blinking in confusion.

“Did I not tell you?” you asked, biting your lip. “When you asked if you could come over, I asked if she needed her knives sharpened too. She did, so I invited her. I hope that’s okay?”

Bucky’s heart sank, but he forced himself an unreadable expression. Of course, You’d invited someone else. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to say what he wanted to say, if it ever was. In fact, maybe this was a sign to never tell you.

You invited Yelena, your friend. Which probably meant he was also a friend—just a friend. It probably meant you would never see him as something more.

Before he could respond, you were already at the door, revealing the deadly assassin packed into a 5 '4 vessel of human fury. She gave you a sisterly smile in greeting before her eyes landed on Bucky.

“Hello, Bucky,” she said, her russian accent a little too cheerful as she dropped a heavy duffel bag on the wooden floor with an echoing thud.

“Yelena,” Bucky replied, somewhat coldly. He didn’t dislike Yelena. He knew better than to make an enemy of her. Besides, they had saved each other’s life before. But at that moment, he resented her.

He resented that she had unknowingly interrupted something he might never get the chance to finish.

“Drink?” you offered, already heading towards the kitchen.

“Just water,” Yelena shrugged, flopping down into the armchair with the casual confidence of someone who could kill you with both hands behind her back. As you left the room, Yelena turned her mischievous gaze to Bucky, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“I’m not third-wheeling today, am I?” she teased, pulling out a couple of dull knives and placing them on the table in front of her.

Bucky’s ears burned red. “Shut up.”

Yelena chuckled, twirling a knife like a baby would play with their dummy. “I can see the way you look at her, you know. If you put half as much effort into flirting as you do into those knives, you might actually get somewhere.”

He clenched his jaw, the frustration building. He hated the insinuation that he wasn't trying. But now? He might stop. He might just give up because clearly, he was a friend to you, the way Yelena was a friend. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it is when I’m sitting here watching you blow your chance, Barnes.” Yelena’s tone softened, just a touch, before she glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s oblivious, but she cares.”

Bucky stared down at the knife in his hands, knowing he had to deal with this teasing all day tomorrow. A constant reminder that he will always be too afraid to tell you. “It’s not that simple.”

Before Yelena could respond, you returned with glasses of water in hand, completely unaware of the exchange between the widow and the soldier in your absence. You handed Yelena the glass with a smile and settled back down beside Bucky, completely oblivious to his racing heart.

—

The multiverse… wasn’t as confusing as Bucky had expected it to be.

Sure, he didn’t understand how it functioned or what the exact mechanics were—something about a teenager named America Chavez punching a star-shaped hole through space-time. Or something like that.

But what really threw him off was how familiar this reality felt, how similar it was to his own. The streets, the neighbourhood, the people, the world around him—it was all the same, yet different in subtle, uncanny ways he couldn't quite point out.

America had opened the portal in an alley near Bucky's apartment in this different reality. After he and Yelena stepped through, America warned them: "I will open a portal again in two hours. Don’t miss the window." America was still so young, but she had a grim seriousness in her voice. Bucky wondered what her story was.

Now, Bucky and Yelena sat perched on a fire escape across from his own apartment—or, at least, a version of it. It was the same address as his was in his reality. The mission was simple: retrieve an artefact that belonged to this variant of Bucky—a blue stone embedded in a gold ring—from his apartment in this reality. Strange had briefed them on it: the ring was a powerful protection charm, and he needed it.

He just had to wait until his variant went out for his daily run, slip inside, find the ring, and get out. Yelena would be backup, keeping watch in case things went south. Maybe in case the variant of him decided to return early.

“I can’t imagine your girlfriend approves of this dangerous multiverse stuff,” Yelena quipped, resting her sniper rifle on the edge of the fire escape. “She’s very protective of you.”

Bucky’s cheeks turned bright red. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered, though the title felt strange on his lips.

“Whatever,” Yelena grinned, clearly unconvinced.

Only thirty minutes later, variant Bucky stepped out of the apartment for his run.

“Radio silence unless it’s an emergency,” Bucky instructed before slipping his earpiece in, turning it on. He didn’t want distractions. Not today.

Sliding off the fire escape, Bucky quickly made his way to the apartment. To his surprise, his keys worked just fine. No need for breaking in. As he stepped inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being somewhere both familiar and alien.

Everything was almost identical— just almost. The couch was a lighter shade of blue, the TV a different brand, though it looked the same. It was like staring into an uncanny mirror of his own life.

Focus. He needed to find the ring.

He began searching the usual spots—safes, drawers, anywhere he’d hide something important in his own apartment. But no luck. Think, Barnes, he thought to himself, where would you put a protection charm?

Then, something caught his eye— a framed photo on the mantle of his fireplace that wasn’t supposed to be there. A photo of him and… you.

His breath hitched. It wasn’t just any photo. You were kissing his cheek, a lake in the background. The warmth in your smile, the easy comfort between you both... It was a picture he'd never seen in his reality.

Were you together in this one?

Suddenly, everything clicked. The extra clothes in the closet, the toiletries. In his reality, you had a drawer in his apartment, since you stayed over sometimes, as a friend. But this? This was different. Here, you shared a life.

He spotted a camera, instantly recognizing it as the same model you had back in his reality. He knew he should stay focused on finding the charm, but curiosity got the best of him. Before he could stop himself, he turned it on, eyes shifting through the photos. Image after image appeared—of him and you together. Holidays, long walks, intimate dinners. Kisses and comfortable hugs.

His chest tightened with a hollow ache of jealousy. Was this what he could have? What he might be missing?

Before he could process the feeling, a buzz in his earpiece snapped him back to reality.

Yelena’s voice came through, saying your name urgently.

“What?” Bucky asked. Why would Yelena say your name like that?

“She’s here. She’s entering the building.”

Panic surged through him like a thunderbolt. “Don’t shoot her,” he ordered.

“Yeah, didn’t plan to,” Yelena answered, annoyed that he thought she was thinking of it, “but what are you gonna do? She has keys.”

Of course she does, Bucky thought, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Frozen in his place, his mind raced. What now?

Suddenly, the door opened, and there you were, a version of yourself he had never met before.

“Buck?” the variant of you said, startled, eyes widening. “I thought you’d still be on your run. And why are you wearing your tactical suit?”

You closed the door behind, placing your bag on the couch.

“I—” he stammered, completely unprepared for this, unable to move. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound tangled in his throat. He glanced at your hand. There, on your finger, was the ring. The protection charm.

Of course. He should have known. He’d do anything to protect you.

His mind spun with conflicting emotions— jealousy of his own variant, longing for you back home, and guilt that he was even here.

You took a step closer, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not that I’m complaining about the tactical suit... You know I like it when you wear it to bed.” You flirted with a tender laugh, that soft sound that always made his heart stutter filling the air around him.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as you leaned in. It would be so easy to give in, to just pretend for a moment that this was his life, that this variant of you was his. To feel your lips on his.

His hand twitched at his side, wanting to grip your waist, to pull you closer. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let this continue.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, stopping you. “I can’t,” he whispered, voice strained. “There’s nothing I want more. But I can’t.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. The variant of you pulled back, studying him more closely now, noticing the subtle changes. There was a subtle scar on his neck that wasn’t there before. “You’re not my Bucky, are you?”

Yelena’s voice crackled in his earpiece again. She had been able to hear everything. “Bucky, I know she’s your weakness, but we need that ring. Do not tell her—”

Bucky switched the earpiece off, ignoring Yelena’s warning. He’d deal with that later. You deserved better than half-truths.

“This is Strange’s doing, isn’t it?” you asked, taking the revelation surprisingly well. “I thought he was done with all this multiverse shit.”

He nodded, guilt twisting in his chest. “Yeah. But… not your Strange. Mine.”

Silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken words. The variant of you looked at him carefully, as if searching for a trace of the Bucky you knew.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved.”

“What does Strange want?” you asked, frowning. “And why is he sending my fiancé to do his dirty work?”

Bucky blinked. Fiancé? His heart stuttered. That ring wasn’t just a charm. It was your engagement ring.

You noticed his shock. “We are engaged in your reality, right?”

He swallowed hard. “No. I—I haven’t even told you, uh, her… how I feel.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “So, all the Buckys are like this then? Huh.”

Bucky’s heart raced, his mind still reeling from the idea that you— at least this version of you—were engaged to him in this reality. It was everything he wanted but didn’t have.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, guilt laced in his whimpering voice.

You tilted your head like you were trying to piece the puzzle pieces together and came to a conclusion that you were safe. As if you convinced yourself that no variant of Bucky would ever hurt any version of you.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “You’re still him. In some way.”

He wasn’t your Bucky, and yet, you spoke to him like he was. You spoke to him with the same compassion, the same love. His eyes flickered to your hand again—the ring.

Focus on the mission, he reminded himself. But how could he? Your eyes followed his stare, and it landed on the gold band around your finger. You let out a small but heavy sigh.

“Strange wants the ring, doesn't he?” you asked. Bucky nodded, feeling his heart twist in his ribs. He didn't want to take anything away from you.

“He said it’s a powerful protection charm.”

The variant of you stood still for a moment, “I know.” You gently slid the ring off your finger, holding it in your palm.

You stepped closer. “If Strange wants it, I know it has to be important. I trust that lunatic wizard— and I trust you.”

You were trusting him— this version of him who wasn’t even yours— with something so personal, something tied to your bond with his variant. “But, it's your engagement ring,” he said. He knew he got what he wanted, but he can't help but wonder why you gave it away so willingly. “I—Your Bucky gave this to you to protect you.”

The variant of you smiled, taking a necklace chain from under your shirt. There it was, the same stone that was on the ring also sat on your chest.

“My Bucky asked this reality’s Strange to split the gemstone,” the variant of you said, “He knows I have this tendency of misplacing my jewellery.”

Bucky can't help but chuckle. His version of you had that quirk, too.

“I’ll explain everything to my Bucky when he gets back. I know he’ll understand.” You hesitated giving him the ring for a second. “On one condition.”

His brow furrowed.

You gave him a knowing smile, one that was all too familiar. One that made his heart swarm. “Go back to your reality, and tell me—her how you feel.”

His heart twisted. He does not make promises he can't keep, especially not to you— any version of you. “I can’t—"

“You can,” you interjected with that stubbornness he knew and loved. “If she means anything to you, you will.”

He stared at you, and no words came out. All this time, he had kept his feelings hidden, afraid of losing you if he told the truth. But here, another version of you telling him to just suck it up.

Bucky’s voice wavered above a whisper. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

A soft laugh escaped your lungs, and you shook your head, knowing something he doesn’t. “Trust me, she does.”

He could tell that this variant of you knew him so well, even if you were from another universe. Slowly, he took the ring from your hand. It felt heavier than it should’ve, weighted with more than just its magic.

“I will tell her,” he whispered a promise, “thank you.”

You nodded, giving him a small, encouraging smile.

Bucky clenched his jaw, putting his earpiece back on.

“There you are,” Yelena’s voice crackled back into life. “Our window’s closing. We’ve got about ten minutes before the portal opens again. Move it.”

A shaky breath left his lungs. “Ring secured. On my way.”

He gave you one last look, his heart full of a thousand swirling emotions he couldn’t even begin to put a name to. “I hope your Bucky knows how lucky he is.”

The variant of you smiled. “I think he does.”

Without another word, Bucky slipped out of the apartment, the ring safely in his pocket.

—

Bucky had knocked on your door after the day of his mission. When he saw you, your name escaped his lips like a prayer as he hugged you.

Now, this was you. Not another version of you.

“Are you okay, Buck?” you chuckled.

Bucky held you a little tighter, his chest rising and falling against yours as he tried to ground himself in the present— this present reality. He pulled back slightly, eyes scanning your face like it was the first time he’d seen you in years. The both of you slipped into your apartment, closing the door.

“I missed you,” he admitted softly, though it had only been two days. The words now carried more weight than they ever had before. His mind was still reeling from the alternate reality, from the life he could have had with you, and from what the variant of you had told him. He found some comfort and confidence, knowing that there was a version of him out there who had done what he was too scared to do—tell you how he felt. It was his turn now.

You smiled, but concern flickered in your eyes as you noticed something different in his touch. “You’re acting weird. Did something happen on the mission?”

Bucky hesitated, but he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity pass him by again.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Bucky said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but you stayed silent, giving him the space to continue. You’d known him long enough to recognize when he was on the edge of an emotional breakthrough.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped closer, his fingers brushing the side of your arm. “I’ve been afraid of losing you if I told you…”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realised where this was going. You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I care about you more than anything,” he continued, his stormy blue eyes locking with yours, vulnerable and frail. “I’m in love with you, and I’ve been too scared to say it.”

Your breath caught itself before it left your lungs. You could feel the truth of his words in the way his voice wavered, in the intensity of his gaze, in the flutter of his touch.

“I’m sorry if this is too much, too fast,” Bucky added quickly, misreading your silence for rejection. He cursed at himself, wondering if the variant of you had been wrong. “If you don’t feel the same, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. It was soft and tentative at first, but as soon as your lips met his,the hesitations, the doubts, the fears all fell away.

Bucky’s metal hand settled at the small of your back, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. His soft lips moving against yours with a mix of relief and urgency, taking each other in for the first time as if it was your last. The warmth of your body against his, the way you fit perfectly in his arms— it was everything he could ever ask for.

You finally pulled back breathless, your foreheads rested against each other as you let the adrenaline settle.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I was just waiting for you to see it.”

Bucky chuckled softly.

You playfully shook your head. “I owe Yelena ten bucks.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“She was here yesterday night, after your mission,” you said, “She bet me that we’d be together by the end of the week. I took the bet because I didn't think you’d feel the same.”

Bucky let out a low laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as a grin spread across his face. She had been pestering him after the mission yesterday, insisting on knowing what the variant of you had told him. But he had not volunteered any information to her. “Yelena knew before I even said anything? I’m losing my edge.” he teased himself, shaking his head.

“Please, Buck. She’s like a human lie detector,” you quipped, rolling your eyes fondly.

“Well, ten bucks is worth it, right?” he smiled.

You kissed him once more, short, sweet, and fleeting this time. It drew a giggle out of you, “Definitely.”

Maybe one day, he’d tell you about the mission, about the variant of you.

But for now, he only wanted to enjoy the moment.

-end

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geeky-politics-46 · 2 years ago

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I just want to say I am so blown away by the sweet comments on this story. I seriously cannot tell you how much the comment's, and you peeps, mean to me.

Ps. Thanks to a question posed by @ppatricia34me the story is going to get a follow up 😉

His Prize

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Sinister Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Stephen just can't seem to get enough of you, so he steals himself a little prize while you are in the shower.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - male masturbation, panty stealing, reference to oral sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk

It was like he was a horny awkward teenager again. Now that you were there with him. All his thoughts revolved around you. Everything from the sweet way you smiled at him to the sinful way you would lick something off your fingertips during dinner. It all made him think of sex. Specifically sex with you. As much of it and in as many ways as possible.

All the positions he could have you in. All the sides of your personality, one by one, showing through as he worked on you. Sweet and caring, whispering loving words to him one minute transforming into savage and feral, begging for him to call you his little slut the next.

All the surfaces he could fuck you on or against. He even had a list of what pieces of furniture he wanted to see if the two of you could break while fucking. That was the upside of the universe already being in shambles. No harm in breaking a few more things when so much was already broken.

All of these images and thoughts seemed to loop endlessly in his mind. It was amazing he wasn't hard 24 hours a day with the way his hormones seemed to be in overdrive.

On the one hand, it wasn't surprising. Having spent so long alone, of course, he was going to react this way when a beautiful woman suddenly shows up as the only other person in the universe. It was basic biology at it's simplest. The need and drive to create more humans continued, even in a dying world.

On the other hand, he was still amazed at the way his own body reacted to you. Even just the smell of you, or the sound of your voice from another room. The powerful sorcerer wasn't accustomed to being caught so off guard, and everything you did threw him off balance. It had him thinking things he knew he shouldn't.

Even now that you were together, officially an item, he still found his mind and body fighting his baser urges. He didn't want to reveal to you just how much of a hold you had on him. He wanted to play it cool, but how could he when everything you did got him going?

That is how he found himself in this predicament. He had shut himself away in his study after he had absconded with his stolen prize. A beautiful deep purple lace pair of your panties. The ones he knew you had been wearing before you went to shower.

He could almost still feel the warmth of your skin on the fabric. Just nearly. That wasn't the part of you he was most concerned about, though. It was your scent. The essence of you that had soaked into the fabric.

He let the delicate lace dangle from his fingers at eye level as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A smirk crossing his face as a growl came from deep in his chest. He could smell that you had gotten aroused at some point while wearing them.

Perhaps it was in bed that morning. When he had started kissing your neck? No, that couldn't have been it. You were both already naked then. It must have been when he cornered you in the library and proceeded to make out with you until you both nearly knocked down a bookshelf.

As he started to inspect your panties, he saw the last traces of your wetness remained. Your sweet nectar that he craved like the last drop of water in a dry desert. He let his tongue lightly lick over the patch. It wasn't nearly enough to sate his hunger, but it was plenty enough to get him even more turned on.

He quickly worked to undo his robes as he sat down on the plush upholstery of the small loveseat. Pulling his pants down just enough to free his throbbing length. Pre-cum already starting to leak from the tip and already fighting the urge to wrap your panties around himself. He knew just how needy he looked as scrambled to get at himself.

There was something so depraved about the thought that his appetite for you was so ravenous that he couldn't control himself and had resorted to stealing your used panties to jack off with. He just couldn't get his mind to concentrate on anything but you. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't afraid his hunger would scare you off or make you think all he wanted was your body.

So, instead of just pouncing on you or jumping in the shower with you, he decided this was the safer route for now. He wondered if he would confess to you what he was doing. What you would say. Would it turn you on to know the effect you had on him? Would you tell him he was naughty? Your dirty boy.

He kinda liked the thought of that. Of you calling him your dirty boy. He so loved the way you sometimes took control in bed. He had gotten into the habit of asking for permission to cum, wanting to hear you tell him it was okay. God, he wanted to obey every word you said. He wanted to be such a good boy for you.

He moaned out loud at that thought as he nuzzled the lace of your panties with his sharp cheekbone. His other hand finally going to grip his cock. Squirming as he tried not to begin thrusting into his fist. He wanted to take his time with this. Really cherish the prize the gods had bestowed on him.

He let his mind drift through a variety of scenarios. Finally settling on one of his favorites. You, all needy for him and coming to his study to beg for him to please you. Him letting you take what you needed from him, and him just enjoying you. Before he would inevitably turn the tables and pound you so hard you couldn't stand up afterward.

It was a scenerio you had played out together a few times before, but he still had lots of ways he wanted it to go. Mainly positions to fuck you in and pretty little things to beg him for. Perhaps this time he would have you bent over the desk. Maybe you had come into his office and promptly bent over for him. Already whining and writhing in need.

Wiggling your little panty covered pussy in his face like an animal in heat. Letting him discover just how wet you were when he reached over and pulled your panties to the side. Your perfect tight little cunt drooling for him and right at eye level. Oh fuck yes, this was the fantasy he wanted today.

In his mind he couldn't help but dive face first into your pussy. Licking up every drop of your sweet nectar, letting nothing go to waste. He could practically cum right now solely from the thought eating you out. Even just the fantasy of it with his face buried in your panties was enough to have him throbbing.

Short sharp ruts of his hips as he let his hand start to stroke up and down his long, hard shaft. He refused to really begin working himself until he was fucking you in his imagination. He hated to rush, but he knew eventually he would be discovered by you.

So he let his imagination skip forward a bit to the main event. Your naked body pressed flat face down on his desk, him standing naked behind you. One hand on the center of your back and his other clasped with yours. His eyes locked on the reflection of you two in the mirror across from his desk.

Watching your face as he teased the head of his cock over your dripping slit. Sliding it up and down over and over. Letting you start to whimper and whine, begging for more.

He would imagine you were just as wrecked for him as he is for you.

"Oh kitten, falling to pieces already, and we've hardly gotten started. Don't worry, honey. Daddy will take care of you, just like you take such good care of me."

He could almost feel how he would slowly start to breach your tight hole. Moving almost painfully slow. Letting you feel each inch as your body stretched to accommodate him. Wrapping tight around his cock like you cunt was made just for him.

You always felt so much better than his hand, but the sight of your panties wrapped around his shaft looked nearly as sinful as the sight of you cunt swallowing him. Letting his pre-cum drip from his swollen flushed head before smearing it around. He imagined it was your arousal coating him instead of his own.

Stephen slowly started to thrust his hips up into his fist, just like he would thrust into you. Keeping his eyes locked on the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing from his fingers like it would from your wet heat. Even though he knew you would feel 10 times better than his hand ever could.

Even now with just the mental image of you and your panties to stoke the fire inside him he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. The echo of your moans ricocheting through his mind as his own grunts became too hard to silence. How beautifully your body and your voice answered his every movement. His perfect plaything.

He could feel the coil starting to tighten at the base of his spine. Bringing the lacey pair of panties back up to press against his face in and effort to conceal the deep tenor and vibration of his wanton growls. Taking the soft fabric between his teeth as he struggled to keep the speed of his thrusts slow.

Flashes of your face contorted in rapture as you whined in need below him, or even better when you lost yourself in your own pleasure as you rode his cock. A nymph who held him captive as you pursued your own need to climax. Pulling him along with you, letting him drown in your primal lust. Granting him the heavenly treat of not only being present to your undoing, but being a part of it. He was never a religious man, but he swore it was the closest he had ever had to a religious experience.

He couldn't control his own actions any farther, his own greediness blotting out any thought of dragging out his fun. He let his hand begin to speed up, and his hips started to thrust faster up into his own fist. The sound of his full balls slapping up against his hand urging him to go even faster. Even harder.

His eyes closed and pressed his face tight to the delicate fabric. Breathing in your scent as deeply as he could as he felt his own orgasm on the horizon. Wanting to hold his breath as he finally brought your panties to wrap around his cock. The change in texture making his head fall back and his mouth drop open.

He was so close. He pictured your body jolting forward on his desk as he began pounding into you harder. His body engulfing yours. Draped over you so he could mark you with a litany of kisses and bites as he fucked you. The little scratches your nails would leave on the polished wood a permanent reminder of that tryst.

As he felt himself at the precipice of orgasm he imagined you turning to lock eyes with him. Pressing your forehead to his, sweat beading along both of your bodies. The intimacy between you cresting as he imagined your cunt squeezing him tight. Needing you to cum before he could, even in his own fantasy.

He finally let himself tip over the edge at your imaginary urging. Letting your sweet voice beg for him to fill you. Picking the perfect words to let himself fall over the edge.

"Please, Stephen. Cum inside me. Mark me as yours. Need to feel you fill me up. Cum Stephen. Cum for me."

A lightning bolt shooting down his spinal cord as his hips lifted up off the couch completely. A deep growl tearing from his throat as he filled the soft fabric of your panties with his warm seed. His hips reflexively jerking with each throb of his cock. By the time he was finished the only sounds he could hear was his blood rushing in his ears and his own ragged breathing.

Stephen let himself linger in the afterglow for only a couple of moments. He knew that it wouldn't be long before you came looking for him. A simple wave of his hand and the shimmer of his violet colored magic cleaning him up and reassembling his robes. The only evidence of his exploits that remained was your panties now stained with streaks of his sticky white cum.

He slowly stood from the loveseat and walked over to the large wooden desk. Opening the bottom drawer on the right-hand side of the desk before carefully placing the soiled lacey prize into the drawer. Smiling to himself as he carefully slid the drawer shut, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

Eventually, he would give them back to you, but for now, he wasn't ready to relinquish his prize back to you just yet. At least, not until he found another pair to enjoy in their place. They were far better than any plaque or trinket from his neurosurgeon days, and they were more sacred to him than any ancient magic relic. They were a reminder that you were his, and he was yours.

They were a reminder that you were his ultimate prize.

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