#cupid:BB

[cupidkenji]

thinking so hard rn about Butcher who won’t let you cum until you call him daddy LISTEN 👂

the name is a familiar one when it comes to him, no problems listening to it leave his mouth and stir a feeling in you that’s so infuriatingly his. You used to make fun of guys like that, tell your friends the thought of it made your skin crawl. But the casual dominance of the name, the way he owned it so effortlessly, it made you so fucking wet and he knew it.

“C’mon, love” you’re sure it had to have been an hour by now, his strokes had gotten slow, barely having to move before he felt you about to cum, halting at the tightening of you. “You know you want to”

“Butcher-” your words were breathy as he worked you up again and stopped, your own inhale cutting off anything you were gonna say. You felt stupid pleading with him, he’d never been a man keen to relenting “..please”

the faintest hint of that stupid fucking smirk had been permanently lodged on his lips since this whole ordeal had started. “Just need to ‘ear one word from that pretty mouth-” he sped his fingers up “and i’ll make you cum as many times as your heart desires”

swallowing your pride was proving to be a tremendous task, causing nothing but failed attempts to get stuck in your throat, forcing out little whimpers that did nothing but make him raise his eyebrows, rhetorically questioning whether he’d warn you down enough. “It’s a pretty fucking clear cut choice you got here” he spoke low, his voice slightly hoarse from how long he’d dragged this out. “You know full well I’ll leave you like this”

his eyes felt unbelievably heavy on you, only adding to the tension in your stomach. He smiled, small and diluted, just barely an upturn of his lips. “Just say it for me” he pouts lightly at you, mocking the expression on your own face as he looks at you. “Do as I say, yeah? Who knows what’s best for you?”

you arched your back as he sped up again, your lack of response prompting an unsatisfied Butcher to use another denied orgasm as retaliation. “Hm?”

the word felt like acid melting through your teeth, the response forcing it’s way out of your mouth to be only barely audible to your ears. A smug, gratified look found home on his face. “Well, ain’t that sweet” Of course he’d heard it, clear as day. “Wasn’t so hard then, was it?”

as he sped up again, this time dedicated to his pace, you just prayed he didn’t make this a habit

shoutout to all the daddy kink butcher fic writers out there yall have made me horrifically question everything i once thought i knew about myself

[cupidkenji]

Moment's Silence

Pairing: dbf!Bucky Barns x college!reader CW: oral (receiving), reader is inexperienced but not infantilized, Bucky is reader's dad's friend, Bucky's name is never actually said so this could technically be anyone, reader hasn't had a first kiss, cursing, gn!reader (no genitalia is mentioned), sub!reader, pure pwp like there's no plot here at all, slight praise, older!bucky, not beta'd, softdom!bucky Summary: Having a slight crush on your dad's friend, you decide to ask him about his first times. When he learns you haven't had any, what kind of man would he be if he didn't help out? Disclaimer: Reader is fat! There are no physical descriptions here but my stories are always thought to have chubby/fat readers. WC: 2,565 Lord forgive me for all the times I denounced Sebastian Stan as not being attractive. I was so wrong, my life was changed.

The origins of the situation you were in had not been lost on you. You wouldn’t say your intentions had been sexual in nature, simply wanting to nurture the tiny crush you harbored for a companion your dad kept. You thought through inherently lewd but innocently curious questions about his past you could get some insight about the kind of lover he was. You’d followed him into your dad’s home, where you were staying while on break from uni, and began the minor interrogation. 

Through the discomfort of sitting on a kitchen counter came the newfound advantage of your legs having to be slightly parted in order to remain balanced. The room was dark, your previous conversation having taken place in the low light of invasive moonbeams sneaking in through the uncovered window. You hadn’t seen the dial being turned until he was walking closer, the room was very abruptly too hot, too muggy. The air seemed tangibly thicker, like it was licking up your skin and leaving a film over it - you’d never felt tension so heavy, and in such abundance that it had no choice but to sit on you. Despite your acutely spread legs, he placed his hands on your knees when he got close enough, pushing them just far enough apart so the space between could welcome his hips. He then removed them in favor of resting on parts of the counter you weren’t sitting on, effectively making a cage of his body and trapping you in it. The new position of his palms on the marble gave him the needed leverage to lean in even closer than he was, essentially hovering over your lips. The heat was clinging to you, permeating so deeply you felt like your spine had turned molten and was spilling an unbearable warmth into the pit of your stomach.

“What about you?” He questioned you so softly, barely any energy needed to speak. He was so close he could have mouthed the words and you would have been able to work them out based on how his lips moved. 

“What about me?” Your brain, at this point, was unable to recognize the obvious inquiry about your first times. You had to focus all your mental energy on the flick of your eyes between his lips and his stare that was so trained on you it felt like a punishment everytime you cast your eyes south for a moment and had to look away. Someone more experienced might have ceased the opportunity, perhaps he was even waiting for you to break first and give him the permission he needed, but you didn’t. You hadn’t had a first. No first kiss, first time, nothing like that. You’d had orgasms, you weren’t someone ignorant of how easy it was to get your hands on some variation of toy that could do the trick, but nobody had ever been close to you in this way. Not the way he was asking to be.

He smiled a little, a darker glint in his expression than the usual grins you couldn’t drag your eyes from. This was just a small uptick, his lips curling up. “Your firsts.” He reciprocated your gesture of looking down. You wondered if it was his way of hinting at what he was asking, but it seemed more like his subconscious piercing through the will of a yearning man. “Seems only fair I get to hear them.”

The bluntness of his explanation managed to clear the haze of your mind just a bit. Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought about it. You weren’t in a clear enough headspace to lie, not to him and certainly not when he was so close. You weren’t ashamed of the way you’d lived your life, but the thought of scaring him off with your lack of experience rattled through you. You could convince him, you thought. Bargain or plead with him or something - anything to get his hands back on you. “I haven’t-” You swear you physically saw his pupils dilate as you figured out the best way to word your predicament. The look on his face shifted so minutely, something about it letting you know what he was anticipating. He knew what you were going to say, but he let you struggle to choke the words out. “Nobody’s kissed me before.” You shook your head slightly as you spoke, still transfixed and unblinking as you stared at him.

A sharp, somewhat staggering inhale swept through him almost immediately as you said it. And as though that was the most devastating news he’d ever heard, trace amounts of confusion and what looked like despair mingled with the lust burning in his irises. “Nobody’s kissed you before.” He hadn’t exactly said it as a question, more like repeating it to fully comprehend the vulnerability of the confession. He sounded like he needed to hear it in his own voice, roll it between his teeth and verbalize it to ensure he’d heard properly. He breathed it out like vapor, some kind of brutal acceptance present in his tone.

You, being on territory so far out of your normal depth, were just begging to regain some type of knowledge of the ground you stood on. “Is that a turn off?” Your shoulders shook a little as you tried to laugh with your delivery, attempting to gage every jagged detail of what he could be feeling. You felt meek, like a deer in headlights waiting for the car to strike you.

“You’re surrounded by boys at that school of yours. They’re too young to know what they have.” His hands migrated from the counter to each side of your head, dissolving the walls of the cage but somehow reigning you in even closer to him. As if your eyes hadn’t been glued to his before, now he held you in place, stealing the option to look away from whatever was about to happen. “It’s good your first time’ll be with me. Save you the headache of some frat boy with wandering hands.” His thumbs were running up and down your cheeks, still speaking so lowly that it was barely audible. You felt the slow coil that had been winding in your stomach pick up it’s pace at the declaration that left him. Your first time was going to be with him, he’d said it like it was set in stone, predetermined. If there was anything that could make you believe in fate, it was the feeling of his thumb trailing your jaw. He was simply magnetic, the perfect opposition to whatever frequency you were buzzing at. If this wasn’t fate, what else could be? Your first time being on an old kitchen counter was as good as it got to your fuzzy brain. You’d have let him fuck you on the roof at this point. “You want this?”

Your lips parted and you nodded before you could even process the question, the way he was looking at you combined with the weight of his hands on your face made you nearly certain you wouldn’t survive this. You could barely handle the build up, you had no way to prepare for the inevitable crest of the mountain. He pulled you closer as he was leaning in, the proximity the two of you had held for the past few minutes had led you to believe the kiss would only be slightly above that. His lips had already been ghosting over yours, what was a little more? It was a ridiculously foolish notion to put your faith in, though. The pressure of your mouths sealing together was the most erotic sensation you think you’d ever felt. There was an urgent heat searing the lining of your stomach in response to him, everything he did just fanning the flames higher until you felt your eyes burn, well up with the sheer amount of want coursing through you. He eased his tongue into your mouth, it was slight, controlled - curious, even. It wasn’t the sloppy, eager mouths of impatient college men. This was personal, deliberate. The tiniest noise shot up your throat and fled your lips in favor of sticking to his, feeling his shoulders shake in a small laugh as your thighs moved quick to close around him. You hadn’t meant to do that, simply trying to seek refuge from the new and persistent throbbing that was becoming apparent between your legs.

He pulled away, barely detaching from your lips, but still the loss of him made you feel ready to cry. He moved down, grazing your jaw and nursing the skin of your neck until he happily noted how ‘marked up’ you’d look tomorrow. You swear you were making fun of guys who were so territorial not two days ago. You suppose you understood it now, though. Something about how fucking primal it was, how old fashioned. The intent behind the action was conservative, controversial - and you hated how much that added to the novelty of everything. You wanted to see the remnants of the approaching exchange engraved in your skin the next morning. The idea of teeth marks still holding a faint sting when you inevitably dug your fingers into them was enthralling beyond belief. You felt a plea slip from your lips, no direct purpose or goal in mind, just needing him to know the desperation you were hardly holding back

His grip left your face in favor of tugging your hips forward, pulling you off the counter with such ease that you could have mistook him for a god. You’re sure the people who have looked divinity in the face felt similarly to you in this moment. The urge to lower yourself before them and pledge your life - maybe all your lives - just for a taste of what they could make you feel. A feeling both of you were basking in apparently, as he sank to his knees on the cold kitchen tile before you could offer him the rest of your days. 

Bolts of nerves jolted through your stomach, widening your eyes and making your fingers tense up. “Wait - I can’t -” Your voice was so breathy you barely recognized it. You wondered briefly if he could even hear it with the newfound distance between the two of you. 

You felt his fingers tuck themselves under the waistband of your pants, the air sparking with the silent threat of removal. He looked up at you, “Trust me, yeah?” He started the slow pull of them down your legs, smiling slightly when you lifted each leg to help get them off completely, seemingly unaware of your actions. “It’ll feel good.”

He took his time once more of your skin was revealed. Making a canvas of your thighs, relishing the sight of the patches already bruising darker, the shine of his spit reflecting the limited light available in the room. Him pulling down your underwear sobered you up a bit, the feeling of his eyes being able to take you in fully swept the dust off your racing mind. It was uncomfortable in the best way, raw and slightly shameful. It made your stomach turn and sent a wave rushing south that made your skin tingle. It did feel good, and this hadn’t even been the part he was referring to.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, honey.” His words were slurring a little, his nose resting on your hip before he bit down just below the bone, making them jolt upwards a bit and forcing air sharply into your lungs. His hands were running up and down the planes of your thighs, the clashing sensations of chilling steel and warm humanity was dizzying. Again, a plea fled your lips, not knowing if you were truly ready for the feeling of him on you, but being certain any more anticipation would kill you. 

As he moved inward from your hip, his grip simultaneously tightened on the plush of your legs. He was holding you still, yes, but it seemed just as much for his restraint as it was your stability. There wasn’t a thing in the world that could have prepared you for his mouth on you. It was euphoria in every sense of the word; bathing in the foam of the holiest, warmest sea any being could hope to make. You could equate it to drinking down that divinity you were so ready to give your life to - like consuming it entirely. You were nearly positive the heat of it all would melt you down to your barest form. 

Your hands moved to his hair, a mission that was completely separate from any conscious command. Your thoughts were incoherent by now, forcing your subconscious to take the reins and find something to anchor on to. Murmurs of his name and other various noises clung to the air that was already too thick, sounding muffled by the time they reached your ears. Your head felt like it was underwater, your body on the precipice of letting the liquid flood your lungs - letting it flood your entire being. He was a man who knew what he was doing, pulling a move with his tongue that hit you just right, noting the bucking of your hips and the way your fists balled up in his hair, repeating it until you walked the most delectable edge you’d ever been on in your life. You bit the meat of your hand as you toppled over it, huffing heavy whimpers through the space of your parted teeth. Your heart pounded, and your hips ground against his mouth that was still lapping greedily at you. Your fingers hit his shoulder lightly in rapid succession, effectively tapping out of the oncoming overstimulation. 

Your chest was heaving as you leaned back against the counter. “Jesus Christ.”

He chuckled, standing up and licking any remaining moisture off his lips. Your eyes flicked over his face once, following the swipe of his tongue with a sniper-like focus. You felt a pull to him in every aspect of your body, deep in your bones all the way to the skin of your bitten lips. You needed to kiss him - so close to surging forward in search of the feeling when the blinding lights of a car interrupted the serene atmosphere. Your dad was home. You weren’t ashamed of what you’d just let happen, however you didn’t think your father would be too keen on witnessing his daughter being deflowered by his friend when he probably just wanted to go to bed. 

He hissed a quiet “shit” in response to the headlights, looking at you with a devastating amount of longing that you’re sure was mirrored in your own eyes. You rushed back into your underwear, wincing at the feeling of drenching the previously dry fabric. “Go upstairs. You’re meant to be sleeping by now.”

You smiled, picking your pants up off the ground and peeking at his dog tags before responding with a quick ‘aye aye’ before attempting to shuffle upstairs. You heard one thing be called after you before your father came into the house, front door opening just as your bedroom door was shut.

“We’re not done.”