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writersdrug · 2 months ago

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Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader

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peachysunrize · 4 months ago

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The King’s Retribution ⥃ prince Aemond Targaryen

Summary: when he walks back to the Keep, Aemond finds his brother’s wife in distress while her youngest child keeps her awake. Maybe it’s time to show the King that no one can humiliate the one-eyed prince.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, rough sex, lactation kink, reader is Aegon’s wife, post B&C, s2e3 inspired, dacryphilia, Aemond feels humiliated after the brothel scene, hair pulling, doggystyle, they do it in Aegon’s rooms👀 kind of a chubby/overweight reader because she has baby weight, tell me if I’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.6k+

A/n: a very special thank you to @aemonds-holy-milk for this incredible request!!! And a very honorable mention and thank you to @arcielee for helping me with the plot and beta-ing for me! Your touch made this much hotter and better!🩷 Reblogs and comments are more than welcome<33

Aemond pushes the door to one of Maegor’s tunnels, peeking through to see if anyone is around. He scoffs when he finds the hallway empty, with no guards, no maids or handmaidens. He walks upstairs to the royal chamber’s floor, one hand pushing his hood off while the other twirls his dagger.

He is filled with such rage that he can burn this castle down without Vhagar’s help. The sting of humiliation keeps poking through his ribs, making him heave with each breath he takes. He had to keep his composure back in the brothel, he had to show his power by walking outside the room naked as the day he was born to regain some control his brother took away from him.

He walks past the rooms of his family, skipping a stair here or two as he follows the path to his chambers in silence, until he reaches his brother’s doors, catching the sound of a soft hiccuping and muffled wailing of a child.

Aemond unsheathes the dagger as he steps closer to the unguarded door, shaking his head in disbelief at his brother’s ignorance, especially after what happened to Jaehaerys. He opens the door slowly, not wanting to startle whoever is inside — a nursemaid or the queen.

He finds you sitting in front of the fireplace with baby Maelor crying fat tears in your arms as he tries to latch onto your exposed breasts to fill his tiny, hungry belly. Aemond’s eye wanders over your bare upper body; heavy swollen teats leaking with milk, a tired and teary expression on your face as you try to lull your son back to sleep, tending to him, caressing him, loving him.

He has never seen a sight more beautiful than this.

He sheathes his dagger and pushes it into his belt before knocking on your door gently so as not to scare you and his nephew. He watches you closely as you snap your head in his direction, the tension leaving your shoulders as you smile at him sadly.

“Aemond,” you call him, gasping when your son bites your already sore nipple with his gums, trying to latch on to it but failing. He cries harder, face twisted angrily, his chubby cheeks red and puffy with how long he’s been searching for some comfort.

“Please, please don’t — mommy is trying,” you cry with him softly, standing up to pace around the room while you rock him, shushing him and wiping his tears. You are trying your hardest to feed him properly, but every second is wasted in vain as he cries and fusses in your arms.

Aemond closes the door behind him, enraptured with the sight you made—watching you walk around the room, half bare and beautiful to his eager eye. He unfastens his cloak and belt that holds his daggers and sword before laying it on the nearest table, walking towards you with his hands locked behind his back.

You look like The Mother coming real, a god he should worship at your altar.

“Oh, my darling boy,” you coo at Maelor, sniffing as he sobs harder, his little fists flying on your chest as he searches for your breast, mouth parted and ready to be filled with his late-night meal.

Aemond stands behind you, not too close to intrude on your personal space, especially in such a vulnerable state you are in, but to keep looking at you. His eye roams across your nude chest, your fuller stomach, and hips that carry the remaining weight of having pushed a babe into the world.

He listens to your words, remembering the sight of his brother mocking him at the brothel, while he was being cuddled and taken care of — what an ugly laugh he has, Aegon.

His gaze darkens as he looks at you, his queen, his brother’s wife, his brother’s possession, being so vulnerable in his presence with your breasts out and your child finally suckling on them. His eye finds your form once more as Aegon's words replay in his ears — ‘My brother will not sample another.’ He will make sure to teach his brother a very valuable lesson and serve him a good punishment.

His cock starts to swell beneath the layers of his clothing as he stares at you with a newfound passion; you have always been a lovely figure in his mind, too sweet and beautiful to be wed to his brother, and yet, now your features seem to be bolder in his eye.

He strides forward when he hears Maelor crying again, this time much softer but a cry nonetheless. You scurry to cover your breasts when you feel him behind you, trying to look at least a bit modest now that your child is less fussy.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I-I forgot you came to visit,” you say in a hushed tone, waiting with bated breath for him to say something.

He looks down at his nephew over your shoulder, reaching to wipe a drop of milk from his round cheek near his mouth, his fingers brushing against your sore nipple accidentally. Both of you inhale sharply — him with the new rush of desire and you in surprise.

“What a messy eater,” he says, his eye meeting yours as he brings his wet finger to his mouth, licking the remaining of your milk off while he keeps eye contact with you, dropping his eye to your lips as soon as they part in surprise before he meets your eyes again — they look darker, cloudier, more lustful. Your lashes flutter, and your rosy lips let out a shaky breath as you keep your gaze on his pink tongue licking his finger.

“It runs in the family I’m afraid,” you reply, averting your eyes from him, pressing a kiss on top of your son’s head as you bounce him, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Despite how crude your husband is, he’s never been one for making you flustered by such a simple gesture, and yet, his brother seems to be the complete opposite; bold, daring, and he’s surely taking whatever he wants.

“May I?” Aemond asks, standing in front of you with extended arms, reaching to take Maelor in his embrace. You gently pass him over, and as soon as your arms are free you bring them to your chest to cover your breasts.

“I-I need to—would you mind holding him for a moment?” You pull the front of your shift up as you ask him, and he can’t help his gaze not fall back on your chest but looks upward to your eyes quickly before you catch him and nod.

He hugs Maelor close, resting his little head on his shoulder as he walks towards his crib, glancing at you walking past the privacy screen. Aemond shushes his nephew, rocking him gently while he hums a tune his mother used to sing for him to lull him to sleep. It seems his efforts have worked when Maelor grows quiet, tinted cheeks stained with tears and fingers fisted tightly. Aemond lies him down slowly, brushing a finger over the few strands of his nephew’s silver hair before his attention is turned to you walking towards him with a warm towel over your chest.

“He has been restless as of late,” you sigh, leaning down to brush a kiss on your son’s forehead, standing on Aemond’s good side, “as have I, as everyone in the Keep. It seems he feels the loss of his brother.”

“We are all shaken by the loss of Jaehaerys,” he replies, his good eye looking up at your face, taking in every up and down of your face.

“Yeah,” you smile at him, ducking your head as soon as the tears gather in your eyes, “yeah…”

He takes a step closer, reaching to wipe the tear that fell from your eye, cupping your cheek in his large hand, “What ails you, my queen?”

“I just…” words die in your throat as he rubs soothing circles on your cheek, tracing the shape of your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ve been feeling so unloved.” Your voice comes out a fragile whisper.

“Why is that, my queen?” He asks, swallowing harshly at the thought of his fool of a brother being neglectful to you. He’s been given the most beautiful maiden in the realm as his wife, so dutiful and sweet, but taken for granted because Aegon can’t simply keep his cock in his breeches for so long.

“Did you happen to see him when you were out?” You ignore his question, looking up at him from beneath your wet lashes that frame your eyes so perfectly.

He nods, his strong hold on your face never faltering, if anything he’s now more determined to punish Aegon, to take something he has been given on a silver plate but failed to care for. His touch is warm and welcoming, it grounds you to this moment of brief recognition of your feelings. Aemond seems to understand it, willing to give more, but his main purpose of this visit is to hurt Aegon the way he has hurt him.

“Was he—“ a sob is stuck in your throat as you try to utter the words, “in the b-brothel?”

Aemond looks down at his muddy boots, recalling how his brother saw him, how he laughed and undermined him in front of his friends. Aemond forgets about your question for a second, pressing his lips into a thin line and gritting his teeth before he looks back up at you, not before looking one last time at your chest, watching your milk soak through the fabric.

“I-I apologize, maybe it’s best if you leave—” You move away from him, making his hand fall from your face as you try to put back the little dignity you have left before you embarrass yourself more in front of him.

Something shifts inside him as you hide yourself from him, putting more distance between as you move toward the bed. His brother was right; he has not sampled another and has always sought out the Madame, but maybe it ought to change, maybe the fire of his brother’s cruelty might quell if he takes his most precious possession from him.

“Allow me to help you, my queen,” he walks toward you slowly, his eye seizing you up, taking in the sight of your curls around your shoulders, your skin glowing under the orange hues of the candles.

You turn around, watching him take long steps until he’s standing in front of you. He raises his hand, brushing his knuckles on your collarbones, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage. You exhale shakily, whether it is in requited desire or surprise, he does not know, but you do not push him away, just a weak protest that ‘we should not do this, I am your brother’s wife.’

“My brother is a fool who demeans others to feel powerful, and he has done this to us both,” he dips his down on your neck, his hot breath fanning on your ear, “let me show you what you have been deprived of.”

“You wish to help me just to teach your king a lesson?” your voice comes out with a slight tremble as you reach to brush your fingers through his silky hair. “Is that truly why you want me?”

“I despise when Aegon takes what is his for granted,” he says, “He is a fucking twat who takes for granted the treasures he has been given: the throne, the crown, you. And he humiliates you, his queen, by stepping inside that sinful place," he mumbles against your skin, tracing his lips over your neck while his nose nudges your cheek.

“What do you want to do?” you whine when he bites your earlobe; you cling to his shoulders.

“I wish to fuck you like a hound,” he groans into your ear, his hands coming to grip your full hips.

“We will experience his wrath, Aemond,” you try to protest, but with how focused he is on marking your skin, you cannot help but melt in his arms.

“He is the king, I’m a kinslayer,” he hovers his mouth over yours. “I will kill him too if he dares to subject you to his anger.”

“We must be quiet-mhm—” he cuts you off, smashing his lips to yours, swallowing your protest. His hands move to your waist, gripping and caressing wherever he can reach, his tongue meeting yours in a soft battle of dominance.

You moan into his mouth when one of his fingers traces a line from your hip up to your breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his large palm. He groans against your sweet lips in delight, loving the weight of you in his hand. His thumb swipes across the wet towel before he pulls it out of your shift and drops it on the floor, leading you backward past the privacy screen to the bed.

You tangle your fingers in his soft hair, reaching to pull away the tie and letting his shiny silver hair frame his face beautifully while he kisses your breath away.

He lies you on the bed, breaking away from your lips for a second to look down at you, making room on top of you with his gaze fixed on the way your milk soaks through the fabric. He grabs the sides of your shift, ready to rip it apart before you put your hand on his, shaking your head, mumbling a hushed ‘we need to be quiet’ before taking off the dress yourself, lying under his heated gaze all bare except for your small clothes.

“My brother is a fucking idiot,” he mutters before he leans down to lick a path from your neck to your heaving chest, swiping the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He hums as he tastes a few beads of your milk, but abruptly stops when you whine, looking up at you with a questioning look.

“Maelor, well, he can’t latch onto his wet nurses. They are a bit s-sensitive— oh!” Your hand flies to your mouth when Aemond closes his lips around your bud, sucking like a babe being starved for hours, finally having his fill.

His other hand moves to your other breast, pinching, squeezing, and playing with the flesh while he gets drunk on your milk, helping the weight of discomfort vanish immediately.

Your nipple falls from his lips with a lewd ‘pop’, and he moves to the other one, giving the same attention while he leaves sticky lines of your milk across your chest, sucking on your teat quickly, nearly growling at the taste.

You cannot do anything besides moaning behind your hand and arching your back, pushing your chest further into his face. You throw your head back as your hips buck into his, his bulge rubbing against your covered core.

Aegon has never done this for you, it’s always been his duty to plant his seed inside you with little to no care for you to just make an heir, and after Jaehaerys, he’s been ever more distant — no more dinners, no walks in the garden with you and the kids.

His interest weakened the more you started to show, your soft dolce features turned into one of a woman, a mother-to-be, so he sought his pleasure in the brothels to fill the void you could no longer fill. You were non-existent in his eyes, and for once, you are glad, because the other Targaryen brother seems as if he’s in heaven while he feasts upon your breasts like a deprived babe.

He lets go of your nipple finally, giving the fat of your breast one last kiss before he works his way up to your lips. He unlaces his pants and breeches, urging you to reach and undo his doublet, dropping it down on the pile of clothes. He breaks away to gasp for air while he grabs the back of his linen shirt and stands on his knees stark naked, his cock red, angry, and ready to burst inside you. His mouth shines with drops of your milk and spit.

He grabs the back of your thighs, spreading your legs to his hungry eye, licking his lip as his gaze falls on your soaked cunt. Aemond’s patience runs thinner than before, he moves closer to you, and his hair falls around you like a silver waterfall.

He strokes himself a few times before aligning himself with your entrance, pushing in until his cockhead is inside your warm cunt before he slams all the way into you. He muffles your scream with his own lips, hands coming to rest around your head, caging you under him as he starts thrusting.

Finally, he thinks, finally he has taken something that belonged to his brother, something so precious and fragile. You are nothing like Sylvie, you are soft and delicate, you taste deliciously sweet, and oh so responsive.

He relishes the way you scratch his back as he fucks you with abandon, snapping his hips into yours furiously as he lets the pent-up anger he feels pour out of him. It is the anger he had inside because of his brother’s idiocy, the words that cut him deep like a sharp dagger.

But no more, no, it is time to take whatever belonged to Aegon. You are just a beautiful touch to it, and he would make sure his brother knows who’s been here, on his bed, giving his wife the pleasure she has never experienced before.

“My queen,” he shushes you, reaching down to collect a drop of your milk before reaching to smear it on your lips, licking it off them. His cock pistoning inside of you quickly, but he is mindful of the baby sleeping on the other side of the privacy screen.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, breasts bouncing with each deep thrust as you try to keep your voice at bay.

He remembers his brother’s words once more; ‘did you fuck her like a hound?’ No, not with the Madame, but he will fuck the queen of the seven Kingdoms like one now.

He pulls out of you, leaving you clenching and whining at the empty feeling before he flips you over on your stomach, pulling your hips up as he spits into his hand and strokes himself before making home inside your tight cunt again, his cock reaching deeper with this position.

You fist the pillows under your hands, biting the fabric to muffle your noises, and Aemond notices that it is your husband’s pillow you are lying on.

He chuckles lowly, one hand gripping the fat of your hip while the other runs down the curve of your spine before he fists your hair in his much larger hand, pushing your head into Aegon’s pillow even more.

“Breathe in his scent while I fuck you like a dog in heat, yes, good girl,” he groans, his limbs tingling with pleasure and anger, letting his emotions take the best of him as he picks up his pace. “Yes, remember how much of a pathetic husband he is, think of how he can never give you pleasure like I can while I fuck my child inside you.”

Tears run down your face from how intense he is taking you from behind, his hips snap into your arse. Your wetness drips down on the bed sheets, but there is little you can do but take what he gives you — a blinding and mind-blowing pleasure you have never had with your husband.

Aemond reaches around your body to find your pearl, rubbing quick and steady circles on the bundle of nerves, leaning down to prep your spine with feather-like kisses, taking in your mesmerizing scent, and looking closer at your tears, taking pure satisfaction in seeing what a mess he has made out of Aegon’s wife, the realm’s queen.

You come with a sob, teeth digging into the soft cushion while your legs shake, walls clamping down against his girth, eliciting a deep throaty moan from him. He lets go of your weeping cunt and grabs your bouncing breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his hand while his face falters, his thrusts deepen.

When his climax washes over him, it’s all white hot pleasure that rushes through his veins. He shakes atop you while his cock twitches and shoots ropes of his warm spend deep inside you, filling you to the brim. He kisses your tears, his face pushed against your cheek as he lets out broken gasps and groans.

He untangles his fingers from your hair as soon as he calms down from his high, bringing his milk-covered hand to his lips to lick it clean while he meets your eyes.

You look angelic, glowing with the aftermath of your release. The Mother came to life, he thinks.

He pulls out of you gently, minding how sensitive you must feel after the brutality he bestowed upon you. Aemond helps you under the covers, not caring to clean either of you up before he lies down next to you wrapping one arm around you while you curl next to him with your head on his chest.

He notes how quiet you are, drowsy and sleepy in the aftermath of your climax. He takes pride in how peaceful you look, and how good he must have made you feel. His good eye falls on the nightstand on his side, finding his brother — no, the Conqueror's crown — glinting under candlelight.

“I will kill him,” he whispers, “I will make sure our son sits upon that chair and holds Blackfyre. I will kill him, and no one shall ever know it was me.”

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x chubby reader #rue:smut #fic requests

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kolsmikaelson · 7 months ago

Text

AND THEN THERE WERE THREE…

NOTES — just saw challengers today and absolutely needed to write smth for these two! only used a gif of art because theres none of the two of them and almost none for patrick </3, i’m a little rusty with smut so bare with me

WARNINGS — 18+ content mdni, slight challengers 2024 spoilers, fem!reader, kinda dom!art, pure smut/little plot, art/patrick interactions, talk of previous art/patrick sexual encounters, spit play, oral (m receiving), tit sucking, dirty talk, mentions of anal, little bit of aftercare, not proofread, lmk if i forgot anything!

REQUEST — Pls write a smut fic with reader and Art fucking in the hotel room (with Patrick watching) and reader asking if Patrick can join them and ofc Art can’t say no because he finds the idea of this super hot. Maybe reader makes Art and Patrick make out like in the movie 👀

WORD COUNT — 1.6k

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None of you were too sure how exactly this had started. You, Art, and Patrick had stumbled back into their hotel room after leaving the beach, each of you finding your own place to sit after Patrick opened up a beer, took a swig, and passed the can to you. You’d taken a seat closer to Art, having naturally gravitated towards him more so than Patrick. And quickly, you and Art were making out, leaving Patrick to watch.

You blamed the beer. And the fact that you found both Art and Patrick incredibly hot. One minute you’re at a party, dedicated to your best friend, Tashi Duncan, and the next you’re sitting on the beach being invited back to the guys’ hotel room, and the next after that, Art is stripping you of your clothes while Patrick takes a seat leaned up against the wall opposite the foot of the bed.

“Can I-” He begins, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, desperation clear in his eyes. At your nod, Art quickly yanks your shirt over your head and immediately pulls your body flush against his. He’s planting soft, wet kisses up and down your neck as his fingers work the back of your bra. His eyes widen the moment it drops to the ground.

Giving you a moment's glance he quickly sucks one nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking and biting. Feeling as though he’s neglected the other one, he pinches and tugs on the opposite nipple, smiling around the one in his mouth at the moans you let out.

“Yeah, baby? You like this? Me with your tits in my mouth and my best friend jerking off while watching us?”

For a moment, you’d forgotten about Patrick. Your eyes shoot open, landing on him instantly. The sight of him, slouched against the wall, his hand already wrapped around his cock, with his eyes fixated on both you and Art. He looked so hot, you weren’t sure how you’d forgotten that he was even there.

“Mhm, ‘s hot.” you admitted, turning Arts face back to you, tugging his bottom lip back into your mouth. The blond pushes you back onto the beds that were pushed together - Patrick’s idea if anyone were to ask - and begins kissing up your stomach only stopping long enough to kiss each of your nipples. He grabs your face, pushing his fingers into your cheeks, making you open your mouth, before letting a large glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours.

“Swallow.” He smiles when you do so without complaint, even going as far as to look as if you wanted him to do it again.

Patrick moans at that, louder than before. Sure he and Art had messed around before, when they were both single and bored and needed a good fuck, that wasn’t new, but hearing that commanding tone in the blonds voice sent a shiver down his spine.

“God, that was hot.” Patrick sighs, laughing when Art gives him the finger.

“Fuck off, Patrick.” Both of them know he doesn’t mean it, if he wasn’t wanted there, you or Art would’ve said something, but you didn’t. whether Art knew it or not, both you and he wanted him to stay, and keep watching.

At some point during that interaction, you weren’t sure when exactly, Art had shed his pants and underwear. He was dragging the tip up and down your slit, up and down, stopping every few seconds to slap your clit with it. When your eyes finally landed on his length, it made your jaw drop. He was big, bigger than you’d seen before, he was long and girthy with veins running along the bottom of it.

He slowly slides into you, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. He’d never seen anyone look so angelic. The closest comparison he could make was how Patrick looked when he’d first given him a blow job. He wouldn’t call the look on Patrick's face angelic perse, but it was hot, really hot. The reminder of that, and the way you’ve begun clenching around him, spurs him into you. His hips snapping into yours, his heavy balls hitting your ass with each thrust. It was unlike anything either of you had felt before.

I want him to join.

You weren’t sure that the words had actually left your mouth until the blond on top of you stopped his thrusts, looking into your eyes for a moment.

“That what you want, baby?” He murmurs, kissing sloppily up and down your neck, shivers running through your entire body at his touch. His fingers falling to your clit, flicking at it. The pleasure was almost enough to make you forget that he’d even asked a question.

Almost.

“Please,” Even in your fucked out state, you couldn’t help but want more.

“Come on, Zweig. You heard her.” Patrick grins, hopping to his feet, although slightly hesitant. He wasn’t sure where to go, or what to do. But his nerves dissolved the moment Art turned around, and gave him that look, one that he knew meant that everything would be okay. It meant that he just needed to get over himself and have a good time, everything would work out. After that he’s on the move towards you, giving Art a harsh slap to the ass as he goes past him, laughing when Art swats back at him.

Patrick all but flies onto the bed, having kicked his underwear off the moment he stood up, and his shirt is long gone, a mix of yours, his, and Arts clothes are scattered around the hotel room, sure to have lost at least one thing. But none of you had it in you to care, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth opens before he’s even fully on the bed, but he gets the message, quickly positioning his tip in front of your mouth, thrusting a few times before losing control and fucking your throat.

The three of you move in tandem for minutes, or maybe it was hours, Art would thrust into you, rubbing your clit with his fingers, while Patrick would be pulling himself out of your mouth at the same time. It felt as though this was a regular occurrence, as though it were normal. And god did you hope it would become a normal thing. The three of you, together, making each other feel good.

Tapping Patricks thigh lightly, you hum happily when he pulls out of your mouth, giggling at how quickly he begins to check and make sure you’re okay.

“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The words come out of his mouth at lightning speed and it’s difficult for you to understand, but Art had and his thrusts slowed to a stop, hands leaving your body, giving you a questioning look as if repeating everything his friend had just said.

“I’m fine baby,” And then you say something neither of them could quite hear.

“Gotta speak up for us, sweetheart. Can’t do what you want us to do otherwise.” That comes from Patrick, Art nodding along with him.

“Want you two to kiss.” The words fly out of your lips and you’re suddenly shy, pressing your face into Patricks thigh, nipping at it softly.

Both men smirk at you before making eye contact with each other, giving a subtle nod.

“Well c’mon man, you know how I like it.”

The combination of Arts words, his sudden thrusts and Patrick taking it upon himself to flick at your clit, push you over the edge. The power of your orgasm makes your legs shake, your mind empty of anything this isn’t you, Patrick, or Art.

They’re still kissing, it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. It’s messy, and it only stops long enough for Arts mouth to fall open, moans spilling out as he comes inside of you, hot spurts of his come flooding your insides, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock as he fucks you through both of your orgasms.

At this point, Patrick has taken a step back, and is watching again. He’s stroking himself with one hand, squeezing just right and out of nowhere, Art reaches out, cupping the dark haired man's balls, tugging and rubbing on them just the way Patrick likes. The added pleasure sends him crashing over the edge, he barely has the time to move and aim his cum to where you and Art are connected, spilling himself all over your cunt and Arts cock.

Art pulls out and the three of you fall into a pile of heavy breathing, sweat, spit, and cum on the beds pushed into the middle of the room. Once you all catch your breath, Patrick is the first to speak.

“Wow.” It was simple, but it made you all burst out laughing.

“Wow, indeed.” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his pec, turning to do the same to Art.

“That was fucking hot.” Arts words make you all giggle yet again.

“Okay,” Patrick leans you into Art and pushes himself off of the bed, “‘m gonna get you two cleaned up, be right back.” He reassures you, hearing you whine at losing his presence. He comes back with a warm washcloth in hand, and a small cup of water in his other. He hands the water to Art motioning for him to take a drink and then give you some as well, while he bends at the waist, resting his knees on the floor and taking the cloth to your core, cleaning you as gently as he could before moving onto Art. Tossing the cloth to the corner of the room he pulls both you and Art into his embrace, enjoying the quiet for a moment before you break the silence.

“Round two? Whoever makes me cum harder gets to fuck me here first.” You smile slyly, placing your hand on your ass, giggling when Patrick snatches you from Arts hold, muttering something about how he ‘got you first last time and that it’s his turn now.’

#◜ caitee’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 ✎ ˚✧ ꜝ #challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers imagine #challengers smut #challengers x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig smut #mike faist x reader #mike faist smut #josh o’connor x reader #josh o’connor smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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eleganzadellarosa · 6 months ago

Text

Melted

pairing: olderbrothersbestfriend!chan x needy fem! reader

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: MDNI (I'm sorry if this changes the way you see ice cream, pwp I guess, fast paced plot, unprotected sex (don’t 👀), big dick Chan (because what else would he be?), overstim, squirting, hair pulling, choking, creampie, Chan calls reader Baby, reader calls him Channie)

word count: 5.82K

A/N: Just because my mind has been on Chan A LOT lately. Also…this isn’t proofread 😬

Why would you like someone that ruffles your hair, tickles your sides and calls you “baby” as a nickname? Sounds childish right? Not to you when it comes to your huge crush on Chan. You know that’s just how he is with you and has been since you were younger, but you wish it meant something different to him.

Chan is best friends with your older brother, he’s basically been a part of your family for over 10 years. You’ve always liked Chan, but not in that way until your crush developed right before he moved. His family moved away for a while during his late teen years so you hadn’t seen him in quite some time. Then he suddenly came back and he was like a whole new person. His personality didn’t change, no, the way he looked did and you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of him since.

He and your brother are 25 and you’re stuck being 23. It wasn’t a big enough gap to make anyone bat an eye, but you knew he always viewed you as his best friend’s little sister and you weren’t sure how to make that change. You watched as he pulled up in front of your house, picking up your brother like usual. They spent so much time together, you were almost past the point of jealousy and wanted to hate your brother for taking him away every time.

You stood in the open garage, watching him hop out the driver’s seat. He smiled and waved when he saw you and did a little jog onto the sidewalk and into the garage. Maybe things didn’t need to change and you needed to find someone else to crush on, but it was so hard when he would open his arms for you to hug him and would squeeze you tight until you couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Hey baby, missed you. How ya been?”

Baby. You would never get over that nickname. It gave you that warm fuzzy feeling but also gave you that second heartbeat.

“Hey Channie, you know same old same old. Where have you been all week?” You knew where he’d been but you’d do anything to have a longer conversation with him before your brother snatched him away.

“I went to go visit my family, they told me to tell you hi.” He smiled and you smiled back knowing how much his family loved you, which oddly enough made you like him more. “I got you somethin’, close your eyes.”

You obliged, closing your eyes waiting almost impatiently to see what he had for you. Not being able to see him in front of you but feeling his presence made a light blush fall on your cheeks. You felt his fingertips graze the skin on your hand and the sudden contact made you jump slightly. He carefully opened your hand and you felt the cold contrast of something against your palm.

“Open your eyes.”

You looked down to see a dainty anklet with small charms dangling from it. Your eyes lit up seeing each charm perfectly handpicked with things he knew you’d like. It was gorgeous and on closer inspection, it looked expensive. You didn’t care how much it cost, only worrying that he spent too much of his money on you, but loving that he got you a gift at all.

“Baby, do you like it?” He made dangerous eye contact waiting for you to reply. It didn’t help you gather your thoughts any quicker even though you had your answer already. He made your nervous system short circuit.

“Y-yeah Channie, I love it!” You smiled as much as you could to cover the way you swallowed thickly seeing him stand so close to you.

“Really? Oh gosh I’m glad, I thought I chose something you wouldn’t like.” He had to be lying. He could pick a leaf off a tree and you’d be jumping for joy. “Here lemme see, I’ll put it on for you.”

You gasped when he lifted you up to seat you on your dad’s workbench that sat at the back of the garage. The heat seeping in from outside was hot enough, but now you were sure you could break a thermometer. He kneeled down and wrapped the cold jewelry around your ankle. You were unconsciously holding your breath, scared of having any reaction because if you let go, you’d probably moan and you’d rather not make this awkward.

He looked up at you with your foot still in his hand, “It looks great baby, I like it.” God that comment had you slippery wet. He liked it on you? Now you’d never take it off. “Make sure you think of me every time you look at it.” He shot you a wink and your breath got caught in your throat preventing you from swallowing.

This conversation would be stored for fuel whenever you needed something to tip you over the edge at night. You almost said something equally seductive back, almost, when your brother came and took Chan away. You were used to it by now, never really having more than 10 minutes tops of alone time with him. It was frustrating, having to get most of your information from your brother who always reluctantly told you, asking “why do you wanna know anyways?”

You think Chan would tell you no hesitation if you actually had the chance to speak with him. But truth be told, you’d never be able to do such a thing with your brother around. He made it clear on multiple occasions that he didn’t approve of a relationship between you two if it ever came to be, but all three of you knew that would never be brought into existence.

You sat in the same spot on the tool bench, swinging your foot to see the charms sparkle in the small rays of sunshine. Chan said to think about him every time you looked at it, so you did. The thought of you on your knees in front of him, him slipping his thumb past your lips telling you to suck if you wanted to be rewarded. The ideas that ran freely were filthy and getting worse by the second. Your thighs rubbed together tightly as you felt yourself grow wetter with each passing thought.

The sun shined brightly through the small gaps between your blinds, easing you awake with its warmth. The weekends were the best because it was almost guaranteed that you’d get to have breakfast with Chan. It was an unspoken tradition and you marked it off in your mental calendar. You quickly washed your face before heading downstairs to the kitchen, only to see it completely empty besides the few duffle bags that sat beside the island.

“Where are you going?” You asked your brother who walked in at the perfect time before you could stump yourself with more unanswered questions.

“Didn’t mom tell you? I’m going to stay at a beach house with a few friends for the weekend.” He stuffed a few more things in his bag, talking with his back facing you.

“No…is Chan going too?” You asked carefully trying to make it seem like a normal question.

He rolled his eyes and leaned up against the marble island. “Next time you need to just start asking Chan these questions since you always wanna know everything about him. And no, he’s not coming.”

“Really?” A smile spread across your face but you quickly wiped it away when you saw your brother narrow his eyes.

“Don’t go bothering him while I’m away, he’s doesn’t wanna hang with you at all so just stay home!”

“You’re such an asshole, he never said that!”

“You don’t know what he said because you’re not his best friend! Just don’t bother him okay?” He sucked his teeth as he picked up his bags and walked out the door, kicking it closed with his foot.

He didn’t know what he was talking about. Chan wouldn’t say that, he would love to hang out with you. Right? You felt like a teenager crushing on a college boy that was far out of your league for multiple reasons but you swore you had a chance.

You sulkily walked upstairs back to your room and flopped on your bed. Being that your brother didn’t want you to bother Chan, it made you more curious as to what he could be doing right now. It sucks that you didn’t have his number or really any way to contact him. Well you did, you were just too scared to actually do it.

It was nothing but a 10 minute walk and 2 minute drive to get to his house but in the back of your mind, you were scared he actually wouldn’t want to see you. What would you say; what would be your reasoning for coming to see him?

“I have a crush on you and I want to be around you, please let me in?”

Like hell that would work. He’d probably slam the door in your face, call your brother and tell him how annoying and stupid his little-

There was a ring at your doorbell.

Your head snapped to your left, slightly shocked you had any visitors. It could easily be your neighbor since she always seemed to pop up randomly. “I got it!” You yelled out, jogging down the stairs. You looked out the peephole to see Chan standing there. Your heart started racing and you quickly looked over your appearance before opening the door.

“Channie?! What are you doing here?”

“Aww baby you aren’t happy to see me?” A cute little pout painted his face and you wanted to drag him in and kiss him all over.

“What? No, of course I am! My brother’s not here and I thought you knew…”

“Oh yeah I knew, I came to see you.”

He said it so nonchalantly as if it was normal to come see you. As if you both agreed to hang out today. Or as if you always hung out when your brother wasn’t around. He had to know what this was doing to you, there was no way he didn’t. You opened your mouth to say something but couldn’t find the strength to let the words come forward.

“I figured you’d be here all by yourself, so I thought I’d come pick you up.” He smiled brightly and there were those cute dimples. God you felt like you were gonna explode.

“I…umm…” you were stuttering and if he didn’t stop staring at you, you were going to be stuck like this.

He looked a bit sad and disappointed but waited to see what you would say. “It’s okay if you don’t want to Baby. I should’ve asked first, I’m so sorry.”

You quickly reached out to touch his arm and practically melted into a puddle, “No no Channie, I’m sorry, I just didn’t think you’d wanna hang out with me. I’d love to go to your house, especially since I’ve never seen this one.”

He smiled again, “Of course I would Baby, you’re my best friend! Now come on, hop in”

Oh how this was never something you thought would happen in a million years. You were Chan’s best friend? As much as you wanted this, there must have been some kind of mistake. Surely he didn’t actually think so.

He grabbed your hand and lead you to his jeep and opened your door for you. “Thank you Channie” barely left your lips before he reached inside and buckled your seatbelt, smiling at you before he closed your door. Your body was on fire; ignited from the soft and simple touches. You were down bad, there was no better way to put it. If he kept moving like this, you’d have to go home and deal with the problem between your legs.

His house was nice, nothing too big or small, just right for him. He had a great sense of decor and he kept his place sparkling clean. Scattered about on different pieces of furniture were photos of him, family and even younger pictures of the 3 of you.

“Baby, make yourself at home, you can sit anywhere you’d like.” He spoke to you from the little pass through window in the kitchen.

You nodded your head but decided to explore his living room some more. When you walked past the patio door, you noticed a reflection on the ground outside.

“Oh my gosh Channie, you have a pool?! Why didn’t my brother tell me?”

He walked over to you with a large red double popsicle and chuckled at the amused look on your face. “I’m gonna punch him when I see him, I told him to tell you because I know how much you love swimming. We can go out there if you want.”

He broke the popsicle in two and handed you a half. “I would love to…but I don’t have a bikini with me.”

“Just get in with what you have on.” He leaned against the side of his couch as he sucked on the cold treat.

You looked down at your outfit, a plain white tee and some daisy patterned shorts. “But I won’t have anything to change into. I can walk back home and get something.”

“Orrrrr, you can just wear some of my clothes until yours are dry.”

What was with him saying all this so nonchalantly? When have you ever worn his clothes? The smell must be absolutely amazing, he always smelled so good. If he was offering, you might as well just take it.

“Hmm” you bit your lip and smiled, “okay, but I don’t wanna get in by myself.”

He smiled as he finished off his half of the popsicle and chewed on the stick. He jolted off the side of the couch and pulled his shirt off. You almost choked on the leftover ice you had in your mouth. What the fuck was he thinking?

“Come on Baby, come swim with me.”

He opened the door and ran and jumped in without hesitation. After little to no consideration, you followed behind him, diving right in. The water was a perfect way to cool off in the hot summer sun. He swam over to you, hair drenched and sticking to his forehead. The droplets of water shined against his toned, muscular body. You wanted to lick him dry, no matter how long it took.

His right hand slid over your waist and around to your back, “you look so cute, I could kiss you right now.”

Cute? Kiss? Cute and kiss in the same sentence? Maybe you needed to pinch yourself to wake up from this completely unrealistic dream.

“M-me? I’m just plain and boring.” You mentally pat yourself on the back for not stuttering too much with how close he was and what he just said.

“You’ve never been either baby, no way that’s what you actually think.” His eyebrows raised in shock.

“Well yeah…there’s so many prettier girls than me. I’m just me, but they’re-“

It happened so fast that your mind didn’t process it. He bent down to press his lips to yours and hold you a bit tighter. Your arms were around his neck and you reciprocated the kiss faster than the fear set in. His tongue swiped over your lip and you happily allowed him to explore your mouth.

Somehow being drenched in the pool made it feel more sensual, nothing left to the imagination, bodies practically touching through the thin fabrics. You could feel how hard he was, pressing it right up against your thigh. You bravely touched him through his shorts, earning a small moan from him.

He ran a hand up the back of your thigh and roughly grabbed your ass. It wasn’t until you felt something press into your back that you realized he moved the both of you closer to the edge of the pool. He trailed the kisses over your jaw and to your neck. You were breathing heavily, making no effort to stop the sounds coming from you.

“I wonder how good you’d sound if I fucked you.”

“Channie please, oh fuck.”

Desperate was too innocent of a word to describe how badly you wanted him. You’d do whatever it took to make your dreams come true.

“Would you like that baby? Let me fuck you and make you feel good?”

At this point you were sure you stopped breathing. He looked so good with his wet hair, heavy lids, toned body pressed right against yours. Of course you’d like that.

“Yes Channie, I want it, I want you.”

He slipped your shirt over your head and left open mouthed kisses down your neck and across your chest. Just as he moved to get your nipple in his mouth, a loud ring came from inside the house; it was his phone.

“You should go get that Channie.”

He looked at you, lips parted and breathing heavily. “Fuck, okay I’ll be right back.”

He hopped out the pool and went inside while you tried to put all the pieces together. So Chan liked you? Or he simply just wanted a fuck buddy? Or maybe he just wanted to fuck you because he knows how much you like him and knew you’d be easy? The insecurity began to weigh down on you and now you just wanted to go home.

When he returned, he squatted down next to you, who was now slightly turned away from him with your arms wrapped around yourself in order to seek comfort.

“That was your brother, he said he’s coming home early because someone got food poisoning. So…he asked me to pick him up.” He reached out and touched your shoulder. “Baby, you okay?”

“Yeah Channie, you can just take me home.” You made sure to not let him see the tears brimming your eyes.

“You sure you’re-“

“Yes, I’d like to go home please.”

He watched you for a few seconds longer, definitely able to notice the shift in your mood, he just didn’t know what caused it. “Okay, let me at least get you a change of clothes.”

The ride back home was short and you got out before he could to open your door for you. He shouted something about seeing you later before driving off as you closed your front door behind you. You still didn’t have his number, so him hitting you up later wouldn’t be a thing, unless he was bold enough to ask your brother but you both knew that would open a can of worms you weren’t ready to try and close.

Now you were a bit nervous that he would tell your brother what happened because he wanted to know why you looked so sad. You’d just avoid him as much as you could and hopefully he would forget anything ever happened.

“As much as I don’t want you to, I need you to come with me and Chan so you can help me choose a gift for my girlfriend.” Your brother came into your room, not bothering to knock since your door was already opened slightly.

“I didn’t say you could come in!”

“Oh my god, yes or no?”

“You didn’t ask me anything dumbass and why don’t you already know what your girlfriend likes?”

“I do know but I want to know what’s the best out of the options I have and you’re a girl.”

“Umm…I guess?”

You were conflicted. You wanted to see Chan, you missed him even though it had only been two days since your encounter in the pool. But you also didn’t want to see him right now because you didn’t want to explain anything to him, yet if you said that your brother would for sure know something happened between you two.

“Okay well be ready in like 10 minutes, set a timer or something.”

Chan and your brother greeted each other like always and when he looked over at you, he looked as if he wanted to come hug you. “Hey baby, you coming with us today?”

Your brother rolled his eyes when you let a smile creep past your lips. You were weak for Chan, he knew exactly what to say to make you melt. Maybe you were thinking about it wrong, maybe he really did like you and he actually wanted to be with you. But having it happen so suddenly made you think perhaps you let your guard down too quickly.

You felt like such a third wheel around the two boys, laughing at their inside jokes and not worrying about you following behind them. Well Chan did, he would look back to make sure you were still there and smile at you when you made eye contact. It felt like hours even though but had only been 30 minutes of walking around the mall looking for the perfect gift.

“Girls like jewelry, so get her something she can always wear.” Your brother’s gaze followed yours down to your anklet. Before he could ask you where you got that, Chan spoke up.

“Yeah I told you that the other day man, if you really love her you should get her something that she can keep for a long time but also that you put effort into choosing.” He looked over at you when he said it, hoping you caught on to what he said.

You tried your hardest not to blush, your brother standing way too close for you to even let out a small squeal.

“Yeah that’s what I wanna get her but I’m not sure she’ll wear it, I never see her wearing jewelry.”

“Trust me bro, she’ll love it.” He placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and nodded his head.

“I’m gonna go get some ice cream and then head back to the car you guys.” You said waving your hand as you walked away. Your brother nodded as he answered his phone.

“Is it okay if I come with you baby?” Chan ran to catch up with you before you got too far.

“Sure Channie, I’ll pay for you.”

“You’re so funny Baby, I’m paying for the both of us.” As you approached the stand, he turned around grimacing. “Aww baby they’re all out of rocky road.”

After all these years, he still remembers your favorite ice cream flavor. “It’s okay Channie, just get me whatever you get.”

He smiled softly and nodded and ordered two strawberry cheesecake cones. You walked back with him to his car to enjoy yet another frozen treat in his presence. Of course, he opened your door and let you hop in before he did the same.

“Damn it’s already melting…”

“I prefer ice cream when it melts a little. Like when it drips down my fingers. It just tastes better that way…well to me anyway.” You realized you were babbling, so you looked up at him but he was already looking at you.

“You wanna lick mine off my fingers?”

The question alone could have made you cum, but the way he looked at you; eyes slightly hooded, lips parted, that had you throbbing. You couldn’t even answer him. Actually your mind was blank so you didn’t have an answer or any response to what he just said. He saw it on your face though. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you. He’s wanted you for a long time and as many hints as he tried throwing your way, you never seemed to catch them.

It became too much for him, your brother always getting in his way of spending alone time with you. He didn’t care what your brother thought about it though. He wanted you and he wanted you bad. So when he eased his hand toward your mouth and you happily let him push a finger past your lips, he knew he didn’t have to try to make you understand anymore; he made that clear when you were in the pool the other day.

“Sorry it’s not your favorite flavor.” He said, removing his finger to replace it with a new one.

“It is now.” Your words were partially cut off by the intrusion of his fingers. You were soaked and your head felt fuzzy, you felt like you were going to die.

You never broke eye contact and he watched you intently. “You can’t look at me like that if you don’t want me to ruin you.”

“Maybe I want you to.” You licked and sucked on his fingers as seductively as you could muster.

He licked his ice cream then shifted more toward you so he could kiss you. The contrast of the cold dessert and the heat from his tongue made you whimper. He slowly let your warmth melt the ice cream and drip down onto your neck and chest. He happily chased the drops with his tongue making sure none of it went to waste.

“Oh god Channie, mmm~”

He caught sight of your brother making his way over to the car so he quickly halted his actions and returned to his seat. “He’s coming, act normal. Deep breaths.”

Well that was surely easier said than done. He just licked the majority of his ice cream off of you, leaving you slightly sticky in multiple places. This was torture, getting so close to what you want only to be cockblocked by your brother once again.

“Yo Chan, is it cool if I stay at your place tonight? My girlfriend might stop by too.”

“Yeah sure, I don’t mind.”

“Okay cool, we can just drop Y/N off.”

You quickly turned, an exaggerated pout on your face, ready to fight your case. “NO FAIR!”

“It’s fine if she stays, I don’t mind.” Chan looked at your brother through the rear view mirror.

“What?! No way, she’s literally just going to bother us the entire time!”

“Fuck you, no I won’t! You always get to hang with Chan by yourself, I can be around him too!”

“Hey! It’s alright, you can sleep in my bed and I can sleep on the couch. I promise it’s fine.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and you stuck your tongue out at him. Maybe you were childish, but you weren’t going to let your day end without at least having another make out session.

You thanked God your brother’s girlfriend came quite late and that she took all his attention off of you and Chan. You all enjoyed some snacks and had movie night. It was nearing almost 2am by the time the movie was over, so your brother took her to the guest room where he was staying for the night.

You stayed up with Chan to help him tidy up even though he insisted he didn’t want you to.

“Is it okay for me to wear another one of your shirts Channie? I didn’t pack anything.”

He looked up from the dishes he just finished, “you don’t have to ask Baby, of course you can.” He gave you a big dimpled smile but then it dropped. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Yeah of course, what’s up?”

“Why were you so sad the other day? You know…in the pool.”

You knew he would ask you eventually so you might as well just tell him now and get it over with. “I don’t know…I just…wasn’t sure how to feel and was hoping you weren’t only doing it to take advantage of me.”

He walked up to you and kissed your forehead. “Oh Baby, I would never do that to you. I love you and I can’t ever say it or do anything about it because your brother’s always around. I’m sorry if I came off so strong but don’t ever think I’d do anything to take advantage of you. I love you, yeah?”

He rubbed his thumb over your hand and tilted his head waiting for you to nod your head. It took a heavy weight off your shoulders to hear him express his true feelings and being that he said it so easily helped you understand how genuine he was being.

“My room is all yours Baby, it’s the last door at the end of the hall. You can wear whatever you want and there’s towels in the closet in the bathroom.”

“Thank you for letting me stay Channie.” You stood on your tip toes and kissed him on the cheek and quickly ran away, leaving him in the kitchen with red ears.

You felt refreshed after your shower and even more comfortable as you slipped into one of his shirts. Since you didn’t bring a change of clothes, his shirt was the only thing covering you and barely so. You hopped into his king sized bed and playfully rolled around, enjoying the big size.

You looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand, it had already been more than an hour since everyone went to bed. You weren’t sleepy though, so you pulled out your phone and scrolled aimlessly on your socials. A soft knock on the door turned your attention towards it.

“Come in.”

Chan walked through the door, smiling when he saw you so comfy in his bed. “I couldn’t sleep but I also didn’t try…and, I can’t let you leave before I kiss you again.”

“Well good because I was thinking the same thing.”

He fully shut the door and locked it before he removed his shirt and hopped in the bed with you, lips immediately catching yours. His hands came up to grope your breasts roughly, sucking and biting your bottom lip as he did so. He slid a hand under your shirt, breaking the kiss when he felt your bare skin.

“God Baby, you’re driving me crazy. Seeing you in nothing but my shirt is making me sooo hard.” You took his hand in yours and moved it over your pussy. “Fuck…so wet already.”

He moved down closer to the edge of the bed and kissed his way down from your stomach. He gave you butterflies in the best way possible. His lips danced across the skin on your inner thighs sending tingles up your spine.

“Channie…” you say breathlessly and he looks up at you as his mouth attaches to your sensitive bud.

With his head between your legs, messily eating your pussy, your eyes were squeezed shut. It took every bone in your body to not moan, knowing that if you did, you would be loud. He sensed it, so he stopped eating you out and crawled on top of you.

He used two fingers to slip into you while his thumb pressed down harshly on your clit. “Don’t hide them from me, I wanna hear them.”

“B-but my brother is here.”

“And I want to hear how good I make you feel. Don’t hold back Baby, lemme hear your pretty moans.” His fingers sped up their pace, not giving you any other option. You moaned as your back arched slightly. “That’s it Baby, good girl.”

It turned him on watching how his actions made you react but he needed more; needed to feel the way your pussy wrapped around him like it didn’t want to let him go. You reached out to pull on his shorts and finally free his achingly hard dick from its confines. He was BIG but what did you really expect, it was just really really intimidating. None of that mattered though, you just wanted him in you without any interruptions.

He hissed when he used your arousal to mix with his and coat his length. He gave it a few pumps before he eased the head past your entrance. “I’ll go slow okay baby?”

“Okay Channie just keep going, please don’t stop.”

He caught his lip between his teeth, feeling the lust course through his veins hearing you beg and feeling the tightness of your walls. He watched your face contort in pleasure.

He was barely half way in, stretching you open with ease. “T-too big Channie…” You eyes were rolling back and you were already slurring your words.

“You can take it, look you’re doing so well for me Baby” he touched his forehead to yours and grabbed you by the jaw and kissed you again, “you feel so good Baby, so so fucking good, such a good girl for me.”

When he bottomed out he leaned over you to catch his breath so he wouldn’t cum too quickly. Your head was spinning. His body pressed into yours and the way he spoke to you already had your toes curling. He pulled out to the tip, your pussy making a squelching noise, and he quickly thrust himself back in. Your back arched off the bed and you almost screamed.

As much as you wanted to keep your sounds at bay, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep the volume down to a minimum. He snapped his hips forward with desperation, grunts and moans falling from the both of you. His hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing enough to make your head get fuzzy and awaken every nerve in your body. He pounded into you with no remorse, making this worth the long wait.

He suddenly pulled out, causing you to whine in response, and sat against the headboard. “Come ride me, wanna feel you in this position.”

You crawled over to him then hovered over his still hard, leaking dick. You sank down on him, taking small breaks so you wouldn’t faint from the pleasure. He bucked his hips up, making you drop down fully. He held you under your butt, spreading your pussy open to help you bounce on his dick easily.

The more you hopped up and down on him, the more you felt the sticky substances mix and connect the two of you. Your legs gave out when he started to thrust up into you every time you dropped down. He repositioned you so that you were on your knees, leaning forward into him. He grabbed a handful of your hair, your back arching more, as he hugged you and fucked you violently. The new angle made him abuse your sweet spot.

“Letting me fuck you with your brother just down the hall, I didn’t know you were such a slut Baby.”

“Mmm ah! Only for you Channie!”

He held you tighter when he felt your pussy clench around him. This is exactly what he wanted, what he dreamed of. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer himself, so he quickly flipped you onto your back again. One hand on the back of one of your knees and the other rubbing harsh circles on your clit.

“Oh fuck…oh fuck Channie I’m gonna cum!”

“You gonna cum? Yeah? Cum with me, make a mess all over my dick.”

He thrust deeper into you and bent down to suck on one of your nipples. A few more loud moans and circles on your clit and your pussy fluttered as you reached your orgasm. He didn’t stop and kept up his quick pace until you squirted all over him and the sheets below.

“Fuuuuuck” his hips stuttered and he pushed himself deep as he painted your walls white. He pulled out quickly, the rest of his cum spilling into his hands and seeping through his fingers.

When you looked down, you couldn’t help but grab his hands to put his fingers in your mouth. Funny enough, the cum looks just like the way you love your ice cream.

“Channie, I think you’re my favorite flavor.”

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids smut

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dilf-c0nn0isseur · 3 months ago

Note

deadpool fucking you in front of a mirror👀

blessss this is so good🤌 hopefully I did your request justice!

man in the mirror - deadpool x fem!reader

NSFW! MDNI!

Deadpool always seemed horniest after a successful mission, returning to the apartment to find you waiting for him, ready.

And that's how the two of you got to where you were right now- him settled into the couch with you riding him cowgirl style. Hell, today he was so impatient to get his dick inside you that he hadn't even bothered to change out of his suit.

Plus, he knew you liked it when he fucked you while wearing it.

"I really gotta give it to ya babe," he chimed while watching you bounce up on down on his cock. "That pussy of yours is fantastic!"

Sex with Wade was oddly full of laughs, because he really was true to himself and did not ditch that 'merc with a mouth' act.

You let out a breathy laugh as you slammed back down on his lap. "You act like this is the first time you've had it," you quipped back. His hands were currently folded behind his head, leaving you in full control. He watched every movement of yours behind his mask.

"Sorry sweet stuff, pussy's just so good I can't help but forget!"

You giggled and continued your work, but his hands grabbing your hips took you by surprise. He stood up whilst managing to keep his cock from slipping out of you. "Watcha doing Wade?"

He crossed the apartment swiftly to the bathroom, nudging the door open with his shoulder. "We're gonna watch this little show we're putting on together." You raised your eyebrows, his sudden switch up furthering your arousal.

He continued his remarks as he slid you off his hips, positioning you so that you were bent over the bathroom counter, facing the mirror. "Trust me baby, you are gonna love this." His gloved hand reached up your curved back and tangled your hair between his fingers. "I mean, it'd be cruel of me to keep this view from you." He was now lined up behind you with his cock, still wet from just being inside of you, parting your folds. He held up his hands, index and thumb out, one eye squinting, as if checking to make sure the shot was right. "Perfect."

You laughed at his commentary while he had been perfecting the position, but the sudden feeling of his cock pushing into your cunt caught you off guard and you gasped. "Fuck Wade!" Your eyes closed from the pressure. He saw this in the mirror, and tsk'd, "Nuh-uh-uh babe, eyes stay open for this." You did as he said, opening your eyes just in time to see him wag is finger back and forth in the mirror, a motion that said 'nope'. "Wouldn't wanna miss this show."

A grin crept onto your cheeks. He was right, you definitely didn't wanna miss this. Watching him standing behind you with his hands gripping your hips, pounding himself into you, practically rearranging your guts, it drove you insane.

His fingers dug deeper into your skin as you rocked back on him, forcing him deeper. "Damn you are naughty!" You let out a loud squeal as he slammed harder into you, as if to one up your last move. You grabbed the counter to steady yourself. A string of profanities fell from your lips, along with his name. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm gonna cum, Wade!"

Without stopping his movements, he began to dig in one of the pockets of his suit. He grunted as he searched for what he wanted. "One second babe," he said. "Hold that thought."

Finally, he pulled out what he was looking for. "Ah-a!"

Was that- his phone?! You could not imagine what he would be doing with that out right now, until he held it up, his camera open.

"Alright princess, go on."

Thank god he said that, because you couldn't hold your orgasm back a second longer. Right at the height of your climax, you heard a click from the camera on his phone. That fucker just took a mirror picture of him fucking your brains out, your face caught mid-orgasm.

Hot though, you had to admit.

As if that wasn't enough, he swiped up on his phone, continuing his charade, reviewing the picture. "Oh that's getting framed for sure."

Once he had the picture saved to his favorites, he focused back on the real task at hand. "Alright hon, my turn." His pace quickened and your face contorted in pleasure again, walls tightening around him. He let out a loud groan at this feeling and you felt him twitch inside of you as his rhythm began to fall apart.

"Fuck- hold it- hold it-"

He slammed into you, once, twice.

With his third thrust he released himself in you, cum coating the walls of your pussy. You moaned with him as he road out his climax. Once he had milked himself completely dry inside of you, he slowly pulled out, and gave you a firm slap on the ass. "Hey!," you giggled.

"Next time, I'm gonna make sure to get a shot of that ass."

#wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #deadpool #deadpool smut #wade Wilson one shot #deadpool x you #wade wilson imagine #deadpool 3

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thevillainswhore · 1 year ago

Text

New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular.

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

New Tricks Masterlist

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door.

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time, when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck.

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again.

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level. “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.”

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck. Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?”

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind.

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.”

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes.

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.”

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation.

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic.

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?”

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–”

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning.

“What the shit–“

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?”

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!”

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.”

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all.

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?”

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids.

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed.

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.”

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone.

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?”

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over.

Had he been listening that whole time?

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky may have made was a burden you did not want to bear, and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.”

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump.

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose. “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off.

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips.

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door.

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?”

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.”

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf.

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?”

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom.

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you.

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence.

Though, it is short lived.

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand.

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works.

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off.

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before…

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious.

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you.

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats.

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?”

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet.

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company.

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence.

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone.

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content.

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets.

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself.

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?”

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV.

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.”

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.”

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.”

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.”

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it.

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!”

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?”

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night.

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus.

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing.

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.”

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.”

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face.

Okay, you think privately, so what?

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt.

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard.

Bucky… is a virgin?

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match.

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression.

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind.

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts.

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully.

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him.

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession.

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands, and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty.

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer.

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past. And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket.

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs.

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees.

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical.

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.”

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting.

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through.

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek.

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance.

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap.

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth.

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves.

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face.

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek.

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes.

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session.

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension.

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time.

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close.

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard.

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before.

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another.

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you.

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–”

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries.

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss.

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move.

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous.

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.”

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin.

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet.

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn.

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it.

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release.

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle.

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck.

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently.

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him.

You can’t have that, though.

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go.

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in.

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?”

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.”

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.”

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him.

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure.

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop.

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!”

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed.

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat.

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness.

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material.

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries.

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces.

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands.

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair.

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.”

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only–

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala.

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?”

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes.

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away.

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky.

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall. “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive.

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.”

That meant only one person was responsible.

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night.

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake.

Love ya squirt,

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again.

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain.

Part Two, Part Three

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eupheme · 2 months ago

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If you’re still taking requests, I’ve been thinking about reader & wade introducing logan to sex toys - maybe how to use a vibrator on reader or what a fleshlight is…? 👀👀

ooh anon! I kept thinking about this, it was so fun (I imagine Wade is like - super pro toy-usage, while Logan is like, reluctant but will indulge if encouraged) I hope this fits the vibe you’re looking for! 💖 thanks for sending this in!

boys and their toys | logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

750 words | poly relationship, piv, edging, overstim, toys (vibrator, fleshlight, references to dildos and monsterfucking)

“-and this,” Wade wiggles the device between his fingers, “Is a what we call a vibrator. Well, Womanizer, baby, if you want to be specific-“

“I know what one is, Wade.” Logan scowls, “I just don’t fucking need one.”

“Boy, don’t try to front!” He gasps, “Of course we don’t need one. They’re just for fun. You know what that is, right?”

“Don’t make fun of him, babe.” You admonish, shifting your hips. Inching Wade deeper, from where he’s buried into you.

“I’ll try something else,” He sighs, grabbing another toy from the box - the silicone dildo wobbling as he holds it aloft, “Do you think I need this? No. But does it help me fulfill my fantasy of being a virgin sacrifice for the big bad werewolf, and I’m so fucking good that he keeps me as his bride instead of killing me?”

“Werewolves aren’t real,” Logan’s face pinches, lip curling over teeth, “And you can’t die.”

“You hear that? He’s kink-shaming me.” Wade groans as he slumps - the movement causing another shift of his hips, pleasure sparking through you.

“H-He doesn’t get it. Show him,” You coo, “Or I’m going to kill you, if you keep teasing me like this.”

He grins.

You’ve been keeping his cock warm for the last ten minutes, as he took you both on a little trip through his toy chest.

The device buzzing in his hand, as he thumbs the button. Anticipation curling in your stomach, as his hips begin to move.

“Okay, the great thing about this one,” Wade hums, “Is that I can keep our girl nice and full-“

His hips press flush, making you gasp.

“-while letting this little lady do all the work. Keeps her coming, pun intended.”

The toy touches down against your clit, and you gasp with need. The subtle rock of his hips, as he adjusts the pressure to what you like.

It has you whining immediately. Muscles clenching as you chase the suction, eyes already going wide and hazy with bliss.

His free hand palming at your tits. Dipping to grasp at your hip - using the leverage to start a lazy rhythm.

No more than a few minutes passing before your back is bowing. A loud cry as the sensations ripple through you, Wades grunting as you clamp down around him. Feeling how you pulse around his cock, an echo of the toy he still holds against you.

“One.” Wade coos, as you squirm - working through the overstimulation, “What’s our record? Double-digits, right?”

“Eleven,” You whine, But it took all night.”

“Let’s aim for a baker’s dozen.” His teeth glint, with his smile, “We’ve got time.”

Logan’s eyes are hungry, as he watches. His own hand wandering, wrapping around himself. Tugging his swollen cock to the rhythm of Wade’s slow pace.

“And you-” Wade tosses something clear Logan’s way, “Can use this. Already lubed it up for you.”

Logan grunts, looking at the toy. The long, cylindrical shape. Transparent innards, with silicone opening that clearly indicates what it’s mimicking.

“You really want me to use this.” It comes out flat - not a question.

“Do I-“ Wade sighs, “Yes. We do. So get your Jackman on and start pumping, or just admit that you’re not as open-minded as you keep pretending.”

His jaw works. Another sideways glance at the you, thumb testing the opening. Feeling how it gapes, as he tugs.

Aware of both sets of eyes on him. The look you fix him with - greedy, as you lips part with a pant.

With a glare shot at Wade, he lines the toy up. Slowly pressing it down, as his tip sinks past the slick opening.

A bitten back moan, as it grips him. Nothing compared to the warmth of your pussy, but better than his hand. Hips lifting as he pushes himself deep, eyes flashing up at the ragged sound you make as you watch.

“Lo,” You breathe, “Fuck, you barely fit.”

You can see where there’s a finger’s width of skin at the base of his cock. How the shape of him distorts inside the silicone as it stretches, but it’s unmistakeable how he fills it completely.

His brow furrows, “That bad?”

“No, baby,” You laugh, “It’s really fucking hot.”

You twist, as you reach over. Hand wrapping around his, coaxing him to move it up and down as Wade fucks you. Bottoming out again and again, his biceps flexing as he takes over.

“‘s not bad.” Logan admits, as he slowly relaxes. Finally letting himself enjoy the show, as a second wave of pleasure starts to crest inside you.

“I’m not coming in it, though.” It’s growled out, but breaks on a rough gasp, “Coming in one of you, or not at all.”

“Oh peanut.” Wade grins, as you moan - clenching around him again.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #requests #anons #eupheme answers

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konigsblog · 2 months ago

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How good do you think König gives head? 👀 he’s got big hands, big thighs, big d, but what about big tongue?

He's naturally skilled at it. It's impressive, especially when you remember that he's inexperienced — not that he told you, but it's more than obvious by his attitude and jittery, nervous behaviour, determined to please and satisfy a woman for the first time in his pathetic, isolated life.

Good God, he'll leave you panting and shivering, heaving and rolling your hips against his scarred face with your plush and puffy cunt leaking against his soft, slick, and warm tongue. The warmth and wetness as a result of his spit and saliva against your drooling hole leaves you numb and weak, incapable of holding yourself back from dripping all over his tongue. You whine his name through squeaks and gasps of arousal at the sensational pleasure, your eyes rolled back.

“Du schmeckst so verdammt gut, wie Honig...” König cries out incoherently and quietly through intoxicated growls, his painful cock trembling with the addictive and unfamiliar taste against his lips. He'll dip two wide, lengthy, and rough fingers into your sweet, tight hole while spreading your thighs with his other hand, prying you open and presenting your pussy to him, to devour his sweet meal.

You're delicious. He'll savour you, keep you on your back and stomach for hours with your back arched at the waves of euphoria pulsing through your veins and fucking with your head ‘til you're barely conscious and mumbling drunkenly, reduced to nothing but a set of creamy, wet holes with a mushy, fuzzy brain.

#orla speaks #cod x reader #könig call of duty #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #cod mw2 #konig call of duty

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moonlight-prose · 2 months ago

Note

smut prompt #8 for logan 👀💗

forty five minutes in the closet

a/n: not me literally writing this in right where you left me ch4. hilarious and iconic timing, because i was fighting the urge to just have them fuck full on in that closet. so here's my chance to do just that. for funsies i'm shoving it into that universe. do not look at me for using that gif. i literally can't deny myself the sight.

summary: an alternative scene to what really happened in that closet.

OR wade wilson forces logan to play seven minutes in heaven. (it was longer than seven minutes if we're being honest.)

word count: 2.6k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, exhibitionism, dirty talk, logan is filthy af and we love that, spit, fingering sort of, p in v sex, quickie, rough sex, biting, he's down bad for his honey what can i say, panty gag, a formal apology for how fucking horny and unhinged this is.

The closet felt smaller than intended—even as your back was pressed to the wall hard enough to feel the cracks in the drywall that stretched to the ceiling. Laughter filtered through the thin wooden door as Wade told yet another joke about shit you couldn't discern. Even if you asked him to explain, you'd still be confused come morning.

Logan leaned heavily against his side of the closet. Approximately two feet of space between you. The tips of your shoes touched his boots. The faint scent of cigar smoke still lingered from where he ripped it out and tossed it in an ashtray. You wouldn't have cared if he smoked in here. You might have asked for a puff.

He insisted on keeping the air clean in case you had to breathe.

Wade claimed you were playing seven minutes in heaven. Seven minutes of alone time with the man who made your head spin. In a proximity close enough to feel the heat of his body from where you stood. Although you'd been standing there for four minutes (you were keeping count via the watch on Logan's wrist) and the group seemed to have forgotten about the both of you entirely.

"Do you—um—know what usually happens here?"

A smile curved on his lips—eyes scrutinizing you with a look that told you he was teasing you. "Yeah. I do. I'm old, not stupid."

"I just wanted to make sure..." In a swift move you barely saw, he rose to his full height and crossed the invisible line holding the two of you on opposing sides. "Oh–"

"Honey." His voice was low, yet you felt as if he was screaming in your ear.

"Yes?" you breathed—eyes fixed on the way his chest took up your space. His flannel was stretched across it and for a moment you wondered if you started salivating at the sight.

"Are you nervous?"

Another raucous round of laughs broke through the darkness that surrounded you. But you could barely hear them over the echo of your own heart. It hammered loudly against your chest—quickening the closer he got. The more his large frame began to engulf you in a warmth you only dreamed of. You clamored to come up with a response, to flippantly push off his advance with a tease of your own.

His hands pressing on either side of your head to the wall behind you killed every ounce of bravery you had left. All your worries and thoughts about what lay on the other side of that door were extinguished. Logan leaned down, his nose brushed yours, and inhaled deep enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

"I can smell you," he rumbled. "Sweet like honey."

A searing heat built beneath your skin, burning from your cheeks down to the tips of your toes. Your mouth opened—words still fighting to be formed—but he didn't need an answer. Not when he could smell the arousal that pooled between your thighs. How you subtly shifted to find a bit of friction in the hopes of something more.

"You mind if I kiss you bub?"

A piece of you fractured in the darkness of that closet—settling comfortably in his own chest. You might ask for it back after all of this, but Logan felt his chances of you walking out as his were growing the longer this went on.

Glancing up—eyes wide and darkened with lust—you bit back the whine that crawled up the back of your throat. "They'll hear us."

He shrugged, shifting close enough for you to almost taste the whiskey off his lips. "Good."

"Logan–"

Lips pressed to your cheek, drawing a soft sigh from your parted mouth. "Somethin' tells me they're just waiting for it." His hand left the wall to trail along your waist, dipping slowly with a kiss to the corner of your lips. "And somethin' also tells me...you like that idea."

It's not as if you were entirely opposed to the idea. Actually most nights (if not every night) was spent with you imagining what it would be like to feel him this way. To be stretched with his cock so much you would feel a delicious burn.

You craved it.

He knew solely from the wanton look on your face. The way your eyes fluttered the further his hand went.

"You gonna let me in or what honey?" he cooed, fingers dipping beneath your skirt to seek out the slick that soaked the lace of your underwear.

Surely the seven minutes had run out, leaving the both of you to make a choice. Stay here and keep going for everyone to catch you. Or walk out, find a room, and continue this in private.

The thought of waiting a second longer snapped at your heels with an air of impatience you let consume you. What the fuck did it matter if they heard you getting fucked against the wall? What did it matter if you'd never live this down as long as you lived?

How could you actually think about shame when Logan's fingers were pressed against your dripping cunt, seeking out your clit through the thin fabric that divided you.

Sagging against the wall with a soft moan, you gripped his flannel in your fist and yanked his lips to yours. He groaned, falling into your body and effectively pinning you to the wall, as his tongue met yours. And suddenly you realized...you liked how whiskey tasted off of his tongue.

He devoured you with the kiss, swallowing each moan and stunted whine as his fingers made quick work of finding your clit. Rubbing quick circles, he plunged his tongue into your mouth - licking at your teeth with a fervor that seeped down into your stomach. It was messy. His spit mixed with yours, staining the skin of your cheek. Your slick coated the inside of your thighs as he pushed the fabric into you roughly.

Yet none of it felt enough to ease the ache that spread rapidly down to the tips of your fingers. Your heart twisted as he gripped the back of your neck—leading you in a kiss that divulged down to nothing but teeth and spit.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, your leg hooking around his hip, in the hopes of dragging him closer. To feel the hard bulge against the rough denim of his jeans.

"Look at you," he mumbled against your cheek. "All pretty and leakin' for me."

A sharp burst of need pulled tight at your stomach—the breath torn from your lungs. "Inside–"

He smiled. "C'mon honey. Use that smart head of yours. Gimme some words."

His words were a brutal tease that scraped against your skin. Yet that coupled with his fingers that seemed to hold an edge of desperation, left you gasping for air. Fingers dug into his shirt, lips found his in the hollow darkness, and you begged for mercy. This was your penance. The altar he intended to bend you across.

Oh how you longed for him to follow through.

"Fuck me," you managed to get out between sharp intakes of breath and heady kisses. "Please Logan. It hurts.

The sound that emanated from deep in his chest could only be described as feral. You'd never heard him like that before. Bordering on the line of unhinged and sanity. A flare of want pulled at your body, echoing loudly in your chest.

You wanted to hear it again. To feel him break beneath your palms as he rutted into you with need. You ached to watch him whittle himself down to the barest of his senses. The animalistic urge of lust he kept hidden for weeks on end.

"Yeah?" His words were a snarl against your ear, teeth scraping your jaw as he ripped his hand away. "'M gonna make it better. Gonna take away the pain."

Nails scratched at the back of his neck when you heard his claws slide out—cutting through the fabric that clung to you. It was sopping wet; proof that you hadn't in fact been lying about your need. Logan felt his cock leak in his jeans at the sight—how your slick clung to his fingers as he swiped along the gusset.

"All for me," he sighed.

"Uh-huh." If you thought you sounded needy before, that was nothing compared to this moment.

He eyed you briefly. The hazel you'd grown fond of now dark and clouded with lust. The plea for more lay on the tip of your tongue—ready to be laved against his skin the longer he took. But then he brought the fabric to his mouth, his tongue running across it with a broken groan. The breath was punched from your lungs—legs shaking as a wave of slick poured out of you.

"Oh fuck–" you gasped, cupping his chin to catch his lips in a kiss.

The clink of his belt buckle echoed like a gunshot in the small space. Your heart began to race. Fingers shaking as you watched him tug his cock free; fisting the red and leaking tip with a throaty moan. Saliva filled your mouth at the mere thought of him sliding between your lips. The image of him feeding you his cock with a smile.

He fanned the flames of your simmering fire, offering you pleasure with ease.

His hand gripped your other leg, positioning it over his hip before pushing you up along the wall. The yelp was muffled by his lips; your hands finding purchase against his hot skin.

"Gotta be real quiet now bub," he mumbled, sliding his cock along your drenched cunt.

The head tapped against your clit once, twice. By the third time your teeth were dug into your bottom lip so hard copper burst on your tongue.

"I promise."

He chuckled, breathless. You joined.

The compact space stretched out before you, expanding with each joined breath and laugh. Passion intertwined in your chest, reaching for him with a tender touch of reverence. And nothing existed but the two of you.

"Hey Logan."

His cock jumped at the sound of your voice so light and airy. "Yeah honey?"

"If I don't tell you after this." Your hips canted into his, grinding towards where he positioned himself. "I had a really nice time tonight."

His heart fluttered as your words settled into his skin—soaking up your warmth. "Me too."

The laughter diminished the second he pushed forward, sliding into you with a slickened thrust that left his body shuddering. You swallowed the sob that wrenched from your chest when he kept going. Stretching you until you felt the burn begin to seep into your body. You weren't prepared for how addicting it felt; how mindless he made you.

Seven minutes had surely blended into fifteen, giving the group no doubt of what you were doing. That only solidified when he bottomed out and you moaned so loud it nearly gave him a heart attack. His fingers clamored for something in his pocket—his lips sliding against yours to silence the endless whimpers. He filled you until you saw white behind your eyes each time they fluttered closed.

"They're gonna hear ya," he muttered. You caught a flash of lace before it was being pressed to your lips—willing you to part them and hold the fabric between your teeth.

Logan gave you one minute to find your brain in the muddled thoughts that filled you, before pulling out. Only to slam back in. Your cry was muffled—eyes rolled back—and he felt a searing triumph begin to form in his chest. At the sight of you in a messy state of bliss.

His hips slapped against yours, the wet slide of your cunt a loud echo. Adding to the symphony of his groans and your whimpered sounds. Your spit soaked into the lace, fingers digging hard along the planes of his back, and he felt you gush at the feel of his teeth sinking into your neck.

"So fuckin' sweet for me," he grunted, cupping your ass to push you back and forth on his cock. A shift in the angle had you going dumb. Eyes wide and glazed with tears. "My pretty girl huh?"

Fuck you wanted to scream. You longed to hear his name bounce off the closet walls and spill into the foyer of Wade's damn apartment. To remind them that time was still passing and their limit had reached the vastness of infinity.

He pounded into you with sharp gasps of praise, words that fell on ears deafened by the rush of blood that ran right to your head. Oxygen felt secondary when his cock kissed the wall of your cunt with such accuracy it left you blinded. Enough to have you sobbing into the spit soaked lace - tears spilling down your cheeks.

"You take it like it was fuckin' made for you yeah?"

You nodded, breasts bouncing as he fucked you along his cock—his other hand pressed to the wall. You took it like it was made for you, because it was made for you. Logan belonged to you. Whether he knew it now or not.

"I can feel you squeezin' me," he gasped. "Gonna cum?"

"Mhm," you mumbled, the squelch of your cunt loud enough to block out the laughter from the outside.

"Then do it honey." His thumb found your clit, swirling it with sharp pointed circles. Your toes curled in your shoes—head falling back to the wall with a soft thud. "That's it. Fuckin' cum for me."

"Mmff–" A sob of what morphed into his name tore from the depths of your body. Rendering you a shaky mess in his arms as you clamped down around his cock.

Slick poured out of you, coating the hair along the base of his stomach in your essence. Logan growled at the sight. His eyes narrowed and teeth bared with each stunted thrust of his hips into yours. Claws punctured the drywall behind you as a way to keep his body level. To ground himself as he came with a hoarse groan he quickly muffled into the top of your breast.

Grinding into you, he emptied himself entirely. Rope after rope of his spend now filling you to the point of dripping down to his balls.

You felt the need to drop to your knees and taste him.

To clean him entirely and place him neatly back in his jeans. But the movement of your body no longer remained an option—your legs numb and back sore from being pounded into the wall.

He removed the gag with a huff, kissing you gently with his thumbs pressed to the tops of your cheeks. A soft caress. A contract to the rough way he manhandled you.

"I can't feel my legs," you sighed into his mouth, tongue swiping along his bottom lip.

"You're not supposed to." The weak slap to his chest had him laughing louder than intended.

"Don't worry. Wade won't notice if you carry me."

He groaned, his teeth scraping at the flesh of your breast. "Don't fuckin’ say his name or I won't be able to fuck you again tonight."

You giggled, running your hands through his mussed hair. "Whiskey dick?"

"Shut up–"

"He's told you–"

Lips sealed over yours, hips pushing yours until the sigh stuttered from your chest. "Don't fuckin' start honey."

You smiled into the kiss. "Or you'll finish?"

A thump rammed against the door, startling the both of you. You half expected it to swing open and expose Logan with his jeans down to his knees and his softened cock still inside you. But all that came through was Wade's laughter—his knuckles rapping on the wood.

"Did he rise babygirl?" he shouted much to the detriment of the group who booed behind him.

"I will cut you open through the door!" Logan snarled. A triumphant laugh rattled the walls as Logan lowered you to the ground. Only for Wade to get the last official word.

"HE ROSE!"

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #my writing

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taeyongdoyoung · 3 months ago

Text

wolf and bunny

summary: you ask your best friend to fuck you in your sleep but your bottled up feelings come out to the surface... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to lovers warnings: cnc/somnophilia, discussion of boundaries, eating out, touching, groping, unprotected sex, spanking, stranger+wolf/bunny roleplay, little red riding hood references, face-slapping (once), size kink, cockwarming, multiple rounds, feelings (ew), pet names, discussion of future scenario 👀 (i know i said this is the end but...we'll see) author's note: hii everyone, this is the third and final part of my wolf and bunny series, thank you so much for going on this nasty journey with me 🤍 part one & part two word count: 2k

You and Chan are having a bit of a disagreement in connection with the circumstances surrounding your next game.

“But I want to know exactly which night you’ll do it.”

“If you know, you won’t be able to fall asleep,” Chan reasons with you. “Kinda like Santa Claus. Kids stay up all night waiting for him and then he never comes.”

“Please, even if the kids were asleep, he’d still never come ‘cause the parents are putting the presents under the tree!”

“It was just a metaphor.”

“A bad one. You’re gonna have to work harder to convince me.”

“Hey, wasn’t this your idea in the first place?” Chan reminds you teasingly. “You’re the one who wants me to fuck her in her sleep.”

“Ey, don’t pretend you won’t be into it,” you shake your head.

You are both so stubborn you don’t see this ending unless one of you retreats. Then, after a brief consideration, you speak again.

“Fine. You can keep the secret of the exact night you’ll do this. On one condition.”

“Sure, bunny, let’s hear it,” Chan listens eagerly.

“If I wake up, you won’t stop. I’ll just pretend I’m still sleepy and we keep going.”

“Is that even possible? I mean, for you to not wake up?”

“It is if you drug me or something,” you shrug.

“Ugh, don’t give me such evil ideas. You never know when I might take advantage of you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it, wolfie.”

“But are you sure the sleep thing is a great idea? I mean, you wouldn't be able to say a safeword...” Chan can't help but worry, always putting your needs first and planning every scenario in great detail to make sure you're alright. Damnit, could he get any more perfect? He's so sweet and considerate you wish you could just tell him how you feel. But what if that scares him away? What if you lose not only your wicked game buddy but your best friend in the entire world? You wouldn't be able to live with yourself.

“Yes, I'm positive, Chris,” you place your hand on top of his. “I trust you 100% and know that you'll look after me. The question is, do you trust my judgement?”

“I mean, I do trust you. It's just that last time you didn't communicate your discomfort clearly and I wouldn't want to risk messing up to the point of accidentally hurting you,” Chan verbalizes his anxieties.

“I get what you're saying but it's not like I'm open to doing this with a stranger. It's you we're talking about. You've always been great at taking care of people so I know you wouldn't go too far. But at the same time, I wouldn't mind if you went loose. If anyone can take it and accept you fully, it would be me.”

“Yeah, I know. You're right. But just in case, I want you to know beforehand that I care about you and respect you like a lot. So, even if I get carried away, I still want you to feel safe.”

“Aww, Chris, ya old softie! I always feel safe with you, it goes without saying!” you insist.

“Well, I like hearing you say it.”

You gulp nervously. His voice is so commanding and yet so reassuring that your words have never rung truer. He's more to you than a safety net and you hope he knows it. He's incredibly thoughtful and infinitely kinder than the first impression. He's a riddle in the way he keeps surprising you and yet you wanna keep learning more about him. He's hundreds of the loveliest words in the dictionary multiplied. He's more comforting than your favourite blanket. He's warmth personified and you would be an idiot to let him go.

“I'll try to say it more often, then,” you promise. “When I'm with you, I know no harm will come my way. But here's the thing...you're the only one I'd willingly let hurt me.”

“I don't want to hurt you, though.”

“You don't?” you pout, suddenly feeling guilty. Then, what have you been doing? Was he forcing himself to act out these fantasies for your sake alone? You genuinely thought he was enjoying them as much as you were.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” Chan is quick to explain. “I like our games. I meant that I don't want to hurt you emotionally. Ever.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” you chuckle, feeling a little stupid. “Well, you don't need to worry about that. Glad we had this talk.”

“Me too,” Chan gazes at you fondly.

“So, which night are you fucking me while I'm asleep?” you attempt to find out while he has this dazed look in his eye.

“Next- Hey, nice try! I'm not telling you, you impatient devil.”

“Aw, man, I was so close,” you bemoan the uncertainty of your future.

“You wish.”

The long-awaited night finally arrives. Chan has a key to your place so entering it is too easy. He makes sure he picks a night when you’ve complained about being exhausted and sleepy all day long. And he is certain that you’re passed out in your room, not suspecting a thing. Well, a part of you is always anticipating what could happen, but still.

He’s beyond glad to find you sound asleep. You’re wearing nothing but a t-shirt and some flimsy panties. Chan admires your sleeping form for a couple of brief moments before he gets down to business.

He wonders where to start. Should he tear them up? Or maybe push them to the side? Should he grope your boobs through your shirt? Or perhaps slide his hands beneath it, stroking your nipples directly? So many opportunities. He wants to do everything, he decides.

Chan starts by moving your panties to the side and licking your tiny pussy. He touches you with his fingers, gently prodding your entrance but not exactly sticking them inside yet. Then, he sneaks his hand underneath your shirt, teasing your nipples. Fuck, you’re so soft.

He marvels at the knowledge that you’d trust him with something like that. Though the previous scenarios were hot and intense as fuck, this one hits different for him. Maybe because last time you were awake, you were still in control because you could say the safeword whenever. Maybe because you want him at your most vulnerable even in your sleep. Or maybe because he’s slowly falling for you, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

It’s okay. Chan’ll show you, instead. He pinches your nipples lightly and continues to make out with your pussy. You are so wet already it’s adorable. He wonders if you’re dreaming of him, as you shift slightly in your sleep. He wants to drag this out. But how?

He uses his nails to trace circles on your skin, which causes goosebumps to appear. Are you cold? He wants to keep you warm and full at all times. Chan can’t take it any longer and takes his cock out, sliding in so perfectly. As if you were made for him. Made to take his cock and let him do crazy things to you. His sweet little bunny…

You moan desperately and the spell is broken. You’re awake. He wanders if you’ll speak or he’ll have to make you. Both options sound quite appealing. But he wants to hear your voice more than anything.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Chan whispers gently.

“W-who are you?” you cry out.

Aw, you’re gonna pretend not to know him? That hurts. But it can be fun, he thinks.

“Just the big bad wolf,” he chuckles at the irony of it.

“Please, don't do this,” you fake not wanting it, even though you've never wanted anything so badly in your life.

“Oh, bunny, but I already am,” Chan replies, spanking your ass a couple of times in the meantime.

“G-gonna split me in h-half,” you mumble, voice muffled against your pillow.

“Yeah? G'na ruin my sweet girl?” he speaks to you so softly you want to melt right there and then.

“Feel so full 'n so s'eepy,” you slur helplessly.

“Aw, tiny, go back to sleep, then,” Chan pats your head soothingly.

“Can't. What a deep voice you have!” you play along too well.

“All the better to degrade you with, my slutty bun,” Chan laughs, while still continuing to fuck you.

“What big hands you have!” you keep saying.

“All the better to grab your tits with,” Chan chuckles and makes good on his promise by playing with your boobs.

“And slap me with!” you remind him playfully.

“As you wish, princess,” Chan growls and slaps you across the face harshly but not harsh enough to actually leave a mark.

“What big eyes you have,” you sigh wistfully.

“All the better to stare at you fall apart,” Chan responds cleverly.

“And what big cock you have!” you scream, barely resisting the urge to laugh. Are you a silly little bunny or Little Red Riding Hood? At this point, you don't care, but it feels too good regardless.

“All the better to fuck you with,” he grunts loudly, spilling inside of you.

You follow rightaway and urge him to stay like this for a while. Maybe round two is in order?

“You know what else is big?” Chan teases you.

“Oh, shut up, Bigfoot!” you reply and are no longer able to hold it in, breaking into laughter. Chan also finds the interaction hilarious and buries his head in the nook of your shoulder. You stroke his hair without realizing. Shit, he's so adorable you almost say the three words. Is it too risky? Too soon? You need a distraction. You need... “Fuck me again.”

“Already? Aren't you tired?” Chan wants to make sure.

“Fuck me till I fall asleep again,” you ask him.

“Um, okay, sure,” Chan looks a bit confused but does as you ask.

This time there is less talking and more fucking but no matter how many rounds you go, sleep doesn't come again. You both orgasm more times than you could count, but somehow, it isn't nearly enough to distract you from the inevitable. You love him. Your heart knows it, your pussy knows it, even your brain knows it but is stubborny telling you not to confess for fear of somehow ruining things.

Once Chan decides he's completely spent for the night, he pulls out of you and rips off the bandaid.

“Are you alright? Something suddenly shifted but I can't quite place it,” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and nudges you softly with his shoulder.

“Do you want the truth that might mess up everything or do you want me to lie to you and say I'm fine?” you ask, even though you're already on the verge to tell the truth.

“With you? Always the truth, please,” Chan clearly states his preference.

You sigh deeply and tilt to the side so you're facing him properly.

“I think...no, I know I love you.”

“I love you, too, babybun,” Chan responds fondly and kisses you on the nose.

“In a non-friendly way. And I don't mean just sexually, either. I mean, the friendly way and the sexual way haven't diminished, of course. But I also love you in a...I want to be yours, your girlfriend, your lover, your romantic partner, your everything.”

Chan is taken aback by your words. You...feel the same?

“You already are,” he confesses genuinely.

“Huh?” you blink in shock.

“I mean...you are already my everything. But, if you'd like me to officially ask you, then...will you be my girlfriend, angel?”

“You...you'll have me?” you are still in disbelief.

“I thought I already had ya,” Chan pinches your cheeks lightly.

“Damn right you do, Mr. Wolf,” you giggle and pull him into a kiss.

He smells like autumn, his embrace exudes warmth and his lips taste like home.

“You have no idea how badly I've wanted to tell you about my feelings,” Chan confesses. “When I found that story of yours in your drafts, I just couldn't resist the opportunity. I hoped that if I turned your fantasies into reality that you'd eventually fall for me.”

“Oh, Channie...I've been falling for you for longer than you realize,” you admit shyly. “How could I not? You're everything I've ever wanted.”

So, this is what it feels like to have the world in your hands. Huh. You could get used to it.

Bonus:

“No, I'm not kidnapping you!” Chan is adamant as you two sit in a nice restaurant.

“But Chriiiis,” you whine. “You said you'd do anything for my birthday.”

“Anything but that!” Chan shakes his head in amusement.

“Why not? It can be fun!”

“Fun? What if something goes wrong, what if someone sees us and thinks I'm actually kidnapping you, what if...hear me out, here, I go to prison for it?”

“Well, duh, then I'd bail you out!”

“As if you could afford it,” Chan rolls his eyes.

“Hey! But seriously, I'll just tell the cops that I asked you to kidnap me.”

“What if they don't believe you and think you have a Stockholm syndrome?”

“I'll...think of something. Come on, we're going too far with the what-ifs.”

“You gotta be prepared for any situation. You'd know that if you carried the heavy burden of being a dom,” Chan tsks at you.

“I'd know that if you let me,” you give him a wink.

“That will only happen the day I agree to fake-kidnap you.”

“So, tomorrow? It's a date!” you grin excitedly.

“Keep dreaming, darling.”

“Oh, I will.”

The End

#bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan x reader #chan smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #stray kids #chan #writing

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writersdrug · 2 months ago

Note

Price getting reader a step stool cause she keeps asking Bartender!Ghost to reach stuff for her. Simon obviously brakes it when no ones looking. 👀🤭

LOL

"Is this your way of insulting me?" You ask, holding the colorful, children's stepstool in your hands. You're grimacing at it, a look that has Price chuckling as he folds up the bag from the store.

"I figured you could use it - now ya don't have to wait for Simon to grab anything for you." He says, patting you on the shoulder.

"I don't mind the wait..." You mumble under your breath. The stool feels as decorative as a clowns nose as you tuck it under your arm and head towards the stairs. "I'm keeping it upstairs, I don't need customers laughing at me when I pull this out. Might take it home and spray paint it."

"Suit yourself." Price calls as you bound up the stairs. He heads over to the bar, where Simon is currently polishing the glasses you convinced him to order for the Halloween drink.

"Got a problem with me helpin' 'er?" Simon says, thick fingers rubbing the glass with a rag. He doesn't mean to sound defensive... but he can't help the bite in his tone.

Price smirks, picking up on the jealousy laced into Simon's words. "Thought you might like it. Makes your life easier, and 'ers." He pops open the register and starts filtering through the bills, replacing the larger value ones with smaller ones.

"You don't think I'm capable of runnin' a bar and helping you waitress at the same time?"

"No, but I think you'd be better off if you didn't have to run so much. She's brought in so much business as it is, your workload's gotten heavier."

Simon huffs. "Ya just want to separate us, hm? Want 'er all to yourself." He jokes, grabbing another glass and buffing it.

Price shrugs. "And if I am?" He says, giving him a side glance.

Ghost slows his ministrations, turning his head to his captain. They both stare at each other for a moment, Simon with his slightly angry, slightly questioning glare, and Price with his unwavering eyes. Simon wants to tell him to back down, that you're his - but he can't say that, because you aren't his. He wants you to be. But he doesn't know how to make it happen without letting his walls down.

Price chuckles, turning back to the register to continue swapping bills. "Y'know, if you want to say somethin' you'd best say it." He comments, snapping the drawer shut. "Missed opportunities often come from miscommunication."

He leaves Simon at the bar, heading towards the stairs with his money folder. You jog down the steps and nearly crash into him - he quickly grabs your shoulders and spins you out of the way before you can collide with him. You throw a "sorry!" over your shoulder as you carry an armful of various fruits, leaving Price chuckling as he ascends the stairs to the office.

"The oranges up there aren't looking too great." You chirp, dumping the fruit onto his workspace. A few lemons and limes roll onto the floor, and you bend down to chase them. Simon watches you, a bit miffed at how unaware you were of the situation. What do you think of Price? Do you like him? Would you flirt with him as much as you do with Simon?

You return with the escaped fruit. "I can run to Sevvy's store and grab some for tonight, if you want? The ones upstairs are looking a bit pruney."

"Are you actually gonna use that thing?"

"Huh?" You look at him with confusion written on your face. "What thing?"

"The stool." He looks down at you, his expression unreadable. "'S a bit demeaning, don'tcha think?"

You paused, watching him move the fruit to the side and grab a plastic cutting board. "I mean... he bought it, and I wouldn't have to bug you so much. If I spray paint it black or something, it won't look that ridiculous."

He nods. "Hm."

"I used it to grab the fruit."

"That's interestin'." He mumbles, slicing through an orange. You were right, they have seen better days.

He turns to pop open the register and hands you some bills. "Go get a few oranges, no more than ten. Order should be comin' in tomorrow."

You smile and take the money, stuffing it in your back pocket. With a few hours remaining before the restaurant opens, you go through the kitchen, grab your jacket, and head out the back.

Simon's back to chopping fruit and dumping it into a small bin, bitterly thinking over what Price had said. It's a stool. Price got it to help you and himself. It was a thoughtful purchase. But it's not just that. However unserious this is to Price, he's trying to rile Simon up. He's treating you like the last slice of cake in the tin - Price would like to have it, but he knows Simon's groveling for it. He's forcing Simon to ask for what he wants, and the bartender doesn't like that one bit. Normally, it wouldn't be something that irks him so easily - but this is you we're talking about. Not just anything. You. He wants to grab Price by the collar and throw him into next week with how he's trying to wedge between you and Simon - but he doesn't like having a weakness. He'll keep his cool for now. He'll make a move... eventually.

For now, the only aggressive side he'll present is passive.

Price leaves late that night, somewhere between two and three in the morning. He's beat, spending most of the night between helping you run food and drinks, and fifo-ing the pantry and overflow rooms. He's planning for a day off - of course, after he goes to the bank and comes back here to pay everyone. He's jealous of Simon, who's already upstairs for the night - he wishes he only had a short trip to the third floor before he could crash into his bed. Rather, he has to trek a hefty number of blocks home through the dark streets. He's more worried about going to bed at a decent hour than walking around at night with a bag full of money - people usually steer clear of him when they see his stature.

He locks the back door behind him, puffing out a foggy breath into the frigid air. It's only getting colder - he'll have to break out his gloves and scarf soon. The beanie won't be enough. He shoves one hand into his pocket, the other holding a small bag of trash from the office. He mentally ticks off what he needs to do this week as he grabs the garbage bins, dragging them behind him and towards the street for the trucks to empty in the morning. He pushes them against the store front, taking the lid off and dropping the light trash bag inside.

The loud thunk makes him do a double take. Did he throw away something important? He lifts the bag once again, and a disappointed expression falls upon his face. The colorful kiddie stool he bought for you is there, pieces snapped apart and shoved deep into the bin. Simon didn't even try to hide it underneath the other bags. It's almost like he left it there for Price to catch.

He sighs, dropping the bag and placing the lid back. He trudged down the sidewalk towards his home - he's not too upset by it. He had a feeling Ghost was sinking his teeth into you, and frankly, it's gotten to the point where Price is afraid of what the man might do if someone else tries to take you away. But damn, if his ex-lieutenant's going to make a move, he'd better make a fucking move. For your sake, if not his own.

He pulls his phone from his pocked and shoots Simon a quick, blunt message.

You're paying me back for that.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty

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emmyrosee · 3 months ago

Note

The “would you kiss me for $10 or the prettiest girl on the world for $1000?” trend with modern au bf sukuna 👀👀

dummy 🙄 sukuna???

SENT If you send me some fuck shit, hand to god

dummy 🙄 would you kiss me for $10

or kiss the prettiest girl ever for $1000???

SENT Depends on who the competition is

There's three dots that indicate you're typing, then they disappear. They reappear, and he chuckles as he imagines you, fighting for the words to come to your mind as he effortlessly, works your buttons. The dots disappear again, and this time, they stay gone. He quirks a brow at the lack of angry texts from you, only to then groan at the idea that this time, he's taken it too far, his jokes have gotten him nowhere, and he takes a deep breath in to keep himself cool in the dairy aisle at the convenience store.

SENT It was a joke, brat

I'd never want to kiss anyone else

Not when I get to kiss you for free, any time I want, you know that, right?

You merely put your phone on Do Not Disturb. He takes another deep breath in as he digs himself deeper into the hole of your wrath, and he quickly makes his way to the snack aisle, grabbing your favorite chips and heading straight for the candy aisle for an extra boost. By the time he's done, it looks like he's throwing a damn birthday party, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when you're at home, pouting over him.

By the time he gets home, you still haven't answered him. He braces himself for your silence as he unlocks the door and nudges it open with his knee. To his surprise, you're in the kitchen making tea, but there's a blanket covering your body with only your face peeking out.

"You look comfy," he hums, and you sneak a hand out of your cocoon to grab your mug of tea.

"Well since I'm so hideous and disgusting that even my own boyfriend doesn't want to kiss me, I've decided to become a recluse," you hiss, making your way back down the hall. "Don't follow me."

"You know I'm going to follow you," he scoffs, instantly following you down the hall into your shared bedroom. There's a blue light cascading over the walls from the tv, and the curtains are drawn shut. You put the tea on your side table and scuttle back into bed. He rolls his eyes and walks his way on your side of the bed. "Let me kiss you."

"Let me give you $10."

"I'm not taking $10-"

"Well someone has to," you snap. "At least, until you find someone just soooo much prettier than me, then you get even more money to kiss me with. Doesn't that sound like a good plan?"

"Babe, it was a joke-"

"And I'm not laughing."

He snarls his lip slightly before scooping his arms under you, hauling you up and onto his lap and ignoring your shoves and batting of hands. He wastes no time is pressing wet kisses to your cheeks and neck, relishing in how your body shakes trying to hold in your laughter.

“Don’t you ever-“ he kisses your temple firmly. “Deprive me-“ kissing your jawline. “Of your kisses.” His lips press to the corner of your mouth, and the hand not cradling your body comes up to grip your chin to hold you steady. “Brat.”

“Don’t tell me I’m not pretty then!” You whine.

“Of course you’re pretty,” he scoffs, pressing another kiss to your face. “I never said that. I would never say that. You’re the fucking prettiest. You’re mine. Of course you’re the prettiest.”

You go quiet, and he thinks you’re about to get mad at him again; however, you turn to rest your head on his shoulder, pressing a tiny kiss to his neck.

“Say more stuff like that,” you murmur.

He smirks, “there is no girl prettier than you. Trust me.” He turns his head to kiss your other cheek, squishing you slightly in the process. “Ive seen it all, baby. You’re the one. And even if someone tries to give me money to kiss you, I don’t fucking want it-“ he kisses you again. “Because I get to do it for free. And that shit’s priceless.”

“Softie,” you snort. He groans and turns his head to bite your cheek firmly, but his heart speeds up at the way you kick your feet out and flail them in protest. “Oww! I’m sorry, don’t bite!”

“I’m not a child nor a dog, woman,” he grumbles, but he does release your cheek and press a kiss to your brow bone in compensation. “No matter how you see me, anyways.”

“My feral little doggy,” you prod.

He yaks, but can’t help the smirk that curls on his cheeks from your laughter.

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joelscruff · 11 months ago

Text

a kindness you can't afford (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

kofi | a/n this is a sequel to my fic 'to freeze or to thaw', it's mainly just a lot of filth cause that's all my brain can handle at the moment lmao. pls be sure to check the warnings before reading & i hope you enjoy 💕 also shoutout to the incredible @toxicanonymity whose joel/reader/tommy fics inspired me to get tommy involved here. would highly recommend her fics stuffing & sweet little mess for a similar vibe. summary: there are no limits to how or when joel plays with his special girl. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dark!joel, ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, big unspecified age gap (reader is of legal age), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, free use, somnophilia, cockwarming, squirting, light pussy slapping, size kink (joel's dick is huge), tummy bulge, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (use of 'little one'), finger sucking, exhibitionism, mentions of pregnancy (but no risk), lil bit of tommy x reader teasing 👀(if you don't like tommy x reader then you prob won't like this) word count: 4.1k

He's so kind.

You've never known kindness like this before; never known the soothing whispers and gentle praises, the calming touches, the satisfying taste of homemade soup on your tongue, the comfort of a roaring fire, made just for you. You've never known the warm embrace of a much older man, the strong arms and solid chest, greying hair and sharp scruff, soft belly and thick cock. You'd spent most of your life in a frightening QZ, the past few years in a cold and unforgiving forest, and now - the warm safety of a cabin.

Woken by the gentle caress of two fingers against your forehead, pushing your hair back gently, a kiss to your bare shoulder, the heat of his solid form behind you, and the press of his hot tip to your soft opening. He doesn't ask, but he doesn't need to.

He pushes inside and you hum sleepily, drifting in and out a little as he feeds you the rest of his cock in one slow movement. Your eyes flutter but you keep them closed, nuzzling against the fluff of your pillow as he pulls you in and presses his body to yours, the hair along his torso tickling the sensitive skin of your back as the throbbing tip of his cock kisses that special spot in your tummy. He's so big inside you, taking up so much space in your body that it's mind numbing.

"Go back to sleep," he murmurs, pulling more hair away from your face and trailing his fingers along your cheek soothingly. His big cock twitches inside you, but he doesn't move, stays still as he waits for you to drift back into unconsciousness.

And you do. But not for long.

You're woken what you're sure must only be a few moments later to the feeling of his cock throbbing within the furthest parts of you, pulsing thick spurts of cum deep inside your body as he holds you tight and groans raggedly in your ear. His fingers are suddenly working furiously against your clit, circling and rubbing and pressing and making you cry out sleepily into the dark cabin. With barely any awareness, you feel the hot coil in your lower belly snap - and you're gushing. You feel him tug his cock out of you at just the right moment, just as a steady stream of liquid makes it's way past your freshly fucked hole, and you squeal.

"Shhh, baby," he soothes, but you can hear the smile in his voice as he watches your juices stain the dark wooden floorboards, watches it drip down into the blankets and soak the cotton, "Shh, I know, I know."

You whimper and squeeze your fists together, releasing another stream of liquid as your eyes roll back. An unintelligible string of words slip past your lips, slurred and broken, almost like you're speaking another language. He pulls you in and hushes you again, presses a finger to your lips as you convulse beside him in the bed.

"That's enough now," he murmurs softly, kissing your cheek and still rubbing your clit, pushing for more, "That's enough, little one. Go back to sleep."

He says this to you as if you can even control your sounds, your movements, as if your pussy continuing to gush isn't a result of his own actions, but he already knows this. He enjoys it, likes watching you fight to regain proper consciousness again after you squirt, likes watching you try to stop it from happening. And god, does he love to make it happen.

"Can't, daddy," you mumble, voice thick with sleep and pleasure, brows furrowed as you open your eyes to look down and see where he's still circling, "Can't stop wh-when you rub it like that."

You feel him press a kiss to your ear, watch him pull his fingers back from your pussy and slap them down lightly, then again, then twice more in succession. Another small gush of liquid spurts from your hole after the fourth slap, and he chuckles.

"Sleep," he whispers, slowing his movements, "I'll stop now, promise."

So you do, and he does - not before slipping his wet fingers past your lips for you to gently suck as you drift. You vaguely hear him murmur Daddy's perfect girl before you're lost to the world again.

You dream of him, as you always do.

He learned very early on that you could squirt. It wasn't even something you were aware of yourself - how could you be? It's not like you'd had many sexual encounters before this, none of them ever worthwhile anyway, and you'd never had it happen to you on your own either. But it's somehow easy for Joel to make it happen, once he knows he can, so easy that now it's one of his favorite things to do when he plays with you.

The first time, you'd been more than surprised - and very confused. You'd been spread out naked between Joel's clothed legs, back against his chest while four of his thick fingers pumped deep inside of you, thumb tapping your clit. He'd crooked them, curved his fingertips in the slightest way - and suddenly there had been a gush of heat, a heavy stream of release. You'd thought you'd done something else, something that had your cheeks warming and embarrassment flooding through your body as you twitched and cried in his arms. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, it was an accident.

He'd hushed you softly, kissed your lips tenderly and explained to you what it actually was.

"You're such a good girl," he'd praised, carefully easing your head into his lap and threading his fingers through your hair, eyes peering down at where your legs lay open, pussy still dripping, "Such a good girl with the sweetest little pussy, baby. Squirtin' just for me, just for her daddy, huh?"

You'd closed your eyes and let him hold you, soothe you, relax you. I know, little one. Did such a good job. M'so prouda you. Then he'd unzipped his jeans and fed his heavy cock into your mouth, let you suck on his leaking tip quietly for a few moments before he came down your throat with a long sigh, still stroking your hair. After you'd swallowed every drop, opened your mouth wide and showed him your clean tongue, he'd bundled you up and disappeared from the tent to make you dinner, off to fulfill that never-ending kindness and care he'd promised from the beginning. It had only been about a week since that first night where he'd first come into your tent, and you were already settling into the role of his special girl and doing it quite happily.

He'd made you squirt again later that night, had you shaking in his arms and gushing around his cock and close to tears, not because you were afraid or in pain but because it just felt so good. A relief, a release, a moment of bliss, all because of him. Your pussy had pushed his cock out of you with the pressure of your release, and you'd fallen back against him, sleepy and sated.

"Daddy," you'd whined, overstimulated and exhausted as he'd slipped his dick back inside your dripping heat, "Daddy, m'gonna fall asleep."

"That's okay, baby," he'd whispered, fucking into you slow with no plans of stopping, cock bulging in your trembling belly, "You can go to sleep."

You'd woken again a little later, warm in his arms, globs of cum drooling from your opening. You'd whimpered softly, reached down and touched where you were leaking, and - without even really thinking about it - gathered what he'd left there and pushed it back inside yourself before drifting back to sleep, safe against his chest.

The cabin you reside in is only temporary, though you wish you could stay longer. The group came across it in the early hours of yesterday morning, and you've spent most of that time naked in one of its four beds, sleepy and content among the warm sheets. It's been so long since you felt the comfort of a real bed, a soft mattress and thick blankets, and from the moment you passed the threshold Joel was adamant that you spend as much time in it as possible.

He's so kind.

He's been planning something with the others, an upcoming raid, a plan of attack, but you don't pay much attention to those things. When it all goes down, Joel has assured you that you won't be anywhere near the carnage, still safe and warm in the cabin until his return.

"Need you safe, little one," he'd told you softly last night, fingers scratching soothingly across your bare back, "Can't have anythin' happenin' to you." He'd kissed you tenderly, whiskers tickling your lips and making you giggle. "You'll stay here with Tommy, he'll take care o' you."

"Tommy?" you'd asked curiously, unsure which member of the group he was referring to.

"My number two." He'd brushed his nose against yours, touching his index finger to your bottom lip and tugging gently, "Don't worry, baby. I trust him."

"Okay, Daddy."

You can hear his muffled voice now through the door of your room, though you can't make out what he's saying. He's addressing the group, going over plans, but you're sleepy and have been in and out of consciousness for most of the afternoon, lost in the comfort of your warm bed. It's only when you hear someone say the girl, that your ears prick up, brows furrowing as soon as you realize they're talking about you.

Only seconds later there's a light tap on your door and you sit up in bed, gathering the sheets around yourself as it opens. You peer wide eyed at one of the other men of the group, standing there with a hand on his hip and his head tilted charmingly to the side. He's very handsome, dark haired and mustached and from what you've seen, always pretty well put together. You think this one is Tommy, the number two, but you're still not entirely sure.

"Your daddy needs you, sweetheart," he says calmly, though his eyes tell a different story - he looks at you hungrily, like they all do, gaze going glassy and dark. "He asked me to help you get dressed."

"Oh," you whisper, nodding slowly, "Okay." Knowing it's what Joel wants, you let the sheets drop, and now the man you think is Tommy can see that you're completely naked on the bed, exposed and soft. It's nothing new or alarming - Joel has not been discreet when it comes to your relationship, and you're no stranger to the men taking peeks at you, peering inside your tent when Joel's not there, watching the rise and fall of your breasts as you pretend to be asleep.

You watch as this man's eyes fall to your pussy, and you can't explain why it throbs beneath his gaze.

"He just wants you in a dress," he murmurs, leaning down and assessing the few garments folded near the bed that make up your incredibly simple wardrobe; two dresses, two shirts, one pair of jeans. He picks the warmer dress, the blue one with long sleeves, which you greatly appreciate; the cabin may be warm, but it's still the middle of winter.

He approaches the bed with a smile, unfolding the dress.

"Arms up, sweetheart," he says softly, and you obey. You wait for him to help guide your arms and head through but he doesn't, instead opting to stand there for a moment just looking at you. His eyes are glued to your breasts, smile still curving his lips as he reaches out and very gently strokes the side of one with his knuckle. You shiver.

"You're so pretty, honey," he murmurs, trailing his finger up and down slowly, just shy of your nipple, "You know that?"

You nod slowly, eyes hooded and arms still extended, "I- I think so."

His thumb finds your nipple and rubs it gently, bringing it to life under his fingertips. "Your daddy's been takin' real good care of ya, hasn't he?" he asks quietly, circling the hardening nub, "In a lotta ways."

You nod again, aware of a slow trickle of warmth beginning to pool between your legs, and unsure whether what's happening right now is something Joel would want. "Y-yeah."

"Heard him fuckin' you to sleep last night," he breathes, and the words send another throb to your pussy, "He was all up in your guts, wasn't he?" His hand suddenly moves from your breast to your bare tummy, and he palms the soft skin there delicately, "Right here?" You nod again and he smiles.

"You make the prettiest little sounds when you're gettin' fucked like that, babygirl."

His praises send tingles up and down your spine like Joel's do, as well as a blooming warmth to your cheeks. "Thank you," you whisper, unsure what else to say to such a statement.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." As he says it, the fingers on your stomach trail downward a little bit to rest on your mound. He strokes the skin there gently, thumb dipping low to brush against your outer lips. "Soft little pussy," he murmurs, smiling kindly at you again, "You like havin' this all filled up, honey?"

You nod again, still unsure the point of his questioning, of his touches, but also not really wanting him to stop. A quiet whimper slips past your lips when you feel the tip of his thumb lightly brush past your clit and prod very gently against your hole. There's no way he doesn't feel the sudden wetness there, the slow drip of stickiness and the warmth of your arousal, as well the faint remnants of Joel's cum still leaking from where he'd fucked you a few hours ago - he hums quietly, unsurprised.

"Yeah, you like bein' full," he breathes, that dark glint returning to his gaze as his thumb just barely pushes inside, "Y'like bein' used."

It's not a question, but you nod anyway.

He suddenly removes his hand from your pussy and finally helps you with your dress, pulling it down over your arms and shoulders and helping you stand on wobbly legs. With another kind smile, he brings his hand up and gently brushes your cheek.

"So pretty, babygirl" he repeats quietly, "Like a little angel, ain't ya?" He suddenly presses his thumb gently against your mouth, lightly prodding for entrance, and without much thought you allow him to slip it inside; it tastes like your arousal. Eyes sleepy and pussy throbbing, you suck on his thumb obediently, as if it's just second nature to do so.

"Christ," he mutters, watching your lips as you suckle around his thick thumb, "Now that's a good girl."

"Tommy!" Joel's voice from the other room suddenly shouts, and the man who you now know for sure to be Tommy - the man who Joel is planning on leaving you with during the raid - quickly pulls his thumb from your wet mouth.

"Come on, sweetheart," he says, smiling crookedly, "Let's go see what your daddy wants."

There are five other men in Joel's group, from what you've gathered, including Tommy. Four of whom currently stand in a half circle in the front room of the cabin, arms crossed, boots tapping, attention directed at Joel who sits in a dusty armchair in the corner of the room. They all turn to look at you when the bedroom door opens, and watch with those familiar glazed expressions as Tommy brings you to their leader.

Joel's serious expression grows soft when he sees you, a small smile gracing his lined face. He peers at you, crooks his fingers. Without needing to be asked, Tommy carefully hoists you up into Joel's lap. His thumbs linger for a moment on your waist, a small stroke so quick you're not sure Joel notices - you're not sure you want him to - and then he's pulling away to stand beside the chair, asserting the role of number two.

It only takes a few seconds for you to realize that Joel's cock is out, hidden beneath the thick cotton of his jacket, out of sight. With no hesitation you wrap your arms around his neck and open your legs, laying your face against his shoulder and sighing contentedly when you feel his tip notch at your wet entrance. Not fully hard yet, he pushes inside carefully, subtly, and you ease yourself down just as quietly to sheathe him inside of you. You close your eyes and nuzzle into the warmth of his coat, already feeling the soft weight of him begin to stiffen.

You've done this before. Sometimes when he's overwhelmed, in over his head, needing to be grounded, he likes to have you sit on it. The first time it happened you weren't sure how to feel, self conscious with the other members of the group staring and knowing that you were full of him, soft whimpers escaping your mouth with every small movement or jostle. It's okay, little one, Joel had whispered, barely audible, you just focus on me.

Now, it's second nature. You can feel their eyes on your back and you know they can tell what's happening beneath Joel's coat. But now you find that you don't really care.

He starts talking then, continues whatever it was he was discussing before you left the bedroom. It becomes white noise almost immediately, your eyelashes fluttering as you bury your face further into his shoulder and focus on the feeling of his thick cock growing large inside of you. You love the way it stretches you, pushes, begins to prod up and against your cervix. It pulses and twitches within your walls and you squeeze down on him tighter, mewling a little without really meaning to.

At your noise you suddenly hear a soft chuckle from directly beside the armchair. You open your eyes halfway, looking up sleepily at Tommy who's still standing to your left. He smiles at you like he did before, a twinkle in his eye, and then winks. He obviously knows what's going on - standing so close, there's no way he didn't see you settle onto Joel's cock.

You peer back at him, blinking your eyes slowly and tightening your arms around Joel's neck. He tilts his head, and you suddenly let a smile turn up the corners of your lips. Look Tommy, you almost want to whisper, he's all up in my guts, like you said. You're not sure why you feel so unbothered under Tommy's gaze, why you don't yearn for him to look away like the others and for him to pretend it's not happening. There's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain, that you don't want to explain.

You stay settled like that on Joel's cock for about fifteen minutes, letting the deep voices of the men around you fade into the background. You close your eyes again but you can still feel Tommy's eyes on you, watching, assessing. Every now and then Joel carefully adjusts you, driving himself a little deeper each time, sending tiny bursts of pleasure throughout your body as your pussy leaks around the intrusion. If Tommy were to lift you up again you know there'd be a dark spot at the front of your dress, a trail of slick on Joel's coat.

One particular adjustment moves the edge of the lining of Joel's coat between your folds, coming to rub against your clit, and without any warning you feel yourself start to come. Your soft cry interrupts the voices of the group, a hush of silence suddenly blanketing the room as you tighten around Joel's cock and gush around him, shaking in his embrace. His arms come up to hold you close, rubbing your back soothingly.

You look up at Tommy again and find that his eyes are hooded as he watches you, lips parted and brow furrowed with what can only be arousal as he watches you fall apart on another man's cock.

"Christ," you hear one of the men murmur, and you feel heat flush your cheeks and ears, the self consciousness returning in full swing as you come down from your orgasm, burying your face in Joel's coat once again.

"Not a fuckin' word, Perry" Joel states, voice firm.

The conversation continues like nothing happened, and you try to let the sudden embarrassment you feel dissipate as much as possible despite still being impaled on Joel's length. You nuzzle against the warmth of his neck, sighing and trying to get your breathing back to normal. Your cunt continues to spasm around him in small twitches, aftershocks, soft whimpers still falling from your lips unconsciously. It doesn't take long for the sounds and sensations to set him off, and there's another lull in the discussion as Joel tenses underneath you and starts to come.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you hear the same voice from before mutter, but his commentary is suddenly lost beneath a soft groan from Joel as his cock twitches inside you. It pulses warmly, thick bursts of cum painting your insides. You gasp softly and squeeze your thighs against his, letting him fill you up in slow and steady spurts, claiming you. Daddy's special girl.

There's a moment of silence, a deep sigh from Joel, and you wait with the rest of the group for him to speak.

"You wanna say that again?" he finally says, voice gruffer this time but stern and serious, as if he didn't just come inside you in front of a room full of his men, "Huh, Perry? You wanna fuckin' say that again?"

Another beat of silence. Then-

"I'm just sayin'," the man named Perry grumbles somewhere behind you, "Aren't you worried you're gonna get her pregnant? I mean, Jesus Christ, Joel, we don't need another fuckin' mouth to feed."

The words send a shockwave through your body, eyes widening.

"And where the fuck do you get off tellin' me what I can and can't do?" Joel asks angrily. His body has gone stiff beneath you but you think you've gone equally as stiff against him, Perry's words suddenly circling over and over again throughout your mind.

Pregnant? Could you be pregnant?

"I don't know if y'all remember," Joel says coldly, "but back in my day there was a little thing called a fuckin' vasectomy. Need me to explain it?"

"Oh, fuck off, Miller."

You suddenly find yourself peering upwards again at Tommy, eyes still wide as Joel and Perry start to have a go at each other. He looks at you once, brows scrunching together when he sees the sudden look of shock in your expression, the confusion, the fear.

"We've all been thinkin' it," Perry is saying, voice slightly shaky in his anger, "It's a valid fuckin' concern."

"Well now it ain't a concern at all," Tommy suddenly jumps in, hands clenching into fists at his sides, "She ain't gettin' pregnant, he's shootin' blanks."

His protectiveness sends another confusing feeling of warmth to that pit in your stomach. Your heart is pounding as you continue to peer up at him, eyes still wide, and he shoots you a soft look of reassurance before turning his attention back to Joel.

"Don't know why you had to have her in the fuckin' first place," Perry spits, "She's just some fuckin' girl. And now we gotta stand around and watch you fuck her all the time? It's fuckin' sick."

Joel stands suddenly, almost like he's forgotten you're sitting in his lap, jostling you to the side as his cock slips out of you. You take a step backwards, finding yourself bumping into Tommy's solid form as Joel zips up his jeans and tilts his head from side to side, bones cracking loudly in the tense room. You can finally see this Perry now, a much younger man with dark hair, standing a few feet away. He's thin, almost gaunt looking.

Joel could kill him so easily if he wanted to.

But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches down and takes your hand, pulls you away from the group and back toward the cabin bedroom. He mutters something under his breath to Tommy in passing, something you can't make out, and as he ushers you inside the room you hear the heavy shuffling of boots as the men are lead back out into the snow.

He explains to you what a vasectomy is.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

Wrapped up in warm bedsheets again, you close your eyes and nuzzle against his chest, letting his large form crowd and comfort you, his arms firm around your waist. You can feel his cum starting to drip from you under your dress, making a mess of your thighs.

"I don't like the way he talked to you, daddy," you whisper like it's a secret, voice hushed and muffled against his coat, "I didn't like it at all."

He sighs, pulls you in closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'll take care of it, little one," he murmurs softly, a sense of finality in his quiet words, "Don't you worry your pretty little head."

He's so kind.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*#tommy miller x reader

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