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thevillainswhore · 11 months 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

7K notes · View notes

hoshigray · 7 months ago

Note

was it me who made you cream so hard 🥰

Pffft, that's cute, vegas, but yk between us two, you're the one who creams the hardest

#especially when i make you cream #my subby veggy bby 🤧🤧🤧#𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒆 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ vegas #𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ⚛ 𝑨𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒄 𝑨𝒔𝒌𝒔

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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 months ago

Text

Stress Relief

Summary: After a recent promotion, Javi has had a lot on his plate. Thankfully, you know just what to do to help him de-stress.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, post season 3)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (make safe choices pls), oral (m receiving), creampie, size kink (ish?), praise kink, sex as stress relief, Subby, whimpering Javi because giving him a surprise blowjob when you know he's stressed would make him crumble, this is literally porn without a plot WHOOPS

A/N: Shoutout to my job for having a system wide data outage today so I didn't have to work and got to write this instead 🤪 Poor bby cow eyes deserves all the stress relief in the world, and who am I to deny him 🤷🏼‍♀️ Also proud of myself because this is the first thing I've written without an obscene breeding kink in God knows how long, gold stars for me LMAO

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

“You’re still working?”

“No, I just really like sitting here and going through all this fucking paperwork for fun.” Javi sighed, sarcasm oozing out of his words as he leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

As thankful as Javi was for his much more structured, low risk job at the Laredo Sheriff's Department compared to his time back in Colombia, his recent promotion had put way more on his plate than he had expected.

Begrudgingly, Javi had been bringing work home with him most nights to make up for what he couldn’t finish in the office, leaving him in an exceptionally sour mood that he was spending his nights finishing paperwork instead of spending time with you.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be an asshole, Querida.” Javi huffed, upset with himself that any ounce of him was resorting to taking his frustrations out on you. “I just- I’ve just been really stressed about trying to get all this shit done.”

“Really? I can’t tell. You don’t seem stressed at all.” You quietly teased, your sarcasm enough to at least crack a small smile out of his pouted frown.

Pushing the office door open, you softly padded into the room, placing yourself behind Javi’s desk chair and draping your arms around his shoulders, gently resting your chin on his shoulder. His hands reached up to wrap around your arms now resting against his chest, his thumbs rubbing soft circles onto your skin as he let out a heavy sigh, your presence flooding him with at least a little bit of calm amongst the chaos.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” You asked, pecking a soft kiss onto the scratchy stubble of his cheek.

“No, it’s just some paperwork shit.”

“You sure?”

“No, thank you though, Hermosa. I promise I’ll be done soon, baby.”

Javi assumed his reply and gentle pat to your arm still wrapped around him would have enough to send you back out of his office so he could finish the rest of his work, but as your lips began to slowly travel from his cheek to down his neck and back up to nibble at his ear while your hands slid down his chest, he slowly realized that your offer to help had nothing to do with the actual work he needed to finish.

“You sure there’s nothing? It sure seems like you could use some stress relief, Javi.” The tone of your voice shifting from sweet and innocent to low and sultry, the whisper of your words dancing in Javi’s ear and fingertips raking lower across his stomach and thighs making his breath hitch in the back of his throat as he realized what kind of “help” you were planning to offer him.

You smirked as you watched the bulge in his slacks begin to stiffen, your hand just grazing along the seam of his crotch while you kissed his neck, sucking at his pulse point and nipping at his skin. You could practically feel Javi melting into his chair at your touch, hoping that your plan would provide your husband with some much needed stress relief.

“Pobrecito (Poor thing). You’re so tense. And so hard,” You laughed quietly to yourself, hand now cupping the full blown erection in his pants, “You gonna let me help you, baby? Help you get rid of some of this stress?”

You began to swivel his desk chair to face you, Javi’s lips already parted for his heavy breaths as his hungry gaze met yours. Slowly, you climbed into his lap, your legs straddling over his hips as your hands ran up and down his chest, toying with the buttons of his dress shirt to expose his soft and tanned skin.

Your mouths met in a hungry clash of tongues and teeth, capturing Javi’s muffled moans as you kissed him with an electric intensity that already had him needily bucking his hips up into you, desperate to ease how painfully hard he was from the few short moments since your proposition.

Javi could barely find it in his mind to string together a coherent sentence, frantically nodding his head in agreement to your question between sloppy kisses, letting his hands roam down your back until they were grabbing your ass, kneading the plump flesh in his grasp.

“Use your words, Javi. You want me to take care of you?” You cooed, grinding your hips into his lap as you watched his head tip back against the chair, jaw going slack and mind running blank as you rubbed against the straining fabric of his pants.

“Fuck. P-Please, baby.” He moaned, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped, trying to use any ounce of composure he could to somehow make words travel from his brain to his mouth.

“Good boy.” You smirked, placing one last kiss on his lips before climbing off his lap to settle yourself between his legs on the floor, letting your fingers toy with the clasp of his belt buckle until it broke free.

“Fuck me.” Javi whispered to himself under his breath, watching you free his belt to carefully unzip his slacks, lifting his hips just enough to help you pull down his boxers to reveal his aching cock, tip already red and precum weeping from his slit.

“Maybe if you behave and let me take care of you, then yes.” You teased before letting your kisses trail up his thighs, inching closer and closer to his length, only making him groan more. His hand ran through the dark locks of his thick brown hair, trying to center himself enough to keep from busting right then and there.

Your hands ran up and down his thighs as you scooted closer to him, kisses trailing behind the gentle graze of your fingertips up towards his length. You couldn’t help but smirk at him with a devilish grin, seeing how needy and worked up he already was without you even touching him yet.

Letting your lips inch closer and closer to the base of his cock, your hand wrapped carefully around him, your thumb swiping over his tip and collecting the precum that had been leaking from it, sending a shiver down his spine and a low groan in his chest.

Slowly, your kisses made their way up his length, your lips replacing your hand, tenderly licking at sucking at his tip, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. “Relax, Javi. Let me take care of you, okay?” You cooed, letting his cock tap against your tongue before licking a long strip from base to tip, the sensation making him shutter.

“O-kay. Fuck- Yeah, okay, baby.” He managed to stammer out, looking down at you perched between his legs, beginning to sink your mouth down on his length, hollowing out your cheeks until you could feel him hitting the back of your throat, coming back off him with a pop and a satisfied smile, batting your lashes at him.

Javi’s head hit the back of his chair as you began to repeat the motion, slowly taking the full length of his cock in and out of your mouth, letting his tip graze the back of your throat with each movement.

Letting your tongue drag up his shaft, your lips wrapped around his tip, sucking and flicking at his most sensitive spots. One hand was wrapped around his cock and working in tandem with your mouth, while the other grasped at his bare thigh, fingertips digging into his skin.

You began to pick up your pace, shifting your hand to cup his balls so you could take him back into your throat, sinking down just enough to let the deep, musky scent of the curls at the base of his shaft tickle your nostrils.

You couldn’t help but let a small smirk form between your lips as you worked at his cock, seeing and hearing just how wrecked Javi was from the short time that you had gone down on him, quiet whimpers and moans escaping from his lips, followed by muffled whispers of mixed expletives in Spanish and English to himself in any attempt to keep from spilling down your throat just as soon as you had started.

“Jesus fucking Christ… F-fuck me. You feel- mierda- you feel so good, Hermosa.” Javi managed to stammer out between gasps, looking down at you nestled between his legs with a desperate expression painted across his face, already feeling his balls beginning to tense and stomach start to swirl.

While you knew it wouldn’t take much more to get Javi to your intended point of stress relief, you selfishly couldn’t deny the fact that you were now also in need of your own relief, feeling the arousal that had been pooling in your underwear, coating the inside of your thighs and forcing you to squeeze them together in attempts to ease your growing ache.

Pulling off Javi’s cock and planting a soft kiss to his tip, you peered up at him with a devilish grin, phrasing your next proposition as a question, even though you undoubtedly already knew what his answer would be.

“You wanna cum down my throat, or cum inside me? You choose, handsome.” You cooed, fingertips grazing the inside of his thighs as your kisses trailed behind, teasing Javi to the point you were half convinced he might cum just like this, considering his half coherent babbles as he tried to string together words to form any sort of thought.

“I-inside. Fuck- Let me cum inside you, please.” He stammered, nodding his head frantically in confirmation of what you already knew would be his answer.

Gripping your hands around his thighs to push yourself up to stand, you reached down to tug the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, quickly followed by your bra, both now crumpled in a pile on the floor.

You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at how Javi was gawking at you and your now bare chest, eyes bulging out of his skull and jaw hitting the floor as if he was a goddamn cartoon and it was the first time he had seen you topless in his entire life.

Your bottom half slowly followed the same fate as your top, pants and underwear shuffling down your hips and legs until they were pooled around your ankles, leaving you completely naked as you began to crawl back into Javi’s lap.

You let your legs straddle over his hips, your cunt ghosting over his cock as you placed your hands on his stomach, letting them slide up his chest until they were buried in the thick locks of his dark hair, gripping and tugging his curls while your mouth engulfed his in an electric kiss.

A soft moan rumbled in your chest as his firm grasp found a home on your hips, his fingers digging into the meat of your stomach, holding on for dear life while he felt you hovering over his length.

“Please, Hermosa. I need to feel you, baby.” He whispered into your ear, now all but begging for you to sink down onto his cock and let himself get lost in the mesmerizing warmth and wetness of you.

Reaching below you, you wrapped your hand around his cock, positioning it beneath you to lower yourself down, whimpering at the sweet stretch and sting of his girth, letting his tip kiss your cervix as he filled you with every inch of himself that you could take. For as many times as you had found yourself in this position, you were convinced that you would never get over just how full you felt with Javi inside you, and how breathtakingly incredible it felt.

Cupping Javi’s strong jaw in your hands, your forehead rested against his as you let your hips start to grind into his, long and languid circles of your lower half, rolling back and forth, burying Javi’s cock deep inside the warm, wet walls of your cunt.

“Fuck me. Holy fuck.” Javi groaned, his hands snaking up your front to grab your breasts, kneading the soft flesh greedily in his hands. His fingers reached for your pebbled nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index finger, the new sensation sending a jolt of pleasure to your core.

That, combined with the hairs at the base of Javi’s cock rubbing deliciously on your clit and the way Javi’s cock punched against your g-spot was already making you see stars, vision going white and brain going blank from just how good he felt buried inside you.

Instinctively, you rocked your hips faster, feeling an all too familiar tingle begin to build at the base of your spine. Almost as if Javi could sense the way your cunt was starting to clench around his length, he couldn’t help but buck his hips up into yours, his thrusts filling you in a way that had you absolutely reeling and breathless, the two of you both teetering on the brink of collapse to chase your own highs.

“You feel, oh shit- you feel so good, Javi. Feel so good inside me. I’m close, baby.” You whimpered, burying your hands in the sweat curled hairs at the nape of his neck, lost in your own pleasure as your stomach swirled faster and faster with arousal.

You could tell Javi was close, too- The gritting of his teeth, the wild and wanting look in his sweet brown eyes, the sloppy pace of his dick pounding into you and nearly incomprehensible babbles were all the tells you knew far too well to realize he was quickly about to come undone.

“Yeah? F-fuck, I love being inside you. So fucking wet and tight, holy fuck.”

You could feel your walls beginning to tighten around him, moaning as you buried your head in the crook of his shoulder, fingernails digging crescent moons into his skin as you braced yourself for the wave that was about to crash through you.

“Fuck baby, don’t stop- ahhhh- please don’t stop.”

“I know, baby, I know. Let go for me, Osita. Wanna feel you soak my lap before I fuck you full of me. Gonna cum so deep inside this tight little pussy.” Javi reached down so the pads of his fingers rubbed along your clit as you rolled your hips, sinking yourself deeper onto his cock with each thrust, your vision going white as you could feel yourself come undone.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckkkkkkkk!” You cried out as you felt your orgasm pulse through you, pleasure shooting through your body as you came, clamping down around Javi’s cock and gushing with your arousal, your body melting limp into his as he followed suite.

“That’s it, baby. I’m gonna- fuck- g-gonna cum too. Fuck me, gonna fill you so full of me you’re- oh shit- gonna be dripping out of me f-for da- Oh fuckkkkkk-” With a final stutter of his hips, Javi thrust up into you, letting the warm rush of his spend coat your walls, milking himself of every last drop before carefully pulling out, letting the rhythmic breathing of your chests rising and falling sync together.

“Holy fuck.” Javi sighed, kissing your bare shoulder before letting his plush lips peck across your neck and jawline before meeting yours. “I think it worked.”

“Think what worked?” You asked, still trying to come to in your blissed out state, gently combing your fingers through the sweat ridden curls of Javi’s hair, giggling as he knowingly ghosted his fingers across your stomach, smiling to himself at your ticklish laughter.

“The stress relief. God, I love you. I’ll never know what the fuck I ever did to deserve you, but I won’t question it. Thank you, baby.” Javi grinned, softly swiping his thumb across your cheek, leaving his other arm to wrap around your waist and pull him closer to his chest.

“I love you, too, Jav. Glad I could help. Hopefully this was enough motivation to get you through the rest of your work.”

As you started to scoot yourself off Javi’s lap to clean up the mess of arousal, clothes, and a few scattered papers you had left in your wake, you were taken aback to feel his grip tighten around you, holding you in place.

“It’s gonna be a long night, because I’m not even close to being done.” Javi smirked, his tongue darting between his lips as his eyes darkened with a hungry gaze.

“Then you need to let me get off you, you goofball. Last time I checked, your naked wife sitting on your lap isn’t helping anyone to get paperwork done.” You teased, playfully crossing your arms over your chest, tilting your head at Javi in a mix of sass and confusion until a shriek of surprise escaped from your chest as Javi stood up to set you on top of his desk, caging his broad body over yours.

“Oh I’m done with all of this shit,” He paused, gesturing to his desk before letting his kisses lazily trail down your body until he was on his knees with your legs draped over his shoulders, spreading them open to reveal the swollen and glistening mess still between your thighs, “but there’s not a chance in hell I’m done with you.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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crimsonbubble · 1 year ago

Text

cw. nsfw, gn!reader with tiddies, boob jobs, possessiveness, cum play, oral, throat fucking, nipple sucking, choking, masterbation, orgy *not proofread, just pure horny

[DONT ASK HOW I GOT HERE] these are my combined thoughts with @waltzthegenderfluidpan

MINORS DNI!!

i want the shadow company to run a train on me

pls for the love of god use me 💳💥💳💥

anyways

just imagine graves rewarding his shadows for a mission well done and letting his shadows play with you

graves would be possessive enough to make a rule that they can't come in you so he has all his shadows pull out and come on your skin

having you lay naked on the meeting room table while the shadows take turns with you

giving one of them a blow job but graves doesn't even want you to swallow their cum so they cum on your chest at the last second

giving a shadow a boob job and making them cum all over your chest

some shadows being all rough and dom and mean while the others are soft and kinda subby :(((

taking two at the same time, one rough the other soft, perfect mix

the soft one fucking you gently bc they don't want to hurt you :((( bby boy just wants to make you feel good and make you and his commander happy :(((

while the rough one is fucking your throat raw, not caring how much your drooling and going cross eyed as they make you gag on their cock :(((

hands all over you, squeezing everything from your tits to your ass and everywhere in between, adding to the stimulation

the rough one grabbing your throat so they can feel their cock in your throat while the soft one is sucking so gently on you nipples :(( cradling his head so he can keep his mouth on your chest :((

god i love submissive men

graves grunting quietly from the sidelines as he palms himself through his pants, getting off on seeing his boys take such good care of you

feeling the shadows give you soft kisses and short massages after they're done :(((

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years ago

Text

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED 🥰 thanks for reading bby!!!!

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part thirteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you and joel make your reunion official, and deal with the fallout.

a/n: brO I will fully admit I struggled a bit with this one - it’s mostly unedited but I’m still happy with where we’ve ended up. ANGST CITY BABY AS PER USUAL. and my askbox is always open if you’d like to scream about it 😇

word count: 5.3k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, explicit sex, unprotected p-in-v (with a slightly throwaway solution), light choking, very emotional sex (heavily inspired by a scene from outlander 👀), Joel’s head has been fully removed from his ass and Liv is making the most of it.

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works!✨

You feel like you’re moving in slow-motion. Every moment feels drawn out, the emotion tripled, the touch more sensitive, the sound more clear. You’re committing every second to memory, refusing to let yourself think this is a dream.

“I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

Don’t stay away from me, you want to say it a million times over. Don’t ever leave me, don’t let this world swallow me whole without you by my side. You know for a fact you don’t say the words out loud, but he seems to know them anyway. “Never leaving you, baby. Never in a million years.” The words are whispered into your skin, mapped out along the curve of your jaw.

You’re both slow, getting up off the floor. The peals of laughter taste like sugar on his lips, and your mouth chases his, hands reaching, searching, pulling at fabric and pushing at limbs. He hauls you up against him, lifting one thigh until it’s bent over his hip, presses his weight into you. Your neck arches and his lips glue to your pulse, sucking a bruise, tongue soothing the ache it leaves.

Take me to bed.

He does. With one more hungry kiss, he pulls away, planting his hands and pushing himself up, sliding his lips along your collar before he’s gone, shuffling backwards, getting to his feet. He holds both hands out to you, and you take them, groaning as he pulls you up, tugs on your arms, sends you sprawling into his chest.

Joel bands his arm around your shoulders, the other around your waist, seeks out your mouth again.

Never stop kissing me. Never stop holding me.

The riot of butterflies zipping through you feels foreign, almost unfamiliar, but when he pushes his tongue past your teeth, memories rise to the surface, bright spots amongst the dark. Kissing in the paint aisle with coffee on your breath, in the bed of his truck beneath the stars, in the corner of the movie theatre in Austin, in the dead of night when you slept in his bed and sought him out with sleep in the corners of your eyes.

It all feels like a lifetime ago. It is, in a way.

The hand at your waist moves beneath your sweater, the flat of his palm against the small of your back. The mere touch of his skin to yours makes your blood shiver with anticipation and you curl your fingers in the front of his flannel, dark red striped with black. He adjusts his grip on you, slides both hands up your back, presses them to your shoulder blades, the soft pressure making your arms lift, wrapping around his neck, lips still glued to his.

His hands slide back down, rounding the curve of your hips, squeezing at the meat of your ass. He walks you backwards, out of the kitchen, towards the bed, and you waste no time taking over, turning until you’re the one pushing him, your legs crooked between his, boots shuffling together across the wood floor. When the edge of the mattress hits the back of his knees, Joel flinches, your mouths breaking apart.

“Liv, are you—”

“Joel Miller, if you ask me if I’m sure, I swear to god I will smack you with my baseball bat.”

He has the audacity to grin, a sly thing that makes your heart flutter in your chest. “You stashed the bat.”

You scoff, almost exasperated. “Shut the fuck up.” You almost roll your eyes, but he grabs you again, both hands on your face, fingers curling around your ears, sliding into your hair. You slide your own beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking out hot skin, but you freeze when your fingertips skim something raised, a line across his hip, unfamiliar. “What…?”

You half expect him to pull away when you lift the fabric, leaning back enough to get a good look.

“Joel—”

“Outbreak day,” he says, the words hushed, the tone in his voice making your eyes dart back up to his. His hands have slid down to your neck, and you can feel the edge of his thumb rubbing along the hinge of your jaw, the movement soothing. You let your fingers follow the shape of the scar again. “Bullet just skimmed me.” He inhales sharply, leans forward until his forehead is pressed to yours, his eyes shutting tightly. “Same soldier that…” The words trail off, but you put two and two together, taking a deep breath.

Same soldier that shot Sarah.

You move your hands away, instead focusing your fingers on the buttons of his flannel. “I like this shirt,” you murmur, tilting your face in his grip, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Might have to steal this one.”

“You have one of my shirts already,” he replies, his thumb moving up the slope of your cheek. “Saw it in your closet.”

You lift a brow, silently exhaling, grateful for the change of subject. “You went through my stuff?”

He catches your bottom lip in a gentle kiss, his mouth along your jaw a moment later. “Didn’t go through your underwear, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t be mad, if you had,” you reply, letting your lips curve into a wicked grin. He makes a grumbling noise, giving you a harder peck, and you nearly moan.

“You have my shirt.”

You nod. “I had another one, too, but I got caught in the bombings, and it got shredded.”

His brow goes hard, and your hands move to his belt, tugging at the buckle, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. The movement makes his face soften slightly, and he grumbles again, eyes screwed shut. “Don’t like the idea of you, out there, all alone, fighting for your fuckin’ life.”

“Didn’t have a choice,” you tell him, working the button of his jeans neck, letting your fingers graze the skin above the band of his boxers, through the happy trail of hair that leads beneath the elastic. “I had to get to you.”

“Were you hurt?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, and you nod, the tip of your nose dragged along his. “Show me.”

You pull back slightly, reluctantly letting go of his waist, crossing your arms and yanking your sweater over your head. Joel inhales sharply, dropping his hands from your face. He grabs your wrist first, taking in the jagged scar that runs the top of your forearm. “I was holed up in a bookstore when they started bombing,” you tell him, recalling as he lets his fingers skim your skin. It makes you shiver. “Lucky a damn shelf didn’t fall on my head.”

“I remember…” he starts, lifting your arm until your hand rests on his shoulder. He turns his head, leans his cheek against your wrist. “When I called that first night, you said that Dean…that he scratched you, or…?”

You nod, turning your scarred shoulder towards him. “That’s right. You told me to patch myself up.”

His fingers graze over the scar, following the lines in your skin. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, and your shoulder rolls back and he grips your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says, his voice low, forehead leaning into yours. “I’m sorry I was an ass, I’m sorry I took so long, I’m sorry I—”

“Joel—”

“I’m never leaving you again, you hear me?” You’ve got both hands in his hair now, and the shine in his eyes makes tears crawl up your throat. “I won’t ever lo—”

“Joel.”

“I should have been here,” he says, his voice thick, and a tear slips down your cheek, hot as anything. “I should have protected you, I should have told you to stay in Austin, I never should have let you go.”

You tighten your grip on his hair, pushing yourself further into his grasp. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters, you understand?” When he doesn’t respond, you tug on his hair, forcing his eyes to yours. “You’re here now. We both are.”

The next kiss he offers destroys you. It’s like he’s devouring you, drinking the air from your lungs, tasting every inch of your mouth, pulling you back to the thrill and pleasure and love you felt in Texas so many years ago. There’s nothing slow about his movements now, hands roving your body, careful around your ribs, but mapping you out, relearning the curve of you. There are other scars on you, tiny marks collected outside the wall, too-close run-ins and that one time you fucking tripped and fell on your knife, but he doesn’t ask about those, too preoccupied with your mouth.

After a while, he sinks down, sits at the edge of the mattress. He spreads his knees wide, brings you between them, undoing your jeans with ease, pushing them down your legs. He leaves a hot trail of kisses along your waist, hooks his fingers in the elastic of your underwear, pulling them down too. Joel’s head dips lower, one hand pushing your legs apart, and you gasp when he licks at you, nose buried right between your thighs.

You gasp, tugging on his hair, and he pulls back, eyes on your face, lips shiny already. You’re quivering, having him this close again. “D’you have any idea how much I’ve missed the taste of you, baby?”

The words alone are enough to make your knees go weak, and you open your mouth to say something, but only a moan comes out, his head lowered to you once more, both hands an iron grip on your hips. It’s ecstasy, the feeling of his mouth, the press of his fingers, the softness of his hair. It makes your toes curl, makes stars shoot across the backs of your eyelids.

“Joel.”

He moans into you, and you pull hard on his hair, gasping for air when he detaches from the nerves between your legs. You feel staticky, your fingers and toes tingling as you tilt his head back, bend down to kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. You go to lift your leg, to plant your knee on the bed beside him, but Joel stops you, getting to his feet.

“What—”

His fingers fly down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning as he goes. Your chest is heaving, eyes darting all over him as more bare skin is revealed. You can see the scar just above his hip now, raised and shiny. He has other scars, just like you, tiny marks and wounds, proof of life, proof he survived. You can’t help but reach for him, running your palms up his chest as he shrugs out of his shirt.

Joel kisses your forehead as he drapes the shirt around you, helping you slide your arms through the sleeves. Faintly, you hear the soft thud as his jeans hit the floor, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him as he sinks back down onto the mattress. He curls his other hand around your leg, tugging at your knee until it’s fit against his hip. You adjust your weight, lifting the other leg to match, and settle into his lap, feeling the light scratch of the hair on his legs against your thighs, the prod of his covered cock against your core.

“D’you need me to—” he starts, but you shake your head, cutting him off, your faces so close together that your nose brushes his again.

“I just wanna feel you.”

Joel watches, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils wide, as you grab his wrist, lifting his hand to your mouth, laving your tongue along his fingers, tasting the salt on his skin. His gaze is glued to your lips, your tongue, and when you slide his index and middle into your mouth, your eyes lock to his, and his grip on your waist grows impossibly tighter.

You lean up slightly, lifting your weight off him as he pulls his hand from your face, slipping between you, freeing himself. He fits his face into the curve of your neck, sucks at the thin skin over your pulse, and you let your eyes slip shut. Your fingers curl in the cuffs of his shirt, the fabric worn soft between your knuckles. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of him.

His hand drags slowly against you, making your back arch when you sink back down, feeling the hot press of him inside you, scrabbling at his shoulders as his mouth moves up your throat, seeks out your lips once more. You’re gasping as you seat yourself fully, his cock filling you to the hilt, and Joel kisses the noises right out of you, moving both hands to your hips, guiding you along him.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, teeth nipping at your lips, moving along your jaw. You’re a mess, the feeling of him, of being full of him, after so long is so achingly familiar that all you can do is hold onto him, pushing both hands through his hair, keeping him as close as you can. It’s a stretch, there’s no denying that, just riding the line between pleasure and pain, but you don’t care, letting your knees slide wider on the bed, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace, letting him push agains tall those devastating places buried inside you.

It makes you feel alive.

“Missed you,” he breathes into your skin, hips jolting up into yours with every drag of his cock. “Every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ minute. Never stopped thinkin’ about you, baby.”

“Joel—” you croak out, that coil in your belly snapping tight when you feel his teeth scrape beneath your jaw, one hand dipping back to grab a handful of your ass. But every movement is slow still, a drawn-out instant that blurs the line between past and present.

It sparks something in you, something that’s been waiting to be unleashed for God only knows how long. A near toxic mix of anger and longing and pain and love, emotion spilling out of you unbidden. You shove at his shoulders, catching him off guard as he falls back. He reaches for you, and you bat his hands away, planing both of yours and chest and grinding down on him.

“You were an ass to me, Joel Miller,” you grit, pleasure setting your nerves alight. You can feel your orgasm barrelling towards you, but you hold back, bearing down on him, revelling in the sound he makes when you clench tight.

“I know,” he starts to say, his voice gravelly. “I’m sorry, baby, I—”

You move one hand from is chest to his jaw, your fingers spread along the side of his neck. You lean forward just enough that his eyes meet yours, and everything in you buzzes at the lust-filled look in his eye, his parted lips, his heavy breaths. Something possessive and feral makes your heart racket.

“You ever treat me the way you have these last few weeks again, and I swear to God—” the words are punctuated by deep rolls of your hips, long drags that make his chest stutter, “—I will make you regret the day you met me, you understand?”

“Liv, ba—” he starts, and you squeeze your fingers either side of his throat.

“Do you understand?” you repeat, and lift yourself off him, until just the tip of him is notched inside you.

“Yes,” he breathes, and you slam back down, mouth seeking his, drinking down the groans the spill out of him. Everything in you is tingling, white sparks behind your eyes, your blood singing in your veins. He grabs hold of your wrists and leans up, chest pressed to yours, a grunt on his lips and a gleam in his eye.

The world tilts, and your back hits the mattress, Joel still pressed deep within you. He moves up the bed with you, covers your body with his own. He cages his arms around your head, pushes the hair back from your face. You drag your nails up his back, dig them into his shoulder blades slightly. You want to mark him, you want to shout his name until your lungs give out, you want to—

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” he murmurs to you, his mouth an inch from your ear, hot breath fanning your cheek. He presses a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “My brave girl.” He rolls his hips, and your back arches off the mattress. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

You croak his name, tossing your head back as the familiar feeling creeps up your spine, the world being yanked out from under you, everything going impossibly tight and good and—

He grits out your name as you cum, your nails dug so hard into his back you’re sure you’ll draw blood, but Joel doesn’t seem to care, continuing the slow drag of his cock against your every nerve, his face fit into the curve of your neck, peppered kisses at your pulse. It’s just as intense as you remember, with him, that feeling of weightlessness seeping into you, everything relaxing as he keeps moving, seeking out his own pleasure, and you can’t help but clench, spurring him on.

At the last second, he pulls out, making you both groan, cumming hot across your bare stomach, just missing the fabric of his shirt. He slumps sideways, falling onto the mattress beside you, keeping his arm across your body, fingers wrapped around your bicep.

“M’sorry,” he grumbles, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Wasn’t sure where to…”

You just laugh, moving his shirt out of the way. “It’s fine, Joel,” you murmur, reaching out and stroking your knuckles along his cheek. “We’re good, just for future reference.”

His brow raises slowly. “Hmm?”

“McCoy has a few…habits,” you tell him, sighing when his hand moves up to your face, cups your jaw. “I smuggle his shit in from the outside, and he gets me the pill from the pharmacy in exchange.”

“Why would you—” he starts to ask, but cuts himself off, eyes slipping shut. “Right. Cowan. Of all the guys you could have…”

You slide your head closer to his, until you can kiss him softly. “It doesn’t matter now. None of it.”

Joel grunts, pulling you even closer still, a hotter kiss pressed to your mouth, tongue tasting yours. “You were the only thing that ever did.”

“You’re a romantic, Joel Miller,” you grin, rubbing your nose against his.

He grins back. “Only for women who put their hands around my throat and threaten me like you did.”

You chew your lips, heat sparking between your legs again already, turned to flame when he releases your jaw and lets his hand rest on your thigh instead, fingers curling along your sensitive skin. “Oh, you enjoyed that, did you?”

“Fuckin’ right, I did,” he grumbles, and then his mouth finds yours once more.

You’re up just before the sun is.

You don’t bother with the clock, turning back over, burrowing deeper into Joel’s side, the blankets covering you both. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm beneath your head, the other resting on his stomach. It makes you smile; some things never change, and you’re grateful as hell for that.

The pair of you never left the bed last night. After you cleaned yourself up from the first round, it had very quickly devolved into a second and third. Joel couldn’t keep his hands off you, and you couldn’t keep yours off of him, touching and exploring each other until the last dregs of sunlight disappeared. He made you feel things you’d thought were long forgotten, mere memories of what you’d shared in Austin, renewed completely, leaving you reeling.

You lit candles along the windowsill, played music low on the radio — a copy of the same Led Zeppelin cassette you’d once played in Joel’s truck — and polished off the bottle of whiskey. And you talked.

For hours.

You talked until your voice grew hoarse, and Joel’s just got more and more gravelly with every story he told. There were things he still wouldn’t tell you, things he said he was ashamed of, but you understood. There were some stories that required more than just whiskey, ones you weren’t ready to share. You weren’t the same people anymore, but a combination of new and old, survivors, people who had done what they had to to make it out alive. Make it back to each other.

Joel refused to let you out of his grip, and you were more than happy to oblige, content to stay perched in his lap as you spoke. His hands wandered, along your ribs, over your stomach, brushing the hair back from your face. You returned his touch in kind, palms riding the curves of his chest, the width of his shoulders. Your attention veered off more than once, distracted by his fingers sliding between your legs, lips finding yours, rasped words in your ear.

God, I missed you. Love you. Need you.

And now, waking up, your body not so shockingly aches for more. You cuddle closer, humming happily when his arm curls around your shoulders, head turning and his lips moving across your forehead. You sling your arm across his stomach, rubbing your thumb across his hipbone. His legs flex beneath the sheets, tangling with your own, dragging you closer.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his eyes still shut, removing his hand up and down your arm.

“Hi,” you whisper back, lifting your jaw to kiss at his scruffy one. “It’s early, go back to sleep.”

Joel groans, burying his face in your pillow, his head ducked beneath yours lips near your ear. “W’bout you?” He squeezes your shoulder. “Stay.”

You have time to make up for, questions that still need answering, decisions to make. You want to assume that he’ll stay with you here, in your apartment, that the bed that has only been your own thus far would now belong to you both. Waking up like this, beside him — a luxury you’d never allowed yourself to grow used to back in Texas — nearly makes up for it all.

But with the threads of sunlight just starting to spark the sky, Joel beside you, the phantom feeling of him all over you, the heaviness of all the whiskey looming in the back of your throat, the guilt comes too, the unfairness of your situation, to one specific person.

Nick.

Joel had asked only once. Only one question, only one thing he was curious to know. And the answer had come so quickly, fallen out of you so fast that the guilt had started there, only to be pushed away by Joel, not by his words or his reassurances, but just his presence.

Did you love him? Do…do you love him?

No.

The answer was easy. And, you hadn’t lied to Nick. You’d never said the words, no matter how many times he’d had that gleam in his eye, when you disappeared out the fire escape, or ran into him out on patrols. It would have been a lie, plain and simple, and you refused to be that person. You had wanted to give him more, had felt like it was something deserved, even if it wasn’t something you were able to give. After five long years, you’d started to resign yourself, half convinced that no one was ever going to answer your radio messages, or walk through those gates, back into your life.

But then…Joel did.

You have to end it, with Nick. Officially. There’s no getting around it, and part of you wonders if he’ll see it coming, if he’s expecting it. In the weeks that followed him bringing Tess and Joel through officially, your stint in lockup, the beating from Angie, you’d made yourself scarce. The weight of Joel’s indifference was one thing, and the last thing you wanted was Nick’s sympathy. It felt false, no matter how you looked at it.

It was a good few days before you saw him on the streets again, and he’d balked at the bruise on your face, the slight stagger to your walk. You gave him the short version, that you’d definitely pissed Angie off at the pharmacy, and maybe you had the beating coming. He’d given you a once over, took your chin in his hand and inspected your face, told to come see him later that night.

“I shouldn’t,” you said, trying not to sound too dismissive, shaking your head in his grip. “I’m staying at Deanna’s, promised the kids a bedtime story.”

“Come after.”

“And get caught out after curfew?” you’d shot back, stepping out of his reach. “The last thing I need is another stint in lockup, don’t you think?”

“Liv—”

“I’ll see you around, Cowan.”

You’d turned on your heel, stalking off in the same direction you’d came, even though it wasn’t where you were going. You didn’t miss the hurt look on his face, the use of his surname rather than his first clearly not what we was expecting, but your face and ribs throbbed with every step you took, and you found you didn’t feel so bad about it.

He’d come by Deanna’s once while you were there. A few words were exchanged, you’d kept yourself busy with a game of Candyland with Emily, and Deanna and Nick talked in the kitchen, their voices hushed. He ruffled Henry’s hair and pinched Emily’s cheek before he left, and ducked down to leave a kiss at your temple. It made your cheeks flare with heat, and you’d followed him out of Deanna’s apartment, caught him in the hallway.

“I never thanked you properly. For getting Joel and Tess through.”

He stopped, dead in his tracks, for just a moment. Turned his head enough that you could just see his face, his hard expression. “Don’t mention it.”

That was the last time you saw him.

You’re reluctant, sliding out of Joel’s grip, out of bed. He makes a noise that sounds nearly like a whine when you disentangle yourself fully, and you lean over him, pressing messy kisses along his cheeks, over his lips, his jaw. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be back.”

“Where y’going?” he grumbles out, chasing your mouth. “Come back t’bed, baby.”

“There’s something I gotta go,” you tell him, kissing his cheek, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I’ll come back and make you breakfast, hmm?”

“Mmm,” is the only response you get, and he’s asleep again, buried in your pillow.

You can’t bring yourself to shed his shirt, so you do up the buttons instead, find a pair of black jeans that are still wearable, shove your feet in your boots. Pulling on your coat, you grab your keys, and pause, turning and glancing back towards the bed. Joel’s still asleep, flat on his back, lips parted, soft snores filling the apartment, and despite the guilt rioting in your stomach, you smile. He looks peaceful, for the first time since you saw him again. He looks like your bed is where he belongs.

You yank your eyes away, slipping out the door as quietly as possible and locking it behind you.

It’s just past the morning curfew, when you step out of the building. The streets are mostly empty, soldiers coming off evening patrols, the day shift switching out. You take the quick path to the barracks, sliding up the fire escape, knocking softly at the window.

Nick’s awake, pulling on his gear, and his eyes meet yours through the glass as he walks towards the window, sliding it open. “What are you doing here so early?” There’s a bit of curiosity in his tone, but otherwise, his voice is flat, unflinching.

“I need to talk to you.”

He steps out of the way, and you clamber through the window, ignoring the ache in your legs, no doubt a consequence of your evening escapades. If he sees you flinch, he says nothing.

Nick goes and perches at the edge of his bed, and you stay standing, near the window. A quick escape. “What’s going on, Liv?”

“I can’t…we, I’m not…” You sigh heavily. Might as well just fucking say it. “I slept with Joel.”

He barks a laugh, and you nearly flinch. “Am I supposed to be surprised?” He leans forward, clasps his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “When?”

“Last night. I’m sorry, for whatever that’s worth. I don’t expect you to keep…treating me, the way you have. I don’t expect any more favours, or—”

“What would you have done,” he starts, getting to his feet, cutting you off, “if I had said no? If I had refused to bring them through?”

Your back straightens at his harsh tone. You’re not expecting forgiveness, or for this to be an easy conversation, but you already don’t like where it’s going. “I would have found another way. I would have made another deal, or let Angie beat me to death, if that’s what it took. I would have done anything.”

Nick just stares at you, for a moment, those strange eyes of him going dark, nearly black, darker than you’ve seen them in a long time. “You really love him that much.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I never stood a goddamn chance, did I? Could you ever have loved me, like that?”

You shake your head. “I can’t love anyone the way I love him.”

“I never should have fucking…” He trails off, rubs a hand over his face. “Did you ever even give a shit, really?”

“Nick, don’t—”

“Well, now’s the time for honesty, Liv! Answer the fucking question.”

“Of course I give a shit!” you throw back, taking a step forward. He stares down his nose at you. “Of course I care about you, Nick, but this is not…It’s him. I’m sorry, I truly am, but it’s always been him. It’s always gonna be him.”

“Get out.”

“Nick—”

“Get the fuck out. And do me a goddamn favour and keep your smuggling bullshit away from me. I know I can’t stop you, and there’s no point in me reporting you, you’d just rat me out.”

You balk, faltering back a step. “You really think that little of me? You honestly think I’d rat you out after this?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I do.”

You inhale sharply. You knew it would be bad, but you didn’t think this bad. “I never meant for it to happen like this. I never thought he would show up. Don’t you get that?”

“Just…get out of here, Liv. Don’t come back.”

There are tears in your eyes, the whole way back. You take the long route back to your apartment, keeping to the streets, pushing your way through people. Every word Nick had said rings in your ears, your throat thick and your cheeks stinging. You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears from sliding down your face.

When you get through the door, your eyes go straight to the bed, and your heart leaps into the throat when you see it’s empty, the blankets rumpled. A single tears slips out then, and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your coat.

“Liv?” Joel’s voice calls, and your head snaps towards the kitchen, seeing him standing there at the counter, no shirt, jeans still unbuckled. “Baby?”

You throw yourself at him, headlong into his arms, and he catches you, holding you against his bare chest. The tears come freely then, a whirlwind of emotions, and Joel just holds you through it, fitting his face into the crook of your neck, rocking you slightly, one hand buried in your hair.

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#yeah the throat thing 😏😏😏😏 joel miller has subby tendencies and i’ll die on this hill #comment reply #mutual bbys

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vngelicc · 1 year ago

Text

⊹₊ ⋆ “he love how i ride it, hop on that dick i make him get excited,”

TAGS — dilf!jk, riding, creampie, dirty talk, slight fingering (brief lol), reader’s a soft good girl, praise kink(?), brief masturbation (male), jk is obsessed with his bby, riding it good wooo, reader’s like a shy good girl uwu, nasty flip-flopping sex, daddy kink to the MAX, she’s subby but kinda bratty, jk has a high sex drive LMAO, mentions of future pregnancy at the end

WORD COUNT — 1.9 k

Jungkook’s insatiable when it comes to you–even more now that you two started sleeping with each other. You didn’t mind at first until you realized it was a bit harder to keep up with him and his high sex drive. He fucked like a man on death row, like he was never going to see you again or something. You were left fucked out but positively bruised.

How Hani hasn’t walked in on you two yet is still a mystery to you with the amount of times you two go at it. If you were down in the kitchen, Jungkook had you on the counter spread out within seconds of walking in. Watching a movie with Jungkook? That won’t last long, you’re lucky if you even get to see the beginning of it. It gets worse when Hani says she’s going out for the day (he will NOT let you out of his sight at all).

Needless to say you weren’t complaining about the situation, you were just as needy as Jungkook was.

“Hey baby.” Jungkook pops his head into your room with a tiny smile, “What you up to?”

You stopped typing on your laptop and spun around in your chair to greet him with a soft hum, “Finishing up this essay, ‘s due by the end of the week.” You mumble and look down to see him holding something from behind the door, “What you got there?”

“A snack for my hard-working girl.” He grins and steps in, holding up the piping hot bowl of ramen that instantly has your mouth watering. “Figured you could use something since you’ve been cooped up in here for days now baby.” He makes his way over and sets the food on the side table.

“Thank you.” You shyly reply and take his hands in yours, “You’re the best..” Jungkook squeezes your hands gently, “How was your day? I didn’t see you when I came home from class.” You run your thumb over his knuckles tenderly.

“Boring without you baby. Had you on my mind the entire time.” He grins mischievously, and you already know where this is heading. “Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout your pretty little lips and sweet little noises.” He slips one of his hands up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over your soft pillowy lips.

Your eyes flutter coyly and you lean into his touch, “..missed you too.” You mumble out and let your eyes drop down to his chest where the top two buttons sit unbuttoned, “Missed you lots.” You breathily whisper out.

Jungkook must notice how glazed over your eyes look because he smiles at you deviously and chuckles quietly, “Yeah baby? You were thinkin’ bout daddy too?” He says as he tugs your chair and makes it roll over in front of him, “Tell me what you were thinking about sweetheart.”

“You. Wanted to..wanted you daddy,” you softly mewl, “didn’t like how we couldn’t finish this morning, you left me hanging daddy.” You press your thighs together, rubbing them slowly as a soft pout forms on your lips.

Jungkook licks his lips hungrily, “Baby’s upset she didn’t get to cum in the morning? Didn’t I make you cum two times before that baby? What a greedy girl I got, needs more than my fingers in her slutty little pussy.” He smacks your thighs apart, “Open up for me, don’t be a brat.”

You whine quietly and let your thighs fall open for him, shivering when he slides his hand up, “Daddy…it-it isn’t fair! Y-You said that you will always make me cum however many times I want.” You yelp when he smacks your inner thigh.

“Don’t get mouthy with me baby, where did my sweet girl go? You’ll take what I give you won’t you baby?” He says as his eyes narrow, “Unless you’re being a bad girl?”

Your heart beats faster and you shake your head vehemently, “I’m not a bad girl daddy, ‘m a good girl.”

“Then act like it.” Jungkook pulls back and stands, “Since my baby’s so desperate for my cock why don’t you prep yourself, get you nice and stretched with your fingers. Go on,” he sits on your bed, legs wide apart as he man spreads and leans back.

A small whimper threatens to escape your throat as you watch him, you can feel your mouth salivating as drool threatens to slip past your lips. “Go on.” He nods, “Don’t keep me waiting.” With that you reach down to slip your cotton shorts down your thighs, your panties come down with them but you let them dangle around one ankle as you bring your knees up on the chair, spreading your legs wide as your pussy’s out for his pleasure.

“There you go baby,” Jungkook darkly mutters as he unbuckles his own slacks, “touch yourself for me.” He licks his lips.

A shudder runs through your body, goosebumps erupting all over your body as you shyly bring your hand down to part your slicked up pussy lips. He groans low when you show off your puckered up hole shiny with slick, he’s got his own cock out of his boxers, hand steadily stroking himself. “Look at you,” he sighs, “so messy.”

You let your fingers dip low at your hole, you tease yourself a tiny bit by slipping the tip of your finger in before you slip it back out and circle them around your clit. You softly moan his name and repeat your actions from before a few more times until your pussy is slicked up and dripping. “Go on baby, slip ‘em inside and get yourself ready for my cock.” He purrs.

“Daddy.” You whine out and curl your fingers as you stuff your pussy full with your ring and middle finger. “Don’t wanna stretch myself out, wanna have you inside already.” You let your head loll back as you speed your fingers up with a quiet whine.

Slicked up noises filled the space between you, slick dribbles down between your ass cheeks and on to the desk chair. Your fingers are soaked and your poor clit throbs from lack of attention. This wouldn’t be happening if Jungkook wasn’t making you tease yourself. “Daddy please,” you whimper, “wanna ride you.”

“Yeah baby? Gonna do all the work and let daddy lay there while you use my cock to get off?” Jungkook groans as he speeds up his movements, “Fuck, get over here baby. Sit on my cock,” he slides the rest of his pants right off, “c’mon.” He coos.

You eagerly let your fingers slip out and you make your way over to him, happily climbing over as you crawl up the bed and over his lap. “Please daddy,” you beg softly and settle on to his lap nicely.

“Go on, you know what to do baby.” Jungkook smacks one of your ass cheeks, “Show me you’re my good girl.” He grins.

You grip the base of his cock with one hand and lift your hips up to position your pussy over the head of his cock, “So fucking wet,” he mumbles and watches with hooded eyes, “like that baby, there you go.” He bites his lip.

Your lips part in a silent moan as you slowly inch yourself downwards on his cock, the stretch is a bit painful but not by much. When you sit fully on his lap you’re eager to have your way with him right off the bat. You set your hands on his chest for balance and begin grinding your hips in slow sensual motions.

“Shit.” Jungkook grunts as his head falls back on the pillow, “ ‘s good, pussy so warm and wet ‘round my cock. Got you drippin’ all over me.” He rolls his hips upward as if he wants to slip in deeper somehow.

The shift has you whining and grinding down on him harder, his cock just presses up against all your sweet spots just right. You can feel stars bursting behind your eyelids as you lean your head back.

“Daddy,” you whimper out and grind faster, “please—feels so good, can feel it here,” you set a hand over your lower abdomen, “so deep.” Your words come out slurred.

Jungkook cusses under his breath when you hears you talk like that, “Oh fuck baby,” he whispers, “look at you, desperate little thing you are. You like the way my cock fills you baby? Fills you up just right don’t it?” He runs his hands over your soft cheeks before he smacks both hard and jiggles them in his hands.

You nod your head rapidly, muffling your own whimpers as you begin bouncing in his lap. His cock strikes your g-spot with every bounce, your thighs shake and loud smacks fill the entire room. The sounds you two make are fucking filthy—wet, messy, hot—the bed frame begins rocking into the wall.

“Daddy please,” you bring his hands up to wrap around your waist, “ ‘m getting tired, can’t do it anymore.” You whimper out as your bouncing comes to a stop. You lay down on top of him, idly grinding back and forth.

“You want daddy to fuck you sweetheart? Need me to take over and fuck you so good?” Jungkook moans as he turns his face to hide in your neck, peppering kisses all over.

“Please.” You whisper back and turn to slot your lips against his in a sloppy little kiss.

Jungkook sighs into the kiss and readjusts his grip on your waist before he begins fucking up into your battered pussy. Loud fopping noises resonate as he fucks you like a animal. You bury your hands in his hair and grip it tightly as he plows you from below.

“Baby,” he moans out, “feels so fucking good, gripping me so tight.” He whispers in your ear over the loud squelching noises your pussy makes when his cock slams into you over and over again.

“Mm..! T-There, right there,” you beg softly and meet him thrust for thrust, “gonna cum daddy.” You reach behind to move one of his hands, “Want you to touch me here daddy.” You tug it towards your aching clit.

Jungkook growls low and his thumb immediately finds your clit, rubbing the tender bud side to side rapidly. His hips smack into your ass over and over as he sends you hurtling towards your much awaited orgasm.

“J-Jungkook..!” You cry out and stiffen, your back arches and hips raise as you cum hard all over him and his stupidly perfect cock. “S-So good,” you gasp out.

He grabs your ass tight with one hand as he continues fucking into you until he’s coming too. “Shit baby,” he gasps and rolls his hips slowly, “shit..” He chuckles breathily and lays there blinking slowly, “Made a mess.”

You lay tiredly on him and bury your face in his neck, “Mm..” Your drained, that fucking really took the life out of you, “I didn’t get to eat my ramen.” You mumble out.

“Let’s clean up and take a nap, yeah baby? You worked too hard today on your essay, take some time off.” Jungkook whispers and presses a kiss to your temple. You nod to his words and head over to the bathroom together.

You miss the telltale signs of your watch that sits on your dresser beeping, next to it lies your open pack of birth control, something you completely forget about even after the nap, and then the day after that, and after that…

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#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook

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