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will byers stan first human second

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@alwayssnivellus
If your account looks like this, Im gonna assume you’re spam and do the report/block combo, so please do something with your profile other than simply having an icon because you will be reported as spam and blocked by me personally:)
real - dbf!bucky barnes
word count: 5.3k disclaimer: uncle kink. (not actual uncle, it's reader's dad's best friend.) all characters are 18+. there was no grooming and no attraction on Bucky's end until a few years after reader was an adult. medication overuse and other dark themes I don't want to spoil SO you have been warned, read at your own discretion. *please note: follows immediately after the events of simple. a/n: hope y'all enjoy.
✦ series masterlist ~ previous part ~ next part ✦
~~~
your head is pounding.
what are you doing? what the hell have you gotten yourself into?
it’s one thing to secretly harbor a crush, for years, on the man who helped raise you.
it’s another thing entirely to drag him into your bullshit. to admit, out loud, a number of truths you had fought yourself over for years. to let him know how you feel.
simple - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes
word count: 3.4k based on this ask. disclaimer: uncle kink. (not actual uncle, it's reader's dad's best friend.) all characters are 18+. you have been warned. read at your own discretion. *please note: there was no grooming and no attraction on Bucky's end until a few years after reader was an adult. a/n: uh heavy on the feels because I can. I'm sorry this is crap... I haven't properly written in a long time. this is the one that was supposed to be titled 'older' but I renamed it.
✦ series masterlist ~ previous part ~ next part ✦
~~~
there's something in the way he looks at you that makes you feel like you're on a pedestal. like you're the only thing worth looking at, the only thing he could ever want to look at.
the way his gaze lingers even in mixed company. when he's supposed to be careful, cautious. when you're supposed to be nothing more than close family friends.
he can't help it. neither of you can, really.
even when you feel like all you see in his eyes is that insatiable hunger, that deep-seated lust that's all for you, you know he cares. even when you're getting lost in the sensation of him taking you from behind, gripping your throat tightly, whispering all his dirty thoughts in your ear...
he's never been anything but good to you.
party - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes
word count: 1.9k based on this ask. disclaimer: uncle kink. (not actual uncle, it's reader's dad's best friend.) all characters are 18+. this chapter has some themes of dub-con but it's all fully consensual don't worry. you have been warned. read at your own discretion. a/n: I LITERALLY ONLY PROOFED THIS ONCE BUT I SO BADLY WANT TO POST.
✦ series masterlist ~ previous part ~ next part ✦
~~~
"Bucky, this is a bad idea," you tell him as you watch him shut the door to your bedroom behind you. "there's a million people downstairs. my parents will be looking for me."
your protests fall on deaf ears as he steps closer, staring you down with those eyes that somehow manage to both scare you and make you feel like the only girl in the world.
his hands come to hold you by your waist, not once breaking eye contact with you as he approaches. "then tell me you'd rather go back downstairs."
his words are a challenge, and even though you know better than to play his games...
he's right.
what if - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes
word count: 1.6k disclaimer: uncle kink. (not actual uncle, it's reader's dad's best friend.) all characters are 18+. moderate depictions of anxiety. you have been warned, read at your own discretion. a/n: based on this ask. I missed uncle bucky so much! also this was not supposed to be sad but then I had a day so this is for all the anxious readers!!!
✦ series masterlist ~ previous part ~ next part ✦
~~~
"god, you're so perfect like this," he whispers like a prayer into your skin, his warm breath making you shiver.
your parents had finally gone away for the weekend, after a lot of subtle hints and encouragement from you. "it'll be good to get away, just the two of you..." is what you would tell them.
they couldn't have known you wanted them to leave for more... selfish reasons. you just wanted a weekend where you didn't feel like you had to sneak around.
It's me again but I'm horny rn so I'm gonna send you multiple reqs
Dbf! Bucky overstimulating you till you're crying. And he coos and mocks you as you make a mess.
-🦋
night out - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes
word count: 2.2k disclaimer: uncle kink. (not actual uncle, it's reader's dad's best friend.) all characters are 18+. you have been warned, read at your own discretion. a/n: oh fuck yes. I'm making dbf!bucky a series now guys so this is like the second installment because I am obsessed.
✦ series masterlist ~ previous part ~ next part ✦
~~~
"bye, Dad, I'll be back later," you call out as you begin to unlock the front door, hoping to run out before he asks any questions.
"hold on," he calls out, and you hear him walking down the hallway to talk to you. you wince, fuck, now you're going to have to explain yourself.
"where are you off to? you're all fancy," he comments, indicating to your dress, then making a confused expression when he sees the tote bag draped over your shoulder.
"I'm going to dinner," you tell him. a truth.
you tell him you're going with a friend and her family. "it's her birthday," you excuse. a lie. "so I'm going to spend the night at her place afterwards." a half-truth?
"what restaurant are you going to?" he asks you. you shrug and tell him you're not sure. a truth.
"send her parents our regards," he tells you.
"I will." a lie.
YOU WANTED more thoughts?? here i am.
mean n possessive dads best friend bucky whose always known you have a crush on him
OR (and?)
also you yapping n overthinking and bucky stopping you by fucking you
-@nevereclipse
sneaky - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes
word count: 1.8k disclaimer: please be warned this is... deranged. uncle kink. (not actual uncle because it's dbf) BOTH ARE FULLY GROWN ADULTS 18+ OKAY. you have been warned, read at your own discretion.
✦ series masterlist ~ next part ✦
~~~
sneaking around with your dad's best friend probably wasn't the best idea you'd ever had.
what made it worse? every time your dad referred to him as your "Uncle Bucky." you cringed every time you heard it.
yeah, that's who he was to you your whole life. but hearing it now, knowing what you knew...
it put a bad taste in your mouth. a reminder of what you absolutely should not be doing.
but the way he fucks you isn't worth giving up just for peace of mind.
you wonder, sometimes, if that's what people who cheat on their partners think. that no matter how wrong it is, how many people you hurt, it just feels too goddamn good to give up. they're willing to go to insane lengths to keep the secret and keep their families together. they want to have their cake and eat it too.
because even though neither of you are cheating on anybody, that's exactly what you're both doing.
~~~
"fuck, that's my girl," he groans as you get down on your knees in front of him. you'd been sitting on his couch, watching something on netflix, anything, when you got carried away. only thirty seconds into the show.
maybe you're just insane, but there's something about being on your knees for him, bowing down to him, knowing how wrong this is...
he's supposed to be a father figure in your life, and what are you doing? you're blowing him with no remorse for your actions. you've done it before, and you're looking forward to doing it again.
his hands massage your scalp, encouraging you, "come on. be good. you can take it all," he says, pushing further into your throat and holding your head there, making you take it.
"love seeing you take all of me. love knowing I'm the only one who gets to fuck this little throat, huh? ain't that right? my own personal call girl?"
steve has a bad day (or, you take care of him~)
a/n: HUGE thanks to my lovelies @54nboo, @chateaubarnes, @blowingbarnes, @heldbybarnes, @earthsmightiestbenders @houseofhyde @juniebjonesin this one's for y'all <333, not proofread we die like jason todd, i blame bwa (lovingly) for this
content: smut ! so much smut. seriously don't like don't read my loves. MDNI! steve rogers needs someone to take care of him ig. blowjobs, edging, some denial, steve rogers being a whiny bitch <3
I know we're talking about mean Steve and we love mean Steve, but may I get some sweet Steve getting laid in that stupid sailor costume, I think he earned it after season 3
I really liked the little costume...
screams i love the little sailor suit too. my little loser.
steve didn’t actually expect you to be there.
you’d said it.. half flirty, half teasing.. that you’d be waiting for him after his shift. but steve harrington hadn’t really gotten a girl’s attention in… god, longer than he cared to admit. so when he stepped out of starcourt in that dumb sailor costume and saw you leaning against his beamer, arms crossed and smirk tugging at your lips, his throat went dry.
his heart stuttered. his cock twitched, embarrassingly obvious in the too tight shorts. you were actually here. waiting. for him.
“thought you were joking,” he rasped, tossing his keys from one sweaty palm to the other like it might make him look cooler than he felt.
“nope,” you grinned. “you said i should let you take me for a ride. i’m just holding you to it.”
by the time he unlocked the car and slid into the backseat with you, his hands were shaking.
the stupid sailor hat’s already been tossed somewhere into the front seat, his shirt all crooked, the nautically striped neckerchief hanging limp against his chest. he’s flushed pink from neck to hairline, hair sticking up from where he kept tugging off the cap all shift.
it’s not long before you straddle him without ceremony, your skirt hitched up, panties shoved aside, his belt barely undone. he’s so hard it’s almost comical, cock heavy and thick in your hand as you line him up. his breath stutters the second you press the wet head against your pussy, slick smearing over him.
“jesus christ,” he groans, voice cracking. “you’re—you’re really gonna—”
“yeah,” you purr, sinking down inch by inch until he’s splitting you open. “you promised me a ride. you don’t get to back out now, sailor.”
he chokes on a laugh that turns into a moan when you bottom out, his broad chest arching up into yours. his hands clamp tight on your hips, fingers digging like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
“holy shit,” he gasps, eyes wide, glassy with disbelief. “you’re so wet, fuck—you’re squeezin’ me like—oh my god, i haven’t—” his head falls back against the fogging window, a helpless noise tearing out of him.
you rock your hips slowly, making him feel every inch of how tight you are around him. the slick wet opening trembling around the meaty base of him. his cock stretching you so good, thick and hot, the ridge of his head catching sweet inside you.
“feel good, stevie?” you tease, nails scraping over the warm skin of his chest, the light dusting of hair trailing down his stomach.
he whimpers— actually whimpers. “y-yeah, i..!fuck, babe, you feel perfect. you’ve no idea how much i needed this”
“yeah?” you grind down harder, slick squelching loud in the confined space, obscene and wet. “making a mess all your uniform, stevie. your shorts are ruined.”
he looks down between you, moaning when he sees it—the way your pussy swallows his cock, wetness glistening on the coarse hairs of his tummy, dripping down his thighs.
“shit, shit,” he babbles, trying to thrust up into you but your hands plant on his chest, holding him down. his muscles flex under your palms, big arms trembling as he tries to control himself.
“relax,” you taunt, riding him faster now, your ass smacking against his thighs, the car bouncing. “let me fuck you.”
his eyes roll, lips parting around desperate noises. “oh god, you’re..you’re using me—fuck, i love it. please. don’t stop, don’t ever stop.”
he’s close. you can feel it in the way his cock twitches inside you, thick and throbbing, in the way his breath hitches sharp against your ear when you clench around him on purpose.
“gonna cum for me, sailor?” you whisper, licking into his open mouth, making him moan. “wanna ruin your little uniform?”
“please,” he gasps, big brown eyes blown wide, glassy and fucked out. “please, oh fuck—i’m gonna—”
you grind down hard, and he breaks. hot cum spills deep inside you, thick and messy, spilling out around the base of his cock. it leaks down his thighs, soaking into the navy fabric of his shorts, sticky and obscene.
he groans through it, clutching you tight, muscles trembling under your hands, every vein in his arms straining. his stomach flexes as his cock jerks, still spurting inside you even as you ride him through it.
“look at the mess you made,” you murmur, peeking down between you at the sticky streaks all over his skin and uniform. “such a pathetic sailor boy.”
he just laughs weakly, head lolling against the glass, eyes still hazy. “worth it. so worth it. swear to god, you’re gonna kill me in this thing.”
and you keep moving on him, greedy, already chasing another high, while he whimpers and begs under you, cock still hard and dripping in the backseat.
THE MORE WRINKLED THE RAISIN, THE SWEETER
SUMMARY: You know what they say, the more wrinkled the raisin, the sweeter it is. Oh and wasn’t he sweet...
NOTE: Peter is so hot, damn.xoxo
The storm outside cracked like a live wire, lightning flashing through the steel beams of Derek’s loft. Rain slammed the windows like the sky was trying to get in. It was late—past midnight—but no one in the pack was yawning.
Not with the way Derek paced in front of the makeshift war table, arms crossed tight, brow locked in that signature "someone’s gonna die tonight" furrow.
“We found claw marks on the walls of the clinic,” Derek started, tossing a photo across the table. “And not the usual kind. These went through concrete.”
Scott leaned forward, examining the grainy image. “So we’re not sure if it’s a rogue Omega or something… else?”
“It’s not an Omega,” Peter’s voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in honey—smooth, dangerous, and sharp. He stood against one of the support beams, arms folded over that fitted black Henley, looking deliciously bored. “No one that pathetic has claws like that.”
You were curled in one of the armchairs near the corner, chin resting on your hand, only half-listening.
Correction: You were listening—but not to Derek or Scott or whatever threat was clawing up buildings.
No. Your eyes hadn’t moved off Peter in the last ten minutes.
There was something about how he stood—casual, calculated, like he was in on a joke no one else could hear. The soft stretch of his shirt across his chest. The faint shadows beneath his eyes that made him look a little too wolf, a little too unhinged. God, he looked like the kind of man you could ruin your life with.
And you wanted to. Boldly. Repeatedly.
Peter caught your gaze mid-glance. One brow arched.
And then he smirked.
“I’m just saying,” Peter added dryly, loud enough for everyone to hear, “if the big scary monster lurking around town is stupid enough to leave claw marks like a trail of breadcrumbs, maybe we should give it a helmet instead of a fight.”
Stiles huffed from the couch. “You’re such a dick.”
Peter smiled wider. “Accurate.”
You tilted your head, biting your lip. “Maybe he just wanted to get caught,” you said suddenly, loud enough to make half the room turn to you. You shrugged innocently, meeting Peter’s eyes like you were peeling him open with your stare. “Some creatures like being chased.”
Peter’s smile twitched—amused, intrigued—and laced with that dark, wolfish hunger he tried so hard to hide. You saw it.
Scott side-eyed you, blinking. “Y/N—can we focus?”
“Sorry,” you said sweetly, standing up slowly. “I just… get distracted.”
You circled the edge of the group, careful steps echoing across the floor. The storm cracked again, and the lights flickered. You stopped right behind Peter, leaned close, and spoke into the back of his neck without touching him.
“I like when you’re cruel,” you whispered, voice silk and fire. “Makes me wonder if you bite.”
Peter didn’t move. But you felt his pulse shift. Like something ancient and hungry stirred beneath his skin.
His voice came out low, controlled—too controlled.
“Little girl,” he murmured back, still facing forward. “You really want to go there?”
You smirked and leaned closer, lips brushing the edge of his ear.
“I’ve been there. I live there. I set up a fucking tent.”
Peter’s jaw clenched.
“I’m going to murder her,” Stiles muttered from the couch, half-joking. “Like—just a little bit. Just a smidge.”
“You won’t,” Peter said out loud, cool and calm, but you felt the heat radiating off him now. “She’d haunt you in lingerie.”
You chuckled—soft, filthy.
Scott groaned. “Can you not flirt in the middle of a supernatural crisis?”
“I wasn’t flirting,” you said, rounding Peter and standing beside him now, all close and magnetic. “I was… observing.”
Peter finally turned to look at you fully, blue eyes locked on yours. “And what, exactly, did you observe?”
“That you’re dying to touch me.”
The room went silent.
And then Derek snapped, “Enough.”
Everyone flinched. Except Peter. And you.
Derek’s eyes glowed faintly as he glared. “If you two are done turning this into a goddamn mating ritual, maybe we can get back to planning before another body shows up.”
Peter gave a slow shrug. “Fine by me. I’m only here for the entertainment.”
You leaned against the beam next to him, casual, letting your arm brush his. “Well. I’m very entertaining.”
Peter didn’t respond right away. His eyes dragged down your body like a promise, slow and hot and filthy. Then he turned back toward the group, lips twitching.
You grinned, smug and glowing. Victory.
He was close. So close.
But for now, he turned his attention back to the others. Like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t just tongue-fucked him with a glance.
But his hand stayed pressed lightly to the edge of the beam—fingertips brushing yours, barely there.
Touch-starved. Hungry.
And yours.
Eventually.
-
The meeting had dragged. Thunder rolled low above Beacon Hills like the earth was growling, warning them about whatever new monster was crawling into town.
But the real storm didn’t break until after the pack started heading out.
“Y/N,” Scott called from beside his bike, keys jangling in his hand. “You riding with me or Stiles?”
You didn’t even glance at him. Your eyes were locked on Peter, who stood beside his black SUV with one hand on the door and the other in his pocket, smirking like he knew something no one else did.
Which—he usually did.
You smiled slowly. “Neither.”
Scott blinked. “What?”
“I’ll go with Peter.”
He straightened up slightly. “Why?”
You tilted your head innocently. “Why not?”
Behind Scott, Stiles made a dramatic groaning noise. “Oh my god. Here we go again. Just let her ride with Satan if she wants, man.”
Peter said nothing. He just opened the passenger door and stepped aside like a gentleman—or something that wore the skin of one. His eyes burned into you like a promise.
You walked past Scott without another word and climbed in.
The doors clicked shut. The outside world disappeared.
Inside, it was warm, dark, quiet—except for the low hum of the engine and the slow turn of the wipers dragging rain across the windshield.
Peter didn’t speak. He just drove, hands loose on the wheel, eyes forward. Focused. Dangerous.
You watched his profile—how the shadows carved into his cheekbone, how his hand tensed just slightly every time you shifted in your seat. You loved how he always tried to pretend you didn’t affect him.
But you did.
You always did.
And tonight… tonight you were done pretending you didn’t know it.
You unbuckled your seatbelt and crawled slowly—deliberately—into the back seat.
Peter’s eyes flicked to the mirror. “What are you doing?”
You spread your legs across the leather and leaned back on your elbows, smirking up at him. “Drive,” you said. “Or do something about it.”
Peter’s jaw clenched.
The car skidded a little to the right before he yanked it into a side lot, tires splashing into a puddle as he parked under a broken streetlight. The glow from it flickered once, then died.
Silence.
Then the soft creak of his door opening.
You stayed sprawled out, heart pounding as you listened to his boots hit the wet pavement, circle around the back, and open the rear door.
He got in.
The door slammed behind him.
And then he just looked at you—like a wolf who'd been stalking his prey for miles, and suddenly found her naked and grinning in his den.
“You,” he growled, voice low, fraying, “are a goddamn menace.”
You smirked, shifting slightly so your knee brushed against his thigh. “And you love it.”
His hand shot out, fisting in the front of your shirt and yanking you closer, your faces inches apart now. His breath was hot against your lips, his fingers flexing like he was deciding whether to pull you in or push you away.
He did neither.
“You think I won’t ruin you?” he hissed.
“I want you to.”
That broke him.
Peter grabbed the back of your neck and crushed his mouth to yours, tongue demanding and rough, devouring you with filthy need. You gasped into it, moaning when his teeth scraped your bottom lip, when his fingers tangled in your hair and pulled hard.
You kissed him back like it was the last thing you’d ever do.
Your hands slid up under his shirt—god, he was burning, muscle under your palms, skin twitching when you scratched. He growled again, shoving you back until your shoulders hit the seat, his body following, crawling over you like a predator who had finally, finally taken the bait.
“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered against your throat, licking a slow line under your jaw. “To make the bad wolf snap?”
You whimpered, grinding up against him. “More.”
“More?” He nipped at your skin. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” you breathed, fingers dragging down to the waistband of his jeans. “Be the wolf, Peter. Fucking bite.”
And he did.
Your back hit the leather with a soft thud, legs still parted around him, his hand fisted in your shirt like he might rip it off, like maybe he should. The heat between you two had gone nuclear. Your skin was buzzing, your breath short, your mouth already wrecked from the kiss you barely survived.
And Peter was watching you—his blue eyes dark and glowing, fangs just barely peeking from under his lip. The wolf was there. Right under the surface. And you had called it out.
You brought your hand up, tracing your fingers down the front of his chest. “Come on, Peter,” you whispered, voice syrupy and shameless. “You know you’ve been dying to fuck the attitude out of me.”
He groaned—visceral, like the sound was torn from him. Then his hand was under your thigh, yanking your hips toward him hard enough to make you gasp. His other hand curled around your throat—not choking, just holding, thumb pressing beneath your jaw with filthy reverence.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he muttered against your neck, but his hand was already sliding between your legs.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you moaned, arching into his touch.
His fingers pressed against the heat of your center—your shorts soaked through, no panties. You heard his breath catch.
“Fucking hell,” he hissed.
You smiled lazily. “Told you. I came prepared.”
Peter didn’t answer—he just shoved the fabric aside and slid two fingers through your folds, slow and deep and filthy. Your head tipped back with a broken moan.
“Oh my God—”
“Not God,” he rasped. “Just the wolf.”
He leaned in again, biting softly at your lip as his fingers began to move—rhythmically, slowly at first, then harder, faster. His thumb circled your clit with the kind of precision that made your legs tremble.
“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, biting at your ear, “so fucking long. Every time you opened that smart mouth, every time you walked into a room like you owned me…”
You whimpered, rocking against his hand, clutching his shoulder. “Then take it. Own me.”
Something in him snapped.
He pulled his hand away for one agonizing second—long enough to yank your shorts down and toss them somewhere in the dark car—then he shoved your thighs up and apart, climbing between them like he belonged there. Like this was a fucking claim.
And maybe it was.
He shoved his jeans down just enough, fangs glinting now as he dragged his tip through your slick folds, teasing, eyes locked to yours.
“You want this?” he rasped, voice barely human.
“Yes,” you breathed, grabbing his jaw. “I want you.”
He slammed into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself fully. You cried out, arching, clawing at his shoulders. He didn’t wait. He didn’t ease up.
He fucked you—hard, deep, filthy—every thrust making the car creak on its suspension, windows fogging instantly. The smell of rain and sex and wolf filled the air. Your moans were ragged, high and loud, but he didn’t tell you to quiet down.
He wanted them.
Peter grunted as you clenched around him, biting into your neck—not enough to break skin, just enough to mark. His hand stayed wrapped tight around your throat, fingers flexing with every snap of his hips.
“You love this,” he growled. “You love knowing how wrong this is.”
You were nearly sobbing with pleasure. “Yes—fuck, Peter, please—”
“You wanted the bad wolf,” he snarled. “Now fucking take him.”
Your orgasm hit like a car crash "Oh my God, fuck yeah" hot and endless, your body convulsing around him as he held you down, fucked you through it, didn’t stop. You screamed his name, scratching down his back. Peter groaned into your throat, and with one final thrust, he spilled inside you, deep and possessive, a growl rattling from his chest like thunder.
You both collapsed, panting, your limbs tangled, hearts pounding like war drums.
His forehead rested against yours. He was still inside you. Still hardening again. Still hungry.
-
The bonfire cracked like it had secrets to tell.
Sparks flew up into the inky sky while laughter echoed from the logs surrounding it—pack members sprawled on blankets, roasting marshmallows and talking over each other. It was one of those rare nights when no one was dead or dying. Just warmth, woodsmoke, and the edge of summer in the air.
You were curled on a blanket next to Scott and Lydia, letting the heat of the fire lick at your bare legs while your eyes, once again, found him.
Peter Hale stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, the flames casting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones and the glint in his eyes. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just watching. Guarded. Calm. Until you looked at him.
Then something in him shifted—his mouth twitching into a dangerous little smirk, eyes dipping down your body in one unbothered pass before returning to the fire.
Your thighs clenched.
You had been teasing him all night—lingering touches on your way past him, sitting just a little too close on the log earlier, whispering filthy little jokes under your breath only he could hear.
And now, sitting across from him in that short skirt and that smug grin, one leg swinging lazily as if you weren’t driving him insane, you knew he was at his limit.
Time to push.
You stood up slowly, stretching—arms above your head, shirt lifting just a little too far—and you made sure Peter’s eyes followed.
Then, without a word, you turned and walked toward the woods.
You didn’t look back.
Didn’t need to.
You heard the crunch of his boots on the forest floor thirty seconds later.
By the time he caught up, your back was already against a tree, breathing fast from the thrill of being chased, of being wanted. Peter stepped out of the shadows like a goddamn wolf, eyes gleaming, mouth a flat line of hunger and restraint.
“I swear to fucking God—” he growled.
You grabbed his collar and yanked him into a kiss that stole the rest of the sentence from his throat.
It was filthy. Immediate. No teasing now—just mouths crashing, teeth clashing, lips parted and desperate as you gasped into each other. His hands were already under your skirt, grabbing the backs of your thighs, lifting you. You wrapped your legs around his waist without thinking, moaning when your back hit the bark behind you.
“Jesus,” Peter rasped against your mouth, grinding his hips against your center. “Do you ever stop?”
“Why would I,” you panted, licking into his mouth, “when this is how you act when I don’t?”
He chuckled darkly, biting your bottom lip. “You think this is me acting?”
You whimpered when he rocked against you again, the heat of his jeans grinding into your panties, soaked and sticking to you already. Your head thumped back against the tree.
“You’re such a little brat,” he growled, sliding one hand between you, cupping you through your underwear. “Getting me hard in front of the whole fucking pack. Whispering shit only I could hear.”
Your hips bucked. “Couldn’t help it,” you gasped. “You look so edible next to fire.”
Peter growled, shoved your panties to the side, and dragged his fingers through your slick, slow and filthy. You gasped.
“Jesus, you’re wet—”
“You did that,” you moaned, clenching around nothing. “Fix it.”
He didn’t need more.
Peter undid his jeans, enough to free himself, the sound of his zipper somehow the dirtiest thing in the woods. He lined up with you, looking at you like he could tear you in half and you’d thank him for it.
“Quiet,” he warned as he pushed in. “Or I’ll make you scream.”
You bit down on his shoulder to muffle your cry as he buried himself inside you in one brutal thrust, your nails clawing at his back.
“Fuck,” you whimpered. “Peter—”
“Shh, baby,” he hissed, thrusting again, slow but deep, each movement shoving you higher up the tree. “Don’t want your little friends coming to check, do you?”
You shook your head, moaning into his neck. The idea of Scott or Derek or Stiles stumbling into this? It made you wetter.
Peter felt it. “Oh, you like that,” he sneered. “You want them to find out how desperate you are for my cock?”
“Y-yes,” you gasped, not even thinking. “I don’t care.”
His thrusts got harder. Meaner. The tree bark dug into your spine but you didn’t feel it—just the thick slide of him inside you, your thighs shaking around his waist, your body strung so tight you were seconds from unraveling.
“You wanna cum?” he whispered, filthy, fanged, dangerous.
“Please,” you gasped. “Peter, please—”
He reached between you, rubbing your clit in rough circles until you were gasping, head thrown back, toes curling in your boots. He slammed in one more time, and you broke apart—shaking, clutching him like a lifeline, moaning loud into his mouth as you came.
He groaned as you clenched around him, hips stuttering, and then he was following, burying himself deep with a low, guttural curse.
He held you there for a second, both of you panting in the dark, sweaty and still tangled together.
Then—
A snap.
A branch breaking.
Voices.
“Peter?” That was Scott. Close.
Peter pulled out quickly, helping you stand, yanking your panties back into place and pulling his jeans up with inhuman speed. You adjusted your shirt, shaking from the aftershocks and the adrenaline.
Peter leaned close, lips brushing your ear.
“If they catch us,” he growled, “I’ll make you ride me in front of them.”
You nearly collapsed.
But he straightened, smirked, and stepped out of the trees—calm, smug, like he hadn’t just fucked you against a tree with the entire pack 30 feet away.
You followed, flushed and glowing, hair mussed.
Scott and Derek looked up as you reappeared, both raising eyebrows.
Peter walked past them like nothing happened, but then Derek’s nose twitched.
He frowned. Deeply.
“You smell like her,” Derek muttered.
Peter glanced back with the laziest, dirtiest smirk in history.
“Then I must smell fantastic.”
Questionable Theories
Inspired by this request!
Summary: You end up in a couple of tight situations with Spencer, and he decides that the body language you're displaying is an obvious sign of claustrophobia rather than a desperately horrible case of sexual attraction.
Warnings: smut, 18+, shower sex, unprotected sex, sexual frustration, fingering, minimal foreplay etc.
Masterlist
Spencer Reid was a budding anthropologist.
To be clear, he was very much a physicist, a mathematician, an engineer, a Supervisory Special Agent, and many other things. But he reasoned that a Bachelor’s Degree in a subject only cleared him to be someone who dabbled in anthropology.
biiiig mean stretch!
spencer reid x fem! reader
cw; +18 content! minors dni!, THIS IS FILTHY. NAAAAASTY, you’ve been warned. mean harsh dom! spencer and bratty sub! reader, nasty make outs, spanking, hair pulling, cursing, degradation and praise (not quite towards you), use of good girl (again, not towards you), dirty talking, oral sex (s! receiving), face fucking, edging, gagging, facial, multiple orgasms and rounds implied, teasing, begging, hickeys, choking, spencer being a little bit of a pervert, piv sex, using cum as lube, unprotected sex (guys don’t do this), scratching, pussy talking, breeding kink, creampie, squirting, slapping, spitting, spencer has crazy stamina…
from this request.
@cherriesinthespring & @brattyspence 💋
Fog Me Up
You and Spencer are taking things slowly. So all you do is kiss until your glasses fog up. And until he creams his pants. [ 1.5k ]
Includes female reader; she wears glasses; season 2 Spencie; brief Doctor Who reference at the beginning; lots and lots of kisses; dry humping; coming in pants. Based on this post. Short and filthy. Enjoy.
It was hard to focus on what The Fourth Doctor was saying when Dr. Spencer Reid’s lips were on yours.
He’d started with a hand on your thigh, and from there, you stopped paying attention to the TV. This was the first time you’d been in his apartment, and you knew where the night was going to end.
On his lap.
“Bring your leg closer.” Spencer broke away from the kiss for a moment, then whispered, in the middle of another agitated kiss, “It’s okay.”
You’d been hesitant to put any part of you on top of him. You feared that if you did, you might melt right there all over him because even the most casual touch from him turned that spot into a burning blaze.
“Are you sure?” you asked and took the chance to breathe in some air that wasn’t straight out of his lungs. Your eyes darted down to his lips, but they were censored by the fog over your glasses.
“Yeah.” He dragged his hand from where it rested on the side of your knee, up to your thigh, and to the backside. “C’mere.”
what about beefy!Bucky fucking you in the getaway car in cacw heheh maybe steve and sam went to go grab some food at a convenience store and bucky just pounces on us and makes us ride him?🫣 pretty pleaseeeeee
absolutely in love with the previous one u wrote with my request and i could NOT get enough of ur writing
-🫧
do you hear me barking? cause i want and need this also sorry this is late baby
little visual 😋
it was a smooth ride, you guys finally managed to escape and were on the highway headed to some safe house steve had hidden away from every prying on.
you had sat in the back, next to bucky, while steve drove and sam sat in the passenger. it was silent but not a awkward silence it was.. peaceful—but your thoughts weren’t.
“gotta stop for gas soon.” steve mentioned, “good idea i’m hungry.” sam said. but you didn’t say anything neither did bucky. because even if bucky was hungry.. it wasn’t for food.
it took awhile but soon steve pulled up to the gas station, it was old.. random, something out of a wrong turn movie but it was good enough. “you guys want anything?” steve asked looking back at you and bucky.
“nope.” you said, arms folded across your chest while bucky grunted in response. the doors slammed shut as both steve and sam walked off inside the gas station.
BREAKFAST IN BED ⋆˚꩜。 spencer reid x girlfriend!reader
summary: you’re sore. spencer’s smug. apparently, breakfast is best served between your thighs.
genre: smut, fluff | w/c: 1.7k
tags/warnings: soft dom!spencer, implied semi-rough sex from the night before, reader is sore from said sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, spencer calls reader angel/sweet girl/good girl, spencer is a smug little shit, written with later season spencer in mind, basically porn with almost no plot, no use of y/n
a/n: based on this anon request! this was delicioussss to write. I am a munch!spencer truther to my core. enjoy!!
It’s the ache that wakes you.
Not sharply, and not all at once. Just a slow, blooming kind of soreness that curls warm around your hips and tightens when you shift — bare skin sliding against the sheets, muscles pulling in places that don’t usually pull. There’s a spot high on your thigh that throbs in time with your heartbeat, and another deeper in your core that stirs when you exhale too hard.
Last night comes back in flashes: Spencer’s mouth at your throat, your wrists pinned above your head, the sound he made when you told him not to stop. A little rougher than usual. A little more. He’d warned you, breath hot against your ear, that he wasn’t going to be gentle, and you’d nodded like someone deprived of air being offered oxygen.
You remember the way his hands shook a little when he touched you afterward, how quiet he got. The press of his lips to your knuckles in the dark, like he still couldn’t believe you gave him everything, no matter how many times you did. Like he couldn’t believe you wanted him that much.
take some time (18+)
part of the august writing challenge
today’s word: interrupt
contents: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; bottom!steve; big dick stevie; dumbification (steve go stupid); teasing
short and sweet one for u today 🤍
Your hips roll, fucking yourself on Steve. He lays below you, hair a mess, cheeks red and lips kiss-bitten. He looks like a wreck, but watches you in awe, partially sitting up on his elbows.
You have to gently push him back down. “I’m doing the work, not you, sweetheart.”
Steve swallows hard, blinks harder. “I… but I….”
“It’s okay,” you whisper. You fuck him slow, taking him as deep as you can. It borders right in the cusp of pain and pleasure. “You don’t have to think.”
one hundred sleepless nights
ii. "keeps us together" || masterlist
civil war!dark!bucky x f!reader
Warnings: 18+, noncon, smut with a sprinkle of plot, p in v, stalking, brainwashed bucky, guilt, hurt/no comfort, coercion, dirty talk, manipulation, please tread carefully.
Summary: After three months of hiding since Hydra fell, he thought he had finally rid himself of you. But when he runs into you at a market in Bucharest, the Winter Soldier programming in his mind kicks in instinctively, urging him to claim you as his once again.
Word Count: 3.8k
Your mind was now fractured and broken. Since your escape—or rather, since the soldier let you go—you’ve been on a painful journey, gathering your shattered pieces and trying to put yourself back together one by one.