28 years old, bookworm,bi, AO3 is hpnerd18, obsessed with: obey me, Naruto, harry potter, star wars, spn, teen titans ,horror, and many more! lol ravenclaw, infp, horned serpent, taurus, scops owl patronus, 13" hornbeam and dragon heartstring wand
Hey everyone, welcome to my blog . I write for various fandoms , as well as some original monster fucker fics. Any asks or requests are welcome! Enjoy~
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Vampire boyfriend -
A Vampire’s Treat~ https://www.tumblr.com/hpnerd18/762940368385867776/ok-guys-here-is-the-fic-i-made-from-the-poll-that
Cat hybrid boyfriend-
Cat hybrid boyfriend fluffy thoughts~
Cat hybrid boyfriend who takes care of you during your bad days, snuggling up next to you and purri
Slytherin boyfriend 🐍~
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Grumpy slytherin boyfriend x Ravenclaw fem reader thoughts…
Grumpy slytherin boyfriend who is irritated by everyone: h
+ there's warm when you're in the shower, hot water and steam surrounding you after a long day
+ there's warm when you're cozy in bed, blanket(s) stacked on top of you as you sink into the mattress
+ there's the warmth of being in a hug, when the rest of you may be cold, but your heart and chest are both physically warm and figuratively warm with love
+ there's the warm you feel when you think about the first time Lucifer remembered your favorite drink, or when he hid you a muffin in his office so Beel didn't get to it first
+ and possibly definitely your favorite, the body consuming warmth when Lucifer crawls on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one of his hands while the other...
Lucifer x AFAB!MC (AMAB if requested!) (SMUT!!!!! EXPLICIT!!!!!)
The body consuming warmth when Lucifer crawls on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one of his hands while the other reaches between your legs. You’re already sunken into the mattress, his knee snug between your thighs, gently applying pressure while his hand undoes the button and zipper of your pants.
But before he touches you, his demon eyes lock with yours, and he rests his index and middle fingers against your bottom lip.
You know what he wants, and you could never say no.
Your lips part, tongue inviting those fingers you need inside you into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around them, bringing forward as much saliva as you can.
Not that you aren’t already wet, you can feel damp fabric against you right now, his knee only making that more prevalent.
While you please him, he undoes his belt and slacks with his other hand, yours obediently staying above your head.
“Good, baby.”
You bite your lip as his hand goes from your lips back between your legs. He paused as he realized what part of your bottoms was missing.
“You’ve had these on all day?”
You pressed your lips together and nodded.
You saw worlds of pride and lust fill his mind, the idea of you walking around all day like that, waiting for him, were enough to freeze him for a moment.
But this didn’t last long. He hardly teased you before his fingers were fully inside. This wasn’t one of your longer fucks, at least not yet. The two of you had been in a meeting with Diavolo for hours, during which you’d had the devious idea to send Lucifer the following text:
Want to see a picture I took this morning?
You had watched as he opened the text, casually responded, and put his phone back down on the table. What he didn’t know was that the picture was of the lingerie you had on under your uniform.
He had been expecting something light. Your breakfast, or maybe the sunrise. His first sign of the truth was that you’d sent the message with invisible ink. He moved his phone closer to his chest, even with his privacy screen protector. Then, you saw the unmistakable look of lust wash over him. You knew that look too well, and even if he could hide it from his brothers, he could never hide it from you.
His eyes snapped to yours, and you smirked back at him before returning your attention to Diavolo.
You knew what you were in for. What you wanted.
And you were going to get it.
His fingers slipped inside you easily, your moan mixing with his grunt of satisfaction.
“Did you even need to spit?” he mocked, “You’re already so wet. Have you been waiting since you sent that picture?”
You just moaned again as his fingers rotated and opened inside you. He knew just how to get you going, how to hit the spot that he knew would make you come in minutes.
“Answer me,” you should have known he’d make you verbalize.
“Yes,” your voice was already breaths, “Fuck, since I got dressed this morning.”
“Mmmm,” he moved his hand from your wrists to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head as you quickly hovered off the bed.
Tossing your shirt to the floor, you watched his eyes darken as he traced every inch of what you presented him.
“Gorgeous.” His voice was molten, and he added a third finger as he bent to suck your nipple.
Your back arched off the bed, the stretch of his fingers and sudden tingling on your nipple making your mind begin to fog.
After a few moments he moved to your other breast, fingers still pumping inside you.
“Lucifer,” you moan, hands gripping his hair as your hips roll against his hand. “Fuck, please.”
He turned his head up, lips shining with his saliva. “You ready?” His voice was taunting, but you knew he was making sure you felt ready. Three fingers was not often where he stopped.
“Yes.” You pulled his face up to yours, kissing him deeply as you shoved his pants and briefs down his hips.
He smiles into the kiss, a feeling you never got tired of.
“Impatient today,” he smirked as he quickly rid himself of clothes, tossing your pants to the ground as well.
Climbing back on top of you, his eyes again took all of you in. Your legs, spread and waiting for him to take you. Your hands reaching for him, pulling him against you.
“You know that won’t be big enough,” his voice was deep, and he brushed the head of his cock against the hole in your lingerie.
You ran your hands up his arms, resting on his biceps and squeezing. “I figured you’d be able to make it work.”
He shook his head, instantly knowing what you implied.
His fingers brushed down the lingerie, taking a final moment to appreciate the lace before he ripped the garment in half.
The fabric rubbed against your thighs, burning against you as he tore it away. You couldn’t help the smirk that crossed your face as this little piece of your plan came to life.
Of course, he knew this as well.
“You love when I give you what you want,” he leaned over you now, again pressing the tip of his cock against you. But this time, he pushed just a bit further.
You gasped. You knew three fingers was barely enough to prep you, but the start of the stretch you knew was coming still drew the sound.
“Tell me, MC, what do you want now?”
You knew what he wanted. “Fuck me, Lucifer. Please fuck me.”
He obliged, sliding the first few inches inside you now. But he wasn’t done.
“How? Do you want it slow, like this? Soft? Gentle?” He held his hips perfectly still, drawing out your misery as he kissed down your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of marks. You knew he loved leaving them, but that the time they took to leave was part of his motivation too.
“No,” even now, your cheeks lit up as you spoke the words he wanted. “Hard, fuck me hard, Lucifer. Use me.”
His teeth bit into your shoulder as he slammed into you, pace ruthless as he obeyed your plea.
“Ah! Fuck!” You cried into the air, fisting his sheets as you rose into the movement.
“Like this, baby?” You hated how steady he could keep his voice while destroying you like this. But you knew that was part of it, too. He was capable of so much more than you. You wanted all of it.
“Yes, oh fuck Luci, fuck!” One of your hands flew to his back, just below his wings, and you dug your nails in. Like you were holding him down, if he weren’t so much stronger than you.
The bright sound of slapping filled his room, and you were glad he’d cursed it to be sound proof. As much as you both loved to show off the sex you had, the idea of his six brothers hearing this specific noise was too vulnerable for both of you.
Your moans got louder, more broken, more desperate with each thrust. Your arms were already going limp, but you now kept both hands secure at the base of his wings. You knew the sensitivity was only driving him further.
He moved a hand from your hair to between your legs, not slowing down or breaking his brutal pace for a second. Curse his demon ability to fuck like this.
He didn’t need your spit this time. He ran the pads of two fingers over your clit, and bathed in the sound of your cry as it went higher in pitch.
“You want more?”
You could hardly remember words, but the ones he wanted appeared in your mind.
“Please, oh, fuck, Lucifer I’m-” they all tumbled out at once, your desperation for the climax you felt building taking over.
“Since you ask so… pathetically.” Your chest burned at his words, but your mind was flooded with pleasure as his fingers returned to your clit, pinching and circling it how he knew you craved.
You were glad hearing your destruction fed his pride, as you were already nearly fucked out and reaching an orgasm that you knew was going to leave you numb.
Lucifer, of course, knew this too.
“That’s it, just like that.” He took a few moments to drink you in, the way you were taking his cock, arching into his thrusts, how your face was completely undone and vulnerable to him.
“Come” the command was a growl, pride and satisfaction finally taking over his voice as you came around him.
“Good, fuck, you feel so good.” He praised, something you only earned with each orgasm.
Your back arched off the bed as it washed over you, turning your brain to white noise and your body limp as you rode it out. His thrusts didn’t slow, but his fingers moved to your pelvis, holding you down as you writhed in pleasure.
He noticed your tells that it had ended, and only then did he slow.
“Turn over,” the words snaked into your ear, your brain fighting to hold them long enough that you could complete the action.
He slowed and slid out of you, guiding your hips up and over as you moved.
On your knees, you slid your arms to the edge of the mattress, holding the fabric as if that would steady you. Your back arched naturally, and you could feel the air in the room against you as you knew Lucifer was admiring the mess he’d made.
You were expecting his cock to slam back into you, but instead felt the sensation of his tongue, taking in as much of your come as he could. He licked around your clit, watching your body twitch before licking down to your hole, circling a few times before diving his tongue inside you.
Somehow, you’d forgotten just what he could do with that demon’s tongue of his.
He rolled it inside you, slowly, so he could fully enjoy every second.
This pleasure was deeper. It was a warm coil inside you, dangerous, building faster than you expected.
You groaned into a pillow, arching your back and pressing harder against his face. You could have stayed like that forever. And he knew it.
Relaxed into his tongue, you had regained a bit of your thinking when he slid his tongue back out.
You should have known this slower fuck was to prep you for what he was going to do next.
“You’re delicious,” he spoke, both of you now back to a state of relative clear-headedness.
“You’re insatiable,” you answered, accurately.
He leaned back up, wiping his tongue around his lips to get every drop of you.
No further words were needed as he took your hips in his hands and pushed back inside you.
You felt something drip down your thigh, but your hands were clutching the mattress too hard to do anything about it. He fucked you harder now, somehow, reaching even deeper inside you with each thrust.
Your throat was dry from constant cries, but they continued as he drove deep into your body.
His fingers dug bruises into your skin, the ache a promise of more than one mark of this night. He moaned now, too, and you could tell as his sounds got cut short that he was close.
You moved your hands from under a pillow to on top of it, crossing your wrists and lacing your fingers together.
He noticed.
“Fuck,” his response was almost a growl, the sight of your every thought being to please his desires calling on his pride.
You could have come again from this overstimulation, but you felt a sudden release on your left hip, the pressure relocated to your clit.
His dominant hand was the best at ruining you.
He circled your clit with two fingers, a third pressing on the bud to ensure complete stimulation. Again, you cried out, letting your voice into the air rather than muffling it into the pillow.
He growled, fully releasing himself to his demon as his nails dug deeper into your skin and his wings opened.
You heard the feathers against air, a sign he was just moments from filling you, so you arched your back the bit further you could.
Knowing you could get him to this state gave you a taste of the pride he was cursed with. You loved it.
“Fuck Lucifer, fuck, come in me, please, fuck.” Your voice was weak, but he picked up every word.
He pulled your body into his every thrust, fully using you to his needs. You let him, no longer possessing the strength to move on your own if you wanted to.
As helpless as you truly were, this was your favorite part.
His orgasm hit hard, his final thrusts filling what felt like your whole body as he came. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, and warm begin to drip down your legs. You’d always thought that was just something that happened in pornos, but you learned fast that demons had far more to give than humans.
He stayed inside you for a few moments, releasing your hips from his complete grip, gently holding you in place now. You both took in the warmth, the completion, the devotion that held you together.
“Ready?” his voice was still dark, but softer.
You nodded, turning your head against the pillow to watch him from your peripherals.
He slowly pulled out, making sure that nothing more left you from the extraction, before guiding your body into the mattress.
He laid behind you, your bodies fitting together in the familiar way they did. You used one of his biceps as a pillow, the other draping over your torso to hold your hand. He nuzzled his head into your neck, placing gentle kisses over each mark that he’d left.
The room was hot with sex, but this was, after all, the warmth you craved most.
--
Anyhoo, hope this was good lol <3 It's been a loooong time since I wrote smut for an afab character.
Also I had to google what it feels like for nipples to be aroused bc mine do not get that feeling (or much of any feeling tbh) so hopefully my reddit research wasn't too off base. Enjoy the bonus post-smut nex lore.
okay so we all love monster going feral on human but what about monsters finding out that their human is surprisingly feral themself? switch the dynamics, the human is the dangerous one now
You promised yourself you would never be the weak one, so you took classes of every fighting type you could find. But you didn’t tell anybody. Not even your monster boyfriend who decided to take you with him to an “easy mission”. Or so you two thought. You tagged along and he was over the moon about it. He loved when you spend time with him doing his job, which most of the time was just arriving to someone’s place of work to rob them what wasn’t theirs. Just easy job of robbery… Until it wasn’t.
You two were caught in the middle of a weird situation, it was supposed to be easy, but before you realized, you had a weird monster in a choke-hold and your monster boyfriend was looking at you like he was going into rut. 100% horny, 0% giving a fuck about anybody else in the room.
You smiled at him, the dude in your arms blacking out, wiping the blood off your face. You didn’t even know how the blood got there. He punched the human guy he was fighting in the head and launched at you. You didn’t know that violence could turn him on so much, but before you could do anything, you were pushed against a wall as he ripped your panties and fucked you restlessly.
That day you discovered two things: 1) your boyfriend’s job wasn’t as easy as expected, and 2) seeing you fight made him so horny he knotted you in a dangerous place. (He had to walk home with you still impaled on his dick.)
An incubus boyfriend who loves teasing his lover with his prehensile tail, his fangs, claws/nails, even his horns… all kinds of strange fun for him and his lover/mate
NSFW: Incubus bf x fem reader! Fully consensual, very kinky, including DP and knotting. Enjoy!
Incubus boyfriend looming over you, eyes soft with affection yet dark with intent; the look he gave you when he wanted to remind you exactly who you belonged to. You were pinned, not by his hands, but by the thick coil of his prehensile tail wrapped snugly around both your thighs, holding you open and exposed.
“There’s my sweetheart,” he purred. “Look at you. All laid out for me.”
His tail slithered, the spade-like tip pressing insistently against your soaked pussy. You jerked, a gasp ripped from your throat, but it didn’t enter. It just teased, rubbing tight, maddening circles around your clit while he watched your reactions with his hellfire eyes.
Long and meticulously-kept claws skated down your chest, not breaking the skin but leaving raised trails of sensation in their wake. He loved this: the control, the way your breath hitched at the feel of his sharp points. One clawed hand moved to your throat, a possessive collar, while the other hand circled your nipple, pinching just shy of pain.
Then his head dipped, and you felt the hot curve of one of his horns brush your cheek as his mouth found your other nipple. The scrape of a fang made you cry out, a spike of pleasure that had your core clamping down on nothing. He laughed, a dark, rich sound, and you felt the tip of his tail kept flicking your clit... it kept going and it felt so good. But it was still... not enough.
“Please... hgnnn...” you choked out, arching up.
“Please what?” he drawled, his fangs scraping the sensitive shell of your ear. “Use your words, mate. Tell me what you need.”
“I need your cock. Now.”
A low growl vibrated against your neck. “Since you asked so nicely.”
In one fluid motion, he settled between your thighs, the huge head of his cock pressing against your entrance. It was always a stretch, a toe-curling burn, and he loved to feed on the little sobs you gave as he pushed inside, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed, your pussy stretched taut around him.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned, his hips beginning a deep, rolling rhythm that had you seeing stars. “Always so hot and tight for me, just for me.”
As he pounded into you, one hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat. He licked a stripe over your pulse point before his fangs pressed down, not breaking the skin, but promising he could, promising he would if the mood struck him.
Then you felt it... the tip of his tail left your clit and, slick from your arousal, pressed against your other hole. You cried out as it nudged your ass, slow and careful, but steadily pushing inside you until you were double-packed.
Fully impaled, you could only writhe as he fucked into both your holes, the dual penetration threatening to short-circuit your mind.
“That’s it,” he snarled, his pace becoming rougher. You reached up, your fingers wrapping around the base of one horn, holding on as he drove you into the mattress. The anchor point gave him leverage to fuck even deeper. He loved you clinging to him like this.
“Take it. Take all of me. You’re mine. Every fucking part of you belongs to me.”
The coil in your belly snapped, a white-hot orgasm tearing through you. Your cunt clenched violently around his cock, milking him, and with a roar, he slammed home one last time. You felt the base of his cock swell, the knot inflating and locking him inside you, sealing his release as he pumped jet after jet of cum deep into your womb.
His tail pulsed in time within your ass, fucking you relentlessly until you shuddered through another climax, oversensitive and full to bursting. Only when you lay boneless and blissed-out, did he stop. He collapsed over you, kissing your mouth tenderly.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “My perfect, greedy mate. I could keep you like this forever... hmmm... yes, I think I will.”
Reminder that I moved blogs and you can finde me over @whiskis. I will be posting requests her till I run out.
Underwater court
Kraken x fem-mermaid!reader || tentacles, underwater sex (technically), mental connection for sexy purposes, (light) dirty talk
You’d been married to the king for a little over a month, and you understood your duties as queen, you knew you have a lot to do and a lot to say. Everyone was expecting you to be perfect and regal, to sit by his side in your own throne and attend his subjects like they were your own. They were your own, you reminded yourself over and over. But it didn’t matter how many times you repeated those words in your head, because you still didn’t believe it.
He chose you, of all the creatures in the ocean, he chose you as his queen and you didn’t know what to do with that information or how to make it so your body wasn’t in constant state of doubt and anxiety.
So when you swam to the throne room and saw him there, looking like a wet dream (pun intended because he was always wet), you had to stop to catch your breath, your grills working overtime. You were frozen there, staring at your king, at your husband, and your hearts were beating like crazy in your chest.
Something must have been clear in your face because next thing he said was: “What’s the matter, my queen?”
“I- Nothing,” you lied. He arched a pointy brow and the side of his lips turned down, worried. “Nothing, I swear. There’s people waiting outside already, we should start,” you told him. You were nervous. You’d held events like that before, but this time felt different, it was the first time you did it together.
“Come here, my queen, let me worship you like you deserve. Take away all the worries that plague your mind,” he let out in a purr. Your body reacted to that tone instantly, your pussy getting wet, your nipples pressing hard against your clam-top.
“But… But court…” You tried to argue, but your heart wasn’t on it. You did want what he was offering. You wanted it really bad.
“They can wait,” his voice was final. “You need a reminder of how precious you are and I’m nothing but compliant when it comes to you,” his tone was reverent and your body was already shivering in anticipation as you swam your way to him.
His tentacles were dancing around his throne and the second you were close enough to reach, one of them was around your middle, pulling you to him until your bodies were flush and you could feel every ridge on his chest against yours. Your breathing became faster and faster when his traveling hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs rubbing over your pointy nipples and sending all kinds of hotness down your body, your brain already fuzzy with desire for your king.
That was what surprised you most, how caring and loving he was, and how much you enjoyed every single touch of his hands and his tentacles. Since your wedding night, you had fucked plenty of times, but every time it was a little bit better, a little bit hotter, and your body burned with pleasure to the point you feared the water around you two would start boiling.
But it never did.
And you didn’t stop wanting more. Craving more. Craving him every second of every day. He could ignite your insides with just a look, sending lewd images to your brain that had you panting in the middle of dinner. You hated (but secretly loved) that he could send you mental images now that you were bonded, it was awful (incredible) to have him send a perfectly clear picture of your pussy spread around his tentacles while your eyes rolled back into your head… It always made your pussy so wet to see yourself so needy through his eyes.
“Come back to me, my queen, I can hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours,” he told you, his fangs gracing your throat and making you moan. “Are you going to be a good queen for me and take my tentacles? Or do you prefer my tongue, little vixen?” You blushed at the mental images he sent.
“Anything, everything,” you whimpered, your nails dragging across his back and making him grunt.
His tentacles pulled you closer to him, some of them traveling down your back, holding you tight as one of them found your welcoming and wet opening. “You are so wet, my queen.” You whimpered again, rolling your hips, your tail thrashing. “Are you going to be a good little siren and take my whole mating tentacle, do you want that?” His voice was so low and dirty that you couldn’t process words, only being able to groan and nod fervently. “Of course you are. You are my queen after all, the perfect queen for me.”
And then he was entering you, slowly at first but rapidly filling you more and more, until your slit was contracting around his tentacles and one of his suckers latched into your special pleasure point inside. The first hard suck sent you to the stratosphere, your body shaking as one hard orgasm rocked your body and he chuckled.
“So easy to please my queen… But I’m not done with you, I’d never be done with you,” his voice sounds like a promise.
When his tentacle pulled out and back inside, you screamed his name, forgetting about the people waiting outside, forgetting about anything around you as he fucked you like a machine. You couldn’t say anything else as the only sounds that left your mouth were pleas and brutal sounds that felt like his name but maybe weren’t. But it was so good, so incredibly good…
Your eyes closed as his mouth found the pointy tips of your ears. He knew how sensitive they were, and he exploited it to the best of his capability, sending shivers of pleasure to your brain to the point you could barely hold a coherent thought that wasn’t his name, his face, his tentacles inside of you.
“Are you close again, my queen? Are you going to give yourself fully to me again?” You moaned, rocking your hips against his tentacle, trying to get more friction, urging him faster, harder. “Of course you are, such a good queen for me, the perfect queen. Come for me little siren. NOW.”
His order was accompanied by images of your body writhing in pleasure, his tentacles wrapped around you and buried so deep you could feel and see at the same time. The combination of sensations so great that you couldn’t hold back the scream that erupted from your lips as he grunted his appreciation and released deep inside your welcoming body.
You came back to a self satisfied king in front of you, his eyes joyful as he looked down at you with affection. “You did so good, my queen. Always so good for me… Do you want to see the subjects now or do you want to see the inside of our chambers as I pound you again?” His tone lowered at the second part of the offer, sending aftershocks of pleasure down your back.
“We shouldn’t…” You tried to argue without much effort.
“Such a good queen for our people, too… But you forget something, my queen.” He paused dramatically, making you smile. “You are mine before you are theirs, and I tend to be very possessive of what’s mine…” His growl at the end was enough to know what he already decided.
Request: Hi! I had a fun idea about a human that goes on a bachelorette trip (as the maid of honor) and ends up hooking with a monster. Only to wake up the next day and see that he is the best man. I think it would be really funny if he was a gentleman, but had rough sex with user. I'm thinking maybe a werewolf / wolf monster.
A/N: Well, I changed a bit the personality of the werewolf but I think this ended up being delicious. Enjoy!
You are sitting in the hotel bar cradling a beer between your hands when a big body lands next to you, almost tripping when the stool is a little bit shorter than the newcomer is expecting. You bite your lip not to laugh.
The huge werewolf clears his throat, trying to act composed and you almost break down. “What does a girl like you do in a place like this?” He says, looking you up and down in the most naughty way.
You turn in your stool, checking him out unashamedly and liking what you see very much. But you can’t let him get away with such a bad pick up line. “Did you just start out a conversation like that?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and smiling at him.
“I did. Is it working?” He looks flustered, and you want to coo at him so very badly. Also, possibly take him to your room. What are weddings in remote places good if not to have a little rendezvous with a hot werewolf?
“Maybe,” you let out, looking down and playing coy, but struggling not to laugh.
You push your hair behind your ear in the most meme-way possible, and he breaks down first, literally howling in laughter when you join him. When both of you are breathing okay again, you offer him your hand: “Hello there, wolf-boy. Care to try again?”
“So…” He looks so awkward you have to swallow the giggle that threatens to escape. “Okay, I don’t know how to do this. I saw you from across the bar and thought you were beautiful, and I just… I don’t even know. I’m so very sorry,” he looks so dejected. What a cutie.
“Okay, I’ll tell you how is this going to be. I think you are a very hot werewolf, I’ve never been with one before, and I’m more than okay with trying new things on this trip. So if you like…”
“Yes. Yes,” he rushes out, blushing beautifully when you let out a big chuckle.
“Okay, eager. I like that,” you softly pat his cheek and he blushes even brighter. You are going to have so much fun with him. “My room number is 1221, give me about ten minutes.”
He’s mumbling “wow” under his breath when you walk away. You don’t need to get ready, your body soft and pampered for the wedding of your best friend tomorrow, so it’s just to give him something to build a bit of anticipation. Maybe to build some of your own.
Exactly ten minutes later, there’s a knock on your door, and you are shivering in anticipation. You haven’t been this excited to fuck somebody in a long time.
“Fancy seeing you here,” you tell him, dropping your robe to the floor and staring at him completely naked.
He gapes for a few seconds, and then e almost rips his clothes off. Feeling this level of desire is making you all kinds of hot and bothered. And the second he’s naked, his dick proudly pointing at you while he checks out your naked body… You know this is going to be good.
His body moves towards you in a way that’s nothing but predatory, and you are craving him like the best of chocolates. But before he can touch you, you leap to the side and his nostrils flare. A deep grumble emanates from his chest, and you smirk at him. Game on, little wolf.
You move to the side and jump over the bed, putting space between the two of you. It takes him a second to catch up, but when he does, you are ready. He chases you around the room, jumping over furniture, probably breaking a lamp, but you don’t fucking care when you are giggling and screeching every time he gets close to catch you.
You know he’s letting you get away, he could get you at any point, but he continues with this foreplay that’s making your heartbeat go crazy in your chest. “Come on, little rabbit, you know you can’t win,” his voice is a rough caress to your heated skin when you jump over the broken lamp.
But this time he’s waiting, and he catches you mid stride, curling his big furry arms around your middle and tackling you to the bed. Long gone is the cute and awkward werewolf you met downstairs, substituted with this horny werewolf about to rock your world.
“Did you enjoy your little fun, little rabbit?” He growls against your ear and you almost merge with the sheets the way your body melts under him.
“Yes,” you croak out, almost a whimper, much to his amusement. “But I want more,” you add, nails digging onto his sides, making him hiss.
He smirks before leaning down to whisper against your lips: “And what is that? You want to be fucked by the big bad wolf?”
“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, leaning up until your mouths are clashing in a desperate kiss that makes your whole body tremble. He’s no better over you, his hands touching everywhere, his hairy chest tickling your nipples and making you moan on his lips.
He pulls back for a second, his hand slipping between your bodies until he slips two fingers in your quivering pussy. You gasp, back arching while he kisses the column of your neck. “You are so wet, so ready for me. Is this what you want? You want rough, little bunny?” You nod fervently. “Words.”
“Yes. Fuck me. Ruin me, please.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he grunts before taking his fingers away and pushing his dick in.
It’s a hard thrust that fills you up to the brim. He’s not the biggest you’ve taken, but he’s above average, and it takes you a couple of deep breaths to accommodate him. He bites and pinches your nipples while he waits, sending sparks of pain that mix with your pleasure and makes you clench around him. He grunts, and his hips buck in an involuntarily thrust that makes you whimper.
“Move. Move. I’m ready.” You aren’t, but you don’t fucking care. You crave the edge of pain that comes with his thrusts, and you can’t wait anymore to get everything.
He pounds into you like the monster he is, fucking you desperately, scratching your hips with his claws while your nails dig onto his back. You are pretty sure you are leaving marks of your own behind, but it only seems to urge him on. Your heels are digging on his ass, pressing to get him as close as possible. Not that your human strength can rival a determined werewolf, but you don’t fucking care about anything while he fucks you into the mattress.
It’s fast and rough, and absolutely perfect.
The orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, mumbling all your senses until you can only feel his dick hitting your G-spot with each thrust and his tiny growls against your neck. He thrusts a couple more times while you shake with pleasure, and then you feel his release filling you.
There’s so much of it you are worried about the state of your sheets after, but his growls and the way he reaches between your bodies to touch your clit sends you into another unexpected orgasm making you scream his name.
You are so into your head that you barely feel him pulling out or walking away until a cool breeze makes you shiver. You are still shaking with aftershocks when he comes back to the bed with a glass of water and a warm towel to clean you up thoroughly. Once he makes sure you go pee and carries you back to bed, he curls all over your body and purrs.
What a cutie, is your last thought before falling asleep, his body weight the best blanket while he breathes deep against your neck, falling into slumber next to you. You wake up with the sun hitting the bed, and he eats you out in the early morning, before kissing your forehead and telling you to call him.
The cute wolf-boy turned into the big bad wolf who fucked you into oblivion and still was nice enough to make you come before leaving. How much more lucky can you get? Probably not much. You are definitely calling him again because last night was… wow.
Your dress is waiting on the dresser, and your friends are already taking margaritas when you make it to the bridal suit. Everyone is enjoying the gossip about the hot werewolf you fucked while they giggle and shake their heads at your antics.
You are standing at the side of the altar with the other maids of honor when you see him.
The second your eyes meet with him at the other side of the altar, you know you’ve fucked up. Did you… Did you sleep with the fucking best man? Oh, lord. Your best friend is going to kill you.
ꪆ꣒ fuck like bunnies ۪ ݁ ⟡ 𓈒 ౿ simon riley x bunny¡reader
𑣲 ⋆ minors 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 interact , 𝟭𝟴+ content.
when Simon started dating you it took a while before either of you trusted each other and were comfortable. He knew you were shy and unsure at times, He understood since he had his own issues from his past in the military that he couldn't yet let go.
but when you both were able to finally be comfortable and happy together, being able to feel safe and calm doing nothing. He wanted to move forward, not pushing but maybe a small nudge.
and that might've been his biggest mistake, Simon didn't like hookups so he just did years without sex, you were surprisingly quit the horny thing despite being a virgin. The first time was sweet and gentle, after that it was almost as if you couldn't find a way to stop.
everyday when he got home, you sat there in some small skirt and a cute top. Just waiting for him, running to him to kiss all over his face which turned into you practically humping his leg. This was his everyday. All the damn time. You were so needy and couldn't even help it. He could tell you got shy about it, embarrassed even. But it was in your roots.
bunnies were notorious for constant breeding and being so lustful. There was no surprise you and your hundreds of siblings came out to the world and did exactly that. Simon sometimes couldn't even keep up with you, round after round after another round. For hours on end and sometimes even that didn't satisfy you. He couldn't really get why until he accidentally pressed his hand on your neck while you were in the middle of sex, he could feel how wet you got, slick oozing all around his cock.
you didn't need some soft sex that'd last an hour or two and leave you still hungry for more. You needed something rough that would ware you out. So when you got all needy and came into the living room in just his t shirt and lacy pink panties. He was ready.
"Simon?" You whined, peeking over at him before you sat right down on his lap. Simon groaned and pulled you closer, his face finding the crook of your neck. His finger moved towards your cunt, teasing your folds.
you whimpered quietly and squirmed before he pulled off your panties, tossing them somewhere. He slowly pressed in one finger and then another. Usually he was slower at this part but this time he slammed both fingers into you, groaning at the sounds of his hand hitting your ass with each pump. “Mmm-ahh!” You moaned against Simon.
He didn’t stop until after 2 orgasms. Finally giving you a small break so he could take off his pants, revealing his hard aching cock. You panted as he manhandled you, shoving you into various positions before settling you on his lap, hands behind your back with one of his hands gripping your wrist and his other one your waist guiding you onto his oozing dick.
you gasped as you sunk down slowly before he began pounding into you. “s-sii— nghhh” You groaned, whinny breaths coming out one after the other. “F-fuck. Yeah? That’s feel good, huh?” Simon whispered in your ear. You nodded quickly which he slapped your ass harshly for. “Words.” He grunted. “Yes!yes!yes!!” You repeated. “Ohh—f-fu-gonna cum!” You cried out to which he slammed harder into you, not stopping. As your orgasm washed over you felt limp in his arms but Simon didn’t stop. He kept going until you were fully drained.
eventually he brought you to the bedroom, you assumed he was done but oh you were so wrong, he kept going. He pushed you onto your hands and knees, slamming into you, his balls hitting your clit. You couldn’t do much more besides cry and moan, words unable to form. He just chuckled and slapped your ass before moving to run your clit with his pointer finger, he moved his other hand and wrapped it around your neck, putting enough pressure to get you wet all over his cock. Quiet huffs and grunts leaving his mouth every once in a while.
it didn’t take long before you lost track of how many orgasms you were at, completely dumbified, sore, and exhausted. Simon was proud of himself, he has brought you to exhaustion. He slowly pulled out, his cum leaking from your hole. He smiled softly and kissed your cheek before leaving to grab a warm rag, cleaning you as you slept, loud snores leaving you.
a/n : this is probably really bad since it’s been sitting in my drafts for months now but that’s okay, just don’t say it to my face or I’ll cry… anyways I have a new theme! Might be basic but I love it!
Request: I loved the portal roommates story you did recently if you feel inspo for it, i esp enjoyed the intox aspect.
A/N: The one they refer to is this one. Enjoy!
Any hole is a goal (pt. 2)
Werewolf x tentacle-monster x fem!reader || double penetration, overstimulation, sharing is caring, anal sex, tentacles, breeding, (light) dirty talk || tw: recreational drugs
You’ve never tried mushrooms before, but they said it would be fun, and you are definitely feeling funny. And horny. So fucking horny. Your clothes feel like caresses against your skin and you want to hump one of them like a feral dog. That thought makes you giggle, and they look at you.
But then you catch another thing. A way more interesting thing. A dick. A werewolf dick.
Your werewolf roommate ripped his clothes off and half-shifted, his dick looking absolutely delicious between his legs while you exchange heavy looks with your tentacle-monster roommate. He’s looking at the dick in question, too, and licking his lips while his tentacles dance behind him.
“Why is my skin so sensitive?” The werewolf asks, looking absolutely debauched by a single touch of his own hand. You crawl towards him, your body too heavy to walk, and he looks down at you with dazed eyes. “Do you feel it, too?”
“Yesss…” Your voice feels weird, like it’s not yours, but the second your hands made contact with his soft fur, you are moaning. Fuck, it does feel so good. “Maybe without clothes…” You are pulling them off your body before the thought fully registers, and you see the tentacle-monster doing the same in your periphery. Perfect. So much skin and fur.
You straddle the werewolf lap, and he moans in sync with you. You move against each other, hands exploring and marveling at each single touch. It’s like everything is amplified, and you want it all. You are grinding your pussy against his dick when the tentacle monster moves closer.
“You two are as high as kites right now, aren’t you?” The tentacle monster sounds absolutely delighted by this fact, his whole body undulating in his way towards you. He’s so fucking hot… You want those tentacles in every single one of your holes.
He positions himself behind you, his tentacles reaching to touch both of your bodies, while you bite down on your werewolf’s neck, and he continues being as vocal as possible about it. Each sound is like a stroke to your clit, and you fucking love it. Vocal monster is where the juice is at, for sure.
A tentacle touches your lower back, and you arch towards him, more than ready to be filled. “I’m going to fuck your holes, is that what you want? I bet you two would sound so pretty while I fuck my tentacles in your holes. Do you want that, darlings?” Your nod comes with a soft moan when one of his tentacles touches your dripping pussy. “Fuck, you are so warm and wet. Velvety soft. You are so fucking perfect. What a perfect human pussy for me.” You don’t see what he’s doing, but you hear his next words and your whole world stops for a second. “And you? Fuck. You are so tight. Has anybody fucked your tight asshole, pet? I bet not. Do you want to? Do you want my tentacles inside of you?” Your werewolf roommate is nodding so fast and hard your whole body is shaking on top of his.
It takes a couple of minutes of teasing before you are begging for him to fuck you already, but he magically produces a bottle of lube that he carefully drips down your crack. You shiver at the temperature, and let out a choked moan when he applies more. It drips down your pussy and onto the werewolf balls… and even lower.
You look over your shoulder to see him using his fingers. The werewolf looks completely dizzy with pleasure, jaw slack and head thrown back. Fuck. That’s so hot.
You are next in the stretching line, his fingers not being as careful with you because he knows you like the sting of a bit of pain. He does a quick work with your ass, and you already know he’s not going to use his bigger tentacles on you. He’s probably saving them for your werewolf roommate. Fuck yes.
“Everyone ready?” His tone is way too cheerful, and makes you giggle while the werewolf nods frantically. Your laughter dies on your mouth when he presses forward, filling both of your holes at the same time. And by the sounds the werewolf is making… filling him nicely, too.
By the time he’s fully inside, you are already begging for more, and the werewolf dick pressing against your lower abdomen is leaking profusely, creating a sinful friction against your skin.
And then all games and amusement are far away from your mind when he starts moving behind you.
The tentacle-monster fucks you in tandem, his tentacles pushing in and out of your holes while he does the same with the werewolf under you. The combination of the wet sounds with the grunts and moans is like a symphony of sin, and it’s driving you completely insane.
Everything feels heightened, everything is too much and too little at once. And you crave more.
You start bouncing, trying to get the tentacles deeper and harder. But what you get is the werewolf dick rubbing against your clit in the most filthy way possible. You are so wet his knot is like the perfect texture, and before you know it you are rubbing yourself against him.
The angle is weird, and it twists the tentacles inside of you in a way that hits a point inside of you that’s like pressing against the pleasure center in your brain with each single thrust. You might be ascending into heaven. Maybe it’s outer space. Maybe you are an astronaut right now, being fucked by a tentacle monster while you grind your wet pussy against a werewolf’s knot. Fuck.
“If you don’t stop talking I’m going to embarrass myself,” the werewolf says out loud, and you realize, once more, that your high self is broadcasting the thoughts into the universe.
“No, no. Don’t stop,” the tentacle monster says behind you, his thrusts becoming erratic, one of his tentacles holding you down so you can grind harder against the knot. That’s so fucking hot. They both moan at that. “Make him come. Let me see how pretty you two look coming undone around me. Being filled by my tentacles.”
And you are nothing but a good girl who likes following orders, because your movements became frantic and before you can even process it, your orgasm is rocking your whole body and you are gushing over the werewolf knot, clenching over the tentacles in your holes while everyone around you also starts cursing and moaning. It’s perfect. It’s wonderful… There’s a little puddle of werewolf cum against your stomach.
That last thought makes you giggle, which jolts your hips and makes everyone moan again. Your tentacle-monster tries to hold you still, but you are not so easy. You grind your hips against the tentacles once more, milking their oversensitivity while you chase your second orgasm, much to their pleasure and demise.
The second you come again, they completely sag. The werewolf falls back against the mattress, and the tentacle monster plasters his whole front against your back, creating the perfect human sandwich.
“I’ll clean you both… Just… Just give me... a minute,” he blurts out, and you don’t complain. You are more than cozy between them, still filled and clenching.
At the end, your tentacle-monster roommate doesn’t get to clean you up, because you start rolling your hips, making both of them groan… and it ends up in a second round. And a third. Maybe a fourth, things are a bit foggy.
By the time you are done with them, there’s fluids everywhere and the effect of the mushrooms is far gone, but fuck… that was perfect.
𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Your mobster is willing to negotiate for the return of some very incriminating photos.
𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 3K
𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Semi-public smut•outdoor sex•oral (fem receiving)•slight cum play•hint of a breeding kink•chase kink•choking kink•knife play•dom/sub vibes•overstimulation.
𝘈.𝘕.:Beta’d by the wonderful @lunarbuck and @maladaptivexxdaydreaming.
|Masterlist↬Mafia Masterlist↬Library↬Latte|
↬Part of the Bumblebee Series.
“Give me the camera, Malyshka,” Bucky growls softly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing.
No, you don’t think you will. You are enjoying yourself way much to hand it over.
You caught the mobster in the middle of an outdoor princess tea party. When he had stepped out of his office for a quick break, Bumblebee, your toddler, was waiting for him. She declared her Papa a prince, slapped one of her crowns on his head, and told him it was time for a party. He let himself be pulled away from his territory disputes and out to the backyard.
Now he’s surrounded by Daisy, Mr. Tato, and a sleepy Bumblebee. She’s crashing from an apple juice and cupcake-induced sugar high. Her little body slumping over in her rose gold chair, sprinkled-covered mouth open in a drowsy smile, cheek pressed to the table barely able to muster up the energy to let out the Hi mommy, her bright pink shirt riding up, exposing her chubby belly.
She’s the cutest little drunk you’ve ever seen.
And sitting across from her is your handsome prince.
His large body appears even more massive than usual in the tiny chair he somehow managed to squeeze into, his knees jammed up to his chest, the pink and gold teacup comically small in his hands.
You defiantly raise the camera again and snap another picture. “I think Steve will like this one,” you smirk as the bright flash fades.
“I’m warning you,” he murmurs in a darkening tone, gracefully raising from the seat causing it to tumble on its side.
Your eyes flick over to your toddler, now fully asleep with a cupcake squished in her hand. It should be illegal to be that cute. Your gaze slowly travels back to your husband.
“Am I supposed to be scared of you, James?” The emphasis on his name makes his brow arch. The simple act is sexier than it should be. “Tell me, what are you going to do, hmm?”
It could be that he has you so far gone that everything he does is sexier than it should be.
Tight Quarters PART 2-FINAL (werewolf best friend x fem reader)
Summary: You have been avoiding your werewolf best friend after the intimate moment between you earlier that night. But Marcus corners you. Things get intense, physical, and very real between you.
TW: NSFW, P in V, oral (fem), fingering, possessive behavior, knotting, claiming, size difference, HEA.
GO TO PART 1
Happy reading, holy smut awaits below!
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The storm didn't stop.
And you... you became a ghost in the cabin.
Flitting from room to room, always one step ahead of Marcus. When he entered the kitchen, you suddenly needed something from another room. When he settled on the couch, you remembered something you'd left upstairs. When he looked at you, you found something fascinating to study on the opposite wall.
Candles got lit because the power was still unstable. Sarah made boxed mac and cheese while someone else burned popcorn in the microwave. You laughed at jokes you didn't hear and ate food you couldn't taste.
And through all of it, you felt Marcus watching.
When midnight came, everyone started claiming sleeping spots. One took the upstairs bedroom. Someone called the couch. A sleeping bag was rolled out near the fireplace while voices argued over blankets.
You waited until nobody paid attention before escaping to the attic.
Bad idea.
The second you stepped out into the hallway, a large hand wrapped around your wrist.
Marcus.
He didn’t say a word. Just dragged you down the hall toward the downstairs bedroom. His bedroom. You knew because it was saturated with his scent. The storm growled outside as he pulled you inside after him.
"They won't hear us down here," he said, closing the door. The lock clicked. "Not with the storm."
You stood in the center of the room, trembling, your tights ruined, your thighs sticky. The room was small; paneled walls, a pull-out couch, a single window showing nothing but rain.
Marcus circled you like the wolf he was. His dark hair was messy from running his hand through it all night. His broad shoulders tense under his gray hoodie. His beautiful green eyes glittered in the low light.
"You really thought you could ignore me all night?" he asked.
You swallowed hard. "I wasn’t ignoring you."
Marcus laughed. "Yeah? So that’s why you wouldn’t even look at me after grinding all over my lap?"
"I wasn’t grinding—"
"You came on my jeans."
Your mouth snapped shut.
He stopped directly in front of you. Towering over your smaller frame. His body blocked out the window, the door, the rest of the room.
"And then you avoided me for hours." His jaw flexed. "What exactly was your plan there?"
"I didn’t know what to do."
"You could’ve talked to me."
"I panicked!"
"You panicked?" His eyebrows lifted. "Sweetheart, you’ve been acting nervous around me for months. You think I didn’t notice?"
Your sighed. Of course he noticed. Marcus noticed everything about you.
Thunder cracked outside. Instinctively, you flinched.
"You know what pissed me off the most?" he asked quietly.
You shook your head.
"The fact you acted embarrassed." He inched even closer. "Like what happened between us was a mistake."
"It wasn’t a mistake," you mumbled before you could call the words back.
"Good," he drawled. "Because I’m done pretending this is normal best-friend shit."
Your heart hammered.
"We crossed those lines a long time ago," he said. "You know it. I know it."
He was right.
For a long time now, you'd lost track of what was normal.
The way you slept curled against him during movie nights, his arm around your waist. The way he growled at guys who flirted with you. The way his hand would linger on your thigh too long, and your fingers would trace his chest longer than they should. The way he looked at your mouth. The way you looked at his.
"I’ve wanted you for years," he admitted. "And now I know you want me too. So no." He shook his head. "I'm not backing down. You made a mess of my jeans. You take responsibility."
"I—"
"Do you know how hard I am right now?" He grabbed your hand, guided it against the front of his fly. The bulge there was obscene; a huge column straining against the denim, so large your fingers couldn't wrap around it.
"This is what you did to me. Thirty minutes of grinding that sweet little cunt against my lap, and now my cock's so fucking painful I can't think straight."
Your mouth watered.
"See something you want?" He unbuttoned his jeans. The zipper came down, tooth by tooth, and when he reached inside and pulled—
God.
His cock was huge. Thick, long and flushed dark red, the head shiny with pre-cum, thick veins running along the underside. His balls hung fat, drawn up tight against his body.
He wrapped his hand around the base and pumped. A bead of fluid leaked from the slit and dripped down the shaft.
"You're going to make it up to me," he said, stepping closer. The head of his cock nudged your hip, leaving a smear of pre-cum on your shirt. "And then you're going to remember that no one else gets to touch what's mine."
"I-I'm a free woman—"
He grabbed your jaw. His fingers dug into your cheeks.
"Free?" He laughed, and there was nothing friendly in it. "You are mine. You're not free because you have someone who belongs to you: ME. You think I'd let anyone else put their hands on you? Watch you squirm and cum?"
His thick thumb shoved past your lips. Pressed down on your tongue. You tasted his salty skin.
"Marc.... mmmhp—"
He leaned in closer. His musky scent filled your nose. Made your pussy clench.
"I'd kill them," he said, matter-of-fact. "I'd tear their throats out with my teeth before I let them see what's mine. That cunt belongs to me. These tits belong to me. Every wet, dripping sound you make, every time you clench around nothing thinking about my cock—mine."
You whimpered around his thumb. Your nipples hardened under your shirt. Heat flooded between your legs.
He released your jaw, stepped back, and smiled. "Now strip for me."
You arched a brow, smirking up at him. "Strip me yourself, wolf. You said you're mine, right? Come and take what's yours."
A deep growl and he lunged, his mouth claiming yours. His tongue coaxed your lips apart, while his hands yanked at your shirt. He peeled it off, then clawed at your bra, snapping the straps and tossing it aside. Your tights came next until you stood naked except for your drenched panties.
"What's next, sweetheart? Tell me what you want. This wolf who belongs to you. What do you want him to do?"
You gazed up at Marcus, your best friend for years, and saw something feral looking back. Was that side always there? What had you missed and why did you love it so much? This possession in his eyes. The absolute adoration. They set you on fire. He set you on fire.
"Please," you whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me. Please... I need your cock inside me. I need you to split me open on it. I've been thinking about it for months, about how big you are, about how it would feel—"
He kissed you again, all teeth and tongue, his hand fisting in your hair while the other ripped your panties down your legs. He lifted you like you weighed nothing, spun you around, bent you over the arm of the pull-out couch.
Fabric rustled behind you. His deep grunts as he stripped off his clothes. You glanced back. he was naked. Tall. Furred. Muscled. Every inch the werewolf he was. He dropped to his knees behind you, hands spreading your cheeks apart. His tongue dragged over your slick folds, making your toes curl.
"Fuck, this pussy." He lapped again. "Pretty little pussy that squirted so hard for me."
"Marcus... oh fuuuck..."
"Hold still." His tongue flicked your clit while his thick fingers probed your slit. One digit pushed in. Then a second. Stretching you wider.
You gasped, choking on a moan as he pumped them, your juices squelching around his knuckles.
"Marcus—mhnn, it's too much—"
"I know, sweetheart," he whined, pumping steadily and licking your trickling juices. "I know you're so fucking tight. Hasn't had a real cock in ages, has it? But you'll take every inch of my fat dick anyway, won't you? Because you're my good girl."
You nodded frantically.
"Words."
"Yes—fuck yes, I'll take it, just please—"
The head of his cock nudged your slit.
You'd thought you were prepared.
But nothing, nothing, could have prepared you for the way he impaled you, the burning stretch of that thick crown spreading your muscles inch by inch.
"Fuuuck," you sobbed. "Too big—can't—"
"Shh. You can." His hips rolled. Sank deeper. You moaned brokenly. "Taking me so well. Look at that—" His thumb found your clit, rubbing in circles. The pleasure-pain short-circuited your brain. "—your pretty cunt's swallowing my cock because it was made for it."
With a wet squelch, he was in. Bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass, his balls pressing against your clit. You could feel every ridge of him, every pulsing vein, the way his cock stretched your walls so wide you swore you could feel yourself in your throat.
"Inside," you gasped. "You're inside—"
"All the way." He sounded wrecked. "Feel that?" He shifted his hips, and you felt the bulge of him moving inside you. "Feel how deep I am?"
You couldn't answer.
Your mouth hung open. Drool dripped onto the couch. Your eyes rolled back.
"Hnng—fuck, you're tight—" He fucked you. Slow strokes that pulled almost all the way out before sinking back in. Your walls clenched around him, tried to hold him, and he snarled. "Shiiiit—
"Marcus—"
"Not gonna last." His hips picked up speed. The couch creaked beneath you, shoved against the wall with each thrust. "You feel too good. This perfect, wet, gripping cunt—"
He grabbed your hips. Angled you up.
The next thrust hit a spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"HGNNN—!" you sobbed. "Right there—oh fuck, don't stop—"
He didn't.
Brutally, his hips snapped against yours. Each stroke hammered that spot until you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only ride higher and higher.
SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.
"Gonna bust," he warned. "I'm gonna fill this pretty cunt up. And then I'm gonna keep you on my cock until it takes." His rhythm faltered. "Until everyone upstairs smells it on you. Until they know."
"Yes—yes—"
"From now on, you belong to me. And I belong to you. No one touches me and no one touches you. You understand?"
So filthy. So possessive.
You came on his next thrust, your whole body convulsing, your pussy milking his cock as he fucked you through it.
"Guh—guh—guh—"
"Fuck—aah—" Marcus's hips stuttered, his rhythm breaking. His cock swelled inside you, the knot at the base spreading your slit wide. You mewled at the stretch. Felt the first hot spurt of cum flood your channel. "Hnnnnng— take it—"
Splorch. Splorch. Splorch.
He kept you impaled, pumping ropes of his seed deep into your pussy while you clenched around him, taking everything he gave. His knot locked you together—it was impossible to pull out. He slumped over your back, breathing ragged.
"That," he said, "was just the beginning."
It was minutes later when his knot finally deflated. He pulled out. You winced at the emptiness and the feel of his cum dribbling down your thighs. He spun you around, kissed you wetly, and wiped his thumb through the mess between your legs.
Then he brought that thumb to your lips.
"Lick it," he demanded and you wrapped your lips around his digit, tasting yourself and him together.
"Good girl." He smiled. "Bed. I want to hold my girlfriend."
You blinked, pretending innocence. "Girlfriend?"
"You are the one and only lucky girl."
You grinned. "Lucky doesn't cover it. From besties to this? I want you forever, boyfriend. Cuddle me and knot me to sleep every night."
"Deal," he drawled, kissing your forehead. "You're stuck with me now."
Can you do Dragon bf that lpves to give oral to reader? He just loved sucking his girls sweet sweet juice with his two slitted tounge, and reader loves sitting on him😊🎀
Hi! I imagined this little txt with the dragon in a more mid-form, so like not full dragon, but not humanoid either. Hope you like it! <3
Dragon boyfriend who loves the taste of your pussy so much he can’t get enough. He could spend hours and hours eating you out. You try to complain, tell her you don’t have enough time, but he doesn’t care. He takes his fill of your pussy every chance he gets. He makes out with your pussy like he wants to devour you, and you are unable to say anything about it. He makes you sit on his face and ride him until your legs give out. Just to grab your hips and keep moving you to his heart’s content. His slittered tongue hitting all the perfect spots inside of you.
Sometimes he doesn’t like that you come so fast, so he ties you down and edges you until you are crying, your pussy so sensitive and so wet that he can feast on it. Doesn’t matter how much you scream, how much you plead him to let you come, he keeps going until he has enough, usually hours later. After you come, he spends another hour “cleaning you”, until you come again. You are so tired you can barely keep your eyes open, but that doesn’t stop him. When you wake up with his face still between your legs in the peak of another orgasm, he smirks at you and bites down gently on your clit, making you squirt for the first time. That discovery makes him feral, drinking all you have to give and pushing you to give him more.
you can build off this if you want i jus have this fantasy and i feel like im edging myself not knowing whats gonna happen next. just imagining being in close quarters with werewolf best friend while wearing tights…for some reason limited space requires you to sit on his lap. You’re nervous and he subtly massages down your thighs, relaxing you. As the minutes pass on he coaxes your legs further and further apart and has you seated tight with your back against his chest. He keeps your clothed pussy flush against his huge hard cock in his jeans. Your friends don’t notice as your ass and hips begin to quiver and shift, causing him to press you down further. He shoves his meaty fingers down your throat to keep you quiet as he expertly shifts his own hips and uses his free hand to orient you how he needs. I just wonder how long he’d have you like that. How wet you’d be and how hard and painful his cock would be jutting into your slow, rocking pussy. I wonder how he’d address it in private, and how he’d take you once the tension finally blew again. Would he show it off to your other friends? would he make a mission of stretching and spreading every part of you like he did your thighs? Are you in a car? Watching a movie? Bonfire? So much to think about I just think the massive surface area of his huge cock and hard, muscular thighs would feel so good to just grind and wither against. Maybe you make so much of a scene your other friends decide you’re theirs for the taking.
Tight Quarters PART 1 (werewolf best friend x fem reader)
Kate: Hey moonlust crewwww and dear anon! This one was a WILD ask in the best way. It got so out of hand that I had to split it into 2 parts!!!
Note: while writing this, the werewolf (I named him Marcus) turned into a very touchy, very feral werewolf. Before I knew it, I was hard into the possessive werewolf best friend trope! Marcus has been secretly obsessed with reader forever, so there’s NO way he’s staying normal with her squirming on his lap in tights for that long or even sharing her.
Anyway, I kept the vibe focused mostly on him and reader AND I ran wild with the tension and the 'finally snapping after holding back too long' energy!!!
Hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it and stay tuned for part 2 with more smut 😭 Hugs!!!
Summary: A mountain cabin. A sudden storm. Your werewolf best friend's lap is the only seat left. What could go wrong? Everything.
TW: NSFW, submitted compliance, public semi-public, size difference, grinding, dry-humping with clothes on, mouth fingering, super pro max possessive behavior, primal, sexual tension.
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The cabin had seemed like a good idea three days ago.
A cozy retreat. Wood-paneled walls. A stone fireplace. Friends gathered together.
Perfect weekend.
Then the sky split open.
The rain started before sunset. By midnight, the roads were flooding and the power kept flickering hard enough to make everyone nervous. Leaving was impossible. Trees had fallen somewhere down the main road.
Thunder cracked.
Then the power flickered.
Once. Twice.
Then nothing.
Darkness swallowed the living room.
"Shit." Marcus's voice rumbled from somewhere behind you, that deep growl that did things to you. "That's it. Power's out for real this time."
Your other friends groaned from their spots scattered around the living room; Sarah curled on the loveseat, Derek sprawled on the rug, Jenna and Tom sharing the armchair by the dimmed fireplace.
But you? You'd been the last one through the door when the storm hit, which meant the only spot left was the corner of the small couch. The corner already occupied by Marcus's massive frame.
Your best friend since freshman year. The person who knew every embarrassing thing about you (well... almost everything). The werewolf who'd grown from lanky, awkward teenager into a muscled beast with dark fur and emerald eyes that made your mouth dry.
He'd patted the cushion next to him when you'd hesitated. "Come on. Promise I don't bite."
You'd perched there nervously at first, your weight barely grazing his denim-clad leg, body angled awkwardly so you wouldn't have to touch him. You wore tights, black tights because Jenna said casual night, but they fucking squeaked against the worn couch fabric as you shifted.
"Settle," Marcus whispered so the others wouldn't hear. His hand found your hip, fingers spreading across. "You're gonna fall off like that."
"I'm fine."
"You're trembling."
Were you? You couldn't tell anymore. His body heat rolled off him in waves, that particular warmth and musk he gave off, and every small adjustment you made brought some new part of you into contact with some new part of him.
Lightning cracked.
Sarah squealed.
Derek snorted.
And Marcus's hand slid from your hip to your thigh. Resting there. His palm cupped the outer curve of your leg through those stupid, stupid tights. His thumb stroked absent circles against the fabric. The motion hypnotic. Unthinking.
He doesn't know what he's doing, you told yourself. It's just Marcus. He's always been tactile. He's always touched you without thinking.
But his thumb traced higher. Then lower. And your muscles started unknotting without your permission. Your spine softened. Your pelvis tilted backward. Your body curved toward him like a flower seeking sunlight.
"You're wound tight," he observed, still pitched for your ears only. "When's the last time someone took care of you?"
"Marcus—"
"Shh. Just breathe."
Another crack of thunder.
You jumped. Your shoulder blades met his chest. And his arm came around you.
Oh.
Oh no.
His cock was already half-hard against your lower back. A thick bar of heat that nudged against you when he shifted, pulling you deeper into the cradle of his body. Your breath caught in your throat and stuck there.
"There you go," he purred. "That's better."
While you hyperventilated, his hand continued moving.
Up your thigh. Down. Wider each time, coaxing your legs apart millimeter by millimeter. Until you realized you were practically sitting back on him, your knees spread open, your tights-clad pussy pressing against the ridge of his zipper.
"Marcus." Your whisper barely existed. "People can see—"
"They can't see shit. Lights out. Phones are dying. Phones are dead, actually. Look around, sweetheart."
You did.
The cabin existed in shades of gray.
No one was looking at you.
No one could see Marcus's hand on your thigh.
"See?" His thumb traced the inside of your knee. "Nobody's paying attention. So stop being afraid."
"I'm not afraid of—"
"No? Oh... I see..."
"What?"
"You smell sweet." His nose brushed your temple, inhaling. "Really sweet."
Heat flooded your face. "I—I don't know what you mean."
"Mhm." Another inhale. Longer this time. His chest expanded at your back. "You do."
His thumb pressed lightly into the inside of your thigh and you bit back a moan. "Wait..."
"There it is," he said, voice rough. "You’re not scared of the storm. So tell me what’s got you this worked up while sitting in my lap, sweetheart."
"Nothing."
He chuckled. "Liar. I can smell it. That sweet, wet pussy scent. And I know you didn't piss yourself." His thumb traced higher. "This is arousal, sweetheart. Your cunt's dripping. Leaking all over my jeans. I can feel it through the denim."
Oh god.
Your face incinerated both at his words. Your core clenched. Fuck, he was right. More slick bloomed between your thighs, soaking through the thin gusset of your panties, darkening the tights above your seam.
"Why?" he murmured. "You can tell me. I'm your best friend."
That's the problem.
Your throat closed around the words. You'd been hiding this for years. You liked him. Had always liked him. Because of him, your dreams had turned into something you couldn't admit to yourself, let alone to him. The way you'd touch yourself at night, imagining his hands, his mouth, his—
"I... I don't know..."
"Bullshit."
"Wh—no, I didn’t—" you stammered.
"Shhh, easy now," he soothed. "I need to check. Make sure you're okay. Spread those legs for me."
You hesitated, biting your lip, but instinct and hunger made you obey. Shyly, you parted your thighs more. He tutted and his hands hooked under your knees, prying your legs wider apart and outside his.
"Like that. Good girl."
Behind you, his muscular hips shifted.
The hard column of his cock, (and god the sheer size of the thing) nudged the cradle of your ass. You felt it jump against you as he settled deeper into the couch. His free hand came up to your waist, fingers splaying across your stomach, and he pulled you flush against his chest.
"Feel that?"
He rolled his hips. Just a small, testing movement.
His cock dragged against your pussy through all those layers. Denim. Tights. Panties. Still, you felt the inhuman thickness pressing against your clothed slit like it wanted to split you open right then and there.
"Fuck... mmhp!"
He covered your mouth before another sound escaped. Shoved two thick digits past your lips and pressed down on your tongue.
"Don't want them hearing how desperate you are, do you?"
In the dim glow of someone's dying phone—Sarah's, probably, because she'd been conserving battery, you could see the room. Sarah scrolling, oblivious. Derek still watching the rain. Jenna and Tom tangled together in the armchair.
No one was looking.
No one saw Marcus's hand slide down your belly, over the mound of your pubic bone, until two thick fingers pressed directly against the soaked fabric covering your clit. You whimpered mutely and wiggled on his lap.
"Be good," he murmured, his finger pulling away from your clit. "Why are you trying to run from me?"
"’m not—" you mumbled through the fingers in your mouth.
"You are."
His nose skimmed behind your ear, breathing you in again.
"You know the funny thing?" he said softly. "You started soaking through those little tights the second you sat beside me."
"No-mphhh!"
"You did." His fingers pumped in your mouth, ruining your ability to think. "Been feeling you squirm this whole time. Every time you shifted, your cunt leaked a little more. By the time the lights went out, you'd already soaked through."
"St-op... mphh... teasing..."
"But it's cute." His fingers danced over your tongue. "You were perfectly fine around everybody else tonight. Laughing. Eating popcorn. Playing board games like a normal person." His hips rolled again, grinding his length against your seam. "Then you sit on my lap and suddenly you're a mess."
You whined low, hit by the absolute truth of his words.
He smiled against your skin. "You wanna know what that tells me, sweetheart?"
You couldn’t answer. Your teeth had sunk into his fingers, your hips moving without your permission.
"It tells me this isn’t the storm making you wet.” His mouth brushed your temple. "It’s me."
You couldn't answer. You gyrated slightly, rocking against him. Your ass grinding against his lap, your tights-slick pussy dragging across his trapped cock, seeking friction, anything to ease the awful, wonderful ache building between your thighs.
Marcus's fingers returned, teasing your clit through the tights. "That's it. Use me. Take what you need."
His hips answered your rhythm. Thrusting up against you in counterpoint. And god, he got even harder; you could feel the shape of his cock clearly. The broad flare of the head. The heavy shaft. The weight of his balls.
He was huge. Bigger than any human of course, and somehow your body craved that stretch, even though you knew it would break you open.
Your thighs quivered. Your stomach clenched.
The pressure in your core built and your rocking turned frantic, while you suckled at his fingers, grateful for something to keep you quiet. He kissed your cheek. Curled his digits, caressing the soft palate of your throat.
"That's right," he rasped. "Choke on my fingers while I use this pretty cunt through your panties. You're so fucking wet I can feel it creaming."
He wasn't wrong. Your arousal had soaked through everything. The ridges of his jeans caught on your clit through the tights, sending sparks up your spine, and your eyes rolled back as he altered his angle.
"You want to cum. You want to soak through your tights and make a mess all over my cock, right here, with everyone in this room."
You shook your head frantically around his fingers.
"It's going to happen, sweetheart." He laughed darkly. "I can feel you fluttering. Your cunt's trying to milk something that isn't even inside it." His hips circled, grinding his length against your seam, and you felt the heat of him even through the denim. "You're gonna cum. But when you do, you're gonna do it quietly."
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—
Your orgasm overwhelmed you.
A silent, powerful thing that ripped through your spine and had your thighs trembling against his legs. Your pussy pulsed against his trapped cock, your hips rocking in staccato jerks as you rode out the pleasure on his lap.
Your mouth opened wide around his fingers but no sound came out except a muted "guhhhhh—"
Saliva spilled down his knuckles. Behind you, Marcus's entire body went rigid, his cock throbbing against your twitching pussy through the denim, and he let out a breath that was almost a whine.
"That's my good girl," he whispered, pulling his slick fingers from your mouth. Strings of spit connected his knuckles to your lower lip. "So pretty when you fall apart for me."
You slumped against his chest, panting, vision blurring at the edges. Your walls still pulsed in little aftershocks that made you clench around nothing. You could feel the wet spot you'd left on his jeans.
Suddenly, the power flickered back on.
The lights blinded you.
"Well," Sarah said, glancing up from her phone, "that was dramatic. You two okay back there?"
"I'm fine," you mumbled, hazy and embarrassed.
Thankfully, Marcus had acted before anyone could notice a thing. He'd shifted you fully into his side, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other pulled your legs across his lap. You were tucked against his chest, curled into the warmth of his chest.
His jeans were ruined.
So were you.
But nobody could see it.
"She's scared of thunder," Marcus said smoothly.
Derek snorted. "Didn't take you for the type to do cuddling, Marc."
"Everyone needs something." Marcus's voice dropped, pitched for your ears alone. "And some of us are about to get everything."
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Stay tuned for PART 2!!!
Meanwhile, show some love if you enjoyed :) Hugs and kisses :)
Been thinking about a werewolf baby trapping you, just a poor thing so pent up that the first opportunity he gets to fuck someone, he wants to make sure they stay (by putting a litter of pups in them)
Request2 (had it writen down but can't find it): Something about a feral not quite sapient werewolf really does it for me. Can't even talk to you, doesn't think, only knows: "Pussy makes knot feel so good" so he just humps and humps and whines and keens, hoping the burning ache in his cock will end. He's an animal hunting for pleasure
Feral breeding
Werewolf x fem!reader || knotting, breeding, (lowkey) heat, overstimulation
Were you thinking you’d be getting dicked down and bred when you walked out of your house to go on a first date with a werewolf? No. Are you happy about it? Of course. Who would be idiotic enough to complain when your knees are at your ears and there’s an eager werewolf licking your pussy to get you ready for his huge monster cock? Not you. You are grateful.
The werewolf in question appeared at your house around two hours ago, and he looked very handsome, very hot. Even hotter than in the app pics, if that was even possible. His furry body and body builder frame caging you in for a hug the second he crossed the threshold. You reciprocated with a giggle, and your whole body went pliant the second his claws grabbed your hips and he growled against your neck.
The short “mine” whispered against your skin was a surprise, but everyone knew about werewolves finding their fated mate through scent alone. That’s how you discovered humans could be werewolf mates. For the rest… That’s all on him and his magical werewolf dick.
He ripped your nice clothes off your body while you gasped for air, his pheromones swimming in the air, making it dense and transforming your pussy into a waterfall. You’ve never been that wet, and the second he smelled it in the air, it’s like his whole body tensed and released a second later. Released on you.
The werewolf pushed you to the ground, opening your legs and pushing them back until he could fit between them, his tongue leveled with your pussy before he started eating you out like you were his last meal and he was about to die. You could only hold on for dear life as he kept licking and sucking and getting you wetter than the fucking ocean.
By the time he pulled back, you were almost crying in desperation to come. But he only grunted something about coming on his cock, and you were too far gone to even try to argue. Why would you? You needed him inside of you, too.
His preparations paid off the second he pressed his dick against your opening, pushing in one hard thrust that you felt from your tiptoes to the last hair of your head. It was like his dick was magic and he could fuck every cell of your body at once.
Your orgasm was ripped off you, pulled from your body by an otherworldly force that left you gasping while his dick fucked you rough and raw. Right there. On the ground.
“You want my knot? You want to be knotted like a good little pet?” He growled against your neck, his fangs threatening against your jugular while you whined a short agreement, your brain too far gone to consider anything but the pleasure he was giving you.
And that’s how you find yourself being knotted and bred to his heart’s content. “Your pussy. Fuck. Your pussy is so good. It’s strangling my knot. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He keeps chanting curses while you try to focus for a second, trying to remember what year it is, but your brain is still fried. “You feel so good. Your pussy is perfect. You are going to be so pretty when you are full of pups. You are going to look perfect. All full of me. All mine.”
You don’t have the heart to tell him you are on the pill, but his words are building something new inside of you. You’ve never come twice with a partner. It’s more likely that you don’t come at all, but right now, with the combination of his knot pressing against your G-spot and his words, you feel the telltale sign of a new orgasm approaching.
You try to reach out to touch your clit, but he bats your hand away. “You come on my knot or you don’t come at all,” he growls.
You shiver at the dominance in his tone, blinking slowly and crying out when he starts to move his hips in a circular motion. He’s rubbing your G-spot so well you can see bright spots at the corner of your vision. You are pretty sure he’s about to make you come just from that… You can feel it. It’s so close… You are so close.
“I need… I need…” You try to tell him, but your voice breaks when he pushes your legs further up, your knees to your ears.
The change of positions makes his knot feel even bigger inside of you. He’s pressing onto something much deeper than your G-spot, your whole body electrified when he ruts against your ass.
The sparks of pleasure are so high and so intense your next orgasm hits you like a train to the chest. You don’t scream. You only open your mouth and close your eyes as a wave of blinding pleasure washes over you. He groans, rutting harder, making your orgasm longer, filling you more and more until you don’t know where he ends and you’re begging. His dick is so deep it’s bruising your cervix, his come overflowing…
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: bucky isn't your boss, but he's still off limits. and even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd ever go for someone like you. weird that he matched with you on a dating app then, isn't it?✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, modern!au, ceo!bucky, no use of y/n, mutual pining, virgin!reader, dating apps, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, kinda boss x secretary, plot to earn porn, feral level smut, (fingering, teasing, stripping, soft dom!bucky, dirty talk, mean bucky but you're into it, teasing, possiveness, mutual masturbation, pussy spanking, praise kink, manhandling, dumbification, big dick bucky, p in v sex, creampie), soft!bucky outside of smut✦
✦wc: 13.9k✦
✦Author's Note: this one is for all my wound up "want love but afraid of intimacy girlies". we go through it. Enjoy!✦
Bucky Barnes is ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know it.
You wish you could blame him. Slash his tires and scream in his face, maybe drain the oil from his bike or mess up his lunch order. But he wouldn’t deserve that, and you’d just end up homeless on the street. You’d have to sell your body, but you’ve never been that good at sales, and begging Steve for your job back wouldn’t get you anywhere when you’d just given his best friend food poisoning.
And Bucky wouldn’t deserve that. He’s perfect. He’s a mountain you’d love to scale, if you hadn’t always been horrid at climbing. You’d dig your nails into his chest, and maybe just keep him at eye level forever. So you could watch that quiet joy that only shines for the people he really, truly likes.
You’re a member of that rare club. It’s taken years of small kindness’ and lingering in Steve’s shadow to get there.
Even if you wanted to, you’d never risk ruining that just because of some schoolgirl crush. Not when Bucky might make your heart stumble and your face heat, but he hasn’t taken away your wits.
The same wits that tell you, it’s not worth the risk.
It will never be worth the risk. You worked too hard to get where you are. It’s too good a job, to burn up because you have a few fantasies. Steve Rogers famously went through assistant after assistant, before you. When you’d asked Natasha why—Steve’s a perfect boss, he lets you take hour long lunches and use sick time as PTO, as long as you don’t tell HR—she’d just shrugged.
“It’s not Steve that’s making them quit.” She’d hummed, like you were supposed to know exactly what that meant.
You hadn’t. You still don’t. Best guess, he thinks that everyone can keep up with him and forgets to slow down and match pace. But you can keep up with him just fine. Without breaking a sweat. Sometimes you out-pace him, and that earns you a loud, approving laugh and small smirk from Bucky.
Bucky.
James. You’re trying to call him James, in your head. It’s more formal. Creates a larger gap, between private fantasy and reality.
In fantasy, Bucky is a hazy voice that creeps into your dreams and rough stubble that brushes over your cheek. You tangle the sheets and blankets between your legs in bed, and pretend he’s there, holding you tight. Dreams and scenarios play out before you go to sleep, where he backs you against a wall and declares that he’s loved you since he first saw you. Or he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, pleading because he can’t take being away from you anymore. Maybe all his stares at conferences and meetings finally amount to something, and he grabs your jaw and kisses you so brutally you both just fall onto that soft couch in his office.
But Bucky doesn’t just stare at you. It’s one of his weird little quirks that Steve calls just Bucky, and Sam calls creepy and weird, he’s lucky we love him.
You do love him.
Bucky’s perfect. When you’d met him, he’d seemed as if he’d fallen out of a silver screen or leather-bound book. You’d never understood fantasies about powerful men, until one with the brilliance of fifty suns had been adjusting his cuffs in front of you. You’d barely been able to breathe, and it’s only gotten harder since you’ve known him.
At first look, Bucky’s a sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes that follow you into your sleep. He’s cold and standoffish in that annoying way that makes the fool in your heart babble about how you could melt him. He snaps and orders and doesn’t waste time on things that don’t matter, and you’d like to hear how his voice could go soft, if you could make it.
That fool in your heart is loud. It tends to get the better of you, until the object of it’s fleeting obsession shatters the illusion by itself. Most of your crushes take a sledgehammer and destroy the heroic visage you’ve made of them in a second. You just have to wait for it, and they save you from themselves.
But Bucky likes to ruin your life.
It’s been a year, since Steve hired you. Fresh out of college, nervous, and with what Natasha called doe-eyes.
You love Bucky more than you did at the start, and it’s incredibly rude that he won’t just cut it out so you can focus.
“How’s your mother?” You ask one night, when it’s just you and Bucky.
James. When you’re alone in a room with him, and the white sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show off obnoxious muscles, it’s important to remember you should be calling him James.
“My… Mother.”
He’s staring at you like you’re crazy. Heat floods your cheeks, but you just nod. He doesn’t get to win.
“You said she was moving.” You shrug, and Bucky’s tongue flicks over his lips.
“I did say that.”
“Yeah. I know.” You pretend to turn over a paper. “I was there.”
Bucky snorts, and it’s enough to yank your attention up. He’s shaking his head with that tiny curve of a smile, and it makes your heart do something that might resemble overdrive.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
“What-“
“My mother’s doin’ just fine.” Bucky says, staring at you across the room. “She loved those muffins you made her. Got me and my sisters in a lotta trouble, for not bothering to make her a housewarming gift.”
You swallow. “Oh, I- I didn’t mean to-“
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Bucky—James, but it’s impossible to remember when he looks at you like that—smirks. “I’d want you over me every time, too.”
There’s no possible response you can think of, to that. Not one that makes sense, and isn’t humiliating. You look back to your papers, mumble a thank you, and try not to let Bucky’s low chuckle pool heat between your thighs.
You don’t succeed.
But that’s a problem for your vibrator to worry about, when you get home.
Because that’s where the fantasy. And the reality is always starker. Harder to escape.
Bucky is a mountain of a man, but you’ve never climbed anything at all. Not a tiny hill, not a slope, not even a bump in the road. The most basic things, that most people get out of the way in middle school, you’ve never even brushed against. Not on purpose. It’s just… Never happened. And you’re certainly not going to start doing anything now. With your older pseudo-boss and sort of friend. You don’t have a death wish, and you’re certain that rejection will kill you with the humiliation alone.
So in reality, you’re never going to risk anything. You’ve never had health insurance this good before. Steve buys you lunch every day—technically he buys himself lunch, but you’re allowed to get whatever you want—and you got to move out of your rundown apartment with the landlady who kept getting mad you dared to have trash, but refused to fix your broken heater. In New York.
You haven’t had freezing fingers in a year. Because now, you could afford gloves. And in the harsh cold of reality, no dick is worth more than a nice pair of gloves.
Bucky’s might be. Bucky and his smile and low laugh and nobleness and silent kindness and-
No.
Nothing’s worth it. Not when Bucky wouldn’t even want you anyway.
You’d rather have the gloves.
“You get a plus one to this event, you know?”
You look at Steve over the desk, frowning slightly. “Huh?”
Steve’s lips twitch. “You get a plus one.”
“Okay?”
“Wasn’t sure you knew.” He shrugs. Your frown deepens.
“Of course I knew. I send out all the invitations.”
“Hm.”
“What’s hm? What does hm mean?”
“Just hm. Do you have the numbers, about-“
“They’re in front of you, Steven.” You narrow your eyes. “What’s hm mean.”
“Told you, nothing-“
“What.”
Sam says that there are only three people Steve is afraid of. Natasha, Bucky’s mother, and you. At the time, you’d laughed it off and rolled your eyes.
With how his throat bobs and he avoids your gaze, you’re starting to think that last part might be true.
“You’ve just always had that plus one offered.” Steve mutters, looking at the reports like they’ve suddenly turned into something interesting. “Noticed you never used it. Wanted to, uh- Make sure you knew.”
“I knew.” You snap, and Steve sighs.
“Yeah, I thought you did.”
“Then why’d you ask-“
“You wanna get lunch?” Steve’s voice raises, and the conversation is clearly over. “I think I could go for some sushi, or- Mexican. Maybe acai?”
Those are three very different things, and it is your job to figure out which one he really wants. But you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.
You have never used your plus one. You’ve never needed to.
There’s never been anyone worth using it on, except for one, dumb, handsome man who already has his own invitation to every event, and never has a problem finding his own date. You’ve spent dozens of nights lingering at Steve’s side—because he can tell you all he wants to enjoy yourself, you’ll slack when you’re dead—and glaring daggers at the model hanging off of Bucky’s arm. Giggling at everything he says and trying to drift closer than the polite, respectable distance he keeps them at.
He lets you sit closer to him than he lets them. And they are all a little younger, so maybe he wouldn’t mind that you’re not experienced and-
You stamp those thoughts under your heel. Not worth it.
But is Steve’s noticed how you never bring anyone, maybe he’s noticed how you stare at Bucky as well. And if he’s noticed that, he might start looking closer. And if he looks closer, he’s going to realize that you’re in love with his best friend, and he’s going to tell Bucky, and you’re going to get fired, and lose your cool apartment and fuck, you aren’t emotionally prepared to be a prostitute-
You need a date.
It’s the safest, most logical conclusion. You study Steve across the room, and quickly decide against asking to be set up. That might get back to Bucky, and you don’t want him to know for reason that defy common sense. You can’t ask anyone at work, but all your friends are your co-workers. You could go out to a bar, but that sounds dangerous and exhausting, and you’re not even sure where you’d find the time.
Which leaves one option.
Dating apps.
There are millions of them. You know from college friends and social media that there are about five worth having. You download all of them, and spend the rest of your lunch setting up your profile. You’re by no means ugly, and you’ve got plenty of pictures in exciting locations thanks to Steve being unable to get through any work event without you there. You put down that you’re not sure what you’re looking for, because you’re really not. You lie about your job, because when you tell people you’re Steve Roger’s personal assistant, they usually get weird. You settle just secretary, even though Steve and Natasha would shout at you if they saw.
They won’t see. None of them will see.
And you’ll get a nice, boring date to the next event, and everything is going to be fine.
“You never tell me about your family.”
Bucky’s words are so low you almost don’t hear them. You look up at him in surprise, and hope the dim lighting hides your flush.
“You never ask.”
His lips twitch down. “I’ve told you about my family.”
“So?”
“Usually.” He mutters, glaring at his papers like the did something to personally offend him. “When you tell someone about yourself, it’s an… Exchange of information.”
“An exchange of information?” You snort. “Is that a CIA thing?”
“Not everything I do is a CIA thing.”
“Everything Natasha does is a CIA thing. And you were in the CIA together.”
“Nat was better at it than I was.” He grumbles. His brow does a tight-knit wrinkle thing, when he’s frustrated. For a grown man, it’s always rather adorable. “I’d like to know about your family.”
“I…” You blink at him, your brain turning fuzzy and useless.
He’s staring at you. Saying those words like they matter, and you can barely understand them at all.
“Why?”
“Because. We’ve worked together a while. I know… A lot about you.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, giving you a strange look. “You know about me.”
“Uh huh. That’s usually how being friends works.”
Bucky sighs. “Yeah, well. You’ve met my mother. She adores you.”
“She doesn’t adore me-“
“She adores you.”
He says it like it’s really not up for debate. You flush. “Oh- Okay.”
“Everyone you meet adores you.” Bucky grumbles, like that complete lie of a statement infuriates him. “And I tell you everything about me.”
You don’t think that’s true either. You know a lot about Bucky, but not everything. Steve says Bucky’s just like that—not big on sharing—so you hoard every bit of information he offers you like a dragon with gold, but it’s far from everything. “Bu- James-“
“Bucky.” He corrects, and you sigh.
He’s not making that part easy, either.
“Bucky.” You say, smooth and careful. “You know everything about me that Steve knows. I- I can tell you more. But I’m not all that interesting.”
“I disagree.” He mutters. “You’re impossibly interesting.”
You can only hum, pressing your thighs together as he just keeps staring at you. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. It makes your brain slow down and all your thoughts turn honeyed and gooey. His hands are right in your eyeline, and he’s got those big, deft fingers that you’ve imagined tracing over your hips and lips, and he’s giving you compliments. Compliments like they’re just breathing, like he doesn’t even have to think about them because you could be all he sees.
“What do you want to know?” You mumble, desperate to move the conversation away from this. If you offer yourself too much of his attention, it’s going to drag you under like quicksand.
“What’s your favorite kind of flower?”
“My favorite flower-“
Bucky grunts, nodding tightly. You take a deep, slow breath, careful not to look him in the eyes.
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”
Bucky grunts. “Well, what kinda flowers have people gotten you before.”
“I- I’ve never been given flowers.”
“You’ve never-“ Bucky cuts himself off, and you risk a glance up to see him scowling. “Ever?”
You can hear the what about that he won’t say. What about a boyfriend.
If he’s not brave enough to ask it—although you don’t understand why he’d care—you don’t have to be brave enough to answer it.
“No. Never ever.” You mumble, and you might dissolve into a mist of humid humiliation and confusing arousal.
You have Bucky’s attention, and you both wish he’d take it back and never want him to stop pushing. You’ve never had someone poke at you this much. It makes your core ache, and you’d rally rather not explore what that means right now.
“You need to sign these.” You shove some papers across the desk, staring at Bucky’s hands again.
They’re curled in fists. You’d like them inside you-
You mentally slap yourself, and force a smile onto your face, nodding to the papers. “Steve told me not to let you go home, until you did.”
Bucky chuckles at that, though there’s still a strange look in his eyes. “Not let me go home, huh.”
“Yes, sir.” You drawl.
Bucky’s knuckles go white. You could swear his voice gets lower.
“And how would you stop me from gettin’ home, kid?”
“With lots of talent.” You shrug, giving him a tiny smile. “And my body.”
Bucky coughs, and the desk jerks suddenly. His knee must’ve slammed against it. You shoot to your feet, ready to check on him, but he waves you quickly back down.
“Fine. I’m fine.” He scowls, scooting forward in his chair. “Papers.”
He makes a beckoning gesture, and you just stare at him.
“James, are you-“
“Bucky.” He grunts. “Papers, sweetheart.”
You nod stupidly, shoving the papers into his hands. You’re not sure what’s happening. Your thoughts are all still made of candy-clouds and goo, so you don’t want to overthink it.
It’s only when you get home, that you realize what he called you. I
Sweetheart.
You can’t blame him. He can’t know what that does to you.
You really need to find that date.
It happens in the middle of work. The worst possible place for it to happen.
Steve’s on a conference call, and you’re lying on his couch, swiping through dating apps. You’re only there in case he forgets something, and you don’t have to pay much attention for that. The voices of old, annoying men drone on and on and on in the background, and you have everything memorized so well that when Steve calls your name, you answer without even realty paying attention to what you’re saying.
The call is three hours for no good reason at all. You get bored.
Hence, the dating apps.
It’s almost as mindless as the call itself. All in all, the experience is turning out to be more of a fun game than an actual method to find a date. The next gala is creeping up, though. You refuse to give up.
But you’re also picky. And you keep comparing every profile you see to Bucky, which is deeply counterproductive.
Michael is handsome, and the exact same height as Bucky, but he’s built with corded muscle instead of the softer, thicker strength you’ve seen straining through Bucky’s suit. Henry has a picture of himself with kids—his sister’s, according to the caption—but you look at it and just think of when Bucky and Steve went to the children’s hospital, and Bucky had become such a soft and approachable person you’d been worried you’d get pregnant watching him.
Leon has nice eyes, but they’re not as pretty as Bucky’s. Cal is in the military, but he’s beaming about it in a way that makes you think he joined so he could run around with a big gun, while Bucky joined because his family needed the healthcare. Jake has a sweet smile, but it doesn’t make you feel bubbly like Bucky’s. Asher and Kyle both have high paying jobs—all their photos showing them driving Maserati’s and drinking expensive whiskey—but one of the things you’ve always loved about Bucky is how he doesn’t brag. His suits are less expensive and more well-tailored. His watch costs $150—he always grumbles that he just needs it to tell time—and he drives a motorcycle that Sam says he built from scratch.
You squint at Damien’s profile, and he’s got a motorcycle too. His caption says that he built it himself, and you don’t know anything about motorcycles, but you doubt he built it as well as Bucky did.
You swipe left with a sigh, and go onto the next profile.
James. 41. Business Manager. You give the picture a quick glance—beefy, shirtless chest that makes you drool a little, only the sharp, bearded jawline of the owner visible in the photo—and squint at the bio. Wealthy bachelor looking for his Queen.
You snort, and scroll lazily down. James’ Interests include music, cars, technology, dancing, family. No kids, but wants them. Looking for casual fun—you can’t be causal, or have fun, but it’s always nice to pretend—located thirty feet away, pet cat, smokes and drinks socially-
Located thirty feet away.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
You sit up suddenly, rapidly scrolling back up to the photos and main bio. James, 41, Business Manager.
Fucking- Fuck-
You click frantically through the photos, somehow burning alive and freezing to your bones all at once. James’ next photo doesn’t show his face either, instead displaying a fluffy white cat on his bare chest. You know that cat. You’ve fed and pet her, paying her more attention than Bucky himself whenever he brings her to the office. Alpine adores you. You have more photos of her on your phone than you do of yourself.
Next photo.
Bucky drinking at that Italian place he, Steve, and Sam always go to for celebrations. In the background, you can see Natasha flirting with the bartender. You remember that night. She’d taken him home, and you’d heard far too many details about how hot and submissive he was in the morning. You’d been happy for her, and sick with jealousy. You’d spent all of that night standing next to her, trying not to stare at Bucky while he and Steve drank.
Which means-
You pinch in on the photo, feeling a little sick when you find it. Shrouded enough in the background that you can only see it if you look, but you can definitely fucking see it.
Your lovelorn, sad expression as you stare at Bucky like he’s made of stars.
He’s seen this photo. Everyone who’s been on his dating profile has seen this photo.
You feel sick. You unpinch the photo, ready to maybe just fall back into the couch cushions and have them swallow you whole, and then it fucking happens.
Your thumb drifts a little to the right.
You swipe yes on Bucky’s profile.
And a little heart graphic overtakes your screen, the bolded words It’s a Match! Shoved into your face.
You scream, and throw your phone across the room.
Steve looks at you like you’re insane. You feel insane.
“Are you-“
“I need to go to the bathroom!” You shout, and Steve opens his mouth, but you’re already running.
You have to pass Bucky’s office—right next to Steve’s—to get to the bathroom. You pause to stare at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts but fuck and Bucky.
He’s on his phone. Reading something with a knit brow. You might actually be about to throw up.
Like he can sense you, he looks up.
Your eyes meet.
And you run away, as fast as you fucking can.
Steve is a lovely boss. When you tell him you need a week off for vague personal reasons, but that you can still work remotely, he tells you not to bother and just take the time without work.
“But- I can help-“
“I know. I’m telling you not to.” He gives you a small smile. “You’ve earned the break.”
“Steve-“
“You’re allowed to just rest,” he says your name kindly, and you shake your head. No. You’re not.
“Please give me something to do.” You plead, and Steve sighs.
“Kid, you don’t have to prove something-“
“Please.” If you don’t have anything, you’re just going to stare at your match with Bucky the whole time. And that’s a harrowing, deadly prospect of a way to spend your week.
Steve sighs, and gives in. You get a bunch of emails to send, and they’re just enough to distract you.
Barely.
Sometimes, you still manage to falter, and open up the app. Stare at the you matched with James three days ago! Banner at the top of the screen. Maybe he hasn’t seen it at all, and you’re hiding for no reason. He could be someone who never even checks who he matches with unless they message first, because he just gets so many matches. Jealousy stabs through your heart, sour and sharp, and you sigh.
It’s your best hope. That he’ll just never know.
But he matched with you, too.
He could just swipe right on every girl he sees. That’s a thing you hear men do.
Bucky’s not the type to do that.
He’s also not the type to be looking for his Queen. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.
But you’re pretty sure you do.
This is making your head hurt.
Your real best bet is that someone’s been catfishing as James Barnes, but there’s no real hope of that with the bar photo. You’re going to have to quit your job and change your name. Maybe Steve can reference you to another similar job if you apologize enough. Maybe you can move to Alaska and learn how to be a fisherwoman. You’re not very patient. And you’re not going to be able to afford your nice gloves anymore. Maybe you should just die. The best option might just be dying-
Your phone buzzes.
Message from James.
You throw your phone again. He knows.
Death is looking lovely right now.
Your days off turn into a week off. Steve checks on you, but doesn’t push you to come back. If anything, he’s still trying to convince you to just take a real vacation.
“It’s going to help more than… What you’re doing right now.” He stands in the middle of your apartment, gesturing at your ice cream and the mess of clothing on the floor.
“This is helping plenty.” You mutter. Steve sighs.
“Look, I’m really not mad about you taking the time. I know you. You wouldn’t take it if you didn’t need it.”
“But?” You give him a pointed look, and his jaw ticks.
“But I wish you’d tell me what was goin’ on.” He says, sounding more sad than annoyed. “So I could help.”
You give him a tight smile. “Steve-“
“Anything you need. If I can’t get it, I’m sure Bucky or Nat could-“
“Steve.” You don’t want to hear about how Bucky can help you. Not when he knows perfectly well why you’ve gone into hiding. “I- I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Steve frowns, but lets it go. In the Steve way, where he keeps asking every time he visits, but always takes the no in stride.
“Can you at least tell me what I should be saying to everyone else?” He asks after a week. “People are noticing I’m missing my brain.”
You laugh softly. “I’m sick.”
“But you’re not.”
Not visibly. Your heart feels sick. Bucky’s sent you two more messages on the app, one into your personal number, and none on Teams, and you’ve read none of them. You don’t want to hear his gentle rejection, because it’s going to crush you into fine, little pieces.
“We’re worried about you.” Steve says. “And again, no rush to come back, but I don’t know how to work my own schedule and Bucky’s started pacing whenever I try to do your job, so-“
“Bucky’s pacing?” You blurt, and Steve blinks.
“Yeah? Think he misses you, too.”
You swallow, and glance at your phone. The unread messages.
Bucky only paces when he feels like something is wrong. Really wrong.
And you don’t want to know. That he’s been thinking about. That he’s been pacing. Because it all ends the same anyway.
“I’ll be back soon.” You mumble, flipping your phone face down. You don’t want to know. “Just- A few more days.”
Steve looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you.
But you’re a big girl. You can survive a little rejection, and it doesn’t have to be anything at all.
You’re going to keep going, and this won’t have to have been anything at all.
Nobody asks, when you get back to the office. Nat and Sam check in that you’re okay, and Steve lets you pick lunch three days in a row—and you think he’s blaming himself for everything, which at least tells you that Bucky hasn’t snitched about anything—but the only thing waiting for you is a phone full of voicemails and a crowded calendar.
And Bucky.
Bucky, who almost acts like nothing even happened at all.
Almost.
He’s staring more than he used to, and he’d always stared quite a lot. When you’re left alone in a room together, he stares until you look up at him, before immediately coughing and looking back to his own papers. He lingers outside of Steve’s office until you ask if he needs to talk, and he shakes his head and runs off like a teenager caught trying to buy drinks. Nat shouts at him after two meetings where he wasn’t paying attention, and he mutters that he was distracted.
“What?! What could you possibly have been so distracted by that you missed every cue Sam gave you, five times in a row?”
He just shrugs, and you can feel his gaze burning straight into your heart. You bow your head, and pretend you don’t see it.
You still haven’t looked at the messages. You’re not going to. And he hasn’t brought it up, so it’s like nothing ever happened.
Like nothing ever happened.
But it happened. The world ended, but it also just kept spinning, and now you’re suspended in a world where Bucky doesn’t even treat you like a friend anymore.
Steve notices. Of course he does. Asshole.
“Did something happen?” He asks softly. “Did Bucky… Say something to you?”
You look up with wide eyes, mouth going dry. “Wha- What? No, Bucky- James and I, it’s fine.” You laugh, high and nervous. “Everything’s fine.”
Steve hums, and he doesn’t believe you. You can see it, shining in his eyes. “You know… I’ve known Bucky a long time.”
“I know. I’ve read the about page.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I mean, yes, but-“ He sighs. “Bucky’s not good at… Talking. When something matters to him, he shows it.”
“Okay.” He’s shown you nothing but silence and stares.
“And he, um- He’s a good guy-“
“I’m aware.”
“I know you are, but-“ Steve sighs, slumping in his chair. “Just, if Bucky ever says something to you, or asks you to do something, and you don’t want to, don’t. I’d rather you piss him off then feel pressured. Not that he’d pressure you,” he adds quickly. “But if there’s ever… Anything. And I’ve been wrong about… Stuff. Just know you’re as valuable as he is.”
He’s speaking in riddles. This has been a long few weeks. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Steve nods, taking in a deep breath. “And is there… Anything you want to tell me? As my friend?”
It’s a mean card to play. You almost want to. Steve’s kind, and he gives good advice, and you believe him. You know that if you confessed your silent, raging love for Bucky, Steve would just support you.
But you don’t need someone to support you right now. You need someone to smack you in the face and tell you to stop being a baby about your crush not liking you back.
“No.” You give him a strained smile, and it hurts on your face. “Why, is there something you need to tell me?”
Steve stares at you for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. “No. Just… You were missed.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and Steve clears his throat.
“By everyone.”
You nod, useless tears stinging at your eyes, and look back to your work.
Later that day, Bucky goes into Steve’s office and they talk for two hours. You want to eavesdrop, but that would be a new, pathetic low.
You stare at Bucky’s head through the glass, and chew on a pencil until it snaps in half.
When Bucky leaves the office, he stops in front of your desk and lingers. You can feel the heat from his body, and you’d like to fall into it. He clears his throat, and you look up like he’d grabbed your chin and demanded it.
His eyes are shining on yours, and you’ve never seen his jaw clenched so tight. As if he’s disgusted, just from the sight of you.
“You look nice.” He rasps, and you can’t tell if you’re glowing or burning out.
“Thank you.”
He nods, looking up to the ceiling, then back to you. “We all missed you.”
“I’ve been told-“
“I missed you.” He says those words firmer. They sink into your core, molten and demanding, so overwhelming you’re not even sure what to do with yourself.
You’ve been staring at him too long. Words are failing you, thoughts are failing you, and-
“I, uh- I’ll leave you to it-“
“You too.” You breathe out, and Bucky stumbles back like you hit him. “I- I missed you too.”
He blinks. His nostrils flare, and he gapes at you with a red face. For a second, you don’t see the calm, collected man you know and adore so well. You see something closer to a teenage boy, fumbling and gaping and unsure what to do with his own strength.
You like him, just as much as you like the rest of Bucky. Love it.
Endlessly and uselessly love it.
Bucky turns on his heels, and almost runs back to his office. Your nails dig into your palms, and you force your attention back to your work.
It will pass. All of this, like every storm, is going to have to pass.
You get a night off. Steve has a date, and it’s the one part of his life you have and want nothing to do with. You were going to use the evening to catch up on more voicemails, until Sam shooed you out of the building like a bird. Go rest, woman.
You are resting.
By catching up on emails.
There’s a knock on your door, long after anyone should be out doing anything. You don’t move from the couch at first, because you think it’s a mistake.
Then the knock repeats. Louder than the first time. And someone shouts your name, muffled through the door.
Not a mistake.
Bucky. That’s Bucky’s voice.
You fall, trying to get up. Your knees feel like jelly, and you haven’t even seen him yet, but he’s already doing that thing where his attention makes you feel like you’re made of electric static. Sensitive and empty-headed in the best and worst way. You can barely stand it. You can’t really stand at all.
When you finally—somehow—make it to the door, Bucky’s standing on the other side like he’s awaiting inspection. Tall and silent, shoulders squared and arms behind his back, looking at you like you’re holding his life in your hands.
You stare at him. He stares back, and you can measure your every breath in heartbeats. Louder and louder in your ears.
“Hi.” You finally say, shifting on your feet, and his throat bobs.
“Hey.”
“What’re you-“
“I wanted to check on you.” He blurts, and you freeze. “And- Talk.”
You ignore that last part. It’s the last thing you want to do. “I’m fine.”
Bucky’s pretty lips tug down. “You took two weeks off.” He mutters. “You don’t even take sick days.”
You swallow. “I- I was trying to take care of myself-“
“By working the whole time?” He looks past you again, and you follow his gaze.
Right to your laptop, open on an email draft.
“You’re supposed to be takin’ tonight off too.” He says, a little scolding, and you stiffen.
“You’re not my boss.”
Bucky chuckles. Low and deep, shivering up your spine. “Trust me, doll. I’m fully aware of that.”
Oh. That does something nice to your core. You think you might be getting a fever.
“James…”
“Bucky.” He grunts, and you take an unsteady breath. Staring at his chest seems to be the most effective way to speak to him.
“Bucky, I- I’m fine, really-“
“I brought you flowers.” He says suddenly, and his hands shoot out from behind his back.
He’s holding out a large bouquet of roses and lilies, each in about three different colors. It’s a stark contrast to his black suit and neatly pressed white shirt, petals spilling and little bits of yellow pollen clinging to the stems. To the cuffs of his sleeves.
Bucky clears his throat, pushing the flowers a little further forward. You take them with shaking hands, a little worried they’ll dissolve the moment you touch them. They don’t. And Bucky clears his throat.
“I, uh- I gave you options, and-“ He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I come in? Please?”
You can’t think of a good reason to say no. You don’t even think you’d get out the words, if you tried. So you nod, and step to the side.
And now Bucky’s in your apartment. Looking around at your things and licking his lips, nodding slowly. He fits into it, like a puzzle piece being slowly slotted in, and-
No.
You can’t think like that. It’s not going to help anyone, not by far.
He brought you flowers.
To apologize for breaking your heart.
Bucky looks back to you, bracing his hands on his hips. You swallow, hugging yourself tight, and neither of you dare to move. Bucky takes a ragged breath, looks to the side, and back to you with the strangest, most anguished expression you’ve ever seen on his handsome face.
“Tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.” He starts, urgent and pleading. “You gotta tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.”
“Bucky-“
“We both know why I’m here.” He takes a step forward. You take a step back.
Bucky freezes, and you take a shaking breath, staring at his shoes.
“I- I’m sorry.” You mumble. “I didn’t mean to-“
“You didn’t?” Bucky cuts you off, and you glance up to see him frowning. “At all?”
You blink. “No, I- I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you meant it?”
You nod, and Bucky’s jaw works tight.
“Could you?”
“What?”
“Could you mean it?” He rasps, and your mouth falls uselessly open.
“Ja- Bucky.” You shake your head, stepping further back. If this is a trick, you’re too fragile to fall for it. “I- I don’t know.”
“Why not?” He takes a step forward, your eyes trapped together. “Is it me?”
“Is it you?”
“Yeah, I- I mean- You don’t really date.” He clears his throat. “And Stevie’s never told me why, ‘cause- I’m not your boss, but I’m not not your boss- ‘s what Sam says-“
You’ve never heard him ramble. Never heard him speak like he’s not sure of the next work. It’s just as endearing as the display at the desk, but you’re even less sure what to do with it. “Bucky-“
“If it’s just me that you’re not- That’s the reason.” He’s standing over you now. Bowing his head. “Then that’s fine. I’m not gonna be an ass about it. But…” His shoulders slump. “If it’s not that. Then I- I’d like to…”
He trails off, giving you a hopeful look.
But you’re lost. Nothing he’s saying is making sense, and you’re almost being dragged under by the current of his words.
“What?” You repeat, more pleading than before. Bucky sighs.
“You never answered my messages.” He mutters. “Figured I’d need to ask in person. Needed to hear it.” He clears his throat, lips twitching. “Even if it’s a no.”
“Even…” You frown. “Even if what’s a no?”
His head shoots up, and his frown deepens. “I’m… Asking you out. On a date?”
Oh.
What.
Your surprise must be written all over your face, because Bucky looks bewildered. He can join the club.
You just keep staring at him stupidly, and he says your name, slow and measured.
“You read my messages, right?”
You shake your head, and he groans.
“I- I’m sorry-“
“No, it’s- It’s my fault.” He mutters. “Nat told me you were oblivious-“
You cut him off indignantly. “I am not oblivious-“
“We matched on a dating app.” He drawls, lips twitching slightly. “And you’re shocked I’m askin’ you out.”
You scowl, hugging yourself tighter. “I thought you made a mistake.” You grumble, and Bucky chuckles.
He takes another step forward. Close enough that you can smell him, smell his cologne and aftershave and something deeper that’s just Bucky. You step back more out of fear that you were about to fall forward.
Bucky follows you.
Suddenly your pinned against your counters, Bucky’s arms braced on either side of your body. You swallow. Bucky’s tongue darts over his lips, and you think you did drown in his everything. You’ve been swept out to sea, and there’s no hope of being dragged out to shore.
And with how Bucky’s looking at you, you’re not sure you’d ever ask to be saved.
“You.” Bucky reaches up, brushing hair out of your eyes with a small smile. “Are not a mistake. And if someone’s been tellin’ you that you are.” He leans down, until your lips are almost brushing. “They’re damn lucky you’re lettin’ them make it.”
Dear God. You’re not strong enough for this.
“James…” You breathe out, and his brows knit. “Bucky. Don’t.”
He tenses around you. “Don’t?”
“Don’t.” You whisper, eyes dropping to his lips. They look so soft. “Don’t do this.”
Bucky leans a little back, but doesn’t pull fully away. “Why not? I told you, if it’s not ‘cause of me, we can work it out-“
“Bucky-“
“I’ll quit.” He says suddenly, and you gape.
“You’re the boss, you can’t quit-“
“There are like, four bosses.” Bucky waves you off. “Five if we’re countin’ you, which I am, and you do twice the fuckin’ work. I’ll just quit, and you can have my job, and we can-“
“Bucky.” You grab his shirt, and he falls silent immediately. “Just- Stop. You can’t quit, you shouldn’t-“ You take a deep breath, trying to focus on speaking instead of crying.
Bucky says your name softly, and big hands thread through your hair as you start to sniffle. It’s so pathetic, but you’re tired and overwhelmed and you can’t take him doing this to you twice. You’re not the kind of girl Bucky Barnes is going to want. Not for real. Not for long. And you can’t handle him pretending you are.
“It’s not nice.” You whimper, even as he tugs you into his chest.
Pressing your face into his chest is just as amazing as you’d always imagined. You wish you weren’t crying when it finally happened.
“What’s not nice.” Bucky prompts gently, and you swallow.
“You.”
“Me?”
You nod, wrapping your arms around his torso. Bucky pets the back of your head, words low and cautious.
“What about me isn’t nice?”
You shake your head, hugging him tighter. You can’t stop. It’s like a reflex. “You can’t- You can’t say that stuff. ‘S mean.”
“Me tellin’ you I’d quit for you is mean?”
“You don’t mean it.”
Bucky tenses. “I do mean it-“
“No, it’s not- I’m not-“ You swallow, breathing him in. “I don’t just wanna be…”
You trail off. Bucky prompts you softly. “Be what?”
“Be fun.” You mumble. “I can’t do fun, you know than, and- And if you’re not serious, then-“
“I’m dead serious.” Bucky grunts, and you swallow.
“James-“
“No. Listen to me.” He picks you up without a warning, sitting you on the counter so you’re at his eye level. You grab his shoulders, and he keeps his hands planted on your hips, almost holding you under his words.
Forcing you to hear them, as he watches you like you’re the most important thing in the world.
“I am serious about this. About you.” He grabs one of your hands, holding it between your bodies. “I have wanted you since I met you. Don’t look at me like that,” he squeezes your hand when you give him a doubtful frown. “I have. You are beautiful and smart and bossy, and I’ve been obsessed with you so much, Nat’s slapped me about it twice.”
You swallow, closing your eyes tight. You can’t look at him right now. “Your profile said looking for casual.” You mutter, and Bucky snorts.
“Last year, Sam made that thing for me. ‘Cause I was obsessed with Stevie’s new PA, and I needed to get under someone to get over it.”
“Hm.” You peek at him. He looks sincere. “Did you?”
“I got under many someone’s.” He shrugs. “Didn’t have Sam’s intended effect. Think I just wanted you more, after every time.”
You swallow. That does explain a lot about the profile, in hindsight. Those were all very Sam things to say.
“I want you.” Bucky murmurs, pressing a little closer. Your noses are bumping, and he’s still not looking away. “You’re in my dreams, and days without you are nightmares. Just- One shot. It’s all I need. Please.”
And God, you want to give it to him. More than anything. You want to tell him that he doesn’t even need his shot, he hit a bullseye a year ago and you’ve just been waiting for him to realize it since.
But-
“I’m a virgin.” You blurt, and Bucky blinks.
“Okay-“
“I can’t do what others can. For you. And I- I don’t know how anything works- Well, I know how sex works, I got an A in health class, but everyone got an A in health, but I got an A and paid attention, and-“ You’re rambling. “I just don’t know how dating works, or- Or relationships, and I’m not- You’re very- You.”
You gesture over his everything, and Bucky’s lips twitch.
“That a problem, doll?”
“No. God, no. You’re perfect, I’m just- Not? And that’s not really fair to you-“
Bucky grabs your face, and your cut off in a kiss.
You’ve seen kissing in the movies and on TV. Read about it a million times. It’s always all sweet and romantic, with swelling music and breeze and passion.
And nothing has done it justice at all.
Kissing Bucky is awkward for a second—his lips slotted over yours, your whole body frozen as it shuts down, then reboots—and then it’s like breathing. Your hands fly back to his shoulders, your legs spread so you can lean further forwards, and your lips move without a thought. Pressing against Bucky’s, moving in a dance he seems more than happy to lead, chasing at the slight chance that you could have just a little more.
One of Bucky’s hands finds this back of your head, and the other grabs your waist. Dragging you further forward until your chests are pressed tight, massaging the softness there in rhythm with his lips. You sigh, breathy and content, and Bucky presses further down. He’s all you can feel, muscle under your hands and love pounding in your heart. You nails scrape his neck, and he groans into the kiss.
The sound vibrates against your spread thighs. His hand on your waist flexes, fingers digging into the softness, and you gasp.
Bucky pulls back too fast, and you follow. Tugging him back, unwilling to let him go just yet. He follows for a second, tongue tracing over your lower lip, then yanks himself back.
His brow presses against yours, and you both breathe raggedly.
“I like you.” Bucky almost growls. His thumb presses over your swollen lips, palm cupping your cheek, and you melt further into him than you already were.
“Bucky-“
“You’re what I want.” He leans forward, demanding and pleading all at once. “Your body.” He pushes his hand under your shirt, rough fingers dragging against sensitive skin. “Is a bonus.”
You shiver, whimpering softly. You feel pliant. Dizzy, in a way that no flirting or video has ever rendered you before. You think Bucky might’ve sucked your soul out with that kiss. You’d like him to do it again.
But when you try to lean up, Bucky pushes you gently back down. You whine, and his lips twitch.
“You like me too.” He mutters, watching you like he’s somehow still unsure.
“Mhm.” You say, and he stands a little taller.
“How long-“
“The same.”
“Oh.” He grins. “Good. That’s- Good-“
You slam back up, kissing him with an open mouth and sloppy need. Bucky responds immediately, and heat is starting to build between your thighs. It’s not just going to go away with a little touching and petting. It’s almost painful. You need him.
Bucky pulls away again. You’re going to punch him.
“Jesus.” He mutters, staring down at your desperate expression. “You gotta slow down, baby-“
“Don’t want to.” You breathe, pulling at his shirt. “Want you, Bucky. Want you now.”
His throat bobs, eyes darkening, but he remains composed. “You… You’re a virgin-“
“Then show me.”
Bucky says your name, and now he’s the one begging. But you’re not letting him off this easy.
“Show me, Bucky.” You rest your chin on his chest, giving him your best pout.
He grabs your face between big hands, chest heaving as he stares at you. You offer a sweet smile, and his nostrils flare.
“Please.” You whisper. “Anything. I just want to feel you.”
“Feel me.” He echoes, like he can’t believe it. “You wanna feel me?”
You nod, and he presses his brow over yours his, his eyes squeezed shut.
“And you want me to show you.” He rasps. “All the different ways I can make you feel good.”
You nod frantically, almost clawing at his shirt. Bucky’s eyes shoot open.
“Yeah?” He grunts, and you whine.
“Yeah. Yes. Please-“
He grabs your jaw, grip hard and unyielding, folds over you like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. His lips move, harsh and hungry, and his hand on your hip starts to knead the skin like he’s trying to leave a mark.
“Wanted this for so long.” He grunts, dragging his hand down to squeeze your ass. “Wanted you. So fuckin’ bad.”
You moan into his mouth, and Bucky sucks on your lower lip. You can’t have enough of him. He’s warm and leaves little fires everywhere he touches. You’d like them to sweep through you, overtake you and send you higher.
“So gorgeous.” Bucky’s hand moves lower, resting on your upper thigh. “Thought about you all the time, hated bein’ in a room and not getting to touch you, was so sure I was going to lose my damn mind not havin’ you be mine.”
“I- I wanted you too.” You breathe out, almost delirious from his kisses. “Always wanted it to be you, never- Oh-“
You lose your ability to speak for a second, when Bucky starts to kiss under your ear. Your body goes pliant and soft, and his growl against your skin sends a shiver up your spine. He’s holding the back of your neck now, guiding it to offer himself better access. You tug on his hair and he moans. It makes your knees wobbly.
“Never anyone else,” you breathe, and he seems to like that. The massive hand on your thigh shifts slightly, so Bucky’s thick fingers are grazing your core through your clothing.
It’s a perfect pressure where you’d been craving any of his attention, and it’s a promise of more later. Your legs give out, eyes fluttering as your brain short circuits with arousal.
Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as he sits you on the counter, back arching as he captures your mouth in another kiss.
“No one else.” He mutters, hand on your neck slowly, possessively moving down your spine. “Never gonna be anyone else, doll. Not for you,” he nips at your jaw, hand on your thigh teasing the sensitivity under your shirt. “Sure as shit not for me. Been no one else since I started thinkin’ of you.”
Your breath hitches, and you lean back with wide eyes. “Bucky, you don’t have to-“
“I’m not lying.” He says firmly, dropping his brow against yours. You try to lean back, but he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes back together.
You blink at him hopelessly, grabbing at the collar of his shirt like you’re looking for balance. Bucky gives you a tiny smile, pressing his lips sweetly over yours. Another, softer promise.
“No one,” he murmurs. “Was ever gonna live up to you. First few months I’d fuck a girl and feel sick the next day. Like I’d done you wrong.”
“You- You didn’t-“
“Yeah, I did. We coulda been doin’ this a lot sooner.”
You flush, looking down to where your bodies are pressed so tight together. Bucky’s dress shirt and hidden muscle, both hard and gentle all at once. Your sleeping clothes and bare feet, swinging off the counter. You lean a little further into him, suddenly feeling rather small.
“What if I’m not…” You take a deep breath, frowning at the floor. “What if I don’t-“
Bucky says your name, concerned and caring, and you shake your head.
“What if I’m not the fantasy, Bucky.” You look back up with your best pleading eyes. “What if that- That idea of me isn’t worth what you thought?”
His brows knit tight, and you try to shirk away as he studies you. You can’t tell if you like it or not, but you know you feel bare. And you both want him to look away, and never go where you can’t reach him again.
Bucky’s lips twitch. He leans forward slowly, kissing each corner of your mouth before taking it fully under his. The kiss is hot and commanding, almost forcing your brain to slow back down. You dissolve into it, your thoughts a nice haze of Bucky. He guides your legs a little further apart, and takes both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them behind you.
“I love you,” he mutters. “I told you. And remember,” he pulls back with that lovely, secret smile. “I’m helpin’ you through it, right?”
You nod, and Bucky leans back forward, bumping your noses together.
“Trust me?”
“Yes.” You breathe, and he grins.
“Good girl.”
Heat floods between your legs, and oh. You like that. You’re shaking a little bit, you like it so much. Want it so much. Want Bucky.
Like he’s reading your mind, he rasps against your lips. “You enjoyed other things before?”
You nod, unable to tell if that’s another flush or just how turned on you are, and Bucky smirks.
“Like what?” He kisses your cheek, massaging your thighs. “Tell me what you like, sweetheart. What you want.”
“I- I want to be under.” You whisper, and you think his hands might be magic. Pulling answers out of you that you would’ve rather died with an hour ago. “Want you over me. Tell- Telling me what to do.”
Bucky hums, nosing at your neck. You close your eyes, forcing on.
“Tell- Tell me how good I’m doing. And- Other stuff.”
He leans back, and your core throbs at the shine in his eyes. Like he’s going to eat you alive. “Other stuff?” He rasps, and you nod weakly.
“If you can- Can do that.” It’s hard to focus, between his piercing gaze and the hand wandering between your legs. Teasing your inner thigh, until you’re voice is high and breathy. “Do that, and- and be-“
“Be a little mean?” He coos, thumb pressing over your aching button. You swallow, and nod.
“A little mean.” You echo, and Bucky grins.
“Yes, ma’am.” He kisses you again, slow and romantic, and you barely notice his hand moving away. “Think that’s enough outta you for now.”
“Wha- Bucky-“
He steps away. Without warning, Bucky just backs up, and you almost fall off the counter trying to chase him. He laughs, and pushing you back into place in a second, then moves away again. Where you can’t follow.
“Bucky, come back-“
“Nope.” He grins, like he knows you’re already too lost to chase him. He probably does. Asshole. “You want me to show you?”
You scowl. “James-“
“Call me whatever you want, baby. You ain’t gonna be able to talk at the end, anyway.” He braces his hands on his hips, raising a brow. “Want me to show you.”
He won’t come back until you answer, so you just nod, crossing your arms like a scolded child. Bucky grins, and you’re hoping for another good girl and kiss, but he doesn’t even lean closer.
“Alright.” He stands a little taller. “Strip.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“Strip.”
“Like, completely?”
“Hm.” He pauses, raking over your body in a way that really shouldn’t make you feel more turned on. “Yep. All of this, off.”
He waves to your body, and gives you a silent, challenging look. Like he’s expecting you to go back, and ask for that date first.
But at this point, you’re going to explode if he doesn’t make you cum. And you’ve never backed down from him before. You have no interest in starting now.
Slowly, you peel off your sweater. Your shirt. The cold air hits your bare chest, and not wearing a bra was the right choice. Bucky’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, the evidence of your effect on him straining through his pants.
Your nipples are peaked, and you awkwardly palm at them the way you’ve seen in porn. Bucky shifts on his feet, hand flexing like he’s trying not to reach for you, so you repeat the motion again.
“Pants.” He grunts, and you smile sweetly.
“Please?”
Bucky chuckles, like he can’t believe you. “Jesus, woman-“
“It’s polite-“
“If you don’t take your pants off.” He grunts, giving you a firm look. “I’m gonna rip off your pants and fuck you on this counter right now.”
You swallow. That doesn’t sound all that bad, but-
Something foolish and lovesick inside of your chest demands that tonight be special. So you move on from your breast, but give Bucky a nervous smile.
“Next time?”
He softens slightly, and nods. “Next time. Pants.”
You smile, and he smiles back. But the expression quickly shifts back into desire, as you shuffle out of your pants. You take your underwear down in one motion as well, leaving you completely exposed. At Bucky’s mercy.
And he’s just watching you.
Watching you and rubbing his crotch, where an erection is demanding attention. The lewd sight makes you fuzzy in all the right places, your own legs spreading a little wider apart.
You need him so bad it hurts. Your fingers dip into your wet pussy, clumsily rubbing your clit, and Bucky groans.
Suddenly he’s back against you, staring at your hand between your legs and panting like a dog.
“Look at you.” He groans, dragging his gaze back up your naked body. “Better than a dream.”
“Thank you.” Your hips buck up against your own, suddenly flimsy and useless hand. You’ve touched yourself before. With Bucky all around you, it’s simply not enough. “Bucky- You-You need to touch me-“
“I know.” He grunts, lips ghosting over yours. “Need you to be ready, just-“
His throat bobs as he cuts himself off, his hand on his own hard dick suddenly pressing against your pussy. A spasm shoots through your body, and you almost fly off the counter.
Bucky presses further down, attaching his lips to your neck and collarbone. His tongue flicks against a pulse point as he spreads your pussy lips. Rubbing up and down while his thumb circles around your clit, working you up and up and up. You’re panting in his ear, vulnerable and dazed, and Bucky hums against your skin.
“Shirt.” He grunts. “Get my shirt off.”
You nod, and it should be a simple task. But Bucky’s relentless. He suckles on your neck, leaving possessive bruises on your skin all while working your pussy and drawling in your ear.
“I know exactly how I want you, pretty girl.” He mutters, flicking your clit with his thumb. “Told you I’ve been thinkin’ about it forever. ‘Bout every single way I’d take you if I got the chance. And I’m gonna show you all of them,” he kisses over a bruise, teasing two fingers against your fluttering core. “But tonight, we’re takin’ it easy.”
You whine, fumbling with just the top button of his shirt. “I- I don’t want easy-“
“I know, baby.” He presses just the tip of his finger into your cunt, and you clench around him with a whine. “But you’re so sensitive.”
If you had the power right now, you’d hit him for saying it like that. All mocking and syrupy. Making you try to fuck your hips down onto his fingers. But Bucky just pulls fully out, moving his attention back to your swollen clit.
“You need to take care of the buttons.” He whispers, pushing down hard on the bundle of nerves. “They need a little extra attention.” He rubs his thumb back and forth. “Before we get goin’.”
“Fuck- Bucky-“ You breathe, almost slumped against his chest. Your fingers are shaking, desperate to just hold onto something as thighs spread as wide as they can go. “Fuck you-“
He chuckles, kissing the side of your head as his thumb picks up speed. “We’re getting there, needy girl.”
You scrape at his forearm, one hand still trying to pry his shirt open with no real resolve at all. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, the asshole. Driving you insane with the teasing over your exposed entrance, never fully offering relief. You manage to get the top button open, but then Bucky pushes down hard on your clit, and an open moan falls from your lips as you double over.
“That’s it.” Bucky laughs, low and dangerous in your ear. “Doesn’t that feel good, baby?”
You nod, watching him move on you. “Bu- Bucky-“ You pull on his collar. “Help…”
“You’ve got it.” He says simply, spreading two fingers and dragging them between your pussy lips. “Just keep tryin’.”
There is no world where you have it, but Bucky’s words are enough for you to keep grasping fruitlessly at the fabric. Your head drops onto his shoulder, as you paw at his shirt. He laughs, rumbling through his chest, and slows his pace on your clit.
“All the ways I’ve pictured havin’ you.” He mutters. “This is the prettiest. Got you nice and ready, barely even touched you.”
“You’re- You’re touching me-“
“Not like I could touch you.” He says, a deep promise in his voice. “Told you, I’m going easy on my best girl. But if I wanted…”
He chuckles, kissing the side of your head. Pushing on your clit as your body starts to wiggle, trying to find more relief. “Bucky-“
“Every time I’ve seen you, layin’ on the couch.” He presses further forward, his bulge against your thigh. “I’ve thought about putting my hands all over your perfect fuckin’ body. Touching these tits,” he ducks his head, and your breath hitches as he kisses over the curve of your breast. “Touchin’ this sweet little pussy.” He plays with your clit like it a toy. “And makin’ you squirt all over Stevie’s nice cushions.”
“I’d look at you.” You gasp, holding onto his shirt for dear life. “In your chair. Wanted to sit on your lap.”
Bucky groans, hips jerking slightly. “Shit, I’ve thought about that too. Pinning you on my cock ‘till you’re sobbing, fucking you over my desk- Christ, whenever you’d bend over I’d just want to drag your ass back and fuck it ‘till you were drooling.”
“Fuck, yes.” You’ve given up on the shirt.
Your hand is wandering down between your bodies, and you rub against Bucky’s crotch, trying to return some of the favor. Bucky moans into your ear, pressing his hand flat over your cunt.
“Shit, you- Can’t just fuckin’-“ Bucky grunts your name, and you roll your hips against his hand.
“Need it. Need it, Bucky- Just- Your fingers, please-“
“No.” He mutters, his own voice gravelly as you squeeze him. “Can’t be patient, can you, sweetheart? Want this cock so bad you’re just grabbin’ for it, wasn’t even able to get my shirt off-“
“It’s a mean game.” You breathe, and he laughs, pushing his lips back over yours.
“You started it.” He brushes the hair from your face, easily moving you backwards until you’re just groping for something of him to hold onto.
“Why can’t you just- Just fuck me-“
“Because you wanted to be a good girl.” Bucky’s kisses are turning slow. Lazy. He’s groping your pussy again, but with far less purpose.
Just spreading your arousal and teasing everywhere you need him, driving you up to an edge you think might take away your mind. A mind you’d be happy to lose for him, if he’d just take it.
“And I want to show you.” Bucky rests his thumb over your entrance, his free hand pushing on your abdomen. Forcing you to stay still. “But you’ve got a greedy pussy, sweet girl. Think you need a little break?”
You shake your head—you do not want a break—but Bucky pushes his thumb a little harder, and you squeak.
“Bu- Bucky-“
“Look at me.” He orders, and you don’t have another choice. His voice is magnetic.
With just the top button exposing his sweaty collarbone and his erection evidence that he cares about this as much as you do, all of Bucky is magnetic. Gravitational. And it makes you feel so unbelievably good, just to be seen by him.
Being fucked by him might kill you.
It’s a risk you’re willing to take.
“Hi.” He smiles, and your lips wobble with need.
“Hi.”
“You still in this?”
You nod, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
“I’d like you to say it-“
“Yes, sir.” You can’t help yourself from saying it.
It’s supposed to be mocking. But your voice is still high, and Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.
“You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” He shakes his head, tone something between amused and exhausted. “Otherwise you’d be a really fuckin’ brat.”
You flush violently, and Bucky slaps your pussy once. Just enough to make you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning, and mold back into his whims.
“One day.” He drawls, one knuckle pushing up to press on your clit. “I’m gonna get you on my face. Let you ride me, fuckin’ suffocate between your legs.”
You’re shaking, watching him. He’s talking like he’s predicting the weather, but your head is running wild. The image of Bucky under you, forcing your cunt onto his generous mouth. It would be hot and wet, his hands would leave bruises, and, and-
“You’re so reactive,” he mutters, using featherlight swipes of his thumb against your clit. “Think I could make you squirt on me. It’ll be like this,” he starts to move in tiny, rapid motions back and forth. “Like this. But my tongue,” he licks up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw. “And your needy clit bein’ sucked like I’ve got some fuckin’ candy.”
He pinches your clit, and starts to roll it back and forth. You can feel a pressure, building and building. It’s almost blindingly good.
“You’re makin’ such nice sounds for me.” Bucky mutters. “Bet you’ll sound even better, coming apart all over my cock.”
You nod, humping into his hand. You need more, but just when you think it’s going to snap, Bucky’s hand moves back down.
“You feel this, baby?” He circles his thumb against your hole, and you hum, eyes flutters. “She’s ready for me.”
“Yes.” You breathe. “Ready, Bucky, please- Wait-“
You almost whine when he pulls away again, but this time it’s for a good cause. Bucky rips his shirt off, tossing it to an unimportant corner of the room.
He’s a work of art. All thick, tanned muscle and scars from his time in the army. They ripple when he moves, decorate him like earned tattoos, and you want to map each one with your fingers. His arms are fucking tanks, reaching out for you, and you tumble into them without a thought.
Bucky hauls you into his arms, hooking under your ass and dragging you off the counter with only a grunt.
“Legs around me.” He orders, and you obey. It’s nice to be this close to him.
Plus the bonus, of getting to try and ride his chest while he carries you to your room. You stumble and giggle, trying to give him directions. Bucky shoves open your door with his shoulder, and you laugh as he walks backwards to the bed, his knees hitting the mattress and sending you both tumbling down.
“Shit- Bucky!” You shriek with delight as Bucky rolls you over, trapping you under his broad body. “Oh- Ooh-“
Your words fall off as he kisses you into the mattress, settling between your spread legs quickly. Your hands wander over the expanse of his back, and it’s a nice wealth to be crushed under. You’re losing cognitive function again, as Bucky ruts his still covered erection against your wet core. You don’t know how he’s kept it together so long. You feel like you’re going to cry with desperation, and you’re fully at his whims.
This is nice, though. It’s a hot pressure—still far from what you need, but enough to tide you over—and Bucky’s wall of muscle around might be the best things you’ve ever felt. Your tits pressed against his chest, his arms braced by your head as you just make out like teenagers. He glides one hand down, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers, and you gasp softly.
“Bu- Bucky-“
“I’m gonna start slow.” He murmurs, low and commanding. “Then pick it up. Fuck you ‘till you can’t walk, baby. Give you what you deserve.” He drops his hips, forcing you to stop grinding up. “That sound good?”
You nod, blinking hopelessly up at him, and he smiles.
“Good girl.” You get a sweet kiss on your cheek, his beard tickling softly. “Stay down.”
You don’t understand the request until he’s moving again, and suddenly it seems impossible. Being naked in front of him had been one thing. Naked, sprawled out in bed below him, and watching him strip is another thing.
Bucky sits up on his knees, never breaking eye contact as he pulls off his belt. You start to chew on your lower lip, and he moves back forward, stopping you with a gentle press of his thumb.
“Easy.” He murmurs. “Relax.”
You whimper, but try to. For Bucky.
And you think you might be turning into a puddle anyway, under the reverence in his gaze.
Bucky gets his pants off with practiced ease, and your mouth falls open.
His cock is thick and big. Veiny in a way you want to feel dragging against you, the head red and angry. Your breath catches as he starts to stroke it, just watching you wait for him.
Your legs close, trying to rub together for some friction. Bucky grabs your knee, and drags them back apart.
“Let me see you.” His thumb rubs in small circles. In a perfect rhythm, with his hand beating his cock. “Nice and relaxed for me, doll. Need you to be relaxed.”
You hum, watching him under hooded eyes. You can’t stop yourself from glancing down to his dick again. You feel empty, waiting for him. You’ve been waiting long enough as it is.
Bucky follows your gaze, and his lips twitch.
“You just walk around all the time?” He teases. “Waiting for some cock to fill you up.”
You nod, breathing through your mouth, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You whisper, dragging your gaze back to his. “Need to feel you, Bucky. Pleeease.”
He swears under his breath. “Legs a little wider. Now.”
You listen quickly, and Bucky lowers down. He drags his cock between the puffed, slick lips of your pussy, the head bumping against your clit.
“Dirty girl.” He hovers over you, watching your every breath as he plays with you. “So fuckin’ pretty, should be stuffed with cock all the time, shouldn’t you. Gonna keep you in my bed, fuck you full of me.” He kisses you quickly, his words getting rough. “My smart fuckin’ baby, begging for my cock.”
“Don’t- Don’t tease-“ You mumble, and Bucky grins.
“But you’re so pretty when I do.”
He kisses your cheek, and you feel raw. A live nerve, open for him and almost vibrating with desire. But Bucky’s hands are gentle against you. And you know.
He’s going to treat you well.
“You think you can let go for me?” His question is gentle. Almost soft. “Always workin’ so hard.” He notches himself at your entrance, and your breath catches. “I’m gonna take care of you, aren’t I.”
“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”
Bucky grins, and kisses your lips. “That’s right. You just gotta take it.”
You don’t get to even nod, before Bucky starts to push in.
And you’re not a blushing nun. You’ve used your fingers, and even some toys. Tried to see what the big deal was. But it had just felt like something was inside of you, and kind of heavy, and mostly just annoying.
This is different.
Bucky splits you open, and it knocks the air from your lungs.
“Breathe.” He grunts in your ear, and you nod uselessly. “Breathe, baby.”
You gasp for air, burying your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and clawing at his shoulders.
He mutters your name, and you try to arch your back up, inviting more. You need more. Everywhere he isn’t feels cold and hollow. Bucky needs to smear himself all over you, or you’re going to lose your mind.
“More.” You manage to croak out, and Bucky grunts.
“Are you-“
“Yes- Fuuuuck-“
You moan, loud and shameless, as Bucky presses deeper in. He bullies your pussy open, thick cock pressing deep into you and making your feel more full than you could’ve ever felt possible. Your body feels like it’s singing, a shiver of delight pushing up your spine as he hits that spot inside you that you weren’t even sure was real.
Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Bucky hisses in your ear.
“Shit- Relax.” His thumb snakes between your bodies, massaging your clit. “Let me in, babydoll, come on-“
The massaging helps. You melt into him with a shaking breath, head tipping back when he bottoms out.
Bucky’s head drops into your chest, his breath hot against your breasts. You’re just sitting in each other, in the sticky, feverish heat that might drive you insane.
“You feel… fuckin’ perfect.”
Bucky’s voice is a rasp, and he sounds like a man ruined.
You might have already lost your mind.
“You too.” You breathe out, and he chuckles.
The sound is a vibration, and you bite your lip as pleasure rushes right down to your toes.
“Oh… God.” You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching again, and Bucky grabs your hips.
“You gotta stop doin’ that-“
“Can’t.” You whine. “’S- You did it, you spent forever working me up, and- And now-“
His muscles shift around you, and that’s enough for your body to keen. Your back arches, pussy squeezing, and Bucky makes a guttural sound from his chest.
You squeak, when he pulls the tiniest amount out and slams back in. Your body goes completely limp, and Bucky pushes up over you, his cock still buried deep inside as he stares down at you.
“For someone who asked me to teach her, you’re bad at takin’ directions.”
“You- Bucky-“ He’s fucking you, shallow and slow. Just dragging back and forth. You might cry over it. “You- You knew that already-“
“I did.” He muses, pressing your hips further down. Forcing you to feel every thrust of his cock against your cervix. “It’s something that I love about you, y’know? So sweet and mouthy, all at once. My dream girl. So far outta my reach.”
He angles you a little up, letting him rut against your g-spot, and any chance of a sassy retort is knocked out of your head.
“Not right now, though.” His lips twitch. “Bet you’d tell me anythin’ right now, if I fucked you nice and properly. Fucked you like you deserve?”
Your head bobs, words slurred on lust. “Any- Anything, Bucky, oh my god- mmmmh-“
His thumb swipes your clit, and it’s like a tiny shock you can’t even react to. Your body jerks, but Bucky just pins you back into the mattress.
“Think I don’t want you to talk right now.” Bucky leans down, smirking as you blink with teary eyes. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we sweetheart?”
There’s something mean and powerful, radiating off of him right now. He really knows exactly where he has you right now. And you have no desire to be anywhere else.
“Ye- Yes.”
“Might’ve fucked you nicely, if we’d just talked a month ago.” He raises his brows. “But you made me wait for this pretty pussy. Hurting us both, baby.”
“I- I was-“
“I know.” He kisses your nose. “You are a fuckin’ brat. Bet you thought about this every time you touched yourself.”
“I- I did.” You confess. “Needed your cock, Bucky. You’re- You’re so big-“
You mewl, as he rolls his hips and slams back in. He kisses you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and you can feel your slick need running down your ass. Or just Bucky’s sweat, as he tenses with the effort to hold himself back.
Effort is visibly, slowly slipping.
“You feel that? Feel this dick inside of you?” He fucks a little harder, and your head rolls. “All yours, babydoll. This hard, just for you.”
You whine, and Bucky sucks on a soft spot at the base of your throat.
“You’re a natural.” He groans against your skin. “Made for this cock, made to be my pretty doll, and- shit-“
He rises back up, watching you with a dark, hungry gaze.
“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you. To not choke my dick with your tight little pussy.”
“I- I am, Bucky- Please-“
“You gonna be good and listen to me, now?”
You nod, doe-eyed and cockdrunk, and Bucky hums in satisfaction.
“Hands on my shoulders.” He instructs, and your body somehow finds the strength to listen. “Mouth open. No holding back, wanna hear how you like it. Hear you scream my name.”
He kisses under your jaw, and you moan loudly. Bucky’s lips curve, and he pulls a little further out than before.
“Just like that. Good, isn’t it?”
“So good.” You whine, and Bucky hums.
“Stay just like this for me, doll.” He drags fully out, then slams back in. You think you see stars behind your eyes, and a sound you didn’t know you could make is pulled from your chest.
“Buuccky-“
“I know. Needy girl, wound up so tight.” He sets a slow but brutal pace, his hands bruising into your hips as he holds you down. “I’ve got you now.”
And he does.
Bucky’s got you so good, you’re already ruined for anyone else.
He fucks you the same way he’s been kissing and touching you. Like he’s trying to lay a claim. Make it so there’s no question what he wants, no doubt in your head that this is anything but serious. His hips piston against you, but it’s not rapid. It’s the measured, strong work of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.
If there’s a pleasure point on your body, Bucky’s finding it and using it. You babble, as he abuses your g-spot with the thick head of his cock. His kisses swallow your every moan and plea, and you can’t think beyond his massive body, completely draped over yours. You’re tangled together, his balls slapping your ass and hands wandering over your body like he owns it.
He drags your knees up to your chest, helping him hit even deeper. You’re so wet it’s smearing all over his cock, and the sight of him driving in and out of you is enough to make that pressure in your tummy feel like it’s going to explode.
Bucky’s beyond words himself, hunching over your and taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he grabs at the other. You mewl, eyes glazed over and body overwhelmed with the need to cum. You might scream if you don’t. You’re probably already screaming.
“I- I need- Bucky, please, please, fuck-“
You scratch at his shoulder, so close to toppling over the edge but unable to figure out how to just fall. Bucky grunts, slamming down harder. His tongue swirls your nipple, sucking the peak between full lips before he crashes back up. His kiss is sloppy and open. You’re writhing in the sheet, edged into complete oblivion and on the verge of tears.
“You having some trouble, babydoll?” Bucky teases, throaty and wrecked.
You nod, shaking with the need to snap. Bucky hums, kissing you too sweetly to be productive.
“Let go for me.” He squeezes your ass. “Just let go.”
Bucky finds your clit, and barely even offers more than a tease before you’re coming with a scream of his name.
Your back flies off the mattress, your hips bucking, and you’ve never cum this hard in your life. The tension in you burst like fireworks, heat pooling down your pussy and your body trembling. Your vision goes white. You might black out for a second, the daze of pleasure clouding your gaze.
There’s nothing but Bucky, still pounding into you. The obscene sounds of it, his guttural moans and the slide of his cock through your spasming cunt. His thrusts are jagged and uneven, his mouth kissing you everywhere he can seem to reach.
He follows you quickly, thick ropes of cum painting your insides and dribbling out of your pussy.
Bucky kisses you one more time, before he pulls out. It’s slower, like he’s trying to memorize you. You reach up to cup his face, smiling against his lips, and he lets out a heavy breath.
“That wasn’t too-“
“Perfect.” You whisper, and he relaxes.
“Good. Good.” He rises back up, brushing away the hair stuck to your face.
For a second, you just watch each other.
And with Bucky looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the universe, you feel like it.
He certainly treats you like it, too. Cleaning you up like you’re a princess, a treatment you never thought you’d want until it was Bucky offering. A warm, wet cloth between your thighs and a glass of water. He carries you into the bathroom, changes the sheets, then brings you back to bed.
He pauses after he sets you down, hovering around the mattress with a frown.
You scoot a little to the side, give him a hopeful look, and his shoulders slump.
He crawls into bed next to you, pressing his face into your breasts and holding you tight.
“We got things to talk about.” He mutters, and you hum, playing with his hair between your fingers.
“I know.”
“I was serious, about all of it-“
“I believe you.”
Bucky looks up at you with tired, but happy eyes. You smile, and they crinkle when he returns it.
It doesn’t matter if you’re the most anything in the world.
To him, you seem to be the world. And that’s more than enough.
“I’d like to take you out.” He says. “On a real date. Then the gala, too. If you-“
“Yes.” You beam. “Yes, please. I’d like that a lot.”
✦End note: bucky on a dating app has haunted me since tfatws. glad to do something with that.✦
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can you write an imagine where the orc chieftain takes notice of fem!reader after they raided a village and he starts courting her in ways she's not familiar so she's just ignoring him. he got annoyed with the ignoring, so one night, he got so drunk and ended up at her place, he saw her, just finished taking a shower, towel wrapped on her body, he started mumbling how annoyed he is and she just stares at him. then in the middle of it, throws up and ended up sleeping at her couch. she let him, but gets uneasy knowing the chieftain is just outside her room. she approaches her in the middle of the night and starts touching his form. he wakes up, grabs her hand and kisses her. then he confesses his feeling and he ended up railing her so hard she wakes up with bruised cervix. plsss help a girl out
The Way Orcs Love: Part 1 (Orc Chieftain x f!Reader)
After orcs raid your village, the chieftain becomes obsessed with courting you. You ignore his advances because you don't understand orc customs. One night, he is frustrated and drunk, and he stumbles into your home and everything changes...
TW: chieftain/commoner, village raid, drunkenness, courting, size difference, kissing, grinding, dirty talk, emotional, primal, breast worship, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, orgasm denial, P in V, cervix bruising, pain kink, aftercare.
A/N: Hey friend! I'm so so sorry it took so much to work on this. I added extra stuff and I am planning a short, fluffy EPILOGUE too, so I hope they make it up to you!
Also, this request gave me old-time vibes, so I imagined it in a medieval-like setting! I only changed your "throwing up" idea because it was easier to get inspired and write the smut without it. So, our big dumb orc just gets gloriously drunk and emotional. Enjoyyyyy!!
---------------------------------
Three moons have passed since the orcs swept through your village.
You remember the chaos, the screaming, the clang of weapons, the way the earth shook beneath boots the size of your forearm.
But you also remember him. The chieftain. Standing a head taller than his warriors, tusks gleaming, his emerald eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.
And then... nothing.
He took your supplies. Your livestock. A few crates of dried meat your grandmother had salted last winter. But not a single villager died. Not even old Martha, who threw a chamber pot at his head and called him a "green-skinned devil."
He left you all breathing. Bruised, terrified, but alive.
And then he started coming back.
Not with his war band. Not with weapons. Just him, alone, every few days. Appearing at the edge of your house with offerings that make absolutely no sense to you.
A perfectly smooth river stone.
An eagle feather.
A pouch of extremely expensive orcish mead.
A freshly killed rabbit.
You've accepted none of it.
Not because you're ungrateful. Not because you don't notice the way his broad shoulders slump a little more each time you shake your head and turn away. But because what is happening?
You're a weaver. A nobody. You mend shirts and spin wool and occasionally help the blacksmith's wife pull weeds from her vegetable patch. You are human, not a female orc for chieftains to leave offerings.
So you ignore him.
You ignore the way his gaze follows you when you walk to the stream to wash clothes.
You ignore the way he grumbles under his breath when you pretend not to see the wildflowers he's left on your windowsill.
You ignore the way your heart races every single time, because he's massive, terrifying and yet beautiful in that brutal way orcs are.
You ignore him so thoroughly that you've almost convinced yourself you don't care.
But tonight something is different.
You're standing in your small cottage, a threadbare towel wrapped around your body, hair still dripping from the bath you just took. The fire roars in the hearth, warming you up. You're reaching for your sleeping shift when you hear a thud.
Then a groan.
Then the unmistakable sound of someone large and clumsy attempting to navigate your doorstep.
Had you forgotten to lock? Damn!
The door swings open before you can latch it.
And there he is.
The chieftain.
Drunk.
His green skin is flushed across his cheekbones, his green eyes glassy and unfocused. He sways on his feet, one massive hand braced against the doorframe to keep himself upright. His tunic is unlaced, revealing his broad chest and the dark hair trailing down his ridged stomach.
He blinks at you.
Slowly.
Like he's trying to figure out if you're real.
"You—" He hiccups, then points a wavering finger at your face. "You."
You clutch the towel tighter, suddenly very aware that you're wearing almost nothing. "Chieftain. It's the middle of the night."
"Is it?" He squints toward the window, as if confirming this information. "Huh."
"You're drunk."
"Yes." He says it like he's proud of it.
"You should go home."
He doesn't move. His gaze drifts down from your face, lingers on the curve of your shoulder where the towel has slipped, on your damp throat, on the swell of your breasts. His throat works. His jaw tightens.
"Can't," he says.
"Can't what?"
"Can't go home." He takes a staggering step inside, and you instinctively step back. The movement makes your towel hitch higher on your thighs. His eyes track the motion. "Home doesn't have you."
Your heart hammers. "Chieftain—"
"Kolf," he says. "My name. Use it. Please. Please. I'm so tired of 'Chieftain.' I'm tired of you ignoring me. I'm tired of leaving you presents you never touch. I'm tired of smelling you on the wind and not being able—"
He breaks off, swaying again, and catches himself on your table.
A clay cup topples and rolls to the floor.
You stare at him.
Kolf. You don't want to say his name out loud. You are scared it will affect you in ways you wouldn't expect.
"Why?" you whisper.
"Why what?"
"Why are you—" You gesture at him, at the door, at the entire impossible situation. "Doing this?"
"Because you're mine."
"I'm what?"
"Mine," he says powerfully. "I saw you. During the raid. Standing in front of your grandmother. Little thing, shaking like a leaf, but you didn't run. You didn't beg. You just—" He exhales, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "Stood there. Looked at me like I was the monster everyone says I am, but you didn't flinch."
Your throat tightens. "I was terrified."
"I know." He takes another step closer, and this time, you don't move back. "But you didn't run. Do you know how rare that is? How fucking rare?"
"Kolf—" You bite your lips. Damn...now you'd done it now.
"I brought you things. Good things! Pretty things. Things orc males give females they want to court. And you... you just kept ignoring me."
You open your mouth to explain, to tell him that you didn't know, that no one ever taught you orc courting customs, that you thought he was just taunting you—
But he doesn't let you speak.
"I like you! I like the way you hum when you work. I like the way you roll your eyes at the sky when it rains. I like the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, and you're almost always annoyed, and I like it. I like you. And you won't even look at me."
He's standing close now. Close enough that you can smell the mead on his breath, the pine and earth of his skin, the heat radiating off his massive body. His chest rises and falls in ragged breaths. His eyes, that impossible green, are glossy.
"You need to—"
"I'm sorry," he blurts. "For the raid. For taking your things. For scaring you. I didn't.. I didn't know how else to see you. Your village. Your face. I thought if I came with my warriors, you'd—" He breaks off. "I'm not good at this. I'm not good at words. I'm good at fighting. At leading. At taking what I want. But you... you're not something you take. You're something you earn. And I don't know how to earn you—"
All of a sudden, his knees buckle.
You lurch forward, catching him—or trying to. He's three times your size, for god's sake. A mountain of muscles and your poor arms barely wrap around his torso. Your strength is not enough and he's going down, dragging you with him.
But he twists at the last second, curling his body around yours, and you land on top of his chest instead of the floor. His back hits the wooden planks with a thud. His eyes flutter.
"Kolf?"
He groans.
"Kolf!"
His breathing evens out. His massive arms, which had somehow wrapped around you, go slack.
He's asleep.
Face wrinkling, you push yourself up, staring down at the unconscious orc sprawled across your floor. His lips are parted. His tusks glint. One of his hands is still curled loosely around your ankle.
"Damn it," you whisper.
Eventually, you manage to drag him onto the couch.
It takes an embarrassingly long time. He's heavy. Every limb feels like it's filled with stone. But you push and shove and grunt and curse until his massive frame is folded onto the worn cushions, his boots hanging off one end, his head lolling against the armrest.
You stand back, breathing hard, and look at him.
The fire is low now, crackling and the dim light paints his face in warm gold. In sleep, he looks younger and softer. The hard lines of his jaw relax. His brow smooths. One of his hands twitches, reaching for something that isn't there, and settles on his chest.
He brought you gifts, you think. For three moons. And you ignored him.
Because you didn't understand.
Because no one ever taught you that an orc chieftain leaving an eagle feather on your windowsill meant I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life.
Because you're stubborn and scared and so used to being invisible that you didn't know what to do with someone seeing you.
You pull a blanket from your bed and drape it over him. He murmurs something in his sleep, a rumble you can't quite make out, and his hand catches the edge of the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself, smelling it, smiling in his sleep.
You should go to your room.
You should.
But your feet won't move.
Instead, you sink onto the floor beside the couch and you watch him.
He likes you.
The thought settles warmly into your chest. He likes you.
And you... foolish, stubborn, terrified you... might like him back.
******
Hours pass. You are in bed but you can't sleep.
You lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the occasional rumble of his breathing from the other room.
Something in you burns.
You are hot and curious.
You want to see him again.
Sighing, you slip out of bed before you can talk yourself out of it. Your feet carry you barefoot across the cold wooden floor, past the hearth where the fire has died to embers, to the couch where he lies.
He hasn't moved. One arm is thrown over his head, the other draped across his stomach. The blanket has slipped to his waist and his tunic is even more open, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the trail of dark hair that vanishes beneath the waistband of his trousers.
You kneel beside him.
And reach out.
Your fingers hover over his chest then, gently, you touch him.
Warm. He's so warm. His skin is rougher than you expected, textured with scars and raised ridges of old wounds. His chest hair is coarse, curling around your fingers as you press deeper.
He doesn't stir.
Emboldened, you trace the line of his collarbone, the strong column of his throat, the sharp jut of his jaw. His tusks feel smooth and cool.
Beautiful, you think. He's beautiful.
Your hand drifts lower, skimming over his stomach. The muscles there tense beneath your touch, even in sleep, and you feel the hard ridges of his abdomen, the V-shape that disappears beneath his trousers.
Your breath catches.
And his hand catches yours.
"Caught you," he murmurs. His eyes open, just a crack. "Been waiting. For you to touch me."
"Kolf—"
"You don't get to stop now." He sits up, and you scoot back on your heels, but he follows. His massive hand engulfs yours, pulls it back to his chest, presses your palm flat against his heart. It's pounding. Hard. "Feel that? That's what you do to me. Every time I see you. Every time I smell you."
"Smell me?"
"Like honey." He leans closer, and his free hand cups the back of your neck. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Like mine."
"Y... You're drunk—"
"Not anymore." His eyes are clear now. "Sober enough to know what I want. Sober enough to know I've wanted it for three fucking moons."
"What do you want?"
He doesn't answer with words.
He kisses you.
His mouth crashes against yours, tasting of mead and something uniquely him. His tusks graze your lower lip, careful, and you gasp against his mouth. He swallows the sound, pulls you closer, wraps both arms around you and lifts you onto his lap.
Your knees bracket his hips. Your shift—gods, you're still only wearing a thin shift—rides up your thighs. His hands settle on your waist, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh there, grip you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"Tell me to stop," he rasps against your lips. "Tell me no, and I'll stop. I'll walk out that door and never bother you again. But if you want this—"
"I want this."
The words leave your mouth before you can think about them. Before you can talk yourself out of them. They are raw and honest, and he breaks.
"Thank the gods," he groans, and he's kissing you again, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands roaming down your back, your hips, your thighs.
"I didn't know," you manage between kisses. "The gifts. The courting. I didn't know."
He pulls back. His eyes are dark, dilated. "What do you mean, you didn't know?"
"No one told me." You press your forehead to his. "I thought you were mocking me. Taunting me. I didn't know orcs—"
"Fuck." His hands tighten on your hips. "Fuck, sweetheart. All this time. You thought I was mocking you?"
"Your people raided my village."
"We took supplies. We didn't hurt anyone. I gave orders—" He breathes out harshly. "I'm not good at this. I've never—I've never wanted anyone like this. I didn't know how to—" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. For the raid. For scaring you. For not explaining. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"But I—"
"Kolf." You cup his face in your hands, feel the rough stubble on his jaw, the smooth curve of his tusks. "I'm here. I'm choosing to be here. With you. That's what matters."
He smiles. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He kisses you softly. Briefly. "Bed?" he murmurs.
"Bed."
He carries you to your bed like you're made of glass. Which is hilarious, because two seconds later, he's tearing the shift off your body and staring at you like he wants to devour you.
"Sweetheart," he rasps. "Look at you."
You're naked beneath him, spread across your thin mattress, and he's still fully clothed. Tunic unlaced, trousers straining over his obvious bulge. A very very prominent bulge. The sight makes your mouth water.
"Too many clothes," you manage.
"Agreed."
He strips without care. Tunic over his head, revealing wide shoulders, a chest carved like granite, and arms thick with muscle and crisscrossed with old scars. His trousers follow, and then his—
Oh.
His cock.
You've never been with an orc before. You've heard stories; whispered rumors in the village about what orc males keep between their legs. But stories didn't prepare you for this.
It's massive. Thick and long, veined, the head flushed a darker green, leaking profusely. His balls hang heavy beneath, drawn tight against his body.
"He's friendly," Kolf says, catching you staring. "I promise."
"He's terrifying."
"He'll behave." He crawls onto the bed, over you, caging you with his arms. His thighs bracket yours, and you feel the heat of him, the weight of him. "Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Can't make any promises about the rest of me."
Before you can spiral, he kisses you again. His mouth claims yours, his tongue strokes against your teeth, your palate, everything. You moan into him, wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer.
His hand slides down your body, over your collarbone, your sternum, the curve of your ribs, until he reaches your breast. He cups it, weighs it in his palm, and his thumb drags across your nipple making you gasp.
"Sensitive?" he murmurs against your throat.
"Yes."
"Good."
He bends his mouth to your breast, and you feel his hot tongue lapping at your nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, then harder, and you arch off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair.
"Kolf—"
"So pretty," he murmurs against your skin. "Wanted to do this. For months. Wanted to taste you. Touch you. Hear you."
He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, and you're wrecked. Your thighs clench around his hips, desperate for friction, for something.
"Please," you whimper.
"Please what?"
"I need—"
"I know what you need." He kisses down your sternum, your stomach, the jut of your hipbones. "Going to take care of you, sweetheart. Going to worship you."
He settles between your thighs, and you feel his ragged breath against your pussy.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at this pretty cunt."
You're soaked. You can feel it the slickness, the way your flesh aches for him.
"Kolf—"
His mouth covers you, and your thoughts dissolve.
His tongue is everywhere. Lapping at your folds, circling your clit, plunging inside you. He groans against your flesh like you're the best thing he's ever tasted, and his hands grip your thighs, holding you open and immobile for him.
"Oh—" You buck against his face, and he growls. "Ahh, ghnnn—"
"So sweet. Tastes like honey. Like mine. Could eat my mate's little cunt forever."
"Kolf, I'm going to—"
"Not yet." He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then your mound, then lower. "Not until I say."
"Hgn... that's cruel."
Growling, he continues his attack; licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue until you're a shaking, sobbing mess, begging him for release. And still, he denies you. Keeps you teetering on the edge, right there, right there—and then pulls back.
"Please!" you cry out. "Please, Kolf, I can't—"
"You can." He kisses his way back up your body, and you feel his cock leaking against your thigh. "You can take more. I know you can, sweetheart."
He reaches down, guides himself to your entrance, and you feel the head of him nudging at your folds.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yes. Yes."
A little roll of his hips and he pushes inside you.
Just the head at first and you gasp at the stretch. He's so big. Bigger than anything you've ever taken.
"Breathe," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "Breathe, sweetheart. I've got you."
You force yourself to relax, to welcome him, and he sinks deeper. An inch. Two. Three. Your body yields to him, inch by agonizing inch. It takes forever but at some point, he's finally seated to the hilt.
"Fuck," he groans, and his forehead drops to yours. "So tight. So perfect. Squeezing me like you never want me to leave."
You can't speak. Can't think. The fullness of him, the way he stretches you, the way your body clenches around him have completely taken over.
"Okay?" he asks.
"More than okay."
He laughs softly and begins to move.
His thrusts are slow at first. Each one presses a sweet spot deep inside you, making stars burst behind your eyes. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.
"Look at me," he rasps.
You open your eyes, and he's watching you. Watching the way your face contorts with pleasure, the way your lips part, the way your body responds to his.
"I want to remember this," he says. "Want to remember the way you look when I'm moving inside you."
"Kolf—"
"Mine." He thrusts deeper, and you cry out. "Say it."
"Yours."
Another deep stroke. "Mine."
"Yours, I'm yours—"
He speeds up, and the bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall. His hips piston against yours, and you feel everything—the drag of his cock, the slap of his balls against your ass, the way his breathing turns uneven and desperate.
"Going to fuck you so hard," he growls, "you feel me for days. Going to bruise that pretty little cunt. Make you remember who you belong to."
"Yes—"
"Sweetheart." He shifts his angle, and you mewl. "That's it. That's the spot. There."
He pounds into you and you feel your orgasm building—not the teasing edges he gave you before, but something enormous. Something that is about to explode.
"Come for me," he commands. "Come on your orc's cock, sweetheart. Now."
You break. Your walls clamp down on him, pulsing, milking, and you sob his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you. He doesn't stop. Keeps fucking you through it, keeps driving into you, and the sensation triggers little climaxes.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more."
"I can't—"
"You can."
Reaching between your bodies, he finds your clit and circles it. Torments it. Another orgasm hits before the previous has even faded. Your whole body convulses, your vision whites out.
"That's it," he groans. "That's my girl. Fuck—"
He buries himself to the hilt, and lets out a feral snarl. You feel him pulse inside you, endless ropes of his seed pouring into your pussy. He keeps thrusting through it, shallow now, drawing out every last drop, and you whimper at the overstimulation.
But he doesn't stop.
He can't.
"I'm not done with you," he drawls. "Not even close."
Pulling out slowly, he's rolling you onto your stomach, ignoring the streams of his seed trickling down your thighs. He lifts your hips and aligns himself at your entrance.
"Kolf—"
"I said I was going to bruise you." He impales you and you moan into the pillow. "I meant it."
He fucks you again. And again. And again.
He fucks you on your stomach, on your side, with your legs wrapped around his neck and your ankles crossed behind his head. He fucks you against the headboard, against the wall, on the floor when the bed groans too loudly.
He fucks you until you lose count of your orgasms, until you're nothing but a trembling, sobbing, sated mess beneath him.
And when he finally spills inside you for the last time, when he collapses beside you, pulling you against his chest, you feel it.
That ache. Deep inside you. Where his cock has been pounding for hours.
Your cervix is bruised.
And you can't stop smiling.
********
The Morning After...
Sunlight streams through the cracks in your curtains, and you wake to warmth.
Kolf is asleep behind you, one arm thrown over your waist, his face buried in your hair. He's spooning you, his breathing slow and even, his chest rising and falling against your back.
You try to move.
Ow.
Everything hurts. Your thighs are sore. Your breasts are tender. And between your legs... gods, there's an ache that goes deep. Your cervix feels bruised. And you've never been happier.
"Morning," he mumbles against your neck.
"You're awake."
"Wasn't sleeping." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Was enjoying you."
"You're creepy."
"You enjoy it."
You elbow him gently, and he laughs, a sound that vibrates through your entire body.
"How do you feel, sweetheart?" he asks, sitting up to look at you.
"Sore."
"Good sore or bad sore?".
"Good sore," you admit. "Really good sore."
"Good." He kisses your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "That's what I wanted."
You turn in his arms to face him. "You wanted to bruise me."
"I wanted you to remember me." His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs, and you gasp when his fingers find your swollen, sensitive pussy. "Every time you walked today. Every time you sat down. Every time you moved."
"You're insufferable."
"You're mine," he says with a smile. His smile is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
You pout. "You say it it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the sun rising. Like the tide coming in."
He grins. "It is. You're mine and I'm yours."
"Yeah," you whisper. "I'm yours."
-------------------------------------
And because I am in love with them, give me a few days and I will write a short, fluffy epilogue, too!
can you do a noncon story with mothman that has some predator/prey going on?
Mothman's Prey (mothman x fem reader)
TW: NSFW, MDNI, non-con, predator/prey, stalking, kidnapping, oral, P in V, hair pulling, biting/marking, degradation, fear play, size difference, orgasms, fluids.
You are hiking alone at night when you are captured by a Mothman...
-------------------------------
The trail was dead. That was your first mistake—thinking you knew these woods.
Your second mistake was looking up.
The moon hung fat and luminous behind the treeline and shadows bled where they shouldn't. Branches snapped not from wind but from weight—something large shifting its mass from one limb to another, tracking you through the canopy without a single leaf rustling in sympathy.
You'd heard the stories. Everyone in your area knew them. But stories don't have six-foot wingspans that block out the stars when they stretch overhead. Stories don't have deep red eyes like blood.
You ran.
Your boots sank into mud, then hit gravel. The frantic pump of your blood echoed in your ears. The backpack slapped against your spine. A stitch clawed at your ribs. Behind you, above you—all around you—came that sound.
Not footsteps.
Clacking.
Like mandibles grinding together. Like plates flexing. A rhythmic clicking that reverberated off every tree trunk and wrapped around your skull until you couldn't tell which direction led back to your car.
"Please—" you gasped, not sure who you were begging.
The clicking stopped.
So did the wind. The insects.
And then he dropped from the sky.
Not fell. Dropped. Eight feet of dark fur and harder angles, huge wings folding into his back with a wet shff. His head cocked. The blood-red eyes narrowed.
"Hello, darling. My, my... you smell sweet," he said in a deep baritone. "Like honey mixed with fear... the fear makes it sharper."
You scrambled backward. "Stay away from me."
He stepped closer. One leg. Then the other. His feet were wrong; too many joints, too long, ending in claws that clicked against the exposed rock. "You came into my woods. You walked my trails after dark." His head tilted. "That's an invitation where I'm from."
"I didn't know—"
"You knew." The red eyes flared. "Everyone knows. And still you came. Still you ran... tempted me... invited the chase."
No. No! You'd just wanted to clear your head. Just wanted to see the stars away from the town's streetlights. Just wanted—
He advanced and you tried to bolt, but his hand caught your jacket collar and lifted. Your feet left the ground. The world spun. Then your back hit a tree trunk hard enough to punch the air from your lungs.
"Pretty little thing," he murmured, leaning in close. His scent was musky. "All trembly. All mine now."
You shoved at his chest. Your hands sank into soft fur, felt the hard muscle underneath, the impossible heat of him. He didn't budge.
"Let me go."
"No." His free hand came up, claws tracing your jawline with gentleness. "I caught you. That means I keep you."
"Keep me for what?"
He pressed closer. His body was all power and heat, that strange chitinous plating along his ribs grinding against your softer curves. You felt something hard nudge your thigh through his fur—not a limb, not a bone. Something that twitched and swelled as he breathed.
"Figure it out," he rasped.
Your stomach dropped. "No—"
"Yes." His mouth—not a human mouth, wider, fuller, with those clicking mandibles folded flush against his cheeks, brushed your ear. "Going to take you back to my nest. Going to spread you out on the soft moss where I sleep. And then I'm going to learn every sound you make."
The nest was a cave hidden behind a waterfall you never would have found on your own. He carried you there unbothered by your frantic wiggling and shouts. One arm was hooked under your knees, the other cradling your back. Water roared on both sides as he stepped through the curtain, and then—
Silence. Warmth. The smell of earth and flowers and him. His musk coated the back of your throat made tears gather in your eyes. He laid you down on something soft. Moss, like he'd said, thick and soft and surprisingly clean. The cave glowed faintly, candles casting everything in soft light.
"Don't," you whispered as he crouched over you.
His hands found the hem of your shirt. "Don't what? Don't touch you? Don't taste you?" The fabric ripped like paper under his claws. Your bra followed a heartbeat later. "Too late for don't."
Cool air hit your breasts. Your nipples peaked instantly, and you hated them for it, hated how your body responded to the exposure, to his gaze. He stared at your chest like he had never seen anything like it.
One claw-tipped finger traced your sternum "Soft here," he said. "Softer than I thought." The pad of his finger circled your areola. The texture was strange. Gritty.
You bit your lip to keep from making a sound.
He noticed.
"No," he rasped, teasing harder. "I want to hear."
His thumb rolled over your nipple. Once. Twice. The friction made you gasp, a shameful "ahhn" that echoed off the cave walls. He rumbled approval and did it again.
"That's it," he said. "That's the sound."
His other hand found your other breast, and he worked both at once—squeezing, kneading, pinching your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they ached and throbbed and you couldn't stop the little whines leaking from your throat. "Nnnh... nnnh... please..."
"Please what?" He leaned down, and his too-wide mouth closed over one nipple.
The sensation short-circuited your brain. His tongue wasn't like a human tongue. It was longer, narrower, with a rough texture and it wrapped around your nipple while he sucked. The mandibles at the corners of his mouth vibrated against your skin, sending shivers racing down your spine.
"Ahhhnn—fuck—"
He pulled off with a wet shllk. "That's what I intend to do."
Before you could respond, his hands were at your waistband. Your pants came off in strips. He didn't bother with buttons or zippers, just shredded the fabric. Your panties followed. And then you were naked underneath him, spread out on his moss, while he knelt between your legs and looked.
"Spread yourself," he said.
"What?"
"Your legs. Open them. Show me what I caught."
You shook your head, squeezing your thighs together. "I won't."
He laughed. Then his hands clamped onto your knees and pulled. Your legs opened wide. This time, air hit your pussy, and you felt yourself clench around nothing, felt the wetness you couldn't control.
"Wetter than I expected," he observed. One claw traced up your inner thigh, stopping just before it reached your folds. "Scared... but excited. Your body knows what it needs even if your head hasn't caught up."
"It's not—that's not—"
"Shhh." His thumb pressed against your clit. Just pressed. Just the flat of his thumb, gritty and warm, grinding against that bundle of nerves until your hips bucked without permission. "There. See?"
He pushed your legs back farther, opening you completely. His red eyes fixed on your pussy, your outer lips, flushed darker than your skin, on the way your inner lips peeked out slick and swollen.
"Pretty," he drawled "Going to remember how you look right now. Going to remember every fucking detail."
Moving too fast, he lowered his head between your legs. The first lick was long. You jerked, choked on a cry. He tasted you again. From the bottom of your pussy to the top, his rough tongue dragging through your folds. He gathered your wetness, an obscene shllk shllk shllk echoing.
"Taste better than honey," he growled against your flesh.
His mouth closed over your clit, and he sucked.
Your back arched off the moss. "Oh god—"
His tongue flicked—fast, precise, that rough texture catching your clit with every pass. Your hands fisted in the moss. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head. He held you open like it was nothing, like your struggles meant less than nothing, and he ate you like you were his last meal.
"Ahhnn... ahhnn... ahhnn..." The sounds punched out of you with every breath. You couldn't supress them. Couldn't stop the way your hips rolled against his face, chasing his mouth, hating yourself for wanting it.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Yes... grind on my face, darling," he groaned, the words vibrating through your clit. "Harder. Go ahead. Use me. You're already mine, might as well enjoy it."
"Fuck you—"
He bit down on your inner thigh, making you sob before his tongue soothed over the sting.
"That's not what I asked for," he said. "Try again."
Your eyes burned. "I don't—I can't—"
"Grind."
And you did. God help you, you did. You rolled your hips against his mouth, rubbing your clit across his tongue, his lower lip, his chin wet with you. Each drag sent sparks up your spine. Each circle of his tongue made your thighs shake harder.
"That's it," he growled against you. "That's my good little prey."
The orgasm built without permission. You felt it coiling low in your belly, felt your walls clenching around nothing, felt your breath coming in ragged "huh-huh-huh" gasps. You tried to push his head away. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the moss.
"You come when I say," he said.
"Please—unnnh...I can't—it's too much—"
"You can. And you will." His tongue flattened against your clit, relentless. "Come. NOW."
Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. You fell into oblivion, endless and helpless, while your core pulsed and your thighs clenched around his head and your mouth opened in a silent scream. He kept licking you through it, lapping up every drop of wetness your body released.
Shllk. Shllk. Shllk.
When you finally stopped trembling, he lifted his head. His chin glistened. His red eyes burned.
"Now," he said, crawling up your body until his weight pressed you into the moss, "I fuck you."
You felt his cock before you saw it.
He'd shifted his hips between your thighs, and something hard pressed against your pussy. Too bulky and too hot—not like a human cock. It was thicker at the base, tapered toward the tip, with ridges that caught against your folds as he rocked back and forth.
"What—"
"My kind don't fuck like yours." He gripped his shaft, dark gray, ridged all the way down, weeping something clear and slick from the pointed tip. "We claim."
He positioned himself at your entrance. The head of his cock nudged against your opening, spreading your wetness around, not pushing in yet. Just... waiting.
"Last chance to say no," he said.
"That doesn't make sense—you're not giving me a choice—"
"I'm giving you the chance." His red eyes locked onto yours. "Not the choice. Just the chance to say the word so I can ignore it."
"That's not—"
"Say no."
You opened your mouth.
He thrust inside you.
You whimpered.
He kissed you, tongue plunging into your mouth as he sank inside you. Inch by inch. The stretch was impossible. Those ridges caught at your entrance, dragged through your walls, made you feel him in ways human anatomy hadn't prepared you for. And because he devoured your mouth, a sound came out of you that wasn't quite a scream and wasn't quite a moan.
"Tight," he gritted out. "So fucking tight around me. Squeezing like you want to keep me."
You couldn't answer. Couldn't think. He kissed you, swallowed your moans and filled you so completely you felt him in your throat, in your ribs, in your heart. His hips pressed flush against yours, and the base of his cock—thicker there, almost flared—stretched your opening even wider.
"Aghnnn..."
"Breathe, darling," he whispered, his tongue licking your lower lip.
You sucked in air.
He pulled back. The ridges dragged in reverse, catching on every sensitive spot inside you, and you felt each one—ridge... ridge... ridge—until only the head remained. Then he pushed forward again. Slower this time. Again and again.
Shllk. Shllk. Shllk.
"Better," he murmured. "You're getting softer... wetter." His thumb found your clit again, pressing in time with his thrusts. "Your cunt likes me. Even if your mouth won't admit it."
"Fuck... you..."
"You already are." To prove his point, he snapped his hips harder, driving deeper, and the new angle made you see stars. "And you're going to come again. On my cock. While I fill you up."
"No—I can't—not again—"
"Oh, but you can." His mouth brushed your ear, those mandibles clicking softly against your temple. "You will. And you're going to thank me for it."
His pace increased.
Each thrust pushed the air from your lungs, made your breasts bounce. The motion seemed to mesmerize him because he focused his attention on them, nursing the hard nipples, marking them with little nibbles and sucks.
Soon, a second orgasm was building. This one started from somewhere deep inside you.
"There," he growled, feeling you tighten around him. "There it is. Give it to me."
You shook your head, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. "I can't—it's too much—too much—"
His hand closed around your throat. Not choking, just holding. Feeling your pulse hammer against his palm. "You can. You will. Come.For.Me."
The orgasm crested and kept cresting, making you rock like crazy. Your walls spasmed around his cock and your legs locked around his waist and your mouth fell open on a mewl that went on and on and on.
"Aahhhmmmnnn—"
"Fuck," he snarled, and you felt his cock pulse inside you.
Hot. So hot it almost burned. He pumped into you with short, jerky thrusts, his whole body going rigid, a sound tearing from his chest that was a raw and monstrous clicking roar. His cum filled you. You felt it spilling around his cock, dripping down onto the moss, wrong and right all at once.
And after he was done, he stayed inside you. His weight pressed you into the moss, and for one terrible second, you almost felt safe. Then he squelched out.
You whimpered, felt empty. You felt his seed leaking from you, a warm trickle down your perineum, and you clenched instinctively.
He knelt between your legs, watching. His cock was still half-hard, glistening with both of you, the ridges catching the dim candlelight.
"Again," he said.
You stared at him. "What?"
"Again." He gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach before you could argue. Your cheek pressed into the moss. Your ass rose in the air. He knelt behind you, and you felt the head of his cock nudging at your entrance again—slick with his release, with yours.
"I'm not done with you yet," he said, and impaled you to the hilt.
You whimpered, grabbed fistfuls of the moss. This angle was different. Deeper. He hit something that made stars burst behind your eyes.
He moaned. "Good. That's good. Make those sounds for me, darling. Make all of them."
Claws digging into your hips, he held you in place as he fucked you. No gentleness now. No pauses. Just the relentless shllk shllk shllk of his ridged cock sliding in and out of your soaked cunt, his grunts and the occasional click-click-click of his mandibles opening and closing in pleasure.
"You're mine now," he said, each word punctuated by a thrust. "This cunt is mine. These sounds are mine. Every orgasm you have from now until I get bored—MINE."
You couldn't answer. Could only take it, only feel it, only exist in the space between his hips and the moss and the endless drag of those ridges inside you. You shattered again and he followed with a snarl, pumping more of that hot seed into your already-full womb. He pulled out and collapsed beside you, one heavy arm thrown over your back, pinning you to the moss.
"Sleep," he said. "We start again at dawn."
You didn't have the strength to argue.
The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was his red gaze, still watching, still hungry, still yours in all the worst and best ways.
"It's done. My prey has finally stopped running. She's where she belongs. With her predator."
