The air in the penthouse office was thick with wealth and the frigid chill of a man who valued efficiency over all else. The view of Nueva York, a glittering, neon canyon of endless verticality, was wasted on the three figures seated at the polished black obsidian table.
[Y/N], a woman of striking, dark chocolate brown complexion whose curves drew the eye even beneath the stiff fabric of her formal dress, sat ramrod straight. Her black hair was coiled into a severe bun, and her brown eyes were fixed on the man opposite her.
Miguel O’Hara.
He was the new head of the Syndicate—a presence as sharp and unforgiving as the sleek angles of his tailored suit. His features were beautiful in a predatory way, but his eyes, a stark, deep red, held no warmth.
“The terms are simple, [Y/N],” Miguel stated, his voice a low, mechanical rumble that suggested he was bored. “Your family owes the Syndicate a debt. This marriage is the repayment. You gain protection and solvency. I gain the necessary alliance to consolidate the eastern seaboard.”
He slid the marriage contract across the table. It was heavy parchment, weighted by obligation.
“I refuse to be a quiet contract,” you stated, your voice echoing with unexpected steel, silencing the room. “I am your wife—and a partner, whether you wish to acknowledge it or not.”
Miguel didn't flinch. “Partnership requires trust, [Y/N]. Trust is earned through loyalty, not a signature. We will be married in name and in public. My schedule is my own. Yours will be provided by my staff. Do not disrupt the routine. Do not ask questions. Do not expect sentiment.”
He didn't look at you as he signed the document. He looked past you, at the skyline, as if the mere act of your existence was an interruption to his ambition.
That night, you were moved into his sterile, hyper-modern apartment—a cage gilded in chrome and automated luxury. Your new bedroom was across the hall from his, separated by a soundproof wall, a literal and symbolic barrier. You walked straight to the window, pulled the pins from your hair, and watched the city with a gaze that promised trouble. This was a cage, yes, but you would be the sharpest thing in it.
You were an object of alliance. A formality. And you knew, with brutal clarity, that breaking the ice around Miguel O’Hara would be the hardest fight of your life.
Chapter 2: The Breach
The routine was relentless, and just as empty as Miguel had promised. Days blurred into weeks. You spent your time reading in the expansive library, attending dry, necessary social functions as his impeccably dressed accessory, and learning the impenetrable labyrinth of the O’Hara household staff.
Miguel treated you like expensive, fragile china—handled with care, but rarely acknowledged. He was often gone before you woke and returned late, smelling of cold ozone and gunpowder.
Yet, routine bred proximity, and proximity bred observation.
He began to notice.
He noticed the way you never complained about the frigid temperatures he kept the penthouse at, how you simply wrapped yourself in cashmere and carried on. He noticed your deep-seated resilience when a rival family matriarch tried to subtly undermine you at a gala; you responded with a smile as sharp as his own, defending the Syndicate’s honor (and his, by extension) with unexpected ferocity. “I am not decorative,” you’d told him afterward, stripping off your gloves. “I am protective plating.”
One evening, you were alone in the kitchen, carefully measuring ingredients for a complex dark chocolate cake—a small act of defiant warmth in this metallic mausoleum. Your hands, usually steady, slipped, and a porcelain mixing bowl shattered, leaving a jagged shard near your foot.
Miguel, returning early and silent, stood in the doorway. He hadn't seen you since a brief, curt exchange that morning.
“Clean that up,” he commanded, his arms crossed.
You glared up at him, pausing only briefly. “I am aware of the shattered porcelain, Miguel. I do not require directives for menial cleanup.” As you moved, your bare heel brushed the shard. You flinched, biting back a gasp. It was a minor nick, but blood welled immediately against your dark skin.
Before you could react, Miguel was across the room. The transition from detached boss to something else was instantaneous and jarring. He crouched, his proximity suffocating, and grasped your chin gently, tilting your head up to meet his red eyes.
“You’re bleeding,” he stated, his voice flat, but the coldness was layered with a thread of something sharp—anxiety, perhaps?
He didn't wait for a reply. He swept the broken glass away with his foot, then lifted you without effort and carried you to the counter, retrieving a first-aid kit with the precision of a surgeon. As he cleaned the small wound, his touch was unexpectedly gentle, the large, powerful hand cradling your foot with almost reverence.
When he finished, he returned to his cold posture. "Do not bleed in my kitchen again, [Y/N]. It disrupts the routine."
"Perhaps," you retorted, pulling your foot away sharply. "But disruption is the only thing keeping this alliance from becoming a gilded funeral." But you saw it: the brief, unguarded concern. The breach had been made.
Chapter 3: The Fracture
The shift in dynamic was subtle, marked by the way Miguel started lingering in a room after you entered. He didn't speak more, but he observed more deeply—sometimes catching your brown eyes on his, a spark of unspoken challenge passing between you.
One night, a rival faction, agitated by the O’Hara-Syndicate merger, made a clumsy attempt to destabilize the alliance by targeting you. You were ambushed on your way back from a charity function. It was a violent, quick skirmish.
You were trained to handle yourself, and you fought with the ferocity of someone defending their own claim. When the fighting spilled onto a desolate rooftop, you found yourself cornered, your breath ragged, a small knife clutched in your hand.
A shadow fell over the rooftop. Miguel arrived, not in a car, but in a blur of motion. He didn't carry a gun; he was a weapon himself.
The violence he inflicted was terrifying, precise, and utterly ruthless. But the terror wasn’t for you; it was for the men who dared to touch what was his.
When the last attacker fell, silence descended, broken only by your heavy breathing. Miguel turned to you, his chest heaving slightly, his suit immaculate despite the chaos. His red eyes were blazing not with anger, but with something akin to white-hot fury.
He strode toward you, stopping inches away. He didn't ask if you were hurt. He simply took your knife, tossed it aside, and pulled you into a crushing embrace.
It wasn't a tender hug; it was the possessive grip of a predator reaffirming his claim. His heart hammered against your ear, a frantic, human rhythm that shattered his cold facade.
“They are mine to deal with,” he rasped, his voice rougher than granite. “You are not a pawn to be taken. You are my… necessity.”
He pulled back, his hands cupping your face—a face he rarely bothered to look at before. The icy composure was gone, replaced by vulnerability and raw, protective instinct. You reached up, your fingers tracing the sharp, tense line of his jaw.
“I am perfectly capable of handling myself, Miguel,” you stated, your voice firm despite the adrenaline. “But I am concerned this weakness will jeopardize the very consolidation your family paid my freedom for.”
His expression softened, just for a moment, an imperceptible fracture in the obsidian. He saw the strength in your brown eyes, the genuine commitment to the contract, and the full, undeniable beauty of the woman he had treated as a ghost. He felt the curve of your body pressed against his, and the realization hit him: his protectiveness wasn't about duty anymore. It was about her.
Chapter 4: The Dawn
A week later, you found Miguel in the library, a rare sight. He wasn’t working; he was simply staring out the glass wall, the city lights reflecting in his red eyes.
You walked to the bar, poured yourself a glass of water, and offered him one. He took it without looking away.
“The council meeting is tomorrow,” he said, his voice quiet. “They will question our arrangement. They’ll try to sever the alliance, saying you are too great a risk.”
“I know,” you replied, taking a sip. “I will tell them the merger is non-negotiable. I will assure them of my loyalty.”
He finally turned, leaning back against the glass. “You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t,” you said, stepping closer, your gaze locking with his. “You treated me as a contract, and I honored it—perfectly. Now I demand that you honor the man I see—the one who would tear the city apart to keep me safe. That man deserves loyalty, and I will give it.”
His mask finally fell. The coldness didn't vanish entirely—it was too ingrained—but it lost its edge. It became a quiet intensity. He set his glass down, took your face in his hands again, and this time, his eyes weren’t blazing with fury, but with something deeper, a quiet awe.
“I signed a contract for an alliance, [Y/N],” he confessed, the admission sounding like a physical effort. “I found something irreplaceable. I need you. Not for the debt, but because you are the only warmth in this tomb.”
He closed the distance between you, and the kiss was not the aggressive claim of a boss, but the cautious, profound surrender of a man who had never allowed himself to want.
The next day, at the council meeting, the elders watched with calculating eyes. As one elder began to question your lineage, Miguel cut him off.
Before Miguel could speak, you stepped forward. “The terms have changed,” you announced, addressing the elders with the poise of royalty. “This alliance is not fragile. It is steel, and I am the reinforcement. You will respect my position and my loyalty to the Syndicate. I am Miguel’s necessity, and you will forget this risk entirely.”
Miguel looked at the woman beside him—the terrifying, brilliant boss who had allowed himself to be broken by an unforeseen intimacy.
The arranged marriage was over. You were now standing beside the man who had chosen you. And as Miguel O’Hara led you out of the silent room, the cold air of the city no longer felt alien, but like the sharp, clean air of a life that had finally begun.
The heavy sound of rain flood the streets of Nueva York. The dim street lights felt faded as the mist blocked their glow. Despite the downpour that washed the streets, the stench of blood still lingered. A foul odor that could never truly be cleaned from this city.
Nueva York was riddled with crime. Each part of the city was owned and govern by their own mafia. Drugs, alcohol and fights were always a topic and always a cause to stay indoors. Only the smart stayed away from the mafia. They were the ones to survive this city unscathed. They were the ones to avoid trouble.
You had just moved into the city, unaware of its true face, nor did you really have a choice. You were desperate to get away from your old life. Despite for a fresh start. So much so, that you landed in one of the worst parts of the city. The place you rented was small, but it was enough to keep you hidden.
A soft whimper escaped your lips as you near cried at the sight of a roach. Tears threaten to spill as you sprayed the roach spray against the foul creature for dear life. You had just moved into the place. You were warned by your friends and family of the filth of the city, but they didn't know anything. They didn't know the pain you were in.
"Ew, ew!" You whined as you grabbed the broom, throwing the roach away.
Once you were freed from that horrid task, you continued to clean and unpack. You double checked everything for roaches and mice, wanting to sleep soundly for once. You shuddered at the thought as you pulled out old photographs of your high school days. Within those pictures was the cause of your depature.
Your ex.
You had fled your hometown due to your abusive ex-boyfriend, Eddie Brock. The man was so kind to you at first, treating you well until you officially started dating. Your college life was cut short due to his beatings and yelling. You were always at fault. You could never be good enough for him. You were always the problem.
The thought made you sob. You moved to this city on a whim thanks to your small job. You just wanted to stop living in that hell. Everyone loved your ex. They never truly saw what he was. They never even asked how you were.
"I-I need to s-stop crying." You whispered to yourself as you looked out the window, "I-I have work tomorrow. I...I need to be ready."
-----------
Meanwhile, a few blocks over, Miguel was sitting before his large patio, watching the rain. He held a glass of vodka in his hand, watching the lightening brighten the sky more than the city lights itself. He inhaled to the loud roar of thunder before being interrupted by a knock at his door.
"Que? (What)" He hissed lowly. Lyla smiled as she walked over with a folder, placing them on his desk,
"Just something for the morning." She chirped and approached the door, "There's another one waiting outside. Shall I send her in?"
"Ha, and get some fake praises. She can only come in if she wants a quick fuck. I won't deal with gold diggers." Miguel grumbled.
Lyla just hummed in response before shutting the door. Miguel could only groan in annoyance as he placed his glass down. His night would have been better off alone. Closing the blinds to his patio, Miguel approached his desk to the file. It was going to be another long day tomorrow.
---------
There was a scurry to your step as you tried to please your new boss. It was your first day working in the chain supermarket, and you were stressed. This version of your old job was far busier, louder and ruder than what you were used to. You were a shy and quiet person, so having so many people yell and pull you around was breaking you.
"(Y/N)! Deli needs a hand, you ever did that?" One of your coworkers asked. You flinched at the sudden yell,
"I-I have helped packaged an-"
"Good enough, go help and put a kick in it!"
You just agreed and hurried to the deli. You grabbed a hair net and gasped lowly at your fellow coworkers there. They were all so tall and mean looking. You were like a deer in headlights the moment they saw you enter their kitchen. You just bowed your head slightly and quietly made your way to the meat wrapping station.
"Why'd they put her here? She don't know anything yet," One of the taller men whispered. You're ears perked up since whispers weren't exactly in their volcabulary,
"She's a scaredy cat. Ain't nothing comin' outta her mouth. Same like the rest of us,"
You wanted to ask them what they were talking about, but you were too scared to find out. That, and you learned the harsh lesson of minding your own business. Dear ol' Eddie gave you that cruel lesson. Shaking your head at the thought, you didn't want to be known as the employee who cried on their first day.
"Hey, new kid," One of your coworkers called out, approaching you, "Yer new here, so let me warn you. We got three freezers in the deli. One is full of the fresh meat we get. Leave that to us big guys. You can enter the second freezer with the small cuts for the customers. The third freezer, you never enter. Don't ask questions about it. Don't peak into it. Just pretend it never exists. Oh, and don't make eye contact with those who enter it."
"Okay,"
Hell fucking no. You were going to stay far away from dear freezer number three. That was a lot more information than you even wanted to hear. Hell, you weren't a fan of entering freezer number two. Once your coworkers were reassured by your understanding, they returned to work.
Your hands trembled over your station as you tried to focus on your job with the seven men yelling around you. This was your sad new life. You had to get used to this. You were either going to make it in the city or die trying.
--------
Miguel lazily glanced out his window seat, spotting the upcoming supermarket. There was a rumble in his throat as he leaned back in his seat. His men tailing behind him in different cars. Miguel told his driver to stop, wanting to walk the rest of the way while his men parked around back.
"Peter, take our guest into the freezer. I'm going to make a pit stop at the deli," Miguel said over the phone.
"Miguel, we talked about this. You're the boss, let us handle the work." Peter tried reasoning over the phone.
Miguel wasn't even paying attention. He hung up and proceeded to enter the supermarket. His presence alone made the managers cower and the workers silent. Of course, none of the regular customers knew anything. None of them suspected that he, Miguel O'Hara, CEO of Alchemax, was the leader of the Spider Mafia. One of the biggest and ruthless mafia in town.
"The usual?" One of the deli men questioned. Miguel glanced over his shoulder, noticing you shaking like a leaf while avoiding your coworkers,
"And they say I'm cruel. New hire?"
"Transfer from out of town," The man replied.
Miguel raised a brow towards you. You were pale in the face as you apologized for getting in people's way. Miguel couldn't help but snort. It was cute. Something he was not used too. Returning his attention to the deli worker, Miguel could only smirk as he watched his men drag their guest into freezer number three.
"The bird needs to be plucked." Was all Miguel said for the man to understand.
-------
You whimpered softly as you moved away from everyone's path. It had gotten far too busy for your liking. Once you caught a break, you noticed the deli supervisor talking to a handsome man. You tilted your head, stealing a glance. The man was tall and gorgeous. He wore a slick all black suit. Something very fancy for this part of town.
The man took notice of you and smiled. Your cheeks immediately started to heat up as you quickly returned to your job. As you did, you noticed some men enter the third freezer. You paled instantly. It was your first day! Biting you lower lip, you tried to focus on your work. Right as you did, you noticed the handsome man from earlier walk by you and towards the freezer,
"Keep up the good work, conejita (bunny)." He whispered.
You felt your heart race as the door shut. His voice was so deep and low. If only he hadn't entered the freezer. Perhaps, you would have gotten to know him as a regular.
Pairing: Best-Friend!Bucky x Virgin!Reader (fem intended)
Word Count: 6.2K (it was supposed to be a drabble oops)
Summary: Based off the prompts "You know my door is always open for you, right?" and "You're already wet sweetheart." for my milestone event, requested by nonnie.
Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, mentions of a bad date, explicit p in v sex, oral (male receiving), fingering, swearing, bucky talks a lot in bed, weed and alcohol consumption. (if I missed any, please let me know)
A/N: thank you so so much to @bucksangel and @itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare for beta reading for me, i love you both so so much.
Masterpost || Bucky Masterlist
You sat in your car, frustration and disappointment rolling off of you in waves.
Another bad date, another guy just obsessed with hearing himself talk and not once allowing you to get a word in. That topped with how he called you a prude at the end left the worst taste in your mouth.
You didn't want to go home to your empty apartment, already sick of the silence filling your car, so you scrolled through your contacts, thinking who would be up for hanging out with so little notice.
Your lip found its way between your teeth as you passed your best friend's name. You weren't sure if he'd be busy or not, or if he'd be in the mood to hang out, but seeing him would help your mood. Plus. . . you blanched at the image that clouded your mind. Maybe he could help with your little problem - if you had the guts to even ask.
You pressed the dial button before you could talk yourself out of it, waiting for him to pick up as you chewed on your nail.
Just when you were about to hang up, giving up for the night, the tone clicked and his voice filtered through the speaker.
"Hey Peach," His voice was gruff and you could feel some of your frustration ebbing away already, "What's going on?"
"Hey, Buck," You sighed, "Are you busy?"
"Not currently, why?"
"Can I come over for a minute?"
"Aren't you supposed to be on a date?" He chuckled. You could hear him shuffling through what you assumed was his kitchen, the opening and closing of cupboards sounding through the little speaker.
"I was." You didn't give him anymore than that, and he was only silent for a small moment before he hummed.
"Alright, get your cute butt over here so you can tell me all about it," He ordered and you couldn't help the heat that grew in your skin at the compliment. "Want me to pack a bowl too?"
You giggled at that before agreeing. "After today, please. I'll pay you back for it."
"How many times do I gotta tell you not to worry about that?" He laughed, "Now get over here. Drive safe."
"I will." You hung up the phone with a sigh before starting your car and heading over to his place, but not before stopping and picking up a bottle of wine on the way.
It wasn't long before you were hiking up the steps to the house he rented. It was small, and not in the best neighborhood, but he didn't have to worry about sharing walls with anyone else and it was bigger than your apartment, so you didn't mind. Plus, you knew he'd never let anything happen to you.
He pulled open the door before you had a chance to knock, giving you a grin that was equally empathetic as it was smug. He liked to relish in the fact that he always knew guys weren't going to be good enough for you, telling you before every date you went on that it'd be a waste of time.
But that didn't mean that he was happy you weren't having a good time.
"Come on," He reached his hand out for you, "Let's get you giggly again."
You chuckled at that before landing the bottle of wine in his outstretched hand, the raise of his eye brows pulling up the corners of your lips.
"Super giggly is the goal then." He stepped away from the door, letting you in before closing and locking it behind you.
"You sure you don't mind me dropping by this late?"
He scoffed at that, leading the way to his kitchen and pulling out two wine glasses, "You know my door is always open for you, right?"
You shrugged, "I know that, but still, you can always tell me no."
"Now, Peach, why would I do that? I'm not going to say no to hanging out with my favorite person." Heat spread through your skin again at his words, and the teasing wink he threw your way.
You didn't mind that he flirted with you, whether flirting was his intention or not, you weren't quite sure. But either way, it made you feel somewhat seen. Liked.
"I thought Steve was your favorite person," You lifted yourself onto his countertop, hissing at the cold that met your thighs. You cursed the version of yourself that decided shorts were a good idea. "It'd be a shame if he heard that wasn't true."
"He knows where he stands with me, don't worry." He handed you a poured glass, clinking his own against it before leaning against the opposite counter. "Now, do you want to tell me what happened now, or do you want to smoke first?"
You chuckled at that, taking a sip of your wine, "How about I tell you while we smoke, then by the time we're good and high, I don't have to think about it anymore?"
He gave you one of his little grins, nodding his head. "You got it."
You followed him outside, getting comfortable in the large papasan chair as he plugged in the string of lights hung over the small porch. He got comfortable in his seat before offering you the bong and a lighter, letting you take the first drag.
It didn't take long to fill Bucky in on what had transpired on your date. How Mark didn't even try to act interested in anything you had to say. How he'd made you meet him at the restaurant instead of offering to pick you up, which in the end ended up being a silver lining because you didn't have to ask him to drive you home.
You'd gotten to the part where your date had called you a prude and what you'd told him to cause that comment, and the words caught in your throat. You'd never told Bucky you were a virgin, not that it mattered, you knew he wouldn't judge you for it. It was just something that never came up.
Maybe it was what happened tonight, the comments and the way your date acted afterwards, that made you not want to tell him. Or maybe it was the pity in his eyes that had grown since you'd started your story. Or. . . or it could've been the rather not small bit of your heart that belonged to him already that stopped you. If others didn't like that you were a virgin in your twenties, and didn't want to be with someone so inexperienced, why would he?
He caught on to your hesitation, setting the bong down as he turned to face you with his brows pulled forward.
"What happened?" He asked, and you looked to your lap, pulling your feet under you and wrapping your sweater around you.
You could tell him, you knew he wouldn't judge you, wouldn't tease you for it. You knew that, so why was it so hard to tell him when you told anyone else without a care in the world? You sighed, barely meeting his gaze.
"Promise me you won't judge me?" You whispered and he leaned forward.
"I'd never judge you for anything. I promise."
You nodded, more to yourself in reassurance to let the words out. "The only thing he either heard me say about myself, or that he decided to pay attention to, was the fact that I'm a virgin," You refused to meet Bucky's gaze as he went still, "That seemed to get his attention because then he started assuming I was going home with him after he pretty much ignored me all night. Like I was some prize to be won. A trophy."
You took a breath taking a small glance at Bucky to see his eyes trained on your face, but no emotion peaking through his features other than his fists clenched in his lap, knuckles white.
"When I told him I was just gonna go home, his attitude shifted again and he proceeded to call me a selfish prude." The words rang in your head again, his mocking tone clear in your ears before you forced yourself to push it out.
Bucky still hadn't said anything, his red eyes locked on your form, tucked into your chair as you reached for your wine glass. It wasn't until you'd taken a lengthy sip and had the cup nestled in your hands in your lap that he spoke up.
"You deserve better than that," He started, "And I'm sorry that he treated you like that, Peach."
Looking over to him, you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the heaviness in them as he refused to look away. You shrugged mumbling that it's fine before looking down to your wine glass again. "I don't really want to dwell on it."
"Okay," He angled his head to catch your eye, giving you a soft smile. "You just let me know when you want me to kick this guy's ass and consider it done."
You laughed at that, clutching your glass in your lap so it didn't fall. He smirked at you, seemingly pleased with himself for getting you to laugh as he leaned back in his chair.
"Can I ask you something?" He asked after a moment.
Your focus zeroed in on him, his arm thrown over the curved back of his chair, one of his legs folded under the other, his free hand resting on his thigh as he studied you. You swallowed around the dryness in your mouth and nodded.
"Is there a. . . specific reason you're still a virgin?" He asked. You could tell he wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable, he was genuinely curious.
"I guess I was scared at first," You started, remembering how you felt in high school when your best friend told you about how she'd lost her virginity. The idea always seemed daunting, like it was something you were supposed to do to 'become an adult.' But it was intimidating. "I didn't want to force it, wanted it to be something natural, I guess."
"And you haven't had anyone to give you that chance?"
You stilled for a second, shaking your head.
He hummed, at your silence, or your answer, you couldn't tell, but he fell quiet after that, staring at the trees in the yard.
You finished your glass of wine and set it aside, you fingers beginning to slightly numb in the cold before you tucked them into your legs, your mind starting to get fuzzy. You couldn't tell if it was the wine or the weed starting to kick in that made you ask, "Is it a bad thing?"
He whipped his head towards you, his brows pulled together in confusion. "Being a virgin?" At your tentative nod, his face softened and he shook his head, "Not at all."
"Then why do people act like the guy tonight whenever they find out?" You muttered and he sighed, shifting so that he was leaning his elbows on his knees.
"Maybe it's intimidating, being someone's first."
Your eyes refused to leave his, your nerves starting to warm as you asked, "What about you?" You asked, readjusting in your seat to angle yourself more towards him, "Would you be intimidated?"
He simply stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, "No." There was something about the way he said it, the roughness of his voice and the confidence in his short answer, that had you trying to subtly clench your thighs together.
You hated to admit it, but you'd thought about it before. Hell, you thought about it on the way over. About sleeping with him. About his rough hands on your skin, what it would feel like to have his lips on yours, his fingers in -
"You okay?" His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked back to him, heat rising up the back of your neck. You went to tell him you were fine, that you just wanted to get a drink, maybe watch a movie, but a voice in the back of your head grew too loud to ignore. "Peach?"
The voice told you to ask him for it. To ask him to be your first. You trusted him with your life, you'd trust him with taking your virginity too. You know you would. But you couldn't ask that. What if he said no? What if he was mortified? It wasn't something you could just tell him to pretend you didn't ask for, that's not how that worked.
He was still staring at you, allowing you to have as long as you needed before you told him whatever it was that was going through your head.
Now or never, the voice reminded you, and you took a breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable rejection you felt you knew he was going to give you.
"I'm over it," You muttered, and before he could ask what you were talking about, "I don't want to be a virgin anymore." He watched you, unsure if you were finished speaking yet, but when the words died on your tongue, he nodded.
"Okay," His voice was rough and hoarse and dangerously quiet as he waited to hear what you wanted to do about what you'd said.
"I trust you," You whispered, "More than anyone." His eyes widened just a fraction as you stared at him. Your hands gripped your legs as you mustered up just enough courage to get the words out, "Would. . . would you be my first?"
The confusion fell from his face, concern taking its place. He cleared his throat and his voice was dangerously low, “Is this the wine talking?”
Your heart fell, you knew you shouldn’t have asked. You knew. Yet you asked anyway. You let out a shaky breath, moving to stand. “I shouldn’t have asked, forget about it.” You stood, moving to pick up what needed to go inside when his hand grasped yours.
“That’s not. . .” He started and you turned to him, he was on the edge of his seat, eyes wide as he stared up at you, “I mean is that something you truly want? It’s not just the wine?”
You took a moment to look at him, to really look. You’ve held his stare so many times before, but you’d never seen the look in his eyes that was there now. Like it was taking everything in him not to jump up and do what you’d asked.
Like he — like he wanted it just as much as you did.
You faced him completely, placing yourself between his knees and resting your hands on his shoulders, his hands falling to wrap around the backs of your thighs.
“I just don’t want you to regret asking me,” he muttered, his fingers drawing patterns across the backs of your legs, “I don’t want you regretting me.”
Your hands settled at the sides of his neck, the stubble on his chin scraping against your thumbs as you pushed to angle his head up to you again. You leaned down, your nose brushing against his as your breaths mingled between you.
“Bucky. . . " You started, but he shook his head.
"Wait," It was a gasp, like he was fighting himself, "You need to know that if you let me have you," he looked up at you and you were finally able to see how his pupils had blown, the blue of his eyes almost completely swallowed, "I don't plan on letting you go. Ever."
Your body froze in his hold, his fingers tightening on your legs. "What are you saying?"
His eyes softened on you and a small, nervous smile grew on his lips, "That I've wanted you since we met, but didn't want to scare you off." He tugged on your legs, pulling you into his lap, your knees landing on either side of his hips. His hands moved up to your lower back, his thumbs barely moving under your shirt, but stopping before he went any further. "I've been pining after you for years."
It was like you were snapped back to reality, the raspiness in his voice and his calloused fingers brushing against your skin bringing you back from your stupor. But there were no words to convey how you felt, at least not any you could form at the moment. The only thing your brain and your heart were telling you, was to press your lips against his.
So you did.
His fingers tightened against your back, pressing you into his chest as his lips moved in tandem with yours. It was slow at first, the soft nips to your bottom lip and the way his tongue hesitantly slid across your bottom lip. Your lips parted and the second your tongue met his, a groan rumbled through his chest, his hands sliding up your back under your shirt. Your hips ground down of their own accord and he swallowed the whine you let out as your core was met with the growing bulge under his jeans.
Time seemed to slow, and by the time you pulled back panting, eyes locked on his, you weren't sure how long you'd been there. But by the way your heart was soaring, you knew you didn't want to be anywhere else, ever again.
"We should go inside," he whispered, bringing up one of his hands to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your swollen lips. "I don't want the neighbors hearing you."
~~~
You two didn't last long apart once you pried yourself from his lap. The second you both set everything on the counter inside, his hands found their way to your skin again, pushing up the back of your shirt as he pulled you flush with his chest, his feet guiding you to his bedroom.
The edge of his bed met the backs of your knees, and he gently pushed you back, crawling up with you as you nudged your way up to his pillows. His lips attached to your neck, gently biting where it met your shoulder, his breath fanning against your skin and sending shivers down your spine.
"I'll take good care of you," He breathed, pulling back to look at you, "I promise."
You nodded, reaching around to shove his shirt up his back, "I know, I trust you." He smiled at you before pushing your shirt up, over your head and your arms. and dropping his head and dragging his lips across every inch of skin he could reach.
"Arch your back for me?" He asked, only lifting his lips enough to get the words out before they went back to nipping at your skin. You did as he asked, his fingers slipping through the clasp on your bra and undoing it. He helped you out of it, sitting up to pull it up from your arms and throwing it to the side to join your shirt.
You looked up to find his eyes locked on you and you couldn't help the sudden nervousness rise in your chest as he stared at you. His hands caught your arms trying to move to cover your breasts and he shook his head.
"Don't hide," He said, "You're fucking gorgeous."
You giggled, the butterflies in your stomach from his words mixed with the substances in your system making it impossible to fight it off and he smiled down at you.
"There she is," He whispered, "God, I love your laugh."
"Heavy with the compliments tonight aren't you?" You breathily asked, the heat in your skin rising as he removed his shirt, his muscled chest seemingly glowing in the warm hue of the lights.
"I've been waiting to give you some very specific compliments," He leaned over you, "So you better get used to it."
His lips captured yours again as his hands trailed down your stomach, his fingers gently pushing at the waistband of your shorts.
"Can I?" He asked, his fingers stopping.
"Please."
He chuckled at the eagerness in your voice before he pulled away and helped you out of your shorts, pulling your panties with them. He dragged his fingers down your hips and your thighs as he took you in. You could see his chest rising and falling at an uneven pace before he looked up at you.
"You're already wet sweetheart," He rasped, "Can I play with you?"
The fact that you were bare before him and he was still asking for permission sent even more heat to your core and you could feel yourself clench around nothing as your breath hitched in your throat. You nodded sitting up on your elbows to meet his lowering mouth with your own, earning a moan from him as you dragged your teeth along his bottom lip.
His fingers were sure in their movements as they met your folds, brushing up to circle around your clit before sliding back down to circle around your entrance, your hips bucking into his touch. He pulled his mouth away as he slowly slid a finger in, pressing the palm of his hand down into your clit.
"Oh I love this," He said, his head dropping down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, lightly dragging his teeth across it before swirling his tongue around it. He pumped his finger a few times before slowly adding a second, and growling into your skin as your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling at the strands, his fingers curling up, like he was searching for something.
"What?" It came out as a breath, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak any louder as you tried to keep the noises that built in your chest to a minimum. You knew they were normal, but you didn't want to seem as desperate as you really felt.
"I love that no one else has had the pleasure of seeing you like this, that no one has touched you," He said the words into your skin, his lips brushing against your nipple as he spoke and grinning when his fingers brushed against a certain spot.
"Shit - Do that again," the request broke through your lips in a whine, but you were too focused on him to notice. He grinned, curling his fingers into that spot again, pulling another wail from your throat.
"I love that no one's been inside you, that they don't get to have you," He angled his fingers to brush against that spongy spot over and over as he pumped them in and out, "But I do."
He kept his fingers pace agonizingly slow, to not drive you over the edge so quickly but you couldn't help the movement of your hips trying to get more friction. His other hand came up to your chest, gently pushing you down so you were comfortable.
"I'll go slow at first," He started, his fingers slowing even more, if that was possible, "Let you get used to it - to me, before I ruin you," His fingers began to spread, pushing your walls apart as they dragged across them before coming to a halt. "Do you know the traffic light system?" He asked, and at your nod he grinned, "Tell me."
You swallowed around the breath catching in your throat, "Red is stop, green is go, yellow is slow down." His smile grew.
"Perfect, I don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with, so you use that if you need to, alright?" When you nodded, he went back to pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, noticing you practically biting through your lip to keep quiet and he tsked, his free hand moving to pull it from your teeth, "Let me hear you, Peach."
The second you let your lip go, a lewd moan filled the air. You went to bite your lip again, to hide the noises that were waiting to get out, and Bucky shook his head as his thumb found its way to your tongue, softly pressing down to keep your mouth open.
"Don't hide those noises from me," He practically begged, "I need to hear you." It was the tone of desperation that took over his calm confidence that had you nodding, promising not to hide anymore. "Is there anything you want to do?"
"What do you mean?" You breathed, trying to hone your focus on him.
"Well, it's your first time," He started, pushing his fingers as far as he could and smiling at the moan you let out, "Was there anything you wanted to try?"
You thought back to the times you shamefully allowed yourself to fantasize about him. How he'd feel on top of you, in you. How his hips would feel driving into yours, the fullness you'd finally experience. How the weight of him would feel against your tongue.
You felt your skin get hot as you looked up at him, trying not to cover yourself with how self conscious you suddenly felt. But when your eyes met his, all you saw was patience and adoration as he watched you, so you swallowed down your nerves.
"I want to taste you," You muttered and he groaned, his fingers stilling in you, "and ride you."
"Shit," He smiled at you, "You're really not that innocent are you?"
He pulled his fingers free of you before you could answer, and you whined at the now empty feeling in between your legs, a whine that dragged on longer as you watched him lift his fingers to his mouth. His eyes rolled back and he moaned as he tasted you.
"Fuck," he groaned, "I knew you'd taste good."
He pulled his body up from yours, ridding himself of the last of his clothes, and you couldn't help but look down, eyeing the length of his cock as it stood at attention. Unable to stop yourself from reaching out, your fingers brushed against the underside and the shiver that clearly ran up Bucky's spine gave you a boost of confidence.
You crawled across the bed to where he stood at the end, fighting the nerves that were tingling through every part of you as you slid to the floor in front of him. The carpet dug into your knees as you kneeled, looking up at him through your lashes. His hand came down to trace your cheek before cupping it.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," He said and you smiled.
"I know, I want to." You eyed him before moving your hand to grip him at the base, holding him still while you dragged your tongue up the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around the head, the taste of his skin and the precum leaking from the tip flooding your tongue.
"Oh, fuck," He gasped and his hips stuttered, pushing himself past your lips just a bit before he caught himself and pulled back. "Shit - sorry."
Instead of pulling your mouth off of him, you looked up at him and hummed before taking him further, watching his eyes flutter closed and roll back as your tongue slid along his length. His fingers twitched at his sides like they were reaching for you but he was fighting himself. You reached up with your free hand and pulled his grasping fingers towards the top of your head where they hesitantly laced into your hair.
He breathed a heavy sigh as he gently tugged on your hair, the whine you let out around him causing his hips to jolt again.
"Fuck, Peach," He rasped, his voice hoarse as he looked down at you. The sound of his voice and the way he looked at you alone was enough to have you clenching around nothing, but what he said next was what got to your head, sending you into a type of haze you'd never experienced before. "Unless you want me to fuck your pretty face, you gotta stop doing that."
Your free hand reached around his thigh, gripping it as you hummed again, the vibrations clearly running through every one of Bucky's nerves as he shuddered.
"Is that what you want?" He asked, a cocky grin growing on his lips as he looked down at you, your head bobbing, "You want me to fuck your pretty mouth before I fuck that pretty pussy?"
A high pitched whine rumbled in your throat and his hips bucked forward, his hand in your hair pulling your head forward. He was gentle with it, only pushing himself so far back in your mouth, doing his best not to make you gag, all the while a string of curses and compliments showered you as your eyes watered and a mix of your spit and his precum had started to slide down your chin.
He pulled your head back, pulling himself from your mouth, the stiffness in your jaw a welcome sensation when accompanied by the heavy look in his eyes. He took your hand in his, helping you move back to the bed and settling in between your legs as he kissed his way down the side of your neck, his hand wrapping around the other side. His teeth grazed your skin, sending chills through your spine as you reached around to grip at his back.
Pulling his head from your neck, his voice just above a whisper as he asked, "Are you ready?" You nodded, but he shook his head, "I need to hear you say it, baby, you gotta tell me." A bloom of warmth spread through your chest at the care exuding from the furrow in his brows.
You wrapped your hands around the sides of his head, your thumbs brushing along the lines of his jaw, "Fuck me, Bucky," You whispered, "please." He nodded before capturing your mouth with his once before sitting up a bit and reaching over to his nightstand, his hand coming back with a condom and a small bottle of what you assumed was lube.
Once he had the condom on, he popped open the cap of the lube, pouring some in his hand and spreading it over himself, then getting a bit more and looking at you. "It's a little cold, but it's gonna help, I promise."
"Okay," You nodded and braced yourself for the chill that came when his fingers rubbed the lube through your folds, your skin sensitive to his calloused skin.
"Spread your legs baby," he watched your legs open for him, "that's it. . . wider." Your legs spread as far as you could, "Such a good girl all spread out for me." He smiled before lining the head of his cock up with your dripping entrance, slowly pushing in with a hiss.
The stretch burned and your hands shot to cling to his arms, your nails leaving crescent shaped indents in his skin. His eyes locked with yours, "Breathe baby, breathe," He strained, "I'm right here." You let loose a tight breath through your nose as you held his gaze. He kept pushing in, taking his time until he was all the way in, a strange type of fullness taking over you - an addicting kind.
He dragged his fingers across your skin, kneading the muscles in your hips, legs, and arms as he waited for you to adjust, talking you through it with a whole array of compliments. When the burn from the stretch turned into a need for him to move, you shifted your hips and loosed a moan when the head of his cock brushed against that same spot his fingers had expertly found earlier.
A breathy chuckle fanned your skin as he smiled down at you, "Ready for me to move?" At your quiet confirmation, he began slowly rocking his hips into yours, the drag of his cock against your walls addicting - but you needed more.
"M-more. . ." you panted and he smirked.
"More what?" He asked, not stopping the slow drag movements of his hips as if he knew it was driving you mad, which he probably did if you were being honest.
You swallowed your nerves, "Faster," he brushed that spot again, "fuck - harder."
He nodded, moving his hands to the back of each of your knees, holding your legs open, "Can I have my way with you? You can ride me later?" You forgot about that, about saying you wanted to ride him. You did, you wanted him under you writhing for you like you were for him now, but you weren't sure you could handle taking over right now so you nodded. You just wanted him to make you feel good and to fucking move already.
"Yes," You whined, trying to move your hips against his again, but with how he was holding your legs, you couldn't move much. "Just move." You didn't care how desperate you sounded now, you were going to go insane if he didn't do something other than slowly drag himself in and out, stopping just before hitting that perfect spot.
"Say please." You scowled at him. Sometimes you forgot how cocky he could get, though this was the first time his cockiness made you even more needy for him.
"Fuck," You muttered, the pressure growing low in your belly, "please Bucky."
"I got you," He pushed you knees closer to your chest as he leaned over you, thrusting into the base, hitting that spot that made you see stars before pulling out just as quick and doing it again.
It felt like the air had been sucked out of your chest as you held his gaze, his hips unrelenting in his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping filling your ears in between the moans that fell from both of you.
"God," He panted, "You feel so good around me, I always knew you would." He dropped one of your legs, reaching up to palm your breast and taking the pebbled nipple in between his fingers, "Fuckin' made for me, weren't you?"
A loud moan tore its way through your throat as you reached for him, your hand finding his neck, nails raking down to the middle of his chest, his hips driving home even harder. You could feel that somewhat familiar crest quickly approaching, knowing the feeling from your nights alone where all you had were your fingers. But you didn't want this to end. You wanted to stay here, his cock filling you up and hitting that one spot over and over.
Something in your face, or maybe it was the way your breathing became more controlled, told Bucky that you were trying to fight it off as long as you could and he smirked before slowing down just enough to let your knees go and tell you, "Wrap your legs around my waist."
You quickly followed his instruction as he leaned over you, grabbing the headboard with one hand and circling your clit with the thumb of his other. You couldn't hold back the almost scream that erupted from your chest at the sensation and he smiled.
"Don't fight it, baby," He coaxed, "Just let it happen." He quickened the pace of both his hips and his thumb, trying to push you over that edge. "C'mon, Peach," he was practically begging now, "Let me have it."
The thread holding you back was fraying quickly, ready to snap and he knew it.
Your breath hitched and he smirked, still keeping his pace as he muttered, "Give it to me."
The thread snapped. Pleasure crashed into you, a roaring in your ears as your body tightened under his, your walls clenching around him as he continued his determined thrusts. Your hands grasped at his back, your nails raking down his skin. Your legs locked around him.
You were sure you screamed.
"That's it, baby," He panted into your ear, his hips becoming sporadic, "Keep coming - fuck - keep gripping me like that." You weren't sure how exactly to do what he was asking, but in your daze, you did your best, tightening your muscles as much as you could.
He gasped, gripping your hip tight enough to bruise you were sure. His hips stilled and his head buried into your neck as he shouted.
He gently rested his weight on you, pushing you into the mattress and trailing small kisses along your neck and shoulder where his head still rested. He waited until you'd caught your breath and your eyes were clear before speaking again.
"Are. . . are you alright?" He asked, worry replacing the pleasure that had been on his face just moments ago.
You gave him a dizzy smile, nodding, "I'm perfect."
A large smile grew on his face as he chuckled, his hand raising to cup your chin, pulling himself forward to gently press his lips to yours. "Good," he muttered against your lips, "You make such a cute face when you cum, did you know that?"
You felt your skin heat as you tried to shove his now laughing face away from you. "Shut up!"
"What?!" He roared, "It's true!" He grabbed your hands in his, pinning them above you. He was still smiling as he looked down at you, his pupils still blown wide, "I wanna see you make it again."
As always, thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are all appreciated!
If you enjoyed the story, please consider supporting me on my Ko-fi
If you want to be updated when i post a new story, please follow my library blog and turn on notifications <3 @remis-library
The morning makes everything seem brighter. Easier to handle. The man who lurked in the dark washing off blood, and talking to an unknown person was once again your husband. Humming quietly as he makes you breakfast.
“Morning Carino,” He says with a soft smile. He still doesn’t reach out to you as he usually would, but his actions are less jerky and desperate. You decide to test him.
“Good Morning Bebe.” Miguel hates being called that, it would usually result in a pout, and insistence that he is not a baby. But the smile only grew wider, and he reached out to touch your hair, rubbing a strand between his fingers.
You muster up the courage to ask “Whose Lyla?” He pauses for a moment, his face frozen in a smile. It quickly passes and his hand falls to your cheek, gently stroking, but it is not the soft hand you know, it is rough with callouses, and the nail of his thumb scratches against your face.
“My new assistant,” he murmurs “didn’t I tell you?” You know. You know that he’s lying. He knows it too. You can tell it in the way he looks into your eyes, hesitant and searching. But you sigh softly placing your hand over his.
“Right…I must’ve forgotten.”
For the first time since his disappearance, he leans in to touch his lips to your cheek. And you can faintly smell the burning food in the pan behind him.
Cowboy miguel? you have caught my interest and pigued my curiosity
cws for fem reader. vv messy thoughts on cowboy miguel <333
-
cowboy miguel who used to be feared far and wide all throughout the wild wild west. he was the fastest shooter of his time, and there hadn't been a man living that had even been able to unholster their gun before he had shot a bullet in-between their eyes.
he had been ruthless in his younger years; stealing from the railroads and any poor, rich bastard that had the misfortune of crossing paths with him, putting sheriffs in shallow graves when they had the gall to attempt to rope him up when they chased him down on horseback, feeling up posh married women in saloons not even five feet away from the stuff-necked husbands (sometimes he even coaxed them out to where they kept the horses tied up and gave them the time of their life down in their dirt with a corse tail beating against their head), taking any and everything that he wanted just because he could.
but then he had met you.
a pretty faced saloon owner with shit hospitality and even shittier liquor prices who refused to spare him even a minute of her time. he had wandered into your place of business and mistook you for a saloon girl, threw a few bills your way and grunted for you to take him back to one of your rooms and "get to work". as soon as the words had left his mouth, he had been staring down the barrel of a whitworth rifle.
"you've got about ten seconds to get your sorry ass outta my saloon before I repaint these walls with your insides, mister", you had said, and miguel had listened.
he had left, and then he had come back the very next day, hat tucked to his chest and a lazy grin on his face as he came bearing an apology of poorly plucked daisies from one of the shops windows on the street.
"you'll have to forgive me for yesterday, miss, alcohol does a man in sometimes--i'm sure you know it." he had said after placing the flowers down on the counter of the bar.
"i've got a lot of things to do, mister, and forgiving you ain't one of 'em. so if you'd kindly remove yourself from my saloon i'd be most grateful."
"i want a drink."
"i don't serve outlaws."
"you call all brown people outlaws?"
"just the ones whose faces are on wanted posters."
"your mama never taught you how to talk to men?"
"your mama never taught you how to talk to women?"
"my mama died giving birth to me."
"oh, so you've just always been a killer, huh?"
"reckon so. can i have that drink now? i'm awfully thirsty. i'll pay you double--no, triple."
"if you're that thirsty, there's a bucket out back that the drunks piss in. i reckon there might be some alcohol mixed in there, too. have at it."
"you're a foul mouthed thing."
"learned it from my daddy."
you made his blood boil in a primal, animalistic way, and he knew then that he just had to have you, and if turning in his gun was the way to get you, then he figured that deal wasn't half bad.
Maybe these pictures can help you guys get motivated too write different stuff for miguel we have enough Yandere and vampire at this point time too move on too better things ☝🏾😔
