Summary: You're finding it difficult to sleep in your new home. Bucky knows how to fix it.
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), oral sex (f receiving; I like a giver), fingering, defiling a kitchen.
A/N: This is from a long time ago... was just going through fics I wrote when I used to love the MCU and came across this one. If there's anyone on here from way back then, it might sound familiar. Imagine this to be set in some multiverse where Steve never left in Endgame and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. Hope you enjoy!
Previous Fic (masterlist coming soon!)
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The clock’s just gone ten past twelve when he feels you slip out of bed.
Bucky shouldn’t know that— the time. He should be dead to the world, asleep in the comfort of his bed with his girl warm by his side, full and sated and happy thanks to good company, good food, and even better liquor that can actually do something to him. Instead, he’s hyper-aware and questioning why you wouldn’t be dead asleep too and, before he knows it, he’s following in your footsteps.
It’s jarring, being awake at this hour in a mostly-empty home.
The halls feel too narrow and you still haven’t put the pictures up so the walls look bare and cold, and the dining table is missing a leg so you had to have dinner on the couch but you couldn’t find the box with the cushions which, now that Bucky thinks about it is probably still at the compound and god that means he has to go up there again—
“Hey,” he hears, whisper-soft and cautious.
For a moment Bucky feels like maybe you’re the one who woke up to go after him, like how you used to do so long ago, worried about things neither of you could control. But no, it’s him, looking for you.
It’s him, finding you tired and rumpled in front of the stove, the red kettle Nat gave you as a gift steaming away on the burner. With the lights dimmed you look like a dream, but then again you look like that at any time of the day.
Bucky’s hands find your hips easily, skin and metal brushing over soft skin and worn cotton. They slip beneath your sleep shirt, a faded old thing he got as a gag gift some Christmases ago— Sam still asks him about the vulgar print on the front. Bucky tries to forget, but you never let him. Especially not on nights you wear the damn thing to bed.
He finds warmth, the same kind that should be next to him in bed right now, which— “Can’t sleep?”
You sigh, melting easily into the embrace. Your nose is cold, colder than it has any right to be with the heat on, nuzzling against the rough scratch of hair along his jaw. “Feels weird.”
It does— the house. Well, home, now, filled with your clothes and your furniture and the dishes you put in the dishwasher after your friends left a few hours ago because our first meal in our new home can’t be in paper plates, Buck and I already took the glasses out of the box, baby and he’s never been good at saying no. The house feels weird and he can’t wait until it doesn’t, with the pictures up, and the throw blanket on the couch, and those damn cushions he can’t believe he forgot.
“Bet you’d feel better back in bed,” Bucky murmurs, smiles, lips soft against the skin of your neck. “With me.”
You hum, could be a snort if it were any time except almost one in the morning and if you hadn’t spent the whole day hauling boxes and building whatever furniture you could before exhaustion won out. “I just put the kettle on.”
Bucky looks at the offending piece of kitchenware over your shoulder, willing it to somehow set on fire but wait, no. That would be very, very bad. Bucky has a mortgage now, shit.
“Okay,” he says instead, shrugging. “We’ll wait.”
He doesn’t notice the time. Instead, he notices your palms on his cheeks and your thumbs over his cheekbones; the way you taste of mint and something else, something like cloves and honey, no doubt from the sips you stole from his drink during the moving-day-turned-housewarming. He notices the way you sink into his body, held up by his arms caging you against the counter behind you, moaning softly at the wet sweeps of his tongue against the seam of your lips, parting under the pressure.
Bucky grips the countertop a bit too hard, gritting his teeth as he breaks the kiss. “How long ‘til that thing goes off?”
“We’re not defiling our kitchen so soon,” you laugh into his lips, sweet. The hands on his cheeks pull his face further away until you’re squinting up at him, lips spit-slick and shiny in the low light delighted and knowing all the same. “This is where we eat—”
“And I’m hungry,” Bucky grins, wicked, matches your own expression if only a bit dirtier. “Might as well use it for what it’s for, right?”
This time you do snort, forehead resting against his own. The sound settles deep in Bucky’s bones, spreading all over his body in places he didn’t know he had, warm and buzzing like a beehive. “You’re so gross.”
He is. He really, really is and he blames it all on himself and on you and the way you sigh into his mouth when he gets his hands above the swell of your ass, one of his thick thighs slipping between your own, warmth seeping everywhere you touch him. He blames it on those pretty eyes and that pretty mouth, those hands tugging at the bottom half of his hair that’s untied, that sweet voice moaning into the night when he nips at that spot behind your ear—
“Baby.”
"Bucky," you laugh softly, glancing at him. It’s near-dark, the lights still dimmed, but he swears he can map out the marks on your skin, can count every single lash on your eyelids.
"Baby," he replies in the same tempting tone, watching your eyes with his own, so clear and expressive, so stunning.
You sigh, resigned. Bucky doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
“We’re gonna have to clean in the morning.”
“Guess I’ll have to suffer,” he says, hands warm on your thighs hauling you onto the counter.
He’s gentle as he parts your thighs, takes his time kissing the inside until you’re sighing all breathy and sweet, trembling on both sides of his head. Fingers hooking onto gray cotton, he slides your panties down your legs, bringing you closer to the edge of the counter and towards his mouth.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, eyes so blue when they flick up to your own.
Your hands slide into his hair, fingers tugging gently at the hair tie holding the longest strands back. Your lips part in a smile, wavering slightly at the edges as he ducks in, tongue soft and wet against your heat. He licks a broad stripe along your folds, takes in the way you shake almost imperceptibly— only knows it happens because he’s looking for it.
Bucky drinks you in, picks you apart with his tongue and his fingers, wet along his lips, his jaw, and his flesh fingers. He makes it messy, lets you whine and wail into your otherwise quiet home, grinding your hips onto his face and the two digits plunging inside your cunt, stroking that sweet spot deep inside.
You come apart on his tongue, slowly and quietly, a breathy gasp and the rhythmic clench of your muscles against his fingers the only warning he gets before he feels even more wetness pooling on his tongue, dripping down his palm.
“Oh!”
He kisses at the inside of your thighs, leaves it wet and sticky as you come down from your high. His thumbs caress your hipbones, feeling the slight quiver of your core against his touch, reveling in it.
To his right, the kettle starts whistling.
“Water’s boiling, honey,” he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin in the crease of your thighs.
You groan, fingers tugging at the hair tangled in them. “I hate you.”
Bucky laughs, throaty and with his chest, slightly loud at a time where the night seems to stand still. There’s only the rush of your breath and the whistle of the kettle, drawn-out and cut off as he turns the burner off and moves it onto a cold, unused one. He gravitates between your thighs once more, lips on yours like magnets. He kisses you slowly, takes his time and lets you bite at his bottom lip, slipping your tongue against his and pulling those sounds from his throat that play in your head like your favorite song.
“You think you’ll be able to sleep now?”
You sigh deeply, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “You’re gonna have to carry me to bed.”
Bucky feels it spread from the top of his head down to his toes, fingers on your waist curling into fabric and skin. It’s hot and cold, bad and good. He feels it.
|| smut MDNI 18+, plot what plot???, praaaaiiiseeeee kinkkkkkkk, edging, pinv, fingering?? kinda?? dirty talk so much dirty talk, daddy kink, pussy pronouns, picture either joel ||
a/n: I had a moment where I needed to step away from this and ask myself wtf am I doing. thank you for the request!!
Once upon a time, you'd shown old man Joel the art of edging.
You know, bringing you to the brink of an orgasm just to be denied and denied over and over again. The concept had confused him at first, not because he didn’t understand it, but because on a spiritual level, it offended him. Joel was a man who believed in finishing what he started. His favorite thing in the world was eating you out. He believed in slow, drawn out sessions where he'd bury his face between your legs and nearly forget to breathe. He’d make you come on his tongue and over and over. Leaving you on the edge of release, teasing you only to pull back? That shit felt cruel to him. Damn near a sin.
But then he'd done it once. With you beneath him, soaked and trembling, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, lips parted like you’d forgotten how to breathe, he saw your mind go far away, drifting slow through the heat pooling in your gut. It broke something in him wide open.
Or maybe it built something.
Because now he was obsessed.
So this morning, curled up in bed on a quiet Sunday, you refused to wake, even as the sun bled through your closed eyelids and painted the darkness behind them red. You'd barely stirred, body drowsy from sleep and overstimulation from the night before, your skin damp with sweat that had long since slicked fresh again. Joel had you spooned up tight, bare skin pressed against bare skin. His arms were wrapped around your ribs, thick and strong, locking you into place against his chest. One palm was splayed across your breast, fingers occasionally squeezing to feel the twitch of your spine. His other hand was beneath your hips, holding them at just the right angle so he could stay buried deep inside you.
He was moving in slow, controlled thrusts, fucking up into you from behind, steady and deep. Each time he pulled out, he dragged against your walls with painstaking precision, then drove his cock back into your slick, overstimulated cunt like he was slotting himself into a lock built just for him.
“So pretty,” he breathed into your ear, voice thick. His breath was hot, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he pushed in again. His cock hit a tender, spongey spot high inside you and you moaned, walls clamping down on him like a vice, still trembling from the second orgasm he’d denied you.
“Joeeel,” you whined, voice barely audible, one hand stretched up over your head, fingers laced in his damp, messy hair.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, lips dragging across your neck to your pulse as he pressed a kiss. Your skin was fever-warm and slick. His hand at your breast squeezed tighter, grounding you, while his grip on your hip never wavered, keeping you perfectly aligned for each slow, deliberate push of his hips.
“I could fuck you all damn day like this,” he said against your skin, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, the soft edge of your jaw. His stubble scraped you raw in places already rubbed red from him kissing you over and over again. He pulled his cock out halfway, and you could feel the exact moment it dragged over the ridged front of your walls—the thick, curved head brushing the same spot again and again, making your toes curl and your breath hitch in your throat. Your mouth fell open, a mewling cry breaking out as your eyes rolled back.
“Shh, shh,” Joel cooed, voice like warm gravel, “You hear that?”
Your eyes blinked open, a little sleepy and dazed. He was peering over your shoulder, chin perched on your collarbone. His eyes were dark, wild, hungry. But soft, too.
“Can hear just how much she likes it, can’t you?” he murmured, hips giving a small roll that pressed him deeper, the obscene, squelching sounds of you soaking around him filling the room in time with your breath. The evidence of your arousal was everywhere. It shone along your inner thighs, it dripped against his balls, and soaked the bedspread beneath you. You were a mess.
“This is all she needed, just needed some love from daddy,” Joel added.
“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the words. Your head fell back against his shoulder, neck arched, whole body pressing into him, “Please, please, Joel—”
You rolled your hips in a desperate circle, seeking pressure, angle, anything that would fill that maddening void inside you. But he held steady.
“Gotta wait for it,” he said, casual, calm, but his voice was tight with restraint. “Be patient like daddy. You don’t want this to end already, do ya?”
You whimpered. The ache in your hips and spine was starting to burn, muscles trembling with the effort to hold it in while he fucked you slow and deep, like time didn’t exist. His cock throbbed inside you, dragging over your g-spot with each movement. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t hard. It was worse. It was agonizingly slow. And yet so, so addictive.
He was torturing you.
Because Joel didn’t just edge you anymore. He’d started edging himself. He wanted to drag it out, hold back, hover on the brink of release until his whole body was shaking, the same as yours. He finally understood how it made the orgasm stronger. That it made you tighter around him, clenching like a fist. Said your cunt would milk him dry every damn time.
And fuck, he was right.
He let go of your breast, hand trailing down your sweat-slick stomach, fingers slow and lazy as they traced toward where your bodies were joined.
You let out a strangled noise when his finger grazed your soaked folds, feeling the obscene stretch where his cock disappeared into you. He pushed deeper at the same time, a slow, relentless press that had your thighs twitching.
"She's openin' up real nice for me, ain't she, baby? She loves daddy's cock, huh?"
“Yes,” you gasped, brain blank, body buzzing like live wire. His fingers slid over your clit, the poor thing swollen, raw, so sensitive it felt like you were burning from the inside out.
“Yes, daddy, yes yes yes—”
He didn’t rub or stroke it, though. He merely brushed the lightest tease over your clit, so faint it barely registered as touch, but your body screamed at the sensation. He pushed his cock back in again, slow as syrup, grinding forward until you swore he was reaching your lungs.
“On one, you’re gonna come with me, alright, babygirl?”
You nodded frantically, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, breath shuddering through your lips.
“Five.”
He brought his fingers to your mouth, coaxing your lips open. You sucked them in obediently, wrapping your tongue around the two thick digits, tasting yourself faintly on his skin. Joel growled in your ear, low and primal, hips twitching at the sight of you like this, so desperate, and aching for release. He knew how much you loved it too.
“Four.”
His fingers left your mouth with a wet schlick, sliding down to toy with one of your nipples, just rubbing lightly around it, enough to make your back arch like a bowstring. You writhed against him, grinding back into his cock, brows pinched and breath shaking. His mouth was on your shoulder again, then your neck, his chin hooked over your clavicle.
"Three," he moved his fingers down, and thank every god in heaven above, began to stroke your clit in little circles. Your body jolted like you’d been shocked. You let out a mewl, high and desperate.
"You gonna be my good girl?"
“Yes, Jesus fucking Christ, Joel, I swear to god—”
“Two,” he cut you off, a slow grin curling against your skin as he lifted his fingers away, “That ain’t no way to be thankin’ me, baby. You were doin’ so good a minute ago. Maybe we should start over.”
“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” you cried, trembling hard now. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please, please—”
“I know, I know,” he said gently, fingers sliding back to your clit with that same maddening precision. “My best girl. Prettiest girl I know. Prettiest pussy too, sweet baby. You wanna come for me?”
“Yes!” you shrieked, every nerve in your body sparking, heart slamming against your ribcage as you hung onto him for dear life, holding back the pressure that was building in your belly and your hips.
“Okay, baby. You can come for me,” he breathed heavily, groaning, "Come with me, pretty girl, there you go, there you go, yes—"
Your whole body seized as your head was thrown back, mouth open in a scream that sounded like a cat in heat. It tore through you, wave after wave of hot, unbearable pleasure. Your vision blacked out in bursts. Your eyes were blinded white, then red, then nothing but color and sound and Joel’s voice in your ear.
He held you tight, growling low in his chest as you clenched around him like a vice. His hips bucked, fucking himself through his orgasm as his release spilled into you.
The room spun, your limbs like jelly. You barely registered the soft kisses he pressed to your shoulder, your hair, the corner of your jaw.
Eventually, your eyes fluttered open again. You turned your head, still half-limp, lips curved into a lazy, euphoric grin.
“I’ve created a monster,” you whispered against his lips.
Joel just chuckled, deep and warm, and kissed you again before saying, "Good mornin' to you too,"
introducing my series on the pitt not being fucking slick!!
pt. 1 of who knows y'all, i have lost the plot: the first ten minutes of 1x01
one of the more important aspects of the first episode of a tv series is how the characters are introduced to the audience. a well-crafted premiere will let the audience know who the main players are and why they should care about them, which includes establishing the relationships between those characters (or at the very least hinting at what those relationships might be). this should ideally be accomplished in a subtle manner (i.e., so the audience doesn’t feel like they’re being beaten over the head with information) and as succinctly as possible. many of the best tv premieres do all of this within the first couple of minutes of the episode.
the pitt follows that formula. within the first ten-ish minutes, we are introduced to all of our main characters and are subtly informed of how they relate to one another. some of this is accomplished through dialogue, but a good chunk of it is shown through visuals.
for example, we don’t need to be told that robby is the main character — the show communicates that information to us by having him be the first person we see on screen and the camera following him during the first minute or so of the episode. in contrast, the next main character we’re introduced to is dana. but dana isn’t really the focus of her own introduction. instead, she’s being used to provide exposition telling us more about robby. dana serves that same function in the very next scene, but to introduce collins instead. this creates a connection between robby and collins in the viewer’s mind. we don’t know who they are to each other yet, but we do have the sense that these characters must be important to one another. this sequence ultimately indicates that robby and collins are kind of like 1A and 1B as far as character importance goes in the pitt.
once robby and abbot are done with #rooftime, we’re reminded again of the connection between robby and collins through a camera angle showing that she is looking over at him from across the emergency department. from this shot, we know the two are directly across from one another. while collins is looking over at robby, we are introduced to our next main character, langdon, when he walks up to speak with her. after a short exchange, the scene abruptly cuts to another new character, mel, being introduced when she walks up to robby. and due to the earlier shot of collins looking over at robby, we know this must mean that langdon and mel are standing directly across from one another as well.
since the audience is already subconsciously aware of the importance of robby and collins’ relationship, mel and langdon being introduced through back-to-back interactions with those two characters starts to create a connection between them in the audience’s mind before they even speak. it also establishes them as the 2A and 2B to robby and collins’ 1A and 1B. additionally, the characters’ positioning in this scene creates our first parallel between the two relationships (though it's certainly not the last), with each standing across from their partner. this, along with other parallels between the two relationships in 1x01, hint at mel and langdon being a sort of younger, less traumatized version of robby and collins (one such instance is discussed here). while robby and collins are both pessimistic about the upcoming shift (and who can blame them lmao), langdon and mel range from upbeat (langdon) to 100% optimistic (my sweetie pie mel).
after this, mohan is introduced via a conversation between her and robby. the rest of our main characters are then introduced when mckay shows santos, whitaker, and javadi around the waiting room. mel’s earlier introduction is an interesting choice, as it narratively and visually separates her from the other newbies, even though it would make logical sense for her to be introduced with this group. because of this, the choice to pair mel with langdon, robby, and collins feels incredibly intentional.
and the show continues to do so throughout its first ten minutes. when all of the doctors gather for rounds, mel is still alongside those three while the rest of the doctors are on the other side, mostly offscreen. when mel introduces herself to the group, langdon is shown to be watching her from the background in contrast with every other character in the shot looking away from her. once the group officially begins rounding, mel continues to be primarily shown with langdon, robby, and collins. mel and langdon are visually paired up at least three times during this short sequence, including one moment where robby and collins are leading the group while langdon and mel walk together just behind them (which is such a lovely representation of the 1A/1B and 2A/2B idea).
after a bit of foreshadowing of langdon’s addiction through the doctors interacting with louie, the show transitions from this ten-minute introduction period to the real action of the episode with the arrival of the train track patients. however, the purpose of those first ten minutes has been served: the audience now knows all of the characters and is subconsciously primed for how the relationships between those characters will unfold.
tl;dr the first ten minutes of 1x01 have several indicators that mel and langdon will be one of the most important relationships on the show, and consistently parallels the two with the only relationship that has been confirmed to be romantic thus far, robby and collins.
one tiny detail i loooved that showed just how intimately smoke knew annie was when he pulled out the box of matches so casually, almost like muscle memory, from behind the specific rafter in annie's home. he barely had to look at it to know it was there.
yes, i know the scene with the grave comes before this to show how grief binds them together. but that fluid movement of knowing where to put his hands to find the matchbox keyed you into seeing how often, how habitual his time was in annie's home. and on annie's end, how present smoke still was in her life–so much so that she kept a box there even in his absence.
