After a year and a half of being engaged, you and Bucky sit down to start planning your wedding. Except it comes out you hate weddings, and suddenly it's not so coincidental that a date hasn't been set. Cue: A petty disagreement, a bomb, and patching up.
Drabbles:
Bucky's Guide to Surviving his Needy Girlfriend (Library: 3 fics)
Upcoming fic:
When Steve gives you the rundown of your boyfriend's... flirtier pursuits back in the 40s, you admit (a little too strongly) just how differently you would've seen him, leading to more hurt than you intended. The obvious solution? Dressing up like a old-time nurse to show just how wrong you were about Sergeant Barnes of the 107th.
Joel Miller
The Interrupted Series (smut, 18+)
A heatwave hits the week your dad went away with his girlfriend, leaving you (in his opinion) home alone and unable to take care of yourself, so who better to call to drop canned supplies over than his best friend, Joel? But you might be using that time to take care of yourself already... A series of interrupted events ensure
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Drabbles:
Waking you up in the middle of the night to fuck
Your big, beefy boyfriend and his bulging biceps
Cockwarming your busy boyfriend
Upcoming fic:
After two years of your lackluster sex-life with your boyfriend, you decide to surprise him with the secret fantasy you got him to admit: being booty called by 'the other woman'. Something about the forbidden nature, the need to have him that you're willing to risk everything. The problem? The buttons on the hotel phone are weirdly close together and you end up messing up one of the digits...
Loki
Loki's Guide to Falling in Love with a Mortal (Library: 3 fics)
After an unfortunate and rather embarrassing attempt at taking over New York, and even more unfortunate and embarrassing attempts at other forms of terror and backstabbery, the God of Mischief is condemned to Earth. He fears he can sink no lower than being forced to join his brother's merry band of patriotic friends in their acts of good deeds. Or in other words, a series of drabbles and oneshots of how the God of Mischief reluctantly fell in love with his MORTAL enemy: the Avenger who looks at him like he's worth it.
Tommy Miller
Do Good By You
With a bug spreading around Jackson like wildfire, your husband's been asked to go out on patrol for a couple of days despite him taking himself off the rota for your peace of mind. When he thinks you're just acting out to spite him, it turns out you have your own reason for not wanting him in danger.
REQUESTS ARE OPEN FOR: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Peter Parker (college+ only), Loki, Joel Miller and Tommy Miller! I do not write for their actors!
And please, if you request, give me a rundown of what kind of plot you want, or at least the trope! (You all have too much faith in me I SWEAR)
After an unfortunate and rather embarrassing attempt at taking over New York, and even more unfortunate and embarrassing attempts at other forms of terror and backstabbery, the God of Mischief is condemned to Earth. He fears he can sink no lower than being forced to join his brother's merry band of patriotic friends in their acts of good deeds.
Or in other words, a series of drabbles and oneshots of how the God of Mischief reluctantly fell in love with his MORTAL enemy: the Avenger who looks at him like he's worth it.
Warnings: Each fic will have their own warnings!
A/n: These will be written out of order and randomly so feel free to read them as standalones or in the order I put them. Some things may not follow canon (i.e. reader being taken to meet Frigga is Asgard) or they may change per fic - I apologise! They'll also be divided in via: pre-dating & pre-established.
» [I Won't Say I'm in Love] «
» [I Suppose I'll Do You the Honour of Being Mine] «
He Doesn't Plan on Making it to the Gala
To your boyfriend's dismay, Stark is hosting another gala. Fortunately, Loki plans on not making it out the door.
His Greatest Achievement
A little heart-to-heart after you get injured on a mission and are stuck in medbay for a couple of hours.
Falling Asleep at Your Desk
Loki's getting used to you falling asleep at a conference table, lucky he's always there to carry you to bed.
Upcoming Fics:
Demand Me.
A week in Asgard has you questioning if your little life on Earth is enough for the God at your side. He thinks you're utterly ridiculous.
Makeup & Girlfriends
A night of boredom has you putting makeup on your reluctant boyfriend, only for him to drop some lore about his past and shape shifting abilities.
A collection of fics starring our beloved old, lonely, and deranged man, Joel Miller, across different timelines.
I decided to group these two in the same masterlist because I feel like theyâre two sides of the same coin. Maybe Pervy!Joel is who he is before he has you, and once you become his girlfriend, he turns into Toxic!Joel, they share so many of the same traits.
Masterlist || 'Loki's Guide to Falling in Love with a Mortal' Masterlist
Pairing: Loki x Mortal / Avenger!Reader
Summary:
To your boyfriend's dismay, Stark is hosting another gala. Fortunately, Loki plans on not making it out the door.
Warnings: Closed door but allusion to smut / beginning of smut (oral f! receiving)
Word count: 1.8k
Loki loves nothing more than a good, formal eventâa chance to dress up and parade around in his superiority. Except perhaps, the little, mortal currently attached to their bedroom mirror. You, he definitely loves a little more.
But then, heâs not very fond of the mortal galasâfull of rich, pompous assholes, with no achievements or battle stories, and a stupendous amount of judgment over his actions in New York that almost rival their wallets. Almost. Heâs worked hard to make up for his moment of madness, works for it every single day that the young woman looks at him as if he designed the entire galaxy. He would if you asked.Â
Loki has spent most of his existence trying to prove himself. Itâs the whole reason he looks back on his childhood with a myriad of resentmentâconsidering he spent most of it like a mewling dog begging for his ownerâs attention. His love and affection. Odinâs love and affection. To be seen as worthy.Â
And yet somehow, even now, with him working hard to be better, to do better for you⊠itâs different. Feels different. A thought Loki will have to ponder for another day, because right now he has no plans to do anything but marvel at how you look tonight.Â
You look good every night.Â
But this⊠this is moreâa deep seduction that settles in his bones and whispers murderous temptations in his ears.Â
Tonight was another one of Starkâs galas, something performative⊠or as the dear blonde captain with his glorified, patriotic cereal bowl says⊠charitable. Thereâs nothing charitable about the dress youâve chosen: a floor-length gown with an open back, and most importantly: in the colour green.Â
His colour.Â
Perhaps the charity is the stack of bodies youâll provide him with when he notices the sick gaze of old men stuck on every angle of your body. Absolutely not.Â
Your boyfriend had no plans going to the event tonight in the first place. None whatsoever. And your dress has only magnified that by putting in so many other ideas of what you two could be doing tonight. And he has made that verbally clear.Â
Currently heâs standing behind you, toned arms encircling your waist as he intensively watches your reflection put on the finishing touches of your makeup. âI really donât see why we have to attend this farce of an event,â he grumbles once more, a large pout spread across his pink lips.Â
You roll your eyes, not at all surprised at your boyfriendâs repetitive whines. After all, you knew exactly what you were doing when you went with Nat to pick out this dress. Knew what you were doing when you talked to the women in the high-class shop you were certain you werenât meant to be in about your specifications: green absolutely, front low-cut and back non-existent. Loki had been good this monthâonly threatening 16 people with the prospect of deathâand you aim to reward⊠yourself. With what you know is already flickering through his head.
âBecause,â you tell him. âWe said weâd go.âÂ
Wrong, he thinks.Â
âNo,â he verbalises. âYou said weâd go, I protested quite loudly.â His hands roam the cool silk of your gown, pale hands bunching the fabric to scrunch it up in that petulant way he does: breaking things. He doesnât mean to be so destructive, but years of failed expectations have taught him so much.
You watch the way the fabric creases in his hand, yet despite the annoyance you feel at having to put your hairdryer to it to straighten it back out, you donât stop him. Because, yeah, maybe Loki does destroy things. But you sure as hell are gonna put them back together for him too. âAnd we had a very long conversation about rejecting peopleâs invites so⊠verbally,â you counter, though you both know itâs in affection.Â
You have to stop yourself from letting out another laugh at the memoryâlike you did that day when Loki, very loudly (and very proudly), declared that heâd ârather lick every square inch of Steveâs shield than prance around like a brainless peacock like the rest of you doâgoodersâ.
You feel the warmth of his chest press in closer to your back, feel the contrasting coolness of his hand as it trails up your back until it finds the firm line of your sleeve at the neck of your dress. He rests his chin on your shoulderâthe height difference awkward on his backâand releases a melodramatic sigh: âYes, yes, I remember your lecture all too well. Something about appearances and making nice with your besties, if I recall correctly.â He tugs at the sleeve, letting it fall down your arm and expose your collarbone.Â
After all, the mere thought of having to play nice with the pompous mortals at the gala makes his skin crawl. And the only thing he wishes to crawl on is his knees when he uses his sharp tongue for something useful for once. Your words, last week.Â
You protest, yanking it back over your shoulder. âLokiââ
You see his reflection pout again. Then tug the sleeve back down. âCome on,â he practically growls. âYou know the effect that dress has on me.â To emphasise his point, he pushes his hips into your ass, letting you feel just how hard his cock is already.Â
Sick, sick bastard, you think.Â
âDo you truly expect me to spend the evening being cordial to those fools, knowing you're in this?â He continues, grinding softly into you as he plants a trail of wet kisses along the back of your neck and across your other shoulder.Â
The view in the mirror is obscene, and has you transfixed even when you tilt your head to the side to give him more room. Even so, you pull at the sleeve once moreâif only to wind up your horny God.
The action leaves you distracted, clearly, because before youâve even had a chance to adjust the fabric once more, Lokiâs already pulled your other sleeve downâthe one his mouth was carving a path towards.Â
You huff.Â
âYouâre being entirely unreasonable,â he mutters against you, as if heâs drawn to the exposed skin like a magnet, unable to keep himself from exploring what he already knows by heart. Even with his face nuzzled in your neck, you can see the uptilt of a smirk in his reflection.Â
âMe? Iâm being unreasonable?!â You push your ass back into him, the action drawing a stuttered groan from his chest.Â
âYes, you! You, with this bloody dress that leaves far too much bare.â He bites at your soft skin, his hands rocking your hips back and forth against him, hoping to Valhalla that the motion will have you bending over the bathroom counter in less than five minutes. âYou, for wanting to go to that ridiculous gala and flaunt yourself in front of a room full of unworthy mortals.â
The jealousy in his petulant words is easily detected, and if you werenât already acquainted with this side of him, youâd probably shove him off. But you donât. Because there was once a time when he watched you date around with everyone else but him. There was once a time when he only let himself watch you from the other side of a room, or surround himself with the things you loved purely because he wanted to know more about you, or dreamt about you because reality felt too unrealistic.Â
So, yes, jealousy is fineâafter all, you know by now itâs his way of reaching out when he decides âinsecurities? What are those? Us Gods are entirely above them.âÂ
Instead, you tease. âAm I hearing a tantrum brewing?â
His response is instantaneous. A huff of indignation, pausing in his grinding to narrow his eyes at you through the mirror. âI do not throw tantrums,â he declares firmly, eyebrows raising in challenge. âI simply believe you're being incredibly unfair.âÂ
One hand trails up your side, his large palm covering your breast and squeezing. He preens in the soft moan that escapes your lips, before pressing his mouth to your ear to continue. âAnd terribly cruel, making me suffer through the evening knowing what you're wearing under this infernal dress.â
Your own hand reaches behind you, sliding into his wavy, black hair to pull him closerâa soft moan matching yours. You close your eyes, unintentionally whispering: âIâm not wearing anything underneath. Otherwise youâll see the linesââ
You feel him tense behind you, his hand squeezing harder at your breast whilst the other slides across your stomach. His voice is ragged, full of arousal when he speaks, ânothing? You mean to tell me you're wearing nothing under this dress?â
Shit.Â
âI should not have told you thatââ
A low, guttural sound escapes him, and then finally heâs spinning you around to face him. His expression: irises swallowed whole, brows furrowed in what seems to be pain has you feeling dizzy and lost in need. His gaze rakes over you, taking in the dress in a whole new light, now he knows the tantalising secret beneath it.Â
And Loki loves secrets.
His hands slide up your thighs, pushing you back against the counter for purchase as he lifts the green skirts of your dress. âToo late,â he growls. Youâve said it now, and I can't unimagine it. What am I supposed to do, knowing you're all but naked under this bloody dress, for all those mortal eyes to see? Youâre never naked for me.â
You open your mouth to argue that actually, youâre often naked for him, itâs just that you do in fact have to put clothes on to leave your bedroom in the compound. But heâs already sinking to his knees, pulling your leg over his shoulder without breaking eye contact.Â
You let out an embarrassing moan, eyes almost rolling back in your head.Â
His lips open to taste and nip at the tender flesh of your inner thigh, his hands wander over the silky material of your dress once more, desperate to find a way beneath it. His breath is laboured when he finally gets it bunched around your waist, his eyes dark and dilated with a lust heâs making no attempt to conceal.Â
Fuck.
âShould I grovel for forgiveness now for not making it to the gala or would you prefer I use my mouth for better things?â
âWe really should goââ You try, though the words feel weak on your tongue. Thereâs no way youâre making it to whatever thing Stark is holding. Not when your boyfriend, who once bragged that he would never get on his knees before any man or God, is currently kneeling before you, shaking with the last of his restraint.Â
When his mouth finally makes contact with your clit, your hands grip his hair tightly, your knuckles turning white. Your head slams against the mirror attached to your bathroom wall, and you can hear various products fall to the floor.Â
âOh, definitely better things,â the smug bastard smirks against you before burying his face further between your legs, tongue licking a stripe through your folds to taste you.
Youâre definitely not making it out of this room.Â
Taglist for Loki's Guide to Falling in Love with a Mortal:
It's been a while since I've been on here, and I have definitely missed it! I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for anyone who's requested something or interacted with my posts, it's been a hectic few weeks!
Between my health and starting my postgraduate I've been crazy rushed off my feet and overwhelmed. HOWEVER, I have missed writing, and posting so I do plan to get back on it!
The HOPE is that I'll post something ONCE A WEEK from now on. HOPEFULLY.
What's coming soon:
I have a Loki drabble on the way, HOPEFULLY tonight.
I've got two Bucky requests to work on next
And maybe a belated Joel birthday fic (I'm very sorry to who sent that one in omg)
In the meantime, thank you everyone who's interacted with my account in the past month or two, it has really meant the world!
hi!! love your work, by the way, you're amazing! if you've got a sec, do you think you could do another part to the needy girlfriend series? thank you regardless!
Role Reversal (i.e. Bucky & his needy gf)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Pre-established)
Warnings: 18+ (mdni), smut, p in v , unprotected sex, , reader has hair (sorry)
A/n: I will ALWAYS have time for this series, thank you for the request anon! Hope you'll settle for the other way around!
Summary:
Bucky's used to pleas, he just didn't know it would be the first thing to tumble from his lips when he sees you in your new tactical gear.
Masterlist || Series masterlist
âPlease, baby,â are two words Bucky knows very well. Mostly because itâs his girlfriendâs most frequently repeated phrase in a day, when you suddenly decide that six hours between having him that morning, and wanting him now, is just too long.Â
He just never thought heâd be the one to use them. Not like this.
But then again, James Barnes is a simple man.Â
With eyes.Â
And a brain to process what his eyes find.Â
And a very hard cock as a result of their findings.Â
Because his girl, his hot-as-fuck girl with big fuck-me eyes, was strutting around the apartment in a brand new, tight, latex suit courtesy of the same man who heâd spent the past year trying to make amends with: Stark.Â
He canât decide between getting on his knees and thanking the man profusely, or wanting to bite his head off for the fact Tony would have had to put his hands on you and be the first one to see you in your new gear to create it.
It wasnât even something specialânot as unique as Steveâs first Captain America costume, or even as bright as Tonyâs tin suit, and definitely not as historic as Thorâs battle armourâit was just a simple black, leather suit that tightened at your curves, showing off your⊠well, Buckyâs favourite everything.Â
The sight is downright obscene.Â
He crowds against your back, strong biceps wrapping around your middle, breath hot against your ear as he lets out a curse. His hands have a mind of their ownârunning over the curves and dips of your body. He feels like going feralâlike he has no say in the matter except that he has to have you.Â
He canât get enough, not even when his lips find your neck, trailing wet kisses over your pulse. âLook like something out of a fantasy. Please, baby girl.âÂ
Now that name was new. And youâd be a liar if you said it didnât have heat pooling in your stomach. You reach behind you, hand tangling in his brown locks and absentmindedly tugging. âWhatâs gotten into you, Barnes?â He can practically hear your smirk.Â
His eyes fall shut, his body pressing against your back as his hips grind against your ass. âYou. That suit. You in that suit.â He murmurs, the words a rough growl when he bites down on your earlobe.Â
You moan softly, head falling back into his body even as you unconsciously bend yourself over the kitchen counterâor a better word would be strategically. Because you know youâve hit your mark when you hear the sharp inhale of your boyfriend, feel his fingers digging into your waist and his hips surging forward into you. Oh, youâve definitely hit your mark.Â
He lets out a low groan, as rough as his hands trailing over your thighs, before resting over the curve of your ass with a lustful squeeze. If you bothered to turn your head, youâd probably see Bucky flushed at the cheeks and pupils blown wide as he sees just how much the suit accentuates it.
âShould test how easy it is to get you out of this thing,â he growls. âYou know⊠for when youâre too tired to figure it out after a mission.âÂ
âHow very selfless of you, Barnes.â You tease, smirk forming into an amused smile. For the first time in your relationship, you can honestly say you made no attempt to orchestrate this, in fact, you even had plans to jump him in the shower later tonight. But this⊠this has worked well regardless.Â
You feel him press another open-mouthed kiss against the column of your neck, right where the neckline of your suit starts. His hips grind against the ass he seems to be paying extra attention to tonight, as his hand stays there. Squeezing and pulling your cheeks. âItâs a thankless job,â he says, a mock tone of being put out. âBut someoneâs got to do it.âÂ
You push your ass up into his hand, encouraging him further when you finally suggest. âShould test if it softens hits too.â You and your boyfriend have tried a lotâthe list increasing the longer you two are together, a funny parallel to when you first started dating and the first time seemed so⊠consequential. It took Bucky another year before he felt comfortable asking to try different things heâd hear about. But spanking hasnât been one of them, and youâre certain heâs about to rejectâ
His hand squeezes your ass cheek once more, before following with a light smackâthe sound alone is enough to have his cock twitching in his pants, leaking at the tip. If thatâs not surprising, he adds: âYeah⊠Thatâs⊠yeah. Thatâs a really good idea. Make sure it cushions everything right.â He spanks you again, this time a little harder, as if testing the waters.
The moan that slips out of you is a lot louder than you meant it to be, and youâd be embarrassed if you didnât feel him harden through his sweatpants. He repeats the action, harder once more. âYou like that?âÂ
You donât even have time to nod before his hand comes down again, hard enough now that you know the suit wonât stop a red patch from forming on your skin. You make a mental reminder to have him test this out more often, maybe with the metal arm, if you manage to convince him itâs safe.Â
âBarnes, if you donâtââ You grit out, because you need him. You always need this man, and youâre about ten seconds fromâ
âThis thing is skin-tight, baby. Canât even take a peek under here,â he whines, hands pulling at the compact material. His hands tug at the waistband next, âgonna have to take it off.â
Finally.Â
âPants have a zip at the front.âÂ
Thank you, TonyâŠ. Will hopefully be the last time you say that as youâre about to have sex.
The former assassin wastes no time in finding the zip, and pulling your trousers to mid-thigh. He inhales sharply when he uncovers your underwear, black to match the suit. Hindsight would have had you putting something sexy and lacy on instead.Â
âMind keeping the top half on?â He asks, hand moving between your legs and cupping you through the thin fabric.Â
âAnything for you.â
âYouâre a godsend.â
The longer he plays with your clit over your underwear, the more you get irritated. âJust get those off I swearââ You whine. You donât know when the power shifted, reverting back to you being his needy girl (as he likes to put it), when it was him begging that started all of this. Heâs a genius, and one of these days youâre going to figure out how he does it.Â
But instead, he mercifully pushes your underwear down, baring you to him. His hand immediately moves back between yourâ âYouâre so wet for me already.â He groans.Â
Impatient, you whine: âHurryââ
He doesnât make you wait, fingers rubbing at your clit as he presses up against your back. Your front hits the counter forcefully, but youâre too desperate to complain about the way it digs into your stomach.Â
âYeah, baby?â He mocks. âNeed me?â
By some miracle you gather what was left of your earlier assertiveness, squaring your shoulders and grinding your ass into the soft fabric of his sweatpantsâthe ones that drive you crazy each time you see him in them. âOnly if you ask nicely.âÂ
His fingers slide lower, pushing into you with a low groan as he curls them. âPlease, baby. Need you right now.âÂ
The rush of power goes to your head, making you dizzy. No wonder Bucky never rejects your pleas if this is how good they feel. You open your mouth to instruct him, like he usually does, but nothing comes out when he thrusts into you hard with his fingers. So instead, like the real dominatrix youâve deluded yourself into being, you nod dumbly.Â
His fingers continue to pump into you, finding that spot that makes you gasp with expert ease. Even so, his other hand moves to fumble with the waistband of his pants not so expertly.
âFucking hurry, Barnesââ You cry.
He responds with a string of curses as he manages to get them and his boxers down, just enough to free his aching cock. âBend over. Put your hands on the counter.âÂ
You follow his instructions, no longer caring whoâs in control as long as you get fucked. You push yourself further into the sharp counter, bringing your ass higher and flexing your hands at his next circle of your clit.Â
You barely have time to moan when he lines himself up at your entrance with a rough: âYou have any idea what youâre doing to me?â Followed by him thrusting to the hilt, burying himself balls-deep inside you. He groans, head falling against your back as he moves into a hard, steady pace. Just the way you like it.Â
His flesh hand comes down to grip your hair, fingers tangling in it, and pushing you further against the counter as he fucks into you. âThere she is. Thatâs it, baby. Take it.â His voice is low and gravelly, his breath warm against your ear.Â
âBucky,â you whine, pushing your hips to meet his with every stroke.Â
His pace is relentless, his metal hand finding solace once more between your legs, making you moan. He times it with each thrust, pace fastening with each whined praise he receives. Even now, his eyes are trailing over you and taking in every inch of the top half of your suit.Â
âWanna hear you baby,â âThatâs it, good girl,â tumble from his lips in pattern. His hand slides from your hair, to the middle of your shoulder blades to push you down further. âThe things you do to me. Wearing this goddamn thing around the place.â He pulls out to the tip, before slamming into you once more with a punishing thrust.Â
You moan, head falling forward over your arms as you take and take. âYouâve⊠seen me⊠in⊠tactical⊠gear⊠before.â You tease, between each thrust, voice jumping with every slap of his hips.Â
He pulls at your chin, bringing your face towards him so he can take in the mess heâs made of you and your suit. Your hair is frizzy from where heâs grabbed it, a flush across your cheeks, and your eyes are swallowed by your irises. Fuck. âAnd thatâs why youâre always late to training the new agents.â
âNo. Thatâs why I always tell you itâs an hour earlier so Iâm not late,â you breathe out.Â
He lets out a similar sound when he shifts his angle, bringing your ass up higher so his cock bumps against your walls. âMm, my smart girl. Wanna be even more impressive? Use that pretty little hand of yours for me.â
You reach your hand between your body and the counter, fingers brushing over where his have been meticulously playing with your clit. He only lets go when heâs sure youâll take care of yourself. He wraps both hands around your waist, using it as leverage so he can slam into youâthe sound of skin slapping echoing around the kitchen.Â
âFuck thatâsââ he groans, the same time as you whine: âBuckyââÂ
His thrusts get more erratic as his name continues to spill from your lips. âMâso close, baby,â he mumbles into your neck.Â
You continue to stroke over your clit, as you reply: âYou first.â
âYou sure?â
âPleaseââ Because after all, thereâs nothing hotter on this planet than your boyfriend falling apart.Â
At that, heâs a goner. He bites down into your neck as he fucks into you one more time with his thick length. His body grows taut as his balls tighten, and hot liquid fills you up and spills down your thighs. You follow soon after, heat coiling in your abdomen before bursting. He whispers praises against your ear before pressing lazy kisses down your jaw, your neck, then your face. He continues to hold you against him as you both breathe out and attempt to come down from your highs.Â
His hands trail over the buckles and straps from the top half of your suit, when he grumbles: âPass me my phone.âÂ
âNow?â You scoff.Â
âHave to ask Steve to take me off the rota. No way in hell I can do a mission with you for the next⊠pfft.â He blows a raspberry, eyes wide with exaggeration, and itâs that that has you laughing at him despite him still being buried deep inside you and making no move to change that. His hands wander higher, over the chest piece and resting at the swell of your breasts. âIf you pass it over now, weâll play with the top half next.â His voice is a low, breathy murmur, and thereâs no way youâre getting out of this evening alive.Â
âYes, sergeant.âÂ
Followed by another spank to your ass, and this time, he gets to take pride out of seeing it turning his new favourite shade of pink. âDonât you start with me.âÂ
A/n: I'm sorry but I haven't stopped thinking about that scene with him fixing the panel since episode 1 came out, and this clearly shows it. Might consider a full fic of this in the future...
Also read another drabble like this a while ago by @littledes1re about cockwarming w/ Joel Miller, and whilst I've obviously written this on my own and not with her fic in mind, I would just like to give credit to her in case of any similarities bc that was truly an amazing read!
Summary:
Joel Miller's a busy man; his biggest mistake? Putting his cock in you and expecting you to sit still.
Masterlist
Just thinking about peepaw Joelâheâs older now, more slowed down than when he first arrived in Jackson with Ellieâbut that doesnât make him any less hot. Especially to his controversially young girlfriendâthe one that Ellie and Tommy make sure to give him a ridiculous amount of shit for.Â
âNice to see ya found a new hobby, Joel.â Tommy would shout across the street at the sight of Joelâs calloused hand attached to yours. âWhatâdâthey call it nowadays? Robbing the cradle?âÂ
And Joel would grumble, the grumpy, old man stereotype coming to life, until heâd hear your warm laughter echoing down the streets, and suddenly⊠he was pretty damn proud that he got your attention. âSpecially with all the attractive guys your age.Â
And then Ellie would say some shit like: âSo⊠whatâs the plan, Joel? You gonna drop her off at daycare before your shift?â And heâd push her into a bush or a big pile of snow and retort: âDonât speak about your mother like that.â Which would have both of them grinning ear to ear.Â
They know youâre a lot younger than him, theyâd be blind not to. But what they donât know? Just how goddamn needy you are for him 24/7.Â
Because, sure, Joel Miller has certainly slowed down with age and comfortâtrading in patrol and clickers for toolboxes and bossing around cocky little shits who think they know more about renovating houses.Â
But heâs also the kind of guy to blow your brains out in the bedroom and have you walking crooked for the next 24 hours with only shitting his back up once. Or worse, not doing much at all and still making you cum in five different ways before you had to tap out.Â
Like tonightâsitting at the kitchen table, glasses perched on his nose in a way that he knows drives you crazy, thick brows furrowed beneath them as he worked on a breaker panel that had been giving him hell since this morning.Â
He should have expected you to get boredâyou always did if you went over 24 hours with some sort of fuckâbecause yes, heâs figured you out by now to a timeline.Â
He should have expected you to climb on his lap, beg and mewl for his attentionâdespite the fact Maria requested this to be fixed by tomorrow.Â
And Lord knows, he certainly should have expected you to grind down on his clothed dick, like the desperate girl he knows you to be, with a: âPleeeease, Joel. Just a few minutes. Iâll be quick.âÂ
Which resulted in a scoff of disbelief and a comment about how it would never be quick with you, not the way you always begged for more.Â
Which leads to a new discovery, a way for you both to get what you want.Â
Cockwarming.
Not something heâs ever seen the point in beforeâwith neither of you comingâbut what a mistake that was. Because here you are, fingers digging into his unbuttoned flannel (your doing), stuffed to the brim with his cock through the zipper of his trousers.Â
He tries to concentrate, he really does, but with the way heâs having to force his head over your shoulder to look down at the breaker, and the way his arms have to awkwardly wrap around you to poke around with his screwdriver, heâs having a very difficult time.Â
Oh no, that would actually be because you keep trying to ride him, and when he stops you with a gruff sound, and his elbows digging into your sides, you then decide to clench around his hard cockâlike you do when he makes you cum.Â
Heartless, needy tease, are just three words heâd use to describe you right now.Â
âCome on, baby, you promised to sit still.â
You respond in a whine, and it only irritates him furtherâbecause he knows heâs spanked the brattiness out of you before, and clearly naively thought it would last. He really should have fucked you before he sat his old ass down to finish his work.Â
âPlease, Joel.â You beg, hips shifting forward and back to grind against him.Â
He groans, head slamming down on your shoulder. âFuckinâ move again, and Iâll make sure you donât cum for the rest of the week.âÂ
You pout, imagine stomping your foot if you were a child, but instead you bite down on his shoulderâenough to have him jolt, hips slamming up into yours with one unintentional, but heavy thrust. He always did like you biting him.
He curses into your skinâclearly struggling with the fact he might not be as in control as he usually is when it comes to you. âFuckinâ needy, little whore. Just canât fuckinâ wait, can ya?âÂ
âPlease, Joel.â You repeat, squeezing your tight pussy around his hard shaft. âJoelââ
âThat ainât how you ask nicely, baby.âÂ
âPlease, daddy,â you correct. âNeed you so baââ
He pistons up into you again, grabbing a fistful of your hair to harshly pull you down onto his thick cock. He fucks into your mercilessly, one hand splayed against your back to pull you closer too. He takes his time watching the way your head throws back, the way your cheeks flush and your cunt tightens around him. He just canât wait to see your eyes roll to the back of your head.Â
âSilly girl, always needing her daddy to fill âer up. You get empty when Iâm not around, huh? That why you always get so fuckinâ pouty when you donât have my cock in you?â He growls, heavy balls slapping against you with each thrust up.Â
Your fingers tighten in his shirt as you meet his hips with each bounceâboth of you groaning into the movement, as you say: âAlways, daddy,â âthank you, daddy,â and Joelâs personal favourite: âFeels too big, daddy. I canâtââÂ
And when he feels you clench one more time and your breath stutter, he knows you're close.Â
And all he does?
He stops his movements, reaching around you once more and continuing fixing the ridiculous electrics like he didnât almost fuck your brains. Your heavy breaths stall, sweat dripping down your back as you open your mouth to askâ
âTold ya, baby. Ainât letting you cum for the rest of the week if you kept moving.â Â
Bucky thought that the hardest thing would be adjusting to the modern world and its confusing Gen Z, little did he know, the hardest thing to navigate would be his insanely needy girlfriend.
In other words... Fuck, does he love you.
Warnings: Each fic will have their own warnings!
A/n: These will be written out of order and won't follow a canon storyline (i.e. reader may be an Avenger in one fic, and a civilian the next!)
With a bug spreading around Jackson like wildfire, your husband's been asked to go out on patrol for a couple of days despite him taking himself off the rota for your peace of mind. When he thinks you're just acting out to spite him, it turns out you have your own reason for not wanting him in danger.
Warnings: 18+ (mdni), smut, oral (f! receiving), Tommy calls reader childish / is a little dismissive, I don't want to spoil it I'm sorry!, No use of YN.
Word count: 4.4k
a/n: First Tommy fic, hope you enjoy---if so, a part two might be on its way!
Itâs late in Jacksonâthe summer sun slowly lowering over the mountains. And you imagined your night, curled up in bed with your husband⊠not watching him pack a patrol bag. Itâs probably the reason youâve decided to punish him with your pouty silence, and probably why he hasnât shouted at you for trying to pull the clothes back out of his bag like he really should.Â
The thing about Tommy is that heâs a hardworker. Thereâs no doubt about it. Which means when over half the patrol team came down with the bug thatâs spreading across Jackson, he was the first one to step up for it.Â
You admire him as much as you hate him for it.Â
His movements are efficient and focusedâmanhandling loose shirts and underwear into the small duffel bag in case it takes longer than the three days theyâre planning. It pisses you off more that Tommy knows his wife is upsetâcan feel the tension rolling around in the airâand isnât instantly grovelling on his hands and knees for you to forgive him. Then again, Tommyâs the kind of guy who knows how to manhandle his way through one of your moods. Just not tonight, apparently. Neither of you are probably feeling frisky right now.
âYouâre not going.â You declare, pulling another one of his shirts out of the black bag.
He pulls it out of your hands, stuffing it back in with a clenched jaw. Heâs determined to stick to his plan, even if he should know better than to argue with you when youâre like this. Itâs not often⊠but itâs stubborn in a way that he can only sometimes bend you over a counter and expect a good response. Better not to risk it. He responds in a firm tone, matching yours, âI have tâgo, itâs my turn for patrol. You know that.â
You huff at the same speechâpanic setting in the longer he rejects your pleading. You kneel back on your haunches on the bed, the action bringing your nightdress higher up your thigh. âI thought you took yourself off rotation.â Per your request when he came back with a fractured rib and busted eye.Â
He sighs, eyes dropping to the hem despite himself. âI did. But one of the guys got sick and I canât leave âem hanginâ. Weâre short as it is with this fever goinâ around.â The bug that you both thought you had a few days prior.Â
He leans over the bed to grab the cases of bullets he piled together when he offered himself up. You knock them out of his hands. Itâs a weird feeling, this⊠childish pettinessânot something youâre used to. Usually when you and Tommy fight, though scarce, itâs loud and energeticâa case of who can wind the other up enough to give in and fuck at the kitchen counter or on the staircase. But he canât goâyou canât let him. Not on the chance that he doesnât come back when you need him the mostâÂ
Your husband lets out an exasperated huff as he snatches the boxes back, irritation suffocating the room in a way thatâs definitely not rip-your-clothes-off sexy. âCâmon sugar, donât do this. I have tâgo.â He stands in front of you, bullet-full arms crossed over his chest and every bit of his stance screaming that heâs not budging from this decision.Â
Neither are you. âSomeone else can.âÂ
âNo, they canât. Everyone else is puking their guts up as much as you have. And whilst I havenât caught it, I shouldââÂ
You push up on your knees so you can clutch at Tommyâs broad shoulders. âTommyââ
He stops, expression growing softer despite the efforts you can see him trying to make to win. But he can see the desperation in your eyes, the exhaustion and frustration weighing heavy on youâprobably in addition to whatever this sickness has been doing to you. He tries to hold his ground, he really does, but his resolve starts to waver as his calloused hands find purchase on the silk nightdress wrapped around your hips. âItâs just a couple nights. Iâm not even on shift with a woman.â Â
Your nostrils flare and eyes narrow as you glare at the man youâve decided to somewhat legally bind yourself to (does it count in the apocalypse??). A woman. You canât tell if heâs just saying it to wind you up or he actually thinks that thatâs what youâd have a problem with. âWell aware.âÂ
âThen whatâs the problem, huh?â His fingers curl into the fabric, the warmth of your skin seeping through your dress and igniting that familiar spark. He swallowsâthe sight of you relaxed and ready for bed making him feel weak. And thatâs not counting your attitude and desire for him to stay. âJealousy we can fix. Just missing me isnât aââÂ
You hesitateâtossing over the different options in your head. The truthâthe real reason you donât want him to go on patrol. Another lie because youâve barely accepted the truth yourself, let alone telling him. So you settle somewhere in between: âI donât have a good feeling about this.â
Tommy lets out a frustrated sigh, also torn between his own feelings: the desire to placate you and the responsibility he has towards Jackson. âHey, it's nothing to worry about. I'll be back in a few days, alright? Got my radio. Safe and sound, you'll see.â
âOutside of the walls,â you mutter, hands pushing and pulling at his shouldersâa nervous habit when youâre unable to face your husband. Keep your hands busy but your eyes busier.Â
Your husbandâs expression drops as you mention the outsideâhis grip tightening as much as yours. So, maybe thatâs the issue. He tries to keep his voice even, patient as he draws circles. âIt's not like I'll be doinâ anythinâ risky, sugar. scoutinâ a new area. It's a routine patrolâfindinâ the patterns of the hoards.â
âTommyââ
He meets your downcast gaze, voice grown as firm as your insistence. âSugar, I can't change the rotation just because you're on edge. I've done hundreds of these patrols, and I always come back in one piece.â
You know heâs technically rightâthey need him. And from his perspective, maybe more than you need him. But thatâs the truth youâre still sitting on. The words tumble out of your mouth without control. âItâs different this timeââ
He cups your chin, tilting your face to finally look up at him. Heâs always been good at reading you, years of love and marriage will do that⊠but your behaviour is blinding. Flashing red lights and a loud horn blaring in his eyes. âDifferent how?â Â
âIt just is.â You mumble, sinking back down.
He exhales, hand cupping the back of your head next, smoothing your hair down. Somethingâs not rightâyouâve never been like this before and itâs jarring. When heâs an idiot, he can count on you calling him out on his shit with a list of reasons alphabetically organised and aided with childhood anecdotes from Joel. âCâmon baby,â a nickname he only uses in the most dire of times: sex or conflict. âYouâre tellinâ me you don't trust me to do my job? What the hell's that about?"
Another opportunity for the truth. âYou promised you wouldnât do patrols anymore.â Another miss.Â
He must know it because his expression darkens. Youâd both had the conversation when you brought up trying for a baby unofficiallyâwithout all the pressures of ovulation windows and timing. Just fucking in hopes of an eventual baby. But with both of you on patrol, it meant your schedules were unpredictable and there was too much dangerâespecially for you (not that youâd outwardly admit it). So a compromise was madeâsticking around the safety of Jackson instead of the riskier jobs. âI donât have a choice this time, baby. They need the manpower. I have to fill in for the sick guy.â
He sighs once more, stepping back. âI get you're worried. But it's just two nights, alright? Two nights, and I'll be back again. Then you can give me all the grief you want about my job.â He tries to reach for his bag to continue packing, but your hand on his arm stops him.Â
Youâre giving him that stubborn lookâthe one he knows far too well. But this time, heâs not budging. He wants nothing more to sleep in his own bed tonightâwrapped around his damn wife like she deserves. But heâs been letting the patrol team down lately. He needs toâ
âLook, you can pout and stomp your feet all you want. I'm goinâ on that patrol, and that's final.â He uses what little self-control he has when it comes to you to step away. To finish packing his bag in the tense silence heâs responsible for. Heâs trying to be patient, but the silent treatment and heavy pouting is wearing him downâbecause thatâs the one thing he hasnât been able to fix in his life. The communication in your marriage. Not when both of you dig your heels in whenever the other shuts down. Heâs trying to understand. He is. But you still havenât told him what he needs to understand.Â
He slings the bag over his shoulder, taking a moment to look at youâ-still knelt on the bed, arms folded across your chest, looking every bit as pissed as he feels. âYou done pouting or you got more silent treatment to throw at me?â
âNot like youâd listen.â You grind out. Not that youâd tell him the truth you whiny bitch.Â
Tommy lets out a humourless laughâshaking his head at his stubborn wife. âOh, there it is. The âTommy wonât listenâ bit.â He grabs his jacket from the bed, shrugging it over his shoulders. âMaybe if you talked to me instead of giving me the silent treatment like a damn child, I could listen.âÂ
The usual point of contention: your inability to talk about your feelings and why youâre feeling them, and Tommy catching the flack for it. Then again, itâs easier to put something like this on Tommy when youâre still struggling to process the words Dr. V from the âmedical centreâ (a glorified run-down hospital) told you just three days ago.Â
âYeah, that's mature. Just keep giving me the damn silent treatment. That'll solve everything real quick.â Oh, you love a man that calls you out. But then he grabs his pistol from the nightstand, shoves it into his holster as he picks up his packed bag. His hand then snakes around the back of your neck, pulling your head closer until he can press a kiss to your forehead. Because, of course, no amount of arguing can stop Tommy Miller from loving his goddamn wifeâeven in your sulky hours.Â
The panic rises in your chest, squeezing and pulling, as he makes his way to the bedroom door. Heâs going to leave. Heâs going to go outside the walls where anything could happen and you could lose your husband, the father ofâ Stay. Please.Â
âIâm pregnant.â You gasp outâthe truth, there it is. Pregnant. Having a baby. A whole human life that falls on your shoulders for the next eight months until it falls onto both of you.Â
Your husband goes completely still, his back straightening, hand freezing over the doorknob. Heâs pretty sure he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. Pregnant. He turns back to you, expression a cocktail of shock and disbelief. âWhat?â
You repeat the two words again. Iâm pregnant. And then heâs dropping the bag and striding back towards your position on the bed. You havenât moved since he turned awayâstill sat on the bed. âAre youâ Are you serious? Youâre not messinâ with me right now, are you?â He asks, sitting down beside you, hands on your thighs whilst searching your face for any sign that this is just some cruel joke to make him stay.Â
âTurns out it wasnât the bug going around.â You admit.Â
Tommy stares at you for a moment, but to be fair, thatâs all he can do with the way his mind is reeling a million miles a minute. Pregnant. His wife is pregnant. Youâve both been trying unofficially for a whileâavoiding calculations and ovulation windows in favour of fucking around more frequently. But even so, he feels a mixture of fear, excitement, worry and happiness and confusion and so much more. âI did it?â He whispers.Â
You lift a hand to his hair, pushing one of the inky curls back. âYou did it.âÂ
His breath hitches, hands wrapping around you to pull you deep into his chest. One hand goes into your hair, pulling your head into his neck, the other splays across your back, fingers almost digging in. âYouâre serious. Weâre really going to have a baby?â
The right thing would be to say yesâto confirm every ounce of disbelief like a good wife. But all you can do is clutch him tighter and ask: âYouâll stay?â You love your husband, more than anythingâyou worried when he used to go away on patrols. You worried about losing him like it was breathing, because this world was new and unpredictable, just like him. But since finding out youâre pregnant⊠itâs grown tenfold in the past 72 hours. A family. Your family. You need him.
Tommy pulls back, looking at you like youâre asking something insaneâlike thereâs any universe in which he could leave you right now. "âCourse I'll stay, sugar. What kind of idiot husband would I be if I left my pregnant wife when she just gave me the best damn news of my life."
You huff, only half annoyed. âYou were willing to leave your non-pregnant wife.â
Despite your intention to somewhat joke, Tommy winces, a pang of guilt squeezing his chest. He was going to leave her for a few days after thinking she was just being difficult. His pregnant, soon to be even more hormonal, scared-shitless wife who knew you were carrying his child. Yeah, he can see a future where he has a lot of grovelling to do. He rubs a hand down your back, âSee what happens when thereâs a breakdown in communication?"
A lesson. A fucking lesson is the first thing your husband decides to give you when he finds out heâs going to be a father. Typical. âYou really want to lecture me now?âÂ
He bites back the smartass retort on the tip of his tongue. Heâs treading dangerous ground right now, and for what? To see the way your brows furrow and your chest puff in that way that turns him on more than anything? But then again, he did plan to leave you. âNo,â he sighs. âI don't want to lecture you right now. I want to be happy and hold my wife, who I just found out is carryinâ my baby."
He gently pushes your shoulders until your lying back against the bed in favour of plastering his warm hand against your stomach. A baby. A goddamn baby. And all he can think is that heâs finally done something right.Â
He follows suit, propping himself up on his elbow to run his fingers over your bellyâalmost sad to see that nothingâs changed. Still beautiful, absolutely, but swollen with his child⊠now thereâs a thought that wonât have him doing anything productive for the next year. âYouâre reallyâŠâ Itâs not that he doesnât believe you, but he wasnât even aware he wanted this so bad, needed this so bad until heâs finally got it.Â
Your hand finds his, smoothing at his knuckles. âChecked with Dr. V.â
Tommy nods, heart swelling with hope and excitement in a way that has his practical mind rushing to protect himself. He canât resist pressing a kiss to your stomach, right through your nightdress. Forget showing, even the thought of you having his child growing inside, the idea that he did that⊠He looks up at you through his eyelashes. âHow pregnant are we talking, sugar?âÂ
âToo early. Still in that danger zone.â But then, isnât the entirety of the first trimester the danger zone?
He tenses at your words, seeing the fear in your eyes that probably reflects his own. He wraps a hand around your hip, pulling you closer to where heâs taken to nuzzling into your ribs. He tries to keep his voice even and calm, tries to be the support you need, but he canât hide the worry in his tone. âHow far along?â
âProbably around three and a half weeks now. Caught it early because of that bug spreading, when the symptoms overlapped.â You were convinced you had got itâwhat with all the cramping and then the nausea that followed days afterâitâs why you went to the small hospital in the first place. Except instead of being told to get yourself into bed and sweat it out like everyone else, you got a hesitant pause. A question about your period. And a whole new reality.Â
He pulls you closerâif thatâs even possible, pressing more kisses to wherever he can reach. When you tell him, he nods again, trying to absorb the informationâthe risk to your happiness, the risk to the family youâre both creating. âWe need to take all the necessary precautions. I'll get you vitamins, and we'll make sure you eat right. No patrolling, no unnecessary stressââ
He stops himself when he catches your gazeâthe raised eyebrows and weak smirkârealising that heâs starting to sound like a drill sergeant rather than a father-to-be whoâs joyed beyond belief. Youâre the one whoâs actually pregnantâwhoâs going to be going through all the changes and the emotional upheaval, and yet, here he is, barking orders like heâs got any say in what you do. He softens, his voice quieter and gentler against the silk. âSorry. I'm just⊠I'm worried, alright? I don't want anything happening to you...or the baby.â
The baby. Your baby.Â
As if reading his mind, you say: âItâs gonna be okay.âÂ
He nods againâbecause apparently thatâs what heâs been reduced to in the last fifteen minutes, hands rubbing circles at your hips. It's his way of trying to soothe you, and himself, even as the worry still gnaws at himâhis way of trying to apologise for not knowing sooner, for not being there for every moment. Had you not told him out of fear? Regret? To protect him? Questions for another day.Â
âYeah, it will. Wonât let anythinâ happen, sugar.â He leans up to press a kiss to the top of your head, trying to ignore the different ways this could all go wrong. The statistics and risks. The feeling of being so helpless. He presses another kiss to your cheek. Your neck. Your collarbone.Â
Tommyâs lips trail downwards, calloused hands slipping underneath your night dress. He canât help it. Feeling you, being this close to you, itâs like a soothing balm on all his worries. A language you both speak after years of being together. âGod, I'm sorry. I was goinâ to leave you tonight. To what, go on some dumb patrol?â He mumbles into your skin as he continues down your body, pushing the nightgown over your hips to expose your stomach.
You brush a hand through his dark curls as he nuzzles against you, completely entranced. Worshipping your body and taking in the fact that heâs given you a family. âI ainât goinâ nowhere. Gonna take care of you, sugar. No more patrols for anythinâ.â His hands slide over your thighs next, desperate to touch every inch he can. His mouth follows the trail, kissing your hips, your thighs. And then the inside of them, as if heâs completely consumed by you.Â
Tommyâs a worshipperâalways has been. When he comes home from the odd jobs around Jackson, pawing at your neck and pushing his heavy cock against your ass all the while telling you how much heâs missed you in the past ten hours. When he has you on your knees, eyes transfixed on the way your mouth wraps around his length, sucking him in as he groans something along the lines of sâfuckinâ good tâme, and draws gentle lines across your cheek. Even in the middle of the night when he has his head buried between your thighs just because he needed to taste you. But thisâthis is something newer, and yetâŠÂ
âYou have no idea how beautiful you are like this, sugar. Carrying my baby. My kid. Ours..â His voice is a rasp, a rough whisper against your thigh, eyes filled with awe and desire.Â
âYou canât even tell,â is all you can sayâa way to brush off the heat thatâs building between you.Â
His hands spread your legs wider, unable to stop in his devotion. âDonât matter. I can still see itâmy wife. The mother of my child. The most beautiful woman in the whole goddamn world. Shit, I probably shouldnât beâ"
Heâs about to pull away, to draw back in that overprotective mode you caught a glimpse of earlier. Your hand pulls at his hair, desperate to keep him there. To be with you. To touch you. âPlease,â you whisper.Â
Tommy doesnât hesitate, diving between your legs and mouth attacking your clit with a hunger that only his wife can draw out of him. Suddenly heâs got this burning need to claim you, to remind her that youâre hisâbecause apparently knocking you up just wasnât enough. His and no one else's. He holds your hips down with reverence, flicking his tongue over your clit and alternating between slow and hard movements with that expert precision that surprised you when you first got together.Â
âFuck, you taste so good,â he moans into you, pulling your legs over his shoulders.
You clench around his head, fingers fisting in his hair. âTommyââÂ
He works harder at his moaned nameâtongue lapping at your entrance and then circling back at your clit. His facial hair brushes over you, beard probably leaving red marks at your inner thighs with how rough heâs being. And what makes it hotter? The fact he doesnât give a damn. Not when heâs finally where heâs supposed to be.Â
âCâmon, baby.âÂ
Baby, not sugar. Because sugarâs for everyday, and baby is reserved for when heâs balls-deep in your tight pussy, or in this case, tongue fucking you into oblivion.Â
He moans against you, the sharp tugs youâre giving to his hair, going straight to his cock. He can already feel himself grinding against the mattress for some goddamn relief. His moan vibrates over you, pushing you closer to the edge he is working hard for. His lips suck around your clit, hands encouraging your hips to grind against his face. You feel another vibrationâbarely audible and something along the lines of: Love ya so damn much.âÂ
He flicks his tongue over you again.Â
Circles your clit.Â
Then sucks on it once more.Â
Heâs relentless and determined to make you come.Â
He can feel you grinding against his face, the sounds of pants and moans filling the room from both of you. âCome fâme, baby.â He murmurs the words against your entrance before using two fingers to play with your clit insteadâhis girl always needs that extra pressure, and heâs always gonna deliver.Â
He laps at your arousal, preens at the feeling of your thighs strangling his head as you get closer. âThatâs right, baby, ride my mouth.â He mumbles next, praising the way youâre pushing his head down harder.
It only takes him two more minutes before your back arches, your thighs tighten around his head and your moans heighten in pitch. You moan his name again, louder this time in warning, as he continues exactly what he was doing, the way he was doing, at the speed he was doing it. God bless this man.Â
Your body shudders before crashing, warmth filling you as he guides you through your orgasm, one lap of his tongue at a time. He doesnât stop when your slick coats his mouthâtaking every ounce of it with pride. âThat's it, sugar.â He says in a low groan, licking your clit a couple more times for his own sick pleasure. "Done so good fâme.âÂ
He eventually pulls himself up from your thighs, mouth and moustache glistening with you. He braces himself with one hand next to your head, careful to keep any of his weight away from your stomach.Â
He opens his mouth, ready to ask the question you know is coming: You good? But youâre quick to crash your lips up to his, tasting yourself, thanking him for staying, and being there, and loving you in a way that you understand.Â
He hums into you, only pulling away when his free hand slides to your stomachâitâs big enough to span the width of it, and yet, he canât help but trace patterns over the soft skin. âGonna be the best damn dad⊠I promise. Gonna do good by you.â He whispers against your mouth.Â
âI know you will,â you confirm.Â
His expression softens, those words doing more for him than even you know. Tommyâs told you a lot in your time of being togetherâoften broken down over weeks and intimate moments shared over pillows. He never had the childhood he deserved, never had the father he deserved, and you realise that maybe itâs going to manifest in different ways now that heâs about to become one. âTaken care of my girl, gonna take care of my patrol team. Then Iâm gonna come back and make sure you know how sorry I am until youâre tired enough to let me take care of my other girl.â Because God, heâs already missing the feeling of having his hand over your stomachâthat feeling of connection.
You huff, rolling your eyes. So this is going to be the topic of disagreement from now on. âIt could be a boy.â
âDonât matter to me, as long as theyâre healthy. Iâll be back, promise.â He presses one last kiss against the flat expanse of your stomach, slowly lifting himself off the bed with a groan that only comes from aging. âI expect that to be off by the time I get back.â He points at your dress.Â
He pauses to toss a look over his shoulder at you, taking you inâboth of you inâfor one more moment. Heâs still adjusting to this being real. Thatâs his kid. Theyâre going to have a kid.Â
He only tears his gaze away to unzip his bag and pull out his radio with wet eyes.Â
So I know I've been pretty MIA for a week but I promise things are coming!
Just moved into a new accommodation, so things have been pretty hectic with the start of college coming soon on top of moving...
I've got a Tommy Miller fic being finished today, so that should be uploaded tonight or tomorrow, and for the anon who requested the Bucky fic I PROMISE that's being worked on too! I'm about 3.5k words in and that's not even halfway!
For anyone that's liked, commented, or reblogged any of my posts... I see you, I appreciate you, THANK YOU! If you've asked to be tagged to a list that's going to happen!
First off, I'm obsessed with how you write Bucky and I've been loving your posts. I was listening to the song "I Don't Care If You're Contagious" by Pierce The Veil and I immediately thought of Bucky, but during Civil War. I was wondering how you'd write this. This could either be angst, fluff, or smut. Thank you!!
Hey bestie!! Okay I LOVE THIS! Just curious if you have a criteria or idea how you want it to go?!
The idea Iâve got so far is like little snapshots that take place throughout civil war - I.e. sheâs an agent that finds him whilst heâs in hiding at the end of CA:TWS and like fluff throughout and ending with Wakanda!
Feel free to leave another request anon if you hate that idea!
Loki's getting used to you falling asleep at a conference table, lucky he's always there to carry you to bed.
Warnings: None! I don't think... sigh. Reader has hair. Don't come for my warnings :( I learnt it from the other creators...
Word count: 2.7k
It was lateâ3 A.M. on the dot, and Loki was still alone.Â
Although that was becoming increasingly normal for him as the weeks went on.Â
First it was the missionsâyou being put in charge of several S.H.I.E.L.D. task forces because the other Avengers were away on their own business. Stark trying to pick up the pieces of a crumbling relationship that Loki felt minimal sympathy for, the Captain on some business with an old lover whom he left in the past, even the witch and the robot decided to take a couple weeks off to visit Europe.Â
Which left you, his darling mortal, to eagerly take this opportunity to put your name down on a majority of the upcoming assignments. Even Fury was hesitant about signing off on it, but no, of course you waved him off and questioned his faith in you. Typical. Baiting the man who writes off on all your paychecks just for some rush of adrenaline.Â
Then again, Loki was in no position to talk since he was benched for the foreseeable future. Entirely unfair. He was framed. But it certainly added to your workload.Â
He tried to be supportive, he really did, but after about the sixth consecutive mission he helped pack a bag for, he was out of his mind. It seems his sanity correlates with your presence, or at least thatâs what the diagrams he made showed. He spent three whole days using the poster boards that Hill created to demonstrate the correlations between Avengers and crime rates, drawing over the graphs to show the effects that missing you had on him. It was oddly sweet until you learned that Maria still had three more meetings with high-up S.H.I.E.L.D. officials that she needed them for.Â
The night you came back from your final mission, he was overjoyed. Ecstatic. Pacing your bedroom with a book in hand that he couldnât calm himself down enough to read. Except the first thing you did when you got on land was crash. Slept sixteen hours in total. Thatâs fine, he should have predicted that. No matter, he had you all to himself.Â
Except he also overlooked the mission reports. Probably because heâs never filled one out despite Furyâs behest. Instead of having you in your bed every night, you were slumped over the desk, trying to recall which mission you shot out 46 agents and which one 46 agents shot out you.Â
This was the third time this week that you fell asleep in the conference room⊠It was Wednesday. And dare he admit, itâs not even out of selfishnessâthe desire to take up all your attention, but genuine concern at his favourite mortal overworking yourself.Â
He stops behind your chair, blue eyes taking stock of the way youâre slumped over the table, head resting in your folded arms. He takes a moment to just look, to gently push a strand of hair out of your faceâyou look younger. Almost innocent in a way heâs not. But itâs the clear signs of exhaustion that feels like a blow to his gutâthe emphasis it has on your humanity and the contrast it has to his long lifespan.Â
He tries to push that thought to the back of his head, like he usually does, slender fingers lingering against your skin and tracing the contours of your cheek. Heâs sure that the security camera in the far corner can pick up on his affection from here. His palm flattens against your back, drawing large circles as he bends to murmur in your ear. âCome on, my love, letâs get you to bed.â
When you only shift instead of waking, a muscle twitches at the corner of the Godâs mouth. He shouldâve expected you to be out like a light. With a huff of half-amusement and half-exasperation, he leans over, sliding his arms under you, and in one smooth motion he lifts you into his arms, supporting you easily against his chest.Â
âStubborn. Even in sleep.â He mutters against your forehead, pressing a kiss to your hairline.
âI can hear you,â you mumble into his neck, arms coming to wrap around it.
He pauses in his turn towards the door, gaze flicking down to your faceâeyes still closed. âAh, you're not completely unconscious then.â He readjusts his hold on you slightlyâmaking sure youâre secure in his arms as he makes his way out of the conference room. âSo you can hear me, but you cannot be bothered to wake up, can you?â
âPretending gets me carried. Waking up gets me a lecture.â
You donât even have to look to feel the large smirk gracing your boyfriendâs lips. âClever, love. Very clever.â His grip tightens once more, trapping you against him as he tries to fit you both through the doorway. Your knee bangs against it anyways and you tug on one of his curls in retaliation. âYouâre becoming more cunning and manipulative, Iâm impresâ ow!â
âManipulative?â You repeat, temporarily dropping the Iâm-asleep-carry-me-please act in favour of pressing a sloppy kiss against Lokiâs pale cheek.Â
He chuckles, the sound deep and velvet in a way thatâs been affecting you long before titles were given to each other. It might not be something you hear often from the God, but it certainly is your favourite. âYou feign sleep to avoid a lecture, preying against my affections for you. If that isn't a form of manipulation, I don't know what is. You're learning from the best it seems.âÂ
You hum once more into his neck, tucking in closer as he walks you down the long corridor towards the elevator. Loki canât help his breath catching, even for a split second, his heart skipping a beat from the feeling of having you in his arms once again. Heâs missed you. Dearly.
Heâs used to feeling alone. Being alone. After all, heâs spent millennia in the shadows of his brother, weighed down by what he now knows is his true heritageâthe reason why Odin never gave him the attention and praise he soughtâeven when he acted out. And when Loki did find out, he spent the following years, albeit a lot shorter than the first, pushing the people he loved away for the sake of pettiness over the lack of shared blood.Â
And yet somehowâŠ
Somehow that led him here. To you. Where even on the longest of physical separationsâmissions and mortal workloadsâhe never feels truly alone. Because if there is one thing he can count on, itâs that you are always on his side, even when he pushes back. Even when he did push back, on his most intolerable days before he captured your heart.Â
He spent the three hours prior to his trip to the conference room looking at the text you sent to his little, black rectangle: Missing you with a picture of your screwed up face in faux-anger.Â
It was adorable and saved instantly to his⊠cloud?
âYou're overworking yourself. You've been on non-stop missions for days now. And now youâre doing all that⊠boring stuff,â he says, coming to a stop at the elevator. He mustâve used his powers, you think, because thereâs no awkward bending, no request for help to push the button. Just a sudden ding as it makes its way down to your floor.Â
âYou mean the required mission reports?â One of your hands tangles in the inky curls that is tragically Lokiâs hairââso unfair you have prettier hair than me. You donât even do haircare!â youâve told him more than once. Itâs softer in the nights, a little more tangled that has your hand catching in the ends.Â
âYes, the blasted required mission reports.â He rolls his eyes, all exaggeration. âThey're tedious, time-consuming, and utterly beneath you. You shouldn't be doing such things to begin with, much less at this hour while your eyes are drooping." He glances down at the body still in his arms, your weight starting to get to his arms (though heâd never admit it). Heâs somewhat glad you still have your eyes shut because heâs all too aware that heâs failing at hiding his concern.Â
âItâs that attitude that has Fury so pissed with you, by the way.â
âFury is always⊠pissed with me,â he replies, the word dripping with disdain. âAnd those reports are a colossal waste of your skills and intellect.â He pushes down the other thought, the one along the lines of: 'and they exhaust you, and you look tired, and I hate seeing you tired'. He has a reputation to uphold after allâeven if itâs shrinking with every day he spends with you.
âYou did kinda try⊠Yâknow⊠World domination.â
âThat was years ago⊠And it was strictly New York if you must know,â he huffs, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. âDo you still hold that over my head every time I speak against your precious Director?â
The elevator opens up once moreâthis time with your boyfriend stepping out on the floor with everyoneâs accommodations. He turns a corner, footsteps quiet against the vinyl floor.
âJust saying,â you half-shrug in his arms. âThat was one hell of a headache for him.â You press another kiss, this time at the junction of his jaw.Â
He scoffs, though it comes out a little softer in time with your affection. âA headache? That's an understatement. The man has had a permanent migraine since my arrival on Earth. Though I do take satisfaction in that.â
Another kiss to his cheekâmore forceful than you intended with the drowsiness that has you halfway between conscious and asleep. âJust a week or two then Iâm caught up,â you yawn.Â
He canât help the way his heart stutters in his chest, or the slight hitch of his breath that he knows you feltânot with the way youâre still trying to burrow in closer, the way you hand out affection like itâs advice. âA week or two?â He repeats, a hint of resignation. âAnd then what? You'll be sent out on some other mission, no doubt with more reports to fill out.â
âRest of the team will be back then. Wonât have as many.âÂ
âCorrection. You wonât have any,â he declares. This time heâs more careful going through the doorway of your bedroomâmagic to open the door and stepping in sideways. You even hear his back scrape against the frame, no longer surprised that heâd take the hit for you. He instantly crosses over to your bed, setting you down with actual surprised gentleness, adjusting the pillows for extra supportâusually he just tosses you in the general direction and hopes for the best. âYour turn for a vacation.â His tone is authoritative, leaving no room for argument. It almost makes you want to argue. Or at least you would if his hands didnât fall to the hem of your shirt.Â
âWhere?â You ask, raising your arms to help him.Â
âSomewhere⊠secluded. Far from Director Fury's jurisdiction.â He pulls your shirt off with ease, folding it neatly to place on your desk chairâa neatness that could only come from a prince, and not like most men youâve dated. He may have tried to take over the worâ sorry, New York. But at least he folds clothes!Â
âSomewhere without paperwork, boring meetings, and mind-numbing reports. Better yet somewhere there isnât cell service.â Long, slender fingers tug at your sweatpantsâthe ones you especially wore today for comfortâtugging them down your legs and leaving you in your underwear.Â
You unclasp your bra, leaving it on the edge of the bed for Loki to add to the pile of clothes heâs made, before lifting your arms again to signal for one of his sleep shirts. Clearly youâve both built a routine.Â
Like the dutiful boyfriend he is, he slips the oversized shirt over your head, watching with a hint of fondness as it swallows youâif you notice a trace of hunger in there too then thatâs not on him. He waits until youâve slid under the covers, until heâs finished up with your clothes pile and heâs taken a moment to prepare himselfâto ask for something.Â
âAsgard,â is all he says.Â
You pause in your attempts to burrow under the covers like a hedgehog during hibernation. âWhat about it?â
He stands over you for a moment, taking in the sight of his girlfriend cozy under the duvet, eyes blinking heavily from tirednessâwhere she belongs. The bed. Not the tiredness. His hand reaches out, almost of its own volition, to brush a knuckle against your cheek. He plops down on the edge of the bed. âWeâll go to Asgard. Maybe you can meetâŠâ
âIf I meet your mother, thatâs not a vacation. Thatâs a very stressful environment.âÂ
Loki snorts, poking your nose. âIâll have you know, Mother is a delight.âÂ
âStill your motherâstill the QUEEN of a wholeass realm. The person who loves you most in the world. Second most. No, most. I canât compete with her. Couldnât be more intimidating if she tried.âÂ
He laughs, a low rumble against the silence of the night. âYouâre right. She will interrogate you thoroughly.â But Frigga was good, in all the ways Loki wasnât. Kind in the ways heâs often dismissed as weakness. He doesnât say it, or even show it, but sheâs the strongest woman he knowsâor now, one of the strongest women he knows. The thought of her meeting the mortal heâs claimed for himself⊠well, itâs a good thought to close his eyes to. Â
âPlus you donât have plumbing.â You add, hand pulling his away from your face to intertwine them together. âPeeing in a pot is beneath me.âÂ
His jaw drops at your blunt declarationâa laugh of disbelief and surprise mixing together to make your favourite sound. âPissing in a pot is beneath you,â he repeats. âWhat about that time in Bolivia when you had toââ
You sit up. Fast. Pointing a finger at Loki. âWe agreed to never bring that up!â
His grin widens, clearly the memory of his girlfriend in a MORTIFYING situation like Boliviaâis funny as shit to him despite the shame it inflicts upon you. He HAD promised not to bring it up again. Swore under duress⊠But he was never one for keeping promises, and you should really know that by now. âOh, but it was so memorable. Youâre so adamant about not lowering yourself to 'such primitive means' yet there you wereââ
You hit his shoulder. âNow Iâm wide awake you asshole! Gonna give me nightmares.â
âHey!â Loki rubs at the target of your attackâalready planning different ways he can make it as dramatic as possible. But the sight of you looking up at him with wide eyes, trying to stifle a yawn despite your previous proclamation⊠Well⊠he wasnât a monster. Not anymore. He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. âClose your eyes, my love, youâll need the energy to shout at me tomorrow when I tell you Iâve already made arrangements with Heimdall.â
You huff, eyes narrowed. Heâs alreadyâ Tomorrow. Youâll deal with him tomorrow. So instead you turn on your side, burying yourself deep in the covers. If you see the look of unabashed affection on Lokiâs face, you donât say anything.Â
The urge to climb in himself, to hold you, now that heâs finally got a fraction of your time is overwhelming. He inhales, steeling himself and capturing the mental image of you tucked in and eyes fluttering shut, before he then lifts himself off the bed. Â
âSleep well,â he murmurs, the words coming out tender with such ease.Â
âWhere are you going?âÂ
He halts in his tracks, pausing to look at you over his shoulder. With a sigh, he turns back, making his way to the door with his hands plastered on his hips. âI'm going to do something incredibly dull and entirely beneath me.âÂ
And because he doesnât have the heart, or perhaps because he has too much pride, he doesnât tell you that heâs about to spend that next few hours in that conference room, filling out those mission reports using your memories. Perhaps itâs because he isnât doing it for the recognitionâbut because it would make your life easier. It seems⊠he has learnt to love.
Newest Loki fic in the series
Taglist for Loki's Guide to Falling in Love with a Mortal:
Warnings: 18+ (mdni), smut, unprotected sex, pinv, choking with his bicep, Joel calls himself daddy
Summary:
You love Joel's biceps a little more than the average person.
a/n: I'm sorry, this is super bland and boring (and definitely not the quality I intend to put into these but I'm having a major block and super busy with moving so this'll have to do 'til Thursday-I'M SORRY)
Masterlist
Okay but Joel Miller suffocating you with his biceps whilst fucking you from behind.Â
It wasnât a secret you loved his armsâloved watching them bulge through his shirts, watching them flex when he chopped wood or lifted something heavy from the attic when you were both still trying to clear it of the previous ownerâs junk.Â
It wasnât a secret that Joel made sure to stay in shape despite the safety of Jacksonâs walls.Â
It wasnât a secret that he made sure to wear a shirt a size too small on some days, nor was it a secret that he left boxes full of heavy cans in doorways just so youâd shout at him to move them out of the way and he can show off his strength.
And then came the biting. The two of you would be cuddling under the coversâJoel halfway to sleep, you with your sudden bursts of energyâand heâd feel a sharp nip on his bicep. Heâd jump, of course, and when heâd open his eyes heâd find you with flushed cheeks and a guilty expression.Â
Heâd make sure to wipe that look off your face when he turns you to your side and yanks your panties halfway down your legs.Â
Which leads to now.Â
Where Joel Miller has you perched on his lap, your back against his chest and stuffed to the brim with his fat cock as you bounce up and down like the needy girl he knows you are⊠Or at least as much as you can with his bicep wrapped tightly around your throatâknocking the air out of you with each bounce and limiting your movements.Â
âCome on, baby, thatâs it. Squeezinâ me so fuckinâ tight,â he grunts, flexing his bicep tighterâthe action taking the air out of you once more. Your sharp inhale is audible, gasp quickly turning into a moan that has you clenching around him again.Â
âJust one more, baby,â he pants out. âGive me one more.â Another squeeze of his bicep around your throat.Â
âI canâtââ You cry out, too sensitive from the two orgasms Joel has already drawn out of you. Your back arches against him, your nails digging into the skin of his muscle as you roll your hips against him, thighs burning in protest.Â
âYou can. You can give daddy another one, canât you?â He breathes out against your neck, the warmth overwhelming your senses. Joelâs palm cups your thigh, using it as leverage to drag you up and down his cock, the head bumping against your walls. âBite down, baby.âÂ
Too blissed out, you follow his orders, biting down on his bicep as he starts to rut into your cunt with a merciless pace. You whine and writhe on his cock, drool leaking down his thick, upper arm. Â
âDoing so good fâme, arenâcha?â He coos, hand slipping between your legs to find the small bundle of nerves that has you twitching on his dick from the oversensitivity. His thrusts grow harsher and sloppy as you bite down more. âBitin' so hard, gonna leave bruises.â He flexes against your mouth. âGo on baby, take whatever you need. Gonna cum again.âÂ
It only takes a few more squeezes around your head in time with his fingers before your back straightens, and heâs following your orgasm with his ownâburying thick, white ropes deep into your cunt.
He lets you take your time to catch your breath, pressing kiss after kiss to your head. Itâs not until he lays you down gently, getting up to find something to clean you up with when he notices the deep purple mark of your teeth in his upper arm. âWell, Iâll be,â he beams. âMy babyâs marking her daddy up real good. Gonna show the damn town who these belong to.âÂ
Can we get more on Bucky and his needy girlfriend? Maybe like a series (if your not too busy ofc)
Waking him up to have him (i.e. Bucky & his needy gf)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Pre-established)
Warnings: 18+ (mdni), smut, p in v , unprotected sex, oral (m! receiving), reader has hair (sorry), reader wakes Bucky up to fuck
A/n: Loving the support for the Bucky Barnes & needy!gf pairing - feel free to request more, along with suggestions for what positions / scenarios you want next! Here's for you anon, because I don't think I'll ever be too busy for Bucky <3
Summary:
Bucky should know by now that his pretty girl can't make it through the night without needing him.
Masterlist
Itâs late, you should be fast asleep. You were fast asleep. Until you rolled over and locked eyes on the supersoldier snoring at your side.Â
Before you can stop yourself, youâre leaning on your elbow so you can press a kiss to Buckyâs cheek. He hums, shifting closer, metal hand finding your thigh.Â
Your hand brushes across his bare chest, and when he doesnât wake up you kiss his cheek again until suddenly youâre trailing them down his neck. His collarbone. His chest. Itâs not the first time youâve woken him up like this, and it certainly wonât be the last judging by the shiver that runs down his spine every single time.Â
His needy girl needs him. Heâd be a fool to pass up on her.Â
His eyes blink open, still a little heavy with sleepâand it fills you with warmth knowing heâs not as on edge during the nights as he used to be, when you first started dating.Â
His hands find your scalp, gripping tight when your mouth reaches his abdomen. He lifts his head from the pillow, breath catching. âItâs 3 am, baby.âÂ
 You hum against his skin, another kiss placed. âThatâs why Iâm waking you up.â
âYou couldnât wait âtil the morninâ?â He asks gruffly, voice hoarse from lack of use. He can already feel his cock tent against his boxers.
âNeed you so bad,â you whine.Â
He groans. âCanât get enough, huh, pretty girl?â He lets out a strangled noise when your lips find his waistband, tongue darting out. Heâs suddenly grateful for the fact the serum makes him run warmâless layers means more tempting you.Â
âCan I?â You ask, eyes hungrily taking in the bulge poking through. âPlease.âÂ
Even in the dark you can see your boyfriendâs eyes darken, fingers flexing in your hair. âSince when are you so polite?â He teases, though it comes out more as a groan with the anticipation of having you.Â
âSince it gets me what I want.â
âWell thatâs on me for spoiling you, isnât it?â He murmurs, flopping back against his pillows. âGo ahead, baby. Youâve already woken me up. Might as well finish what you started.âÂ
He lifts his hips, helping you pull down his sweatpants. You donât waste a second using your tongue to trace the vein on the underside of his cock, tongue flattening against his head to collect the pre-cum already gathering.Â
He moans, stomach muscles tensing under your palm as you take all of him in your mouth. He tugs at your hair. âYou littleâ Fuckââ
He curses again with the next slow bob of your head, your tongue swirling around his shaft and sucking on his tip. âSâfuckinâ greedy. Canât even make it through the night like a normal person.â
You hollow out your cheeks, sucking harder in retaliation. His hips twitch, trying to avoid thrusting into your mouth, all layers of sleep washing away as he starts to creep closer to the finish line. âGod, your mouth.â His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. âTakinâ me so damn good.â
Buckyâs hand slips from your hair to your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw where he can feel the slide of his cock. âYou can take more. I know you can, baby. Come on.â
His metal arm pushes your head down roughly, feeling the head hit the back of your throat. âThatâs it,â he growls. âJust like that.â
You choke, gagging around his thick cock, tears pricking your eyes. He shifts, leaning up on one of his elbows as he continues to shove your head down to meet his thrusting hips. âLook at you,â he sighs. âStuffing your mouth full of my cock like a perfect girl.âÂ
You moan around him shamelessly, the vibration reaching the back of his spine as he pounds into your mouth.Â
âJust like that, baby,â âTake it all, pretty girl.â
Soft praises fall from his lips between moans, the edge of release growing quickly. Fuck, heâs gonnaâÂ
âGet up here before I cum too soon.â
You ignore him, using your hand to fist him as you press kisses to his swollen head. The supersoldier growls again, lifting you by your biceps so youâre straddling him. âI said get up here,â he berates.Â
He takes a second to let his vision stop spinning, and the threat of his orgasm to subside. His breath comes in harsh pants, fingers brushing against the waistband of the underwear you regret wearing to bed. He hooks his fingers in them, giving them a tug so they slap against your hips. âTake these off.âÂ
You slip them off awkwardly, Bucky laughing under you until you flick his head. When you sink down on his cock, laughter is replaced with a hearty moan, hands finding their salvation on your body. Flesh fingers dinging into your thigh. Metal ones pushing on the small of your back, bringing you flush against him. Â
His grip tightens as he thrusts up into you, his face buried in your neck. "This what you wanted, huh?" He murmurs between breathy moans. "Waking me up like this?"
You whimper, struggling for words as your boyfriend fucks you. He spreads your legs further, the angle deepening and your head falling back.Â
âYou gonna wake me up like this from now on?â He asks, his mouth dragging up your neck and finding your ear.
âCan I?â
âPlease.â His teeth scrape over your skin. âWhenever you want, baby. Whenever you want.â
A few more thrusts has him tensing up, loads of hot cum filling you up as he lets out a strangled moan, back arching against the mattress.Â
âFuckinââ He pants out, chest heaving and a light sheen of sweat covering him. The sight of his glossy eyes and dazed expression almost has you begging to go again.Â
But being the annoying piece of shit dedicated to winding your boyfriend up, you slide off him, rolling on your side away from him with a quick: ââKay night.âÂ
He lifts his head, barking out a laugh of disbelief. He grabs your waist, pulling you back against his chest. âDonât you dare,â he growls, yanking your thigh over his own legs so he can line himself back up with you. âIf you think Iâm gonna leave my needy girl unsatisfied, I clearly havenât done my job well enough.â
