𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary You're having trouble sleeping and pot seems like the only solution. Good thing your dealer, Eddie Munson, knows of another method that he's willing to to teach you. You get more than you bargained for when he tells you what he gets off to every night - you. [8.8k]
warnings 18+ only smut, fem!reader, eddie teaches you how to masturbate, p in v sex, light praise kink, mutual pining/lusting, lots of kissing, dirty talk, weed ment, aftercare, they are not so secretly infatuated with one another, eddie is a soft dork but also dirty <3 r implied as dressing very femininely
𓆩❤︎𓆪
Eddie kneels outside his trailer.
You stop at the lip of the grass and wonder what he's doing. His back is to you, covered by a band shirt familiar even from this angle and riddled with rips and moth holes. You're about to call out to him when he speaks.
"You're hot, huh, sweetheart?" Softer than you've ever heard him. "Why don't you go inside? Escape the heat, yeah?"
You approach slowly, footfall smothered by the lush green underfoot. He's scratching behind the ears of a tabby cat.
"It's so hot out! The sun's gonna cook you," he says, whisper-shouting.
Like the tabby can understand what he's saying it stands, stretches tall and then slinks off into the trailer. "Good girl," Eddie says, standing up.
"Are you collecting strays?" you ask lightly.
He turns to you, surprised but not scared. "Don't worry, you're still my favourite."
Good girl. His words ring loud between both ears. "I'm not a stray."
"Uh-huh. What's my shy girl want today?" You spin on your heel and Eddie starts laughing. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Come on, you'll like what I have!"
"You know I can't talk to you when you get like this," you tell him, pouting from over your shoulder.
He pushes a mess of black curls behind his ear and beckons you forward. "Come on," he says, sing-song. "Let daddy set you up."
"Jesus Christ," you mutter, following Eddie into his house unhappily.
You hate when he gets in this mood, not because he's ever really made you uncomfortable, but because you like to be teased, and he knows it. Or he likes watching you squirm. Either way, it's dangerous territory.
"How much did you want?" he asks.
The cool inside of his trailer is a blessing. You hold your naked arms away from your skin and try to take a deep breath of cool air. "I have thirty dollars. So… however much that is."
"Babe, what the fuck do you want so much for?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at you incredulously.
You follow him into his room. "Do you not have it?" you ask, tracing posters you've seen upwards of ten times by now. Eddie's a good dealer – reliable, sweet, and prone to freebies without any pervy requests in place.
He once swapped you an eighth for a cheap charm bracelet. He wears it now, the silver delicate and entirely too sweet for his metalhead appearance. It looks good on him, anyhow.
He pulls open the usual lunchbox you hadn't noticed sitting on one of his amps and pulls out more pot than you've ever seen at one time. "Don't I?"
"Woah."
"Uh-huh. Ern't she preddy?" he asks in a drawing southern accent.
You hold out your hands and he lets you take it. When you open the zip lock bag, the smell isn't awful. The buds are thick with green fuzz, and your eyes water.
You pass it back to him. "How much can I have for thirty?"
"For you? Half."
"Don't do that, Eddie. Gimme what you'd give anyone else."
"But you're not anyone else, babe. You're my favourite customer."
"I'm gonna put you out of business," you say, lightly chiding. "Can I sit down?"
He hums and nods and you sit cross legged at the top of his bed. His bed sheets are pushed away and the space is cold. His pillow under your hand is colder.
Eddie doesn't bother weighing it. You roll your eyes at him but also feel amazingly happy, because it's a lot of pot for not a lot of money, because his favouritism speaks for what you hope might be a small crush. Still, when he passes you the new bag you feel guilty.
"Eddie, I can't take that. I know that's more than thirty."
His eyebrows jump. "I don't care. What's the point in doing this if I can't give pretty girls a little something extra?"
"I don't know. To make money?"
He holds out the bag. You don't take it. "Fine," he says, sighing.
"Thank you." You watch him fish three or four bigger buds out of the bag. He presents you with a much more reasonable amount, his hands stained with the smell. "Thank you," you say again.
"Yeah. Wanna stay and watch a movie?"
You've known Eddie since middle school. Classmates, not really friends, not not friends, though ever since you've started buying a small kinship has blossomed between you.
"What movie?"
"Whatever you want."
You nibble the inside of your lip. "You'll roll up for me?"
"Sure will."
So you end up on Eddie's couch with the tabby cat that isn't his purring heavily on your lap as he rolls a couple of joints for you. You won't smoke anything until tonight so Eddie drops them into your newly acquired ziplock bag with papers and the leftover bud.
He sniffs. "So, you're not sleeping?" he asks knowingly, straightening out with a groan and disappearing out of view into the kitchenette. You're a total overthinker. Pot helps you calm down.
"I'm sleeping."
"After toking up."
"There's…" You scratch the vibrating cat behind its ears, frowning to yourself. "Worse things to do."
"Better ones, though. Hey, do you want a drink?"
You say no and he brings you a glass of water anyways. His hands smell strongly of hand soap and faintly of weed as he passes it to you. You take it carefully, wary of disturbing your cuddle partner.
"Like what?" you ask.
"Cranking one out, for starters."
You wince, afraid to bring the lip of the glass to your mouth in case you choke on it. "Anything else?"
"Running?" Eddie suggests, sitting with you but leaving a more than comfortable gap between your legs.
"Not my thing," you murmur.
It's weird, but anything above murmuring feels like shouting in the calm of his home. The movie plays on the TV and the cat purs, Eddie spreads his legs out and slouches into the cushions, his face surrounded by dark hair. He smiles at you like he always does, amicable if slightly flirty.
"Maybe pot is your only option," he says mournfully. He pulls a lock of hair in front of his face and his eyebrows pinch together. "Make sure you brush your teeth after though. Or you'll get bad teeth."
"Bad teeth?"
"Smoking ruins your pearls."
You put down your glass of water and weave your fingers into the cat's rough fur. Eddie is really nice. Really really nice. And he probably likes you, so… what's the worst that could happen, by asking?
I'm only asking, you decide.
"Eddie," you say softly, disrupting a big tobacco rant that he'd started. "What- when you say cranking one out, that's-"
"You know." He holds his hand above his crotch and squeezes the air. You feel a terrible heat start to collect in your abdomen. "Five to one? Uh- Nulling the void?" He grasps for words at your lost expression. "Making soup?"
His voice goes high. You think he's as embarrassed as you are, and you're not gonna ask again. You giggle. "Oh, right."
He drops his hand heavy against the seat of his pants and leans back. "Crank one out and sleep like a log."
"That works for you?" you ask tentatively.
"Every night."
You sink down into the couch and hide your face in cat fur. Eddie starts asking about how your job is, a genuine, earnest interest that further cements your next decision. You clear your throat.
"Eddie, can I ask you something?" He grins and waves his hand. "When you," you wince, "'make soup', do you just- how do you…" You slink down so far you're almost falling off of the couch. "How do you make yourself-" You gesture to your pelvis and then screw your hand into a fist, self-conscious.
He blinks. "Finish?"
You look at the chain around his neck rather than his face. "Yeah."
"Are you asking me because you want to know how I do it, or because you don't know how to do it to yourself?"
You rub your cheek with your shoulder. "The second option."
"Shit," he mutters.
"Sorry, you don't have to- I just thought-"
Eddie sits up. He looks more serious than he had before but not any less patient, elbows braced on his knees and head propped up in his hand. He parts his fingers over his lips.
"You don't know how?" he asks.
"I must've missed that lesson in sex ed," you try to joke. It comes out awkward. Eddie laughs anyways, a huff of breath.
"Lucky you, I've sat through sex ed three times." He grins brilliantly, but his joking tone softens when he sees your hesitant expression. "If you wanna know, I'm happy to tell you."
"Are you sure?"
"We're friends, right? What are friends for?" You don't miss the sarcastic twist to his words or his ironic smile.
Friends like you and Eddie likely aren't meant to be giving one another lessons on masturbation. But really, he's the only person you know who you could ask and wouldn't feel totally looked down on. Eddie's nice to his core, but better – he doesn't judge.
You struggle to know what to ask.
The cat chooses this moment to wake and jump off of you, strutting out of the trailer's open door and back into the sunlight without so much as a grateful look back.
And now you're alone with him.
"How's your anatomy?" he asks. You shake your head slowly. "You know, grade wise? Are we passing? B? B-? C?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Munson."
"Do you know what's what?" he asks concisely.
You sit up and press your knees together, suddenly very aware of your 'anatomy'. "I think so."
He purses his lips for a few seconds before shrugging. "Alright. We can work with that." Eddie pushes his cheek into the couch and looks at your face unflinching as he says, "You know what your clit is?"
You cringe. Full body.
Eddie shrugs. "What? That's what it's called. You don't have to be embarrassed about it."
"I know what it is."
"And you can't make yourself-"
"No."
He doesn't miss your frustration. "Hey, hey, it's fine. Some people think that it's, like, a magic on-button, but it's not. There's a whole process."
"How do you know?" you ask genuinely.
His answering smile is wolfish. "I'm in a band, babe. Fucking a guitarist is like, a bucket list thing or some shit. Girls will tell you exactly what they want if you're willing to listen."
Something about his knowing look has your heart skipping a beat. Maybe two. He pushes his hand across the couch and you're not sure if it's on purpose or accident, only that he's leaning in, a small smile on his face.
"And I'm a damn good listener."
You meet his eyes and know what he's offering. He waits, ring heavy fingers splayed wide in the space between you. It's the sight of them – thick, long and adorned in string-wrought calluses – that tips you over the edge.
He's already pulling back with a reassuring smile on his face, lips parted to likely say something too nice when you interrupt him.
"Will you teach me?" you ask quietly.
A split-second of surprise is quickly overtaken by enthusiasm. "You're not high, are you?"
"No."
He gets up to close the door and starts for his room. You linger on the couch uselessly and he doubles back, hand on the wall. "Are you coming?"
The noise from the TV fades as you walk down the hall and into his room. Your socked foot nudges into a tower of books close to the door and you reach out to steady them. Eddie pulls the sheets back into place and flicks on the lamp. He pauses by the stereo before turning that on, too.
A song you don't recognise starts to play. Eddie climbs up onto his bed and stands there for a second, suddenly very tall. "You wanna take off your jacket?"
"It's a cardigan." You peel the thin white cotton off of your shoulders and shift from foot to foot, unsure of yourself.
Eddie settles on his knees, pulls off his rings. "It's pretty. Come here," he says, holding out his arms.
You slide onto the bed cautiously, naked calves rubbing against the sheets. You feel as though every sense has been dialled to eleven; you're thinking about every brush of fabric, every small sound that they make.
Eddie takes one of your hands and you sit with one leg crossed and the other hanging off the edge of the bed, surprised at his soft touch. He soothes your hand and brings it to his lap, eyes on your now-bared shoulders.
"You dress real pretty." He says it with his usual dramatics, though there's enough sincerity there to make you smile.
You look down at your delicate clothes thoughtfully. "You think so?"
"Mh-hm. It suits you," he says as he drums his thumbs against the back of your hand.
He pushes one palm up the length of your arm and pulls it towards him at the same time. You've never been touched like this before and you want it bad, shuffling towards him with a shameful speed. He takes it in stride, hand bumping up the hill of your shoulder. His index finger slides under the skinny strap of your top and tugs at it playfully.
"You look sweet. Really sweet," he says, his voice more hushed than before. His eyes drop to your thighs. "You'll have to take those off, though."
"My shirt too?" you ask weakly, eyebrows pinched up at the starts.
"Not if you don't want to." You hesitate. He takes your thigh into a big hand and gives you a small shake. "It's okay. Take your time. Or, if you changed your mind, that's totally cool."
"No, I haven't," you deny, voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. You kick your legs out in front of you one at a time and ease your shorts over the slopes of your thighs and calves, pushing them off of his bed with your feet.
“If you change your mind at any point-“
“I’ll tell you,” you say, nodding as you pull your knees together.
Eddie manoeuvres so he’s close, twisted toward you with his hand braced by your thigh. The cold metal of the charm bracelet you'd swapped him bites into your skin. If you leaned back and he leaned forward, he could kiss you. You think maybe he has the same idea as his eyes dart to your lips.
They linger.
He blinks and it’s gone.
“I’m gonna rub your leg,” he says quietly, “and when I get to the inside, I’m gonna touch you. Okay?”
As he says it, his hand moves onto your thigh. Down to your knee.
Slowly, so slowly, back up. His fingers caress the inside of your thigh. He pauses.
“‘Kay,” you whisper.
His fingers flex over your flesh as he draws in. Then, like a shock, his fingertips press to your underwear.
“I’m not surprised,” he says steadily, fingers brushing over your cunt, ghosting but never truly touching where you want him to.
“By what?”
“That you wear such cute panties.” He strokes the hem with the tip of his finger and you hold your breath as he slides it under the elastic, running the fabric over his digit gently. “S’exactly the kind of thing I pictured you wearing.”
“You’ve pictured them?”
He looks up from his teasing and your panties snap into place. You gasp on instinct and his eyes narrow, his lashes kissing in the corners. “Does that bother you?” he murmurs.
You shake your head. His lips quirk up, a smugness that makes your heart race ever faster.
"Do you do anything like this with yourself?" he asks.
"I'm never this nice."
"That's a crime," he says, and he laughs loud, momentarily shattering the distilled atmosphere that had settled over you both. "Thighs like these and you don't touch them?"
"Is that what you do?" you ask, insecure.
"No, but it's different. I don't need to get warmed up like you do."
"Warmed up?" you whisper. Having to ask these questions feels so embarrassing.
Eddie being so soft about it makes it easier. "Relaxed," he whispers in turn, laughing towards the end.
His thumb rubs the elastic of your underwear and drifts slowly inward until he's pushing over your folds. You gasp and it's slightly startled, sounding too close to panic for Eddie, who's hand flinches away.
"Didn't like that?" he asks.
You rush, "It's okay. Surprised."
One big hand holds your thigh, the other strokes your cunt. He's a little firmer now, pushing the breadth of his thumb over your panties until he touches something very sensitive. "Here?" He pushes up a little higher and your breath catches. He makes an almost inaudible cooing sound and flattens his hand, rubbing the length of your cunt without finesse. It feels good anyway. It surprises you how much you like it.
He pinches your panties.
"Ready to take them off?" he asks.
"Yeah."
You lift your hips and peel your underwear down, folding your legs to pull them off of your ankles. You clutch them in your hand, unsure.
Eddie sits back and pulls you towards him. You let him manhandle you with a small gasp, his hands pressing into the soft of your tummy. You can't see his face anymore.
"Alright," he murmurs, pulling your thigh over his lap and spreading you wide. His voice is loud in your ear because of his proximity, and you resist the temptation to turn your face to his.
"Let's just-" he works your underwear out of your hand and tosses them aside.
His hand lands on your knee and moves down fast.
You lean back heavily into his chest with your hands pulled to your sternum.
"Eddie," you say, "what do I do?"
He hums. "Touch yourself."
You seize up and he's quick to soothe, fingers closing around the crook of your elbow.
"Hey, I'm gonna show you. I'm gonna show you," he repeats. He pulls at the lip of your cunt and spreads you open, groaning softly. You wouldn't hear it if his lips weren't so close to your face. "How'd you have a cunt this sweet and never touch it? I mean, fuck."
His fingertips whisper past your pubic hair like he's going to say something more, but he only asks, "Hand?"
You put your hand into his, the back to his palm.
He sets it to your thigh. "Do what I did before, okay? Slowly…" He drags your hand up and down the length of your thigh.
Your heart is racing. Every time you crawl close to your cunt the burning longing to be touched, to touch yourself, and to have him touch you intensifies.
Eventually he pulls your hand to your clit. "You're so sensitive. Is it always this bad?" he asks sympathetically when you jump, tickled at the feelin.
"I haven't tried in a while."
"Oh, I see." Eddie encourages you to push your fingertip into the squishy bead, drawing slow circles. "Poor baby. Just desperate to have someone take care of you." His voice is so low, so ridiculously soft, you find yourself sinking into his hold. He squeezes the crook of your elbow with one hand, the other still guiding your ministrations. You bite your lip at the sensation that's begun, the tiny spark of pleasure.
"Here, let me-" He lifts your hand away from your clit and you whine involuntarily. "Shh, sweetheart, I'm only gonna give you something to work with."
You turn your head to him and watch as his mouth opens. He sucks the very tip of your finger between his lips, the heat of his tongue a momentary flash. When he pulls it back, your finger shines with his spit.
Your eyes are half-lidded, watching through the crush of your lashes as he presses it back to your clit. "How's that? S'that better?" he asks, crooning. His tone sports an underlying mockery, a light-hearted teasing that's slowly turning intense.
It is better. It's different. Your fingertip searches for purchase against the slick skin and struggles to find it, the wetness allowing for freer, faster movement.
You push a second finger against the first.
Eddie stops helping. You pause, confused.
"No, you got it, sweetheart. You keep going," he reassures, grabbing a hold of your thigh again. He teases the dough there, never cruel but maybe close, fat moulding under his fingers as he squeezes.
Your breathing builds with pleasure. Still, it's hot enough; there's no sign of an oncoming climax, no tightening coil in your tummy. You huff with exertion and frustration. "Eddie, it's not working."
"I'm not done." He sounds almost stern. Your stomach flips. "You have to think about what you want."
"What I want?"
"What turns you on."
You think of his hands and their rings. His happy trail.
His voice. Good girl.
You slam your eyes shut.
Eddie gives you another mean squeeze. "What do you think about, when you-"
You don't let him finish. "What do you think about?" you ask, too loud.
He stills. His nose pushes into your shoulder, his hair tickling your skin as he asks, "Are you sure you wanna know?"
Your breath catches. Your fingers stutter where they work into your clit and Eddie starts you right back up again. His lips brush your shoulder.
"Yes," you say, gasping as pleasure like little shocks of heat shoot to your core.
The hand at your elbow starts to rove, tickling your arm as he strokes downwards. "You first," he murmurs, teasing your wrist. You swear you can feel his smile against your shoulder.
You breathe in through your nose. "Uh, I think of- of somebody…" You try, but you just can't say it.
Eddie's fingers push down your crease. Stop right before your entrance. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah."
"Mmm…" He circles your entrance. "Now what does a pretty girl like you think of when she's touching herself?" You don't think he wants an answer. His middle finger brushes across the slick well and pushes in. You squirm and he holds you in place.
There's something very hard digging into your spine.
"Something sweet as you… Let me guess. Boy next door comes around to mow the lawn, you invite him in for a drink, one thing comes to another-" He pushes his finger in deeper. "And he's fucking you.
"That sound about right?"
You shake your head. His own perks up where it rests on your shoulder. "No? Huh."
Your circles have grown slow and staggered, distracted by his touch as he eases his ring finger in beside his middle. "Something more romantic? Wedding night, love of your life. Guy that's gonna treat you like a diamond. Way a girl like you deserves." He pushes in, stretches them out. You moan as he curls them, as his arm works back and forth. "Gives it to you gentle." His movements slow to match.
And sure, that sounds nice. But it's not what you think about.
"No," you manage to get out through shallow breaths.
"No? You don't want it gentle?"
"Not- not all the time."
"How about right now?"
"Please."
Slowly, slowly, the shape of Eddie's hard cock against your back starts to move in time with the thrusts of his hand. He pushes in deep, fingers searching emphatically for the sweet spot, the thing that's gonna make you-
"Fuck," you whimper.
His cock jumps. You feel it.
"You keep rubbing that pretty little clit of yours, sweetheart."
You do as he asks. You're desperate enough now that you imagine you'd do most anything he says, your climax a tangible, physical possibility. Your tummy feels heavy and aching with want, worse when he probes deeply and marks your sweet spot again. His lips press to your shoulder, soft enough that you worry you're imagining it.
"You see what I'm doing here? See what fingers I'm using?" he asks. You open your eyes reluctantly. His wrist turns. You watch his fingers sink into the gummy heat of your cunt. "Tight little hole's just pulling me in, fucking clinging to me, baby, she's greedy."
You gasp, a hiccup of scandalised sound.
"Want you to try, okay? You gonna do that for me?"
"Yeah, Eddie."
"Good girl." You moan, you don't mean to, but he's fucking into your quick and your finger pushes into your clit roughly. Eddie revels in it. "You like that? You like being called a good girl? I fucking knew it."
You frown and start to turn to him. He presses his cheek to your head so you can't, stuck looking down the length of the bed at your trembling legs.
"You looked so flustered, standing all sweet and quiet by the van out front with your thighs squeezed together. You think I didn't see that shit?"
You're limp against him, thighs spread wide as you work into your clit, chasing this new feeling. You can hardly breathe, every exhale a keening moan that has you shame-faced and weepy. You roll your hips to meet his fingers, his hand slapping against your cunt with a slick slap.
"You looked so sweet. Y'always do." He turns his lips to your ear and curls into you until your squealing. "Guess looks can be deceiving."
You're so close, so close. Tendrils of heat curl heavily at your core. "Eddie, I'm- I'm-"
"You wanna cum?"
"Yes," you pant.
He pulls his fingers from your cunt and you're so confused that you stop, your climax slipping away in seconds.
"Sorry, but you have to do it yourself. This is all pointless if you can't get there on your own," he says.
Your chest heaves. "That's mean. You're mean."
"I never claimed otherwise. Here, middle and marriage, babe." He guides your hand to your entrance. You push your fingers inside, your tongue between your lips in concentration. Your fingers aren't as thick as his, they don't feel quite the same, but Eddie pushes your thumb into your clit. "Move your wrist. Feel that? Feel how soft you are? How fucking warm you are?"
You're not nearly as good as he was but every clumsy touch feels electric. You push your thumb into sweeping circles and pant your frustration aloud, feeling close to tears.
"You wanna know what I think about, when I jerk off?" he asks unexpectedly.
You nod, your head moving back into his collar. He rubs the lengths of your arms leisurely, his lazy demeanour in total juxtaposition to your desperation.
"There's this girl that comes to see me," he starts, coloured by a smug amusement. "Sweet thing, soft-spoken, always wearing these pretty clothes looking like something straight out of the movies.
"I think about a lot of things. Her thighs-" One of his hands falls to your thigh in time, massaging, "fuck, just wanna bury my face in them and never come out. Pull down those cotton shorts she's so partial to with the dainty stitching and-" He laughs and his lips part over your shoulder. His teeth scratch up, up, up. "Make her fucking cry my name. Feel those thighs tense up around me."
You're so close your entire body shudders. You slow without meaning to, holding your breath in wait for Eddie to finish his story
He gives you one final push. "Always wondered if she sounds as pretty as she looks when she cums." He kisses the small graze he'd given you mere seconds ago and everything is blue-white with heat. "Gonna clue me in, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me?"
Your eyes close hard and you breathe out, an exhale ragged and weak and mewling. You don't moan so much as sob without tears, tensing up in Eddie's arms as bliss blooms. You pull your hand from your sopping cunt and feel your walls contract around nothing as you cum.
He pulls you close, throbbing cock pressing hard into your back. "Fuck," he hisses, hands placating where they lay.
You go lax, head tipping back as you suck in air that had felt elusive moments ago.
Eddie rubs your arms without saying anything. You cover his hands and try to summon up words.
"Just as pretty as you look," he murmurs.
He's so fuckng nice. So fucking nice, and what? He thinks about you when he jacks off? Since when?
You sit up and drop your chin to your chest, panting still.
"You okay?"
After a few seconds you smile and turn to him, intent on saying, Yes, thank you, and maybe something with more gratitude, something silly, just something. But you can't speak.
His face is close.
Eddie brings a hand to the slope of your rising shoulder, follows a line to the curve of your neck. You look to his eyes and find him staring at your lips unabashedly.
He pulls you into him. You close your eyes.
Eddie Munson tastes like lots of things as he kisses you.
Cigarettes, unavoidable. Under that, sugar. Something sweet but heavy as bourbon vanilla. Your lips part and close in tandem with his, slow and hungry. Your heart races and your fingers are still wet as you twist in his arms and take his face into your hands.
You climb up onto your knees and Eddie doesn't know what to do with you.
He smiles so hard he has to pull away. Not smirking, smiling, a cheek-aching, too-happy smile that softens everything in your chest.
You rub a shaking thumb over his cheek. You don't know if it's because of the post-orgasm rush of hormones or because he just kissed you and now he's smiling like he might do it again.
He does. He kisses you and grabs your waist. His fingers mess with the hem of your shirt and he breaks the kiss short to say, "Take it off?"
You sit back on your knees, feel the mess of wet between your legs spread as you grab at the edge of your shirt and pull it up. Eddie helps though he doesn't need to, and just like that you're shirtless.
"Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening," he says, voice weak in what you suspect is one of his dramatics.
He slides his hands up your sides and stops just below your breasts. His thumbs grace the undersides and his brow puckers. "Fuck," he mouths appreciatively.
You flush head to toe. "Yours, too?" you ask gently.
Eddie reaches back to pull off his shirt. His hair's in total disarray and he runs his hands through it, biceps flexing with the movement, torso taut. The black ink of his tattoos move with him and your eyes eat up every single one.
He catches your eyes where they linger on the volley of bats. "You like that one?"
"I've always liked that one."
He grins and it's honey thick, hands at the small of your back and tugging. You spread your knees wide on impulse and find yourself flush to his chest, his arms locking you into place as he dives in for another kiss. Again you're surprised at how deeply he kisses you, how it ebbs and flows from slow to fast like he's both savouring and gorging himself on your closeness.
You've never been kissed like this. You're weightless. You feel every contiguity between you, the hot and wet of his mouth, the crook of his elbow against the nape of your neck, your nipples peaked against his chest and the length of his dick pushing up into your aching cunt.
"Fucking pretty," he says, pulling back just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth, your chin. He kisses your jaw over and over and over, lips pulling into crescents and then the same word. Pretty.
His mouth opens wide at your throat, teeth scratching lightly as it closes. He sucks your skin between his lips and rolls it, hand spreading wide and palm flat at your shoulder blade. Steadying. .
"That's cute," he says when he pulls away, lips shining.
"What?" you ask, hand drifting up. You poke at the quick-forming contusion.
He nudges it aside with his face as he moves in to further mark up your neck. "You're so fucking pretty," he says, each word separated by a nipping kiss.
His hands are everywhere.
Everything is warm and you can't breathe. You plant your hands at his shoulders and push away from him, and he stops you from falling flat on your back, levelling you with a worried glance.
"Is it too much?" he asks.
"No, I'm just hot. Really hot." You take a big breath and wipe your face with the back of both hands.
"That's true," he says, leaning back against the wall. His hands fall to your thighs. "Are you okay?"
You drop your hands abruptly and can't believe the fondness you're feeling. "You're pretty, too," you tell him. Honest if very shy; meek, entirely sincere. "I'm okay. I want…"
"You want?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I have this fantasy," you begin.
Eddie widens your legs to move from under them. It doesn't surprise you when he comes to lie on your chest, holding his weight off of you with an arm at the side of your ribs. His hair falls and hides the room from view. All you can see is his face, and it's beautiful.
"Tell me about it."
"It's- okay. It's…" You drift off as he dips down to kiss your collar, only chaste pecks but enough to distract you. "It's kind of like this."
"Yeah?" His breath warms your chest. More ditzy kisses.
"I get here and you're coming out of the shower-"
"Tasteful."
"With a towel low on your hips," you add pointedly. It's useless, his sarcasm has pinned you spot on. "And you- you touch me."
Eddie kitten licks the skin he's just nibbled and looks up. "Like this?"
"Like this."
"And after that," his hand moves between you to the zipper of his jeans, the sound of metal clicking metal ringing through the room, "what do I do?"
"You push me down into the bed, and-" You feel the fabric of his jeans rub your thighs as he pulls them down. "You…"
"What do I do, sweetheart?"
"You push my legs up and you fuck me," you confess.
He scrambles back towards his nightstand, a hand on your ankle that says, I'm not going far. "How do I fuck you? Am I rough?"
"Not at first."
There, in his hands, the red plastic of a condom wrapper, bright as a maraschino cherry. He holds it up and you nod.
"Not at first," he murmurs, ripping open the condom, hissing as he pulls it over his weeping cock. It's big – not too thick, but big, surrounded by a thatch of dark curls trimmed neat. "But eventually?"
He rolls it on tight and then there's nothing but this admission of your guiltiest fantasy. You spread your legs without thinking and he pulls you towards him, thumb collecting slick where it's pooled and pushing it up towards your entrance. What's left on his fingers he smears over the length of his shaft. You watch him rub at the head and sigh.
"Eventually," you agree.
His cock rubs up against you as he leans down and pinches your chin between his fingers, lips parted from a sharp gasp and opening further. "Can I fuck you? Is that what you want?"
You nod voraciously.
He gives you a very firm kiss at the highest point of your cheek. "In words."
"Yes, you can fuck me. That's what I want," you say without hesitation.
"You tell me if I do something you don't like," he says, lining up.
"I will," you say earnestly.
Eddie pushes your leg up towards your tummy and holds it there. "Good girl," he praises, and pushes in.
You're already worked open by his hand, your own hand and your climax, and still it's a snug fit. You cross your arm over your chest with your lips bitten hard to stop from making what you anticipate to be a very great and mortifying sound. He takes it slow, real slow, towering over you with his brows furrowed just slightly and his back arching. Every move he makes is accompanied by a careful thrust of his hips. He's rhythm in motion.
"Fuck," he mutters, more than once. He's halfway when you feel that stretch, your pulpy walls accommodating him with little complaint and a lot of pleasure.
You drop your head back against the bed sheets and hug yourself.
Eddie reaches for your hand where its cracking your breast absentmindedly and squeezes your fingers. "How's that?" he asks. "How's that feel?"
You close your eyes. "S'good, Eddie." You lay out your own roll of expletives as he pushes in ever deeper. "You're really- oh," you gasp, "really deep."
"You should see it, babe, pretty pussy gripping my every fucking inch." He leans down and his cock fills another inch of you. Your fingers ache with how hard he's squeezing them, and you look up to find his eyes on yours. "I'm gonna fill you up, okay? You gonna be a good girl for me and take it?"
You blink and your lashes feel heavy with tears. "Yeah. I can take it. I can take it."
"I know," he says, hovering over you, close enough to hug if you wanted to.
He grabs your side and his thumb pushes into the soft swell of your breast, his grip tightening as he fits those last inches of his cock inside you. You rub your cheek against his bedsheets, your head fuzzy from being so full. He takes your bared neck as an opportunity and ducks into the juncture of it and his face fits there like it was made to, his nose bobbing against the column of your throat as he starts to fuck into you. His hips roll, a mess of his sticky pubes kissing your clit.
This close you can smell him, the heavy scents of pot and smoke, the sweet nutty smell of oil clinging to his hair. Sweat, as you imagine you smell of too, and sex. The room is filled with it, the smells and the sounds of his thighs thudding into yours.
"Eddie- Eddie," you whimper, muffled by the sheets beneath you.
He pushes in deep and rubs his nose into your skin emphatically. "What's wrong, hm? What's got you all wound up?"
You wrap your arms around his back. You're not sure if you're allowed to but you're hardly thinking ahead – you can't. Every thrust, every movement he makes is at the forefront of your mind, commanding all of your attention. The tickling of his hair against the side of your face. The skipping of the chains of his necklace where it teases your neck.
"Babe?" he asks, pulling back to turn your head. He stills inside you.
You protest, loud and completely unlike yourself. "Eddie, don't stop. Please don't." Your hands push into his shoulder blades. He ruts in at your request, thumb rubbing your cheek. "Feels so good," you say. You trip over your praise, voice breaking.
He starts up again, whispering, "Do you want me to hold your leg up, pretty girl?" and, "Taking me so well- taking it so fucking well," and, worse, "Fuck, sweetheart, just like that," when you tigthen around him.
You weave your fingers into the messy crush of black curls surrounding his face, careful not to tug as you covet the back of his head and nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly with one hand as the other strokes his side.
Your moans become a half-sobbing sort of mess, quiet and desperate, drawn out of you with every tap of his cock into your soft spot. When he finds it he can't not search for it, rutting into it over and over until you can't produce anything but an unintelligible stream of babble and happy sighs.
He laps lazily at your neck, the stretch of skin dampened and stinging from love bites. He thrusts in hard and hits something sweet that has you clinging to him.
"You smell good," he says into your skin.
Your hips ache with pleasure. "I must taste pretty good," you say. What, with how he's willing to nibble on you like this.
He squeezes your neck and narrows his eyes at you playfully. "I intend to find out." He moves down until your lips are a hair's width from touching. "Bet you taste as sweet as everything else."
You lift your chin and kiss him, dedicating your affections to his top lip. He groans into your mouth, hips moving slow and thrusts shallow when suddenly they're not. His cock drags out slowly and slams in deep, his pelvis hitting into yours.
You keen into the kiss, gentle and at odds with his fucking. His fingers find your ear and his thumb follows down the shell until he's pinching your earlobe, a split-second touch that melts you into putty. He pulls away from the kiss and inhales loudly, his fingers under your ear and pushing your face to the side so that he can wade in from a new angle.
You curl your fingers around his wrist and let yourself be kissed and fucked and touched. Anything he wants to do, he can do.
Eddie breaks the kiss.
"What did I taste like?" you ask breathlessly.
He traces an invisible teardrop down your cheek with the back of his pinky finger. "Oh, sweetheart," he says quietly, lowering his lips to the shell of your ear. "That's not where I meant."
Another hard thrust. You gasp at the dull aching spreading through your tummy and Eddie softens slightly, not so deep but just as fast, faster, his cheek to your cheek as he works you open. His rugged panting in your ear is everything you need. You force your hand between your body and Eddie's and search for the wet mess of your clit, chasing quick circles into the swollen bump.
Eddie realises what's happening and his fucking turns desperate. "You gonna cum again? Shit- keep touching, I'll get you there, fucking promise you." He's hardly pulling out an inch before he's rutting back in, kicking up the speed until all you can feel is pleasure again.
Eddie slows down as you cum, moaning as you tighten around him. He pushes away from you to kneel between your legs again, eyes locking onto your cunt obstinately, his panting loud as he drags his cock in and out.
"Insane," he mumbles, hands coasting down your legs until he's grasping the fat of your thighs and pulling you back onto his cock. "You're insane."
As if proving it, his hands rove the hills and troughs of your torso, your skin clammy underhand, his hips moving mindlessly. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand and blink back into focus.
"Are you close?" you ask him, whispering.
You're lucky he can hear you with the music he's playing and the sounds of your slick hole being stretched. Eddie tucks a lock of sweat-dark hair behind his ear and his eyes pause in their reverential searching to meet yours.
He peels your hand off of your mouth and holds it.
"Fucking teetering, babe. Been close ever since I felt you wrapped around my fingers." He pulls your hand and you take it as a cue to try and sit up. Eddie helps you into his lap, your thighs straddling his thighs, slipping down his length until you're stuffed to bursting.
You hide your face in his shoulder and he rubs your back. "You're okay," he says sympathetically, "I got you. You just sit pretty, there's a good girl."
You wrap your arms around his neck and try your best to bounce on his cock as he thrust up into you, a steady pace that turns sloppy. You rake your hands through his curls and kiss at the curve of his neck down to the slope of his shoulder, dizzied and cock-drunk, totally fucked out. You hum into your kisses with every prodding of his mushroom tip against your deepest spot, rambling nonsense at him in a way you hope is making a difference.
"Fucking me so good," you mumble, equal parts tearful and euphoric, lips wet and spreading a shine like frost in the sun over his lean shoulder. "So good, Eddie. Thought about this too much."
"Yeah?" he asks, sounding like a different person. Voice rough as hewn stone and hands bruising where they grip you, his heavy sack slapping into you with every sluggish rock of his hips. "Good as you pictured? M'I fucking you like you wanted?"
"Better," you say sincerely.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he says, and he's close, you know he is.
You roll your pelvis in circles and try your hardest, aflame as you plead, "Cum for me, please? Please, Eddie, wanna feel it."
Despite your shy intonation Eddie goes rigid. He fucks in with one final thrust that sends shocks deep to your core and spreading out, cutting your happy little gasp short as he pulls your head tight to his neck. His hips twitch underneath you and he's making sounds that are going to haunt you, whiney, begging moans over your head.
Eddie's tight hold on you slowly loosens. You're breathing fast, finally out of motion. Your thighs burn where they're spread over his lap and you squirm unintentionally.
He pulls your neck back from his shoulder and looks over your face, concern lining the soft set of his eyes. He cups your cheek in question.
"I'm okay," you say softly. "I'm more than okay. That was amazing."
"It was amazing," he agrees, caught off guard.
"Yeah."
You shift backwards and the two of you wince at the sensitivity. You ease your legs open and Eddie pulls out, pumping the sticky shaft once. His eyes flutter closed.
You move off of his lap and turn to the side so you can stretch out your aching legs. Eddie follows suit, collapsing off of his knees and onto his back, the pillow behind him keeping him propped up.
You watch him ease the condom off of his cock curiously, White cum has smeared and drips down the length of him, his pubes tangled by a mixture of your slick and his.
He spots you watching and smiles. "What, sweetness? What are you thinking about?"
"I made you cum."
His eyebrows jump but quickly smooth. "I think I went blind, for a second."
You giggle at his hyperbole and he pulls you down against his chest, your side pressing into his navel. Your cheek to the space shy of his heart.
His hand comes to rest on your forehead.
"Do you really think about me?" you ask, knowing the answer.
"Every night."
You close your eyes and hide your smile in his skin. He chuckles and wraps you up in one arm, his hand a firm pressure as he massage the dipped plane of your back.
Nestling your cheek into his chest, you say, "I think about it, too. All the time."
"Uh-huh. Maybe we can make some more of those racy thoughts a reality. What was that one about me coming out of the shower?"
You like this casual conversation and decide to try and make him laugh, stretching your words out low. "Well, you're coming out of the shower, and your towel slips open-" There, his bumping laughter at your over the top salaciousness.
"That's awful. Most cliche, overdone, cheap porno concept ever," he chastens.
"I never said I was creative."
"What happens after that?"
"The towel gets swept away by a sudden gust of wind, so I have to cover you. With my body."
He bursts. There's no other word to describe it, his back arches with the force of his laughter and he holds his fist to his mouth, shaking and giggling like an idiot.
"Where's the wind coming from?" he questions incredulously.
"I don't know! The window?"
"Oh my god," he says. He hooks his hand under your arm and pulls you up his chest, dotting a fond kiss to your forehead as you near. "And after that?"
"Well, I told you that part."
"Right, we hook up, but after that."
You clench your fists, insecure. "After?"
He brings the hand that isn't loving the length of your back to your face, stroking the skin under your chin with the backs of his index and middle finger, the flat of his fingernails sliding gently in a soothing back and forth.
"I guess it's kind of like this," you answer eventually.
"Does fantasy Eddie get another kiss, too? Or does he- do they stop, afterwards?"
"It's a fantasy. The kisses never stop," you tell him. Adrenaline must linger in your veins; you can barely speak.
His expression becomes impassive, and a lull in the conversation blossoms. He searches your face for something and you don't know what, but he must find it, because he dips down and kisses you chaste on the lips.
Your hands are back to tentative as they explore his neck. Your fingertips grace the curves of his throat and then sink behind, into the dampened mess of his hair.
He stays chaste, dainty kisses, pulling back to dot them against your lips over and over.
"Eddie," you say softly, "what are you doing?"
"It feels like kissing," he says, tone a mirror of your own.
You huff a laugh against his lips and kiss back.
Later, after more kisses than you could ever count and an hour dozing on his chest whilst his hand rubbed circles into your tired back, you get dressed into your clothes that he likes so much and slip your goodie bag into the belly of your strappy purse.
"Don't go over the top with it, alright?" he says, watching the green bud dissappear.
Jeans back in place and still bare-chested, Eddie sits on the end of his bed and scratches the back of his neck. You give him a grateful smile. "No, I won't. I actually think I might sleep really well tonight without it."
He smirks. "I bet you will."
Eddie walks with you to the front porch. You'd linger if you didn't have to go, and you're pretty sure he'd let you. There's a fraction of awkward silence.
"See you later," you say, walking sideways down one step, another.
Eddie catches your hand. It takes you a second to realise what he's done: forced your crumpled thirty dollars back into your hand. Your heart misses a beat and you feel your stomach plumet – you hadn't fucked him for the free pot.
"Eddie-"
"My girl can't pay for her own supply. That's not happening."
You take one step up. "Your girl?"
He has the good graces to look nervous. "If you wanna be."
You don't know how to answer. He looks pretty like this in the last dregs of sunshine, big brown eyes waiting patiently for you to say something, hand clutching his elbow. It doesn't feel entirely real.
You step on tip toes and work your hands behind his neck to kiss his cheek before rubbing your forehead against his chin. "I'll come by tomorrow?" you ask hopefully. He relaxes under your weight.
"Any time you want. I'll take you some place nice, if you're up for it."
You set back on your heels and pull away. "You don't need to go all fancy on me, Munson." You're happy to get stoned and eat burgers on the couch.
He looks you up and down, eyes catching on the flanks of your thighs before he takes in your face. His smile is almost dorky when he says, "No I- I think I do. I'll see you tomorrow, pretty girl."
You nod with an aching smile and are a little ways away when he smugly calls, "Sleep well!"
After the lesson he just gave you, you're sure you will.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
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More Posts from Soft-vainilla and Others
❦ HOW MANY KIDS DOES HE WANT
cw: none, this is fluff
i add to this intermittently :)
♡ a million. he wants a whole army of little ones running around. he has an endless list of names picked out and he just can’t help but feel like the most pure way to express his love for you is to create a little life and raise a wonderful person with you.
— HAWKS, gojo, yuji, kuroo, bokuto, ATSUMU, julius, yami, rengoku, akaza
♡ one or two. loves the idea of raising a child or two with you. he wants to watch and nurture a life, he wants to be the best father he can. he wants to support his child and find out what kind of person they’ll be with you right by his side. doesn’t even care if they’re biological.
— fatgum, megumi, KITA, daichi, akashi, kuroko, nozel, fuegoleon
♡ doesn’t matter to him. it’s entirely up to you, it’s not like he would grow them in his body anyway. he has unconditional love for you, and if you chose to bring a child into your lives he will love them as well. will love you with a child, will love you without.
— aizawa, nanami, sakusa, iwaizumi, kageyama, kagami, murasakibara, william, kakashi, giyuu
♡ get those things away from him. will hiss at them. doesn’t have a way with kids, it’s not a good idea. if you really DO want a child, he will give you one. but he will never, EVER, admit that he loves the little bastard. you think you see him cuddling them in the middle of the night? nope, get your eyes checked.
— SHIGARAKI, dabi, sukuna, tsukishima, aomine, midorima, sanemi, obanai
✧—place an order—✧
Heeey sweetie ! I hope you’re well !! I always look forward to your posts and check your page daily for updates ! Your writing is incredible and always leaves me with butterflies in my stomach !! I wanted to leave a request if that’s okay ! I was thinking about mob Bucky with grumpy-sunshine trope !? Bucky being the grumpiest little shit ! He’s arrogant and stares too much . But then he meets this ray of sunshine and she’s the only one to get him soft ! She’s the only one that can coax a smile out of him ! Gives her the gentlest touches and sweetest kisses ! He’s proud to have her next to him and loves how much smaller she looks compared to his massive size . Even tho he’s dominant in bed , he’s still careful and considerate with her ! Fluffy fluff with a big intimidating man
YESS Omg i love this so much its adorable. (18+, cause there’s fluffy fluff but also smutty smut)
Disclaimer: I love fics where Bucky loves his much smaller reader compared to his larger size but I do my best to not describe the readers size too much because I want anyone to be able to imagine themselves in my fics. When I write, Bucky is obsessed over how he can just easily scoop you up into his arms and toss you over his shoulder effortlessly.
First time meeting you I just imagine you both meet in the most wholesome way as well. He's truly the grumpiest shit anyone's ever met. Arrogant and cocky but he’s earned his reputation so no one dares question it. That being said, he has some principals, one of them being that family always comes first. He takes that very seriously. That's why he's out and about, looking for a present for Sam’s daughter’s birthday, hand picked himself (and by present, we’re talking presents plural, he already bought her a custom gold engraved locket and an Hermes baby blanket, no godchild of his would get any less).
Still, he wanted to give her more, wandering into a little book shop at the corner of the street that appeared to be empty. His men stood outside the door while he scanned the shelfs, huffing in frustration because there were so many choices and it would have been easier to just buy the all the books. He picked up a book and set it down, the store probably wouldn’t cost too much-
"Can I help you?"
A sweet voice called him from behind and Bucky was ready to give the person hell, he hated sales people. Most people. Honestly all people. Except Steve. He'd maybe pee on Sam if he was on fire but that was as far as his love for him went. (its all a front, he loves Sam).
He turned around, about to tell whoever it was, to fuck off, blinking instead when he came face to face with you. You smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, setting down the pile of books you had in your arms to look at the shelf he was browsing.
“What age group are you looking for?”
Bucky hardly registered your words, staring at what looked like the human form of a cute little garden fairy straight out of a fairytale. You were in a blush pink sundress, covered in tiny flowers, standing on your tippy toes trying to reach the books higher on the shelf. Garden fairy, what the fuck was wrong with him, he shook his head trying to regain his train of thought.
“Uh- a baby?” Bucky didn’t know what to do with himself, most people took his staring as a sign to go away but you seemed unbothered.
"Oh! Come with me, there’s a great section at the back, I’ll show you!” You happily led the 6′4 mob boss to the kids corner at the back of the store, colorful drawings, plush rugs and little bean bags covered the area.
“Any of these would be great for a little one” You pointed to the shelves that were low to the ground, pulling out a few and handing them to him “let me know if you see anything you like” with that, you went back to putting books away. You returned a few minutes later, biting back a smile, looking at the tall man covered head to toe in dark ink, diligently reading through one of the books you handed to him.
"You look so cute" You giggled, looking at Bucky sitting on one of the tiny chairs, his long legs sprawled out in front of him.
"Cute?" Bucky had never been more insulted in his life, of all things to describe him, how dare you tell him he looked cute.
“Of course” You grinned as you walked over and sat down beside him. The gentle sweet scent of your perfume evaded his senses, his heart jumped when he felt your warm hand brush against his. Bucky didn’t know why his heart was racing, he didn’t like it. His brows furrowed, trying to stop the blush that spread across his face when he saw your smile.
“Do you like that one?” Bucky nodded, looking at the cover of the book; two bears sitting together looking at the moon. “I love you to the moon and back, its such a sweet book, I would have picked this one too”
Bucky nodded again, not trusting himself to speak around you. You took the book to the front to check him out. After he paid, you placed a little brown bear that matched the ones on the book cover in the bag as well. Bucky cocked his head confusedly, reaching for his wallet again.
“How much?”
“Just take it as part of the gift” You smiled, tying a ribbon around the handles of the bag. “I’m sure they’ll love it. Have a good day!” You gave him a little wave as he walked out, turning back to your books, while Bucky felt his insides melt.
The pretty girl at the book store thinks I’m cute.
Bucky slid into his SUV, the corner of his lips twitching, his cheeks dusted pink. You thought he was cute. Cute. He continued to bite his bottom lip, fighting with his face muscles to keep from smiling, failing miserably instead.
“Is he having a stroke”
Sam whispered, staring at Bucky through the rearview mirror while he sat at the front with Steve. Bucky’s face continued to twitch, trying to keep his classic scowl on his lips.
“I think he’s smiling” snorted, cocking an eyebrow watching Bucky carefully inspect the little brown bear you put in the bag.
“He knows how to smile?”
“You good punk?” Steve called out, smirking when Bucky stuffed the bear back in the bag, pretending he wasn’t giving it heart eyes while thinking about you. “You looked real cozy talking to the girl at that the bookstore”
“Shut up” He ignored his two friends snickering, throwing them a growl before thinking about you again.
She thinks I’m cute.
After that meeting, imagine Bucky finds himself going back for more and more books; he doesn’t even have time to read but he can’t help it. Every time he steps into your bookstore, its like sliding into a comfy blanket. He’s addicted to your sweet smile; your always there with a new book for him to read. He can’t help but smile every time he sees you flit around the shelves, he felt like he was living in his own fairytale.
The first kiss
Bucky watched you huff in frustration, trying to put a book back on the shelf but it was too high for you to reach.
“Um-could-would you please help me put this back?” You asked shyly, while Bucky smiled, nodding and coming up behind you, his hand gently holding your waist, placing the book on top with ease. His tall form towered over you, his chest brushing against your as you turned and looked up at him.
“Th-thank you” you whispered, your eyes flicking from his blue eyes to his pink lips. His lips were curved in a soft smile that gave you butterflies; it wasn’t often that you saw him smile but it seemed he did it whenever he was close to you.
“You look handsome when you smile” You squeaked, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as the words slipped through. Bucky bit his lip, while you looked away embarrassed you had said that out loud. “Sorry I didn’t mean-”
You gasped, feeling him pull you closer, his hand gently tilting your chin up to look at him. His head dipped down slightly and you felt your body moving on its own, standing on your tippy toes to be closer to him.
“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his nose nudging against yours. You nod, letting out a shuddered breath as his hand cupped your cheek, pressing his lips sweetly to yours. You hesitantly moved your arms to wrap around his shoulders, melting into his touch.
You didn’t know how much time had passed, staying tucked in his arms, having waited ages for him to finally make a move. When he finally has to leave, he comes running back in mere seconds later.
“Did you forget something?”
Bucky nodded, his hands wrapping around you waist, pulling you close to him again, his lips kissing you softly as ever.
“I wanted another kiss”
That kiss turned into lots of kisses. Lingering hugs. When he finally brings you to his home, he keeps you his little secret for a while so he can enjoy your company. You bring out a softness in him he didn’t know was possible; soft fluffy dates with him cooking for you, or going on evening strolls. You’re his everything, he loves seeing his little garden fairy comfy in his home. You made everything warmer; the soft scent of candles always traveled down the halls; sweet baked goodies were always ready in the kitchen. Sam and Steve were definitely not complaining, pretending they didn’t notice Bucky’s classic grumpy face now also came with a cute little blush on his cheeks.
The first time they meet you
Imagine Bucky’s team finally find the mole they’d been hunting for months. They’re all riled up, throwing him into the van, threatening him within an inch of his life. They know Bucky likes to take care of business himself but it doesn’t stop them from warning him about the pure wrath he’s going to face.
“You’re fucked”
“You thought we were bad? You’re gonna wish your mom swallowed you”
They drag him up the steps, bursting into his office, expecting Bucky to be waiting there with his knife twirling between his fingers.
Instead...
Bucky’s men all stared at each other before looking at the sweet thing that was sitting in their bosses lap, feeding him pastries. Bucky grinned like a love struck puppy, cradling you to his chest while he sat on his office chair, moaning at the sweet caramel melting on his tongue. The last thing they expected to see was a delicate thing like you cuddled up with who they thought was a blood thirsty gang leader.
Sam snorted, shaking his head, watching Bucky ignore the rest of them, his eyes still trained on you, peppering kisses onto your cheek.
“Motherfucker, are you eating butter tarts right now?”
“They taste good” Bucky shrugged, giving you one final sweet kiss to your lips before looking up at his team.
“Why don’t you wait for me in my room, I’ll be there soon” Bucky pressed a soft kiss onto your temple, helping you off his lap. You smiled, brushing some of his hair back, kissing his forehead.
“Come soon bubba” Your bare feet padded through his office, giving the towering men a quick wave as you passed them “Hi Sam, Hi Steve!”
Sam blinked, before grinning and giving you a friendly wave back.
“She is adorable, fucks she doing with you”
“Shut the fuck up bird brain” Bucky panned, a growl emitting from his chest, as he rounded the table, his previous soft demeanor dropping as soon as his eyes landed on the mole. “Have Steve keep him quiet, my angel doesn’t have to hear this shit”
After Bucky’s men saw how soft he was for you, you become their secret weapon. You’re always there to soften the blow they’d face, making him smile even when delivering the worst news.
“Boss, the deliveries were seized” Peter trembles at the door, while Bucky’s nostrils flare, he’s about to tell everyone off, but his anger dissipates as soon as your head pops into the room.
“Bucky, come cuddle?” You push past the men, your hands draping around his shoulders.
“They put you up to this, didn’t they?” Bucky snorted, rubbing his temples, melting as soon as you crawled into his lap. You giggled innocently, kissing his scruffy cheek while he lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to his room.
“Hmm, they’re lucky you’re so sweet babygirl”
The first time
For months, Bucky didn’t do anything more than give you soft kisses, hugs and cuddles. He wanted you, he needed you in a way he never thought was possible, but he didn’t want to rush anything. You were special and if he was going to be intimate with you, it’d be whenever you were ready.
He never wanted to pressure you into anything, but you reassured him you wanted this. Bucky swallowed thickly, looking at your smaller form curled up against his bed waiting for him. You looked so sweet and delicate, wearing just one of his shirts, nervously fidgeting with your hands while he crawled up the bed to you.
“Are you sure about this prinţesă?” He kissed your knee, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb; you felt your face heat up and the name he had for you, nodding without meeting his eyes. “Look at me baby” He tilted your chin to meet his gaze, “I won’t be upset if you want to wait”
You knew he meant it. Not once had he ever made you feel like doing something you didn’t want. His sweetness only made you want him more.
“I want this, I-I want you” you whispered, moaning softly when his lips pressed against yours. He kissed you softly, his hand moving to your waist to lay you down against the pillows. He was on top of you, nipping your jaw, peppering kisses down your neck, his hand caressing the side of your thigh.
Being with you was different.
He natural instinct had always been rough and fast; clothes torn, no build up.
He didn’t want that with his pretty doll. Yet.
He slowly undressed you, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you bare underneath him. He continued to kiss you while still being fully dressed, chuckling when he felt you squirm under him.
“What is it baby?” He cocked his head, picking up on what you wanted when you fiddled with the buttons on his shirt but he didn’t want to give in, enjoying your flustered state.
“I-um” You fisted his shirt, burning under his gaze, “Take it off”
“Take what off?” He cocked his eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his pretty lips.
“Ugh, I want to see you naked Bucky” You pouted, burying your face into his neck while he grinned, bringing your hands to unbutton his shirt.
“Whatever my babydoll wants, go ahead prinţesă, m’all yours” You squeaked when he pulled you and rolled over so you were straddled on top of him, his hands stroking your bare waist and thighs.
“Want you to take it off babygirl” He couldn't take his eyes off you as you shakily undid his tie, moving to his buttons next. As soon as his shirt was off, you managed to unbuckle his belt and tug off his pants. You blinked at his thick cock straining against his briefs.
Bucky brought his fingers to rub though your soaked folds, groaning at the slick that easily coated his fingers.
“Will you let me taste you?”
“I-no one’s ever-
“I’ll be gentle baby, promise it’ll feel good” Bucky laid you on your back as he worshipped your body, trailing kisses down your skin, while you hesitantly parted your legs, his thick, wide shoulders forcing them apart further.
“So pretty baby” Bucky groaned, kissing your clit, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking softly, careful not to apply too much pressure. “You have the sweetest clit doll”
He could feel his cock throb against the mattress at the way your face contorted, soft whine slipping past your lips as you tried to keep your moans down. He pushed a finger in, gently stretching you out, while you started to grow needy, your hips shifting under him. He pulled away, his beard glistening with your arousal, eyes heavy with lust.
“Want to be inside you prinţesă”
You nodded, while he threw his briefs off, his cock standing tall and proud as he hovered above you.
“Bucky, it-it won’t fit” You whispered, watching his thick cock bob between his legs, grazing on your clit.
“We’ll make it fit baby” His hand gently cupped your face, while your legs moved up to hug his waist. “Tell me if its too much and I’ll stop” He moved his cock through your folds, groaning at how you felt on the tip of his cock.
“Ready?” You nodded, gasping feeling his thick blunt tip prod against your soaked entrance.
“Jaames...” You whimpered feeling him stretch you while he kissed your forehead, stopping his movements with just the tip inside you.
“Shhh angel, it’s just me sweet girl” Your body trembled under his, biting down onto his shoulder as he pushed himself further while holding your body close to his. You were still getting used to the burn and stretch of him as he buried himself to the hilt, clinging onto him while he stayed still.
“I know baby” Bucky stroked your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face, kissing your cheeks. He felt a new type of feral, his sweet girl under him, whining and whimpering over his cock, your pussy dripping around him.
“S’too big Bucky” You bit your lip, your pretty doe eyes locked with his.
“My cocks too big for you baby?” Bucky cooed, while you nodded, throbbing at your nails digging into his skin “Your pussy’s too tight, huh angel, you need me to go slow?”
There was something addicting over how hard Bucky was trying to hold back, his brows furrowed, cock already leaking into you. He started off slow, gentle thrusts, letting you adjust, telling you how perfect you were, his hands laced with yours, pinned against the bed.
“Taking my cock like such a good girl baby”
“You know how pretty you look right now doll?”
You felt the burn start to melt, your moans growing louder while he pushed his entire length in and out of you, his bally smacking against your ass.
“M-more Bucky, please?”
Bucky’s breaths grew heavy, feeling his spine tingle already, you had a different affect on him, his cock already throbbing.
“You’re beautiful prinţesă”
“Could make love to you like this for hours my baby”
“Taking me so well babydoll, making my cock throb, you’re so tight”
He craved so much more of your warmth, his pace speeding up, moaning and grunting each time you cried out. He gripped onto the head board as he started to pound you, the sounds of skin slapping carrying through the room.
“F-uck baby, you feel so good” He moaned into your neck, the muscles on his back tensed as he fucked you harder. “Am-am I too rough sweet girl”
“F-feels g-good James” You cried out from under him, your walls starting to flutter as he hit your g-spot. Bucky moaned, his forehead coming down to rest on yours, lips parted and brushing against each other. “Bucky, harder, please”
The sound your moaning his name made him almost cum on the spot.
“Oh fuck don’t stop, tell me it feels good baby, tell me how bad you want it, keep saying my name”
“JAMESS” The headboard practically slammed against the wall as he abandoned all softness, the both of you feral over each other, chasing your highs.
“Tell me how good my cock makes you feel baby” His hand snaked between your bodies, rubbing and teasing your clit, making you nearly sob.
“S’good Bucky, stretching me, I- fuck m’gonna cum!”
“Cum my gorgeous girl, CUM” “JAMES-I-F-FUCK” You clenched around his cock, cumming and squirting around him while he roared, his pace stuttering as he spilled ropes of cum into you. You both held onto each other, moaning and panting as you came down from your orgasm, your body still convulsing feeling his cum drip out of you.
“Fuck I love you” He panted against your skin, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face. He had a goofy grin, sweeping you into his arms to run you a hot bath.
(Which was a waste of time, considering he spent the rest of the night with you, making an utter sticky mess in his bed)
Bonus: The first tattoo (dedicated to you)
Most of Bucky’s body is covered in dark ink, but none of his pieces were done impulsively. Each piece had a meaning behind it, and his latest one was his favorite.
“Close your eyes baby” He picked you up and placed you on his desk, unbuttoning his shirt while you impatiently waited for him to tell you, you could look. “Alright, open”
“A fairy?” You gasped, looking at his newest piece, your fingers gently tracing over his chest. Above his heart, was his latest piece, a little fairy reading a book while sitting on the moon.
“From when I first met you. I thought you were like a little garden fairy” Bucky blushed, kissing your nose. “Could never get enough of you, the only little fairy to think I’m cute”
Tears stung your eyes, sniffling while he wrapped his arms around you. You smiled against his skin, kissing his chest.
“You like it baby?” His thumbs swiped across your cheeks, stroking your hair while you nodded, struggling to formulate words.
“I-I love y-ou” You choked out, hugging him tighter
“I adore you sweet girl, love you to the moon and back”
Tags:
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𝐵𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝐵𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 🖤 ᴅᴀʀᴋ 🤍 ꜱᴏꜰᴛ!ᴅᴀʀᴋ ❤️ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 💖 ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ❤️🩹 ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ 😂 ᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅʏ (ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ɪ ꜱᴀʏ, ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ) 👻 ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ
☼ 🖤❤️ ᴛɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇꜱ (ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼ 🖤❤️ ꜱᴏɴɢʙɪʀᴅ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 // ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 (ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼ ❤️😂💖❤️🩹 ʜᴇʀᴇ’ꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴋɪᴅ (ᴄʜᴇꜰ!ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ x ᴀꜱᴘɪʀɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴇꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ—ᴏɴɢᴏɪɴɢ) ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1// ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2// ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3
☼ ❤️💖😂 ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ (ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇʀ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ᴘʟᴜꜱ ꜱɪᴢᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)
☼ 🖤❤️ 👻 ᴀʟʟ ᴅᴀʀᴋ, ɴᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ (ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x “ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ”!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼ 💖❤️ ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼ ❤️💖 ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ)
☼ ❤️ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ (ᴅᴏᴍ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʙʀᴀᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼ 🤍❤️ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴀʜᴏʟɪᴄ (ᴅᴀʀᴋ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼ ❤️😂 ᴅᴀʏʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀᴏʙʙᴇʀʏ 1 2 (ᴛʜɪᴇꜰ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼❤️💖 ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪɴ ꜰʟᴇꜱʜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ (ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ! ɢᴀʀɢᴏʏʟᴇ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ᴀᴄᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴏɴɢᴏɪɴɢ
☼ 🤍❤️💖 ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ (ᴛʜᴏʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
☼ ❤️🩹 ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ (ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀʀ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴏɴɢᴏɪɴɢ
☼ 🖤🤍❤️ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ, ᴛᴏᴏ (ᴅᴀʀᴋ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴏɴɢᴏɪɴɢ
✨𝒮𝓉𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇✨
☼ ❤️🖤❤️🩹ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ʙɪʀᴅ (ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ!ᴀᴜ ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ) ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
🎀 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 🎀
⭐️❤️💖❤️🩹 ꜰɪʀᴇꜰɪɢʜᴛᴇʀ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ) ᴏɴɢᴏɪɴɢ
⭐️❤️💖😂 ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇʀ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ᴘʟᴜꜱ ꜱɪᴢᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ 1 || 2 ||
⭐️❤️😂 ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ/ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ: ᴀʟᴘʜᴀ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ᴏᴍᴇɢᴀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
⭐️🖤🤍❤️ ʟᴀʙᴇʟᴇᴅ (ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴀʀᴋ! ᴍᴏʙ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)
⭐️🤍❤️ ᴛʜɪɢʜ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴏʙ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ (ᴍᴏʙ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)
⭐️❤️💖 ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜʀᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇ (ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)
⭐️🖤🤍❤️ ʜᴏᴡʟ (ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)
The Compromise. I
PAIRING.
Dark!CEO!Steve Rogers x Reader.
SUMMARY.
Wealthy CEO, Steve Rogers is a businessman before everything. All he ever wanted is to be the best, richest and smartest, owning all the finest companies. His priority: be better in affairs than his father.
But when a huge opportunity is offered to him, Steve would do anything in his power to seize it. And he’s ready to make a sweet and dangerous deal with you. Even though you are not willing to make a compromise with him.
A/N.
Political Relationship/Marriage? AU. Dark AU.
This is DARK. ANGST (i’m sorry) & SMUT (explicit sexual content) +18. Breeding Kink - sort of… Non-Con & Dub-Con. Mentions of Political Marriage. Mentions of Relationship/Marriage of Convenience. Swearing.
Here it is. One of my favorite story. Hopefully you will enjoyed it too. As always, thank you very much for reading! Don’t hesitate to leave your thoughts, comments, and feedback. (sorry for the layout at then, bugs from Tumblr)
A lots of Love! Lex!xxx
P.S: Gif is not mine, credits to the owner and maker.
WORDS.2942ish.
Seguir leyendo
Yes or No? | PAC
pile one pile two pile three
pile four pile five pile six
pile seven pile eight pile nine
how to choose a pile . . . choose whichever you feel drawn to or ask your guides to guide your eyes to the one that is meant for you! ᡣ𐭩
— ⭑.ᐟ please keep in mind that this is a short pick a card, and that’s exactly why there is so much options! 🫶🏻 not proof read.
pile one : - blue ‘n beige
𐙚 : nine of swords, page of wands reversed, the chariot reversed
bottom of deck: wheel of fortune.
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
No, and I can see this hurting for most people reading this pile. Some more than others.
♡ ⢷Why?
Simply just not meant for you, it’s not something that is supposed to be in your life. Some of you are asking about a person or career opportunity, and even in that case the answer is still no. There are better things awaiting you, don’t give yourself up to things that serve you no right.
— ✮⋆˙ pink glittery eyeshadow , 2020 trends , night time , heart break , someone here is in love with a taurus man/masc woman , DD , 555 , j-hiphop , space buns , experimental hairstyles
I know hearing no can hurt sometimes and some of you might even wanna hate on me for it but I’d rather keep it real with you than to lie right into your face. I truly hope that regardless of the outcome, you will be happy. thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
pile two : - japanese umbrellas !
𐙚 : ten of wands, ten of swords reversed, knight of wands bottom of the deck: two of cups reversed
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
This is entirely up to you. It can be a yes, and a no. It’s in your control.
♡ ⢷Why?
This isn’t something grand that you can’t pull yourself out of without the help of other people. You can, and you will. You just need to be persistent with it. No one controls your life but you, even if you might view it otherwise at times.
— ✮⋆˙ heart shaped keys, 10 of hearts / wands (?) , the nightmare before Christmas , ‘one, two, three, four, five.. I once ate a b!tch alive ‘ (????) , someone here is into horror genre (specifically mangas) , small business , gg stan , gee - girls’ generation , pink bows & laces
anxiety sucks, but so is wondering ‘what if I have done that?’, personally, that’s my advice for you. thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
pile three : - rose-heart matcha !
𐙚 : five of wands, page of cups
bottom of the deck: eight of swords
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
A very strong no.
♡ ⢷Why?
You know this would create fights as well. I know it, and you do too. It’s not something that is meant for you. It sounds good now, but it would change your life and you would regret.
— ✮⋆˙ alt style , léon: the professional , france , age gaps , mental health issues - yes, yours - , tenten , owls , howl’s moving castle , teddy bears , a golden ring with a red gem ,(fake/self made/professional ect) tattoos , mascara running down your cheeks while crying , crying bathroom selfies , short blue hair
I know life is hard and it sucks sometimes but I believe in you even at times you do not. You can make better choices than this, and I believe that you will do so too. thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
pile four : - flowers !
𐙚 : ten of pentacles, the lovers
bottom of the deck: knight of pentacles
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
Heck yeah! Yes. Strong yes. If this is an opportunity, go for it. If it’s a ‘what if’ question this is such a huge yes for you bby.
♡ ⢷Why?
Most of you asking this will ask about love.. the person is just head over heels for you!!! If this is a job opportunity please know that you have such a phenomenal and extraordinary talent, it’s so cool.
— ✮⋆˙ blond(e) , dyed hair , pink hello kitty nails - with charms for some of you - , cutesy style , shorter side height wise , crushes , led lights , subway - the sandwhich chain - , neck massages / rubs , jelly balls - food.. - , modern family , violin , glasses , tom boy
your energy is soo cute and excited!! thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
pile five : - glasses !
𐙚 : king of swords, king of cups, ace of pentacles
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
Yes!! A strong yes.
♡ ⢷Why?
You have got all the strength that takes to do this.
— ✮⋆˙ melancholic vibes , (dark) blue walls , glittery things , crying statues , images mother mary , hatsune miku , pretty wigs (smooth/silky ones.. like the pretty ones from china) , devil , white eyes , work opportunities , changes , accepting new challenges , feeling of anxiety , cowboy hats
I know you are anxious, and that’s valid. Everybody feels fear, but you got this. thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
pile six : - birds
𐙚 : death , nine of cups reversed , the hierophant , ace of cups
bottom of the deck: four of wands
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
Yes. A sad yes.
♡ ⢷Why?
It’s for the better, you are worth more than this. This is the only thing your guides are saying.
— ✮⋆˙ dreaming of living near the sea in Italy , luca - the disney movie , the lion king - fondness for nuka specifically , pale skin & brown hair & greenish blue eyes , nightmares of monsters / the devil , the villian guy from princess & the frog , uncanny valley , dabi from mha , fondness for the unaccepted ones
please remember that being disappointed is better than being heartbroken. thank you for reading.
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pile seven : - lunch !
𐙚 : two of swords reversed, the hermit reversed
bottom of the deck: six of swords
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
No, but you can definitely change this. Just don’t let opportunities slip out from under your hand.
♡ ⢷Why?
Put yourself out there more. You are introverted to the point it’s harming your health, both mentally and otherwise.
— ✮⋆˙ ‘hello sweetie with the long face’ , fanfics , boredom , white nails - frenchies most likely - , if you seek amy - britney spears , kali uchis , sasuke uchiha (king) , strawberries & pies , jungwon biased 🫵🏻 , ‘standing on business’ , 3D - JK
I would bet good stickers on the fact that most of y’all asked about your future spouse. thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
pile eight : - window !!
𐙚 : five of wands, temperance reversed, the lovers
bottom of the deck: the chariot reversed
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
Sorry but no.
♡ ⢷Why?
You genuinely need to love yourself a little more. You are constantly at war with yourself and you are losing. Love yourself enough to win.
— ✮⋆˙ cherubs , chubby cheeks , crooked nose , red glasses , fuzzy socks / pjs , black kittens , new earrings / piercings , bunnies , honey & peaches & cream - food!!!! get your mind our of the gutter - , 10/10 , braces , itchy eyes , fake lashes , cracking bones - spine and knuckles -
I know it sucks to hear ‘love yourself more’ bc it’s annoying but this was not said with bad intentions. thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
pile nine : - rose water
𐙚 : Two of Cups reversed, Seven of Swords
bottom of the deck: four of pentacles
♡ ⢷Yes or No?
A very gentle no.
♡ ⢷Why?
It’s just a much more scary / bothersome path than what you would think so. You are very trusting and have a too forgiving heart. Some people can just unfortunately take advantage of that.
— ✮⋆˙ under 18 🫵🏻 , acting , theatre , wanting to be in spotlight but being unsure about it , asking about crushes , having a favourite teddy / plush , bridgit mendler , tiktok , kesha , early 00s / early 10s , big doe / dolly eyes , big bang theory
I just wanna say that the spirit guides for this pile are so motherly 😞 this is my first time having a pile that consists of kiddos and adults all connected to their innerchild !! the energy here is so warm and nice 💓 I of course mean this from a good place of heart, it reminded me of a childhood home sort of feeling. thank you for reading.
if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!
☾ CoD Guys and their kinks ☽
𑁍 Warnings: sexual content, choking, dubious consent (only slightly) crying 𑁍
𑁍 Characters featured: Ghost, König, Captain Price 𑁍
❥ Ghost
Orgasm Control: Loves overstimulating you to the point where you're begging him to stop while you're crying and whimpering. Pushing your hips down everytime you try to squirm away. If he feels even meaner he will edge you for hours on end. Hearing you beg only fuels him more and pushes him to keep on edging you. Getting you so close to release only to take it away from you making you whine in frustration.
Deep Throating: At first you struggled a lot with it but after some training of him slowly filling your mouth wider and wider you can take him fully. Loves feeling your throat swallow around him. Of course he always makes sure to give you chances to tap out but he just loves feeling you choke around his massive length. Watching the tears slowly build up in the corner of your eyes while you look up at him with those pretty eyes.
❥ König
Primal play: One of his favourite fantasies is making you wear a collar with a bell and then let you run out into the woods. Feeling the thrill of hunting for you and then when he finds you pounding into you roughly. Groans when he hears the bell jingle everytime he slams into you. Pulling you back by your hair and just taking you.
Size Kink: The first time you sat in his lap the actual size difference between you two dawned on him. How small you are in his lap and how he can just tower over you. He loves how he can just pick you up with his massive strength and fuck you while standing. Not even letting you touch the ground while feeling your tiny body trembling in his arms. Will also hold both of your wrists above your head with only one hand if you struggle too much.
❥ Captain Price
Impact play: Having you bent over his lap while he's sitting on the bed is one of his favourites scenes. Hearing you whimper out his title everytime he spanks you. If you've been annoying him a lot he will make you count them and if you mess up or dont thank him he will start over without mercy. Will rub the beautiful red marks on your ass and thighs afterwards.
Collaring: At first he wasnt very interested but when he saw you wear one for one of your outfits he was not able to take his eyes off of it the entire day. The next day he immediately orders one online with a leash. Loves having you sit on your knees next to him or infront of him. It gives him easy acces to pull you towards him by your collar or your leash.
If you're a reader or even a creator in general looking at this right now, please don't delete your work. It breaks my heart to see yall deactivate. I don't care if feel like you don't get enough notes or if it feels too much to keep posting right now and you need a break, your work does means something to someone more than you know. And don't underestimate the quality of your content, people are watching, and I've seen cases of scammers posting the content of deactivated accounts up here as their own on Instagram. There are even people who shamelessly steal your work when you're active, your form of expression is valuable, it's beautiful and impactful because it's your own! Be proud of it, don't ever delete it!
do you want it? ✴︎ cs55
genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...
word count: 10.5k
Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this
auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl
Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.
Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.
“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.
“Portugal is not boring.”
“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”
“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.
“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”
“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”
Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”
“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”
Lando whistles. “Rich.”
In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.
“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.
Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?
—
Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.
Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.
So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.
“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”
“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”
“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.
Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.
Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.
All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.
He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.
He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.
Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.
Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.
To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.
“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.
“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”
You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish.
“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.
Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.
—
Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”
“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”
“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”
“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”
“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.
“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”
Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.
“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.
“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.
“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink.
“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.
“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”
“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”
“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”
You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.
—
You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.
9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.
“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”
“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”
“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”
“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”
Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”
“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”
You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”
“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.
“Oh?”
“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”
“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.
“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.
“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”
Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.
Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.
I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.
You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.
Something tells him he’s wrong, though.
—
The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.
You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.
After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance.
“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.
“Try fourteen,” you argue.
“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”
“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”
For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs.
“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”
“I am not a big reader. You?”
“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”
Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.
“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.
“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.
Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.
He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”
“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.
“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”
“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—
He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.
—
You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.
Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.
“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”
He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”
“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.
“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.
It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.
“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.
He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”
So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.
Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—
“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”
He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.
“For what?”
“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath.
He squints. “Beer?”
You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.
“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”
“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.
“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”
“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.
“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”
“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”
His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.
God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.
His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”
“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.
“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.
“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.
“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”
You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”
“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.
“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”
—
He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.
“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.
Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.
—
He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.
“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.
“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.
“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.
“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.
“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”
The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.
“—here’s your spot.”
“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.
“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds.
“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”
“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.
“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening.
“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close. The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.
“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.
Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.
“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously.
“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.
He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.
It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea.
“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.
He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”
“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.
He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.
Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.
“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”
You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.
You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.
“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.
Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.
“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.
He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.
Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”
“Brat,” he responds.
You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.
“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.
“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.
You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.
“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.
Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.
“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.
“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”
Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.
—
You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.
Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.
But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.
“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”
He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”
So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.
“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.
You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.
“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs.
A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.
“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.
“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”
“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”
“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?”
But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.
“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.
He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.
“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”
He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.
Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.
You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.
Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most.
“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.
“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”
Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.
His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.
“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.
Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.
You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder.
P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.
Feel good?
Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.
Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.
It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.
He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”
“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”
—
“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.
“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.
“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.
“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”
“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.
The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.
Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.
Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood.
Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.
He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.
“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt.
He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.
“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”
His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.
You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.
Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.
His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”
“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face.
“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.
“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”
The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.
You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.
His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.
You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.
You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.
You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.
“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.
He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.
He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.
You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.
“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you.
Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.
The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.
He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—
His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.
Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.
I’m cumming—!
Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.
“I said fuck me.”
“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.
He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.
“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.
Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.
“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.
“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”
He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.
He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.
“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”
But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”
“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”
You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”
“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.
“And if your dad walked in?”
You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.
“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.
“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?”
“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.
He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick.
He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.
You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.
“You look pretty.”
“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.
—
“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.
Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.
You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?
He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.
CRAVE
alpha!bucky x omega!reader
summary: you realise that you can’t survive your heat without bucky
warnings: fluff, smut, dirty talk, fingering, praise kink, tiny weeny bit of degradation (like one sentence)
note: okay so the only knowledge for alpha and omega stuff I have is from reading fics on tumblr so please excuse anything that is wrong i’m sorry!!
guys i have a serious problem where it takes me actual months to write a fic so i tell myself that the next one will be short and then i get carried away 🫣
bucky and you are good friends. best friends even. you had met him when he started a new job at your office.
immediately you both hit it off and since then had spent pretty much every day with eachother.
no more than three days went by without you seeing him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
bucky was the kindest, sweetest human you had ever met, being in the presense of an alpha all the time made you feel safe.
you would have never believed that he was your alpha.
the both of you never really spoke about claiming an alpha/omega. you had always been shy and were just waiting for that special click when you found yours.
bucky was also waiting patiently, he hoped that his omega would come along soon, he liked taking care of you when you needed him and so he wanted an omega of his own.
when you would come closer to being in heat, you became more affectionate, wanting to be close and cuddled by bucky.
having an alpha around, even if he wasn’t yours, meant that instantly you would feel the need to be with him, just to keep your omega mind at ease.
whilst you were in heat, you stayed away. not just from bucky, but from everyone. no one should have to deal with you when you were in that state. that was your alpha’s job, wherever he was.
you didn’t want bucky to find out why once a month you would be attached to him. just the thought of him finding out made you blush.
what you didn’t realise it that bucky already knew.
he figured it out months ago.
the first few times he was oblivious. he just thought that you wanted to be cuddled, and he wasn’t going to say no.
after watching you be all soft with him and then disappear completely after a few days, bucky slowly put two and two together.
the thought of you alone during your heat made him feel overly-protective, and he made sure that the next time you wanted affection, he was going to go above and beyond to make sure that you were comfortable and give you as much attention as you needed.
usually, before your heat, the constant touch would go a little something like this:
-you would turn up on his doorstep, with big, soft eyes. bucky would know straight away, smile on his face as he pulled you in for a hug.
-hugs were more frequent, any chance you got you would clasp your arms around his waist or neck, your head buried in his chest.
-you would stay in, watching films late into the night. at first, you sat next to bucky calmly, legs crossed as your head rested against the cushions.
-by the time the end credits were rolling, bucky had beckoned you to sit next to him, and you were pressed up against his side.
-his arm was over your shoulders, pulling you in as close as he could. he was sure that he was squashing you, but you didn’t seem to mind one bit.
he smelt so good. it was a warm, musky scent, whenever you inhaled it reminded you of wood fires and winter, with a hint of peppermint.
it was extremely comforting to you, that alpha scent. you tried to soak it up as much as possible before you had to leave for a few days.
one day, close to your heat, you needed bucky’s attention even more than usual. your heat was coming at you strong.
you went through the same routine, showing up on his doorstep.
he pulled you in to his chest, pressing his nose to the top of your head as he breathed you in.
you always smelt a little sweeter nearer your heat, it had taken bucky a while to realise, but now that he had he couldn’t get enough.
you pulled your face out of his shirt to look round his apartment. the couch was already set up for a movie night.
“buck…do you mind if we just…chill in your bed tonight? i’m so tired.”
you felt vulnerable asking him to do that, but you knew he wouldn’t really mind.
“course sweetheart.” he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the bedroom.
you collapsed on the bed, and the strong smell of him in his sheets made you want to crawl under the duvet and never leave.
bucky smiled at you crawling up towards the pillows, you had a dazed look on your face and he just wanted to tuck you under his arm.
“you can take your jeans off if you want. you know…so that you’re more comfortable.” bucky scratched at his neck, averting his eyes as you stripped.
he climbed onto the bed with you, lifting up the covers so that you weren’t cold.
bucky was wearing sweats and a hoodie. as he pressed himself up against you, you were taken aback at the strong smell of him.
you needed more.
“can i-um, can i wear your hoodie?”
how could bucky say no when you looked at him like that? with your doe eyes, nearly half-naked in his bed.
“sure you can. are you cold?” he looked worried.
“oh no, i um- i mean, yes, yes i guess i am cold.” you stuttered, not wanting him to know that you just wanted to be wrapped up in his scent.
bucky was clever though, hiding his smirk as he watch you inhale deeply as he pulled the hoodie over your head.
you craved his scent just as much as he craved yours.
he just about nearly died when you looked up at him with soft eyes, your hands hidden in the sleeves. the hood was over your head, and you looked tiny.
he smiled to himself, pulling you close as he laid on his side. you turned onto your side aswell, shutting your eyes instantly at how cosy and safe you felt.
bucky’s arms wrapped around your back, hugging you into his chest. one of your hands clutched onto his t-shirt, the other tucked under your neck.
one of bucky’s hands trailed down to your bare thigh , and you shivered as his fingertips trailed over your bare skin.
he hooked his arm under your leg so that he could move it over his hip, and you had never felt more relaxed.
you rubbed your nose into his neck, restraining yourself from pressing right onto his scent gland. his smell filled the air around you, and you let out a small whimper.
bucky froze at the sound you made, shivering a little at the feeling of you so close. he secretly loved it, but was too busy worrying about you to fully relax.
he had never seen you this clingy, knowing that the next heat was going to be difficult for you, stronger than any of the others.
——————
a week later, bucky was laying in bed, around 1am.
he couldn’t sleep. you had gone into heat a few days after the sleeping-together-in-his-bed incident, and he hadn’t heard a word from you since then.
something didn’t feel right, after all these months being more touchy with you, he was beginning to believe that maybe you were his omega.
he felt protective over you, wanting to keep you by his side at all times. make sure you were well fed and had gotten enough sleep.
his phone rang suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.
stretching, he reached over to his bedside table, watching how your icon lit up his screen.
he paused for a second, wondering why you were calling whilst you were in heat. it must be urgent.
swiping his thumb across the screen, he brought the phone to his ear, his breathing short and quick.
“y/n?”
“buck. i-“
bucky sat up straight in bed at the sound of you, heavy breaths and little whimpers escaping your mouth.
“sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“bucky please. i-i’m in heat. i can’t get t-through this. i need you.”
bucky’s hand came up to rest over his eyes, contemplating what to do. part of him had been waiting for this moment, but he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do.
“please bucky. it hurts, it hurts so bad.”
you let out a small moan and bucky wondered if you were touching yourself right now. the thought made him grow hard.
“i’m not your alpha sweetheart, i can’t do anything i’m sorry.” he felt awful.
“buck. need y-you to take care of me.” your voice broke, the throbbing of your pussy becoming painful. “you, bucky. i want you.” more whimpers fell from your lips.
bucky gave in. he couldn’t leave you like that, it would kill him.
“okay. okay i’m coming over. love, i’ll be ten minutes.” he jumped out of bed, pulling on some sweats and a t-shirt.
the drive over, he had a pep talk with himself.
okay. no touching. you are not her alpha.
he thought of you spread out on the bed, pussy dripping and clenching around nothing as you rubbed yourself raw.
okay fine. he bargained with himself.
no touching, unless she calls you alpha. wait for her to say it first.
he pulled up outside your flat, practically sprinting to the door. he knocked, even though he knew that you were not going to greet him.
he pushed the door slightly, hoping that it was unlocked. to his delight it was open, and he walked in nervously.
even from downstairs, bucky could smell you. sweet, warm smell that filled his nostrils. it made his entire body tingle.
he made his way up the stairs, calling out softly for you.
“love?”
you didn’t answer, but bucky could hear the whimpers coming from your room. his dick was twitching as he thought of what you would look like when he walked into the room.
nothing could have prepared him for the sight.
as he pushed open the door, he was met with you, on your back, legs spread wide. you didn’t notice him at first, your eyes clenched shut.
bucky stopped dead in his tracks as he saw his hoodie, draped over your chest. you pulled it up to your nose every now and then, inhaling his scent.
he had forgotten that you had taken it home with you. his eyes drifted down, reaching your core.
fuck. he thought. you were red and puffy, slick dripping out from between your folds. your hand was rubbing your clit, your fingers dangerously close to your throbbing hole.
bucky wanted nothing more than to touch you, his brow sweating as he clenched his fists.
a groan came from his throat, startling you.
your eyes went wide as you saw him standing at the foot of your bed, his erection showing through his trousers.
“bucky.” tears formed in your eyes at how glad you were to see him, you blinked them back, watching as bucky made his way towards you.
you sat up, moving his hoodie to the side. your hands went straight to bucky’s t-shirt, pulling at the material once he was close enough.
any shyness you once had was gone, the need to be filled too strong.
bucky pulled you onto his lap, trying to ignore how you were practically dripping onto his thighs.
you wasted no time, holding on to his arms as you pressed your nose to his neck.
finding his scent gland gave you some of the relief that you were looking for, and you moaned against him.
you breathed him in, your mouth watering. your tongue began to kitten lick his scent gland, eventually latching on to his skin.
the feeling of you sucking and licking made his eyes roll back, and he grabbed your waist to compose himself.
“you’re killing me sweetheart. you know i can’t touch you like this, you’re not mine to touch.”
nothing he was going to say or do could stop you right now. you were too deep in your heat.
“alpha.” you whimpered, sucking on a particular sweet spot on his neck.
bucky gave in, the one word he’d been waiting for falling from your lips. it was like a green light, a growl leaving his throat as you repeated the word, grinding down on his lap.
“alpha, please.”
he didn’t need to hear more, his cock painfully hard.
“it’s okay my little omega. i’m gonna take care of you.”
the change in his voice made your stomach flip, and you whimpered into his neck as he tried to pull you back.
“look at me ‘mega. gonna make you feel good but you gotta look at me sweetheart.”
you listened, pulling away from his neck with shiny lips. bucky eyes had glazed over, and you felt your pussy become wetter with the look he was giving you.
he pulled you off of his lap, laying you down gently between the pillows.
he watched as your body twitched and squirmed at the lack of touch and decided not to tease you.
you spread your legs for him, all you could focus on was bucky. his smell, his face, his body, his fingers that were currently trailing down your stomach.
you nearly cried out when he reached your clit, your back arching as he began to rub in slow, small circles.
“so sensitive aren’t you?” his eyes were dark.
you mumbled, “hmhmm.” your eyes fluttering shut.
bucky let out a small groan from his throat, seeing you this desperate for his touch made him feral.
he was still in shock that you had called him alpha, the need to satisfy you increasing by the second.
he sped up his fingers, pressing down on your clit before moving his fingertips through your folds.
he didn’t think it was possible for someone to be this wet.
“dripping for me omega” he whispered.
you had given up on talking, resulting to whimpers and soft moans every now and again.
he sat beside you, his knees touching your ribs. one hand working you towards your orgasm, his fingers dipping down to tease your hole.
the other hand was groping your chest in a vulgar way, you welcomed the pain with a hard moan when he pinched at your nipples.
his hand collected your juices, and you watched with wide eyes as he brought that same hand to his lips, his mouth opening as he tasted you.
the sounds of him licking up your juices had your eyes rolling back. your hands extended, and you reached for him, pulling him down by the neck of his t-shirt.
he chuckled at your reaction, his hand going back to teasing your pussy as his tongue explored your mouth.
“dirty girl.” he whispered through the kiss.
you whimpered as the kiss got sloppy, your lips both wet with saliva.
his finger entered your hole, all the way up to the knuckle, you clenched down on him, hard, and your mouth fell open.
you clutched his t-shirt, whimpering an “alpha” into his mouth.
“so tight for me sweetheart, gotta open you up.”
he added another finger, the palm of his hand bumping against your clit as he thrusted in and out.
bucky pulled away from your lips as you got closer to your high, he wanted to see your face when you came.
“that’s it omega, you gonna come for me?”
god, the feeling of his thick fingers inside of you, finally getting the release you craved was too much, your body jolting and squirming as he sped up his movements.
his other hand moved to your hip, pressing down so that you couldn’t move away.
“it’s okay, cum for me sweetheart, good girl.”
you shuddered as your orgasm hit, your pussy pulsing around bucky’s fingers.
he pulled his fingers out as you finished, slowly rubbing your clit as you overcame your high.
you felt extremely sensitive, pushing at his hand when it became too much.
“alpha, please.” you whimpered. “i-i can’t.”
bucky smirked, eventually stopping.
he knew that you wouldn’t be able to sit up by yourself, so he took matters into his own hands.
his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you up until you were sat on his lap again.
you connected your lips as soon as you could reach, moaning when your pussy bumped against his leg.
“how are you feeling?”
you smiled at how thoughtful he was, pushing your face into his neck.
“amazing.” you answered, “but…can you fuck me now?” you gave him your biggest puppy eyes, feeling your heat start to creep back up on you.
bucky let out a bellow of a laugh, his hands holding your face as he looked at his little omega.
“how do you want it?” he whispered, groaning as he felt you start to hump his leg.
damn, you really were in heat. “such a slut for my cock, aren’t you? can’t even keep still for two seconds.”
your eyes went wide at his words, and you nodded furiously.
“want to please you, want my alpha on top of me.” you kissed his lips once, swinging your leg over so that you could lay on your back again.
bucky growled, his sweats becoming uncomfortable, he had been hard for the past hour.
he wanted nothing more than to fuck you hard and rough into the mattress, satisfying an omega during their heat was a hard job.
he began to strip, ridding himself of his clothes quickly. by the time he was done you were practically drooling at the sight of him.
his stomach was toned, his chest and arms looked like they could crush you.
his cock was against his stomach, red and leaking with precum, you licked your lips.
bucky positioned himself above you, his hand resting on your cheek as he kissed you.
the kiss was rough, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, arching your back to be closer.
bucky held his cock, his eyes screwed shut as he stroked himself.
your eyes were glued to his movements, your body squirming with need underneath him.
“please. alpha…” you pouted.
“be patient, omega.”
your head bowed at the stern tone of his voice, bucky noticed straight away how your energy changed.
he brought his fingers to your chin, lifting your head up to look at him again.
“i know you’re desperate sweetheart, wait a little and i’ll give you what you want.”
you nodded, a small pout on your face as you leaned up to kiss him.
bucky thought he might explode at the look on your face. fuck, you were gorgeous. he was never letting you out of his sight after this.
he stopped teasing, pressing his tip to your entrance. you were dripping with fresh juices, eager to feel him inside of you.
bucky moved his tip through your folds, up to your clit. he pressed down, your back arching at the pleasure.
he carried on like that, up to your clit, down through your wet folds until he caught on your hole.
you could hardly keep still, craving the feeling of him inside of you.
finally, he pushed in, just his tip, and groaned athow tight you were.
“fuck, omega, gripping me so fucking tight i can barely move.” he spoke through gritted teeth, slowly pushing in.
the feeling of finally being filled was better than could have ever imagined, his cock stretching out your walls deliciously.
“so big…” you moaned, gripping his shoulders as he bottomed out.
you shuddered out a breath as he began to move, pulling out until just his tip was resting inside of you before pushing all the way back in.
your pussy was like a drug, bucky’s jaw slack as he thrusted into you.
you were close already, bucky’s cock brushing all the right spots, you were sure that you were leaking all over the sheets.
“fuck, alpha, faster please, faster.” bucky opened his eyes, connecting your lips in a messy kiss as he sped up the pace.
you moaned as he went faster, the knot in your stomach growing with every thrust.
“you gonna come for me sweetheart?” his cock was pistoning in and out of you, his hand coming down to rub at your swollen clit.
“yes! just like that, alpha, fuck.”
your eyes rolled back into your head as you came around bucky’s cock, triggering his own orgasm.
your pussy spasmed, leaking over bucky’s cock as he came inside of you.
he groaned as he felt your juices mix together, and you opened your legs wider at the feeling of his cum in you.
“so good, ugh-good girl, my omega, so good for me.”
bucky slowed right down, pulling out of you.
your eyes were shut, your chest breathing heavily as you recovered. your body was twitching, cum dripping out from between your legs.
“fuck.” bucky’s eyes went wide at the sight of it.
his fingers came down, pressing at your hole as he pushed his leaking cum back inside of you.
you whimpered, feeling overstimulated as he massaged your hole.
“my little omega loves being filled up by her alpha, huh?” bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead as he pulled his fingers away.
you nodded, squeezing your legs together as you sat up.
bucky stood and made his way to the bathroom, coming back moments later.
he had a towel in his hand, and he pressed it to your core, cleaning you up. you gripped his arm at the overstimulation, your body still twitching.
bucky chuckled at your state, feeling a little sorry for you. he gestured for you to lay down under the covers. you did, and he quickly followed.
you both faced eachother, laying on your sides.
having sex during your heat made you incredibly subby afterward, your eyes glossy as you kissed bucky.
bucky could tell, pulling you into his chest as he pressed soft kisses to your forehead.
you were basically laying on top of him, taking the opportunity to press your nose into his neck once more. he smelt of pine trees and vanilla candles burning in the winter.
bucky being your alpha made so much sense, you could see that clearly now. you looked up at him, admiring his face.
how his nose twitched, how his eyelashes moved when he blinked, his teeth showing a little as he smiled down at you.
you smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips as you snuggled closer to him.
“how are you feeling sweetheart?”
you sighed. “content. like i belong to someone.”
a knot formed in bucky’s throat at your words, and he vowed to protect you and keep you happy for the rest of his life.
everything is going to work out even if it seems so scary and unknown right now. every little thing is going to be ok and you will end up where you are meant to be.
-
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