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shotmrmiller · 29 days

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johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

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duuhrayliegh · 5 months

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consequences

a/n: I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS CAME FROM BUT HERE YOU GO

also i'm more than happy to continue this if yall want more, just LET ME KNOW

other works

“You want to what?"

"To open our relationship."

You stare at him in disbelief, clutching the soft blanket in your hands. There's a sharp ringing sounding through your eardrums and everything around you slows. He keeps talking, his voice breaking through the barrier of fog that encompasses your senses.

"I want us to remain honest with each other, but this is the only way to keep our relationship healthy."

He steps away from the kitchen counter, wearing the sports jacket you bought him for your sister's wedding.

"I want the both of us to disclose when we start dating someone else. That's the main boundary, we can hammer out all the ground rules later. Right now, I'm going on a date, so uh," he pauses as he checks his reflection in the mirror beside the door one last time, "don't wait up."

You try to focus on his words, but no matter your efforts you weren't able to process anything. His keys jangle in his grip and you faintly recognize the sound of the door slamming closed and his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor of your apartment.

"I still can't believe he said that to you."

The singular ice ball hits against the sides of your glass with each tilt of your wrist. You take a long drag of the dark liquor before laughing sardonically.

"It's been six months of him parading his dates around." Another sip, your work skirt digs into your thighs painfully. You distract yourself by reaching for a peanut from the nearly empty bowl. "And what's worse is that he still expects me to be the doting wife that he comes home to every night!"

The bartender refills your glass while you sneak another peanut. You card your fingers through your hair as you continue to rant. A dull throb radiates in between your brows so your eyes slide closed as you take deep breaths.

"Well, I can't imagine you're doing so bad yourself."

You hum questioningly at the man, focusing your gaze on the dark-haired bartender, his stubble dusting his sharp jaw as the muscles work beneath the skin. His eyes haven't left you since you sat down in front of him.

"I see you in here." You begin to pick at the skin around your nails and he nudges a bowl of peanuts in your direction. "Men come up to you all the time. You've been on dates too, right?"

You reach for a peanut and crack open the grainy shell, biting the inside of your cheek. Your bartender laughs incredulously and then presses his hands into his side of the counter to lean over toward you. The cloth he tosses over his shoulder must be damp because the fabric of his white button-up is darkened there.

"Focus on me, Peanut."

Your eyes snap to his, unable to keep the overflow of expression from brimming beneath the surface. Your heart cracks further as he visibly softens, crumpling against the counter to cover your hand with his. A tense silence stretches between the two of you, charging the air with unwelcome emotions.

Your bartender’s spare hand cups your jaw and swipes away the glistening tears fleeing down your cheeks. Sniffling loudly while straightening in your seat, you pull away from his touch—effectively stopping yourself from melting into him.

You’ve worked so hard to make this shitty dive bar your safe place, you’ll be damned if you ruin it with a fling.

“I don’t even know why I’m wasting tears on this whole thing.” You take three deep breaths—whiskey and apples invade your senses. The man in front of you tilts his head to the side while drying a few crystal glasses.

“You’re avoiding my question, Peanut.” He turns briefly and you try to figure a way out as the cups clink softly. “You have been dating too, right?”

Your teeth trap your bottom lip, peeling off the thin layers of skin. You purposely avoid his eyes, doing less than nothing to hide your answer.

“Jesus, Peanut. What’s stopping you?”

You huff, focusing your attention on the patrons around you. There’s noticeably less than there were when you first arrived. The bar guests go about their business, underlying emotions kept close to their chest and out of sight to everyone else. You wish you could be that way, instead of sewing your heart to your sleeve for anyone to rip pieces from.

“I--" You hesitate, twirling your glass, watching as the ice fights to keep up with the sudden movements you force on its surroundings.

"Some small part of me still loves him. No matter how much he hurts me with this whole open relationship bullshit. I'm still thinking that one day he'll wake up and remember that I've been his loving wife and partner for the past six years. This can't be my new reality. It just can't. He's meant to be my partner for life, not my partner who has really good friends. Not my partner with a girlfriend or some fuck buddy across town."

This is the can of worms that you'd hoped to keep locked away from the Commando's dive bar. What you've held close to your chest every night you slink past the blonde bouncer, Steve. The information you never let slip to the six-foot-five bartender with the metal arm. And now, you can't seem to stop the words from leaving your mouth.

"He's supposed to be my husband. Why isn't he my husband? Is it me? He said that we would talk about what the reason was, but I can't get him to sit down with me. I can't even get him to reply to a text, much less answer questions about our relationship."

You spit the last word before downing the rest of your drink in one go. Bucky stands patiently as you let loose every emotion that you've bottled up for the past six years. Further in the bar, someone shouts for the last call.

"Why don't I date? Because I love him. Because outside of him, I don't know who I am. I don't date because I've been with the same man for almost a decade and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I can't see past where I'm at right now. There is no future for me outside of the hell that I find myself in now. I can't date because I want to be there for when my husband remembers that I exist. I want to be there for him like he wasn't for me because I know the novelty of his flings will wear off soon enough. And maybe that makes me worse than him, but I don't know if I have the energy to care anymore."

There's now a heavy silence covering you and your whole body slumps because of it. Despite feeling the biggest breath of relief of getting those emotions out in the open, you now have to deal with what they mean. You were always taught that saying your emotions out loud would only lead to more issues, but here you fucking are. Sometimes these things are unavoidable.

"I call bullshit."

Your jaw drops as your bartender rocks away from the counter. You flounder as he starts performing closing duties. You stare at Bucky's back, slightly distracted by the muscles working underneath the tight material.

"Did you just bullshit my feelings?"

Bucky turns halfway, eyebrows raised, "Yep."

Your bartender plucks the glass in front of you and drops it in the sink on his way to the cash register. If you were in a whole state, you'd smack back with a witty comment, but you're tired.

"You can't bullshit my feelings."

He holds a stack of twenties in one hand and he pins you with the same expression as before.

"Uh, yeah I can."

He continues to count the register and tosses a goodbye to the other bartender. A long lull stretches between you. Now it's just the two of you in the bar, and that must have been what he was waiting on because it's only now that he really talks.

"Peanut, how long have you been coming here?"

You furrow your brow at the question, not sure where he's taking his line of questioning.

"I don't know, four months?"

“Four months, twenty days."

Bucky's retort is quick and final. A fact. Something he's committed to memory. You're taken aback by the heavy tone he layers between the syllables.

"And for those four months and twenty days, I've stood behind this counter and watched you wallow. I've watched you turn down proposition after proposition. I've had Steve throw out dozens of men for how they speak about you. I've sat back and tried to be the listening ear that you need because you're clearly going through a really difficult time. I've never been in the position that you're in and I'm not going to pretend that I understand the half of it."

He slams the drawer closed and rounds the countertop. His boots thud against the floor violently, stopping beside the barstool next to you. Your bartender leans down and swings your stool to face his before taking a seat.

"I've stood behind that bar and was able to listen to quite a bit. But what I can't have is you thinking that you're the issue."

His hand slips into yours, his thumb tracing the knuckles of your fingers. Tears begin to brim at your waterline again, but you refuse to let them fall.

"Peanut, you're the most loyal person I've met in recent years. You love fiercely and you hurt even harder. Hell, you've been with this guy for almost ten years and he's been fucking you over for the past six months and you're sitting in this bar defending him to a relative stranger!"

"But he--"

"You're husband took the decision away from you and then framed it in a way that made you out to be the bad guy. He put you in a nearly impossible situation because he knew you were too loyal to him to do anything about it."

"He didn--"

"Yes, he did."

Having it laid out like that by the one person you wanted to be kept away from all of it was eye-opening. Your shoulders crumple and a new wave of tears threatens to escape.

"Now, this isn't the best time, but I feel like in a situation like yours there's never going to be a 'right' time."

Bucky sits up straighter and sticks his metal hand out to you.

"Hi. I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm a retired Army Sergeant and I now work in the Howling Commandos bar. I've been your bartender for the past four months and twenty days. Over that time, I've grown to care for you, more than a bartender should. Because of that fact, I want to take you out on a date."

You suck in a breath sharply, immediately going to deny him, only for Bucky to cut you off.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now, Peanut. Just think about it and whenever you're ready, I hope I'm your first call."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the idea. You have grown fond of Bucky. He's become a sort of safety net for you these past few months. Going home has proven to be more and more of a chore so you spend hours on end in the Howling Commandos.

What if you and Bucky go on a date and you hate it? What if you date and you have a huge falling out? What if you--

"I can see the wheels turning, Peanut." He taps your temple with a cold metal finger. "What are you thinking?"

"What if we end up not working out?"

"What if we do?"

The question hangs. The implication is clear. You could spend hours going through the what-if scenarios, both positive and negative. You'll never truly know until you take a leap of faith.

"What would your boss think of you dating one of your new regulars though?"

You're grasping at straws, but you're really trying to convince yourself that taking that leap with Bucky would be the worst thing in the world.

"Peanut, I'll sell the damn bar before someone other than you tells me that I can't date you."

Your eyes meet his and all you can see is the adoration and sincerity in them. His thumb is still working over your knuckles, but it's also expanded to tracing aimless circles into the back of your hand. The cool metal is the only way you've grounded yourself to reality.

A slow smile spreads across your features, the first of its kind tonight and you both know what it means.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bartender!bucky #bartender!bucky x reader #bartender!bucky barnes x reader #seb stan #sebastian stan #sebastian stan character #seb stan character #seb stan x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bartender!bucky x you #bartender!bucky x peanut!reader

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rafeysdoll · 14 days

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VIRGINITY LOSS.. ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

warnings: unprotected p in v sex, daddy kink, established relationship, sort of dumbification? reader states she feels hazy, creampie.

“don’t be shy,” he whispers softly, smirk evident on his lips as he looks down at you, kneeling on your bed in front of you. “you trust me, right?” rafe asks, slick sticking to your lacy panties as he continues pressing his bulge where your clothed clit is, dry humping himself against your covered folds.

“i..im nervous,” you mewl, not used to being touched this way or even seen this way by another person, almost fully naked underneath him. no barrier of fabric covering your swollen tits. “what if i do bad? what if you don’t like it?” you whisper, small tears collecting in your doe eyes at the thought.

he tsks, cupping your cheek and smoothing his thumb over it. “i’ll love it. it’s from my girl.” he coos, length twitching against your sex. it was an understatement to say he was ‘excited’ — all that was separating him from finally breaking your virgin hole was the thin layer hiding it.

he moves his hand back down to your waiting heat, tugging at the hemline of your underwear, tugging them lightly. “gonna stretch you out so it can fit, ‘kay?” he promises, waiting for your nod.

when you do, he pulls the fabric down and groans quietly, the sight of your puffy folds glistening in your own wetness being too much for him. “so pretty,” he whispers before spreading your thighs apart carefully, leaning down to press a small kiss on your nub before licking a broad stripe to collect your arousal, humming to himself as you whimper.

“sensitive girl,” he smiles, middle finger nudging at your entrance before it’s completely in.

you spend about five minutes that way — rafe now scissoring you open with three fingers, not quite letting you cum yet. your smeared gloss lips parted open as you cry, nails digging deeply into rafe’s bicep.

you probably would’ve been sulky thinking about how he got so skilled at pleasuring a girl — but that would mean your brain could form a proper thought and that right now seemed impossible. “can.. can take it, now. please.. give it to me!” you mewl, those potential tears from earlier now dried at the sides of your face.

“you.. you ready? wanna keep going?” he asks teasingly, very slowly and gently pulling back his fingers from your slippery cunt. “mhm!” you eagerly agree, desperation taking over your brain when you glance at how he sucks off your slick from his ring clad fingers.

when you truly see his cock past an outline in his boxers you whimper, confidence dimming down enough for you to snap back out of your hazy state — ‘how the hell was that supposed to fit all the way?’

it stood tall, right below his belly button. small blonde stubble around it. “gotta relaxxx,” he reassures almost condescendingly when he notices your wide eyes, lowering his length just enough to drag it back and forth between your puffy folds. “promise you’ll tell me if i need to stop, a’ight?” he mumbles, tip practically kissing your entrance from how close it was. “promise,” you mewl eagerly.

“you sure you’re ready, pretty baby? gonna give it you right now.” you take a deep breath, trying to relax as you slowly realize these were about to be your last seconds as a virgin. last seconds before he splits you open on his cock.

you close your eyes tightly, humming quietly as you hope for the best before looking back at him. “‘m ready for you.”

he envelopes your lips into a wet kiss, slowly pushing himself inside you inch by inch at your confirmation, gushy walls welcoming him.

you gasp into his mouth as he groans, your warmness suffocating him perfectly. the new stretch stings you, creating this bittersweet sensation of the mixture of your own pain and pleasure. pornographic whines falling out of your mouth when he’s more than halfway through, rafe lifting your hips off the bed to reach you deeper.

it was euphoric, this new feeling. you never realized how empty you’ve felt your whole life until this very moment, as he bottoms out inside you. it was beautiful, you thought. you wish he could stay like this for the rest of your days. “gonna keep you forever, dollface.” he grunts, pushing your hips back down on the bed to lift your legs up, putting your calves on his shoulder.

“hm? you listening to daddy baby?” the new nickname leaving his gritted teeth makes your brain mush up once more. “i-im listening.” you stutter, feeling like your body was almost on fire. “want this forever,” you confess.

his strokes start off slow, letting you adjust to the new feeling of having a dick inside you. thick cock stretching your tight walls slowly until he can start slamming into your hole, messy bed squeaking as he ruts in you. the sound of his hips meeting yours echo the room and you’re almost embarrassed by the squeals you let out.

he fucks you so hard you think you might pass out.. or even plan a wedding tomorrow. you were so glad nobody was home because there was no way you could ever be quiet, legs trembling around his waist.

you could barely take what he was giving you, and he loved it. “so pretty like this baby, real good.” he moans, turning his head and pressing small kisses at your leg. “tell daddy how much you like it, yeah?”

you squeal, chest heaving as you try to talk. “l-love it! it’s perfect daddy,” you say, feeling the same coil in your stomach from when he was fingering you approaching, clenching hard around him.

“fuck fuck,” rafe grunts, picking up his speed. “go on, give it to me baby,” he continues.

you twitch and squirm as you drench his cock, milky liquid soaking it as you finish around him, in cloud nine. “ohh, daddy,” you mewl, sweat on your forehead making you shimmer lightly.

he finishes shortly after you, ropes of cum painting your sore walls as he falls down besides you, attempting to catch his breath.

you let out a breathy giggle as you kiss his blushing cheek.

“did.. did you like it?” you whisper softly, nervous smile tugged on your lips as he chuckles, kissing your hair softly as he covers you both with your pink comforter. “was the best sex in my life, doll.”

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wyvernest · 10 months

Text

hammock by the sea

pairing - miguel o'hara x wife!f!reader

warnings - fluff, established relationship, suggestive

summary - you and miguel enjoy a sunny july afternoon on your honeymoon in a hammock

translations: lo sé - i know / así me gusta - that's how i like it

part 2! part3!

The air is hot, but fresh with a salty sea breeze. The waves roll rhythmically against the white shores, echoing through the gardens of the resort you're spending your honeymoon at.

Everything is so quiet, so serene, and incontestably intimate.

The hammock hangs low between two palms, heavy with your weight added on top of his. Miguel sits cosily in the linen cocoon, arms hanging out on each side. You're seated on his lap, straddling him. Sunlight grazes his features in interrupted stripes, filtered through the sharp palm leaves.

His eyes are closed, eyebrows relaxed. Your gaze lingers over his sculpted face, the shape of his eyes, his cheekbones, the line of his nose and his soft lips; then up to his dark hair, sun-kissed dark silk.

You're startled when you feel his hand take ahold of your wrist gently, pulling you with a little force into his embrace. Eyes still closed, he's silently asking you to lay back on top of him, to let him capture you back into his arms.

You remain straight for the single purpose of looking at him for a little longer. It's not often that you see him so relaxed, so defenceless and vulnerable. Your attention follows his jaw, adorned with the remnants of what used to be a stubble; then the line of his neck, and you hold back a primal impulse to bend down and start kissing it, just to hear him giggle lowly before groaning in need.

Your hands follow your vision, flowing down his broad shoulders, and over his strong pecs, reaching the firm muscles of his torso. You feel him tense up, flexing his abdomen under your touch and puffing out a giggled breath.

"You don't have to do that to impress me, you know." you keep your hands on his abdomen, struggling to mask the loving and lustful awe in your eyes.

"Lo sé. I just love to see you all red in the face." He smirks at you, pearl-white fangs peeking from the smile, opening his eyes enough just to witness the sight before him. You hadn't realised you were getting so flustered. Maybe it's the heat outside.

Or maybe it's just him, looking like a greek sculpture, completely enamoured by you and at your disposal. All sleepy, messy hair and smile teasing.

You cave in, laying yourself on top of him, head on his chest, hiding the blush in your cheeks. His arms encompass your body, holding you against him. You feel one of his legs drop out of the hammock, slowly swaying you both into a lulling cradle.

You snuggle into him, pressing your face closer to hear his heartbeat. With a deep sigh, you melt into him. He brings a hand to your hair, laying soft caresses over the expanse of your back.

But you don't want to fall asleep just yet. There's only so many things you could do. Getting up, you come face to face with him, starting to kiss him all over his face. He smiles, eyes still closed. You kiss him on his forehead, on his temples, all over his cheeks, and when you get close enough to the corner of his mouth, he catches you and deepens the kiss. His lips are soft and tender against yours, tongues dancing in tandem as you make out under the July sun.

His hands arrive at your sides, grasping at your waist before starting to tickle violently. You break away from the kiss, erupting in uncontrolled laughter. He doesn't stop. He keeps tickling until you're backing up on the opposite end of the hammock, seeking shelter from the attack.

He takes the chance and gets up from his place, repositioning himself so that he's laying on you, face up. The hammock swings abruptly from side to side and you nearly fall out of it. You scream and laugh but he doesn't stop until he's seated comfortably, head on your chest.

"There we go." He sighs, placing a quick peck on your breast, making you even more flustered, before once again shutting his eyes.

"You could've told me you wanted to switch."

"Wouldn't have been as fun."

You tangle your fingers in his hair, massaging lightly.

"Ah, así me gusta" he moans and relaxes further into your embrace.

"You're so handsome." you mumble to yourself, gazing at him with all the love you could bestow upon someone.

He opens his eyes instantly, staring at you like you just told him the craziest thing he could've heard.

"Mi vida", he pauses, weighing his words for half a second, "coming from an angel like you, it means a lot."

You smile, knowing he means it. He's not the type to throw in compliments and sweet talk just for the sake of it, and you love him for that.

Your attention is suddenly intercepted by the sight of the fruit bowl you brought with you, next to the hammock. You pick it up and start with a strawberry. He looks up at you, eyes pleading silently. Raising your eyebrows smugly, you feed him a tangerine slice.

You analyse the picture before you, wishing you could freeze it in time. Miguel, comfortably seated on top of you, head on your soft chest, looking up at you like he's nothing less than a god and you're his paradisiacal muse, feeding him fruits.

However, the air suddenly shifts as your eyes river down his frame, and over to the hardening outline of his bulge, curved against his shorts. Your gaze returns to his, recognizing the familiar want beneath the relaxed façade.

"Let's take care of that, love", you suggest, pointing in the direction of your room with your eyes.

He doesn't waste a second before he stands up and scoops you from the hammock, hoisting you over his shoulder and giving your exposed ass a playful smack.

a/n - i'll make a part 2 if anyone is interested:)

EDIT: part 2

#miguel o'hara x reader one shot #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fluff

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