drewsuncrustables - Tumblr blog

drewsuncrustables · 3 days ago

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cod men with fussy wives

cw. fluff, innuendo, cunnilingus, lovemaking, reader is a bit insufferable but she means well. SMUT

synopsis. price, simon and johnny with very naggy wives who show them love and care they've never experienced before

john price

john is the typical gruff, stern guy who knows when to be serious, calm, or regulated, but around his wife, all he is is soft. he spends all day gritting his teeth during combat, pushing through with wounds the size of golf balls and scolding recruits when they fuck up, and so when he's on leave for a few days to see you, all he wants to do is relax, make love to you, eat your cooking, and maybe go fishing or do some home renovations. you, however, have a different plan. you're on his ass the second he gets home. not that he minds too much. you're too beautiful to be annoyed at.

he's sitting on the couch trying to eat a biscuit, and you gently pry it out of his hands mid bite. "john, did you take your omega-3s today?"

he signs, hand grazing your hip as you stand in front of him. "no, love. not today. but i used that nicotine patch you told me to use to help with the smokin'."

your eyes light up. "you're using them, darling?"

his heart thuds pridefully at your reaction, like it usually does when you call him darling in that dreamy little tone of voice.

"wore 'em everyday for ya, m'love," he murmurs, reaching for your hips so he can tug you gently to stand between his knees. "damn if i don't like a good smoke, but i like my woman's happiness a little more."

you giggle, nuzzling your nose into his hair, relishing in the pleasant, clean scent. "just a little?"

he laughs, bringing you into a sitting position on his knee. "a lot, love. y'said it's no good for m'lungs, and i wanna be around long enough to see our grandbabies. can't have that if 'm coughin' up ash everyday."

your lip wobbles. "oh john," you coo, lacing you arms around his neck tightly. you're so proud of him that you feel your eyes start to well up. you nuzzle your face into his neck to hide the way you're getting so emotional. you're so proud of him. "there there..." he bounces you in his lap a little to soothe you. "you're the sweetest lil' thing, aren't ya? takin' care of me so good. wouldn't know what to do without you."

you sniffle and snuggle into him so tight that you're nearly suffocating.

he tries to act like the fussing annoys him most times, but really, he relishes in it. he rarely smokes unless he's very stressed and isn't a heavy drinker. after all, you told him, "don't drink if you're looking for an escape from your problems, m'kay? 's what i'm here for."

his health's never been better.

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he's been on edge all morning. one of the younger dogs knocked the sheep pen open early this morning and let half a dozen of them loose, and price has been running around like his head's on fire trying to corral them back inside and soothe the other distressed sheep. he just got back in all sweaty and stressed, drinking a large mug of coffee. then a second. third. on the fourth, you stepped in, suggesting that he might wanna slow down, and he snapped. "god's sake woman, d'you ever let up? i don't need a bloody nanny all the time. enough with the naggin' "

you shut up immediately, drawing your hand back with your brows scrunched.

slowly, you stop asking about his vitamins. stop shoveling extra greens on his plate. stop massaging rosemary oil into his hair at night. you stop. it's relieving for about fifteen minutes. then, he's disturbed. the silence brings him no peace whatsoever. he lasts until the evening of the same day, and he corners you while you're making dinner, hugging you from behind. "darlin'," he murmurs into your ear, mouthing at the lobe.

no answer. he huffs, dragging you against him and pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down your ear, along your jaw, to your throat, where he licks a broad stripe back up to your sweet spot. "c'mon darlin', 'm sorry. you know i get heated fast, hm?" his big hands travel along your body, his left now splaying on your breast, and the right squeezing your hip. "just had a terrible morning, nearly lost our sheep, had to run around like an idiot for an hour... 'n i lost my cool with you. 's not okay, i know."

"hate it when you raise your voice at me, john." you say softly, and his heart just about breaks. he didn't mean to, really. he loves when you're bossy with him. it shows you care and it's incredibly sexy. he'd just been very irate this particular morning. he's been with you years and hasn't complained seriously about the nagging ever, and he's not about to start now.

he squeezes your tit in his palm and kisses your cheek. "i know beautiful, i know. i love you s'much, hm? gonna make it up to you..."

he's on his knees behind you soon after, eating your pussy under your dress while you try to cook. his tongue laps at your soaked hole, causing his beard to get soaked with your juices. the thick hair scratches pleasantly against your folds while the spoon you're holding clatters onto the counter, your eyes fluttering shut and hands scrabbling forwards for something to hold - you settle on the heavy stand mixer ahead of you.

he's apologizing with a mouthful of your pussy, hands squeezing your ass and giving your thighs a little pinch any time you try to close 'em.

" 'm sorry. need you fussin', darling, alright? don't ever stop." your breath hilts each time his tongue drags upwards and flattens over your clit. his nose keeps nudging your ass because his big hands keep you spread wide for him.

you sway a little, thighs trembling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he's inflicting on you, but all he does is grunt and pull you back against his face harder. "this what it takes t'get you talkin' to me again?" he rasps against your cunt. "fine, i'll eat this sweet fuckin’ pussy 'til you forgive me."

you gasp when he sucks on your clit and tips you forward so you're fully presented for him, tongue fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. the food you were tying to make is long forgotten at this point, but he doesn't care at all. all he wants to stuff his face with anyway is your sloppy cunt.

"john, mmh!" you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, but he smacks your ass hard and shoves your thighs wide once more.

"no, no, you'll take it," he grunts. "this is my apology, yeah? let me make it right an' show you how much i love your fussin'. "

you cream onto his face with a loud whine. grinding against his chin and into his mouth, and even then, he continues for a second round, mouthing at your folds and mumbling, "couple more, wife. apology's not done."

johnny "soap" mactavish

johnny's a firecracker and a wildcard. he lives on the edge and likes the unknown that comes with being reckless and unprepared. but when he met, dated, and then married you, he did have to learn to exert some degree of control over himself and his life, because damn you're a very meticulous, bossy little thing. not that he minds. having his woman fuss over him and baby him and give him extra special treatment all day, every day doesn't really feel punishing. your fussing is basically foreplay for him.

you'll tell him, "johnny, you're not going on a run with a level 6 UV outside with no sunscreen on. cmere so i can put it all on you."

"...whatever tha' means."

you frown. "johnny, you're not funny. a level 6 is dangerous. cancerous without protection."

he chuckles. "you just want an excuse to rub y'lil hands all over me, ain' that right?"

"johnny!"

you literally have to tackle him onto the living room floor sometimes to rub sunscreen on his face, because he keeps dodging you and laughing. squirming like a kid while you try to get his ears and nose. "you won't wanna shag me if i've got white goo all over m'cheeks, lass, 'm not havin' it."

"you'll thank me when you don't have skin cancer in twenty years," you huff, massaging the liquid into his cheeks while you straddle him. it's the only way he'll ever sit still anyway. his hands reach up to paw at your hips, and he tilts his head, smiling up at you.

"y'look s'cute on top o' me, don't ya?" he coos, giving your ass a playful slap. you roll you eyes and squeeze his cheek in retaliation, and he laughs and continues. "do y'love me more now that i've been properly slathered?" he teases, raising his brows as you finish rubbing in the last bit of cream.

you kiss his forehead. "only a little."

he smiles. "hm. maybe i should scald myself in the sun so you can love me up more."

"johnny."

"…right, right. responsible. m'havin' a growth arc for m'wife,"

"are you?"

"…no. but m'health has improved dramatically since y'started bullyin' me into slatherin' my skin twice a day."

you lean in so your lips brush his "that's cause i want you around forever, dummy."

johnny smiles softer at your words, tugging you down so your forehead rests on his and his beefy arms wrap around you. "i know," he hums, kissing your lips softly. " 'm not goin' anywhere, bonnie. not if i can help it."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he'd got home only yesterday from being deployed for several weeks. he hadn't seen his loving wife in ages, and the distance didn't do to well on him mentally. he's really not in the mood for fussing. he just needs to eat, fill you up with his cum a few times tonight, and go to bed.

you, however, had been nagging him the minute he came home. needing a breather, he offered to go grab groceries and run errands, hoping that the little break would help him cool off so he didn't snap at you. he's never raised his voice at you, and he doesn't plan on it today.

but when he got back with a dark bottle of bourbon...

"baby? did you only offer to go so you could buy that nonsense? i told you i hate when you drink-"

he interrupts you. "for fuck's sake, can I breathe without you hoverin'? you're not my mum."

you glare at him. not the sweet glare when you're admiring him, or the shy one, or the deadpan one when he does something dumb and you pretend to be mad at him, the angry wife one. oh, he is not a big fan of this look.

weirdly, though, instead of telling him how rude that was and that he knows you're just trying to look out for him, you turn and walk away in an eerie, icy silence. fuck, this isn't good. "bonnie, c'mon. i didnae mean that. c'mere,"

you swat his hand away lightly, deciding you won't be "mothering" him anymore. and so in the following days, you don't tell him to put on sunscreen. you don't pout when he only sleeps four hours. you barely touch him or look at him.

he tries to charm you at first, knowing how much of a sucker you are for his flirting and pretty words, but it doesn't work this time. you don't bite or get on his case or boss him in the way that makes him hard as hell. no shoving his chest when he gets too close or mewling "johnny please," when he teases you. none of it.

you've been eerily polite, and it's driving him mental. on the second day of this, he tries to nuzzle into your neck while you're folding laundry, whispering, "miss you s'much baby, 'm gonna make it up to you properly tonight."

you pull away and hand him rolled up socks. "drawer." he watches you for a moment, hands slack by his sides, socks limp in his grip.

you're distant. johnny's not good with distance from you. the next day, he's extremely restless, wandering around you like a lost puppy in only a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips, hoping you'll come put that greasy spf you always fuss about all over him. he even lies out on the balcony chair for a full twenty minutes in the sun just to bait you, but you give him nothing. you do spare him a glance periodically through the glass door, but you say nothing. he ends up with a sunburn on his chest and the bridge of his nose.

that night, when you dont wiggle into his chest like normal or ask if he had a vitamin after he ate dinner, he turns to his side to face you, needing to put an end to your stonewalling. "bon."

you hum. he can't tell if it's acknowledgement or just the sound you make when you're falling asleep.

"c'mon," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. "i wasn't nice to you, i know that. didn' mean to be a dick. just been so stressed 'n on edge 'n i spoke outta turn."

while you're deciding whether or not to believe him, he gets closer, forehead nudging yours. "i'll pour the bourbon down the sink tomorrow," he says quietly. "swear it."

your fingers toy with the hem of his sleep shirt. it's the first time in days you've touched him without pushing him away. "you can drink if you want to." you murmur, twisting the fabric in your hands. " 'm sorry if i'm being overbearing."

"y'not, baby." he kisses your cheek. "just wanna do whatever makes you happy. you're the boss, aren't you?"

you wake up the next morning with his head between your legs, slow and steady, taking his time kissing down your body, from your tummy, to your hip, down to your inner thigh, and then your tender core.

his big palms wrap around the backs of your thighs and pull them over his shoulders, locking you in place while his mouth sucks and works at your pussy. he's so focused that he's making pleased little groans, crotch rutting absentmindedly against the mattress. he's grateful to have you back in his arms and your pussy, dripping and sweet as nectar, accessible to him once more, but he needs to make you cum to really feel forgiven.

he's slow and paced, kissing on you like he's starved. the slow drag of his tongue through your folds and the way his lips close over your clit and suck just softly enough to make your thighs tremble is euphoric, and you find yourself blanking on why you were mad at him to begin with.

his arms are wrapped around your thighs so firm you can barely move. and every time you try to squirm, he groans low and pulls you right back down, nose buried, face flushed and mouth messy. you can feel his beard brushing you, scratchy and warm, and your fingers automatically slide into his hair. "that's it, baby," he mumbles between pussy kisses. "lemme say sorry proper."

you whimper, back arching when he flattens his tongue against your clit and gives it a slow, firm swirl. he just groans again with enjoyment when you close your thighs around his head. he loves being smothered. he doesn't even care if he breathes, as long as you're happy and in love with him. when your pleasure crests and you cum on his face, he licks at your folds firmer, dragging that orgasm out of you. he keeps his mouth on you, gentler now. just soft licks and little kisses, tongue soothing over your puffy folds while his big hands rub slow circles into your thighs.

he doesn't stop until your hand in his hair goes limp. you sigh, letting him kiss back up your body to give you a little break before he goes back for more. he rests on your chest, nuzzling into your flesh gently. "you're forgiven, johnny." you huff, a little tired.

he grins, mouth still wet, eyes gleaming with relief. "thank fuck. boss me all you want, love. swear it gets me hard, anyway."

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley is commanding. he’s the most domineering presence in any room he walks in. makes the greatest of men lower their gaze when he approaches. he's taken down large enemy groups all on his own, has killed men with his bare hands, and… he comes home to you telling him "you can't eat that, baby. it's got monosodium glutamate in it. that makes you sick, remember?" and listens every time.

"…right," he'll say after a pause. "forgot abou' that. what d’you want me to eat then?"

he'd drop the bag of crisps he picked up on his way home with the god forsaken MSG in it the second you mentioned it and would nod. "mm. wouldn' wan' to spoil my dinner anyway, right love?" while gently taking you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

you're not controlling, either. the fussing is very particular. typically just a soft, offhand reminder from the only person in the world who really knows and prioritizes him before anything else. you love him so much and this is part of the way you show it. how could he complain?

you know everything about him, which is huge, considering he is a man of few words and is dreadful at being vulnerable. you know what wrecks his stomach, what gives him headaches, how he gets irritable and loopy when he doesn't sleep at least six hours in the night. you know his favorite clothing fabric and how he just wants to hold you when he's upset.

your voice is so warm and quietly certain that he has to listen every time. once you advise him not to do something, everything in him short circuits. his brute force logic disappears. because you say no, or "you shouldn't si, take this instead," and it's a done deal.

you don't even realize what it does to him, how something as simple as your concern twists itself into a soft knot in his stomach, how it makes him ache, not because you're bossing him, but because you're taking car and watching over him in a way no one else does.

he often glares at you and raises a brow ever so slightly at the way you, a tiny thing with big, expressive eyes and pouty lips just told a tank of a man what to do and expected him to listen.

he does though. listens to your bossy ass every time. and for all his stoicism, the man melts under your fussing.

he's in the shower with you brought that annoying cleanser you insist he needs to use every night and wash it off after thirty seconds because he's got sensitive skin.

"love. this shit's greasy."

"it's hydrating, si. good for your skin. protects the barrier."

"don't wan' hydrating."

you rub into his cheekbones anyway while his eyes are locked on you and his breath comes out slow and heavy. you're standing between his legs in the steam, having him lower his head slightly so you can reach your hands into his short hair once you've finished with the cleanser. you're squinting up at him, so serious as you massage something into his scalp like you're not both bare, soaked, and pressed up against each other.

simon has both massive hands holding your waist while he backs you into a corner of the shower, letting you fuss about exfoliants and scalp health with your tits smushed against his body and your eyes fixed on his face and not his cock nudging against your body, aching and swollen from the sight of you. he's trying to focus but he's so distracted by your body, the way you smell, and how soft you are in his hands.

you tilt your head up, rub a little cream into his hair, mumbling, "gotta keep your scalp health up to par, si", and he loses it.

simon grabs your face in both hands and pushes his mouth against yours, catching you off guard. you squeak into his mouth, and he groans and takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, water pouring down both of you, beard scratchy on your chin.

"god," he mutters hoarsely between kisses, "you fuss over me like I’m your bloody housepet."

you let out another noise in his mouth, not knowing if that means he hates it or not, but he nips your lower lip, trails his lips along your jaw and up to your ear. " 's a good thing, love. don't pout."

you moan softly, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck and jaw. the reassurance felt great, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

" 'm gonna fuck you," he mutters, voice cracked with need, hand already sliding down your back to grip your ass. "righ' now. can't take it anymore." you look up through your lashes, lashes wet, lip caught in your teeth.

"but you still have conditioner in," you stare up at him coyly.

"finish after. s'not like 'm goin' anywhere."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

simon didn't mean to snap at you. the harsh tone came out by itself. it's just that he's so tired and sore, joints in his body stiff with exhaustion. all he needs is a breather for five minutes, but you're there by the kitchen counter when he gets home. "hi baby! why don't you start with some of the stir fry i made! dunno if drinking black tea on any empty stomach is the best idea."

normally, he'd melt for your nagging and let you tug the tea bag and mug out of his hands and shove a plate of the lunch you made and a cup of water in his hands instead, and then kiss you stupid for giving a shit, but today, he bristles.

"jesus christ, can i just eat what i want for once?" his voice comes out sharp and cold in a tone he's never used on you before.

you blink, lips parting as you stand frozen in place with the wooden spoon you were using to cook laying limply in your hand. your mouth opens and then closes, and you give him a faint little nod and turn away.

he immediately notices your silence. you're never silent like this, so when you give him a faint little nod and walk off, he knows he screwed up bad. he stews on his stupidity for hours, up until you're laying in bed beside him and not once have you reminded him to put on that charcoal mask you always insist "draws out toxins."

you're just sitting beside him. not even sulking, just indifferent. you know what you're doing, of course. and it's working. he stares at the ceiling for a while, grinding his molars, heart pounding in his chest. he clears his throat in hopes of getting your attention and fails.

"not g'na remind me about the mask tonight?"

you flip a page. "no. thought you didn't want to be nagged."

he winces. actually winces.

"didn’ mean it like that, sweetheart."

"right." you're still not looking at him or touching him.

he can't survive without your fussing much longer. he doesn't have your eyes on him or your little giggles or your hands all over him and sweet night routines and it's making him crazy.

he sits up and breathes in deeply, before reaching for you quietly. you glance over with confusion just as he peels your book out of your hands. "what are you..?"

he's already tugging you across the bed, laying you down on the bed before peeling off your clothes. "simon! wh-what are you doing?" you glare up at him with confusion, squirming under him as he shimmies your panties down your legs and tossing it to the floor.

"apologizin' to m'wife."

he scoops you up and places you on his face with no warning, your pussy lined up with his mouth. he holds you there, palms spread over your ass, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, before diving in.

he groans like a starved man the second he licks into you. his tongue is slow at first, sliding between your folds, and lapping at your soft, juicy pussy. you're still half mad but you can't stop the way your head tips back as he sucks your clit into his mouth and holds it there. you squeal, bucking your hips to try and get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure, but he doesn't let up, tilting you hips up a little so he can slip his tongue into your soaked hole.

he tongues your entrance and licks you open messily, making you squirm into his mouth. you pull at his hair and try to lift yourself off, whining. "s-simon... s'too much..!"

he slaps your ass. "you don't get to leave me like that, love. won't let you be mad at me."

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drewsuncrustables · 4 days ago

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in too deep 𐙚 b.b

pairing: dom!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, orgasm denial, publi(ish) teasing, dirty talk do not operate heavy machinery after reading

summary: you told bucky it was your ovulation week and he took that as a challenge. you really, really, should’ve kept your mouth shut. based on this request | requests are open!

word count: 3k

author's note: hi my loves! i had too much fun writing this and i love it so much! i'm so excited to start working on the other requests that i have received 💓. have a great time reading, love ya and stay safe out there!

You should’ve kept your damn mouth shut.

It was just a whisper, a breathy, heat-laced confession, murmured with your face buried against Bucky’s throat last night while straddling his lap.

The compound was quiet, the television playing some netflix movie neither of you were watching. His hand had been sliding slow, comforting circles across your lower back, and your thighs were clenched tight around his hips, slick with want.

You hadn’t meant to say it, but your hormones clearly had other plans.

“It’s my ovulation week,” you breathed, nuzzling against his stubble. Your voice trembled with need, barely a sound. “Everything… feels extra.”

His hand had stopped, just for a second.

Then, danger. Pure danger. The way his fingers tightened possessively at your waist, the low hum he gave in response, and that glint in his eyes, it was not just mischief, his gaze was hungry almost as if he couldn’t wait to claim you.

That’s when you knew you were in trouble.

Now, the next morning, you’re standing in the mirrored gym on trembling legs with a kettlebell in your hand, sweat sliding down your spine, and your boyfriend is watching you like he’s about to drag you into the nearest closet and fuck you into the drywall. Not that you minded though.

He’s leaning against the wall across the mat. Casual on the surface. But the tension in his jaw and the weight in his stare?

It was anything but casual.

His sweatpants hang low on his hips, framing the sharp cut of his v-line and doing absolutely nothing to hide the thick, heavy outline of his cock beneath the cotton. His black tank is soaked through from sparring, clinging to the hard planes of his chest and abs like a second skin.

Bucky's got that calculated look in his eye almost like he’s pretending to assess your form, but really, he’s picturing bending you over the nearest bench and wrecking you six ways from Sunday.

You shift on your feet, stretch your arms overhead, arch just enough to let your back curve and your chest push forward.

If he’s going to tease you, you’ll tease back.

That’s your first mistake.

The second is letting out a moan, quiet, soft, instinctual as you bend down to touch your toes. It was barely audible, but he hears it.

The moment it escapes your lips, his eyes flash. And then, he moves.

Not a walk. A stalk.

He pushes off the wall and prowls toward you across the mat, slow and deliberate, like a wolf scenting its prey.

You straighten up too quickly, nearly dropping the kettlebell.

“Need a spotter?” he drawls, his voice pitched low and lazy, but his eyes rake over you like he’s already got you on your knees. “Or are you just making those noises for fun?”

You swallow, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. “Just warming up.”

He hums, circling behind you.

You feel the heat of him before he touches you, his presence like the sun, warm and overwhelming. You can smell him, too, sweat and cedar and something feral. And then, he kneels behind you, dragging his palms slowly up the backs of your thighs like he’s not in the compound's gym right now.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “We should stretch you out more.”

Your breath catches.

He parts your legs wider, his metal hand sliding between your inner thighs to nudge them open. You gasp as the fabric of your shorts pulls taut across your aching core, the pressure sweet and cruel.

“Bucky—” you whisper, heart racing.

“Shhh.” His breath ghosts over the curve of your ass. “You’re being so good. Standing still like this. Letting me see just how fuckin’ desperate you are.”

His fingers dance under the hem of your shorts, barely grazing your skin. Teasing your soaked, sensitive flesh without mercy, but he doesn’t touch you where you need though. Just close enough to ruin you.

“You’ve been wet since last night, haven’t you?” he murmurs. “Could feel you clenching around nothing when you were grinding on my lap. Bet you soaked through your panties when you slept.”

You tremble, the heat between your legs now unbearable. You want to scream, maybe even cry, perhaps drag him into the supply closet and beg him to fuck you until you can’t walk.

And he knows it.

“You told me it’s your ovulation week dollface” he whispers, voice dark and sinful. “That means this little pussy’s hungry, huh? Just aching to get filled.”

“God, you’re evil,” you whisper through your teeth, trying not to fall apart in front of the squat rack.

He chuckles. Presses a kiss to the side of your thigh. And then—he stands. Just like that.

Leaves you there, shaking, soaked and empty.

You spin around, panting, barely restraining the urge to launch your kettlebell at his head.

Bucky smirks, that infuriating, self-satisfied look that says he’s enjoying your torment a little too much.

“I think Yelena’s done with the sparring mat,” he says, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Why don’t you grab it, sweetheart?”

Your face burns and your clit throbs. And Bucky walks off like he didn��t just edge you in the damn compound gym.

You turn and meet Yelena’s smug grin.

She’s still jogging on the treadmill but slows to a bounce-walk as she tosses you a towel. “You look like you need a different kind of workout, sweetheart.”

“Don't.”

Yelena leans on the handrails. “No, no, I’m just saying—” she lifts an eyebrow— “the mat isn’t the only thing that’s going to get stretched out today.”

You throw the towel at her face.

She catches it mid-air, laughing.

“Tell Bucky to let you finish next time,” she calls as you storm off to the locker room, “Or at least let us know so we can film it!”

Somewhere near the dumbbells, Bob chokes on his protein shake.

You don’t even know what this briefing is about.

There’s a map stretched across the table, John is mid-rant about “optimal insertion points,” Alexei’s chewing sunflower seeds with the enthusiasm of a man watching spring training, Ava is checking her knives for the third time, Yelena’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone, occasionally snorting at whatever she’s watching.

And Bob, well Bob is asleep.

But none of it matters.

Because Bucky is sitting next to you. And his fingers are buried between your thighs.

From the outside, everything looks innocent. His flesh hand rests gently in your lap, your own placed demurely over his like the two of you are just quietly close, sweet, even.

But beneath the table, where no one can see, his metal hand is sliding past the waistband of your shorts with deliberate, devastating precision.

He doesn’t even pretend to rush. Two thick fingers move in slow, torturous circles over your clit, skimming with maddening pressure, barely enough to satisfy, but just enough to make your legs tremble.

Your breath catches, body frozen in place, every muscle tight with restraint. He knows exactly what he’s doing, how to touch you just right, how to coax those tiny, helpless reactions from you while you try to sit still and pretend you’re paying attention to a goddamn map.

His fingers stroke like he has all the time in the world, like there isn't a room full of operatives around you and a mission briefing happening overhead. A soft whimper curls in your throat and dies behind your teeth.

You squeeze your thighs together, trying to catch more friction, but that only makes him chuckle under his breath, barely audible and smug as sin.

And still, he doesn’t go deeper. Doesn't give you what you're aching for. Just keeps circling, teasing, controlling. Like this is a game, and you’re already losing, pathetically.

You sit stiffly, back ramrod straight, every muscle locked as you try not to make a sound. Your tablet is open in front of you, gripped so tight your knuckles ache and it's the only thing grounding you in this room while your body burns.

He leans in, voice low, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in it. “You really gonna cum in front of the team, princess?”

Your breath hitches. “Bucky,” you whisper, voice sharp like a warning, like a prayer.

He doesn’t stop. If anything, his touch gets lazier. Crueler. His cold vibranium fingers part your folds like he owns every inch of you, and he dips just barely inside, only to pull away, dragging the wetness back up to swirl gently over your clit again.

“You said you needed me,” he continues, brushing his nose against your temple. “Said your body’s beggin’ for it. I’m just helping”

“Are you two doing this again?” Yelena asks flatly, without even looking up. Her tone is dry as dust. “She’s vibrating like she’s possessed, someone get her a snack before she faints.”

You glare daggers at her, but it’s weak, your body is already betraying you.

Alexei squints at you across the table. “I thought she had blood sugar issue”

“She’s ovulating,” Bucky announces casually, not even bothering to lower his voice.

Ava groans. “Jesus, Barnes, you can’t just say that.”

“She told me,” he shrugs, like he’s reading weather reports. “I’m being supportive.”

You make a choked sound as he presses down harder in tight, purposeful circles now, inescapable. Your hips twitch without your permission, Bucky's not even fucking you yet, but you can already feel the orgasm winding tight in your belly like a wire stretched too thin.

“I hate you,” you grind out under your breath, nails digging crescents into your palm.

He turns just enough to meet your eyes, that wicked glint in his blue gaze that makes your lungs seize. “Say that again when you’re cumming on my fingers, pretty girl.”

But he doesn’t let you get there.

Each time your body trembles on the cusp, he pulls back, slows, teasing you with strokes so feather-light they feel like punishment.

You’re soaked, shaking, every inch of your skin flushed with heat. He’s wrecking you in silence, in full view of your teammates, and no one’s the wiser, save for the few who clearly suspect exactly what’s happening under the table.

“Bucky,” you beg, barely audible, lips barely moving. “Please.”

He tilts his head, brushing his mouth over the corner of yours. “Not here, sweetheart.” His voice is velvet, low and dark and dripping with promise. “You wanna be bred, honey? Stuffed full like you’re meant to be?” You whimper, and he smirks. “Then you’ll wait.”

“Okay,” Walker claps his hands like a kindergarten teacher trying to salvage control, clearly frustrated. “Unless Bucky would like to finish fucking his girlfriend under the table, can we maybe circle back to the infiltration routes?”

“Bold of you to assume he hasn’t started,” Yelena mutters, not even glancing up from her screen.

You want the ground to swallow you whole. Or set the whole damn briefing room on fire. Maybe both.

Bucky withdraws his hand with excruciating slowness, fingers slick with your arousal. He doesn’t bother hiding it. Instead, he drags them along the inside of your thigh, leaving a glistening trail before wiping them off on your skin like he’s branding you. A silent, possessive mark that has your breath catching in your throat.

He leans back in his chair like nothing happened, legs spread in that display of dominance, expression unreadable but infuriatingly smug.

Completely relaxed. Completely in control.

And you? You’re ruined. Wrung out and twitching. Every nerve ending crackling with frustration, your body screaming for the release he just denied you.

Then he turns again, tilting his head so his lips hover at the shell of your ear, voice so low it shivers through your bones.

“Kitchen. Twenty minutes. Don’t wear panties.”

You almost beat him there.

Almost.

You're already perched on the edge of the kitchen island, legs swinging slightly, thighs pressed tight together in a poor attempt to dull the ache pulsing through your core. Your shorts are somewhere back in your room, discarded in your frenzy to get here fast enough, and you’re bare underneath his black t-shirt, no panties, no shame.

Just soaked thighs and need.

The cotton of his tee clings to your skin, damp with sweat and arousal. Your nipples are pebbled against the fabric, the cool air in the kitchen brushing over them each time you shift. You’re a mess of frustration and anticipation—hot, dripping, ruined—and all because he didn’t let you finish at that stupid meeting.

Then the sound of footsteps.

He strides in like he owns the whole fucking building—sweatpants hanging low on his hips, dark tank sticking to his chest, muscles flexed, jaw tight. But it’s his eyes that stop your breath. Cerulean blue, blazing and feral.

He takes one look at you—legs spread, thighs gleaming, lips parted in silent plea and something in him snaps.

He crosses the space in two steps and his hands are already on you.

“You waited like a good girl, huh?” he rasps, voice wrecked and raw, lifting the shirt up and over your chest. “Sittin’ here all wet and desperate, no fuckin’ panties like I told you. Fuck.”

You don’t get the chance to answer—he’s already kissing you. Hard and possessive. Open-mouthed and filthy, all tongue and teeth and the sharp edge of punishment. You moan against his mouth, clawing at his waistband, nails scraping the hard lines of his hips.

His vibranium hand slides between your legs and you nearly sob. He groans into your mouth as he feels how wet you are, how ready.

“Been leaking for me all fuckin’ day,” he growls, dragging slick fingers through your folds. “You know what I want, don’t you, baby? Want that sweet little cunt full. Stuffed so deep you feel me for days.”

“Please,” you pant, grinding shamelessly against his hand, desperate. “Need it—need you to fill me up, Bucky, please—”

That’s all he needs.

He spins you around and bends you over the island, chest pressed to cool marble, ass bared and ready. There’s no teasing this time. No patience. You feel the thick, blunt heat of him at your entrance and brace yourself—

Then he slams into you with a brutal thrust.

You cry out, loud and unrestrained, one hand slapping the counter, the other gripping the edge like a lifeline. Bucky bottoms out instantly, stretching you open, splitting you around the thick length of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, snapping his hips. “Tight fuckin’ pussy. You were made to be filled by me.”

He sets a relentless pace, hips slamming into your ass, the sound obscene and echoing off the tiled walls. Each thrust drives your body forward, forces breath from your lungs, drags you closer to the edge with reckless, punishing efficiency.

“You want it in you, huh?” he pants, gripping your hips like he’ll never let go. “Gonna fuck you full, baby. Gonna fill that greedy pussy ‘til it’s dripping down your thighs. Want my cum deep, want me to breed this needy little cunt?”

“Yes!” you scream. “Fuck, yes, yes, please, Bucky, fill me,"

He snarls, pace turning savage. “Gonna take it. Gonna fuck a baby into you right here on the goddamn counter. My needy little slut, my good girl.”

You unravel, shaking, twitching, walls spasming around him as your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure burning through your bloodstream, exploding behind your eyes. You sob his name, voice wrecked.

Bucky’s right behind you.

He grits out a curse and drives in deep, cock twitching as he spills inside you, hot, thick and endless. He keeps grinding forward as if he could somehow fuck his cum deeper, claim every inch of you from the inside out.

And then you heard voices and footsteps from the hall.

Yelena’s voice rang out, “You know we eat food on that counter, right? Like with our mouths?

Alexei exclaims, “Walker owe me twenty bucks!”

John retorts, dry as ever “at least she's not complaining now.” Ava laughed, “Told you they wouldn’t make it to sunset”

And you could vaguely hear Bob asking if they were supposed to see this.

You bury your face in your arms, groaning. “Kill me. Kill me now.”

Bucky chuckles, actual laughter, low and warm, chest shaking against your back, he presses a kiss to the base of your neck, then another to your spine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

He pulls out slowly, a filthy squelch of sound following, then hums when your thighs glisten with his release. “Look at that,” he says softly. “Already leaking. Just how I like it.”

You melt when he wraps his arms around you from behind, chest to your back, still warm and panting.

“You did so good for me,” he whispers, brushing your hair off your cheek. “So perfect. Gonna clean you up, put you in bed, and hold you all night. You earned it, needy girl.”

You sigh, body boneless.

And when he lifts you off the counter like you weigh nothing, bridal style, you don’t even resist. You just curl into his chest, letting yourself be carried away, dripping and satisfied.

“I love you,” he says softly into your hair as he walks past the rest of the team like you two didn’t just fuck in a common area.

Despite everything, despite the chaos, the teasing, the way he just wrecked you in the kitchen, you smile.

“I love you too.”

Even if you’re banned from the kitchen forever.

a/n: thank you so much for reading my sweethearts! ❤️ please leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! it keeps me motivated 🥰

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drewsuncrustables · 5 days ago

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Johnny is a tits man. He sees a nice pair of boobs and his brain slips out of his ear. He also likes a nice cunt. But he will cry if it's "bald". You can go ahead and trim it if you want, but don't you dare shave it.

Kyle strikes me as an ass man. Something he can squeeze secretly when you are talking to someone. And slap when you two are at it. You don't understand, it looks so sexy when it moves with each spank.

John looks like someone who would drool over some nice hips. Something to hold onto, both in public and in bed. It also doesn't help his breeding kink.

Simon is a thighs guy, I will NOT agree with anything else. He wants to lay his head on something soft, plant kisses and maybe leave bite marks, if you allow it. And he will absolutely put his dick between them.

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drewsuncrustables · 5 days ago

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Finally

Omg a pt 5 to my reader and her dog riley?? This is getting out of hand...

Anyways reader figures ghost out lol

Despite what gaz may say about you, u are not totally oblivious. You tend to notice when guys are interested in you, its just that ghost is so embarrassed about the effect you have on him that he's deadset on avoiding you. Everytime you even mutter praise for ur beloved riley, ghost is already out the door. Its a bit odd, you and ghost actually do have nice chats when riley isn't around, his dark humor and casual vibe is actually pretty charming.

It happens by chance while you and the guys are eating lunch, a rare occasion but one you enjoy very much. Soap is happily explaining how he got his callsign, when you furrow your brow and ask "Wait, what even is your last name? I've only ever heard people call you soap or johnny."

Soap grins, you've fallen right into his and gazs plan "Aye, i guess you wouldn' know would ye?" He muses, attempting to hide his grin "mines MacTavish, gaz is garrick, price is well...price, and ghost is riley."

"Riley?" You ask, looking at ghost, "dude, you share a name with my dog! Isn't that cool?"

You joke about it, but you can see the blush creeping up his neck when all he does is grunt. You file that away for later and go back to listening to soap.

A few days later, you and ghost are in the common area simply enjoying eachothers presence. He's lying spread across the couch, and ur working on the puzzle that's been taking up the coffee table for the better part of three weeks. Riley's not with u today, having been taken to the beach to go play with ur friends dogs. You miss him, but luckily your friend sends you a video of the big guy!

He's just so cute, covered in sand and chasing the other dogs! You smile at your phone, hand reaching up to pat ghosts bicep.

"Ghost! Ghost, look at this!" You dont wait for him to respond, knowing he will look "its riley at the beach! Look how cute he is!" You enthuse, leaning over so he can properly see the screen from his position.

"Riley's such an energetic boy, he loves to play! God, hes just amazing, I know hes having a great time right now. Hes such a good boy!"

The strangled sound ghost makes has you pausing, actually looking at him instead of gushing about riley. He's flushed, eyes wide as they stare up at you. You only now realize how close you are, leaning against his torso slightly, muscles stiff under your touch.

A grin splits your face, dots connecting. "Oh, this does something for you doesn't it?" You ask, and he looks like hes about ready to bolt, but too scared to push you away.

"Do you like hearing your name on my tongue? Or is it the praise?" His breath hitches, "hm, thought so. You wanna be my good boy, ghost?"

"Simon- its simon" he barely manages to respond, a gasp leaving his mouth as you lean closer, practically plastering to his side.

"Okay then, simon" you agree easily, relishing in the way his skin reddens. A hand trails up to rub his bicep, groping at the muscles you've been eyeing for far too long. "Cmon simon, be good for me."

He whines, outright and needy when you straddle his waist, large hands coming up to grab your thighs. He's already rock hard beneath you, grinding up almost unconsciously. Simon doesn't protest when you hook a finger under the surgical mask he wears, pulling it off to reveal the pretty part of his lips as he sighs. You cant resist leaning down and kissing him, feeling the way his lips press against yours warmly.

Youre snaking a hand under his shirt when a loud and pointed cough startles you two. Both of your heads whip around to see price with his arms crossed, looking thoroughly unamused.

"This is a public room," he points out, sounding vaguely disappointed despite the gleam in his eye "take this somewhere private."

As he walks out, you swear you can hear a muttered fucking finally.

(Omg wow hope yall enjoyed. fi you thought i was gonna make reader anything other than dominant ur in the WRONG HOUSE im a sub ghost truther!! I promise ill write the actual smut eventually lol.)

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drewsuncrustables · 5 days ago

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Ohhh I need that next post !!!!! We have to be the ones to figure it out

Whaoh a part 4 to my reader and her dog riley post??? Anyways ghost is jealous over a dog lol what a loser

You've been with the 141 long enough for people to notice the...influence...you have over ghost. You dont notice it, but if you ask ghost to do anything he will drop whatever hes doing to get it done. you have this man walking on a leash for your attention.

Except, its never quite right. Ghost never thought he'd feel jealous of a dog, but the way you praise your little German shepherd riley compared to the polite thanks you give ghost? Its enough to get the man envious.

"Oh! Thanks ghost!" You smile at him as he hands over some papers you needed. Ghosts fingers twitch at the sweet smile, but its nothing compared to what he craves. Rileys sat by you, head in your lap as you absently give him scratches behind the ear. Ghost eyes him. Wishing he could take the dogs place. Wonders how your thighs would feel against his cheek.

As if to spite ghost personally, riley makes a small whine, and like any owner obsessed with their dog you look down to coo at him.

"Awe, whats wrong riley? Feeling left out big boy?" You ruffle his fur, fingers carding into the fluff "its okay, baby. You just sit tight okay riley? Then we can go play, I brought your favourite treats, remember?"

Ghost swears the dog gives him a smug look. He wants desperately for you to pet him, to run your fingers through his hair. Ghost aches with th want to be your favourite boy, but he just clenches his jaw and walks out.

"Oh, you're such a good boy, riley!" Your praise for riley follows out, and ghost will sooner die than admit he ducked into an empty bathroom to jerk off lol.

(Thinking ill have reader realize ghosts whole thing next post🤔 question is tho does someone tell you or do you figure it out? Hmmm....)

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drewsuncrustables · 9 days ago

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jealous!lieutenant riley makes brain go brrr

warnings : suggestive content, filthy mouthed simon & a molecule of praise

──────────୨ৎ───────────

jealous!lieutenant riley who nearly cracks a molar when laswell teams you and kyle up for an upcoming mission.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose fingers twitch towards his gun when she mentions you’ll have to act as a married couple.

jealous!lieutenant riley who, for the entire week leading up to the gala, barks at rookies nine hours a day and spends his evenings at the shooting range—allegedly imagining someone very real as the target.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose mouth goes bone dry when he sees you wrapped in an expensive floor-length chiffon dress that accentuates every gentle dip and feminine curve and—fuck but he’s half-hard already.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose eyes stay glued to you the entire evening, his thoughts straying much further than his simple assignment of guarding your six.

jealous!lieutenant riley who, the second the base’s gravel crunches under the slowing tires of the car, is wrapping a burly arm around the slope of your waist while actively glaring at the diamond on your finger.

jealous!lieutenant riley who backs you up against his quarters’ door, his amber eyes burning like molten lava as they rove the length of your legs in a slow trail upwards.

jealous!lieutenant riley who finally claims your mouth, glides his hot tongue against yours, nips your neck and kisses your shoulders—all while he slides the subtly glittering gown off, exposing more and more of your soft skin to his hungry gaze.

jealous!lieutenant riley who lays you out on his bed—your nimble hands fisting his sheets, your silky hair in a halo on his pillow, and your pretty legs hiked onto his shoulders as he lowers himself between the plush of your thighs.

jealous!lieutenant riley who only drifts back up once he’s had his fill, chin glistening from your slick and pupils almost swallowing all the bronze of his irises.

jealous!lieutenant riley who lines himself up with your puffy entrance, bracing his tattooed forearms on each side of your head as his fingers slip into your silky hair.

jealous!lieutenant riley who kisses your dampened forehead, before letting his stubbly cheek rasp against your blushing one, his hot breath bleeding into a drawl at your ear.

“'m goin’ to fuck that ring right off of you, dove. now spread y’legs and be a good girl f’me.”

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drewsuncrustables · 11 days ago

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Need more of these hello

simon “ghost” riley is so fucking blunt with his words

you’re not even trying to be sexy. just sat on his couch in that worn old tank top, the one with the frayed strap and no bra underneath. your legs are curled under you, hair damp from the shower, picking at your nails and talking about some show you half-watched.

he’s not listening.

"y’re tits sit nice in that top f’yours," he says, eyes on the tv. voice low, almost lazy, like he’s commenting on the weather.

you blink at him. "what?"

"didn’t stutter, love," he says, finally turning to look. eyes dragging down your chest, slow and shameless. “reckon you wear shit like that on purpose.”

your face goes hot but he just huffs a laugh through his nose, leans back further. spreads his thighs a little wider like he’s settling in.

“saw a porno the other day. girl looked like you. sweet thing, bit mouthy. got fucked face-down in a stairwell.” he pauses. shrugs. “thought of ya.”

your jaw drops.

“what?” he says, tilting his head. “should be flattered. ain’t every day i get off twice to the same fuckin’ video.”

he grins when you throw a pillow at him. catches it. holds it in his lap.

"gonna keep wearin' that top, or y’gonna come sit here and gimme a better fuckin’ view?"

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drewsuncrustables · 14 days ago

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knife's edge.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Heels on. Nothing else. You only meant to try them on—until Bucky saw your reflection in the mirror. Now he’s on his knees, leaking, begging, and discovering a kink he never knew he needed.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, stiletto kink, cock worship (m receiving), edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, praise/degradation mix, soft dom!reader, sub!bucky, kink discovery, begging

Author's Note: Just trying something new based on umm an old quote from the man himself (Sebastian).

You’d only meant to try them on.

The heels—sleek, obsidian black stilettos—had been tossed carelessly by your dresser, still in the box Yelena had left with a wink.

“You’re gonna need these at that gala. Something that says: I might stab you, and I’ll look damn good doing it.”

Now, fresh from your shower, skin still warm and dewy, you slipped into them—nothing on but a towel draped over your hair, drying off the ends. The hard click of the heel echoed sharply as you stepped across the hardwood floor of your walk-in, then paused to study your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The shoes made your legs look longer. Firmer. Every shift of your weight made your muscles flex just right—like danger incarnate wrapped in nothing but bare skin and sleek edges. You turned slightly, admiring the clean line of your thigh from the back, the curve of your ass lifted just right by the height of the heels.

You took a few steps—slow and experimental—toward the mirror. Click. Click. A small smile played on your lips. Powerful. That’s how they made you feel.

You didn’t realize you weren’t alone.

Bucky had been standing just past the doorway—towel slung low around his hips, hair damp, chest still glistening from the aborted mission to shower. But now he was behind you, watching silently.

In the mirror, you saw him—towering behind you like some kind of storm barely held back. His jaw was tight. His cock already twitching beneath the towel.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked.

You startled slightly, catching his reflection. “Buck?”

“I—” he dragged a hand down his face. “Don’t move.”

You arched a brow, amused. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stop staring. You—fuck, sweetheart…” His eyes raked your reflection, wide and hungry. “You look like a fucking vision. I can’t—your legs. Tight. Flexed. Those fucking heels…”

You shifted again, subtle, letting the pose change slightly. “It’s just heels.”

“You’re naked in heels,” he rasped, stepping forward like gravity reeled him in. “Clicking around like it’s nothing. And you didn’t even know I was here. That’s fucking criminal.”

He stopped just behind you—close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his towel brushing your skin. You met his gaze in the mirror as he stared over your shoulder, utterly entranced.

“I was testing them out.”

“Yeah?” His voice dipped again. “I’m testing my fucking limits.”

Still, he didn’t touch. His breath ghosted across your neck as he whispered, “You look like you could slit throats and make a man thank you for it.”

You chuckled, soft and sultry. “That’s a compliment?”

“Sweetheart, that’s a confession.”

Then his hands finally found your hips. He pressed himself to your back, hard and hot, his cock fully erect beneath the thin towel. His mouth brushed your ear.

“You ever see yourself like this?” he murmured. “Legs flexed. Shoulders bare. Looking at me in the mirror like that?”

“I see you too,” you whispered, shifting your weight just slightly so your heel lifted. “And I see what this is doing to you.”

Bucky groaned, the sound dark and low in his throat. His grip tightened, and then—slowly—he turned you in his hands. Gently, reverently. Until you were facing him.

His eyes were glazed, jaw tight, towel strained over how badly he wanted you.

Then, with one hand, he reached down and curled his fingers behind your knee.

“Lift it,” he said, voice a raw rasp.

You obeyed, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance as you raised your leg.

He caught it easily—guided your stiletto up onto his thigh, right against the heat of him.

And just like that… you understood.

You shifted your angle slightly, just enough to let the sharp point of your heel drag slowly across the inside of his thigh. He gasped.

You did it again. Slower this time. Closer.

He bit his bottom lip, eyes fluttering half-shut.

“Think I just found a new kink,” he groaned. “You, wearing those heels. Me just… watching you use ‘em like this.”

“You’d let me tease you like this?” you asked, voice teasing, hungry. “Keep you hard with just my heels and no hands?”

His hips jerked forward instinctively.

“You’d do that to me?”

You smiled, head tilting slightly. “I’d make you beg, Bucky. Tell you how pretty you look, all desperate. Maybe even let you rut up against my foot a little. But only if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck.” His voice cracked. “You could ruin me.”

You stepped in closer, both hands pressing gently to his chest now.

“Then let me.”

And with one slow, confident push, you backed him until his shoulders met the cool surface of the mirror behind him—still watching, still reflected.

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath, letting his towel fall.

And you dropped to your knees.

You were just getting started.

—

You looked up at him, cock flushed and twitching in front of you, chest rising and falling like he was holding on by a thread.

“Say please,” you murmured, fingers gliding up his thigh as you leaned in.

Bucky moaned—low and wrecked—his head falling back to thump softly against the mirror.

“Please. Just—baby, please.”

You didn’t give him what he wanted. Not yet.

Instead, you reached down and pressed your heel between his thighs again—light, teasing, right to that sensitive spot that made him jolt.

“The gala might have to wait.”

His breath stuttered hard, hands twitching at his sides. His hips rolled instinctively toward you, seeking contact—anything—but you just leaned back slightly, keeping your eyes on his.

“God,” he whispered, voice frayed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled sweetly and slid your palm up his length in a slow stroke—then let go completely.

“Not until I’m done with you.”

“You’re so hard,” you whispered. “And I’ve barely done anything to you.”

You watched him—so big, so ready to fall apart for you—and felt a flicker of nerves beneath the thrill. You weren’t used to this. Not like this. But the way he looked at you?

Like you hung the moon.

You straightened your shoulders slightly. Let the confidence follow your voice.

Instead, you slowly stepped back, out of his hold. The sharp click of your stilettos on the hardwood made him visibly flinch, like even the sound of them had power over him now.

“Down,” you said softly, letting the word hang in the air like smoke.

You weren’t sure what you expected. But the way he froze—chest rising, mouth parted—told you everything.

He wanted this. Wanted you like this.

His brows drew together—hesitant, breathless.

“Kneel for me, James.”

You didn’t say it again.

You didn’t need to.

He sank slowly, towel loosening around his hips as he dropped to his knees in front of you. You stood tall above him, completely bare but for the heels and the towel draped across your damp hair. One step forward, and he was level with your thighs—your heat, your scent—everything.

“Look at you,” you murmured, tilting his chin up with your fingers. “Big, dangerous super soldier, and yet you’re right here. On your knees. Just ‘cause I told you to.”

His eyes were wide, lips parted. You watched his cock twitch again, hard and leaking against his stomach.

You shifted your weight, lifting one leg slowly and placing the pointed tip of your heel right between his thighs. Just beneath his balls.

“God—” he gasped, hands twitching on his thighs, unsure where to place them. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.”

You didn’t answer.

You dragged the heel up lightly—slow, deliberate—over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. His breath hitched. The sharp press made the muscles in his thighs jump, like his body couldn’t decide if it wanted more or to pull away.

“You like this?” you whispered, eyes locked on his.

He whimpered. Whimpered.

You did it again—just a graze, the tip of your heel trailing up to the crease of his hip before you slid it back down. His cock twitched again, leaking now, desperate.

“Your cock’s such a slut for me,” you said, voice dipped low and cruel-sweet.

You didn’t even know you had that tone in you. But the way he whimpered—his thighs trembling, breath stalling—it did something to you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, chest heaving. “Please—”

“Aw, baby,” you cooed, tilting your heel just enough to press into the tender flesh inside his thigh. “Didn’t know you liked being teased like this. Thought you were the one who liked calling the shots.”

His throat bobbed, lips trembling with restraint. “I didn’t know I’d like you like this.”

Your smile was pure wicked delight. “Poor thing.”

You grazed the heel up again—closer this time, letting the tip ghost along the underside of his cock. Just a whisper of contact.

His whole body jerked. A cracked, broken moan slipped from his lips.

“Needy little thing,” you muttered, stepping closer, letting your calf brush his shoulder. “You wanna come already, don’t you?”

He nodded—frantic, wrecked.

You stood tall behind him, watching the muscles of his back flex as he breathed hard, towel barely hanging on. He was beautiful like this. Obedient. Thighs tense. Cock flushed, twitching, untouched.

But your confidence flickered—just for a moment. Your power felt so sharp, so new.

Your voice softened. “Bucky…”

He turned slightly to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, heel tapping lightly against the floor behind him.

You didn’t mean to sound unsure, but it slipped out anyway.

“What… what do I do next? If I wanted to really ruin you?”

His eyes nearly rolled back at that. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You say shit like that and I’m close already.”

That response? That gave you permission to keep going.

You stepped in front of him again, brow furrowed, lips parted with the weight of wanting. “Tell me.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. He sat back on his heels, looking up at you like worship. “Start slow. Use your hands. Don’t let me finish.”

You blinked. “That’s mean.”

He smiled weakly. “Exactly.”

You knelt—carefully, heels still on—sitting with your thighs spread just enough for him to see how wet you were already. His gaze dropped instantly, groaning again.

“You want me to just… touch you?” you asked, hand reaching out toward his flushed, aching cock.

“Please,” he whispered, desperate. “Just not enough. Just enough to make me lose my fucking mind.”

You wrapped your fingers around him gently—slow, reverent. His hips bucked, and he hissed through his teeth.

“God,” you whispered. “You’re so hard…”

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, eyes wide and focused on the way he twitched in your grip. His cock pulsed with every pass of your hand, leaking at the tip. He moaned low, broken, head falling back.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, voice growing steadier as you watched him unravel. “On your knees, begging.”

“Don’t stop,” he groaned.

But you slowed. Thumb grazing under the head, teasing the slit. He cried out softly, hips jerking again.

“Sweetheart, please—don’t play fair. Ruin me.”

You leaned forward and dragged your tongue slowly up the underside of his cock—one long, deliberate stroke, just to taste him.

Bucky choked on a moan. “Fuck, fuck, do that again—”

You licked again, kittenish and slow, then placed a kiss to the flushed head. He whimpered.

Then stopped.

“Wait—baby—” His voice cracked. “Don’t… don’t let me come. Not yet. Please—keep me there. Just right there.”

You pulled back instantly, lips slick, eyes wide. “Like… this?”

You stroked him again, faster now—then stopped just as he started to pant.

He looked wrecked. Eyes glassy. Lips swollen from biting them. Chest heaving.

“Yes. Just like that,” he gasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Think I like seeing you like this,” you murmured, brushing your heel against his thigh again. “Whimpering. Barely holding on.”

His cock jerked helplessly. “I can’t—baby, I can’t take it—”

You leaned in, whispering at his ear, stroking him again just to the edge. “No coming, Bucky. Not until I say.”

He nodded helplessly. “Yes. Yes, ma’am.”

Your breath hitched. You felt that.

He was shaking now. Begging under his breath. You watched every muscle in his body tense and tremble—every pulse of his cock in your hand.

And still, you denied him.

“You wanna come so bad,” you whispered. “But I’m not done watching you beg.”

He looked up at you—face flushed, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded.

“Please,” he breathed. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

You stroked him once more—firm and slow—then let go completely.

His hips twitched. A full-body jolt. His breath hitched on a raw, cracked moan.

You tilted your head. “You’re leaking again.”

He looked down, eyes wide with humiliation—because yeah, he was. The flushed head of his cock was glistening, dripping onto his own thigh like his body couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I haven’t even touched you in a minute,” you whispered, awe curling around your voice. “You’re just leaking for me.”

His chest heaved. “I—I can’t help it—”

“Oh, I know you can’t.” You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Look at you. All this from me in heels and a few soft strokes? That’s all it took to get you like this?”

He whimpered. Fucking whimpered. Shoulders hunched like the shame turned him on even more.

“I didn’t know you could get this pathetic,” you whispered, trailing a fingertip up the underside of his cock—barely touching. “But I like it.”

He gasped.

You watched in real time as another thick bead of precum dripped down his length—unprompted, untouched. His thighs were trembling now, muscles strained from trying to hold back the orgasm clawing its way up his spine.

“I feel like I’m gonna come,” he groaned, broken and frantic.

You leaned back, watching every desperate twitch. “You’re not allowed.”

“I know,” he choked. “I know, I know—but baby, please—”

His whole body was shaking. Cock flushed, painfully red at the tip. He was grinding the air just barely, involuntarily chasing friction he knew he wasn’t allowed to have.

Then you saw it—another thick drip of precum pulsing from him. His voice was wrecked now, barely intelligible.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m leaking—I can’t stop—baby, I can’t—”

His head dropped forward, resting between your thighs as he moaned—low and hoarse. He was panting like a man being edged at gunpoint—back arched, cock jerking helplessly, tip leaving wet trails across his own abdomen.

You didn’t let him come.

You just held his face, gently, fingertips brushing his stubble as he trembled between your legs.

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered. “Look at you. You haven’t even come, and you’re already falling apart.”

His hands clutched at your thighs like a lifeline.

“Say it,” you murmured, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

He looked up at you, red-faced, eyes glossy.

“I’m yours,” he breathed. “Fuck—I’m yours. Ruin me however you want.”

You smiled.

You didn’t expect to love this—holding him like this, guiding his pleasure like it belonged to you.

But you did.

“Good.”

Your thumb brushed along his jaw as he panted, face still buried against your thigh, cock pulsing and flushed, still leaking.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, voice different now—lower, steady. “You’ve been so good.”

Bucky whimpered.

You tipped his face up gently. “You wanna come, baby?”

His eyes fluttered open—wet and desperate, like he didn’t believe you yet.

“Yeah?” you asked again, more tender now. “You want me to let you?”

His lips parted. “Please. Please, sweetheart—I need it. I need to come so bad, it hurts.”

You kissed his forehead.

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Come for me.”

He didn’t even need to touch himself.

Just your voice—just that permission—was enough.

He groaned, head falling forward again as his hips jerked once, then twice, and—

“Fuck—fuck—I’m coming—”

Thick pulses of hot cum spilled across his belly, each wave shaking his thighs. His whole body shuddered from it, like the dam had snapped wide open and he couldn’t stop if he tried. You held his jaw, watched him fall apart so sweetly—muttering your name under his breath like it was the only thing he remembered how to say.

And when it was over—when the last twitch left his muscles and he sagged against you, boneless, breathing hard—you whispered,

“You okay?”

His breath hitched with something like a laugh. He leaned his head against your chest, still catching up.

“I think I just found religion.”

You smiled, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “You liked that.”

“I loved that,” he whispered, still dazed. “Didn’t know I needed it—being owned like that. You… making me hold back, making me ask for it?”

He looked up at you, cheeks flushed and glowing, a little awestruck.

“Felt like I gave you everything,” he said. “And you took care of it.”

You kissed him again, softer this time. “I did.”

And he let out a breath like a man reborn.

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drewsuncrustables · 16 days ago

Text

MDNI 18+

“i have tattoos older than you swee’heart” simon riley x reader

mentions of: vaginal sex, age gap (barerly leagle) choking, slapping,

You hadn’t meant to end up at his table.

He was the kind of man who took up space even in silence—hidden in the darkest part of the bar, smoke curling in the low light, the weight of him impossible to ignore. Tattoos crawled up his forearms in inky, precise lines, barely concealed under the sleeves of his black shirt. His fingers curled around a glass of whiskey like he owned the damn place, scars on his knuckles catching the light.

Simon didn’t speak first. He didn’t need to. You felt his eyes on you before you even reached him, a quiet permission wrapped in a dare.

“What’s a pretty thing like you want from me?” he asked, voice a low growl that slid down your spine.

You tilted your head. “Just thought your tattoos were cool.”

He scoffed softly, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in something too sharp to be a smile. “They’ve been there longer than you’ve been drinkin’, luv.”

That should’ve scared you off. You weren’t even sure why it didn’t.

By the time he walked you out of the bar, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and one heavy hand guiding the small of your back, your thighs were already pressing together with every step. He didn’t speak much on the way to his apartment—just the occasional grunt, the flick of his eyes on you, the tension so thick it nearly strangled you.

Inside his flat, the air was cooler, but it didn’t matter. You were burning.

“You’re really gonna let an old man like me ruin you, yeah?” he asked, voice husky as he locked the door behind you. His boots thudded on the floor as he stalked toward you. “Don’t even know what you’re askin’ for.”

“I know enough,” you breathed, already backing up until your spine hit the wall.

Simon’s hand cupped your jaw roughly, the pad of his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “We’ll see.”

He kissed you like he wanted to bruise you. No softness, just teeth and tongue and dominance. Your dress was hiked up before you could even whimper, his calloused hands dragging your panties down with a muttered, “Fuckin’ delicate little thing.”

When you moaned against his mouth, he laughed. “Oh, you’re filthy.”

He spun you around, pressing your chest to the cold wall, and shoved the dress up higher until your tits spilled out. His fingers trailed over the curve of your ass, admiring the way your body shook from the anticipation.

“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?” he asked, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind, thumb pressing into the side just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Yes,” you gasped, your knees nearly buckling.

Crack.

His palm came down hard on your ass, making you jolt forward with a yelp.

“You’ll thank me for it too,” he said, slapping the other cheek just as hard. “Won’t you, sweetheart?”

“T-Thank you,” you whimpered, completely undone already.

“That’s my girl.”

He lined his cock up to your dripping cunt, teasing it through your folds as your body trembled. His head dropped to your shoulder, voice low in your ear.

“Wanna know a secret about these tattoos?” he rasped, rubbing the fat head of his cock against your soaked entrance. “They’re older than you.”

Your breath hitched, your back arching into him. “Don’t care,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “Feels too good.”

Simon groaned as he pushed inside, your tight heat sucking him in inch by inch. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he gritted. “So fuckin’ tight. Like this cunt was made for me.”

He didn’t ease into you. He fucked you like he had a point to prove—his hips snapping forward, slamming you into the wall, one rough hand gripping your hip while the other moved back to your throat. He squeezed, not too tight, but enough to make your vision shimmer at the edges.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, fucking you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. “You like gettin’ slapped and choked like a dirty little slag.”

You moaned out something incoherent, drooling as you tried to nod.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ thought so.”

His hand cracked against your ass again, and again, until you sobbed. “You’ll remember who owns this cunt,” he snarled, cock pistoning in and out of you, the sound of your slickness and skin slapping echoing around the room.

Simon’s ego was swelling with every broken noise you made, every twitch of your body around him. After years of jerking off in silence with his hand and a crumpled sock, he now had you—a warm, trembling, perfect mess.

“You’re already fuckin’ brainless,” he chuckled darkly, tapping your cheek with two fingers as your mouth fell open. “Look at you. Gettin’ all cockdrunk from an old man.”

“More—please, more,” you gasped, tears threatening to spill.

“You’ll get more,” he promised, dragging you back onto his cock with a savage thrust. “You’ll take every fuckin’ inch ‘til you’re cryin’ on it.”

holy heck i love this so much, tell me if i should make a tag list and add you!

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drewsuncrustables · 24 days ago

Text

MDNI 18+

simon fucked nasty that’s a given, but he also loved telling his dollie how pretty she was whilst looking like an absolute mess.

“aww look at you sweet thing, can’t even think straight hm?” he cooed softly as he wiped the mascara running down your cheek.

his cock had been plunging deep into your cunt until you started crying, your folds all swollen and puffy as you sobbed from the pleasure.

it’s been years since he had gotten his dick wet, years of fucking his rough hands and using his imagination.

now, he had you - his sweet girl.

“deep breaths yeah? can’t have yer goin’ to another universe can we?” his large tatted hands gently rubbing along the side of your body as you hiccuped.

“cute lil mess aren’t ya sweet’heart.”

gently, he brushed the hair out of your face - saying how he wanted to see your face whilst he was fucking you.

after years in training he had built quite a strong stamina, his body begging for more after your orgasms.

frankly simon didn’t care about how many times you came, he had a routine.

ride his thighs, then have his fingers knuckles deep inside your cunt, then his mouth, then his cock.

repeat.

“si,” you panted in between your small hiccups - your mind all soft and hazy.

“i know dollie ‘s a lot hm? jus’ a few more bounces for me yeah?”

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drewsuncrustables · 25 days ago

Text

Not again

That one awful time you got a UTI because you didn’t pee after and it ruined both you and Simon for days...and the future.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore.

It’s distant. Slow. Boneless and heavy and floating at the same time—like you’re made of liquid, spilled across the bed, soaking into the mattress where Simon left you.

Everything’s sensitive. Your thighs are trembling. The inside of you feels warm in a way that shouldn’t be possible—so full, so sore, still twitching from the way he held you down and ruined you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. it’s all Simon.

You might’ve fallen asleep. You’re not sure.

Then you hear him shift.

You don’t move.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble into the pillow.

He exhales slowly through his nose, amusement crackling under the surface of his voice.

“It’s been thirty.”

You groan, long and dramatic, and turn your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “You said you’d wait.”

“I did. And I have.” He leans in, mouth brushing behind your ear. “But you’ve got to get up now.”

“No, I don’t,” you mumble, lips barely moving.

“Yes,” he says, not unkindly. “You do.”

“Fuck off.”

“You need to pee.”

You sigh with a full-body shudder. The last thing you want is to move. Your thighs still twitch with every shift, every reminder of how hard he’d been in you—deep and rough and mean, the kind of mean only Simon can be when he knows you like it.

And now?

Now your brain’s caught somewhere between satisfaction and irritability.

You squirm an inch and hiss at the soreness. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I literally can’t feel my legs.”

He hums again. Not arguing. Not pushing. Just present.

And then you snap, just a little. Not angry, just done.

“God, why are you like this?” you bite. “You get off, and suddenly I’m a project.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, with that same frustrating calm “I get off because I wreck you, sweetheart. But I also remember what happens when you don’t move after.”

You're quiet.

“Yeah.”

You groan again. “Don’t bring it up.”

“I am bringing it up.”

He shifts beside you, moving the hair away from your damp cheek.

“You remember what happened last time.”

You do.

Unfortunately.

That time when you’d passed out immediately after sex—sore, blissed out, perfectly used—and slept the whole night through. Didn’t pee. Didn’t think to. And the next morning?

UTI. Full force.

Your insides were on fire. You couldn’t sit down without wincing. Couldn’t even have him look at you, let alone touch you.

You were grumpy. Snappy. Miserable.

He was worse.

Because not only were you suffering, but he couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fuck you. Could barely cuddle you without getting a sharp “Don’t touch me, Simon.”

He was all but climbing the walls by day two. You'd heard him mutter “This is hell” when you snapped at him for putting the wrong tea in your mug.

And even then, he never said I told you so.

He just brought you cranberry juice and heated pads and ran you a bath and kissed your temple like he didn’t feel half-insane.

Now?

Now he’s not risking it.

“You were a nightmare,” he mutters, rubbing your lower back. “And I didn’t get to fuck you for a week.”

You roll onto your side to glare at him. “It was your fault too.”

“Exactly why I’m carrying you.”

You pout harder. “I’m not talking to you.”

“You’re literally talking to me right now.”

“Simon—”

He sits up and leans over, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. “I'm not doing this again.”

You huff, but you don’t fight. Your limbs flop against his chest like dead weight. You nuzzle into his collarbone, still grumbling.

“You’re annoying.”

“Mm.”

“Bossy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I still can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckles and carries you across the room, his big palms smoothing over your bare skin as he holds you close.

Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the toilet like something precious.

And instead of stepping back or giving you space, he stays.

Right in front of you.

He’s standing tall, bare chest in your face, warm hands on your shoulders—guiding you gently forward until your cheek rests against his stomach.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“And you’re soft,” he says. “All bark.”

You don’t respond.

Your body’s buzzing. Your thighs are still trembling. But when you finally relax enough to pee—

“Oh—oh my God—”

You jolt.

The pressure. The release.

Your muscles seize instantly, twitching with overstimulated nerves. It’s not just peeing. It’s like a second, slow-burning orgasm. Your body shakes with it, cunt fluttering around nothing, your legs twitching like Simon’s still inside you.

You gasp against him, trembling. It's not even about the release—it’s the aftershocks. The sudden emptiness as your muscles unclench. The way your cunt spasms around nothing as your body reacts to being let go.

Simon holds you tighter.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of his sweatpants.

His hands drop to your back.

“Easy, love. Just let it happen.”

Your knees buckle where they’re spread. You squeeze his sweatpants for balance, forehead still pressed to his stomach as you twitch through it—little pulses, flutters, everything still too much.

Your voice breaks. “Feels like—feels like I’m coming again.”

“I know.”

“Still—God, it’s still in my spine—”

You twitch again. His arms stay firm. He pets down your back, anchoring you, holding you upright as your body finishes unwinding in slow, shaking pulses.

And you do. You feel everything. His hands rubbing your back. The warmth of his chest under your cheek. The way he steadies your thighs when they jerk.

And when it’s over—when your breath evens out, and the spasm finally dies down, you just stay there. Arms weak. Legs numb. Whole body ruined.

Simon strokes your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You did perfect.”

“I’m mad at you,” you mumble, voice muffled in his skin.

“You always say that.”

“You didn’t have to go so hard.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘don’t stop.’”

You groan. “I was lying.”

“You were begging.”

You slap his thigh half-heartedly. “I hate you.” He grins and helps you stand, supporting you like your knees might give out again—which they might, honestly.

You lean on him as he cleans you up, wipes you with practiced tenderness, and carries you back to bed without another word.

Once there, he slides one of his shirts over your head, tucks you under the blanket, and stretches out beside you with one arm around your waist.

Your face is buried in his chest. His heartbeat is slow, steady, solid.

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