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egcdeath · 27 days

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life's a beach

pairing: patrick zweig x reader request: @diorrfairy: i can't stop thinking about patrick x reader who's an introvert, kinda shy but with a fiery temper just like him. and she knows it's better not to get involved with guys like him but she can't help it. and he's constantly teasing her trying to get on her nerves like … summary: a chain smoking tennis player disrupts your day on the beach and uproots your entire summer vacation. word count: 6.5k warnings: enemies to lovers (kinda… the reader folds like a paper airplane pretty quickly), smoking, no use of y/n, low speed police (pool security guard) chase, mentions of smoking, brief mention of alcohol, so much exposition, vague descriptions of sports, some kissing, patrick and reader are spoiled rich kids author’s note: this fic definitely got away from me, but i hope that you all enjoy it! also, i apologize in advance for any characterization issues, since i’ve only seen the movie once. with that being said, i’m still taking requests if you want to send me anything!

For all your life, the beach has been your happy place. The soothing, repetitive push and pull of the water and the endless crashing of the tide was a guaranteed way to make your loud mind quiet down. Next to the endless ocean, you were just a tiny little dot–not a girl who was a golf prodigy, or someone whose parents' financial power caused everyone around you to treat you like a delicate doll. In fact, that was part of the reason why your parents purchased the lot in the first place, as you insisted that the comfort of a semi-private beach was necessary for you to properly enjoy your vacation.

That was also what made your smoking companion on the beach all the more jarring.

You were fully reclined on a beach chair and deeply immersed in the novel in your hands when you first caught a whiff of the strong, putrid scent, which immediately left you annoyed. Turning your head to follow the scent, your face somehow fell further when it fell upon the culprit of the foul cigarette smell. The side profile of a man who was about your age, casually smoking as he stared out at the body of water across from you.

Perhaps you had become so immersed in your book that you’d failed to realize that only a few steps away from you, someone new had joined you on the sand. After all, when you sat down just an hour ago, you were completely alone. Somehow, that managed to make your mood sour even more. There was all this space on the beach, yet this man decided to sit down right next to you and smoke a cigarette!

You were sure that you were gawking at him at this point, if at nothing else, his sheer audacity. When he finally seemed to sense your seething gaze, you quickly looked back at your book as if it was the most interesting thing in the world—despite you completely losing your spot.

After a moment of pretending to resume your reading, the stale scent of the cigarette had lessened, indicating to you that the man next to you had finally stopped. Good. Maybe your simple glare had been more effective than you realized.

But nearly as soon as a self-satisfied smirk could find itself on your face, the scent returned in full force. You practically had to physically restrain yourself from uttering, “Seriously?” aloud.

Seeing as your first passive aggressive attempt at getting him to stop was futile, you decided to pull out the big guns.

With your all but abandoned novel in hand, you curled your unoccupied arm around your mouth and began to cough profusely. You put all your might into pulling out the most atrocious sounds you could muster from your lungs, and when you decided you were satisfied with this passive aggressive approach, you glanced over at your beach companion, only to find him looking back at you.

With him looking straight at you, you felt your stomach trip over itself. You’d always been a sucker for pretty men, and with one pointed look, you were sure that this would be no different. Yet, armed with the knowledge that you were the one who started this, you willed yourself not to give in to someone with good looks and cigarette breath.

You continued to stare him down, hoping that you were coming off as intimidating, rather than swooning. Though, the longer the two of you glared at each other, you swore you could see his lips mold into the look of a smirk, particularly as he took a pointedly long drag from his cigarette.

It quickly became abundantly clear to you that he wasn’t interpreting your gaze to be anything near threatening—if anything, he saw it as a challenge. Unluckily for him, you were incapable of backing down to a challenge.

As soon as you opened your mouth to form some sort of sassy remark, you were surprisingly beaten to the punch.

“Want one?” he asked, the smirk unwavering on his stupidly attractive face.

“Ew,” you replied, then immediately regretted it. Seriously? Ew? That was the best that you could do? You would think that years of dodging and delivering verbal daggers over family dinner would’ve better prepared you for this moment, but leave it to you to be tripped up by a pretty face.

You paused for a beat too long before retorting, “You can keep your lung disease, thank you very much.” You readjusted the book in your lap, still not feeling completely satisfied with your reply, but anything was better than your first statement. “Maybe go smoke somewhere that’s not right next to me, like,” you paused to gesture to the widely empty beach. “Literally anywhere else.”

“I didn’t realize that you were queen of this strip of beach. My apologies, Your Highness,” he shot back snarkily. You swore you could feel your blood boiling as it pumped through your veins.

“I’m not saying you can’t stay here,” you could feel your volume increasing as more adrenaline pumped through you, “I’m just asking that you don’t smoke.”

You watched as his brows raised questioningly the longer you spoke. “Or at least, don’t smoke next to me,” you clarified, folding under the pressure of a set of rather piercing blue eyes.

“Fine,” he agreed with a shrug, to your surprise. That hadn’t been so hard after all. Maybe he wasn’t all that bad. You bit back the part of you that wanted to feel triumphant at your clear victory over this random, pain-in-the-ass man.

Once more, you pretended to read your book while in your peripheral vision you watched him grab his few items, including his box of cigarettes, and stand up to move. What you weren’t expecting to see was him plant himself just a few feet further from you, sit down, then begin to aggressively tap his box of cigarettes, just loud enough to grab your attention. Naively believing that he wouldn’t actually have the audacity to begin smoking again, you were slightly scandalized when he pulled a stick out and returned to happily chain smoking.

He briefly glanced back over at you, the smug look on his face telling you that he was eagerly awaiting your reaction. As much as you didn’t want to humor him, you clearly couldn’t hide your annoyance.

“Oh my god,” you huffed, grabbing your tote bag and towel and standing up to head back towards your beach house. Maybe the beach just wasn’t in the cards for today. At least that man couldn’t bother you in your sunroom.

——————

One of the benefits of owning and spending your summer at your vacation home was being able to have your friends stop by and spend a few days with you. Seeing as your parents were utterly uninterested in spending any of your summer break together, it was also nice that you were basically able to do whatever you wanted over the summer.

As a teenager, this mainly meant parties and intense summer flings, but as your time in college began to mature you and your friends, the novelty of doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing began to wear off. What never seemed to wear off was your love for the local ice cream shop, with its sweet dairy scent lingering in the air and a waffle cone that was nothing short of to die for.

With one of your friends’ visits coming to an end, the two of you sat on the patio of this shop, racing against time and heat as you worked on your cones. In between gossip about which one of your classmates had to attend graduation with a baby bump, you caught your eye on someone exiting the shop to join you on the patio.

You practically had to hold back your groan as you processed who it was. Unfortunately, your enemy from the beach hadn’t felt nearly enough shame, and he openly waved at you.

Upon seeing your eyes wander, your friend turned around to see what it was that caught your eye. Just as quickly as she turned around to view the asshole, she turned right back to you with a newfound excitement.

“Oh my god, you know him?” your friend asked you, shock and elation written all over her face for a reason you couldn’t understand.

“Unfortunately,” you replied, taking a bite of a bit of exposed cone. “Do you know him? Did he go to your high school or something?”

She scoffed at your words as if you were missing the most obvious point in the world. “‘Did he go to my high school or something?’” she repeated in disbelief. “That’s Patrick Zweig. He’s about to go pro.”

You tilted your head and furrowed your brows, as if to ask for more context.

“In tennis? He’s like, the thing right now,” she explained.

“Maybe that’s why he’s such an asshole,” you glanced back over at him, only to find that he was unabashedly staring at you as he licked his own cone of ice cream. If you hadn’t had such a ridiculous encounter a week ago, you would’ve thought that he was being suggestive towards you.

“What happened that made him such an asshole?” she prodded, and you swore that she leaned forward as she asked.

“Please try to look a little less excited,” you laughed, entertained by your friend’s investment in your story about someone who was a celebrity in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she apologized disingenuously. “Go ahead.”

“Well, I was just trying to do some reading out on the beach, when he sat like, two feet away from me. Mind you, the entire beach was empty. He could’ve gone anywhere else.”

“Dick,” she interjected, though the unsubtle glance over in Patrick’s direction and her overzealous body language suggested to you that she might’ve meant the words less than she thought she did.

“Right,” you agreed. “But that clearly wasn’t enough. So he starts chain smoking. Right next to me.”

“Rude,” she added, doing her best to validate you as you told the story. Her ability to only add commentary in a monosyllabic manner was entertaining you, but you couldn’t focus too much on that now.

“So I called him out. I was like, ‘Hey, you dick. I know that you want black lung, but not everyone else does,’” you explained, embellishing your story to disguise your lackluster responses.

She giggled as you explained and you continued on. “Obviously, he was embarrassed that I called him out. So he looks me right in the eyes, and-“

“And what?” she asked, her eyes practically glimmering, as if you were about to tell her a story about some wild tryst that left you with a negative impression of him.

“Babe, I don’t think this story ends the way you think it does.”

“We’ll see,” she said with a shrug and a wink.

“Well, he got his ass up and started walking away. Internally, I’m celebrating. But then, he sits down pretty close to me… and starts smoking again. And he’s staring me down the whole time he does it.”

“Ugh! He is an asshole,” she shook her head as you wrapped up your story. “But like, isn’t he kinda…?”

“He could be the sexiest man alive and couldn’t seduce me with that personality,” you replied confidently, although you weren’t completely sure of your words.

“That’s certainly not stopping him from trying,” she glanced over her shoulder once more, where he was still looking at you while very intently eating his ice cream cone.

“Gross,” you replied, feigning a full-body shudder. “You couldn’t even pay me to go anywhere near him.”

“It’s probably for the best anyway. A friend of my friend said there was some super messy relationship drama with him recently.”

“Lovely,” you replied, trying your best to look and sound disinterested, but feeling curious regardless. “I feel bad for whoever has to spend any extended period of time with him,” you popped the bottom of your ice cream cone into your mouth, then crushed a paper towel in your hand. “Wanna head out?”

——————

After that, you truly tried your best to avoid Patrick. Like clockwork, he seemed to appear on the beach in your backyard during the late afternoon. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you had watched him through the windows of your bedroom more than a handful of times, and you could almost swear that his head was on a swivel, as if he were looking for someone before he settled into his spot.

Unfortunately for you, it felt like he seemed to pop up wherever you were. As you evaluated boxes of strawberries at the grocery store, you noticed him eyeing bunches of bananas not all that far away from you. Midway through a hike, you noticed a familiar set of distractingly muscular thighs and tried your best to hide, much to your friend’s confusion. While drinking a fruity cocktail at a bar, you noticed him and finished off your drink and threw down a bill at record speed.

You guessed that you never realized how small a town was until you were actively attempting to avoid someone. In a way, it was a little bit exciting to be dodging him so vehemently, though you’d never really admit that to yourself. At least, it was exciting until it became an utter annoyance, much like it was becoming at that very moment.

After you’d decided that you’d spent enough of your summer lounging around without practicing any golf, you decided to take it upon yourself to head to your local country club and take on the familiar course. Of course, you couldn’t play any golf without fueling up first, which left you in the restaurant of the club snacking on a cup of fries when you spotted the one person you had been trying desperately to dodge.

You averted your gaze down to your phone and acted as if you were reading the most interesting thing in the world, but not even that farce lasted long, as you were met with the sound of a chair scratching the floor across from you. You looked back up and were met with Patrick’s intense, searing stare.

“Are you following me, or something?” he asked, his brows furrowed at you as he looked at you with concern.

“What?!” you asked with disbelief. “You’re the one who keeps showing up around me and keeps licking ice cream seductively at me!”

“Seductively?” he laughed right in your face, and you could feel your face immediately warm up in embarrassment.

“Shut up,” you replied weakly, though you knew what you saw. “Who even are you?” you asked, despite now having the displeasure of knowing exactly who he was, thanks to your friend and a Google search.

He began to smirk, and it took everything in you to not want to wipe that smug smile right off of his face. “I’m Patrick, and you are?”

You introduced yourself while mentally berating yourself for the butterflies erupting in your stomach over his intent gaze. Unfortunately, Patrick was even better looking than you could’ve imagined up close, with sunkissed skin and freckles that seemed to go on for miles.

“Well if you’re not stalking me, what are you doing here?” he questioned, though it was clear from his crooked, goofy smile that he wasn’t being serious.

“I play golf,” you explained with a casual shrug, though the feelings you were having inside were far from casual. “So I’m here to do that. You?”

“I knew I’d heard that name before,” Patrick began before stealing a french fry from you and popping it into his mouth. “You won a championship recently?”

You nodded with what you hoped was a neutral expression on your face, hoping to brush him off despite the fireworks going off in your stomach and the heat returning to your face. Sure, it wasn’t the first time someone had recognized you for your accomplishments out on the golf course, but it felt different coming from him.

“I did,” you replied as casually as possible, not acknowledging his fry thievery or reciprocating your knowledge of his athletic achievements. It was always better to be more mysterious with the type of person who seemed to love the chase, and it seemed clear to you that Patrick was one of those people. “Anyway, I need to go practice so I can win the next championship.”

You pushed your unfinished dish of fries towards him and stood up before grabbing the golf bag propped up next to your feet. You pushed your chair in and didn’t even spare him a glance back in his direction as you walked away, secretly hoping to yourself that he was still watching you as intensely as he’d been watching you at the table.

You tried your hardest not to ruminate over your conversation and feelings too much, but as you walked out to the first hole, you couldn’t help but over analyze everything. The first and most confusing of which being your feelings towards Patrick. Clearly, you were attracted to him. Despite your terrible first impressions of each other and having what could arguably be described as a meet-ugly, you couldn’t pretend like his good looks and charming, yet cocky demeanor didn’t have an effect on you. It was clear from the way that the butterflies in your stomach decided to stop lying dormant every time he was in your vicinity.

What you still couldn’t quite place were his feelings towards you. It was obvious that he was getting some kick out of teasing you. Hell, it was obvious from the first interaction you had with him. And it seemed like he might be interested in you, based on the way he seemed to be magnetically drawn to you, and his less than appropriate treatment of his ice cream cone, which he could deny all he wanted, was definitely a shoddy attempt at flirting. Even your friend had noticed.

Just as you began to try to make sense of your previous interaction, you looked up to find a golf cart headed your way. The cart was manned by none other than the subject of your deep thoughts, and as Patrick got closer to you, you swore you could see a fiery excitement ignited in his body.

“Play with me?” Patrick asked once he parked, despite already being off the vehicle and reaching for his rented golf bag.

You paused for a moment, as if you were considering his proposition, despite you already knowing your answer. “As long as you don’t mind getting your ass whooped.”

You made sure to deliver on this promise, beating Patrick with ease. In a way, it felt like comeuppance for him being a nuisance towards you just a few weeks ago. But that didn’t mean your mini tournament was without its downsides for you. You tried desperately to fight the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl when he said something stupid and snarky, and to quiet your screaming brain during the many, many, times you corrected his stance.

What you were also surprised to find was that Patrick wasn’t all that terrible of company to keep. He seemed to know exactly what to say to make you laugh, despite your effort to be unimpressed with him, or how to throw you off right before you swung at a ball. More than once, you had to remind him that no amount of teasing would change the fact that he had a terrible score, but it certainly didn’t stop him from trying.

With your landslide victory clear and your game over, the two of you made your way back to the rental station.

“You definitely cheated,” Patrick commented as he put his equipment back.

“You’re such a sore loser,” you replied with a roll of your eyes and a laugh. You’d been doing a lot of eye rolling and laughing while playing golf with him, and it was oddly quite pleasant.

“I’m not!” he insisted, turning back to face you as if that would somehow prove his point.

“You are, though! You’re a dirty player, too. I don’t think anyone has ever come up behind me and yelled for me to focus before.”

“Whatever,” he dismissed you casually, “You would be eating your words right now if we were playing tennis.”

“Yeah?” you questioned with raised brows.

“Yeah,” he parroted back, taking a step towards you and locking that intense gaze on you once more.

Feeling bold, you matched his step forward, practically getting in his face. “Fine then. Let’s play.”

“Really?” he sounded shocked by your proposition, and looked utterly unintimidated by the fact that your faces were practically touching.

“Sure. There are some courts over by the pool,” you turned to look in the direction of the pool, taking that as an opportunity to step away from him. You feared what you might do if you stayed that close to him for any longer than you needed to. “Isn’t that what you came here to do anyway?”

“So you are stalking me?” he joked, referencing your earlier conversation.

You rolled your eyes once more. At this rate, your eyes were going to be stuck at the back of your head. “Do you want to play or not?”

If you were a beast on the golf course, Patrick was a sight to behold on the tennis court. The brief article you read online simply did not do the man across from you justice as he served balls at you that probably would have wiped your head clean off of your body if you had any slower reflexes.

While you were able to get a few good hits in, courtesy of the lessons your parents put you in before they realized that golf was your calling, none of them remotely compared to the man across the court.

But your embarrassing loss was rewarded by hearing the repetitive loop of grunts and groans from your competitor. It was somewhat of a miracle that you were able to keep it together without bursting out laughing or squeezing your thighs together. You were also handsomely rewarded by seeing those muscular thighs in action. To be completely frank, there were more than a few moments where you lost momentum due to distraction from Patrick’s good looks.

While Patrick had proved himself to be a sore loser while playing golf, he wasn’t a terrible winner. He only gloated about crushing you once the two of you had finished playing, but he did happen to revel in his win for the entire walk from the tennis courts to the locker rooms.

Surprisingly, you weren’t that annoyed by him. In fact, you were pretty sure that you were hovering around the feeling of endearment.

You sat out in the lobby, freshly showered and playing on your phone when a familiar presence joined you once more.

“Are you hungry?” Patrick asked you as he made himself right at home and sat down across from you.

Was he about to ask you out on a date?

“I could eat,” you replied, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach once more.

“Let’s get dinner, then,” he suggested, and you tried your best not to look too excited. He was asking you out on a date. What an unexpected turn of events.

“Sure. There’s a place just up the street if you want to walk?”

The diner was slightly further than you remembered it being, but the time passed by quickly as the two of you divulged stories of your sports accomplishments on your trek over. Over dinner, the two of you instantly bonded over a similar upbringing of wealthy parents who couldn’t really be bothered to raise you, and backgrounds in boarding schools that prioritized your athletic skills over anything else.

After spending way too long at your booth and working through a spread of food that would send a shiver down your coaches’ spines, your waiter finally stopped by your table with an exhausted look on their face.

“One check or two?” they asked you.

“One,” Patrick replied before you had the chance to pipe up. The waiter turned around without inquiring anything more, clearly tired of having to serve the two of you.

“Wow,” you said with a giggle. “Chivalry is not dead.”

“I’m single-handedly keeping it alive,” he joked right along with you.

Feeling emboldened by your day of camaraderie and teasing each other, you decided to ask something. “Does that make this count as a date, then?” you asked it as a joke, though you were genuinely curious about the answer. While you’d previously found yourself intrigued with his looks, you’d now learned that he was far more than that. It was safe to say that you’d developed a full-blown crush over the span of the day.

“Do you want it to count as one?” he asked almost earnestly, and despite the fact that you were sitting, you swore you felt your knees go weak.

You shrugged nonchalantly, but the grin on your face was anything but. Fortunately, he was wearing a matching grin, and you almost swore there was a dusting of pink on his cheeks. You buckled under his gaze, and looked down into your nearly empty cup of water. “Sure.”

“Then it’s a date,” he confirmed.

“It’s so hot,” you huffed as the two of you stepped outside and into the humid night.

“Wanna cool off at the pool?” he suggested after holding the door open for you.

“Wow, you just don’t want this date to end, huh?” you teased. “The pool is definitely closed by now.”

“So?” he replied.

“So you want to break in?”

“Why not?” he shot back.

You stared at him for a moment with a mostly blank expression.

“You’re such a bad influence. Let’s go,” you conceded, heading in the direction of the city’s pool.

Once the two of you arrived at the locked gate, you stood expectantly, waiting for the next part of Patrick’s plan. You didn’t have to wait for too long, as with a brief confirmation that you were ready, he hoisted you up and over the fence. You then watched as he flung his own body over the fence, and you bit your lip as you attempted to distract yourself from how that image made you feel.

With both of you on the correct side of the fence, you took it upon yourself to shuck off your clothes—save for your underwear–before you dipped your toe in the cold water.

“How’s the water?” Patrick asked as he approached you, taking his shirt and shorts off in the process. You tried your best not to ogle too much, but his six-pack was definitely staring at you. Yeah, you were definitely ogling, and he was definitely noticing.

“You tell me,” you replied, then pushed him into the pool without really thinking. You probably wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t just been caught looking at the man like he was a piece of meat, but you had been doing exactly that, and panicked.

After a moment, he resurfaced and spat out the water that he’d swallowed from your surprise movement. Yet, as he came back to the surface, he didn’t say anything to you.

You eyed him nervously while he began to approach you in the water, and you opened up your mouth to apologize just as you felt a hand wrap around your ankle. With a yelp, you were dragged down into the water, luckily dodging the ledge on your way down.

Coming back up, spat out the chlorinated water and coughed out what you’d swallowed. “I deserved that.”

“You definitely did,” he agreed, lightly splashing you with water from where he stood.

You splashed him right back, putting a little more effort in and splashing him with slightly more force. “But you also deserved that.”

“And why is that?” that overconfident look appeared on his face once more. Just twenty-four hours ago, if you’d seen that look, you’d probably want to knock it right off of him. Now, you were tempted to keep prodding.

“Because you were being a dick about smoking not that long ago,” you replied, getting a little closer to him and matching his look with your own confident gaze.

“Huh,” he hummed. “Fair enough.”

“So why’d you do it?”

“Who knows. Maybe I just really wanted a smoke. Maybe I wanted to catch the attention of the cute girl on the beach.”

“Shut up,” you replied with clear disbelief. “I like how you try to flatter your way out of every sticky situation.”

“I mean it.”

“So you thought annoying me was the best way to get my attention?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“What if I was allergic to cigarette smoke?”

“You weren’t.”

“What if I just didn’t react, then?”

“You did,” he said.

“Must’ve been fate,” you replied dryly.

“Must’ve,” he agreed earnestly. Immediately, you felt a tension in your chest, and you wondered if he felt the same way. You didn’t have a witty or sarcastic comeback, and his face was dangerously close to yours.

Unsure of what to do, you splashed him once more.

“What was that one for?”

For making me fall for you in the span of a day, you idiot.

You shrugged, unable to come up with a coherent answer with you realizing just how physically close the two of you were. Now that you were beginning to have a bit of clarity, you could hear the pounding of your heartbeat in your eardrums. Or maybe it was Patrick’s. With your bodies this close to each other, you couldn’t be too sure.

You wondered what was going through his mind, but if the quick glance to your lips and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he gulped was any indication of his thoughts, you were sure you were on the same page.

You found yourself in somewhat of a standoff as the two of you stood there, wordless and hearts pounding as you stood together in a freezing cold pool. You shut your eyes for a moment, and when you opened them, Patrick’s nose was practically pressing against yours. But just as you began to follow his lead, you were met with a blindingly bright flashlight.

“Hey!” a new voice yelled out, pulling the two of you out of your trance. “What’s going on here?”

Patrick’s eyes widened and you were sure yours did too.

“Shit, security,” you muttered to yourself as it occurred to you what was happening. The two of you immediately scurried to the side of the pool. “I don’t think they saw us, but they definitely heard us,” you whispered.

“Do you think you could outrun them?” he asked, matching your low tone as the light of the flashlight moved across the pool without

“What?”

“Come on,” he hoisted himself out of the pool and you did the same, trying your best to be quiet as the two of you grabbed your discarded clothes.

“Patrick…” you trailed off, glued to his side.

“Come on,” he repeated as he shepherded you to the fence. “I won’t let them get you. Now,” he gestured for you to come over so he could help you climb over again, and you did. As he climbed over, the security guard’s flashlight had finally caught up with the two of you.

“Hey!” the guard repeated, lunging in your direction just as Patrick made it over.

“Run!” you yelled at him as the two of you took off. All of that tennis training clearly paid off, as he was far faster than both you and the security guard.

“Get back here!” the guard shouted as he chased the two of you.

The two of you sprinted, your bare feet screaming at you as pebbles and sticks poked your soles. Running on pure adrenaline, you swore you could hear Patrick laughing as he ran ahead of you.

The two of you ended up by his car, parked safely at the country club. You desperately tried to catch your breath as you leaned against his car door, now completely sure that you’d lost the security guard who was chasing you.

“I hate you so much,” you got out in between panting heavily.

“No you don’t,” his chest rose and fell quickly as he corrected you.

“No I don’t,” you confirmed, taking satisfaction in hearing his heavy breaths next to you and knowing that you weren’t the only one affected by the chase.

It felt as if the two of you had been transported right back into the moment you were having in the pool, a heavy, undeniable tension settling over the two of you, with the adrenaline of the chase and your hearts still rapidly pumping blood from all that running. It was almost as if one second you were standing next to each other, and the next you were pinned up against his car door, kissing like your lives depended on it.

With one of his hands up your shirt, you somehow found the willpower to use the logical part of your brain. “Wait, stop,” you reluctantly said as you pulled away for air. “I don’t want another security guard chasing us.”

“They won’t,” Patrick insisted before leaning back in to kiss you.

“They will,” you disagreed, exerting all of your willpower to dodge his advance. “Take me home?”

Patrick’s hand sat securely on your thigh for the entire ride back to the beach house. With the tension between the two of you crackling and the excitement of successfully running away beginning to die down, the two of you were mostly quiet on your way over.

After he pulled into your driveway, he looked over at you with hesitance. If you didn’t know any better, you might even say that he looked a little nervous.

“Wanna come inside?” you broke the ice, knowing that was what he was surely thinking about, and just as you predicted, he seemed to light up at your invitation.

The heat of the moment seemed to have passed, with the two of you now safely in your home, and not coming off the heels of being chased down the street. Patrick sat on your living room couch while you poured two tumblers of a criminally expensive whiskey.

You returned to the living room and sat down on the far end of the couch, passing him one of the cups before extending your legs out. You were pleasantly surprised when he positioned your legs over his lap and began to soothingly rub up and down your calves.

“What a day,” you sighed, taking a long sip from your cup.

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled in response.

As you laid there, you realized that you were actually quite exhausted. A silence settled over you once more as you yawned, then Patrick yawned not too long after you.

“You know, you’re nothing like I expected you to be,” he said randomly.

“Oh?” you replied questioningly. “Should I be offended or flattered?”

“Up for interpretation,” he looked over to you to gauge your reaction, and you playfully pushed his thigh with your foot.

“Then I’m gonna interpret it in a good way.”

“I meant it in a good way,” he said after a beat.

You smiled softly as you peered at him. “I didn’t expect you to be like this, either. I actually had a lot of fun beating you in golf and running from security guards.”

“No way you’re still talking about golf after I absolutely demolished you in tennis,” he laughed, a sound that you’d grown rather fond of throughout the day.

“It was pretty amazing watching you play golf with such bad form. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use that many strokes on that course.”

“You wanna talk about bad form?” Patrick laughed again. “It’s a miracle you didn’t pull something when we played tennis.”

“Hey! My form is not that bad. You know I was in tennis lessons as a kid, right?”

“And how long ago was that?” he probed, looking at you with a suspicious raise of a brow.

You tried your best to do some mental math, but you were far too tired to be precise. “I mean, it was a while ago…?”

“Clearly,” he shook his head.

“Rude,” you replied, though your tone carried across you not really caring. “I’m still here for a few more weeks. Maybe you could teach me.”

“Only if you teach me how to get better at golf. I’m gonna have to impress my fellow board members someday.”

“Deal,” you agreed. Part of you wanted to leap for joy after establishing that this wasn’t some sort of one-and-done thing, and that you could at least see Patrick until you went back home.

You watched as he leaned further against the couch and tilted his head against the cushioned back of the piece of furniture, his eyes fluttering shut as he did so.

“Want to go sleep on a real bed? The guest room is clean,” you offered.

“No, I’m comfortable here,” he yawned and patted your calf. You didn’t believe him in this slightest, with his long limbs and less than ideal sleeping position. But you were quite comfortable, so you didn’t bother with insisting he leave the couch.

In the morning, you woke up in the same position that you’d fallen asleep in, with your legs draped over Patrick’s lap as he sat up and snored.

You did your best not to disturb him as you got up and went about your morning routine, taking a shower and changing into something comfortable before heading back downstairs. You were surprised to find Patrick somehow still upright and asleep on your couch, but you didn’t question it too much. It had been a long day and night.

You brewed some coffee in the kitchen, making sure to leave a portion for your guest, before you grabbed the book you’d been reading and headed out to sit on your portion of the beach.

You’d lost track of time while sitting out there, listening to the sound of the ocean and getting caught up in the contents of your book. In fact, you’d gotten so lost in your book, that you hadn’t even noticed that you’d gained a presence on the beach.

After Patrick cleared his throat, you turned to look at him. A smile grew on your face as the two of you locked eyes, and you scooted to the left on your oversized beach chair. Surely, there was enough space for both of you.

He took your invitation and sat down next to you, glancing between you and the ocean as he settled in. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and occasionally peered down at your book, but otherwise didn’t bother you. The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, your chests rising and falling in sync with each other as the two of you lost track of time.

Maybe Patrick wasn’t such a terrible beach companion after all.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #challengers #challengers fanfic #josh o'connor x reader #art donaldson x reader

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thevillainswhore · 3 months

Text

New Tricks: A Pure Love

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 11.5k

Summary: From first kisses to first dates, the two of you have come a long way from pining over the other in secret and innocent touches during an unplanned movie night. But now, what once was a forbidden fantasy for an unattainable crush becomes reality when you coach Bucky Barnes through losing his virginity.

Warnings: College AU, brother’s best friend!Bucky, fluff, swearing, teasing, smut, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex, nipple play, handjob, praise kink, size kink, big hints of subby Bucky, dorky Bucky, love confessions.

Author’s Note: Beta and dividers by @rookthorne, she’s been my rock through this whole AU. Words will never be enough to thank you my love ❤️ Here is part three and the final instalment to New Tricks’ main storyline 🥹

New Tricks Masterlist 🌼🐾

New Tricks Playlist 🎵

Your evening together has been magical, something pulled straight out of your dreams. The visuals of the bright, glowing stars and planets are nothing in comparison to the smile that pulls at Bucky’s mouth, even after the two of you left the museum.

During the walk back to your dorm with Bucky, he talks constantly and animatedly about the planetarium — recounting his joy for all the astronomical wonders he got to witness up close. And listening to your boyfriend’s contagious glee for a date you put together has you grinning from ear to ear.

In the late hour, you make a stop on your way back to the local twenty-four hour dessert parlour that is close to your dorm, opting for two single scoop ice cream cones. Bucky chose chocolate; you chose strawberry, and you stroll hand in hand down the Brooklyn cobblestones.

“I still can’t believe you don’t like chocolate ice cream, Bee,” Bucky accuses with his mouth full, shaking his head with a high sense of mock disapproval.

You roll your eyes playfully and scoff. He hasn’t stopped complaining about your dislike for chocolate flavoured treats since you revealed that snippet of information while you perused the options available to you at the parlour. “How many times are we going to go over this, Buck? Strawberry is superior,” you tell him with a proud smile.

“Absolutely not!” Bucky gasps, outraged. “I refuse to listen to this slander against chocolate.”

“Drama—” Your retort is cut short by him pressing you against the wall of the building next to you. The cone of ice cream in your hand almost topples precariously, interrupting you mid lick, and he ignores your surprised shout of, “Hey!”

“We are settling this right now, Buttercup.” He looks deep into your eyes with dire seriousness. “You’re gonna try mine and tell me that you like it.” The cone of chocolate ice cream appears in your peripheral vision.

“Bucky!” You laugh. “I haven’t tried chocolate ice cream in years!”

“All the more reason to try it now.” He holds his cone up to your mouth, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes and a pout on his plump lips. “For me?”

“Y’know, you can’t keep bribing me with those puppy eyes — No matter how handsome you are.”

With a cheeky smile, he whispers, “Is it working, though?”

Sighing in defeat, you can’t help the upturn of your lips at his charm. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Hit me with it.”

Like the cat who got the cream, Bucky closes the gap between you and the cold treat, letting it slightly touch your lips — the cold sensation makes you shiver, and you tentatively stick your tongue out, slowly laving it up the side of the scoop of ice cream.

The strong taste of cocoa and sugar doesn’t impress you, and you flick your gaze towards your boyfriend to say as such, only, he’s homed in on the motion of your tongue while you lick the last remnants of cream from your lips.

He shudders, the strong line of his shoulders shaking with the force of them, and he pants quietly. The rise and fall of his chest is uneven while his blue eyes darken to a stormy grey.

It's difficult to contain the satisfied smirk growing on your lips as you ask teasingly, “You good, baby?”

Bucky gulps, unsuspecting of such an innocent act to affect him so much. “I’m uh— I’m good.” His head bobs up and down, no real confidence in his answer, but his stare still pins you in place and he bites his bottom lip. “How’d you like it?”

“Hmm,” you hum, then you lick your lips again — just to make sure they are entirely clean, of course. Bucky’s eyes follow the movement with rapt attention. “I have to say…” The urge to use pretence to answer his question makes you want to burst into laughter, but you soldier on with the truth. “I’m sorry, honey. I still stand by my initial statement.”

The erratic movements of his chest abruptly cease, and his eyes never leave yours while you lean forward, closer to his lips. “But,” you whisper, the tips of your fingers dancing up his chest. Every touch builds the deepening tension swirling in his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt to try something new every so often, Puppy.”

You reach up to the corner of his mouth and swipe the smudge of chocolate ice cream left there with your thumb, then suck it into your mouth, releasing it with a wet pop — it feels like you well and truly break his resistance.

Bucky’s fingers twitch against the cone by your lips, and it crumbles. The forceful puffs of air from his parted lips blow against your mouth, the inevitability of him pouncing on you any second undeniable.

Rather than making it easier on him, you smirk and push him back by his shoulder. “Never hurts to experiment — Try new things. You never know.”

The dazed expression on his features is innocently sweet, and you try not to laugh as he reaches out for you to drag you back, but you dodge his hands and walk away, out of reach. You look at him over your shoulder and lick up the dribbling cream that almost reaches your hand.

Bucky stares after you, mouth agape. “I— What—” He shakes himself back to reality, and he licks his lips, brushing his long hair back with his fingers and he throws his crumbled ice cream cone into the nearest trash can — no longer interested in that sweet treat.

Bucky’s long strides work to catch up with you, a new kind of spark in his eyes you haven’t seen before. “Something new, huh?”

“Yeah, handsome,” you purr. The steps to your apartment come up, and you take the first few with your back to Bucky, a smirk playing on your lips. Just as you reach the entryway door, you look over your shoulder at your boyfriend, who returns your coy smile with a hesitant one of his own. “Sometimes you’ve got to just let go and give in.”

Bucky stands behind you while you unlock the door to your dorm. The material of his button up shirt scrapes against the bare skin of your arm, and you try to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine, but it's useless. The air is charged with a thick tension unfamiliar between the two of you, and you feel as though you're swimming in new territory, wading into the depths of the unknown.

“I had a great time tonight, Bee,” Bucky says quietly over your shoulder; the urge to kiss the skin there too tempting for him not to fall into.

A shiver ripples down your spine from the sensation of his lips tickling your skin, and you stop just as you’re about to open the door. They move carefully over the slope of your neck and up to the lobe of your ear.

Reining in your arousal, you turn around and agree with a broad smile. “Me too, handsome.”

His eyes flicker between you and the door to your dorm. You hold his hand while the other rests on the handle behind you. “Ready to go in?” you ask.

Bucky clears his throat. “Mhm,” he mumbles, and with his confirmation, you open the door. Immediately, the glow of orange lights grab his attention as they dance on the ceiling. Lit candles are placed on surfaces around the room, while your vinyl record turntable plays soft music.

The ambiance seems to both intrigue and calm Bucky, and you feel your own shoulders loosen. Thank you, Nat, you think inwardly.

“Come on,” you whisper, urging Bucky further into your dorm room. He walks forward wordlessly, and with him out of the way, you close and lock the door behind you both — it affords you a solitary second to process the secret desire that has been stored away for so long.

A guilty pleasure about your brother’s best friend that you revelled in at one point in time is becoming a reality.

There is no means to do that now, to stow it away in secrecy — he stood behind you, right there in reach of you, no longer a fantasy.

The door locks with a muffled click, and you turn around to see Bucky standing by the foot of your bed, head bowed and fiddling with the hair tie around his wrist. Slowly and steadily, you edge closer to him, careful not to make any sudden movements that will spook him. “Bucky?”

His body tenses slightly, his shoulders almost reaching his ears as you near him.

“Sweetheart?” you repeat, and you tuck back some of the hair that kept him hidden — a curtain he didn’t want to peer through. A dazzling pair of ocean blue eyes meet your own; swimming with anxiety and the desperate craving for direction.

“Hi, you.” Your voice soothes him, and he instantly melts into you — callused, trembling hands rush to seek contact, finding their home around your waist.

“Hi, Bee,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.

The soft instrumental of guitar chords pacifies the ambience. “How are we doing?” you ask gently.

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, and there’s a shaky, tremulous quality to his voice when he answers with, “Nervous.”

You place a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, hoping to calm him. “About what, baby?”

Leaning slightly backward to better look into his eyes, you notice there is a storm of emotions swirling through his irises. In an attempt to soothe the hurricane, you comfortingly rub your hands down his muscled arms.

“S— Sex.” His neck flushes with patchy red blotches; a staple of whenever he is flustered.

You hum soothingly and nod your head, acknowledging his worries. “You know, we don’t have to do it if you feel like you’ve changed your mind, sweetheart. I was nervous for my first time, too.” Your fingers wrap around his arm to squeeze gently, grounding him in the wallow of nerves. “It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head, gulping. “I— I want this. I really want this.” There is such conviction and assurity in his voice that you cannot help but kiss him softly. He pulls back and his breath shudders.

“You’re completely sure about this?” you ask once more, making sure to give him the space to reject your advances if he feels the need to.

“Mm.” Bucky nuzzles into your neck, taking comfort in your embrace as he mumbles into your skin, “With everything I have.”

You grasp his face into your hands with the most care and love you can possibly manifest to bring him out of his safe retreat, and you connect your lips with his again.

The motion comes easy to Bucky now, natural. He has no fear and certainly no hesitation to kiss you the way he likes, with tenderness and an urge to claim you as his own — his mouth moves over yours in a synchronised dance, the steps familiar, but it still feels new, thrilling in nature.

Snaking your hands down from his cheeks, your fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake over his neck. They stop over his collar, and you look into his eyes to gain permission to undress him. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” He’s relaxed enough in your hold to not allow nerves to hinder him just yet.

You begin to make your way down his covered chest, and with the utmost care, you unfasten each button effortlessly — tan skin, smooth as silk and dotted with a pattern of sun kissed freckles, is revealed with each undone button, and you have to tamper down your impatience to rip the shirt straight off of his shoulders.

“You’re so gorgeous, Bucky,” you breathe in disbelief, and your palms slither back up his body, sneaking over the ridges of his abs. “And all mine.”

“Ah–” Bucky gasps and jolts — your nails, longer than usual, brush over a responsive area of his stomach and you grin into his neck.

You skim the tips of your fingers over the planes of his pecs, and over his shoulders to finally slide off the material veiling the godly sight of his body to you. Of course, you have already seen your boyfriend without a shirt on before, but right now, in the glow of the candlelight and the orange hues dancing over his skin, he looks like he’s been sculpted from the angels themselves.

“Bee…” A dust of pink decorates his high cheekbones, still ever so shy with your compliments.

You open your mouth to reply, but Bucky thoroughly shocks you as he begins to unbuckle his belt, the muscles in his stomach tensing as his hands work to free the leather from his slacks.

You watch, breathless, while he pulls down the slacks to reveal a pair of tight black briefs that do nothing to hide the growing bulge. Bucky is fucking huge, that much you make out from the strain of the material, and you’re almost sure he isn’t even fully hard.

“Oh my god.” The sensation of your quiet divulgence against his ear elicits a sudden moan from his lips. You will never tire of being the cause of that sound.

The rush his vocalised pleasure evokes has you beginning to reach behind your back to unzip your dress. However, Bucky hesitantly stops your hands in their haste. “C— Can I do it?” he stutters, eyes wide and glossy. “Can I undress you — Please?”

It would be a crime to not allow him after a plea so sweet.

With your nod of approval, he takes a deep breath, calming his nerves before he makes his way behind you. You feel his fingers hover over your back, tentative and unsure and it takes him a moment until he sighs in finality.

He pinches the zipper, tiny in his long fingers, and he slowly descends the barrier downwards. The spaghetti straps slip off one by one — his knuckles gently skim over your shoulders until they trail down your arms, and with a quiet flutter, the entirety of your dress falls to the floor, leaving you in just your lingerie.

You wait patiently, letting Bucky take in every inch of your half naked form. Moments pass by and your combined breaths — one steady, the other erratic — ricochet through the room.

“Sweetheart?” You feel the strands of his long hair sweep across your skin as he looks up at the sound of your voice. “Would you like to get my bra?” It’s an offer, a choice for him to decide on his own terms without the pressure.

Stunning you with his growing confidence, he begins to unfasten the material — the straps fall down your arms with ease and you gently let it drop to the floor.

Bucky gulps harshly, then. The realisation that your breasts are on display for the first time to his eyes hitting him like a truck.

Stepping around your figure to come to your front, he keeps his eyes on your face, never once looking away as he kneels to the ground. His nimble fingers work to slip your heels off, taking care to help you place your bare feet down onto the carpet without letting you trip, and he kisses your lower thighs. Once he’s finished, the palms of his hands rub up the back of your calves and squeeze while he rises to stand.

His gaze still doesn’t stray.

“You can look, Bucky — It’s okay.”

Only with your go ahead do his eyes dart down, taking the entirety of your body in at once. A harsh inhale of breath catches in his throat, the rise and fall of his chest is rapid while his fingers twitch by his sides. His gaze locks onto your breasts — guilty as charged with his basic instincts.

“Puppy,” you call out to him, parsing through the growing fog of desperate need in his mind, visible by the glint of hunger across his irises. “Come here.”

His eyes shoot up, searching your expression for any sense of mocking, and he finds none. There is a desperate gleam in his cloudy, misted gaze — frantic for guidance and reassurance still. “Come here, baby,” you whisper, holding your hands out for him to grab hold of. “It’s alright.”

The steps Bucky takes are rigid, robotic — not allowing himself to lose what little control he has left. You vow to change that. He stops at a small distance in front of you, further away than you care for, and you take the bait to bring yourself closer until your nipples skim across the bare planes of his skin.

The sensation steals your breath away, and Bucky squeezes his eyes closed, clenching his fists at his sides — it takes you back to your movie night together all that time ago, when the voice in his mind told him to hold back, to not give in to the urge to reach out instead.

And that just wouldn’t do.

“None of that, sweetheart,” you coo, softly. “I’m gonna need you to open your eyes so I can see you.”

Like magic, he flickers his eyes open, and he swallows around the lump in his throat.

“There he is.” You smile reassuringly at him. “Deep breaths for me, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Bucky takes a small moment to do as you say, treating your word as gospel. His mouth works furiously over the words that won’t seem to come, until he settles on a breathless, “You’re so beautiful.”

The way he’s devouring you with his eyes says volumes of his true meaning, and you couldn’t find it in you to mind that he was speechless.

You gently tuck the hair that’s fallen into his eyes behind his ears. “Oh, baby,” you whisper back, holding his face in your hands while a torrent of emotions that vary from awe to trepidation threaten to sweep you away. “You’re something else. I’m so lucky.”

A small huff of laughter falls from his parted lips, and he begins to grin, a cheeky pull at the corner of his lips that spreads warmth from your core to the tips of your toes and fingers. “If only you knew how much the guys on the team make fun of me for saying the exact same thing.”

The two of you share a small bout of laughter — a wholesome moment to cut the charged air and be yourselves for a second.

You slide your hands down from his face down to his chest, feeling the steady pitter patter of his heart that’s calmed down from the fast thrum — the soft smile you give him forces a heavy exhale of breath from his lungs, and you revel in the one you’re given in return.

“Good to keep going?” You check in once more.

Bucky nods his head, certain. “Please.”

“Sit on the bed for me then, Puppy,” you softly direct him.

Following behind him, sure to stay close for both his benefit and yours, he climbs onto your mattress and sits against the headboard. He holds his hand out to you, routine embedded into him to guide you onto his lap.

It registers to him then, as your bare skin melts against his, that you have never been in this position with so little layers between you.

Carefully, you rest your crotch — covered by your thin layer of underwear — against his. A thrill of tension stiffens Bucky’s muscles, and you smile gently at him while you shuffle your knees comfortably on either side of his thighs — fully aware that the sensation is much more intense than usual.

“Bee…” His warm, callused hands hover over waist as you readjust yourself, and while you set yourself down on his lap, the lace of your panties swipe over his hardening cock. “Oh— Fuck.” He chokes out.

Immediately, you still. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I wanna touch you,” Bucky forces out, breathing heavily. “So bad—”

“Remember to breathe, Buck,” you remind him gently, not wanting him to overwhelm himself — not this early. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

His chest shudders with a harsh breath, and he whimpers, “I don’t know what to do.”

The lack of experience and inadequacies that stem from it run rampant through his saddening expression, from the sheen of tears that start on his lash line, to the deep frown on his pouting lips. They lock him in place and render him frozen under you — the tense line of his thigh muscles taut beneath yours.

You realise with a shock that while he is so eager to please, a mingling sense of shame screams that he won’t be able to make this good for you.

“Hmm. Baby, listen,” you soothe, gathering his attention once more. His hands intertwine easily with your own and you kiss his knuckles. “How about we start off with something you do know?”

Bucky looks at you with all the innocence of someone completely out of their depth. “O— Okay,” he stutters. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You smile, placing a single, loving kiss to his lips. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Sitting back upright, you slowly test a gentle roll of your hips over his crotch and instantly, Bucky gasps loudly. You grin salaciously as you witness his eyes flutter closed. But you still take care to stop, to wait a second and look for any signs he doesn’t like it — there are none, much to your satisfaction.

Slowly, you rock back and forth over his bulge, drinking in the slight, hitched moans and whines that fall from his lips. “You’re doing so well — Proud of you.” You bring the tips of his fingers to your lips and kiss them gently. “It’s only you and me, okay?”

Bucky’s eyes flutter; heavy breaths escaping his mouth. “You and me,” he whispers.

“That’s right. Just us.”

“You don’t have to worry your pretty little head, Puppy,” you tease gently. Bucky bites his lip. “I need you to just relax — Sit back and let me do the thinking.”

“Buttercup–”

“Here.” You guide Bucky’s hands to your sides, smoothing them down the slopes of your hips, and you repeat the motion a few more times to better allow him to feel accustomed to the feel of your naked skin. “There you go.”

His hands, rough and calloused from his football training, stain your body for an eternity — caressing you with a ceaseless love and compassion.

“Touch me,” you say, unable to simmer the blooming heat within you.

Transfixed, Bucky’s thumbs brush back and forth. There’s still a sense of hesitation in his movements — the way his fingers twitch and tickle over your skin. But it lasts only a moment; a path of his own choice decorates your sides, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Your skin is so soft,” he sighs in awe.

He rests his head back against the headboard with a soft sigh, and he tilts his chin down to watch you grind against his bulge. Leisurely, he tenderly brushes his fingers over your stomach, the touch of his hands beginning to drift upwards under the slope of your tits.

“Please, Bucky,” you plead with him, the tease of having him so close is too much to bear. “Touch me.”

“‘Kay,” he mumbles drunkenly.

The pad of his thumb swipes over the peak of your nipple softly, a barely there sensation that makes you keen. “Yes, just like that, Pup.”

It’s all the reaction he needs.

With a surge of confidence, Bucky begins to massage your tits, continuing to use his thumbs to rub circles over your sensitive nipples while you grind against his growing cock. “I— Is this okay, Buttercup?”

You almost scoff — the thought that his experimental touches are anything less than okay absurd to you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you whine, and the reassurance of your pleasure invigorates him to move faster, steadier and more firm with his touch. “Making me feel so good, baby, keep going.”

Lost in the feel of his touch and the insistent pressure of his clothed cock against your folds, you tilt your head back and close your eyes. The flutter of butterflies in your stomach crescendo into a frenzy the faster you move. All the while, you miss the way Bucky’s gaze is intently focusing on the way your breasts sway with the grind of your hips; how he licks his bottom lip with an urge to claim.

The sharp, intense sensation of his fingers pinching a peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger forces a shout from your parted lips. “Fu–uck, Bucky — Ohmygod.” Your cunt pulses and aches when his fingers stay hovering, spooked at the sudden reaction. “More, more—”

“Fuck,” Bucky groans, and he bucks up into you, matching your rhythm and this time, it’s you who’s soaking the material of your panties. “Bubs, I— Holy shit — I need more.”

It’s an achievement you’re most excited for, that he’s freely telling you, unprompted, what he needs.

Though, the teasing nature you held could not be dissuaded — you meet his gaze with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, Puppy?” Your hands hover over his lower stomach, the tips of your fingers dancing over the twitching muscles, and you move your index finger beneath the fabric. “Wanna get rid of these?”

The elastic waistband of his underwear snaps back against his lower stomach, making him yelp in surprise. “Ah— Mhm,” he begs deliciously, eyes wide and completely surrendering to you. “Take ‘em off, Bee, please.”

Your bare skin brushes against his while you shuffle backwards, slowly crawling down his legs all while marking his skin with kisses and teasing nibbles, until you reach his briefs.

Looking up at Bucky under your eyelashes, you blink sweetly, eyeing the sweat that begins to build on the ridges of his abs. Your breath ghosts over the material of his underwear while you ask, “Can I have your cock?”

“Oh, god,” he chokes out while his dick twitches in uncontainable excitement.

“I need your consent, Bucky.” The statement brings him back to the present, grounding him to the sight of you between his thighs and softly reminding him that everything is on his terms.

“Yeah,” he gasps. A few deep breaths cause his chest to rise and fall, steadying the rabbiting pulse in his neck. “Yes.”

With his confirmation, you slowly, gently ease your fingers underneath the fabric that hid what you truly wanted — the waistband slides easily down his tense thighs. Your eyes are focusing on the new inches of skin revealed, the sculpted line of his Adonis belt that runs down to the one part of his body you’re desperate to see.

Bucky watches you with bated breath — you’re so close to his cock, and it’s still not enough for him.

The small whine of frustration makes you flit your gaze upwards. A sheen of moisture shines over his eyes, and the pout of his lips are shining slick with spit — he looks absolutely wrecked, and you hadn’t even taken his hard cock from the confines of his briefs.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you finally pull his briefs down until his twitching length bursts free of the material, standing tall and thick, curved and almost purple from the strain of arousal. Your eyes follow the veins trailing up his length, and you lick your lips once you spot a pearl of precum already forming from the tip of his dick — a sweet temptation that’s teasingly begging you to have a taste.

You’re speechless, literally awe stricken while you salivate over the length and girth of his cock. “Oh.” The slow blinks of your eyelids leave them hooded, but you continue to stare, hypnotised at the sight of your boyfriend’s huge cock.

“B— Buttercup?” he whispers, voice tense with worry after the few seconds of silence that stretch while you stare, transfixed. “Is— Is everything okay?”

You swallow, trying to rid the sudden dryness in your mouth. “Bucky,” you say roughly, and you look up into his doe eyes. “If I weren’t a more patient woman, I’d have your cock in my mouth and down my throat already.”

He sputters, the blotchy redness beginning to creep up from his chest to his neck.

“You’re so fucking big, baby. Holy fuck— how do you have such a pretty cock?” you wonder aloud.

“Shit, you can’t say that,” Bucky groans, squeezing his eyes shut as his dick twitches. The far more rapid rise and fall of his chest makes his stomach muscles contract and flutter — the sight lends ideas for the future idea of working him over into the line that blurs pleasure and pain, all to see how he takes it.

But you lick your lips, promising yourself to revisit that thought later. Tonight was about him.

“Fine. I’ll behave,” you tell him, waiting until his eyes open and focus on you before you grin wolfishly. “For now.”

Bucky’s lips part to speak, but before he can work the words past his tongue, you sit up and grab his hands, directing them to your hips and over the fabric of your panties. The hold you have over the back of his hands leaves him unable to pull away — not that he desires to.

The fabric glides over your hips with your guidance, revealing the bare skin. “Oh— Fuck,” Bucky murmurs, watching the journey the fabric takes until it lands on the floor next to your bed.

“Buttercup,” he gasps in wonderment. “You— You’re perfect.”

It’s difficult to remain confident while your boyfriend looks at you as though you put the stars in the sky just for him — like he’s seeing an angel. “You’re a true gentleman, aren’t you?” you laugh, trying to hide the way his stare makes you flustered.

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes soaking you in with such a reverence that’s dizzying. “You— Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m taking about because — Fuck. Believe me, you’re fuckin’ unreal.”

The world seems like it stops on its axis right then and there. You know Bucky’s emotions are heightened and at an all-time high, but you also know that he means every word of what he says — his sobering eyes tell you the truth alone.

You’re the one who becomes a stuttering mess for a moment, and you stumble over your words before you manage to regain your composure, and you clear your throat. “T— Thank you, baby.” The pause in heated touches gives you an opportunity to check in. “How are you feeling?”

Still trying to gain some semblance of control, he audibly gulps. “I— I’m good, yeah.”

“Yeah?” You begin to steadily shuffle forwards on your knees, further up his legs to hover over his crotch, careful to not let your body graze him just yet. “You know you can back out whenever you’d like, okay? You say the word and we stop.”

The small distance between your most intimate parts is dangerously in the balance.

“No,” Bucky says finally, shaking his head as his hair sweeps over his face. A few strands settle over his cheeks. “Wanna keep goin’.”

You bite your lip and smile wickedly. “You got it, baby.”

His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth as he watches you begin to lower your body. “We’re just going to keep doing what we’ve been doing, okay, baby?” You reassure as his breathing picks up.

But his eyes stay focused and fixated on you.

When your cunt lowers against the base of his cock, the movement pushes his length down until the tip almost reaches his belly button, and even with the visual of you resting over his length as you always did in the past, Bucky isn’t prepared for the feel of his bare dick sitting snug between your folds. His eyes shoot open while he gasps loudly and balls up the bedsheets tightly in his fists. “Shit, shit — Fuck, oh my— God—”

The palms of your hands smooth over his tense stomach. “Easy there, big guy,” you coo softly. “It’s okay.”

His breathing becomes erratic as his back arches against the headboard. “Oh god, you’re— You’re fuckin’ soaked, Bee.”

You are. Nobody else ever had this kind of effect on you, and so you certainly aren’t ashamed for Bucky to know how much he turns you on. “That’s what you’re doing to me, baby — Can’t help it,” you keen.

His chest rumbles while he groans deeply, throwing his head back.

The urge to move is compelling, almost swallowing you whole — Bucky isn’t the only one struggling to keep calm, with his thick length brushing your entrance and putting constant pressure on your clit, it’s a challenge to not take him then and there.

“Do you remember when we first kissed?” you ask breathlessly before you begin to squirm. “And I asked you to think about how wet and tight I’d be for you?”

Bucky’s muscles strain as he frustratedly tangles his fingers in his hair. “Fuck, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since, baby.”

Your hips work a little quicker over his cock, the slide seamless from how aroused you are, and to your surprise, you feel his hips work against you, too. “How does it feel to know your inches away from slipping inside my pussy?”

The rocking movements of his hips falter as he jerks up and jostles you, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter in a crazed frenzy. “It feels— Please— You’re killin’ me—”

“My sweet boy,” you utter. “Don’t worry, you’ll have it soon.”

Each and every plea and whimper that falls from his red-bitten lips only serves to turn you on even more. He tries to flex his hips to push his cock into you, to feel the warmth of your cunt around him, but even he isn’t ready for the sensation that ripples down his spine once the tip catches on your hole.

“Fuck!” he curses.

Hurriedly, you move yourself away before he can slip in any further. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart, I need you to be calm for me, alright? You can have me when you're calm, not just yet. Breathe for me.”

“No — I, no no, Bee, please, don’t do this to me. I want—” Bucky vehemently shakes his head from side to side, the vein in his neck almost popping from his exertion to hold back. His hands grip your waist, digging into your skin as he drags you back down onto his cock desperately. “Please, I wanna feel—”

“Oh, Pup,” you sigh with an all too innocent smile. “You wanna be a good boy for me, huh?”

“I can, I can,” he whines. The feel of his hands pawing at your waist sends a thrill up your spine. “Fuck, I can!”

“Yeah,” you mumble, unsure if you can hold out much longer yourself. “You can, Pup — I know you can.”

“Bee—” Bucky is a pure wreck, his chest heaving with breath, and a film of perspiration builds on his temples. You know it’s impossible for him to garner any more control, and you grant him mercy as you slightly lift your hips up to line the hole of your pussy up with his cock.

“Bucky, baby,” you call to him, waiting patiently until his wild eyes lock onto you, and you forewarn him, “You're sure about this?”

His bright blues cloud over with a haze of lust, and you shiver when he cries, “Please.”

“Okay, okay,” you soothe. “Alright, baby — Wait, hang on, sweetheart.” The bed creaks as you shuffle backwards once more. “Let’s get you off the headboard, so you’re comfier.”

The two of you move in tandem so his head rests back against the pillows, and you settle back over his hips, reaching out to smooth your thumb over his cheek. “Better?”

Bucky smiles and nods once, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“Okay.” You brace yourself with a steady breath, and finally sink down onto Bucky’s cock, the tip easing into your cunt with a pop. The stretch from his head alone has you squeezing your eyes shut, but you revel in the way he freezes under you, then the sluttiest whine you’ve ever heard falls from his slack mouth.

The effort to work past the thickness of his head causes your hands to rest on his stomach, allowing him to hold your weight, and your mouth falls open with a silent scream as you drop down further, taking more of his length.

Glancing down at your boyfriend to check on him, you find only the whites of his eyes through his hooded lids, and his fists balling so tightly in the sheets of your bed that they begin to tear.

With a whimper, your walls clench around his cock. “A— Almost in, baby.” Another inch fills your cunt. “Doing— Doing so well, Bucky,” you pant.

Your nails create indents into his skin while you internally build up the courage to take the entirety of his length. It feels an impossible task, one you desperately underestimated, but you were no quitter. Your walls rhythmically squeeze around him, and your breath hitches when you feel him twitch against the stimulation.

“God, I want you,” you moan, hanging your head. An unintelligible mumbled string of words or sounds fall from his lips in reply. “Fuck it.”

With a deep breath and a prayer for mercy, or strength, you arch your back — the wrecked moan that Bucky rasps sends a thrill of hunger up your spine. The slide of his cock against your walls makes you cry out, and you quickly drop your hips until you're fully seated against his crotch.

“Oh shit!” Instantly, Bucky shoots up from the mattress and wraps his arms firmly around your middle, crushing you against his heaving chest. “Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move — Please — Don’t fuckin’ move.”

You sling your arms around his shoulders in reply, and the two of you cling to one another with only your heavy breaths disturbing the quiet music in the background. The bare skin of your bodies sticks to each other, glistening in the candlelit room while the silent moments pass.

Hot, heavy breaths fan over the skin of your neck while Bucky nuzzles his face against the juncture of your shoulder — the movement effectively burying him entirely into your form. There is no way for him to get any closer, or any way to hide his muffled sniffles and gasps for air.

The beat of your heart steadies and thumps evenly — you pray that it is enough to calm his overwhelmed senses. “Steady, Pup — You’re alright, I’ve got you.” Gently, slowly, you comb your fingers through the damp strands of hair by his temples. “Just stop and let it happen, feel it, don’t fight it. It’s okay, baby.”

“S’too much, too much, Bee— Please, please, I don’t—” He stumbles over his words, working himself up.

“Bucky,” you say, firm but gentle, trying to reason over his rambling. “Do you need to stop?”

“No!” He holds you even tighter. “Please no, no no, don’t go, don’t move, don’t take— Please stay.”

“Hey, hey— I’m here, I’m here. I’m staying — Breathe, baby.” You rub your free hand over his back, shushing his pleas and continuing scratching your fingers over his scalp.

As you pacify Bucky, he begins to calm down — his breathing softens, the heightened intensity of emotions flowing easily into a quiet, content peace between you. Cautiously, you slightly lean yourself back and ask, “Can you look at me, please, sweetheart?”

It's a gradual process as he plucks the courage to lift his head out of your neck and surrender to your request, and your heart tightens when his teary eyes bore straight into your soul. “Oh, baby,” you sigh, bringing your hands round to hold his cheeks. “Was that a lot?”

Bucky timidly nods, his arms still caging themselves around your waist to keep you close.

“It’s okay — You’re okay, sweet boy — Doing so good.” The deep-rooted need to reassure him takes hold, an instinct that’s embedded within you to make him feel as safe as you possibly can. “Take your time.”

“Mm.” Bucky rests his forehead against your chest and listens to the steady beat of your heart, tethering himself back down to earth.

The charged air that holds the weight of tension finally breaks when he blows a long breath onto your skin. “This is— This is so much better than I imagined. Fuck, this is— Bee, I think I’m seeing stars.”

“Oh my god, you fucking dork.” Your laughter fills the room, full of pure happiness and glee to be able to find such fun in sex.

He smirks lopsidedly at you until you sigh, the amusement turning to fondness, and you kiss his forehead — almost able to forget the position you’re in.

But you’re soon reminded as Bucky quietly rasps, “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight — Can barely breathe.” Goosebumps run down the naked skin of your arms at the same time your cunt pulses. He grunts deeply with a sharp hiss. “You really were right.”

“I did warn you,” you tease, giggling when he lifts his head up and playfully glares at you. Closing the distance, you kiss him deeply, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth as you whisper against his lips, “Ready for me to move now, baby?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans.

You don’t waste any more time. Tangling your fingers around the locks at the back of Bucky’s head, you pull and begin to smother his neck with wet kisses, the taste of salt delicious on your tongue.

Raising your hips, his cock slides out of your pussy, leaving behind a hollowness you crave to fill immediately. Without forewarning, you swiftly lower yourself, sobbing with pleasure at how perfectly he fits inside you. “Bucky.”

“I know,” he moans, long and low, sounding as wrecked as you feel. “Fuck, Bee — I feel it too.”

Words fail you, the delightful feeling you’ve waited so patiently for holding you hostage as you pant into his shoulder.

It becomes easier with each stroke to fuck yourself onto his cock, making sure to grind yourself deeper into his lap each time you come down.

“I— I can’t fuckin’ think straight.” Bucky’s palms slide over your ass and grip it firmly.

You laugh deliriously, high on the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and you barely notice the way you instinctively change the motion of your hips, beginning to grind into his lap in circular motions.

A strangled sounding moan causes your focus to snap towards Bucky. “Oh— Jesus fuck!” His fingernails dig into your ass as he hysterically pleads, “Like that, baby — Exactly like fuckin’ that.”

Huffing with a smirk, you breathe, “You like that, huh?”

“Yes,” he admits shamelessly. You start to speed your motion up, and the filter between his mind and lips completely crumbles. “Your— Your p—pussy feels good — So good. You have no idea — Shit — Keep goin’, please—”

The words tumbling from his lips are cut off when you push against his shoulders, sending him off balance to lay back down on the bed with a thump. Then, resting your palms on his chest, you lean forward to kiss him. You whisper against his lips, a sly smirk creeping onto your mouth, “Hold on tight, baby.”

Using Bucky as leverage to hold your weight, you begin to bounce on his cock. The position allows his length to sink all the way into you, his tip hitting your cervix at the right angle to make you whimper.

“Oh, it’s so— Fuck, I’m so deep— In you.” He struggles to breathe, the wind totally knocked out of him, but he’s mesmerised and completely drowning in the sensation.

“I know, baby — Stretching me out so much.” A fire simmers in your eyes. The muscles of your thighs burn with exertion, but you refuse to stop — especially not when your boyfriend is a fucked-out mess beneath you, trying to control the subtle flexes of his hips.

While you’re riding him, far too engrossed in making sure you keep the rhythm steady, you miss the feral glint in Bucky’s eyes. He’s possessed by the sight of your cunt sucking in his cock so deliciously; your slick dripping down onto him and coating his dick.

Licking his lips, his eyes lock onto your puffy clit, enlarged and throbbing in pleasure, and he inches his hand forward to experimentally swipe his thumb over your nub. His gaze snaps up to you with the unleashed moan you scream to the roof. “Fuck, Bucky!”

You're quickly pulled back forward as Bucky grabs you behind the neck, bringing you down to kiss him. His tongue slithers into your mouth, his muffled groans rumbling against your lips while he continues to buck up into you.

The need to catch your breath has you pulling away, gasping for air.

Bucky looks drunk — eyes hooded with a hunger blurring the blue of his irises and the black of his pupils. His pink swollen lips hang open, wet from clumsy kisses with too much tongue for his hazy mind to process.

You hang your head low between your shoulders and cry, “Why are you so damn big, baby?”

His hands slink down to your hips, and he gropes at the quivering muscles desperately. “Buttercup,” he tries to warn you — the cries over the size of his dick are sending him into a deeper pit of hunger.

Your head’s already too hazy to process anything other than the feel of his cock. “I’m aching, how the fuck am I taking you right now?”

The thrusts of Bucky’s hips speed up, and he bends his knees to plant his feet on the bed, his sole mission to fuck up into your cunt.

“Feel so fucking full, Bucky — Filling my pussy up so good.” The breathy moans fall like chants from your lips.

The steady, punishing rhythm you maintain falters, and your breath hitches when his cock slips from your cunt — the obscene, slick sound of it slapping against his stomach filling the room.

You pant and press your hands down on his chest while he groans to the ceiling. “Shit, I—” Bucky’s eyes glaze over when he looks down at his body, the twitch of his cock in time with the hammering of his heart under your palm. “I didn’t mean to—”

You can’t help but giggle, and the sound immediately calms his worries — the cinch between his brows smoothing over as he looks up at you. “Don’t worry, baby.”

The movement of your hand towards his cock has his entire focus — his tongue moves over his lips, and you watch the shine of spit; how it makes his lips an even deeper red. “Oh, fuckin’— Fuck.”

His exclamation makes you freeze. “What’s wr—”

It clicks.

Though you took him in your heat, felt the pleasure he can give you, the realisation hits you like a freight train that not once this night had you felt the weight of his fully erect cock in your palm; to wrap your fingers around the length and work him over.

“I can’t—”

“Shh, you’re alright,” you soothe, and carefully, you wrap your hand around his girth. Your eyes widen when you can only just connect your thumb and fingers together. “Fuck me—” you gasp, beginning to lift yourself up to line him up to slide back in. “God — You can barely fit in my hand, baby. Here we go.”

It’s unclear to you what exactly causes Bucky to snap.

The room whirls in your vision and you gasp with surprise as his body suddenly shoots up and with ease from the mattress, flipping you over in one smooth, fluid motion. “Oh, fuck!”

One second your back is resting against the mattress, over the rumpled covers, and the next, your boyfriend's hands are pushing your thighs as far up your chest as they can go.

“I’m so sorry, Bee,” Bucky groans, kneeling between your spread legs — one hand holds your legs in place, the other brushes featherlight over your soaked lips. The sharp gasps for air make his voice sound hoarse and raspy.

He stares down at your pussy, licking his lips. “I can’t—” The fingers that danced over your lips move to grab his cock, encircling it in his large palm before he rests the head of it against the fluttering entrance of your cunt. “I can’t hold back anymore, need this.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply — the tip of his thumb brushes against your clit and you keen upwards, just as his cockhead slips into you. The slide of him easing into you is smooth, and the drag of his length stretches you inch by pleasurable inch.

“Oh my fucking god, baby!” Bucky bites the inside of your calf while you whine loudly, your walls clenching down onto him — a tear rolls down your cheek, the size of him is almost too much. “Yes!”

“Fuck, s’deep. I gotta move, Bubs — Please, lemme move.” His weight shifts to cover you, pinning you against the bed while he leans close to pepper needy kisses and bites over the column of your neck.

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Bucky, please,” you beg, “I want it all.”

Raising your arms up to hold the headboard, you steady yourself for what is to come, and offer yourself to him on a platter, free for his taking.

Immediately, his eyes dart towards the movement of your tits, the natural bounce of them with every aborted thrust he makes. “Hnng— Yes,” he rasps. The slow thrusts turn rough, his skin slapping against the back of your sweat-slick thighs.

Your nipples, hard and pebbled, become his new target. “I want every fuckin’ inch of you, Bee,” he growls, swooping down and sucking your nipple into his mouth.

The room spins from the dizzying pleasure; the veins on his cock scrape your walls, his wet tongue playing with you, the hairs above his cock teasing your clit. It all begins to wind the knot tighter and tighter in your stomach.

“I need more,” you gasp while Bucky drags your nipple with his teeth and releases it with a wet pop. Your arms slither around his neck and bring him into your hold. “Fuck, Bucky, please.”

Corded muscles move you up the bed, and he forces his forearms under your back to hold you close. “Whatever you want, baby.” The fast thrusts slow to a deep, dirty grind — the length of him going deeper and deeper on each circle of his hips. “Gonna— Fuck, gonna give you anythin’ you want.”

The two of you crash your lips together and whimper into the other's mouth — heavy breaths and pants mingle while your combined sweat builds between your heated bodies.

“Wanna cum, Buck,” you plead desperately. “Want you to make me cum; feel s’good in me.”

A huff of breath fans over your lips, and a sly, lopsided grin pulls at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. The covers rustle and from the corner of your eyes, you see him planting a hand beside your head, next to your ear. “Don’t you worry,” he coos shakily through his grunts and moans. “I’ve got ya, Bee.”

His free hand drifts between your breasts and over your stomach, down to where you are connected. You gasp as the pad of his thumb settles over your clit, and he rubs in tight, fast circles, keeping pace with the thrusts of his hips into your pussy.

Your thighs begin to shake as you cry into his neck, “Please, keep going — Don’t stop!”

“Come on, baby,” Bucky coaxes gently. “You can do it. You can cum for me — C’mon.”

The tension in your stomach becomes unbearable — you slap the covers of the bed and ball them into your fist for something to ground you against the onslaught. “I— Ha, fuck!” You heave for breath, panting. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Let go — Can feel you, how tight you fuckin’ are. I’ll catch you, Bee.”

Your ears ring as your eyes roll to the back of your head, the pleasure insurmountable in its height, when it finally hits you. You convulse through the waves of it, letting it consume you whole while ragged pants for air and hoarse moans fall from your parted lips. “Baby, baby — I’m cumming!”

He still continues to fuck you through your orgasm until the last tendrils of electricity run their course, leaving you a twitching mess.

An overwhelming urge to be close to Bucky forces your hands to blindly reach out to grasp a part of him. The tips of your fingers graze the warm skin of his bicep, and he suddenly pulls away entirely — your cunt gaping and weeping at the loss of him.

“Pup?” You whimper. “Come back, what are you doing?”

“I’m h— Here, Buttercup,” he manages. Unknown to you, the feel of your walls fluttering against his dick almost had him finishing inside of you. His length glistens with your cum, and Bucky has to close his eyes tight and breathe to control himself.

Stubborn as you are, you intertwine your hands with his and pull him into you, smirking lazily at his shocked gasp when his cock grazes over your cunt.

Strands of his slick hair tickle your cheeks, and his cheeks are a deep hue of red. “Why did you stop, sweetheart?” you ask. The pupils of his eyes blow impossibly further. “You made me cum so fucking hard.”

You’re delighted to hear the whine he tries so hard to hide. “I— I panicked,” he admits. “You almost made me cum.”

Looking down, you see his cock twitching viscously, like he’s about to blow any second. “Aw, baby.”

You grab his length and start stroking him in your fist — the twist and pump of your fist making him choke and sputter. “Buttercup— What are you— What are you doin’?

“Go on,” you urge him, squeezing his thick cock at the base, and twisting on the pull upwards. “Cum on me.”

“I—” Bucky shakes his head rapidly. “No— I can’t do that — Fuck this feels too good — Can’t finish on you—”

“Bucky,” you gently interrupt him. “I’m telling you that you can.”

But he shakes his head again, trying to hold out. “Fuck, fuck — Oh, fuck — Baby I can’t please, I—”

You click your tongue and tighten your hand around his cock, pumping him harder faster, a spark in your veins and mischief on your mind. “Why not, hm? I need it — Don’t you want to give me what I need?”

“Bee—” he pleads. “Don’t do this to me.”

Though his words say one thing, the way Bucky thrusts into your fist tells you another — he’s dying to cum, the throb of his cock in time with his rabbiting pulse.

You refuse to have him holding back because the voice in his head is sabotaging his pleasure.

“Please, baby,” you beg of him, blinking your eyes and reeling him in on your invisible line. “I want it. Give it to me.”

Bucky bows his head, the curtain of his hair concealing his blown-out eyes. There’s a heavy sigh of defeat from his lips. “Fuck, Bee— What the hell are you doin’ to me?”

Biting your lip, you move the fingers of your free hand up the back of his sweaty neck to thread them through the hair at the base of his neck, and you pull him down to rest his forehead against yours. A wicked grin dances on your lips. “I’m gonna make you cum for me.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you speed up the pace, taking care to focus the pressure of your grip around the head of his cock.

“Oh—” Bucky chokes on his own spit, his toes curling while his hips work in tandem with the pumps from your fist.

“That’s it, Pup,” you murmur delicately, scraping your fingers over his scalp. “There’s a good boy.”

“Feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he slurs, whining as he seeks out your lips. “S’close, baby.”

You direct him, pulling him impossibly closer to slot your lips over his; tongue and teeth caressing with little finesse. “Give me it, Bucky — Please.” The words fall against his parted mouth.

“Gonna—“ The excitement for his climax builds when you feel his cock swell in your hand, the violent twitches of his mounting release. “Gonna cum, B— Buttercup.”

Lighting a fire to the match begging to burn, you tug his hair back in your fist, the grip tight and unyielding to bare his neck in an arch. The skin of his throat is damp with sweat, and the thunder of his pulse can be seen next to the frantic bob of his Adam’s apple. “Let go — Let go for me.” You lap at the sensitive skin with your tongue. “Make a mess of me with your big cock.”

The long wait, the weeks leading up to this very moment are entirely worth it when Bucky collapses onto you, his moans unending and agonisingly pleasureful. His hips stutter and thrust with no real rhythm while his cum shoots from the swollen head of his cock, painting your bare skin all the way up to your tits.

His release seems to never end, it pools over your stomach with no signs of slowing down.

Bucky trembles with the waves of pleasure, and he buries his face into your neck, nuzzling you to try and retreat from the nonstop sensation of release. Against the sheets, you can feel the way they rustle as his toes curl — the taut line of his shoulders makes him feel bigger while he shivers and jerks over you.

“Buttercup.” His palms frantically feel over your skin. “It won’t— Fuck — It’s not s—stopping.”

“Shhh,” you instantly soothe him, running your fingers through his hair and holding him close to you while you continue to pump your fist gently, milking him for all he’s got. “Almost there, Puppy — let it all go.”

Bucky sobs into your neck as the last few drops leak from his tip, and the pretty sounds of his moans vibrate against your chest. “Oh my god.”

“So fuckin’ good for me — Did so well, my sweet boy.”

Finally, his cock stops pulsating and begins to slowly soften in your hand. As carefully as possible, you remove your hand and smooth it over the heated skin of his waist. “Take it easy for me, baby,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss against his tear-stained cheek. “Remember to breathe.”

Bucky’s limbs loosen with the lull of your voice, and he eases his body down onto yours, letting you take his weight.

The two of you lay peacefully connected together, only your shared breathing to fill the quiet of your room. The needle on your vinyl long since raised, the song finishing with a gentle lull while you were wholly focused on him — much like the simmering high that had been building since your first kiss.

You are loath to interrupt the peace, but his heavy breathing told you that you will lose him to sleep any second now. “Bucky baby?”

When the rumble of his muffled, “Mhm,” tells you he’s returned back to you, you smile contentedly. “Do you think you’re able to let me clean you up now, hm?”

It's difficult to not laugh at the way he clings to you, tightening his hold and groaning, “No leavin’ me.” You smother the growing smirk creeping up your face.

The palms of your hands rub up and down his back, and you kiss the top of his head. “I’ll be quick, sweetheart. I promise.”

He sighs, much like a tired puppy, and begrudgingly slackens his arms and carefully lifts up off of you, rolling onto the bed next to you. “Hurry back, please.” The slight whine to his voice melts your heart.

“Thank you, baby.” You quickly shuffle off the bed, placing your feet on the floor. “I’ll be right back.” The floor creaks under your feet, and you rise from the edge of the bed, only, you overcompensate your judgement to hold your own weight so soon — the tremble of your thighs and weakness of your knees almost has you toppling to the floor. “Oh, boy.”

A snort of laughter sounds from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to find a dazed, smirking Bucky. “I did that to you,” he gloats drunkenly.

Your eyes widen in shock before you giggle along with him. “The cheek of you.”

Taking slow steps, you manage to make your way into your bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. You take the time to clean yourself up while sitting on the edge of the bathtub, smiling like an idiot to yourself and rebuffing the urge to squeal.

Upon walking out of the bathroom, your keen eyes catch the subtle peek Bucky makes through the mess of his hair, the wandering of his gaze over your still naked body.

The blush that covers his cheeks and neck when he sees that you have caught him staring is endearing, when only moments ago he was inside of you, desperate and moaning for more.

To humour his shyness, you choose to pretend you didn’t see, and you make your way back to him. It is a true struggle to not give in to the twitching strain of the muscles in your thighs, or how your knees almost buckle from under you.

“Here we go, baby,” you sigh happily, both from seeing his soft smile and how you made it to the plush mattress without falling over.

The warm cloth in your hand goes ignored by Bucky in favour of wrapping his arms around your middle, and he pulls you backwards into the covers until you are propped up on one side of your bed.

You hum warmly while wiping the mess of Bucky’s lower stomach, though you pause when you hover, uncertain, over his softened cock. “Am I okay to clean you up, baby?”

Looking up at you with his puppy eyes, he nods sleepily. “You’re okay, Bee.”

Taking care to be gentle, you wipe his most sensitive area and once satisfied, you toss the cloth towards the hamper of your room in favour of sideling up to Bucky. In the process, you turn onto your side and frame his face with your hands, waiting for his eyes to focus on you before asking, “How are we doing, handsome?”

The sound of his small laugh couldn’t make you happier, and his pearly whites gleam with his bright smile. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Buttercup.”

You giggle, a little high from the comedown too. “I take it that’s a good thing?”

He groans deeply and licks his lips. “Absolutely.”

You shiver and swat his chest. “Don’t be looking at me like that, you menace.”

Bucky hums sweetly. “It was amazing— No, wait. It was better than that.” His eyebrows furrow in thought. “It was — Um— Can’t think of the word — Oh, I’ve got it! Astronomical.”

Exhaustion is beginning to kick in for him, the very last dregs of his energy is being used to be a comedic clown — you fall for him even more.

A sudden, hesitant doubt creeps into his eyes, the need for reassurance coming forth. “Was it—” He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “Was it okay for you?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you coo. The sheets underneath your body rustle as you lay down more comfortably, and you guide his head to lay on your chest, over your heart. “It was perfect — you were perfect.” Kissing the top of his head, you drive his worries away. “Trust me when I say it was fucking incredible.”

The tenseness of his muscles begins to ease away. “Thank you…” Bucky hesitates, then moves even closer to you — once he is close enough for his liking, he angles his head up to blink at you dazedly. The emotion in his voice makes it waver when he says, “Thank you for taking care a’me.”

“Always, my sweet boy.” You look down, watching his eyes droop. “It’s all I ever want to do.”

“You’re so amazing, Buttercup,” he exhales blissfully. “So lucky to have you.”

Your heart beats out of your chest. “I feel the exact same way.” Unsure you could handle any more of his sweetness, you mumble, “Now get some sleep, Puppy.”

“Hmph — Fine.” He gives in, finally closing his eyes. “G’night, my Bee.”

Resting your head on your pillow, you brush your finger over his forehead, sweeping his hair out of his eyes while you sigh contentedly. “Goodnight, baby boy.”

Warmth floods your heart and a happiness like no other fills your bones, making you glow from the inside out. You’re not sure this night could be any better, and with that thought, you know you’ll rest easy tonight with the man of your dreams huddled in your arms.

On the verge of surrendering to sleep, the quiet of the night is disrupted by Bucky's sleepy mumble, “I loves you.”

Your eyes shoot back open, and you instantly look down, finding your boyfriend’s cheek squished against your breast with a little bit of drool gathering in the corner of his parted lips.

“Bucky?” you whisper, the quick thump of your heart stealing your breath. There isn’t a response, not even a twitch of acknowledgement. With more urgency, you whisper, “Bucky?”

This time you get a small, soft snore in reply.

You lay your head back down onto your pillow to stare up at the ceiling. The thoughts and doubts swirl viciously, the intensity of each and every one making you gulp, though one stands out among the rest: did he just confess his love for me?

There was the possibility of you hearing things — the comedown of the high you’ve been floating on messing with your head.

It’s not long before all of the day’s events catch up with you. The slowing blinks of your eyelids lasting longer and longer each time; the laxness of your muscles as they settle in for a much-needed sleep. But the question on your mind bears a heavy weight while you succumb to sleep.

Does Bucky love me?

The rays of the morning sun shining through the white drapes either side of your window are the first thing you become aware of as you wake up the next morning. With your eyes closed, you can see the yellow and amber glow of the sunrise.

A strong envelopment of warmth and comfort keeps you rooted in place, as well as the heavy weight of an arm across your middle. You don’t want to move from your spot, you don’t want to wake up yet; still basking in the afterglow of yesterday’s events.

But the second sensation, the mantra of light fingertips mapping over your face tips the balance of sleep overtaking you in favour of letting your consciousness creep to the surface.

Lastly, the final push, the soft, steady puffs of air tickling your nose persuades you to wave your white flag and flutter your eyes open.

The blurriness of sleep forces you to blink until the fog clears your vision — once you’re able to see the dancing, warm light of the sun, you’re given the gift of your handsome boyfriend, already awake, admiring you with his bright blue ocean eyes.

They’re the most clear they have ever been.

The lined skin besides his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the pull of it making his nose scrunch adorably. “Bee,” he whispers, his voice rough from sleep. “Good mornin’.”

It's a damn killer, the expression of his face — full of true elation and contentment, and it has you falling in love all over again.

That’s when it hits you — the memory of last night, and what you think you heard him say when he was half asleep.

Trepidation makes your nerves impossible to conceal, especially when Bucky is noticing every minute expression on your face. It's only a matter of time before the natural courage, granted to you with the haze of the morning, fades away.

With a heavy gulp, you open your mouth and lick your lips. “Did, uh— Did you—?” The words die on your tongue.

Bucky’s thumb gently presses against your lips, his head gently shaking from side to side — a secret he wishes to keep just between the two of you, not shared with the birds that sing outside your window or the rays of the hopeful morning sun.

Your eyes are wide, beginning to water with the anxiety coiling inside your chest.

The crippling worry, however, dissolves when Bucky runs the pad of his thumb over your lips, the motion of back and forth touch grounding you. His eyes find their home deep into yours, and he finally speaks, “I love you.”

And it’s with an ease, one that has you cursing your inner voice for ever doubting yourself, you say those three words that battled to be said so, so long ago. “I love you, too.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #new tricks masterlist #new tricks #sebstanwhore

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blues-valentine · 30 days

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Watched Challengers (2024) and the take away is that Tashi needed both Art and Patrick to feel the exhilaration that Tennis gave her. Just like the three of them needed one another too. Their dynamic is so complex because their love for each other is selfish and comes with a prize.

Tashi was just living vicariously through them because she lost the ability to play tennis so soon in her life. She liked the safety she could get from Art and how she was able to control him. She liked the impulsive passion she could get from Patrick but they would’ve never worked because she’s too much of a narcissism to be with him. And at the end of the day, she was pissed because neither of them satisfied the expectations she set for herself and her tennis dreams. Patrick was a natural talent but a slacker and didn’t take tennis that seriously. Art was hard working but not much of a natural and lacked confidence. And not matter how much he excelled, it was never enough for what she wanted for herself. She ends up having to coach him at a sport that she could easily surpass both of them at. Tashi doesn’t teach because she can’t. She could. And it’s hurtful having to never have this void and need filled.

And I also don’t share the idea that Tashi didn’t love Art. She does and so did Patrick. But Art just loved her so much more. And she doesn’t strike me as a woman that would be miserable and marry someone if she didn’t fully want to. Let along commit to motherhood. But Tashi’s true love will always be Tennis. She’s in love with tennis. Art was willing to retire for Tashi and their family and she’ll never do that for him. She would trade both Art and Patrick for a chance to be able to play Tennis again.

That’s why at the end of the movie it doesn’t matter who won the game. It matters that Tashi was able to finally experience a good tennis match. And I think her yelling is that she finally found that satisfaction she’s been looking for.

#challengers #zendaya #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig #movies #text post

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artist-issues · 10 months

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I'm so tired of people saying that the Prince from Snow White is a creep for kissing Snow White when he thought she was dead.

People act as if he put his tongue down her throat while she looks like a regular corpse.

Maybe I'm just more comfortable with death because of my upbringing.

There's a European tradition that you would kiss dead people goodbye. You would also wait with a dying person because dying alone was one of the most horrible ways to die.

In Poland, you would spend three days with the dead body of your relative in the house so family and friends have time to say goodbyes. We even have pictures of family members in coffins, so we could remember them.

Yeah, it's a very post-modern, historically, culturally-small-minded way to look at it.

Specifically in this movie (which is a fairy tale's fairy tale) people just...totally ignore the scene where The Prince is introduced.

Seriously and truthfully, BECAUSE the Prince only takes action in three scenes of the movie, you HAVE to take all three of them very very seriously. Because thats all there is to know about him. That's how fairy tales work: lots of information hiding under very brief, simple snippets of information. It's called nuance.

Anyway.

The Prince kisses Snow White as a culmination of their promised love for each other.

First scene he's in, he falls in love with her because of her obvious purity and he overhears her longing for someone to love her. Then she runs away because she's not sure of him, and doesn't know him. But he sings his part of the song, which is all about how he has just one heart to give, one devotion to spend, and he's choosing to give it and spend it on her if she'll have him.

And she will have him. How do we know? She sends a kiss to him on the dove. That's how the exchange ends; that's how she responds, and that's why he leaves satisfied. It's their engagement scene. They're promising their hearts to each other.

Fast-forward, the Queen messes up what might have been the natural follow-through of that engagement which is marriage by trying to kill Snow White, she's living in the woods, but she won't forget the Prince and wholeheartedly believes he'll come find her.

And the very next thing we hear about him is that he keeps his promise. He's got one heart, one love, one devotion, and it's promised to Snow White, and he will not stop searching for her. When he finds her, he's returning her kiss from their engagement scene. He thinks she's dead, but he has to finish his quest anyway. This is him, trying to keep his promise even if she's dead; he's trying to fulfill the exchange they had when they saw each other last.

It's ridiculous to assume that she needed to be awake and alive to give permission for him to kiss her; it's ignorant of the whole relationship, symbolic and literal, between these two fairy tale characters. She already sent him her kiss and her heart; he already promised to claim it; he's fulfilling the promise in that scene.

Crazy postmodern people, don't know how to take in a story. Not everything gets to have your socio-cultural lens imposed upon it.

#Snow White and the seven dwarves #little graphic there #asked #answered #true love's kiss #discourse #Snow White.Snow White 2024 #Snow White hate #Snow White and the seven dwarves 1937 #snow white 1937 #disney #classic films #meta #analysis #fairy tales #learn to read fairy tales

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literaila · 3 months

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hey

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you're both drunk and (not) in love

warnings: alcohol mentions, angst if you're me, fluff, nonsensical conversation

a/n: i will be messing with this later but if i have to think about it for any longer i'll cry (also listen to be (acoustic) because i said so)

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year four.

the house is almost silent, tonight.

usually, at close to midnight, it's quiet. the house will buzz as the furnace works, the house settling itself into the earth, but there's none of the laughter that echoes throughout the hallways like it does during the day. no names being yelled across a threshold, much too loud for the size of the house itself.

the kids are always in bed this late, and usually you and satoru are too--besides the nights where you stay up talking or arguing, speaking with soft voices for so long that your throat is sore by morning.

those are the nights when you fall asleep on the couch together, or you migrate to one of your rooms, speaking nothing of the broken rules in your relationship.

satoru's bed is a lot more comfy than yours, anyway. his blankets are heavier and his pillows are fluffier.

or that's what you usually think to yourself in the morning when you wake up there once again. it's an excuse, sure, but at least it's more reasonable than reality.

but tonight is quiet because the kids aren't home. and it's almost midnight, and the two of you are just walking in through the door.

and, admittedly, you're a little bit drunk.

"don't--" you say, laughing languidly, tripping over satoru's legs as he pushes the door open. it took him five tries to unlock it, but you don't say anything, because everything looks a bit uneven. "don't forget to shut it all the way."

satoru ignores you. "why are all of the lights off?"

you step over the tiny shoes left by your front door, almost tripping on air, and flick on the lights. you squint at the brightness, groaning.

but the lights do nothing to ease the eerieness of the hallway.

you can't remember the last time you came home this late. the last time you had a night without the kids.

it's probably why the two of you went a little overboard at the bar. but it's hard to keep up with shoko anyway, so it's not really your fault.

satoru hiccups. "why don't we have night vision?"

"humans suck," you answer, trying to kneel to take off your shoes, which are pinching at your feet.

"true," he says, kicking his own sneakers against the wall. his jacket is already off, and on a normal night you would chastise him for not hanging it up, but at the moment you've kind of forgotten about the coat rack.

and how to think properly.

"did you--" you shake your head, looking at satoru, who seems to be upside down. "did you lock the door?"

"of course i did, i'm not a heathen."

but you see him rattle the doorknob, clumsily, and that must satisfy you because you walk out of the hallway, into the living room, which is just as dark as the rest of the house.

it's strange that no one else is home. strange that there's no one to tuck in, no room to peek your head in before you pass out.

"how late is it?" you ask satoru, who's following so closely behind you that you almost fall back into him when you stop.

"dunno."

"is there someone here? i feel like i'm in a horror movie," you turn to satoru, who's squinting around like he'll be able to see something in the dark room. "where are your glasses?"

"dunno," he says, with a grin. and then hiccups again.

you roll your eyes, but grab his hand as you pull him along the house, trailing to one of your rooms--you can't remember which--and forcing yourself to take off your socks before you climb into bed.

it's a good thing that both of the kids are gone because neither of you are exactly quiet as you walk through the house. satoru is tripping every step, and you're holding onto all of the walls trying not to do the same.

seriously, neither of you ever get out.

and, in the blink of an eye, you're in someone's bed--hopefully yours--nuzzling yourself under the blankets. your head is swirling, and you can't see anything, but satoru is there, you think, because you can feel him.

like a buzz on your skin as his hand trails up your arm, and he pulls you into him, probably. it's all fuzzy. and you don't care what he's doing anyway--you trust him, even drunk.

"i'm never drinking again," you mumble as you turn, wiping something off of your face.

satoru laughs. his breath on the side of your cheek makes you blink. "you said that last time, i think."

"i was right."

"lightweight," he teases like he isn't slurring the word.

he's so very close, and yet, you curl your leg around his, trying to get yourself even closer.

satoru doesn't complain as you move, as fast a dream, and then you're lying on top of him.

maybe it's not his bed. maybe he's the comfortable one.

you blink hazily at his smile and press a chaste kiss on his jaw like it's an appropriate thing to do.

you can't think of anything to say, so you just hum into his skin as you settle in. you kinda want to lick him.

"why're you so cold?" he asks you, rubbing your arms.

you don't respond.

being with him is like walking on top of everything else. walking on nothing at all, actually.

his hands wrap around your waist, secure and sure, like he's never hesitated a day in his life. and you think, just for a moment, that you've never been warm like this.

that maybe you've been living in a tundra. maybe that feeling in your core has been frozen for so long, and satoru is the only thing warm enough to defrost it.

but it takes a long time. that hurt, that fear eased in the edges of your soul cannot be cleared out with a single burst of flame.

though satoru is not one single thing.

but, nonetheless, his hands on you, holding you to him, are enough for now.

his eyes--with nothing to stop them from reaching you, like a blindfold or lens--have always been far more than you wanted.

but he's looking at you, so you can't think about any of it.

you want to tell him something, but you’re not sure what. there’s something in your mouth, ready to come out. but it stays hidden, a secret you’re keeping from even yourself.

his eyes are on yours, focused and sure, pupils blown.

you kind of want to laugh at him, because inhibitions make you giddy. and satoru has always been something that excites you.

his face echoes with the memories of two children, two foolish kids who never understood just how good they had it.

have it.

"do you think i'm strong?" satoru asks you, still slurring, and he's joking. he's been quiet for a while, so you don't know where this is coming from. on a normal night, you'd probably be concerned about the question.

but tonight you just giggle against him, tracing the slope of his eyebrow, which makes his face twitch.

with your other hand, you pretend to feel around his arm like you'll find anything but muscle. "hmm," you pinch his bicep, giddy when he flinches from your touch. "i guess. might wanna hit the gym, though."

you think you might die from just the way he's looking at you.

"you're a bad liar," satoru grins at you. he's breathing heavily through his mouth like you've exhausted him.

"so are you," you tell him.

"says who?" he asks, and he's lying to you right now.

"me. remember when you tried to convince me that you painted that portrait in the hallway?"

"i did," satoru swears, but he shakes his head as he says it, looking away.

a bit of reprieve for you, but you still tilt his chin back. you want his eyes.

"see? bad liar."

"i get it from you."

you grin at him, not sure what it means.

"if you died, would you come back to haunt me?" satoru asks you, suddenly. like the question is significant, in some way.

"if i die you'll already be a ghost," you say to him, "because you're dying first."

"no, i'm not."

"do you want me to die?"

he pretends to think about it. "well, no, i guess. but if you did, would you haunt me?"

"definitely. i'd throw things around the house for you to clean up. and mess with your conditioners."

"so you're an evil ghost."

"just a bit of karma for letting me die."

"i'd avenge you," satoru argues.

"i don't want to be avenged," you roll your eyes. "just keep me alive."

"oh, yeah. guess i could do that."

"you guess?"

"i mean... it's a lot of work. i'll have to look at my schedule."

"next time i go on a mission i'm going to come back hurt just to see you freak out. maybe i'll lose a limb. or some brain damage? which is worse?"

satoru, who squirms around a paper cut, gives you a plagued look. "i'm going to tell yaga about the threats you're making."

"like he'd believe you."

"i'll lock you in the basement. you'll never go on another mission again. there, i solved our problem. you never leave the house and i don't have to worry about keeping you alive."

"we don't have a basement."

"oh. right," he frowns. then he blinks, and the smile is back.

"also, i keep you alive every day. you can't return the favor?” you sigh. “i'm being exploited."

he raises a brow.

"who do you think hides all of the sweets?" you ask him. "the kids aren't eating all of those."

"where'd you put my pocky?"

"you'll never know."

"i'll torture you for information. i know where you're ticklish."

you squirm away from his seeking hands, but don't move. you grasp one, stopping him from touching any further than your side. "i'm not scared of the man who won't even remove his hair from the drain after he showers."

satoru makes a face. "but it's all slimy and weird."

"it's your hair! stop making megumi do it."

"i feed him. he can help out."

you have to keep yourself from giggling again, like a foolish girl who’s in love with her best friend.

you roll your eyes and fall flat against him, letting go of his hand, even though it's very soft, and you relax on his chest. there's a moment where satoru settles into this--into you--and then his hands begin to roam the expanse of your back.

"if i was a ghost," satoru whispers, "i would lay on top of you in the morning so you couldn't get out of bed."

"like a sleep paralysis demon?"

"yup."

"dont you already do that?"

he licks his lips. "it'd be scarier if i was invisible."

"can ghosts touch people? i don't think they're tactile."

"i'm not like a normal ghost."

"not like normal anything."

satoru nudges his nose against your forehead in retaliation, but he doesn't argue. it's not like he can, anyway.

"hey," you whisper, after a moment. you're looking up at him, admiring the slopes and concaves of his face at this angle. his eyes almost make his face glow, his own personal light.

"hey."

"do you think the kids are awake right now?"

"no," satoru sighs. "nanami probably put them to bed at six. after feeding them straight broccoli."

"i told him their routine..." you mumble. "i think."

"d'ya think megumi'll haunt us?"

"he'll never die," you tell him, "just out of spite."

"true."

"you can't haunt him, okay?" you say, very seriously, giving him a flat look, which he laughs at. "when you die he deserves some peace."

"no promises."

you poke his chest but have no answer. actually... you're not even really sure what you're talking about. or that it matters.

there’s something in your mouth, ready to come out.

but satoru is still warm. he smells like bitter alcohol and bubblegum.

"hey," you whisper, again, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. you’re not sure what you’re doing.

he is blurry this close, but you can still see all of him. you'd know his face if you went blind, behind a mask. you could black out--you probably will--and he'd still be there.

"hey," he murmurs back. his voice is like a punch to the throat. but his smile is effortless.

"you're pretty," you whisper, as you think it. "and sweaty."

satoru's looking down at you, and his smile stays the same. his breath is on your face, sugary sweet. "so are you."

"i know."

satoru laughs, his knuckles running across your cheekbone. it almost makes you shiver. "pretty," he whispers like it's a joke.

"why're your eyes so blue?"

"wavelengths, or something. didn't you pay attention in school?"

you laugh, shaking your head at him. it's funnier than it should be.

"don't you like my eyes?" he asks, suddenly pouting.

"yeah. they're like a nightlight. 's never dark."

his eyes are probably your favorite thing in the world, you don't say, 'cause you can't think. his eyes are unimaginable, and so close to you.

satoru swallows, shaking his head. "that's all i am to you?"

"and a teddy bear. you're comfy."

satoru hiccups, but holds you closer, smiling against your forehead. "good."

there's a couple of minutes where the two of you bask in the silence. the quiet is a nice break from it all. and you're both so drunk that the usual fears can't seem to make their way in.

not the way they usually doing, plaguing your body. fear is just something that is, right now. nothing to be afraid of.

but, even so, you've never felt so safe. or so sleepy.

and this time, it's satoru who whispers, "hey."

"hey," you say, back. you smile at him. his fingers trace circles on your back. or maybe he's writing something. you can't tell.

it feels nice, though.

"i like you," he says. and you're not sure if he means in general, or here, in his bed with him. maybe it's a question.

it doesn't matter.

"i like you too. hey?"

satoru just hums this time. you can tell that he's about to fall asleep, because his eyelashes flutter shut, and his breathing has begun to even out.

"satoru," you say, again, because you want to see his eyes just one more time before you fall asleep on top of him.

you have to say something. it could be the alcohol, but it might be just you.

"yeah?"

"i think i'm in love with you," you say, and you mean it but it's not what you meant to say. but you're half-asleep, about to drool on his chest, so you can't even contemplate the words.

is it drunk and in love? or drunk on love?

you can't remember.

you could probably kiss him right now. he’s close enough, and you’ve always wanted to. but, even this version of you knows that it would be a bad idea. so you don’t. and you don’t think about what you’ve just admitted.

satoru's smile is vicious, as it begins to blur. you can feel his heart beating against your fingertips. "yeah?" he whispers, and you're not sure why he sounds breathless.

you nod against him.

"me too," he murmurs, and you can't think about what it means. he whispers something else that you don't hear.

because the two of you fall asleep just then, and the words don't really mean anything.

just, you know, everything.

in the morning, your head pounds.

one of you left the blinds open last night, so the sun wakes you up, shining through the trees outside. your mouth is dry, and your throat burns, like you swallowed knives.

and you're still on top of satoru, and you remember exactly how you got there.

he's groaning when you begin to move, holding you closer. and this isn't all that unusual.

but when he opens his eyes, there's a daze in them. some secret he's thinking about as he looks at you.

and you both forget to mention that you remember the night before. and everything that was said.

you probably shouldn't talk about it with a hangover, anyway.

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 10 months

Text

TAKE YOU DOWN A PEG ─── neil lewis ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I want you. Your bones. Your body heat. The bite marks your teeth leave. To see how bad and beautiful those eyes look beneath me." — Beau Taplin.

pairing. sub!neil lewis x reader

summary. gumshoe video’s got a rude customer who neil can’t seem to ban…

warnings. swearing, voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, breathplay, oral sex (m), cockwarming, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 5.3k

a/n. the hardest thing about writing this was scouring letterboxd for obscure films that i think neil would foam over. pls don’t beat me to death if my film references miss the mark 😭

Neil loves his job. Seriously, seriously, he does. It's completely self-satisfying, his personal passion project that’s taken up a large amount of his life, and brings him the uttermost joy of allowing him to do what he does best: recommend films.

Gumshoe Video is like his fucking baby, and he takes care of it, immensely; he wipes down every tape every Sunday, he sweeps the floor and rearranges the furniture, he organizes the tapes almost constantly, and he does his hardest to provide stellar, passionate - if almost annoying - film advice. He wants the reviews up on this place, alright, otherwise it feels like he’s letting his baby down.

Now, if there’s one thing Neil hates about his job, just one minor, teensy weensy thing, it’s probably you. You, the rude customer who came in three months ago and has come in everyday since.

The day you and Neil Lewis met was one just like the rest. Gumshoe Video was promoting old spaghetti westerns; Neil was wearing a cowboy hat and opening deliveries from a video tape shop in Calabasas that had closed down; you were coming off work and were daydreaming, dizzily entering shops to get your mind off the irritatingly mundane job you had. Unlike Neil, you fucking hate your job.

You had entered Gumshoe, browsing lazily through the Film Noir section, when Neil sprung up like a weed behind you, speaking animatedly about how the best film noir’s had to be Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, or Double Indemnity, and if you’d ever watched them before.

As Neil blabbered on, your left eyebrow became increasingly raised. Finally having enough of him, you spoke. “So, are you one of those guys that talk all over the girl and ask them if they’ve ever seen Citizen Kane, or if I can even name five Ingmar Bergman movies for you?”

Neil spluttered, flustered with being confronted about his obsessive cinephile talking habit of carrying the conversation away like a track runner in a relay race going off with the baton in the wrong direction. “What? I was just —“

“— name dropping film noir’s, ‘cause I’m some ditzy, uncultured bimbo bitch who mistakenly walked in, right?” You said, rolling your eyes. Later, in retrospect, you’ll wonder if you were too rude; then, you’ll remember you don’t give a fuck, you were having a bad day, and Neil Lewis had one hell of an annoying face.

Neil’s face grew offended, an irritated furrowed brow wiggling onto his features. “If you don’t want to watch what I recommend, you don’t have to!” he exclaimed, arms up placatingly in the air.

“Uh huh, okay, and you don’t have to shove your pretentious cinephile knowledge up my ass.”

He just stared at you, boring his bright blue eyes into your own, face contorted so exasperatedly you might as well have climbed up to the stars, plucked the moon from the sky, and used it as a pillow.

My god, Neil thought. Are you just a rude customer? Or did you get off on berating small businesses like a sadistic freak?

After a moment of you two staring each other down in the fluorescent artificial light of Gumshoe, both looking terribly affronted, you left.

Neil would then rant about this “insane customer” for at least twelve hours straight to anyone who’d liste. The next day, the distasteful experience was extremely close to thereby fully exiting his mind, but didn’t, because you, yes, you, walked in again.

You shot straight daggers with your eyes at Neil, but your expression became soft, demure, and gentle when you saw Jonathan manning the register instead. You trailed through the aisles unperturbed, Jonathan too busy sporting a hangover from working the late shift at that obscure speakeasy copycat bar (in which, as often as possible, he would sneak a shot to stay awake) to recommend films.

In any case, that was Neil’s job, and Jonathan leaned over to whisper in his ear: “Neil, man, do me a favor and please distract that customer -- fuck, this headache’s killing me…”

Neil protested, shaking his head rapidly. “That’s her.”

“Her who?”

“Her! The - customer who -- who yelled at me!”

Jonathan blinked blearily, clearly still too incapacitated to think about the matter much. “She yelled at you… and she’s back. Here. And why exactly is that…?”

“To yell at me s’more, probably!” Neil whisper-shouted incredulously.

Suddenly, you broke Neil and Jonathan out of their not-so-quiet argument by slamming down Gumshoe Video’s copies of Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, and Double Indemnity. The irony did not miss Neil - honestly, it was a little on the nose, even for him.

“Thought I’d see what all the rage was.” you explained “sweetly”, gesturing to Neil as you spoke, indignation seeping through your every word. Your grudge was, well, mostly unexplained, ‘cept for the fact you yourself were an avid cinephile, had watched those three movies more than you could count, and did not take Neil’s “have you watched these before” kindly.

Thus started you and Neil’s long-winded rivalry slash animosity slash terribly caustic back-and-forth correspondence.

You keep coming to Gumshoe Video, because, despite your anger towards Neil, you fucking adore the place. The films are downright amazing, the atmosphere is like fucking heaven with the walls lined full of video tapes, decorated in classic film props, campy lifesize cardboard cutouts making you jump at every turn, and Gumshoe Video’s concept is insanely different (and lightyears better) than the corporate monolith that is Media Giant.

He keeps coming to Gumshoe Video because, again, Neil loves his job, and treats Gumshoe like he carried it for nine months and has been lovingly raising it for the five years it's been open.

From that first incident, you and Neil’s relationship twisted a little into something like this: you come in, insult him on whatever costume he’s wearing, return the tapes you rented the other night, argue with him for exactly an hour and a half on the couch, insult him for another ten as you browse the store, ignore his film recommendations, and rent three more movies.

He waits for you to enter, wears the ugliest costume he owns to visually assault you, gladly takes the tapes back, argues with you for 1 and ½ hours, fires back retorts as you insult him, recommends movies he thinks will make you jump out your apartment window, and gives you your movies.

You’re the minor, teensy weensy headache Neil experiences everyday, but at least, at the very least, Gumshoe makes daily dollars from your rentals - kinda like the payback or relief fund a town gets after a hurricane’s run through it.

But, (somewhat?) shamefully… there’s a reason Neil doesn’t just ban you from the store and live his life without ever thinking of you again.

This reason occurred to him a month ago, when he was in the backroom, pasting barcodes and information stickers on tapes that were yet to be placed in the store. You were looking for the washroom, awkwardly stumbling through the back hallway of Gumshoe Video, and since you couldn’t find Neil — he, in spite of the nature of your relationship, trusted you to look around and rent the tapes by yourself, having done it several times while arguing with him at the counter — you had to brave through it alone.

Now, the thing about the room Neil was in — more of a shoe closet than a room, honestly — was that it was locked from the outside, and he didn’t have the key. The key was currently in the hands of one Lucien, who had gone to buy takeout for the two of them because of the late night cataloging of new tapes ahead of them.

And… he was taking about a hundred years to come back because he was trying to get the cashier’s number at their usual Chinese restaurant.

Anyway, imagine this: you’re looking for the washroom, and the door to a small room is propped open. You enter, don’t think much of the small stack of empty tape boxes acting as a door stopper, and let it close. The light in there is dim, just a shitty little ceiling light; Neil turns, tapes in his hand; you turn, after closing the door.

Finally, remember: the room is more of a shoe closet than a room.

“Jesus -- christ!” Neil yelped, startled at your sudden appearance. “What -- the hell are you doing here?”

“I take it this isn’t the bathroom?” You murmured, ignoring his question and shifting uncomfortably. Seriously, the tape closet was only meant for one person in it at a time.

If the lights were brighter, you would’ve seen how hard Neil rolled his eyes; they almost rolled out of his head. “Well, I don’t think so, given the lack of toilet, sink, and light, no.”

“Well, Neil,” you purred, hot breath curling around the sensitive skin of his neck, “maybe, just maybe, you should have a sign for the bathroom, so I don’t have my tits any closer to your face than I want them to.” You said this sweetly, voice husky, low, and oddly sultry, but Neil knew better than that: you probably wanted to fucking kill him right now.

You were right, though; your tits were flush Neil’s bandy chest, the heat between you two growing the longer you were this close in proximity.

“Now get me out of here,” you said quickly after, ignoring how warm Neil felt against your body. You’d turned so your back faced him, hands twisting at the silver knob of the door - which, Neil honestly didn’t know why was there, considering it didn’t fucking work.

Neil sighed. “The door locks from the outside.”

“What?” You said, distracted by leaning down to press your weight against the door like it was just sticky. Moments later, “…What?” you all but shrieked, hands falling from the knob, turning to face him once more.

And, again, if the lights were brighter you’d have seen Neil’s face better: he was bright fucking red, because, apparently not accounting for the small space of the room, you’d leaned and obliviously had your ass pressed right against him. It didn’t help that his large, warm hands, having long since dropped the tapes he was labeling, hung near the flesh of your rear, having nowhere else to go in the limited space.

Neil thanked the small mercy God graced upon him that there wasn’t any kind of friction, so his soft cock remained just that: soft, and barely noticed by you.

“The door locks from the outside.” Neil repeated breathlessly, the amount of air in the shoe-box room being incredibly small, too small to share between the two of you.

“Fucking…” You cursed under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “So, what, we have to stay here ‘till someone busts us out? What’re you gonna do if I go batshit and eat you or something?”

“For one, Lucien isn’t going to take that long to come back. Anyway, why’re you assuming you’ll overpower me - what if I go batshit and tear into you?”

You snorted, like the connotation he could overpower you was completely implausible. “Neil, Neil, Neil,” you repeated nonsensically, before lifting a hand up to his shoulder and digging your nails into him, the fabric of his shirt obviously not thick enough to distort your strength. “I could have you pinned down in less than a minute. I do other things than watch movies all day, unlike your lanky ass.”

Neil merely let out a chagrined laugh in response, hands clammy at the thought: you pinning him down— he then shook himself mentally, about to slap himself upside the head. Fucking hell, this situation was doing things to him.

“You don’t believe me?” You retorted with a raised brow. Swiftly, your hands curled around Neil’s wrists, pinning them behind him and pressing his back against you. “How about now, huh?” you whispered softly in his ear, making his head swim.

Your chin rested on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his neck, and it took everything in Neil not to let out a breathy keen — this was all too much for him: your touch, your voice, and the apparent dawning on him that he found you terribly, massively, attractive.

“Fuck, I, er - - um,” Neil scrambled for a response, when the door to the tape closet suddenly opened. Your hands released him immediately, and you strided out, breathing in deeply.

On the other side stood Lucien, plastic takeout bag in one hand, closet key in the other. “What happened to you?” he asked confusedly, as Neil filed out after you, gaze trained on your stretching figure walking off.

“We got, uh -- locked, in the- in the tape closet.” Neil murmured, thoughts still fuzzy from your rough touch.

“With her?” Lucien shuddered, handing Neil the chinese takeout bag sympathetically. “You need this food more than I do.”

So, there it was. Neil’s reason. He would’ve called you an insufferable bitch that he never wanted to see enter Gumshoe Video ever again hundreds of times by now — if your sensual voice insulting him didn’t get him all tight in the pants.

He began having thoughts — thoughts of you. You, whispering vulgar, humiliating words in his ear, your hands carding his hair, pulling tight against his scalp, selfishly making him do whatever you wanted him to do, no matter his pleas.

The fantasy was unlike anything Neil had dreamed up before, having always believed it should be him on top, him controlling the situation, him dominating — but it wasn’t a bad one. He’d come faster than he ever did before, just by imagining you were rolling your hips into his own… your strength pinning him down… your lips brushing past the shell of his ear, telling him he was so fucking dirty, so filthy for being this needy.

However, that was all just a vague, distant pipedream, especially with how you seem to actually hate him. All the interaction he’d had with you consisted of poisonous, irritated words, insults and curses — which had him feeling both incredibly turned on, and sick at the fact he was attracted to you just by being mean to him.

Sometime after that, nearing the end of the work day, Neil was the only one left there: Jonathan had taken the morning shift, and Lucien was, surprisingly, on a date with the cashier at their usual Chinese restaurant place. Looks like he succeeded in getting her number, while Neil had been pressed against you in that tiny tape closet, moments away from getting a hard-on.

So, Neil was the only one there - and you were the only customer there. Your daily routine of stopping by and verbally attacking him was late today, so it was nearing midnight when you and Neil sat on the couch and began arguing.

“I’m sure your “manly” ego isn’t at all pathetic and easily hurt by the superiority of Mia Farrow’s performance in Rosemary’s Baby.” You spat, leaning into the diverse array of old throw pillows that sat on the couch day after day.

Neil rolled his eyes, hands up in the air animatedly. “My manly ego - and I don’t enjoy the sarcasm nor the air quotes you’re using - isn’t pathetic, nor easily hurt! Mia Farrow just wasn’t better than John Cassavetes was. I stand by the fact they were equal.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, your hand coming down on Neil’s knee to dig into him angrily. “Neil, I don’t expect you to understand her performance - I don’t think anyone does, not with that little cinephile brain you have. Do you do any thinking up there, or is it just The Treasure of the Sierra Madre on rewind?”

Neil flushed, both at the insults and how your hand was on his fucking leg. “What about you? What is it that makes you keep coming back here if you think my opinion is so… worthless and entitled?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in closer to him. “Because, Neil, this is the only other video tape shop for miles, and I will not be caught dead at Media Giant. Trust me, I despise this - “arrangement” of ours, far more than you do.”

He huffed, his gaze trailing over your features, unable to come up with a response: he was too busy focussing, trying not to zero in on how your face was inches away from one his, your fingers oddly inching up his thigh.

“Don’t go making this about me. Why is it,” your continued, hands traced dizzying circles into the fabric of his jeans, “that you don’t just kick me out? I come in here, day after day, berating you, ignoring your recommendations… shouldn’t I have been banned a long time ago?”

Neil gulped. “You’re still a - a customer, one who rents daily I might add—“

You smirked up at him. “Don’t lie to me. I know Gumshoe’s doing just fine… and I heard you, y’know? Last week… in your office.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He stammered out, racking his head for what he might’ve been doing in his office— fuck.

Fuck, he thought, mind racing rapidly, he thought you had already left by the time he started—

“I heard you, hiding in your office… stroking yourself, moaning my name.”

You’d rented just one tape last Friday, for a movie date with a guy from work, and you almost left - before realizing Neil took your membership card and never gave it back. You waltzed back in, and to your obvious surprise, Neil wasn’t at the register.

“Neil?” You called out softly, trying not to spark an argument with him that would span hours, because you were trying to show up to this date on time.

You walked down the back hallway, and found his office door, which had a gleaming NEIL LEWIS printed on its foggy glass.

Your hand had almost reached for the handle, his name on the tip of your tongue, when you heard a needy whine slip past the door. Shocked, you lingered and pulled your hand away, pressing your ear against the pane to listen closer.

“God, fuck,” you heard Neil curse, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Need you so bad,” you heard him whisper to no-one but himself, before a low moan belted out of him.

Your face grew warm, immediately, flushed at the news that Neil-fuckin’-Lewis was jerking off, in his office, mumbling your name. You squeezed your eyes shut, continuing to listen to his pretty voice, and after several moments of your lust-riddled mind drinking in his sweet noises, how he was so focussed on his pleasure while completely oblivious to your listening in, you found one of your hands coming up to tweak your erect nipple — fuck, his stuttered little moans had your cunt pulsing with utter need.

Neil was getting close, you could tell, hearing him buck into - what you assumed - was his wooden desk, sloppily muffled mewls leaving his mouth.

You were biting down on your lip, hard, an incredible amount of self control in place. The man was so horny, sounding so fucking submissive it drove you insane: just the thought that he’d bend to your will and do whatever you wanted made your legs clench.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending who you ask, you felt your phone begin buzzing in the waistband of your modesty shorts - probably the date you were late for - and you had quickly fled.

“Oh, jesus,” Neil blurted out now, alarmed, immediately in the flight part of fight or flight. “I- whatever you heard, I can - I can explain, really, so please don’t—“

Your hand gripped his thigh, keeping him from getting up. “Hey, hey, shh,” you said, bringing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know, just as well as you do, how bad you want me.”

Truly, Neil couldn’t control himself that night. You had walked in, wearing a delicious little dress with a sweetheart neckline, strolling around in 3-inch heels, cooing mockingly at his costume for that week’s theme — a criminal wearing nifty little handcuffs to promote the double feature promotion of crime films and dramas — purposely leaning down to make him feel smaller than you.

Neil had flushed, looking away, willing himself not to let out a needy groan at your get-up, instead silently checking out your tape rentals and quickly handing them back to you. After you’d walked out of the store, he’d dashed to his office, feeling the tent in his pants grow warm, aching.

Quite similarly to how he felt now, your eyes coursing over his entire form, so close Neil felt himself sinking into the couch.

“Look how fucking hard you are already.” you whispered, hand drawing away from his thigh and reaching for the bulge in his jeans, palming him between the fabric. “Does it turn you on? The fact you got caught?”

Neil’s breath hitched. “Fuck, please, I—“

“You’re so pathetic.” You said, laughing at him. “I can feel how big you are, such a thick cock, and all you know how to do with it is beg.”

Your plush lips were curled into a cheshire grin, baring your sharp teeth at him, and Neil was ashamed at how badly he wanted those teeth to press painful bites into his sensitive skin.

He was about to whine again, plead desperately, but he shut up when you slipped off the couch, sinking to your knees, fingers undoing his belt buckle and fly. Shifting his jeans down, you dipped your hand down the waistband of his boxers and pulled his cock out: it was angry, hard and begging for release.

But you wanted to tease him before you got to the good part. First, your warm breath fanned over his cock, making him jump, trying to rut up into your mouth, and your soft lips slipping past his leaking head had his hands tugging at your hair, trying to pull you closer to him.

You thinned your eyes and got up, hand pressing his cheeks together and forcing his jaw open. You spit into his mouth, then patronizingly patted his face, “Do that again and I won’t touch you - I’ll take my tapes and leave you a needy fucking mess on this couch.”

Neil groaned, your spit foreign and hot on his tongue like lava. “God, I… I just wanna — want you so bad.”

You tutted, sinking back down on your knees to face his rock hard length up and pressed flat against his abdomen. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it, you desperate fucking pervert. D’you know who jerks off in their office to someone they barely know? Fucking perverts.”

He leaned his head back, a moan leaving his lips at your insulting choice of words. It felt like you were torturing him, but his body wanted nothing more than you.

Your lips then ghosted past him for another moment before you started your assault on his strained cock: you laid tentative kitten licks all the way down his length, enjoying how he squirmed under you, wanting nothing more but your wet mouth around him. Then, without warning, you took him in your mouth whole, tongue dragging and curling around his cock. You devoured him salaciously, hollowing your cheeks, sliding his cock in and out of your full mouth at an alarming speed, hitting the back of your neck with each thrust.

Your tongue felt heavenly on his cock: wet, warm, and sticky, lapping at him without stopping. Your teeth grazed against him lightly, and Neil’s back arched into your touch.

He was practically convulsing now, drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the pure pleasure you were inflicting on him with no split second or moment for him to regain his composure. You wanted to see him fall apart, come undone just by your mouth, he realized, and he wanted to let you, wanted to let go — but, as fast as you’d taken his hard cock into your mouth, you let him drop from your lips.

“Why did you - please, fuck -- why did you stop?!” Neil whimpered noisily, head rolling onto his chest to look down at your face: lips plump, faint tear tracks running off your cheeks, your gagged spit falling from your chin.

“I oughta take you down a peg, Neil. Show you what a dumb fucking loser you are, pretending you’re so confident, so dominant, like you know everything there is about movies.” You responded nonchalantly, getting up and shedding your panties and leggings.

“M’not dumb,” he whined, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes, “god, you’re killing me here.”

“You’ll live,” you grinned, climbing on his lap and lining your wet sex with the fat head of his cock. Then you descended down on him, watching blissfully as his cock disappeared into your folds.

Neil’s hands wrapped around your waist, burying his face into your neck. He mewled against your skin, drunk on your tantalizing scent, lips wet with drool and leaving a slick trail.

Despite your dominance in this situation, completely controlling Neil’s pleasure, you couldn’t control your own: Neil’s cock felt fucking good, long and thick in all the right places, a curve that arched right against your cervix, veins rubbing against your walls pleasantly. He stretched your cunt completely, making you wince, but there was still pleasure there, the feeling of your crevices being filled with his fat cock making your toes curl.

After a moment of getting used to his cock, you rose back up, then sunk down, your hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. Neil’s head shot back, a labored cry leaving him as you set a steady, almost too slow pace, torturously sliding his cock in and out of your tight hole.

Your hands trailed across his still-clothed chest, and you grieved the chance lost to have stripped him, your touch teasing him every step of the way — but having him deep within you was probably better.

“Your- fuck, you’re so -- so soft,” Neil squeaked below you, revelling in how you took him, bottoming out each time like it was nothing.

You simpered at his words, how helpless he was, succumbing to the pleasure; to you. “Knew you were,” you slammed down on his cock, making Neil choke, “pretending to be arrogant. You just needed someone to put you in your place.”

Neil hadn’t realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question until your hand came up to his hair, tangling through his locks and tugging. “Who d’you belong to? Who put you in your place?” you murmured lowly.

He whimpered at your roughness, leaning into the sofa obediently. “You! You own me,” he pleaded, desperately chasing his own pleasure.

“That’s it,” you said, shutting your eyes, bobbing up and down on his cock faster. Your ass bounced above him, and Neil’s hands rested on the flesh of your rear, massaging you.

Greedily, Neil tried to thrust into you, but you weren’t having any of it, deterring his attempts by pushing him so he laid flat on the couch, your hands pinning his wrists above his head, the new position pushing him deeper into you.

“You stay down, you dirty fuckin’ loser,” you said caustically, but your actions said otherwise: your walls were squeezing around him needily, your cunt sucking him in so far you could feel his balls brushing against your clit.

The tip of his cock brushed past your g-spot each time you rutted into him, and soon enough you felt it: that pulsing, that heat, that familiar coiling within your insides. Neil was reaching it too, his face flushed pink and his breathing as heavy as it was back then, in the tape closet.

You began thumping down on him, your fingers tightening around his scalp. Your pace had gotten feverish, bordering feral, both your minds focussed on one thing: release. You could feel your cunt tensing, your mind going foggy, and then, there it was: your pleasure ran through you like electric current, shocking your body. You felt numb, tingly like when the blood flow to your arm gets cut off for a moment, making your pace stutter.

You didn’t stop, however, riding out your high on his cock, bouncing up and down on Neil’s thick length. He felt fucking delicious, piercing you in all the right ways, and you adored how malleable he was right now: so horny and submissive he stopped speaking and was merely letting dirty moans leave his mouth without any protest. His gaze, his focus, was elsewhere, lost in the deep haze of pleasure your cunt was subjecting him too.

You leaned down, pressing small love-bites onto his skin like he’d fantasized so many times before, and it broke him out of his stupor. “Did you think of this, in your office?” you whispered, “did you think of me, my tits bouncing, your cock deep in my cunt?”

“Ugh,” Neil groaned, reveling in how your seductive voice sounded like music. He was much, much closer than he thought, and when you licked up his jaw, your hot breath on the shell of his ear making him sweat, your cunt still fucking him roughly, he let go.

You felt it first, the familiar liquid bursting past his thick head and painting your fleshy walls creamy, like a new coat of alabaster that Gumshoe desperately needed.

“So good, so wet,” Neil groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to yours. You stared at him, watching his lewd expression throughout his entire high, waiting for that beautiful blue gaze of his to open and face you again.

“I’m milking you dry. Look how fucking full you’ve made me, you filthy pervert.” You were taking him for every drop he could offer, and it was delectable.

You two were heaving now, both coming down from your highs. You’d effectively ruined the couch, your slick soaking the cushions and his jeans, as well as his come, which was leaning out of your still-stuffed hole.

“I think you’ve gotta replace this manky ass couch, Neil,” was the first thing you said, your hands sliding down from their grip in his hair to his pink cheeks, rubbing his skin delicately.

His eyes opened, watching you carefully. “It was about time,” Neil shrugged breathlessly. “Do you… do you actually - hate me?” he continued, murmuring self-consciously.

You laughed, but it wasn’t sharp, not at him like before, no; it was tender, like a scarf Neil wanted to wrap around him in the winter time.

“I never hated you,” you murmured, tone reverent, “you’re just a little, how does it go…”

“Presumptuous?” Neil finished for you.

You nodded, then grasped at his shirt and pulled him from the couch so he was sitting upright again. “Jus’ wanted to, ahem, “take you down a peg” like I said earlier..” you trailed off, cheeks growing warm remembering your earlier behavior during sex.

This was all very new, to the both of you — you, in all your relationships and flings, were not the dominant partner. You guessed there was a first time for everything.

Then, you were about to get off his lap, but Neil held you steady on his cock. “Don’t go,” he said simply. “I’ve got Brief Encounter in the player, if you want to, y’know…”

He wasn’t hard anymore, but it just felt good, cozy, having you two talk and regain your composure with him filling you nicely. It felt right.

You smiled, a gummy, blissful smile. “Okay. I’ve actually never seen this,” you said, turning to face the tv, wincing slightly.

“Really?” Neil said, an amazed joy seeping into his voice.

“I’m joking,” you snorted, and you could practically see Neil pouting behind you. “But I don’t think we’ll be paying much attention…” you purred, clenching your thighs around his length.

“Jesus fuck,” Neil groaned behind you, hands coming under your shirt, “you’re exactly like those movies.”

“I’m even better, baby.”

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #neil lewis x reader #watching the detectives #neil lewis smut #sub!neil lewis x reader

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