st-juliet
Romantic Digressions
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Ohhhhhh my goodness; this is gorgeous...
The Winter Soldier is a Matchmaker...
Word Count: 6,263
Related Work: Winter Soldier’s Match - Part 2
Warnings: Spanking, smut, NSFW, 18+
Author's Note: Thank you for all the recent follows, I'm starting to work on my blog again after taking up writing fanfiction again. I hope to post more content soon. Enjoy!
When she saw the look on his face, she knew it wasn’t really him looking at her.
There was always a sparkle in Bucky’s eyes for her. The man in front of her had flat, blank eyes. Tension strung the air around him and she could feel how alert he was. Long strands of chestnut hair curled around his tight jaw. He crossed the threshold from the hallway into her laboratory. When he was inside he pressed the red button on the keypad. Behind him the doors slammed shut. Then they whirled, sealing. She recognized the sound of the lockdown procedure for a chemical spill being initiated.
Their gazes met and the blank expression shifted into one of intent.
Was she his target? Swallowing hard, she took a step back. Her phone was at her desk in the far corner. She could call for help. The lockdown wouldn’t trip any alarms. For her work chemical spills were common enough that they usually didn’t warrant outside help for clean up. She could clear the lockdown from her tablet. Where was her tablet?
Bucky moved with quick, efficient movements, coming towards her like a bulldozer. Her back hit the edge of the work table and she gasped. Ordinarily this would make him stop on a dime. But this wasn’t Bucky Barnes, her best friend.
The Winter Soldier caught her by the wrist and jerked her into his hold. The metal arm whirled as plates moved, drawing her tight against his body. The flesh hand dug into her soft skin. It was almost painful. But not quite. The lack of pain didn’t make sense, given the stories she’d heard about the man facing her now. Not a man, she corrected. Machine. He’d been created as a weapon. And it’s what he was.
The Winter Soldier nuzzled her neck, brushing his nose over her pulse point.
Was he a machine? He wasn’t acting like one now. The press of a heavy erection into her belly suggested Hydra’s greatest weapon was very much a man.
Heat flooded her core as the arm around her waist contracted. Wetness grew between her legs and she knew her panties were soaked. The muscles of her channel squeezed. She shut her eyes and tried to formulate coherent thoughts. He’d grabbed her but so far neither of them had spoken. Did she scream? No, the lockdown protocol made the room soundproof. It wasn’t deliberate, just part of closing a space off when vapors might be involved in a chemical incident.
He smelled nice. Like soap and a hint of pine.
Her free hand pressed against his chest, into the Kevlar vest of his uniform. The Avengers were due back today. He must have just come in from his mission with them.
“Bucky-”
The soldier growled. His tongue swiped over her neck and the teeth nipped at the soft skin. She had to press her lips together to hold in a whimper as pleasure flashed through her nerves, down her spine to the center of her desire.
He didn’t like that name, she guessed. What had Hydra called him?
“Soldier?”
He grunted. The sound was approving.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Silence.
Did the soldier know how to speak?
“Need you.” His voice was rougher than Bucky’s.
Oh. Judging by the nudge he gave her, his arousal pressing deeper into her softness, she could infer what he meant.
“Soldier, did you take control from Bucky? Does he want this or do you?”
He pulled his head back and from superior height, icy blue eyes glared.
“He wants you. But he doesn’t ask. Need. Need you.”
The voice was an octave deeper than she was used to hearing from him. And it made her nipples pebble against the lace of her bra.
Focus. She couldn’t figure out how to soldier had been triggered. The words Hydra had used to control him were removed.
“How did you get out, soldier? Bucky can’t be triggered anymore.”
“I pushed him aside. The desire for you makes him weak. But I want you too. And I was able to take over him after the mission. So that I can take you.”
Sympathy rushed through her chest, tugged at the edge of her conscience.
One part of her desperately wanted to say yes and let him throw her back on the table. The erection cradled to her lower belly was nothing compared to the desire coiled painfully tight in her pelvis. She needed just as much as the soldier did, but there was one other in this odd little love triangle who hadn’t given his consent.
“Bucky wants me? Or is this just you forcing him?”
“We need you. I can smell you. Your body tells me what you feel. It smells musky and sweet.”
Her thighs clenched and the soldier’s mouth pulled up at the corner, half smiling.
“I know. I’m interested, and I want to, but Bucky-”
Once she’d said she wanted, he dropped her wrist and the flesh hand sought the hem of her skirt, hiking it up. She gasped as he ripped at the band of her panties.
“Soldier!”
“I want to taste if you’re as sweet as you smell. Going to eat you until I’m ready to fuck you.”
He lifted her with his metal arm, onto the work table she’d backed into when he’d herded her into this corner of the lab. The cold metal pressed against the heated skin of the backs of her thighs.
“Bucky, please!”
Her conscience won over her body’s needs. Her hand shoved at his chest.
The soldier snarled and pushed her hand away. He moved close, his face set in harsh lines of unhappiness and lust.
“Want you now. Let me. You need me, you’re squirming and clenching your thighs. The smell is so good, let me taste. That’s what you need.”
“Bucky doesn’t want this. You can’t hijack his body, whether I want this or not. You need his consent as well.”
“No.”
The soldier’s voice was curt.
“He’s still in there isn’t he? A passenger?”
“He knows. He fights for control. He thinks I’ll hurt you.”
“Will you?”
“I’m going to make you scream. Over and over again. And you’ll come for me. I’ll satisfy your dripping cunt like he never will. You’ll beg him to let me have you again when I’m done.”
Heaven help her. She could have orgasmed from the description. But still, Bucky was inside of him and if this wasn’t how he wanted his body to be used… she couldn’t accept it.
“I’m going to need him to tell me yes.”
“He thinks about you when he mastrubates in the shower.”
She felt her face flush at that, but couldn’t deny the thrill of happiness. Bucky was her friend. He had been since a few months after coming to the Avengers Compound. He’d accidentally ducked into her lab one day when he was trying to avoid Steve. The over helpful golden retriever super soldier was one of her favorite people. But she could understand the urge to escape from his ever present concern. Bucky had nearly turned around and left her lab when he’d realized it was occupied. Instead she’d bid him to stay and then brushed off Steve when he’d come looking for Bucky a few minutes later.
Since then, whenever Bucky wanted peace and quiet he’d come down to the lounge area of her mechanics lab and sprawl on the couch to watch her work. He brought her snacks and iced coffees and was always willing to help her move heavy equipment. She loved him as a friend and wanted him as something more. But caution held her back. Good friends were special. The sense of comfort Bucky’s quiet presence brought her was unique. She didn’t want to spoil anything. So her fantasies remained just that. Fantasies.
The Winter Soldier had decided to take the choice out of their hands it seemed.
Her hands flattened against the swell of pectoral muscles. The slope of his chest was palpable even with the body armor.
“Soldier, that’s not the same thing. I mean does he want me now? Here? If he were in control and not you, would this be happening? I don’t want to hurt him. If we do this, with you taking over, it’s a violation.”
“You’d deny yourself for him?”
“Yes.”
Before she could stop him, he pushed up her skirt and used his metal hand to rip the panties away. She fell back on the metal work table as he shoved the skirt up to her waist. Her gasp of surprise turned into a throaty moan when he dipped his cold metal fingers into her folds, collecting her juices and swirling them to coat her clit.
She jerked at the sensation and cried out when he picked up the pace.
“Yes, princessa. You’ll come like this, skirt rucked up, legs spread wide on the table. Bucky sees what I do to you. He’s furious that I’m the one who gets this. He hates that it’s me who gives you pleasure.”
She couldn’t respond because his flesh hand was sliding into her pussy, searching her front wall until he found the spot that made her sob. All the while his metal fingers teased her clit with light strokes that had her panting. He wasn’t gentle and she was relieved that he didn’t tease her when she needed him so much. Her hips rolled into his hand. The soldier purred as he watched her reactions.
“You put his fantasy to shame. He couldn’t dream up such tight wet heat. Show him how much better the real thing is. Squeeze my fingers, princessa. Take your pleasure from your soldier.”
His deep rumbling voice as he bent his head towards her and spoke.
The sensations blurred her reality as he kept the quick demanding pace. Tears gathered in her eyes as the pleasure crashed through her body, driving her higher than she’d been before, to a pinnacle she hadn’t known existed. She jerked, muscles clenching around his fingers, but he kept going, sinking his fingers deeper and grinding his palm into her clit.
Throwing her head back, she screamed. He spoke but she couldn’t hear the words. Her body took over, riding his hand, sobbing out incoherent words, taking everything she could from his hand. Tears streamed down her face. Her sobs faded into whimpers as the sensations eased their grip on her. Thighs trembling she tried to close her legs in the aftermath.
“He never suspected what he was missing out on,” the soldier growled. “You’re breathtaking when you come for me.”
Her damp eyes opened to meet his pale eyes. The expression he wore was feral. Her pussy clenched in response and she whimpered at the aftershocks that ran through her.
“Princessa, you come so beautifully. Do it again for me.”
“I can’t!”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“Please, I’ve never…”
His strong fingers flexed and dug into her g-spot. She bucked into his hand again, groaning at the heat that raced up her spine, spreading through her body.
“I haven’t orgasmed like that before. I need a second, please!”
He slowed his fingers but didn’t entirely stop. The touch was lighter but just as presisistant. She quivered as she tried to come down from the high. His palm was held back from her clit and she was immensely grateful for the reprieve. But his fingertips toyed with her g-spot, teasing it so the muscles in her legs shook. He was using his right hand. The dominant hand, despite his metal arm being stronger, she could vaguely recall. Her mind was muddled from the orgasm.
“Squirt for me.”
“What?”
He pushed more firmly at her spot and she gasped, thrashing on the table.
“Let go. Let me give you the best pleasure of your life.”
“No, you don’t understand. I can’t do that. I don’t know how.”
“You gushed on my fingers. You can squirt for me. Your spot is even more sensitive now.”
His voice rang with authority and his fingers picked up speed again, silencing her by bringing cries to her lips rather than denials. From her body’s helpless reaction and the juices already slickening her pussy, it appeared the soldier knew her body better than she did.
“Oh, Bucky! Please!”
She didn’t know what she was asking for. White edged her vision and she jerked under his ministrations, the pitch of her voice turning low and raw as he drove her past the point of sanity.
His name kept coming from her lips, she couldn’t stop repeating it even as her breath turned so shallow air was barely in her lungs. Her throat burned from panting. She lifted her hips, seeking more, then pulling away, trying to escape the crazed pleasure. His metal arm snaked around her hips and pinned her down.
“No, princessa. Take it. Give me my orgasm. Let me show you how it can be. Show him.”
The dirty words sent her over the edge.
Her hips lunged into his hand and as if he already knew, the soldier began to use his fingers hard, stroking her without mercy. When she flew over the edge her body bowed up, her back arching and the crown of her head pressing hard into the surface of the metal table. Her legs tried to close up, to deny the intensity of the act, but he held them open and pushed the pace harder.
Her scream hurt her dry throat. And she couldn’t stop once she started. The arch of her back snapped, throwing herself down on the table. She lifted her shoulders and pulled her hips back, away from the edge of the table where he held her, away from his insistent fingers that tormented her with blinding pleasure.
“Bucky! Bucky, please! Too...too much! I can’t!!”
“You are, princessa. You soak my fingers like a good girl. You can take it. You’re doing so good for me.”
She sobbed and tears poured from her eyes.
“That’s it. Show Bucky, kitten. Show him your needs are just as intense as his. He thinks he’ll break you, but I know different. I know you want to be broken. You want the pleasure to rip you apart and destroy this sweet little cunt.”
As if to prove his point he brushed his thumb over her clit. Once. Twice. Swirling it on the third pass. Her mouth went slack. The thrashing of her body stopped as he brushed over her clit with the lightest of touches while he forced his fingers roughly into her spot. Her entire body quivered. All she could let out was a guttural sob as release clawed its way free. She twitched, legs flexing, spine curving, her fingers clawing at the smooth metal table. There was nothing to hold onto. Her hands curled into fists. She groaned again and the fingers inside of her became rougher. The moment of suspended intensity broke.
The orgasm hit like a hurricane. She was helpless as it shredded her senses. Throwing herself into his touch, gyrating into his hand, clawing at the table and crying out her release as it came in wave after wave.
He was a monster, fingers moving to drive her even higher. She felt the screams and heard herself as if from a distance. When liquid finally began to soak his hand, he growled and jerked his hand, dragging her body back to the edge of the table from where she’d crawled to when she’d tried to escape the unbearable pleasure. His thumb took over on her clit and she jackknifed off the table, nearly throwing herself off. He caught her and locked her to his body using the metal arm against her.
“Bucky, Bucky!!”
“Princessa, keep going! So good, such a sweet thing. Do this for me. Don’t you dare stop.”
She wasn’t able to control the responses of her body, could only throw her head back and ride it out. Wet, sopping sounds accompanied each pull of his fingers. She wept and her channel pulsed, reacting to his stimulation, beating her with more pleasure than one person could possibly tolerate. It went on and on until finally her muscles just gave out. She went limp as he finally freed his fingers. Her eyes slit open to watch as he lifted the soaked digits to his pink lips and lapped at them delicately, as if tasting something rare and exquisite. She shuddered from the erotic vision. The soldier smiled.
“Are you okay, doll?”
The words were distinctly Bucky. The voice and the face was still the soldier’s.
“Y-y-yeah…”
Her legs were still shaking. She couldn’t quite keep still even as wrecked as her exhausted muscles felt. His metal arm was the only thing holding her upright. If he let go she’d drop face first onto the floor.
“He thinks I’ve killed you.”
“I’m fine. And what a way to go.”
Her voice was dreamy with the aftermath of pleasure.
He laid her down and stepped back. The soldier began to undo the buckles on his vest. She planted her elbows and dragged herself up on shaky arms to watch as the winter soldier undressed. The place where metal met skin was scarred and looked painful. But the muscles in his chest were a sight to behold. Marks from battle covered his skin and she wished she could kiss them. He unlaced his boots and took them off. His hands went to his belt and she drew herself up to sit on the edge of the table. He shoved down his pants and boxers in one move and stepped out.
The thick, swollen cock that sprang free took her breath away. She was delighted by the heavy veins and ruddy color that told her he wanted her with a passion. His girth stroked a tiny edge of fear in her mind.
He approached the table where she waited with a predatory gleam in his eyes.
“He’s screaming in my head, you know. He wants this to be him and he thinks I’m going to devour you. And he’s right. I’m going to ruin that sweet pussy. I haven’t gotten to taste it the way I want to yet.”
He took her by the waist and lowered his mouth to hers, brushing a kiss over her lips. His hands went to the shirt she’d forgotten she still wore and began to undo the small buttons with impressive dexterity.
“Are you going to? Devour me?”
His sharp blue eyes were heated with sincerity.
“Yes. But first, I’m going to piss him off a bit more, Malishka.”
She recognized the Russian endearment. Malishka. Baby girl.
“Stand up for me.”
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her off the table. She scrambled for footing but found her knees were still weak. The Winter Soldier held her by the elbow and didn’t offer aid. Rather, he looked as if he enjoyed the sight of swaying on shaky legs. He laid a hand on the small of her back and pushed at her, nodding towards the couch.
“Walk to the sofa and get on your knees on the floor.”
She obeyed even with her legs trembling. Fresh heat coated her folds and the slick from her previous orgasm felt sticky and wet on her inner thighs. How would she go back to normal sex after this? He’d teased her before ‘you’ll beg him to let you have me again.’ She knelt on the rug next to the couch and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Put your hands on the cushion. Arch your back and push your ass out.”
He wouldn’t. She looked back over her shoulder at the man standing with a smug expression on his face. He licked his lips and the smirk widened into a wicked smile.
“Does my princessa like to be spanked? I know she does. With my hand or my belt?”
He laughed and she knew Bucky had reacted to his plan. When he spoke again the words seemed addressed to the other man inside of him.
“What can you do about it? She’s on her hands and knees for me. Her pussy drips for my cock. If I decide to spank her or choke her sweet little throat, it’s my choice.”
His eyes turned to hers.
“Hand. Or belt.”
“Your hand.”
She wasn’t brave enough yet for the belt. But maybe.
He approached and planted his feet over her, turned to straddle her torso. In this position she was on her knees, hands braced on the couch cushions and he stood, a leg on each side of her waist. He faced away from her looking down at her presented bottom.
“Arch your back better, princess. Show him you want it. Do you want me to paddle you just a little? Or slap your ass until it burns? I have to, but the how is up to you.”
“Do whatever pleases you,” she whispered.
The soldier groaned.
A hand reached down, gripping the inside of her right thigh as he pushed her legs further apart.
“I want to see you squirm, kitten.”
That voice made her tremble like he’d touched her. It was dark and filled with longing. She felt like squirming already and he hadn’t even begun.
His hand came down on the left. Her body jerked at the impact and her fingers sank into the couch cushion. The slap hurt, and the strength he’d put into it was an affront to her senses. A blaze of pain ran through her nerve endings. There wasn’t a chance to adjust mentally to what had happened. He struck the right cheek and she flinched.
“Oh! Bucky!”
Smack!
“Soldat. Say it. Say my name.”
He gave a quick, stinging slap over already abused skin. She rolled her hips to try and alleviate the burning.
“Soldat.”
His hand came down. There was a pattern now, right, then left. He changed the pace - fast to slow. The fast strikes tingled like electric bursts of discomfort that sizzled, straight to her core. Slow was harder. He kept those back, but surprised her occasionally by delivering two or three to the same cheek until she whimpered. The harsher strikes were paced. He let the burning heat of the blow ripple through her body and then either kept it going or distracted her with a swat to the opposite cheek. His calloused hand was a torment. Painful. Merciless. He was delivering on his promise and spanking her with abandon. She hadn’t predicted that it would hurt like this.
She squirmed with every blow. And after the pain began to blend into one sensation of varying intensity, her body started to give a shocking reaction. Heat began to bloom in the deepest part of her sex, a curling warmth that had nothing to do with pain. He’d strike her bottom and the pain that ran through her body teased the arousal higher and higher.
When she started to cry, it wasn’t from pain.
She was so wickedly excited that she struggled to take a full breath. Her toes curled. The couch cushions were her only center in the storm. She was drenched and it wasn’t from their previous activities. The soaking wetness that dripped past the folds of her sex to her inner thighs was from the beating he delivered.
As the desire peaked, pain faded. The blows didn’t hurt, they sent streaks of pleasure through her. Sensation became heightened and she was scientist enough to recognize the effect of endorphins. Her nipples drew tight and just the air on her breasts was almost too much to tolerate. It was euphoric and miserable, both feelings vibrating through her body in equal measure, at the same time. And that made her cry, sinking forward to bury her face in the couch cushions as tears broke free and she began to sob.
His hand softened, caressing her bottom. The stroke of his thumb made her mewl, even through the torrent of tears. She’d never been spanked like this before and didn’t know how to cope with the reaction she was experiencing. Her throat was closed by a lump that made speech impossible. He petted the flesh he’d mauled seconds before.
“That’s my princess. Such a good girl. Your skin is so pretty right now. Never seen anything like it before.”
She choked on another sob and wept into the couch as he continued to soothe the abused skin. There was more tenderness in his touch than she’d have guessed the Winter Soldier could offer. It occurred to her, in a faint corner of her mind where she was still coherent, that he hadn’t used his metal hand to spank her. Only his flesh hand. Her heart turned over and there was a rush of pure warmth in her chest. As she was starting to come down from the shock, he scooped her off the floor without warning.
The metal arm snaked around her waist and he flipped her into his arms. The soldier stepped to the end of the couch, where the chaise lounge allowed him to sit and stretch out his legs. He held her in his lap, arms tight, and nuzzled her forehead. A soft kiss made her sobs ease to gasps as she fought to get a hold of herself.
“Good kitten. Tell Bucky you’re okay. He’s a mess.”
Wiping away the tears and trying to focus through swimming vision, she looked up at the Winter Soldier’s expression. He looked content. Perhaps even happy.
“I’m alright.”
A hand cupped her breast, lifting its weight and rubbing over the hardened nipple as his fingers squeezed. She arched into the touch.
“Sensitive for me, doll?”
The endearment was spoken with heavy sarcasm and she recognized the shot at Bucky, who was trapped somewhere in the soldier’s mind. Before she could reassure Bucky, his hand dipped between her legs. He slid a finger into her throbbing sex.
“Oh, fuck yes! You’re drenched from getting your ass beat.”
He sank a second finger inside of her, pushing through the folds, delving into the hot center of her body. He flexed upwards, touching the over sensitive spot, and she screamed.
“Bucky!”
He growled into her ear. The stubble on his jaw scratched against her skin.
“My name is Soldat.”
“Ah! Soldat! S-soldat! Please…”
If she was completely honest, the prospect of another orgasm was too much. Her muscles were weak from all they’d already given. Her mind was devastated after he’d pushed past so many barriers so quickly. His fingers were swirling in quick circles that made her jerk in reaction. His metal arm was tight. She had no hope of escape.
“Gush on my fingers, princess. Show Bucky that you like my manhandling.”
Again? Impossible.
Her mind protested. And her body betrayed her.
Thick juices from her cunt were creaming all over his hand as he ground his palm into her clit. The order threw her over the edge. Inner muscles already taunt with need seized around his fingers and pleasure ripped through her body, flooding her mind. His metal arm was tight, but her hips still rolled up, seeking more stimulation as the orgasm pounded through her body. His lips pressed to her shoulder and she trembled.
When the climax faded and her muscles relaxed, her eyes slid shut and she was left sprawled in his arms. A warm hand cupped her soaked core.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, princess.”
The thick erection pressing into her was evidence of his desire. She wiggled against him. Her body felt weak from the exertion she’d already been through. But she wanted this. She wanted to feel all of him.
“Mmmhh. Now.”
He rolled with her and settled her so she was on her back, head towards the end of the chaise and feet pressed to the back of the couch. Her body was pliant for him as he pushed her legs open and settled himself between her thighs. The girth of his cock was intimidating and she was grateful the previous orgasms had prepared her for his intrusion.
“You want my cock.”
His tone was smug. She could tell the words were directed at the man he was restraining.
So she responded by reaching for his shoulders and pulling him into her arms. The soldier turned his face into hers, his lips brushing over hers lightly.
“Yes. Inside of me, Soldat. Now.”
Heat flared in the icy blue depths of his eyes at her words, at the use of his name.
His cock dragged over her clit as he guided himself to her entrance. The contact made her gasp. Heat flared inside of her, like a sun flare exploding from the burning surface of the sun. Fresh sweat beaded on her skin.
“Say it,” he said.
“I want your cock. I want it inside of me.”
His jaw flexed and a ragged expulsion of breath brushed her cheek. “That’s my good girl. So needy for me. Gonna ruin you, princess.”
She should have guessed that the Winter Soldier liked it rough.
But when he impaled her with a quick, brutal thrust, she screamed. The intrusion was too much. Her body was ready but the thickness was more than she’d ever had before.
“Oh!”
Her shocked exclamation made him grunt.
Hands, metal and flesh, caught her hips as she pushed her heel into the back of the couch to escape the searing pain that flared. The Winter Soldier pinned her down.
“No. Not a good girl. Take it.”
He pushed into her again and she whimpered.
“Please, it hurts.”
His hips rocked into her, pressing the head just past her entrance as the ring of muscle quivered. Resistance was still there.
“Open up for me, princess. My pussy. Mine.”
“Go slow?” she asked, voice wavering.
There was a trickle of fear. She was completely vulnerable to a man who’d inflicted brutality on so many others. But something she’d always understood about the Winter Soldier was that he was a part of Bucky. A separate personality with all of the most violent qualities of the man, yes. That was true. But he’d been created under years of torture. He existed as a protector. And he’d saved the life of the man she loved. For that, she cared deeply about the person holding her down. There was fear. But it wasn’t enough to push her away.
Thumb brushed over her clit.
“Soften up, doll.”
His words were Bucky’s. And the voice held a note of gentleness that the Winter Soldier wasn’t capable of. She felt her body relax.
He sank into her and the channel throbbed, slowly taking the intrusion. His hard mouth clashed with her soft lips as he leaned down, bracing his weight on his elbows, while he impaled her inch by inch. All the wetness from earlier was a blessing now. Her body was almost unbearably stretched but he glided into her body, aided by the slickness he’d drawn from her cunt with his fingers.
Her body was quivering with desperation as he held her in place for his thrusts. The burning as he parted her was intense. And when he sank all the way into her, so there was no space separating their hips she hissed from the sting of him that deep inside of her.
His hips snapped, setting a rhythm that turned her nervous tension into desire. When she began to move with him the pace became frantic. It felt as if he were trying to drive her through the chaise as he pounded deep. Her head tossed as he cupped her bottom, still sensitive from the spanking, and drove even deeper.
“Soldat! Oh, oh, uuuhhh….”
Her cries turned into a drawn out moan. Language disappeared from her brain as he fucked into her like a man possessed. The press of his thumb to her overstimulated clit ripped a scream from her throat. He thrust harder at the sound of her cry. Hard and fast, he kept a punishing pace that made her vision go white as the climax broke free, claiming her once again.
“Come, princess! Come for me.”
Cream dripped from her opening as she did what he commanded. His thumb kept up the slow flicks. She lost all control and cried, arching, hands seeking his shoulder for steadiness in the savage riot of pleasure that shredded every nerve ending.
The soldier was praising her, at least the tone sounded encouraging. She was so far gone his voice didn’t permeate her mind. All that existed was the thrust of his hips and the white hot burn of pure, unbridled pleasure.
Her body was utterly limp in the aftermath.
The Winter Soldier wasn’t finished. He shoved her thighs wider, pushing them back until her knees were up near her shoulders. In this position his pelvic bone rubbed her clit. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she wept, wretched sounds she couldn’t hold back spilling from her as he turned feral. The slowness he’d given her earlier when she’d been too tight for him was erased and she saw the man who’d been a machine, a weapon, the individual who didn’t know mercy.
His hips thrust like a jackhammer, deep and harsh. The thick cock pummeled her sensitive sheath. All she could do was hold onto his shoulders as he used her body for pleasure.
The soldier shouted a curse in Russian, then slammed his cock into her so deep she keened. A twitch from the head of his cock and his release was hot and wet on her cervix. It felt so good that she trembled. He collapsed into her body, the weight of him crushing her. She hugged his torso close and sniffed back tears. He was still buried inside of her and she could feel him going soft.
Lying underneath him and holding Bucky in her arms was a pleasure of its own. She felt sticky from sweat and blissed out from the orgrasms. His body was hard and ever so warm as he panted into her neck. This was an intimacy with him that she’d fantasized about but had never dared to hope for.
A deep groan let her know that Bucky was back.
He pulled away from her and she let him go. When he moved to separate their bodies, she gasped at the flare of sensation.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry, doll. It wasn’t me…”
“Shh..” she laid her hands on his shoulders and shifted, letting him slip free. “It’s okay.”
He couldn’t look at her. His eyes were focused on her left shoulder.
“Bucky. Talk to me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
“Bucky, I’m not hurt. It’s alright,” she said. Her tone was tender as she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close.
He slumped into her, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking and it scared her when she felt his tears dampen her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said, guilt welling up.
“What...do you mean?”
His voice was thick with tears and sadness.
“I should have said no. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” Bucky shook his head. “Baby, you’re going to have bruises from my hand. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t! I’d never…”
He couldn’t continue. He couldn’t describe what had happened. Instead he burrowed into her arms and crushed her body to his.
“I let it happen. I didn’t protest, and I knew he’d taken control from you. I’m so sorry.”
“S’not your fault.”
“I wanted everything that happened, Bucky. Whatever you believe, please hear that, okay?”
He went still. “Doll?”
Her heart stuttered at the question in the single word.
“I wanted you as more than a friend. I wanted this, so when he came in here, I didn’t try to stop him. I asked him if you were okay with it...but I guess he lied?”
“I was there,” Bucky said. “I remember that. But what he did next. I’m sorry for that. It was over the line and you were crying and I wanted to stop but he... he just took over and pushed me so far back that I couldn’t even see until I was inside of you and we were…ah…”
“Fucking?”
He flinched. “Yeah.”
“He went slow for me. When it hurt a little, at first. He was careful because I asked him to be. For a moment he sounded just like you. I thought you’d taken over from him for a second.”
Bucky leaned back and faced her, his eyes still damp and filled with regret.
“This isn’t how I wanted our first time to be.”
“You wanted us to have a first time?”
“I was going to ask you out. But I was afraid it would destroy our friendship. And I need you, doll.” His tongue darted out, moistening chapped lips. “I love you. As more than a friend.”
“Are you sure?”
The insecure words spilled out before she could stop them. Sex brain was a freaking truth serum for her, damn it.
He studied her face, taking in the nervous but hopeful expression, and softened.
“Yeah, doll. I love you.”
“I love you too, Bucky.”
And then she got her first kiss with James Buchanan Barnes, all thanks to the Winter Soldier.
Though grateful for his intervention, you never ask for him to come out again. Because Bucky, the real man behind the personality, is what your heart needs.
Part 2 - Bucky
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OMGGGG YOUR WORK IS SOOOO GOODD 😫😫😫😫😫
Thank you so so so much!!! 🥰😍❤️ I'm so grateful to everyone who reads my stories and leaves such beautiful messages and reblogs and comments!!!
I promise a new chapter of Utmost Merit soon, as well as the much-requested Part Two of Your Only Warning, and responses to two amazing prompts I've received! I just moved so it may be a few days before I have time to sit and write it all, but let me assure you all: Sherlock and I are on the case. 😘
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Oh Captain.
you’ll always be the sexiest man alive to me, captain
pairing: avenger!steve rogers x SHIELD agent!reader
summary: steve rogers is named people's sexiest man alive and his fellow avengers—along with their SHIELD support team—won't let him live it down, but when you make a smartass joke in front of your new colleagues, you catch the eye of captain america himself. turns out he *really* likes it when you call him captain.
warnings: 18+ content, smut, piv sex, dirty talk, captain kink, dumbification (steve calls reader a dummy along with other pet names—mostly sweetheart)
word count: ~8k
-
“I would just like to remind everyone,” Tony Stark began, holding court at the head of the table in the kitchen of Avengers Tower, where Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and members of their SHIELD support team were gathered for dinner. Everyone around the table stopped talking and waited for Tony to go on. He drew out the pause for dramatic effect before finally continuing. “That I was named People’s Sexiest Man Alive long before Rogers was even pulled from the ice.”
“Yeah, but only because Captain Rogers was still in the ice.” The muttered comment was out of your mouth before you could think better of it. You hadn’t been speaking to anyone in particular and, truthfully, you’d expected no one to hear you with how loud and rowdy dinner at Avengers Tower was in your short experience with it. But no one else had responded to Tony’s statement, and your comment tumbled out into the rare quiet moment of the assembled group.
Heat flooded your face instantly when the silence dragged on and you looked up from your meal to see everyone—from your supervisor Maria Hill and Captain America himself, Steve Rogers, to Tony Stark and the rest of your SHIELD team—staring at you. The urge to look down at yourself was strong, like your first instinct was that somehow they were staring at you because you’d gotten food on your post-workout t-shirt and joggers, but you knew better.
read the rest on ao3!!!
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Oh how I adore the perfect blend of domestic bliss and the promise that he’ll be calling me darling in a different way once the curtain falls 😍😍😍
En Garde (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)
Synopsis: Your husband has always been protective of you, given his line of work. However, when he offers to teach you the basics of self-defence, it quickly becomes clear that his intentions may not be quite so innocent after all…
Warnings: Mild reference to bodily harm, light smutty behaviour, spoilers for the second film.
A/N: Oh, how I’ve missed Enola Holmes. I loved the books, and the films are just as great in their own way, so expect a bit of spam for the next few weeks - apologies in advance.
Masterlist
“Now, try again-”
“-Sherlock-”
“No. Come on. Focus, darling. Once more, from the beginning. Eyes forward-”
Oh, that was it.
You were going to kill your husband. Slowly… and painfully… It would be the least he deserved, torturing you as he was.
Keep reading
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Prompt because your work is aMAZing: when it’s before Sherlock and y/n’s wedding day, and he’s being an insufferable gentleman but she bats her eyes going “do you not want me” and he absolutely loses it 😏😏
Your Only Warning
Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: Alone in the library with his betrothed, the Reader, Sherlock fights to remain a gentleman…with limited success.
Content: 18+ for incredibly filthy language, explicit description of future sexual intimacy, dominant, angsty “I AM A GENTLEMAN” Sherlock, with a side of mild “look what you’ve made me do” rhetoric from our dear detective, but for the benefit of the very eagerly consenting Reader who absolutely intended to make him do precisely what he’s done.
Notes: Thank you so much for the prompt; I loved it, and hope you like the story, Anon!
It is a rare occasion that your future husband allows you to be alone with him.
Ever the gentleman, ever possessed by the fine arts of propriety, justice, compassion, and self-discipline…all the qualities for which you find yourself more deeply in love by the day…Sherlock has become increasingly distracted, sometimes even dismissive, of your endeavors to cultivate closeness, as the day of your wedding draws near. You do not know what precisely has caused his detachment; never once has he expressed any regret for his proposal, nor suggested he does not wish to proceed with the marriage, but something has changed.
You cannot recall the last time he was tender—if ever he truly was. No soft words, nothing of your beauty, certainly, rise to your memory, even as you entertain the recollections of shared laughter, discussions of books or music, your eager interest in his cases and his equal enthusiasm to share his work with you. Meanwhile, you long to pour out your heart on the subject of his handsome face, his gorgeous eyes, how much you long for his touch, his kiss, his…
Well.
Sherlock’s true feelings for you are a mystery that only he could solve, and finding the time alone to ask him to unravel his secrets has been nigh impossible. But tonight, at another interminable dinner party for your family and his, a challenge from Enola to discover the secret passages of the Holmes estate has led you to the library, opening a hidden door behind a bookshelf to your delight…and the surprise of Sherlock, whom you discover pensively staring out the wide window behind his desk. He looks back over his shoulder, slightly startled, but smiles when he recognizes your familiar form emerging from the shadows.
“Very well done, Miss —,” he praises you, and your heart flutters happily at the accolade. “My sister will be most pleased to have such a companion as yourself with whom to roam these halls. When we can coax her back home, that is.”
“I hope you will find me a fine companion, too,” you offer, stepping out from the passageway and into the library proper. You look about you: no one else is there. Good.
“Naturally,” he replies, leaving the sanctuary of his desk, but still keeping a polite distance. “It will be entirely pleasant to share a home with you, here or in London. I have too long breakfasted alone, beginning the day in sullen silence, only to let supper grow cold, too, for want of more companionable nourishment.”
“Yes, I quite look forward to that, too,” you reply politely, a few tears of disappointment pooling in the corners of your eyes. His once ardent interest truly does seem to have waned into a wish for company over meals. Still, your hope preservers; perhaps this is only a gentlemanly demurring from more intimate matters? You have had some success in delving into his captivating mind. What line of inquiry might unlock his heart?
“And you must never hesitate to make use of this library.”
“Thank you. But…Mr. Holmes…”
“Yes?”
“I mean…certainly we shall share other…other rooms, too?”
“Of course. You must be honest with me in the correction of my bachelor habits.”
“Yes, and you must similarly address the conventions of my customary solitude.”
These mirrored platitudes are maddening. You steel your courage and make a bolder proposition.
“But is it not true that, as is only proper, to my understanding, that when we marry, we will be…as one?”
At this, he meets your eyes for a brief, flickering moment, then turns away from you entirely, and begins to meticulously examine the books on the shelves, uttering a monosyllabic: “Ah.”
You wait.
And wait.
And wait.
At long last, he clears his throat slightly and says, “I hope that if you should have any concerns of that nature, you might seek out the counsel of a recently married woman of your own age—Mrs. Watson, for example, is a lady of faultless virtue and excellent education, and might allay your fears—“
“I have no fears!” you exclaim. “I have…great anticipation. Longing, for a closeness I thought you equally desired. Sherlock, please I long to know and be known as a wife, to share with you every facet of my life, including—my…our—“
“Please, Miss —“
“But of late you scarcely look at me—“
“Dear girl,” he interrupts again. “I beg you to cease this line of inquiry!”
Your frustration bubbles over. Determinedly, you cross the room to where he stands, and slip around his hulking frame, insinuating yourself betwixt him and the bookcase, demanding his attention whether he will or no.
“What is it, Sherlock?” you ask, gazing up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your pulse quicken at his nearness. “Do you not want me?”
“Do I,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Not want you?”
In an instant, he has you restrained against the bookshelves, one hand pinned above your head and the other left to grasp frantically at his lapel, feeling the hard muscle and pounding heart beneath his fine coat, like an ember burning beneath your fingertips.
“Every moment I am plagued with wanting you! Do you not understand why I have withdrawn from you, why I must keep my distance from the woman I love?”
Sherlock lays his palm against your cheek, then slides his fingers down your neck, across your collarbones, coming to rest against the heaving swell of your breast over your gown.
“This is why. To prevent this.”
Hands over hearts, you are more closely entwined than you have ever been, and you can see with perfect clarity that his eyes burn with deep, profound emotion as well as increasingly unbridled yearning. Pinioned there by his full weight and bulk, you are completely helpless to his whims, and nothing has ever felt so freeing in your entire life. Finally, finally, finally, you exalt in your mind, and you sigh his name, unable to suppress a slight moan, which only seems to afflict him further.
“Oh, Sherlock…”
“I am a gentleman of unimpeachable conduct, but you would turn me into a brute. The more time I spend in your presence, the closer the day draws near when you will be mine, the more I find my resolve tested,” he despairs, drawing in a deep breath, and shuddering as the scent of your hair, your skin, permeates his senses. “Look at us, look what you have done! All this time I have resisted, but you undo it in a mere minute…”
His lips are practically touching yours, his grip on your wrist grown tighter, the press of his unmistakable hardness against you firm and unyielding.
“This,” he explains, his voice gone ragged and low. “Is your only warning, my dear sweet bride. If you speak another word of wanting before I may lawfully, licitly show you every way a man may possess his wife, if you touch me—or, or, you perfect minx, my gorgeous tormentor, if you with all your whiles force my hand…if you insist I kiss your glove in public, or ask for my arm to cross the street…I will make you pay for it the minute we are wed. I will turn you over my knee and spank your backside bruised. I will have you in every room of the house; damn who might see us. I will hunt you down across the estate and take you in the fields or the forest like an animal, for so you make me, darling. I will bind your hands to my bed and make you come for me over and over again until you have not a single thought left in this brilliant little mind, and then I will fuck your pretty weeping cunt until I’m sated and you are dripping with my seed. And that for a start.”
Sherlock, eyes glittering with his barely leashed lust, presses a light, chaste kiss to your cheek.
“Are we understood, Miss —?”
“Yes, yes,” you gasp, and, with the final indulgence of skimming the pad of his thumb across your trembling bottom lip, he very gently, courteously releases you, and then promptly flees to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a substantial drink. He downs it in one gulp, then takes several very deep breaths, and though he keeps his back to you, you can tell, with a secret thrill down your spine, that he is adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to disguise his arousal.
“You were best return to the drawing room at once,” he instructs, almost bashful at his body’s insistence against his mind’s prudence. It is incredibly endearing. “I must compose myself.”
“Of course. Forgive me, sir, that I have discomposed you so.”
“No, no, it is I who must apologize. Can you forgive me, dearest girl, that I have not made clear to you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? I was never a man of sentiment until now, and feared that to linger too long on the object of my desire, might make me lose all control. But I will tell you every day, ten times a day—from now until the end of my life, that your loveliness of body and soul is to me as vital as the air I breathe.”
“Are you becoming a poet, Sherlock?” you tease, melting all the more at his rush of tenderness, so looked for and longed for.
“Only for you,” he sighs, and you almost faint away as his hand drops to palm the outline of his cock through his trousers. Realizing the nature of his reflexive gesture, he gives a frustrated groan and points at you accusingly. “Only a romantic fool, and only a devious, seducing scoundrel, because of you.”
You laugh together, and, sneaking one last fervent look over your shoulder as he sinks into his chair and begins to unfasten his trousers, you close the door behind you depart, practically skipping through the halls of the home that will soon be yours, too, to rejoin both sides of the family in the parlor.
About ten minutes later, Sherlock rejoins the party, too, and no one seems to suspect anything untoward, clearly a relief to you both as your eyes meet across the table with a shared, secret glow. Once all parting pleasantries are exchanged, Sherlock follows you and your family out to the carriage, keeping a painfully respectful distance all the while. He offers only a formal bow and a stern, “Good evening” by means of farewell, but you have other designs.
“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Holmes,” you reply with a cheerful smile, and then, in front of the whole company, you elegantly present your hand to your fiancé to be kissed���
I am so, so honored by all your kind replies and reblogs! Thanks to those who commented on my other prompt fic, Pulse Point:
@fluffycutecevans @madeanaccounttoreadfanfics @nana1000night @writing-for-marvel @raccoon-eyed-rebel @sarcastic-coffeedrinker-reads @holmesbunny @peachyvulpixie @sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @inlovewithhisblueeyes @kingjuli3n 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#henry cavill sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Dear Sherlock,
I am most delighted and honored to accept your proposal...
Utmost Merit - Part I Part II Part III Part IV (All chapters 18+)
I cannot believe I’ve reached over 200 followers; thank you all so very much!!! It amazes me that you all want to read my silly, smutty little stories, and I’m so glad you’re here. Your comments and reblogs and the amazing prompt I received mean the world to me. 💌 💌 💌
I am not much of an artist, but I put together a little collage of these two from Utmost Merit. 🥰
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#Henry Cavill Sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Hello, if it's alright to request stuff, may I ask for some soft smut with Sherlock? Like morning, sleepy makeout in bed or something along those lines? Thank you!! I really love all your work! Keep up the great work!!
Taste of Home
Summary: You wake up next to Sherlock in bed after months of being apart. It never felt like home when he was gone. And now finally, he’s there to fill the void in your heart.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Warnings: 18+ smut, kissing, thigh fucking, unprotected p in v, sleepy sex, a tad emotional?- Let me know if I forgot anything!
Word Count: 2k
Any typos are my own!
A/N: Of course, thank you so much for the request! Here’s a very soft and sleepy Sherlock for you, nonnie ❤️
Daylight flooded the room, waking you as it beamed onto your face. The curtains had not been closed, and you were facing the window. The brightness made your eyes ache and you pouted as you covered them.
It was far too early, you decided. You sighed as you tried to go back to sleep, burying your face in the pillows. When you shifted, confusion filled you when your bare skin rubbed against the soft sheets. You realized you were nude. It was not like you to sleep without clothes.
You lifted your head and looked around. A shuffling sound came from behind you on the bed, making you look back. A familiar sleeping face greeted you. Your husband. Sherlock. Who was also nude, judging by the way the blanket draped low on his hips. You had a perfect view of his chiseled torso and defined v-line.
It all came rushing back to you when you looked at him. He came home from a very long work trip the night before. And after a quick dinner, he made love to you till the early hours of the morning. You remembered falling asleep in each other’s arms immediately afterwards.
It was no wonder he was exhausted. As were you. After the workout he put your body through, it was almost like you hadn’t slept at all.
Even now as you gazed at his dozing features, you felt like you could easily fall asleep. Nevertheless, you carefully rolled over so you could get a better look at him. You laid your head on the pillow next to his as he faced you, taking the time to admire how beautiful he was.
To say he was beautiful was an understatement. His curly brown locks tousled, which softened his appearance. His long lashes fluttered as he slept. He looked so peaceful.
Who were you to disturb him? He worked so hard all the time. This last particular case he was working on had been especially tough to solve. Of course Sherlock Holmes closed the case, but even the famous detective ran out of steam.
He deserved to sleep in for as long as he liked. His brows began to twitch as you admired the lines in his face. You tilted your head and watched him. At first, you thought he was dreaming, but then his eyes opened. He took in the sight of you, before he gave you an enamored smile.
“Mrs. Holmes…” Sherlock murmured groggily. “Good morning.”
You didn’t have time to say it back, because his lips were on yours the instant the words left his mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pleased hum. Good morning to you too, husband. He hummed back as you lifted a hand to his cheek, your tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. When his taste hit your tastebuds, you shivered.
That taste. You missed it so. Like wintergreen and tobacco. It was both bracing and earthy. A taste of him this early in the morning was a treat.
Your mouth watered as you avidly drank down what you could from his lips. If you could bottle up his taste and drink it every morning, you would. He tasted like comfort, like home.
Then, the warmth of his lips was gone. You sluggishly opened your eyes, finding him looking at you as his fingers stroked your cheek.You tried to savor the residual of his saliva on your tongue.
“How long have you been awake, dear?” His question took a moment to register with you, given how exhausted you were. Based on Sherlock’s lazy caressing of your face, you could tell he was just as tired as you.
“Not long.” You muttered when your sense of understanding came back to you.
“Why didn’t you wake me sooner, darling?” He asked you, letting his hand rest on your cheek.
You melted, leaning into it. Bringing your hand up to cover his, you nuzzled your nose against the lines of his palm.
“You needed your rest.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to the crease of his thumb.
“After all the time we were apart, what I need more than anything is to spend time with my gorgeous wife. And I need to be awake and conscious to do so.” He pointed out to you, his voice still laced with sleep.
Sherlock moaned when you nibbled gently on the ball of his palm. His fingers flexed, and he lazily rested his forehead on your temple.
“Or at least lucid enough to admire how angelic you look in the morning.” He yawned softly, his face falling to your neck. “Though I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.” He mumbled against the flesh of your collarbone.
“Perhaps we should rest a little while longer.” You suggested, your fingers in his soft curls.
“Hmm… perhaps. Then again, we should get up and get ready for the day. My guess is we’ve already slept past breakfast. I fancy your idea much more, however. Staying in bed, with you.” He nudged his nose along your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent.
“Sleeping. Staying in bed, sleeping.” You corrected him, smiling softly.
“Hm? Oh, sleeping. Yes, of course.” He hummed innocently, his lips on your jaw. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I find it hard to fall asleep, though. You smell too good.” He moaned, tugging you closer.
You gasped when you felt his erect cock against your stomach. His manhood twitched when it touched your belly.
“And so warm. I’ve missed your warmth.” He murmured, squeezing his length between you as it leaked onto your skin.
His seed was sticky as it oozed onto your flesh. You shivered, it was so warm and you were reminded of last night when he shot his fervid seed inside you. A large hand grabbed the back of your thigh, lifting it so your legs spread slightly.
“I’m willing to bet you're also wet for me.” He reached down to grab the base of his cock.
You watched him guide his manhood towards the crease between your luscious thighs. It wasn’t until he slipped in with ease that you realized your inner thighs were covered in your fluids. Not only a result of his current actions, but also the very pleasant dreams you had of him last night.
A deep blush bloomed on your cheeks. Sherlock further situated his erection, nestling it between your wet folds. You jerked and gasped, your clit pressed against his solid length.
“So wet for me. Mmm…” He gave a sleepy smile and hum. Then he pulled away to look at you. “Tell me, my love, did you dream of me?”
There was no chance of hiding anything from him. His question was answered when you lowered your head bashfully. You took interest in where he buried himself in your thighs, watching as he shifted his hips. The top of his shaft nudged your delicate bundle of nerves. A heat rose in your belly, making you mewl as you rolled your hips.
“I dreamed of you. The entire time I was gone, I dreamed of you every night. It was the only thing that kept me going, the promise that I had you at home, waiting for me.” He sighed as your thighs squeezed him.
“I knew soon enough I would be back here, surrounded by your warmth. Your smell. Your taste. U-Ugh, your taste.” He groaned as he pulled out from between your legs. Your clit was rubbed the other way. You arched your spine with a breathless hiccup.
“Like the sweetest honeysuckle. I can't get enough.” He grabbed your cheeks, moaning as he brought you into a deep kiss.
His tongue slipped into your mouth, lavishing yours in sensual licks. Your flavors paired beautifully together. Honeysuckle and wintergreen. Sweet and refreshing. It made your cunt pulsate as you swallowed.
“Sherlock.” You hiccuped, your hands falling to his chest and you weaved your fingers through his chest hair.
You squeezed your legs together, gripping his cock as he continued to buck between them. He panted against your mouth, hitching your leg up onto his hip. He reached down, rubbing the tip along your now exposed slit.
“I need to be inside you, darling. Need to feel you.” He exhaled into the kiss, and you greedily drank down his breath.
He lined up with your dripping hole, and slowly sank into you. Sherlock held your hips, squeezing when you sucked in a breath. Your body accepted him inside you easily. Like it was welcoming him home.
There was nothing better than this. Being wrapped in the arms of your beloved, being as close as two people can get. Yes. This was home.
You whimpered, pulling him closer with your leg. Pulling away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to stare into his. You cradled his face in your hands.
“I-I’ve missed this.” You admitted, your chest heaving in soft pants as he shallowly began to thrust. “I’ve missed you. I dreamed of you too, Sherlock. Every night-ah!”
You sighed in pleasure. The tip of his cock nudged your cervix and it felt like all your nerve endings sparked. He was so deep.
He cradled your bum, easing in and out you. Your words caused him to moan and press his head against yours.
“Did you always wake up wet for me?” He groaned, licking his lips as he waited for your response.
“Yes. Yes, everyday.” You whined as you remembered the mornings where you woke alone in bed. “It always felt so… cold without you here. I dreamed of this every night. And each morning, I ached for you to fill me. I-I felt so empty.”
A whimper escaped you, your emotions jumbled from the mix of pleasure and fatigue. Sherlock shushed you, grinding his hips to remind you of how not empty you were at the moment. His pelvic bone grazed your clit. You melted, your face falling against his neck as you moaned.
“It’s alright now, my love. I’m here. I won’t ever leave you empty again.” He promised you, burying his face into your shoulder as he gained a little speed, though his pace was still slow and lazy.
His deep momentum had you to the edge in no time. It was all too much. You felt every inch of him and it was making your drowsy head swim. Sleep sounded so good right now, but cumming all over your husband’s cock sounded even better.
“I’ve got you, dove. You can let go. I’m here now.” He breathed into your ear, pulling your body impossibly close.
With one last jolt of his hips, you came with a soft cry. Sherlock quickly pressed his lips to yours, swallowing down all your sobs as he gave his own gasps. He pressed into you all the way, shaking as he shot his load deep inside your cunt. His hot, thick seed covering your cervix only prolonged your orgasm.
You felt his heart thudding in his chest as he pressed it to yours. He held onto you tightly, and you clung to him. As your climaxes subsided, both of you were left panting.
You never wanted this moment to end. Being one with your husband, it was euphoric. Why did it always have to end?
He shifted, and you whimpered. You tightened your leg around his side. He grunted when you clenched down on him in an attempt to trap him inside you. His hand squeezed your ass.
“Relax, darling. I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I promised not to leave you empty again, didn’t I? The both of us are going to get a bit more rest, as we stay just like this. And when you wake, my love, I will still be here. Inside you.” He hummed in content as he closed his eyes, stroking your back to relax you.
You were able to unwind once you realized he wasn’t going to pull away. Closing your eyes, you burrowed into his chest. A soft sigh escaped you, blowing around some of the hair on his chest. Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of your head.
“Rest now, sweetheart. I’ll keep warm. And full.” He murmured, his low and comforting voice made your eyes droop.
The warmth of your husband helped lull you to sleep. Your dreams were once again filled with him. There was no need to worry about waking up aching and empty this time. Because Sherlock was back home, and everything was whole.
A/N: Look at me, finally getting another fic done😅 Sorry it’s been a bit, I’ve had a horrible case of writer’s block. I hope you enjoyed, love you all! ❤️
Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212
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Can I request an nsfw fic sitting on Sherlock Holmes’ lap while he explains a case to reader, she start kissing his neck and he starts stuttering 😩😩 (also, Im literally in LOVE with your works 😫 😭)
Pulse Point
Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: To help him relax in the midst of a trying case, Reader exploits Sherlock’s only vulnerability.
Content: 18+ for smutty smutty smut, Sherlock’s filthy mouth, unprotected sex, and pure domestic bliss.
Notes: My first prompt! Thank you thank you thank you, Anon; I love this so much. I wrote it quite quickly and unedited, so apologies for any imperfections!
“Come, sit with me, darling girl.”
Standing in the door of your husband’s study, you fall even more in love with Sherlock Holmes. He sits behind his desk in his leather wingback chair, attired in his shirtsleeves, coat discarded, posture tense—it has been hours since you saw him come home, carrying a crate of papers and wearing the expression of determination and passion that lets you know the game is well and truly afoot.
Eager to be of help, you follow his directive at once, crossing the room to his side. He settles you on his lap and places a chaste, gentle kiss to your temple, pausing to breathe in the scent of your hair. A little of his tension seems to melt away with your closeness, and you return his kiss—but on the lips, this time—with a smile. He smiles, too, and whispers, “I love you so.”
“As I love you! Now, tell me the matter of the case,” you prompt, with another light, teasing peck. “Begin at the beginning, and perhaps some new detail will reveal itself in the telling.”
Sherlock smiles, a little wearily, but with a clear relief at your presence and enthusiasm.
“Yes, pray lend me a little of your brilliance, Mrs. Holmes, for I am at my wit’s end.”
“Nonsense; your wit is endless,” you scoff, and at last he laughs, too. You share another kiss, deeper this time, and he settles more comfortably into the chair.
“It is Moriarty,” he sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it aside. “It is always Moriarty, the spider in the center of the web. But for once, he torments me with leisure, not urgency. There is no captive aristocrat, no explosives planted, no threat of impending murder; and thank god for it. But instead, he spins me an ever-expanding list of riddles, each more obscure and particular than the last. To what end I do not know.”
He tips his head back against the chair, exposing the long line of his throat to your gaze. Though you would find it nigh impossible to select a favorite part of your husband’s body—for truly, it seems that every night as he fills your aching channel so perfectly, so completely, there is some new, glorious detail of his physique thrown into prominence—Sherlock’s neck is especially tempting. It is a singular point of vulnerability in such a massive, muscled man, and one you love to exploit: you know well that so much as a single kiss can bring the man to his knees, or else drive him to bend you over the nearest surface and make you his in the most primal, profound way.
“He boasts of the reach of his accomplices by infiltrating those systems in which we have the greatest trust, so much that the average man may not even notice anything has changed.”
You simply cannot help yourself.
Delicately, you shift upon his lap, wickedly delighted that he has fixed his eyes upon the cluttered wall opposite his desk, where his series of pinned-up schedules, diagrams, and ciphers distract him from your intentions.
“But I first noticed that the regular seven o’clock train from Trafalgar to Charing Cross was delayed on Tuesday—“
With a slow deliberation, you kiss the point where his pulse beats steadily beneath his jaw.
“—initial—initially—by seven—“
You part your lips ever so slightly and kiss him again.
“—by seven—se—“
A large, lissome hand lands heavily on your thigh. You do not let this deter you; no indeed, it only incites you further, and you press your lips more firmly against his neck.
“By seven minutes!” he concludes in a rush, and you take advantage of his pause for breath to trail your kisses lower, pulling aside the collar of his shirt for a better vantage.
You lightly sink your teeth into his flesh, just at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, and he moans.
“Angel—oh, my g—god…”
As you work your way back up to his pulse point, he still stutters out a little more on the subject of the case: “Angel, the—the trains—I am—tr—trying to—explain…“
You raise your head up innocently.
“Shall I stop, sir?”
Sherlock kisses your lips hungrily, squeezing you tighter, and you wriggle in delight, feeling him grow hard at your ministrations. It gratifies you to no end, when this stern, controlled man falls prey to his own lusts, unable to help the way his length strains at his trousers—and all for you.
“No, no—“ he breathes, and you take your cue eagerly, shifting to straddle his thighs, their breadth forcing your legs wide apart. “Don’t stop, my sweet—ah—angel.”
He fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, but can’t seem to manage the simple motor function, such is his arousal, especially as your lips return to his neck.
“Let me help you,” you offer, murmuring against his throat as you pepper it with more kisses. “Let me please you, please, Sherlock…”
“God, lo—look what you’ve—done to me,” he sighs, throwing up his hands. Laughing breathlessly, you finish the job yourself, a rapturous smile of triumph gracing your lips as your hand wraps around his freed cock, already leaking and flushed with desire. “You…you undo me completely,” he groans, thrusting up into your grasp. “Fuck, please, my darling girl, please, let me feel you—“
“Yes, Sherlock, anything you want!”
This seems to reinvigorate him, and he growls, pushing aside your skirts roughly. He does not allow the time for you to rise and doff your undergarments, but instead simply tears the delicate fabric at the seams to reveal your dripping petals.
“I’ll buy—buy you more,” he promises, as you rock your wet heat against his achingly hard cock. “What do you want, angel? What can I give? All the lace in the world. A dozen gowns, a hundred, anything for you—emeralds or pearls or—oh, Christ, you are so fucking tight I can hardly—“ This as you sink down on him, sheathing him to the hilt with your own a cry of ecstasy. “I’ll give you the world. Oh, my love…”
You continue to besiege his neck as you ride him, finding out each sweet spot that makes him clutch your hips all the harder, with Sherlock babbling out a litany of absolute filth mixed with romantic nonsense:
“That pretty, pretty mouth god your lips—you will be the death of me, angel!”
Sherlock hardly lasts a moment more after your climax causes you to clench around him, holding him tight and deep and perfect, and he gasps your name and a stammering profession of love as he spills himself inside you. You gaze into his eyes as they come back into focus, and you share a little panting laughter, for you are both an absolute mess of half-discarded clothes, dripping seed, and riotously disheveled hair. You have even left a clear mark on his neck, which makes you feel as grand as the empress of the earth, to have laid such an intimate claim upon his otherwise unassailable body. Murmuring quiet, loving little praises, you help one another to undress fully, till you stand before one another fully natural, each drinking in the sight of the other.
“My god. Just look at you, Mrs. Holmes.”
“You are the most beautiful man alive!” you cannot help but exclaim, and he tosses his head in evident pride at the compliment. How you love to make him vain.
“And at last, I am thinking clearly—for the first time all day!” he says, making you laugh again, then he lets out an exultant “Ha!” and strides over towards the gallery of evidence pinned to the wall. “You’ve done it. By Jove, Mrs. Holmes, you have knocked the scales from my eyes. I see the whole design now…”
“Then let me fetch you fresh clothes—and some water to wash, hmm?”
“Yes, give me leave a little while to dole out justice upon Moriarty. And then turnabout’s fair play for you, wife: I think your lovely neck deserves a mark or two of its own…”
If you enjoyed, please do leave a comment, reblog, or visit my Masterlist!
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#henry cavill sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Another masterpiece from the Mistress of Metaphor, the Supreme of Sensuality, the Peeress of Prose!!! Thank you for gracing us with this glorious, haunting work of art.
Danse Macabre
Summary: What lurks behind Sherlock’s mask of virtue? Is he truly a warden keeping his promise? Or something far darker…
Pairing: Vampire!Sherlock Holmes x Virgin OFC (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)
Word count: 2.2K
Warnings: 18+, Dark, horror, dubious consent, sex, supernatural themes, I guess we can say monster sex? Mentions of blood, hinted Stockholm Syndrome, loss of virginity, metaphors, obsession, hinted hypnosis, bites.
A/N: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes.
Many thanks to my angels: @agniavateira for beta'ing my work and supporting me, and to @notabronte for giving me feedback and encouraging me to post. Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed it. 🖤
Danse Macabre 🕯️
How long has it been; a month? A year? An eternity?
Time swayed differently in Mister Holmes’ mansion — if it moved at all.
The nights seemed endless, and the days… she couldn’t remember the last time she was awake during daytime. Perhaps this was a nightmare, or maybe it was the cold tentacles of death that pulled her into an abyss; but then, if the dead couldn’t feel pain then why did his kisses hurt?
Keep reading
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Utmost Merit, Part IV
Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.
Content: Absolutely 18+ for very very very filthy language, smut with minimal plot, purposely unprotected sex, breeding kink, spouses-to-lovers, discussions of pregnancy, and some period-typical gender roles, but nothing unkind or insidious.
Notes: It’s finally here. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. I love this story and I promise there are a few more chapters in store! And now, the usual formalities: I prefer giving a name to the Reader rather than using Y/N, but I hope you will make the appropriate substitutes in your imagination. Your kind comments and reblogs are so, so appreciated…please don’t hesitate to reply or send me a message with your feedback if you enjoy!
Previous Chapters: Part I Part II Part III
Your wedding is exquisite.
Sherlock seems almost giddy throughout the entirety of the proceedings, the frosty exterior melted away to reveal the secret romantic beneath. He makes his vows with solemnity in his tone and a smile in his eyes, and you do the same, and confine yourself to a chaste kiss when all you want is to be instantly at home, alone, abed, with your gorgeous, virile husband buried deep inside you. You hope that your flaming cheeks are presumed to be the result of modesty, rather than insatiable lust for the Great Detective, who looks especially, ravishingly handsome in his wedding attire—especially when he raises your hand to his lips for another innocent show of public affection, but meets your eyes across the sparkling diamond on your finger, blue orbs glittering with a sinful promise of the night to come.
It does not help your wild desires to watch your guests with their children, from the gaggle of racing teenagers who pilfer sweets and play at acting grown-up to the littlest guests fussing in their miniature finery. Particularly enrapturing is your cousin’s newborn: a plump, cheery little creature who summarily steals all attention, including yours. Sherlock traces your gaze to the source of your longing looks, makes his excuses to his brother and sister, and returns to your side to draw you close, pressing a light kiss to your temple.
“Don’t fret, Mrs. Holmes,” he murmurs softly, carefully keeping his expression pleasant, neutral, though his tone could not be more lascivious. “You’ll have one of your own soon enough. Have we managed it already, do you think? You do glow like a proper angel today.”
“I hope so,” you whisper back, smiling at your shared secret and trying to contain a shiver as his fingertips trace circles on the curve of your waist.
“Of course it will be weeks before we know for certain,” he muses, all the while nodding pleasantly at the friends and relations who raise their glasses or smile in your direction. “So don’t think I’ll be the slightest bit satisfied to wait and see. Perish the thought; you’ll be on your back and on your knees and on my lap every chance I get this fortnight. You’ll feel me every step you take, if I let you out of bed at all—”
“You absolutely must stop!” you exclaim, flushing scarlet at his wicked whispers, but you both know that you can hardly wait for him to start making good on each and every promise. He lifts your chin to look into your eyes, as much tenderness as lust glowing in in the deep, heart-stopping blue of his gaze.
“You absolutely must understand: I never thought to know happiness like this. You give me such a gift, Rosamund.”
“I will try,” you avow, a little hesitancy in your voice, for the first time truly considering that nothing in life is guaranteed.
Sherlock of course can practically read your thoughts, and he holds you even tighter, and says quietly, almost shyly, “Even…even if fate determines that we shall have no children, your companionship is itself a bounty of which I can only endeavor to be worthy.”
Then he kisses you fully on the lips, eliciting laughter and cheers from your gathered friends, and soon enough you are in your carriage—passionately kissing every available inch of one another, with Sherlock’s hand working dexterously under your skirts, from the moment the door closes until the driver announces your arrival at your new, shared home. You make yourselves barely presentable in time to greet your servants with gifts and coins and an all-to-earnest plea that they all take the rest of the night off…and then you are alone again.
“Where were we, Mrs. Holmes?” he asks, with feigned innocence and a boyish grin that prove just as seductive as his usual growls and smirks. You leap upon him at once, and he laughs, snatching you up and tossing you onto the bed you will henceforth share, laid out with fresh, sweetly-scented blankets. Urgency fades into comfort and calmness as he strips layer upon layer of wedding finery from your body, stopping to savor the scent of your perfume in the hollow of your throat and worshiping at your waist, pressing his lips along your abdomen with an adoring whisper.
“What a beautiful mother you’ll make,” he muses, addressing the hypothetical promise that well could already be blossoming within you. “I think we must have a girl first, don’t you, darling? An Ivy or Lily to complement my lovely Rose…”
A sentiment more romantic has never been heard, in your opinion, and you tug at his curls to draw him back up for a long, lingering kiss. He presses the whole of his body over yours, hard planes of muscle aligned with your soft figure…and you are most especially gratified at to feel how deliciously his long, thick cock inerrantly slides against where you are softest, rubbing up against your sensitive bud and the slick heat of your petals.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” Sherlock asks, pressing you deeper into the bed and rocking his hips, drawing a soft cry of pleasure from your lips. “I must walk through the world like this, betrayed by my own body at the slightest thought of you—giving yourself to me, surrendering this sweet, perfect cunt all for my pleasure, to bear my child.”
His filthy poetry has you on the bring of orgasm already, and you can hardly wait another moment to feel him fill you. He eagerly acquiesces to the gentle insistence of your hands against his chest, flipping him to lay upon his back, and you settle atop him, straddling his thighs and dragging your slit against his cock so he can feel what he does to you in return.
“Such a—fuck, that’s it—you are such a beautiful woman,” he murmurs, burying his face in your neck, his breathing set ragged as you sink down onto his length. You gasp at the stretch, too, and for a moment, you hold one another as close as you can, your foreheads pressed together and Sherlock’s fingertips gently stroking hips and thighs as you clench around him. “Now, this position may be somewhat antithetical to our designs—” You almost laugh at his attempt to regain his composure, to lecture on The Shared Purpose, and in answer, you raise yourself up and sink down on his cock again, and again, faster and faster, delighted at how flustered and frantic he becomes. “—but how I love to…to watch my wife—my pretty, pretty little wife—take her pleasure like this—“
“Your wife, Sherlock?” you tease, increasing your pace and smirking as this massive, powerful man shudders beneath you, as helpless to the pleasure of your union as you are. “I thought you didn’t want a wife…particularly.”
It’s a direct quote from his proposal and he knows it; and you can see the very instant his brilliant brain goes feral at your mischief.
“I don’t want a wife,” he growls, clutching at your hips and slamming you down harder, faster, closer, taking back control with animalistic ardor. “I want my wife. Now come for me, Mrs. Holmes, show me what a good wife you are—show me, show me—“
You absolutely shatter, calling out his name, and he takes advantage of your blissful helplessness to regain the upper hand, deftly, easily laying you out on your back and pull your legs about his waist so he can rut into you with abandon.
“Take it,” he encourages. “All you have to do is take it, let me fuck a baby into you, sweet girl—oh, I know, darling, how much you want this, too.”
He holds you so beautifully close as he comes, kissing you gently even as he moans your name. For a long moment you remain entwined, heartbeats slowing in tandem. But he does not allow you a long respite, carefully withdrawing his length from your tender little channel, only to replace it at once with his fingers.
“This is a rule of our household,” he explains, gently tracing your lip with the pad of his thumb as his other hand coaxes another climax out of you. “You will always give me one more, my lovely bride, when I’m finished with you. To direct the seed to your womb, of course…and because it satisfies me to see you made drunk on the pleasure I give you—yes, precisely like that, Mrs. Holmes.”
“One more” turns out to be an understatement.
Seemingly hours later, a new first intimacy is shared: a spent but infinitely smug Sherlock falls asleep in your arms, his head pillowed on your breasts. He is magnificently warm, and has never looked more peaceful or content than he does now, his eyes fluttering in sleep while you stroke his tousled curls, a little smile gracing his lips and one possessive hand placed protectively over your womb, as if this little extra intimacy might coax into being the baby of your shared dreams.
But you are not so content.
For on this wedding day, you have come to a realization, and on this wedding night, your understanding is only made more palpable. This marriage of shared purpose, this convenient, well-planned union, founded on practicality rather than sentiment…is a lie.
“I love you, Sherlock,” you whisper in the dark, as he dreams on, unknowing…
If you enjoyed, please do peruse my Masterlist!
And thank you with all my heart to those who left kind comments on the previous chapter: @dopebanditlightpie @torchbearerkyle @mathle0matle @crazyunsexycool @inlovewithhisblueeyes @ghotifishreads @astheskycries @foxchild-v
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#henry cavill sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Eeeeee, thank you for tagging me, and for all these other marvelous recs!!! <3
Lol fuck it I'll be 🍆
Ramble all you want girly! I'm just happy to have someone else who's in love with Henry!Holmes :)
Also I think Henry or the people who produced and wrote the Enola Holmes movie was almost sued because Sherlock dared to show ??? Like what?
-🍆
Yay 🍆 anon!!! You have made my day!
There's a lot of great Sherlock fics around, Especially au's like...
@oh-for-fic-sake Thicker Than Water
@angryschnauzer The Watcher
@nashibirne Moulin Rouge
and @littlefreya mentioned she's working on a Sherlock WIP here
And I'm sure there are plenty more if anyone wants to rec a story in the comments...
As for being sued, here's an article about it from 2020... It goes back to the Enola Holmes source material as well.
❤️ Rabbit
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Immediately, eagerly, rapturously yes.
When your brother takes you to visit an old friend of his and Sherlock spots you
You completely ruined my day with this. So here! I hope I ruin yours!
Pairing: Sherlock x Female Reader
Word Count: 370
Warnings: breeding kink, cream-pie kink, p in v sex.
Totally off the cuff and unedited.
below the cut
When his housekeeper introduced your brother, Sherlock looked up from his book with a smile, and opened his mouth to greet his old friend. Then he spotted you behind him, and quickly rose to his feet.
He blinked several times. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sherlock,” your brother repeated, “May I introduce, my sister.”
You stepped out from behind your brother, eyes lowered, shy and unsure. Sherlock walked slowly towards you, and a feeling grew in his gut that he was not altogether familiar with. You raised your eyes, and his steps faltered while his heart began a rapid tattoo that he could feel all through his body, most noticeably in the thickening length between his legs.
“How do you do?” you said and raised your hand.
Sherlock took it, silently cursing the silk glove that stopped his hand from feeling yours. His long fingers slid over your covered palm until his pads felt the soft warmth of the skin of your inner wrist and he closed his eyes.
The groan he barely managed to stifle was extremely uncouth as were the images that flooded his mind from the brief illicit touch.
The urge to pull you towards him and taste your mouth was almost too much to overcome. His nose flared like a bull as he indulged in his fantasies. He wanted his lips on yours as he lifted your skirts and ran his fingers up the supple flesh of your thighs until they reached your cunt. He’d find it hot and honeyed, ready and eager to take him and you’d put up no resistance. Your core would be desperate for him, your satin smooth walls would yield to the invasion of his weeping cock as he plucked your maidenhood, stole your purity and planted his progeny deep with your pristine womb.
“Mr. Holmes?” you asked, the note of concern in your voice was touching. “Are you quite alright?”
“Yes,” he said, pulling himself out of his lurid thoughts.
You were the one, the one he would take to his bed each night, fill with his seed and he’d watch as it spilled onto the sheets before he’d scoop it back into your ruined hole and do it all over again.
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Prompt || Y/N is someone who never swears. Never. Until Bucky is inside her, thrusting with reckless abandon, and taking great pride in the fact that he can reduce Y/N to this disheveled, lustful state, unable to say anything but his name and swearing from how good it is. — Requested by @harrysthiccthighss
Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader
Word Count || Less than 600
Contents & Warnings || Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, pet names (doll, baby), unprotected and rough sex, praise kink, creampie, mention of bodily fluids.
Random prompt event || Masterlist
You are someone that almost never swears.
It’s just not something you were accustomed to and something that never manifested itself in your day-to-day vocabulary when you grew up, even though you heard it everywhere around you.
That, of course, doesn’t mean that you’ve never sworn before, but it was usually just during special (and primarily painful) circumstances—when you bumped any part of your body on a hard surface. Then, on rare occasions, would you curse under your breath at the stupid thing that hurt you.
But you have never found yourself swearing so much after you got together with your boyfriend, Bucky.
There was only during one particular moment(s) in your relationship where you found yourself swearing like a sailor, and that was during sex with him because, my God, no one has ever given it to you so good as he did. And he took such pride in absolutely wrecking you to the point where the only thing on your mind was his cock, and the only thing coming out of your mouth were the words fuck and Bucky.
He had you pinned down on the mattress as his hot body lay on top of yours. His hand held yours hostage above your head as his hips thrust mercilessly into your own, making his cock penetrate your tight and needy walls to perfection.
Your eyes were rolled to the back of your head as you gladly accepted each thrust. You slipped into a lustful state where the only thing on your mind was the sheer and pure pleasure he fed.
With his tip brushing deliciously against your sweet spot with every thrust, there was just a matter of seconds before he would have you screaming and crying his name, cursing for him not to stop and make you come.
“Come on, doll, let me hear you.” He grunted in your face as his forehead rested on yours.
It was right there on the tip of your tongue—the cries of pleasure he so desperately was trying to pull from you.
Right there…
right…
there…
“Fuck, Bucky!” You sobbed as he broke you. There was no holding back now. Curse word after curse word flowed out of you as your orgasm built. You were nothing but a crying needy mess now.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Don’t fucking stop, baby, please!”
“There it is. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He smirks as he’s completed his mission successfully.
He lets go of your hands so you could cling to his body as the coil in your stomach snapped, making you come hard around him as you cursed and cried some more. Bucky grunted against your neck as he spilt his release into your warm and enticing walls.
Once you’ve both come down, Bucky kisses you with such pride and love as he moans against your lips.
“Hmm, I’m the only one to make you curse and scream like that, doll.” He growls against your skin.
“Only you. Only fucking you, Bucky.”
Thank you for reading🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!
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