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morallyinept · 5 months

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UNWRAP ME - A Frankie Morales Christmas One Shot

Summary: You gift yourself to Frankie as his early Christmas present, and he can't wait to unwrap you.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. Images just for aesthetic, no reference to Reader.)

Word Count: 4.1k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral F receiving/Frankie's curls are let loose.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Hot, spicy Christmas fun to kick off my 12 Days Of XXX-MAS, with that hot, spicy tamale, Frankie. 🥵 There is some Frankie Spanish, I've not provided translations as it's easy enough to Google if you're curious, but you can probably figure it out. 😉

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

“I’ve got you something for Christmas, baby. But I want to give it to you a little early.” You call out to him.

You can hear the familial heavy padding of his feet up the stairs, as you slick on a coat of matte lipstick in the ensuite bathroom.

You pucker into the mirror over the sink regarding yourself, and smile at what you see with that devilish glint lingering in your eye.

You can only imagine what he’ll make of it, and that thought pulses hot through your veins in wanton excitement.

You spritz on a faint mist of your favourite scent - one that you know will make his mouth water too - and linger discreetly in the doorway, watching Frankie now rifling around in the wardrobe, completely oblivious.

He has his broad back to you, and you can see him putting laundry away in neat piles on the shelves inside the doors. His grey t-shirt rides up as he reaches into the furthest crevices of the wardrobe, revealing the tanned, fleshed divots of his lower back.

His worn, scuffed jeans are slung low on his hips and those muscles flex and ripple under his skin as he stretches, and your own mouth begins to water.

“Did you do the ironing?” You question, perplexed.

“Yes, I did the ironing,” he grunts, in a voice lazily mimicking yours.

You see him shake his head; those wild curls growing unruly at the nape of his neck. The faded blue cap is slapped on his head in a regular trademark manner. Even when indoors, Frankie can’t abstain from plonking it on to keep his waves under check.

“And it’s not Christmas yet. So, don’t think by giving me a present early that you’re going to get one early, hermosa. Sé lo que estás haciendo.” Frankie confirms, his voice being absorbed into the clothes, but you can hear him smiling as he says it, and that soft snort as he chuckles to himself.

“Are you sure about that?” You question, smirking.

“Si, bebita. I’m not falling for it. You’ve just gotta wait until-”

He glances over his shoulder, stops instantly as though you’ve put him on pause, and then does a slow full turn. His face is unreadable; his lips pursed as his eyes seemingly cloud over for a few moments.

Grinning, you beckon him over, but he’s rooted to the spot; his legs suddenly feeling that if he takes a step forward he’ll collapse prone into the carpet.

Frozen in all the possibilities of what’s unfolding in front of his eyes as he looks you up and down, and his cheeks start to glow brighter than Rudolph's nose.

Frankie swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry and claggy like he’s been licking said carpet all night. Your eyes lock onto his; just as cavernous and darkening, feeling like you can fall right into them as they drink you up.

You study his face; like a chameleon camouflaging against its surroundings, Frankie’s face works through every single shade of shock, astonishment and heated lust there is on the colour scale.

“Well, shit...” He baulks, tossing the wardrobe door shut behind him. “¿Es todo esto para mí?” Frankie questions, barely able to take you all in.

You can see him visibly sweating.

“It’s all for you, baby. Feliz Navidad.” You smile, stepping fully into the bedroom from the ensuite doorway.

“Fuck.” Frankie remarks with a look like he’s just been punched in the scruffy jaw and can’t quite comprehend the audacity of it.

“Are you going to unwrap me?” You ask, with a villainous smirk and he’s utterly lost for words.

Your body is wrapped in scarlet silk and velvet lingerie. Your breasts are sculpted to perfection inside a corset-style basque; the front lined with several velvet bows in the same colour that holds it all closed around your ample mounds.

All tied up neatly and tightly that you’re threatening to spill out over it at any moment.

You’re wearing a matching red thong, along with red lace-topped stockings, and your satin heels that match. A real candy cane dream, all shimmery and scrumptious before him as he licks his lips.

Your eyes sparkle at him through subtle, yet smokey make-up and red lips.

He perches clumsily on the end of the bed, somewhat remembering where it is from muscle memory, and equally missing as he stumbles, sinking backwards, legs buckling underneath him.

His hand navigates over his mouth, scratching at his grey-speckled beard and looking you up and down like he doesn’t know where to start.

Like all his fucking Christmases have just come at one.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Frankie questions, his eyes moving between your breasts and pussy each time he looks you over. Shit, he doesn’t even know where the hell to look.

You come and sit beside him on the bed, resting back on your elbows so he can run his shaky hands up and down the velvet and silken ensemble.

He tweaks at one of the bows, smoothing it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Well, you did do the laundry.” You chuckle, and he tickles across your stomach with those roaming, thick fingers.

“You look-” He stutters out a sigh, eyes big and a smirk on the cusp of cracking his face. He’s staring you down as though you’re a piece of meat he can’t wait to tear into, salivating.

“I know.” You wink at him.

Frankie leans in and kisses you, his lips running over yours smoothly and softly. Soft, gentle clicks fill the room as he kisses all along your bottom lip; suckling it gently before running his mouth across your cheek and towards your neck, inhaling your perfume.

The soft nips in between his lingering kisses from those puffy, pink lips of his begin to engulf you, and your head lolls back as he kisses along your jaw and throat, planting carnage inside your pores.

“Fuck, I’m so hard.” Frankie whispers, looking into your cleavage and then up at your eyes.

His dick, throbbing and swollen, feels like it'll fire off and fly round the room at the sight of you swathed in all this sumptuous velvet and lace, all just for him.

Your hand slips down to his crotch and squeezes gently over the denim. “Mmm... yeah you are.” You grin.

“You kill me, hermosa.” He whines, almost payhetically.

Your heart’s beating faster and louder inside your chest as you lean up towards him slowly; zoning in on his mouth and crush your lips against his. Groaning at the feeling of the way those fuzzy lips graze against yours, coursing electricity through your arms and legs like you’ve stuck your wet fingers in a socket.

You can taste his tongue and the remnants of coffee beans and spearmint gum, as he slips it into your mouth and massages it with his deliciously.

Fuck.

Taking his sweet time, Frankie starts pulling on the top two ribbons, slowly revealing more of that soft, supple skin that smells of flowers and fruit; thoroughly enjoying unwrapping his gift as your breasts spill out at him.

His dark, brown eyes flit up to your face now again to read you, to relish in the feeling of what he’ll find underneath it all; the reward of your perky nipples waiting for him, and that sopping, wet pussy that he can bury his face into for hours and never get bored.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Frankie murmurs into your face; the warmth from his breath settling into your pores. "All for me, all for me..." He sighs, beside himself.

You smile; a slow, insidious beam unfolding on your lips much like The Grinch. "All for you, baby."

The ribbons are undone and your breasts revealed to him fully; it’s like he’s seeing them for the first time all over again, and Frankie could just weep at the sight of them.

He runs his fingertips across them, and you’re watching as they circle tantalisingly around your nipples; the calloused pads of them feeling the tiny bumps rising around your areolas as they harden.

He smooches over them, slipping his tongue around the peak where he sucks it into his eager, hot mouth.

You watch as he flicks that wet, fleshy muscle in his mouth back and forth over it, biting down on your lip as he gropes and squeezes the other inside his hand.

He manoeuvres himself between your legs, sliding carefully on his belly like he would creeping up on the enemy, with a mouth full of your tits.

You pull off his cap and toss it across the bed, running your fingers through his mussed hair as he suckles on you, pulling a little tighter with his teeth, making you hiss.

"Mmm," you sigh out at the feel of it. It tingles all the way down into your clit.

He crawls further up you, running kisses up your throat and the side of your face as he gets close. His long, thick fingers claw up and down your inner thigh, skimming his thumb across the lace at the top of your stockings.

He hums out in dreamy satisfaction and it’s warm inside your ear. You love him like this, free to roam your body and play with it. You’re unapologetically clawing at him and wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him in closer.

You can feel his cock, straining inside the stonewash denim to be freed, pressing heavy against your thigh. Hear how he groans with need as you grind against it.

Your mouths run all over each other; absorbing those sounds he makes snuffling out of his nose and from the back of his throat, creating plentiful melodies inside of your ears that you can tune in to all day. Frankie FM.

His hands are roaming your body, squeezing, kneading, pinching. His lips part and his eyes open up as he stares at you as you feel his fingers trail down to your centre.

You can see the subtle gold flecks inside of his chocolate irises and can make shapes in them; find yourself lost in the galaxy of them, that’s how deep they pull you in when he’s this close and on top of you.

He glances down at his fingers pulling against the thong, and wrenches it upwards. You buck and groan as it grazes against your swelling clit.

“These, are the tiniest fuckin’ panties I’ve ever seen.” Frankie husks as he nips on your lobe.

You giggle.

“I could literally tear them off.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, they’re brand new.” You playfully scold.

“I don’t give a fuck.” He growls as he breathes against your cheek. Momentarily you feel a sharp tug and hear the lace tear with ease. “I’ll open my gift how I want. Esto es todo mio.”

“Mmm,” you whine.

He rolls onto his side and smirks propping himself up on his elbow and pulls a piece of the shredded thong out from under your ass. He tosses it over his shoulder casually and smirks accomplished.

"That's better," he says.

You’re spread wide for him, feeling the yummy tingles of his fingers blaze trails down your body, stroking along your arm, over your hip and teasing around your pussy lips; barely touching them each time he ventures there between your legs.

Ghosting over your labia and avoiding your clit; the tiniest of skin-on-skin contact that makes you shudder and claw at the duvet in anticipation.

"Frankie..." You hiss as the goosebumps flood your skin.

Breathing heavier into his mouth as his tongue swims around yours when he leans over and finds your lips again.

His index and middle fingers split across the outside of your cunt that you can feel is slick and warm, and then when he sweeps back up again, he gently nudges your clit this time, sending your body into a rhythm of tingles and shocks.

“You like that, huh?” Frankie croons in delight at your reaction, he watches your face as he begins circling his middle finger over your swollen clit; tapping at first ever so gently and then rubbing in tantalising circles and applying a little pressure more and more each time he does a three-sixty on it.

"Baby... ah, feels so good." You whine.

You marvel at how he can simply play you like an instrument, plucking your stings, eliciting different tones out of you.

You watch him bring his fingers to his mouth and suck them before he slides them back between your sticky folds.

“Frankie…” You're fisting at his t-shirt.

“What? What do you want, hermosa?” He teases as he probes against your hole, barely dipping in and then withdrawing and rubbing your clit again.

“Fuck, please…” You husk. “Need your fingers inside me.”

“Like this?” You feel him breach, a lone digit sliding all the way in, up to the hilt of his knuckle and then retreating.

“Frankie!” You grab at his wrist, but he subdues you easily, pinning your hands above your head and clutching them together in his other hand.

“Stay still, baby.” He smirks.

He slips his fingers inside you again, pumping in and out slowly, grinning at you with the lewd, wet sounds they make echoing around the bedroom.

“So fucking wet for me…”

You can feel it, the warmth prickling at your limbs as it starts to spread through your bloodstream. He’s stroking deep; you can feel it bloom deep inside your belly, that delicious pressure as he curls his fingers.

It’s beginning to get too much; the intensity of the deep finger fuck pulling and unravelling your seams slowly as you brew and bubble around the edges whilst Frankie stares you down like a lion stalking its prey in the tall grass.

He goes faster, the squelches louder, as he pulls your pleasure out of you with skilled ease.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me… Quiero que acabes para mí,” he soothes.

Your thighs shake as the pressure builds and then erupts, flooding your body with warmth and a tingly glow that makes you giggle through your pants.

He pulls out his fingers and taps against your clit with them as you come. A little trick he likes to indulge in now and again to watch your thighs go berserk as your orgasm is torn from your core and shunted into your clit.

“Oh fuck!” You cry as you shake and gasp.

His other hand on the back of your neck, massages into the skin as your own hands run the length of his tan face and around the back of his head. His middle finger keeps nudging and rubbing on your sweet spot that's buzzing and tingling wildly under his touch.

He then dips his finger inside your hole, drenching it in your slick and back out again, lubing it up and rubbing it over the nub with a slick, circular movement.

Your thighs are constantly quaking, pushing you towards overstimulation as he builds you up again.

“Frankie…” You gasp out on a muted whisper, the sound of your squalls getting lost somewhere inside your throat.

"You've got another one," he husks.

Frankie kisses down the side of your neck and collarbone, before reaching your nipple again and takes it in his mouth, flicking his tongue around it like his finger is with your clit, matching the tempo.

Your hips press up into his fingers, winding around and jolting as he works that magic spell on your happy button as you come again, muttering incoherently into his mouth.

"Si, hermosa..."

He then stops and squeezes both your tits together with his hands, and tongues and sucks the warm nipples inside your swollen areolas as he nestles himself between your legs.

“God, you’re fuckin' hot,” Frankie whispers. You see him reach down and adjust himself over his jeans, and you can see how hard he is for you by that familiar, ominous shadow.

He pushes both your legs up, holding them under the back of your knees, and it pushes your ass and pussy up to his face.

He wastes no time in running his lips over your wet, sticky flesh and tasting you.

Letting his tongue circle around your clit then dip inside your cunt where he can taste that delicious honey pot centre, before suckling back on your clit again.

He licks long, fat stripes up your seam and eyes you darkly whilst he does it.

“Mmm, baby.” You whine, fisting into his messy hair. Curls splay over his forehead and you grip onto his tufts behind his ears, tugging his face further into your pussy.

He groans out contentedly - he fucking loves it when you do that.

You can hear him breathe and pant around your slit drenching him, quenching his thirst. Warm air from his mouth is blown onto it as he looks up at you with those dark eyes as he feasts.

Your fingers weave through the soft silk of his hair, petting him and stroking as he feasts expertly without coming up for air. Your fingers tousle it before you twist it around your fingers.

You tug harder on his silky roots and he grunts in response as he gnaws on your clit, making your legs judder.

“Mmmmaaahhh!” You whine out, your back arching and your body twisting.

His lips are clamped around you; his tongue lapping ferociously, and as you’re coming, he make delicious sounds in satisfaction too.

“Mmm, mmm...” He ribs through his lips.

Frankie clutches onto your stomach, keeping you as still and anchored as he can whilst you thrash about; his fingers slightly pressed into your gut and making you ride that wave and feel it all.

He licks up and down, as one of your hands goes to your head like you can’t believe it; the other still gripping inside his hair and pulling him further onto you, sending your body into a sweet dance of convulsion as he delves deep with his relentless tongue fucking.

“Oh, ohhh… fuuuccck! Frankie!”

He reaches up and grabs your hand as your body trembles and begins shaking about under him; he grips it tight, locking his fingers around yours, and watches from between your legs as you come hard around his mouth, filling it with sweet nectar he drinks down.

The lace from the stockings graze against his scruff and get caught in it as you try to crush his head. It’s a spectacular show of fucks and oh God’s thrown into the air as your body succumbs to his tongue.

"Baby, you're so good at that..." You look down at him smiling, and beside yourself as he fumbles with his belt, pushing his jeans down.

"I know," he replies, smugly. He crawls up your body, his cock dragging against your folds and smearing himself against your skin.

You reach for him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he buries his thick, hard cock inside of you.

That single sheath of him into you takes your breath away, and for a moment it’s like you can’t breathe. All oxygen stripped from the room and floating in a void of nothing where it’s only Frankie.

"Oh my God!" You pant.

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip and you kiss it delicately as he slowly builds his pace; fucking into you with deep, grinding movements so that his cock can savour every inch of your cunt that feels implausible around him.

You cling onto him, feeling his skin burn under your fingertips; the muscular curve of his arms; the smooth paunch of his stomach under his t-shirt as your hands run across him.

You can hear his breath pelting inside your ear as he trails his mouth up to your earlobe before taking it between his teeth and biting it gently, sending your pussy to its knees in subjugation of him.

"Frankie, fuck," you groan.

"Feels so fuckin' good..." he agrees.

You feel those little butterfly kisses from his eyelashes where he blinks against your skin; the soft graze of his patchy scruff catching against your throat.

You both moan out in sweet relief; your foreheads pressing against one another’s, as you’re reconnected, feeling like you should never be separated again.

The tip of his hawkish nose brushes against yours; his mouth crooking into a smile as your pants increase again, and he feels that yummy tightening around his dick, thoroughly enjoying the show of watching you come undone around him.

“Harder,” you whine to him, as he dives deeper into you, feeling every inch of him pack you out; lighting up those sparkly neurons inside your head like triggers leading to an almighty explosion of Christmas glitter and embers.

He pins your hands down above your head, resting his full body weight on them as his hips pummel into you, becoming more intense with each deep stroke.

“Fuck, Frankie!” You cry out as he breathes with you, trying to keep himself under control as you call out his name, but it’s useless; he craves everything you’re giving to him right now - the looks, the sounds, the feel of you tightening and squeezing around his cock.

“You wanted it harder.” He puffs with that crooked grin you want to taste.

Your back arches again as he brushes against the sweet spot inside, and makes it vibrate heavily within you.

Your legs wrap tighter around him, cinching him into you deeper; your fingers reach for his as he lets go of your wrists, interlocking with his digits as he kisses you once more, your mouths exploring each other all over again.

He growls out as you lock your feet together at the ankles as he ploughs deeper and harder into you; the bed creaking and squeaking under you both.

He reaches down, thumbing your clit as he thrusts harder into you. Heels pressed into his butt cheeks as he works you up again, never really letting you wander far from the midst of another enticing, sweet orgasm.

You can hear the sound of his cock inside you; that wet, heavy slapping noise as he fucks harder, works his hips faster.

He can’t keep his eyes off of you, staring at your body cinched up in the basque; all those curves and angles of you accentuated by it, tits bouncing over the top of it.

You gasp, biting down on your lip, your head straining back into the duvet as he feels you explode around his cock again; those little tremors around the head before he feels you squeeze tight around him and then release again.

"Yes! Frankie!" You call with a dying voice.

He wants to come inside you, wants you to feel what you’re doing to him. What you always fucking do to him.

You can see the need he has for you inside of his eyes; frantic and desperate. You push him onto his back and sit on top of him, lowering yourself slowly onto his thick cock.

"Yeah, baby. Like that... oh fuck." He groans as you rock up and down on him, his hands gripping around your hips, moving you into a steadily, deep rhythm that makes him bend and break.

“Ride me, querida!” Frankie hisses, encouragingly. Unable to comprehend that this could ever stop feeling so good.

You twirl and grind down on him as he pushes up with his hips, pulling you down onto his chest so he can kiss you again.

He crosses his arms over your back and hammers up into you. Heels of his feet pressing into the bed as he fucks you hard.

"Oh shit, shit!" You groan.

He ploughs in faster, feeling your slick walls tighten around him and making him work that bit harder to press on through into your cunt as it strangles and contracts around him.

He’s insubordinately beautiful, clutching onto him as you call out his name again and again with each hard stroke that he delivers inside of your squelching hole.

"I'm gonna come, fuck... I'm gonna come!" He wheezes.

Groaning loudly, Frankie’s lost as he comes; like he’s been tossed into a new dimension where nothing makes sense or is recognisable.

He forgets how to breathe for a moment; all he can see is you pulling him back towards you, saving him and rasping out with him as you both combust in tune with one another.

His cock is still twitching as he pulls out, you take a hold of it, pumping him a few times and making him groan and smirk in delight as you feel his spend dribble out of you and seep into the messy, creased duvet.

“Holy shit,” Frankie chokes on a throaty gasp.

He runs his hand around his throat a few times, beside himself before you lean down over him; his body weak and shaky.

You nuzzle into him, planting kisses over his cheeks as his fingers fiddle with the velvet bows on your basque.

His eyes are sleepy looking, like he’s dosed up on some wonder drug called pussy and he never wants off this high.

Frankie pulls you further on top of him; crushing you agaisnt his chest, his cock nestled nicely between your thighs. Sweaty curls are stuck to his forehead and he's never looked so good.

He spends the next few minutes just lost inside your mouth, holding you tight and letting his hand reach down and have a generous squeeze of your ass cheeks.

“Gracias por mi regalo, hermosa.” He sighs, contentedly. “Best gift ever.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” You smile, running your lips over his cheeks and fuzzy whiskers.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales triple frontier #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters #jett's writing #christmas stories

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rosyjn · 9 months

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“Let me fuck the problem away,” -Jake Sully

Jake sully x fem!navi!reader

MDNI!! SMUT!

ik I said I would try writing for other ppl but I DONT FEEL LIKE IT 🤪 enjoy 😉

Translations:

syaksyuk: prolemuris

Fic starts👇

“So stupid,” you mutter as you throw your head back in annoyance, stomping into Jake’s tent.

“What’s wrong now?” he croons, not batting an eye and continuing to tend to the cutting board, gently cutting through teylu as your dinner.

“Kids these days just will not listen!” you snap, setting your bow down by the entrance. “I told some little shit, some village kid, not to wander away-“ you begin, shaking your head and folding your arms.

“Language!” he laughs and looks up at you. You sigh, stopping yourself from going on a rant and telling the whole story.

“All you need to know is he got bit by a syaksyuk, and his parents were furious at me when he got home,” you facepalm. “It’s not my fault! He didn’t listen to me! He didn’t even get hurt!” you hurl.

“It’s okay, hon’. I’m sure- that everything will be fine. Little kids are dumb. This is how they learn,” he assures you, watching you stand in the corner of the tent. Your folded arms and angry expression are adorable to him.

“I know it’s how they learn,” your voice softens and you walk over to sit with Jake. “But what will his parents say about me to the village? They will say that I let their child get hurt…” your pupils dilate as you kneel down to his level.

“As Olo’eyktan, I will make sure that the Omaticaya clan does not think you’re a child abuser-“ he sarcastically starts.

“What?” you tilt your head, reminding Jake that you’re a native na’vi.

“Im saying I will make sure no one thinks you are, uhm, irresponsible,” he explains, his hand reaching up to stroke your shoulder.

“Thank you,” your expression softens, and you place a hand on the side of his face, causing him to smile, and then shift the way he sits.

“Tiyawne, let me fuck the problem away,” his smile turns mischievous. You sigh, a grin growing on your face. That’s your Jake. That’s the guy who’ll fuck you better whenever you’re stressed! You deliver a kiss on his nose and then lean back onto the floor, already feeling your abdomen churn with arousal. He immediately rejiggers his position, pushing the teylu aside and getting ready to hover over you.

“Are you in your rut?” you exhale as he kisses your neck, pushing you into the floor and laying on top of you.

“Of course,” he nips at your jaw a little, making you jump. “I wanna relieve all your stress,” he grinds his clothed erection onto your crotch. A spot of your wetness grows in your loincloth.

“You’re always so horny,” you chuckle, spreading your legs for him. The irony of it makes his tail swoosh around. He continues kissing on you, while trying to untie the strings of your loincloth. His eyes are closed, his mind is focusing on making out with you. But his fingers fiddle with the knot until it finally comes undone. He slips it off of you, a string of arousal sticking to it as it gets pulled away.

“Gonna dick you down real good, ready?” he coos. You nod and slip your top off, and he pulls his desperate cock out, lining it up with your entrance. You gasp and grab onto the woven floor as he slides it into you. “Relax, you wanted this,” he teases, his voice noticeably breathy. He pushes himself further until his hips touch yours and your back arches.

“Please!” you whine, your hands reaching to hold onto Jake’s shoulders. He holds himself in place, quietly groaning to himself while balls deep in your cunt. He notices the little fingernail-shaped marks you left on the floor, knowing he’s gonna have the same ones on his shoulders now. He slowly starts to move, letting you adjust to his pace as he ruts in and out of you.

“Fuck, gotta go faster. Can I go faster?” he groans. You cannot talk in response, you just mewl and pant, already fucked dumb. “My god, you’re already cock drunk,” he spits. Your little noises are small and helpless, you’re only able to desperately hold onto Jake as he slowly and deeply ruts into you.

“Mph, mph, ah!” you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Gonna go faster now, okay?” he moans, eyes clenching shut. He doesn’t wait for an answer from you, just speeds up. His thrusts are now shallow and quick and your body shakes with each rut. You shudder and whine but he talks you through it. “You needed this, you’ll thank me when we’re done. Im releasing all your stress,” he tells you. But it doesn’t feel like he’s releasing your stress. It feels like his releasing his.

“You’re just- fucking your problems into me..” you mutter in between moans.

“What?” he stops fucking you, pulling out and opening his eyes to meet yours. You relax your body and fall limp completely onto the ground. Your body is thankful for the break he’s giving you.

“Nothing, nothing. Just go ahead and finish,” you assure him.

“No, you needa finish first,” he smirks. He crawls away from you, positioning himself with his head in between your legs. You shyly giggle, knowing what’s next.

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nelapanela94 · 2 years

Note

Hi Nela 🙋‍♀️ hope you are doing fine sweetie!! If it’s ok can I request a headcannon of Levi with a civilian female reader. You see, civilian reader’s concept guilty pleasure of mine, even though I find squad captain reader as badass. Dump as many headcannons as you like or if you want to write an one shot I don’t mind 😉

Hi San!! OMG I can't skip this! Levi x civilian reader sounds like an awesome concept. I tend to lean towards cadet reader or squad leader reader, but imagine Levi having someone to welcome him home with a kiss and a cup of tea just the way he likes?

Song that inspired me (Lyrics translation below)

tw: pure fluff, a couple of smuttish headcanons, not too explicit though. +16 just in case, pregnancy. w.c:~3.9k

You are a seamstress who owned an atelier in downtown Shiganshina. Your daily tasks consist in mending garments and tailoring custom clothes for locals, though your forte is making dresses and jackets. Embroidery is one of your favorite hobbies too. The second floor served as your home. Your two-bedroom apartment is not spacious, yet it’s cozy enough. The full equipped bathroom is your favorite part since you spend your days off in the tub, reveling in a warmth bath and a glass (or two) of wine. The Atelier is your safe place where you can unleash all your creativity and do what you love the most, and it’s also the place where you met him for the first time. The most beautiful coincidence.

The tinkle of the bell beckoned you from the moment he entered your workshop. However, you were absorbed in the embroidery of the flowers for the ruff of a dress you were due to deliver that very afternoon and dropping the job before finishing it would’ve been a sin. Once you were done, you tore the thread with your teeth and hung the dress in a hanger before stepping out into the main room. You couldn't stop your ears from flaring up. He hadn't even turned around, or even noticed you, and you felt a sudden tug, something that stole your breath and made your heart beat at a dangerous speed. You tried to primp a little, cursing at yourself for having picked comfiness over style that morning.

And a similar reaction occurred inside him when he swiveled around. Dressed in those rags, which looked comfortable, but zero stylish, Levi thought you were the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. It must’ve been your smile eclipsing everything else. Anyway, the reason Levi was in that place was because he needed to adjust the length of his jacket sleeves and the pantlegs of his uniform since the men sizes were not inclusive enough. It was as if they had made the patterns based on Miche's or Erwin's measurements.

After an awkward first meeting, like two teenagers crushing on each other, your braincells didn’t stop scheming against you, forcing his image into your head 24/7.

Even though Levi knew how to fix and adjust his clothes to fit, he still frequented your shop just to see you. “Are you ok?” you queried with a tinge of concern enveloping your voice. There was something off in his eyes, and then reality struck you. It’d been a few days since the Survey Corps had returned from an expedition. His first expedition, and judging by the look on his face, it seemed as if part of his soul had been sloughed from him. He said nothing, and neither did you. You approached him, and you found no words of encouragement that could mend the wound in his heart, so you dusted off your last resort: a lifesaving embrace. And Levi collapsed in your arms and let out the tears that had been pent up in his chest for days. For some strange reason, crying in your arms didn't feel so terrible, it was rather comforting. When his eyes dried out and there were no more tears left to shed, you invited him to your place for hot chocolate, cheese and bread. And he learned one of your weird quirks: putting pieces of double cream cheese in your steamy hot chocolate, wait until it softened to pull it out with a fork and nab it in one gnaw. He didn't judge you, yet he didn't share your odd tastes either. That night he confided his past in you.

“What are these?” Amusement tugged the corners of his lips upwards when he spotted the two plushies sitting on the sofa in your living room. “What’s wha–” Your face burst into flames when you saw what he was holding in his hands. A few days ago, you had made two plushies, one looking like him, with his scouting uniform, whose cape could be removed; and the other undeniable you, with your smile, your messy hair in a bun, and a red dress. You had put Velcro on their hands so they could hold on to each other. “Why is mine frowning?” he snapped the hands apart and tucked Plushie Y/N under his arm. “I wanted them to be the most realistic as possible.” You taunted, snatching plushie Levi from him. From that night on, you were never separated again. ‘You’ slept in his bed, and ‘he’ on yours.

Levi carried on with his visits, with the excuse he was in town to stash tea and cleaning supplies, and had extra time to spare. Truth is, he didn’t even have space in his office to store all the cans of leaves and herbs and the jars of detergents. He had three brand new brooms dozing in his closet and a fourth one would join them soon. Sometimes he would purposely remove buttons from his shirts so as not to be so obvious. At least he tried.

You were the one who gave a little boost to the relationship when you asked him to go on a date for the first time. Levi stared at you with wide eyes that threaten to fall off to the floor, agape, cheeks suffusing in a deep shade of red. Levi took you to the most famous teashop in town. Blushing and nervous, barely looking at each other, talking about everything and nothing, playing footsies under the table to relieve the tension. You had fashioned a loosen mint green dress with puffy sleeves that cinched around slightly above the shoulders; the skirt hem billowed around your knees. It was perfect for a summer date. Levi wore a white cotton muslin button up shirt, brown slacks and mahogany loafers. As you walked by the main square on your way back to your place, the music enfolded you, leavening the evening; you offered him a hand, asking him to dance. “Here?” he looked at you in bewilderment, and you nodded. He was a bit embarrassed, dancing in a public space. He counted the steps in his head, trying not to lose the thread and the rhythm of the music, but dancing was not a necessary skill to survive in the Underground city, it wasn’t within the scope of Kenny's lessons. But with your head resting on his shoulder, and barely a couple of stomps, the edges of reality blurred, narrowing your world until only the two of you remained. And then you kissed him, and he knew that his place in the world was next to you.

Levi spent his weekends with you in town, at your place, although at first, he slept on the couch. (He didn't really sleep, he just read and drank tea) Sometimes, he would sneak into your room and sit on the wing chair, and watch you sleep, tempted to fondle you, but he didn't want you to think he was a wacky pervert, it's just that he had never been so attracted to anyone in his whole life. Little by little he began to drop off clothes, books and teapots at your house.

And how can we forget Hange who, with a smug glance and waggling brows, kept on nagging him and bombarded him with questions that were none of their business.

“When will I meet her?”

“Meet who?”

“The cause of your smiles.” They smugly winked at Levi and strutted off giggling.

He had to avoid the craze of smiling after hours, although with you on his mind all the time it was a hopeless task.

When you first met Hange, they squeezed you in a tight hug you swore your head would pop up. And of course, they couldn’t keep their mouth shut. Few days later, the rumors crouched in every corner of the Survey Corps Headquarters: someone had stolen the ever-stoic captain Levi’s heart. So, he had no choice but to introduce you to his friends and comrades. He had kept you a secret, not because he was ashamed, but because he wanted to avoid people badgering and pestering. Questions and comments like How a sunshine like her could fixed her eyes in a grumbling man like him? or she must be nuts prowled the corridors. But, what could be done? Who can contradict the heart? With your easygoing, charismatic and positive personality it was not difficult to earn everyone's affection.

The first time you made love was on his first birthday you spent together. When you asked Levi what he wanted to do for that special date, he bluntly answered: 'nothing'. Levi didn't celebrate his birthday, it brought back bittersweet memories. Nonetheless, you spent weeks setting ideas to organize something memorable with Hange’s and Erwin’s aid. You left him notes and clues that led him to you. You had reserved the entire tea shop he used to frequent, and together with his squad, you decorated the entire venue. You would have loved to fill everything with flowers, but winter has its charm too. Miche and his squad, as well as Hange’s came along for the surprise party you schemed. Later, when everyone left, tears peeked at the corners of his eyes. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and muttered a ‘thanks’. But the celebration went on; back home, you popped open a bottle of wine and amid smiles, hiccups and flustered faces you stripped off your clothes, one by one, drawing a path from the living room to your bed. You lost count of how many times he asked you if you were sure and ready because he wouldn't forgive himself in a thousand lifetimes if he hurt you. And yes, Levi asking for consent was fucking arousing and pantie-drenching. Hands and lips that searched and found, exploring valleys and edges and depths, insatiable, etching every inch of your skin, every scar. Without looking away from your dilated pupils and his hand cleaving to yours, he slowly slid into you, delightful torment stretching your walls, and you knew right away that you were made for each other. He wiped off your tears and remained still for a moment, turgid and shaking, and dousing your face in kisses as your body adapted to the intrusion. Languidly, his hips began to roll, and the room filled with pants and moans and cries of pain that soon were coated by bliss. Glistening bodies, smell of sex; in his arms and in the sheets, you redrew heaven. When your orgasm coiled in your core, you knew his was right behind, and before he had the chance to pull off, your legs draped tight around him, making sure he’d leave his indelible mark inside you. Primal, instinctive and risky, you didn’t mind.

And in New Year’s your place officially became his too; to be fair, he only owned the basics, though you didn’t expect him to siege your kitchen with his vast collection of tea sets, and wedged room in the attic to store the exaggerated number of gallons of bleach. If he wasn’t jammed with paperwork, he’d come back to you every night; but if eyebrows had different plans for him, he kept his Y/N plushie with him at the headquarters. He’d sit it in his lap as the quill nip scraped the paper.

His weekends were reserved exclusively for you and only you. On Saturdays you’d go to the market at the main square; Levi wouldn’t surprise you with flowers, but with fabrics and… cheese. Double-cream to be precise. You would spend the entire morning, wandering among the stalls, relishing in free samples and keeping an eye on the sales. Lunch was in Levi's stewardship while you sat at the countertop, pouring the wine and snatching any ingredient when he looked the other way; when he caught you red-handed, he'd snap your hand off, faking a sneer. Then, he’d cage you in his arms and kiss you and wedge between your legs, sneaking a hand under your dress to find out you’re not wearing anything underneath. You’d make the most of your time while the stew finished cooking. Thrusting into you, digging his fingers into your fleshy butt cheeks, his slushy groans and your cloying moans ensnared in a chaotic symphony. Your arms wrapped around him, your legs imprisoned him as you nudged his lips with yours. After the appetizer, you have the main course. Then a bath, and nap all the afternoon. For dinner, you’d go to a restaurant with terrace, eat a full course meal (never forget wine!) and saunter back home, pinkies entwined, followed by the whistle of the lamplighters. During summer nights, you’d take a detour by the park to rejoice in the music of street performers.

Sundays were sacred, booked fully for love making. Moans and pants and the pungent smell of sex wavered in your room before the firsts whips of morning light seeped through the windows. You didn't need words to communicate because the flesh spoke louder and clearer. From the bed you moved to your desk, to the chair, to the bathtub, and there you stayed until the skin looked and felt like a raisin.

Months later, the unimaginable happened, Wall Maria was breached. That morning when they bells clanked and the gate opened, cold shivers pricked over your spine. Another defeat for the Survey Corps. A hundred soldiers had departed for the mission and only about twenty of them returned. They were heading to the capital to drop their reports. But you had a hunch that some things were about to change, soon. A burning sensation in your chest drove you back home, and you packed canned food and filled the waterskin; the air was dense, too dense, but nobody else seemed to notice. Yelps and gasps slithered through the window and right then you saw it, a red monstruous face, and hands gripping the walls. For minutes, the clock stopped ticking; a clog in your throat snagged your breath, and dread welded your legs to the floor. Debris scampered in the air, and tears streamed down your face, fearing that you’d never see him again. Your survival instinct switched on and you fetched your improvised supply kit as well as Levi’s plushie. He tugged at the hem of your thoughts, you needed him, you wanted him by your side. Anguish stung you every time you said goodbye to him before he parted on an expedition, and you wished you could tie him to your bed to never let go. But humanity needed him too; people had tossed such boulder over his shoulders.

After the evacuation, Levi found you in the refugee center and the knot in his chest unraveled, allowing air to fill his lungs again. A few scratches and bruises etched in your skin. You moved to an apartment in Trost, and months later, with the savings you managed to bring with you, and Levi’s help too, you flipped open the sign of La retoucherie de Y/N.

You had to quickly adapt to the routine, to the new city. As in Shiganshina, Levi tried to spend the nights at home with you, making every second count. Every time he came home you greeted him with a kiss, a hug and a cup of tea. You had learned to steep it the way he liked it. And he never forgot your cheese and chocolate, although he still didn't understand that odd peculiarity. "It melts in your mouth," you always said. “It sweetens the cheese and adds a bit of saltiness to the chocolate.” Nope, there was no way to convince him.

In your spare time, you made shirts and pants, and knitted scarves for him. It was your duty to make sure Levi was always fashionable.

“What the–” Levi gaped as soon as he spotted the new plushie member of your plushie family lying in bed. It had your eyes and his hair and a yellow onesie. He gulped and his eyes drifted to you, you were simpering, the joy clouding your eyes glazed his. It all made sense, the sudden glow in your cheeks, the extra pounds in your hips and your oversensitive breasts. “When?” He wiped off his tears and rushed to you, swallowing in his arms and smothering your face in kisses. “Three months, the doctor said.” You giggled at the ticklish caresses. “Though, I don’t know how it didn’t happen before.” You shrugged. You spent the following months sewing onesies of different colors, bibs, baby hats and scarves, with matching dresses for you and shirts for Levi. Overprotective Levi took care of you for the rest of your pregnancy and the firsts months after the new ravenette was born. He cleaned and cooked and did groceries, even though you swore you were perfectly fine; he suggested to hire someone to help you in the atelier, and you agreed only if he loosen up a bit. He couldn’t hold back his tears when he held his little bundle of joy in his arms for the first time, utterly proud of you too. He couldn’t believe someone so fragile and pure and beautiful was half him. (More like three quarters him). He had another smile (a toothless smile) to protect.

How Levi and Y/N met <3

The ravenette looks up at the rectangular wooden sign hanging on two golden chains above the entrance of the Atelier that funky-smelly-shitty-glasses suggested. La retoucherie de Y/N. He reads in the burned cursive letters and takes a deep breath before entering. A tiny welcoming bell rings above his head and he can’t help but squint. The place is a bit disorganized for his liking. On the sides are racks of dresses and jackets that look like they're ready to be turned in, while on the other one, across the main salon, there’s a shelve stacked with bolts of cloth of different colors and textures as well as spools of thread and containers with buttons, pins and clips. In the middle stands proudly a huge square table with measurement tapes glued to the rims on each side and a pile of unfinished projects that seems to come to life. Scraps of fabric and threads and yarns graze the floor.

Levi steers around the working table, cranes his head and peers over the monster of cloths, looking for any sign of life, waiting for an elderly woman to show up at any moment.

“Hey, sorry, I was in the back–“

Levi turns around and his eyes meet yours, clogging your words in your throat. You look at him, slightly gaping, but he harrumphs, and the edges of the real word are redrawn.

“How…how can I help you?” you stutter, fidgeting with a tattered thread on your shirt.

“Yes…uh,” Levi tries to find the words, but they won’t leap of his mouth, he’s enthralled in you, with your loosen shirt, baggy pants and messy bun, with tiny rebellious hairs pointing in all directions. When you tuck a lock of hair behind you ear, he spots the sunflower shaped pincushion tied around your wrist.

“Are you ok?” you query, tilting your head to the side and lifting an eyebrow.

Levi wakes up from his daydream, his cheeks fizzing hot. “I need to fix this.” He holds out his arm before him, the bag swinging in his hand from side to side.

“Sure, let me take a look.”

You draw out the content and hold up in the air the khaki leather jacket. “Survey Corps,” you utter for yourself and fold it back onto the table. Levi stands next to you, arms folded on his chest, gazing down, scuffing one boot-clad foot against the other as you finish taking out the garments that are dozing in the bag.

“Let’s take the measurements.” You chime, rummaging through the mess for a notebook and a pencil. On a blank page, you sketch two human figures, the front and the back, and some other scrawl. The metric tape tickles your nape as it slips off. “Stand still, back straight, arms on your sides.”

Levi nods and complies, trying to pull out his best poker face, but truth is, he’s afraid his own body would betray him.

“I said stand still, not hold your breath until you turn blue.” Your giggles hover over him, and shit, that’s the prettiest sound he's heard in his life. “Relax, I don’t bite. Unless you want me too.” You coyly wink, disarming him.

“Y/N,” he blurts by inertia, earning a wide-eyed glance from you. Without knowing why or what for, he just wanted your name to coil in the tip of his tongue. Maybe, his purpose was to taste it. He couldn't help but feel like an idiot, though.

“How-”

“It’s written in the sign.” One end of his lips quirks up, and his blood circulates again at its regular pace, but when he feels your hands ghosting over his linen clad skin, his heart begins to hammer in his chest, pumping his blood up to his cheeks.

“Now you know my name, it’s not fair I don’t know yours.”

“Levi.”

“Levi.” Your mellifluous voice caresses the syllables of his name, coating it in honey, and you cast a smile at him. “Are you new in town, Levi? I’ve never seen you around. I don’t mean to brag, but I know every single soul in this city.”

One of your svelte hands stops on his shoulder, the other one skimming his wrist, and you scrawl on your notebook; then a hand on his shoulder, the other whisking his neck, and again you take note. From his chest to his waist; then you swirl a finger in the air and he turns around. You write down the distance between his shoulders, then from his shoulders to his waist. His back muscles clench instinctively at the flimsy prodding. But he can’t help it, it’s as his body shears from his brain and acts at its own will.

“I was transferred from Mitras,” he lies and feels a prick in his chest, but it’s either that or confessing he’s a former thug who did things he wasn't proud of in order to survive.

Levi scratches his crinkled nose with his pinkie, tipping his head to the side, and suddenly, one after the other, each cell of his body combusts, and a good quantity of blood rushes southward when he feels your fingers brushing his butt as you try to measure the distance from his waist to his ankles.

Focus, you jerk, focus. He inwardly whacks his head, cursing at himself; whatever thread you pulled off him, he’s coming apart and can’t recognize himself anymore. Levi concentrates in dissipating his blood to the rest of his body.

“We’re done, Levi.”

You incorporate and sling the tape back around your shoulders, and Levi stretches his neck, first to the right, then to the left, to relieve the tension strangling him.

“Levi, it’ll be ready in two days.” You announce, scribbling his name in three pieces of paper, and pin then to each item.

Levi nods, tugging at the collar of his shirt; a blush suffuses his cheeks. He doesn't mind you wearing out his name; hearing it fall from you is becoming a tortuous vice.

Your eyes hook on his back as he struts out of the shop and a tingling sensation creeps across your face.

Right then, it never crossed your mind that this newcomer to the city would become your favorite person in the world. The cause of smiles and laughs, the tickles in your stomach, the best orgasms, and one or another anguish.

I don't feel the hours when I'm with you I love it because you see everything positive I love your birthmarks and your scars Tell me in this time where did you go That I couldn't find you

I don't know if it was God or maybe it was destiny The only thing I know; we're on the right track That I'll be with you for lifetimes to come Remembering who you are in case one day you forget For you I would do that and more

And if you didn't exist I'd invent you Same heart and the same smile You're my reason, my peace, my sunshine, my wheat Just thank you for being with me

Here are my arms, feel safe That for your fears I've got the cure You're what I've been asking God for so much I won't let you down, trust in me alone

And if you look up at the sky and there are no stars Don't blame me You deserved them

#levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #levi attack on titan #snk levi #levi aot #requests #nela writes #nela's.mailbox #Moot:San

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thesemiprofessionalkonditor · 2 months

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Today I thought to post about something a bit more complex. And that is Brioche. The recipe is from Aurelie Bastian.

The website is in german, so if you don't speak it you will need to translate a fair bit, but they are authentic french recipes.

I did change it a little bit but not by much.

Now let's start. You will need:

620g wheat flour (all purpose/405 or 550)

One egg + one egg yolk

One package ore 42g of fresh yeast

125ml heavy cream

150ml milk

100g sugar

Salt

70g of cold cubed butter

Some vanilla is optional but tastes really good

All in all this is a fairly sweet bread. You can reduce the sugar if you want to but if so I would leave out the vanilla. That way you have a more savoury loaf.

Warm up your milk and cream together up to room temperature. Add in your yeast in small pieces an set it aside for now.

Add all of your other ingredients EXCEPT the butter into a bowl. If you have a standmixer, lucky you. A handheld mixer is also good, but if you have neither, be prepared to knead quite a bit😅.

Roughly combine everything in the bowl and add your liquids whith the yeast. Knead it all together until a shaggy and sticky dough forms. Now you can tip it out on your contertop or keep kneading in the bowl, that is up to you. I prefer it on the countertop but if you don't have any space, the bowl is perfectly fine as well.

Once you have your dough add in you cold and cubed butter bit by bit, kneading it into the dough as well as you can. That can take quite some time, depending in how you do it. So i wont give you a time estimate but a 'look' estimate. Your dough is finished once it looks smooth and is less sticky. If you are unsure you can do the window test. You take a small piece of dough and stretch it out carefully into a square shape. It should be able to strech out thin enough to let light through without ripping. If it rips you should keep kneading. Repeat the test whenever you need.

Once your dough is ready let it rest at room temperature. Leave it in the bowl and cover it loosely with a damp towel/cloth. Leave it for up to two hours or until it has about doubled in size.

In the meantime take a rest yourself if you kneaded by hands. You deserve it☺️.

Once your dough has proofed enough you knead it one more time to get out all the air. You will notice that it is no longer sticky.

Devide the dough in half and then each half again by three. Then you shape each sixth into long strips about the length from your fingertips to your elbow. Take three strands, lay them out infront of you and pinch the tops together. Then you braid it and put it on aprepared oven tray lined with baking paper.

Repeat that for the second loaf and cover them again loosely, this time with clingfilm. The towel would just stick to the loafs. Preheat your oven to 180°C... Umluft...circulating air... Convection oven... Google is unclear about that... The thing with the fan... While your oven is preheating pit in an ovensafe dish with about 1 liter of water. That will give you a bit more volume and a fluffier loaf.

Let your loafs rest again for 30 minutes. In the meantime prepare an eggwash from your leftover cream and eggwhite. Brush it on your loafs prior to putting them in the oven(without the clingfilm😉) and let them bake for 20 minutes. You do not necessarily need the eggwash but it keeps the bread from forming a crust to quickly and gives it a nice shine after baking.

Be cautious when taking them out after baking as there will be quite a lot of steam escaping. And to my fellow glasses wearer.. Take them of beforehand or you will be blind for a bit😶‍🌫️.

And now you are done. Let the brioche cool down before you cut into it as the heat trapped inside is crucial to keep it fluffy and moist once it has cooled down.

I enjoy it with a nice butter and just salt ontop or with chocolate sprinkles in the morning. But the best I ever had it was with my grandmas homemade raspberry jam. Not to sweet with a nice sourness to it, that compliments the richness and sweetness of the brioche.

You can also color the dough while kneading and get some funky colors after baking.

That is it for this week. Tüdelü and till next time.

#Baking #brioche #french #german #thesemiprofessionalkonditor #bread #original recipe by Aurelie Bastian

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ramp-it-up · 2 years

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Playlist: Chill, Buck

Summary: Bucky, who runs CapTech, ran into you. Now he can’t stop thinking about you even though you rejected him. Can you stop him from running through your mind?

Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Journalist! Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: As always, 18+ ONLY, SMUT. Minors DNI. Slow burn, running for pleasure, playlists meet cute, pining, possible fixation, possible manipulation, mention of death, mention of loss, concerned Steve and Sam, possible dark Bucky. The boomerang, masturbation, use of sex toy, fantasy, Dom/sub dynamics of you squint, wishing and hoping.

A/N: I’ve been sad and haven’t written in a couple of week, but, turns out I am a serial serialist, lmao.🤣 Read the previous part, Bucky Runs. @ysmmsy and @blackwidownat2814 are my exquisite muses who created the Bucky Runs and Chill, Buck playlists, with more to come. 😉 Thank you Gemma for the title for this one. Thanks you both, my loves! 🥰

The playlist is Real and is linked here!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Running with a good playlist did make all the difference. Music was the reason that your feet seemed to be flying as you jogged that evening.

Certainly not thoughts of Bucky Barnes.

That situation just wasn’t meant to be.

Since you turned down his request for a date that afternoon, you decided to shake yourself out of any silly dreams of anything happening with him. After all, you had a professional relationship, an acquaintance, really, and nothing more.

Your attraction to him meant nothing.

And him asking you out meant nothing either. He was probably just trying to have a good time and never call again. Goodness knows that he probably had his pick of women, and NDAs, on hand.

Then there was his past to consider.

No, turning down dinner with him was the right choice and so was moving on. You weren’t even going to text him about the playlist like you promised. Better to contact Romanoff about the interview and keep it moving.

You were still convincing yourself that curving Bucky was the right choice when you turned into Fulton Ferry Park and thought you saw a mirage. There he was, jogging toward you, conjured up by your internal debate.

He looked good. Tanned and sweaty, mouth slightly open, eyes on you, thighs out. Your eyes scanned down his body and your own actually clenched while running.

The audacity.

You shook your head. Did he really think that this was going to work? You prepared the let down speech in your head for when he would invariably stop to talk. No matter how fine he was, he wasn’t going to stalk you into a date.

Bucky approached and appraised your body. You were wearing running gear that supported you, but the way the impact of your steps made your body move made him lick his lips.

Bucky was imagining the possibilities.

He came near with a slight smile. You kept on pace to meet him, but he didn’t slow down as you expected him to. He just moved to the side and tossed two fingers at you in a half wave.

“Hey,” was all Bucky uttered as he ran past you.

You were in shock that he didn’t stop and reflexively almost turned around to run after him and the waft of sweat, musk, and sandalwood that he left behind.

You nearly ran into an older man walking his dog as you craned your neck to watch Bucky’s retreating back.

You were shook.

Bucky went from asking you out to virtually ignoring you.

You definitely felt some kind of way about it, but the anger you felt propelled your feet, and you finished with your best time to date.

You stormed into your apartment and flopped down at your desk.

“What just happened?,” you asked your closed laptop.

But your ire calmed as you edited the interview and remembered how charming and genuine he’d been

“Off the record? Please?”

Bucky’s vulnerability made you soft again. In all the right places.

When you finished, you sat back and reviewed the day in your head. Surely, you weren’t tripping. There had been a connection between you two. Right?

Bucky had you so confused up from a 10 second encounter in the park where he barely said one word to you. It had to be calculated.

You were right not to go to dinner with him.

Nevertheless, you turned on the volume on your phone to make sure you didn’t miss another text from…anyone.

That evening, after you wrote some copy and did voice overs, wrapping up the interview package, you took to the bath. You thought of Bucky again, this time cuming more intensely because you’d actually talked to him, knew his name and bore the sexual frustration he’d birthed in you. However, you couldn’t get satisfaction from your toy tonight.

What was Bucky Barnes doing to you?

It was all you thought about as you fell asleep that night.

Bucky closed his eyes as he pushed his cock into the tight hole. You were ready and waiting for him, spread out gloriously beneath him. His plan had worked and you’d called him at 3 am, all hot and bothered. He rushed to your place and practically jumped into your waiting pussy.

“Fuck! Y/N…,” Bucky groaned as he immediately started stroking away.

“After you cum inside me, I’m gonna clean you up real good. Gonna make your cock mine, baby.”

Your blissed out voice was everything he’d imagined, and the look of your beautiful wet lips as you licked him caused his cock to twitch even though it was occupied.

Bucky couldn’t hold himself back and he released, spurting out enough cum to make it drip out around his balls.

“Clean these up too, Doll,”

Bucky groaned as he gripped his sac as it emptied. He winced as he pulled out of the sex toy and sat down on the side of the tub.

What a poor substitute for you, he thought as he cleaned up.

Bucky stepped into the shower, hot water raining down on his head as he thought of his next move.

He’d have to remind Natasha to speed up the relocation of the tenants on Plymouth Avenue. He needed next to you, and fast.

Next week when Steve returned, he stalked into the office he shared with Bucky and Sam after Nat briefed him on the situation.

“Hello, Punk.”

Bucky’s salutation slowed him down.

Bucky hadn’t looked up from his laptop, and his EarPods were turned up full blast, but he knew Steve was there. He turned down his music.

Rogers smiled despite himself. The childhood greeting from Bucky was now a rare occasion. The rare occasion that Bucky was in a good mood.

“Jerk.”

Steve laughed at his best friend.

“What the hell are you up to?”

He finally looked up from his work and took off his glasses, leaning back in his chair and smirking. He looked almost like the old Bucky.

“Making you millions of dollars. What are you up to, Pretty Boy?”

He sounded like the old Bucky. Steve sat on the edge of Bucky’s desk.

“This girl must be pretty special to put you in this kind of mood, but Nat told me what you’ve been doing. Buck…”

Bucky straightened up and narrowed his eyes at Steve.

“If you’re referring to YN LN, then that woman is special.”

Bucky looked out over the New York skyline toward the Brooklyn Bridge and DUMBO, where you were.

“Is it okay if I have a life again?”

Steve looked into his friends eyes and sighed. His voice was low, even though he thought he and Bucky were alone.

“I want nothing more for you, Buck, but not like this. Ever since Sarah…”

“The fuck are you two bone heads talking about?”

Sam’s voice boomed across the space. Bucky stood up, fidgeting. Sarah had been Sam’s sister and his wife. Now was not the time.

“Hey Sam! Feeling better?”

Steve was nothing but smiles for his other best friend, the consummate golden boy.

“I was, until Nat briefed me on what was up.”

Sam turned to Bucky.

“You good, Jay?”

Bucky closed his eyes at the name that only Sarah called him. His former brother in law was doing it on purpose. Nat had a big mouth.

“We need to fire the redhead.”

Steve snorted.

“Natasha Romanoff owns all of us. She knows where all the bodies are buried.”

“Literally,” quipped Sam.

Bucky remained silent and stared at the approximate location of your apartment. He didn’t want to think about dead bodies, just a future with you.

“Listen, Buck. It’s about time you moved on…”

Bucky closed his eyes at the crack in Sam’s voice. He knew he missed her too.

“But—“

Bucky turned around.

“But what Samuel?”

Sam snapped his mouth closed. Sarah had been the only one to call him that.

“Just…”

Sam looked out of the window himself. Then he looked back at his friend.

Bucky turned on a smile and pointed it at his two worried friends.

“I’m just doing a little recon. You two know better than anyone the types of women who show up in our lives. Just want to make sure…”

Steve sighed.

“We get it. But like Sam said. Just…”

Sam spoke up again.

“Chill, Buck.”

Bucky smiled brighter for them and spread his hands.

“I’m chillin…”

“Unh hunh. Like a villain.”

Sam shook his head and chuckled as Steve took off his suit coat and went to review the files on his desk.

Bucky raised his eyebrow at Sam as he sat back down and turned his music up again.

You didn’t see or hear from Bucky for about two weeks, even after you called Natasha and told her of the publication date for the piece. And you weren’t disappointed.

Not at all.

In the back of your mind you thought that after the interview aired, Bucky would ask you out again, which of course you would refuse. (Even though it might not be inappropriate because the business between you was over.)

But he didn’t. Maybe you were right about him.

You decided to just move on with your life, although a certain pair of sky blue eyes haunted your fantasies and dreams for about ten days.

One morning you were in your neighborhood coffee shop, deep into your phone when you stepped up to order. For some reason you felt the hair on the back of your neck raise as you stepped to the side to wait for your drink.

You bumped into the person next to you and turned your head to apologize. You couldn’t help but gasp.

The unmitigated gall.

You closed your mouth without saying a word and stared in front of you as you shook your head.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

His velvet voice near your ear was kinda dope. But you weren’t going out like this. You took a deep breath and then turned back to Bucky.

“Yes. I fully agree. We’ve got to stop meeting.”

Bucky’s expression was a little hurt and you could have kicked yourself. You sighed.

“I’m sorry. How are you?”

He smiled sweetly at you, thrilled that you were reacting as he’d hoped.

“I’m better now.”

You were blinded by his smile, but recovered and checked him out. Damn, he looked good. The blue of his dress shirt matched his eyes. Those fucking glasses. Looking like a NILF. Bucky was attractive as hell.

“James!”

The barista called Bucky’s name and he stepped up for his coffee. That gave you a moment to think.

He turned around and you had questions.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked confused.

“Getting… a macchiato?”

He held up his drink and pushed his glasses up with his thick middle finger. You bit your lip. Bucky wanted to bite it too.

Patience.

“Yeah. But why in my neighborhood? Are you stalking me? After virtually ignoring me the other day?”

The smile on Bucky’s face fell.

“Y/N!”

You stepped to the counter to get your iced chai tea latte. Bucky was still there behind you, admiring the view. You turned back to him and he fixed his face and gracefully backed up as you walked toward the door.

“I’m sorry, but you made it quite clear that you didn’t want anything more from me when you didn’t contact me about the interview or even the playlist. I’m chilling, as the young folks say. I’m not stalking you. Or ignoring you. I’m just trying to live my life. I’ve recently moved into my new brownstone over on Plymouth street.”

He gestured with his hand in the general direction of his new home. You stopped walking and pulled your eyes away from his thick fingers to his face. He looked annoyed.

That did things to you.

Bucky was still amiable with you, but with an edge. You sensed a delicious danger, but you couldn’t stop. You shook your head to clear it and crossed your arms to hide your rock hard nipples.

“That’s only a couple of blocks from me. I don’t believe that’s not pre-planned.”

Bucky moved closer to you, his voice lowered and a little menacing, a magnetic field activated by his proximity. You wanted to drop to your knees. But you just took a sip of your drink and swallowed that instead.

Bucky was aware of his affect on you, so he turned it up as he leaned closer. Damn, you made him hard as fuck.

“Do you know how long it takes to find and close on a property in New York? 30 days at a minimum, just for closing. This was in the works long before you showed up in my office, Ms. YLN.”

You were shaking, but not from fear. Bucky took in your trembling lips and wide eyes and wanted to take you right there. He licked that bottom lip of his and you had visions of what that mouth did. Bucky nodded his head.

“Oh. I get it. You want me to pursue you so that you can reject me again.”

Bucky read you like a book.

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t contact you again.”

He raised his drink toward his mouth but stopped, trapping your eyes there. You were almost panting. And definitely wet.

“Unless you ask me to.”

You wanted to cry with need, but you laughed instead.

“I thought you said you were chilling, Mr. Barnes. I won’t ask you. For anything. Trust.”

He was smirking at you as your eyes flashed at him. He read the scene in your eyes. In that moment, he knew what you needed. The way you said ‘Mr. Barnes,’ with that breathy, moany voice. Hell yeah.

You read his eyes too and knew exactly what he was thinking. But you’d be damned if you begged Bucky Barnes.

At the same time, it became Bucky’s life mission. He wanted to hear you beg for him to fuck you, to eat you out, to make you cum, to stop making you cum… Damn. He cleared his throat.

“Duly noted.”

Bucky allowed his eyes to rake down your form as he took a sip of his drink. He did not miss your nipples which were pointed right at him and the way your thighs were clenched together in your form fitting pants. He licked the foam from his lips to remind you that if you wanted to smother him in you, he’d make good use of the opportunity.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted. Partly in rage, partly in desire, and partly in surprise at his game. This was a different Bucky than two weeks ago. You didn’t know if you could say no if he asked you out again.

But he didn’t ask you out again.

“Have a nice day, Ms. YLN.”

“Have a nice life, Mr. Barnes.”

Your tone was clipped as you turned on your heel and walked out of the cafe, murder and desire in your veins and a sway in your hips. You were vindicated when you looked over your shoulder and saw him watching it.

God he made you angry. Everything on your body was hard because of him, your nipples, your clit, and your heart. But he was not going to win this little game he was playing.

You were frustrated and irritable all day as you were trying to write, and had to postpone an interview because you were not in the right headspace.

Fucking James Buchanan Barnes. He was a menace.

You stared at the thumbnail to your interview with him and decided something.

You filed the post, and then went to your phone and went to his contact to delete it. Then you went to his socials, to block him there as well, even though he hadn’t tweeted or posted himself in years. You closed out twitter and then went to IG, noticing a new post. It had over 100K views in just an hour.

It was a video of Bucky running, and then stopping and stretching.

“New series of posts. My run playlists.I haven’t gotten much positive feedback from who they were intended, so why not make them public?”

His little rueful smile did things to you. He was so fucking cute, all sweaty and glistening in his muscle shirt and shorts.

“In this first post, you get a twofer. My first playlist is called, Bucky Runs. I think it’s good if you want to keep your pace up.”

You bit your lip as he continued, squinting into the camera against the setting sun in his eyes. So damn fine.

“This second one is brand new, today. It’s called, Chill, Buck. And I made it to remind myself to….”

Bucky looked off to the right of the camera.

“To remind myself to cool down after I run.”

He looked like a lost little boy and your heart clenched. You felt like a jerk.

“Hope you enjoy. ‘Night.”

Bucky smiled and the post ended. You chewed your lip as you clicked on the latest playlist.

Feedback is like air. I need it! 🥰

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