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gutsby · 4 months

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Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

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buckyalpine · 8 months

Text

Mob Bucky x virgin reader

18+

Mob Bucky x virgin reader

If you’re wondering how bad my procrastination is, I started this in November. Anyway, I forgot to add some lines from a different fic here. There’s no plot here, literally just a scene I imagined. Please read the warnings.

Warnings: dub con, degrading, virginity taking, innocence kink, mentions of blood, horny, feral Bucky is a warning, porn and little plot. Honestly, no plot.

He knew he wanted you from the moment he saw you. Cute little sun dresses, beautiful eyes, your perfect lips, every single one of your delicate features making him crave to have you. He didn’t know what to do with himself the day he found out you were a virgin; you said it so quietly he would have missed it if you weren’t curled up on his lap.

“My sweet innocent baby” He cooed, trying his best to contain his erection, desperate to fill you. “No ones ever touched you?”

N-no” You shook your head keeping it buried against his neck while your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You were told to wait until marriage to do anything so you did exactly as you were told. It hadn't been a problem up until now, your heart rate beating faster, squeezing your thighs together to make that feeling go away. He was intoxicating; rough fingers tracing over your smooth skin, skimming up to the hem of your dress.

“I-I can’t” You shook your head when he nearly reached your panties, his hand coming to tilt your face up to meet his eyes.

“Why not, darling”

“We’re-um-” You fumbled with your fingers, choking on your words "We’re not married”

“Is that all baby?” Bucky chuckled, kissing your cheek, “You know it doesn’t count if I just touch you sweets, would that be okay?”

You swallowed thickly, knowing it was a bad idea to give into his temptations, the words of your mother and father screaming at you to behave yourself, that were omitting a grave sin, giving into lust-

“O-okay”

“It’ll be more comfortable this way, darling” He reassured you as he spread you out on his large bed, all your clothes torn off while he stripped the last of his boxers before crawling beside you. Your eyes flicked down to his thick length, your stomach clenching as it bobbed between his legs while he settled himself.

“You can look baby, you don’t have to touch if you don’t want to” His husky voice sent shivers down your spine when he caught you struggling to look away, your eyes now fully trained on the way a stick liquid was beading from the tip of his cock. He gently parted your thighs, moving to kneel in between them, the pads of his fingers brushing over your clit making you squeak in surprise at the feeling.

“Just your fingers?” You looked at him nervously with doe eyes as he gave you a wolfish grin.

“Just my fingers love, you’re not doing anything wrong” He rubbed the side of your thigh comfortingly while he coated his fingers in your slick, pressing the middle one into your entrance. “Still such a good girl”

You gasped at the gentle stretch, gripping onto the sheets when he slowly added another, pumping in and out of your pussy, groaning at the way your thighs parted further to give him better access.

“Look at this little button” Bucky whispered, rubbing deliberate circles around your clit, watching the way you started to fall apart when he crooked his fingers, fingering you faster. Your moans were music to his ears, his other hand pulling your lip away from your teeth to keep you from silencing yourself. “C’mon, I know you feel it princess, you can cum pretty girl”

“I-I’m gonna-Bucky-Please!-” The squelching sounds of your sopping cunt got louder as you came closer and closer to the edge, blinding pleasure finally pushing you off as you convulsed around his fingers. “Oh God!”

“That’s it baby” Bucky slowed down, gently pulling his fingers out and licking them clean, smirking when you cracked your eyes open again, sweat making your skin glisten. He was still kneeling in front of you, precum dribbling down his shaft, his balls achingly full while you shyly peered up at him through your lashes.

He was gorgeous.

Gorgeous enough you’d want to-

No.

As if he could read your mind. Bucky took your hand in his, placing your palm on his cock, nearly growling at how soft you felt compared to his rough hand wen he touched himself.

“You can touch baby, you’re still my good girl” Bucky’s voice was breathless as you hesitantly wrapped your hand around his velvety shaft, stroking his heavy cock. He kept his hand over yours, jerking himself into your fist while his eyes raked up and down your body.

“Let me touch you darling” He nearly fell forward when your thumb swiped over his slit, “Just let me rub it on you baby, it doesn’t count sweets, you don’t have to worry”

“Are-are you sure?”

“Of course baby”

He promised again while you bit your li hesitation before giving him a shaky nod. Bucky groaned, slotting himself between you legs, pumping his cock before rubbing it between you folds, his swollen tip leaking all over your already soaked pussy.

“So soft bunny” He growled, throbbing when his tip caught against your entrance before rubbing against your clit again, “Feels s’good”

“Bucky” You moaned in his ear as he started to hump against your pussy, slotting his cock snugly between your folds, his cockhead bumping against your clit with each thrust. “Bucky please”

You weren’t sure what you were begging for, the feeling of him slipping up and down against you between the grunts and groans he made each time made your belly clench, your eyes growing wide when he was pressed against your entrance again,

“Bucky-Bucky we can’t-” You looked at him with frantic eyes, his heavy body now fully resting on top of you while he continued to tease his cock, softly pressing against you.

“That’s not what you call me love, you know better” Bucky had tested the waters earlier, loving how flustered and shy you got when he insisted you call him by something else, making you even more needy for him.

“But-were not married daddy” You whimpered, feeling the blunt tip of his cock starting to press against your entrance while he hummed with approval.

“I won’t move love, just-just let me put the tip in, alright? Just the tip darling” He barely waited for your permission, breaching your hole as soon as you nodded, the sharp sting making you cry out in pain.

“DADDY!, DADDY s’too much!” You shook your head as he kept pushing in more, stretching as if he were trying to split you in half.

“I won’t fuck you, just wanna feel it” He gasped as soon as he was fully sheathed in you, your tight walls choking his cock. “Oh fuck angel, you’re so tight, make room for my cock baby, c’mon, let daddy fuck you baby”

“It’s too big, it hurts” You cried out, squirming and withering on the bed, your legs squeezing and tensing around him while he brought his hand to wipe your tears, pushing away the strange of hair that clung to your forehead.

“But you feel so good love, you gonna let daddy take your virginity baby?”

“I-but-we-”

Bucky cooed at your stammering while staying fully buried in your cunt, precum already leaking. He pulled his hips back before thrusting forward making you squeal, his eyes locked with your as he started to fuck you.

“Stop daddy!” Your nails clawed at his back pleasure, pain, shame, guilt, lust, one too many emotions flowing through you as he moved faster, his muscles tensing, rippling down his body. “Slow down, please!”

“But you’re making daddy feel so good baby” Bucky groaned, lost in his own world, feral over how tight you were, how you pleaded for him to slow down, his cock was too much for your tiny pussy to take. He loved the way you hiccupped and choked sobs, your greedy virgin cunt sucking him right back in each time he pulled out.

He was sure he could smell the light scent of iron in the air, looking down at where the both of you were connected, his shaft covered in your creamy slick. Spots of red stained his white sheets, but that only seemed to spur him on more, growling and pounding you harder.

“Oh sweet girl, did I stretch you too much?”

“It-hurts” You whimpered, clinging onto him, biting down on his shoulder to keep from crying, you wanted to be so good for him but you could feel the pain radiating through your body, shame melting into pleasure as he drove his cock in deeper. He could feel his length swell, his balls starting to pull tight against his body when you bit down harder, the pain making him throb.

“Gonna let daddy put his seed in you princess? Hmm? We’re not even married darling, are you gonna let my cock bust in you?” It was so wrong, all of it was so wrong but you were too far gone, too deep, your foggy brain caving, giving into everything you’d always wanted.

“Yes daddy yes!” Your thighs trembled, squeezing tightly around his waist as the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your clit. Spots clouded around your vision as you clenched around his cock making it hard for him to move, your second orgasm ready to wash over you.

“That’s a good slut, taking all of her daddy’s dick and letting him making a mess in her” He let out a dark chuckle as his hand came up to wrap around your throat, softly squeezing the sides.

“M’m-not a slut” Your whimper turned into a guttural moan as he pounded you with everything he had, the bed shaking, his balls slapping your ass. “Ah-AHh fuck!!”

“Oh but you are baby, all naked and spread out on my bed, fuck princess, m’gonna give it to you so hard, m’gonna cum so fucking hard, shit-FUCCKK” Bucky roared, as bursts of cum streamed out of his cock, the feeling of his seed making you feel warm inside. “You’re milking my cock you slut, gonna milk my fuckin’ dry the way you’re choking me, go on and milk me sweets, take it all”

You cried out as you came around his cock, emptying him for all he was worth. He wrapped his arms around you, keeping himself warm while you nearly passed out from pleasure, shuddering in his hold. He smirked at your fucked out state, pushing his hips up making you whimper, cuddling into his chest.

“Rest darling, daddy isn’t finish yet”

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kurogxrix · 10 months

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Look Don’t Touch

Dad!Mob!Bucky Barnes x Mom!reader

IN WHICH you accidentally walk onto your husband and his men during a meeting, clad in nothing else but a tight fitting top and a baby in your arms. The sight is enough to send the many men drooling, but Bucky reminds them that you’re only his to look at, and will always be.

WC: 2.1k

You wished you could have turned back to the few seconds you’d lived through before stumbling into your Husband’s office door. The silence in the room was deafening, at least for you it was. Alpine was all the least bothered, the white cat jumping across furniture to furniture without disturbing the decorations within. Your footsteps faltered quickly, suddenly stuck in your spot as you fell under the eyes of the familiar people that sat around the long meeting table. Men to be exact, the same exact group of men that had always been there to accidentally witness too far into yours and Bucky’s marriage.

Over the course of your relationship with Bucky, there had been one too many times where your husband’s men had caught you in compromising positions. Given that you were posed in such, you were always clad in near to nothing. The most you’d get to cover yourself with during those unfortunate times that you’ve gotten caught was either the thin material of yours and Bucky’s bed sheet, or his discarded suit jacket as he pounded you from behind on his work desk. One too many times of embarrassment and humiliation on your side.

You were sort of sure that Bucky’s eyes were literally shining at the mere sight of you. Although he wasn’t the only one that was caught in a trance after your sudden appearance. The sight of you clad in nothing else but that fitting tank top that you'd wear to sleep was enough to make a grown man shiver.

The stretchy fabric pressed around all the right areas, and the extras clung around your protruding belly. God and how much you hated that, your postpartum body that you’d glare at in the midst of the night while your baby laid sleeping. How It would take so much time for it to go, and how much you’d wish to have your old body back. Though Bucky loved it, he’d never fail to remind you of how beautiful you were, of how normal this all was because you had literally been carrying a whole baby inside of there.

You knew how much your husband loved the sight of that little belly of yours, but you’d never be able to tell how much it aroused the others as well. All of the eyes were on you, especially on how your breast threatened to spill out of the U-cut top that you wore. You were very well aware of the change, and how could you not? No matter the size that your breasts had been before, that had now tripled, if not quadrupled during pregnancy. They were so sore and heavy from carrying so much milk, and you cursed your husband for giving you a baby that required so much milk.

Not that you were genuinely complaining though, you loved your son more than yourself, and it didn’t matter if you had to suffer for him. You would and you were.

Nevertheless, you staggered for a second as you closed the door, suddenly very aware of the group of men that watched you and your baby gurgling across your chest. You adjusted your hand to pat along your baby’s back, standing up straighter as you shivered under all the eyes. No, you weren’t embarrassed because of your attire. In fact you couldn’t care less about that, you showing skin had never been a sore spot in yours and Bucky’s relationship, he had no concerns with you wearing revealing clothes.

In fact he loved that you loved your body enough to do so. At the start of your relationship it was hard for you to even open up to him about your naked skin, after being put down by the other men that were now an awful part of your past. He was by no means an insecure man, and you were by no means an unfaithful woman, so everything worked out as it should.

Furthermore, Bucky loved the sight of those snobby men checking you out at every given moment that he’d be far from your reach. He loved the sight of seeing those desperate men tracing your form as though to map it in their minds, a memory that they’d keep until they’d finally arrive home late at night, hands sinfully low in the shower as cold ran down their backs.

Bucky loved watching those scums approach you as though they had a chance, before seeing you mouth what you’d always say. “Not interested, I'm married.” before shoving your ringed finger in their face, a wicked grin plastered on your face before turning around to look for your loving husband. It was funny to him, watching their downturned expressions and you’d stare at your ring with such admiration, so much love that you held for him and him only.

Though on the few unfortunate nights where those ratty men just refused to understand, he’d make sure to make his way to you. Towering over the men no matter their height, an intimidating look crowding his face as he keeps his arms around your form. He made sure to send one of his men after the cowering scum at the end of the night, and much to your confusion, you’d somewhat never seen them again after that.

It was a funny sight at first, seeing your 6 foot tall, tatted mafia boyfriend getting all giddy because you’d confessed that you were finally confident enough in your skin to start wearing more open clothes. You were wearing those clothes by your own want and will, because of your newfound confidence and self love that you developed because of him. Your loving, mafia boyfriend that was now your husband, and inevitably the father of your child.

Now as you stood in Bucky’s office, you were simply embarrassed because you’d accidently interrupted your husband’s meeting, the defect of your motherly brain, you’d forgotten to knock before entering. Now everyone stared at you like a deer in headlights, you couldn’t help the heat that crept up your neck.

“Detka, is there anything that you’re looking for? Anything you need?” you watched as Bucky stood up from his chair at the head of the table, making his way towards you as the heels of his expensive Italian dress shoes clicked against the marble floor. You wanted nothing more but to melt onto a puddle at the sound of his gentle tone, and your fatigue did nothing to help ease that thought.

“A-actually I was going to ask you if you were hungry but now I see that you’re busy so, I’ll just ask again later,” you stuttered, rambling your thoughts as you urged to leave the room. If not careful, you could’ve slipped alongside your innocent baby as you left the room, but Bucky couldn’t just let you go like that. Sure he wanted to ask you what was wrong, stop you and demand why you’d rush out of the room. Not out of preeminence, but out of worry.

Though it was obvious by your nervously racking eyes and straight posture that you wanted nothing else than to leave the room, he followed you instead. Carefully clicking the door shut behind him, he left his men inside of the room to wonder by themselves. Bucky considered them family, like brothers, so they’d understand. He was sure of it.

Bucky turned around after closing the door, catching you bouncing your son back to sleep after you’d heard his weak grumbling. Your husband watched with heart eyes as the little Lev raises his even tinier fists to your chest, throwing an unreasoned angry fit against his poor momma. A raspy chuckle escapes Bucky’s throat as your son’s fists come crashing down against your collarbone rather robotically, and it’s not strong enough to even hurt you, but odd enough to startle you for a second.

Finally deciding to snap out of his awfully lovestruck trance, he sauntered towards you. The palm of his hand was warm against your arm, and it somewhat comforted you as you relished in his touch. “What’s wrong malyshka? Everything’s alright? Hope little Lev isn’t causing you too much trouble, god knows how loud he’s already been since this morning.” your husband joked, but you shuddered at the memory of getting begrudgingly out of bed at 4 in the morning because of your yelling baby.

Your heart picked up the pace at the sound of the nickname he’d reserved for you, and you felt yourself going shy before the very own man that’d seen every part of you, beyond and inside. Everything.

“I was making lunch and I was going to bring it to you, but I forgot to knock and look at where that brought me.” you laughed off the memory now that it was over, there was no need to drown in remorse over such a silly thing. Bucky’s eyes flashed towards the side table that laid against the wall near the huge doors of his meeting room, and apparently you had no free hands either because there laid a plate of his abandoned lunch upon the smooth wooden surface of the table.

It was his favourite dish, and Bucky unconsciously smiled at the thought of you being so keen to bring it to him because of that. Your husband’s baby blue eyes racked your body once more, taking notice of the pair of oversized sweatpants that you were wearing, those that were so obviously his. The sweats were so big on you that the strings upon your waist were painfully tightened, but no matter how many pairs of your own that your husband would buy you, no matter the price or top notch quality, you’d always find more comfort in his old, worn out ones that he’d beg you to throw away.

“You’re so beautiful, Malyshka. Thank you for the food, I'll have it as soon as I'm done with my meeting.” his warm, large palm cupped your cheek. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, relishing in his love before he leaves to tend to his work once more. Sure, you’d see him in a couple of minutes, and his free time would last until tomorrow morning, but you wanted to be with him 24/7.

Bucky’s eyes then trailed down towards Lev, who was peacefully drooling away with his head squished against your chest. With his thumb still rubbing soothingly at your cheek, Bucky signalled you to go relax with Lev until he orders his men out, then motioned to one of the nearby maids to take his plate back to the kitchen until he was done, just so you didn’t have to move your pinky more than you needed to.

With you back in the comfort of your plush king sized bed alongside your son, and Bucky’s consciousness now at peace, he made his way back towards the heavy doors of his meeting room. The look on his face changed as soon as the doors clicked shut once more, and this time, the softened look completely left his features. There were no more signs of tenderness upon Bucky’s face.

The change was intimidatingly scary, his face now completely still and the menacing glow in his eyes did nothing to soothe them. For, it wasn’t like Bucky’s team believed that they were innocent. You didn't need to be hawk-eyed to see that they were obviously ogling you, their boss's wife, and the mother of his child at that.

Rolling up the sleeves of his suit jacket, the exposed sight of his fully tattooed arm made the grown men shiver. Forlorn excuses of men lowered their heads as Bucky walked past them, a sign of respect as though they hadn’t just snubbed him by looking a little too hard at what was his.

Yes, Bucky would call these people his brothers, and yes he did appreciate them when times came.

He often took the role of the eldest in the family. He was highly respected upon the mob, and he cared for them as they did for him. Yet living under his roof required to obey the rules that he had set up, and the most important one was; look, don't touch.

Though they’d manage to abide by that rule for as long as they’d set foot inside his home, they were truly starting to test their luck. Tonight, Bucky would make sure that none of them returned to their rooms without being taught a new additional rule. Perhaps this one would take the top place above the previous one, and this time, there’d be no more looking allowed.

i profoundly apologize to y’all bcuz this is my first Bucky ff and idk wtf this is

#bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky #dad!bucky barnes #dad!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #husband!bucky barnes #husband!bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #mafia!bucky

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urdepressedslut · 10 months

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You’re Mine, Sunshine

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky gets picked by a very rich and respected man to be his daughter’s personal bodyguard. The Father warns him that it won’t be an easy job, that she is a brat and difficult to deal with. But what happens when Bucky meets you and you’re the complete opposite?

♡ Warnings: mentions of amputation, light angst, hints to violence, mentions of death, bucky being a grumpy man

Part 2

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!AU Bodyguard!AU

“Mr. Barnes, your résumé so far is quite impressive.” Pierce acknowledged with a slow nod.

Bucky of course had a trained eye, but the glares that were not so subtly sent his way by the big boss— were intimidating. He wasn’t scared, no. He simply respected this man’s power. Bucky knew better than to get on the bad side of someone like Pierce.

“Says here you’re an amputee?” Pierce asked so bluntly, and he noticed Bucky’s eyes squint slightly. “Sorry, if I’m overstepping but nothing will be overlooked.”

“It’s not a problem, sir.” Bucky assured him. “Yes, I lost my left arm during a mission way back.”

Pierce furrowed his brows.

“Mission? I take it you used to be an agent of some sort.” He assumed.

Bucky nodded.

“Hm, very good. Continue.” He waved him on.

“I had some surgical procedures— and now I have a prosthetic.”

Bucky lifted his left arm, rolling his sleeve slightly up to expose the metal to the boss. Pierce hummed impressively, taking in the intricate designs on the metal.

“I can assure you that me having a prosthetic will not be an issue— my arm is made out of only the strongest metal. Bullet proof, in fact.” He added, hoping it would further impress the boss, proving just how perfect for the job he was.

It wasn’t his dream to be a bodyguard, actually it was quite a low in his career— if you asked him. He had fallen out of his previous steady job, due to some complications. He had the experience of being a bodyguard— just not for only one person. It would be a weird change for him, but he was willing to take on the challenge. Also, the pay was nice.

Pierce hummed again, the information that his prosthetic arm was bullet proof— only satisfying him more.

“Like I said, impressive Mr. Barnes. But this is an extremely important task. My only daughter, who must be protected at all costs.” Pierce trailed off, expression growing serious. “It’s been a hard adjustment since the passing of my wife, my daughter is all I have left.”

Bucky nodded in understanding, knowing what it was like to lose loved ones. In fact, that wound was still fresh on him.

“If I allow you to take on this role, you are to swear to yourself that you will do whatever it takes to keep her alive— no matter what.” Pierce spoke loudly, his voice orotund.

Bucky in the back of his mind thought about his choice of words. ‘If I allow you.’ Bucky respected this man, but he had to hold back the scoff that threatened to escape his lips at his statement.

“Do you think you’re ready for that?” Pierce challenged, and suddenly it wasn’t about his daughter at all. It was a man challenging another man, a task that he deemed impossible.

His metal hand behind his back whirred in annoyance. After all that fluffing his head up, complimenting his training. It was clear Pierce thought so little of him, and at that— it made Bucky wanna take the job even more. Just to prove him wrong.

“Yes sir.” Bucky promised, shaking Pierces hand in a firm— slightly aggressive shake.

Pierce smiled, dropping Bucky’s résumé on his desk. Getting himself comfortable, he sat on the edge of the front of the desk, crossing his arms.

“Now, let’s go through what is to be expected.” He started, Bucky nodded for him to continue. “You are to be with her at all times, except for when you sleep. You do sleep right?”

Bucky let the scoff escape this time, but it wasn’t as aggressive as he wanted it to be.

“I’ve got a metal arm, but I’m still human sir.”

Pierce chuckled to himself, and Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. This man thinks he’s so funny.

“Right. You must never let her leave your sight, if she wants to see her friends— you’ll be seeing them with her. Not that it’s going to be an issue, I don’t think she has many friends… or any.” The boss shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about his daughter.

Bucky nodded, taking everything in.

“You are going to be staying with her in the safe house… well— she thinks it’s just a house but the area is guarded with my men.” He shrugged again. “I’m a successful man and with that comes enemies, people who look for my weaknesses. You know that.”

Bucky gave a tight lipped smile, Pierce so far sounding like a father of the year.

“Now, about my daughter. Her name is (Y/n) (Y/L/n), and she is a handful.” Pierce stated frustratedly. “She’s rude, ungrateful, nasty— and just overall extremely difficult.”

Bucky furrowed his brows, rethinking his decision to be a bodyguard for this girl. Fucking lovely.

“You can now understand why I’m paying you the offered amount. It’s only fair to you, Mr. Barnes. Truthfully, I can’t deal with her anymore. I love her, and she’s my daughter but… It just doesn’t work out with me. I’m a busy man— I don’t have time for brats.” Pierce spat, straightening up and heading back around his desk.

Bucky had already been creating this mental image of you, so far you sounded like a witch. He was not at all ready to be dealing with you 24/7.

“Doesn’t sound like a problem boss, I’m happy to be protecting your daughter. Nobody will lay a hair on her head, I swear on my life.” Bucky promised again, bowing his head slightly.

“Oh I know. If anything happens to her and I find out you were slacking even by an inch… well you’re a smart man, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Pierce warned, and Bucky swallowed at the mere intimidation that laced his voice.

But he would not back down to this challenge, which is how he saw this— not a job.

“That will be all Mr. Barnes, (Y/n) is around here somewhere. Find her and take her home.” He told Bucky, putting on his glasses— focusing on his paperwork.

“Yes sir.”

Bucky nodded and turned to exit the room. He was so confused with the interaction. You’d think someone who hires a bodyguard for their daughter would know where their daughter is. The way he spoke about you was off putting. Bucky didn’t even know you, but it felt wrong to hear someone talk so little about you. What did he know anyway— apparently you were a monster.

He made his way through the building with a swift walk, needing to fulfill his duties and find you quickly. He was on the third floor, about to hit the button to the elevator when he saw a young lady. Despite him wanting to find you all on his own, he got her attention.

“Excuse me,” He waved to her with a fake smile, “Do you know where I can find (Y/n) (Y/L/n)?”

The lady smiled and took Bucky by surprise by laughing. His fake smile vanished immediately, his eyes squinting in a annoyed expression.

“That would be me!” You exclaimed with a warm smile.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he thought for a second he was being fucked with, but after you stayed smiling at him, being as patient as ever— he knew you weren’t joking.

“Uh right… Your dad is Pierce?” He asked hesitantly, keeping his guard up. Still thinking someone was messing with him— testing him.

You nodded slowly, giving him a curious expression. Your smile never wavering.

“Yes, and you are?” You asked so politely.

Bucky shouldn’t of been as shocked as he was but truthfully, he was expecting a demon spawn of a person. Red eyes, withered flowers left in your path, a literal storm cloud floating over you— but you looked so normal. So sweet and pretty. Your hair smelled so strongly of strawberry shampoo, he could catch the scent from his spot. Your voice was like honey, the sound soothing.

He was confused as to why your father thought so wrongly of you. He had too many questions.

He cleared his throat, straightening himself now that he believed you were who he was looking for.

“(Y/n), my name is Mr. Barnes— I’ve been hired as your personal bodyguard.” He informed you, watching the corners of your mouth falter slightly.

“Oh, did my Father hire you?” You asked politely.

“Yes ma’am.”

You nodded your head, attempting to keep a smile on your face. But you couldn’t help the distaste for being given a bodyguard. You knew it was only for the sole purpose, that your Father didn’t want to care for you anymore. He wanted nothing to do with you. That fact was enough to make your nose start to burn, but you held yourself together— not wanting to break down in front of this new guy.

Bucky watched you take in the information, the way you took a deep breath, almost controlling yourself before you spoke again.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Barnes. I’m sure we’re going to be great friends.” You told him.

Bucky shook his head, an annoyed expression etching his face.

“Ma’am, I think we should keep things professional. I have been hired as your bodyguard. Let me do my job, and you can continue with your day as usual. You won’t even know I’m here half the time.” He explained rather harshly.

You seemed taken aback, his words hurting you more than they should’ve. You were lonely, and you thought you’d be able to get a friend out of this situation. Even if he was being hired to hang around you. Luck didn’t seem to be on your side as he told you off. The burning felt stronger in your nose, and you took another deep breath.

Bucky only felt bad for a second, but he was quickly snapping back to reality. It was his life on the line to protect you, and if Bucky was anything— it was that he was good at doing his job. This was business, not playtime.

“I’m here to take you home. Are you ready?” He asked you.

You relaxed your quick beating heart, not even having time to speak with your Father. Not that he’d want to anyway. So much had changed since your Mother passed, you had yet to heal those wounds.

You nodded with a weaker smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. If Bucky had noticed your sudden mood change, he didn’t mention it— instead guiding you outside.

He opened the door to the car that was waiting outside for you, climbing in himself after you were settled.

He started driving to your place, with the help of the car telling him directions.

Meanwhile you gazed out the window, watching the buildings pass by. You forced yourself to keep a small smile on your face, hoping you’d convince yourself that the gesture was genuine if you did it long enough.

Bucky glanced back at you through the rear view mirror from time to time, watching you look out the window. He was still trying to come to terms with how polite you were, how completely opposite you were to your Fathers description.

On one hand it was a relief that he didn’t have to deal with the devil. On the other hand… he was anxious to see where this job would lead him.

A/N: I don’t know what is wrong with me, but suddenly I had this urge to write a bodyguard!bucky fic. let’s be honest, we are all slut’s for bodyguard!bucky 😭 I’m also a whore for the trope grumpy x sunshine 🥰🥴 let me know what you think— this is all word vomit.

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel cinematic universe #reader insert #sebastian stan #buckybarnes #fluff #marvel imagines #light angst #oneshot #bodyguard bucky barnes #bodyguard au #mob au #grumpy x sunshine #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #beefy bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #mini series

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buckys-wintersoldier · 18 days

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Dinner with the mobster | Bucky Barnes

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> Mob!Single!Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> Your boss - who is also the most feared man in town - asks you to go out for dinner with him. When he suggests to take his daughter with him, you agree to go out with them.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 2.295

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> (G) none, just fluff

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 -> Hi I absolutely love your work. I was wondering if you could write a mob boss! Single dad!Bucky Barnes x reader. Feel free to ignore if it makes you uncomfortable. Thank you 🤎🤎

𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you so much for your nice words, they really mean a lot and thank you for the sweet request. I wanted to write more for Mob!Bucky and your request was the perfect opportunity to do so. I hope you like what I made with it.🩷🩷 Divider made by @firefly-graphics.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 -> AFG Fluff Bingo | Row Two-One | First Date | @anyfandomfluffbingo

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

James Buchanan Barnes, the most popular mobster in town, has at least one hundred men who are protecting him and another one hundred men as well as women who clean his house, cook for him, or do other chores. His house - his villa - near the forest is almost not even in town anymore. The man could have every woman, and almost every woman admires him. He has long brown hair, mostly tied into a bun; his beard is trimmed; he has ocean blue eyes; and he has a smile that could light up the darkest night. James has a muscular body, is tall, and is just the dream of every woman. But even though he could have it all, he lives with his daughter alone. But he has an eye on someone, someone who doesn’t look really interested in him, which slightly confuses him but makes her more interesting for the mobster.

“Daddy, look what I found,” his princess says with a proud smile, holding up a book in her hands.

He furrows his eyebrows, his legs spread, while he sits on his couch and waits for the woman he asked to come into his office. In his hand, he holds a glass of his favorite Bourbon while he looks at his daughter. She walks closer to him, pushing herself up to sit on his lap before she holds the book closer to his face. James reads the title on it and smirks.

“That’s the book your friends - my employees - wrote into, isn’t it?” he asks with a smirk.

He told all his closest employees to write into the book after his princess was sad about having just four people - next to her - written into it. Those people were James, Sam, Steve, and Natasha. And then she asked her daddy if he knew if some more who wanted to write into it. Of course she also has friends, but the little girl prefers the big men around her, commanding them around like her daddy does, and he enjoys seeing his well-working education.

“Do you wanna see it?” she asks, kissing her daddy’s cheek softly.

The small girl looks like James - just the smaller, female version - but she has the same brown hair, ocean blue eyes, and the same smirk and pout on her lips as her daddy.

“But just until Y/N is here,” James says, and he turns his daughter around.

With his hands wrapped around her tummy, he looks over her shoulder. Her small back is pressed against his broad chest. Then she opens the book and waits for her daddy to start reading. James does, and his princess is always telling him something about the pictures before he can turn to the next side.

After a few minutes, it knocks at the door, and he looks up to see you standing there, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. You play with your fingers, looking down, while you just stand there and wait for James to give you instructions.

“I- I can- I’m sorry for distracting you,” you mumble when your nervousness grows.

“No, it’s fine. I asked you to come here, so please come in,” he says with his rough voice, and you shiver slightly.

When you met him for the first time, he was scary, and being so close to such a dangerous man can still be scary, but he is all soft and sweet around you and makes you feel like you are special to him. Little do you know you’re special to him, and he would buy the whole town, the moon, or the whole universe for you just to see your smile and hear you laughing while he is the reason for it.

James leans closer to his daughter, kissing her cheek before he lifts her off his lap and places her in front of him.

“Tell Uncle Stevie he has to give you some cookies,” James says, laughing when he sees his daughter jumping around with a giggle before she runs out of the room.

His ocean blue eyes then meet you again, and he gets off the couch as well. James walks closer to the door, gripping the doorknob while he waits for you to walk into the room to close the door behind you. It makes you a bit uncomfortable to be all alone with him in a room, but you know you’re safe.

“Wanna drink something, Bourbon? It’s a good one, my favorite bourbon.”

“N-no, thank you. I- Uhm- I’m fine, really,” you mumble.

You could face palm yourself when you realize what you just said. He didn’t want to know more, just if you wanted to have a drink. You inhale deeply while he leads you to the couch. When the two of you are taking a seat, he smiles and turns his head toward you.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“N-no. I can take care of your daughter when you have plans for tonight.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he laughs softly and takes a sip of his bourbon. “More like, do you have time to go out with me?”

Your mouth drops open, and you swallow hard, rubbing your palms over your pants to dry the sweat.

“I- You’re my boss, James,” you say quietly, turning your head away.

He chuckles softly and slides his hand to your back, stroking it softly while he takes another sip of his bourbon. The shiver along your spine makes him grin even more, and the way your body reacts to his touch lets him admire you even more.

“I’m not asking you, actually. Babydoll, let me take you out, please.”

“I-I don’t want to overstep boundaries. I- James, I should go back to my room,” you mumble.

Bucky chuckles; the way his body vibrates against yours sent another shiver along your spine. His thumb moves closer to your lips before he slides it over them, making you gasp. Your boss is so close, you can feel his hot breath on your skin; his touches are like electricity, causing more goosebumps all over your skin. Bucky leans closer, his lips almost touching your ear, inhaling your scent before he kisses your earlobe.

“How about we take Mia with us? You love her, and she loves you.”

None of the two of you mentioned that there are feelings between you and Bucky. You nod softly, but he sees it and smiles, kissing your earlobe again. Then he pulls away.

“I will pick you up in an hour,” he says, getting up, and you follow.

The two of you walk to the door. He opens it and runs his fingers over your back before you walk out of the room and to yours to change into something better to go out with your boss.

Like he told you, he is knocking at your door an hour later, wearing a suit - like always - his cologne all around you, and you smile softly when you look into his beautiful face. His brown hair is tied back, and he holds the tiny hand of his daughter. She is smiling at you as well as her daddy, both admiring you in your dress. Bucky in another way as the girl, but they both can’t get their eyes off of you. Bucky clears his throat and takes a step to the side, letting you walk out of the room.

“You look beautiful, doll.”

You blush, scratching the back of your neck.

“Daddy said we gonna go to my favorite restaurant,” she tells you with a proud smile.

You’re still not pretty sure what to say or how to act since your boss has invited you to go out with him. So you smile nicely and walk with him and Mia to the cars in the garage.

Bucky is a gentleman, opening the door for you, making sure you’re comfortable, but always taking care of his daughter too.

When you arrive at the restaurant, he takes your hand in his, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand. He makes sure you’re comfortable; otherwise, he would immediately let go of your hand. But there is not even a hint of discomfort on your face, just a small smile on your lips. Together with you and Mia, he walks to the entrance, letting the two of you walk into it before he follows you.

“Good evening,” the waiter says, his muscles tensing when he sees Bucky.

“Good evening, a table for three by the name of Barnes.”

The man in front of Bucky nods and shows you the table. You’re helping Mia out of her jacket and talking to her while you walk through the restaurant. The eyes of the people widen when they see James walking with his daughter and a woman through the room. He smirks when he offers you a seat, takes your and Mia’s jackets out of your hands, and sits across from you, smiling widely with his steel blue eyes piercing into yours. His tattoo-covered arms rest with the sleeves slightly up and his arms on the table, and he just admires you while you look between Mia and him with a small smile.

“Good evening. Have you already decided what you like to eat?” a woman asks, her smile shy, and her eyes dart from Bucky to you and back to the muscular man.

“As always, for my daughter and for me,” he says, then turns his face to you and smiles softly. “And you, doll?”

A shiver rushes through your body, and butterflies go crazy in your belly when he calls you by that nickname in front of other people. Then you look at the waitress and order your food as well. She just nods, takes the menus, and walks back to the kitchen.

“Y/N?” Mia asks, her hand touching yours.

“Yes?”

“Do you like daddy?”

You almost choke on your own saliva when she asks that. Of course you do; who doesn’t? He is a gentle and soft man; he is beautiful, muscular, and makes you laugh. You feel safe with him, not just because there are always some of his men around, but just because of him. On the other hand, he doesn’t act in a soft way with others like you always thought, which makes the feelings you have for him stronger. Bucky doesn’t say anything to the question; he just smirks and waits for you to answer, wanting to know what you think about him.

“I-I- He is nice, but he is my boss,” you mumble.

“But you like him?”

“Yes, but I like you too, Mia.”

“So do you want to be my new mommy?”

This question caught you off guard, and your jaw drops immediately. Bucky chuckles are low and rough, causing your skin to tingle. He makes you feel things you never thought you would feel, especially not for him. The most fearful man in town, a mobster. But also your boss, a wonderful and sweet man and daddy of a beautiful and cute daughter.

“Say yes, and I’m gonna make you mine tonight,” he says.

Your breath hitches, your body shakes softly in anticipation, and you nod. Do you want it? Want to be his? Of course, you definitely want to be his.

“Y-yes.”

Mia smirks, ready to throw herself around your neck, but the food arrives at your table and she learned manners from her daddy, so she just squirms a bit in her seat but starts eating and smirks the whole time at you. Your cheeks are red, and you fix the plate with food in front of you instead of facing Bucky. What if he just wanted to know what you feel for him, but he just wants to play with you? But he is just so soft with you and not with any other woman around him.

“Doll?” his rough voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look at him. “Please let me make you mine. I know the way you look at me, and you’re the only woman I want to have. I have loved you since we first met.”

“O-Oke. B-But I can’t work for you then. H-How can I pay for my things?”

“You don’t have to pay anything. Don’t forget who you’re talking to; you will get everything you need, and you just need to ask me,” he tells you with the softest smile you have ever seen.

When you nod again, his eyes light up, and he can’t help but get up to walk around the table. He gets on his knees next to you, capturing your cheeks with his big hands before he leans closer and presses his soft, plumb lips on yours. Kissing you in a way no one has ever kissed you before, so filled with love and passion. When you kiss him back, he smirks, pulling you even closer, and your hands grip his shoulder, your fingers sliding along his neck. Mia cheers quietly, giggling and looking at the two of you in awe while he bits into her nugget. You blush when Bucky leans back, his thumb stroking your lips, and his blue eyes say more than words could ever say.

“I love you, doll. My precious doll.”

“I-I love you, too.”

“Andddddd I love you. And my nuggies,” Mia says, holding her nugget up to show it.

“Yeah. We love you too, little girl,” Bucky laughs and kisses you again, then he gets up and takes his seat again to finish eating.

Your cheeks are still red, especially when you recognize that everyone in the restaurant was looking at the two of you. But when you look at Bucky, every fear fades away, and you feel just loved by him.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @lives-in-midgard @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry

848 notes · View notes

1800jjbarnes · 7 months

Text

◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟔: 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡/𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐱 - 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 ◇

Whoops

【Synopsis】 : You wanted to show your hot-headed lover that you could protect yourself. And what better way than to go looking for his number on rival....

『W.C』 : 3.07k

-> Genre: Mafia Au. Smut. Angst.

Pairing: MobBoss!San x F.Reader

[Warnings] : Mention of criminal activity. Flirting. Manipulation. Seducing disgusting men (ew). Sweet talking, dirty talk, making out, neck kisses. Biting and marking. Aggressive Bucky. Pet names. Mention of guns. Abuse. Fucking in public (kinda). Bucky is literally crazy and you love it hehe. Punishment. Swearing. Fingering. Pussy slapping. Degrading. (use of slut). Praise. Head-spinning vibes. Spit cause Bucky likes it dirty and messy. Death. You both are sadistic and crazy okay this is pure filth.

Masterlist | Kinktober List

You had enough. All he did was worry about you and your way of life. He worried to the point the point he became paranoid. Adding more guards at almost every door of your home and always making sure there was someone by your side. In truth, you did appreciate him for worrying, but not to the point of him locking you in the house cause "The outside world is a bad place."

That was the last straw. He can't just lock you away like some doll that just sits and looks pretty for him. You were strong, hold your own. Just because you weren't born into this dark life doesn't mean you couldn’t handle it. So, to say you were fuming was putting it lightly.

You devised a plan, granted probably a stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless. To bring Bucky the one man that's been tormenting him into thinking you were unsafe. His enemy John. A ruthless, dimwitted mob boss on the border of Brooklyn and Queens. He didn't own much land, but he made up for it in trade. Bucky and him had been fighting for territory for years. And their fathers before that. So, of course, if you were to bring John to grovel at Bucky's knees for even better, just kill him. It would solve your problems.

Go big or go home, right?

You were dressed to impress. A lavish tight dress that hugged your figure in all the right places and heels that you were already begging to take off as they scratched your ankles. You were dolled up to perfection, and the best thing was that no one knew who you were. Sure, they knew of you, the infamous woman who stole the heart of the cold and cruel King of Brooklyn. But no one had a face to a name, Bucky made sure of that.

So you kind of thanked his overprotectiveness at this moment. But this was no time to thank your hot-headed lover. This was time to prove to him—and yourself—that you were more than capable of being in this dark world, his world.

You weaved through people of the loud nightclub, drawing attention from most of the men in the room. All of them were likely criminals in some way that you were aware of. In this world, no one's hands are clean. You also knew that this bar was what people called open danger. This meant no one owned it, and it was a "safe space" for gangs to strike deals with one another, and people in the underworld could mingle.

That also meant it was no man's land, where anyone and everyone was vulnerable.

Bucky had told you about these types of bars, and of course, he also said never to go to one. But here you were scanning the field of people to find who you were looking for. You did some digging and managed to find out that John liked to converse in this particular club and that he also, always without fail, took a girl home from said place. So that's what you were going to do;

Be the bait and make him fall.

Your heart was racing, but you kept a straight face. Quickly reaching into your bag and finally turning on your phone and not even a second, messages and missed calls flooded your notifications. Bucky would have found out by now that you were missing and tried using your phone tracker to find you. But given your phone was off, he would have been rageful knowing he couldn't find you. You scanned some of the messages

'Baby, where are you? Answer me, please.'

'You better not be somewhere stupid'

'I swear to god when I find you, you're in for the punishment of your fucking life.'

The last one made you feel a little dizzy. And now that your phone is back on, Bucky would surely show up here at any moment. So you had to act fast, in order for your plan to work. Spotting John sitting in an open booth with two guards on either side, you acted on your plan. All those drama classes you took as a kid were about to pay off, as you waltzed over with your hips swinging enough to get his attention. His eye immediately scanned your figure sickeningly. He was scum, a pig, and honestly a terrible criminal.

But you needed him gone. To end Bucky's stress once and for all. You learnt the rules of the game, watched how mob bosses played their hand, and now it was your turn to join.

"This seat taken?" Your voice was sweet as candy, making anyone melt from the tone. You battered your eyes and bit your lip, falling easily into the role of sweet and innocent. The pig was instantly intrigued, wanting you to be near him. He didn't say anything, no, he just patted the booth seat next to him, widening his thighs in a poor attempt to "show off" his physique to you.

You just giggled even though you'd rather puke. But you needed to do this now or never. Bucky would definitely be on his way now, and time was running short. So the art of sweet talking began. You laughed at his stories, placing lingering touches on his shoulders and chest. Your face sat a little too close to his at some points, almost daring him to kiss you. You were seductive, observant, and cutthroat.

That's how you ended up leading him to a private booth out the back with his guards long but forgotten at the original seating place. His hands gripped your hips as his disgusting lips found your neck while his bad breath pooled near your poor nose.

Your fingers tangle in his oily hair, keeping his head near you. He trailed before reaching your large necklace. His gross chapped lips kissed your gold pendant. His inner lip grazed the beautiful Aquamarine, Bucky's signature gemstone. His birth gem. But John obviously didn't take in that detail.

"You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen." He grumbles finely, pulling away to look at you with hooded eyes. Your stomach turned, but your smile never faltered. The urge to punch him was high, but you pushed your feelings aside as you placed your hand on his thigh with a slight tilt of your head.

"Aren't you a charmer." You giggled. "But talking isn't really my...thing."

His eyes widened, breath hitching in his chest as he bit his lip. "Well, well, what is your thing, hot stuff?"

You got up slowly, making sure his eyes never left your figure. You double-checked in your surroundings in the meantime, making sure you were still alone—which you were—, before seductively lifting your dress, letting him get a pervy view on your legs.

"My thing involves something more..." You placed your heeled foot right on the edge of his chair, letting the top of your foot rest onto his bugle, pressing down slightly, making him hiss. "...Firey."

You pulled out the small gun that was on your thigh holster, placing it perfectly in aim with John's gross forehead. His eyes widened, visibly gulping. Before he could protest his shock, a loud bang followed by gunfire was heard throughout the club.

If you timed this correctly, it was currently three-thirty in the morning, and you innocently tipped the manager of this club that a flush-out would take place and that everyone needed to be out of said club by at least three AM, leaving you alone with John and his bodyguards.

“W-what did you do?” John growled trying to stand up but the pressure on his stupid cock got firmer, making him silence his high-pitched whine in an instant. You showed no emotion, not a single expression to help him read you. He was completely at your mercy. And as if his heart couldn’t sink more into his throat, when he saw who walked through the curtained door frame made the beat in his chest stop.

“So this is where my darling ran off, too.” Bucky's deep rumble could make anyone melt, especially you. You could feel his gazing eyeing you, but not like how John did prior. It was filled with desire, possessiveness, and greed. His steps echoed in the silent door, making the cowardly male below you flinch. But you didn't falter, keeping your gaze on the man that caused so much annoyance in your life, pain in Bucky's life. A pest that you were more than willing to exterminate at the command of your lover.

“I knew, you’d look hot with a gun in your hand.” Bucky's voice whispered in your ear, biting your lobe slightly. You tried not to close your eyes and fall into your lover’s embrace, but his cologne was drawing you in like a siren to a pirate at sea. You might have been pissed off at him prior to coming here, but now all you wanted is him to hold you, treat you like the royalty he believes you are. “I see you caught me a rat.”

His feline smile painted his features, making John look anywhere other than the larger mob boss. You just hummed, tilting your head slightly before leaning more forward, putting more pressure on John's manhood. “Anything to get you to stop stressing.” Was the only thing you could follow with, suddenly feeling him grab your chin, turning your face to finally look at him.

His eyes were red, most likely from crying cause even though he was this big mafia leader, he was in touch with his emotions, even crying when you two watch sappy romance films. His hair was messy and not slicked back as he usually had it. He was messier, but in the eyes of anyone else, they would only see a terrifying cruel man with a stare that could kill. But you saw through that. The chaos in his mind. The stress and loneliness. He was most definitely freaked out about you missing prior to this ordeal. But this needed to be done, even though you feel a slight twang of guilt. “I did this all for you. I would do anything for you… My love.”

You meant every word, and Bucky knew it. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to punish you for disappearing and almost causing him a heart attack. His lips attached to your neck, inhaling your scent while he sucked a red mark on your skin. he didn’t know what he did to deserve such a seductive, slightly sadistic bitch such as yourself. God, he was madly in love sometimes he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Well, I think this calls for a game.” Bucky clicked his fingers, making two of his high-end bodyguards come in to ‘help’ with your friend. The large guards tied John up tightly to the chair, also covering his mouth with tape, letting you finally take your foot off his jewels. You lowered your gun, letting Buck wrap his hand over the top before latching his lips on yours, sinking you in for a deep, harsh kiss. He switched the safety on without even looking before playing the gun in his back pocket all the while his hands grasped your hips, drawing you near. You could feel his bugle against your tummy, moaning against his wet tongue before he pulled away;

“The game we are going to play is called ‘what you couldn't have’.” He turns to John, “You being yourself there, Walker.” His smile was sinister, eyes filling with filthy ideas. “You are going to watch me fuck the life out of my wife and then she gets to shoot you. Doesn’t that sound like fun.” He bit his bottom lip, eyes wide with excitement and craze. You inhaled sharply hearing his words. Feeling Bucky prop you up onto the bar table in the corner of the room but still in complete view of John.

Bucky got to quick work, pulling down the straps, letting your tits spring free, ripping the large necklace off with it as he snapped the straps of the gown. His lips latched on your left nipple while he pinched the other with his fingers, rolling the bud against his thumb. You moaned in a high-pitched tone, feeling electricity pool down your shiver. Your legs spread wider, making your dress ride up and Bucky slip in between. His hips ground against yours, gifting you a groan from him. “Mine.” He mumbles against your breasts. “All mine.”

John groaned, trying to move, but in toe only moved the chair slightly. This caught the attention of Bucky and yourself, making your lover stand up straight. “Now, now, John. Your time will come soon.” The mob boss didn’t even look over to the coward in the chair, just giving in a cold reminder that he was certainly going to die by the event's end. Bucky's hand cupped your soaking cunt making your eyes snap back to his. Biting your bottom lip, staring at him with hooded eyes, your eyebrows slowly knitted together as he pushed a finger and then a second soon after into your pussy. “Not wearing panties is very naughty baby, that’s another point added to punishment.”

You seemed to be racking up for a punishment later, most likely when you were in the comfort of your own bedroom. But for now, Bucky fucked your cunt with his metal fingers at such a harsh pace you couldn't hear the world around you as your ears rang and your moans bounced off the dark painted walls. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck J-Jamess.”

He pulled out and slapped your pussy, hard. “Good girls don’t have dirty mouths, another point.” He mumbled giving your pussy another whack before he pushed his cold fingers inside you again. You cried, feeling yourself tip over before you could voice your plea, squirting all over the table and Bucky's fingers and arm, making his button-up, soaked in your juices.

“I-..mm I’m sorry.” You apologized for coming without his permission, but he didn’t seem to approve. Pulling you off the table, he turned you around, letting your dress fall completely off completely. You heard the zipper of his slacks feeling heat pour from your cunt. Swaying your ass side to side, you begged. “Please fuck me, sir, I’ll be good. I promise.”

His cock snapped into you without a second thought, pulling your top half up so your back was flushed against his chest. His mouth bit down on your shoulder causing you to scream in pain but his cock nestled so deep inside you made your head spin in pleasure. “Good? You think after you’ve been acting like a slut, throwing yourself on this loser and coming without my permission I’ll forgive you? My sweet dumb baby. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that stupid airhead brain of yours.”

His words stung in the best way possible and if it was said by any other man you would have fought back. But Bucky made it sound too delectable. “I’ll be good, I promise.” You tried to beg again even though, you knew deep down it was useless.

“Promise?” He thrusted with his word. “Good?” He thrusted again. “The only thing you’re good for is being my sweet little cock sleeve while I fucked you full.” He cupped your face squeezing your cheeks together so you could look at him. “That I promise.”

He let you go, making you fall onto the table. Your hands gripped the oak wood as you felt every harsh thrust that Bucky did. His balls hit your clit in the right movement. Everything was overwhelming but perfect at the same time. You needed to come again, needed him to come. “Bucky please I need..I need your come.”

His dark chuckle sent shivers down your spine, making you look over your shoulder, but before you could make eye contact with your lover, your eyes locked onto John. He had plea in his features, silently begging to be let free. And as you cast your gaze down, you noticed his aching bulge threw his pants. Pig, you thought. Buckg noticed as well, suddenly pulling out so he could swing you around placing you back on the table, his strong grip holding you in place as he entered your abused cunt again. “Want my come baby? Such a good baby, asking for her fill. Don’t worry darling I’ll give you what you want."

And with that, his thrusts got faster, even if that was possible. You felt so high from him that you were floating on a cloud, and no one other than San could touch you. “Jamie I—It’s okay baby, come for me,” He finished your sentence letting you tip over the edge, creaming deliciously on his cock while he squirted his hot seed deep inside you.

“Fuck, baby.” Bucky groaned seeing all his juices mixing with yours. He spat on your clit, making you moan as he rubbed his saliva in with your cum. Bucky always had to be messy, even when you were in public. Before you could say anything, a large cough caught your attention, and Bucky's. It was John, the tape around his mouth had blood spewing from all sides, and his eyes started to leak a red crimson. He was thrashing around, trying to escape whatever was him his body, but all he managed was to tip the chair on his side, making him let out a huff along with gargled coughs. And with a last shallow breath, he suddenly stopped dead….

“Whoops…” was all you said, making Buck snap his gaze quickly back to you. His face was painted with a ‘what the fuck’ expression. You almost completely forgot that the Gem on your necklace was laced with poison, and John "happened’’ to kiss it, ingesting the poison that was slowly activating. “Nat gave me a poisoned necklace..”

Bucky immediately knew what that meant, and he kinda thanked the Lord that the necklace got ripped off when he tore the dress off. “Impressive.” Was all he said, pushing himself forward slightly, feeling your overly sensitive cunt squeeze him. “Fuck, I could fuck you again if it wasn’t for the dead corpse behind us.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.” You tilted your head while biting your bottom lip. He just grumbled moving in to bite your neck again;

“You are the death of me, darling.”

1K notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 3 months

Note

Any chance we can see Winter and Kisa? 🥺

I owe them a proper one-shot, nonnie, but I may have a little something to hold you over.

Almost Like Home

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Agent!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky told you his place would be your home one day. You see it firsthand with his closet.

Word Count: Over 1.6k

Warnings: Tension, longing, pet names, possessive behavior, slight obsessive behavior, conflicted reader, threat of violence (not against reader), very minor injury, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Winter and Kisa. That okay, lovelies? ❤️ Edit by the talented @nixakimbo . Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Arguing with Bucky to let you go back to your place was pointless today and you were too exhausted to try. Being sleepy was how you justified following him to his bedroom, your footsteps gently echoing in the hall. You took in your surroundings and tried to reason that it was out of curiosity and to stay alert, not because this would be your home one day. Even if he said it would be.

You’d take a quick nap and be on your way, right?

“You sure I can't carry you in?” Bucky offered as he stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall, sneaking a glance at you over your shoulder.

He trusted you enough to have his back to you.

“Don’t you dare,” you said without a hint of malice, biting your lip when he smiled and opened the door to let you go in.

“Worth a shot.”

The rays from the sunset seeped in through the window curtain before Bucky turned the light on. The bedroom was beautiful, as expected, with a king-sized bed, a chair near the balcony, and a fireplace. You imagined him sitting and reading after a long day. But the vanity didn't appear to be his style at all.

It looked like something that belonged in your room.

Bucky didn't attempt to move toward you as you met his all-consuming gaze, which somehow made the tension grow. It would’ve been easy to drag him to his bed or let him shove you down and make you his the way he claimed you were. But one taste wouldn't be enough for either of you.

“As much as I'd love to see you in my clothes,” he said to break the silence, gesturing to a door along the wall. “You might find something more to your liking in there on the right side.”

“I can't sleep in this?”

He dragged his lip along his teeth and shook his head. “The bastard who hit you may not have touched your clothes, but I’d sooner burn them before they touch my bed.”

“Possessive bastard,” you muttered, part of you liking it.

His watchful eyes followed as you crossed the room and opened the door, your mouth falling open as you looked around. The closet was larger than your apartment living room. To the left were suits, shoes, watches, and more that clearly belonged to the mobster. But to the right…

Your heart raced as you walked over and pushed through the clothes, something heavy settling in your stomach when you realized they were all your size. Not only that, they were designs and styles you wore and liked. Many of which you'd never be able to afford, let alone have the pleasure of feeling the fabric under your fingertips. You had long accepted that working for a living would never give you a life of luxury.

There weren't many times in life where you had the rug pulled out from under you, but this was something else entirely.

“What is this?” You whispered, turning toward Bucky as he strode through the door.

“Your closet. Well, our closet. You like it?” He answered, pride in his eyes as he glanced at your side. “I figured you could look at some of the shoes and jewelry after you get some rest. And you’ll love the lingerie almost as much as I will.”

You took a deep breath. And another. It did little to calm you down. “Bucky. I am not your girlfriend and I sure as hell don't live here, so why do you have half of your closet set aside for me?” You demanded.

Bucky lifted a shoulder, unbothered by the fury and touch of sadness that simmered in your eyes. “Girlfriend isn't really a title I want you to have. Wife and my queen, yes. Those will do. And you will live here, so I had to make sure you have clothes,” he said as his eyes bore into yours. “Though I don't mind if you'd rather walk around without wearing anything.”

Your face heated up as he stepped toward you and you wished you could ignore the throbbing between your legs. “You're delusional,” you stated.

He chuckled low, the sound sending more heat through your traitorous body. “No, Kisa. Not delusional. Prepared and excited, but not delusional.”

You scoffed, trying to cover up your arousal. Why did he put more into obtaining you than any other guy who crossed your path before? “Whatever you need to tell yourself to get to sleep at night, Winter.”

“I'll sleep much better when you're beside me.”

The softness in his voice surprised you, like you sleeping beside him would bring him some sort of comfort as well as satisfaction. “You say that like it's a sure thing.”

Your stomach twisted in knots as he smirked, all confidence and swagger. “Oh, you and I both know I always end up getting what I want.”

But what if he stopped wanting you one day?

Your back was against the wall, nowhere to go as he took another step forward. “You can't have me.”

The words sounded empty and you both knew it. “And why is that?” He asked.

“Because I can't let you have me,” you answered, pausing as your gaze shifted away from him. You almost regretted the next words that slipped out of your mouth. “You cloud my judgment.”

The admission didn't lift the weight from your chest because it didn't change anything. At the end of the day, Bucky would continue to do terrible things and you wouldn't bring him to justice. You couldn't bring yourself to do so. Yet you brought others in.

How many times could you justify letting Bucky roam free because he had a heart beneath the surface?

You willed your knees to keep you upright when he rolled his sleeves up more and smugly smiled. “Is that so? Hmm, I like the idea that you can't think straight around me.”

You held up a hand when he moved closer, as if it would stop him. “Don't let it go to your head. My job comes first. You know that.”

He grasped your wrist and brought it to his mouth, his lips barely grazing your skin. The spark between you continued to ignite when his tongue darted out. “Well, if I had it my way you'd come first every single time.”

The breath left your lungs in a rush. “Bucky, please,” you whispered, hating how weak you sounded when his scruff touched your skin.

He hummed as he pressed his lips against your pulse. “That's one of the things I imagine you saying before you come.”

You didn't rip your hand away, enjoying the attention far more than you should have. “You're being ridiculous. You know we can't do this.”

“No, I don't know that. Though you keep saying we shouldn't,” he said, taking your hand and placing it over your head against the wall. His grip didn't hurt. You almost wished it did so you'd have more of a reason to fight. “Maybe you're the delusional one.”

“Maybe I am a little,” you said, tears pricking your eyes. “Because I've crossed the line enough by not bringing you in.”

Maybe your hands weren't as dirty as his, but they sure as hell weren't clean.

A sympathetic smile tugged at his lips. “Because you want me and want to be with me.”

His eyes traced along your face as your breathing got heavier. You didn't object or deny him. Doing so would be a lie and wasn't life clouded enough with too many of those? But to speak the truth would be to lose a part of yourself.

“It doesn't matter. When the chase ends, you’ll stop wanting me,” you said, his brows furrowing when your voice cracked.

Because the game would be over and why would he want to play again? How much of you would he take with him? What would be left in the wake of his victory?

His fingertips ran along your sore cheek and brushed away a tear that fell. “The chase will end because you’ll be by my side, but it doesn't stop there. I’m still going to court you and show you every day why I’m nothing without you.”

Tilting your head, he placed a tender kiss on your cheek. The same way he had in his den. Would it be so wrong to let him seduce you further? “But you have the world,” you whispered.

“You are my world,” he whispered back before he pulled away and released your hand, your body suddenly cold. Your breaths felt shallow as he ran a hand through his hair and he still hadn’t kissed your lips. He looked like he was restraining himself as well. “Those aren't just pretty words. I’ll do whatever it takes to show you, Kisa. Starting with the man who hurt you.”

The resolve in his eyes before he turned and walked away tugged at your heartstrings. “Don’t kill him. Please.”

He stopped in the doorway with a sigh, but didn't face you. “I told you I can't let it go,” he said, grunting as he flexed his fingers. “But I'll try not to kill him.”

You couldn't ask for more than that. “Thank you, Bucky,” you said sincerely, pushing yourself away from the wall. “But you really don't have to do anything to him in order to prove something to me.”

His blue eyes lit up with purpose when he looked back at you. “No one hurts someone I love and gets away with it,” he said, leaving you all alone with your thoughts.

Because what were you really afraid of?

That Bucky Barnes loved you or that you maybe loved him, too?

UGH. I love them. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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deliciousangelfestival · 20 days

Text

Guilt

Character: Mob!Bucky x Police!Female Reader

Summary: "Of all the women in the world, does she have to be a cop?" Bucky, a gangster, fell in love at first sight with a policewoman.

At the golf course, two outstanding men in the mob world are playing golf together to have a quiet time, to forget the worst day at the club they owned.

Steve, the second person in charge, still feels frustrated, while Bucky, the leader, is the only one enjoying the game.

"Of all the women in the world, does she have to be a cop?" Steve, his childhood friend, asked as he watched Bucky hit the golf ball.

Bucky clenched his fist in frustration as he made the shot. Turning to Steve, he replied, "I can't help it. She just took my breath away the first time I saw her."

Steve sighed, recalling the first encounter between Bucky and the policewoman when their club was unexpectedly visited by the narcotics police force.

Steve sighed, "She's known as a scary person, even among her colleagues," he said, relaying what he had learned from his connections.

"And from what happened last night, I feel like she holds a big grudge against people like us," Steve continued, reflecting on the recent events. Most of the cops he knew turned a blind eye to their business dealings, never getting involved with drugs.

Bucky remembered how composed you had been last night, effortlessly throwing punches and giving orders to make arrests. He even recalled the moment you pushed him to the ground and handcuffed him.

At that instant, he knew you were different from other women.

Bucky took another swing at the golf ball, causing it to fly too far. With a smile, he declared, "I will make her mine."

Steve sighed deeply, realizing that once Bucky had made up his mind, no one could stop him.

As Bucky began his courtship, he tried various approaches to get closer to you:

1. He sent you flowers with cryptic notes, hinting at his admiration and interest.

2. Bucky strategically positioned himself at events where you were present, making sure to catch your eye without being too obvious.

3. He orchestrated chance encounters, bumping into you at coffee shops or restaurants, always ready with a charming smile and a casual conversation starter.

4. He even went as far as anonymously sending you a gifts or helpful tips related to your work, trying to show his support and understanding of your profession.

But you didn't give any reaction; you consistently ignored him.

Bucky didn't mind your game of "playing hard to get." He was confident that in the end, you couldn't resist him.

However, his confidence wavered when you finally spoke to him, your words cutting through the air like icy daggers. "In 2022, Bobby Smith died because of a gunshot. He was my fiancé."

Bucky's face drained of color, his body going rigid with shock. The revelation hit him like a sledgehammer, the weight of guilt crashing down upon him. His mind raced as he realized the implication: Bobby Smith's death was because of him.

After the revelation, would Bucky give up his pursuit, or would he persist despite the overwhelming guilt?

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marnle · 1 year

Text

My sweet, sweet Dove - Mafia!Bucky x Fem!reader

Summary - Bucky Barnes finds the peace he so rightfully craves in his best friend, the worlds upon his shoulders, yet his lust for you lives on through his darkest of days.

Warnings - smutttt, juicy af, mentions of violence, slight alcohol consumption, grinding etc.

A/n - Hi all, my requests are open! I’ve never really published my works before, so this is all new to me, but feel free to drop a request, and I’d love to see what I can do! :)

Enjoy, safe reading! <3

————

You sauntered into the kitchen, it was incredibly dark, yet a small lamp situated in the corner illuminated the majority of the room, drowning it in a blanket of rusty amber. You grabbed a small glass and walked towards the sink, filling it with cold water, it swirled around the glass as though it were a prisoner, fighting against its confines. You propped yourself up on the marble countertop, it was icy underneath you, a considerable difference to the heat that burned underneath your skin and through your veins. The deep, angered and somewhat laboured voices that previously echoed through the halls had silenced. They’d swirled through the walls, up the stairs, and burst through the windows too. Bucky had informed you that he was working late, you’d understood what he’d meant, yet the scale of debate that evidently had occurred left you feeling drained - and you hadn’t even been in the room.

Bucky was one of your closest friends, your main confidant in the times you needed him most. So when you informed him that you had nowhere to stay, he practically offered his whole life to you, and you took it with his blue eyes piercing what felt like your soul. So you resided in his main estate where he conducted his official work, his official business meetings, you knew he was dirty, and downright inequitable, but his loyalty was unlike any other, your friendship was unlike any other, and you owed him the world and more.

So as you sipped your water, and pondered the evident lack of sleep that laced your features, you didn’t hear his office door finally open after hours, or the trudge of his tired feet upon the dark wooden floor approaching, the leather of their seams making the slightest of noises.

His black silk tie sat loosely around his neck, his mountainous shoulders were tightly winded practically up to his ears, the top buttons of his previously pristine shirt were undone, and said shirt was hanging messily out of his slacks, of which sat loosely on his hips, his brunette hair was unkempt, almost spikey as the last of the gel he’d previously put in began to finally wear away.

“Doll? You alright?” He asked, snapping you out of your trance, he moved opposite to you and plopped himself shakily down on the floor with a large sigh, leaning against the kitchen cupboards behind him, his head thrown back in a show of exhaustion.

You simply hummed.

“Why are you still up?” He queried, running his large hand through his hair, absolutely destroying any remnants of orderliness it previously had maintained. Glaring at the girl in front of him almost alarmingly.

“Couldn’t sleep is all.” You replied, taking another small sip from your glass before handing it downwards towards Bucky. He accepted it, and pulled out a metallic flask, pouring a brown liquid into the mix, swirling it, then drinking it. It burned the back of his throat and warmed him from the inside out. He looked at you curiously, his oceanic eyes bore into yours in order to gauge a reaction. It was silent as you returned his eye contact, you were sure you could hear a pin drop.

“Well, hand it over.” you laughed nervously, taking a gulp of the alcoholic beverage. It also burned your throat, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. You could hear the deep rumble of Bucky's laughter in the background, it sounded angelic to your ears.

“Bad night?” You asked, anxiously pinching the skin of your fingers as you awaited his reply, not wanting him to ever suffer at the slightest. You observed the way his jaw slightly clenched and went slack, how he breathed slightly faster at such, and slowly regained his composure not a moment after.

“Something like that Doll.” he replied, letting out yet another sigh. In complete honesty, the meeting was a mess, his business partner had backed out of a paramount deal, meaning he’d have to find a backup as soon as possible, something that wasn’t likely. This left him open to financial attacks elsewhere. He’d even lost his temper, covering his golden signet ring that sat dormant on his finger in a layer of carmine; the ring you twirled when you felt anxious. His business partner had messed up his ring, his new enemy had messed up your ring, and Bucky had made sure he paid for it.

“Is there something I could do to make you feel any better?”.

He subtly nodded, allowing his stoic exterior only to fall in your presence, something that exhausted him beyond words.

He kneeled and shuffled towards you whilst you sat upon the counter, arms open, knowing exactly what he needed. He pushed his head into your stomach, breathing in your scent, roses and fresh linen, it made him feel safe. His was sandalwood, it engulfed your scenes and knocked the wind out of your chest, just like it always did.

You placed your hand upon his head, stroking your fingers through his hair as you felt the tension leave his large body, you leaned down and placed a small kiss on the crown of his head.

This caused him to gaze up at you, a longing in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and you were sure yours mirrored them as such.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You whispered at a barely audible level, you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Like what?” he replied, his voice breathy and almost desperate.

Your hands moved down from his hair towards his chin, cupping his face as though he was the last living being on earth. Your eyes fluttered between his lips and his eyes, the room was spinning, the air was thick.

“Like this.” you whispered before slowly bringing his face to yours, and placing your smooth lips over his own.

Bucky felt as though his world had stopped, his heart was erratically beating, his head didn’t feel as though it was his own, his body wasn’t his own. The tension had been snapped just as quickly as it arised, and Bucky felt as though he was on cloud nine, there and then he decided that the feel of your lips against his own was the singular most effective high he’d ever encountered, it was a high he was now addicted to, and one he’d never ever let go.

He stilled in your grasp, causing you to pull away.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry.” You muttered, a wave of red covered your cheeks, horrified at what you’d just done. Yet before your brain could sabotage you further, and convince you otherwise, Bucky slammed his lips onto yours, grasping the back of your neck in his large hands. He groaned at the taste of you, a sweetness he’d only ever imagined.

He pushed into your mouth, your teeth collided in a show of desperation and finally requited lust. You slid your hand into his brown hair once again, yet under completely different circumstances.

You grasped his hair, pulling him off of your lips, it made him groan.

“Tell me you don’t want this, tell me you don't Bucky.”

“You know I can’t.”

He picked you up, wrapping his large arms around your torso, his fingers pushed under your shirt, drawing circles upon your skin, skin of which felt as though it were a juvenile flame of the sun.

You tucked your face into the crevice of his neck, his scent was the strongest it had ever been, it blinded you, and you loved it. You dragged your lips across his neck, biting and nipping at whatever skin you could, making his groans rougher, whinier.

He’d walked you both into the living room where he dropped backwards onto the couch, you in his arms. You were sitting in his lap, he was so extremely hard under you that you couldn’t help but tease.

You slowly rolled your hips, the friction causing you both to moan in unison, in pleasure. He grasped your body as though you were his life line, and even though he hadn’t said as such, you both knew it was true for the both of you.

You continued to grind against him, you moved against each other as though you were made for each other. Your moans were beautiful, they made him lose his mind, his great intelligent mind reduced to nothing simply by your presence alone. His hands grabbed your hips for a moment, your face was directly in front of his, you inhaled his breath as though it were your last.

“Doll, I can’t last long like this.” He moaned, more like a whine, in an attempt to keep his composure.

“I bet.” you replied, causing his mouth to fall even further open in a state of disbelief, allowing you to sink your teeth into his lip, stealing even more of his sacred breath away.

Instead of slowing down you sped up, with Bucky’s hands gripping your waist so tightly, you were sure his touch was to be ingrained upon your soul. He ran his hand down towards where you longed for him most, and cupped your pussy, pushing his palm into your clit, causing you to let out a moan that echoed off of the walls, a moan he was sure he’d never forget. He ran his other hand up your body towards your nipple, and twirled it between his fingers, swapping between the two, making you feel as though you were atop of the world. The sight of you was enough for him to come right there, yet he’d only ever imagined this moment, and wanted, no, needed to drag it out for as long as possible, as long as he humanely could.

“Come on baby, let go for me.” He purred, gazing into your eyes as yours fought to stay open.

“Shh, that’s my Doll, let go love.” And you did, your body arched into his grasp, he pushed his palm even further into your clit as you came, creating such delicious pressure, you thought you were going to burst. You wrapped your arms around his body, engulfing him and curling into him to fit his form as though you were perfectly moulded to him as he came too, groaning and bucking his hips whilst his stomach and glistening abs contracted over and over again, he’d entirely lost control, the lust he felt wasn’t matched by another soul.

Your sweaty bodies sat wrapped around each other, breathy whimpers left the both of you as you fought your natural instincts to breathe. Bucky grasped your face, and silently laughed as he brought his lips to yours once again.

“My sweet, sweet Dove, how you’ve had me forever.”

————

Fanx 4 reading bros :)

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daisybvck · 4 months

Text

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 : Bucky Barnes x reader

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 : Your superior agent Bucky Barnes just wants the best for you, right ?

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 : 18+, smut, Bucky Barnes as a fucking whole, dubcon/noncon, cockwarming, manipulation, praise

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Bucky had invented a way to manipulate you into fucking him. And honestly; he was pretty proud of himself. When he approached you last week and offered some one-on-one training, you jumped at the chance. No one else is able to perform domain expansions like him, who were you to turn down additional support? You'd do anything to get ahead in your training, and the better you were, the better help you'd be in the field

You were grateful, albeit a little confused when he didn't invite you out to go into the compound gym Instead, he drove you to his apartment.

But that's okay... Right?

He probably has tools and things here he needs to get before he heads out. Although you've never actually seen him use anything besides that blunt butterfly knife. That's okay too, just because he doesn't use any other weapon isn't to say he doesn't have others. It's the only logical explanation as to why you were in his apartment right now. He was finding a spare tool just for you!

Alas, that suspicion was dashed as you watched Bucky remove his tie, calmly. Before you could ask what he was doing, he tied the silk accessory around your neck. You would have objected; but you were just totally lost for words at what was happening. When there was a secure knot around your neck, he tugged you closer to him.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Please remove your clothes... Slowly." he demanded. He backed away to form a gap between you both. He wanted to see you do as you were instructed and enjoy the display. He began unbuttoning the top button his dress shirt.

"I don't_"

"Speak up if you have something to say he interjected, insulting your whispering tone. You couldn't help it. Your throat practically closed all on its own.

"I don't- why are you- how is this going to help?" you stuttered. His vision sharpened in on you. The stuttering displeased him, immensely. “I'm just not sure how removing our clothes is going to make me a better sorcerer.”

"Are you questioning me?"

"No! I just-" you choked as you found yourself being dragged closer to the blonde man before you once again.

He looked down sternly into your eyes, his lips in a tight line as he planned his next words. You knew he was preparing to chew you out. But what he was actually doing was attempting to come up with a plausible lie to manipulate you into thinking this is acceptable conduct from a superior.

"The avengers are all about endurance. Whoever has the weakest will to go on, less energy to fight, will lose. This is to help you. But if you're too selfish-” he trailed off, knowing the idle threat of removing the opportunity from you would have you at his beck and call.

“I’m not selfish! 'm sorry Bucky, just didn't understand!”

“Please... Please help me. I'm so grateful, promise." you whimpered pathetically. You even began to remove your clothing for him, just as he'd asked. Better late than never, he supposes.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

He joins you in continuing to take off more articles of clothing. He's satisfied with the speed you find yourself naked. While shirtless, he pauses to inspect your body.

He has waited an awfully long time to see you like this. In this vulnerable, intimate state. And you're too dense to realise it's all a rouse. But he'll never tell, and he's sure you'll keep it secret too. God forbid any of the others discover his sick little plan. If you're both careful, both smart about this, you could probably do this forever. You feel a little embarrassed under his harsh gaze, using your arms to cover whatever intimate areas as best you can.

He tuts once and shakes his head.

"Don't do that. You have a fine body, beautiful in fact." he admits. You don't really want to uncover yourself, but you do as he asks regardless. He raises his index finger, whistling as he spins it through the air. You obey his speechless command and spin around. You're unsure if he wants you to do a 360° or 180°.

"Stop." he speaks while your back is facing him.

He comes up behind you, palming his hands over the flesh of your right cheek. He knows you're only doing it because you're uncomfortable, but he's revelling in the way you're squirming around under his touch.

Has it been a while for you, perhaps? Just as it had been quite some time for him? You yip as you feel his palm collide with your soft flesh.

"I want you to remove my trousers and underwear for me.” he informs you. You're spun around to be facing him, and soon he's pressing down on your shoulders, indicating that he wants you on your knees. He doesn't mind that you are fumbling and taking too long. He knows this is a lot for you to handle out of the blue. He can see in the way your whole body shakes that you're terrified, but he'll be gentle with you - mostly.

Finally his member springs free and thumps against his chiselled body. Even he cracks a little smile on that serious expression when he notices your eyes bulge in fascination. The little patches of drool forming in the corner of your mouth don't go unnoticed either.

It's so pretty. The prettiest you've ever seen. If Nanami didn't know any better, he'd thinking you were falling in love. He couldn't believe you were genuinely salivating over his dick like this. What else were you meant to do?

The tip was pink and pretty, the type of pink that makes you feel giddy. The head wasn't particularly large, but the slit was delectable, too. A gorgeous hole that you wanted nothing more than to tease with your tongue. And it was already leaking for you. So pearly and drippy. The length was admirable, too. It was a just perfect girth; and not too veiny. Two distinct veins ran along the underside his his length.

You couldn't take it anymore. You had to have it, to taste it. But before you could swallow him up, he yanked on your makeshift leash and tugged you away from his erection.

"Not today.

"But-"

"This is business, not pleasure, remember?" he reminded you. You nodded, dumbly. How could you be so stupid? It was so amusing to him. His sweet, naïve girl. “When I sit down, you're going to sink yourself down onto me." he instructed. You squinted at him in confusion, it seemed like an over explanatory way of saying he wanted to have sex with you.

"You want me to ride you." It's a statement, not a question. Because that is what it sounds like he wants, but he shakes his head. What a silly girl you are. There's more to life than fucking.

"I just want your cunt wrapped around me."

Your knees were either side of his thighs as your pussy enveloped his desperate, wanting cock. It shocked you that Bucky was such a gentle kisser, very sweet and tender. Even as he moved from your lips to other parts of your body, he was never rough with you. Featherlight kisses worked down to your neck, your shoulders, and eventually the soft flesh of your breasts.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

This is the extent of your encounter, this is all you'd been doing with him for the last half an hour. His lips and wet tongue felt perfect around your protruding nipples; but now it was nowhere near close to enough. You were so full, full of him, and yet there was no relief. His cock head was nuzzled snuggly in your cunt. It would be so easy for him to fuck up into you, granting both the release you desperately craved. But he had forbade it. He stilled your attempt at riding him by digging his fingers into your hips and slamming you back down in place.

"Sit still for me sweetheart.?

"'s too hard! Too hard Bucky!"

It was embarrassing. Wriggling around in his lap like a desperate virgin. It was out of your control now. Your cunt was soaking wet because of him and he could feel the way your sopping walls clenched around him. Even he has to admit that he can barely hold himself back anymore.

"You're never going to reach my level if you can't endure.

A little pathetic aren't you, hm?" he taunts. It's mean an unnecessary, but it's all part of a larger scheme. If you feel like you've failed, you'll be desperate to do it again and prove him wrong. And he can keep up this charade for as long as he can get away with.

"I- I can't! James please, I can't wait any longer. Fuck me! I need it, need it s'bad!" you are nearly screaming as you beg and plead with him to make your dreams a reality. He hushes you as he repositions himself ever so slightly. He needs to get a more comfortable angle if he wants you to see what he's truly capable of. Bucky kisses the shell of your ear a few times and coos. He's going to make it better, he's going to make you feel better.

"So obedient for me angel, aren't you?" he whispers to you, bouncing you lightly on the length of his cock. It's not enough, you know it and he knows it. He's just getting started. He picks up the pace as he aligns his mouth to whisper into your ear once again. "You're such a good girl when you're begging for cock. the vibrations of his voice traverse directly into your ear and make you shudder. He grunts harshly as his whispering results in your cunt clamping him in a vice grip once again.

"Wanna be a good girl... Wanna be a good agent!" you explain. He shushes you again and praises you for your determination. His thumbs are put to use when tears spill from your eyes; the pleasure of his cock finally pleasing you feeling so heavenly and so intense all in one.

"Good girls... Good agents can endure their training”

“Good girls aren't desperate to get fucked by their superiors." he hums. He does feel a little guilty. He's chastising you for no good reason, after all. He wanted

this just as much as you did - if not more so, in fact. But the way you sniffle at his words dashes any guilt he felt.

You really are a good girl.

“sorry B-Bucky. I'II do- I'II do better n-next time!”

“Promise!" you stutter, hoping to get your point across.

You know you're understood when his index finger and thumb find your chin, tilting your face to his. His lips meet yours in another sweet, delicate kiss.

"Ah, yes." he begins, "Clever girl. Next time."

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foreversecrets · 1 year

Text

Disgruntled Drysdales

Rogers Family Expansion

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Victoria (OC)

Summary: Things were going great, he was preparing to say the "L' word, so naturally it was time for everything to go to shit.

Though they’d gotten off to a hesitant start, once they started cohabitating Ransom and Tori found themselves comfortable with one another. About six months in he was nearly ready to use the ‘L’ word. IT surprised him how easy it was to be a husband, especially when he didn’t work and his wife willingly took on the breadwinner role. Not that he was cooking or cleaning around the house like a proper house husband, he hired people to handle those responsibilities, but he made an effort to always be home before her so he could welcome her home and assist in her decompressing from work as well as kissing her goodbye every morning. It inadvertently made him live a healthier life, he wasn’t staying out all night getting drunk or stoned, his schedule was pretty lax but improvement nonetheless. He woke up to his wife off for the day with a kiss and a cup of coffee, breakfast at one of his many siblings homes, spend a few hours at the gym, lunch with his shitty mother and step or other members of the Thrombey Family, and then head home to be with Tori. That was another massive change for him, he genuinely cared about Tori’s well being and happiness which was reciprocated without requirements or terms. Tori's harsh exterior could melt away and become relaxed, even playful when it was just the two of them. He’d never admit it to his siblings but he was grateful to his family for forcing him into this arrangement.

Victoria found herself in similar musings, she’d loved her life before but there was something about knowing someone who cared for you at home waiting for you to unload day and unwind together. It didn’t matter the capacity, it could be chilling and watching television together or fucking the day away. It has surprised her to learn Ransom’s mommy issue had manifested as a kink, where this grumpy man turned into a bottom in the bedroom, something Victoria adapted to once she cleared the air about not wanting to actually become a mother. His relief and willingness to ensure they didn’t have kids but could play in the bedroom however they decided. It was the final nail in Tori’s coffin, she could no longer state she didn’t love her husband.

A year into marriage that happiness was threatened when Tori went to see the doctor. She had had a cold her doctor prescribed antibiotics for but a month later she was starting to feel sick again and was concerned something more serious might be wrong with her. As a concerned husband, Ransom accompanied her to the appointment where the doctor ordered some tests to be run.

“Good news, you aren't sick but you are pregnant,” the doctor's smile immediately dropped at the expecting parents' reactions. Ransom’s face reddened, his whole body tense while Tori was completely frozen, like she wasn’t present in the moment.

“I’m on birth control and we always use protection.”

“Birth control isn’t always 100%, it was probably negated by the antibiotics you were previously on. As for condoms: they break, they expire, they can be faulty, or applied correctly.”

“Ransom?” Tori looked up to her husband, fighting back angry tears that wanted to fall. But instead of receiving the supportive husband she needed, she was faced with the cold version of Hugh Drysdale, the man who was normally reversed for visits to his mothers family.

“What are our options?” There was no emotion in his voice as he put space between himself and Tori, like her condition was contagious and he’d catch it if he stood too close.

“Um … there’s-”

“Thank you for your assistance. I will be keeping my child.” Tori snapped, gathering her clothes, escaping from the examination room.

She found sanctuary in the restroom where she practically ripped the paper examine gown off, tossed it to the floor and collapsed on top of it finally letting her tears fall. Looking down at her flat stomach and crying even harder. How was this fair? Annie was actually trying to have a kid and it kept resulting in miscarriages not to mention the difficulties getting pregnant in the first place and here she was accidentally pregnant not knowing what to do. She knew what Ransom wanted, what they both had agreed on but that was no longer an option. Their family of two would never be that again, regardless of the decisions that followed. If she aborted or put the kid up for adoption she’d never have peace again she would be consumed with the what ifs and pain of terminating the pregnancy or full of concern over the child's life once she signed away her rights. She’d had students who made those choices and the mental turmoil they endured for months after the fact was ever prevalent in her mind, so no, she wouldn’t choose either of those options. They’d fucked up and now she would endure the consequences either with her husband or alone. Raising the kid herself she knew she had the financial means to provide for the kid and they would be given every opportunity to succeed.

Did she want to have a baby? No. Did she want to give it away? No. Did she want to terminate the pregnancy? No.

“Babe, open the door.” Ransom’s angry voice came through the door, snapping her out of her self pity. “We need to talk about this!”

No, she wasn’t ready to talk. She got dressed, washed her tear streaked face and exited the bathroom where Ransom was waiting for her. He opened his mouth to speak but she put her hand up to stop him. “Dont. I don’t want to talk about this right now. I’m still processing and your anger isn’t helping.”

“Of course I’m-”

She couldn’t handle him right now, she walked past him pulling out her phone and ordering an uber, Ransom trailed behind her. She’d handled him mad before, that was him anytime he was around his mother but right now she was vulnerable and full of her own self hate. She kissed his cheek throwing him off guard long enough for her to get into the uber and drive off.

She went to Juliana; she'd become close to the other mafia born wife of the Rogers since she herself joined the family given their commonalities in upbringing. Though the two of them were close but Jewls was unpredictable. She needed to talk to someone about the pregnancy that was objective, granted she didn’t know how Jewls would react but she was her best bet. None of the siblings had kids yet, with the exception of Frank and Daphne who were raising Mary so she could have theoretically gone to anyone but Annie and Steve. But she choose Jewls because of their connection and Ransom’s fear of the psycho woman who he was convince would one day murder him.

Jewls wasn’t expecting company but as always she welcomed Tori in with open arms, the two getting comfortable on the couch with a bottle of wine. The refusal of a wine glass sent Tori into a spiral as she confessed everything to her friend.

“You are the one who has to live with whatever decision is made and if Ransom fights you on it let me know.” Jewls put her hands together and wiggled her fingers. “Lloyd bought me a sexy new sniper, I’d be happy to give it a trail run on your husband.”

“You’re not killing my brother.” Lloyd signed entering the room with a bag of peanuts. He dropped a kiss to his wife's forehead and plopped down in the arm chair. “He occasionally deserves your ire but he is family.”

“Baby,” Jewls purred, an evil flint in her eyes. “How would you react if I said I was pregnant?”

Lloyd choked on the peanut he tossed in the air to catch with his mouth, Jewls bursting into laughter while Lloyd coughed and tried to dislodge the small nut from his esophagus. “I thought we agreed to wait, Princess?” Recovering from choking he didn’t give a shit about Tori seeing the softer side of himself he reversed solely for his wife.

“Relax, I’m not but your asshole brother blew up. You at least tried to be composed, whereas Ransom nearly demanded an abortion on the spot without even considering Tori.”

Relieved he wasn’t the problem he relaxed back into his chair as his wife had instructed. “Congrats?” he asked Tori. “Are we happy or not?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed, pressing on her temples to try and ease the stress headache that had formed.

“Well would you be okay killing it?” Lloyd asked simply, Tori shook her head. “What about having someone else raise it?” another head shake. “Well there you go mommy/”

“Gross, don’t call me that!” Tori groaned, finally laughing. “Only Ransom calls me that.”

It was Lloyd’s turn to cringe in disgust, “Great now I have to put a bullet in my head.”

“You set yourself up for that,” Jewls laughed. “You can stay here if you’d like tonight.”

“Thanks but I should go home and talk to Ransom, but I will probably be back.”

The Drysdale’s had had minor disagreements and spate throughout their marriage but never as bad as they fight that ensured that night when Tori returned home. She confided that she wasn’t happy about the situation but now that she was pregnant she was going to raise this child with or without him. Ransom’s choice taken from him without regard for his thoughts or arguments was reminiscent of how his family had treated him only enraging him further. It's like he could just not be involved, by the contact of their marriage they were required to reside together 8 months out of the year. And he was always home so that put the majority of the responsibilities on his shoulder. A point he mentioned that she wanted him to fulfill but his opposition had her countering with hiring a nanny.

That night Ransom slept on the couch, unable to reason or resolve things with his wife. Several weeks he spent sleeping on that couch he’d previously loved but now despised before they moved into a two bedroom place and Tori started sleeping on an air mattress in what would be the nursery, leaving their bed for him. His hard demeanor nearly cracked at the nonverbal act of care for his well being, even while their marriage was on the rocks. Then her baby bump began to show and his frustration was reinvigorated, his stubbornness winning out.

He found himself falling back into old habits of drugs and alcohol but try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to revert into his manwhore ways. The thought of him sleeping with someone who wasn’t his wife was unappealing which left him unable to perform even while indulging in porn. Which was probably for the best, if their current estrangement could be overcome cheating would have ultimately been the straw to fully break their marriage.

Throughout Tori’s pregnancy his brothers and their partners were the ones to support and care for Tori, even trying to reason with Ransom but he was unphased.

It was during the third trimester he decided he didn’t want to lose Tori, he still wasn’t sure how to handle the baby situation but he decided to take things one step at a time. To get back into his wife's food graces he had Curtis assist him in preparing the nursery and building all the furniture Tori had ordered. In doing so, Ransom discovered he was having twin daughters. For the first time in his life, Ransom pushed past his anger and continued the task listening to his older brother for how Tori had wanted the nursery painted. Apparently the twins would be identical so in an effort to not confuse the two Tori had a set color scheme: baby 1 would be pink and green while baby 2 would be purple and yellow. Combinations he wouldn’t have personally chosen but then he saw the linens of soft yellows with lavender and then bubble gum pink with blue-green linens and found it worked.

The happiness on his huge wifes face as she waddled toward him and threw her arms around him have been the reward for his efforts. The night they resumed sleeping in their bed together, things weren’t as tense, their relationship was being repaired but Tori was mindful of his continued hesitance and tried to avoid discussing the topics. Ransom tried to be better, not able to stomach the idea of losing her. He would check in with her, rub her back, and assist her in shaving as she’d grown too big to do so herself.

It wasn’t until Tori finally gave birth and Ransom was holding one of his two daughters while Tori breastfed the other that a switch flipped within him. He suddenly found himself fully devoted to Sophia and Penelope Drysdale, the surge of bliss that filled his heart as he held his daughter brought tears to his eyes. Holding his daughter to his bare chest as Tori’s audio book had advised he felt the bond forming that it had said would, he knew he’d protect them even over his wife and himself. All it took was one look and one touch and he was at the mercy of the two girls who couldn’t even feed themselves. He was ready and willing to be the stay-at-home dad that Tori had initially wanted but now he was ready to be all in. So much that Tori couldn’t help smirking when Ransom had to hand Sophie over to be fed and instantly started pouting.

“All those months of animosity and all I had to do was put a baby in your hands.” Tori said softly as she positioned Sophie to feed and Ransom got Penny comfortable in his arms.

“No, I think it would have made things worse but these girls ….” he trailed off.

“They have your beautiful blues.”

“I think they are going to take after you though.”

Penny fell asleep easily in his arms, he was content to hold her there but when Sophie fell asleep and he registered the exhaustion on his wifes face he resigned himself to tucking both babies into the bassinets.

Tori gave him a goofy smile, eyes closed. “Ran?” her voice only contributes to her tired state. “I love you.”

It was the first time either had said those words and he wasn’t even sure she was fully awake, he didn’t want to diminish the moment so he simply kissed her forehead with a personal vow to tell her first thing when she woke up. Adding on that none of his girls would ever go to bed again without hearing those words, nor would they ever be separated without knowing how much they were cared for.

Ransom was reformed. He was a dad now and nothing had ever been so appealing as taking on the responsibility of raising and showing his daughter how loved they were so they would never have the family discord he had with his own mother.

18 notes · View notes

gutsby · 3 months

Text

License to Kill

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.

At least that was what you’d told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.

“You worry too much,” he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.

Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.

Hazards of the job, he’d said.

Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.

Bucky hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.

Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.

If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.

At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.

“Who’s my girl?” he murmured an inch from your ear.

You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.

“I-I am,” you whimpered.

The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.

Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.

“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.

“I do.”

“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”

“I do.”

He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.

Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.

Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.

Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.

“Yeah, Steve?”

The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.

“So what?”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”

Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.

You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Bucky’s in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.

“Ready to cum for me, honey?”

You whimpered and nodded.

“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”

With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.

And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.

For a few, dizzying moments, the man’s mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldn’t rid the thought of giving you a baby.

But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.

Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.

The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didn’t mind.

At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.

“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”

Bucky couldn’t deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.

“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Like hell you are.”

With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.

That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.

“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”

So Sam had heard you after all.

You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.

“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”

“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.

The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; he’d been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.

As you had come to find out, Sam wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.

“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.

“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.

The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.

“Ja-ames!” a sing-song voice trilled across the way.

You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.

Bucky’s mom and dad.

As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didn’t.

In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.

“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.

“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.

“Sure looks like it.”

That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.

“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.

“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.

You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”

She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.

You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.

When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.

And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.

Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.

“Places, people!”

The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.

The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?

That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.

“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.

You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.

There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.

“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.

“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.

“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.

You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.

A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.

“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.

You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.

“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”

“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”

The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.

Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.

If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.

As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.

“Now just the bride and groom!”

The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.

“How ‘bout I push it back in?”

“Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Now kiss!”

At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.

You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.

“You look stunning.”

“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”

You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.

And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?

Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.

Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.

You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.

Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.

You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.

At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.

You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.

You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.

Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.

Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.

You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.

Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.

If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.

You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.

In any case, you didn’t really care.

You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.

You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.

A grinning, bright-eyed blond.

In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.”

Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.

“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”

His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.

“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.

You frowned. A flask?

“It’s not even noon,” you answered.

“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”

Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.

“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”

“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”

Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.

“Joey, by the way.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.

“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.

“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”

You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.

“The service,” you repeated.

“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.

And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.

“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.

Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.

“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”

That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.

With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?

You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.

You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.

“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.

“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.

“You haven’t touched that flask.”

You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.

“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.

“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”

“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.

Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.

“Open.”

“No!”

You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.

“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.

That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.

“Honey? Hon, you there?”

Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.

You craned your neck to look around.

“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.

It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.

You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.

“Bucky, I just—”

“We need to go,” your husband cut in.

His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.

“Go wh—”

“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Your face dropped.

“We’re leaving?”

Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.

“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.

Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.

“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.

You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?

Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.

“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”

Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.

Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.

At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.

You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.

“Here!” Steve called presently.

He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.

Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.

“Hangar’s clear.”

Sam, by the sound of it.

He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.

This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.

Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.

You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.

The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’

You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.

After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.

You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.

“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.

“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.

Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.

“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”

“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.

Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.

“She looks like death warmed over.”

Thank you, Steve.

Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.

Your husband turned to the nurses again.

“She’s pregnant.”

I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.

“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.

“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.

Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.

“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.

Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.

By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.

“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.

“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”

Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.

Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.

“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.

Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.

In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.

“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.

You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.

A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.

“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.

“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”

Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,

“I’ll go.”

He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.

When you turned to Steve, you understood why.

The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.

You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.

“Something wrong?”

You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.

“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.

You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.

What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,

“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”

Your jaw slackened a bit.

“What?”

“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”

Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?

“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.

“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.

“What are you talking about?”

You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.

“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”

You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.

Steve was beaming.

The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.

“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.

Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.

“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.

“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”

“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.

You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.

“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.

“No.”

You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.

Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.

“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.

Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,

“Because my dad was in debt.”

“For what?”

You paused.

“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”

Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.

“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”

This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.

“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.

His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.

“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.

“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.

You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.

“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”

If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.

You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,

“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”

You shrugged.

“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”

Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.

“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”

Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”

“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”

Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.

“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.

“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.

“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”

“James?” You finally turned to him.

“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.

“James,” you pressed again.

You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.

“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.

“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”

“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.

“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.

All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.

“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”

“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.

“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”

Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.

“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.

“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”

“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.

Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.

Fuck, did you need a drink.

You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.

You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.

And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.

“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”

Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.

“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.

You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.

“You, dumbass!”

“Me?”

Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.

“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.

All three men looked up at once.

“What friend?” Sam asked.

“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”

If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.

Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.

“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”

You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,

“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”

“Tall fella?” Steve asked.

“Very.”

“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.

“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.

You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.

“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”

You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.

Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.

“Joey?” he intoned feebly.

“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.

Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.

“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”

Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.

“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”

“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.

“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”

A beat of silence gripped the room.

Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.

Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.

The inside of your head was throbbing.

You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.

You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.

Then your nose started to bleed.

That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.

In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.

You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.

You reached for his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.

“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.

“Why not?”

“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”

You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.

“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”

Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.

“Okay.”

Infuriating.

“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.

Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.

“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”

You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.

“What? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I will.”

The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.

“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”

You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.

“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.

Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.

“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”

You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.

“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”

“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”

“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”

You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.

Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.

“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.

He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.

“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”

Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.

“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.

At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.

“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.

“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.

“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”

You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.

“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”

Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.

“I had to do that,” he snapped.

He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.

“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”

Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.

“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.

“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.

Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.

“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”

“Precisely.”

At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.

“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.

“It sounded like—”

“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”

You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.

“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”

The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.

“Bucky—” you started.

“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”

Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.

“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”

It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.

“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”

You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.

“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”

Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.

While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.

So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.

You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.

When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.

“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?

You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.

“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.

But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.

The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.

“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”

The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.

“Hurt me how?”

You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.

And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.

Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.

“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.

You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.

Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.

Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.

Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.

“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.

Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.

For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.

My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.

Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.

Should I…lick it first?

It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.

When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.

“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”

You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.

What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.

The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.

He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.

The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.

Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.

You raised a brow.

“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.

“Honey, are you s—”

He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.

“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.

Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.

Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—

“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.

Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.

It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.

Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.

“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”

“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”

“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”

You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.

He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.

You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.

Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.

His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.

Lots and lots of babies.

A hundred or more, if he had it his way.

Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.

The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.

You refrained.

Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.

“Mean what?”

It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.

“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.

“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.

“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”

In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.

“What else do you want to be, doll?”

To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.

“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”

Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.

“A good girl?” he hummed.

“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.

Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.

At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.

“Bucky!”

“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“My bunny?”

“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.

Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.

“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”

His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,

“W-what?”

Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.

“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”

“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.

It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.

He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.

“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.

In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.

“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”

Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.

“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”

You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”

Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.

“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.

Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.

“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”

You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.

“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”

“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.

And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.

“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.

Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.

“Gonna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded.

“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.

You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”

The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.

“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”

You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.

“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”

A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.

The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.

“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”

Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.

“Baby, let go, I gotta—”

He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.

Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.

He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.

Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.

You stroked his bicep and shook your head.

“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.

Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?

Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.

A phone call? At 45,000 feet?

“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”

Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.

“You think they could hear us?” you asked.

Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.

“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”

“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.

You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.

Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.

“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”

You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.

Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.

He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.

From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.

“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”

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