#then i was like. Bent over in there and when i got out just fucking. Standing there crying and crying and crying
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BTS Dating Series #17: Pet Peeves
Members x Reader
Genre/Rate: 18+, fluff
Summary: Little things that just....annoy you or him about each other.
Warnings: None to note.
Kim Seokjin
You threw your body into a chair in the corner of your bedroom, folding your arms across your chest as Jin stared at you incredulously. The two of you had been in a somewhat heated disagreement and once you started to feel yourself becoming overwhelmed, you chose to just...stop talking in an effort to calm yourself.
"Are you really gonna not say anything else?" Jin wondered, huffing harshly when you only responded with further silence. "You know, that's another thing that you do that I hate."
"What?" You couldn't help but to ask.
"Any time we have an argument or even a hard conversation, you clam up and stop talking," he explained. "That makes it almost impossible to fix anything and it also makes me feel like some type of villain."
"Oh," you murmured, looking down at your feet. "I didn't realize that it made you feel that way. I just..."
"What?" Jin encouraged as he stepped over to you and bent down so that he was looking up at you.
"In past relationships, whenever I would get chastised or yelled at, I found that not saying anything helped to not escalate things," you admitted, finally looking up at your boyfriend. "I don't want things to escalate with you, Jin."
"Oh baby," he murmured, grabbing your hands and bringing them both up to his mouth, pressing soft kisses to them before he pulled them away to speak. "You never have to worry about that with me. Whenever we're disagreeing about something, it's never me against you. It's us against the problem, ok? It doesn't mean that I hate you or that I don't want to be with you because that would never be the case, ok?"
"Ok," you nodded. "I'm sorry for shutting down on you. I'll do my best to work on that."
"Ok," Jin agreed. "I love you."
"I love you too," you replied before leaning down and kissing him softly.
Min Yoongi
"Are you fucking serious right now?" Yoongi chuckled in disbelief and you barely spared him a glance from your spot on his living room couch. You and Yoongi had planned to spend the whole weekend together since it was one of his rare ones off. However, he got called into the studio at the last minute and had to go handle it before you two headed out on your planned date for the day.
Now, that wasn't a problem for you whatsoever because Yoongi said he'd text you when he was heading back home. One hour went by, then two hours and by the time the third hour rolled around, you were throughly pissed off. Once he did finally make it back to his apartment where he'd left you, you had become resolute in giving him the silent treatment.
"Do you know how childish you're acting right now?" Yoongi wondered. "I know that I told you it wouldn't take me long and I'm sorry that it did but you can't be this upset over that!"
"You cannot tell me what I can and cannot be upset over," you finally spoke up.
"Oh look, she speaks." You glared at him, throwing him the middle finger before you folded your arms across your chest. All Yoongi could do was groan loudly as he ran his hands over his face, becoming more irritated as time went on.
"Listen, I do not do well with the silent treatment and I hate it when you do this so if you want me to fix it, you're going to have to cooperate and talk to me or else I won't be able to," he shrugged. "Up to you." You sighed heavily then, knowing that you were being petty and that your boyfriend was right.
"I'm sorry," you murmured. "I just got upset when you took longer than you said you would. Made it feel like you forgot about me."
"I could never forget about you," he cooed, bending down so that he was squatting in front of you as he took your hands in his to hold. "I'm sorry that I didn't keep you in the loop. I'll make sure to be more mindful of that, ok?" You nodded with a smile, surging forward and throwing your arms around him in a hug.
Kim Namjoon
"If you would just listen to me, I'd be able to explain it to you!" You exclaimed angrily as you stared at Namjoon, who was standing on the other side of the island in your kitchen. The two of you had been cooking dinner together when you made what was intended to be a light hearted joke about his cooking skills. However, Namjoon didn't take it that way at all which led to a full blown argument.
"You can be so flippant when you say certain things to me, you know?" Namjoon pointed out.
"Me, flippant?" You scoffed, throwing your hands up in immediate surrender. "And on that note, I need some space." You turned around and began to walk out of the kitchen but you realized that you could hear footsteps behind you.
"And that's another thing," Namjoon snapped. "Anytime we get into an argument or fight, you insist on walking away."
"Because I need space!" You shouted as you turned around to look at him. "I literally just said that or were you not listening?"
"We're not gonna fix anything if you keep doing that."
"But we're also not going to fix anything if I can't take the space I need to calm down so that I'm not escalating the situation," you explained. "I know you wanna talk it out but just....give me a little while."
"Fine," Namjoon relented and he turned around and walked away before you even had the chance to say another word.
Jung Hoseok
"It was so good to see you!" Hobi smiled to Juhyun, who grinned widely as Hobi gave her a gentle hug.
"It was good to see you as well, Hobi," she replied before turning around and walking out of the store. Hobi walked back over to you then, where you had been pretending to browse the store's selection of shoes but you had really been eavesdropping on their conversation.
"See anything you might like?" Hobi asked you and you shrugged noncommittally, biting your lip before you decided to just take the risk and ask what was on your mind.
"Can I ask you something?" You wondered.
"Anything."
"Are you still friends with all of your exes?" You questioned and Hobi rose an eyebrow.
"Well, I don't know if friends is the word I'd really use to describe it," he began. "Even if we broke up, none of them were necessarily on bad terms or anything like that so it's not hard for me to speak to them whenever I might see them."
"Hmm," you murmured and Hobi couldn't help but to smile at you.
"Jealous?"
"Don't know if jealous is really the word I'd use," you replied, echoing his previous statement. "But it does make me feel weird that you're.....so friendly. I don't like it."
"So, should I keep it to a hi and bye?" He asked. "And no hugs?"
"That actually would be nice," you nodded.
"Done," Hobi grinned. "Now, come on. I wanted to check out another store while we're here." You smiled to yourself as Hobi grabbed your hand and led you out of the store.
Park Jimin
You were laid out in Jimin's bed, waiting for him to get home from rehearsal. You had had an extremely long day at work so needless to say, you were more than excited to see your boyfriend so that you could get all the cuddles that you could handle.
As you were browsing the internet on your laptop, you heard the front door open and close and not long after that, Jimin was pushing open the door to the bedroom.
"Hi Jimin-ssi," you greeted him happily, watching as he threw his bag down and instantly walked over to the closet.
"Hi baby," he muttered as he worked on changing out of his dance clothes and into more comfortable ones. As he did this, you closed the laptop and set it on the bedside table before you laid down on your side. Once Jimin was done changing, he walked over to the bed and laid down on his back, shutting his eyes and not saying a word.
"How was your day?" You spoke up and Jimin just shrugged, eyes still closed.
"Same old, same old."
"Did you guys finish learning the choreography to that new song you showed me?" You wondered and Jimin nodded. "Aw, I'm sure it's amazing. I can't wait to see it." Jimin still hadn't said a word and you sighed heavily. "Jimin, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he deadpanned. "I'm fine."
"Baby, you're obviously not fine," you replied gently. "I'm willing to listen if you want to talk."
"Well, I don't want to talk," he grunted. "Just leave me alone."
"You know, I was really looking forward to you getting here because I had a long day too and all I wanted was to cuddle with you but if you're going to be a jerk just because you're in a shitty mood, then I'll just go home," you snapped and just as you moved to rip the blanket off of your body, Jimin gently grabbed your arm.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It was just a hard day and I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"And that's fair that you didn't feel like talking but don't clam up on me," you murmured as you turned around to face him. "I'm here to help, always."
"I know," he smiled gently. "Come here." He opened his arms and you moved closer to him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you as he held your body tightly to his. "I love you."
"I love you too," you whispered, smiling to yourself when you felt him kiss your forehead.
Kim Taehyung
"Oh my gosh, you know what we should do tonight?" Taehyung asked you and you looked up at him from your spot next to him on his couch. The two of you had planned on just having a date night in but apparently, Taehyung had other ideas.
"What?"
"We should get dressed and go to that new jazz club that just opened last month," he suggested and you instantly grimaced. "What is it?"
"I don't know about that," you replied. "I was kind of looking forward to staying in."
"But we've been doing that for so many weekends now," he pointed out. "It might be fun to get out, have a little change of scenery."
"Hmm, I don't think so," you shook your head and your eyes widened when you heard Taehyung sigh heavily.
"Why don't you ever want to go out?" He demanded to know. "I could probably count on one hand how often we've been out together, just to do something fun."
"I'm a homebody," you shrugged. "I've always preferred to be home to than go out to some club or something like that."
"And I fully respect that but couldn't we do it sometimes?" He suggested. "Just occasionally?"
"You know what, yeah," you agreed. "I promise, I'll try to make sure that we do more of the things you enjoy too, ok?"
"Thank you," Taehyung grinned widely before leaning over and kissing you firmly.
Jeon Jungkook
"What the hell?" You muttered as you picked pieces of clothes up off of the living room floor. "Has a man been staying with me or a fucking animal?" In an effort to spend more time together, Jungkook had been spending more time at your apartment and he had definitely made himself comfortable in your space. Maybe even a little...too comfortable.
"Baby, I have lamb skewers!" Jungkook exclaimed as he stepped through the front door of your apartment, one bag in each hand as he shut the door with his foot. He stopped right in his tracks though when he saw you standing in the middle of the living room with an unamused look on your face. "What's wrong?"
"No, the problem is what's wrong with you?" You demanded to know. "Have you never seen a hamper? Do you not know what it looks like so that you can put your clothes in it?"
"No, those are my clean clothes," he told you.
"Why are they on the floor then?"
"Because I didn't want them to get mixed up with my dirty ones," he shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Why not just put the dirty in the- you know what, no," you cut yourself off. "I'm not even gonna attempt to understand male logic. Just give me my skewers, please."
"Here you go," Jungkook smiled, waiting until you had dropped the clothes in your hands before he handed one of the bags off to you. "I love you."
"Yeah yeah, love you too, messy animal," you grumbled, making Jungkook laugh out loud.
..........................................................
Tag List: @addictedtohobi @brittneymccray @cursedcursives @arata18nanami @leftieaquarius @devilsbooksworld @starmyy @werewolfbanshee-love @li-moonchild-il @kpop-servant @cheysjimin
#bts#bts scenarios#bts reactions#bts jin#bts yoongi#bts suga#bts namjoon#bts rm#bts jhope#bts hoseok#bts jimin#bts taehyung#bts v#bts jungkook#jin x reader#yoongi x reader#namjoon x reader#hoseok x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#bts x reader
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promise i'm working on content right now but here's a drabble because uhh... it came to me x
corrupt cop leon !! 18+ content
tw: non-con, lil mysogyny and filming. fem!reader
Leon thinks you're cute. Real cute. He'd happily take you out to dinner and treat you real nice if Irons wasn't working his ass to the bone. He barely has enough time to eat or sleep as of late, let alone take the time out of his day to take a pretty girl to a fancy dinner. Not that he could afford to on his payroll, even if he wanted to. City life sure wasn't cheap, something he had to learn the hard way.
He's not a scary cop, not on the surface. He can see the way you instantly relax as you see his face after he pulls up next to you. He's still all baby-faced and bright-eyed, his gaze shining as he looks over you.
"Late night for a pretty girl like you to be out," he had said, shooting you a disarming smile. He'd gotten you to talk for a while, nodding and acting all interested until he got your guard down enough. He didn't have to sweet talk you, but he was nice enough to at least try and get the girl compliant enough to go along with him.
Didn't last long, though. You really started to kick up a fuss as he got a little too touchy with you. All girls like you were so stuck-up. How many dates did a guy have to splurge on to get into some panties? What ever happened to a good old-fashioned backseat blowie? The Internet really fucking ruined women. They all thought they were 'too good' for a quick fuck. Like that'd stop him.
He has you pushed over the hood of his car in a few seconds flat. Cop training came in handy, made him real good at restraining the pretty girls he wanted to stick his dick into. Had you cuffed with his hand cupping your mouth before you could even think about screaming, fumbling with his belt for about 30 seconds before he's hiking your skirt up and tugging your panties to the side.
He thrusts into you with one quick snap of his hips, groaning loudly as your tight heat wraps around his cock. You're not really wet, but the warmth and snugness makes up for your lack of arousal. It makes his cock twitch as you cry out into his hand, the feeling of tears gathering against the skin as they trickle down your cheeks making him grin. He always loved it when they cried, made him feel like his cock was really doing some damage.
"Can you do me a favour, sweetheart?" He murmurs, pressing wet kisses down your neck as he thrusts into you, his balls slapping against your clit repeatedly. Still not enough to get you dripping for him. Jeez, you were a picky one, huh? He had a pretty cock, most girls at least had the decency to get wet after a while. You're lucky you're just his type, or he would've dumped you on the side of the road by now.
"See that light right there?" He breathes out after a beat, his free hand tapping the window right where his dashboard camera sits, recording his every move. He grins against your neck, pretty blues peeking through his lashes as he stares at the camera. "Look at it for me, baby. Wanna be able to watch your pretty face on video when I fill you up."
His words seem to make you panic a little, your cunt clenching around his dick as you start to sob, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe against his palm. You're drooling all over him, and he's starting to wish he decided to fuck that pretty throat of yours rather than your cunt, cause that's the only thing on you that seems to know how to get wet. Oh, well. He's too close now to bother pulling out.
It only takes him a few more thrusts before he spills his seed deep inside of you with a whimper, his eyes squeezing shut as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He pulls out a minute later, tucking himself back into his pants, leaving your trembling body bent over his patrol car. Takes him a moment to catch his breath, then he unlocks your cuffs and rubs your wrists - all sweet and gentle.
"Up you get, sweetheart." He pats your ass before helping you up, straightening out your skirt with a sweet smile on his face - like his cum wasn't dripping down the inside of your thighs. He pulls out a wad of cash, stuffing it down your top just to get an excuse to peek at the tits he never got around to touching.
"Money for a taxi, cutie. There's some really nasty men lurking around this time of night."
#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x you
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FRIENDS- C.STURNIOLO
pairing: chris x reader
summary:in which chris and reader have always had a flirty friendship but theres more to it then just flirting. what will happen when chris confronts the girl about all the drunken hook ups they had?
warnings: swearing, slight arguing, f!recieving, p in v, fluff.
chris and y/n have been friends for three years now they met thru social media and they have always had a flirty friendship with eachother.
the two were very close some would say way too close for someone who is just friends.
they claim theyre just friends but friends dont look at friends that way nor just friends know the way eachother tastes.
they both are too stubborn to admit to eachother that they have feelings for eachother.
they have hooked up a few times here and there most of the times when they were drunk but once they were both sober. this is how it always happens they go to a party get drunk then they start making out and getting handsy with eachother til chris ends up having her bent over a bathroom sink.
they never bring up these moments to eachother. they like to keep it that way so they dont have to talk about their feelings. they both avoid doing so because of the fact that they are both scared of commitment.
everyone sees it though they can tell how inlove with eachother they are. everyone except the two of them can tell. which deep down they both know but they are too scared to admit it.
y/n was currently on her way to chris’ house to hangout. she was excited to see him as she hadnt seen him or his brothers for a week because they were in boston.
she had been waiting all week to see him. she missed his presence and hanging with him. as much as she hated to admit it she missed the feeling of his lips on hers and the feeling of their bodies being connected as one. she missed it more than she should. she knew she shouldnt feel like this because theyre supposed to just be friends.
little did the girl know that chris felt the same exact way. always constantly thinking of her lips on his and them pretty lil noises that come out of her mouth when he’s balls deep inside of her.
the girl had pulled into the driveway of his house. she parked and walked into the boys house as this was their usual routine.
chris was currently sitting on the couch with his brothers as the girl walked up the stairs into the living room.
the boys smiled instantly when they saw the girl walking over to the couch. the girl immediately went over to chris and sat down next to him and he pulled her into his arms.
“missed you” chris mumbled as he held the girl in his arms.
“missed you too” she said.
.•°♡°•.
it had been a few hours of the two hanging out and now they were currently in his room. chris wanted to talk to the girl about everything from
the hookups that they promised to not talk about to him having feelings for her.
“hey y/n?” chris said softly as they were laying beside eachother.
“hmm?” the girl said.
“we needa talk.” he said as he got up from laying on her chest.
“about what?” the girl said confused.
“what do you mean what? we need to talk about us!” he said looking at her.
“chris what us? we are just friends.” the girl said and thats what set chris off.
“what the fuck do you mean we are just friends? so all the times we have hooked up and everything that meant nothing to you!?” chris raised his voice a bit feeling hurt from the words the girl had said.
“we were drunk chris!”she said not being able to find the right words she actually wanted to say.
“oh so im just another drunken hook up to you!? thats nice to know thats how you think of me.” chris said as he got off of his bed standing up.
“you’re not just another hookup chris! stop with the fucking nonsense coming from your mouth!” the girl said rolling her eyes.
with that chris sat back on his bed inching his face close to the girls. “look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same way about me as i feel about you.” he said with his voice raspy.
the girl felt heat instantly go to her core the way he was talking and looking at her. “i cant do that.” she said scared to tell him how she truly feels about him.
“i know you have feelings for me just the way i have for you baby. its okay you dont have to be scared to tell me that.” he said as he closed the distance between the two smashing his lips onto hers.
the girl felt butterflies as this kiss was different from all the drunken ones. it was passionate filled with love and emotions.
the kiss was slow and gentle as chris pushed the girl back on the bed hovering over her and pressing his lips back on the girls.
the girl felt her core start to ache for him as she felt his errection growing against her core.
the kiss began to grow heated as chris rocked his hips against the girls causing her to let out a soft whimper into his mouth.
chris pressed a few soft kisses on her neck. “let me show you how much you mean to me baby.” he said playing with the hem of her shorts
“go ahead.”she said.
and with that chris slid her shorts off then slid her shirt off of her leaving her bare on his bed.
“so pretty baby.”he stared at her body in awe of how beautiful she was.
chris loved every part of her body. in his eyes she was the most beautiful girl ever. she was such a sweet girl, he loved the friendship she had with his brothers and the way they got along with them. chris just thought everything about the girl was so perfect.
chris slid his clothes off leaving him in his boxers as he hovered over the girl kissing her lips softly working his way down her body.
chris left soft kisses on the girls inner thighs leading up to her core licking a stripe up her wet cunt.
the girl let out a soft moan slightly bucking her hips causing chris to chuckle. “patience baby wanna take my time with you.”he said
he started to suck on the girls clit as he held her thighs down making eye contact with the girl as he swirled his tounge around her sensitive clit.
the girl ran her hands thru his hair as he started to work his tounge in and out of her entrance causing her to let out moans.
chris then attached his tounge back to her clit as he inserted a finger inside of her watching her facial expressions of pleasure.
the girl felt her orgasm growing closer and closer as she started to clench around chris’ finger.
“cum for me baby.” chris said as he added another finger starting to finger her at a fast pace.
the girl threw her head back in pleasure moaning loudly as she released all over his fingers.
chris slid his fingers out of her licking them clean as he pressed a soft kiss on his clit before hovering back over her. “always taste so sweet.”
chris reached down slipping his boxers off and pressed his lips onto hers kissing her sloppily as he brushed his tip against her entrance before pushing into her.
the girl whimpered into his mouth as he started thrusting into her as he interlocked their hands together as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
chris pressed soft kisses all over the girls face as he slowly started to pound into her just enjoying the moment,making love to her.
they held eachother close as he kept moving deep inside of her. nothing in the world mattered at the moment just the two of them.
chris rested his forehead on hers as he looked her in the eyes. “so beautiful.”he said as he started to thrust into her at a faster pace.
chris kept pressing soft kisses all over the girls face as he was balls deep inside of her hitting every inch. like her body was made just for him.
“you take me so well baby.” he said as she moaned in response.
at this point chris was taking his sweet time with her just enjoying the two of them being this close.
he kissed her softly as he started to pound into her as he felt her starting to clench around him.
“cum for me princess.” he said as he took his hand down to her clit starting to rub it with his thumb as his hips were rolling into hers.
the girl moaned his name repeatedly as she coated his cock with her cum. chris fucked her through her orgasm as she started to feel him twitch inside her hinting that he was gonna cum soon.
chris sloppily thrusted into her a few times as he came deep inside of her filling her up completely. he thrusted a few times helping him come down from his high before pulling out.
once he pulled out he laid beside the girl pulling her into his chest rubbing her back as he kissed her forehead.
“wanna go shower mama?”he asked her as she looked at him.
she had messy hair and swollen lips with a neck littered with hickeys but to chris she was the most beautiful girl ever.
“yeah lets take one” she said softly.
chris nodded and got up and picked her up carrying her to the bathroom.
he sat her down on his sink as he fixed the shower water for the both of them.
the girl sat there admiring him as he got the water ready for them. once he did that he came over to the girl picking her up and placing her into the shower.
he got in with her and held her close to him as they just stood underneath the water.
he rubbed her back as they stood underneath the water, he grabbed her chin making her look at him.
“i love you.” he said softly.
“i love you too chris.” she smiled.
chris kissed the girl softly letting those emotions show. she belonged to him and he belonged to her.
they werent just friends they were much more than that.
TAGLIST: @eupiasworld , @sturniolosloves , @mattslovelygf , @smittensturniolos , @hauntedxchris , @hearts4tatemcrae , @bernardsbendystraws , @jo-777 , @wurlibydominicfike , @meerkatzthings , @jnkvivi , @sturnzblog , @pinklittleflower , @sturnioloblogs
#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets imagines#chris sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#chris sturniolo imagine#christopher sturniolo#christopher sturniolo imagines#matt sturniolo imagines#chris sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo imagines#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo smut#nate doe imagines#nate doe#nathan doe smut#sturniolo triplet imagines
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i am Not doing well folks
#cried last night bc i was subjected to pics of taehyung in that fucking camoflauge already#sobbed this morning while watching jimin choke up about his hair#woke up crying again when jungkook turned his live on#bawled to yes or no for some reason#W E P T when take two came on shuffle literally harder than i've ever cried to that song (which is many times)#i had to go jump in the shower to drown out the sound of me audibly crying in case anyone heard me#then i was like. Bent over in there and when i got out just fucking. Standing there crying and crying and crying#this is all so heartbreaking and dramatic like imagine just being able to watch this happen with a neutral attitude#it's hitting me in bursts that gradually get worse#anyway i'm already compiling clips for Another vmin gifset
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fun fact 12 step programs were developed by two white christian men in 1930s america
#clenching my jAW#it's so hard bc it merits a much more nuanced discussion than tumblr writ large will ever go for#12 steps work for a lot of people!#but they also don't work for a lot of people!#they were developed through a very particular lens! and a lot of it is about breaking down one's own ego#guess who doesn't have the ego of white american men in the 1930s? hmm......#nvm the religious foundation.. you can tell me that 'god' can be anything all you want but it does not erase the moral bent of the program#and then every other variation of 12 steps just copy/pastes the same fucking structure#i think they're good in the sense that it can help you find community right#and i'm not going to devalue the importance of feeling like you're not alone#but that's about theeee only thing i got out of naranon#i thought adult children of might be different but no it feels exactly the same#and it's honestly extremely triggering to read 'you have a victim mindset' when i've spent over a year's work with my therapist to finally#acknowledge myself as a victim for the first time!#fuck offfffff. okay rant over.#driveby post#addiction
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:-)
#venting in the tags cuz I do not want to be obtrusive or take up space on peoples dashes about it#but god. chronic back pain is just. so evil#I have been in mind numbing pain all day and there was nothing I could do about it#its usually kind of background noise but it’s so brutal today#I feel like someone has dug a knife between my vertebrae and is trying to pop them apart by sheer force#standing hurts sitting hurts lying down hurts#moving wrong has just fucking winded me it’s like getting punched under the ribs#I bent down to feed my cats when I got home and I swear I greyed out for a second cuz I moved Bad#and absolutely NOTHING brought this on like i twinged it putting a fucking dish away in my cabinet#I wish someone would just take my spine out and scrub it all fresh and clean and straighten it out and put it back in nice and shiny#okay vent over it’s been building all day and I’m just saying shit now#peoples chronic pain is real unless it is mine. obviously 👍#okay. delete later. probably#busy beez
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❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞
❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞
✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader
✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic?
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n.
✧ wc: 5.3K
It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter.
But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up.
It was him.
You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak.
“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises?
He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers.
“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,”
Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment.
He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,”
And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile.
Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped.
And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,”
And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze.
Fuck.
“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,”
You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—”
“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked.
And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break.
It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?”
He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?”
And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks.
“I would,”
And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile.
Fuck.
“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears.
But how can you be quiet?
The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck.
And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,”
And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass.
He’s huge.
The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.
“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—”
“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,”
“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”
Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?”
And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much.
He was too much.
“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,”
“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,”
“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?”
“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—”
And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns.
He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart.
That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up.
“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—”
“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt.
He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store.
And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—”
“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care.
And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump.
You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.
“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush.
How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,”
“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?”
And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling.
“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.”
~~~~
The two of you had fallen into a pattern.
And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…
You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started.
“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin.
“What are you—”
“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,”
“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type.
“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?”
“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“
“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,”
“Mahito—“
“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money, “be a doll, won’t you?”
Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?”
You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?”
His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice.
“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?
Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you.
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?”
“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.”
“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling.
This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger.
“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods.
“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot.
“I will,”
“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.
“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip.
“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,”
And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.”
“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze.
No time like the present, right?
“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—”
And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—”
“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,”
“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—”
“Have another lesson?”
And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you.
He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue.
And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt.
Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was.
And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—”
“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,”
“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release.
One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure.
“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you.
“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks.
His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much.
You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light.
And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach.
Your mouth runs dry.
Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought.
Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you.
“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it.
And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze.
His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch.
His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away.
He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—”
And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal.
Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod.
He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out.
“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.
“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!”
And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you.
“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out, “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?”
“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder.
“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him.
Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—”
“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls.
The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt.
“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck.
“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick.
“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again.
God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour.
~~~
The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise.
“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you.
“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.”
You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?”
You were picking up your boyfriend.
He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.”
note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!
tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious
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Last time my ass was fucked, it was brutal.
I met up with a guy for a chat and ended up in some abandoned caravan, on my knees on the cold floor, ass in the air. I had the best time with him. No lube, no anal preparation, just brutal balls deep fucking. I cried, that didn’t stop him. I begged him to be gentle, he laughed and ignored me, carried on fucking me however he wanted. He even made me taste my own ass off his cock and once he had enough of my throat he went back to fucking my ass again. I came so many times and I felt disgusting cumming while getting my ass raped by a guy I was meeting for the first time but I just couldn’t stop. He buried his cum deep inside my asshole and then made me clean off his cock with my mouth. The taste of his cum and my ass was amazing. He was still super hard so I didn’t stop sucking his cock until he finished again, he dumped some down my throat and then all over my face too. He didn’t let me clean up, i was so sore and my hole was so stretched. He started walking me home, cum leaking out of my ass and also dripping down my face. Luckily it was dark so no one could see the state I was in. When we were about 10 minutes from my place, he wanted a piece of my cunt too. I said that’s fine and drop to my knees and sucked his cock again. This time we were out in the open. Anyone could have walked past and heard me moaning as I got my holes used. He bent me over a bench and forced his cock into my tight little cunt. I could feel myself stretching to accommodate his massive cock. I tried to muffle my moans, but he kept telling me to let it out. His cock felt so good and I could feel myself about to cum all over his cock and he started thrusting even harder. I squirted all over him. He finished inside my cunt. Both holes now leaking cum, he pushes me to my knees and tells me to clean off his cock which I do! I felt like such a whore, both holes used and leaking cum from a guy I met for the first time that day! I could still taste my ass and my cunt with both of our cum. The taste was beautiful. We carried on the walk back to my place, he pulled me in and kissed me before he left. I went upstairs to my room, I was sore for days afterwards but I couldn’t wait to see him again for the same treatment.
#cnc k!nk#r4p3 kink#r4p3 m3#rough cnc#cnc sub#r4p3b4it#cnc free use#send threats#attention wh0r3#br33d1ng
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soft-tummy simon riley save me… cause you cannot look at that man and tell me he doesn’t love to eat!! like, a constant snacker. and his heart absolutely swells when you indulge so heavily in his needs.
it’s practically his love language, to scarf down anything you put on the table in front of him, and you can certainly tell since now he’s not nearly in the same shape as he was when you found him.
he likes to think you’ve fixed him in a way; spending his evenings cuddling in bed for hours on end with you, rather than heading to the gym for the second time that day to burn off dinner. thanking you for the savory meal with kisses all over instead of fighting off the impulse to purge his usual bland chicken breast and vegetables every night.
and it all hits him far, far deeper than just his gut; feeling it in his heart more than the soft layer of fat blanketing his tummy he has to see in the mirror every morning. just the fact that a sweet thing like you wants to take care of him, ensure he eats plentiful yet still healthy for his work, has him whipped. showering him with endless i love you’s and praising him all up and down until his cheeks tint a light, flustered pink and his dick gets achingly hard in his pants.
he won’t pretend the change was easy on him, seeing the clean-cut abs and fit appearance that made him feel young fade away the further you got into your relationship, but he’d also be a filthy liar if he said he didn’t prefer the pros to his current build way more.
simon begins wearing shirts less around the house on his lazy days, at your lovely request of course, and it does feel quite freeing. especially when he’s able to come up behind you in the kitchen, cage you in with his burly arms, bend you over the counter and fuck you senseless because part of the deal was that his shirts would go to you, and with nothing but your lace panties on underneath.
he can’t help but get riled up seeing you walk around like that, and you’re no saint either when you catch a glimpse of his broad chest and relaxed, pillowy belly as he reads the morning newspaper. you tend to drop to your knees and tug at his boxers faster than he can even greet you properly, showing him just how much you love him.
he loves eating you out more than anything, especially with a full tummy after a late meal. you’ll take his and your empty plates to the kitchen to clean up, but you’re being bent over the counter before you can even wipe it down!! and squealing his name in surprise won’t stop him, nor will your giggles as he’s lifting the skirt of your dress to reveal your pretty ass, getting down on his knees and delving right in.
dragging his tongue through your drenched seam, grinning softly against your skin when you jolt and whine out of sensitivity. tongue-fucking your pretty, tight hole only for a moment before he’s returning to messily play with your swollen clit.
and you just know it’s entirely selfish, simon not even paying mind to the way your legs shake and relentlessly convulse and you can barely stay still because his stubble is unceasingly tickling your inner thighs. making you cum until you can’t anymore, and he’s happily forced to carry your numbed, twitchy body to bed so you can catch your breath and rest while he finishes up the chores.
would probably send you off by say something cliché about you being his favorite dessert. he’s so stupid when he’s horny.
simon is weak for when you ride his stomach, with both his hands planted firmly on your hips as you rub your bare pussy back and forth on his hard abdomen. his hidden muscles become more apparent the longer you go at it and the harder he holds you down, little whimpers spilling from your puffy lips as the light hairs coating his tummy create just the perfect amount of friction to your poor, little clit for that hot, familiar sensation in your lower belly to bubble up.
your hands clawing at his chest and shoulders, leaving lines and crescent indents in his skin that soon turn red in their wake, and the pain only turns him on more, his cock excruciatingly hard, long hums of pleasure omitting straight from his throat as he grits his teeth.
“yeah, that’s it, sweetheart—there’s my dirty girl. jus’ keep goin’ for me now, don’t stop… make yourself cum without me touchin’ you down there, ‘nd then i’ll fuck you real nicely after. alright, princess?”
and you soon follow through with just that, nodding decorously with tears welling at your eyes’ waterlines before you’re lurching forward, crying out his name. thighs giving out and fighting to ride out your orgasm, where simon then saves you with his attentive grip on your hips, finishing the job for you rather recklessly.
“good fuckin’ girl… y’did so well for me, love,” and every other gruff, dragged word of praise in his vocabulary echos in your fuzzy mind as you come down from your high.
you’re still catching your breath, fulling laying on his chest by the time he’s inching you backwards whilst taking his hard dick out from his boxers. lifting your weak hips for you as he whispers small, reassuring hushes right by your ear, soothing your winces as he fully sheathes you on his thick cock, inch by fucking inch.
he fucks himself up into you, not daring to make you overwork your body anymore, and he handles you so delicately you could almost fall asleep on his mattress of a body. you crumble to pieces with the vibrations of his chest from his unending groaning, the feeling of his veiny and rough cock stretching and filling you to the brim almost becoming minute compared to the sleepiness washing over you.
“there ya go, pretty… don’t have’ta do any work now, jus’ like i promised, eh?” he coos, and he could feel you smiling against his collarbone. one of his large hands cradles the back of your head while the other gropes at your ass lovingly. “takin’ me just fine, sweet girl.”
you bury your heated face into his squishy pectoral, whining at the overstimulation to your clit at the particular angle, left so utterly sensitive from your prior orgasm. you’re limp in his strong hold, securer than ever as he lifts your hips up and down his thick cock.
he uses your tender cunt ‘til he’s satisfied, groaning right up against your ticklish ear when he empties his hot cum in your throbbing pussy, the perfect thing milking him dry and turning you exhausted.
he actually sits in the moment for a peaceful while, coddling you against his rising and falling chest and murmuring sweet praises, until eventually his disciplined brain kicks in despite your protests.
“don’t go passin’ out on me yet, sweetheart.” you grumble out a refusing noise which makes him laugh softly, but apparently it’s not enough to win him over. “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”
(simon and his size difference & free use kinks go CRAZY in this one. also this instagram reel is so him coded ok bye bye <3 cont.)
#cod mw#simon riley#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley smut#ghost smut#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x female reader#simon riley x female reader
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warnings ; toxic references, degradation
”pretty thing ain’t ya pogue” rafe hissed in your ear — fat tip pushing in your sopping pussy. his hickies all over your body, which he had you bent over his couch cushion like a rag doll. thighs jerked around his waist, your tits pressed against the plush couch as his dick slid into your puffy walls
“and fuckin’ tight,” rafes words were so filthy you uncontrollably clenched around his cock. sucking him in even deeper and yet pushing him out. he grunted in response. “fucking do that again and ‘m cumming inside you - damn you want that don’t you baby?” his hand pulled your forehead so you were looking at him — the mere size of his cock making water pool in your lash line. his slow, taunting thrusts left your mind deliciously blank.
“c-cameron we auh auh- cant!” the fact you even got it out surprised you both, yet only made the bastard smirk. “sure I can, you don’t have a say baby’ I’m doing you a favor slut, let’s not forget that, yea’?” a moan slipped from your lips as his hips began to slap into your ass — many moans as he pushed down on your back, thrusting your hips up even higher he hit your sweet spot perfectly “god, such a fucking shame your a pogue, prettiest slut I’ve ever seen. never had kook cock have you, mhm?” you knew he was enjoying the taunts far to much, but his heavy balls slapping against your clit truly blurred out any scoffs you could have resided to. instead being replaced by dirty gasps and moans — all falling from your drool kissed lips. it was answer enough — and he fucking loved it.
“good cause’ mines the only one you’ll ever gonna have, pogue” the words disappeared in your mind before they even set it, the feeling of his tip thrusting right into your g spot triggered your electric laced climax. cunt walls quivering around his dick — balls deep in your squelching pussy.
“p-pull out” you tried to manage — your blurry tinged head barely doing anything to truly protest. it just felt so good.
in an instant, he pried your legs from his waist and pushed your hips down onto the couch — prone boning you from the back as you felt him lick a strike up the side of your neck. “don’t tell a kook what to do baby” the words almost registered right before he slammed to the hilt once more — his tip twitched against your cervix, a deep groan leaving his throat as his cum leaked down your clenching cunt. “f-fuck you rafe” you panted. feeling him collapse gently on top of you, peeling your sweat brimmed hair from your neck as he layed another purple mark. “your hot when your mad, pogue,” you gasped as he kneeled behind you — thrusting his cum deeper into you, holding it in. “but say it again sweetheart and I’ll make sure every one of your filthy fucking friends knows you belong to me,” you were exhausted — and yet his greedy fingers found your clit, circling it just to prove his point. so sensitive from the touch you bucked against him. “none of them fuck you like I do, do they baby? yea’ none of them ever fuckin’ will”
a/n : toxic rafe just does things to me… carnally. I needed to write a quick blurb lmao. imagining he saw you at a party and well… it’s rafe hehe
#˚₊‧ — ( vees writing) ˚₊‧#rafe cameron#rafe imagine#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x you#obx smut#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron fanfiction#outer banks smut#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe fanfiction
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Hi! ^^ I saw that your requests are open. Can you please do nsfw headcanons for Vox, Alastor and maybe Adam (if you’re open to write for him if not no worries!) with an S/O (separte) who is really sweet, but when they get to the bedroom for the first time she starts some kinky stuff once she’s comfortable enough. Stuff that they never knew would leave her mouth? How would they react?
I hope you have a beautiful day! ^^
##good girl
separate! vox x reader / alastor x reader / adam x reader
beware: smut, blowjob, knife play, biting, choking, cockwarming, rut, breeding kink, overstimulation, electric play, degradation, praise, mention of rope bunny, marking
a/n: thanks for being the reason why i post nsfw for the first time LMFAOO like actually i never posted it before so mb if these aren’t great<3
VOX
when you and vox started dating, the last thing he thought of was you being fun in the bedroom. now don’t get him wrong, he enjoys a little vanilla sex from time to time: but for you? a whole different story.
he thought you were more tame, to be fair, you were a whole sweetheart. but there came a time where he got a little too in his head and light electricity emitted from the palms of his hands.
he was so close to pulling away but the sound that came from you? he couldn’t stop. now, the electricity was not harsh, but instead sizzled over your skin: it’s how he often took off steam. the two words that really tied the knot is when you said “use me,” between kisses
the last thing he figured is that you were into choking, and here he is with his fingers curled around your neck. heavy breaths and degrading words being whispered to your ear.
“such a fucking whore begging for my cock like this, and here i thought i knew you.”
honestly, he gets even more ecstatic to know you’re a freak just as much as he is. his a corruption kink and your putter sona of portraying and innocent sweet heart really sparks that in him.
after figuring out this information, he enjoys calling you into his office and have you ccokwarm him. feeling you clench around him the longer you cannot move, or he will grip on your thighs to make you still.
ALASTOR
breeding link goes heavy and it was because that is how he found out about you’re kinky side. it was while he had you in a mating press when you let out those sweet words of “breed me, breed me, please alastor!” the begging and the way your fingers dug into his shoulders when he released.
“gun’na fill you right up until your dripping with my seed.”
he was quick to play into it that night, because things got more exciting after that. there was no genuine shock because to alastor? you were just so sweet and kind that you had to be hiding something. being a freak in bed was one of the last things but it was there.
the last thing he expected was stop being until knife play — it would be waaay later until he found that out, and how he did? he noticed the way you writhed under him whenever this his claws glided against your plush skin. the sounds you makes when his digs his nails into your thighs while he’s rutting into you.
breeding link mixed with overstimulation for this radio demon — only during a rut — other times, he’s fine and sex doesn’t occur often. usually to satisfy you when he isn’t in the mood, he lays you out on the bed while he reads a book and fingers you. can and will eat you out like it’s his last meal if you’re being too whiny.
ADAM
“such a slut, couldn’t wait for my cock and had to be fucked on the table in my office, huh?”
he knew you were a freak, he loved tying you up in the bedroom and using you until you were overstimulated. but when you came into his office and was more touchy, that caught him off guard. first, he thought you were joking. now he has you bent over his desk with a hand over your mouth, praying internally that the seraphim’s don’t catch this.
another part of him hopes to be caught. everyone believes that you’re some sweet angel who can do better than adam, but he’s the only one who can rail you until your legs begin to shake. (you wonder why lilith and eve left him sometimes)
goes crazy when you take his hand and place it where you wanna be touched. “i need words, sugar, what do you want me to do?” very oral with you, especially when he ties you up. leaving hickies isn’t enough, this man will bite into your skin (if you’re okay with it.) and ruin you
please be oral with him too, it will drive him fucking nuts. sharper thrusts and loves pressing you against the wall.
no because he will definitely have you bounce on his cock in the office but his wings will spread around the two of you for more privacy after he became the lead extermination angel.
#ᥫ᭡.#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel smut#vox x reader#alastor x reader#adam x reader
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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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#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#marvel#mcu#mob bucky barnes#marvel smut#marvel x reader#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes
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— ∘☽༓☾∘ ♱ overprotective!simonriley drabble
warnings|| MDNI; 18+ content, unhealthy behavior, k!dnapping, implied attempted sa, overprotective!simonriley, p!v
not only does he not like you leaving the house by yourself, but he borderline wants you chained to the bed.
you plan a grocery trip? just give him a few hours to finish his work and he’ll go with you.
you text him that you have to run to the store? no bother he’ll get whatever you need on his way home.
you want a late night snack? "no way darling, just climb back in here under the covers with me…"
to tell the truth he’s just so protective of you. he just doesn’t want his pretty little girl to be in any unnecessary danger.
but he dreams of the day someone try’s to take you from him. he’d know exactly what to do. he did it for a living. shit, he got payed to do it.
he’d find you, probably gaged and bound, in the back of some dead guy’s van. his precious baby all teary-eyed and red faced.
god, and when he gets his hands on you. he’ll teach you exactly why you should never leave his sights…
“…isn’t that right, baby?” he slurred into your ear from behind.
he had your lower half pulled out of the van’s back door. bent over, hands still bound, spit soaked gag dragging against your hardened nipples with every one of his painful thrusts.
“c'mon use ya’ words…” but you can’t. the only thing escaping your parted lips is a breathless moan of his name.
“simon…”
“at’s right… fuck… say it again.”
“i’ll neve- ah… i’ll- oh fuck… simon…”
he pull you up by your hair, pressing you against his hot chest. slipping his hand around your hip to play casually with your clit.
“don’t ya' wanna cum, princess? or ‘ave ya’ not learned ya’ lesson yet?”
“i have! i have!” you’d cry, fresh tear cascading down your previously damp cheeks.
“please…please simon… i-i wanna cum…”
“y'know what to say darlin’.” his trusts were relentless. dragging against your cervix with each snap of his hips.
a sob was drawn from your throat before your lips babbled out the words…
“i’ll never leave you again!”
“good job, baby… good girl.” he slurs before dropping his head into your shoulder, his mouth taking hold of your neck as his thrust became even rougher…
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© ladywuvly please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!
#ladywuvly. m.list#18+ content#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost call of duty#ghost headcanon#ghost x female reader#ghost x reader#simon riley#fanfic#navi.#18+ blog#fandom#simon ghost riley drabble#simon riley drabble#simon riley headcanons#overprotective!simonriley#overprotective!ghostxf!reader
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