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bucky-fricking-barnes · 4 months

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

1K notes · View notes

neo-nomatrix · 5 months

Text

Gold chain beneath your shirt, the shirt that you let me wear home

Luke Castellan x reader

word count: little over 1k

summary: no matter how hard you try to forget, there are signs of luke everywhere

a/n: smutty, angsty

He betrayed you, it wasn’t a dream or a stupid vision. He really betrayed you.

When Luke first brought up getting revenge on the gods you thought he was joking. He hadn’t mentioned “kronos’ army” , afraid that would be too much to jump onto you. You realize it far too late, that he was very much serious about his plan.

“You can join me. It’ll be just us again, remember? I can’t protect you,” He says, looking at you lovingly.

Luke had found you before departing camp, for good. He gave you a last chance to join him and the army. All while telling you what he had done to Percy.

“You tried to poison percy!” You yelled at him in the heat of the moment.

“I did what I had to do!” He screamed at you.

You backed up into the corner of your cabin, everyone else from your cabin gone. The few year rounders somewhere else.

“I’m not joining you Luke! That would be betraying everyone I love!” You yell back.

“What about me?! Huh?! You have hated the gods ever since I met you, what happened?” He questions.

“I may hate them, but I could never do this. I’m not a monster,” You quietly say, shaking your head.

“Fine. Make the wrong choice. But I won't be able to save you when the time comes,” He tells you cryptically.

You watch him walk away from you. You debate turning him in, but how? He’s stronger than you, faster, you know you can’t. All you can do is watch him walk away, possibly destroying both your futures. As he opens the door he looks back at you one last time.

——————

You’ve been rather alone at camp since summer ended. Percy and Annabeth return home while Grover goes off on his adventure for Pan. The only friends you have there are small acquaintances and your siblings. You decided you’re not quite ready to return home. You’ve had run-ins with monsters previously outside of camp and you aren’t prepared to deal with them again. Partially because your mind is flooded with Luke.

With the extra amounts of free time you find yourself rearranging your cabin and area. Sorting through your clothes over and over again. This time you find something you hadn’t previously, a thick plaid blue flannel. lukes. You pick it up and hold it in front of you. Memories flood in your head of Luke.

It’s mid June, you and luke’s favorite time for a swim in the lake. You find a lake hidden behind a forest of trees that’s quiet, perfect for you two. You were wandering in the forest together when you first found it. Hand in hand. The glimmering sun makes the water sparkle.

You start taking off your shirt and jean shorts while smiling widely.

“C’mon!” You laugh at Luke.

“You’re crazy,” he laughs at you, taking off his flannel and cargos.

He holds your hand as he pulls you into the crystal clear water. You both smile as the warm water touches your skin. Luke holds strongly onto your waist with one hand. The other acts like a paddle to push you into the middle of the lake. Your hands wrap about his neck, playing with his gold chain which has a feather charm hanging off of it.

He kisses your neck softly, roaming his calloused hands around your waist. You comb your fingers through his brown curls. Your thumb grazed over his scar below his right eye. You press a kiss on his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He drops his right hand underneath the water and pulls your underwear aside. His long fingers teasing you entrance.

“Don’t tease,” you whisper against his lips.

He smiles and plunges one finger into you, letting out a breath of air as you moan. He kisses the sweet spot on your neck. Your mouth hangs open and you grind onto his fingers.

“You’re so fucking beautiful baby,” he mumbles.

“I’m a good girl right?” you moan softly.

“Are you? I don’t think so, baby,” he frowns, slowing his fingers down.

“W-what? no- no i’m a good girl, the best,” you say, eyes furrowing at his response.

“Hmm, maybe you should prove to me how good you are,” He whispers back, smirking.

“I’ll do anything,” you desperately say.

“Make yourself cum on my fingers,” he orders you, moving your hips against his bulge.

You grind your hips against his fingers. “You’re like a fucking dog in heat,” he laughs at you.

“I’m gonna- Luke i’m gonna,” you whine.

“Let go baby, be a good girl,” He smiles.

You cum harshly on his fingers, he slowly pumps in and out riding you out. He continues pressing kisses against you, his over hand roaming your body.

“Good girl, my good girl.”

You both get out of the water tired. Allowing the sun to soak into you, drying you off. You put your shorts back on before realizing your shirt has gotten mud on it.

“Luke! My shirt!” you cry out to him.

“Here, take this,” He laughs at you, throwing his flannel at you.

You smile back at him, putting the flannel over your shoulders. You go up to him and wrap your arms around his tall figure.

“Wish we could stay here forever,” You mumble.

“I think we can work something out.”

——————

You stare at the shirt, smiling. You wonder what it would be like if he never left, if it could be just you forever. You hug the shirt longingly, going to your bunk and wrapping yourself in the flannel. You feel a hard metal in the pocket, his chain. You hold it in your palm; small tears pooling in your eyes.

“Fuck you Luke. Why’d you have to do this?” You look out the window, angry and sad.

You wish for a different ending. You wish he stayed. You wish you had gone with him, maybe it would’ve just been you two. You wish you had stayed in that moment forever. You wish it wasn’t true. You wish he hadn’t left.

You love Luke Castellan, even though you wish you dont. You hate yourself for falling for it. You hate him for making you fall for him.

#percy jackson #pjo series #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan smut

3K notes · View notes

letstrip13 · 2 months

Text

🍋 - teach me

reader x matt

based on this request

summary: you're inexperienced, so you turn to your best friend, matt, to teach you a thing or two.

warnings: smut, oral m!receiving

word count: 1,791

author's note: sorry that this took so long to put out. my idea of writing a lot and scheduling posts didn't work out the way i wanted to. also, thank you to the person who sent this (my very first) request in!! i hope you like it :) keep sending more requests, i love getting them!!

------------------------୨୧------------------------

matt wraps his arm around your shoulders as you two settle down to watch a movie in your bedroom. you had invited him over for a sleepover, but it wasn't just to hang out. you had something to ask him that you had been thinking about for a while.

as he gets under the blankets with you, he senses your nervousness and glances over at you, a soft look in his eyes. “are you okay? you've been way quieter than usual,” he asks in a gentle tone. “yeah, i'm fine.” you pause before deciding to ask him the question that's been on your mind, thinking there may not be a better time. “there's just something i've been wanting to ask you.. sort of like a favour. you can say no if you're uncomfortable with it.. it's kind of a lot to ask. i just don't want things to get weird,” you nervously ramble on.

matt gives you a look of curiosity, clearly intrigued by what you're so nervous about. he takes your hand, his thumb softly tracing circles on the back of it. “it's okay, you can ask me anything.” “if you don't want to do this, just forget i asked, okay?” he nods and you take a deep breath before starting.

“you know how i've never really been with a guy, right?” he slowly nods, wondering where you could be going with this. you decide to just be upfront and say exactly what you want. “i want you to teach me how to give a guy head.” his eyes widen in surprise but he quickly recovers the soft smile that was on his face before. “oh yeah, i can definitely teach you. it's not a big deal. so, you just want me to explain it to you right?”

you hesitate for a moment. “no, matt.. i mean i want to practice on you. tell me what I'm supposed to do and i'll do it.” the slow circles matt was tracing on the back of your hand stop suddenly and he leans against the headboard, carefully considering what you said. he glances down at your lips, almost as if he's imagining how they would feel wrapped around his cock.

after what seems like forever, he finally speaks, “are you sure? i don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with.” you nod. “i'm sure. i always wanted my first time doing something like this to be with someone i care about and trust. it almost makes sense that it's you, i trust you more than anyone.” he smiles softly at your words, his heart warming at the fact that you're trusting him to be your first with an experience like this. he leans in close and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “alright, we'll take it slow and make sure you're comfortable. we can stop at any point if you need to.” “okay. thanks for agreeing to this. honestly, i didn't think you would.”

you move a little bit closer to matt. “what do i do first?” he clears his throat slightly. “first, you need to get me hard. we can do that by making out.” his hands hover over your hips. “can i?” you nod and he grabs your hips, moving you so you're straddling his lap. your breath hitches in your throat as you look down at him from this new position.

you slowly lean in, capturing his lips in a sweet, slow, gentle kiss to start off. matt's hands move up your back and into your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss. he takes the lead and expertly slips his tongue into your mouth. you follow what he's doing, slipping your tongue into his mouth. when he pulls on your hair, it causes you to squirm a little and you accidentally grind down into his lap. a small groan escapes his lips. you repeat the action, knowing it feels good for him. his hips jerk up, pressing his hardening cock against you through your clothes. he groans into the kiss again, his hands sliding down, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “fuck,” he mumbles.

you stifle a gasp against his lips. you pull away from each other breathlessly and look into each other's eyes, almost as if you're realizing what you're really doing. without a moment's hesitation, you kiss him again, more passionately this time. you slowly roll your hips against his, getting him even harder. matt pushes you down while simultaneously bucking his hips up. he deepens the kiss while you grind against each other. you gain a little confidence and start kissing his jawline and neck, your hip movements not slowing down in the slightest. you eventually pull away, looking into his eyes as you move to grind against him one last time. “now what?” you whisper.

matt's breathing is ragged as he looks into your eyes. he swallows hard, trying to regain any composure and figure out what to say. “uhhh.. you can take off my pants if you're ready.” you nod and get off his lap, sitting on your knees next to him. you unbutton and unzip his jeans. he lifts your hips to help you out as you tug them down just enough so you have access to his boxers. you're still a little nervous so you don't pull them down quite yet, instead, gently touching the fabric covered bulge. his breath hitches as his hard cock throbs against the fabric at your touch. he watches as your hand explores him and he gives you an encouraging nod, signaling to you to continue whenever you're ready.

you slowly pull his boxers down until his cock springs free against his stomach. you part your lips as if you're about to say something but no words come out. it's bigger than you had expected. matt notices the look on your face and gives you a reassuring smile. “take your time, sweetheart. when you're ready, just spit on the tip. then wrap your hand around it and move it up and dow-”

you immediately do what he says, spitting on the tip and watching it trickle down the shaft for a second while his hips jerk at the warm sensation, a soft groan escaping his lips. you wrap your hand around him where the spit fell and you start slowly pumping it up and down, spreading your saliva around. he moans as he unintentionally thrusts up into your hand. “that's it, baby.. you're doing great.” you look into his eyes as you keep going. “what do i do now?”

matt bites his bottom lip, trying to focus on your question through the pleasure you're giving him. “now, you can try taking the tip in your mouth,” he pants out softly. you keep your hand wrapped around the base of his shaft while giving the tip a shy, little lick while looking into his eyes. he gives you a small nod of approval, so you continue teasing him with licks as you get used to the taste of him. once you gain some confidence, you swirl your tongue around the tip and start sucking on it a little as well. his breath catches in his throat and his hips jerk up involuntarily. “fuck yes, just like that,” he groans, “you're doing so good.”

you stop sucking on his tip after about a minute. you pause and look up at him. “do i just keep doing the same thing but further down?” matt nods, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “yeah.. just keep going like that. but when you can't take any more in your mouth, start stroking it with your hand like you were doing before.” you nod as you listen to him speak before doing exactly what he says. you take a few inches into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down his length slowly while working the rest of him with your hand.

he groans out in pleasure while his fingers tangle in your hair, holding it back in a makeshift ponytail. “fuck- you're so good at this already,” he mumbles as his hips jerk up again, forcing you to take him deeper in your mouth. you gag on his cock a bit as he unintentionally pushes your head down, pulling back a little. “sorry, didn't mean to do that,” he whispers while stroking your hair softly. you keep going, his moans encouraging you and telling you that you're making him feel good.

you soon realize that the more of matt's cock you have in your mouth, the better it feels for him so you try to take him as deep as you can every time you move your head down. you can feel the tip hitting the back of your throat and the sensation makes your eyes water. the tears mix with the mascara on your bottom lashes as they spill down your cheeks.

matt pants heavily, his eyes closing tightly as he feels his impending orgasm. “shit.. baby, i'm close,” he murmurs, tugging on your hair. when he tells you this, you take his cock as deep down your throat as you can. you feel it twitch in your mouth and you know he's going to cum any second now. his hips jerk up almost violently, pushing his cock deep into your throat as he cums. his hands tighten in your hair, holding you in place while he fills your mouth, shooting his load down your throat with a loud moan. you pull back, keeping your lips wrapped around the tip as you swallow the cum filling your mouth.

you pull away once you've swallowed every last drop that he can give you, his cock leaving your mouth with a soft, wet pop. you wipe the side of your mouth while looking up at him. “did i do good?” matt tries to catch his breath, his eyes remaining locked on yours. “fuck.. yeah, you did amazing,” he whispers, still a bit dazed from the experience.

you sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you wipe away any remaining tears on your cheeks. “thank you for teaching me. that was even better than i thought it would be.” matt tucks his now flaccid dick into his boxers and zips his jeans back up. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “no problem. you can practice on me any time you want.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. you pull the blanket up over your legs and you start the movie you were going to watch earlier. you cuddle up next to him while you watch the movie and you eventually fall asleep in each other's arms.

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part 2

#matt x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo oneshot

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ghouljams · 1 month

Text

Thinking more fallout au thoughts.

Cw: branding, dub-con, mean Ghost

"Would you quit squirmin'." Ghost tells you, yanking your pants down over the curve of your ass. He's got you pinned over his lap, your arms held tight against your sides with no hope of escape. You squirm a little harder, give a valiant effort towards escape, and he swears. "Wouldn't have ta do this if ya quit wandering off."

Branding you, he means.

His words don't inspire confidence, and certainly don't stop you from trying to wiggle you way off his lap. Who cares if you've got your pants around your knees, anything is better than what Ghost has planned.

"This is crazy!" You tell him, "You're crazy!"

"And you're a thief," he responds easily, "won't hurt too bad, animals used ta get branded all the time and they never complained." You thrash. You don't appreciate name calling in a situation like this, but he could at least use words you know.

"Stay still." Ghost spanks you hard and you whimper, dropping your head at the sting. In your brief moment of stillness Ghost reaches over you and pulls a length of metal from the campfire. He holds you tight, keeps you from moving too much when you start to squirm again. He mutters something about you messing up his work, and you freeze when you feel the blistering heat near your skin, then pain.

You scream.

Ghost holds the brand to you for a few seconds before pulling it away. By then you can feel the burn in earnest. It feels hot, obviously, but far past what you thought heat could feel like. It's blistering, stinging, like a scratch that keeps digging deeper. Ghost uncaps his flask and spends it over your ass while you sob. It flashes new heat over your skin but it's cool. It helps a little, at least as long as it takes for his flask to run out of water. You sniffle, try to tough it out until it's just the dry Mojave air on your new burn, then the tears start again.

"I can't believe you," you sniff, trying to sound less pathetic than you feel. Ghost leans sideways, settles the metal on the sand beside him. You don't bother attempting to escape even when his grip loosens, you just slump to wallow in your misery.

"It's barely second degree," Ghost's fingers prod at the warm edges of the burn. You flinch, and he pulls back. The dips and grooves of his hand as it rubs over your unblemished asscheek tells you he's taken his glove off. It's the only warming you have that he's going to slip it between your legs.

You don't have the strength to struggle against his hold again. Ghost drags his fingers along your slit, the calloused and scarred skin rubbing gently against your clit. A different sort of heat. One your body seems all too eager for. You press your hips back into the feeling, eager for some reprieve from the pain still radiating off your skin. It earns you a chuckle from Ghost, a burst of embarrassed warmth over your cheeks, and a more firm, focused attention between your legs.

"There ya go," Ghost coos, "wasn't this the deal? I don't kill you, and you do-" he clicks his tongue, adjusts his grip and smears your slick over the back of your thighs, you hadn't realized how wet you were, "-'ow'd you phrase it again?"

"Whatever gets you off," you whimper, filling in the words you remember all too well. Usually a more rewarding experience and with less burns.

Ghost wiggles a finger into your cunt, pumps the thick digit in and out, curls it to stroke your walls, and makes you squirm desperately. "You want me to kiss it better sweet'art?" Ghost asks, almost mocking in his tone.

You nod anyway, and end up grinding your desperate cunt against his mouth the same as you always do.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost cod #mw2 ghost #fallout au

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buckyalpine · 11 months

Text

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE, i LOVE this. Fluffy fluff and smutty smutty.

"Ms. Y/L/N, there's someone here for you?" your secretary whispered into the phone, eyes shifting back to the man that was leaning against his desk, unbothered that he didn’t have a meeting set up to come and see you.

"I'm busy" You mumbled, staring a the mass of paper before you, all disorganized and unaccounted for, the pile only doubling in size each day. Matt nodded, turning back to the visitor, only to see he was already half way down the hall.

"Sir? Sir, I-I don't think that's a good idea-

Your secretary's panicked voice continued to ramble over the receiver which you promptly hung up, hoping security would deal with the problem. A harsh knock at the door pulled you away from your thoughts, the pounding in your head worse than before and now this.

"What" You hissed, glowering at the door as it clicked open, eyeing the stapler that sat on your desk. You itched to throw it at whoever walked in unannounced, your handsome boyfriend poking his head into your office before happily letting himself in and closing it behind him.

"Doll" Bucky gave you a cheeky smile, striding over to your desk, amused by your grumpy expression, cocking an eyebrow at his antics. “How’s my best girl”

“Busy, Bucky” You huffed, groaning when the phone rang again, along with a ping from a notification that popped up on your phone. “For fucks sake-

Bucky watched you tap away at your keyboard, brows pinched together, your shoulders tensed up, which he already knew would ache later, making difficult for you to sleep. You rubbed your temples, slumping your chair while Bucky rounded your desk, ignoring your futile protests as he lifted you off your chair and sat down before plopping you down onto his lap.

"C'mere baby" If it was one thing Bucky adored doing, it was taking care of you, holding you in his arms, between his wide spread thick thighs. He came by your office, hoping to take you out for a coffee break but clearly you needed a lot more than coffee. “Why don’t you take a break for a bit?”

“I can’t, I have so much-Bucky!”

"You're stressed sweets" Bucky didn’t even bother letting you finish, his nimble fingers starting to work at your shoulders and neck, making his way up to the base of your scalp. The soft whimper you let out let him know exactly how much you needed to be destressed, but a short massage wasn’t going to cut it. You tried to recompose yourself and pull away from him but he wasn’t having it, holding onto you tighter instead. "Need me to take care of you, pretty girl?"

With the swipe of his arm, he wiped away the contents of your table making you freeze on the spot, eyes growing wide at everything that was now scattered on the floor. Before you could speak, he hushed you, picking you and and seating you on the desk, positioning himself between your legs.

"I'll get Tony to find someone good at organizing to sort all this shit out, right now I want you naked on the table" Bucky growled, pulling you close to him and tossing your blazer off. His fingers twirled his knife around, skillfully slicing down your blouse, buttons flying to the floor, pastel silk reduced to neat ribbons within seconds. He didn’t give you any time to think, a shiver running down your spine at the cool air that brushed against your skin once he had you completely bare. “Much better”

“James, I have a meeting, someone could walk in-”

“Let them walk in” Bucky smirked, tossing his jacket off before pulling your body flush against his, smashing his lips onto yours. You moaned against his lips, feeling his hard length pressing against your soaked pussy, all the pent up stress and frustration making you crave him even more. Bucky could feel you grind yourself on him, desperate for any type of friction, his erection bumping against your clit, a dark wet stain already on his jeans.

“You look gorgeous” Bucky groaned, eyeing you up and down as he unbuttoned his jeans, his pretty angel sitting on her large desk, not a hair out place, make up still perfect, that pretty needy cunt between her thighs begging for attention. Usually he’d worship you for hours on end and feast your body the way you deserved but that wasn’t what you needed today.

“M’gonna fuck you on this desk, n’your’re gonna take it” He didn’t waste any time pulling his cock out, pumping it while moving you to lay back on the hard surface of the dark wood, caging you under him. He nudged your thighs apart, bringing them up to drape over his shoulders, rubbing his swollen cockhead through your slick, “N’I don’t want you thinking about anything else other than my cock, baby”

With that he slammed into you, clamping his hand over your mouth to muffle your scream, setting in a brutal pace, making the desk nearly screech against the floor. Your body rocked under his thrusts, his cock hitting spots that made your vision cloud with stars, pleasure already sky rocketing up as he angled his hips to fuck you deeper.

“Y’know how many times I thought about this baby?” He smirked, biting his bottom lip, letting his boy weight fall on you, your thighs dropping to wrap around his waist. He grabbed your hands, pinning them against the desk, above your head, ignoring the way his balls were already heavy, precum making a sticky mess between your legs. “How many times I jerked my cock off thinking about railing you over your desk when you walk around in the mornings with those suits and heels? You know how many mornings I’ve made a mess on the sheets after watching you get ready, my smart, sexy, gorgeous girl”

All you could do was moan, your eyes rolling back, desperately trying to silence yourself to no avail.

“J-James!” Your back arched off the table, the curls at the base of his cock rubbing your clit with each thrust making the coil in your belly tighten. The sudden trill of your phone ringing snapped your focus back as your eyes grew wide but before you could do anything, Bucky answered.

"She’s busy” Bucky growled before slamming the phone down, lightly taping your cheek to look back at him. “That's it, focus on me baby, who fucks you this good, huh?”

“You-oh god-fuck-FUCK BUCKY” You sobbed, the pleasure and pressure building up rapidly, your orgasm just on the edge. Bucky knew you were close, starving off his climax to get you there first, his own cock leaking, desperate to cum in you. “I’m-gonna-cu-

“”I know baby, I know, together okay? Who own’s this pussy, let everyone know”

“You B-Bucky!” You choked out, “I’m gonna cum, can’t hold it”

“That’s right angel, mine, my pretty girl to take care of. cum for me, cum all over my cock, gimmie that cream, I want it baby, need it so bad” You bit down hard onto his shoulder to muffle your moans, your pussy nearly squirting and pushing his cock out with the force of your orgasm. Bucky pounded you harder, chasing the feeling of your pussy chocking him, practically milking him for all he’s worth, his thrusts harsh and sloppy.

“Oh shit-fuck m’gonna cum for you-m’cu--fuucckkk” Bucky’s hips stuttered, before he pressed you hard against the table, tucking his face into your neck groaning loudly. He stayed still inside you for a moment, the both of you lost between soft kisses while he caressed your cheek with his knuckles and running his fingers through your hair. You couldn’t possibly look more beautiful, freshly fucked and naked on your desk, his cum dripping out of your pussy.

He helped you get dressed, pulling his soft Henley over your head in place of the blouse he cut off, pulling you bac into his lap after you got your pants back on. He sat on your office chair again, rolling his eyes at the phone that started to ring again, shaming his head when you let out a tired whine.

"Shh" Bucky kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you, an tucking you against his chest. "Ready to go home?" he whispered, looking down curiously when he didn’t hear a response. He smiled when he noticed you’d fallen asleep, letting out soft little snores, snuggling into his chest.

A loud banging on the door made Bucky's jaw clench, eyes narrowed at who cared to knock at his angel's door in such a manner. He frowned when you stirred, even more pissed off now that someone was about to disturb his babydoll’s much needed sleep.

“Who is it” The tone in his voice would have sent people walking in the other direction but it appeared they didn’t get the hint. He held onto you protectively as the door creaked open. Bucky cocked an eyebrow at your wide eyed intern and the idiotic blond that stood impatiently behind him, his eyes also bulging out of his head when he saw the super soldier sitting in your seat with you asleep in his lap.

“S-sir?” Matt stammered out, unsure of what to do, “Um-this-this is Mr. Walker and his associate-sorry, was it spaceship?”

“...”

“Battleship?”

“For fucks sake, his name is Hokins, his company is Battle star” The blonde gritted out while Bucky rolled his eyes, still not letting them enter.

“Come back tomorrow” Bucky deadpanned and with that they both scrambled away from the door, closing it softly behind them. Bucky snorted, going back to cuddling you, kissing your forehead.

“How’s my baby” He whispered against your hair while you yawned, stretching on him like a cat.

“Sleepy” You mumbled while he hummed in response, effortlessly carrying you up in his arms. You were too tired to protest, letting out a content sigh, keeping your eyes closed as he walked towards the door. “Where we going?” was all you could muster while he carried you.

“Home, where I can run you a nice bath, feed you, and then tuck you into bed, how does that sound”

“Take me home”

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bratphilia · 7 months

Text

office chair (w. afton x reader)

request: "hi angel!!! ummmmmm…….. could you possiblg write some big age gap, lap riding and kissing + teasing with steve raglan/mathew lillard william? asking for a friend.."

note: sorry it's a little short but i hope you enjoy anon!!

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: age gap (reader is 18-21, william is like 45-50+), dry humping, riding, make out session, implied friends w/ benefits

you're in his office. again. surprise, surprise. but you both knew what you were getting into the moment you locked eyes in the waiting room of his office. especially once he locked the door behind him after you entered.

steve has had you on every surface of this office. even up against the walls. bent over the desk, on the little couch in his office — fuck, even on the floor.

you don't quite know what it is that makes him so attractive to you. he's a weird guy, to be honest. he's enigmatic and distant about his past and his emotions, whenever you've tried to actually talk to him. for now, you chalk it up to his age. you've never seen what he looked like when he was younger, but he aged like fine wine.

anyways, you're sitting in his lap in his desk chair. you've been in this exact position many times before, but that never takes away from how exciting it is. he's cradling your face with his hand and in control of the kiss you two are entangled in.

steve's mouth moves against yours, slow and sensual. his tongue guides yours in a slow dance. sometimes it's rough when he has little patience, or running on a low budget of time, or when he deals with an annoying client. but this time, the two of you have all the time in the world. whenever the two of you break apart for air, you press your foreheads together, listening to each other breathe.

over the time of your kiss, you become increasingly needy. so much so that steve takes notice. "want me that badly, huh?"

you begin grinding your hips against his jeans. the friction feels absolutely delicious against your clothed clit, making you whimper. "'need you."

he chuckles. "you already have me, sweetheart."

"steve, please."

he takes a moment to appreciate you. wandering eyes travel down and up your body, to where you're pushing your hips against him desperately, to your heaving chest, and to your eyes squeezed shut as you chase any kind of relief you can get. "i won't torture you, baby."

your heart soars. you hop off his lap, begrudgingly, and for a moment you miss being close to him, but he starts unbuckling his belt, practically making you salivate. he only pulls his cock out, leaving on his pants on. you wordlessly follow suit and take off your panties. purposefully, you leave your skirt on. you know all too well how he likes it.

he pats his thighs to beckon to to come sit. your heart thumps already with excitement. you hop on his lap, instantly sinking yourself down on his hard length. the both of you moan in unison. steve's hands find their way to your hips and pushes your pencil skirt up so it's bunched around your lower waist.

"ride me, baby," he almost grunts. you place your hands on his shoulders and begin to move at a slow pace. moving up and down, up and down, up and down.

steve is leaned back lazily. his gaze switches from your pretty face and down to where your pussy is sliding against his cock. his expression is just too good. flushed red face, sweat beading on his forehead, and pupils dialated.

you try to move faster but it's hard with your stamina and the position you're in. "help me out?" you ask in a sweet, fucked out voice, one that's music to his ears.

without another word, he uses his grip on your hips to guide you at a faster pace. soon enough, you're riding him with reckless abandon. your moaning freely at this point and the sounds you're making bring him closer to the edge.

knowing how much you love it, he leans forward and whispers dirty praises in your ear. "you're doing so well f'me, love dove, riding my cock so well."

"mmm," you moan in response. you wrap your hands around his neck and he takes the initiative to bury his face is the crook of yours.

you feel your own orgasm approaching as your whining gets louder. you both stopped caring who hears you a long time ago. steve can feel his own orgasm approaching closer too as his own grunts and groans increase in longevity.

he pulls you down and up on his cock faster, encouraging your movements. "come on baby girl, come for me. come for me, i'm close too."

the both of you finish at the same time. he pulls you down on his member to sit still as hot spurts of his cum shoot into you. you both moan at the same time as you take in the feeling of your insides being painted by him and your pussy clenching around him.

when the both of you calm down, the room is filled with the quiet sound of breathing. steve doesn't pull out yet and holds you close to him and peppers kisses on your face, your neck, and your chest, while you lay your head on his chest.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #steve raglan #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf movie

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pedge-page · 25 days

Note

Preggo wife Joel is the type of person who would pull out in the middle of sex and go down on her just to hear wife moan louder, I just know he would be f r e a k y af

notes: Let me tell you…all fluff and cuteness and humor aside, this man fucks like a beast. How else do you think she got knocked up?? Here’s what the man was like just days after finding out you were expecting.

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Joel Miller - Husband, Father, Daddy

Warnings: unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral F receiving

18+ ONLY

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Joel’s got your waist pinned to the bed, rutting his cock into your soaked heat as your poor legs flail by his side. Harsh grunts leave his open mouth with each rut, his fingertips digging into your hips to imprint himself. You’ve cum three times now, not really having any other option but taking his thick length that has somehow made a very comfortable home inside your cunt, conformed to its hardened shape each time the tip punches your gummy walls.

“FUck baby look at ya, takin’ my cock s’deep,” he groans, pushing in all the way until his colliding with your cervix before grinding his pelvis flush against yours. "My pretty wife, all mineminemine."

“I can’t—Joel please,” you whine.

He starts thrusting again and you yelp, throwing your head back with silent cries of pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes you can—took a baby in this pussy didn’t you? Fuckin’ bred ya, shit gonna look so good like a Mommy ohmygod.” He grins, nearly cumming at the thought of your tummy swelling so quickly. He keeps thinking it’s already showing, the little pudge making its way evident for the world to see. “Cum for me one more time, please baby need to hear it.”

You shake your head, covering your mouth.

He growls, pulling out and slapping your cunt hard. spankspank against your abused clit as he tosses your thighs up, presenting your slit to him. He latches his widened jaw to cover the entire area of your exposed core, humming into your sweet little pussy. your sticky arousal flows into his mouth, and he sucks every bit that tries to escape him. Eats you out like it’ll be the last thing he does.

“Let it out,” he growls, flicking his tongue against your clit with little sucks. “Louder, scream it baby," he swats your sensitive nub again, "fuckin’ louder, I said!” His fingers plunge into your hole, twisting and slicking them up, expertly wringing you of your loud moans he all but deserves.

“Ah—ah yeah oh fuckyeah!! Yesyesyesyesohmygod Joel— Daddy please I’M—!” You body freezes in a vicious position, rolling your pussy further into his mouth as he works your orgasm over you.

“That’s my girl.” He spanks your cunt once with a satisfied smirk, your whole body jolting from the impact before he’s forcing his cock into your tightened walls. "I'm fuckin' my wife's pussy so fuckin' good, she can't even speak."

Your eyes roll back to you skull as he sets a brutal pace again.

“Daddy’s home’s right here,” he moans.

You grip his bicep with the little clutch of sanity you have left, an erotic, delirious smile plastered on your face. He obsessively strokes your belly with his thumb. There's no intent to stop fucking you. That one more cum was total bullshit but who fucking cares, when he's claiming you so good. Despite your hoarse throat, you continue to let out desperate whimpers of encouragement for him. His tongue caught between his teeth with little snarls and pants, staring down at the spot where you're joined, soaking everything between you two.

You’re so cock drunk for him, it’s no wonder your body was so willing to accept his seed. He just has that effect. Maybe pregnancy won’t be so bad for you after all…

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#joel miller fan fiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel dealing with preggo wife #the last of us fic #tlou smut #the last of us smut #last of us fic

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toxicanonymity · 10 months

Text

ring doorbell 🚪

5400 words, stepdad!Joel x f!reader

stepdad master

Summary: Joel holds it together at a Christmas party, only to show up at your apartment later. WARNINGS: I8+ stepcest, toxic fluff, f masturbation, party-typical alcohol, angst, reader dacryphilia, grinding, unsafe P in V INTERCOURSE FINALLY ❤️‍🔥 (he's clean, I tested him myself), pulling out (this time), big mess of cum. A/N: dedicated to @gracieispunk 🤍 (bc he's always been her #1) and all of stepdad's fans ✊💦

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Note: not a big deal but white elephant gift /party explanation if you don't know

This is the wk before Xmas week like 12/16/23 yes the whole fic is mildly in the future lmao the exorcist comes out this October.

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You still haven't snapchatted Joel back. After he sends nothing one day, you think about it a lot. You want to send him your own, but you can't decide what to send. You never used to overthink it, but after all this, whatever you send feels like a big deal. The next day, you're lounging on your bed thinking about it when you get a notification.

[Snapchat: J. has shared a photo with you]

You've gotten yourself off to Joel's snaps so many times that as soon as you get the notification, you're throbbing. You’re also relieved–after going a whole day with nothing from him, you were getting anxious. It's a rainy day and you're doing nothing, so you get out your silicone Joel but it’s dead. You change the batteries, silently thanking Joel for his foresight, and fold a towel under you. Before you open his Snapchat, you get yourself close with nothing but your imagination.

You imagine him showing up at your door, eyelids red, cheeks still wet with tears, unable to speak he's so desperate for you. Latching onto your lips as he barges into your apartment, hands cradling your head, pulling your face into his. Kissing you like he's starving. Taking off each other's clothes on the way to your room without a single word spoken until he's on your bed and rasps "I fuckin' need you right now" as he gets between your legs. Tangling your fingers in his hair as his bare chest hovers over yours and his cock hangs heavily onto your mound until he reaches down and puts it where you need it. His lips on yours again. His tongue pushing into your mouth as he pushes his cock into you. Your legs wrapping around him as your body swallows his length. Joel pounding into you, moaning that moan you've heard so many times now, his skin against yours, thrusting into you, approaching that moment where he'll give you the biggest load you could imagine.

At this point, you open the snap, and it's not what you expect.

Photo: Close-up selfie of his face and bare shoulders. His shoulders are so muscular and tan that it takes you a moment to realize his head is resting on your pillow, in your room (at their house). His eyes are large and his brow is furrowed. He looks tired. Caption: Hope this is okay.

A lewd snap could follow any minute, but the first one makes you cum. Just the sight of his face, the face that would be right up against yours with that big, hard, beautiful cock finally inside you. Fuck. You keep staring at his face the whole time you cum. You almost kiss your fucking phone. This has gotten that out of hand. You leave it on read. It's sweet how he's being careful, almost timid. But at the same time, bold to go into your room. Hope this is ok. You fall asleep, and when you wake up, there's another photo from him, just four minutes earlier.

Photo (82 min after the first one): Close-up selfie on his side, hair is tousled. Arm looking huge. Eyes weak. Hugging one of your pillows. The corner is covering his chin and mouth. Caption: Good nap.

He just wanted to take a nap in your room? Your heart flutters, which is a little uncomfortable, like it's easier when he's just nasty. But you can't deny you like this sweet side of him. He doesn't know it, but you basically just took a nap together.

—------

The next morning, Joel sends another Snapchat.

Video: He's in your bed again, laying on his side shirtless with strong shoulders, muscle cleavage, and sleepy eyes as if he slept there all night. His voice is hushed. "Mornin', beautiful” (he yawns) “So about tonight . . .I'm not gonna make it weird, ok? I'll act normal."

Video (less than a minute later): He's in the same position but holding his phone further out and at an angle and your covers are pulled down so you can see a lot more of his torso. He says, "Hope you're still comin'."

Later that day

Photo: Mirror selfie in a red and white fair isle sweater and a mostly straight face but his eyes are a little sad. Caption: See? Normal.

There's a family Christmas party, and you're anxious despite Joel's assurances. Can you act normal? You haven't tried in person since that night with Jacques. If Joel is finally as willing as he seems, for some reason, that makes you nervous. For months now, you've been trying to break him down, often thinking it might never happen. Even with his dick pressed right up against your leggings on Thanksgiving, it felt far away. Now after weeks of no physical contact, it feels closer than ever. And as much as you wanna make your move on Mr. Cant-believe-he-ever-turned-you-down, you're unexpectedly anxious.

—------

When you get to your cousin's house, both Joel’s SUV and your Mom's car are there. A small mob greets you at the door. One of your aunts takes your white elephant gift off your hands. Joel is nearby, quietly sipping a drink. Looking over another aunt's shoulder as she hugs you, you can see how the sweater hugs Joel's biceps and has polar bears in the pattern. Does he have to be so cute? As you finish hugging them hello, Joel puts down his drink and tacks himself onto the end of the hug train.

He looks you in the eye with a subtle smile – sad but hopeful. He lifts both his arms, meaning this is a full hug and your arms will go around his waist. As you get closer, his scent hits you and you have to physically stop your eyes from closing in pleasure as you inhale through your nose. When you first touch, there's a literal spark. Static electricity. You gasp and he chuckles. Not to be deterred, his scruff brushes your cheek as his big arms wrap around you and squeeze. This brief moment might be the coziest you've felt all winter. You loosely embrace his waist, and when you pull back, he lets you go. You share a loaded glance, his eyes falling to your mouth as he wets his lips. An aunt comes to beckon you to the kitchen.

When you glance back over your shoulder, Joel adjusts his glasses and awkwardly hovers near the door. He’s wearing khakis, and his sweater is bunched up above his ass. Your aunt turns to say something to you and you whip your head back around and say "sorry."

In the kitchen, your Mom says she feels like she hasn’t seen you in forever. “Sorry I didn’t get to meet Jacques. Joel said I just missed him.” Joel comes and stands in the door frame, drinking out of his solo cup.

“That was weeks ago,” you say, not feigning warmth.

She asks if Jacques is still in the picture, and you shake your head no. When you glance at Joel, he looks about as satisfied as you expect. He helps change the subject by asking your uncle about golf.

One of the kids yells from the other room, "Uncle Joel! play Mario Kart with us!" And Joel leaves.

You overhear Joel say, "No cryin' when I beat ya this time."

Followed by an outraged, "YOU DIDN'T BEAT ME!"

Then Joel says, "Oww!"

—------

About an hour and a half later, you go outside alone to the deck for some air. The yard is dark. There's a trampoline and a treehouse. You’re leaning back against the wood railing, facing the house. A lot of the adults are drunk now and the kids are being put to bed. You want to leave, but the white elephant exchange hasn’t happened and you don’t need everyone asking after you, wondering what happened, whether you’re okay. You’d rather serve the time at the party. Preferably without being social.

You figure no one will notice if you go up into the treehouse meanwhile. You climb up and use your phone light. There’s a lantern up there. You turn it on. There are papers scattered on the floor with crayon drawings of monsters and people including a stick figure with what appears to be a huge dick pointing straight toward the ground and he's urinating on a crowd of smaller stick people. On another sheet, there’s a snowman with stick people for arms and they don’t look happy.

The treehouse smells like cedar chips and melted crayons. You can hear the murmur of the party which grows louder as someone opens the door. You sit and scroll your phone, confident no one saw you go up there. You think about snapchatting or texting Joel but wouldn’t want anyone to see it if he’s too drunk to be discreet.

—--

A twig snaps in the yard. A few seconds later, the ladder to the treehouse shakes under weighty footsteps and Joel appears in the little door frame.

"Thought I might find ya here." Fair enough–you weren’t anywhere else. He seems only a little tipsy. "It's almost white elephant time."

You look at each other in silence. His hair is messy. He’s so hot. You can't help but smile. He stays there in the doorframe with his big hands gripping the top of the ladder.

You break the silence with crude teasing about how he stopped sending you lewd snaps. "What happened yesterday, you didn't nut?"

He chuckles and looks down shyly. "Takin'' a break, I guess. And, uh. Wasn't sure you wanted that stuff.” He looks at you again. “Cause you never reply, so." It doesn’t sound like a complaint, it just sounds a little sad. “Guess I got in my head.”

You nod in understanding then rest your head against the wall again. “Guess I didn’t know what to say.”

He asks, "But you like it?"

You raise your eyebrows, impressed, and slowly nod. You say, "I guess practice makes perfect, 'cause damn." You take a deep breath and spread your legs, a symbolic gesture since you're wearing pants.

He groans softly, making you tingle. "Christ . .Don't get me hard while I'm on this fuckin' ladder."

You reach forward and extend your hand to bring him in and out of view of the door. His hand engulfs yours for balance, but he holds his own weight as he crouches into the small structure. Unable to stand, he gets down on his hands and knees and looks around and asks,"Think this thing is stable?"

"You're the expert."

He laughs, then it fades and you both seem to realize he's on all fours between your legs. He clears his throat and sits back on his heels. He looks at his watch.

"Do you, uh, wanna talk? We've got a minute."

You shake your head.

"I mean, we prolly should," he says softly, then clenches his jaw and his eyes seem to weaken when you break eye contact. Ugh, he's so hot and pitiful. You rise to your knees and knee-walk toward him. He lowers his voice, "But we don't have to talk . . .right now." When you've closed the short distance, you watch his eyes glisten and smell the egg nog on his breath. “Maybe later,” he says even softer. He swallows then cups your face in his hand and looks at your mouth.

After a final glance to your eyes, Joel softly presses his lips into yours and you meet him with the same softness. It makes you lightheaded. You’ve never kissed each other tenderly before, but it turns you on just as much as if he had ravished you. Because it’s real. He’s really into this, and he’s stayed into it for weeks without taking out any of his self loathing on you, IF he even still hates himself for this.

Joel's tongue brushes your lips, then you hear the sliding door to the house open in the distance. Your uncle yells "JOEL???" and you pull away. Joel pulls you back in for a few seconds with one hand behind your ear and another hand on your ass. His khakis press into your jeans and your heart jumps when you feel his cock begin to harden.

"JOEL! YOU FIND HER?"

You pull away again. He takes a deep breath, looks you over, and adjusts himself as he turns away. The uncle goes back inside. Joel exits the treehouse first then helps you down the ladder. As you brush off your knees and butt, he says, "shoulda told me you were comin' out here."

“Why?” you ask and he brushes himself off as well.

He hesitates and his face falls. “I dunno.” His eyes look more like his sad videos, like his cool facade is cracking. “I was lookin’ for ya.” His Adams Apple catches your eye as he swallows. He puts his massive hand on your back for a moment, ushering you toward the house.

—---

Your Mom gets too drunk and goes to sleep in a guest bedroom halfway through the white elephant game. Not the first time this has happened.

You're in a chair and Joel is sitting across the room on a sofa, manspreading. He rests his hand on his inner thigh and your breath hitches. You cross your legs, clench your thighs, and try not to stare, but you feel him looking at you from time to time.

Your cousin’s husband Barry opens the gift you brought. It’s a sweatshirt that says Cutie. He holds it up to himself and spins around for laughs. Joel glowers. Joel steals it when it's his turn and smiles when everyone laughs. No one steals it from Joel. At the end of the game, you hug everyone goodbye. Your hug with Joel is brief.

—----

In the middle of the night, your phone wakes you up with a Ring doorbell alert. It’s Joel. He’s wearing the stupid cutie sweatshirt. He adjusts his glasses. He rakes his hand into his hair and looks around in a way that makes you wonder if he might regret coming. You lie there for a minute or two watching the Ring feed, but he just stands there waiting. He braces his arm on the doorframe. His biceps stretch the sleeves. You turn your lamp on the dimmest setting and get out of bed.

You open the front door silently and he steps back as you open it. His eyes are a little red. He looks dead serious. He puts his hand back on the doorframe and the sweatshirt rides up enough to expose a sliver of skin. His Adam's Apple bobs and he asks hoarsely, “can I come in?”

You look around outside then step back and let him in.

“I can’t sleep,” he says as he walks into your dark kitchen. He shakes his head. “can’t sleep after seein’ you.” His eyes glisten. “Can we talk?”

You feel your heart rate rising and wonder if he can tell how nervous you are. You’d prefer to break the tension physically, but apparently he has something to say and you’re gonna have to hear it sooner or later. You turn and walk into your bedroom. You stack pillows and lie down face up. If he's not willing to get on your bed at this point, you're not sure if you wanna hear what he has to say after all.

At first, he stands at the foot of the bed with his hands behind his head, elbows bent forward in distress. Your eyes drift to his exposed happy trail and the way his joggers hug his groin. “I dunno what the hell’s wrong with me.” He looks toward your window and chokes back tears. Then he kneels on your bed. “You’re never gonna know how sorry I am.”

“Joel, I know,” you say softly. “C’mere.” You offer space next to you. Instead, he gets between your legs and your heart skips a beat. He lies face-down, with his feet hanging off the bed. His armpits rest on your upper thighs with his elbows and forearms on either side of your hips and torso. It turns you on of course, yet he doesn't seem to be making a move sexually.

“I am so, so sorry,” he says.

“I know,” you say again. “We can move on. I don't wanna keep talk–”

“But,” he says, then pauses and swallows. His eyes are big and watery. “I dunno if you get it. How sorry I am.” a tear rolls down his cheek. He wipes it and takes his glasses off. You reach out your hand to take them and put them on your nightstand. He whispers, “thanks,” as he dabs his eyes with his fingers which only sends the tears to his cheeks.

“I know you’re sorry, Joel, I get it.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t think you get-” He puts his face down on you for a second like he’s dabbing his cheeks on your PJs, then he lifts his head again. While choking back tears, he blurts out, “I’m SO fucked up over you." He blinks and looks away and another tear escapes his eye. "can't even fuckin' sleep except in your bed." He buries his face in your thin cotton PJs.

Now you’re turned all the way on. You take a deep breath as your ache for him deepens. When you don’t respond, he whispers, “I’m sorry,” then puts the other side of his face down on you, his mouth below your belly button. His tears are dampening your PJs. “I dunno why I’m here,” he mumbles into the bottom hem of your tank top. Your hips lift into his upper chest once, as though adjusting your position. He ignores it and continues, “FUCK, i’ve been tryin’ to give ya time.” He looks up at you. “Tried to act normal tonight.” He shakes his head and his brow furrows.

He presses his eyes into your tank top one by one to dry them without using his hands. “Then i show up in the middle of the fuckin’ night,” he laughs softly at how pathetic this is. It’s taking all your restraint not to rock your hips into him. You’re wet, so wet.

—-

“Stop. Just c’mere,” you say quietly and open your arms. You lift your hips again. He looks up at you and the distress on his face dissolves. As he crawls up your body, his big, sweet eyes begin to darken. He puts his forearms down on the bed on either side of your chest and your eyes connect for a moment. Your lips part.

“You’re so. . .fuck,” he sighs, then presses his lips into yours. Your mouth warmly accepts him. His lips move against yours and he licks into your mouth slowly at first, like he’s savoring every brush of his tongue against yours. Then it becomes needy at a sensual rhythm.

With your mouths still connected, he shifts his body. The warm bulge in his joggers meets your clothed heat, and then, oh god, his cock hardens against you. He softly hums, "mmm" as your mouths move together and he swells harder against you. You're throbbing, aching. For a second, you wonder if you're having a wet dream (you're not).

There's a different electricity between you now. You can both feel it – He breaks away for a moment and looks at you, breathing heavily, and you can see it in his eyes. He's not crying anymore. He looks at peace. He rests his weight on one arm, and his opposite hand slides onto your breast, slowly palming it as his lips move with yours and his growing arousal digs into you. It’s the first time you’ve had his whole body against yours. And fuck, he feels good. It’s the first time you’ve been on a bed together. That one time on your couch, he said it was dangerous being alone. This time, he's not stopping, not even slowing down.

He didn’t regret it last time you hooked up, but now there’s a different buzz inside you now. If he ends up regretting it this time, you could get hurt. His rejection never deterred you before, but this time, you feel like it could crush you. You're not even sure why, but you have to somehow acknowledge it before he puts his head between your legs, or whatever he has in mind.

“You’re sure you wanna. . . do stuff,” you begrudgingly say and inwardly shame yourself for the tremble in your voice.

“I’m so fuckin’ sure, sweetheart.”

—--

That's all you need, because you can feel it in his body, too. There’s no part of him that doesn’t want you. Your mouths embrace again and only come apart for heavy breaths and moans as your hips and lips move in rhythm. His cock grows even stiffer and his hand moves from your breast, down your side. His hands are so big and masculine, but gentle. There’s nothing hesitant about his movements. He grabs your thigh, and you bend your knee. He hikes up your leg and pushes himself harder against you where it counts.

He slides his hand down your thigh and into your soft sleep shorts, his fingers getting closer and closer to the pool of desire that's begging for him. When his fingertips reach your cunt, you arch your back and whine, pulling your lips away as your head tilts up toward the ceiling. His mouth comes to your breast and dampens your cotton tank top as he tongues your nipple through it.

"Fuck," you say between heavy breaths. You've never wanted anyone–or anything–so bad in your life. It's a need.

You run your hands over his hulking back, feeling the muscles flex on either side of his spine, and curl your fingers under the hem of his sweatshirt. He takes it off in a flash, his white t-shirt coming with it. He takes off your tank top, then his lips return to yours, his cock grinds into you, and you sigh.

He breaks the kiss and pauses. His tan shoulders look huge the way he's hovering there over you.

His voice is weak and hoarse. "Don't want ya to think I came here just to–"

"Shhhh," your hips lift and you moan at his hardness.

"Ohhh, God," he rolls his hips into yours and sighs your name. He dips his head and noses your neck, then murmurs into your skin, "didn't come here to fuck ya, baby." His scruff brushes your cheek on his way to look at you again.

"I know," you say. God, you need him so bad.

"Okay," he whispers, then covers your mouth with his again, kissing you hungrily.

Your lips break away, then you meet his eyes and tell him, "but that's what you're gonna do."

Joel reads your eyes for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he nods silently and a surge of arousal runs through you. "Yeah," he nods again. "I am."

You pull him down so his bare chest is against yours. He kisses you hard with a little bit of tooth, making your lips buzz and your nipples harden against him. He sucks your neck, and his rock-hard cock presses against your clit rhythmically. You throb violently. Then he whispers in your ear, "'m'gonna fuck ya, sweetheart," drawing a moan from you.

"Now," you beg. You lift your shoulder blades off the bed, pressing him up with your breasts and stomach. You reach around to his back and hook your thumbs into the waistband of his joggers.

"Yeah," he breathes. You tug down his joggers. He kicks out of them and you observe the massive tent in his boxers with a pang of need from your core through your heart. He urgently pulls off your sleep shorts, then says "fuck," and takes his boxers off, too.

You take a deep breath as you stroke your clit and spread yourself open for him. He moans softly at the sight of your fingers at your glistening cunt. He wets his lips as he reaches between your legs. His hand replaces yours, and he sharply inhales. He spreads your slick around your folds and gently rubs your clit. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He gets in position and hikes up your leg again. His head falls, putting his messy head of hair in your view. He watches himself align his cock with your entrance, and your breath hitches at the first touch of the smooth head of his cock. He begins to push inside with a moan, opening you up with his swollen tip. Your clit twitches. His hips push forward, giving you more of him, and his mouth falls open as he watches it happen. You both moan as his cock parts your insides. It’s happening smoothly, without effort, and the stretch is delicious.

Joel pries his gaze away from where your bodies are joined. He locks eyes with you, then plunges to the hilt and shudders as he bottoms out. God, the way his cock fills you up. His eyes glisten and his face looks like he’s in pain, but he’s not. You catch yourself holding your breath, and you exhale with a whimper. Joel stays all the way inside with his swollen balls against you and closes his eyes, his chest expanding with air. “Jesus, fuck,” he whispers. His chest is heaving. He opens his eyes and tries to speak. “You feel – god damn. . . you're. . .(a vocal sigh). . you–"

You cut him off by pulling him in for a kiss. He twitches inside you and you both moan.

After a moment, he slowly pulls his hips back, then pushes in again. "Mmmm" he moans into your mouth. All the times you’ve imagined this, you never counted on the contact of your bodies and faces together. You could never have dreamed how full you’d feel. Even after having him in your hand. In your mouth. This feeling is new for you. It’s like he’s shaped just for you. He pulls back, then bottoms out again and groans against your cheek. How is it already the best you’ve ever had? He retreats, then slides all the way in with a punch of his cock as he bottoms out.

"That okay?" he asks like he doesn't wanna hurt you.

You nod urgently, "Give it to me."

He thrusts into you harder, working up to about once per second, at first. Breathing heavily, grunting, moaning, vocalizing constantly in one way or another. He kisses your lips, sucks your neck, and lightly bites you as your cunt hugs his cock just right. He steals downward glances at your body and groans as he watches his glistening cock disappear into you again and again. He gradually ups the pace and intensity until you're whining.

"Fuck," he sighs, and you whimper. "Too much?"

"Don't hold back," you shake your head. "Don't you dare hold back."

"Oh, baby," he says, then slams into you with all his weight. You asked for it, but you're really not prepared for the other realm he sends you to. "Fuck MEee," he moans. He pounds into you, grunting each time he buries his cock in your dripping core. He snaps his hips and kisses you sloppily. Your mouths are half connected and half moaning into each other's cheeks.

You moan, “Jo–” but stop yourself.

“S'okay," he pants. "You can say it.”

“Fuck, I–”

“Say it, sweetheart”

“Joel,” you whine.

"Oh, Christ," he pants.

"Fuck, Joel, uggggh–your--"

"Oh, Fuck"

"Feel so–"

"Yeah," he breathes, slamming into you with his weight behind it. “Fuck, baby–yeahhh”.

You feel the pleasure building in your gut and core as he fucks you. Your sounds must seem increasingly distressed, and so do his. They tumble out of the back of his throat. The tension in your belly tightens. He lowers his chest against yours again. Your arms are around his neck and his forearms squeeze your sides. He manages to fuck you so deep and good, even while he's flat against you. His hips move like a mating animal.

It hits you like a ton of bricks: This is it. Every other man is ruined for you. How could anything compare? Your own eyes prickle with tears.

Joel tries a few times to say things, but every time it devolves into a moan or guttural sigh. He makes sounds you haven't heard before.

"Ohhh, fuck," he moans. "I dunno if I can–"

You open your eyes and the agonized look on his face puts you all the way on the edge. He must be close.

"Give it to me, Joel."

He pistons into you harder, all his muscles flexing. You whimper as your thighs tremble.

"C'mon, baby," he whispers, then he grunts. He growls, "Soak me, baby–ohh–Just fuckin'––nnngh"

You sigh vocally and start to clench around him. You moan his name, long and drawn out as pleasure seizes you.

You flutter around his cock and he gasps, "oh, fuck." You gush and groan, your hips lifting into him, mouth hanging open, breathing and whining at once.

He pants, "Fuck–(a low moan), I wanna fill–ohhhhh, god (heavy breaths). Sweetheart, i really wanna–ahh, shit." He bites his lips together, his cheeks puff out, and his neck vein flexes. You’re still cumming. He grunts from the back of his throat as he pulls out and slaps cock down on your mound. He presses his body against you so his cock rubs your still pulsing clit.

His cock is nestled between your bodies, and he’s grinding into you when he erupts massively with a shudder from deep in his chest. His pulsations drag yours out as his cum coats your mound and lower belly. He groans as he slowly, wetly grinds against you. He breathes and gasps for air, still cumming. His cock pulses so powerfully, a hot rope every couple of seconds.

With the movement of his hips and sliding of his cock, the warmth of his cum spreads around your skin, settling into your navel, and he’s still cumming. The obscene mess between you is sticky and growing. Then, even after his balls have emptied, he stays on top of you, hard cock pressed against you, empty pulsations waning for what feels like minutes. He's so warm and wet and hard. He lies there with his weight on you and dips his forehead to your pillow, resting his temple against yours. You both have aftershocks against each other as you try to catch your breath.

"Holy shit," you pant softly. Once he rolls off you, you're already sticking to each other near the edges of the mess where it's drying.

—--

All you can do is breathe heavily. His lips find yours. He kisses you deeply, then pulls back and hovers over you. He brushes tears you don't realize you're crying off your cheeks and his brow furrows.

"Shit," he says as his thumb brushes your cheek. His eyes are wide. "You okay?" He swallows and studies your face.

You nod confidently and look him in the eyes. He bows his head with relief, then gently kisses you again. You're terrified he's gonna come down and regret it. Your wet skin begins to feel cold. You look down. "Oh my god." It's so much cum. You're covered in it. It's all the way up to your breasts, at least. It's all over him, too.

"Oh shit," he says with a small laugh. "Gimme a sec." He gets out of bed.

-----

Cleaning both of you up takes multiple warm washcloths. You really need a full shower, but you're so tired and just want to be held.

You move to the dry side of the bed. You'll deal with it all in the morning. He turns off the lamp and gets under the sheets with you. You face each other, and he wraps his arms around you.

You ask, "What time do you have to leave?"

"I'm not worried about it," he says.

There's a long silence, during which he strokes your shoulder with his thumb.

Then you whisper, "What now?"

"Mmm….We do it again, and again, and again. . ."

You look up at him. "Are you mocking me?"

He kisses you.

"I'm trying to have an adult conversation," you mock back.

Then he whispers, "let's go to sleep" and kisses you good night.

—-------

His Xmas party look 😍😍😍

Distressed stepdad art 🥹🥹🥹

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Your comments and reblogs mean a lot!!!! I love you guys. You can follow @toxicfics to turn on notifications. make sure your phone has push notifs enabled for tumblr.

If this is the first one you've read, I strongly recommend reading the series (it's not long like prob <15k total). there are references to it in this.

------

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #toxicanonymity ☠️#stepdad!joel miller #stepdad!joel☠️#stepdad!joel #finally f*cking friday #tw stepcest

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rainykoo · 10 months

Text

a pirates greed (m)

[send me requests i like them]

masterpost : recent

pairing : afab!reader x monkey d. luffy

✸ ... synopsis: after saving an entire country, luffy just needs his favourite stress reliever all too himself

wc: 3.6k

warnings : established relationship, porn w minimum plot, post-wano luffy being a whore !!! absolutely rough nasty nd animalistic, unprotected (cmon yall know better), petty argument, faded law, reader is a lil mean, your captain just loves eating you out! use of devil fruit (canon), creampie, drool kink, luffy has a lip ring, overstimulation, mention of blood, praise kink (both parties), cumplay, semi-public, oral (m rec)

getting severe brain rot from just thinking about how needy and greedy luffy would be during a post-battle victory banquet...

especially after how nicely that black dress outlined your ass.

he just wants to put his hands all over you, but nami's banned him from any physically exerting activity, including dancing since he's still recovering from the damage he took.

poor guy almost begged to have himself buried in your sopping cunt, whimpering and gasping under you because he's been so stressed after all that fighting!

it's only right you help your boyfriend release all that pent-up energy right?

but to his dismay you were busy with traffy, his tattooed hands tracing over the thin fabric of your dress as you two danced.

"damn him." luffy chanted in his head continuously, wishing you'd stop focusing on law and pay attention to him instead.

your captain worked so hard to defeat kaido.. so why are you smiling and spending time with law instead? that's not fair. you should be rewarding luffy with your touch for being so strong all the time, no?

he couldn't even hear zoro's drunken babbling as he fixated his eyes on the two of you from his table. luffy thought it was too polite of you to let law touch you like that... way too polite. no longer able to deal with the ache in his shorts. though what made his heart palpitate the most was how the both of you seemed to be having a jolly fun time. he grazes his teeth over his lips, excusing himself from his best friend before stumbling towards the dance floor to reach you and law.

"actually i already rolled some spliffs, we can go outside n hit some right now if you'd like," law said with a deep chuckle, gazing at you with his half-lidded eyes. "go do that with your side, look he's starin' at you as i speak." you joke, nodding your head in the direction of kidd as law harshly exhales, rolling his eyes."fffucking hell will you drop that? i was zooted outta my mind when i said.." your conversation gets cut short when you feel pair of hands other than law's snake around your waist from behind.

you momentarily freeze— only to find relief when you hear luffy's voice. he's clinging onto you, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. the threads of his strawhat slightly bent against your skin as luffy pressed himself closer; hiding the stony expression on his face. “(name).. you've been dancin' with traffy the whole time. it's annoying.” luffy whined against your earlobe. your captain continued to press and grind his body against you, something hard rubbing against your ass.

"i know luffy.. but me and law haven't properly hung since we left zou." you responded as luffy lifted his head from the warmth of your body to send law a glare while you both tried keeping balance on the floor as the surrounding crowd of people continued dancing. "so (name)-ya you coming? strawhat can tagalong if he wants." law spoke, putting his hands in his pockets as he glanced towards the exit.

"w--"

“nuh uhn..” luffy shook his head before you could even respond, his face wincing in a grimace.

"luffy, i—"

"no."

"you're supposed to rest lu.. you're still recovering" you softly exhaled, turning in his grip so you could face him. "well ya could've just stuck around me. ion like that you spent time with tra-guy in the first place." luffy continues whining, his voice growing annoyed and impatient.

he seemed restless, his breath uneven. "also ya promised you'd only dance with me." you giggled, scanning the way his pretty lips formed a pout, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. “don't worry, it won't happen again lu, you're still my number one dance partner.. and i spent all day with you yesterday, n the day before.” you respond, letting another giggle leave your lips.

but luffy doesn't find it funny, he slowly loosens his grip on your waist— tossing his lip ring through his teeth as his obsidian eyes look into yours. "this is the thing with you, ya don't keep your promises (name)." he mutters his voice going a little deeper causing your smile to fall. wait.. huh?

"what's that even mean?" you retort. luffy's feeling all sorts of emotions right now.. but he can't tell why his breath is so shaky, or why his heart was feeling heavy. he'd been so stressed over the past few weeks, the pent-up anger was possibly getting to him.

“you keep breaking ya promises! thats what it means.” luffy snaps. for a second his eyes soften after he realizes he raised his voice, but he doesn’t move from his position, hands still on your waist. law, witnessing the sudden quarrel— decides to walk off leaving the two of you alone.

the tension between you felt heavy. "the fuck? luffy since when have i broken any of our promises. me and law well, dancing just.. happened. it didn't even mean anything we're friends." now you were getting agitated. "that's not even the main problem.." he muttered, luffy's gaze eats you up— and the glint in his eyes almost speak a magnitude of unsaid words.

"..i'm YOUR boyfriend (name), ya didn't like when hancock was all over me so why—" "can you stop bringing that bitch up??" you knew it wasn't great of you to dance with law all while your boyfriend was watching you, but you didn't think it'd be that big of a problem. you trace your hands over his— removing them as you angrily turn around to stride away. but you can never really get away from a man with the power to stretch, so luffy beats you to wherever you thought you were walking off to, stretching his arm and pulling your body back towards him.

“m’sorry… i— (name) i'm just feelin stressed right now. can you please just...” luffy rasps in a softer tone trailing off as his arms cage you. you stay silent for a couple of moments, trying to process the exchange of words you shared seconds ago. but the more he presses your back against him, the more you feel the stiffness between his legs. you don't quite know what to say, so you turn 180 degrees to press a hot kiss against his lips.

luffy's taken aback by the suddenness, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying it. he returns what you gave to him passionately. pulling you even closer, as if he's wanting to get completely lost in the kiss. you hum against his lips when luffy swivels his hips, grinding his dick against your inner thighs.

he seems so eager, so desperate for you and it shows. really lost in the kiss and in the moment, as if all he can think about is being balls deep in your dewy cunt. and who's to say you don't want him just as much. the way luffy's frenching you seems almost animalistic, and you could feel how he's having trouble controlling himself with every passing second that you're pressed against him. trying so hard to maintain his composure.

and when you break the messy kiss, a string of saliva still adjoining your lips— your captain looks at you with a blush, still panting heavily. watching the drool that slowly dripped from the corner of luffy's mouth was something that shouldn't have been so hot to you.

his eyes travel up and down your body and back to your lips. the faint taste of mango luffy had gotten drove him insane. he loved when you slathered your plump lips with lipgloss, regardless of the flavour or color— and he adored making a mess of it, ruining it. his own lips being stained a hint of red.

luffy seems lost again. almost unable to think by himself. he leans towards you once more, seemingly going in for another kiss. but he stops himself for a moment to admire how soft you feel— hands grasping your ass through the flimsy fabric of your dress. your head was spinning, maybe from the shots you took earlier, or the way luffy had devoured your mouth. "i-"

"shut up." you huff out, pulling him towards the nearest slightly secluded space you could find. and luckily, there was a nicely lit room with a thick futon neatly unfolded on the carpeted ground. pressing him against the wall, you brought a nasty, wet kiss to luffy's lips once more. one that left his stomach fluttering. he sucked and drug his tongue back and forth against yours, in the messiest ways he could think of. too lost in your lips to get off of the surface behind him.

he couldn't help the blood that rushed even more to his cock once you tugged hard on his hair. luffy couldn't put it into words, but he was such a slut for the way you painfully grasped his raven locks every time you enjoyed something. he muttered your name a couple of times between heavy breaths before he quickly wriggled out of the red material of his top letting you suction your way down his neck, teeth grazing his collarbone.

and you didn’t need any command to lower your head and place luffy's nipple between your lips. you only bothered to unbutton and drop his shorts low enough to free his aching dick, rock-hard and covered with pre-cum. fuck you wanted to slobber all over his length so bad. though luffy catches you by a fistful of your hair, preventing you from going further.

"stop, i wanna suck." you whine out, but luffy shakes his head, pulling his boxers up just enough to cover past the tip of his cock. pushing his back from off the door- he lays himself on the futon, hauling you with him. "no, i want you t’ sit on my face first." for a second, you stilled, as if the statement shocked you. "you... you want that?" you tested the waters, but luffy didn't just want it. he needed it.

"please… i’ll make ya cum so good (name) just sit on my face." luffy insists, eyes glossed over. face sitting was something he'd yearned to try with you for so long. so impatiently, he pulls you to straddle him, your dress sliding up your thighs. he wastes no time ripping the expensive fabric of your panties— taking a few moments to rub the pads of his calloused fingers along the wet patch you left beforehand.

you nervously let him pull you further up by the hips until your pussy is just above his mouth, the scent of your sweet arousal hitting his nose. “smell so good (name) m’gonna taste you now yeah?” “please do captain” you respond breathlessly. and before you could take another breath, luffy’s making out with your cunt— tongue lapping vigorously over your clit sending a pleasurable shiver up your spine.

you immediately try to raise your hips afraid you’ll suffocate him if you give in to the pleasure, but luffy’s hands grip your thighs painfully, preventing you from squirming away. because luffy doesn’t care if he suffocates as long as he’s got his tongue sloping in and through your folds. and something about knowing how anyone could walk into this room, seeing the two of you sent electricity through your core.

you felt the coolness of luffy's lip ring make contact with you constantly, and you couldn’t quite decipher his muffled words, but you could tell by the way he desperately stuffed his face between your legs that he was in ecstasy. “sso.. mmh feels good lu!” you barely manage voicing out, already close to your on-coming high.

but as much as luffy wants to stay between your thick thighs and fuck you with his mouth, he was restless, and hard. feeling his own heartbeat pulsing right at the tip of his dick. he suctions at your clit roughly, earning a loud cry from you before you’re already cumming— a slightly clear stream of liquid flowing from your cunt.

and of course, luffy being the greedy man he is takes everything you give him, leaving your cunt only after he’s had his fill. “taste n' look so pretty when you cum..” he coo's almost cheerfully before moistening his lips, a more serious look returning to his face as you free your legs from his face.

"here, taste yourself pretty" he whispers, pressing a slow kiss against your lips. though you only manage to come back to your senses enough to comprehend that he's torn off your nice pair off underwear, feigning a faux an annoyed look. "does ripping all my expensive lingerie get you off or something?"

"m'to impatient to take it off slowly.." he pouts, as you drag yourself off of him.

“is that so..? my turn now.” you whisper, before you're on off of him and on your knees tugging roughly at his unbuttoned shorts causing them to slightly tear.

"hey! those were m—"

you cut luffy short before he could complain about your petty revenge, giving the tip of his cock slow kitten licks and a few pumps before sealing your lips around it's pretty head, making him let out a throaty whine as you take or inches of him.

"i'll forgive ya if you open your mouth n take me deeper.." luffy breaths out lowly fully relaxed on his back now. one hand under his head and the other, guiding yours. you part your lips further, warm breaths of air fanning over his flushed tip.

“ahh.. fuckk baby— use that pretty mouth like you do best” luffy slurs, and something in you almost switches like a trigger. his coaxing encouraging the worst in you. especially since it was incredibly rare of him to use pet names with you. so you suddenly take as much his size as you can luffy shuddering in pleasure.

every ridge and vein on his length felt as your drag your tongue, every lick and suck of your mouth on him resulting in obscenity; gagging, wet noises, moaning. everything only making your hole flutter more.

his shut tight. opening them after a few seconds, to admire how your lips sank down on his cock. "gooddd, it's like ya mouth was made jus for— nggh.. sucking off your captain huh?"

"hold on.." you suddenly whisper, causing luffy to whine from the lost warmth. you take something out from between your cleavage. what was so important that you needed to stop? and suddenly he tenses his thighs.. you're scribbling on his cock. it tickles and it’s heaven. luffy couldn't even see what you are creating, but the sensation was fucking amazing. especially since he was so sensitive.

“thereee” you say, admiring your work.

“so pretty.”

“what did you do? i wanna see”, luffy begs, squirming needily. and you raise your hand, waving the wand of your cherry red lipgloss in your hand. luffy glances down to look at his aching cock, to find the words. 'all mine ♡' scribbled in red.

something about that act felt so endearing to him that luffy felt he'd tear up from the gesture— and from the fact that you were teasing his poor friend. he gives you a lazy smile. but as his eyes wander the room, he finds himself making eye contact with the tall mirror that but on a perfect display of your backside. you were almost on all fours now as you slobbered his cock, head tilted down and ass pointed up.

it looked so soft, and you looked ever so stunning. unfortunately for you, luffy was as restless as ever. he could never control himself whenever he saw that damn ass of yours. so you didn't blame him when he tugged on a fist-full of your hair to get you off his cock.

"wait m'not—"

"(name)... i— wanna fuck you from behind, please can't wait anymore.. want ya to put that cute ass on me."

"you're so impatient."

well, who were you to deny captains orders?

with a quick sound rustling of fabric, you'd immediately discarded your dress, pressing your face down into the futon as luffy teased your hole momentarily with the head of his cock. holding you in place by the hips and seconds later, he's already buried inside you— stuffing himself to the hilt. so fucking tight he thought.

luffy bit down onto his lip muffling the whimpers that endlessly slipped from his mouth— to the point that it drew a bit of blood. he pounded like he wanted everyone near to know, to hear how he was making a mess out of you. though he was shameless enough for it, luffy couldn't decide whether he wanted to be the only one that got to see your messy cum stuffed cunny, or if he wanted a live audience as he fucked you to the point of drooling. and who's to say you would mind the latter?

head thrown back in pleasure, his dark hair stringy from sweat, his furrowed eyebrows as you continue to tighten and clench around him, pulling you further onto his cock. he giggles breathily, "l-love when you squeeze me like that" only earning a incomprehensible mumble from you. something about the way he moaned and spoke was so ..slutty.

"cmonn.. i know ya can talk louder than that!" he sneers, and that was luffy's favourite part about doing this with you. he loved pleasuring you to the point of not being able to speak, knowing he's the only one who can make you this dumb on dick.

he loved the freedom that came with exploring new ways to make eachother feel good, and nothing made him happier than sharing in such freedom with you.

luffy's hands roughly fist your hair, pulling your head up in order to better show you what he's doing to you. "look in the mirror (name), look how gorgeous ya- gaahh, look when you're all fucked out. see? so pretty baby~" he taunts.

"gonna cum, wan' cream all over you!"

"yeah? captain's dick feels that good?" he lets off another breathy moan. "y-ya like it when i stretch ya out like this?" and when you let out a string of praises chanting his name like your life depended, he decided you deserved a treat in return for always being this good for him. so luffy bit down on his thumb and blew until you felt an unfamiliar sensation deep in your guts causing you to mewl out. he was way bigger all of a sudden, and his cock seemed to fill and rub against areas you'd never known could be reached.

"ah~ luffy thats.. you're- so deep!" you almost wanted to sob as he watched you wriggle under him, your senses overloading from the stimulation luffy inflicts upon you. it was crazy how he could be so sweet and caring with you one moment, and the next having every bone in your body tingling from euphoria.

"keep— ah god.. moanin' out like that! let tra-guy know that yer all mine" luffy rasped, only further perusing with his erratic pace. it was ruthless almost— and hearing those pretty sounds from you didn't help the burning sensation he felt in his lower stomach.

"sso- so close!"

"pl-please need you to fill me full with your seed.." you whimper feeling your knees almost buckle when his cock starts to forcefully rub against your cervix.

"i gotcha! gonna.. stuff you up- mmm, so good n watch it spill out.." he laughs between his far from quiet moans, one of his hands tracing your ass until he snakes it down between your legs, rubbing at your clit without mercy. your vision blurred and your fingers gripped at the futon tightly, “ah fuck! L-LUFFY! LUFFY!"

and as you finally cum around him, clenching around his pulsating length once more. "that's it! so good baby, so good..!" he continues to fuck into you, hitting deeply over and over again, pushing you into the softness below— then it's his turn to orgasm. his sticky white filling your womb until it started to leak out. luffy pulls out just in time for your body to slump down onto the cushioned surface.

but he doesn't let go of your hips just yet. luffy's gaze hazily follows the milk colored substance that seeps out of your fluttering cunt as he draws heavy breaths. taking his middle and index working them into your sensitivity— watching the string of cum that shadows his fingers as he pulls them out.

luffy being luffy, couldn't help but want to taste it, because what would be the point of all this work if everything went to waste?

"say ahhh." was the only thing you could make out, before you're being flipped onto your back, a strong hand resting on your chin. through your blurred sight— you watched luffy lick two of his fingers slowly, savoringly before he gathers the drool in his mouth letting it drip down to yours. and you let him, letting your mouth hang agape to accept every bit of his filth.

"swallow... atta girl..!" he smiled brightly watching the lewd expression you made tasting your guys aftermath. he runs his hands back to your ass, kneading it slowly but without any ulterior motive other than that he loves holding it when you calm down together.

"i love you (name) m'sorry i got so mad at you earlier."

"no, i should apologize. you were injured n bored and i wasn't even checking up on you."

"speaking of injuries.. i think still i need some stress therapy." luffy says with a sly grin, laying beside you on the futon.

you catch on almost too quickly, shaking your head— breath still uneven. "no no no, we're done. we can't have any of your wounds reopening."

"don't ya wanna suck me off still? a bit of head can't do any harm!"

"you realize this room has no door right?"

"......when has that ever stopped us?"

oh god.

... ✸ a/n: i was baked past cloud 9 when i wrote the other half of this but, ion wanna hear noone say shit such as “luffy ain’t slutty like that” nah man he is 🙏 down with sex ignorant luffy !!! #ace luffy is still canon but so is slut luff

tags !! @svanesworld , @selkiemaiden , @dilvcslut , @iluvs-world , @eaves-dropper , @yourmumsthings , @sanjisblackasswife , @roronoaswifey , @movie-enthusiast22 , @luffypedia , @pandoras-box0 , @xxdiaqiaoxx , @girlmeetsbullshit , @n9hida , @w9vyy , @juno443 , @roronoazorohater , @soloplayer0901 , @deathkidz

#monkey d. luffy #one piece #luffy x you #luffy x reader #luffy #op luffy #strawhat luffy #one piece headcanons #luffy smut #mugiwara no luffy #rainykoo #one piece smut #op smut #trafalgar law

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