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#I REPEAT I MADE THEM KISS

randomwriteronline · 6 months

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(Before Y'all Read: HEAVILY SUGGESTIVE CONTENT AHEAD)

The jolts of electricity running through his organic tissue were the only thing keeping him fully conscious at this point.

Very painfully, of course; but he'd take that over drowning.

It burned terribly, maddeningly, and his muscles tensed and jerked without him having any say over it. To admit the excitement the sensation stirred in him would have been mortifying, once, many years ago; but everybody had gotten their turn at it, and he could read in their faces the truth of the matter, and while a hilarious sense of decor still dictated nobody mention a word of it he knew his pleasured reaction was not an exception, but the rule.

Just enough time to get a gasp of air, and water was again washing over his face.

The voice came garbled near his head, strange and distorted by the liquid. The muffled sound couldn't hide the desperate snarling want within it, and the lack of air against his neck couldn't hide the intensity of those groans and pants.

One could have almost said it was nuzzling, what Ehlek was doing against his chin; one could have almost said there was something amorous about all of this.

One could have said his sharp teeth itching to bite his throat was a sign of love.

Clearly, one had never met the Barraki before.

He grasped the water dweller's wrist as tight as he could the very moment his lungs began burning from lack of air, hastily requesting to break through the surface before he passed out - which would have certainly caused the encounter to take on a disturbing necrophilic tone he wasn't particularly keen on allowing.

A clawed hand grasped the back of his neck as its twin did the same for his hip: just as the cold air met the creases in his armor again and his mouth opened wide to greedily take in as much of that sweet venom as he could, a lightning bolt lurched through him with a loud guttural shriek, tearing any last remnants of oxygen from his body as he let out a strangled sound nothing short of absolutely obscene.

He remained held up like that, by that trembling hand that so easily could have crushed his throat, dazed and stunned by the terrifyingly effective concoction brewed from electricity and coital bliss like a Gukko hit by a rock, for an amount of time that would have certainly put his life at risk.

But nothing struck to kill him.

He was laid down gently by that trembling limb on a thinner torso, face ever so slightly out of the water, just enough to be submerged, and allowed to slowly regain his breath. His entire body ached; warmth pooled inside him.

Claws sank into his flesh.

"The sea," Ehlek murmured, exhausted.

He gave a questioning grunt, still incapable of properly speaking beyond a hiss.

Ehlek rubbed his nose against the strong neck, submerged just enough so that he wouldn't need to leave any part of his face above the water; his fangs scraped against the exposed muscle, opening ever so slightly as though he were still looking to leave a mark, to tear him into submission, to taste his blood, the blood of a peer, the blood of a conqueror, the blood of a being perfect enough to deserve near total control over the known universe.

"I want the sea," he whispered; his gills gurgled lightly as he breathed deeply through them. "I want the seas, and everything within them... All mine... All mine..."

The claws digging deeper into his leg made his partner hiss in a pain close enough to ecstasy. An equally bloodthirsty hand reached to cup the water dweller's nape within it - pressing enough to pierce through what little flesh it could find to repay him with the same delectable anguish, making the other shudder and growl and hold onto the body in his arms tighter.

It might have been a surprise, that to convince a warlord into joining a revolution to seize power over everything they'd had to resort to a frankly astronomical dosage of such delightful torture; but then again, what else could sway a creature as anxious as him? And what else could make him lightheaded enough to request such a vast yet barren thing as his prize, one that barely amounted to anything to his allies in such an enormous playground only theirs for the taking...

"It can be arranged," he panted quietly, satisfied.

Ehlek gave a grumbling sound and nuzzled against him in a grotesque parody of affection.

#bionicle #barraki #ehlek #carapar #pridak #takadox #mantax #kalmah #suggestive #random writing #set before they challenged the makuta and lost terribly #*sticks my leg up real high* hi. i think the barraki got Extremely Carnally Acquainted with one another on Several Occasions #greg farshtey placing Romance Isnt Canon on attack mode only to be knocked out by my WHO SAID THERE WAS ANY ROMANCE BETWEEN THEM trap card #ehlek is my absolute favorite :) i love eels :)#and im an anxious bastard so i understand him #i want to put him in a little purse and kiss his head #but also yeah all that anxiety probably made him the last to agree to the coup and the others had to hype him up #by getting the backs BLOWN CLEAN OUT by some GOOD OL AMPHIBIOUS SEX during which they mostly TRY NOT TO ACCIDENTALLY DROWN #which barraki is ehlek's current bitch? you decide!#personally i think itd be funny if this exact same scenario repeated with each of them bc they all thought the others wouldnt do it #but yea it could be any of your favs/beloatheds ;)

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chawarin-panich · 1 year

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the thai bl actors have such an insane job. like imagine if your job was to constantly hang out with a guy - increasingly, this guy happens to be your best friend so you literally spend every waking moment together - and then this person, who also happens to be amongst the nations most attractive people, who you're sharing this unique experience with that no one else will really ever understand, will play your love interest and look into your eyes and say I love you or I want to kiss you with a sincerity that will move millions of hearts.

And you are supposed to what?????? not fall in love with him?????? like does your heart not even skip one beat or is it made of metal like holy shit??? braver than any us marine for sure

#this is about firstkhao #and everyday im like they're just friends but also how #then i think about them kissing and then i write what im thinking about #then i will go watch akkayan gifs and marvel at this CP phenomenon #rinse and repeat #nani's hot takes #im like 90% sure I have made similar posts before

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cascadianights · 5 months

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As someone who has never known if I would/could have a child, it is so incredibly significant to me how much love the puppies I've raised will spread in the world

I grew up with dogs, one a year older than me and one a decade younger - more since. I always had a dozen animals around me, but I am also chronically ill and disabled. So I waited over a decade into my adult life to get a dog.

I knew I needed a service dog, and that I'd have to put my years of work with animals into it because I'd never afford one (or the crystal clear diagnoses to get granted one). I didn't even begin to consider it until after I'd spent months taking care of a roommate's wolf-dog, and even then...

I wasn't considering puppies. He was, to replace the dog he'd lost, but I hadn't even batted an eye at any of the many he'd shown me. Then I saw Alice - one of over half a dozen mutts produced from a husky breeder mating with a family Pitt. Something clicked. Suddenly I was going, just to see, and was pulling money out of the bank on the way. When I got there, it was past dark and I sat in a dimly lit hut outside while a brindle puppy climbed into my lap and refused to leave.

There were others, with one blue and one brown eye each, with husky golden coats that could've passed for purebred. Who were friendlier, more enthusiastic. But she planted herself in my lap, and there she stayed the hours drive home.

She was so easy to work with. Quick to learn, eager to please and devastated to disappoint. She was always in tune with my body & mind, more than I'm able to be, and even heavily pregnant would tell me just when to turn around before the pain in my ankle began, or when I needed to sit before the world spun in front of me. Nevermind the panic attacks, the leading me out of stores while I'm dissociating out of my mind. The way she checks in as soon as the intrusive thoughts - "you can't see them, so something horrible must've happened" - take over. The way she sleeps touching me (or my partner) at nearly all times.

But for all the ways she helped me, helped us, it's been even more amazing to watch her move through the world. Greeting people at parties with a contained enthusiasm, trotting up to strangers without fear the second she hears the go-ahead. People see her and beam, they pet her and smile as she shoves her toy back into their hand in offering. Little children clap and point, the youngest babies reach out and laugh in delight as she gently licks their face or outstretched palm. My sister's toddler follows obediently after her with a hand at her waist, resting on Alice's back. Workers smile through weary masks and babies beam and adults giggle and croon.

She brings the best to everyone. She brings joy and smiles and laughter, calm and peace and safety. She's everything I hoped for in a dog and more, and she's one of my companions and partners through this terrifying world.

And she had babies. She had puppies to nurse and raise and care for, and she did so every minute diligently and gently and lovingly. And now they're spread throughout the world, through friends and family and friends that are like family, to bring the world more of the joy and peace and calm that she brings. I see pictures and videos and hear stories from friends and friends of friends, and get to run into the very puppies born into my hand barely a few pounds on this earth now spreading so much love and joy and hope. Every puppy went to a loving home I trust, and every one of them is spreading that same love and hope and joy through the world and that is! Incredible!!!

#pets #to come back to #my sister got one of the puppys and already ive gotten video of him in his crate w several new & old toys & two new beds #and a thank you text from my step gma about how much love and joy hes already brought her and how he gets along w her GIANT WEIMERENER #And ive gotten so many pics and updates from friends and theyre all growing and learning so well #and so chill!!! ive met so many off the wall puppies this age just biting your hands and plsying away and i realize now #they were probably taken too young or not getting exercise bc everyone reports/has when i visit the calmest pups #and the two i have just play w the group and nap w us all and repeat lmao #theyre so sweet and loving and give all the kisses #rn one is in my lap laying parallel and against her mom #and the other is above my partner's pillow (she doesnt like sleep jostling)#i just love them so much!!!!! talk about spreading love!!!!!! talk about spreading joy!!!!!!!!!!#my amazing bean and Fen (not mentioned here but an amazing gentle soft boi despite going throuhh hell)#(just wants love and pets and to learn how to play tug properly lol)#made the best lil beans and i wouldnt have bred them otherwise but man!! man!!!!!!#you can hope itll turn out good and then like #seeing it #seeing them all be so good andnher and Fen be so loving to them and hearing so many people tell me #thank you for the love and joy you brought to my life through these!!!#like thats all i ever wantez

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slttygeto · 9 months

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YOU SAY IT’S BIG, BUT YOU TAKE IT — SUGURU GETO.

જ⁀➴ content warning: pwp, riding, fem!reader, suguru has a big dick<3, reader struggles to ride him at first, he’s sweet and patient, big dick suguru once again<3, hint of a size kink, spanking, very light nipple play.

જ⁀➴ note: consider this an apology for the gut wrenching angst i posted yesterday. it’s 2am rn and i should be asleep but instead im feeding u guys this v self indulgent smut. enjoy<3

suguru loves when you suggest to ride him. you look eager as you straddle his lap, the love bites he littered all over your thighs giving him a sense of pride as he brushes his thumb over them. his free hand reaches for your ass cheek and kneads the skin before slapping it, and there’s a smile on his face when he sees you jolt in surprise.

taking suguru’s dick was a challenge in itself, he always prepped you with his thick fingers and made sure you were a weeping mess before getting to fuck your brains out. but tonight, you were feeling especially confident. despite his cock sitting on his stomach heavy and leaking pre-cum, the sheer size of it didn’t intimidate you. you can take it.

“think you can take it?” his voice sounds playful, and the grin plastered on his face makes your cheeks flush. the way he was staring at you made your heart skip a beat. so full of love and adoration, as though he wasn’t splitting you open on his cock a few moments ago.

but his loving stare doesn’t last long. both of his hands rest on your ass, and they deliver a harsh smack to the skin which makes you jolt forward. suguru captures one of your breasts in his mouth, and you sigh out when his tongue glides over your hardened nipple. he pulls away with a hum, a string of saliva attached to his lips and your thumb wipes it off.

“c’mon pretty girl, show me what you can do.” the praise is enough to make your pussy flutter. your hand reaches down to grab his cock, and your thighs shake a little as you stand up straight to position the tip of him against your folds.

you quietly hiss when the tip goes past your folds, the intrusion a little painful. suguru takes notice of your struggle and presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder, removing a hand from your ass to gently thumb at your clit.

“there you go—easy, eaaasy,” he whispers, his eyes locked on your face while you’re busy staring down at where your pussy and his cock meet. you don’t notice how his eyes are blown out with lust at the sight of you trying to take his cock, his heart fluttering in his chest because fuck—his dick was big for you, but you were giving it your whole mainly for his pleasure.

and when you finally manage to get the rest of him inside you, suguru is almost sure he just saw heaven. his head is thrown back and his eyes roll to the back of his head. you gasp at the same time, your pussy clenching hard around his cock that he hisses and grips your ass.

“shit— baby, you gotta move.” he sounds out of breath, his forehead is sweaty and the dark strands of his hair are sticking to the flushed skin of his face. he looks absolutely mesmerizing, that your pussy flutters again at the sight.

“fuck—“ you listen to him and lift up your hips, before slamming your ass back down. you repeat the same movement a couple of times, but each time is a little more intense as suguru grabs your face and forces you to keep your eyes on him.

he is manspreading on the couch and you ride him within an inch of your life, the fucked out look on both of your faces looks straight up pornographic. your moans are short but loud, eyebrows furrowed in concentration when you see the way his eyes start to unfocus.

you were fucking geto suguru stupid on your couch.

you lean towards him and wrap your arms around his neck, your pace faltering a little when your lips meet his neck. you think you can bring him to an orgasm first, you’re almost convinced that he was about to let go.

until his hands grip your waist, and you pull away from his neck to stare at him. one of his hands rests on the back of your head and pushes it down so that your foreheads meet, and while you’re a panting mess, suguru still manages to mutter a few words.

“eyes on me, yeah?“ you don’t respond immediately. you can’t, because he plants his feet on the ground and starts to thrust up into you at a brutal pace. you are grateful that his arm was holding you in place, otherwise you would’ve lost complete balance on his lap.

the tip of his cock brushes against that one spot over and over again, and suguru watches as your eyes gloss over with tears and your pretty lips purse—you are so close, suguru felt a sense of pride to be able to make you look this fucked out.

it only takes him a couple of thrusts before you are cumming around him with a loud cry, your body shuddering and shaking against him like a leaf. you moan as you come down from your orgasm, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you completely melt on him. you let him fuck into you for a few more seconds before he’s emptying himself inside you with a loud grunt.

your bodies are sweaty and sticky, but you still manage to kiss each other when you finally catch your breath. the kiss is sweet and you giggle as you pull away.

“that was good.” you say, wiggling a little on suguru’s lap until he hisses and lightly smacks your ass.

“behave.” his tone is playful, and his rubs soothing circles on the skin of your bottom. “but yeah, it was so good.”

↴⤷✮ i am so normal about him.

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

#moon's works #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto smut #jjk smut #geto x you #geto x y/n #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #jjk getou #geto suguru x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen getou #jjk x reader #geto x reader smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader smut #if i missed any cw pls lemme know in the comments

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augustinewrites · 2 months

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it’s been…a while since you and satoru have gone on an assignment together.

having two young children at home made it difficult to take off on short notice and be away for days at a time. they needed stability and routine, so the two of you had decided that one person would stay home while the other was working.

for a while, that’d worked fine. but now that megumi and tsumiki were older, self-sufficient teens who loved nothing more than being left alone, satoru had seen this as an opportunity.

you’d still been a little hesitant, but it was a simple surveillance mission. easy, right?

“water. you need to stay hydrated.” you instruct when he gets back into the car. he takes the water bottle you’re holding out, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig.

“gakuganji isn’t even home yet,” he reports with a sigh. you hum, distracted as you check your phone. gojo reaches across your knees to pull open the glovebox, rifling through colourful snack wrappers.

“tsumiki hasn’t texted me back,” you mutter. “should i ask nanami to check in on them?”

“nah, i’m sure they’re just super busy trashing the apartment and racking up charges on the emergency credit card. ah– found it!” he pulls out a black silk sleep mask, slipping it on so it rests on his forehead.

“really?” you ask, unimpressed as he holds a second one out to you. “you’re taking a nap?”

“yeah, it’ll be easier to sneak around when it’s dark, why stay awake till then?”

“is that a good idea?” you ask, though you know there’s really no point in trying to argue with his logic.

“your fault for keeping me awake all night. late night laundry folding is no joke.”

“if you’d put it in the dryer when i’d asked—”

“can’t hear you,” he sing-songs, pulling the mask over his eyes. “you can take a nap too, you know. that old fart couldn’t get past us even while asleep.”

“i’ll pass on the nap. need to wait for tsumiki to text.”

he grumbles something incoherent that you’re sure is meant to be argumentative as he reclines his seat a little and lays back, getting comfortable and quiet.

…for about 45 seconds.

you watch out of the corner of your eye as he pulls the mask up a half inch, just enough for his right eye to observe you.

“what do you want now?” you ask.

then, with casualty akin to asking what you want for lunch, he clears his throat and asks, “do you want to have sex?”

“do i want to have what?” you ask, turning to stare at him incredulously, but your face is hot and for a split second, you’d considered agreeing.

“sex,” he repeats, patting his lap with a shit-eating grin. “we’re going to be here for a while, anyways. these seats recline way back—”

“i am not having sex in this car with you, satoru!”

he groans over-dramatically (as he tends to do). “will you at least cuddle with me then? i’m desperate and touch-starved and hopelessly in love with you!”

you make a note to figure out what cheesy rom com he stole that line from, but lean across the console to trail kisses up his shoulder, his neck. satoru does nothing to protect himself from your overly affectionate onslaught, he’s quick to catch your jaw, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

“wait. no, no, no!” he protests when you pull back, eyes suddenly trained on the house you’re meant to be watching. “you can’t just leave me high and dry—”

“he’s home!” you whisper, pressing a hand over his mouth (though he continues with muffled complaints). “pull the car a little further back before we get out.”

you’ve already summoned your shikigami as satoru maneuvers the car into the dense forestry, about to send them off when your phone vibrates in your lap.

“oh! megumi texted me,” you inform him. “he said…‘already made dinner. tsumiki is out on a date—’”

the car grinds to a halt and abruptly turns, the momentum causing your to slam into the side of the car as it peels out onto the dirt road. you curse loudly as your fiancé, devoid of all his playfulness from earlier, speeds through the forest.

“what the— satoru!”

#principal yaga sighs when the mission report status reads incomplete due to ‘fatherly duties’#keeping up with the fushigojos #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

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gutsby · 3 months

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License to Kill

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

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

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

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

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

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

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

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

Hazards of the job, he’d said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I am,” you whimpered.

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

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

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

“I do.”

“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”

“I do.”

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

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

Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.

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

“Yeah, Steve?”

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

“So what?”

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

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

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

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

“Ready to cum for me, honey?”

You whimpered and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”

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

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

“Like hell you are.”

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

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

“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”

So Sam had heard you after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.

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

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

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

Bucky’s mom and dad.

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

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

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

“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.

“Sure looks like it.”

That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.

“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.

“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.

You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”

She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.

You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.

When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.

And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.

Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.

“Places, people!”

The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.

The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?

That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.

“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.

You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.

There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.

“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.

“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.

“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.

You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.

A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.

“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.

You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.

“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”

“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”

The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.

Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.

If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.

As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.

“Now just the bride and groom!”

The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.

“How ‘bout I push it back in?”

“Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Now kiss!”

At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.

You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.

“You look stunning.”

“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”

You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.

And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?

Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.

Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.

You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.

Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.

You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.

At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.

You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.

You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.

Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.

Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.

You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.

Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.

If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.

You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.

In any case, you didn’t really care.

You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.

You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.

A grinning, bright-eyed blond.

In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.”

Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.

“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”

His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.

“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.

You frowned. A flask?

“It’s not even noon,” you answered.

“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”

Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.

“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”

“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”

Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.

“Joey, by the way.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.

“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.

“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”

You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.

“The service,” you repeated.

“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.

And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.

“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.

Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.

“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”

That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.

With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?

You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.

You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.

“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.

“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.

“You haven’t touched that flask.”

You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.

“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.

“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”

“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.

Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.

“Open.”

“No!”

You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.

“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.

That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.

“Honey? Hon, you there?”

Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.

You craned your neck to look around.

“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.

It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.

You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.

“Bucky, I just—”

“We need to go,” your husband cut in.

His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.

“Go wh—”

“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Your face dropped.

“We’re leaving?”

Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.

“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.

Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.

“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.

You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?

Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.

“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”

Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.

Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.

At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.

You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.

“Here!” Steve called presently.

He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.

Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.

“Hangar’s clear.”

Sam, by the sound of it.

He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.

This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.

Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.

You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.

The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’

You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.

After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.

You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.

“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.

“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.

Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.

“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”

“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.

Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.

“She looks like death warmed over.”

Thank you, Steve.

Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.

Your husband turned to the nurses again.

“She’s pregnant.”

I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.

“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.

“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.

Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.

“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.

Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.

By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.

“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.

“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”

Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.

Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.

“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.

Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.

In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.

“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.

You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.

A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.

“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.

“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”

Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,

“I’ll go.”

He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.

When you turned to Steve, you understood why.

The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.

You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.

“Something wrong?”

You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.

“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.

You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.

What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,

“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”

Your jaw slackened a bit.

“What?”

“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”

Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?

“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.

“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.

“What are you talking about?”

You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.

“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”

You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.

Steve was beaming.

The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.

“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.

Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.

“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.

“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”

“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.

You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.

“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.

“No.”

You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.

Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.

“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.

Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,

“Because my dad was in debt.”

“For what?”

You paused.

“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”

Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.

“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”

This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.

“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.

His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.

“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.

“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.

You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.

“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”

If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.

You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,

“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”

You shrugged.

“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”

Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.

“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”

Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”

“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”

Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.

“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.

“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.

“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”

“James?” You finally turned to him.

“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.

“James,” you pressed again.

You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.

“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.

“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”

“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.

“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.

All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.

“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”

“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.

“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”

Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.

“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.

“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”

“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.

Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.

Fuck, did you need a drink.

You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.

You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.

And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.

“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”

Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.

“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.

You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.

“You, dumbass!”

“Me?”

Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.

“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.

All three men looked up at once.

“What friend?” Sam asked.

“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”

If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.

Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.

“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”

You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,

“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”

“Tall fella?” Steve asked.

“Very.”

“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.

“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.

You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.

“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”

You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.

Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.

“Joey?” he intoned feebly.

“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.

Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.

“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”

Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.

“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”

“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.

“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”

A beat of silence gripped the room.

Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.

Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.

The inside of your head was throbbing.

You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.

You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.

Then your nose started to bleed.

That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.

In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.

You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.

You reached for his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.

“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.

“Why not?”

“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”

You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.

“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”

Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.

“Okay.”

Infuriating.

“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.

Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.

“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”

You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.

“What? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I will.”

The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.

“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”

You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.

“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.

Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.

“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”

You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.

“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”

“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”

“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”

You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.

Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.

“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.

He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.

“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”

Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.

“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.

At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.

“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.

“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.

“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”

You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.

“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”

Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.

“I had to do that,” he snapped.

He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.

“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”

Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.

“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.

“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.

Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.

“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”

“Precisely.”

At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.

“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.

“It sounded like—”

“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”

You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.

“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”

The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.

“Bucky—” you started.

“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”

Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.

“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”

It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.

“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”

You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.

“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”

Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.

While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.

So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.

You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.

When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.

“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?

You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.

“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.

But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.

The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.

“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”

The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.

“Hurt me how?”

You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.

And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.

Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.

“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.

You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.

Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.

Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.

Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.

“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.

Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.

For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.

My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.

Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.

Should I…lick it first?

It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.

When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.

“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”

You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.

What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.

The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.

He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.

The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.

Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.

You raised a brow.

“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.

“Honey, are you s—”

He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.

“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.

Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.

Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—

“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.

Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.

It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.

Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.

“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”

“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”

“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”

You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.

He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.

You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.

Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.

His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.

Lots and lots of babies.

A hundred or more, if he had it his way.

Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.

The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.

You refrained.

Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.

“Mean what?”

It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.

“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.

“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.

“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”

In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.

“What else do you want to be, doll?”

To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.

“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”

Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.

“A good girl?” he hummed.

“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.

Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.

At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.

“Bucky!”

“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“My bunny?”

“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.

Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.

“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”

His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,

“W-what?”

Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.

“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”

“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.

It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.

He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.

“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.

In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.

“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”

Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.

“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”

You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”

Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.

“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.

Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.

“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”

You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.

“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”

“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.

And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.

“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.

Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.

“Gonna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded.

“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.

You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”

The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.

“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”

You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.

“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”

A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.

The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.

“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”

Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.

“Baby, let go, I gotta—”

He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.

Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.

He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.

Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.

You stroked his bicep and shook your head.

“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.

Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?

Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.

A phone call? At 45,000 feet?

“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”

Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.

“You think they could hear us?” you asked.

Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.

“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”

“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.

You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.

Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.

“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”

You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.

Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.

He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.

From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.

“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”

Taglist: @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut

(If I missed anyone or tagged improperly, please let me know! This is my first rodeo taglist)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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ldrfanatic · 4 months

Text

Oh Bella

Italian!Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

synopsis - 3 times the reader teases Theo’s Italian roots + 1 time she celebrates them

cute, lazy fluff, no angst just happy vibes for a happy christmas :)

slytherin boys masterlist navigation

warning - internet translated Italian

(got these ideas from Ben and Fabio on instagram they’re so funny)

It wasn’t easy to date Theodore Nott. It was always rewarding but it wasn’t always easy.

For starters, Theo grew up in Italy and has one of the thickest Italian accents you’ve ever heard. There were a few times over the course of your relationship that you had to ask him to repeat himself a few times. Like when he was trying to tell you that Draco had invited you out on a double date with himself and Hermione.

You had just woken up from a nap when Theo walked into the Slytherin common room after quidditch practice. He flashed you a breath taking smile and all but skipped up to you as you rubbed your tired eyes. You felt your heart melting in your chest at the sight of your adorable boyfriend.

“Buongiorno Bella.” (good morning beautiful) Theo swooped down and delivered a soft kiss to the side of your face before plopping down next to you on the couch. “Guess what?” You hummed in response as you snuggled deep into his side.

“What’s up Theo?”

“At quidditch practice today, Draco says that you and I, we can go out double with them.”

In your tired brain, Theo’s words made even less sense. You sat up from his side and stared at him with your brows furrowed. “Huh?” Theo stared blankly back at you. He brushed a piece of your hair away from your face.

“Still asleep, Bella?”

You shook your head lightly but it didn’t convince either of you entirely. A chuckle rumbled through Theo and his chest vibrated in laughter.

“Draco says we can go double out with Herminone.”

Now it was your turn to laugh at the way Theo pronounced Hermione’s name. You’d all been friends for about two years now since she and Draco had started dating, but he still couldn’t quite pronounce her name correctly.

Finally deciphering his thick accent and slightly broken, but still cute English, realization dawned upon you. You tried to smother a smile as you stared at your boyfriend in pure adoration. “You mean he invited us to double date with them?”

Theo looked at you for a few seconds before standing up and sighing a little dramatically.

“Mio dio Bella, that’s what I said”

“Mmm of course, Theo.”

So, dating Theodore Nott was not without its challenges. But it also wasn’t without its fun.

It was Mattheo’s birthday so of course the Slytherin common room was filled to the brim with drugs, alcohol, and probably the sluttiest girls in all of Hogwarts. Theo was sitting at a table off in the corner with both of your guys’ drinks and was noticeably uncomfortable in such an environment.

You’d gone to get ice for your sex on the beach when you had a mischevious idea. You scooped a little more ice into the cup and started making your way back to Theo.

You caught sight of Mattheo what was sitting on one of the large couches dead center in the room. He had three girls all over him right now and Lorenzo was giggling uncontrollably as he passed him a joint. Mattheo caught your eye and winked playfully. He liked to flirt with you to rile Theo up a little bit every once in a while.

You finally made it back to your table where Theo was swirling a deep red wine in a glass. His lips quirked up in a small smile as you took your seat next to him. Without speaking, he reached out and pulled your chair impossibly closer to his before throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Ciao Bella.”

Your entire body bloomed at the sound of his thick accent over his husky voice. Warmth settled over you like a fluffy blanket on a snowy morning.

“Ciao Theo.”

The surprise on Theo’s face was more than enough to make you happy that you’d taken up Italian recently. You practiced with Lorenzo in some of your free time and he was a pretty good teacher. You made eye contact with Theo and winked before settling into his side.

Theo immediately became suspicious as you were known for your antics.

“What are you up to Il mio piccolo piantagrane, hm?” (my little troublemaker)

“Nothing Theo, relax.”

He stared at you suspiciously for a few seconds before his body finally loosened.

The opportunity was too great to miss.

You leaned over both of your drinks and dumped ice into your sex on the beach before then dropping a few ice cubes into Theo’s wine.

His reaction was nearly instantaneous.

“Oh! Bella, no! No, no, no!” His lips turned up in disgust and multiple muted expressions left his mouth in what you assumed were Italian swears.

“Che diavolo? Ghiaccio nel vino? No! Il vino è sacro.”

(what the hell? ice in wine? no! wine is sacred.)

A large hand came and ran through his messy curls and the laugh you’d been surprising burst suddenly from your chest. Theo’s eyes snapped to yours and you recognized the mischievous glint.

A squeal left your mouth as you leapt up from your seat and took off around the common room with him hot on your tail.

The second time that you decided to make your poor sweet Italian boyfriend question all decisions to be with you was at dinner one night. You weren’t intentionally teasing him at first as you stared down at your empty plate trying to think of what you wanted.

You glanced over to Theo’s plate next to you and saw a mouthwatering pasta that he’d conjured. You tugged gently on the sleeve of his green sweater and his attention found yours immediately.

“What’s wrong, bellissima?”

“Can you get me some of that, please Theo?”

“Of course.”

He took your plate in his hands and after a few seconds his dish was sitting in front of you. You noted how he made sure there were no tomatoes in yours like there were in his. Theo knew you hated tomatoes. It was so sweet it almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do to his little Italian heart.

Almost.

Theo picked up his fork and started to dig into his food before he stopped abruptly. Lorenzo too stopped eating his own food and the pair stared at you incredulously as you shoveled the pasta into your mouth.

“Oh Bella.”

He seemed more horrified than anything else. You loaded more food into your mouth being careful to eat as much as a lady as you could.

“No.” You stared at him blankly with a sheepish look before resuming your meal. “Bella, no. Twirl. Like this,” Theo picked up his fork and expertly swirled the noodles around before bringing it up to his mouth.

You offered him a gentle grin before promptly resuming what you were doing before. From across the table Lorenzo started whisper screaming at Theo in Italian.

“Theo, Cosa c'è che non va nella tua ragazza? Lei mangia la pasta come una bambina!” (what’s wrong with your girlfriend? she eats pasta like a child!)

Theo stared at you astounded as redness crept up his face. Then it finally dawned on him that you were teasing.

“Bella per favoreee.” He dragged out his words with a small smile on his face at your teasing. You both knew that you knew the proper way to eat pasta.

“No more teasing love.” You nodded through your giggles and Theo wrapped a thick arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

So, you knew that you promised Theo no more teasing last week but when you overheard him and Lorenzo complaining earlier in the most adorable stuttered English you couldn’t help yourself. You were walking down towards the common room to get lunch with the boys.

Theo, Lorenzo, and Mattheo were sitting in the common room all having a discussion. Suddenly you heard your boyfriend’s sweet Italian symphony of a voice shift into one of astonishment. You peeked around the corner and saw both him and Lorenzo staring at Mattheo like he’d just said the most offensive thing ever.

“What do you mean you have the cappuccino in the afternoon, huh?” His fingers came to rub at his temples and you had to stifle your laugh behind your hand. “Puah! cappuccino è solo per la mattina.” (Cappuccino is only for the morning).

Mattheo stared blankly at the two. Finally you decided to step in before the vein in Theo’s forehead burst.

“Theo? I’m ready.”

By the time that you made it to the Great Hall, the boys seemed to have forgotten about their earlier conversation. Mattheo walked quietly in step next to you while Theo and Lorenzo conversed in Italian so quickly your head was spinning.

“Psst. Y/n I have an idea on how to make that little Italian boy of yours blow a fuse.”

(“Maledizione Lorenzo, non credi che se sapessi cosa regalarle non andrei fuori di testa?”)

You cursed yourself that you couldn’t understand what they were saying. After staring at the side of Theo’s handsome face for a few moments longer you let out a disgruntled noise and turned to Mattheo.

“Fine! What?”

And that was how you found yourself in this situation.

Trying your absolute hardest to keep a straight face without looking at Theo at all while you sipped on your cappuccino that you’d conjured in your cup.

“Oh Bella.”

Theo’s familiar distressed tone rang out from next to you. “You cannot be series, amore mio.”

“Do you mean serious, Theo?” Mattheo chimed in with an amused smirk.

Theo made a dismissive Italian noise and waved Mattheo off. He swore under his breath before grabbing the side of your face and turning it to him. “Bellissima, it is too late for a cappuccino!”

You smirked up at your distraught boyfriend and pressed a quick kiss to the softness of his cheek. “I know, amore.”

Theo stared at you before throwing his hands up in the air and turning back towards his lunch. Mattheo’s deep laugh burst out and you couldn’t help yourself but to laugh along with him.

You were so busy laughing you hadn’t noticed that Theo was staring at you with a smile. He was so very in love with you.

+ one time you celebrated Theo’s Italian roots

April 25th was meant to be celebratory. La Festa della Resistenza. And Theodore Nott was stuck at quidditch practice.

Meanwhile, you were scurrying around the common room with Lorenzo trying to set up the perfect surprise for Theo. With Italy’s Liberation Day approaching, you’d noticed Theo had been a little down lately. You knew that it was because he was missing his family.

Normally, his mother would prepare a big feast and the family would sing the song of the resistance, Bella Ciao. You’d taken a floo to his home in Italy and gotten some recipes from his mother directly, all his favorites. And now, you were trying desperately to teach a group of first year Slytherins how to sing the song that you’d been practicing for weeks.

You sighed deeply as you realized the little buggers you bribed with a few galleons each were not at all going to get the song down in time. You conjured your purse and shelled out a few galleons to each child before shooing them out of the common room.

By the time Theo got back from quidditch practice, everything was perfect. You were standing in the center of the room in a deep red dress that you knew was his favorite. When he saw the spread, Theo thought his heart might stop. You looked nothing short of stunning.

“Oh Bella.”

It didn’t hold any of the distress that it normally did. This time his tone was thick with adoration. Theo felt a lump moving up his throat that caught tears behind his eyes. His heart clenched in his chest. This was one of the most thoughtful things that anyone had ever done for him.

Just when he was certain you couldn’t get anymore perfect, your sweet voice rang out in an impossibly beautiful symphony that rivaled Pavarotti.

“Una mattina mi sono alzato

O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao

Una mattina mi sono alzato

E ho trovato l'invasor.”

Theo held you closer to his chest and pressed his forehead against yours as he joined for the next verse.

“O partigiano, portami via

O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao

O partigiano, portami via

Che mi sento di morir.”

The two of you swayed as Lorenzo joined and the three of you sang the rest of the song together. When you finished, you all made plates and sat down in the common room.

“When did you learn all of this, Bella?”

You smiled gently at Theo while he stared at you like you were the most perfect being in the world.

“I took a trip to Italy to see your mother a little bit ago. She told me about La Festa della Resistenza the Celebration of the Resistance. She talked about how important it was to Italy’s history and that it marked the Resistance victory in the Italian Civil War. Then when I saw how sad you were to be away from home at this time I knew I had to do something.”

In that moment, Theo knew that there wasn’t anybody he’d ever loved as much as he loved you. He took your face in both of his hands and pressed a deep kiss to your lips.

“This is perfect, bellissima, thank you so much.”

#slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #lorenzo berkshire #Italian Theodore Nott #slytherin boys x reader

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peachsayshi · 1 year

Text

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about...reader trying to break up with yandere gojo

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.<

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session.

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits.

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice.

“you want to take a break?” he repeats calmly, but those last two words are laced with disgust, barely slipping through his clenched teeth, and he lowers you down just enough for him to press the tip of his swollen cock against your slit.

“I need to slow things down...” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the sensation from the contact.

your thighs naturally start to tense up when he holds you there, and the pads of his fingers dig roughly into your hip to keep you in place. you hiss against the harsh touch, gazing down to find your lover pouting at you like a disappointed child.

any stranger would consider this an adorable expression with the way his big eyes widen while his brows upturn sorrowfully.

to you, however, it was an entirely different message.

“are you unhappy?” he asks, his words weighed down by hurt.

a warm sensation travels up your calves as you try to maintain the pose and you shake your head no while squeezing him gently with reassurance. satoru flickers his attention back to the point of contact. your pelvis feels tight from holding this awkward position, and the ache to have him inside you naturally makes the space between your legs pulse with need.

satoru gojo has given you everything and more. there is no reason for you to be unhappy.

he made sure of that.

“okay,” he confirms with a sigh, one palm moving to grope the curve of your ass while the other stabilizes your leg as he draws you down his length. “do you not love me?”

a hard lump forms in your throat.

you’re careful never to actually say those words to him.

satoru’s devotion consumes your entire your soul - you can’t help but feel like you would be making a deal with a devil if you decided to admit your true feelings.

you managed to keep his peace of mind this far by reassuring him with deep, promising kisses and strong acknowledgements of his feelings.

technically you aren’t lying, but the reality is that you’re afraid to love him...and of what your love does to him.

giving him another silent reply, you nod your head as your fear creeps up the back of your spine. the only relief you find is the stretch between your legs, and your lips part into a circle as satoru gives himself to you inch by glorious inch.

your skirt flaps over you both, concealing him buried inside you. he arches forward to kiss your jaw, his large hands finding your breasts and he massages them over your fitted tank.

he delicately trails his fingers down your waist to latch onto your hips once more. “then why...” he murmurs into your neck, “do you want to take a break?”

your hand finds the back of his head, a moan leaving your parted lips when you feel him lick a stripe up the column before lightly nipping at your earlobe.

“it’s just...” you gasp, feeling flowers of heat bloom in all the places he’s touching you, “I just feel like we are getting ahead of o-ourselves..ah...”

he rocks your hips back and forth, moving at such a languid pace that you can’t help but clench your thighs around his own. your fingers curl around the snowy threads of his white hair, tugging at it gently before pulling his face away so you can meet his eyes.

he looks smug - but he always does because he knows that you’re just addicted to him as he is to you.

“isn’t that what we want?” he questions, the corner of his mouth twitching into a lazy smile as he takes off your top and unfastens your bra, “we’re already so perfect...”

“satoru,” you whine, “that’s not the point-”

this time he ruts his pelvis upward, interrupting your thoughts as he hits you at the right spot that makes your eyes disappear into the back of your head. he leans against the chair, maintaining full eye contact with you as he casually lifts you up before dropping you back down on his cock. “just want to make you m’pretty wife, is all...fuck you like this every single night...”

you bite your bottom lip, frustrated with how wet he’s making you with his words. your body subconsciously succumbs to his demands and you slowly start bouncing up and down over his length.

“that’s right, angel,” satoru grunts with approval, his hungry hands grab your ass roughly, and you squeak when you feel a slight sting from behind as the sound of his palm slapping against your skin echoes around the room. “see? I’m making you feel s’fucking good, your pussy’s so wet f’me...just for me...”

when his mouth finds yours, you know you’ve lost the battle. his scalding kisses leave your lips swollen but you still search for him out of desperation to feel the fire. he’s reminding you how hard it would be to let go of him, reiterating that there is no man in this world who could ever love you as much he does. you feel silly for bringing this up, questioning your own trepidations about him and wondering if this is simply you sabotaging what you already have.

you are in a daze from the way he fucks you but he isn’t slowing down his movements and you feel like he might actually split you in two. he would never speak to you with angry words, but you can feel it in his movements.

“gonna c-cum, gonna cum, gonna cum...”

it comes out of you like a warning, but it only makes satoru go deeper and before you know it your vision is white. your body feels everything all at once, and the coil that’s been tightening around your lower belly loosens from the intense orgasm. the pleasure is euphoric, sinfully so, and it drains you of all the energy you’ve preserved. your body goes limp in satoru’s arms, and he keeps them wrapped securely around your waist as he pumps his cum inside you.

he holds you in this embrace, allowing the seconds to pass. his breath fans your collar bone while he tries to catch himself. your eyes feel heavy when you blink them open, and you cup his face in your hands as you seek to cool yourself down with his azure eyes.

“I’m never going to let you go,” he confesses with a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, before placing another on your cheek while he tightens his grip, “so stop trying to push me away.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

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jamminvroomvroom · 6 months

Text

adrenaline, baby.

ln x wife!reader

ahahaha i couldn’t help myself. wrote this at godspeed (20 mins) and i’m not even sorry. not my finest work but i could not care less this is peak brainrot (waving at you @lavenderlando). feral is the only word on my mind at this time. gg lando.

warnings: listen it’s porn with minimal plot. minors dni i am so serious!! 18+, smut, fluff, breeding kink, implied overstimulation, mentions of pregnancy, marriage, it’s just unhinged idk

your back couldn’t have hit the bed soon enough, touch starved bodies moulding into the cloud-like mattress. you’d waited all weekend to get him on top of you, and now that the stress of the race weekend had melted away, you’d been able to put the do not disturb sign to good use.

lando’s adrenaline rush had sent him feral.

he hadn’t stopped touching you since he’d been able to, practically dragging you through the mexican paddock, into the car, through the door of your hotel suite. he’d attended to his race duties and now lando had a wife to attend to.

six months of married bliss meant one thing: a lot of sex in a lot of places. you didn’t know how to keep you hands off of one another, proud of yourselves for making it behind closed doors this time. it meant you could take your time, that he could take you apart just how he liked to, and that’s what he did.

“c’mon, baby. need you nice and ready for me.” lando muttered into your neck, punctuating his words with a kiss below your ear. he had two fingers working in and out of you, curling deliciously against your walls. “did all of those overtakes, and then i did them again. now, m’gonna make you come for me again and again.”

he was a man, possessed.

a strangled cry tore from the back of your throat, zero regard for the neighbouring rooms as you fell apart, spasming into the white bed linen. lando didn’t stop, fucking you through the waves of pleasure until tears pricked your eyes and you were squirming away from him.

there wasn’t a second to recover, his curls tickling your thighs as he slotted between your legs, tongue lapping up the mess he’d just made. your ears were ringing, eyes squeezed shut, thrashing hard before your body dissolved completely under his touch. you couldn’t figure out where the pleasure started and where it ended, all you knew was that your second orgasm was approaching faster than lando has made up all those race positions.

“oh my god.” you repeated over and over like a prayer, blindly tipping over the edge, his tongue stroking your clit while his fingers coaxed you to your second release.

“i’m not done with you, baby. gonna fill you up again, just like you keep asking me to.” lando groaned, scaling up your body. you shuddered at his words, your body set on fire. it was a sort of given, at this point, that you were trying. or, to put it more accurately, not not trying. it did something to you, the idea of him letting loose, not a single barrier between your intertwined bodies, and he loved it as much as you did.

a litter of soothing kisses were placed up your throat, before he reached your lips, his own slotting over yours. it was messy, passionate, quiet whimpers being traded between you as he found his rightful place between your parted thighs. your legs were hooked over his hips, pulling him in, the tip of his cock painting over your folds. and then he was inside of you, slick bodies at one, and a switch in him flipped.

lando went deep, rocking into you like it was the last time. it definitely wouldn’t be. he could have left an imprint of your body in the mattress, holding you down as he ruined you. it was desperate, new urges unlocked in him since you’d started this new venture in the bedroom, no limits. you couldn’t keep up with him, letting him do all the work, just how he liked it. and you fucking loved it.

all you could do was clamp down on him, a beautiful mess at his mercy, his name chanted into the room. everything was hazy, nothing, there was only him and you. you arched into him, clawing at the bronzed, glowing skin of his lean back, eyes rolling in your skull at the way his muscles felt as they tensed under your touch.

“one more for me, baby, one more for now and i’ll give you what you want. gonna make me a daddy?” lando’s breath fanned your face as he spoke, watching with a smirk at the way you absolutely lost it.

you were sobbing when you came, the aftershocks continued by the way you felt him reach his own release. white heat pricked your skin and you collapsed even further into the bed, wrecked beneath him. you were grinning lazily, panting hard, eyes shut from the exhaustion. lando kissed away the tear tracks, residing inside you as you both came down from the high.

the air changed drastically, softer, intimate. he found your lips again, gentle this time, affectionate pecks reviving you.

“you okay, my love?” lando whispered. you breathed a laugh.

“you’re too good to me.” your voice was raspy, your vocal chords shot from a weekend of screaming his name in every possible context. “proud of you, honey.”

lando hummed softly, grateful for your praise. he scanned your face, an angelic glow gracing your features. his beautiful wife.

“gonna get you cleaned up.” he went to roll off of you, but your legs tightened around his waist.

“not yet. wanna stay like this for a minute.” your voice was laced with sleep, and lando couldn’t help but smile.

“this might have been the time, y’know.” lando’s words came out excitedly, unable to contain his delight at the idea of having a family. your family.

“and even if it wasn’t, i don’t mind the free practice.” you teased, but the giddy feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something, and so did the test you took four weeks later.

idk what came over me idk what happened lol. bye.

#lando norris #lando norris smut #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris blurb #lando norris imagine #lando norris drabble #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #f1 fics #f1 blurb #f1 drabble #f1 blurbs #writing things

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tempted-byhyuka · 19 days

Text

| enhypen when… |

they snap at you

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

inc: request, angst, hurt/comfort, yelling, flinching (jay, jake, jungwon, ni-ki), physical contact (heeseung, sunghoon), small fall (jay), jealousy (jake, sunoo), food (sunoo)

ೃ⁀➷ lee heeseung

ੈ♡˳ heeseung was typically a levelheaded guy, and he always treated you like a glass doll that would break at the slightest tremor. never before had he raised his voice at you, even when he was visibly agitated. it stayed that way for a long time, even through his toughest schedules and most irritating setbacks.

ੈ♡˳ one night when he came home, you could tell he was deep in thought, but also exhausted and agitated. in an attempt to get him to feel better, you hugged him from behind and kissed the back of his neck over and over. when that didn’t exactly work, you repeated his name, again and again. “hey, heeseungie.. heeseung!”

ੈ♡˳ “what?! what do you want?!” he roared and spun around in his chair so fast it pushed you back and made you stumble in suprise. you were so startled you didn’t know what to say.. he had never done this before! “i-i was just..” you tried but backed away when he stood up. “what?! helping?! what kind of help is that?!”

ੈ♡˳ heeseung stared at you with an irate expression, his chest shaking as he breathed deeply, like he was about to unload his struggles on you. the silence was sickening but eventually, he lets out a sigh.. an exhausted one as he closes his eyes and lowers his head. “i’m sorry…. i’m sorry.” he repeated.

ੈ♡˳ he takes your hands in his and lifts them up, “are you hurt…? did i hurt you?” heeseung’s voice trembled. sensing his regret, you place your hands on his cheeks and begin rubbing circles onto the skin. you can feel the half smile he mustered, and lean in your press a kiss to his nose, “i’m okay, i promise..”

ೃ⁀➷ park jongseong

ੈ♡˳ as much as it seemed like jay was quick to anger, he never reflected that behavior on you, he was always patient and respectful towards you, a proper gentleman. even when you almost damaged an expensive pan in the dishwasher, he gave you a smile, patted your head and promised it was all okay.

ੈ♡˳ it was always easy for you to tell when he was at him limit though, and when he came home and dropped his backpack aggressively onto a chair, you knew that he must have had a rough day. “jay? is everything alright?” you inquired and stepped into the kitchen. “i don’t want to talk about it..” he mumbled.

ੈ♡˳ “are you sure? you’ll feel better if you do.” you said and reached out to try and rub his shoulders, only for jay to shrug them off. “i said no.” he grumbled, sounding more upset than before. you feel a deep tension in your chest and, “do you want me too..” “i want you to stop talking!” he shouted.

ੈ♡˳ your heart dropped, and you step away from jay to give him space, only to stumble and fall to the floor. hearing the thud, jay turns around and finds you on the floor, furrowing his brow. he reaches down to offer you a hand, but it feels like his heart shatters when he sees you flinch, and it hits him that he’s the reason you did.

ੈ♡˳ he kneels down in front of you, his hands held up in a gesture of peace as his gaze becomes softer, and more despaired as he places his hands on your knees. you caught a glimpse of the tears forming on his waterline before he bows his head, his shoulders starting to shake. he felt like a failure… a complete failure.

ೃ⁀➷ sim jaeyun

ੈ♡˳ it wasn’t easy to set jake off, not at all. he is a textbook boyfriend, kind, sweet, handsome, well communicated, and he has a cute puppy to boot. he’s everyone’s dream man… everyone’s dream, even the strangers on the street, the strangers on the screen and even his own staff.

ੈ♡˳ that’s why it really rubbed you the wrong way when jake responded to one stylist’s comment on his nice face with his handsome smile and a laugh that you thought was flirting. to make it worse, he didn’t even notice you were upset until you were both already home. “baby? hey talk to me… are you mad?”

ੈ♡˳ that’s when you unload, you snapped and told jake what you were feeling. maybe you should have waited until you were calmer however, because to your shock, jake began arguing with you. “oh come on! am i not allowed to accept compliments anymore because of your jealousy?!”

ੈ♡˳ the argument went on and on until Jake was so frustrated he went to pinch the bridge of his nose, making you step back at the sight of his hand flying up so quickly. jake stopped in his tracks, his expression switching up completely into concern, “baby..? oh no, did you think i would…?” his face breaks your heart.

ੈ♡˳ you break down into tears and shake your head, stepping forward until your chest to chest with him and hiding your face in his neck. jake wraps his arms around you lovingly, shushing you and running a hand over your hair, “i would never, baby… i’m so sorry i made you feel that way…”

ೃ⁀➷ park sunghoon

ੈ♡˳ you knew that dating park sunghoon wasn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park (haha), whether it was due to his busy schedule or the fact that when you did get time to spend with him, he was often sleeping or burnt out. regardless, you cherished every moment you got to hold his head on your lap and listen to him.

ੈ♡˳ occasionally though, sunghoon would return home in complete silence, giving you a small peck on the cheek, showering and falling right to sleep without saying more than a simple ‘hey babe’. one of those nights, all you wanted was his attention, he had been gone for about 2 weeks filming after all.

ੈ♡˳ when you crawled into bed behind him, you start pressing your lips to his jaw, his cheek and the corner of his eye. this made him groan and turn his head, “babe, i’m trying to sleep…” he mutters. unsatisfied, you try again to drape an arm over his body, but sunghoon’s reaction takes you by surprise.

ੈ♡˳ he forcibly pushed your arm away and turned around, “stop it…!” he yelled, and you sit up so quickly you get lightheaded. you watch his face change in an instant as he realized what he did, sitting up with you and grabbing your shoulders, “wait.. baby i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it.. i’m just so tired.” he shakes his head.

ੈ♡˳ “no, i should have stopped first, im sorry!” you take his hands and move them so you can give him a proper embrace. “i shouldn’t have put my hands on you though… come on baby, i’m sorry.” he pulled you to lay down with him, hugging you against his firm chest and pulling the blanket over your body.

ೃ⁀➷ kim seonwoo

ੈ♡˳ every couple had the occasional argument, you and sunoo were no exception. though your fights would typically end in playful jabs and making amends over mint chocolate ice cream, it never got too serious. that is until sunoo seemed to get genuinely upset over you talking to your ex after crossing paths in public.

ੈ♡˳ you didn’t think it was such a big deal, but sunoo gave you the silent treatment until you both got home where he finally let loose, “i can’t believe you just let him flirt with you like that! you’re still hooked up on him, aren’t you?” he scoffed, tossing his jacket onto the coat rack carelessly.

ੈ♡˳ “sunoo that’s ridiculous, i was being friendly!” you argued back, not exactly appreciating the sentiment that you were still attracted to your ex. “oh yeah, sure! i totally believe you. if you’re so friendly, go hang out with him then.” he replied before storming off, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

ੈ♡˳ after some time apart cooled you both off, you caved first, realizing that maybe chatting with your ex and barely acknowledging your current lover wasn’t the best idea. you knew just the thing to cheer him up as you opened the delivery app, picking out every snack you knew he enjoyed and adding it to the cart.

ੈ♡˳ 30 minutes later, you knock softly on the bedroom door, only to hear rapid shuffling and a thump before sunoo opened the door, “you’re still here! oh sweetheart i’m so sorry i-!” you cut him off by holding the back in front of him, “me too… let’s eat.” you smiled, following him to your bed and opening the bag.

ೃ⁀➷ yang jungwon

ੈ♡˳ being the leader of a group is stressful enough, but leading a globally popular group at the age of 16 added more weight on jungwon’s shoulders. jungwon thought he had developed a healthy way to cope with the stress but even he had his moments where he couldn’t contain his emotions.

ੈ♡˳ when he arrived home from a long, frustrating and stressful recording session, the last thing he wanted was to be bombarded with questions by you. unfortunately for you, jungwon wasn’t in a state of mind to communicate that to you without being aggressive as he yanked his arm out of your grasp.

ੈ♡˳ “why are you so clingy, huh?! don’t you have anything else to do other than nag my ear off?!” he yelled in an unrecognizable manner, his eyes filled with anger. you couldn’t get a word out, backing into a wall as it looked like he wouldn’t calm down any time soon. you’ve never seen him so frustrated.

ੈ♡˳ he cursed and reached his hands up to his face to rub his eyes, but you were so nervous you backed into the wall fully, a dull thud resonating through the hallway. jungwon opened his eyes at the sound, now looking confused, “y/n..? did you…?” the dots seem to connect in his head as his eyes soften.

ੈ♡˳ slowly, he extended his hand to you, waiting for you to take it before pulling you close. jungwon placed his hand on the center of your back, lowering his head so that he could speak into your ear. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said those things… please forgive me.” he says, smiling when he felt you return the affection.

ೃ⁀➷ nishimura riki

ੈ♡˳ ni-ki wasn’t at all an angry person, especially not with you. he was always so quiet and calm, his silence was comfortable rather than intimidating; and that’s why its so easy to tell whenever he was stressed or upset. his jaw clenches and he has a dead eyed look, a telltale sign that he’s overthinking.

ੈ♡˳ and you didn’t expect him to start yelling at you when you pried him for answers, which was, admittedly, probably not the best choice. “i said i don’t want to talk about it! what part of that is so hard for you to understand?!” you were not at all used to riki raising his voice and it was enough to silence you.

ੈ♡˳ he raised his hand up after a beat of silence, intending on pushing his bangs out of his face, only for you to back away with a fearful sound. both of you froze, staring at eachother with bewildered looks on both of your faces. the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

ੈ♡˳ “y/n…” riki finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence, his expression softening into a worried one. you could see tears begin to well up in his eyes, and riki never cried in front of you before… all tension left your body as you moved towards him, embracing him and burying your face into his chest.

ੈ♡˳ he didn’t waste a second returning the gesture, squeezing you tight enough that it made your ribs hurt. no more words were spoken as you sat down on the couch, and with your ear pressed to his chest, you could hear his rapid heart beat along with the whispered apologies he uttered into your ear.

thank you for reading! i haven’t proofread this yet, i will soon but thank you to the requester for giving me a prompt i could work with, i hope you enjoy it 🫶

#enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #heeseung imagines #jay park imagines #jake sim imagines #sunghoon imagines #sunoo imagines #jungwon imagines #ni ki imagines

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bonewreath · 2 months

Text

in which ellie shows you exactly who you belong to.

18+ minors dni!

You and Ellie aren’t together.

You’re not a couple. You’d both agreed to keep things casual. You’re just roommates who mess around sometimes; simple as that.

So why do you feel so guilty for going on a date with someone else?

You’re dressed and ready, adding the final touches to your makeup in the mirror, and you should be feeling excited - your date is a total dreamboat. Perfect on paper and so, so hot. But instead of that giddy, fluttery feeling in your stomach, all you feel is guilt.

You and Ellie aren’t together, you keep reminding yourself. You repeat it like a mantra in your head. There’s nothing wrong with going on a date, right? Because you’re single… Right?

On your way out, you run into Ellie, because of course you do. She’s sprawled out on the couch, head propped on a pillow, playing her Switch with a determined look on her face. Your stomach clenches when you see her. She looks up when she hears you walk to the front door, her eyes following you as you slip into your shoes.

“You look nice,” Ellie says from the couch. You look over and see that she’s paused her game; she’s sitting up and drinking in the sight of you, eyes lingering over your frame. You pretend not to notice.

“Thank you, Ellie.” You grin and look down at your outfit, palms smoothing over the fabric of your skirt. You do look nice.

“Where are you going?”

Your cheeks go hot at the question, and your first instinct is to lie - to tell Ellie that you’re going to see a friend. Just catching up with someone from college over dinner. But it’d be stupid to lie - you’re single. You’re allowed to go out.

“I’m, um, going on a date.”

You don’t look at her when you say it - you know you’d feel guilty, even if the two of you are just friends with benefits. Or… Roommates with benefits?

“Oh,” Ellie says, as you busy yourself picking off nonexistent lint from your shirt. Anything to avoid her gaze. “Okay. Have fun, then.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice, which you had expected. You glance at her face, and she’s back to that determined expression, focused on her Switch again.

You clear your throat. “Thanks. I’ll, um… See you later.”

Naturally, you spend the entire date thinking about Ellie. Her eyes, green and dotted with flecks of brown. Her hair, which falls in her face just right. Her mouth, and the way it feels against the supple flesh of your throat, Ellie’s lips soft and wet as she trails kisses down your neck.

And her hands - her strong hands. You can almost feel them on your hips, on your chest, between your legs.

God, this date was a mistake.

Still, you have the common decency to see it through. You pretend to be interested in your date’s job, their hobbies, their five year plan. They drone on for hours, only asking you a few pointed questions about yourself, and when the dinner’s finally over and they’ve signed the check, you’re itching to leave.

Not long after you’ve made it back home, you’re face-down on Ellie’s bed, moaning into the mattress as her tongue circles your clit.

She’d asked you about your date between heated kisses, her lips flushed and swollen. You hadn’t given her much details aside from it was boring and I just wanted to come home and do this. That seemed to give Ellie some sort of complex, because now, as she pumps her fingers into your cunt with one hand and lands a stinging smack on your ass with the other, she pulls back from mouthing at your clit to rasp, “That’s it, moan for me.”

And she’s always been talkative in bed, all slurred curses and dirty comments, but there’s something different this time. You arch your back deeper, giving her more access to pound her fingers into you, and she groans in approval.

“Good fucking girl,” she breathes, using her free hand to dig her blunt nails into the flesh of your ass. She gives it another spank for good measure. “Wanna tell me whose pussy this is?”

There it is - something she’s never said before. You can feel yourself getting wetter, tightening around her fingers as your hips involuntarily push backwards against her palm. You forget to respond entirely, every thought in your head smooth and shapeless, disappearing as quickly as it came. But Ellie won’t let you off so easily.

“Flip over,” she orders, the rasp in her voice sending a thrill up your spine. You obey wordlessly, and when you’re on your back, you see it: a possessive glint in her gaze, a sharp edge to her expression. You gush impossibly wetter, cunt clenching around nothing - the absence of Ellie’s fingers makes you want to sob.

“Ellie,” you whisper, brows knitting together. Her gaze softens. “Please make me come.”

A smile tugs at her lips and she nods, her palm rubbing over your stomach in soothing circles.

“I will, princess,” she assures you, “but I need you to tell me who you belong to. Think you might’ve forgotten.”

Guilt twists in your gut. “You, Ellie.”

“What about me?”

There’s a challenge in the teasing lilt of her voice. You swallow. “I… Belong to you.”

“Mm, that’s right.” Ellie’s hands travel upward from your abdomen to your chest, closing around each of your tits. You suck in a shaky breath when her thumbs stroke over your pert nipples, making them draw even more taut. “These are mine?”

“Yours,” you gasp, chest rising and falling quickly. Ellie’s bangs fall in her eyes as she leans over to suck a nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling over the bud until you go cross-eyed, hips canting upward. She repeats the same torture with your other breast, leaving both of your nipples swollen and sensitive.

“What about this?” Ellie asks when she pulls back, her hand moving to the heat between your legs. You whine, a desperate, pathetic little sound that makes Ellie want to eat you whole.

“Yours, Ellie, it’s yours,” you say, voice betraying how needy you are. She dips a finger into your wetness, your folds silky with arousal, and you almost miss the way her eyes flicker back into her skull for a moment. She’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

“This is mine?” She drags her fingers up to your clit, drawing torturously wide circles around it - close, but not close enough. You could start crying right there. You nod, frantic.

Ellie clicks her tongue, tuts in disapproval. “No, baby, I need to hear you say it. Whose pussy is this?”

And it’s not so hard to admit - Ellie’s had you under her spell long before you went on that stupid date tonight. You realize it now, cheeks warming at the obscene sounds of Ellie’s fingers playing in your cunt, unable to look her in the eye without squirming.

“My pussy’s yours,” you pant, “s’all yours. Nobody fucks me like you, Els.”

You’re pushing your hips towards her touch, your tits in your own hands now, pulling at your nipples like it’ll relieve the growing need in your belly. Ellie eyes you with half-lidded eyes, lust heavy in her gaze, and it’s like you can see the remnants of her resolve break. She sinks between your legs and finally, finally laps at your desperate cunt, drinking in the taste of you as you whine and writhe above her.

When you come, it’s with Ellie’s name on your lips. And you know it’s true - you’re entirely hers.

#a lil blurb for yall on this fine friday #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie fic #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie x reader smut #my writing #possessive!ellie #kira writes

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