#But if he could have full control over the situation he just might make use of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gutsby · 1 year ago

Text

Trigger Tease

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your honeymoon from hell takes you straight to a strip club south of Madripoor, where Bucky teaches you how to give a lap dance, shoot a gun, and kill a man all in one night—and maybe agree to have his baby, too.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Oral (m! & f!receiving). Sex in a sauna. Sex in a strip club. Praise & degradation. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Double homicide. Dickriding. Beefy, mob boss Bucky hates birth control and bad men—loves babies and killing HYDRA operatives for his wife.

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Dividers by the lovely @saradika 💞

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, but that was no matter. What counted now was making the shot, and getting it right.

You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.

It was no secret that the Barnes’ bloodline was steeped in dealing, stealing, gunslinging, and laundering cash. Staggering privilege, too. From the sandy shores of Curaçao to Luxembourg and Guinea-Bissau, any living heir to the dynasty could have expected to find safe refuge and respect just about anywhere that they went. It was all but engrained in their DNA at this point.

All that is to say, Bucky had no trouble finding a foreign hideaway in a pinch. He liked the Swiss Alps the best.

After your short and sweet conversation with ‘Joey’ over the phone—HYDRA hijacking the intercom system—he and Sam and Steve had made the split-second decision to reroute the plane to Zürich, and now you were here.

72 hours into a four-day ticking time bomb and totally clueless as to how you might stave off impending death, and mitigate other casualties, the best that you could.

The stress fucking with Bucky made it worth it, though.

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing that day, you’d found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time lately: pinned against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure all the while. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was far better sustenance to him than the whole fucking meal he’d eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt at a rapid-fire pace. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over. Bucky soaked in your every sound, and the few tears that would inevitably spring to your eyes, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouth and his and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you now.”

Bucky’s words couldn’t have hung in the fog-infested air for more than a millisecond or two before he had you back in his arms and carried to the far end of the sauna.

At the door—or, rather, on it—with your back flush against the wood, you felt Bucky pin you in place with his hips and press his erection to that soft, cramped space between your bodies. You tightened your legs around his middle and sucked in a breath when you felt him pulse.

Then the head of his cock was circling that slick, taut ring of muscles like all hope for his future happiness lay there: right between your legs in the softest and sweetest recesses of your body he could reach. His eyes could’ve been engulfed in flames and still not betrayed a fraction of the smouldering desire that lay behind them now—he drank you in with a single look and sighed.

“Can I— do it, now?” The term ‘fucking’ swiftly lost all lustre when he was an inch from your heat and ready to press in; he just needed to be in you, a part of you, now.

“Yeah,” you breathed. You pressed your forehead to his.

Bucky ran his tip once more down your slit and had just begun to ease his hips forward when a moan snagged in his throat. He braced you firmer against the door, letting your arms drape over his shoulders, and was just about to slide his length inside of you, then—

Thump, thump, thump.

Three knocks in quick succession.

You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.

Bucky held you to him, tight, and planted a hand beside your head as if to hold the whole frame still. Then, through gritted teeth,

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Need you downstairs. Now.”

It was Sam.

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.

“Can it…wait?” he tried again, tone laden with a silent but pointed, ‘Is it urgent enough to drag me away from my wife when I’m less than an inch away from being seven inside her?’ Evidently, Sam got the gist, or was just keen to get him out, because he returned, quick:

“Yeah. Legal’s here.”

‘Shit’ was Bucky’s wordless expression below you.

Then a ‘Shit, shit, shit, just shoot me now’ kind of look that raised an eyebrow on your own frazzled face.

Wasn’t the arrival of Bucky’s legal team a good thing? He’d been agonizing for days, badgering Sam and Steve to no end over when they’d hear back from his retinue, and here they were. You couldn’t ask just yet, as your husband was lowering you to the floor and stepping back from the door, chest racked with a shuddering breath, but you wanted to know. You reached for a towel.

“Fine. Fuck. I’ll be right out.” As it was, Bucky had chosen to forgo the dry-off altogether and just started chucking clothes on his body, eyes roaming all over.

You turned from the sound of Sam’s retreating steps and found him moving fast, graceless—shoulders hunched, head bowed, pants wrestled almost angrily up his legs. He found his balance, barely, bracing his weight against the sink, then nearly tore the porcelain fixture off the wall with how hard he kicked it trying to get his left shoe on.

He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.

In a second, you had either side of the crisp white button-up between your hands, frowning.

“Any reason why we’re so upset?” you asked after a beat.

Bucky puffed a short breath over your head as you secured the first button. Then the next. Then the next.

“What? Apart from the fact I’m not balls deep and about to give you your fourth orgasm?” he grumbled.

You shot him a look.

“I mean it’s— not ideal, getting a visit at a time like this,” Bucky continued once he’d sufficiently contained half a smirk and could don a more serious look, “If we were getting any good news they would’ve just called.”

Hell, great news could’ve made it in an email. The whole aggregate of his legal team taking the trip from Brooklyn to Zürich meant that shit had most likely hit the fan in a big way. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to learn the ‘how’ just yet.

Instead, he cupped your cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb along its curve once you’d made it to the last button of his shirt. He started to lean in, hoping to delay the briefing downstairs with a quick diversion to your lips, but he stopped about an inch away from your face.

You’d lowered your touch, slipping it under the band of his boxers. He was still as hard as you’d felt him last.

Bucky let out a grunt when your fingertips grazed the soft tufts of hair adorning that part of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when they sank even further.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, voice dulcet and slow as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

Again, a sound rumbled deep inside Bucky’s chest, and the thumb resting on your cheek stirred. In fact, it had no other choice—your head was starting to move.

Descending, slowly. Sinking to the floor in front of him. Positioning yourself right above the bulge in his pants.

Now Bucky’s palm was laying flat on your head, resting light as it ever had while you drew him even closer.

“Baby—”

“Yeah?” you hummed, just then tugging him out and bringing your mouth to the swollen, leaking head. Bucky gripped a good handful of your hair and rutted his hips without meaning to, and you smiled, “Can’t have my husband showing up hard as a rock to his meeting.”

You were right. There was no way Bucky was getting rid of this wood without the help of his hand or one of your holes. And, under any set of circumstances, he would’ve much preferred the latter to the former. He groaned when you took his tip to your lips and stroked him softly.

You made remarkably quick work of the man with just a minute or two, your mouth, your hand, and a tiny bit of spit—a record-breaking feat, Bucky had thought to himself with some embarrassment. But you weren’t concerned with his stamina in the slightest, focusing instead on the ways in which you might maximize his pleasure in the same way he’d done for you. Stretching your lips, loosening your jaw, and taking him down as far and as frequently as you could manage without gagging around him, you had him good. Deep. All but aching for release as he took a firm hold of the sink behind him.

“That’s a—fuck, that’s a good…fuckin’ girl.”

You bobbed your head once or twice more, flitting your gaze to his face, and felt the warmth unload in ropes—glazing your throat and every soft, square inch of your mouth as he did. Practically flooding your tongue with his cum. Bucky groaned and made a fist in your hair.

“Baby…shit,” came the sound of disbelief under his breath when you pulled off just enough to breathe.

You were careful how you took in air; flaring your nostrils the slightest bit, feeling a twitch at the corners of your lips as you tried not to smirk. Then, with an obscene sort of precision and purpose, you gave something else a try.

You stuck your tongue out at Bucky to show him the warm, oozing load he’d just left in your mouth.

Your husband’s response was immediate: evidently, he loved nothing more than a show of himself inside you, displayed like a prize between your two rows of teeth. You watched him grit his own to suppress a moan.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed. Still reeling from his high.

Then he paused, in awe for a second, before dropping one finger to your mouth and swirling his touch along the sticky, opaque puddle resting over your tongue.

You closed your lips around him, snug, and held his gaze.

A weaker man might have come undone. Bucky just let out a breath and smiled.

“If you wanna play show-and-tell with my cum I can find someplace to put that, doll,” he said, low as ever, then,

“C’mere.”

You didn’t need the powers of telepathy to understand what he’d meant. Should’ve known better than to dip your toe in the cumplay game with a man who arguably harbored the world’s biggest breeding kink and really wanted to knock you up. The realization had you back on your feet in an instant. Having swallowed fast, pried your lips off his digit with a pop, and licked the corners of your mouth, you rose without the threat of a second thought.

Your pale yellow dress was the first thing you grabbed—the first thing Bucky tried to yank off of your body when you’d slipped it up your legs and staggered backward.

“Not happening, Barnes,” you giggled, pretending not to see him advance when you stepped back.

But Bucky had never been big on civility in times like these. He lunged forward and nearly tore the barely-zipped frock off your frame, eliciting a shriek and another arch look from you as you started toward the door.

You were amazed you made it through—your husband had had to stop to tuck his dick back in his pants before stumbling after you—but when you took off down the hall, you knew it was only a matter of time before you heard his footsteps thundering fast after your own.

The tips of your toes had just barely grazed the first step down the stairs when hands seized your hips. You yelped.

“BUCKY!”

Whether on account of your own practiced agility, or the fact that Bucky’s palms were still sticky and slick with his sweat, you managed to wrest yourself out of his grip just long enough to get a start down the stairs.

“COME HERE!” Bucky boomed loud, trying his hardest not to laugh as he chased after you.

You screamed without meaning to. Yanked your wrist out of his reach when you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt your husband close the distance in quick. You tried to be firm, insistent, primed with the kind of fine and unfuckwithable attitude that signaled you meant business. You didn’t, though—the series of giggles bubbling up in your chest said as much.

You descended the last step with a hitch, almost losing your shit within a foot of the landing, when Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held on tight. His lips were at your ear in a second, breaths coming in quick.

“Hell, I’ll give you one right here, honey,” he sneered before flipping you back around to face him.

He pressed you flush to the wrought iron railing, then over it, pushing you back bit-by-bit until you had no choice but to jump and latch your legs around his hips.

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t—”

“Give you a baby right now?”

“—get off of me!” You were laughing now, squirming when he nipped at the space just below your ear.

One more second and he might’ve convinced you. Your Bucky was persuasive like that, too smug and self-assured for his own good but one hell of an advocate when he wanted to be. At length, he opened his mouth to take an even bigger, teasing bite, when a voice cut in,

“Barnes.”

He stopped. You froze. Together, you reluctantly turned your heads in the direction of the sound and found a keystone conference table situated at the far end of the room—seating a dozen-odd faces with identical, muted expressions of surprise. Mild discomfort, for some.

Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.

Bucky set you down and simultaneously yanked the hem of your dress back into place. Flashed a smile for the ages and snaked an arm around your waist as he started to lead you over.

“Nat! Hi,” he tried, far too casual, “Long time no see.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard and hoped like hell your husband had remembered to zip up his pants.

The woman at the head of the table—the source of the voice you’d heard—raised a brow. One cherry-red curl from her sleek, cropped bob threatened to fall out of place as she tilted her face to regard you both. The smile Bucky proffered had done nothing to repair her glare.

Some wordless exchange passed between the two of them, and next, you felt a hand directing you to a seat across the way—Steve. Smug as ever. Smirking just then.

The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.

You were dimly aware of some introductions being made on your behalf and a round of awkward, disjointed congratulations around the table. Greetings from Nat, Sam, Steve—conceited little shit—a few you knew as Bucky’s groomsmen, a couple members of the security detail, and several more friendly, unfamiliar faces, including a smartly dressed blond named Sharon. Your husband had taken a seat by the latter at the end of the table.

“Momma.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to whisper when the attention had turned back to Natasha and other matters, but you did, “Where have you been?”

Your mother and father were perched in their chairs like prisoners. There were no shackles to be seen but an air of discomfiture and compulsion bound to their every feature. You couldn’t be sure if it was humiliation on your behalf—they had just witnessed their son-in-law promise to put a baby in you for all present to hear—or something more.

For once in your life, you hoped it was just the prudish, sex-averse tendencies of the two rendering them silent.

You tried your mother again when she hadn’t responded.

“Momma.”

“Now is not the time.”

Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.

You knew better than to test that tone another time. You sank back in your seat and let your gaze roam the table, flitting between your father and Bucky a few more times than it probably should have. Surely, your dad, who had screwed Bucky over to hell and back, obliterated your wedding, and jeopardized your lives for a few more million in his pocket would have warranted some sidelong, hateful look from your husband. A glance or a stare, certainly something to show that he knew, and hadn’t forgotten.

No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.

You watched your father twist his signet ring on his pinky, jerking the gold back and forth as if hoping for it to break, or save him. He didn’t look at Bucky, either.

“Natasha Romanoff is the Barnes’ retained legal talent for all things maritime crime and narcotics trade-related. Some estate planning, too,” a voice rumbled beside you.

You made a low ‘Hm’ to feign understanding of whatever the fuck Steve had just said, and nodded.

Then, when your eyes wandered left again,

“Sharon Carter, criminal liaison and kingpin informant. Been in bed with the Barnes’ as long as I can remember.”

He really couldn’t have used a worse string of words if he had tried. You cocked your head just slightly and stared at the pair. You considered holding your tongue.

“And she’s been in bed with Bucky how often before?” You’d decided against self-restraint for the time being.

Steve blinked a little harder.

“What do y—”

“I’m not asking if, but when, they fucked,” you interrupted.

Steve blinked again, as if to clear a string of cobwebs from his eyes, and couldn’t quite find the words to answer your question. Either the truth or some half-baked crock of bullshit—there was no in between.

“Once,” he answered, at length. Honest.

You figured as much.

In any other situation where you were faced with one of Bucky’s former fuckbuddies, you probably would’ve felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Might’ve even cast a dark look in the girl’s direction and willed her not to even breathe the same air as him. Then you remembered you weren’t fourteen years old and could behave with some modicum of maturity when it came to some old flame of your husband. They weren’t even sitting that close.

You winced when Bucky gave her shoulder a playful squeeze, though. That facial tic you couldn’t control.

“So to recap,” Natasha announced, having just plodded through a few dull formalities up front, “Barnes got the intercom call from Schröder at 1500 hours, Friday.”

Every head nodded.

“Schröder gave Barnes exactly ninety-six hours to recover the $90 million lost in the…mishap, in Brooklyn—” Natasha’s eyes flickered to your father no longer than a second, “—and today is Monday. We have twenty-four hours to come up with the funds, or face the…penalties of Schröder’s exploding offer. Whatever those may be.”

You knew what ‘those’ were. Ms. Romanoff was either too kind or too diplomatic to say it, you reckoned, but the threat Joey Schröder had made to Bucky had been patently clear: procure the cash or your wife’s family dies.

That was why you’d been so surprised to see your mother and father seated at the table that morning—Schröder had further stipulated that there was to be no contact between you and your parents in the time it took to come up with the money. You’d been completely cut off, in the Alps, since the day of the attack, left to wonder without reprieve whether HYDRA’s bloodless henchmen had taken hostages of your parents, let them abscond to Brooklyn, or simply killed them both and sent the rest of you all on a wild goose chase to get hold of the money.

Now if they’d only had sex once, why was she looking at him like that?—The intruding thought couldn’t be helped when you peered over again—Surely the most platonic and professional working relationships didn’t call for looks like that.

Shut the fuck up. Shut the entire fuck up, please.

The lives of those closest to you were on the line and all you could think now was how well you compared to this random woman in giving Bucky head? Brain fucking rot.

You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.

“…and up until this morning, Schröder’s whereabouts were unknown,” she continued, careful as she spoke.

It seemed that part had caught Bucky’s attention, too, because he was tilting his head away from Sharon and shifting his gaze to the woman at the head of the table.

“And now?” he cut in.

“I’m getting there, James.”

Sharon smiled a little at that, tracing her nail on the notepad in front of her. She muttered something to Bucky, who disregarded her remark entirely.

“Do we know where Schröder is?” he barked.

Across the table, Sam shifted in his seat. He glanced to Natasha, then Sharon.

“I believe we have modestly reliable intel—” he began, only to have his speech mowed over by an impatient, increasingly irate Bucky.

“No. No— we don’t do ‘modestly reliable’ for this, Sam. We either know where the fuck the guy is or we don’t.”

That last fragment seemed to hang in the air a couple seconds longer than needed, and a tense silence fell over the table. It took a new voice—one you hadn’t heard much at all yourself—to reignite the conversation.

“I know it,” Sharon said, “I know he’s in Madripoor.”

Madripoor? The make-believe safe haven for terrorists? You couldn’t tell if she was kidding at first. Then Bucky flitted a look to the side, and his expression was grave. Natasha’s, too. Maybe there was a Madripoor after all.

“Or he will be there, most likely, tomorrow night,” Steve interjected. The hands that had been folded neatly in front of him were now tapping a light and mindless beat on the table, “He’s got the Foxy Den rented out for a…thing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Where else but a titty bar would Joey host his ‘things’?” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

So Madripoor was real, and it had strip clubs. Wonderful.

It seemed Natasha was keen to regain control of the conversation, because she presently broke in,

“Keep in mind that time is of the essence—a private flight from here to the Indonesian archipelago is sixteen hours minimum. We most likely can’t afford to fly private, b—”

“Since when the fuck can’t I afford to fly private?” Bucky spat.

You hated how short and plainly nasty he was being to all those around him. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought these folks were at fault somehow, but they weren’t. Your father, the real culprit, was sitting right under Bucky’s nose, and he wouldn’t even look in his general direction. Your husband flared his nostrils with a new surge of indignation, and Sharon patted his hand.

“She’s not talking finances, bub,” the blond started, “She’s saying your jet is on a no-fly list, we don’t have time to charter a new plane, and there’s a hefty fucking bounty on your head if you ever set foot in Madripoor. We need to get you on a commercial flight, undercover.”

“Fuck that.” Bucky’s response was reflexive. He rose fast.

If your parents could have appeared any more stiff and uncomfortable you might have mistaken them for two charming, thoroughly terrified wax figures. Your father continued to fiddle with his ring as he watched Bucky.

Natasha tensed as well. As soon as Bucky was up on his feet, pacing around at the end of the table, she was urging him to relax, Buck, this isn’t anything we haven’t done before—sit down, please. Bucky didn’t sit, and he most certainly didn’t relax, but he did kick a stool across the room.

“I am not going back to that shithole.”

The stool tumbled onto its side, one leg splintered in half. You made a mental note to look into some anger management classes. Your parents, along with most of the table, flinched at the crashing sound, while your husband stood, supremely agitated, and did not even regard the broken chair. He turned away from Natasha.

“Yeah, well, that ‘shithole’ is our only hope of getting Schröder behind bars and you out of custody, Bucky,” Natasha called as he started to pace away.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. He contemplated snagging a bottle of Macallan 25 off the bar cart by the window but decided against it.

“Have you been listening to a word of what I’ve said all weekend?” Natasha returned, almost as biting, “Turned on MSNBC or CNN or any other news outlet in the last forty-eighty hours?”

She dropped her own notepad on the table and scanned the area in search of something else. Sam and Steve took that as their opportunity to jump in.

“Bucky,” Sam started, calmly, “There were over a dozen foreign attachés and two heads of State at your wedding, half of whom are now being hospitalized for injuries they sustained in the attack.”

“So?” Bucky snapped.

His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.

“So you think the U.N. Security Council was just gonna let that slide?”

“Two-thirds of its members have been up in arms, practically chomping at the bit to get someone pinned for the fucking thing—that leaves you or Schröder on the chopping block,” Steve chimed in.

“So one more federal probe. What’s the big deal?” Bucky hardly realized he’d taken a tumbler in his hands.

Just as he’d turned to pour himself a drink, guided more by bare muscle memory than anything else, Natasha raised a manila folder—the item she’d been looking for. He’d filled his glass half full when the folder was flung his way like a frisbee. He narrowly saved himself a papercut—or ten—by ducking his head, almost spilling his drink.

“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.

“Extradition, Bucky. Search warrants for your Brooklyn residence, all your money service businesses up the Eastern Seaboard, and a whole hell of a lot of other financial records that we do not need dredged up in this mess.” Natasha pointed to the folder on the floor, which had just spilled a litany of documents at his feet.

“Let them.” Bucky wasn’t fazed by the warrants, walking over them as he drank, “I’m not going to Madripoor."

This time, it was Sharon's turn to roll her eyes as she swiveled in her chair to face Bucky. She was turned from you now, but you could almost smell the smug, knowing look she raked over your husband as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back.

"We don't have time for this," she said, coolly, "If you have any hopes of getting the Counter-Terrorism Committee off your ass and Schröder in custody, you'll listen to Nat."

Bucky paused, weighing her words in his mind before meeting her gaze again. He brought his glass to his lips and drained it.

Then, perhaps feeling a bit emboldened by the idea that she was the only one to have shut Bucky up—to have made him listen, as it were—Sharon piped up again. You didn't need to see her face to know for certain there was a smirk etched across it,

"Don't look so glum, honey. We have no choice here."

It startled every last soul at that table, yourself included and Sharon especially, when the cup in Bucky's hand sailed across the room and shattered on the edge of a cabinet close by. Before the glass had so much as splintered and scattered half of its jagged shards along the floor, your husband was stalking, then stopping, then looming over Sharon with an implacably dour look. And a jaw set tight as you'd ever seen it.

"My choice," he seethed, so low the words almost came out in a murmur, "is to protect my wife. Whatever you, or Natasha, or anyone else has in mind comes second to that. Do you understand?"

Sharon nodded that she did.

A hushed silence fell over the room once more, only now its duration was greater, and the cause of it—your red-faced, fuming husband—had turned his back to the group and was retrieving from the bar cart another glass. Another drink. Natasha followed his path with a vigilant eye.

"Bucky," she said.

Bucky didn't answer. Filled his new glass to the brim.

"Bucky," Natasha tried with a little more volume and vigor.

Your husband lifted the cup to his mouth and started to guzzle, against every shrill and helpless plea from his liver, you guessed. You wanted to object, to take leave of your seat as quick as you could and knock the thing out of his hand before he could finish, but Natasha had you beat—not with any physical act but a word to slow him down: "Barnes."

Then, a few more to get him to stop entirely:

"Look. Over there."

She pointed to a slip of paper somewhere at the top of the shuffle.

Bucky shifted his gaze to the floor. You saw him lick both corners of his mouth, bathed in whiskey residuum and a light, nascent spatter of stubble. He looked almost menacing in spite of the grin that kicked up.

"What's this?" he murmured.

"The terms of Schröder's newest offer. The one he made this morning."

Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.

He dropped to his knees, seized the paper in his hands and pored over the bare, 11-point Times New Roman typeface like it was the single most precious set of words in the world to him. There were several mountains of text, and you sensed he couldn't begin to under the legal jargon with just one cursory look.

"What? What's'it mean?" Bucky wouldn't tear his gaze away, even as he shouted to Natasha.

Your own eyes probably should've been fixed on Bucky, or in your lap, or out the window, reflecting in silence on what the fuck could be going on and why it felt as though things were suddenly coming to a perilous head. Instead, you pivoted to Natasha. Her face was tilted to you.

Then she spoke to Bucky, still crouched on the floor a few feet away from her, but she kept her focus on you. She spoke carefully.

"Schröder won't take the money, Bucky."

"What?"

Bucky's gaze combed over the page, desperate to make sense of what was printed in front of him—"The hell's this all mean, Nat, tell me what it means and what he wants, for fuck's sake."—and he flipped the document. Read some more. His eyes flitted from line to line in a full-blown terror.

Then the eyes stopped in one spot.

Bucky stood.

Fisting the letter in one hand and making a wild, inarticulate gesture with the other, he probably could've seared a hole in Natasha's head with the force of his stare. She refused to meet it.

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

All of a sudden, your father leaned over your mother to you,

"We can make it work. We can keep you—"

"Hey. Don't talk to her. Don't fuckin' look at her. Is this—"

"—safe. We'll keep you safe, darling, I swear."

"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"

You stared at your dad in disbelief. Bewilderment. Then you chanced a look at Bucky, who had all but gone blue in the face as he approached your father from the opposite end of the table, letter still crushed in his hand.

Your father averted his gaze.

He knew.

You saw him flick the gold signet on his pinky once more, and for reasons you didn't yet understand yourself, you couldn't look away from it, or him.

Surely this scared-shitless son of a bitch could speak to you now. He'd have to. There was no way he wouldn't when the problem was staring him right in the face and his son-in-law was practically apoplectic with rage in front of him.

Something clicked in Bucky's brain.

He knew.

Your husband’s breath caught with the full weight of the realization, and he blinked. He didn’t hesitate; he simply sidestepped Sam and Steve—who had stood as soon as they saw the look of understanding cross over his face—and he seized your father. You heard a scream, most likely from your mother, and you saw Bucky swing, but the act barely registered as real until his fist first cracked against your dad’s skull. Again. And again. And again.

Somewhere in the raucous din and sounds of punches, kicks, and muffled groans, a discharge of blood, and the dim recognition that some of the stuff was dousing you, too, you managed to make out several words, disjointed:

“—FUCKING KILL YOU—SOLD HER—SOLD HER?!”

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, it was true, but it was an alter-ego he’d been given from his earliest days as a made man. A caricature of himself that was to represent everything he did and was capable of doing in places like Madripoor.

You didn’t know that side. You didn’t like that side.

It was Bucky, and it wasn’t—pummeling your father’s face in the ground after learning that he had offered you up, again, in satisfaction of a debt. Sparing no feelings when he spoke to Natasha, Sam, Steve, Sharon, or anyone, making clear his wife’s safety was paramount.

Maybe you were meant to feel proud. Or flattered. Or safe. But oddly, the longer you’d stared at the bloodied, bruised fist he held above your father’s face and the half-deranged look of anger on his own, the more you began to wonder if the fury was for your protection, or simply a knee-jerk response to the thought of losing a possession. A mere object that he couldn’t bear to part ways with.

You had thought long and hard about where the Soldier stopped and Bucky began. No matter where you landed, you were far from comfortable with the conclusion.

Now, even as you stood two feet away from the man in an upper-level lounge of the Foxy Den, roughly half a day removed from the whirlwind turn of events that almost sent your father to hospital, you hardly knew what to say.

“Zip me up?”

The closest thing you’d had to conversation in hours. Bucky obliged.

You viewed your new dress in the mirror from the side and made a face. Pretended to examine the tight black number but were really just zeroing in on the sight of Bucky’s knuckles as he dragged the zip up your back. He hadn’t bothered to mend his hands, and you hadn’t thought to offer to bandage them up. You tried not to stare.

The hands paused at the top of your dress and froze.

Then crept back slowly, taking the zip along with it.

“Wanna—?”

“Bucky!”

One low groan, followed by a palm to his worn and wearied face. When you spun around, he didn’t move.

“Are you serious?” you bit.

“Will you talk to me now?” Bucky retorted.

To be fair, neither he nor his Winter Soldier persona knew how to solve the silent treatment from a pissed-off wife. This was brand new territory—being ignored for hours on end—and frankly, he had thought a playful request for sex might make you more amenable to conversation.

He had thought wrong.

You stared daggers at his handsome face and raised a finger as though to warn him, then stopped. Opened your mouth as if to speak, then appeared to decide against it. A steady, pulsing bass from the floors below was all that could be heard, and momentarily, you were reminded of why you were all here in the first place:

Locate Schröder. Corner Schröder. Capture Schröder. Bring the bad man to justice—or else just pump the motherfucker’s head full of lead and be done with it.

You weren’t too familiar with the particulars of the plan, but that had seemed to be the heart of it. Bucky never intended for you to stray from the safety of the lounge upstairs, where half of his team were casing the club through dozens of surveillance cameras, and he would likely take off with Sam and Steve the second you’d finished dressing. Now would be the time to talk.

And you planned to. Eventually.

For now, though, you’d let him sweat it out.

You had long envied women with effortless sex appeal and charisma. The kind that seemed to be made for the stage, capable of transfixing any audience, or individual, with little more than their aura alone. You’d never felt a fraction of that allure emanate from yourself before, personally, but looking at Bucky now brought you as close as you’d ever been. He was enthralled by your every move, he was intrigued at all times, you could see.

He was visibly aroused before you had even touched him. You knew it was cruel and unkind before you were even fully conscious of what you were doing, but you did it.

Someone had to teach this man how to control his anger—and his urges—somehow. Who better than you?

You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.

“Baby,” you murmured. Simple, nearly plaintive.

Bucky blanched. Could it be? Had his bullshit gambit actually paid off and made you want to talk, or possibly do more? His hands immediately went for your hips, but you were quick to shove them off. You poked one finger to his chest and shook your head.

“We can talk,” you said, measured.

You pressed into his sternum and pretended not to see a short-lived look of defeat, followed by confusion, cross Bucky’s features. He let you walk him back a step or two.

“Okay. What about?”

Where the hell could you even begin?

“Sit first,” you urged him.

It was then that he realized you’d been walking him toward the plush sectional couch behind him—a cozy little touch to the VIP room only marginally diminished by the fact that it was coated in liquor, coke, and glitter. Bucky sat down anyway.

You didn’t follow, choosing instead to stand as you appeared to…scratch something on your back? Your husband looked on in muted curiosity as you reached behind yourself and tilted your torso just slightly.

Then he heard a zip. A hitch. Another, longer drag.

Bucky knew he was fucked before you ever slipped the dress off your body. You were to make quick work of it, eyes never leaving the man in front of you as you peeled the fabric down your legs and off of your frame entirely. When you were down to just your underwear, you hadn’t even needed to see his face to know exactly where his gaze was likely to land—this part was new to him. You kicked the dress aside and let him stare.

To be fair, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Ruger LC9 strapped to your thigh. Hidden in plain sight now that you were stripped bare before him in just your bra, panties, and garter-like holster across the top of your leg.

“Where’d you get that?” Bucky nearly choked, eyes wide.

“TJ Maxx,” you huffed, “Where the fuck do you think?”

“I never said you could— And Sam and Steve—”

Bucky paused, suddenly aware of how indignant and stupid he was starting to sound. He had given orders to the rest of his team not to let you carry a gun under any circumstances, but here you were. If he weren’t so violently aroused by the sight of you wearing the thing, he probably would’ve been fuming.

“A couple guys from your security detail were kind enough to make an exception,” you smiled, words verging on smug, “And who’s to say what I ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do, hm?”

Bucky looked as though he were priming himself to stand when you lifted one stiletto to rest between his legs on the seat. A silent and quasi-sweet threat in one gesture.

“I didn’t say you can’t— well—” Bucky faltered at the last.

“You just said you never gave me permission!” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “That doesn’t sound very equitable to me, James.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.

“C’mon. You know what I mean, honey…I just…want to keep you safe. You know that.”

“Self-defense is a pretty integral part of safety.”

“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”

“You never bothered to ask!”

This was getting a little too aggressive and Jerry Springer-eqsue for your liking. Not nearly sexy or seductive enough to be heading in the direction you wanted. Bucky always brought the bickering out of you, but you had to stay strong. Slow and steady and all that bullshit.

So, before he could respond to your last remark, you lowered yourself over him. Brought both legs to bracket his hips and hovered carefully in place above the bulge in his tactical pants. When he swallowed beneath you and raked his gaze over your body, you felt a twinge of relief.

You sank further down. Dragged your lower half over his own and earned a groan from deep within his throat. Again, his hands flew to your waist to get a good grip, but you pried them off before they could ever fully sink into the flesh.

“What?” Impatience palpable in Bucky’s tone.

“No,” you answered simply.

“No?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me. You don’t own me.”

Your husband shifted under your body, hands helpless at his sides and masseter muscle visibly clenching beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head.

“I never said that I did,” he managed, after a pause, “Baby, I love you.”

“And beating the shit out of my dad was your special way of showing that?”

“That wasn’t—”

“Or snapping at Natasha. And Sam. Steve. Sharon,” you added emphasis to the last name without really meaning to, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”

“Couldn’t control your anger. Or wouldn’t. All because my dad made some stupid deal with a man and offered me up as collateral.”

“Because Joey wants you for himself!” Bucky snapped, voice suddenly raised to a near-deafening pitch. He shifted his hips and inadvertently grazed the heat between your legs, drawing a subtle pinch in his brow at the friction, “The deal your dad made was to give you over to Schröder in satisfaction of his own fucking debt—you think I was just gonna sit by and let that happen?!”

In spite of the animosity, you pressed your body to his even harder and watched him fold—if only slightly. He breathed a sharp inhale through his nose and flexed both his hands, as if wanting to make fists. However, he knew better than to move himself around at a time like this.

“What? Like the deal you made with him?”

Your words were clipped, almost cruel. You knew it would hit a nerve in Bucky, and sure enough, he met you right where you wanted him: enraged.

“That’s fucking different,” he seethed, “I would’ve paid your father’s debt without— without anything in it for me.”

“But you didn’t, and you got me.”

“And I love you. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The abrupt vulnerability in his voice was all but agony to hear. For a second, it seemed the anger had fled—or at least been eclipsed by some softer, sweeter shade—only for Bucky to blink again, shake his head, and wear that stupid, hardened look that said, ‘I am not losing this.’ Your hands reached for his belt and started in on the zip.

“You have a real fucked up way of showing love, James.”

To your surprise, Bucky let you continue, unhindered. Blue eyes meeting yours in a cold look.

“Makes two of us,” he mumbled, shrugging his boxers and trousers out of the way anyway.

That was probably true. No person in their right mind would think fucking their husband was the safest, most surefire way to let him know they were pissed at him, but both you and Bucky were working on communication skills, still. You’d get to healthy, non-sex-fueled fights at some point.

As it was, Bucky was fumbling around your thighs, trying to pry them open even wider for better access through your panties. That you allowed, but the second he tried manhandling you over his crotch, you pushed back.

“I wanna do this— without your help,” you said, firm.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Bucky agreed. He let you line yourself up with his length, brace your weight against his shoulders, and when you paused, he made a soft, ‘Hm?’ and glanced down where you looked. Before you could remove the pistol from its holster, he set his palm atop the cool metal.

“Leave it,” he murmured.

His eyes flashed with desire. It was almost more than you could bear, despite the plain fact that riding someone with a firearm strapped to your thigh probably violated every NRA gun safety rule known to man. Whatever.

You lowered yourself onto Bucky, slow, and sucked in a quick breath as he filled you. Your husband groaned.

“Fuck,” followed shortly thereafter, almost timid to crawl out of his mouth as you sank to a fully-seated position on top of him. He gripped the armrest beside him.

When your hips first stirred, you thought the man might burst a blood vessel trying not to move right along with you. You pressed a hand to his chest and reminded him, gently but with purpose: let me fucking do this, Bucky, and he relented. Fisting the couch cushion in something close to a death grip, he nodded his head and heaved a short breath and watched you all the while, grinding on him.

“My pretty…pretty girl,” he managed through his teeth.

He was doing better than you expected. You watched his face contort with pleasure when you lifted yourself up to the tip of his cock and slide back down. You squeezed his shoulders, and you let out a low whimper yourself, and dammit all, you felt that pesky fucking knot already forming in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down and frowned, wanting this to last so much longer.

Fortunately, when your eyes found Bucky’s again, you got the sense that he was in the same boat as you: brow furrowed tight in concentration and lips parted slightly, panting in time with each one of your movements.

“Baby,” he said, the single word treading close to a plea. He paused, dropped a glance to the spot where your bodies were coupled, and swallowed. He cursed aloud, then continued, quietly, “Baby…’m’sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You bounced a bit faster.

“For— fuckin’ hell, honey— for being a…dick.” The last part of his sentence was pierced by a grunt and a moan, but you heard it just the same.

You clenched around him and tried to keep steady. Manage a small, shit-eating grin above him, even.

“Being a dick?” you repeated, pretending not to know what he meant. When his cock grazed over a particularly sensitive place inside you, you just swallowed the moan and kept going, fingers taking hold of some short tufts of hair at the back of Bucky’s head as you rode him.

“Possessive. Controlling. Kind of a—” Bucky paused to grunt when he bottomed out inside, hands aching to hold you, “—piece of shit.”

Finally, you were getting somewhere. Not nearly close enough to cure the rage or the dark, grating impulses churning inside of him, but good enough, for now.

You reached for his hands and set them over your hips.

The next most natural thing was to lean down and kiss him—let his tongue invade your mouth as soon as he’d caught your lips and show you, with a wordless and fast-moving show of affection, that he missed you. And meant what he’d said. With his hands moving quick to cup your cheeks, hold you to him while he kissed you and stroked deep inside your walls, he gripped you tighter than he had in a while. You could feel strips of tension and desperation bleed through his every fingertip.

“Wanna…fuckin’ kill anyone who even thinks…of— fuck,” Bucky’s words were almost slurred at this point, so close to the point of release it seemed every wild and wanton thought that crossed his mind was likely to dance off his tongue, unchecked. You loved to see him in it this deep.

You also had to remind the murderous alter ego that violence was not the answer…always. You let him pull you closer, bodies pressed flush against each other while you fucked, but you made sure to tilt his chin up to yours so he could see the expression on your face as you spoke.

“Hey,” you pinned him with one stern look, “No murder.”

Bucky frowned.

“Yes murder,” he retorted.

You sighed.

This shit was worse than teaching a dog not to bite.

Instead of pulling back or being strict this time, though, you decided you’d give positive reinforcement a try. You squeezed his short locks of hair, gently, and rolled your hips even tighter to his, eliciting a stuttered groan. You bounced up and down on his cock, pulled him into your chest, and brought your face within an inch of his.

“Promise to be good, and I’ll let you cum inside me,” you murmured into his lips. Not the wisest offer you’d made to date, but one that Bucky seemed to want more than the air in his lungs the second the words escaped you. He pulled you in for a kiss, immediately.

“Fuck, you mean it?” he breathed, in between each sloppy, frenzied movement of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you tried not to grin at how eager he seemed, “You’re gonna apologize to everyone, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky barely seemed to register anyone or anything but you and your pussy at the moment, yearning for the go-ahead to let himself free inside you. With a nod of your head, you’d let him start meeting your motions with gentle thrusts of his own, and both of you were teetering precariously close to the edge with that added pressure. In spite of both your hot and heady, near-anoetic states, you endeavored to hold out a little longer, legs aching.

“Gonna try and talk to Schröder first?” you panted.

Bucky rutted into you hard, lips twitching into a frown.

“Doesn’t…deserve it,” he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he grabbed your hips and thrusted harder, “A fucking bullet between the eyes is what he needs.”

You eyed him soberly, or as serious as you could manage with the force of his strokes nearly sending you into a spiral. You fought back a moan and gripped him tighter.

“Bucky.”

“Bunny.”

Damn, that name.

“Promise me you won’t kill him—or anyone—tonight.”

“Baby—”

“Promise.”

His thrusts were getting sloppier; with his hands hoisting you just above him and his cock practically drilling into you now, speech and coherent thought were some of the toughest things to accomplish, but he tried it, anyway. Bucky would swallow his pride and accede to his wife, no matter how fucking badly he wanted to cum—and kill that Russian mob boss with both his bare, bloody hands.

He could be better than the Winter Soldier. He would.

With a rough, labored breath, Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and felt you squeeze around his cock like a vice. Still thrusting, clutching you, kissing you hard, he saw both of your releases coming in fast and had to act even quicker.

“I— I promise,” he stammered.

That was all either of you needed, or could bear, quite frankly. In the next second or two, you felt a cord snap in your lower half and a deep, punchy flurry of pleasure follow shortly thereafter, fingers sinking deep in Bucky’s shoulders as he bounced you on his cock and held you close. With your walls still pulsing around him, you felt him chase his own high at a breakneck pace, shooting his load inside you a moment later. It was bad, it was brash, it was a really fucking dumb idea to be playing around with the odds of making babies at a time like this, but it also felt good. Exhilarating, even, feeling him empty his balls in that space between your wet, aching walls and filling you up with his seed.

Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—

STOP.

You barely had the energy to acknowledge, much less arbitrate that bone-crushing conflict between your brain and reproductive organs, so you shut the thoughts up with a quick, messy kiss to Bucky, whose chest was still heaving from the peak of his release, holding you to him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Maybe even two—

FUCK YOU.

The internal war wouldn’t go away that easy, it seemed.

You kissed Bucky long and hard regardless, hoping the shit would sort itself out before you really had to think. Or worry. Or plan. It was dumb and a bit short-sighted, but feeling that hot, erratic pulse between your legs did a pretty good job of making it seem just fine for right now.

Bucky’s expression was lax. Soaking in the feel of your cum-painted insides still squeezing around him, gently. Had he been anywhere but the heart of Low Town on a covert mission in a strip club, hunting down the head of HYDRA with a whole troupe of trained assassins, he probably would’ve liked to stay that way a little longer. But, as it was, he could already hear folks filing in and out of the lounge, footfalls growing heavier as his team loaded up with guns, grenades, and whatever other weapons they could fit beneath their formal attire.

“Don’t look so sad,” you said as you lifted off of Bucky. Carefully pulling your panties back into place as your husband watched you do it, practically forlorn.

“Too late,” he returned in half a groan, yanking his own clothes where they needed to be and trailing a look up your legs, “Might feel better if we tried it again, though.”

“I bet.” You pulled your dress over your head.

Your husband had just tightened his belt and was rolling his shoulders to get a knot out of his neck, it seemed.

“What are your thoughts on ‘Bucky Jr.’?” he asked casually.

“Don’t start with this shit.”

“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your baby talk and death threat tête-à-tête continued for quite some time—just a couple minutes, but they felt like years to you—and before long, you were rubbing the gun under your dress and casting a glare in Bucky’s direction, and he got the sense that it was time to head back to the group. He looped an arm around your waist and led you out into the main space.

The living room was little more than a makeshift headquarters at that point. You’d been expecting to see more faces, but the only ones you found were Sam, Natasha, and a few silent, beefy individuals you assumed were part of security. Where Sharon and your parents had gotten off to was anyone’s guess. You took a seat on the couch.

“Anything yet?” Bucky questioned, approaching the panel of surveillance screens with a wary eye.

“We’ve had intermittent visuals on the second floor for forty minutes or so—” Sam motioned to one screen on the left, “—but Schröder hasn’t moved. Hasn’t done anything but bullshit and booze and buy rounds for his group. Won’t even talk to the dancers, which is weird.”

From what you’d been told, the goal was to get Schröder off the second floor, up to one particular private suite on fourth, then send in an agent dressed as a bottle girl to make entry as soon as the rest of the party had arrived, keeping in contact with HQ, and Sam, via PTT earpiece all the while. The details from that point were hazy, but you’d gotten the sense that someone—or, more likely, a sizable and duly-equipped group of someones—was lying in wait somewhere in the suites surrounding them. Steve had been tasked with leading the incursion, though where he could be found, or whom he was with, remained largely a mystery to you. Recon in a bustling, crowded area with music blaring on all four sides was a formidable undertaking, and you could tell both Sam and Natasha had been having trouble keeping tabs on every player. They seemed on edge, monitoring the screens.

“Won’t talk to the dancers?” Bucky’s brow pinched in.

“Won’t talk to anyone outside of his inner circle,” Natasha said, grim, “Which leads me to think he’s not staying here long. Probably called his associates in for a speedy-quick deal because he knows he’s being tailed.”

“Hasn’t engaged with any of our undercovers?” Bucky pressed.

Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.

“Then how the hell are we getting him upstairs to the champagne room? If he hasn’t budged and doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay?”

The looks on the faces in front of him said there wasn’t one readily available answer—or any answer at all. Bucky turned back to the screens and seemed to survey the whole panel, gaze cooling with the first inkling that this operation may be classed a failure in the very near future.

He barked some half-coherent babble about strategy, security, and failsafes, then barked for Steve.

And, as if on cue, Steve appeared at the threshold of the room a moment later, breathless and slightly flushed.

“Rogers, you’re suppos—” Sam started, eyes widening at something you couldn’t quite discern from his arrival.

“I know, I know,” Steve cut in, fast, “Want the good news or bad news fir—”

“Just spit it out,” Natasha said, preemptively unnerved.

“Schröder’s headed to the suite right now—”

Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.

“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”

‘Fuck’ was the first audible word from your husband, then Sam, in short order. Wanda must have been the agent playing bottle girl upstairs. This didn’t sound good.

“Why the fuck won’t they let her in?” Bucky snapped.

“Someone might’ve tipped his security off. Or else they’re just being extra cautious about who’s let in.”

Steve fiddled with one cufflink on his suit and tried not to appear too despondent, but the implications of this single event were huge, you could read on every face in the room. Wanda had been meant to do something important before the rest of the brigade mobilized—take some key step that couldn’t be omitted from the plan.

“So we retreat.” Natasha was not one to mince her words, per usual, “Get your guys out of the suites now.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.

“No,” he said, sharply, “We’re not doing that.”

“Bucky.”

“We’ll get someone in there. We’ll find another way.”

Your husband was already pacing the space in front of you, and you looked on with uncertain eyes. You chanced a look to Natasha, Sam, and Steve, all of whom shared similar, albeit slightly more wearied, expressions as they watched and murmured among themselves.

“None of our people are getting up there, Barnes. Schröder’s got a goddamn sixth sense about our agents or something,” Steve said, at length.

“They’re all in masks—for a fucking masquerade—and we can’t get one person in?! In-and-out, that’s all it needs to be,” Bucky growled.

“We can’t get in there, that’s the point,” Sam sighed, “Masks or no masks, they know our people too well and won’t let us through.”

“We can at least try, for Christ’s sake. That’s what we came this whole fuckin’ way to do, right?”

When no one said a word in response, Bucky scowled,

“Right?”

There was a lull in the conversation that seemed to last for minutes, when, in reality, couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. Tensions were high. You could tell from the look in Bucky’s eye he was trying not to lash out as he normally would, but in no time at all, you saw a fractional break in his resolve. You feared he might fly off the handle, or else compromise something that couldn’t be spared at a time like this. You swallowed.

“I’ll go.”

It was stupid.

Every face turned to regard you as if you were stupid, you assumed as soon as the words had left your mouth.

But then, much to your surprise, Steve was perking up, eyes suddenly brighter as his gaze tilted to you.

“She could,” he said, shortly.

“Should she?” Sam seemed to murmur at once.

“Sure, why not?”

“I can think of plenty reasons why not,” Natasha was quick to counter, but beneath that pensive expression, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest degree of contemplation. Even hope, from the looks of it.

‘NO’ was Bucky’s wordless, immediate, and resounding answer as he kicked whatever furniture—a footstool, this time—was closest to him and sent it flying toward the door. It seemed that self-control of his had worn off fast.

“No,” he affirmed in a word a second later, jaw clenched, “She is going nowhere near that suite.”

He didn’t even spare you a glance while he spoke. He was too busy eyeing the others, Steve specifically, as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths and a light, blooming tinge of pink rose the length of his neck. If it weren’t for that staunch and menacing look on his face, he would’ve almost looked cute, you mused to yourself.

But, pretty man be damned, you wouldn’t stand for being ignored. Fuck that noise.

“I will,” you returned, a little more resolute this time.

Now Bucky had no choice but to pivot to you. His expression softened some, but not by much.

“No,” he said, again.

“Yes.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, Barnes. You said someone who wasn’t an agent could make it up there, and I can do it. Or try, at least, like you just said.”

If your attention hadn’t been fixed on your husband, you probably would’ve caught sight of more than one thinly veiled smile from the group around you. Natasha, in particular, all but tickled to see someone stand up to Bucky and give him a taste of his own shit—and live to tell the tale. The sight of her boss’s eyes almost glossy in the first tender look she’d seen from him in years was almost too much to bear. Steve stood grinning beside her, and Sam narrowly stifled an exhale of amusement. Neither you nor Bucky flinched from your positions.

“We can’t risk you being around him. They’re already all on high-alert,” your husband said after a calming breath.

“As are all your trigger-happy comrades waiting just ten feet outside the door, right?” you replied, “What is it, like, five, ten of them in total?”

“Twenty,” Steve interjected. Bucky shot him a look.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you up there when that fucker was just trying to— to kidnap you last week. I’m not—”

“Right. Right. Trying to kidnap me, not kill me. If Schröder wanted me dead, he would’ve made pretty quick work of that before,” you cut in, tone a touch more deliberate, “Even if he sniffs me out, he’s not gonna screw this whole deal by hurting me now.”

But the mere suggestion of harm to you had seemed to raise every hair on its end for Bucky, and then he was shaking his head, evidently more stubborn than ever.

“No, fuck. Don’t start,” he snapped with his newfound indignation, then, quieter, “Please…don’t, honey.”

You wouldn’t bow that easily.

“Why not?”

Truly, Bucky couldn’t be certain if it was the lilt in your voice, the pinch at the sides of your lips, or simply the sincerity consuming your eyes as you spoke to him, but the man could not stomach the thought of you, his own wife, being a stone’s throw from mortal danger and beyond his protection—or control, he wasn’t sure which one of the two was more dominating. Some cruel and unforgiving knot inside him came to tighten, and twist, and, nauseating as it was set on escape, the white-hot surge rose like bile in his throat. Before he could stop it, the words were spilling out through his teeth like froth:

“Cause I fuckin’ said so, that’s why. That’s it. It’s settled. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, you hear me?”

What Bucky hadn’t expected was the swift ascent back to your feet. The cool and almost careless expression as you rose, as though his words hadn’t registered at all.

He certainly hadn’t expected you to check him with your shoulder as you passed, knocking him slightly off-balance as he turned, in shock, and watched you give him one manicured middle finger over your left shoulder.

“Rogers, I’d like you to escort me upstairs.”

Worst of all, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to listen.

Fortunately for him, the night was still young and with it, more than ample opportunity to be proven wrong again. And again.

“And again,” Steve murmured low in your ear as you walked side-by-side down the corridor on fourth floor, “If you get even the slightest bad feeling, you leave.”

“Might as well dip right now,” you muttered, adjusting your mask. Your attempt at humor fell flat with the man.

“I’m serious. We’ll be right outside and listening in from headquarters, but HYDRA is not a faction to fuck around with, or underestimate—as I assume you know by now.”

You did. Or would, eventually.

After the mask, you were busy trying to yank the back of your cocktail waitress dress to cover the full swell of your ass, not just the upper two-thirds. Unsurprisingly, it was a tougher task than you had been prepared to handle. Your new heels were tight and impossibly high, your new dress a mere scrap of pink fabric riddled with sequins and glitter, and your mask—holy fuck, were you glad Mardi Gras was not a year-round affair. Bucky had insisted on the fluffiest, stuffiest, full-face covering to ensure that no one would be able to recognize you, but in exchange for your anonymity, you had had to give up breathing, it seemed.

And then there was that vial of poison between your tits.

Sam had assured you that it was a nonlethal dose before handing it over; Steve had urged you, discreetly, to pour Schröder two for good measure. Natasha had overheard the latter and threatened legal action if he ever tried killing a target without her permission. You hadn’t spent much longer getting ready in the bathroom after that. Then you’d brushed past your husband the second you’d stepped out and strapped that last, semi-lethal ‘accessory’ to your bra before taking the lift upstairs.

As it turned out, you weren’t able to escape him entirely.

While you walked with Steve, Bucky was in your ear.

Literally—the man was talking nonstop through your earpiece and clearly had no intention of shutting the fuck up anytime soon. You silently wondered if there was a way to adjust the volume on the gadget as you ambled along.

“Honey.” There was a slightly more mechanical buzz to Bucky’s voice over your private line. You ignored it.

“So just find the cup he’s drinking from and pour the serum in?” you reiterated to Steve for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Your companion nodded, rattling off a few extra precautions while Bucky’s tone rang out a bit louder:

“Honey? You there?”

At last, you stuck your finger to the tiny flesh-colored device in your ear and snapped, “What?!”

“I love you.”

This fucker.

“I love you too. You’re still high on my shit list, though,” you answered, low and begrudgingly.

“Did I hear ‘hit list��? You’re gonna let me tap that later?”

If you didn’t have about fifteen different reasons to hate the man’s guts, you almost would’ve chuckled. At length, you muttered a quiet, ‘Kiss my ass, Barnes,’ and turned back to Steve, who was just then leading you closer to a room roped off and marked ‘EXECUTIVE SUITE.’ Your stomach did a flip as you paused around the corner.

“Right there. All you gotta do is knock and say a guy named Zemo sent you,” Steve spoke slowly, as if he were teaching arts and crafts to a five-year-old and not a woman about to embark on a high-risk sedation mission.

You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.

All the platter contained was an oversized bottle of Brut and a silver bucket, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were carrying the world and some change on that thing. You shifted your weight from foot to foot and turned in the direction of the door just a few yards away.

The time for painstakingly descriptive instructions and pep talks was long past you now. You nodded to Steve one last time and started to wobble over.

The entryway was flanked by two muscle-bound men. You approached with a smile.

“Hi. Zemo sent me.”

You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.

You hoped they wouldn’t ask, or notice how stilted and awkward you’d sounded just then. You swallowed a peach-sized lump in your throat and smiled again.

The one on the left grunted. The one on the right gave a nod. Without a word spoken between them, the former opened the door and made way for you to step over the threshold. You couldn’t help but notice both with their eyes trained straight on your tits as you passed by.

There was no way that had just worked. No pat-downs or harrowing threats? Not a single, searing interrogation into your identity or what you might be there to do?

Men were dumb, you decided, far too easily deceived by a decent pair of tits—HYDRA security personnel or not.

But you already knew that. You stepped inside.

The fetid stench of half a dozen blazing cigars and booze spilled on every surface were the first to greet you. A wave of smoke, then a bone-jostling bum bum bum to the beat of what sounded like a Don Toliver song came next. You almost couldn’t bear to make your feet move.

But then, shortly, you had to because a shrill, shimmer-doused beauty was waving you over toward the kitchen.

“Ba-by!” she shrieked, gesture growing frantic, “Bring it over!”

You walked with the tray out in front of you, careful with your steps across the sticky floor. When you made it over, where one other girl was stirring wildly at some concoction on the counter, you stopped, and had only to stand for a second longer, because the redhead that had beckoned you was taking the tray, setting it down, and grabbing something thin and pointy. You’d barely even registered it as an ice pick until the thing was thrust in your face.

“Crush it up,” she ordered, one curt nod toward a block of ice nearby. Evidently not giving a shit who you were or where you’d come from either. You guessed Wanda had just gotten unlucky, or they’d all stopped giving a fuck once Schröder’s men had really started drinking.

And drinking they had been, as your eyes surveyed the scene. Half-naked women with fully-clothed men, dressed head to toe in the finest of suits that were probably soaked through to the bone with sweat and Stolichnaya. You almost shivered at the sight of all the masked, wildly gyrating pricks, fumbling desperately through one verse of ‘After Party.’ You could vomit.

But where was your prick? That grimy little shit, Joey.

“Back of the room by the couch,” Bucky said, as if he’d read your mind.

Then a beat.

“Wait. Shit. That isn’t him. Schröder’s over by the door.”

How many tall, lanky blonds could there be in this place? You cast a sweeping look across the room and received your answer in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail—there were a shit ton of Joey lookalikes all around.

“Careful. Mr. Schröder’s been on edge all night. Might bite your head off if you stare too long.”

The girl that was stirring had apparently caught you looking. She set the spoon aside and turned, but not before chancing a quick glance at the man Bucky had identified to you as your target. The man lifted his gaze.

You chipped away at the ice even faster.

Crush the shit, make a drink, pour the serum, and get it in him. Now. Don’t draw his attention just yet, though.

Something in your head told you to steal another look. You knew it was a bad idea, but you went on and did it anyway—and fortunately, felt a wave of relief at seeing that he’d retreated somewhere back with his friends. The ice pick in your hands made it through the last block.

“I’ll serve the shots, you bring the bottle to Mr. Pierce.”

Mr. Who?

“One of Schröder’s associates. Roll with it.”

It was Natasha’s voice now. Measured, but tense.

“He’s the older gentlemen straight ahead. He probably ordered the champagne for him and the others.”

That was Sam. You could only imagine how all of them looked huddled around the surveillance panel with the transmitter to your earpiece being passed about from person to person. The grip Bucky must’ve had on his gun, or his switchblade, or whatever weapon he could seize to make himself feel a little less helpless. But he was—as were you. And truthfully, there was nothing either one of you could do about that until Schröder was in custody. This was the first step toward reaching that goal.

So you walked with the bottle, now bathed in a tub of ice. You tried to keep steady, but the staggering drunks all around were making that tough, to say the least.

When one man struck you straight in the chest, elbows jutting out as he danced, you stumbled back a step. Nearly lost the tray for half a second, then recovered.

Until the dipshit hit you again.

This time you truly almost sent the bottle sailing for the floor, grip slipping on the tray and knees buckling underneath you as the force of the blow set you back. You bit a quick, ‘Fuck!’ in the air, seized the platter twice as hard and braced your weight against something firm behind you. A shelf, a TV stand, or something. Maybe a half-wall if you were lucky enough not to have careened against some expensive piece of furniture. You sighed.

“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.

Or a person. Yeah, a person would be pretty fucking bad to bump into at a time like this. Your whole body froze.

You turned.

“Ye-es sir. Yes, sir.” You quickly righted your tone the second you realized it was someone important.

Not Schröder, but someone who seemed to be big-name enough; you just weren’t sure who. The man smiled down at you from under his Venetian mask.

“Is this for me?” he nodded toward the tray, half-teasing.

You swallowed.

“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.

The man’s grin stretched even wider.

“Nope, I’m Ward. but I can take you to Pierce.”

For the first time that night, your heart swelled with some promise. You thanked him quietly, gratefully, then made as if to follow him back through the crowd, when all of a sudden, you stopped. That heartfelt swelling in your chest halted right along with it. You almost dropped the tray.

“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.

No, no, now you were actually going to lose your shit. There was no way in hell you were keeping a grip on this silver little plate any longer without crying or screaming or shitting your pretty, pink, sequin minidress right there. You almost shrieked when a hand reached for the tray.

“Pierce got you doing all the heavy lifting, huh, honey? The bastard.” Even through his own ornate mask, you could tell Joey was grinning—glinting with conceit, as was his prerogative. He took the load off your hands.

“Take it easy now, he’s just—”

“Staring at your rack. Pull your top up, baby, please.”

The chatter in your ear had switched from Sam to Bucky at nearly lightning speed. You glanced down at your cleavage and tugged the fabric up quick, heart beating even faster underneath it.

In front of you, Joey Schröder was all teeth. A gruesome spectacle in spite of its seemingly benevolent intentions, one smile could have turned your stomach sideways. And it did—you wanted to throw up again—but you knew you had bigger fish to fry, and evil mobsters to poison. You didn’t flinch when Schröder nudged you in the shoulder and made his way ahead, coaxing you to follow.

You didn’t tense and didn’t protest. Didn’t blink when he led you straight through the party, around a few topless performers on poles, and into a backroom lounge.

In fact, your mind practically sang as he led you inside.

It was just every other nerve, muscle, and trembling tendon not under the immediate control of your brain that needed soothing. You could’ve sworn the men on the couches would see your legs shaking as soon as you trudged into the room and sniff you out on sight.

But if they had, they didn’t show it.

No one moved when you entered, save for a few lopsided grins and tilts of happy, masked faces. Sizing you up. Drinking you in. Far too easily mistakable for a band of apex predators that had just caught wind of their next meal, and not a room full of sleazy Russian mobsters. You bit back your grating disgust with a smile.

“Got a present for ya, Pierce,” Schröder announced.

A honey-blond head flecked with silver and white sat up from the sofa. Presumably the one who’d ordered the champagne.

“Oh yeah? What’d ya pay for her?” he returned, mouth curling up in a wicked smile.

Even above the booming music, you could make out peals of laughter as the men around you shared in some lewd, crude comments and several whispers exchanged between them. You would’ve liked to grab your bottle by the neck and break it over the nearest patron’s head, but then you remembered yourself, and your mission. You stilled beside Schröder and let them crack a few more tasteless jokes at your expense. Schröder chuckled and set the tray down in front of a thoroughly amused Pierce.

Then he grabbed you by the waist.

“Right. I forgot to ask—what is your price, sweetheart?” he said, swiftly pulling you up to his front.

Your hands flew to his chest reflexively. Your nose scrunched in a wince at the sound of an electric shout:

“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”

“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”

“NO! THAT’S NOT PART OF THE FUCKING PL—”

The line went silent. You scratched at the space behind your ear, trying hard not to betray any pain on your face, or the fear for what might be going on downstairs.

Clearly, you failed on both fronts, because Joey’s grip only tightened. He peered down at you, curious.

“You deaf or somethin’, sugar? What’s your price?”

You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.

But then, somehow, you managed to choke out, stomach churning with bile:

“Whatever you want, sir.”

You felt your soul drain out through the soles of your shoes as you’d said it. Something fell from your face—most likely a light behind your eyes and any semblance of self-worth as you stood before the man who had tried to buy you, drug you, and kill half your family, and then pretend like you wanted to dance for him, or do more.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t right by any means, but it was all just roleplay.

Roleplay.

You had to keep telling yourself that as you let Schröder’s hand glide up your spine and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up to his. It was just like your husband and his cold-blooded Winter Soldier persona, you tried to convince the increasingly frightened voice in your mind. Just like him, just like your sweet and soft and sadistic—

“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.

You knew he couldn’t hear you now. It was almost insane to think anyone could save you now but yourself.

“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.

You froze in fear.

“Five hundred bucks,” you corrected your error quickly.

You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.

“Five hundred bucks for one lap dance and some fun?” he scoffed. Then he squeezed your neck a little tighter and drew your face within an inch of his own. You could feel the hot puffs of breath, smell the rancid liquor on his tongue, but you stayed where he held you in place and tried not to grimace when he said, “That’s a damn steal.”

Your lips were shaking something awful under your mask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what kissing this vile, soulless bastard would taste like, but you feared it might come sooner than you knew, because Joey was drawing you even more rough and tight into his chest.

Just when your mouth was less than a hair’s breadth away from his, though, you heard a woman’s scream.

Then another. And another. And another.

Before long, almost half the suite had erupted in shrieks, it seemed, and the sounds of their horror were shortly supplanted by a series of explosions. And gunfire.

Johann Schröder dropped your body like the worst habit known to man and went bounding away from the turmoil as fast as he could. This time, you did trip over your heels and took a nasty little nosedive to the ground. Fumbling, crawling, then sliding across the shag carpet on your belly with your eyes in wild search of somewhere to hide.

You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.

“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.

Again, you knew better than to look, but the fear of not knowing who, or what, might be barreling your direction at any second outweighed more sensible considerations. You stole a look over your shoulder and nearly screamed.

A man with a pitch black balaclava stormed into the lounge and wasted no time setting sights on his intended target—raising a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine gun to his face and firing the second the impulse struck.

You watched a once-handsome, lively, and drunk man turn to shredded, fleshy carnage in less than an instant and fall right beside your head with a thud. Your hand was your only defense to keep the shriek inside your chest, but even that blockade was crumbling fast as the blood-soaked assassin wrenched the body in the air.

The gunman tore the mask from his victim’s head and inspected the face—or what was left of it. He cursed.

You could tell from your close proximity to the blues of his eyes, and that sigh, you wouldn’t need to ask at all. You just sat there and stared, knees hugged to your chest as Bucky threw the body back down as hard as he could.

“FUCK!” he bellowed, voice flooded with rage.

Steve stumbled in with his gun at the ready. He eyed the man on the floor, then you, then a dozen other flailing, desperate partygoers trying to escape the suite all around you. You just drew in even tighter to the table.

“What happened?! Where’d he go?”

Rogers, like you, seemed unable to look away from the carcass, but for entirely different reasons. He appeared to be studying it just as your husband had been.

“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.

“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”

Suddenly, an unknown assailant opened fire on the two men from the opposite end of the room. Both dove for cover, but not before Bucky grabbed you and dragged you, full-force, behind the sofa. It didn’t seem there was time for sweet words or consolations, his eyes wide and half-crazed as they bore into yours just in front of you.

“Don’t move,” he barked, readjusting his grip on his gun in one hand and feeling around all over your sides with the other. On seeing and feeling no trauma, he nodded his head and moved his hand to your cheek, just briefly.

“Honey, I need you here—right here for me, alright? Don’t move a muscle,” he spoke low as Steve covered from above, rapid-fire shots ringing out on both sides.

Rushed and furious as he was, he couldn’t help but linger on that face a half-second longer than he intended. You were shaking your head and hugging your knees, meeting his eyes with what seemed to be reproach.

“You promised, Bucky,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

You were in shock, that was what it was, he kept telling himself. You didn’t know what you were saying, and he needed to turn away to help Steve, but then you were eyeing that body—that man he could’ve sworn was Schröder when he’d pumped him full of bullets—and you were turning back to him with unmistakable disgust.

He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged his wife for forgiveness if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. Like your life and his, and Steve’s—and Sam’s, now, bursting onto the scene with a semi-automatic rifle of his own as he helped his friend gun down the last of the stragglers. Bucky knew he had to help them, too.

So he’d stumbled back on his feet, less conscious than acting on pure impulse, and he joined in on the gunfire.

He reckoned he liked it. However long it lasted. He just rolled his shoulders once and sent the rounds flying; he ducked and he moved and he stood and he crouched and he fired every shot as if it were as easy to him as breathing. He didn’t think. When the three of them had cleared the lounge, and Sam and Steve tore off toward the two or three remaining rooms at the rear of the suite, Bucky still wasn’t fully present in his body. All he knew was that his clip was near-empty and his side was in pain—and the room they had emptied was safe. For you.

For you—where the fuck had you gone?!

Bucky barreled past the spot behind the couch where you were supposed to have been, but weren’t, and made a beeline for the closest room over. And nothing. More empty, threadbare, and bloody rooms filled with bodies that didn’t belong to you, and shortly he was yelling for Sam or Steve or anyone in that massacred suite to help him find his wife. The breaths in his chest were heaving.

He turned once, twice, eyes roaming wildly and hand grabbing fast for more ammo. He couldn’t find any more. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow, and just when he turned to call for backup once more, he paused.

In his periphery, he saw two forms.

He stopped fully and turned to the side.

If it was fear he had felt just then, he wasn’t aware of it. Instead, it seemed a white-hot and blinding ire had taken over, and rather than grow timid, or afraid, he went cold.

“Bucky…don’t,” you managed in a strangled, hoarse tone, throat visibly contained by a blade being held to it.

Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.

Bucky knew that wouldn’t do—no matter how hard or helplessly you pleaded with him then not to do it, please don’t do it, Bucky, please. All he heard in his head was the throb of his pulse, and all he saw before him was red.

He fired without a second thought.

The round just grazed the edge of the man’s cheek.

Bucky swore. Tried to fire his gun again. It was empty.

Still not thinking, much less hearing his wife’s desperate cries for him to spare the man’s life, he grabbed the smallest, sharpest object that was closest to him and charged your would-be attacker head on.

Both men fell to the floor, but only Bucky was mobile.

Only Bucky held the weapon now, as his opponent’s knife had been lost somewhere in the skirmish, and he was wielding it now faster than he ever had before, he thought—an ice pick, of all fucking things—driving it into the man’s face and neck and chest without the slightest regard for anything else.

Somewhere far outside his mind, he heard you scream. Felt you claw at his arm, grip at his shirt, make some wild, shrill, and vehement pleas that he couldn’t begin to understand in this state, and he continued. Hadn’t even considered slowing down until the man’s carotid was shredded in two and spewing blood all over his front.

Bucky couldn’t be sure how long it lasted like that; all he remembered was stumbling back, energy spent, fist still holding the pick and eyes duly glued to the body he’d just stabbed through and maimed until no life was left.

He saw you crawl over the body.

He wanted to warn you not to touch it. Lifted a hand and tried his best to form words, but nothing came out.

He watched you lift the mask.

From that point on, he was certain he had to have been seeing things that weren’t really there. Trauma-induced psychosis, he tried to assuage himself silently—that was the only explanation for the scene unfolding before him. Surely it couldn’t be you cupping that face, pinching that skin, shaking that cold and lifeless, blood-drenched frame beneath you as a sob racked through your own.

That signet ring on a pinky couldn’t have been real.

Bucky didn’t want to believe that gruesome discovery made manifest before him—in many ways, he couldn’t—but then it was painted clear as day as the cries endured, nothing changed, and a helpless, frantic wail rang out:

“DAD!”

—

Taglist: (If I missed anyone please lmk!!) @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grant-spector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @dixsond @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

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

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icanseethefuture333 · 8 months ago

Text

PAC 18+: how to walk ‘em like a dog 🦮🎀🐆

“Back to the kitty, ‘cus she kinda pretty

Couldn’t stop lookin’ at her ti-ti-ti— face!

Me and cat mama rolled into the distant fog

Little did she know, I’m a nasty dog.”

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Pussy Talk by City Girls ft. Doja Cat

Kehlani by Jordan Adetunji

The Zone by The Weeknd

Ten of Cups, Six of Cups, Five of Swords, Make An Altar, Chanting, Use Your Hands, Camera, Mirror, & The Grim Reaper

Hey pile,1 😝. The person who wishes for you to walk them like a dog admires you so much, they might even over romanticize you in their head, to them, you fulfill their fantasies. They think about you in different positions and wonder how your hands feel on them 😮‍💨. They get hard/wet just by the thought of you alone. I believe you show that to this person as well, you could tease them often or like to give them a show whenever you walk past them. “P*ssy talented it do cartwheels and he pay cus he like how that part feels, p*ssy give speeches, heart felt, say the p*ssy really talk like it Garfield (it do)” 😅 oh god, I think this person is obsessed with the sounds your bodies make during sex, they are heavily infatuated with you. “I like the way your body is, is that too obvious? Okay I like your confidence, oh that’s what good karma, like kehlani is, bad just like kehlani is.” This person desires to be fair in the bedroom, they want to cum with you, pile 1. This might be someone you’ve known since childhood, your first love, or an ex that you met when you were young. You could be playful and mischievous in the bedroom, but also like to take the lead. Switch vibes are prominent in this pile. You and your person like to give and take. You could be a brat and they want to be your brat tamer. If you follow each other, this person has been watching your stories on social media, I feel like you post risqué photos for them and wonder if it’s working 👀 trust me it has, cus they have been getting it off to your pictures in secret 🤫… This person definitely worships your body and your beauty.

Full reading on my patreon

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Goodies by Ciara ft. Petey Pablo

Slumber Party by Ashnikko ft. Princess Nokia

Bimbo Doll by Tila Tsoli ft. BJ Lips

King of Wands, King of Cups, Knight of Cups, Watch A Movie, Massage, Rest, Talking, Keys on a Ring, & Love Call

I love how hyper feminine my pile 2 is 🎀! You guys are so popular and have so many options in your dating life. People think that you are so cute but in a tempting way. Do you dress y2k, mcbling, or coquette? Whatever your style might be, people think it looks so hot on you. You could attract both girls and guys with your looks, especially older guys. “You may look at me and think that I’m just a young girl but I’m not just a young girl. Baby this is what I’m lookin for - sexy, independent, gotta spend it type for gettin his dough. I’m not being too dramatic that’s just how I gotta have it. I bet you want the goodies, bet you thought about it.” You know your worth and don’t settle for less, despite your sweet appearance you know you give people a run for their money. People even wish to give you their money. Are you a sugar baby? If not, you should become one, you’d be very successful. I have a feeling you have people wrapped around your pretty finger. Others desire to spoil you with gifts and money. Dare I say I see this pile being with both a woman and a man (maybe even at the same time?)👀. “Me and your girlfriend playin’ dress up in my house, I gave your girlfriend c*nnilingus on my couch. She cute, kawaii, hentai boobies that excite me. I think she really likes me, ask politely, can I - woo ooh ooh (slumber party).” Two people wish to initate things with you but you have total control over the situation. Your features really entice people, you could have doe eyes, big lips, nice boobs, and a cute butt. When you talk, this person(s) doesn’t know where to focus their eyes, they get so nervous around you and have to control themselves from getting too intense with the conversation. They also really wish to hear you dirty talk to them. Your voice is a a major turn on to this peoples, it’s giving phone sex operator level of skill lol. As I was typing “hear”, I accidentally spelled “head” so they definitely want to see your lips on their d*ck/p*ssy as well😚.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

Get On Your Knees by Nicki Minaj ft. Ariana Grande

Distraction by Kehlani

Rocket by Beyoncé

Eight of Pentacles, Seven of Wands (reversed), Nine of Cups, Sex, Abundance Planning, Deep Breathing, The Sword and The Rose, Not Today, & Clock

PHEW 😮‍💨 don’t hurt em now, pile 3. This is my dominant pile. You guys know how to take charge in the bedroom. This person wants to be at your mercy. I’m talking having you on top and riding them as hard as you can or them getting on their knees to beg at your feet. This person actually wants to be walked like a dog lol. They are very submissive and like pain. I feel like you know this as well 😂! You have so much control over them and they want you to know you run this relationship. I feel you and this person are already together or have a thing going on, if not I see things progressing sexually pretty fast. This might be a tinder date situation. “Get on your knees, get on your knees, baby just get on your knees. Say pretty please, pretty please, pretty please. Baby just say pretty please” you could like to use this person as a stress reliever. The sex would be slow and intense. “Do me a favor, pick me up, take me out later. Don't worry about no paper cus I got much stacked up for nights like this” I see that you’re a hard working person and don’t have time to be in a committed relationship but value trust, loyalty, and honesty. This person provides that safe space for you and allows you to express your flaws in peace. You don’t have to be perfect and fake a smile like you usually have to do in professional settings. I see that this person really wishes to be with you in a romantic way but doesn’t want to rush or force things on you if they know you have other responsibilities to tend to. It’s reminding me of Nani and David from Lilo & Stitch. David had a huge crush on Nani but due to her focusing on needing to be there for Lilo and being a provider, she didn’t have time to acknowledge his feelings until later she was settled in her career. I see that you are grateful towards this person and attracted to their emotional intelligence.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 4:

Shufflemancy -

Blah Blah Blah by Kesha ft. 3OH!3

Please me by Cardi B ft. Bruno Mars

Dip It Low by Christina Milian

The Chariot, Seven of Swords, Ten of Wands, Pleasure, Flow Like Water, Hydrate, Addiction, Date, & The Phoenix

Heyyy, pile 4 😉. I see that this person got you down bad lol but not to worry since the feeling is mutual. I feel that you came on to this person before they even did. You could be an extrovert while this person is an introvert. They’re very reserved and are careful with how they express themselves. You might flirt with this person while they’re on the job or when they’re focusing in class. They like to pretend they are disinterested in your advances to see how much you’re willing to keep going after them. It could stroke their ego a little bit knowing someone as “cute” as you likes them (I heard an emphasis on the word “cute”). You could be feeling confused on whether or not they like you back and it results in you feeling pouty about the situation. This connection could be relatively new but this person is wanting to explore how things go! This person could want to tease you a lot or perhaps even degrade 🫠. They might like to talk shit playfully just to get under your skin. For some reason I feel like this person likes to make you mad 💀 they can be really annoying. They like when you tell them to shut up or put them in their place. If you yelled at them even and kissed this person the next, they would live for that shit. They’re kinda toxic honestly 😂. “blah, bl-bl-blah, blah, blah. Coming out'cha mouth with'cha blah, blah, blah. Zip your lip like a padlock (Yeah) and meet me in the back with the Jack at the jukebox (back, back). I don't really care where you live at, just turn around, boy, let me hit that. Don't be a little bitch with your chit chat just show me where your d*ck’s at”. This person really enjoys your banter and despite being so hard on you they really only have a soft spot for you, I heard “that’s my baby” 🥹☺️. Pile 4, you must have a great ass as well 🍑. This person looks at your physique when you’re not looking, they really want to know what it feels like to have your body pressed against them. “Please me, baby. Turn around and just tease me, baby. You know what I want and what I need, baby. (Let me hear you say) Please” this person’s energy is honestly all over the place 💀 they’re just so horny lol. This person wants you *london accent* BAD, man.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 5:

Shufflemancy -

Lolly by Maejor ft. Justin Bieber & Juicy J

Walk Like This by FLO

Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado ft. Timbaland

Seven of Pentacles, Page of Cups, The Star (reversed), Plan A Meal, Nourish Your Temple, Music, Love, Passion, & Photograph

Ooo wee, pile 5🫣🤭, when I say this person has a biiiiig 📦 for you. This person has very masculine energy, almost giving fuckboy/frat guy vibes 😂. They could be very fit and muscular with a nice smile, they know they’re fine and attract a lot of people towards them. There could be a height difference between you and this person. Their attraction to you is because of the stereotypical phrase “idk you’re just different”. They don’t have the exact reasons why they’re into you but they do like your creativity, mannerisms, and shy demeanor. This person could have a corruption kink 💀. They could want to see you break out of that good girl / good boy routine and try something new and risky. You and this person know of each other but don’t seem to be very close, perhaps they are in your friend circle or you guys are just acquaintances. They often have dirty thoughts of you giving them head and seeing how much you can take of them. This person could wine and dine you first before wanting to go down on you. “Order what you want, girl, it ain't no problem. I'ma tell the waitress that my baby need a bottle. Order what you want, said it ain't no problem. Got a piece of candy and it's all for you. She say she love my lolly. She wanna make it pop. She say she love my lolly. She wanna kiss the top”. They like sex that’s really rough and nasty, if it’s not messy and loud they’re not into it 😭. I see that they’re into positions like 69, cowgirl, and missionary. They’re big on seeing your face during sex, they get really cheeky about the good work they’re doing and would want to pin your hands down so you can beg for more. I do see jewelry and this person wearing chains🙂‍↔️. This person would be more so walking you like a dog but you have them on a leash in the sense you keep them coming back. They could have you walking funny after you’re done 🤭 you might be really sore the next day as well. “There's a reason I walk like this (I walk). My baby, he be lovin' on this (Oh yeah). When he do it, he be workin' that shit (Oh yeah) And every night he got me wantin' more of it”. You might feel confident and pleased after having sex with this person and can feel a sense of relief.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 6:

Shufflemancy -

Play With It by Tommy Genesis

Who Am I (What's My Name?) by Snoop Dogg

Girls Need Love by Summer Walker

The Fool (reversed), The Sun, Five of Cups (reversed), Write a Gratitude List, Take a Walk, Clean Your Space, Family, Not Enough, Ax, & Healing Heart

Pile 6, you still not over your ex, huh 😔? It’s ok, no judgment here, baby 🫶. I see you and your ex still have an attachment together, things might be on and off or you don’t really know where the direction of this relationship is headed towards. I see that you are a very caring person and because of miscommunication, you and this person seem to never be on the right foot. It’s possible some of you who picked this pile have a baby with this person or will get pregnant (please use protection if this isn’t what you want!). I see a lot of fertility going on in this pile, you and this person could prefer to make love or have sex as if you’re making a baby lol. This person could have a breeding kink? They get turned on by the idea of you being pregnant with their child. Whenever you wear sundresses that is also sexy to them. I feel like your body is so tea, pile 6. Either you’re really thick and curvy or your body is just gorgeous to people, especially your sp. This person fantasizes about doing it raw while you touch yourself in front of them. “Play wit' the p*ssy, wanna play wit' the p*ssy. Come get a hooky, baby, come get a hooky. I wanna fuck you, baby, I wanna fuck you. If we not fuckin', baby, come get it poppin'”. This person is scared to fully pursue because you seem to be in a place of healing in your life and doesn’t want to add to that. There is another person that is new coming who also wishes to take your ex’s spot 👀 Oop! I feel like this will be their friend who will make passes at you and this will make your sp really jealous lol. In the bedroom, their jealousy could make them more dominant and want to take control. There is a lot about wanting to hear you moan or scream their name. They can be very vocal too i'm getting a lot about hissing so maybe they hiss whenever you get their spot? PHEW- They could want to fuck you doggy style while they spank your ass. “She want the nigga with the biggest nuts, and guess what? He is I and I am him. Slim with the tilted brim, what's my motherfuckin' name? Snoop Doggy Dogg (The bomb). Snoop Doggy Dogg Snoop Doggy Dogg (The bomb)” they can be really boastful after sex if they get you to cum and you can get annoyed by this lol. You might tell your person “it wasn’t even allat🙄” and they’ll tease you cus they know it was 😋. I see this person providing you with aftercare and massaging your back and feet. Even though you might not be together at the moment, this person really values you as a person and knows their place.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 7:

Shufflemancy -

Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) by Usher

JT Coming by JT

Huff n Puff by Red Velvet

Page of Swords, Knight of Wands (reversed), The Emperor, Be Still, Energy Work, Sync with the Moon, The Snake, Lightning, & Separation

Alright this is giving my queer pile 🥰, very androgynous energy all around here 😎. Regardless of what your gender might be, both you and this person are independent and like to have things a certain way. You could have met them through a dating app or while on a date with another person (Crazy work but ok 😂). I'm getting maybe someone is a bartender or works at some place where they have to socialize a lot. You and your sp are very flirtatious towards the other but someone gets super shy when it comes to compliments. This is for a select few of you but some of you might be transgender? Perhaps you are a trans man/woman and this person is cisgender. You might be nervous to be too flirty with them in case they might reject you but honestly i'm getting go for it baby, life is too short to be worrying about those things (just remember to be safe is all 🫶🏽). This person will be very polite and respectful towards you so just allow yourself to unwind when you go out with this person. "I ain't gotta do a lot of flexing (Uh-huh). Shorty, you already know what it is. Ha, and girl, tonight we gonna do a lot of sexin', yeah. Can't nobody do your body like this." They could be very forward and direct when it comes to communication they do not like beating around the bush, i'm getting someone likes to man spread a lot or you will notice that they sit with their legs open. Laaaawd when I tell you this person has a big 🍆 or owns one, they will have that shit ready for you LOLLL. This person gives big dick energy they're just very secure with themselves and how they carry on. You might feel insecure about some things and ask them "does this bother you?" or "do you find this attractive?" and they're gonna be like "yah" to everything. THEY MIGHT NOT EVEN GIVE A VERBAL RESPONSE TBH they just might nod their head or whatever and look at you like "is we fuckin' or what 😏🎶?". To them, these questions don't make sense like for example they would think "why wouldn't I like hip dips?" or "facial harmony? what the hell does that even mean? I don't care about that, I care about you." So if you are someone who compares themselves to people on the internet truuuust when I say this person is not chronically online to understand any of that shit. They like what they see and they just want to give it to you and more. "It's been a while since you gave, ho, it's time to give it up (Give it up). Like a bitch with a fresh BBL, you can't sit with us (Nah). Fine motherfucker, white boys say I rock (Hah). I gotta stay protected 'cause y'all stay on my c*ck. My new whip beautiful, I call it p*ssy whip. It was a gift, my nigga friends say he p*ssy whipped." Your sp might be older as well or very mature for their age.

Full reading on patreon

Pile 8:

Shufflemancy -

SHY GUY by Tinashe

Good For You by Selena Gomez ft. A$ap Rocky

Unfold by Alina Baraz

Seven of Swords, Five of Pentacles, The Star, Journal, Look for Fairies, Movement, Hammer, The Dragonfly, & Self-Indulgence

Aww this is my soft pile 🛌. I see that you guys are very spiritual and dreamy. You might fantasize a lot about this person. For some of you, you might even be manifesting them. I see that the feelings you have towards this person are very tender and loving. I see that this person is very flighty and doesn’t wish to have such a big commitment. This person you are interested could have ghosted you or there’s something wrong with your communication. Maybe you and this person have different time zones or a conflict of schedule. There’s something about the person not being there for you. “Shy guy, always sayin' it's the wrong time. Even though you know it feels right. Love don't fit into your timeline (La, la, la, la). Shy guy, always sayin' it's the wrong time. Even though you know it feels right. Love don't fit into your timeline. Shy guy (Guy, guy, guy, guy, guy)” I believe you are being too kind to this person and need to detach and allow them to chase you. Focusing on yourself and seeing other people will allow this person to show up for you and be the person that you need. Now is the time for you to be self indulgent and take care of yourself. Some of you should practice healing in the bedroom and should learn about what makes you feel good sexually. Perhaps exploring with new partners will help you find new things that provide pleasure. I see that you are very submissive or lean towards more vanilla. Try to vocalize what makes you feel good to your partner and be more assertive. Your energy reminds me of Jhené Aiko’s song “P*$$y Fairy”, very sensual but delicate. To this person if you were to show them your new found confidence, they will crumble to their knees and will feel stunned. They might ask you questions like “where did you learn this baby???” Or “have you been having fun without me?”. They really love how you taste 😳 this sp wants to pull your dress/skirt up or pants off and just go to town. Their favorite thing is when you’re all dolled up and getting ready to go out. “Gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight. Do my hair up real, real nice. And syncopate my skin to your heart beating. Cause I just wanna look good for you, good for you. I just wanna look good for you, good for you. Let me show you how proud I am to be yours.” I’m seeing that they admire your facial expressions during sex for to them it’s too cute, something about makeup smudging? Things can get really messy 👀

Full reading on patreon

Pile 9:

Shufflemancy -

Come Alive by Jackson Wang

Earned It by The Weeknd

Swim by Chase Atlantic

Eight of Wands, Death, The Hanged One, Dance, Look to the Stars, Sound Healing, The Grim Reaper, Ascending, & Healthy Choices

When I tell you this pile is NASTYYY. It’s honestly crazy how much this person wants to match your freak, pile 9. Definitely saved best for last. The sex almost feels cinematic in a way. Something about this person just gives main character vibes that is so seductive you can’t turn your eyes away from them. I believe your relationship with this person could have progressed pretty fast. For some of you, you could have kissed or even had sex after the first date. While I also see that this is a friends with benefits situation (does someone have a contract?!). You could find them mysterious or wish to get to know them on a more interpersonal level. You could feel that these things are more surface level in terms of attraction and don’t want the intimacy to only be superficial. I see that this sp is charming and prefers to disclose things little by little. “I come alive. You start me up a million times. And I'm terrified. That you could leave me crying.” So this person could be afraid of opening up to you because they are nervous about getting their heart broken. They might have previously gotten out of a relationship and they are learning how to trust in a partner again. Your sp could be afraid of rejection and that's why they are disorganized in terms of how they want to pursue you. Providing this person with assurance will help them gain courage, also pile 9, make sure to do what's healthy for you, try not to overly devote your time to this person. I see that communicating with your partner and talking about how you have been feeling will want to open up more and trust you. Something about wearing lingerie in the bedroom is a major turn on for this person. Taking control and guiding this person will help allow them to let their guard down. "Cause girl, you're perfect (girl, you're perfect). You're always worth it (always worth it). And you deserve it (and you deserve it). The way you work it (the way you work it). 'Cause girl, you earned it, yeah (earned it). Girl, you earned it, yeah". Your sp would be over the moon for you.

Full reading on patreon

1K notes · View notes

softlypossessive · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! I hope you’ve been having a great day. I was wondering if I could request a strawhat x mute!reader. The reader has selective mutism, meaning she gets anxiety speaking to people in certain situations. When she does speak, which would be rare, it’s only when it’s just her and her crew. If she was in public she and had to say something she would whisper directly in their ear, otherwise she wouldn’t speak. The relationship could be either platonic or romantic, either is fine. I was wondering how would the strawhats react to their mute member being in a situation where pirates of a different crew surrounds and antagonizes her, trying to get her to speak to them. Also, may I ask that you not make the reader meek and defenseless? While she does feel anxiety when she’s in a situation where she has to speak to people, she’s not an overall anxious and docile person.

♡･ﾟ𓏸 All Strawhats x Selectively Mute!Reader Headcanons 𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Robin, Franky, Jinbe, Brook, Chopper, gn!reader ♡ Warnings: Fluff, Soft protectiveness, mutual understanding, SFW, platonic, romantic if you squint?? mentions of selective mutism, quiet affirmations, crew-wide affection, no use of Y/N, ♡ Notes: Thank you so much for the request! I really hope I did it justice <3 I went with a full crew interpretation (since it’s SFW) and leaned into that strong, warm platonic love—though if you squint, a few bits might read a lil more intimate. But overall? This crew would go to war for you, no questions asked. Not spicy, just full of love and loyalty.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

🍖 Luffy

At first, Luffy doesn’t get it.

“Why don’t you talk to them? Are they stupid?” (Yes, Luffy. Yes, they are.)

But the moment it clicks—that your silence isn’t a weakness but a boundary—he respects it with his whole chest

He never pressures you to speak. Like, ever. He doesn’t even notice you don’t talk half the time because he just vibes with your presence

You're still his crewmate, still part of the adventure, still cool as hell in his book

When you do whisper to him? Man lights up like a SUNRISE

“WAAAH YOU TALKED TO ME!!!”

Cue excitement. He treasures those moments

He absolutely throws hands if anyone tries to mock or push you into speaking.

No hesitation.

One second of antagonizing you = rubber punch to the jaw

Thinks your ability to stand silent and still in chaos is scary cool

"You don't need words to be strong. I can feel it. You're STRONG."

⚔️ Zoro

Completely unbothered by your silence—he’s not exactly chatty either

You two could sit in silence for three hours and that’s a perfect conversation to him

He clocks your selective mutism immediately and never asks questions you don’t want to answer

If you whisper something in his ear in public, he listens like it’s sacred scripture

He’s incredibly protective—not because he thinks you’re weak, but because he hates people who mistake quiet for easy prey

The moment someone tries to force words out of you? Zoro’s sword is already out

“You really think pressure makes people talk? Try bleeding first. Then we’ll compare notes.”

He absolutely respects that your silence is a form of control, not submission

Will stand at your shoulder like a silent wall of steel until you nod it’s okay to move

🍳 Sanji

Sanji is a soft king when it comes to your comfort

Doesn’t just “accept” your mutism—he adapts to it

Develops a whole love language around your silences: gestures, hand squeezes, looks, shared glances over food

If you whisper in his ear in public? He goes red every time no matter what you said

Treats your rare spoken words like poetry.

"Your voice... I could die happy now."

But if anyone dares try to “make you speak,” he’s fury on legs

“If you wanted a conversation, you should’ve kept your tongue attached.”

Elegant fury. Fires the first kick. Lights a cigarette after the last one drops

Thinks your silence adds to your mystique and honestly simps hard for it

“They don’t need to talk, idiot. They’re already unforgettable.”

🛠️ Usopp

Understands your selective mutism right away—relates through his own anxiety

Never makes it a big deal, just accepts it as part of who you are

Acts as your unofficial hype man 24/7

Narrates your silence like it’s legendary

“My friend here? Silent assassin. Writes poetry. Could kill you in three moves. Show some respect.”

Gets so excited whenever you whisper to him

“THEY SAID SOMETHING TO ME. PERSONALLY. ME.”

Makes little gadgets to help you communicate—flip signs, buttons, visual cues

If anyone mocks or pressures you to speak, he steps up immediately

Starts going off in a fiery, ridiculous, clearly-exaggerated monologue about how you’re a silent warrior who once stared down a sea king until it cried.

“You’re really gonna push someone who could take you out with one look?”

Absolutely nervous but still defends you—protective even when shaking

Later brags about it like he was chill the whole time

Thinks your silence is mysterious, heroic, and honestly? Very cool

🍊 Nami

Notices your mutism instantly and adjusts without missing a beat

Communicates with subtle cues: touch, eye contact, quiet words

Always leans in when you whisper, gives you her full attention

Becomes your translator in crowds, sharp and effective

“They said back off. Before I make you.”

If someone tries to force you to talk, she doesn’t hold back

Fights with sass, smarts, and no mercy—protects you because you’re strong, not in spite of it

Never treats you like a problem to fix

Calls your mutism a boundary, not a flaw

Gets genuinely touched when you whisper something soft to her

“Only the right people get to hear that voice.”

Thinks you’re powerful in your silence—deadly, beautiful, and fierce

📚 Robin

Understands without needing it explained—she’s lived through silence herself

Views your selective mutism as deliberate, powerful, elegant

You’re not “mute” to her—you’re discerning. And that makes you brilliant in her book.

She’s very observant.

Not only does she notice the exact kinds of situations that make you shut down, she preemptively handles them.

Like casually standing next to you in crowds. Leaning in so you can whisper without stress. Ordering your drink without being asked.

You two become silent duo queens, communicating entire conversations with eye contact and head tilts

But when you’re surrounded, alone, and pirates are sneering in your face?

One of them laughs, “They mute or just stupid?”

Six arms bloom from the stone walls and grab all of them by the throat.

Robin walks up, smiling politely.

“It seems you’re the stupid ones.”

She looks to you and tilts her head.

“Would you like me to break their arms or their egos?”

You murmur a single word

“Egos.”

She smiles wider.

Later, you slip her a note with a tiny sketch of her stepping on the pirate’s face. She folds it into her book like a pressed flower.

🔧 Franky

Thought you were just “cool and mysterious” at first—didn’t realize your silence was tied to selective mutism

When he does figure it out? Immediate SUPER™ respect

Doesn’t try to make you talk—just makes sure you always feel welcome in the workshop

Builds you custom tools or a gadget to help if you want to communicate in crowded places—only if you’re into it

“You don’t gotta say a thing, dude. You just being here is already awesome!”

Treats your rare spoken words like a backstage VIP pass

Will absolutely body block anyone who corners you or tries to force you to speak

If someone mocks you? Cue cyborg intimidation mode

“Real strength ain’t about talkin’. It’s about doin’. And you? You’ve got that in spades.”

Loves hearing you whisper in his ear in public.

Instantly salutes.

“COMMAND RECEIVED!!”

Thinks your silence adds mystery and badassery—he’s kind of obsessed tbh

“You’re like… like a silent laser beam! Precise! Lethal! SUPER!!”

🌊 Jinbe

Understands immediately—doesn’t need an explanation

Has deep emotional intelligence and respects boundaries like a king

Offers quiet companionship when you need it, never pressuring conversation

Has an entire repertoire of gentle nods and thoughtful glances for when words aren’t needed

If you whisper to him, he leans in with the patience of a mountain

“You do not need to speak to be heard.”

Would stand calmly beside you if you're being antagonized—silent, unmoving, radiating “Try me.” energy

If someone pushes you to talk? He won’t raise his voice—but he will command the entire room’s attention

“If your ears are so desperate for sound, perhaps you should listen to your own foolishness.”

He believes your silence holds weight—calls it “the stillness before a wave”

Deeply respects how you fight without words—calls it “an elegant form of strength”

Makes sure the crew understands your boundaries without ever making a fuss of it

Absolute guardian energy, with the soul of a poet

🎻 Brook

Surprisingly intuitive about your silence despite being loud himself

Doesn’t ask invasive questions—just rolls with it, happily filling silences with songs or stories

Makes gentle jokes to ease tension but always watches your cues

“Ah, you didn’t laugh out loud, but I saw that smile! Yohohoho!”

If you whisper something in public? Dramatic swoon every time

“A private word?! For me?! Oh my heart—wait, I don’t have one!! Yohoho!”

He absolutely writes songs about you—like full orchestral ballads of silent bravery

Believes your silence is poetic and meaningful

“Some voices are loudest without sound.”

If someone antagonizes you? Brook’s polite tone goes cold

“Your disrespect will not go unnoticed, even by one without eyes.”

cue chill-inducing violin chord

Protects you through unexpected intimidation—he’s goofy until he isn’t

Thinks your energy is ghostly and powerful in a way he deeply respects

Refers to you as “the whisper between storms” in one of his songs

🧸 Chopper

Soooo gentle and sweet with you from day one

Was nervous at first like

“Did I do something wrong? Why don’t they talk to me?”

But once he understands, he’s all in: brings you tea, sits nearby while you write, never pressures you

“You don’t have to talk. I still know you like me, right?”

Will make you little cue cards or cute picture communication tools if you want help in public

If you whisper to him, he melts.

“AHHH THEY TALKED TO ME! I MEAN—I’M COOL. I’M NORMAL.”

If someone bullies you or gets pushy?

Normally sweet Chopper goes feral mode

“BACK OFF! YOU DON’T GET TO DECIDE HOW THEY TALK!”

Will patch you up after fights and praise how you held your own, even without words

“You’re one of the strongest people I know… You don’t even need a voice to be amazing!”

Lowkey keeps a medical log of when you speak or interact more—only to make sure you’re doing okay mentally

Feels extra close to you because you both were misunderstood at first

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You were only gone five minutes.

Five minutes to run down the street and grab new ink, maybe peek into the bookstore. Five minutes away from the crew.

Apparently, that was enough.

They came out of nowhere—half a dozen rough-looking pirates, loud and posturing. One of them stepped in front of you as you turned to leave.

"Oi, sweetheart. Why so quiet?"

You didn’t respond.

"Too good to talk to us?" "Or maybe you think you're better?" "C’mon, just say hi." "We don’t bite… much.”

They leaned in. Circling. Testing.

You stared them down, face flat, spine straight, hand hovering near your weapon—but still, you said nothing. You didn’t owe them a damn word.

And that’s when the sound of boots hit the street behind you.

Not loud. Not rushed. But deliberate.

Zoro was the first. Leaning against the alley wall like he’d been there the whole time. He didn’t draw a sword. He didn’t need to.

Sanji stepped up next, cracking his knuckles with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. Smoke curled from the edge of his lips.

Nami lingered behind them, arms crossed, watching. Sharp gaze narrowed. Robin’s shadow moved just beside hers—subtle, but present. You could feel it.

And then there was Luffy.

No drama. No yelling. He just appeared beside you, hands in his pockets, staring straight at the loudest one.

They all paused, instincts kicking in. A shift in the air.

“…This your crew?” one of them asked, voice suddenly less cocky.

You leaned in close to Luffy’s ear, barely a breath.

"I didn’t need help."

He grinned. "I know."

Silence again. Until he tilted his head, smile gone now.

"I just didn’t like the way they talked to you."

That was it.

That was all it took.

The men backed off. Fast. No fight. Just the weight of the crew’s presence and Luffy’s quiet fury pressing down on them like a stormcloud. They knew better.

As they vanished down the street, Luffy turned to you, still smiling—loose and easy like nothing had happened.

You sighed and bumped your shoulder against his in thanks. He bumped back.

Zoro huffed a quiet breath, like he’d been hoping for action. Sanji smoothed his jacket, still glaring at the retreating pirates. Chopper poked your arm, worried, but you just gave him a nod.

The crew didn’t make a big deal of it.

No lectures. No questions.

Just a warm space carved out around you.

Safe. Quiet. Yours.

Because you didn’t need words for them to hear you.

And they didn’t need words to say “We’ve got your back.”

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

819 notes · View notes

simp-for-love · 5 months ago

Text

Devil's Advocate

Mattheo Riddle x FemReader

You never expected to need a lawyer — let alone him. Mattheo Riddle is infamous, both for winning impossible cases and for being insufferably arrogant while doing it. You don't trust him, but with your ex tightening his grip, you’re running out of options

Warnings: lawyer!au, psychological manipulation and emotional abuse from ex, swearing, power dynamics, legal drama, sexual tension, kinda slow burn. It's a mix of a modern!au and the wizarding world that is set after Hogwarts, ignoring the war.

Word count ~2,8k

A/N: I'm so excited about this one. Hope you'll like it too! And Enzo's girlies, I'm sorry. He's a bad guy here🤭

You used to think Lorenzo Berkshire was perfect.

Charming, attentive, the kind of man who remembered all the little things — a preference for fresh lilies over traditional red roses, the way you took your coffee, the book you offhandedly mentioned wanting to read. He was sweet, too. Thoughtful. A boyfriend from every girl's dream.

Until he wasn’t.

Until you realized the carefully curated perfection wasn’t for you, it was for his control. And Enzo was very, very good at control.

It took too long to see past the honeyed words and the expensive gifts, the way he made you feel like the most cherished person in the world. It took too long to recognize the patterns. The slight gaslighting, the ever-so-subtle isolation from your friends, the way every ‘coincidence’ seemed to align just right in his favor. By the time you did, you were trapped in a web you didn’t know how to escape. Every your step was controlled, carefully calculated by Enzo's sweet smiles and cold eyes.

And now? Now you were in trouble.

You wanted out. No, you needed out. But Enzo wasn’t the kind of man to just let go of what was his. He had money, charms, connections, and the ability to make things disappear. Every lawyer you approached? Gone before they could even hear your full case. Either bribed or scared off. The ones that weren’t? The ones that actually seemed interested? Well, they quickly lost that interest as soon as the stakes became clear and your ex's name left your lips. Unfortunately for you, Enzo had that effect on people.

All but one.

Mattheo Riddle.

You weren’t even sure why you went to him at first. Maybe desperation. Maybe because his reputation preceded him. Maybe because he was the only one left.

You knew his name since the school, of course. Everyone in the wizarding world did. But now people knew him for a whole different reason. He was the defense attorney who won cases no one else would dare touch, to even look at. The man who had beaten aurors, ministers, and more corrupt officials than you could count. People said he had no fear. That he never lost. That he only defended those he deemed worthy, not caring much about the consequences. That money couldn’t buy his loyalty.

And that last part was crucially important to you.

The sound of your heels echoed through the sleek marble floors of the law office, each step deliberate, controlled. You had to be. Because if you thought too much about the weight of the situation, about how you'd gotten here, you might just turn around and leave.

But you couldn't. And you wouldn't. Not when this was your last chance to break free.

The receptionist, an immaculately dressed woman with piercing eyes and a deep cleavage that could hardly be called decent, barely looked up from her 'Witch Weekly'. Her voice was lazily bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No." You swallowed, straightening your shoulders. "But Mr. Riddle is waiting for me."

Then her appraising gaze darted upward. She elegantly raised her perfect-shaped eyebrow as if reading and analyzing a potential competitor. There was disbelief and a hint of mocking in her gaze that said, 'How could he be waiting for you?'

"What's your name?" she said almost reluctantly.

Usually, you would flip people off for that gaze or tone. But now was not the right time or place to be bitchy. You gave her your name, your voice steadier than you felt, and after a beat, she inclined her head toward the heavy double doors at the end of the hallway behind her. "Go right in."

That was how you ended up here, standing in front of the office door, nerves coiled in your stomach. The brass nameplate on the door gleamed under the bright hallway lights.

Mattheo Riddle, Esq.

You felt your palms getting sweaty because of your nerves. But he was your last hope against Enzo. You couldn't back down now. So you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, knocked softly, and opened the door.

The office was a sharp contrast to the pristine sterility of the lobby. It was warm wood-paneled walls, dark leather furniture, and a faint scent of smoke and something deeper, richer. Like expensive whiskey and old books. A single wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, and in front of them, seated behind a mahogany desk, was the man himself.

In that moment when you stepped into Mattheo Riddle’s office, the thought that you were in the wrong place crossed your mind. Not because you didn’t need help, your current predicament demanded it, but because everything about him, from the smug smirk to the unbuttoned collar of his tailored dress shirt, almost screamed trouble.

He didn't look up immediately, fingers tapping absently against the desk as he skimmed over a file. But then his dark eyes flicked up, locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your breath catch. His gaze flickered with recognition, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled velvety, leaning back in his leather chair, fingers steepled together as he observed you like a cat might be looking at a particularly interesting mouse. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

'Fuck, he'd changed', you thought immediately. His features became more mature, sharper. Broad shoulders were wrapped in an expensive suit, as if his body and the costume were created to attract hungry or jealous glances. Plump lips, now without permanent cuts and wounds like in Hogwarts, were stretched into a familiar smirk that was both charming and mischievous. The only thing that remained unchanged were his eyes. Dark, piercing, captivating, as if they knew all your dirty secrets that you trying to hide.

You exhaled, gathering your thoughts together, and stepped further inside, not letting your nervousness show. "I need your help."

Mattheo leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an expression you couldn't quite read — amused, curious, or something else entirely. Then, with a slow and smug smirk, he gestured to the chair across from him.

You hesitated only a fraction before lowering yourself into the chair opposite him. It was plush, expensive, and did absolutely nothing to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. Mattheo watched you with the kind of patience that wasn’t patience at all. More like a predator toying with its prey, waiting for it to make the first move.

"You need my help," he echoed, that infuriating smirk not leaving his lips. "That’s interesting. Because I don’t usually take clients who walk in off the street without an appointment."

You felt a pang of irritation. 'Off the street? Like you were some kind of a homeless dog,' you scoffed mentally. But you convinced yourself to inhale deeply and regain your composure. You needed his help, and you honestly expected him to act all cocky. He'd always been like this, even as a teenager at Hogwarts.

The deep exhale left your lips as you forced yourself to meet his gaze directly. "I didn't have much of a choice. Every other lawyer turned me away. Or, more accurately, they were turned away for me."

His eyes flickered with a mix of something — amusement, intrigue, calculation. "Hmm, let me guess," he purred lowly with a knowing smirk. "Lorenzo Berkshire?"

You nodded, your fingers tightening into your lap involuntarily. "I assume you already know what he’s capable of."

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly in amusement. "Oh, I do. We go way back, Enzo and I. Hogwarts days, old friends, that sort of thing."

The words sent a chill down your spine. Fuck, you totally forgot about the fact that they were close. And now that meant he wouldn’t take your case. That meant he—

"But we aren’t friends now," Mattheo continued, his tone shifting, something dangerous and razor-sharp creeping beneath the previous amusement. "Haven’t seen him for three years," a dark and almost maniac flash flicked in his onyx eyes. "Which only makes this more… intriguing."

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to remain steady and not to show your relief too obviously. You didn’t want him to see how desperately you need his help. "He's been bribing and scaring off every lawyer I’ve tried to hire. And I can’t— I won’t stay trapped like this. I need someone he can’t buy," you said carefully.

Mattheo hummed, drumming his fingers against the desk. His lips tugged into a smug grin. "And you came to me. The unshakable, indispensable, and incorruptible Mattheo Riddle."

You arched a brow at his words. That arrogant prick. You wanted to shove his shit-eating smirk deep in his handsome ass. But instead you remained calm. You needed him. "Something like that," you mumbled almost reluctantly.

He grinned even wider, and damn him, even under these circumstances, even through your irritation and annoyance at his attitude, you could see why people were drawn to him. There was some dangerous charm to Mattheo, a confidence that didn’t just border on arrogance — he wore it like a finely tailored suit.

"Tell me everything, sweetheart," he mused finally, his tone playful yet calculated. Like he was amused and intrigued by this situation, but he also already had all the cards in this game. "Leave nothing out."

You swallowed, gathering your thoughts and nodding, and then began to speak.

As you recounted everything, how perfect Enzo had seemed at the very beginning, how he slowly and gradually tightened his grip on your life and choices, how things spiraled until you realized you were caught in something you couldn’t escape — Mattheo listened. Not just passively, but with an intensity that made you feel unease and your skin prickle. His dark eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, absorbing every word, every pause, every unspoken fear woven between your sentences.

When you finally finished, Mattheo leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose and rubbing his lower lip in thought. "He’s meticulous. I’ll give him that. But he made one mistake."

Your breath hitched. But you didn’t want to let your hopes up. He hadn’t said 'Yes' to you yet. So you asked a bit hesitantly and carefully, "What?"

"He underestimated you." Mattheo's smirk returned, sharper this time, like he was a predator who was ready to hunt their prey. "And now, he has to deal with me."

If you weren’t in this dreadful position right now, his dark and hawkish gaze'd probably intimidate you. But you were, so relief crashed through you so fast that you almost felt lightheaded. "So you’ll help me?"

Mattheo tilted his head, considering. "Oh, sweetheart, I was always going to help an old friend of mine. The moment you walked through my door and made this infinitely more interesting for me?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping just slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. "Enzo just became my newest problem. And I do love a good problem," he said with a playful wink.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. You weren’t sure if you’d just made a deal with salvation — or with the devil himself. But in your desperate situation, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care.

When you came home to your rented apartment later in the evening, where you were almost shamefully hiding from Enzo's all-seeing grab, you replayed this meeting in your head over and over again. The way Mattheo had grown up, how smug and lazily confident he was, the way his eyes changed color in the room's dimness. You quickly realized that your thoughts were going in some dangerous directions. So you shook your head in annoyance, turned on your side, and tried to sleep.

The next time you saw Mattheo Riddle, it wasn’t in the dimly lit intimacy of his office but in the cold sterility of a high-rise conference room. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline behind him, the city sprawling out in golden lights as dusk settled. The room was all glass, steel, and polished surfaces — a battlefield for people who fought with words and knowledge instead of their wands.

You had expected to feel anxious, maybe even regretful about involving him, but watching him now, prowling the space with effortless confidence, you felt something else entirely.

Mattheo was in his element.

Seated at the massive conference table, you were flanked by paralegals and junior associates, people who worked for him, who hung onto his every word. They were efficient, sharp, and ruthless, but none of them commanded the room the way he did. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his tie slightly loosened, Mattheo carried an air of calculated chaos, as though he could dismantle the entire legal system with nothing but a boyish smirk and a well-placed argument.

You were only halfway listening to the conversation when you realized you were shamelessly staring. Not at his face, exactly, but at the way he moved and held himself. The sharp flex of his fingers against the table as he spoke, the way his lips curled around every word, the smooth confidence in his voice as he tore through the evidence presented before him, the silent but almost palpable respect of his subordinates who listened attentively to his every word. It wasn’t the same smug arrogance from before — this was precision, intellect, power. And it was intoxicating.

You realized almost reluctantly that you were turned on.

By his mind. By the way he held himself. By the way he had the attention of the whole room without even trying. By the way he saw everything ten moves ahead. By the fact that, for all his showmanship, Mattheo Riddle was undeniably, inescapably brilliant.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mattheo murmured, sliding into the chair beside you during a brief break in the discussion. His cologne was expensive and subtle, something dark, woody, and spicy that made your stomach tingle. “Second thoughts?”

You exhaled, hoping he wouldn’t catch the way your pulse jumped and your eyes were glued to him during the discussion. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to stay level. “Just observing.”

He hummed, glancing at you with something amused and knowing in his dark, onyx eyes. “And? What’s your verdict?”

You should have played it safe, should have kept your expression neutral, but instead, your mouth betrayed you, saying the next words against your will. “You’re good.”

His smirk was slow, devastating. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured smugly, his voice nothing but a smoke curling under your skin. “You have no idea.”

Your throat felt suddenly dry, making you swallow slightly. “I think,” you said carefully, not wanting to show just how much he affected you, but failing miserably, “that you might actually be worth all the fuss around you.”

Mattheo leaned forward, close enough that you could see the flicker of something dark and knowing in his gaze. “Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapping around a blade — captivating yet dangerous — making heat pool down in your stomach. “Another praise from you, and I'll think that you might start to like me.”

You weren’t sure if it was the arrogance in his smirk or the glint in his eyes that made your skin heat, but there was something about Mattheo Riddle in his element that was utterly infuriating. And unfortunately, undeniably hot and attractive.

And in this moment, you realized with a sinking feeling that pushing those thoughts aside was going to be impossible. Because watching him like this — ruthless, brilliant, completely in control over the situation, over the room, over you.

It was maddening.

You should have been focusing on the legal strategy, on how he was about to dismantle Enzo's grip on your life. But instead, you were hyperaware of the way Mattheo thrived in this setting, his words sharp as a blade, his presence overpowering.

And worst of all? He knew it too.

Because at one point, as you shifted slightly in your seat, trying to shake off the heat curling low in your stomach and between your thighs, his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second. A knowing, dark, amused glance, like he could sense the shift in your thoughts. Like he could hear them, taste them.

That absolutely insufferable, arrogant bastard.

You cleared your throat, straightened your posture, and forced yourself to focus. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. You were here to win your freedom back, not to get distracted by the handsome man who was helping you achieve it.

But then, as Mattheo turned back to the discussion, his voice a low, smooth, lazy drawl, you had a sinking realization.

This might just be the beginning of an entirely new kind of trouble.

#kat's write #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle #lawyer!mattheo

483 notes · View notes

cei1ne · 5 months ago

Text

—How the Bakusquad reacts to you in lingerie for the first time! PT.1 (AGED!UP)

❀•°•════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ════•°•❀

* . ｡ ✿ *Summary: The aged up MHA men see you in lingerie for the FIRST time ever

☾ ⋆*･ﾟPairing: Bakugou Katsuki ; Kirishima Eijirou ; Denki Kaminari ; Sero Hanta

˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇Tags/Warnings: Teasing ; Lingerie ; Hero x reader ; Seduction ; Hickeys ; Body Worship

⑅୨୧⑅*Wordcount: 8k

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷A/N: Yeah this is my first time writing smut but this only like fufu ass smut like nothing too serious other than high school locker stuff but yeah enjoy it

❀•°•════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ════•°•❀

Bakugou Katsuki – “The Moment You Asked For This, You Sealed Your Fate.”

It’s not that Bakugou Katsuki has a problem with being caught off guard. No, he’s usually the one catching others off guard. He’s the one who keeps everyone on their toes with his temper, his sharp tongue, and his volatile nature. But there’s something about you standing in front of him, dressed in lingerie, that paralyzes him.

His eyes go wide for a brief second, then narrow as his breath catches. He stares at you as though you just hit him with an explosive blast of your own. His usual smirk falters as his gaze travels over every inch of your body, the lace hugging your curves in all the right places, the delicate fabric making your skin appear even softer under his scrutiny.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, and for once, you can tell he’s genuinely stunned.

Bakugou Katsuki, the hard-ass hero, the guy who’s never caught off guard, is now standing there in shock. His voice is hoarse as he speaks again. “Damn it, Y/N. What the hell are you trying to do to me?”

You take a step closer to him, unable to help the playful smirk curling at the corners of your lips. “What? Don’t like it?”

He takes an instinctive step back, his fists clenching, his mouth a tight line. “Like it?” He scoffs. “You’re fuckin’ with me, aren’t you?”

The tension in the air is electric, crackling between you two. He’s always been the type of guy who likes control, who’s used to having everything in the palm of his hand. But with you standing there, looking so fucking perfect, all his self-control is slowly slipping through his fingers.

You could almost laugh at the sight of his discomfort, but you know what you’re doing. You’ve been planning this moment, knowing full well that the shock factor would break his usual barriers.

His eyes are burning now—red hot—as he takes a step toward you, voice turning low, needy. “You think this is some joke? You think you can wear this and make me just lose my mind?”

You know he’s always had a thing for you. He’s never been subtle about it, but you also know the kind of guy Bakugou is—he’s the type to make everything intense and passionate, even when it’s about something like this. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the way he’s trying to keep his composure, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that he can’t.

“Maybe I want you to lose control, Katsuki,” you tease, taking a bold step forward. You know how to handle him now, how to get under his skin. He might be the explosive one in most situations, but when it comes to you, it’s a whole different story.

Bakugou smirks slightly before frowning again slightly— no, not frowning, but scowling. He wasn’t mad. Just a little disappointed. Because he didn’t get to fucking see this masterpiece on you before. Damn it, he’s gonna buy you twenty different pairs of them.

He pulls away for a moment, his breath ragged as he looks down at you, eyes filled with frustration. “You really think you’re gonna make it easy on me, huh? You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, do you?”

You chuckle softly, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw. “You act like I don’t know exactly what I’m doing.”

He stares at you for a long, tense moment, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath. “Yeah?” His voice is dark now, horny. “Then you know that the second you put that on… there’s no going back.”

And with that, he moves—fast. In one fluid motion, he spins you around, pushing you up against the nearest wall. His hands slide down your body, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the softness of the fabric you’re wearing. His lips find your neck, and he begins to trail hot, breathy kisses down the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing against you just enough to leave a mark.

“You’ve had your fun, but now it’s my turn,” he says against your skin.

His hands are everywhere, groping every part. He would be lying if he said this wasn’t all he ever dreamed off.

He unties your bra urgently and his hands quickly move to busy themselves.

His lips leave your neck to devour your mouth once again, this time with more frenzy, more desperation. You can feel the heat building between you, the way his body presses into yours, his hard muscles aligning with your softer curves. He pushes you harder into the wall, and you moan softly at the intensity of it all. His hands are already at your waist, undoing the clasp of your lingerie with a speed that leaves you breathless.

“Fucking hell, Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me.” His voice is low, guttural, and it sends a shock of electricity straight down your spine.

Before you can respond, your panties are off and then you went to heaven.

Kirishima Eijiro – “When You Show Him a Side of You He’s Never Seen Before.”

Kirishima was always the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. His enthusiasm and exuberant energy were infectious, and it was hard not to love the guy. He prided himself on being a “manly man,” always ready to protect, to stand strong, and to be the rock in any situation. But tonight, things felt different.

When you had suggested a quiet night at home after a long week of training, Kirishima was all for it. He loved spending time with you, even if it meant winding down in the calm of the evening. But the moment he walked through the door and caught sight of you, dressed in the delicate lace lingerie you’d been hiding, everything changed.

At first, he stood in the doorway, frozen, blinking rapidly as if trying to figure out if what he was seeing was real. His gaze scanned your figure, the way the fabric hugged your curves and made your skin glow. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N… wh-what the heck?!” His voice was hoarse, almost sounding like he’d forgotten how to speak. His body seemed to lock in place, his muscles tightening in shock, as he stared at you with wide, almost disbelieving eyes.

You stood in front of him, feeling a rush of confidence despite his stunned reaction. “Do you like it?” you asked innocently, but the playful glint in your eyes made it clear you were trying to make him flustered.

Kirishima’s eyes flickered down to the floor for a moment, his usually carefree demeanor replaced with something much more… serious. The red flush on his cheeks was a dead giveaway—he wasn’t used to being caught off guard like this.

“Like it?” He let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his head in a nervous gesture. “I… I don’t even know what to say. You look… stunning.” His voice trembled slightly at the last word.

You took a step closer to him, and he took an involuntary step back, as if unsure whether he should touch you or not. Kirishima was the type to be respectful and honorable. He would never rush you, always being considerate of your comfort. But at this moment, he was clearly struggling to hold onto that composure. His body language was a dead giveaway—his broad shoulders were tense, and his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“C’mon, Eijiro,” you teased, stepping even closer. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

That was the final straw. His hands shot out to grab your waist, pulling you toward him with surprising gentleness but also an underlying urgency. His lips immediately found yours, hot and hungry, as though he had been starved for you. The kiss wasn’t desperate, but it was intense, as if every moment of hesitation he’d had before this had been erased in the span of seconds.

When he pulled away, he let out a soft chuckle, still holding you close. “You really know how to get me all flustered, huh?” He pressed his forehead against yours, laughing lightly. “But, damn it, I’m not just gonna stand here like an idiot. You sure you’re ready for this?”

You felt your heart race at his words, knowing that Kirishima had always been the type of guy to want to make sure both of you were comfortable and ready before anything went further. But at the same time, his body language said everything—it was clear that he wanted you. Badly.

“I think I’m ready,” you whispered, “but are you?”

Oh he was more than ready.

His face flushed a deeper red, and his fingers curled into the fabric of your lingerie, gently pushing it aside. “Hell yeah.”

His lips found your neck next, and soft, gentle kisses quickly became something much more heated as his hands explored your body, tracing the lines of your curves with tender touches. Kirishima’s touch was never rough—it was always considerate and full of affection, but tonight, he was breaking through that barrier. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, pulling you against him more firmly.

You let out a soft moan when his lips traveled lower, the fire of his kisses leaving trails of warmth on your skin. “Kirishima…” you breathed, your fingers threading through his spiky hair as you pulled him closer. The way his body pressed into yours, the heat radiating from him, made you feel like you were melting against him.

His kisses were passionate now, not just out of desire but out of the raw emotion he felt for you. His hands were everywhere—tender, but with the kind of determination that told you he wasn’t going to hold back anymore. As he moved, you could feel him slowly losing himself in the moment, his kisses becoming more intense and possessive, as though he needed to prove to both of you that you belonged together like this.

“I’ve got you, Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “I won’t let you go. Not now.”

And with that, the man who had always been the rock in your life, the one who could hold it all together, was now the one giving himself over to you completely. The moment felt like timeless bliss, the world outside fading as Kirishima’s love and affection wrapped around you in the most tender of ways.

Denki Kaminari – “When His Jokes Take a Different Turn.”

Denki Kaminari was known for being the goofball. His carefree attitude and quick-witted humor had earned him the title of the goofy one in the group. But underneath that playful, energetic exterior, there was something deeper that he only let a few people see. With you, Denki felt like he could let go of his usual antics and embrace the more vulnerable side of himself—the side that wanted to take care of you, protect you, and make you feel loved.

Tonight, however, things were different. He had been teasing you all day, cracking jokes and making everyone laugh, but now, standing in front of you with your body adorned in nothing but lingerie, Denki was struggling to find his usual charm.

As soon as he stepped through the door, you stood there, your figure illuminated by the soft light from the lamp, the delicate lace hugging your curves in the most alluring way. You could see the shock in his eyes, the way his body stiffened before he even spoke. His lips parted in an almost comical fashion as he tried to form words.

“Y/N… Wh-what the heck are you wearing?” His voice cracked slightly, his usual confidence replaced with a mix of awe and confusion. The sight of you in that lingerie was so unexpected, it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

You stood there, an innocent smile tugging at your lips, clearly amused by his reaction. “You like it?” you asked, letting your voice carry a playful edge.

Denki’s face turned a deep shade of red as he tried to process the situation. His eyes flickered down to the floor for a moment, clearly struggling to hold onto his usual flirtatious banter. “Like it?” he repeated, his voice cracking again. “I don’t even… I can’t even think straight right now. You—damn, Y/N—you look… amazing.”

His breath hitched as he nervously ran a hand through his messy hair. The typical goofball in him was completely overtaken by the intensity of the moment. He looked like he was caught between being his usual teasing self and desperately wanting to take control of the situation. His usual banter and teasing tone were completely gone now, replaced with the kind of raw admiration that made your heart race.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his flustered state, stepping forward to close the gap between the two of you. “Well, Kaminari,” you purred, “I was hoping I could surprise you. I thought you’d like the view.”

Denki’s eyes widened, his entire body seemingly frozen. He stared at you for a long moment, his pupils dilated, as if trying to drink you in. Slowly, almost as if he were still unsure whether this was real or some kind of fever dream, he took a step toward you, then another, until he was standing right in front of you.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” His voice was rough now, his usual playful tone laced with a deep, breathy desire. “I swear, Y/N, I didn’t expect this. I mean, yeah, you’re gorgeous, but this… this is next level.” He hesitated for a split second, clearly battling his nerves. Then, with a deep, drawn-out sigh, he reached out to gently touch your waist, as if he were afraid that if he touched you too quickly, you might disappear.

You laughed softly, the sound soft and intimate as you leaned into him. “You’ve got to relax, Denki,” you said, your voice a little more serious now, with a hint of teasing. “You’re making me feel like I’m the one who’s not ready for this.”

His hands froze for a moment, then tightened around you, pulling you toward him gently. His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “No, no, I’m more than ready for this.” His words were low and hushed, sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s just that… you’re seriously blowing my mind right now, Y/N.”

He gave a short laugh, but the sound was edged with nervousness, as though he was trying to regain some control over the situation. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before leaning in to kiss you, his lips brushing yours tentatively at first, almost like he was testing the waters.

As the kiss deepened, Denki’s hands moved slowly, gently exploring your body, running over your curves as if memorizing every inch of you. The moment his fingers brushed the soft lace of your lingerie, he groaned softly, breaking the kiss for a moment to look down at you with wide eyes.

“God, Y/N, you’re so perfect,” he muttered, voice thick with desire. His hands moved down your body, his fingertips grazing over your skin, sending electric shivers through your body. His touch was light, almost reverent, like he was unsure whether to go further or hold back.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back into the kiss. Denki responded eagerly, the playful teasing now gone as his lips moved with passion. His hands roamed over your body more urgently now, and you could feel the heat building between you both.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Denki breathed against your lips, his voice still a little shaky, but filled with desire. “I always thought I’d be the one making you flustered, but right now, you’ve got me totally messed up.”

The more he spoke, the more confident his movements became. He moved down to your neck, kissing and nibbling the soft skin, his hands slipping underneath the fabric of your lingerie. Every touch felt like electricity, as though his own energy was transferring into your skin with every caress.

He found that sensitive spot on your neck, the one he knew would make you gasp, and nipped at it gently. The reaction was immediate. You let out a soft moan, and Denki grinned against your skin, his hands sliding down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable,” he whispered, voice low and heavy with desire. His hands tightened around you, and his lips found yours again in a deep, passionate kiss as he carried you to the bedroom. The moment he laid you down on the bed, he paused, staring down at you with a mixture of awe and hunger.

“Damn, Y/N, I swear, every time I think I know you, you surprise me. But this… this is something else.”

Sero Hanta – “When His Playful Side Turns Into Something More.”

Sero Hanta had always been the easy-going, funny guy in the group. His lighthearted humor and goofy grin made him the kind of person people could rely on for a good laugh or to break the ice. But behind his playful demeanor, there was a side of him that you knew well: the side that cared deeply, the side that was protective and serious when needed, and the side that, tonight, was on full display.

You had been spending more time together lately, and his natural flirtations and jokes had always made you smile. However, tonight, things were a little different. It wasn’t the usual “goofy” Sero, cracking jokes or pulling pranks. No, tonight, you were going to make him melt.

You’d prepared for this moment—just a little surprise for him. When he’d invited you over, you decided to take things up a notch. He was always so confident, but you had a feeling he’d never expect this. You had picked out a new piece of lingerie that you felt incredibly confident in, but more importantly, you knew it would make Sero’s head spin. As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the delicate lace and fabric, your heart raced. You knew it wasn’t just the surprise; it was the trust and intimacy you shared with him that made this moment feel electric.

The moment Sero stepped through the door, you could see it in his eyes: the instant recognition of something being out of the ordinary. His gaze flickered to you, widening as his lips parted in an almost comical fashion. For a split second, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, looking you up and down like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

His voice was a little breathless when he finally spoke. “Y/N, you—are you trying to kill me?” His hands instinctively went to his hair, messing it up as he stared at you in shock. You could see his chest rise and fall slightly quicker than usual as he took in the sight of you, clearly overwhelmed.

You let a slow smile form on your lips, a playful glint in your eyes as you approached him. “Do you like it, Sero?” you teased, tilting your head slightly as you reached out to gently trace his jawline with your fingertips.

Sero let out a deep exhale, almost like he was trying to steady himself. “Like it? Y/N, I—” His voice cracked for a moment before he cleared his throat. “I don’t even know where to begin with this. You look… unreal.”

He stepped closer to you now, his eyes full of awe and desire. There was no mistaking it—the flirtatious Sero was gone, replaced by a side of him that wanted to be serious and close. The moment his hands brushed over your hips, you could feel his fingers tremble slightly, as though he was trying to gain control of his emotions and desires. His touch was soft, tender even, as though he were handling something precious.

“You’ve got me at a loss for words, Y/N,” Sero murmured, his voice low and hoarse. He placed a hand gently on your waist, as if grounding himself. His thumb traced circles over your skin as his gaze traveled from your face to the lingerie hugging your body so perfectly. “This isn’t what I expected when I walked in here.”

You took a step closer, the proximity between you growing as you could feel the heat building in the room. “What did you expect?” you asked with a teasing smile, moving your body closer to his.

Sero’s eyes darkened, and he laughed—a quiet, almost nervous laugh. “Honestly? I don’t even know anymore. But, damn, this is more than I could have ever imagined.”

The sound of his voice, thick with desire, made you shiver slightly. You could feel his hands on your hips tighten, and for a moment, everything else in the room faded away. It was just the two of you, drawn together by the undeniable chemistry.

“You look so good, Y/N. I didn’t know it was possible for you to look even more beautiful, but you just… wow.” His fingers trailed up your back slowly, pulling you closer. You could feel the heat of his body press against yours as he kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as if he were savoring the moment.

“You’re making me lose it here,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You pulled back just a little to look at him, catching his gaze. There was a mix of desire, affection, and something deeper in his eyes—something you had been hoping to see for a long time.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, your voice soft, but full of intent.

Sero swallowed hard. “No. It’s not bad at all. It’s just… it’s overwhelming.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was slow at first, gentle even, as though he wanted to make sure you were comfortable. But as your hands moved up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and passionate. Sero’s hands roamed over your body, his touch hungry and desperate as he explored the soft curves of your figure, his fingertips tracing every inch of you.

“God, Y/N, you’re going to make me lose my mind,” he muttered between kisses. His voice was rough now, the teasing tone completely gone. In its place was a raw, hungry desire that made your pulse quicken.

His lips traveled from your mouth to your neck, kissing and nibbling along the sensitive skin there. You let out a soft moan, and the sound drove him wild. His hands were everywhere now, hips, your thighs and pulling you against him as his lips continued their path down your body, leaving a trail of hot kisses that made your skin tingle.

“You’re so perfect,” Sero breathed, his words filled with awe as his hands moved beneath the lace of your lingerie, brushing against your skin. His fingers moved slowly, savoring every touch, every inch of you. “I’m so lucky to be here with you, Y/N.”

You responded by wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him back into another heated kiss, your body pressing fully against his. The way he kissed you was all-consuming—gentle at times, but with a growing intensity that left you breathless. His hands found their way to your waist, lifting you effortlessly and placing you down gently on the bed.

He hovered over you, his body just inches from yours, his breath heavy as he looked at you with an expression that was both tender and possessive. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you reached up to pull him closer, your hands sliding down his chest. He groaned softly as you ran your hands over the fabric of his shirt, pulling it off with ease. There was no hesitation now—only the overwhelming need to be close, to feel each other fully

The moment your skin made contact, Sero let out a low growl of satisfaction. “Y/N, you have no idea how bad I’ve wanted this.”

His hands moved to your lingerie again, this time pulling it off carefully, savoring the way your body reacted to every touch. His lips followed his hands, kissing every inch of skin that was revealed to him, leaving a trail of love bites and gentle kisses along your collarbone and shoulders.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispered against your skin, and in that moment, you knew—he wasn’t going anywhere.

Part 2?

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redflagshipwriter · 6 months ago

Text

Snatching Snitches the cat Part 2: Damian 1

masterpost

“Maybe we should get him a new cat.”

Damian full-body twitched at the whisper, which was unfortunately not quiet enough to keep such idiocy out of his ears as he entered the room. “I will regain my boy,” he said sternly. “So that will be entirely unnecessary, Richard.”

Dick winced at the downgrade to his proper name. Damian huffed air from his nose, dissatisfied, but willing to consider the matter closed given the urgency of the situation. “Father, this is my budget proposal.” He used his left hand to toss the folder on the teak desk in the sunroom’s office. Father gaped at it gormlessly, not moving to pick it up until Damian lifted an eyebrow in pointed rebuke.

He waited while his father shuffled through the papers, a vaguely pained expression on his face. “Damian, I’m not sure that a million dollars is a normal amount to spend on a lost-pet advertisement campaign,” he said gently.

Dick had his best poker face on, which meant nothing to someone who knew him well enough to know that the lack of his usual expressiveness was a large tell.

Damian did his best not to roll his eyes. “Snitches is an unparalleled feline, and thus the market research for comparable campaigns was matched to something more appropriate.” He kept his tone as neutral as possible to avoid discord. “For pricing, please look at page seventeen.”

Pages flipped. “...This seems to be a list of Wayne family kidnapping incidents.” Father’s face twitched. Dick leaned over, obviously interested.

“You’ve listed all the ransom amounts that was asked for one of us?” he checked. “Cool graph. Am I still the winner?” Dick scanned the amounts. His face fell when he encountered the humorously undignified information that, in fact, Todd was in the lead.

“Initial amounts,” Damian said promptly. “I understand that relatively little time and money was invested into Snitches, so I chose the amount that was asked for Timothy in 2019. May, not August,” he clarified. August had been undervaluation even for Timothy.

Dick breathed out slowly through his nose, in a shamefully transparent attempt to control himself. “Tim-”

“It was before he was adopted,” Damian said dismissively. “Obviously, his current market rate is much higher. Given that Snitches was, in fact, legally adopted by myself, I thought it a generosity on my part to keep the budget that low.”

A high-pitched sound came from someone’s nose. Damian eyed his father and his eldest brother, but could not discern which one it was. How undignified.

“I understand your logic,” Father said finally. He looked tremendously old. “...Very well. One million dollars to find your cat. But that’s it!” he said, trying to regain control of the conversation.

Damian nodded sharply. “It will be sufficient.” Just barely, but he had a plan to make it work. “Please direct your attention to pages 4 through 7,” he ordered, knowing full well that Father’s eyes would glaze over at the itemized expenses.

“Give it to me verbally,” Father said.

Ideal. Damian launched into a painfully detailed listing of national, regional, and international newspapers which he would have a column written both in print and online, starting at Gotham and expanding regionally every day within which Snitches had not been yet located. He would have it written by Kent, as a professional courtesy. He had a list of gig work sites upon which he could recruit people to walk the streets of Gotham and put up flyers and check alleys and dumpsters. He had devised profiles of the teenagers involved in Snitches’ original kidnapping attempt, and included suggestions as to how each member of the team might use their patrol to stake out the suspects.

“I’m scheduled for 7 hours of watching the east window at a 16 year old girl’s house?” Father confirmed. His eyes were hollow and robbed of hope, exactly according to plan.

Damian gave a sharp nod. “Tonight. Todd shall do the daylight shift.”

“I doubt that,” Father said, very quietly. He cleared his throat. “Look, Damian.”

He waited in perfect predatory stillness.

“I think perhaps… you should rely less on patrol time for this,” Father settled on. “There are other issues outstanding, after all, such as that serial killer in the Bowery and the gang tensions.”

Damian gritted his teeth.

“Why don’t you get some other help?” Dick butted in, giving Father a warning look that Damian very much did not miss.

“Other help,” Damian said slowly, as if he had not engineered this whole conversation to lead to this conclusion. “Such as… associates?”

“Like Jon,” Dick suggested brightly. “Or your friends from school!”

“That seems like a good idea,” Father said, composed except that he winced at the word ‘friends’, knowing full well how Damian despised it. “You can get help with non Gotham vigilante associates, since we are unfortunately unable to dedicate enough time to the project.”

Damian waited a moment to sell it, portraying a struggle with indecision. He could not accept too gracefully, or someone might read his detailed budget proposal and discover that he had already allotted most of the money for specialists. “I will attempt this route first,” he said stiffly. He pretended not to notice the relief in the room. “Very well.” He reached out a hand to receive his plan.

He left with his head held high, knowing that he was the uncontested winner in that discussion. More fools they! The obvious had escaped them in their dotage.

Snitches was, after all, no ordinary cat. He had been summoned in a ritual meant to communicate with a ghost. Perhaps he was a ghost himself, given his intangibility and near-human intelligence. The obvious first step was a consultation with one of the magicians who would accept bribery. Father disdained them, but he had, indeed, given Damian specific permission to accept help from non-Gotham vigilante associates.

Surely Justice League Dark could be counted among Robin’s associates.

#snitches the cat au #red snitches #dp x dc #dc x dp

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barcapix · 7 months ago

Note

heyyy!!

Could you write something about pau cubarsi x reader? Maybe pau pranking his mom/ aiste, asking if he could bring another girl over who isn’t reader!🫶🏼

✮ Mischief - Pau Cubarsí

pau cubarsi x fem!reader

sy: as you and your boyfriend recreate a tiktok trend.

a/n: if you ever see the ** i sometimes accidentally leave on the words.. no u dont.

warnings: nopppe.

you and your boyfriend had come across a recent trend: the clichè joke about pranking your mother about bringing another girl over.

as two minds think alike, you both were sprawled out on his bed, giving eachother small grins and laughs.

“right, so you know what to do,” he instructed, hovering over his moms contact. you nodded, leaving a small peck in his cheek.

pau swiftly clicked the green icon, in which his mom answered within a heartbeat.

“hola mamá,” pau started, tone highlighted with false innocence. his spanish accent thickened slightly when he got nervous.

“hola hijo, i haven’t heard from you in ages! ¿cómo estás?” (how are you?) she replied finely.

“i’m good, im good… but i wanted to ask you something actually.” he gulped, already stifling a laugh.

you were no better than him, pressing your sleeve over your mouth to mask out your snickers.

“i was wondering… would it be okay if i brought someone over when i come back home?”

“of course,” she responded, “you know you’re always welcome to bring friends home. who is he?”

pau bit his tongue to stay silent, whereas you were grinning ear to ear; biting on your nails.

“well,” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s um- this girl i’ve been seeing. she’s really great mamá, i think you’d love her.”

his head tilted back on the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut in attempt to not burst out laughing.

“¿una chica?” she repeated defensively. “who’s she? do you mean y/n?”

“no, no not y/n. i met her after the barbastro match, she’s a huge fan.”

an awkward silence followed. you could feel the tension building on the other end of the line, almost like watching a car crash slowly unfold.

“a fan?” she scoffed as you could practically hear her roll her eyes. “what nonsense are you telling me now?!”

her tone had shifted, the warmth from earlier quickly evaporating, replaced with a thin line between anger and denial. “you’re joking, right?” she added, as if hoping he would say yes.

“mamá calm down, she’s really funny an-”

“no pau! i don’t wanna hear it! wait till you come home,” she exclaimed furiously, as her steps trailed off somewhere on the line.

a few background murmurs came into earshot, one that you could recognise as irene, pau’s sister.

“have you heard about this?” his mom hissed, trying to keep it on low. “what nonsense your brother is telling me?”

“¿que no?” the girl inquired, confused.

“well! apparently he’s wants to introduce this girl to us next weekend when he’s back… which is not y-”

“hermano?!” irene squeaked, the shrill noise ringing in your ear. the phone had seemingly been taken from his mother, now to her own control.

“don’t even bother coming back! what do you mean it’s not y/n?! does she know about this?”

pau subtly cleared his throat, glancing back at you with a smirk. he held the phone further from his chest as if the next part might be just too much to handle.

“no, no.. she doesn’t. she doesn’t need to know.”

pau’s mom’s voice returned, but it had shifted into full-on disbelief. “you’re not serious right now, are you?” she demanded, her tone growing sharper. “she can’t not know! y/n’s been around forever!”

the reality of her words sunk in, making your chest full of adoration as she expressed how much she really cherished you. “but either way im not letting you in my house with some random girl.”

you and pau exchanged looks, trying to suppress your laughter as the situation spiraled.

“trust me mamá, she’s really cool. she loves cooking as much as you do! i figured you guys could bond over it and you’ll realise how fun she is.”

“no! no way!” she declined it already. “do you really think i’m just gonna accept that? are you out of your mind?”

“well.. no of course not. but really, she’s-”

“i don’t wanna hear it pau!” she cuts him off again, and you can’t help but smother your face with a cushion to drown out your laughs.

“this is ridiculous son, what do you want me to do—pretend this is normal? you can’t seriously believe i’d let another random girl into our family when y/n is part of it!” she continues, almost threateningly.

“if i ever catch you with her, i promise you i’ll-”

“mamá, it’s a joke!" pau’s resolve cracked, his voice rushing to clarify. “it’s just a prank! there is no other girl. i swear, it’s just a joke between me and y/n!”

“a joke?” she questioned, voice dripping with incredulity.

“sí! it’s just a joke!” he repeated urgently. “y/n knows about it. we were messing around. she’s right next to me.”

you stepped in at this point, taking the phone from pau’s hand with a smile. “ms cubarsí?”

his mom paused, her voice softened, though you could hear the lingering edge. “y/n? is that really you?”

“yeah it’s really me ms,” you responded almost cheerily, wiping the tears from your eyes.

the other side fell silent, her sigh of relief so heavy that it managed to echo from the line. “¡dios mío!”

“you two! i can’t believe you both right now,” she grumbled wearily. on the other hand, you were both still trying to contain the your remaining giggles.

pau leaned in closer to the phone, “we’re sorry mamí, we couldn’t resist.”

“you almost have her a heart attack pau,” irene chimed in with a playful edge to her voice, “i was about to start packing your things!”

“you’d give up on me that easy? tough crowd.” he quipped, pushing the phone a little further out. “they may just like you more than me.”

you click your tongue with a smile, as you hear his mom pipe up once again. she came back with a lighter tone, albeit still sharp enough to keep him tense. “do you know how close i was on calling your father? in fact, i still could.”

pau’s eyes widened, panic flashing over his features. “mamí no please don’t—”

irene piped up again, giggling. “honestly, y/n, i thought mamí was going to ground me for a second.”

pau shook his head, ushering one last final laugh.

you nudged him with your elbow, shooting him a grin. “you should of seen your face. ‘mamí no please don’t…’ you mimicked.

“ey, i was saving us both.” he protested, pulling you into his side.

his mom sighed again, the sound of creaking doors and shuffling footsteps filtering through the line. “ineed to lie down now, calm my heart-rate," she muttered, half in jest.

you smiled into the phone, feeling the warmth and relief radiate from her words. “we’re really sorry," you offered sweetly.

“i’ll forgive you both… eventually,” she replied, a smile evident in her tone. “but next time, think twice before pulling such stunts!"

with that, she hung up, leaving you and pau to collapse into each other, the remnants of laughter filling the room.

“you’re lucky she loves you," pau whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“and you," you teased back, “are lucky you have me to help bail you out.”

you subconsciously curled into his side, keeping your head propped up by his shoulder as his arm tightened around you, “im always lucky to have you.”

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mytherapyisreading14 · 5 months ago

Note

I really love your fics and I was wondering if I could request something angsty where Spencer gets hurt/endangers himself during a case and the reader (who has been in love with him for a long time🤭) is scared and wants to run over to help him and they have to hold her back (kinda like the situation with JJ and Will in season 7). Then on the way to the hospital she never leaves his side and when he wakes up she confesses her love to him because she's is afraid of losing him without telling him😭

if you don't want to write it that's totally okay!! have a nice day💕

In the Face of Death

Summary: Spencer gets shot and you don't know if he'll survive. In that moment it becomes clear to you that it's time to finally confess your feelings to him.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst, some Fluff

Warnings: violence, gunshots, gunshot wounds, mentions of murder

Word Count: 3,4k

Author’s Note: I reached over 200 Followers yesterday, I can’t believe it! Thank you so much for reading my work and following my blog, this means a lot to me <3 And thank you for your Request, I hope you like it :)

The sound of rain pounding against the windows is the only thing that fills the room in the abandoned warehouse. You stand at a large table with a map of the building spread out on it. The UnSub barricaded himself in one of the back rooms of the building.

"It's a trap," you say, your voice determined, almost tense. "We know he’s just trying to lure us into it, to lure Spencer in." Spencer shot the UnSubs partner in self-defense during the previous confrontation with them. Unfortunately, the situation has gotten even further out of control and now he wants revenge.

Spencer, still studying the map on the table, looks up and raises an eyebrow. "We have no choice. If we keep waiting, he might strike again. If we let him take control, he'll hurt more people. I'm going to face him.”

You shake your head and step closer. "You can't just go in! There's no guarantee you'll get out alive!" Spencer looks up to you and smiles, but there is no joy in his smile. "Someone has to do it. You know that otherwise the situation will escalate further.”

You look at him in disbelief. "This is crazy! You are his target! You won't be able to do it alone! Please... Please don't do this!" The rest of the team exchanges a look, sensing the tension between the two of you.

Rossi clears his throat and steps forward. "We know it's risky, but we all believe Spencer is the only one who can do this. We need to get the situation under control now, he has to go back in," he says. "What? No!" You turn to Rossi, your eyes wide. "He could die!"

Spencer stands up and takes a step closer to you. "I understand that you are worried. But you know that I don't make this decision lightly. We have a plan,” he says, trying to calm you down. "You... you can't do this. You can’t put yourself in danger out there when I can't even prevent it," you say worriedly. "It's not about me. It's about preventing more people from getting hurt in the future," Spencer says.

The team standing nearby starts to gather. Hotch sees you starting to panic and steps in. "Listen. We all know what's at stake. But Spencer is right. If anyone can take the risk, it's him. We have to trust him. We'll do everything we can to support him," Hotch says in a serious voice, "but there's no other way. We have to act before he hurts more people."

You're close to going crazy now. Spencer notices and walks towards you, pausing for a moment. "You know I can't just stand by and watch this man continue to destroy. I have to do this, not just for myself, but for everyone. And I can only do it if you trust me,” he says.

You look at him, your eyes full of pain and fear. "I trust you, but I don't trust them. If you're out there in danger...I can't do this. I can't just stand by and watch you..." you start again but Hotch interrupts you. “He has to go. Now," he says with a firm look. "You have to trust us. He knows what he's doing. But you are not able to help the team and him if you are in this state."

Spencer gives you one more look before he walks towards the warehouse and you can no longer hold back. You try to follow him but Derek and Emily hold you back. You try to pull yourself away from their grip, your anger and desperation growing stronger. "Let me go! He can't get in there alone! Spencer, don't do that!" You try unsuccessfully to break free from their grip to stop him.

But he leaves without responding to your desperate calls. Derek and Emily continue to hold you back while you sink into complete panic. "Spencer, please... please come back!" Your heart skips a beat as you see him disappear into the darkness. “I can't lose him…” you mutter as you are held tightly in the arms of the other team members who try to calm you down.

The minutes drag on like hours. You stand near the door, your eyes constantly focused on the spot where Spencer just disappeared. You try to stay calm, but time seems to drag on forever.

Your heart beats faster, and you can feel the thumping beats in your throat. The silence in the room is oppressive, except for the occasional rustle of the radios and the sound of the rain hitting the window.

Every moment you stand here waiting feels like it stretches on forever. Why did he put himself in such danger? You try to organize your thoughts, but they are racing. He has to come back. He can't just disappear or worse, die. Why have you never told him how much he means to you?

The thoughts keep coming back into your head, even though you try to push them away. You've often made up your mind to confess your feelings to him. But you kept holding back, afraid that it would destroy the friendship between you.

But now, not knowing if you'll ever see him again, you suddenly realize how much he means to you. What if he doesn't come back? What if you lose him and never had the chance to tell him how you feel about him?

You shake your head, trying to suppress the panic. But it won't go away. You bite your lip, feeling the tears burning in your eyes. Why couldn't you just be honest with him? A sudden gunshot breaks the silence, then another. Your hand flies to your mouth and your heart skips a beat. Panic shoots through your body. What happened? Is he in danger?

"Those are gunshots!" someone on the team shouts, and you immediately jump into action. Your body moves almost automatically, you run down the corridor, feet stamping on the floor, blood rushing in your ears. You reach the room where Spencer was with the UnSub. The sight that greets you makes the ground fall from under your feet.

Spencer is lying motionless on the floor, blood is everywhere. Your eyes widen and for a moment your breath catches. Your legs are paralyzed, but then you jump forward, stumble over and bend over him. "Spence!" Your voice is shaky as you lift him, but he is heavy, much heavier than you expected. "What happened?"

"It's... it's all…," he murmurs weakly, but you barely hear what he says. A faint smile crosses his face, but you immediately see how painful it is for him. "I'm still here,” he says. “You're bleeding!" Your voice almost breaks when you see his wound.

The panic you've suppressed for so long now breaks through with full force. You press your hand to his side, trying to stop the blood, but it keeps flowing. "Why did you go in? You shouldn't have just walked into the trap like that!"

"I wanted to end it," he says, and the smile on his face only gets weaker. "For us." You hear his words, but they barely reach you. You only feel the cold spreading through your body, the panic that is getting stronger and stronger. "Spence, please stay with me. You have to stay with me!"

"It's going to be okay," he whispers in a voice that's barely more than a breath. You press your hand tighter against his wound, your eyes filling with tears. Your mind is spinning and you're trying to hold it all together. You're desperate, but you can't find the words to express what you're feeling right now.

"Spence, you have to hold on. I need you! Please..." Your voice trembles. You want to tell him what you feel, but you can't. It just feels too late, and you're too afraid of hurting him further. "We need a medic immediately!" you call out to the others. "He's bleeding too much, he needs help, quickly!"

Spencer nods weakly, but you see that he's getting weaker and weaker. The panic rises inside you, and you feel your breath take away. "Spence, please... you have to stay with me."

The others just got the UnSub under control and are taking care of him. But you can't concentrate on anything else but Spencer. Your thoughts are only with him, with the blood spreading beneath him, with the fear that you might lose him.

"Medic, now!" Derek calls, and a little later you hear the roar of the ambulance pulling up. You stay by Spencer's side, your hand in his, begging him with every breath. "Please, stay with me. I need you, I need you here."

When the paramedics finally arrive, you are pushed away from his side. You see them carefully place him on a stretcher, but you can't stop yourself from following. Spencer is rushed to the hospital, and you know he needs surgery quickly.

As you stay behind, alone with the fear and hope that he will make it, your thoughts continue to revolve around the words you never said to him. What if it's too late?

You sit on one of the hard plastic chairs in the hospital corridor, the walls around you appear grey and oppressive, and time drags. Your hands are still shaking slightly as you nervously run your fingers along the armrest of the chair.

The hospital corridor is full of life, but you can hardly notice anything, you are so caught up in your own thoughts. The operation that Spencer is currently having is all you can think about. You try to stay calm, but the waiting is driving you crazy.

You keep getting up from your chair and walking a few steps back and forth, then you sit down again. Every thought of Spencer, of the blood you saw, of the wounds he suffered, only makes your nerves tense up more. What if he doesn't survive? What if he never goes back to being the same?

Suddenly the hallway is quiet again as everyone slowly moves back to give you some space. You can't take it anymore. You have to go outside, have to step out into the cold evening for a moment to clear your head. You go to the door and push it open, the cool air immediately hits your heated skin.

You close your eyes for a moment, take a deep breath and try to calm yourself down. “Hey." You turn around, startled. Derek is standing behind you. You try to give him a smile, but it feels forced and wrong. "What are you doing here?" you ask quietly, not really knowing what to say.

"I knew you were out here," he says with a look that is both worried and reassuring. "Don’t worry too much, please. Spencer will make it. He's a fighter." You try to memorize his words, but the doubt remains.

What if he doesn't make it? "I know, but..." you begin, but you can't finish the sentence. Derek looks at you in silence for a while, then sighs and leans against the wall. "Do you want to wait any longer or...?"

You pretend not to understand what he means and look away. "What do you mean?" He snorts briefly, then takes a step closer. "Oh come on, don't act like it's not obvious, we all noticed. You and pretty boy, you're both head over heels in love." You feel your heart skip a beat. Your eyes widen and you try to swallow the lump in your throat.

You turn away, looking at the ground because you just don't know how to react. "I... don't know what you mean," you mutter, even though you know there's no excuse left. "Come on. You don't have to hide this from us anymore. We've all seen how you treat each other."

You know there is no point in denying it. Derek knows you and Spencer too well. You blink, and suddenly tears run down your cheeks. “But what if he doesn’t make it now? What if I lose him and never get to tell him how I feel? What if he never finds out?"

Your voice almost breaks as the words burst out. You've never really talked about it, never found the right moments. And now that it's almost too late, you're painfully aware that you may never get the chance.

Derek sighs and puts a hand on your shoulder to give you a moment of calm. "He'll make it, you'll see. And when he comes back, he'll know how much you love him, even without words. You're simply meant for each other."

You take a deep breath, trying to internalize his words, even if you can't quite believe them yet. But you nod, grateful that he's there, giving you this moment of peace. You snort slightly, trying to hold back the tears.

"Thank you, Derek," you whisper, and then, after a moment, you turn back towards the infirmary. You're not sure if you're really ready to accept the truth, but for now it's enough that Spencer is still alive.

You enter the hallway again, and as you pass one of the doctors, you see him coming towards you with a serious but also relieved look. Your heart beats faster. "He got through the operation well," the doctor says in a reassuring voice. "He'll have to stay here for a few more days for observation, but everything looks good."

"Can I see him?" you ask immediately, your voice shaking a little. You can hardly believe that he made it, that he is still alive. "Yes, of course," the doctor says and nods. "He's sleeping now, but if you want you can stay with him."

Your heart skips a beat. He's alive. You feel a wave of relief wash over you, but at the same time you feel like you need the moment alone. You want to be with him, to be there for him. You walk to his room as fast as you can, Derek stays behind you and follows you.

As you sit by his bed, holding his hand in yours and whispering something quietly to him, you know you can't give up. You will wait until he wakes up. You will be there. It's the only moment you can have with him, and you won't waste it. The hours drag on, and you stay by his side all night, waiting for him to finally open his eyes.

It is early in the morning and the sky outside is with grey. There is a strange silence, only interrupted by the quiet sounds of the machines and the quiet hum of the ventilation system. You sit by Spencer's bed, your hand still firmly in his.

The hours of the night have passed, but you have not taken your hand off him for a moment. You are exhausted, but the feeling of fear and relief worsens into a constant trembling inside you. You have been asking yourself over and over for the last few hours how you would react when he wakes up. And now the time has come.

Suddenly you hear a quiet rustling. A barely audible but noticeable sound. Your eyes are fixed on his face as he slowly opens his eyes. It takes a moment for him to really grasp that he is no longer in danger. You see him slowly looking at you. The look in his eyes is confused at first, then clearer.

Then he says your name. His voice is rough and quiet. You are so glad he is still here, that he has held on. "Yes, Spence... I am here. You are in the hospital," you whisper and carefully sit down on the chair next to him. Your hands shake as you hold his hand even tighter.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice still weak, but he seems to be gradually clearing up. "You were shot. Badly. But the doctors operated on you and you made it through," you say, trying to sound calm, but your voice is shaking. "You're really lucky, Spence. You made it."

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he's thinking everything through again, and then he opens them again. You can see that he's trying to understand your words. But then, when his gaze returns to you, he looks worried. "How are you? You've been crying, I can see it. You're fine, right?"

You can feel the warmth in his voice. You hold his hand even tighter, as if you were holding on to him, as if he could hold you in that moment. You swallow hard and can't help but hold back the tears. "Yes..." you whisper. "Yes, Spence. I... I was so scared. That you wouldn't make it. That I would lose you without telling you what you really mean to me."

He looks at you, and although he is still weak, his eyes seem to narrow as he examines you. "You have to stop worrying so much. I'm okay. I'm fine, really. You don't need to torture yourself like this."

But you can't. You just can't stop. It feels like all your fears and hours of uncertainty are crashing down inside you in this moment. You have to tell him everything, you can't wait any longer.

"No," you say firmly, letting all your insecurity and fear flow into your words. "I can't, Spence. I can never stop worrying about you. You mean too much to me. You... you are everything to me."

It's almost as if the world around you stands still for a moment. You can feel his hand in yours, but the moment is so charged that you can almost feel the air. You look into his eyes, and something changes inside you. You can't wait any longer. Not anymore.

"I love you," you whisper, and the words come so easily and yet so heavily over your lips. You feel your heart beating faster as you finally say it. "I love you, and I could never have forgiven myself if... if you had died yesterday without knowing how I really feel."

The tears run down your cheeks, but this time they are different. It is no longer fear, no longer despair, but a relief that you have never felt before. You have finally told him your feelings, and even though you have not dared to for so long, it feels right now.

Spencer stares at you for a moment, as if he's still trying to understand what you've said. Then he gently pulls you towards him. With a slow movement, he squeezes your hand and then murmurs softly, almost tenderly. "You don't have to worry. I… I love you too."

It's like a light goes on inside you. You can hardly believe that he feels it too, that he loves you as much as you love him. In that moment, you finally feel complete, like everything makes sense. You smile through the tears, your hands still tightly in his.

"Really?" you whisper, as if you're still looking for confirmation, even though you see the answer in his eyes. "Yes, really," he says with a weak but sincere smile that warms your heart.

There is silence between you for a moment. You feel yourself relax a little as the words resonate inside you, as you are finally in the arms of someone who loves you just as much. "You know," Spencer says after a pause, looking at you, "the first thing we're doing when I get out of here is going on a date."

You can't help but laugh, even though it still sounds a little shaky. "A date?" you ask, shaking your head, even though you know he's serious. "Yes," he says with a small smile on his lips even despite his tiredness. "We should have done that a long time ago. But it looks like we were both idiots, so when I get out of here, I’ll take you out. Just you and me."

"That sounds perfect," you whisper, still overwhelmed by everything that's happened, but still happy to have him here, with you. He pulls you towards him gently, as if he wanted to hold on to the moment that was like an eternity for both of you. And even though he is still weak, you know that it is the beginning of something new. Something wonderful. Together.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid comfort

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satorusugurugurl · 1 year ago

Note

If this request makes you uncomfortable or isn’t something you want to write, I apologize and please ignore my request!

Heyy! I was wondering if I could request a satoru x reader x Suguru smut? With like, some bdsm mixed in yk. Tying reader up, satoru is a tease, and likes to make her squirm and ask questions he know she can’t answer because Suguru is fucking her throat. But Suguru is mean. Mean and tougher than satoru. He tells satoru to stop being so gentle with you, that not only do you deserve rough treatment but you like it. And satoru listens to him, of course. I just want them to run through me like a train😞

Also same mean geto anon (again lol) I’m gonna just sign off w an emoji now :3 -🍭

Hi Anon!

This isn't my cup of tea, it's my FUCKING jam!!

Summary: Gojo and Geto had been on a two-week-long mission, which hadn't gone as smoothly as Suguru wanted. He was pent-up and frustrated. So, of course, Gojo called you to warn you it might not be a good idea to come over. You, of course, did not heed his warning. The second you get home, you realize that you were screwed.

Word Count: 3,706

Warnings: BDSM, rough sex, oral sex, so much sex, degradation, teasing, the smuttiest of smut

A/N: Good God, Satoru x Reader x Suguru is my weakness!! I put my whole heart into this. Geto Suguru, teacher AU, is my kryptonite!

Part Two

She Likes it Like That

“Y/N babe,” Gojo said in a hushed whisper, “you probably shouldn't come home tonight.”

You cocked an eyebrow, looking away from the first year's training. “I'm sorry, did you just tell me not to come home. . .to our apartment?” The world ‘our’ came out like acid.

Gojo sighed overdramatically. “Don't say it like that. I'm trying to save you! Suguru is in such a bad mood.” You listened to him walking around. “I sighed out loud when I noticed the last of my mochi was gone. Fuck you for that, by the way, and do you know what he said to me?” You pinched at the bridge of your nose, waiting for the rant to continue. “He told me to shut the fuck up! For sighing!”

“What did you do to piss him off? Oh, and just an FYI, I bought you more mochi, asshole.”

“Oh—” silence, “thank you-I’m sorry, please don't return it.”

“Satoru! Forget about the mochi. What happened to Sugu?”

The mission your partners were sent on did not go as planned. Their hotel had flooded; it was not like they had time to consider sleeping. The higher-ups sent them to an abandoned mountainside village full of cursed spirits. Poor Suguru had to swallow dozens for nearly two weeks. Gojo had enough; he couldn't stand the pained expression on his face as he gagged the last spirit down. So he decided to Hollow-Purpled the entire village.

The second they got back, the higher-ups scolded the hell out of them. Chastising them, complaining that they didn't do a good enough job. After all their hard work, the time they spent away from home, from you. Those bastards dared to complain about their hard work. It sent Suguru into a terrible mood, one that was bound to end with either a fight or someone getting fucked into the mattress.

One thing about Suguru was that when he was pissy, things felt out of his control. He needed to take control back. Which meant he wanted to have sex. He would be rough, really rough, tying either you or Satoru up, not letting you go until he had calmed down. Or if one of you was fucked too stupid to continue, his eyes focused on the other that wasn't tied up.

“So please, just stay with Ieiri tonight. I'm going to lock myself in my room. Last time he was this pissed off, the both of us were so sore we couldn't move.”

“Ugh, fuckin’ whatever.” This whole situation wasn't fair. You hated how your boyfriends were mistreated.

“Yeah, just stay the—oh, hi Suguru.” There was a shuffling in the background. “No, I wasn't talking shit.” Satoru nervously laughed. “Look, Sugu—no, put down the rope—”

“Toru?” Panic for your boyfriend sank into your stomach.

“Hey! Wait a second—Sugu—”

Before any other indication of what was happening came through the receiver, the other line cut off. So you quickly yelled to the students you had to leave and took off. By the time you made it, you were breathless from running and realized that in your panic, you left your keys at work.

You picked up the spare key hidden under the doormat. Just as you were about to unlock the door, it flew open. You slowly blinked, looking up at a very irritated Suguru. The man radiated gloom and tension. He was in his sweatpants, and his hair was tied in a messy bun, and, dear God, he looked pent up.

“Why the fuck are you using the spare key?”

“I-I uh—”

“Ooooh~ there she is~!” a hand gently rested against Suguru’s shoulder as Satoru peered down at you from behind your dark-haired boyfriend. “There's our girl!”

It only took a moment to see that Satoru mirrored Suguru’s frustration and anger. Oh fuck. The key fell from your hand as you took a step back. Suguru was demanding and rough when he was pent up. Satoru, on the other hand, was a tease. He liked pushing you, making you cry. Both of them being in a pissy mood simultaneously, this was a nightmare for you.

“Y-You, I thought you were in trouble!”

“Oh yeah, no.” Suguru’s soured face slowly twisted into a smirk as Satoru licked his lip. “But you~?” Suguru’s hand darted out, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, preventing you from moving further back. “You're royally fucked.” Before you even had a chance to respond, Suguru and Satoru grabbed you, yanking you inside.

“Awe~” Satoru hummed as he trailed his kiss up the bare thighs he lay between. “Look at you~ trying to clamp your thighs shut.” Gojo’s fingers were buried deep inside of you. Finger fucking you to the edge of yet another orgasm he would deny. “But you can't, can you~? Suguru’s got you all tied to the bed, spread out for us to use you.” A muffled moan escaped you. “Huh? What was that princess? You gotta use your big girl words.” Satoru tilted his head, cupping his free hand around the back of his ear. “Oooh! That's right, you can't talk when getting your throat fucked.”

You gagged as Suguru's cock hit the back of your throat. He was quiet, his eyes shut in concentration. He looked so fucking hot, so focused on the feeling of your mouth. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he pulled in and out of your mouth, grunting softly as you hollowed your cheeks. But the more Satoru spoke, the more Suguru knitted his eyebrows.

“I bet you want me to stuff your pussy, too, don't you~? You want to be spit-roasted between your two boyfriends?” Your pussy twitched at his words. “Oooh~!! Your cunt just twitched. Is that what our sweet girl wants—”

“Satoru,” Suguru snarled, “shut the fuck up.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me. Y/N likes it when I tease her.”

Suguru tsked, pulling his thick cock out of your mouth. You gasped and coughed, spit and precum coating your chin. Between your pants and the gasps for air, Suguru went to what you thought would be a head pat. Instead, his fingers tangled in your air with a hard yank, pulling you up to look down at Satoru. His face was flushed, cerulean eyes wide as he looked between his two partners.

“Look at the fucking slutty face she's making.” The grip on your hair tightened. “You think she looks like this because of your pitiful teasing?” A shaky moan escaped you as he tightened his grip harder. “No, she looks like this because this little slut likes it rough.”

Fuck, you wanted more, to run your hands over Suguru’s arms, to grip his cock, urging him to keep fucking your throat. You were desperate to trap Satoru's head firmly between your thighs, forcing him to kiss and lick your clit. Instead, you weakly tugged at the purple restraints tied to both your wrists and ankles. Suguru had set up the rigging underneath the mattress, making it impossible for you to move. Meaning if you wanted his cock back in your mouth or Satoru’s tongue inside of you, you had to wait for them.

What made it more frustrating was the fact that you were completely bare. Not allowing you to hide the way your body reacted to Suguru’s dirty words. He was telling the truth. And the truth was behind your body's reactions. Gojo could see it in the way your tight entrance clenched around his fingers. He could feel your pussy drip around him, your wetness running down his knuckles. Suguru was right; you did like it; no, like wasn't the right word.

You fucking loved it.

Suguru could see the wheels turning in Satoru’s head as his eyes glittered with lust and excitement. “Satoru~ do you finally see it?~” The way Suguru purred his name had Satoru’s cock throbbing. “You see why she came home, even though she knew she’d get fucked?”

“Yeah, yeah, she's a fucking slut.”

“Yeah, she is.” A sharp tug on your head made you yelp. Suguru grinned, cocking an eyebrow at you. “You want it rough? Want me to fuck your throat so hard you cry, pretty girl?”

“Y-Yes, please.”

Gripping his cock at the base, Suguru slapped his thick meat against your cheek. “That's a good girl. Now open up.” slowly, you opened your mouth to him. Watching your tongue slip out had his tip angry, throbbing red. “Now,” he smeared the beading precum over your bottom lip, “say ah~.”

“Ahh~” The second that sound left your pretty mouth Suguru shoved his cock in your mouth. Your eyes stung as tears filled your eyes.

Satoru’s fingers had stopped their slow movements inside of you. His mouth was dry as he gulped. Suguru had been rough before, but this was a whole new level. His thick fingers wrapped around your Y/H/C hair, holding your head in place. His hips pull back before slamming forward, his ass clenching with the force of each thrust. Blue eyes slowly trailed over to your face. Your eyes were red, big tears slowly down your cheeks, and your throat was fucked. Satoru swore he could see Suguru’s tip bulging in your slender neck.

This was fucking hot. Suguru’s bare back glittered in the low light of the bedroom, a sheen of sweat beaded over his toned muscles. It was like watching a god fuck a mortal Suguru radiated a dominating power as he watched their girlfriend choke and gag on his cock. Satoru’s cock was so hard it fucking hurt. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around his throbbing shaft, jerking it slowly as he leaned down, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs.

The gentle kisses had you sighing contently around Suguru’s cock. Looking over his shoulder, Suguru sighed as he watched Satoru. His pink tongue was stuck out, gently teasing your damp folds. The sensation had you sighing around his dick, and that was not what he needed right this fucking second. Suguru wanted more; he needed it to relieve the tension in his shoulder. But that relief, the release he needed, wouldn’t happen, with Satoru teasing you like he loved to do.

“Satoru,” Suguru's voice was rough, “I just told you Y/N likes it rough.”

“Uh-huh~” Satoru’s voice was muffled as his face buried in your pussy, making you whine around the cock buried in your mouth.

“You’re not being rough enough.” Satoru pulled back, making you whine in protest. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want to come down here and eat Y/N’s pussy while I get my dick sucked?”

“No.” The cocky smile that was beginning to form on Satoru’s face was suddenly gone as Suguru reached his free hand down, wrapping his fingers in soft white hair. “I want you to fucking eat her cunt out like you fucking hate her.” Your eyes rolled back as Satoru was slammed back down into your pussy. The moan that left his mouth vibrated just right against our clit, making you cry out. “Ah~ fuck yes.” Your cries vibrated around Suguru’s cock, just the way he wanted. “That’s it, Satoru, keep it up.”

“Mmmmph.” Finally, having a picture of how Suguru wanted him to act, Satoru found himself motivated. Again, it might be because his boyfriend was tugging and pulling at his sensitive hairline. Yeah, that was motivating him. Fuck you like he hated you, he could do that. He was just as pent-up as Suguru was.

Fingers slammed inside your pussy, fucking in and out of your tight hole with a force and speed that had you crying out in pleasure. Your moans felt so fucking good, and the more you opened your mouth to cry, the deeper Suguru fucked your throat. He hit the back over and over again, his hand pressing firmly against Satoru’s head, pushing him harder against your clit. The two of you moaned while your mouths were being used; the sounds of whimpers, squelches, and gagging were like a symphony to Suguru’s ears.

Out of all the ways for him to relieve his stress, this was by far his favorite.

“Hah—fuck keep that up, Satoru, bring her right to the edge, then stop. I want her cumming with both of us inside of her. Fucking her so rough she has to call out of work tomorrow and Friday.” The thought of that had you pulling on your restraints. “Oooh oh, you like that? You like knowing the two of us will make sure you can’t walk or talk tomorrow?” Your muffled moans were quickly molded into gags as Suguru roughly fucked your face. “Yeah, you fucking do, you nasty little slut.”

Your mind was spinning as you felt yourself climbing closer and closer to your orgasm. The room was so hot and reeked of sex. It was all you could do not to allow yourself to cum right then and there. Satoru could feel it, the way your little swollen clit throbbed against his tongue, how your walls clamped down on his fingers. He wanted to send you over the edge. He was close to following you as he fucked his hips helplessly into the mattress, wishing it was your wet pussy instead.

One orgasm wouldn’t hurt, would it? You had been so good to them, allowing the duo to drag you into the house, strip you in the entryway, and tie you to the bed. Plus, on top of all that, they had left you alone for two weeks. You had to rely on that stupid vibrator Suguru insisted on allowing you to keep. That stupid toy was nothing compared to his tongue. Which was probably why he was bringing you to a mind-blowing orgasm in under three minutes.

Yeah, he was going to let you cum.

Curling his fingers up into your g-spot, Satoru fucked you as fast as his wrist would allow. Suguru instantly knew what was happening. From the way your eyes shut to how loud you were moaning around him, you were seconds away from cumming. If he was in a better mood, he might have allowed it to happen. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Stop.” Suguru scolded, pulling Satoru away from your dripping sex.

Both you and Satoru made disapproving groans as your orgasm slowly faded out of sight. “Doesn’t she deserve a treat? She’s been so good!” Satoru whined, licking your juices off his lips.

“I agree. Y/N does deserve a reward. But you need to give it to her in the roughest way that you can.” Suguru pulled his cock out of your mouth, allowing you to catch your breath. “Look at it this way. We get to blow off the steam while we make up for making her play with herself for two weeks.”

“Huh?” Those words struck a different chord in Satoru, and his cock twitched.

“Y/N, sweetheart, how often would you say you played with yourself when we were gone.”

You swallowed at the air greedily. “I don’t know, seven, maybe eight times.” Both your boyfriends shuddered, hearing the hoarseness of your voice.

“And out of all of those times, did you cum as hard as you do with us.”

“Not at all. They were all baby orgasms.”

Suguru shut his eyes, nodding his head. “See, Satoru, not only does our little slut like us rough and demanding, but we have to make up for those eight little orgasms.” When the dark-haired man looked back at Satoru, he saw a flash of white before your scream of shock and please bounced off the walls.

Suguru’s eyes were slightly wide as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes had just witnessed. What he saw was Satoru balls deep inside of you. His thrusts were sloppy and needy, and fuck you looked as stunned as Suguru. One second you had been empty, pussy craving a cock deep inside of it from the denied orgasm. In the blink of an eye, Satoru was fucking into you more brutal than he’d ever fucked you before.

“I fucking told you, that toy was nothing compared to us.” Satoru snarled against the crook of your neck, digging his teeth into the sensitive skin. “Fucking stupid toy, not pleasing my girl.”

“Oh my—fuck, holy fuck!” You cried out, mouth wide open. Giving Suguru the perfect opportunity to get back to fucking your throat. The bittersweet taste of pre-cum had your mouth watering. He returned to the brutal pace he was in several minutes again.

“She needs that Satoru. What if we get sent on another long mission? She’s just supposed to suffer?” The thought of that had Suguru tilting his head, bangs falling in front of his eye. “You know what, I think you might be on to something. If we take her toy away, then we’d have to fuck her even harder the next time we get home.”

Satoru’s teeth sank harder into your neck as the tip of his cock slammed almost too hard into your cervix, making you scream around Suguru. “Exactly. Let me use reversal red on it, Y/N, please, baby.” You started to shake your head in a desperate plea to let you keep it. But Suguru’s cock in your throat made it impossible to do so. “What was that? Oh, right, you have your mouth full.” His lips moved against your pulse as his fingers dug into your hips. “Guess we’ll just have to say the way your clamping down on my cock is a yes in our book.” Your eyes darted up to Suguru, who had bought you the toy, for help.

“Mhmm fuck, yeah, I’m pretty sure she just hummed an ‘uh-huh’ around my cock.”

You wanted to argue, to fight against this rash decision, but you felt so good it was almost impossible to care. You were screaming around Suguru’s cock. Tears streaming down your face, leaving behind trails of mascara. They were both being so mean and rough. God, it was so fucking good. Who cared about a clit sucker when your throat and pussy were being fucked into next week.

“She’s close.” Satoru cried out, his balls slapping against your ass. “Oh fuck she’s hugging my cock so tight I’m going to explode Suguru.”

With blurry eyes, you glanced up at Suguru. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes shut tight. “I know, oh fuck I know, I’m so close, Satoru, don’t fuckin’ stop, make her cum, make her cum so hard.” Both his hands grabbed your face fucking your throat roughly as Satoru cried out, his hand pressing roughly on your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

That was all that you needed. You cried out, squirting all over Satoru’s crotch, abdomen, and the mattress. Your orgasm set a domino effect between your boyfriends. Suguru followed behind you, his body hunched over you, his hands gently squeezing your head as he filled your mouth full of his thick cum. You weakly tried swallowing all of it, but that was somewhat difficult as Satoru extended your orgasm.

His thumb continues to rub your clit until his face scrunch up, mouth open in a feral growl. Satoru's orgasm hit him like a punch in the gut. He fucked all three of you harder, closer to oblivion. The headboard slamming against the wall as the restraint dug into your wrists was the only thing grounding you to remain on Earth. Satoru didn’t let up on the rough thrusts until he felt his cum dripping around his cock onto the bed.

The throbbing pain in the back of your throat, deep inside of your pussy was all the confirmation you needed that your boyfriends had fulfilled their promise. Never in your life had you been fucked so roughly. But it was a pain that you warmly welcomed.

After coming down, Suguru was the first to move gently. The rough hands that had been holding you in a vice gently held you as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth. “Lay down.” His gruff, gentle voice whispered as he helped rest you against a pillow.

“Oh fuck—“ Satoru lifted his head off your shoulder, “I haven’t cum that hard in a while.” He was so slow, pulling out of you, grimacing as you cried out. ��Sorry, fuck I’m sorry, baby.”

You shut your eyes, listening to Satoru getting out of bed. You could hear water running in the bathroom as gentle fingers began undoing your restraints. “You did such a good job, Y/N,” Suguru whispered. “Such a good girl for us.” His praise had you humming happily as he made quick work of the rest of the ropes.

“Suguru, let’s order in, yeah?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

The next half hour was a blur of warm happiness. Satoru helped wash your body in a bubble bath before Suguru joined you, kneeling next to the tub, lovingly stroking your face and hair. After you were cleaned up, your hair brushed, and pajamas on. You crawled into your bed with fresh sheets and relaxed. Satoru and Suguru fluffed your pillows and brought you a cup of tea for your raw throat. When your dinner arrived, the three of you sat in bed together to eat as a B-grade horror movie played on the television.

After eating, Satoru left to throw out the take-out containers. “Mmm, thank you for letting us do all that,” Suguru said as he crawled into bed after his shower. “That mission, it was rough.”

“I’m always happy to help.” Your voice cracked, making Suguru frown. “Stop frowning,” you flicked his forehead. “I like it rough.”

The bed dipped, and Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist. “Y/N can handle it. She is dating the two strongest, after all.” Both you and Suguru scoffed, relaxing in the growing silence. “Oh, by the way, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You yawned, snuggling into Suguru’s chest as he turned the bedside lamp off.

“Did you bring home my mochi?”

In the dark of the room, you heard a thump and Satoru’s whine before Suguru pulled the three of you closer to him. “Satoru shut the fuck up about the mochi.”

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