#he has to leave the house and go on a walk to calm down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinner-as-saint · 28 days ago

Text

stick to me, like caramel

Retired!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sergeant Barnes has retired, and moved as far away as possible from the superhero life. He’s still in touch with some of his friends, but he never asks them to visit. Nor does he ever leave the quaint, warm small town he’s found himself in, or the spacious home he has, nestled between mountains and dense pine woods. Bucky lives a quiet life, away from danger, guns and bullets, aliens and wizards, and all the other noises. He likes it here. It’s calm, nice, and quiet. Nothing stresses him out, nothing bothers him. Nothing, except a certain neighbour of his. She torments him, in the best ways. And Bucky’s not sure how long he can resist her.

Themes: age gap (I mean he’s a century old), smut, mild primal play, FLUFF, mild degrading kink, angst, soft!bucky, mild praise kink, HEA

Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking.

He chanted in his head as he walked down the almost empty road, the sun was gonna set soon and most people were all inside their cosy homes, the elder ones at least. The young people hung out mostly in parking lots, or they drove up the mountains. So, not many people about. Which was one of the many reasons he decided to spend his retirement here. The roads were always empty at this time, and Bucky liked silent, long walks during sunset hours.

It calmed him down. That was it. No other reason. Of course he didn’t go on walks at this specific time just so he would run into you. Of course he didn’t choose this specific road for his daily walks only because this was where your little bookstore was situated. And of course he didn’t pick this exact time to go on his walks only because he knows this is also the time when you close up your store and walk home – completely unbeknownst to the fact that Bucky frequently followed you from a distance, making sure you got home safe.

Okay, it sounded a little stalker-ish. But he didn’t mean any harm. Plus he lived right next to you. Granted there was a little uphill walk from your house to his, but still. He was bound to take the same path anyway.

He didn’t even know when exactly this little infatuation stemmed out of nowhere. Perhaps it happened on the very first day, when he woke up in the morning and stepped out on his balcony to take in the breathtaking view of the foggy woods, the rich veridian pine trees, the dark mountains, the rain clouds, when he suddenly spotted a bright red spot moving along the edge of the woods not far from his home. Bucky squinted and a few moments later realised he was staring at a young woman, wearing a red coat, who was frolicking about, picking flowers.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the mundane task. It was peaceful to watch, so he kept watching until he noticed the woman was making her way back. He watched as she got closer and closer, until she stopped, looked up right at him, and waved.

Bucky waved back awkwardly, only then realising that the woman he’d been spying on was his next door neighbour. That was the first time Bucky saw you. And ever since, you’d been basically living in his head.

His little crush on you only got worse when, by the end of his first week since moving there, you showed up at his door and brought him a basket filled with all sorts of baked goods, muffins and cookies, which smelled divine. Bucky accepted the basket a little clumsily because he was nervous, and made small talk but really, he was freaking out because you were even more beautiful up close.

“I’m your neighbour!” You announced, smiling up at him. Again, wearing that lovely red coat. Your hood was down this time though.

Bucky nodded, smiling sheepishly, “Yeah, I saw you the other day.”

You turned and pointed at one area not far from Bucky’s property, “The edible flowers I love grow around there, and I usually pick them in the morning.”

Edible flowers. He didn’t care what you were doing there. Picking flowers or worshipping at the altar of some ancient deity. All he cared about was that you were here talking to him. “I see.”

“I use them in my baking, my customers love them!”

Well he was thankful that his lack of social and communication skills hadn’t scared you off just yet. But also, customers? “Customers?” He questioned.

“I own the only bookstore in this little town.” You said proudly. “Not many readers though, I’m afraid.” You chuckled, “So I bribe them with muffins, cookies, and tea.” You explained, “Stop by sometime, I’d love to show you around!”

Bookstore. Muffins. Cookies. Tea. Pretty girl. Retirement wasn’t so bad afterall. “I’ll… I’ll make sure to visit soon.”

He never did.

But he did watch you from a distance ever since that day. It was weird at first, but then it became part of his normal. Knowing what time you were up and about upon noticing the smoke that came out of the chimney of your home – which was a beautiful, old, rustic, wood and stone house. He’d heard from one of the kind old men at the pub that the house belonged to your grandma before she passed. She left it to you in the will.

Other older folks at the pub told him more about you. How you had no family members around. Some estranged siblings but they were out of the picture, and who knows where in the world. Your parents were not in the picture either. Some even said that your late grandmother had left you all her money, which was why your entire family envied you and shunned you out basically.

His heart broke a little when he heard that. Sweet girl like you deserved nothing less than a loving family. But you had friends. He often saw you out and about, at stores, at the diner or restaurants for brunch, at coffee shops, at the florist, always surrounded by a group of giggling women.

Other details he found out on his own the more he spied on you. Like how you had your own little walled garden in your seemingly endless backyard, growing your own vegetables and herbs.

He knew what time you left to go open up your store each morning because he would always hear you yell in a cheery voice, ‘Bye, House!’ whenever you stepped out of your metal gates.

He knew that you often left out food for wild bunnies to come eat in your backyard. He knew exactly on which days of the week you went into the woods to get those edible flowers. He knew what time you got home, he knew all your favourite songs because you would play them often in your kitchen and his super soldier hearing would pick it up easily.

He knew so much about you, yet so little. He wanted to know more, but he was always so nervous to step into your bookstore and talk to you. Or, on the rare occasions when he found himself at the grocery store at the same time as you, he’d get out of there so fast it was almost funny.

He was well above a hundred years old, stronger than the average male on this planet, and yet his cute neighbour made him weaker than anything ever had. There was a time, lifetimes ago, when flirting with a pretty girl came naturally to him. But now… he was a different man. So he decided he’d only watch you from a distance. And yearn. And pine. And long for your attention.

He thought he’d spend the rest of his days being tormented by the sound, the sight, and the mere thoughts of you. Always watching from far away, never being brave enough to reach out.

But things changed that one day you reached out.

Bucky was in his backyard, building himself a new shelf. He needed one for his kitchen. All those years, he’d survived in empty, temporary houses and apartments. But now, this was much more permanent and he wanted it to feel like home. So he needed things. Lots of things. Like furniture. But he hated shopping for them. So since he was surrounded by a seemingly endless forest, containing lots of wood he could use, he decided to make himself useful and build his own stuff.

So far he’d built himself a couple of chairs, a coffee table, two bedside tables, and now he found himself in need of a nice shelf for his kitchen. So there he was, being a lumberjack for the day, when he heard his doorbell ringing.

Bucky knew immediately who it must be.

You.

He dropped his axe, and tried to get all the sawdust off him while he marched towards his front door. His heart only skipping a beat or two as he opened his door and found you standing on the other side of it, looking as cheerful as ever.

“Hello, neighbour.” You greeted him. Not wearing your pretty red coat this time he noticed.

“Hey,” He said, sounding more stoic than he intended.

You quickly explained why you were at his doorstep so late in the evening. Behind you, the sun was setting and it was getting rather dark. “The heater in my living room isn’t working well. I was wondering if you could come check it out for me.”

Bucky wasted no time in saying, “Sure.”

Then he followed you to your house.

He had always admired your house’s exterior. The slate grey stone, the wooden accents, the large windows and their bright flowers in the window boxes. The low hedge that wrapped around your property, the wrought iron double gates, it was all so… out of a fairytale looking. Compared to his well hidden log home that blended so well with the environment that often you wouldn’t notice it.

But as much as he liked the exterior, the interior of your home blew his mind. It was so… home-y. He could smell some sort of freshly baked goods. And it was heavenly. Everything inside your home was vintage looking. Every furniture, every trinket, every painting and sculpture that looked like they cost a fortune.

Then he realised, this was your grandmother’s home. Of course everything in it was old. So he tried to find bits and pieces of you everywhere he looked. And he did. New books on the bookshelf near the entrance that looked like it was older than he was. New vinyls hanging on the wall amongst the old ones. Fresh flowers in old vases in your foyer. And there might be so much more but he couldn’t exactly be a creep and stare for too long. So he followed you as you led him to your living room.

He would have admired your living room a little longer, but then even he could feel how much colder this room was compared to the rest of the house. So he got to work immediately, kneeling by the heater. He knew how to fix it, it was easy enough with his metal hand. But he also didn’t wanna be too quick.

“So,” He cleared his throat while pretending to be busy with the old-fashioned heater, “Old man down the street told me you had no family in this town.”

Yeah, real smooth Bucky. He cursed himself.

“Yup!” You answered, like he asked you about the weather instead.

Bucky looked up and found you sitting on your couch, legs crossed, like a spoiled little thing while he knelt on your floor fixing your heater for you. He wanted to know more, so he asked, “And is that by choice or…?”

You sighed, then told Bucky the truth. “I am the youngest. My siblings and I never got along when we were kids. I spent years thinking surely something will change when we get older, but no.” It was a little sad talking about it, but nothing you couldn’t handle. “Then mom and dad separated and they each went their own way. Last I heard my father was onto his third wife, and my mother was backpacking around the world with some of her friends. All my siblings left home one by one. Then when I left for uni I made the decision to never go back to that empty house.”

Bucky stopped pretending to work on the heater. He’d fixed it, so now he sat next to it, back against the wall as he watched you. He wanted to gather you in his arms and never let you go.

“I would’ve figured something out.” You said, with a determined smile. “I always wanted to move to a small town, maybe even a coastal one. But then as I was finishing up my final year, I got a phone call one day. It was my grandma, and she was sick and needed assistance.” Another soft smile, this one sadder. “It felt like a sign. And it was the right thing to do. So I moved here. And lost contact with my family, there was complete radio silence even after grandma passed.”

Bucky looked away for a moment, the thought of you going through all that alone was heartbreaking. But you were so brave.

You continued, “So yeah, I’ve been on my own ever since. And I love this place, these people.” You looked right at him and added, “And handy neighbours who fix my heater.”

Bucky smiled. “All fixed.” He grunted as he got up from the floor.

“Thank you!”

You walked Bucky to the front door, then just as he was about to step outside you called out, “Oh Bucky, wait! I almost forgot.”

Bucky watched how you ran back inside, towards your kitchen and then ran back towards him with a little basket.

“Here,” You handed him the basket filled with sweet smelling stuff. “I baked them this morning.”

Bucky peeked and found a bunch of chocolate chip cookies. He looked back at you and found you smiling at him. He smiled back then rolled his eyes as he stepped out of your home, groaning, “Gonna make me fat with all your sweet stuff.”

You giggled, leaning against your doorframe as Bucky stepped down the steps of your porch. “You can always work out more. You know, chop more wood in the mornings, or run by the lake more.”

Bucky stopped on the last step and turned to face you. His heart beating a little faster as the realization sunk in. “You stalk me.” He sounded like he was teasing you.

You smirked, “Don’t you? You think I don't know you follow me home almost everyday?”

“Alright, fine.” Bucky rolled his eyes again. “But you stalk me too.”

“You’re loud when you chop wood in the morning. It wakes me up early.” You argued, eyeing him up and down, shamelessly. Gods, he was a handsome man. Even more so with that tight long sleeved shirt and dark jeans.

“I see.” He mumbled. “You like the early morning view?” He caught himself asking before he could think about it twice. What? He knew he looked good. He wanted to know if you appreciated the view.

You gave him another sly smirk as you answered, “Very much.”

He smiled at you. Then nodded and said, “Good night, neighbour. Thanks for the goodies.”

“Good night, Bucky.”

—

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of light rain hitting your bedroom window, and the muffled repeated sound of an axe hitting wood. You smiled before you even opened your eyes. Waking up to the sound of rain was always delightful. But the sound of someone chopping wood had recently become your new favourite.

Bucky.

You pulled back the covers and quickly walked over to your bedroom window. You peeled back the curtains and found Bucky in his backyard.

Shirtless.

You froze.

The sight of him there, wearing nothing but his usual jeans and boots, axe in his hands, the metal arm glistening almost as much as his damp, muscular chest. Fuck. He looked divine. His longish hair was damp as well, a few strands falling over his face, and the muscles in his arm and back flexing each time he brought the axe down.

You were mesmerised by the sight of him there, with the dark woods as background. The light rain falling over him. And the blue of his eyes staring right at you–

You gasped and quickly shut the curtains again when you realised he’d looked up and caught you staring at him. Your face felt hot as you hid behind the heavy curtains. Your heart raced a little faster and you felt like a little kid who got caught doing something you shouldn’t. Shit.

Oh well. Whatever. He knew you watched him.

So you peeled the curtains back again and found him smirking at you. He lifted his right hand, waving at you like any good neighbour would. You smiled and waved back, then forced yourself to look away from his gorgeous face and body, and get away from the window to get ready for your day ahead.

That image of him chopping wood in the rain didn’t leave your head the entire morning.

—

Bucky didn’t know what exactly made him do it. Maybe it was the interaction you two had had that morning. The heat in your eyes as you watched him, the way your lips parted just so slightly, and he was certain he could see how you were breathing heavily just looking at him.

He’d been smiling to himself all morning when he thought about that brief interaction. The way you hid when he caught you was… cute. But you went away so quickly. He wanted to see you again, he wanted more.

So perhaps that’s why he finally found himself walking into your cosy little bookstore. It was exactly what he was expecting it to be. Dark interior with dimmed lights. Spacious middle area with little reading nooks scattered all over the place. Dark, velvet couches and bright pillows. A tea and a coffee station right next to each other by the large window, and baskets filled with baked goods. Muffins and cookies. He could smell whatever fancy candles you must have burning somewhere.

“Bucky!”

He turned around and found you smiling at him, a tiny book in your hand. He smiled back, and decided you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his long life. Dressed in a simple black dress and dark red cardigan, you looked… even more delicious than all the things you baked. He was thankful there was no one in the store to witness how he checked you out shamelessly.

“Hey,” He said, then looked around and commented, “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” You walked up to him.

Stopping right in front of him, close enough that he could smell your perfume and it was driving him insane. It was something citrus and feminine, reminding him of blood oranges, pomegranates, and delicate flowers. And it made him want to pull you closer. But he shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket instead.

“It was my grandma’s.” You explained, and he listened with interest. “She left me quite… a lot in the will so I don't really have to worry about my livelihood. Which I’m very grateful for. And even though it’s not great business, I decided to keep running the store just to keep her memory alive.”

Bucky smiled again at how kind you truly were. “That’s nice of you.”

You gave him another pretty smile. “I have some loyal customers, they come to buy books every few weeks. But most of all, people like to come here just to read. Or hang out. So I always have warm drinks and sweet treats ready.” Then you turned to him and asked politely, “What brings you here? I didn’t quite picture you as a guy who reads.” You teased.

His voice was laced with sarcasm as he said, “And I didn't picture you as a woman who spies on her shirtless neighbours, but here you are.”

He could tell that caught you off guard. Maybe you’d thought he would never bring it up. But, Bucky decided, it was fun to tease you.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You replied, giving him that look he loved. The innocent one, with mischief hidden somewhere.

“Oh yeah?” He stepped closer to you, just a little bit. “Did you forget I saw you this morning? Making eyes at me?”

You scoffed, “Well, if you’re gonna put on a show…”

“And how’d you like it? The show?” He asked, stepping closer again. And you took a step back this time, and you two danced this dance until he almost had you cornered between two shelves.

You gasped dramatically, “Bucky barnes. Are you flirting with me?” Your back hit the shelf behind you. “Aren’t you, like, a hundred years old?”

Bucky laughed as pinned you to the bookshelf. His metal hand coming up to grab onto the wood, caging you between him and the shelf as he slowly slid his leg in between yours. “Yeah, I am. What about it? It didn’t stop you from spying on me.” He noted the way you spread your legs to make room for his. “I know you want me.” He said, pressing his leg up in between yours.

You gasped again. Then chuckled and said, “Don’t be inappropriate right in front of grandma’s portrait, you weirdo.” Then you gently hit him on the head with the tiny book you’d been holding.

Bucky frowned then looked around, searching for the portrait. And it was right behind him. A large portrait of an old woman in a gilded frame, staring down at the two of you sternly.

Sorry, grandma.

He grabbed you and easily pulled you away, pinning you to the next closest bookshelf he found. His leg sliding in between yours again. “Now that grandma’s not watching,” He said, making you laugh. Fuck. He’d do anything to keep you laughing and happy like that. “Wanna tell me where I can be inappropriate then? Want me to take you out?” He asked, then couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss your neck, discreetly inhaling your perfume like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. Suddenly he wanted your scent everywhere. On his clothes. In his truck. On his bedsheets and pillows. “Is that what you’d like?” He asked, pulling away to look into your eyes. “A date? Where I spend the entire evening waiting and figuring out if you’d let me kiss you or not?”

“You won’t have to wait the entire evening.” You smirked at him. “I’d let you kiss me anytime.”

Fuck. His heart skipped a beat.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes.” You leaned in, sliding your hands around his neck to pull him closer. Bucky’s brain stopped working for a second or two as you kissed him.

He melted into your kiss. His hands grabbed you at the waist to pull you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your hands slid into his hair and he held you tightly against him, pressed up against his firm body as his mouth moved perfectly against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan into the kiss as he slowly slipped his metal hand up your dress.

You gasped at his cold touch. His lips left yours momentarily to kiss along your jaw, and down your neck, nibbling on your skin and inhaling your addicting scent, making you sigh in pleasure as his hand found its way past your underwear.

“Can I touch you?” He mumbled into your ear, “Please say yes, baby. You’re killing me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, then whispered, “Yeah, you can touch me.”

Bucky groaned as he moved your underwear aside and ran his knuckles along your wet slit, smearing your wetness around. He chuckled when he felt that you were just as wet and ready for him as he hoped you’d be.

“See? You do want me.”

You whined at the sound of his cocky voice. You couldn’t help but look down to see his hand moving gently against your body as he teased you, his metal hand sliding in and out from in between your legs, disappearing under your dress each time his fingers dove in to tease your clit. Fuck, just the sight of his hand sent pleasant shivers down your back. You also noticed the growing bulge in his pants. You bit your lip at the sight of it, then looked up at him. He was already staring at you. So you silently pleaded, begging for more.

Bucky wanted more too. He pushed his two metal fingers inside you with ease and felt your warm walls immediately welcoming him in. He held your stare as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots which made you weak in the knees. You bucked your hips against his hand, still staring into his eyes, and he chuckled. “Does that feel good, baby?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Because the store was empty, but anyone could walk in. They wouldn’t see you, but you didn’t want them to hear you either.

“Yeah? You want more?” Bucky asked, his fingers moving in and out of you perfectly. “Want me to taste you? Can I do that?” He mumbled and kissed down your neck, biting and licking your skin around your collar bones.

Meanwhile you lazily reached for him, palming him through his jeans and feeling his erection. You smirked to yourself as he grunted the moment you touched him. “All that for me?” You teased him.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh into the crook of your neck. “Now who’s being inappropriate?”

You giggled, “You started this when–,”

The sound of the tiny bell above the entrance of your store ringing cut you off. You both froze then immediately pulled away from each other. You fixed your clothes quickly and gave Bucky a smirk before you went back to the front and greeted your customer.

Bucky couldn’t let himself be seen yet. Not until the raging hard on he had would calm down first. So he walked around, hiding behind bookshelves as he perused them. And once he was safe, he walked to the front and found you scanning some books before putting them in a bag for the customer – she was an old lady who lived near the lake. Bucky often saw her when he went for his frequent runs.

Bucky grabbed a random book and sat down at one of the many reading nooks. It hid him enough that he could stare at you leisurely, without being caught by Old Lake Lady. He could tell you felt his eyes on you, because you’d send quick glances his way even as you engaged in a conversation with the old lady about her cats and dogs.

Just minutes ago you were moaning in his ear with his fingers inside you, and here you were now, being nice and warm to a customer.

Bucky had to hide his smirk, at least until the lady was gone. Soon she’d wrapped up her stories, paid for her books, and left, leaving you two alone again. Bucky got up from the couch and approached you.

“Come over tonight,” He said. “I’ll make you dinner.”

He watched how you seemed surprised. Then rolled his eyes when you asked, “You can cook?”

He answered, proudly, “I’m over a hundred years old, you learn a thing or two when you’ve been alive that long.” A pause, then he added, “Plus recipe books help too.”

You laughed. “Okay, see you tonight then.”

“See you.”

Bucky left you with a wink.

—

When you got home that evening, you took over an hour to get ready for dinner. You caught yourself smiling a lot just thinking of Bucky and how he touched you earlier…

You sighed, impatient to see him again. But you didn’t want to seem too eager and show up at his house too early so you found something to keep you busy until it was a reasonable time to knock on his door. Plus, you wanted to bring him something nice so you ended up gathering flowers from your yard and made him a little bouquet.

It ended up being a pastel coloured bunch of flowers, pinks and lilacs with some white here and there. You decided it was cute enough for a first date. Was it even a date? Or was it just a casual dinner?

Before you could overthink yourself to death and find a way to get out of this, you grabbed a light cardigan and walked over to Bucky’s house.

Bucky answered after your very first knock. Almost too quickly.

You couldn’t help but tease him about it. “You were waiting by the door, weren’t you?”

“No.” He argued, “I’m just really quick to get the door. Don’t like to keep my guests waiting.”

“Sure,” You smirked as you walked into his home. Bucky shut the door behind you and turned to face you. “Here,” You handed him the bunch of flowers, “I picked them myself.”

You expected him to make some sassy comment, but he didn’t. “I’ve never been given flowers before.” He said, looking down at them. And you felt really proud. “Are they edible too?”

You laughed as you followed him further in. “No, they’re not. But they will bring some life and colour to your home.”

Bucky chuckled as he grabbed a vase and filled it with water to put the flowers in. “Are you saying my house looks lifeless and dark?”

“No,” You took a seat at the kitchen island table, and watched him as he placed the flower stems one by one into the vase. “I’m just saying it needs some colour. But I love the sombre and broody vibe you went for. It’s very… retired superhero-esque.”

And it was indeed. Dark floors, dark furniture. It was spacious and luxurious, with minimal furniture. You didn’t know if the minimalism was intentional or not. But either way, it suited Bucky. The large windows made up for the empty spaces. It allowed a lot of the outside in. Especially the rich, dark woods.

He gave you a playful glare before he grabbed two wine glasses and asked you, “You like red or white?”

“Red, please.”

He handed you a glass of red, clinked your glasses together then went back to the stove. “You’re welcome to snoop if you want.” He said, then heard you get off the stool at the island table and heard your footsteps walking around.

Bucky’s house was much closer to the woods than yours, and sometimes it felt like his house – much like him – preferred to blend in with the surroundings rather than stand out.

The kitchen was your favourite part so far. It was like a glass prism. No walls, but the woods hid it well from the other neighbours. And right now, as the sun set and the sky turned pinkish orange, it flooded the entire kitchen with those same colours.

Bucky let you snoop, and turned to the stove where he was concocting something that smelt divine. He glanced at you now and then, and noted the way you took in his home. The ground floor had an open concept look. So you could see the living room, the foyer, the large staircase – which led to the upper level where all the bedrooms and bathrooms were, the small conservatory, all could be seen from the kitchen.

He was rather proud of his home. But you weren’t saying anything yet. Did you not like it? Bucky wondered silently as he flipped the veggies he’d been grilling. “You like it?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I do!”

Bucky looked up and found you in the middle of his dimly lit living room. You did a slow, mindless twirl as you took in all the random art he had mounted on his walls. Bucky was mesmerised. You, there, in that pretty dress – it messed with his head in the best way.

“What made you move here?”

Your question caught him off guard. He knew why he moved here, but he didn’t know if he could put it into words in a coherent way. But he did his best. Dinner was done, so he spoke as he plated everything.

“I had been thinking about retiring for years now.” He sighed. “I didn't wanna lose myself. Again. Or have to watch my friends die. Again.” He let out a sad chuckle. “You'd think I would be immune to losing people by now. But it hurts the same every time. Plus going on a mission and not knowing if everyone would make it back… It messes with your head.” He said. “So I decided to leave. I was worried it would make me seem like a coward. But then I realised, I shouldn’t care.”

He heard you coming back into the kitchen.

“Plus, it's hard to blend in when you’re me, you know?” He could see you in his periphery, getting closer to where he was. “After years of being who I was, and doing what I did, there’s not many places where I could go that would feel normal.”

Without saying a word, Bucky watched how you placed your glass down and came over to help him plate everything onto two dinner plates. He gave you a faint smile then continued, while the two of you moved around his kitchen gracefully. As if this was a daily thing.

“Then one day I decided to leave that life. But I still didn’t have a place to call home so I drove around, traveled and tried to find somewhere that was calm, and welcoming. Somewhere I could just be me, and not… what I was.” He paused, remembering the day he first came to this town. “I happened to be driving through here one day, and the weather got really bad. The rain was horrendous and the people I met at the pub told me it was dangerous to continue driving in a weather like that.” He chuckled at the memory, “And I told them, I’ve been out on missions in worse weather. Rain or sleet was nothing, I’ve been out during hurricanes and snowstorms.”

Your heart hurt for a moment, thinking about Bucky having to brave all sorts of storms.

Bucky continued, “Then, one of the old guys at the pub grabbed me by the shoulders and said ‘Well, you don’t have to be out in storms anymore’ and he offered me a place to stay for the night. And when I woke up the next day, I realised that no one cared about who I was or what I had done in the past. They were just kind and welcoming to me like I was a regular guy.” He looked up at you, smiled and said, “So I bought the land and the house here and stayed.”

You smiled back at him. “And that’s why you’re friends with all the old guys at the pub.”

“Yeah,” He added, smiling, “Although I am older than all of them.”

You laughed, and watched him as he placed the plates down. Once his hands were free, you grabbed one of them and squeezed it tight in your grip until he looked at you. His hand was warm in yours. And you decided that you liked holding his hand. You wanted to do it more often.

“You did the right thing by choosing your peace, Bucky.” You said, looking into his pretty eyes. “It's not selfish nor cowardly to want to keep yourself safe. To put yourself first. You helped save this world so many times. You deserve this break. I hope you know that.”

Bucky smiled and brought your intertwined hands up to his lips. Kissing your knuckles, he whispered, “Thank you.”

He looked so sincere and adorable, you almost pulled him in for a kiss right there and then. But instead you calmed yourself down and admired the beautiful man in front of you. His longish hair was nice and dry this time, and looked like he’d run his fingers through it many times. And he was wearing a white button up shirt too, something you just now noticed, with the sleeves rolled up till his elbows. The metal arm glistened in the golden light of the sunset.

Gods, he was beautiful. Who could ever be mean to this man?

To bring you both back to that playful mood you said, “Well, neighbour. I was promised dinner. And I’m kinda hungry.”

Bucky laughed and gently let go of your hand. He asked you if you wanted to dine in the conservatory, but you said the island table in the kitchen was fine. Plus, the view of the sky, the woods, and the mountains all at once was to die for.

“I think I’m in love with your house.” You said at some point during dinner, holding back moans because Bucky’s cooking was amazing.

He gave you a playful look as he sipped on his wine and replied, “Come visit anytime.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you should.”

You teased, “You just want me to bring you muffins and cookies, don’t you?”

Bucky laughed and said, “I’m having to work out twice as much ever since you started feeding me those sugary stuff. Gotta stay fit if I want you to keep looking at me like that.”

Your face felt hot when he said that. Okay, so maybe you were not being subtle when looking at him. Oh, god forbid a girl checks out her hot neighbour. You quickly changed the topic after that, not wanting him to know just how much his words and deep voice was affecting you.

You two talked about life in the small town, about the places you’d travelled to before moving here, Bucky made you laugh with his ridiculous stories about how people tend to come knocking on his door whenever they need help with moving stuff. Or how people in the neighbourhood just assumed he liked chopping wood so much they just pulled up in their own trucks to pick up some or they called him and asked him to deliver logs to their houses.

“Thankfully I have the truck,” He said, chuckling, “Otherwise I think I’d be seen carrying logs around on my shoulders for delivery.”

You giggled at the thought of him doing that. Then you realised, “I didn’t know you had a truck. I guess I’ve only ever seen you out on walks.”

He nodded, refilling your wine glass. “Yeah I don’t use it a lot though, I just drive up the mountains sometimes when I want to be alone. Plus the view from up there is insane.” Then he paused, thinking, and said, “I’ll take you up there, on a drive someday. If you want.”

“I’d love that.” You said, smiling from behind your wine glass.

–

After dinner you offered to help clean up, but Bucky politely refused. “Carry on snooping,” He said, “I’ll just load the dishwasher and come join you.” He refilled your wine glass one more time and sent you off.

You didn’t put up a fight, you wanted to see more of his home. So a short walk later, you found yourself in the large, circular conservatory. There were some couches about, a small dining table for four, and some plants and rugs. It was so cosy, it reminded you of your store. Minus the colours, because everything in here was dark green, or grey, or dark brown. But you didn’t mind it.

You admired Bucky’s backyard, which blended into the woods. You saw the chopping block where he chopped wood almost every morning. And you could see your house from here, part of it at least. Especially your bedroom window.

“That’s a pretty dress. I’m sorry I didn't say it earlier.” Bucky said as he walked into the conservatory as well, his own wine glass in hand.

And you were certain it wasn't just the wine that made your blood rush. You gave him a little twirl which made him chuckle. “Thanks,” You said, facing him once again. “I wore it just for you.” It was true. You had chosen the dark blue dress only because the moment you saw it in your closet, it reminded you of Bucky’s eyes.

“Yeah?” He held your stare as he made his way over to you, placing his glass down on the small dining table on the way. He stopped right in front of you, letting his eyes roam all over you before he said, “Will you take it off for me as well?”

The wine gave you manic confidence, so you grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into you. “Is that what you want?”

Bucky’s eyes were intense as he stared at you. You finished your wine and set your glass down.

“I do.” Bucky said.

You spoke in a cocky tone, “Then why do I have to do all the work?”

He chuckled, “Come here then.” He pinned you to the nearest surface, the cold glass door of the conservatory which led to the backyard. He knew it was locked so he didn’t have to worry. “Let’s finish what we started earlier, yeah?”

He leaned closer, chest pressing against yours leaving no space in between. He waited for a moment, silently asking if this was okay. And upon seeing you wanted this as much as he did, Bucky leaned in for a kiss. A proper one, a hungry one.

His rough facial hair scratched your skin, his teeth nibbled and bit your lips. His hands roaming all over your body before he slid the straps of your dress down your arms, letting your dress bunch around your waist. Your dress didn’t require a bra so you were half naked in front of him in no time.

He kissed you ravenously, pulling you closer. Pouring everything he felt into the kiss. Desire, warmth, longing, lust. He couldn’t get enough.

“Bucky…” You gasped against his lips, you couldn’t wait any longer, “I want you.” Breathing fast, you tried to pull him closer, but this time he wouldn’t budge.

“Turn around,” He mumbled softly, pulling away a little to give you room to turn. He’d thought he would take his time and maybe get up to his bedroom and make sweet love to you. But fuck, the sight of you in that pretty dress was driving him insane. Again. He couldn’t wait.

You turned, facing the glass door and waited. The sky above was yet to turn black completely. It was that pretty dark blue colour. And the stars were starting to show. And everything was perfect. You brought your hands up to your chest, not wanting to press your bare body to the cold glass.

But Bucky didn’t like that. He pressed against your back. Your bare skin against the cool fabric of his shirt. He grabbed your wrists in his metal hand and pinned them above your head, stretching your torso in a way that had you whining already, and he had barely touched you yet. He whispered into your ear, “Keep them there for me.” So gently, his deep voice made you tremble.

You nodded, then he shoved his warm hand in between your legs and touched you where you desperately wanted him to. Where you needed him since earlier today. You whined and trembled, your bare chest pressing against the cool glass when he slid a finger in, fucking you with it while he whispered into your ear, “You’re so wet for me. Have you been like that all throughout dinner? Hmm?” He cooed. “While you sat across from me, looking all sweet and nice, were you just dripping for me all along?”

Fuck. Who knew he had such a foul mouth?

“Bucky,” You whimpered, “Please.”

He chuckled, his finger moving in and out of you in a way that made you move your hips, demanding more but he wouldn’t give it to you yet. “Aww, baby. Poor you.” His deep voice made his chest rumble against your back. “I should punish you for not telling me about this little situation earlier.”

Your dress was hanging on to your body around your waist, Being half naked while he was still fully dressed made this even dirtier. You were moaning by now, thanking all the gods that Bucky didn’t have any other neighbours.

“Tell me.” He demanded, sliding another finger inside you and making your body squirm and grind against him. “How long have you been this wet, baby?”

“Oh damn you.” You were embarrassingly wet at this point, and the sounds your body made as he finger-fucked you were lewd. But you couldn’t get enough. “Ever since we were interrupted at the store earlier today.”

His lips brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke. “You’ve been thinking about me all day then? Huh? Have you been thinking about what could’ve happened if we weren’t interrupted earlier? About how I would’ve fucked you nice and hard against that bookshelf? Hmm?”

“Yes…” You whimpered as he kept fucking you with his fingers even as you came, trembling against him. His fingers slid in and out of you with ease now. “I thought about you, about us, all day.” You whispered quietly, your warm breath fogging up the cold glass in front of you.

He didn’t care that you came already. He wanted more. So he reached deeper inside you, curling his fingers just enough to make you mutter incoherent things.

“And what did you do? Did you touch yourself after I left? Or did you rush home and take care of it?” He asked, “Or did you wait till now?”

“Please…” You begged. “I waited, I promise.”

“Oh?” He chuckled, slowing down his movements purposely. “You waited, huh?” He playfully bit on your exposed shoulder.

“Yes…” You whined. “I did. Cause I wanted you to touch me and make me feel good. Please, Bucky, make it feel good.”

“Oh baby,” He whispered, kissing around your ear, along your jaw. “I’ve got you.

Bucky pulled away for a brief moment. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear him undoing his trousers. And moments later, he was rubbing the tip of his cock against your wet folds. You shivered in pleasure.

“Yes…” You panted.

“I’m gonna make it feel good, okay?” He mumbled into your ear as he pushed his cock into you, making you cry out loud as he stretched you out.

It had been a while since you got laid. So Bucky felt huge inside you. You moaned as his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it in sync with his thrusts. His metal hand left your wrists and came down to grab you by the waist, holding you against him as he sped up into you, fucking you just like how you hoped he would. Fast. Deep. Hungrily.

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and licked, and bit on your skin as he fucked into you relentlessly, earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls. “You feel so fucking good, you know that? My pretty girl…”

You moaned quietly, shamelessly, your body slamming into the glass with each one of his thrusts, and fuck if it didn’t turn you on more.

“Tight little thing, aren’t you? Gripping me like you’re never gonna let go,” He chuckled in that cocky way you loved. “I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you now.” He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. “Whenever you want me to make you feel good, I’ll do it. You hear me? I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

You nodded, your legs starting to shake as he quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. His fingers still teasing your clit and making you lose your mind.

“Bucky–,” You choked on your words as you came undone, walls clenching around him, and a loud moan erupting from your mouth as he made you come hard. It was almost blinding.

His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls, moaning out loud when he felt your walls pulsating violently around him. “Fuck, baby,” He came while biting down on your shoulder.

You leaned against the glass door, limp and satiated. You had to blink a couple times to come back from that high. The glass was completely fogged up in front of your face as you pulled away to breathe deeply.

Bucky held you gently. Wrapping his arms around you, his cock still inside you, throbbing. “You okay?”

You giggled, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder. “I’m okay.” You replied. “You?”

“Yeah. Perfect.” A pause, then he said. “I gotta buy some condoms if we’re gonna do this often. I wasn’t exactly planning on–,” He hesitated. “You know…”

You giggled again. “Yeah I know. Me neither.”

Then you both laughed and Bucky helped you clean up as best he could before he walked you back to your house. You kissed him goodnight, and he said he hoped to see you soon. You exchanged numbers and then pulled him in for another kiss before he left.

—

The following day Bucky dropped by the store and saw that it was packed. Of course, you’d told him over text that Fridays tend to get a little busy. Teens come over to get homework done after school. Some people came to get books for the weekend. Others just came to talk to you and ask about your week. The younger kids dropped by after school for snacks because they knew they’d miss it given you didn’t open during weekends.

So Bucky only had a minute or two to say hi and give you a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Can I see you tonight? If you don’t have plans?” He asked.

You seemed sad when you replied, “I’m pet-sitting for someone tonight. And I’m going over to a friend's house for dinner on Saturday night. Can we meet on Sunday?”

He grumpily agreed. Because what did you mean he had to wait for two nights to see you again?

He tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep on Friday night. So he ended up texting you:

Saturday night was no different. He couldn’t sleep. But he didn’t want to text you again and seem desperate. Even though he was very much desperate. And he was pleasantly surprised when he received a text from you:

Needless to say, when you showed up at his house in the morning, all other plans went out the window because after breakfast, the two of you spent almost the whole day in Bucky’s bedroom.

—

And so, weeks passed.

You and Bucky got more and more involved in each other’s lives. Taking turns sleeping over at each other’s house. You weren’t putting a label on it. Yet. But it was solid, whatever you two had. And it was comforting and warm. Knowing you had someone else to rely on, a shoulder to lean on after a long day, knowing you could just walk over to the house next door whenever you wanted company was nice.

Bucky came over to yours a lot. Randomly. Sometimes he’d come over and help you with your garden, or keep you company as you fed the birds and the wild rabbits, or helped you whenever you made dinner for the two of you. It was… peaceful, the budding romance.

You began joining Bucky on his daily evening walks. Usually, he’d come by your store at around closing time, and he’d wait till you closed and locked the place, then you would both take the long way home. People in the neighbourhood began noticing, and when the older ladies would visit your store they’d tease you about it, singing all sorts of praises about how much of a good guy Bucky was, and how helpful.

Bucky mentioned that the old guys at the pub would tease him about it too. Telling him how lucky he was that he found such a sweet, kind, and pretty girl.

“I am, you know?” He said to you one night, over the phone.

“What?” You asked, holding the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you were tidying up your study room, finally deciding to put it to use. You wanted to turn it into your at home library. Make it nice and cosy like those reading nooks you’d set up at the store.

“Lucky,” He answered. “To have you.”

His reply made you pause in the middle of your slightly messy study room.

Bucky continued, “When I decided to leave everything and move here, I knew the people around here were friendly and kind. But I had given up all hope I had of finding, you know, my person.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling a little sad thinking about Bucky and how he thought he’d have to spend the rest of his days all alone here. You wanted to tell him you felt the same. You wanted to tell him that you’d given up on dating as well, after uni. You liked the people in this town, and you’d been on a few dates since you moved here. But you were always so busy taking care of your grandmother that you could never quite commit. And then after she passed you were not emotionally stable, especially given your family didn’t even reach out to ask you how you were doing and how you were dealing with everything. So you kind of just… gave up as well.

And then you met Bucky.

“And then I met you.” His voice was steady, firm as he repeated your thoughts.

“Oh Buck,” You sighed. “Why don’t you come over? You’ve got me all emotional now.”

Bucky chuckled. “You just want me to come over so we can fuck, don’t you?”

You laughed. “No,” You argued, “I actually need you for something.” You said, looking around trying to find something, an excuse to use to you can get him to come over. You didn’t know what it was, but the vulnerability in his tone made you want to wrap your arms around him and keep him safe from the rest of the world. And now, you just needed to see him. Plus, you didn’t want him to be alone. Not after what he just told you. Besides, you had to tell him you felt the same and you didn’t wanna do that over the phone. “I have a huge bookshelf I need to move. Can you come help?” You lied. The bookshelf was perfect where it was.

Bucky let out a dramatic sigh, “Fine. I knew it, you just want me around because I’m handy.”

You laughed as you hung up the phone.

Less than a minute later, Bucky was up in your study, lugging around your bookshelf as you instructed him where to place it. And after a few more minutes of deciding, you settled on having the bookshelf exactly where it initially was.

Bucky gave you a confused look that had you giggling as he placed the shelf back down to where it was. “Well this was a waste of time.” He mumbled.

“Maybe,” You teased, sitting down on the edge of the nearby desk. “Or maybe I just wanted to see you flexing those muscles.” You were only partially lying. Because he did look good in that extra tight black t-shirt. His silver chain caught the light the same way his metal arm did. “Come here.” You extended out your arms for him to walk into.

And he did, sighing dramatically and mumbling something about how he was right about you only wanting him for his incredibly amazing body. But he did walk into your arms. And smiled down at you as you wrapped your arms around him.

“You know, I didn’t ask you to come here for the bookshelf.”

He smirked, “I know.” A pause, then he said, “Did what I said earlier scare you? Did you call me here to dump me?” He asked, raising his eyebrow and glaring at you in that playful manner of his.

You laughed. “I could never dump you.” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his chest, inhaling his masculine scent and said, “I wanted to tell you that I had given up as well. But, things have changed ever since I met you too.” You finally looked up and met his eyes. Bucky’s ocean blue ones were focused on you as you finally confessed, “And I really like you, Bucky.”

His face softened as he looked down at you. Then he lowered his face, placing his palms on the surface of the desk till he was face to face with you. And he said, “I really like you too.” He leaned in for a sweet, deep kiss.

You slid your fingers into his hair and he smiled into the kiss when he felt you tugging on his hair. He grabbed you by the thighs and pulled you closer as he stepped in between your legs.

Bucky pulled away just a little, keeping his lips pressed against the side of your mouth as he said, “But you know, as much as I like you, I can’t be going around doing manual labour for free.” His hands massaged your thighs in a way that had you whimpering for him already. “So, what will you give me?”

You smiled, running your hands all over his muscular shoulders and chest. “I made fresh cookies this morning.”

He chuckled. “Not enough.” He pulled away to look at you, “Nowhere near enough.”

“Well,” You held his stare and asked, “What do you want then?” You gently reached down, wrapped your fingers around his wrist and guided it in between your legs. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” Bucky immediately cupped your clothed core. Possessively.

“You can have that.” You said, breathlessly.

He groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” He shook his head, “Take all that off then, let me see what you’re offering.”

You smirked, holding his stare as you lifted your dress up and removed your underwear before sitting on the edge of the desk again, spreading your legs so he could just look at you down there.

Bucky placed his hands on your thighs again, spread them further apart, and took his time inspecting your wet folds. He mindlessly dragged a metal finger up and down your slit, making you shiver and moan as he touched you but barely.

His eyes trailed up to your tits, and his other hand reached up to pinch a clothed nipple, making you yelp. “Ow!” You frowned at him.

“What?” He chuckled, “You’re all mine. I’m allowed to play with you.”

“That hurt.”

He smirked. “I know it did.” He held your stare as he got down on his knees so his mouth was mere inches away from your clit. “Now, keep your legs spread for me. Just like this. Open for me. Okay?”

You nodded, looking down in between your legs as he leaned in and pressed his mouth shamelessly to your wetness.

His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction of his warm mouth – it was all too much, too good. He moved his head side to side, his coarse stubble brushing against your soft inner thighs. You whined and trembled, trying to keep your voice down as he made you lose your mind by eating you out like a starved man.

“All mine, yeah?” He whispered, looking up at you with his mouth just barely hovering above your clit. “My girl.” He smiled, then got back to it, the lower half of his face was completely submerged in your wet cunt.

Your fingers slid into his hair again, gently guiding him as he made it feel so good it almost hurt.

You came with a yelp and a moan, riding his face and tugging on his hair.

Bucky smiled as he pulled away and stood back up. “You taste so good, baby. Thank you.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off his damp lips. “I should be thanking you.” You said quietly.

“No,” He argued, licking his lips then added, “That was selfishly all for me.”

You chuckled, then pulled him in for a kiss.

How did you get so lucky?

—

Eventually, Bucky ended up taking you up the mountains in his truck. His large, all black Ford Raptor was nice and clean, it smelled like new leather and it was comfortable too.

While driving up, Bucky kept his hand on your thigh, and you couldn’t help but feel giddy each time you looked down to see him mindlessly caressing your thigh. Then you’d look up and find him driving with just one hand, and that simple act was so hot for no reason.

Easy, tiger.

You managed to keep your hands to yourself the entire drive up.

Bucky came to a stop at a well-known spot. People often drove here to look at the view. And it was so worth it. You could see everything from here. The woods, the lake, the houses and the lights coming on in the streets given that the sun was starting to set now. You could spot your house and Bucky’s as well.

The woods up here were extra dense so it was darker than everywhere else, and the sky was quickly changing colours. From pink to orange, to a darker blue right before your eyes. But none of it compared to the man beside you who was rambling about how nice it was that you baked muffins especially for this little date.

“I’m dying to have some of–,”

You cut him off by grabbing his face and kissing him. Bucky was surprised but quickly went along, kissing you back with almost just as much hunger. “Make some room for me.” You mumbled in between kisses. “I hope you have condoms in your truck. Please say you do.”

Bucky understood immediately, and pushed his seat back just enough to allow you to move from the passenger side to his lap, straddling him. He smiled into the kiss as he slowly trailed his hands downwards till they rested at the curve of your butt. “I did bring some.”

“Perfect.” You could feel his warmth on your skin even through the material of the skirt you’d chosen to wear for this date, and it made your heart race even more. “I need you so badly. Can I have you? Please?” You asked, placing your forehead against his.

Bucky pulled you even closer, kissing down your chin as he said, “You can have whatever you want, baby.”

You sighed in bliss as he kissed down your neck, playfully biting and nibbling on your skin.

Bucky pulled away to look at you, “By the way, you’re not subtle. I saw you squirming in your seat the whole way here.” He whispered in that cocky tone of his, one of his hands slipping under your shirt, gently caressing your skin. “You know when you want me you can just ask, right? You don’t have to wait. I will pull over for a quickie anytime.”

You chuckled, nuzzling his cheek as you said, “I don’t wanna seem like all I think about when I’m with you is how good you fuck me.”

“Fuck.” He groaned, gripping your thighs tighter. “Who knew such a sweet girl had such a filthy mouth, huh?”

You leaned in to kiss him again, and both of his hands found their way under your shirt, pulling at the hem. You giggled into the kiss before pulling away to get rid of your top. You threw it somewhere in the backseat before leaning in to kiss Bucky again. Your hands slid into his hair, his hands inched up your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You quickly got rid of that as well, baring your breasts to him.

He wasted no time before leaning in and taking one of your nipples into his warm mouth. He moaned, mouth wrapped around one of your tits as he sucked gently. Your back arched, giggling and gasping as he teased you. You found your hips moving against his, grinding against him.

You gasped as he sucked hungrily on your skin, moving up to your collar bones, down to your breasts and back up. Bucky chuckled when you tugged on his hair, getting more and more impatient and needy. Oh, he loved you in moods like these.

“Stop fucking teasing me.” You whispered, grounding your hips against his jeans.

He smirked, looking down to where your skirt had inched up your legs, revealing your thighs even more, “Yeah? Well, you’re my girl. I’ll do whatever I want with you.” He leaned in for a proper kiss. “To you. I’ll tease you for hours if I want to.”

You playfully bit his lip, making him hiss in pain before he chuckled against your mouth. “Stop wasting time please, I want to fuck you.”

He laughed, pushing his face against your bare chest and kissing the soft skin between your breasts. “You’ve turned into a little monster, you know that?

You let out a little laugh, “Oh shut up. You made me like this.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at you, smirking like the cocky little shit he was. “I know.”

You grabbed him by the chin and said, “No more teasing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss your neck again. “You smell so fucking good. I could just eat you up.” He whispered against your skin as his hands slipped under your skirt, his thumbs caressing your inner thighs – making you gasp and whimper quietly as his fingers teased you in between your legs through your underwear. “Too bad we don’t have enough room for me to taste you right now. Later though, okay? When we get home.”

“Bucky…” You whined as he leaned down to suck on your tits again, more greedy than earlier as he toyed with your wet folds and clit at the same time

Your impatient hands were at the zipper of his pants in no time.

He finally looked up and gave you a lazy smile, eyes hooded with lust. “Go on, baby. Take it out, it’s all yours.” His voice was suddenly deeper than earlier. Bucky reached for the condom and handed it to you. He fucking loved how you tore it open and put it on him each time. “Good job, baby.” He said, once you were done.

His voice made you shiver. And only then did you realise that there was a light drizzle outside, which made the air even colder, making you crave his body heat even more. Making this even hotter.

You lifted off of his lap at the same time as you both lowered his pants and underwear to free his erected cock. Bucky groaned impatiently as he grabbed your hips, pulled your thin underwear to the side and aligned his cock to your entrance before gently lowering you down on him.

You moaned as you slid down his thick cock, his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you, all the way in. “Fuck,” He swore, then leaned in to give you a wet, messy kiss. “You okay, baby? You need a moment?”

You shook your head, no you didn’t need a moment. What you needed was more of him. “Just… move, please, you feel so good.” You whispered, kissing down his rough cheek as he obeyed, and moved, knowing exactly how you liked it.

You whined as he grabbed your hips and guided you up and down his cock, stretching you out in the process. You held onto his shoulders as you rode his cock, bouncing on it while you moaned for him, bending a little forward so as to not hit the roof of the truck too hard.

“Fuck…,” You felt him fill you up nicely each time, the pressure in between your legs getting hotter and hotter. “You feel so fucking good.”

Bucky threw his head back against the headrest, watching you with lust-drunk eyes. He let out a strained moan, as he thrust into you over and over again, while also bringing you down on his cock each time with enough force to make your tits bounce. “You’re fucking beautiful. Can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“All yours.” You said, unable to hold back your moans when he placed his thumb over your clit and rubbed it gently, in time with his thrusts. You forced yourself to look into his eyes, and the feral look in them only made you clench harder around him.

You bit your lower lip as he thrust his hips up harder into you, your eyes rolled back and you moaned out his name as you came so close to coming undone for him. “Bucky…”

“You’re gonna come for me?” He asked, “You’re gonna come all over my cock, huh?”

You answered after a loud whimper, “Yes… please, can I come?”

He cupped your cheek and traced your mouth with his thumb, “Go on, baby. Come all over my cock. Come for me…” Your walls clenched violently around his cock. You came hard, whimpering and crying for him and gasping for breath.

Bucky came right after you, his warm load spilling in the condom as he wrapped his arms around you and held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just fucked you like an animal.

You caught your breath, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. Your head rested on his shoulder as you tried to calm your racing heart. “You’re right,” You said, while catching your breath, “This feels like a real date.”

He laughed and kissed you on the forehead.

And there you stayed, in his arms as you two watched the sun set and watched how the town lit up.

—

More time passed. Bucky officially asked you to be his girlfriend by showing up at the store early one morning, after you two had spent the weekend apart yet again. And he came with flowers, a look on his face which stated that he hadn’t slept well.

“Oh Buck…” You pulled him into your arms the moment you saw those sleepy, tired eyes. “What happened to you?”

He mumbled, his voice low and tired as well. “Can’t sleep when you’re not there.”

“Aww, baby.” You kissed his gorgeous face, then noticed the flowers in his hand. “For me?”

He nodded, handing them to you. “Please let me be your boyfriend. I can’t do this no label thing anymore. I won’t tie you down or anything, but I…” He struggled to find the right words, “I just wanna be able to sleep knowing you’ll come back to me again each time you leave, or spend the weekend away.”

You felt like tearing up and laughing at the same time. So you accepted the flowers and kissed him instead. “I’ll always come back to you.” You promised. “And yes, you can be my boyfriend.” You kissed him again. “It’s a good thing I’m not close to my parents anymore. How would I explain having a century-old boyfriend?”

He didn’t find that funny, so he chased you around the store until he finally cornered you against one of the shelves – well away from your grandma’s portrait – and kissed you until you were breathless.

—

One evening, Bucky got a call. It was you.

So he answered with a smile. “Hi baby. What is it this time?” He teased. “You need me to move another piece of furniture? Or are you calling again to ask if you can come watch me run shirtless around the lake? If so, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m not planning on going for a run today.”

He frowned when all he heard was silence on your side. Silence, and a shaky breath.

“Baby?”

“Uh, Buck?” That shaky, scared tone of your voice wiped the smile right off his face.

“What is it?” He asked, already panicking and looking for the keys of his truck, in case he needed to come get you from somewhere. You had told him you’d be out running errands earlier. “Where are you? What is it? Are you okay?”

His heart raced thinking about all the times he’d hear silence on the comms when he was out on missions. The silence was like all those terrible memories come back, flooding his brain again. And he couldn’t help but imagine the worst possible scenarios.

His voice was close to cracking as he asked, in a panicked tone, “Baby, please tell me you’re okay.”

He heard a sniffle, and his heart almost dropped. You were not okay. His blood rushed, his heart beat faster than normal.

“Bucky,” Your voice sounded broken, “This is so stupid,” You sounded disappointed in yourself. “I, um, I came deeper into the woods to get those purple edible flowers but um, I think I’m lost?”

His heart sank. His blood froze. Fuck.

Another sniffle. Your voice cracked as you spoke, “I’ve been walking around in circles and I can’t…” Another shaky exhale, “I can’t get out. It’s been hours. It’s starting to get really dark, Bucky. Please–,” The call ended abruptly.

When he tried calling you back, he couldn’t reach you. Something to do with network issues.

Bucky felt like his world was crumbling down all over again. Like he was gonna lose another person dear to him. For a moment, he remained frozen in the middle of his house. His mind taking him back to those brutal days of missions and death and darkness he thought he’d walked away from.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t a mission. He reminded himself. He would get you back, he would get you back safe and sound.

“Just please be okay, baby. Please.” He whispered under his breath as he took off running, through his backyard and into the woods. He ran in the direction of where he knew you had the habit of plucking those flowers. He didn’t care that it was starting to drizzle and all he was wearing was a t-shirt.

It was starting to get dark, and he only had a few hours to get to you before it got completely dark out. Fuck, he didn’t even bring a light with him.

“I’m coming, baby.” He mumbled under his breath as he ran deeper into the woods. “Don’t you worry.”

He called out your name multiple times while he ran, stopping every few minutes to listen if you answered his calls. Or if he could hear anything at all.

Come on, baby. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

At one point, he was deep enough that when he stopped to listen, he could hear animals howling, and owls screeching.

Fuck. This is a fucking horror movie.

He couldn’t help but think about all those times he ran through woods to find and help his friends and teammates, worried sick during the search and not knowing what state he’d find them in.

Please, baby. Please, be okay. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not now. I want more time. Please, please, please.

He called out your name again. And again. Louder each time, his throat burning.

Finally, he stopped near a stream just to recalibrate. His panicked brain only showed him disturbing images of you hurt, or attacked by an animal, or worse–

Then he saw it. A single purple flower floating down the stream. Followed by a lot more. It was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. He frowned, wondering if he was seeing things or if it was truly those damned flowers you liked to pluck for your baking.

He reached for one and grabbed it, clutching it in his hand he took a deep breath. Okay, if he followed the stream maybe he’d get to where you are, he reasoned. So that’s what he did. He ran up the stream, careful not to slip and fall.

The woods were getting darker and darker, but he was used to navigating in the dark. It wasn’t easy, but he was better at it than regular humans.

So Bucky ran, for what felt like forever, until he saw a spot of red on top of a fallen tree trunk.

He stopped running when he saw you, his chest burning with how fast he’d been running. And for how long. Must be about an hour or two by now. But there you were, sitting on a log, with your red coat around you and your hood on. Fuck, you were probably freezing too.

As he got closer he noticed your body shaking with quiet sobs, your boots muddy and your basket of fucking flowers on the ground.

“There you are.” He said, breathlessly. “Baby?”

Relief and exhaustion. A million thoughts and feelings coursing through him, he felt like he was going to explode. The only thing that felt like it tethered him to earth was the feeling of your body colliding into his chest as you ran into his arms. So hard that it almost knocked him off his balance.

“Bucky!” You sobbed.

He was still breathing faster than he’d ever had. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Are you hurt?” He pulled away to look at you, “Look at me! Are you hurt?”

How many times had he found his friends unconscious? Or with broken limbs? Or with bullet holes all over their bodies? For a moment, he was back in that life. That life filled with tragedy and pain.

“No,” You spoke, teary eyed and voice shaking with panic and relief all at once. “My phone ran out of battery and–,” You let out a breath. “I was scared you wouldn’t find me.”

He pulled you into his arms again, hugging you tighter than earlier, “Why wouldn’t I find you? I was worried sick. I thought–,” He stopped talking. Fuck. He needed to get a grip and calm those racing thoughts.

A strange anger washed over him. Mainly because he was disappointed. Why hadn’t he gone out with you? You would’ve never gotten lost if he was with you. Fuck, what other dangers would you find yourself in due to his carelessness? What if next time–

He blinked a couple of times and just said, “Come on, let’s go.”

You noted the change in his tone and demeanor, but you didn’t say anything. You just followed him, wiping your tears and cursing the flowers in your basket.

“I didn’t even realise I’d gotten this deep.” You spoke, looking ahead at Bucky’s back while he walked ahead and led the way.

He didn’t say anything.

“I only realised I went off my regular path when I started hearing all the animals.” You spoke, still staring at Bucky’s back. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” You asked softly.

You got only silence from him. You could tell his mind was racing. But you didn’t understand the silent treatment.

“Bucky?” You called out.

He didn’t reply.

“Say something.” You demanded.

He stopped. And you nearly bumped into his back. When Bucky turned around to face you, he seemed different. Still. So still like he wasn’t breathing. It felt like he was a statue. The look in his eyes was blank. He was looking at you, but it felt like he was looking through you.

It scared you how quiet he was. “Bucky?”

“I thought I was gonna find you broken and maimed.” He finally said. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to go out and search places. Trying to find my teammates, or friends. Desperate to find them, or even a–,” He swallowed. “Or even a part of them.”

You were quiet this time. And there was only silence, except for the light rain hitting the leaves around you.

“I’m sorry.” You finally said. “Look, I was just scared when I called you. There’s nothing around here that could hurt me like that.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He said. His voice was bitter. He finally looked at you, dead in the eyes and said, “Be smart. I ran for hours to get to you. I thought I’d find you dead. Why would you even get this far into the woods?” He finally snapped out of the trance he was in, getting heated with emotions now. “We don’t even know what lives in these woods! Nobody does!”

You understood where he was coming from. But you didn’t appreciate the tone. “Why are you being mean to me? You’re acting like I chose to get lost. I didn’t mean to, Buck!” You got angry too. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for ruining your fucking evening.” You sassed. “I won’t do it again.”

“Damn right you won’t!” He raised his voice just as much as you did. “I’m not letting you into these woods alone ever again!”

“You don’t own me! I’ll go wherever I want!” Your mind couldn’t think properly. You were exhausted and still in panic mode. “I’ll even run away from you if I want to!”

A second of silence as he processed your angry words. Then, “Fine!” He hissed. “Don't call me crying to come rescue you then next time you get lost doing what you want!”

As much as you were angry at him, your lips trembled at the sound of his tone. “If I had someone else, literally anyone else I could rely on, I would've never called you in the first place.” You stated. Then, despite not wanting to, you teared up again. Your voice cracking as you said, “But I have no one.”

“I have no one either!” Bucky said, “Don’t you see that? I was– I was scared I was gonna lose you too.” He sounded tired, and disappointed. “I fucking love you, and it kills me that you could be so easily taken from me! You don’t think that scares me to death every single fucking day?!”

You couldn’t handle it. The panic and pain in his voice, the way Bucky looked heartbroken, the way he looked like he was reliving painful memories and the way you couldn’t do anything about it, the multitude of emotions running through your head at the sound of his confession…

You couldn’t bear the shattered look on his face. So you took off running. In the other direction.

Behind you, you could hear Bucky screaming, “Baby, for fuck’s sake!”

But you didn’t stop. You kept running, ditching the basket and wiping your tears.

“Get back here!”

You could hear Bucky’s calls, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t know what to do. No one had ever made you feel that many emotions all at once ever again. Fuck, even dealing with your emotionally unavailable family was easier than this. Bucky was like an avalanche. Inescapable. Fierce. Passionate. And he destroyed all of your fears and your worries. He was so… colossal. He took over your life completely lately. And it messed with your head. Disorienting, but in the best ways.

“Go away!” You sobbed. You were completely drenched at this point, the rain getting heavier and heavier, running for your life like a madwoman. Trying to get away from Bucky like he wasn’t the only person you ever wanted to run to for the rest of your life.

You heard his footsteps, running, chasing and closer to you than earlier.

You managed to run faster, finally able to put some distance between you two… only to trip on a fallen branch. You cursed before getting up, now with leaves and dirt sticking to you.

You heard him. He was closer. Closer. “Baby, please.” He begged, his voice getting louder.

You ran faster. Hoping to be able to somehow lose him and make your way back out of the woods somehow, and hide. Why? You didn’t know.

But you couldn’t do that because right when you were about to make a sharp turn, Bucky grabbed you by the elbow and tackled you to the ground. Luckily you both fell on a soft, wet patch of moss rather than rocks or something.

“Don’t run from me. I just found you.” He growled, straddling your squirming body and pinning your hands above your head. “What the hell did I say that made you run, huh? Am I not allowed to care for you?”

You were still breathless. “You piss me off, Bucky!” You answered, heart racing.

“Do I now?” He sounded cocky again. Far away from that strange trance he was in earlier, haunted by his past memories.

Your body was warm because of how fast your heart was pumping blood but the rain falling from above was cold, so cold. The contrast was somehow maddening. Like Bucky.

“Yes! And you are so mean!” You squirmed, trying to get free.

“Stop moving!” He hissed. “I’m allowed to care, you hear me?”

“You’re not allowed to be mad over something I had no control over.” You argued.

“Yes I fucking am! I’m fucking allowed to be mad where my girl’s safety is concerned.”

That shut you up. Bucky’s smirk sent a chill down your spine.

“That’s not why you ran, is it?” He leaned down, his face hovering above yours. The damp strands of his hair tickling your face. “Is it because of what I said? About how I love you? Did you want a more romantic confession? Hmm? A cute little picnic? More flowers?” He taunted, his voice doing things to you that resulted in you feeling your arousal drip out of you. “Well that’s what I had in mind for tonight, you know? I was waiting for you at home, I was gonna make you your favourite dinner, and spout some fucking poetry to let you know how I feel but no.” He tightened his grip on your wrists. “You just had to run into these damn woods and get lost, didn’t you?”

A tear fell down your face, disappearing into the moss under you. Fuck. You loved Bucky so much it physically hurt.

“What is it, baby?” His voice was colder than the rain, “Did I scare you with that? Huh?”

You sniffled. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took in a deep breath, but he was so close that you inhaled his scent as well. His cologne and his sweat was a heady mix, paired with the scent of the rain and your surroundings. You didn’t even know why you were crying.

Bucky shut you up again with a kiss. A punishing, deep kiss. His hands let go of your wrists, coming down to grab your red coat at the neckline, ripping it open. You heard the buttons go flying around, then he grabbed the dress you were wearing under the coat, again at the neckline, and easily tore it off your body, baring your breasts to him since you hadn’t bothered to wear a bra to come to the woods.

Bucky pulled away from the kiss, looking down at you. Above him, the sky was a darker shade of blue. His eyes demanded a silent question. He would back off immediately if you asked him to.

But you didn’t.

So he held your stare as he leaned down to take one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking and biting and alternating between the two of them.

You gasped and moaned and squirmed under him. The tension from earlier forgotten for now. Drops of water constantly dripped on the two of you, thankfully the pine trees took the brunt of the now heavy rain. But you could hear it, the sound of the rain falling. The grunts and groans coming from Bucky’s mouth, the sound of your moaning, the chill in the air. It was all too much.

Bucky’s mouth moved from your breasts and kissed down your drenched torso, sucking the rain off your skin until he reached your inner thighs where he parted your legs and settled in between them. He slid your underwear to the side, and you moaned shamelessly when you felt his warm, wet tongue lick down your folds.

His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your throbbing clit mercilessly until you screamed his name. Your hands immediately gripped his hair and tugged gently at his wet hair.

Your torn clothes were getting soiled but you didn’t care. Neither did he.

He licked and sucked relentlessly, “You taste so fucking good…” He whispered as he ate you out until you whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. His warm mouth pressed against your most intimate part, his tongue stroking you.

He growled when your hips instinctively bucked against his mouth. You whined as the sounds he made reverberated through your entire body, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body.

“What is it? You want more?” He taunted. “Thought you were mad at me just now. Don’t I piss you off anymore?”

You felt tingles shooting through you as he teased you incessantly. Even in the darkness, you could sense that his piercing eyes were wild and fierce, staring up at you from in between your legs.

“Oh damn you.” You hissed, your heart overflowing with all the love you had for him.

“You’re all mine…” he whispered, thrusting his tongue deeper into you. You moaned and whimpered, your body getting warmer and warmer with each touch of his tongue. “You hear me? All mine.” He said.

“Please, Buck…” You felt your walls tighten around nothing, and you knew you were close. You could only moan and whimper as he kept licking deeper into you, your back arching off the cold ground. You felt him quicken his pace and you felt the pressure building up in between your hips until you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you came undone all over his lips, moaning and whimpering. Your naked body drenched in the rain.

Bucky tore your underwear off, he’d never had to use such brute strength before, but he did now. And it only made you throb and want him more. His metal hand found itself around your throat as he parted your legs and pushed his cock into you without wasting a second, stretching you out.

Condoms be damned. You both needed this, you thought.

It felt so raw, primal, and dirty, being fucked on the forest floor by a man like Bucky. Broad shoulders, metal arm, hair damp and messy. His t-shirt and jeans sticking to him like a second skin while you were naked under him.

“Sure you didn’t think you could run and hide from me, baby, did you? Or maybe you secretly did want to be fucked like this? Hmm?” He questioned, knowing you weren’t in a headspace to answer him given his hand was around your throat and his cock buried so deep inside of you – he knew your brain was a foggy mess. “My pretty girl. You’re so easily affected by a raised voice, huh? You couldn’t handle it? I spoil you too much, don’t I? You’re so fucking soft, look at you.” He scoffed, “Crying and throwing a tantrum the moment I raise my voice at you.”

But you couldn’t argue. All you could so was whine and moan as he began fucking into you hard and fast. There was nothing gentle about it. He was wild like his surroundings, and passionate, animalistic, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. And you enjoyed every bit of it.

He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, leaning down and growling right in your ear and telling you that you belonged to him. “All mine.”

The cold didn’t matter now that his warm, though damp and clothed, body was pressing down on you. Something about you being completely naked while he was still dressed made the moment all the more raw and dirty.

“All yours.” You managed to choke out.

You were a moaning mess under him, your hands finding their way into his hair as he fucked you nice and hard. It was all overwhelming, his voice, his weight on top of you, his cock thrusting in and out of you repeatedly…

He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, his metal hand pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He stared into your eyes while he sped up into you again. “There I am. You feel that? That’s me fucking my girl.” He said, thrusting into your extra hard to prove his point. He smirked when your body squirmed under him. “What did you say earlier? That you’d run from me if you wanted to?” He boasted, “Try running now, baby.”

All you could do was moan, clenching your eyes shut as you felt like you were losing your mind under him.

“Look at me, hey, hey!” He tapped your cheek gently to get you to open your eyes. “Look at me,” His tone was gentle now. “Are you gonna come frolicking around here alone again? Huh? Are you?”

You shook your head, unable to speak coherently.

“Answer me. Use your words, come on.” He insisted. “You were so bratty earlier, what happened, huh? Use your words baby, come on tell me. Are you?”

“No, please. I won’t. I promise.”

“Good girl. Now come for me.”

You cried out, feeling him speed up into you. “Bucky, I–,”

“Shh, baby.” He sounded much calmer now. “I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’m right here.” He mumbled into your ear. “Your man’s here, I've got you. Just let go and come for me, that’s it. Just come.”

He pressed his lips to yours as he made you come first, his mouth swallowing your moans as you orgasmed before he pulled out and came all over your inner thighs.

You both caught your breaths. Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you.” He whispered. Over and over again. It was pouring now. The rain washing over you both, taking away the tension with it.

“You’re all I have, Buck.” You confessed, breathlessly. “And I love you. So much. And when you got angry earlier… I’ve never seen that side of you before. It scared me. You’re all I have and you were mad at me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Bucky sighed, leaning in to press his forehead down against yours. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine. “You scared me too. I thought– I didn’t mean to be angry at you. I just– that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.” You sniffled.

Bucky pulled away to look down at you. You could see it well, but you could’ve sworn his eyes were teary too. “Let’s get you home.”

—

He took you to his house, and didn’t stop apologising or touching you in that gentle way of his. Not in the shower, not when he tucked you both in and pulled you closer in bed, not when he made sure you’d eaten something and drank plenty of water.

And especially not when he made love to you again. Slow, and passionate love. Fingers laced together, his body on top of yours, his cock moving in and out of you languidly, his eyes staring into yours in a way that made you tear up again.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, kissing all over your face.

“Me too.” You whispered, breathlessly. “We could’ve–” You gasped in pleasure, “We could’ve handled that better.”

Bucky chuckled, kissing you on the mouth. “We’re idiots.”

You giggled, his beard scratching your skin. “I agree.”

—

You woke up the next morning wrapped in Bucky’s arms. He clung to you like a koala bear. And his heat was the most glorious thing to wake up to on a rainy morning. The world outside was cloudy and grey, and perfect for cuddles.

“Are you up?” He asked, his voice tired and deeper than normal.

“How long have you been up?” You asked, turning around to face him.

“Didn’t sleep.” He said.

“Bucky,” You chided, “Are you still worrying about last night?”

He avoided your eyes.

“Baby,” You cooed. “It’s okay. We talked about it, remember?”

And you had a long conversation last night, after the multiple rounds of sex in his bed. About his protectiveness, about you being careful, about your relationship, about his fears, triggers, and worries due to his past, about everything.

“I know,” He mumbled, kissing your forehead. “I love you. Too much.”

You giggled, “I love you too. Too fucking much.”

He seemed in a nicer mood instantly. “What would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t showed up that day? At my door with muffins and cookies to seduce me.”

You laughed, snuggling into him. “Hey, it worked. I mean, I’m naked in your bed.”

He laughed too. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Sticking around.”

“Oh Buck. I’ll always stick around.” You mumbled into his neck, “Just promise me we’ll have more… date nights deep into the woods.”

He mumbled something about how he’d created a little sex monster, then pulled you closer and said, “Whatever you want, baby.” Then finally, he drifted off to a much needed sleep with his arms still wrapped around you.

—

a/n: get it? She was wearing a RED coat in the woods, and he’s the White WOLF hehehe– [they drag me back to my padded cell as I scream] UNTIL NEXT TIME!!! [they lock me in my cell]

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #marvel

4K notes · View notes

yeyinde · 7 months ago

Text

winter soldier au with John Price who was held in a gulag for three years and comes home wrong. comes back snarling and furious and threatening to rip apart the goddamn world if they don't give him what belongs to him, what's rightfully his, if they don't give him back his fucking wife, right this second—

the only problem is: John's ex-wife remarried. she's halfway around the world, and Laswell knows John enough to immediately squash that idea right away. but if not her, then who?

and then you walk into the room—a newly hired secretary that John has met less than a handful of times; a pencil pusher barely even a blip on the radar—but he pounces. snatches you up before any of them can react, tucking your bemused face into his chest, cradling you tight; possessively clutching at you as Kyle tries, and fails, to calm him down.

"you don't know her, sir. just let the girl go—"

it's met with a nasty snarl. all gleaming, bloodied teeth. a stranger in a familiar shape as John drags you further away from them. "this is my goddamn wife."

his declaration is met with shock. you're definitely not his wife. you barely know him much outside of a several, threadbare exchanges where he breathed down your neck about filing the wrong reports, and the cluttered mess of your desk ("a goddamn eyesore—"). you're not even friends. and in all honesty, you didn't even think he liked you that much. so. wife?

but he's beyond reason. his head a mangled, trenched mess of artillery fire and Makarov's torture. three years, Kate breathes. three whole years.

you can tell, almost immediately, by the look on her face that this—that you—will become a necessary loss in the grand scheme of things. and when John lets her close enough to whisper into your ear (having somehow convinced him that he can just walk out of here with you, his fucking wife, leaving for the marital home (and bed) that he demands from them for this brief stalemate)—she hurriedly tells you about their plot. this high risk, no reward scenario of playing along. not that you have much of a choice.

keeping John Price as close to them as possible was worth more than something as flimsy, as malleable as your agency, your autonomy. and if the way to do it was to let a brainwashed man play house with you, then so be it.

she, at the very least, offers a grim sort of smile even though you can see her working out the mechanics of it all as she makes promises on your behalf. things like, yes, John, you can leave with your wife. she missed you so much, John. she's so happy you're home.

"we kept your wife safe for you, John—" no one seems to react to the violent way Johnny has to be dragged out of the room by Ghost, kicking and screaming at the injustice of it all because th' captain wouldnae do this! don't do this t'him!

and John—if there's any part of that man still inside him, he doesn't let an inch of it show—just nods, lip pulling up into a snarl as he bullies you closer to his chest, and growls about finally getting you home.

"I'll keep you with me," he rasps, blunt fingers spreading wide over the fill of your body. a mad, twisted gleam of possessiveness, ownership, burning in bruised blue as he familiarises himself with this body he claimed as his. "right where you belong, wife."

(the word comes out in a bite. snaps around you and sounds just like mine.)

#idk john just cavemanning himself a wife is really all i want rn #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #pricedrabbles

5K notes · View notes

luvyeni · 25 days ago

Text

WHAT’S IS YOUR DESIRE ๑. ( 이희승 )

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── you’re so lonely , your parents pretend you don’t exist , no friends , you’re so desperate for love … heeseung can give you that if that’s what you truly desire…

( 対 ) lee heeseung + fem. reader wc. 4k genre smut · contains! vampire!heeseung , mentions of loneliness , oral ( f ) , biting , blood drinking , unprotected sex , mentions of murder mature content. / back to library

you were used to being alone; living in a small town , your parents often left for long periods of time to look for work in other churches; your dad was a pastor and your mother a housewife — not that it mattered , when they were here they hardly paid attention to you , and when they did it was often to comment on something you did wrong or to drill quotes from the bible into your head.

when your mother came into your room that afternoon you already knew what was coming. “your father has work in the town over.” you nodded. “i assume you’ll be going with him?” barely looking up from the computer that sat on your desk — your parents hated it , claimed ‘it was the work of the devil’ but they allowed it because it was needed for your studies in university. “of course you know your father has such a wandering eye, i have to keep and eye on the jezabels trying to seduce him.” you wanted to scoff , knowing that it was surely the other way around and your mom was too delusional to notice , but you didn’t do anything, you just nodded. “there’s food to last three days when we will be back , the robert’s are right down the road if you need anything.”

her hands were on your shoulders. “make sure to read your bible before bed , to keep the demons out while you sleep.” she said , you sighed. “i know mama.” she just nodded before exiting quietly. you closed the laptop , not like you could do much on it — your parents only allowed the wifi because of your studies , they turned it off when you were done with school , claiming you didn’t need it , they didn’t want the internet to “corrupt” you.

you stared out the window as you watched them get in their car , driving down the road — leaving you even more alone.

there was nothing to do except read; that’s all you were allowed to do , not like you had any friends , or a phone to keep up with those friends — you didn’t have a tv to watch the latest shows , all you had was those books , the books the library in the town allows you to take by the dozen because she knows you well — you don’t tell your parents about these book , they’d be deemed “books of the damned” by your dad. tales of dragons and witches — werewolves and vampires. especially vampires.

your father had an irrational fear of vampires; the people of the night is what he called them. you thought he was ridiculous they way he would constantly talk about them , how you should never let them in because once you welcome them in they steal your soul. he spoke like they were real , he had such a fearful look in your eyes — kinda made you smile seeing such a normally put together and fearless man shudder at the sight of a mythical creature.

so here you were laying across your stuffie filled bed , reading a book about a vampire ; it was a love story , a vampire falls in love with a girl human girl , but he can’t be with her because of her parents , so he turns her and they live happily together — without a few challenges , it’s cute and cliche. the rain outside started hours ago , the branches from the trees slapping against your window as the rain poured from the sky , you could hear the wind from outside , strong but calming — soothing … until you felt it , the overwhelming feeling of being watched.

you got up from your book; walking over to window , there was nothing — literally nothing , the robert’s house just down the road , but not close enough you could see anything , so all you saw was the sad and lonely darkness. sighing as you made your way back to your bed to get ready to sleep … but before you could sit down there was a knock on the door.

who could that be? it was almost 11 pm , it couldn’t have been the robert’s , they were a elderly couple and their only son was away in college — so who could be at your door at this time? you slowly made your way down the steps , jumping when thunder shook the house adding on to your fear as you made it to the front door. “he-hello.” you spoke through the door. “um hello - this is so embarrassing , but i need your help.” the voice spoke softly through the door — a males voice. “well im really not allowed to open the door for anyone.” you said. “well are your parents home? may i speak to them?”

“they aren’t here either.” good going now he’s gonna rob you now that he knows you’re alone. you shrieked as thunder rumbled once again. “i guess it’s fine.” it’s a small town , everyone knows everyone; so whoever it is must know your parents. you slowly unlocked all the locks , slowly opening the door , peaking your head out at the stranger. “can i help you?”

his hair was bright red , it was the first thing you noticed about the man — second thing you noticed about him was he was extremely attractive , his eyes were alluring as he stood before you , dripping wet from the rain. “my car broke down and i don’t have service , i was wondering if you had a phone i could use to call a service?” his voice deep , but soft. “oh well i don’t have a smart phone.” he didn’t seem shock much like anyone else would be when you gave them this news. “no? — but we do have a house phone.” you said , opening the door a little wider. “it’s pretty old but it’s the best i can do.”

the man before you smiled , it was a warm and welcoming smile ; this man didn’t look like he would harm you. “thank you so much , you’re very kind.” and maybe you were just lonely , the silence that filled your house along with the loneliness that clouded your heart , you just wanted to be in the presence of someone. “um excuse me miss.” he asked , you realized you both were standing at the door , instead he was standing out in the pouring rain. “oh my gosh, i’m so sorry.” you said. “come in , you must be so cold from the rain.” you moved to the side letting him in. “thank you.” his body towered over yours as he walked into your quiet little lonely home.

“you have a nice home.” he said. “th-thank you, my mom decorated herself , she loves doing things like that.” you said , he nodded. “well she’s a good designer.” he turned to you. “you must be so cold , let me light a fire so you can get warm before you call someone to come help , follow me.” you guide him to the living room. “just a second.” he watched you intently as you bent down to the fire place , putting a bunch of firewood your father chopped himself into the fire place , lighting it. “there , now you can get warm.” you said. “the phone is right there.” you pointed to the small table. “can i offer you something to drink while you call? some tea? coffee , i may have some hot chocolate left.”

he chuckled as your spoke fast. “tea is fine , thank you — i haven’t gotten your name.” he said. “oh me?” “i’m yn.” he tilted his head to the side. “what a beautiful name.” your cheeks heated up. “im heeseung.” he introduced. “you-you have a nice name too.” you spat out quickly , he was almost too beautiful to look at for long. “i’ll leave you to make your call.” you quickly shuffled away , to the kitchen.

“don’t be so embarrassing , you’ve seen men before.” you spoke to yourself while you waited for the water the heat. “of course not men as beautiful as him but you know what father would say , control your lust or spend eternity in hell.” you repeat to yourself as you continue to make the tea , unaware of heeseungs presence behind you , just watching you. “do you like sug- oh!” you jumped realizing he was standing right behind you. “did i scare you?” you hissed feeling some of the hot water spill on your hand. “did you hurt yourself?” he grabbed your hand , it was a bit red. “i-i’m okay.” your body began to heat up , but his hands were crazily cold. “but are you? you’re so cold.” he stepped back a bit. “let’s get you back to the fireplace.”

you sat the drink down , along with some of your mothers cookies that she spent all day baking. “enjoy.” you sat down on the couch beside him. “did you get in touch with someone?” he sat the cup down. “i couldn’t a signal , i guess the storm , guess i’ll have to wait in my car until morning when the storm is supposed to pass.” he said , you felt bad for him. “we-well where are you going?” you asked, taking a bite of the cookie. “well i was heading home , but as i was driving my car broke down and then my phone died , your house was the closest.” he frowned. “my brothers must be so worried , we only have each other so we’re really over protective .”

he had people that cared about him; you couldn’t help but be jealous — soon that was replaced with sympathy , he couldn’t sleep out in his car , he’d freeze to death. “my parents won’t be home for another three days.” you said , he was looking you right in the eyes. “an-and i would feel terrible knowing i let you sleep in a cold car alone in the storm , god would never turn someone away.” his eye brow furrowed but you didn’t notice it. “i guess you can stay the night , in the living room though.” you said. “just until the morning , maybe the phone will be working and then we can call someone and you can call your brothers to check in so they won’t be too worried.”

“really?” he said. “i don’t really want to bother you, you’ve already been so sweet to me.” you lowered your head with a shy smile at the praise. “it’s the least i can do.” you said. “maybe i’ll get some good karma.” you finished up the cookie you were nursing. “thank you.” he said. “maybe i can find you something to wear and you can wash up , i’m an only child and my father is not as buff and tall as you , so it might be hard.” you said , he smirked. “anything you give me is fine , your kindness has already stretched farther than anyone would ever go.”

while he showered , you sifted through everything trying to find him something to wear; also gathering a bunch of pillows and blankets for him to sleep on. you were able to find a pair of pajama pants that were too big for father , your mother was supposed to hem them but now it’s one less project off her hand — maybe she’ll spend time with you now. you laughed bitterly to yourself as laid the pillows and blankets out. you took the clothes in your hand , making your way to the bathroom.

you were about to knock on the door ; when it opened up, the boy stood there , a towel around his waist. “oh.” your eyes widened , but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. “i-i w-was coming to bring you some clothes , i put your other ones in the dryer.” you held your hand out. “it’s th-the best i could do i’m sorry.” you didn’t know why you were apologizing and you couldn’t help it. “it’s fine.” you finally looked up , he was staring down at you with a soft smile. “he-here.” he took it from your hands , his fingertips touching yours … still cold. “something wrong?” he asked , you shook your head. “well it’s just your ha-” your eyes landed on something behind him , the mirror. “that’s so weird your reflec— oh you have something right here.” his fingers found your chin , moving your head to look at him; you felt a shiver run down your spine. “you’re really beautiful you know that.” he said , your breath hitched. “o-oh th-thank you so much.”

you turn to quickly walk to your room , your body was hot. “pull yourself together yn.” you said to yourself. “just because you’re a virgin doesn’t mean you have to act like one.” you scold yourself , hearing a chuckle behind you , making you jump. “that’s cute.” heeseung said. “wh-what?” you said. “you’re trying to calm yourself down , even though i can hear your heart beating , it’s pounding out of your chest right now.” he picked up a picture of your family. “what a nice family.” he starts , and you slowly start to feel the fear creeping in your stomach , like you’ve might’ve made a mistake letting this man in. “th-thank you.”

his eye brow lifted in amusement. “you must really love your family.” he said. “so many pictures of them in your room.” he said. “i-i do.” hopefully you’d get to see them again. “that’s funny because if you look out in the front you wouldn’t believe they have a daughter , there’s no pictures of you out there.” that was true , your parents often said you were a accident , they were supposed to have children until later in life , wanting to spend time together without children — but you came and they had to give that up , your dad committed to the church ( and other women ) and your mother her “wifely duties”.

though they never specifically said that you were a mistake , they didn’t show any signs of that not being true. “my parents don’t really like me.” you frowned. “i ruined their life.” you chuckled , but heeseung could see the sadness in your eyes. “what about your other family?” he said. “i don’t have any, my parents cut them off because they weren’t “in tune with god like we are” , whatever that means.” here you were spilling your guts to this stranger who was standing in your room in only a towel — you still weren’t sure he didn’t want to kill you. “i wish i had a family , maybe like you and your brothers , at least they care enough to be worried.”

your bottom lip quivered a bit , you didn’t hear him walking over to you , until you felt his cold hand touch your skin , lifting your head. “is that what you wish?” he asked. “is that what you desire?” you finally look the man in the eyes — and what you saw frightened you; his eyes red , like his hair. “i can give you that.” fear flooded your body , your brain was screaming for you to run , but you couldn't, you were too scared ; until your brain finally got in contact with your feet and you basically pushed past him , trying to run out the room. “yn!” he grabbed your wrist. “i’m not gonna — let me go!” you screamed. “i’m not gonna harm you.” he said. “i swear.”

“wh-what are you? wh-what do you want?” you stuttered still fighting , trying to free yourself from his grip. “you know what i am.” he smiled. “you let me in.” then it hit you , the reflection , the cold hands — the red eyes … he was a vampire. “bu-but you aren’t supposed to be real. he chuckled. “i’m pretty sure i am real , i am holding you right now.”

“pl-please don’t hurt me.” you stuttered , he frowned. “i told you i didn’t want to hurt you.” he said. “we-well what do you want?” you stuttered. “whatever it is that you desire.” he said. “you desire family , you’re lonely.” he said. “i’ve been watching you for a while , you spend most of the time in the library , you stroll this boring small town all alone , no friends , no access to the world.” he said. “i can give you that , family… a love that last eternity.” he finally let your hands go. “please don’t run.”

you stood in silence for a second , his eyes were trained on you in case you tried to run. “my-my family — your family that ignores you , leaves you here to waste your youth.” his eyes looked towards your bed , where the book you were reading sat still open , he smirked. “what happens when they die? you spend your days in this house , no one else to spend it with until you pass on as well?” he was now backing you against the wall. “that’s no way for a girl like you to live , you deserve a life of happiness.” he said. “i can give you that.”

“wh-why me?” you asked. “why were you watching me?” he breathed in your scent , closing his eyes ; opening them , they were bright red again. “because you made it so easy for me.” he said. “you let me in.” there was nowhere for you to go , he trapped you against him and the wall. “you let me in because you crave me.” he whispered in your ear. “you crave to be loved , for someone to show you attention.” his nose brushed against your neck; you whimpered , biting your lip. “to be touched.” his hands found your waist. “tell me i’m wrong.”

you couldn’t , because he was right. “listen to your body.” he said. “is it gonna hurt?” you asked , his eyes darkened. “in the best way possible.” you felt his lips on your neck , you gasped , this was a new feeling. “you smell so good.” he licked your neck. “fu-fuck you taste good too.” he groaned , your legs were about to give up. “don’t fall on me now love.” he smiled. “let’s go lay down.”

he guided you to your bed , laying you down , climbing on to the bed; picking up the book with a smirk. “this book is full of false facts,” he said , tossing it ; it fell to the floor with a thud. “don’t read things like that.” his hands were on the side of your head. “i’ll teach you everything.” he went back to kissing your neck. “hee-heeseung.” your body twitched involuntarily. “teach you to hunt , to feed.” kissing down your chest and stomach , pushing your legs open. “to fuck.” kissing in between your thighs. “you’re so soaked.” he inhaled your scent as he pulled your shorts down along with your panties. “fuck you smell so good, so tiny.” you felt a little sting ; he'd just cut you. “ow.” he kissed the cut , blood getting on his lips , which he licked off, looking you in the eyes. “does that taste good?”

“so fucking good.” his voice was much deeper , full of hunger. “but i bet this pussy tastes even better.” his words were so crude , but you didn’t even get a chance to register it before he was licking your folds. “ah!” you moaned out as he ate you out. “heeseung , oh my god.” gasping out trying to sit up , but he pushed you down by your stomach. “be still princess , let me eat your pretty pussy.” sucking on your clit , your hips move upwards. “it-it feels like—” you felt his finger at your entrance. “so tiny , you can barely take my finger.”

“you’re about to cum.” his fingers ghosted your neck. “you wanna feel true ecstasy?” you nodded , he smirked. “good girl.” his fingers pierced your skin , you let out a scream , just as he curled his fingers inside you , triggering your orgasm , it was so overwhelming. “fuck.” he groaned , licking at your neck , feeding on your neck. “heeseung!” the metallic smell flooded your nostrils , his fingers still stringing against your clit — then you felt it , the venom entering your bloodstream , your body felt like it was moving in slow motion. “heeseung.” he pulled away , his fangs were fully on display , teeth and mouth dripping with blood.

heeseung could feel your blood coursing through his veins , you gave him a fill no other human gave him – he’d never find anything as close to this. “look at me.” he grabbed your face. “drink this.” bringing his forearm to his mouth , biting down on it. “open pretty.” opening your mouth , allowing his blood to drink into your mouth. “that’s it good girl , drink it.” he bit down on his lip , this was turning him on. “yeah- fuck.” his cock twitching against the towel , he was so quick to rip it off , letting his cock free; he was big , and thick. “gonna mold you into my perfect slut.”

you stared at the cross hanging in front of your bed as you felt him enter you. “he can’t help you anymore.” he whispered in your ear. “you’ve given yourself to me already.” he started moving. “heeseung.” you moaned. “and i don’t plan on ever letting you go.” if felt like you were on cloud nine , you faint taste of blood in your mouth , heeseung still lapping at the blood on your neck as he pounded into you. “fu-fucking mine.” he growled. “you gave me everything.” the bed was moving , your headboard slamming against the walls. “your mind.” *thrust* “your body” *thrust* “your soul.”

he began to thrust harder , bringing his forearm back to your mouth allowing you to take more of his blood , you clenched around him. “that’s fuck- fucking it -ngh- so tiny.” he grunted. “you’ll never need man to fill you up like this , gonna keep this pussy stuffed with my cock.” you stole his blood from him , but this just egged him on. “fuck i’m gonna cum.” bringing his thumb to your clit. “want you to cum with me , was cum inside your pussy.” he growled. “cum for me.”

your body starts to convulse, legs shaking; screaming. “that’s it cum all over my -ngh- my cock , fuck i’m gonna cum.” he held your hips stilled as he pushed his cock as deep as he could , shooting his load into your cunt. “ah shit!” he threw his head back. “heeseung.” you sighed , the room felt like it was spinning. “it’s okay , you’re gonna sleep for a while.” he said. “don’t be scared okay , i’ll be here when you wake up , you’ll be okay.” he kissed the side of your temples before you drifted off the sleep.

there was a bang on the door as he was dressing himself , he sighed picking up your now dressed body, sleeping body , making his way down in the front door opening it. “could you have knocked any fucking louder.” sunghoon looked down at your sleeping body back at him. “sorry i didn’t want to sit in the fucking car anymore while you turn the girl you’ve stalked for the past 2 months.” he said. “you ready , jay is blowing my phone up like crazy.”

“yeah , let’s go , the sun will be up soon.” heeseung said. “and she’ll be out for at least a few days.” he walked out closing the door behind him. “and what about her parents , are we just gonna leave them here wondering about their daughter?” heeseung put you in the back seat , before climbing in the drivers seat. “in two days we’re set to leave for a new town , they’ll just be getting home.” he said driving off. “we’ll stop by here , pick up a few things she’d might want to keep.”

“and then what?” sunghoon said. “we kill them , send ni-ki and jungwon in there.” he said. “you never said anything about killing them , let alone letting ni-ki and jungwon in there , they go over board and we don’t need that following us. heeseung turned to his friend while a smirk. “burn the house down then , these people are so stupid they’ll believe the bodies burned solely because of the fire , they won’t even look for anything else , and if they do , they’ll think it was a animal.” sunghoon shook his head. “you’re crazy.” he laughed. “they’ll probably think it was the damn devil or something.” they both laughed , heeseung looking in the mirror at your sleeping figure. “maybe we should let her in and do it , she’ll be too hungry to even realize who they are anyway.”

“jesus dude these townspeople aren’t too far off about the devil thing.”

yea , maybe ….

©️LUVYENI

#enhypen x female reader #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung fic #heeseung fic #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung scenarios #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fanfic #lee heeseung hard thoughts #lee heeseung hard hours

1K notes · View notes

ohbo-ohno · 3 months ago

Text

animal, sick as they come

summary: Ghost has been starving his whole life. Never enough food to fill his stomach, never enough blood to cover his hands, always leaving him hungry and ready to snap. You’re the supposed solution to his problem, willing or not. (or: the kidnapped home chef au)

wc: 14.2k

cw: graphic nonconsensual sex, kidnapping but you’re lowkey chill about it, rough sex, pain play, dirty talk & light degradation, non-consensual spanking, rough/painful anal sex, gratuitous description of cooking/food written by someone who once lit a pot of boiling water on fire and is really just trying her best

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

You may have never been kidnapped before, but you can’t imagine this is how it’s supposed to go.

The masked man looms in the doorway to the kitchen, shoulders so wide that he can’t stand in the opening properly because he wouldn’t even fit, the very top of his head hidden by the worn frame. He’s a beast of a man, hulking in every sense of the word, and you can’t help but wonder how he managed to sneak up on you in the first place. Surely you’re not that unaware of your surroundings? He’s easily 6’4, probably no less than three hundred pounds.

Not much time had passed since you’d woken in a dark room with a thudding pain between your temples, mouth dry and throat swollen. You were sure you’d been blindfolded at first, eyes dry and heavy, until ice-cold water splashed onto your face and your eyes flew open on instinct.

He’d just… been there. One minute you were walking home, trying to avoid large puddles and squinting through pouring rain, and the next you were shivering and scared, your captor towering over your crumpled and bound form.

You’d lost control of your bladder the moment the sight of him registered. He’d looked down, snorted, and lumbered away to find a hose.

You’d been inconsolable when he told you to strip, shaking with your sobs and keeping your arms wrapped tight around your chest. Even when he’d grunted ‘m not gonna fuck you when you reek of fuckin’ piss, you hadn’t been able to calm enough to follow his demands. It was only when he’d reached up to run a hand over his face and his shirt lifted just enough for you to get a glimpse of the piece on his hip that you’d been snapped away from your panic.

You can see the shape of it now, tucked in its holster. You’re fucking terrified that at any moment he could pull it out and end your life, like that. It would take hardly any effort at all. Just a twitch of the finger and bam, you go from captive to corpse.

“How long’ll it be?” The man grunts, massive arms crossed over his chest, breaking you out of your fearful stupor.

You blink at him, wide-eyed and silent. He’d given you clothes – clothes that fit, to your comfort and horror – so you’ve been spared the further indignity of forced nudity, but the extra layer doesn’t make you feel much safer.

He dips his chin when you don’t answer, dark eyes boring into yours. That only makes you clam up more, joints stiff.

He huffs. “Dinner. When’re you gonna fuckin’ feed me, bird?”

You stare at him, baffled. “What?” It’s the first word you’ve said to him without sobbing, and your voice trembles, shrill and weak.

He steps forward, angling his shoulders to fit into the room, fuck, and you skitter back, pressing yourself to the wooden cabinets. They’re tall, taller than the countertops in any house you’ve ever lived in, and the lip presses into the middle of your back.

“There’s food in the fridge,” he grunts. “Get to work.”

You’re not sure you could move even if you wanted to, your fight-or-flight instinct having settled firmly on freeze.

He rumbles low in his chest and plants one hand on the island in the center of the kitchen, leaning over it. He’s so tall that his head nearly reaches the other side of the counter, hardly a foot away from yours. The counters are the perfect height for him.

“What’s not clicking, girl?”

You pinch yourself, a quick twist of skin to make sure that this is all real and you’re not just trapped in the world’s most confusing nightmare.

“I-I don’t… you want me t-to cook? For you?” You manage, voice strangled.

He looks spectacularly unimpressed with your lack of understanding, and a distant part of you recognizes that you should probably be worried about making your captor displeased so quickly. However, the far larger part of you hasn’t had a rational thought since he hosed you down with freezing water and is still almost entirely useless.

He turns to the side to open his fridge, hand dwarfing the handle, and drops a chunk of frozen meat on the counter. It’s wrapped in brown parchment paper, a little string holding it closed. The fridge rattles with how harshly he closes the door and you can’t help but flinch.

If he weren’t closer to the exit than he is to you, you’d have bolted away the second he turned his back. But he’s close enough that he could reach out and grab you with one hand if you got to the doorway, and you can’t even bring yourself to think about what he might do if you were caught.

“Cook it.” He nods at the meat, voice bored like this is simple. Like it’s obvious, and your lack of understanding is an inconvenience that he’s rapidly losing patience with.

You listen, because it is obvious. He’s the captor, you’re the captive. At any moment, at the slightest whim, he could shoot you, strangle you, beat you, or a dozen worse things you can’t imagine for fear of ruining his dinner with your bile.

He has every advantage and you don’t have anything but the shapeless hoodie and sweatpants he gave you. Here, you are nothing and he is everything.

So with shaking hands and tears streaming down your face nearly the entire time, you listen.

You find a pan – he doesn’t help you and it’s incredibly awkward to try and dig around in unfamiliar cabinets without turning your back to him, but you manage it – and get the burner turned on. He steps out of the doorway again, still watching you from the hallway, and that gives you just enough bravery to inch towards the fridge, snatching the butter from it like he might lurch forward at any minute.

It’s a good cut of meat. A ribeye, think and with not much fat on it. You’ve worked in the resturaunt business for a long time and it’s obvious to you that this is cut by a local butcher, not some packing plant. This is fresh.

You have to stand with your back to the counter beside the stove to keep him in your eyeline. He doesn’t seem to mind, though the black balaclava covering him from scalp to neckline keeps almost all of his expressions a mystery to you.

“How do you want it?” You manage to ask, after what must be five minutes of psyching yourself up internally and darting your eyes between him and the meat.

“Rare,” he says, and you find that you’re not exactly surprised by his answer.

Basting the meat is the hardest part, but you manage. You’ve watched your father do this since you were born, spent countless nights in the corner of your parent’s restaurant watching line cooks and chefs and dishwashers and paying them all far more attention than you ever did your homework, nodding off in class the next day because the restaurant was open until eleven and your parents never once left early.

You could cook this meat in your sleep. Even with his minimal ingredients (he just shakes his head when you ask where the garlic is, and you quickly realize the only seasonings you have to work with are salt and pepper), you’re confident that the meat has come out tender and juicy, if flavorless.

There are no sides. No drinks. No dessert. If you’d made this meal for either one of your parents, they’d lecture you for so long that the steak would go stone cold.

You don’t have a plate to serve it on. When you ask tentatively about the dishes, voice hardly audible to even you, the man doesn’t answer.

He instead begins to stride towards you, sending you careening around the island to try and keep as far from him as possible, hips crashing into the sharp edges of the counter and socks slipping across the tile. He ignores you completely as he leans over the over, sniffing loudly.

You’ve thrown yourself, completely unintentionally, to the side of the counter with a large and well-stocked knife block. Before you even really think about it, you’re gripping a carving knife with both hands and holding it straight out in front of you, like you’re hoping he runs into you and impales himself. It’s probably your best bet, considering your knees are nearly knocking and barely holding you up.

He is entirely unconcerned by you. He grabs an oven mitt that was either always black or has been scorched so badly that it’s been darkened, the back of it split with its thin lining peeking out, and grabs the cast-iron by its handle, turning back to the rest of the kitchen.

He snorts when he sees you, the sound distinctly amused and unafraid. “You think you could hurt me? With that thing?”

You may be shaking in fear, the knife quivering in front of you even with your knuckles clenched so tight they nearly spasm, but you still manage to find yourself almost offended.

“I’ll stab you,” you threaten, voice quiet but the steadiest it’s been since you woke up in that damp basement. “I’ll do it.”

The cheeks of the balaclava pull up, the imprint of his lips clear throught the fabric as he smiles, an indent where his teeth must be. “Don’t think you’ll like what happens if you try, pet.”

He steps around the island again, striding for the door and completely dismissing you. At least, that’s what you think until he calls, “Follow,” over his shoulder, like you’re an animal being called to heel.

The dining room is visible from the kitchen, a section of one wall carved out so you can see into each room from the other. You only lose sight of him for a second before he reappears on the other side of the wall, heading to sit at the table.

The room has a horrible dark red carpet, the walls the same old-fashioned panneling as the hallway he’d dragged you down hardly an hour earlier. He seats himself at the head of a small rectangular table. It’s the only chair in the room despite the fact that five more could easily fit at the table, one leg shorter than the other. There’s nothing on the walls, no decor anywhere, just one table and one chair for one man.

You linger in the doorway, shifty and nervous, halfway to rushing back to the kitchen if only for some deluded sense of familiarity you’ve already built.

“Don’t make me chase you,” he warns, eyes narrowing into a brief glare before he drops the pan in front of himself, silverware already set at his place, cast iron still smoking. “Neither of us’ll like it if you ruin my meal, bird.”

Then, he digs in.

You’ve seen a lot of people eat. More people than you can count, in fact. You’ve seen them eat good food, bad food, life-changingly good and life-changingly bad food. As a child you’d been fascinated by the expressions on customers’ faces when they tried something new for the first time.

A woman with her eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows raised high as she bites into a new chocolate cake recipe your mother spent weeks making you taste test, moaning so loudly her husband had blushed. A man nearly collapsing over his bowl of soup on a cold winter day, just barely keeping his tie from falling into it as he desperately shoveled another bite into his mouth. You’ve seen people cry over your father’s wagyu, pepper your mother’s face with kisses after tasting her dacquoise.

This man eats like none you’ve ever seen before.

He’s like an animal. It takes him just a second to push his mask up to his nose, revealing pale skin decorated with atrophic and keloid scars both, then he’s pulling the pan as close to his chest as he can and hunching over it like a predator guarding its kill.

He seems entirely unworried about burning his wrists on the edges of the pan, instead focused on tearing his steak into barely bite sized pieces with his fork and messily rubbing it in the extra butter still pooling in the bottom of the pan.

He doesn’t even pick the first piece up with his fork. He pinches it between two fingers and pushes it between thin, scarred lips, ignoring what must be a burn on his fingertips. He chews twice, then swallows. His digits shine under the low light of his dining room, juice from the meat dripping down his fingers to cover his hand, nails choppy and with a little piece of fat stuck under one until he digs it out with his tooth.

You gape as he does it again and again, pushing two, then three pieces into his mouth at once as he works through the meat.

It was a massive steak. It took more than half an hour to cook, if the clock on his stove is right. It’s gone in less than five minutes.

He moans as he eats, nearly pornographic in a way that makes you shift in discomfort. The steak is rare enough that the juice dripping from it is pink, the meat itself a brighter color than the man’s thin lips. Juice sluices down his chin as he chews with his mouth open, bits of the meat caught between crooked teeth.

When he gets to the last piece of the cut, half of it submerged in butter, he holds it in front of himself for just a moment. Then, he turns to you for the first time since he left the kitchen.

His lips are flat, expressionless, as he holds the piece of steak up in front of himself. His elbow is planted firmly on the table to keep his hand in his eyeline, and he looks at you expectantly, silent.

Your stomach growls, loud enough for him to hear. His lips twitch up in a smirk before he smothers it. You glare. You have no idea how long the drugs knocked you out for, how many days it’s been since your breakfast omlette. Standing over the oven, smelling the steak as it cooked, has made you hungry.

The two of you are silent as you inch forward, hardly daring to lift your feet from the carpet. It doesn’t take you very long to reach the table, not when the room is as small as it is.

You shift the knife to just your dominant hand, your now free hand reaching forward slowly as you keep your eyes trained on his. The steak is still so hot that steam is still curling from the pink center of it, right between his eyes. He’s still as a statue.

Then, the second your fingertips brush the meat, he snatches it back, slipping it between his lips.

You flinch back as your mouth drops open, offended and startled by his sudden movement. Your fist tightens around the knife, no longer so limp at your side.

He chews with his mouth open, smiling meanly at you. His teeth are stained pink from the juices, and you think for a moment that it almost looks like his gums are melting.

“Forget your manners, pet?’ He asks, only swallowing once he’s finished talking.

You wince at the lack of manners, your p’s and q’s brow beaten into you with a stiff wooden spoon to the back of your hand when you were young, shocked to see someone ignore what you’ve always seen as instinctual and then ask you about manners. “What?”

He leans forward in his seat, greasy hand set on his jean-clad knee. “You didn’t say please.”

You blink at him, caught in some sort of trance that you have no idea how to pull yourself out from. “Oh.”

He sits, still and silent, for several long moments, belly rising and falling beneath his folded fingers, before speaking again. “You’ll call me Ghost while you’re here.”

Your brows furrow a bit but you nod, fingers trembling where they rest limp against your thighs, knife almost entirely forgotten in this almost-hypnosis he’s dragged you into. You can’t quite make your lips move enough to give him a verbal answer, but he seems to accept the nod.

He snorts, eyes narrowed as he looks at you. He doesn’t even have to tilt his head up even though he’s the one sitting. The realization makes you sweat, something hot igniting low in your belly.

Before you even register that Ghost is moving, he’s snatched the knife from your now-slackened grip. He drops it into the pan immediately, the handle and blade both becoming drenched in the butter.

You’d nearly forgotten you even had the knife but the lack of it now drags the fear back up your throat, makes your heartbeat louder and your fingertips colder.

“Don’t need that,” he grunts, leaning back and folding his hands over his belly, fingers sliding against the fabric and already staining. This close, you can see that it hangs over the hem of his pants just enough to cover the button. You swallow thickly.

“‘S good,” Ghost says, looking you up and down. Just like in the kitchen, the chair and table here are taller than what you used to, like they were tailor made for your captor instead of bought from a store. You’re only barely taller than him even as he sits, but he somehow still manages to make you feel like he’s looking down on you.

There’s something in you that keeps you from backing away, even though being hardly a foot away from him makes the backs of your eyes sting with tears. It’s like your feet have sunk through the floor, like you’re up to your knees in shag carpeting and you can’t even try to get yourself out until the behemoth before you looks away.

“Congratulations, girl,” he rumbles, lips quirked up into a mean smile. “You just bought yourself a life, right here with me.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling, shaking hands clapped to your mouth in a fruitless attempt to muffle your sob.

Ghost leans forward, smile growing when you stumble back until the small of your back meets the half-wall. “What’re you cryin’ about, doll?” He lowers his voice, like he’s sharing a joke with you. “Think I won’t treat my new pet well?”

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat so hard it gives out, its galloping thump felt even in your teeth, gums numbing. Your tears blur your vision, but you can see enough to know when he stands from his set, the chair creaking as he scuffs towards you.

He comes into focus when he crouches in front of you, his knees hovering just above your naked feet, toes curling into the carpet in a futile attempt to get as far from him as you can.

“I won’t,” he says lowly, hot breath gusting over your face and lighting your nerves on fire. “Not until you earn it. Y’hear me?”

Whimpers eek through your fingers at his words. There’s something in his eyes that still looks hungry, little drops of grease dripping from Ghost’s fingers to your toes, and it makes you feel like prey just inches away from the predator’s jaw.

His hand darts out, smacking your clothed thigh and making you yelp.

“Don’t fuckin’ ignore me,” he snarls, sharp and sudden anger upon him like a wave, your thigh stinging from his hit.

You nod as soon as the chain of words connects in your brain to mean something, head bobbing up and down quickly in desperation to avoid any more physical contact.

His eyes narrow, unimpressed. “Repeat it, then.”

“I have to–” you cut yourself off, breath suddering out of you almost painfully. “I have to earn it.”

“Earn what?”

Exasperation mixes with terror, eyelids straining to stay widened, unwilling to miss another twitch from him.

Think I won’t treat my new pet well? He’d said. You have to earn it.

You can’t think of a way to distill that down into a singular answer, not quick enough for him, at least.

“I don’t– I don’t know,” you sob.

His movement is slow this time, but it’s no more possible for you to avoid his touch than it was when you hadn’t seen anything coming. His hand drags into your hair, nails catching on scalp, and he tugs your head back, slamming it into the wall.

“Everything,” he hisses, the fabric covering his nose brushing against yours, snot sliding down your fingers. “You earn everything here. You work for it all. Get it?”

You can hardly nod this time, his fingers tightening around the strands of your hair and pulling at your scalp, but thankfully it’s enough for him.

“Good,” he spits, leaning back and standing, dragging you with him.

Once you’re standing, half crouched to try your best to ease the pain rippling from your head but pushed up on your toes so his hand isn’t practically lifting you, Ghost grabs you by the elbow instead and drags you out of the room before you can even fully realize what’s happening.

He grabs you in the exact spot he had when he’d dragged you to the kitchen in the first place, each finger laid precisely where there were already bruises emerging. His grip so tight you can’t even think of trying to rip away – you imagine your arm would come off your body before Ghost’s hand came off of you.

He drags you from the dining room and down a small hallway. From what you’ve seen of the house, and what you can remember that isn’t clouded over by a haze of panic, the floor-plan is closed off, more claustrophobic than anything else.

Every room seems connected by a new hallway and they're each thin enough that you couldn’t walk by the man’s side – the two of you might not even be able to walk chest to chest without somehow getting wedged between the wood-panneling, considering the bulk of him.

Your toes drag, catching on the warped wood floor as he pulls you behind him. Your hands are wrapped around his wrist in a wasted but desperate attempt to keep everything below his grip from going numb, leaving your choking whines and sobs and pleas to rush out of you, voice bouncing off the panneled walls.

Ghost ignores you entirely, doesn’t even seem to notice when you dig your nails into his skin and you try your best to yank.

You start to grasp at the walls, trying to slow his stride in whatever way you can. You have no idea where he’s taking you, no idea what you’d do even if you did somehow manage to break free from him, but you try nonetheless.

He doesn’t react, no matter how much you scream and hiss, no matter how much you claw and kick and make your body dead weight, nearly breaking your wrist from the way you yank and twist.

It’s only when your fingers catch on the edge of something thin that you’re given a tangible thing to wrap your hope around.

You only realize it’s a picture frame once you’ve already yanked it from the wall, the photo itself a complete mystery to you.

It’s the adrenaline that makes you pull back and slam the frame glass-first into the side of his head, reaching up as high as you can to make contact. There’s a horrible crack when glass meets fabric, a screech when you drag it down the side of his face, glass catching on mask and skin and more glass.

Ghost doesn’t let you go but he does stumble into the wall, grunting like a bull and batting your opportune weapon like it’s hardly more than an annoying mosquito, sending it crashing to the ground despite your death grip.

He falls back into the wall, tugs you with him with enough force to nearly knock you off your feet, your head a mix of fear and victory and adrenaline and pain and more fear, coherent thoughts a far-off dream.

“Little fuckin’ cunt,” you hear him spit, heavy boot smashing fallen glass into further pieces as he turns to press you against the wall with his body, heavy and hot against you.

His eyes are raging, scarred lips curled to bare his teeth and little pieces of glass sticking from his skin and balaclava.

You only have about four drops of blood to speak of for your desperate attack, and with your kidnapper furious and holding you down all you can manage to think is why the fuck did I do that? What was I thinking?

There’s no room for anything but shame when you’re staring down the barrel of God only knows what he’ll deicde to do to you.

“Off to a bad fuckin’ start,” he hisses, spittle landing across your cheeks. “Thought I’d be nice to you. Send you off to sleep with hardly a damn scratch.”

Ghost snarls, shakes his head like a beast shaking off fleas. Glass goes flying around his head. You can hardly breathe.

“Tha’s not good enough for you, is it?” He says, hand coming up to lock around your throat. You’d cry out if he left you enough air, but he’s squeezing so tight you can barely get enough breath to stay conscious.

“You need a heavy hand, ‘s that it, pet? Need someone to show you what happens when you fuckin’ misbehave?” He pulls your head a few inches away from the wall on the last word, slamming you back enough to rattle your brain in your skull, eyes unfocused and hardly seeing and unable to groan with his hand squeezing your airway shut.

You try to shake your head, can’t manage to do anything more than shift with the grip on your throat. You think, briefly, about how he could snap your neck with one hand. His palm rests over your vocal chords, fingertips pressing against the nape of your neck. A flick of his wrist and you’d be dead. You think your heart may give out, overwhelmed and unable to keep up with everything Ghost is drawing from you, spitting at you.

Capture myopathy, a friend told you once, sitting beside you in a required biology class only one of you was interested in. When a rabbit is so scared that their heart gives out on them and they die. Just like that. Snap. Easy dinner for a fox. Isn’t that sick?

Sick. She’d said. This, you think, is sicker than anything a fox could do to a rabbit.

“You’re lucky your meat was good,” he says, tone calming into something less rageful and more frustrated, hand loosening enough to let you breathe more easily but still keeping you from speaking. “Don’t mind trainin’ you up knowin’ you’ll be an investment. Just need some work, huh?”

You try your best to nod, eager to pick training over certain death any day.

He hums, thumb stroking the crease of your skin between neck and shoulder and you can’t stop your shiver.

“Don’t worry, bird.” His teeth gleam when he flashes them, finally leaving your space. He practically throws you in front of him with the hand on your neck, letting it shift to wrap around your nape so he can guide you forward. “I’ve had pets before. All those tears tell me you’ll at least be easier to break in than the boy was.”

You only have a brief moment to wonder who the fuck the boy is, if he’s in this house, and what that could possible mean for you, before Ghost is nudging open a rickety door and nudging you down the stairs.

He lets you go once you’re firmly on the narrow staircase and taking slow, tentative steps out of fear you’ll miss one in the dark. Ghost takes his hand from you, looming as you make your leaden-footed way down.

You can’t stop your sniffles or your tears, terrified of the nightmares that must be waiting at the bottom of the staircase and back in the basement you’d woken up in. You know some of what waits for you, what the room will look like and what will be in it – Ghost had been with you since he dragged you to the kitchen, there would’ve been no time for him to change anything – but you’ve got no idea what training means or what Ghost will do to you when your feet hit concrete.

You don’t move any further into the room when you reach the bottom, Ghost easily stepping around you and choosing to ignore you in favor of looking for whatever he’s decided he needs. The sight of a small carabiner with keys latched to one of his belt loops makes your idea of running back up to the door leave as quick as it comes.

“Over here,” Ghost calls, back turned to you as he crouches down and fiddles with something at the wall.

You don’t move, feet anchored to the floor.

He huffs when he doesn’t hear you following him, shifting one knee to rest on the ground so he can turn over his shoulder and level you with an unimpressed look.

“You really want to make me come get you?” He rumbles, and the threat is enough to get you rushing forward then pulling to just as sudden as stop just out of his arm’s reach.

It doesn’t matter much, you can’t really do anything to stop him when Ghost’s arm darts back to grab you by the knee, his torso leaning back to get a hand on you and tugging you forward.

You can’t keep yourself from falling to your knees right at his side, nothing around for you to grab onto other than him and even looking at a face-full of concrete you know not to make any unnecessary contact with Ghost, not if you can help it.

The weight around your neck is sudden and unexpected, his quick movements around your head even moreso. You don’t even have enough time to decide if it would be worth it to try and fight him off before there’s a resolute click, and he’s pulling back with something thick wrapped around his knuckles.

It’s a chain. Silver, hardly a hint of rust on it, thick and well-kept, and leading right back up to your neck.

You don’t put it together until shaky hands come up to press around the- the collar. Thick leather, two or three inches wide, just tight enough that you can feel it on every exhale.

A collar. A collar with a chain leash, heavy enough that you can feel the hint of pressure pulling you towards Ghost, the length of the chain that’s not tight in his fist resting in loops by his boot.

You can’t do anything but stare up at him, wide eyed and trembling, can’t begin to think of what to do before he’s standing and tugging you with him.

“Here now,” he grunts, not bothering to give you any time to get to your feet. You sort of stumble after him, knee scraping the ground as your head is jerked along. You can’t let yourself lag at all, not unless you want to get dragged along by your neck.

You feel like you’re moving through quicksand, every move only making things worse for you. Every forced step forward is another step closer to him, every jerk of your head pulls at the hair stuck in the back of the collar that he hadn’t bothered to move before locking it onto you, every panicked breath only serves to keep your breathing short and hitched.

Ghost drops himself onto the small cot pressed against the wall, it’s metal legs creaking under his weight. You can’t straighten fully with how short he keeps the chain, which leves you in a terribly vulnerable hunched position, eye-level with his stomach and bent at the waist, knee throbbing.

“Over my knee,” he rumbles, voice quiet. “Get this over with.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, panting open-mouthed, drooling. A panicked animal with its leg caught in a trap, unable to do anything but stare up at the jaws closing around its body.

“Please,” you beg, voice hardly a whisper. “Don’t hurt me.”

His eyes are hard behind the mask, mouth a firm line as he looks down at you. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat beneath the thick leather.

Ghost doesn’t give you another chance to obey. One quick jerk of his hand and you’re toppeling forward, choking on spit and holding your hands out to catch yourself.

He manhandles you quickly – one hand on the chain yanking it further down, head forced lower than his knee while his other hand grabs you by the hips and hefts you on top of him, elbow jamming itself between your thighs while blood rushes to your head.

You yelp, legs kicking out as you push at the bed with one hand, the rough ground with the other, throwing your head back and forth as much as you can with the leash giving you almost no room to move.

“Settle,” Ghost hisses. You don’t listen, can’t listen with the way panic alone rules your mind, and in response he lands a harsh smack on the center of your ass, enough to push you forward a few inches.

Your pleas come to a sudden stop, breath stuck in your throat as you absorb the pain, a noticeable sting even through the sweatpants.

“You’re gettin’ fifty,” he grunts when you’ve gone silent, tucking two fingers in the back of your pants and tugging them down, lifting up one knee to lift your torso so he can yank them to your waist. “Take ‘em, then we’re done.”

“No, no, please, God,” you choke, one hand flying to your mouth and pressing against it. Tears stream down your face, cheeks blazing with heat, a horrible mix of terrified and humiliated that leaves you all but limp over his legs.

Ghost snorts above you and you jump when you feel his cold hand make a pass over the fat of your ass. “Won’t be thinkin’ that much longer.”

You only have a brief moment to think hysterically is he making a joke right now? before there’s a horrible pain on your ass, the smack loud in the otherwise silent room.

It takes a second for the pain to hit you, but when it does you yowl. You push up on his thigh with both hands as another smack rains down, pulling as hard as you can against the chain.

“Stop, stop, stop it!” You screech, toes sliding uselessly against the cement as you writhe, all of your struggles doing absolutely nothing to stop his hand from falling again, this time right on the center of both cheeks.

“Y-You can’t- you can’t d-do this!” You wail, throat filled with tears and snot as you realize you can’t even get close to standing, not with his grip on the chain as immovable as it is. “Stop!”

His next smack is his hardest, his grip around the chain loosening at just the right time to allow you to be sent sprawling over his lap, sobbing at the pain that lights up your backside. It hurts, and now your forehead is nearly pressed to the floor, leaving you completely off balance.

Ghost grunts as he shifts one of his legs, tucking your flailing limbs between his thighs and forcing you to be bent over just the one thigh, knees hovering inches off the ground.

“Stop your fuckin’ wailin’, Christ,” he hisses, peppering you with more spanks, each of them as hard as the last and forcing all the air out of your lungs. “Damn lucky this is all you’re gettin’. I should make you count ‘em, start over every time you get one wrong.”

You cry out at that, wriggling desperately and only serving to push your ass further into the air, trapped on both ends.

“We’d be here all damn night,” Ghost mutters to himself, hardly audible over your fit. “One picture ain’t worth bruisin’ my hand over.”

Your feet just barely brush against his thighs when you manage to kick up, but you’re embarrassed to find that you don’t have the strength to do much more than hang limply in his hold, one hand reluctantly wrapped around his calf to keep yourself from falling to the floor.

Your tears and sobs don’t stop as he continues his assault on your ass, but there’s a part of you that almost… settles. Not into the pain, not when he’s smacking you hard enough to jolt your body forward and make you wail at every new touch, but into the steadiness of his smacks.

He doesn’t wait more than a second between hits, each spank no heavier or lighter than the last. It hurts, hurts worse than anytime you’ve burned or cut yourself in the kitchen, but after the first minute or so your body comes to expect what’s coming.

That doesn’t make it any easier to handle. You couldn’t stop your crying if you tried, like his hand is resting on your tearducts instead of your ass, squeezing every bit of moisture out of your eyes.

He stops at some point, hand resting on your cheeks. He squeezes, nails digging in deep, and pulls your cheeks apart. You sniffle at the indignity, free hand covering your eyes as your face crumples.

“Half way through now,” Ghost says, ignoring the way you cry out. You can’t imagine taking one more hit, let alone twenty five.

He shifts back on the cot and for a moment you have absolutely no idea what’s happening. It’s not until he not-so-gently readjusts your legs, his own laid out flat in front of him with his feet hanging off the cot, your body readjusted so you’re lying properly over his thighs.

It’s more comfortable, certainly, but you’re not sure you want comfortable right now. It feels impossible to imagine the brute above you as thinking of your comfort, completely analogous to his actions and leaving you a confused and weak mess.

Ghost shifts his hand along with the rest of him, dropping the chain entirely in favor of resting a heavy palm on the back of your neck, equally as effective at keeping you still. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t comment on your heaving breaths or shaking thighs, just lets you breathe with your hands curled beneath your chest and your forehead pressed to the thin sheet covering the cot.

The next spank catches you completely off guard, your body having gone limp and leaving you unprepared for the sudden pain. It reignites your sobbing, your throat on fire from all the screaming you’ve done. You can hear your voice crack as you absorb the pain, shoulder shaking.

“Christ,” Ghost sighs, hand briefly leaving your ass.

He’s lifting you by your hair a moment later, thick fingers laced through the tresses as he pulls your head back and stuffs something in your mouth. You whimer at the feeling, tongue working at the frankly disgusting taste, brows furrowed.

“Keep that there,” he orders, and you just barely get a glance of the side of his head before he’s shoving you back down, face-first. You realize, blinking slowly, that he’s shoved his mask in your mouth. “Can’t be bothered to teach you to shut the hell up, gonna hafta work on that once you learn how to behave.”

He spanks you again and this time your sob is muffled as you bite down on the fabric and grind it between your teeth.

His pace is slower now, hand more thudding than stinging. It feels like he’s putting his weight behind every smack, each one delivered with what you’re sure is bruising force. Though truly you can’t tell much of a difference, not with your whole ass already feeling like it’s on fire.

It gets harder and harder to differentiate between new and old pain as he lays brutal spanks over spots that are already hot and throbbing, varying the strength of each smack this time. You sink into the pain, limp and unable to do anything but take it.

“Better,” Ghost says, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing your scalp when you jerk at the sound of his voice. His next hit lands on the crease between your thigh and your ass, but your whine is almost silent. “Can hear myself think now, for one.”

Another smack, and your body doesn’t even jerk this time. You’re not even fully present in yourself, mind floating. You don’t quite feel like an outside observer, more like you’re just a few inches removed from the situation. All your sensations feel dulled, and you bear the pain as best you can.

“Can enjoy the sight too,” you hear him say, and suddenly there are pauses between each smack, a little break Ghost takes to rub your glowing ass and thighs as much as he wants before laying another handprint across your soft skin.

“‘S too bad I don’t fuck where I eat,” he muses, and you groan into the mask at a particularly rough hit. “You don’t take much fightin’. I like that in a girl. Go down real easy with a firm hand, don’t you?”

You shake your head as best as you can, which really isn’t much at all. He snorts at your effort, tightens his fingers to keep your head still.

You’re sapped of all energy, unable to move even as his punishing spanks linger lower on your ass, and even when he bullies a hand between your thighs and spreads your legs.

“Look at that,” he says, voice low. You can feel it through his stomach, goosebumps racing from your ribs to the rest of you. “Dirty girl, are you?”

You’ve got enough wherewithal to try and squeeze your legs shut when his fingers prod at your center, yanked back into your body at the sharp turn from painful to… something else.

He strokes two fingers over your slit, and you groan at just how much slick you can feel him spreading. You have no idea when it happened, have no idea why it happened, but you’re drenched between your thighs. Your cunt feels as hot as your ass, and the realization yanks a horrible little whine from you.

“Guess that wasn’t much of a punishment,” Ghost muses, spreading your lips and letting cool air ghost over you. You feel him blow a breath across you and struggle more than you have since he’d laid you flat across him, knees coming to tuck up under yourself.

“No,” he says simply, landing a horrible, smarting slap to your pussy. It sends you flat to your tummy again, squirming against him and wailing through the pain. It hurts. “Down, girl. No strugglin’ now.”

He only continues to stroke you, now pushing the steadily dripping wetness from your clit to your asshole, making you tense and writhe where you’re pinned, his order ignored.

“Think I’ll do the last few here,” he says, landing another harsh smack to your center, this time focused on your clit. “Make sure you remember your lesson.”

He doesn’t wait any longer, just begins to lay quick, harsh slaps all across your cunt – your spread lips, your hole itself, your clit. Once, even, on your bottom hole, digging his nails into your stinging cheeks to spread you wide for him.

It hurts more than any of the smacks to your ass did, undeniably, but you’re sapped of all energy and find yourself hardly able to cry, let alone struggle. You’re too busy being swept away in a maelstrom of pain-pleasure you’ve never experienced before to even try defending yourself.

Your only option is to lie still and wait for him to finish with you. So that’s all you do.

It feels like it’s been an eternity when he finally stops.

The hand near your ass gropes you firmly, pinching what you can already feel are tiny little raised spots from where his palm landed the hardest.

You don’t have the energy to even think of struggling when he finally moves you off him, letting you flop uselessly to the cot as he moves out from under you. There’s the sound of metal clinking, the tension from the collar finally eased as he lets it go completely.

He doesn’t bother to pull your pants up, but he does nudge your legs closed. It’s a bit of decency you didn’t expect from him.

You can’t do much more than blink wearily at him as Ghost reaches to tug his mask from your mouth, lip curling in disgust at the drops of saliva that fall from it. Good, you think. That’s just the start of what you deserve, bastard.

He crouches in front of you a moment later, bringing his face into full focus in front of you.

He’s… not traditionally attractive, that’s for sure. Even your defeated and exhausted mind can recognize that you would’ve avoided this man had you seen him on the street. Probably would’ve even risked being seen as rude and crossed to another sidewalk before he walked past you. Seeing as this is where you’ve ended up, your instincts wouldn’t have been wrong about him.

He’s got a square head and blond hair buzzed close to the scalp. The scars you’d seen across his cheeks and jaw extend further up his face, something textured across his temple that you can’t guess the cause of, eyebrows patchy and only half-grown in from burns, little bumps decorating his scalp.

But there’s something captivating about him. In his eyes, maybe, such a dark blue that you can only tell they’re not brown because he’s hardly a foot from you. There’s something about him that says look at me. Don’t forget where I am.

Though maybe, you think deliriously, you’re only thinking that because he’s the captor who just spanked your ass raw and dragged his fingers through your cunt.

“Rule one,” Ghost rumbles quietly, breath gusting over your lips. “You hurt me, I hurt you. Heard?”

It takes all the energy you have left to nod, eyes falling shut even as the little prey voice in the back of your head screams at the danger so near, never mind that you haven’t been able to do anything to keep him from you. You’re too loud to listen to the voice anyways, only a very distant part of you acknowledging it as you slip into a sort of half-sleep.

You don’t hear him leave.

From there you settle, bizarrely, into a routine.

Every day begins with you waking up in the basement. Always before Ghost comes to get you, some primal instinct buried deep knowing that you need enough time every morning to brace yourself for seeing him.

He locks the chain, the leash, to a hook on the wall a couple feet above your cot every night, the key to the padlock always left on him. The chain is long enough to give you plenty of room to roll and shift in bed at night but it’s too short for you to reach the small bathroom across the basement. There’s no clock for you to keep track of time with but you spend what must be half an hour every morning just sitting on the cot, waiting for Ghost to come get you.

He’s always nearly stumbling when he comes down the basement stairs to fetch you, sleep keeping his bones heavy. It’s only in the mornings when you see him with his shoulders hunched, movements weighted down, any other time he’s perfectly alert.

You think, at first, that your best shot at trying to hurt him would be in those early mornings when he’s groggy and slow moving, but Ghost never lets you off the chain when he’s like that. It’s always after he’s stiffened up, shoulders rolling back and permanent-scowl firmly back in place.

He’ll unhook the chain from the wall first, rarely saying a word as he half-drags-half-leads you over to the bathroom, doesn’t let you close the door while you do your business and shower.

(There’s a way he looks at you in the morning, when he’s at his rawest. Something animal and hungry in a way you don’t see even when you serve him his meals, pupils blown and lingering on your curves, unabashedly staring at your ass when you glance over your shoulder at him.

It had been terrible, at first, to get naked in front of him. He’d just stare, and most days you could see his hardness tenting his pants. Hell, some days he came down the stairs with his cock making itself plenty known, not a speck of shame in him.

You’d once listened to him jack himself off while you were in the shower. You’d had to step over the puddle of cum on the tile when he’d tugged you out of the room, nearly slipped into it when he’d pulled you just a little more harshly than usual.)

The chain stays in the basement, always unlatched from your throat along with the collar before he shepherds you up the creaky stairs, never much more than a foot or two away from you.

Then, breakfast.

It had taken a while for you to really believe him after he’d said you were only there to cook. What kind of person kidnaps a woman just to keep her as a private chef? But days went by where he never once touched you any more than necessary to get the collar on and off, his only reaction to your body a seemingly unintentional erection and usually ignored when you were naked.

Days, weeks pass where all you do is cook. Three meals a day, snacks when he’s hungry (which seems to be always).

Ghost’s cabinets were bare the first week of your captivity. He had enough meat in his freezer to last him months, but little else. There was a loaf of bread on the counter, a few condiments in the fridge with crusted lids and misshaped bottles, and some cans of soup in the pantry. Nothing else. He’d drop a cut of meat on the counter and expect you to work with it and seemed plenty content when you served him the blandest roast chicken of your life.

It took you three days until you worked up the nerve to ask him to go grocery shopping. It was the first thing you said to him that wasn’t a plea for your freedom.

You’d been terrified that you’d end up face down ass up over his thighs again, your ass still bruised from his first punishment and his subsequent much quicker corrections. But he’d hardly reacted, had just given you a piece of paper and a short pencil with bite-marks on the eraser, told you to write what you thought you needed.

He locked you in the basement for hours (you tracked the sun through the sole window as best you could, left behind fear and anger for boredom around what you guessed was the three hour mark) when he left. Briefly, you’d regretted asking in the first place. If the bastard wanted to eat nothing but protein and die of a nutrient deficiency, who were you to stop him? It would serve him right.

But you have nightmares, sometimes, of being stuck in the basement. Your captor dead in his bed, fallen to the bathroom floor with his head cracked open, bleeding out in the forest one of the times he goes off hunting. And you, stuck here, chained to a wall. No key, no way out, no one to find you.

A part of you had breathed a sigh of relief when he came home, letting you up to the kitchen and supervising while you dug through the plastic bags and put everything where you wanted it.

He doesn’t… do much during the days, is the thing.

He goes hunting, sometimes. You find that that seems to be his most consistent outing. He’ll spend hours out there at a time, sometimes coming back with nothing and other times coming back with a twelve-point buck you watch him drain through the kitchen window. He also has to keep his weapons – his many, many weapons – in shape, and you find that it’s not rare to spend an afternoon watching him clean guns or sharpen knives.

You enjoy his hunting moods most. He’ll disappear for hours on end to even find his kill, then spend days skinning and preparing the meat, then doing whatever it is he does in his shed with the bits of the body he doesn’t bring you to cook. Those days spent in the forest or the shed for him guarantee you hours of time alone, which isn’t nearly so miserable when he doesn’t keep you in the basement.

Sometimes he goes out after dinner. You’ll hear the front door slam shut after he locks you up in the basement, his truck’s old engine loud enough to be obvious when he revs it. You’re never sure where he goes, who he might even go with since he never takes calls, but you also have little interest in asking.

But most nights he watches TV. Almost exclusively old VHS recordings of The Price is Right, Wheel of Fortune, Password, and shows so out-of-date you’re sure you could count the pixels on the screen. He’ll roll himself a blunt and relax into an old recliner with cracked leather, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

(You watched him rest a hand in his pants, once. He hadn’t even been focusing on the TV, eyes far away and breathing heavy as he stroked himself slowly beneath his jeans. You don’t even think he finished, he was just… relaxing. You’d decided to just be glad he wasn’t coming after you for that job.)

Sometimes he’ll watch the same Manchester United games every night for a week straight, grunt approvingly or shout at the TV at the same points no matter how many times you’ve seen him watch it. By the end of your first month in his captivity, you could guess who scored every goal in the team’s 2012 championship game. You have absolutely no idea why he doesn’t just turn on the newest games.

You learn quickly that Ghost mounted a hook to nearly every wall in the house, and that he’s not shy about chaining you in the same place for hours at a time and leaving you to your own non-existent devices while he lumbers off. You spend the most time in the kitchen, undoubtedly, but you find that the horrible plush carpet in his living room isn’t too uncomfortable to sit on either.

It doesn’t take many days for your fear to turn to boredom, is the thing. Absolute, complete, mind-numbing boredom. There’s simply nothing to do but watch Ghost, and for a kidnapper he’s turned out to be spectacularly uninteresting.

He’d laid out the rules in the first few days. You hurt him, he hurts you. Listen to his orders, don’t make him repeat himself. Don’t try to escape, you won’t find anyone to help anyway and he doesn’t want to chase you down. Don’t try to fuck with the food you make him, he expects good meals consistently.

It had been the third you’d struggled most with, though you could hardly blame yourself. You’d thought he was going to make you bleed when he caught you trying to throw yourself out of a recently-broken window.

He’d taken you over his lap a few more times for smaller infractions too. To make sure the lessons stick, he’d said. They did. Ghost hits hard, and even after just his first punishment you’d been plenty cowed. You don’t give him many reasons to punish you again.

The bright spots in your life are, as they have always seemed to be, food orientated.

There’s a part of you that hates how much time you think of ways to quite literally serve him, but you have nothing else to do. He may enjoy his shows, but after about two weeks you think you may go insane if you have to focus on much more Tom Kennedy in an other-wise silent house.

You spend long hours staring out his windows at the foggy forest surrounding the cabin, running through the recipes you’d wanted to try before you’d been taken, notes for your parents’ dishes that were never listened to, plans on what you could make for Ghost himself with what he would provide.

And he does. Provide, that is. He provides plenty.

The fifth day of your captivity, he drops a chicken carcass on the wood island. Whole, unplucked, the blood from its neck still drying.

“I can’t…” You start, hesitating at the doorway to the kitchen as he moves further in. “I’m not a butcher. I can’t cook it like that.”

Ghost looks over at you, mask covering his expression. You find that it’s a fifty-fifty chance he doesn’t pull it on in the morning, dependent on some factor you’re not allowed to know.

“I’ll cut it up,” he grunts, turning his back to you and tugging a drawer open, digging around noisily. “Don’t need you to do anythin’ but cook it.”

You shift from foot to foot as he turns back to the bird, empty trash bag at his side and carving knife in his hand.

For a man who you’ve always assumed to be inept in the kitchen, he handles the bird like a professional. He has it plucked in less than a minute, his mess minimal.

His butchering is less impressive, though no less effective. He’s a bit of a slob with his cuts, reckless with his knife in a way that has you craning your neck to see just how much breast is left on the bone.

Ghost is slow-moving, careful in a way you’ve never seen him when he pops the thigh from the leg joint. It must’ve been a well-fed bird during its life, there’s plenty of meat for his thumb to dig into as he carefully rotates and pulls, not too much strength but not too little. A balance he seems to struggle to find before the thigh finally pops away from the body easily, and he moves on.

It’s… intimate is the wrong word, but it’s not far off. His hands – damp from being washed, something you’d been glad to see him do without you needing to draw his attention back to you – are shiny with the bird’s juices covering them, his thick fingers brutalizing the delicate, pale meat. The job is done quickly and cleanly enough to leave you plenty of meat.

He doesn’t butcher it completely for you. He leaves the wing connected to the breast, the breast and the tenderloin one large piece of meat when he lays his carving knife on the counter. His most precise cuts are around the oysters, each of them dug out and set to the side quickly.

It’s not a quiet process, his knife cutting through bone and joint. But it feels particularly loud with the only other sound the soft humming of the fridge, the call of a bird outside the window.

You feel squirmy for reasons you can’t quite place when he’s finished, bird butchered and glistening under the dim kitchen light. The look he gives you, heavy and stifling, doesn’t help.

You make him get mason jars next time he goes to the store, mourning all the stock that goes to waste because you’ve got no way to store it. He praises the tenderloins you make for dinner that night, voice rough in a way that makes your cheeks heat.

Most of the food he buys for you to work with is store-bought, but the meat continues to be fresh. He enjoys the food most when he kills it himself – he moans when he bites into a piece of duck in a way that you feel no shame in calling pornographic – but you learn that he’ll settle for anything fresh.

There’s a calendar on the inside of the pantry.

It’s an old military one, each of the pictures a dramatic shot of a soldier, covered in filth more often than not and staring across some sort of beautiful landscape. It’s from 2014, each of the pages worn and ripped where fingers have pinched and flipped. Each of the days is already marked off with an X in the box, some of them even with little notes written in different colors from over the years.

G birthday in Lancaster

S appointment - needs ride

L retirement on base

You know when he flips it to read June that you’ve been with him a month. You’re not happy, far from it, but you don’t spend everyday shaking in fear.

You know what to expect from Ghost, he knows what he expects from you, and you’ve settled into an almost-peaceful cohabitation.

He takes to ordering you prettier clothes about halfway through your second week. Sweatpants get traded in for sundresses and uncomfortably tiny shorts, sweatshirts exchanged for cardigans and low-back tank-tops.

Some days, watching him feed the chickens through the window in your daisy-print sundress and flour-covered apron, you feel almost like a homesteader’s wife.

If not for the chains hanging from the walls, of course.

You’re wearing one of those dresses when Ghost comes to visit you in the kitchen, nearly six weeks after he’d taken you.

He’d been letting you wander the house off-leash more and more, in small doses. Whether confident in his ability to catch you or your inability to get far from the cabin, you’re not sure, but you’re thankful nonetheless. You’re still a little sore from your last escape attempt, ass smarting from his belt, and haven’t quite gotten into your head to try again yet.

You’re leaning over the counter, tasting a fresh brownie from the middle of the pan while he smokes with his Wheel of Fortune on, having sent you off with a pat on the ass and a I want somethin’ sweet, doll.

You’ve never been nearly as good at baking as you have cooking, and you’re not sure you’ve perfected your brownie recipe yet. But you’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and Ghost keeps his house cold. Biting into a still-steaming gooey brownie, the top just enough of a crust to give the bite texture, the chocolate melting into your tongue, is one of the best things you’ve done since you first woke up in that basement.

You don’t realize you’ve made a noise until there’s an echo behind you, Ghost’s groan so quiet it’s nearly drowned out by the TV in the other room.

You jerk back from the counter, hands braced on the rounded corner as you look over your shoulder, sure that there’s a pipe groaning in the wall.

Instead you see your kidnapper, already hardly a step away and boxing you into the counter, hulking body smothering you with ease.

Your spine goes ramrod straight, brownie abandoned in its pan as he presses himself into you, hard chest pushing against your softer back. You’re silent, stiff, too surprised and scared to do more than wait.

“‘S got you moanin’ in here?” Ghost rumbles, heavy against you. “Thought I said I wanted a treat.”

“I–” You gasp, arching when he presses his hips into you. His sweatpants don’t do anything to disguise his length and you can feel every inch of him against your back. “I–I made brownies.”

“Hm…” One hand comes to rest on your hip, his head lowering enough that you can see his profile in your peripheral. “Let’s have it then.”

You don’t move at first, fingertips tingling and lips pressed tightly together.

He huffs, smacks your ass once. He pushes the fabric of your dress up just enough to clip your skin, simple granny panties doing little to soften the blow. You gasp and jerk forward, soft stomach pressing into the counter.

“Give me one,” he says, hand rubbing where he’d just spanked, fingertips just dipping under the edge of your underwear. “C’mon, bird, I want a bite.”

Your fingers quiver as you lift the brownie in your hand to his lips, holding it just over his shoulder as he feels you up with both hands, roughly kneading the cheeks of your ass as you try to stay as still as possible.

Ghost gives you more of his weight and bites the brownie, the sharp edges of his teeth scraping your knuckles. You jump at the feeling, unwittingly grinding yourself against him.

“Fuck, pet,” he moans, face dropping to rest his forehead against your temple. You can do nothing but stare at the cabinet. “That’s fuckin’ delicious. I need another bite.”

You’re reaching towards the pan to cut him another piece when you realize he’s shifting to his knees behind you.

“Ghost,” you whine when he takes your hips in his hands, hefting you up so you’re fully resting on the island with your toes unable to even skim the tile. Your eyes are wide as you stare at the backsplash, unable to quite believe what’s happening.

“Hush,” he scolds, and you get a smack to the thigh for your trouble. “I want my sweet thing.”

Ghost eats your cunt the same way he eats your food: voraciously, messily, and shamelessly.

He gives you no warm up, no time to prepare for something he’s only hinted at wanting to do before. There’s one broad swipe of his tongue across your sex, then his lips wrapping around your clit and your eyes rolling back into your skull.

You’re not sure that he cares about your pleasure, but he’s certainly giving you plenty. He licks from cunt to clit again and again, tongue quick and stiff against where you’re sensitive and drawing breathy moans from you, nails scratching uslessly at the counter.

He focuses mostly on your hole, licking up your slick like it’s the best thing his tongue has ever touched and leaving you pushing back for more unconsciously, wanting more than just the tip of his tongue inside you.

“Greedy,” he huffs when you nearly slip off the counter. He slips two fingers into your leaking hole and you squeal at the stretch, noticeable even with his mouth working you over. “This is for me, not you, pet. Settle down and let me eat.”

You cry out when he laps at your clit, quick, broad licks over the bud and just enough pressure to make your mouth hang open. He gives you almost too much suction, your brain rattling around between your ears when he crooks his fingers and tugs.

He uses just one hand on your thigh and two fingers in your cunt to shove you up the counter, giving him more space to have you practically sitting on his face. He laps around his own fingers, fucking with you just enough to coax more slick for him to drink, your knees knocking against the cabinet.

Eventually, what feels like it must be hours later, you come. The combination of Ghost’s fingers pressing at just the right spot, the suction on your clit and the sound of his mouth against you making you feel insane and finally pushing you over the edge.

It’s heaven, to have him lick and suck you through your orgasm. Your limbs feel tingly, bright white starbusts flying behind your eyes as you go limp across the counter, head pressing against the backsplash.

It isn’t until he doesn’t pull out his fingers, doesn’t pull his tongue away, that you start to feel truly gone, a puppet dancing to his tune, a piece of fruit squeezing whatever juice he wants into his mouth for as long as he wants.

“Not done with you yet,” you hear him murmur, the rumble of his voice against your cunt making you moan from overstimulation. “Gonna drain you dry, pretty thing. Shouldn’t have made yourself so sweet if you didn’t want me taking it all.”

You want to growl that you can’t make yourself taste like anything, but he slips a third finger into your hold, curls his fingers and rubs his knuckles against your g-spot, and you’re coming too hard to even attempt a protest.

By the time he pulls your dress back down and pets your ass, taking a brownie from the pan without even bothering to use the knife to cut himself a piece, there’s nearly as much drool dripping from your mouth as there is your cunt.

From there, your life centers around two things: food and sex. Both of them exist only because of and with Ghost, him your constant companion as you unwillingly grow more and more comfortable in his house.

You cook him a stew made from cow leg he’d dropped on your counter that morning. Small russet potatoes float in the broth, popped into his mouth whole and swallowed almost as completely, pieces of carrots he chews to mush and celery he avoids, wine soaked meat leaving grease stains down his shirt.

Ghost puts you on your knees beneath the table, feeds you his cock while he feeds himself your food. You suck him as well as you can, trace your tongue over the thick vein up the side of his cock, ignore the throbbing in your jaw and try to push his foreskin back to suckle on his head. He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, doesn’t let himself come until he’s finished with his meal. You can’t tell if his groaning is for your work on the stew or your work beneath the table.

Fuckin’ heaven, that mouth. Want me to send you off with a full belly, huh? Bet you like your meal as much as I like mine.

Half a dozen eggs, scrambled, served with enough bacon to make you feel sick from the smell alone and half-soaked in maple syrup.

You, needy and desperate, grinding your cunt across his thigh. You lean back as far as you can with your hands carefully resting on the table at your back, desperate to avoid his syrup-sticky fingers, and end up with a view of his cock lancing you. He scoops your slick up with his clean fingers, picks up another piece of bacon and rips it in half, offers you the bit he doesn’t take.

Please, please, Ghost, I need it so bad, it hurts and it’s supposed to, love, I said I wanted a show with my breakfast, didn’t I?

A rack of lamb, sliding off the bone, bites of it shared between Ghost and you as three of his fingers work slowly in and out of your ass, leisurely and for his viewing pleasure more than your own orgasm. Red juices smeared across your lips and face, dripping down his chin and staining his fingers. A thumb on your clit, meat shoved between your teeth as you come.

Gonna fuck you here too. Gonna make it hurt, listen to you cry a little when I eat. Oh, hush, you’ll be fine, don’t get yourself worked up. Not yet, at least. My cock’ll spread you out at least twice this much, save your tears for when you’ll need ‘em, pet.

Sticky fruit laid across your stomach, cantaloupe and watermelon and kiwi and banana. His fingers picking them off you piece by piece, savoring them as he fucks you hard. You laid flat to the table, legs spread why and throat sore from your cries, the stark difference between the way he relishes the food and the way he fucks you like an animal making you feel wanted in a way that threatens to drown you.

You need it bad, don’t you? Slut. Pretty, tasty, perfect little slut. Fuckin’ squeezin’ my dick off, goddamm, honey. Gonna fuck you full, gonna fill you up and feed you plenty.

Stir fry you make with hog maw, a recipe you’d never tried before given to you by a girl in cooking school who was set to inherit her parent’s restaurant. His face moving between your cunt and his meal, your whines about a UTI and cross-contamination go ignored, and he holds his bowl beneath your cunt while he strokes your g-spot with two calloused fingers.

Tightest fuckin’ cunt in the world. Pretty little thing and her pretty little meals, just made for me, huh? ‘S that right, pet? You’re made just for me and my mouth and my cock, hm? Gonna give me a nice little dressing for my food?

A night spent in his bed, after you make him angel-food cake from scratch. Waking up to a cock pressed against your ass, chain leash and collar heavy around your throat and locked around the headboard but the sheets soft under your skin, pillows thick and his own body warm in a way the basement never gets.

Ghost isn’t awake yet. He’s snoring like a freight train, completely unaware of the way you stare at him in the blue-dark of the early dawn hours.

The chain is heavy in your hand, cold against your soft palms. You feel almost like you’re in a trance, the world still hazy around its edges as you shift to kneel over him.

You don’t know how much strength it takes to strangle a person, but evidentially you don’t use enough.

You wrap the chain tight around either knuckle, press your hands hard into the mattress on either side of his head, and hold your own breath. His snores quiet, his breathing shudders. He coughs once, twice, you feel his hips and legs begin to shift beneath you and you really put your body weight behind your hold. He goes still.

Then, his eyes fly open.

There’s hardly time for you to think fuck before he’s flipping you onto your stomach, harsh hand shoving you into the mattress while another rips the chain from your hands and pulls.

You wail a breath as your head is pulled back, scalp nearly touching your spine as Ghost forces your back into a steep arch, ass pushed into the air.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hisses. You can’t tell if the heat in his words is rage or hunger or some sick mix of both, have even less of an idea which one you should be hoping it is. “You tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?”

You can barely breathe through the anticipation, the fear that’s been gone for so many days suddenly wrapped around you as tight as the collar, but you find enough breath to shout when he lands a horribly heavy hit across your ass.

“Ghost!” You shout when he only follows it with several more, eyes squeezed shut as he overwhelms you in pain and discomfort.

“What?” He snarls, fingers clipping your cunt and making your squeal. “What, now you don’t like pain? I watched you cream my cock without a single finger in your cunt last night, girl, but this?” Another spank, harder than you’ve ever taken and burning. “This too much for you?”

You huff, squirming as much as you can in your strained position.

“You wake me up with a goddamn chain around my neck and bitch when I beat your ass for it?” His voice is nearing a shout now, thick with what you’re sure is anger. “You’re gonna try and kill me in my own fuckin’ bed and pitch a fit when I make you sorry?”

You can’t find it in you to do anything but cry, chest tight and eyes squeezed tighter while he doles out punishment, bruising slaps landing anywhere from your cheeks to your cunt to your thighs to your hole, his hand spreading you wide for him.

“Spread,” he grunts eventually, a harsh hand shoving your knees wide. “Need to get to that hole.”

You don’t get to listen, he makes you do what he wants without giving you a chance to, and then lays a dozen terrible, painful smacks to your asshole.

You’re nearly screaming through them all, feet slamming into the bed as the pain rushes through you. He yanks the chain hard when you try to pull forward and bury your face in the pillow, forcing you to keep the tortuous pose he’s holding you to.

You feel the bed rocking with the force of his hits, spit and tears dripping down your face as you can do nothing but lay there and take it.

“Naughty, naughty fuckin’ thing,” he spits, two rough fingers pushing into your cunt with little care for your cry. “My own little chef tryin’ to strangle me, I can’t fuckin’ believe it. I bring you here to feed me, give you a load in your stomach anytime you need it, and you wrap your leash ‘round my throat?”

“I’m– I’m sorry!” You wail, inconsolable as he roughly rubs a palm over your clit, your cunt quickly getting slick. You’re still damp from the way he’d bent you over earlier, a mix of his and your cum wet between your thighs.

“Not good enough,” Ghost hisses. He quickly fucks his fingers back inside you, once twice, then pulls them out again.

You go taut as a board when those slick fingers move up, towards your far, far tighter hole.

“No,” you gasp, struggling even pinned as you are, a sense of panic shrouding your mind. “No, no, nonono, you can’t, oh God, please, Ghost, don’t–”

Ghost drops the chain in favor of grabbing you by the throat, tearing you back so violently that you’re staring at his sneer upside down.

“Shut the fuck up.” His spit is tacky when it lands on your cheek, mixing with your tears, and his smile looks evil as he glares down at you. “Gonna make sure you don’t even think of that shit again. Gotta make it hurt if you’re gonna learn a lesson.”

You sob as he lets you go, head finally falling limp to the bed as you turn your face to the side so you can still breathe. You watch as he reaches for a half-full bottle of lube on his bedside table, the label peeling and stained.

“Gonna cry for me some more?” He coos, laughing when you jump at the cold feel of the lube on your ass, thighs tense with nerves. “You know I like it when you make yourself look silly, pet. Go on, cry all you want. Still gonna fuck you.”

One finger pushes the lube into your ass, then two, then three. He gives you no time to adjust, only one thrust from each digit before he forces you to stretch further, lands slaps across your ass seemingly whenever he feels like it.

“Ghost, pl-ease,” you cry when you feel the hot head of him press against you, sure that it’ll be excruciating.

He threads a hand into your hair, pulls you up enough that he can bend to speak into your ear.

“You’ll call me Simon while I fuck your ass,” he says, voice low. “I wanna hear you scream it when I hurt you, pet.”

You listen to him against your will, the scream he wanted tearing from you and echoing the sheer pain of being fucked by someone as massive as Ghost with such little prep.

Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the pain racing through the rest of your body and leaving you limp and panting, only able to close your eyes and endure as he mercilessly pushes forward, uncaring of your pained hiccups and cries.

“Simon,” you whine when he bottoms out, warm balls settling against your neglected cunt. “Hurts…”

His laugh is mean, nasty in your ear. “Good, fuck, say it again, girl. Tell me how much it hurts.”

“So bad…” is all you manage, even just those words warbling off into nothing as he pulls out, fucking himself back in with a harsh thrust that nearly chokes you.

“Can’t believe you tried it,” he huffs, bracing himself over you as he sets a ruthless pace, no consideration for your comfort. You can see the chain in his right hand, feel the way it just barely tugs at your neck with how viciously you’re moving along the bed. “Been waitin’ for you to give me a chance to do this to you, to fuck you up.”

Your fists clench in the sheets as you do your best to breathe through the pain, the slide of the lube only making his thrusts marginally easier to endure.

“Been waitin’ to get my cock in this hole. Wanted to watch you cry and make you put your tears in the food, gape your little hole and make you ride me while I smoke, shit. Tightest ass I’ve ever felt, love, goddamn. ‘S that feel good?” A slap to the side of your face, rousing you. “You feel good with my cock drilling your little ass?”

“No,” you moan, miserable.

“Good,” he hisses, thrusts quickly becoming uncoordinated as he stares down at your ruined face, his eyes gleaming. “You’re so much sweeter when you’re hurtin’, girl. Wanna keep you like this all the time.”

You sob at the idea, already unable to imagine how excruciating it’ll be to sit tomorrow with your ass covered in welts.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Ghost pants, staring at you ravenously. “Cry a little more for me, attagirl…”

You feel his cum shoot deep inside you before his thrusts slow, the heat spreading as he fucked you through his orgasm, face twisted in pleasure. Your tears haven’t slowed, even as the pain lessened and lessened throughout your fucking.

“Fuck, fuck, that feels good,” he breathes, grinding himself against you as he empties the last of himself inside you.

You feel nearly catatonic as he pulls out, only able to whine when he slips free from your hole and then again when he rearranges you on the bed, limbs sore and neck stiff as he continues to hold you by the leash.

“Took it well,” he grunts, shifting to lay on his back again and tossing the lube to the table beside him. “You gonna pull that shit again?”

You sniffle shaking your head no, only verbally answering when he cocks an eyebrow. “No, Simon.”

He smirks. “I’d love if you did,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. “Would love if you gave me another chance to ruin you. Just go ahead, love. I’ll tear into you whenever you want.” He tilts his head, considering for a moment. “Whenever I want too. ‘Cause you’re mine to do whatever I want with, aren’t you?”

You nod, hands tucked beneath your chin as he tugs you closer by the hip, fingers pressing into rapidly developing bruises and making you whimper.

“Yeah, gonna fuck you ‘til you cry as often as I want. And you’ll gimme those tears every time, won’t you?”

All you can do is nod, a part of you calmed and feeling safer as you watch the predator’s teeth pull away from the prey’s neck when he nods.

The plate you balance is larger than your face and still nearly overflowing with food.

It’s filled to the edges with steak, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and rolls. You have a bottle of wine tucked under one arm, a corkscrew held between your lips and one glass in your hand as you saunter towards Simon.

“Smells good,” he grunts. You’ve learned that his compliments are concise but rare, and you greedily take in the praise from him. “Enough for us both?”

You snort. There’s enough food on your plate to feed five people, easily. But Ghost’s stomach is never-ending, and you’d made sure that there would be no way he’d go to bed hungry.

He spreads his thighs as you approach, pats one of them like you’re not already lowering yourself to him. He takes the glasses while you lay the plate, setting his silverware to the side as he opens the bottle and fills the glass nearly to the brim.

You hum as you take in a breath of the food, that familiar sense of pride from a meal well-made settling in your chest.

Ghost cuts the food while you lean back on his chest, watching his thick fingers work.

He lifts one of the little pieces of steak to your mouth once he’s cut it, swiping it through the potatoes and guiding you to look at him with a finger on your jaw.

He presses the tender, rare meat between your lips and you take it greedily, letting your eyes slip shut as you savor the taste. He kisses you almost immediately after, passes his tongue over the food before you can even swallow, but lets you keep it.

You giggle when he pulls back, swiping a thumb over the potato on your lip. He picks himself up another bite, pinches a bit of carrot with his steak and swallows without chewing, a moan slipping from his lips. You feel yourself dampening against his thigh, breath hitching.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” you say, voice quiet and held just between the two of you.

He snorts, ever unromantic. “Eat up, doll. Wanna have you for dessert after a meal this good.”

You smile softly at him, opening your mouth willingly when he lifts a bite of food to your lips.

#dark fic #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty smut #bo writes #cod fanfic #cod smut

2K notes · View notes

soapcloth · 4 months ago

Text

CW: soap x reader, brief mentions of past bullying, religious soap, pushy soap - dividers @/cafekitsune

The mortifying case of Soap having been one of your childhood bullies.

You spot him for the first time in years when he tugs open the door to the corner store just down the street from your parent's house—blissfully unaware of your presence as you duck away behind an aisle in hopes he won't spot you.

Despite being years older, its impossible not to recognize his face.

Last time you checked he had fucked off into the military. Why was he back in town at the same time you were? He never had been before.

Grabbing the last thing your mom needed, you wait until he's preoccupied at the fridge to sneak over to the till, ignoring the odd look from the cashier—of course John's grabbing the same old drink he used to make you steal for him. You can still remember the taunting bark of his laughter when you would sniffle and sob after delivering the beverage, absolutely sure you were going to spend the night in a jail cell if they caught you.

Bastard.

Placing the change on the counter you nod and hastily take your leave, about ready to cry tears of joy once you've made it out the shop door.

It's hard to believe he still has that much of a grip on your psyche all these years later.

Heavy breath billows from your lips as you take the crumbling road back to your parent's place, plastic bag smacking against your hip with each step—always the errand runner around here.

Even if the entire world shifted on its axis, you'd still wager that this town would manage to stay as is.

Three more days until you could go home—your real home; the spot on earth you had carved out for yourself, miles away from this unfathomably deep pit. Your scratchy childhood sheets give you a new found sense of appreciation for the set you had bought for yourself shortly after moving out; soft and well-loved atop your real bed, awaiting your return.

A large hand clamps down on your shoulder.

"Christ! Almost missed ye!" John coughs out, panting from his mad dash to catch up to you.

"Me?" you sputter out, spinning towards the towering man as you calm your racing heart.

The new angle gives you a clear look at the angry scar healing on the side of his head.

He beams, pupils a little out of sorts as he drags you in under a thick bicep. His scent is distinctly more man than you recall and his arms remind you of the sturdy branches belonging to a tree; limbs bigger than the ones you remember reaching for you when he used to chase you around the woods—you had thought them impossibly large then... what were they feeding him in the military?

"O'course! Who else but ye? That f'yer Mum?" he asks, grabbing your bag and taking a brief, distracted peek.

You don't get a chance to reply as switches his attention, nudging his nose into the top of your head to practically inhale your hair. he rumbles happily. "Thought I'd ne'er see ye' again."

you forcefully dig your heels into the gravel and wiggle out of his grip.

"Why would you want to see me? Don't you hate me?" you spit, frowning as you snatch your bag back.

You watch confusion eat away at him for a second before his thin lips press into a frown that mirrors your own, dark lashes trembling a bit as he glares a hole through you.

"Hate ye? Ye think ah hate ye?"

You weren't going to do this—not with the boy that had gleefully isolated you from everyone in your age range during the most important social years of your early life.

"Yer daft!" he suddenly laughs, slipping back into his jovial grin. "-Gave me a fright there for a second!" he pulls you back into him with embarrassing ease and begins to walk again, knuckles grinding into your head before he grabs the bag from you, a satisfied chuckle leaving his lips. "Cannae believe ye thought ah hated ye—Had the biggest crush oan ye,"

No.

"-Thought ah was makin' it obvious!"

No—not this.

"Ah was a jealous wee git, detested ye hangin' out with yer pals. Likely made a right fool o'maself." he rubs at your arm with his large, bear-like palm and sighs contentedly. "No matter, Ah'm no a teenager anymore. How long ye in town for?"

you tug your gaze away from the tight-fitting grey hoodie straining pathetically over his muscles, letting it land on your shoes. he notices your reluctance and laughs, giving you a squeeze

"-God gave me a second chance, ahm no lettin' ye slip away—Full steam oan till we’re wed this time, alright?"

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap #x reader #cloth writes

2K notes · View notes

xazse · 3 months ago

Note

please can i request hybrid kitten reader being taken in by snow leopard Satoru and panther Suguru. could be something like they both assimilated into regular society while living together and they found reader fending for themselves on the street after being abandoned and kicked out by their owner for misbehaving and being mischievous (she's just playful and needs company it was the owner's fault for leaving her alone at home all the time). could you include brat taming and a threesome between them?

its my first time requesting i love your hybrid works sm 🫶🏻 it scratches an itch i didnt know i had and i even read the ones im not into

Warnings: Hybrids + BratTaming + threesome + smut + manhandling + pussy-spanking + crying + orgasm denial + cumming inside + mentions of pregnancy + SatoSugu are a bit mean in this one. + hybrids

Pairings: CatHybrid!Reader x SnowLeopard!Satoru x PantherHybrid!Suguru

Notes: I hope you enjoy! I apologize for this taking so long! I had fun writing this 😈 I’m so happy to be your first request I really do hope you see this! Please give me a message or something if you do!!

You didn’t expect to be picked up one day, showered, clothed and fed till it looked like your stomach could pop out but it had happened. You went from trudging down the street in dirty garments garnering dirty looks from humans who didn’t understand your predicament, you hated the way they looked at you like you were gum on their shoe. A disgusting spec on the world.

It wasn’t until you met Suguru who found you digging through a trash can in some random alleyway, it was like an angel extending its hand, A very beautiful one, one who probably knew the hardships you had suffered though.

He had listened to your story in that alleyway, spared you his ear and eyes with not a hint of malice or some ulterior motive.

He also shared his story of being a “predator” in this unfair unbalanced world, Suguru held himself in such a way that you couldn’t believe people had even thought he was anything but the kindest man to grace this earth.

Satoru you learn, has his ups and downs but besides he also treated with the utmost respect and care, taking care of you in his own funny ways. Satoru being a Leopard made things easier for you they’re usually upbeat in some way so it wasn’t hard for you to get comfortable in their warm home.

You adjusted very well to the both of them, adapted to their lives and sunk into their company. They think it worked a little too well.

Suguru had asked you to do something very simple, something small, he never really asks you to do much around the house so he doesn’t think anything of it, what he doesn’t expect is you huffing under your breath and waving him off, simply telling him to “get Satoru to do it.” He’s stunned where he stands in the kitchen.

The next issue arises when you’re playing with Satoru, something you do on the regular because you know how much he loves the chase. When he pins you down you take the opportunity to bite him, you’ve already had Suguru and Satoru talk to you about your biting habits, so you know you’re not meant to do that, Satoru is the one left staring at the glaring mark on his arm and when he tries to scold you, you’re already walking into your shared bedroom and plopping on that game. Not even bothering with an apology.

You destroy expensive vases, plates all in the name of fun, scolding you and telling you to stop doesn’t work anymore. It just seems to make your behavior even more annoying.

Suguru is the more calmer one between him and Satoru, he had let the biting incident go rather easily, but Suguru hadn’t, he thinks he’s the calm and level headed one but apparently not. He comes home from a stressful exhausting day he wants to do nothing more than cuddle up with you and Satoru in bed.

When hes a few steps into the apartment, he’s greeted by his couches, his expensive personally manufactured couches scratched up, not light scratches either those were made there with a bad intent, and he sees you laying on that same couch, facing the ceiling, sleeping without a care in the world, he’s fucking livid.

He drops his office gear and beelines straight for the couch, straight for you, he yanks you off of his couch and a sleepy you is extremely confused.

He doesn’t spare you any words, all you see is his broad back dragging you to your shared bedroom, he throws you down in the middle of the bed with a thud and now do you get to see his angry expression, there’s not an ounce of forgiveness in there, it burns red. You know what you’ve done and yet all you want to do is push him further.

You tiptoe over that already small line and innocently ask him what’s got him so worked up.

Satoru unlocks the door and is greeted by noises, noises he can’t quite makeout yet but stepping his clothed foot further into the home he senses it’s you, he makes his way to the bedroom and slowly opens the door.

It’s like it’s straight from a porno, you’re spread out on the bed in all your glory: naked and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Suguru is sat leaned against the headboard as he abuses your poor cunt with a dildo, you’re holding onto his thick arm begging him to slow down just a little, your eyes are filled to the brim with tears and tears that are already dried up on your face.

“s’too much guru… ple-“ you can’t even finish your plead for release because Suguru is slamming the dildo right against your spot directly. Satoru can see bite marks decorating Suguru’s arms, you’ve been uselessly doing that to no avail. Still acting so bratty even during your punishment.

You see Satoru and try to call out for him in the sweetest voice you can muster, you know the leopard has a soft spot for you but in this moment it goes in one ear and out the other. Suguru spanks your swollen clit and scolds you for even thinking Satoru could help you.

Suguru doesn’t notice but Satoru sees the way your cute hole clenches, oh?

You’ve clearly been waiting for one of them to break and Suguru was the first to fold.

Satoru can no longer stare, he’s been grabbing and pawing with his cock ever since he’d seen the way your pussy swallows the dildo with not much fight. The way your wet cunt is practically soaking and dripping onto the bed.

He makes his way towards the bed, discarding his clothes on the way till he’s only in his boxers, his ears stand at full attention, listening to every squelch and nasty noise you and your pussy make.

He knows in the end you probably want cock but looking at an ever so serious Suguru he knows that’s not what you will be getting tonight, so Satoru latches onto your nipples, swirling the buds in his mouth, popping off of them just to slurp them right back into his mouth.

He swirls his long fingers around your clit, furthering your torture.

It’s not until about three hours later, you cockdrunk on the two cocks that sit nicely in your pussy, it wasn’t easy but you’d find it, you’d expected to be praised for such an achievement but nothing from either man had come out, their poor kitty left mewling in pleasure but no release just yet.

You beg to just cum once, just once but they ignore you, they chase their orgasms multiple times that night, filling your already full cunt with more of them, potentially even their little babies, that should settle you down for a while.

1K notes · View notes

enhani-ki · 5 months ago

Text

snitch - reader x ni-ki

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, cursing, etc...

you stared out the window of the bus. your legs were bouncing uncontrollably while your hands gripped the strap of your bag.

ni-ki's sister sat next to you with phone in hand but her focus kept drifting back to you. she raised her brow, leaning a little closer. "hey, are you okay?"

you snapped out of your thoughts, blinking rapidly. "huh? yeah, i'm fine."

"no, you're not." she nudged your arm with hers. "you've been weird ever since we left the house. you're quiet, and you're acting… i don't know, nervous or something. what's up?"

you opened your mouth to respond but ended up just sighing as there are no words coming out.

because earlier that day, you were just in ni-ki's room sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through magazines while his sister searched his desk drawers.

the room smelled faintly of his cologne. fresh and manly which is a scent that always remain whenever ni-ki's nearby.

"i swear, he never keeps anything organized." she muttered while tossing random things in the room. "i just need to find that charger and then we're out of here."

"uhm, you're invading my space." ni-ki showed up, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and wearing a smirk in his lips.

"well, i know for a fact that my charger is here." his sister shot him a glare. "why don't you make yourself useful?"

"i am." he said smugly. "i'm supervising."

you snorted while flipping a page in the magazine.

his gaze snapped to you and you regretted even reacting. ni-ki's smirk widened. "what? jealous i'm not paying attention to you for once?" he teased, stepping into the room.

you scoffed, looking up at him. "don't flatter yourself."

his sister groaned, annoyed that she knows exactly where this is going. "both of you, shut up. i found it." she held up the tangled mess of cords then turned to you. "be right back! i'll just to grab my bag in my room."

"take your time, sis." ni-ki said then stepped aside to let his sister pass.

the door shut behind him with a soft click. suddenly, the room felt smaller. the sound of ni-ki's footsteps creaking of the floor and the faint rustling of the magazine pages are the only thing you could hear.

slowly, you lifted your eyes to look at him and the look on his face just made your heart jump.

"looks like it's just us now." ni-ki said then he bit his lip.

you felt nervous but you did your best to keep your tone calm and steady. "and?"

ni-ki crouched in front of you, so close you could see the faint freckles scattered across his nose.

"and i've been dying to do this."

you blinked... confused, and before you could ask what he meant, his hand cupped your cheek.

the warmth of his touch sent a jolt throughout your body and the next thing you know is that his lips were on yours.

it wasn't soft or gentle. ni-ki kissed you like he couldn't hold it back anymore, like he'd been waiting for this moment and wasn't about to waste it. his thumb traced your neck as his lips moved against yours, leading you into a kiss that's leaving you both breathless.

the magazine slipped from your hands as you melt under all the intensity. your heart is pounding so hard it's drowning out every rational thought.

ni-ki made everything else fade away.

then the sound of footsteps echoed, making ni-ki pull back immediately. his lips were swollen and his breathing has become uneven. he stood up then covered his mouth, casually leaning back against the wall again like nothing had happened.

the door creaked open and his sister walked in, holding her bag. "ready to go?"

you looked down to hide your face and wiped your mouth before looking at his sister. slowly, you stood up and glared at ni-ki but he didn't even look at you.

"yeah." you answered, standing up with shaky legs.

"good. let's go!" his sister said cheerfully. totally oblivious to what happened in the room just a few seconds ago.

and as you followed her out, you dared one last glance over your shoulder. ni-ki was still leaning against the wall, his arms were crossed and there's a faint smirk playing on his lips.

now, you're on the bus and you can't seem to forget the feeling of making out with ni-ki earlier, the way he touched you, the smug smirk he had thrown your way when you're about to walk out... it all played like an endless loop in your mind.

"i'm- i'm just tired." you said finally, forcing a weak smile. "didn't get much sleep last night."

ni-ki's sister didn't seem convinced and her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied your face. you avoided her eyes, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside.

"okay, but you're literally anxious." she gestured toward your legs, which were still bouncing uncontrollably. "is something bothering you? that stupid ni-ki said something dumb again, didn't he?"

your heart jumped when she mentioned ni-ki's name. you clenched your fists. "no!" you said quickly, a little too defensive. "why would you say that?"

she shrugged, leaning back against the seat. "i don't know? he loves annoying you and i know you can't stand him most of the time. i just thought maybe he said something that offended you or made you angry."

you bit your lip as the truth bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

it's not what he said, it's what he did.

"really, i'm fine." you said, trying to steady your voice. "just tired, that's all."

ni-ki's sister watched you for a moment, then she sighed. "alright, if you say so. but seriously, if something's bothering you, you can tell me. you know that, right?"

you nodded while the guilt were slowly growing inside of you. she had no idea what had happened and the thought of telling her made your stomach twist.

how could you admit that her brother, her annoying, unpredictable brother had kissed you and you didn't even push him away?

the bus reached to a stop. you stood up, slinging the bag over your shoulder. "come on, this is us."

you followed her silently, your legs were still shaky as you stepped off the bus. the chill air hit your face but it did little to clear your spinning thoughts.

and as you walked side by side, ni-ki's sister chatted about something that had happened at school but you're barely hearing her words. your mind was still stuck to what happened in ni-ki's room, replaying the way he had kissed you.

fed up, she stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to face you. "alright, that's it. spill. what's going on with you?"

you shook your head but she continued. "you're acting so weird and i know it's not just because you're tired."

you froze and her stare pinning you in place. your heart pounded in your chest and for a moment, you considered brushing it off again.

"your brother kissed me."

her jaw dropped and she stared at you like you'd just said the most ridiculous thing she have ever heard. "he, what?!"

you swallowed hard, struggling to talk as you felt your cheeks burning. "back at the house. before we left. he… he kissed me."

her mouth opened and closed as she also struggled to form a response. "i-" meanwhile, your heart felt like it might beat out of your chest.

few days later, you and ni-ki's sister agreed to hang out at her house again, though you had to admit, the idea of going back was not easy but when she told you niki that wasn't home, you eventually agreed. you can't see him. you needed a break from everything that had happened, especially after that one hell of a kiss you still couldn't quite process.

you sat into the couch, trying to distract yourself with some random conversation but it wasn't long before her phone starting to buzz like crazy.

"you said he wouldn't be here!" you hissed, glancing nervously at the front door as ni-ki's sister grabbed her bag.

"i didn't know either! he said he wasn't coming home today." she said apologetically. "i'm so sorry, but i really have to go. it's an emergency. you'll be fine, okay? just ignore him or fucking push him."

and before you could protest, she was already out the door. you exhaled, dreading the thought of being alone with him. of course, it was only a few seconds before ni-ki sneaked into the living room.

"well, well, i didn't know there was a rat here." he said with a smirk, dropping onto the couch comfortably.

you rolled your eyes then crossed your arms.

he tilted his head, his smile widening. "you know, i didn't think that you'd actually snitch on me." he added. "you liked it, don't you?"

"oh, please. you're not funny." you scoffed, already annoyed.

he scooted closer, leaning in just enough to invade your space. "honestly, i'd do it again." he said quietly, low tone and teasing. "but i guess you don't like it."

problem was, you did like it. too much.

"can you get off me?" you snapped, trying to push him away but he was quicker. his hands grabbed your arms, holding you in place as he turned you to face him.

ni-ki's grin turned mischievous as he leaned in closer. "relax." he whispered, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his presence making it impossible to think.

"i'll stop, okay?" he said with his voice muffled against your skin. "just... let me stay like this for a minute."

he then eventually shifted, releasing you from his hold. he stood up slowly and instead of walking away, he crouched slightly to bring himself eye-level with you as you sat frozen on the couch.

his hands reached out to gently cup your face, thumbs are brushing against your cheeks and his stare roamed all over your face.

neither of you spoke for a moment. ni-ki's usual teasing aura is gone and replaced by a soft longing look. "sorry if i made you uncomfortable, y/n." he said, voice unusually quiet and sincere. "i won't do it again."

but just as you opened your mouth to respond, ni-ki leaned in. his lips met yours in a kiss that was quick yet impossibly long at the same time. it was firm and deep, stealing every thought from your mind as his hands held your face gently.

the world seemed to stop again and the only thing you could feel is the way his lips molded perfectly against yours.

his lips stayed close for a fraction longer than they should have, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to let go. ni-ki's hands falled from your face then cleared his throat after he straightened himself. for a second, he just stood there, looking at you with an expression you couldn't read.

"that's the last time." he softly then continued. "i promise."

without another word, ni-ki turned and walked away, leaving you stunned, dizzy, with your lips tingling from the kiss.

then the next few days were… strange.

ni-ki didn't tease or corner you, he wasn't smirking at you from across the room and he didn't even invade your space with his confidence. he barely even acknowledged you.

at first, you told yourself this was exactly what you wanted. after all, you'd spent so much time annoyed by his constant teasing. but as the days stretched on? the silence started to hurt you.

and ni-ki was just there, of course. passing by, sitting on the couch when you're coming over to visit his sister. yet, he acted like you didn't exist. no exchanges, banters, no comments, not even a glance in your direction.

it was unsettling.

you found yourself watching him more than you should, waiting for him to say something, anything. but he didn't.

and it drove you crazy.

why isn't he teasing you anymore? why isn't he leaning close, crowding your space, making you breathless, annoyed-

you hated how much you noticed the absence of his attention and you hated it even more when you realized how desperate it made you feel.

it didn't make sense. you had told yourself you couldn't stand him and that his antics were irritating at best. you always want to punch him in his face. but now, without him, your chest felt hollow and your body felt colder than usual.

it was quiet in their house as you leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through your phone. you had just been talking to ni-ki's sister before she left to grab something from the store, leaving you alone again.

you heard soft sound of footsteps behind you, and when you turned, there he was. ni-ki, looking handsome as ever.

"where's my sister?" he asked you, eyes briefly flicked to yours.

you gulped after hearing his voice. "she just went to grab something at the store." you replied, trying to keep your cool.

"oh." he nodded and turned to leave.

your heart raced as you watched him about to walk away, something inside you were screaming to do something, to stop him and before you could stop yourself, his name slipped from your lips. "ni-ki..."

he paused, turning his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder. "what?"

you hesitated, looking at his eyes. "it's… nothing." you whispered, immediately regretting it.

ni-ki let out a soft sigh and turned fully towards you, his hands now resting on his hips, inhaling deeply then exhaled slowly before speaking. "just say it." he said, his voice was steady but anticipating.

your throat felt tight but still, the words blurted out before you could overthink them. "i miss you, ni-ki."

for a moment, he froze and internally, he was screaming.

he is screaming.

pure joy rushed through him and it's so loud in his head he could hardly think.

because you missed him. you actually said you missed him.

ni-ki wanted to jump, to shout, to do anything to release the excitement surging through his body but he kept his composure.

he knew he would play this perfectly... the lack of teasing, the distance, he knew you'd miss him, and he would make you realize it yourself.

his calmness contrasts the whirlwind he's feeling inside, ni-ki stepped closer and smiled as soon as you locked eyes, his expression was unreadable again.

and when he reached you, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight yet gentle embrace. he didn't say anything, just leaned down to press a kiss on top of your head.

then without letting go, he kissed your temple. then your cheek. then your forehead.

the sweetness of his kisses made you chuckle softly, "ni-ki…" you giggled, your hands moving to rest on his arms to feel the warmth of his skin.

you felt his lips move across your face, pressing soft, long kisses in a way that felt both comforting and possessive, as if he was silently claiming you, telling you without words just how much he wanted this.

how much he wanted you.

"stop laughing." he murmured and smiled against your temple.

"i can't." you whispered, your fingers lightly gripping his arms. "you're..."

"perfect?" he teased, finally pulling back slightly, his face hovering close to yours with a grin on his lips.

you rolled your eyes, giggles softening as you looked up at him. "maybe."

"what? maybe?" he echoed, his grin widening as he leaned in to press another quick kiss to your cheek. "you're so lucky, i'm in a good mood right now."

you smiled, tip toeing to give him a kiss. your heart fluttering as ni-ki stayed close with his arms never loosening their hold.

a/n: play shinee - replay ><

マスターリストm.list

1K notes · View notes

dollishmehrayan · 6 months ago

Text

# “MRS. WAYNE I THINK THIS IS FOR YOU!” ── .✦ ( bruce wayne wife headcannons )

a/n: this was request by a anon (here) so yeah but anyways I Lowkey used to be OBSESSED with like batmom stories but like I genuinely then lost all care for liking anything bruce wayne but this might just like help me (jason todd girly converts into a batmom Stan😭) tags: (bruce wayne x fem!reader)

CHAOTIC HEADCANNONS ── .✦

“No, Bruce. That’s Not a Normal Thing to Do.”

You frequently have to remind him that billionaire habits don’t translate to normal life.

Bruce: “I thought I’d buy out the café you like so you wouldn’t have to wait in line.”

You: “Bruce, we’re just getting lattes. Calm down.”

The expensive car Dilemma: He’s tried picking you up in one of his expensive cars once, and you’ve never let him live it down.

“Bruce, we’re not running a car dealership we’re going to Target.”

Tech Mishaps: Bruce likes to show off his gadgets, but they always malfunction around you. Once, the Batcomputer locked him out because you accidentally spilled coffee near it. You took a picture of his shocked face and made it your phone wallpaper for weeks.

The Disastrous Cooking Attempts: Bruce insists he can cook. The truth? Alfred banned him from the kitchen after he tried to “surprise” you with pancakes and set the stovetop on fire.

“I’m Batman, but I can’t handle pancake batter.”

OVERPROTECTIVE HUSBAND�� ── .✦

He’ll interrogate any new friends you bring around like they’re suspects in a heist.

Bruce, shaking someone’s hand firmly: “And what do you do for a living?”

You, glaring: “Bruce, they’re not applying to join the Justice League.”

GOSSIP FINAL BOSS ── .✦

He pretends not to care about gossip, but he secretly listens to you rant about gala drama. Sometimes, he’ll even chime in with hilariously accurate observations.

You: “That woman was glaring at me all night.”

Bruce: “Because she kept seeing her husband looking at you’re instagram posts. Trust me, Alfred told me.”

ROMANTIC HCS ── .✦

Constant Gentleman Mode: Bruce is always opening doors for you, carrying your bags, or pulling out your chair. You tease him about being old-fashioned, but it’s clear he loves taking care of you.

Private Dance Lessons in the Manor: When you’re stressed, Bruce will put on some music in the empty ballroom and sweep you into an impromptu dance. He’s a surprisingly good dancer, but the way he looks at you mid-spin? That’s what makes your heart race.

Personal Love Notes: Bruce doesn’t text much, but he leaves little handwritten notes around the house.

“Don’t forget, you’re the best part of my day.”

“Coffee’s ready downstairs. So is your husband, who can’t stop thinking about you.”

The ‘I’m Watching You’ Look: At galas, Bruce can’t stop staring at you. When you catch him, he gives that little smirk that says, Yeah, you caught me, but I’m not sorry.

Soft Batman Moments: Even in the Batcave, he has moments where he’s just your Bruce. When he sees you waiting up for him late at night, he’ll silently take off his cowl, walk over, and hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Protective, but Not Controlling: He worries, of course, but he respects your independence. If you’re ever in trouble, though, the Bat is out faster than you can blink. “No one touches my wife.”

Gift Giving Expert: He puts serious thought into gifts. One time, he recreated your childhood bedroom in the manor when you were feeling homesick. “I just wanted you to feel at home,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The Morning Ritual: He wakes up early to watch you sleep for a few minutes (in the least creepy way possible) because it’s his quiet reminder of how lucky he is. When you stir awake, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “Good morning, love.”

Subtle Public Affection: In public, his affection is subtle—hand on the small of your back, thumb grazing your hand, or an almost imperceptible wink across the room. But behind closed doors? He’s all cuddles and kisses.

Always Puts You First: Whether it’s cutting a patrol short to spend time with you or risking everything to keep you safe, Bruce’s priority will always be you. “The city can wait. You can’t.”

MIX OF CHAOS AND ROMANCE ── .✦

When Bruce tries to be romantic but Alfred bringing him back to reality: Bruce, holding your hand: “You’re the light in my dark world.”

Alfred, walking in: “Sir, you said that to the last woman, too. Shall I fetch your script?”

You once jokingly wore a bat-symbol T-shirt to tease him. Bruce didn’t say anything, but later that week, he wore a matching shirt that said, “I <3 My Wife.”

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batmom #wfa #batboys #dcu #batman x reader #batman #batfamily #batfam #dc #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne imagine #dollish #batman utrh #dc comics #mrs wayne #wayne family adventures

2K notes · View notes

thescarletfang · 7 days ago

Text

don't want you like a best friend

Jack Abbot x F!reader

3.6k

Warnings: MDNI!!!!! 18+. face-sitting, oral sex (f recieving), deceased wife kinda mentioned, implied age-gap (reader mid to late 30s in my head)

Summary:

You look up to find him staring at you like he has you memorized.

Fuck it. He asked.

“He didn’t want to go down on me.”

The air gets sucked out of the room as your statement lingers between you. To his credit, Jack keeps looking right at you. Your face is on fire but you refuse to break eye contact first. You feel absolutely insane, and you think if this goes on for one more second you are leaving and walking to PTMC and jumping off of the roof.

Another muscle twitches in Jack’s jaw and your eyes flick to his knuckles flexing where he holds the mug, the only tells that he’s registered what you’ve said.

When he speaks, it comes out gravelly. “What?”

Jack can't handle that nobody's gone down on you in years.

******

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jack smirks at your declaration, his eyes flicking over to where you’re melting into his couch. You glare at your attending — the man who has, over the last three years, become your friend.

“Kinda seems like you wanna talk about it,” he quips, voice full of mirth as he takes a sip of his tea. You raise your own mug to your lips, letting the English Breakfast warm you all the way to your toes.

It’s the end of both your days but the beginning of everyone else’s. The sun has just crested over Pittsburgh, slicing through the gray, industrial smog with shimmers of a spring morning.

It had been a hell of a night, so when Jack asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some tea to decompress, you’d agreed immediately. It’s a ritual between you, one forged from the fire of ED trauma and the feral atmosphere of working the night shift. Sometimes it’s your place. Other times – like now – it’s his.

You’ve been friends with Jack Abbot since the second year of your residency, and now in your final year, you feel calm with him in a way you don’t feel with anyone else.

You consistently ignore the fact that he is devastatingly handsome and the best man you’ve ever met. It’s fine. You are fine and you can compartmentalize and you do not – repeat, do not! – have something as juvenile as a crush on your night shift attending because that would just be…ludicrous.

Which is why earlier this week you had found yourself on the first date from hell with a radiologist. Jack had asked how it’d gone, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and you’d glared at him.

Which brings you to now, hiding behind your steaming mug of tea and burrowing into Jack’s ridiculously comfortable couch.

You sigh dramatically. “You really want me to relive the trauma?”

Jack barks out a laugh from the other end of the couch. “Jesus. That bad? Where d’you find these guys?”

Your face burns. “At least I put myself out there.” There’s a hint of defensiveness in your statement and Jack (who you sometimes suspect knows you better than you know yourself) clocks it immediately.

He clears his throat, eyes catching your gaze. “I’m not makin’ fun of you. C’mon, you know that.”

You narrow your eyes at him but don’t say anything for a moment. He rubs a hand along his scruff.

“Tell me what happened,” he says in a low voice.

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, draining the last of your tea. You avoid his stare as you sit your mug (the one you always use at his house, the one with a disturbing anthropomorphic stethoscope with eyelashes and lipstick, a gag gift you’d gotten for Jack’s 48th birthday last year), on his coffee table.

Jack shrugs. “It’s just me.”

Yeah, it’s just you.

He doesn’t even know he’s everything to you, and that’s the beginning and end of it all. You want to extinguish these stupid feelings because the truth of it is, if Jack reciprocated anything, he’d have made a move already.

Three, going on four years of closeness and tea and meals and movies and shared life and all of it. Of panic attacks and impatience and forgiveness and everything that makes up a foundation together.

And never once has it ever crossed a line into what you so desperately yearn for.

So, you go on dates. You hook up with men you know you’ll never build something with, and Jack remains firmly on the side of friendship. His hand continues to burn through your lower back when he passes behind you during a procedure, and he texts you good night every single fucking night and he’s so guarded and also the warmest man you know and the contradictions are pushing you toward a breaking point.

But at the end of the day, you cannot blame him. He lost a wife before you ever knew him, you see the shadows he carries and the pain that lives in his eyes and you think, okay. Okay.

This is enough.

Friendship is enough.

You look up to find him staring at you like he has you memorized.

Fuck it. He asked.

“He didn’t want to go down on me.”

Another muscle twitches in Jack’s jaw and your eyes flick to his knuckles flexing where he holds the mug, the only tells that he’s registered what you’ve said.

When he speaks, it comes out gravelly. “What?”

The spell is broken and you groan, closing your eyes and leaning back so far into the couch you think it’s going to swallow you up. You have never been this humiliated in your life and it’s honestly freeing in a bizarre way. The words pour out of you.

“You heard me! He said he doesn’t do that or whatever. Got real pissed when I told him I like, cannot physically just jump into penetration and need a partner to—to get me ready—”

A loud crash cuts you off and you realize Jack’s dropped his mug. It rolls underneath the coffee table, and you note that at least it seems he’s finished his tea.

You look at Jack and you’re startled to see his neck is flushed and there are twin pink spots on his cheeks.

His eyes are dark.

You suddenly feel warm in a different way.

Your heart begins to beat too quickly and the room suddenly feels too hot, Jack’s living room too small. You stand up, flustered. You and Jack never talk about…sex or hookups or anything like that and this is unchartered territory. You feel unmoored.

“It’s fine, I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with someone who actually wanted to do that—”

Jack makes a choked noise but you’re grabbing your purse from where you’d flung it on the couch, and you’re crossing his living room toward the door.

“Anyway, thanks for the tea, I’ll see you tonight—”

Jack says your name and you pause, hand on his doorknob. You take a breath and turn around. Jack’s no longer sitting. He’s standing in front of the chair, watching you closely. And then he crosses to you slowly, deliberately, his eyes refusing to look anywhere but into your own.

You want to die and yet you physically cannot move.

“Don’t go,” he says, voice gravel. He stops a space away from you.

Your chest is rising and falling too quickly and you wish the floor would swallow you up. You let out a disbelieving laugh.

“I am…mortified,” you tell him. “I can’t believe I told you any of that—”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he tells you, softly. “Those fuckin’ assholes are the ones who should be embarrassed.”

Your skin tingles. “Yeah?”

Jack nods, taking a step closer. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. “Yeah. Like I said before, where do you find these fuckin’ guys?”

You laugh weakly. “It’s rough out there, Abbot.”

Jack lets out a breath through his nose and he–he bites his lip for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. Your legs are quickly turning to jelly.

What. Is. Happening.

“I uh—I’m gonna ask you something,” Jack starts, voice frayed at the edges. “And you gotta promise not to slap me.”

You laugh because you can’t help it. “What?”

The corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up by just a fraction and he swallows roughly.

“Promise you aren’t gonna slap me.”

You look at him for a beat and when you realize he’s serious, you nod. “Okay. I won’t slap you.”

Jack steps even closer, his eyes flickering over your face, his head tilted down just slightly. The sharp line of his jaw begs for your fingers but you keep your hands at your side.

“When was the last time you came on someone’s tongue?”

Your mouth drops open and you gape at Jack, a ringing in your ears that wasn’t previously there. Did he—did he just—?

“Jack,” you choke but he doesn’t flinch.

“Tell me,” he urges, his fucking eye contact making your entire body light up. “Tell me the last time one of those fuckin’ assholes made you come on their tongue.”

You—you actually whimper—and Jack clenches his jaw so hard you think he’s going to break his teeth.

“I can’t remember,” you tell him quietly. “Years, I think.”

Jack nods, like you just told him the guy in T-5 needs to be intubated. “I’m gonna say something else now. You really gotta promise not to slap me, okay?”

You squint at him. “When have I ever given you the impression I’d slap anyone? Jesus.”

He grins now, boyishly, and it’s so lovely that you think, please. Please feel the same way I feel. Please.

“When Robby threatened to put you on day shift, you definitely seemed like you wanted to slap him.”

You laugh. “Robby is a little shit.”

Jack laughs right back. “Yeah, he is.” He pauses, takes a breath. The air shifts again and it’s warm and you’re in his orbit, you feel yourself gravitating toward this man always, always, always.

“Let me.”

Two words he says to you in a broken voice you’ve never heard from him. You frown, confused.

“Let you what?”

Jack doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Let me make you come with my tongue. Ride my face.”

“Jesus,” you practically squeal because you have never been spoken to this way before, this way that is so sexy and blunt and you never in a million years thought Jack would say this to you, no matter how many times you’ve dreamt of it. You stare at your friend, gobsmacked.

“Let me make you feel good,” Jack says in a low voice. You study him. He looks completely sincere. “Please.”

Is he-–is Jack Abbot begging you to let him make you come?

You have died. Surely, you have ceased to exist in this realm and you are looking down on another version of you in another world because Jack—he’s never given you any indication he’s ever even looked at you in a way that wasn’t platonic.

“You’re insane,” you tell him because he is. This man is out of his mind.

Jack throws you a challenging look, quirking his eyebrow. “Am I? ‘Cuz from where I’m standing, any guy who refuses to go down on you is fuckin’ insane.”

You have quite possibly never been more turned on in your life, but you need to Think Clearly because this could — it could —

“If you do this, this could change everything,” you tell Jack honestly, and you know he sees the trepidation in your eyes. You wonder if he can read your fears, can read how badly you want him and have always wanted him.

Jack shrugs. “So let it.”

Your eyes prick and you really need to get it together because you cannot cry at a time like this!

“But you don’t like me like that,” you say and you might as well have shoved Jack because he stumbles back as if your words have physical force.

“What?” This man! This man has the audacity to look affronted and you scoff at your disbelief at his reaction.

“What do you mean ‘what?’” You wave a hand between you. “You’ve never once made a move, Abbot. Excuse me if I am shook that you want to—to tongue fuck me all of a sudden.” You practically hiss “tongue fuck” and cannot believe the words have flown out of your mouth.

Jack groans, runs a hand down his face. “Christ. The mouth on you—” he shakes his head, puts both hands on his hips and it’s so stupidly adorable. “You’re a doctor, I know you’re smart, you gotta know why I haven't made a move.”

You glare at this sassy man in front of you because how dare he. “When a guy doesn’t make a move, it’s usually because they’re not into you! Which you clearly are not! Into me, I mean.”

Jack looks at you like you’re the biggest idiot he’s ever seen and like he’s about five seconds away from grabbing your face and bringing it to him.

Instead he stares for a moment and swallows. Your eyes follow his Adam’s apple, the way it bobs nervously.

“You’re—you’re—” Jack breaks off and you’re so thrown by hearing him stutter. He’s always so sure. “Fuck, look. I’m old and—and you’re so good, you’re fuckin’ everything, what the hell do you want with a bum like me?”

His voice is so broken and you read between all the lines, everything he’s not saying.

I’m old.

I lost this once.

I’m no good.

I don’t deserve you.

“Jack,” you whisper, and your hands come to cradle his jaw. He huffs out a breath of air, closes his eyes and leans against your hands. The motion makes you brave.

“I want everything with a bum like you,” you tell him, your bleeding heart exposed and lying on the floor between you. Jack’s eyes fly open, dart between yours.

“Yeah?” he croaks. He lifts his hands to your wrists, holding your own hands in place as they cradle his scruffy jaw.

“Yes, you idiot,” you say, the words floating on a little laugh. “I’ve been waiting for you for…well, for a long time.”

Jack’s eyes glisten. He swallows. “I didn’t—I couldn’t ever let myself think that you’d ever want me as anything more than your friend.” He takes a breath. “I was willing to be just that forever if it was the only way you’d ever have me.”

You grin at him. “But you offer to let me sit on your face?”

Jack’s eyes flash. “Yeah, I’m kinda doing all this backwards, huh?” Then, “I’m not good at this. I haven’t done it in awhile. Not since—”

He breaks off roughly and you skate your hands down from his jaw to rest against his chest. You look up at him and you hope your eyes ground him.

“I’m not good at this either,” you say. “We can…figure it out together. If you want. If you want me.”

Jack twirls a lock of your hair in his hands for a moment before he tucks it behind your ear. “You have no idea how badly or how long I’ve wanted you. Jesus. I want you so bad.”

You smile. “Oh good. Cuz I want you too.”

You catch sight of the relief in Jack’s eyes for a moment before he bends down and presses his lips against yours. You squeak into the kiss, so shocked that it’s finally happening and you can feel Jack smirk against your mouth. His tongue traces your bottom lip and you open for him and oh my god.

Jack’s tongue.

It’s licking into you and all you can taste is tea and Jack and holy fuck, he is such a good kisser. You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and his hands find a home on your waist and your bodies bend together.

He pushes into you, and a hand comes up to cradle the back of your head just as your back hits the door. Jack breaks away from your lips, his own trailing down your throat and you gasp for air. You press into him and feel his hardness against your belly and you throb between your legs.

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” Jack pants, resting his head on your shoulder. You run a hand through his hair, gripping those salt-and-pepper curls that drive you insane.

“So taste me,” you tell him because you are an insane person. Jack makes you feel insane.

He pulls back, looking down at you and before you can say anything, he grabs you under your thighs and picks you up with strength you are—quite frankly—shocked by. You are not a tiny human and Jack’s nearing fifty and you’re wrapping your legs around Jack’s waist and oh my god, you’d die to see the way his arms are probably straining and flexing.

“Hold on,” he growls and begins walking you toward what you assume is his bedroom but you’re a little distracted because he’s sucking on your neck. You grind into him and he moans and you’re moaning and it’s so much.

“I can’t believe you’re carrying me right now,” you gasp as Jack shoulders his way through the bedroom door.

“I’m in great shape,” he defends and you’re about to say some smart-ass comment but it dies in your throat when he tosses you — tosses you!!!! — onto his bed. You bounce for a second before you lie on your back.

Jack kneels on the edge of the bed and you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him and trying to catch your breath.

“Take your clothes off,” Jack says, voice low and you can actually feel yourself get wet. He’s so commanding.

You sit up, shrugging out of your t-shirt. You drop it over the edge of your bed and raise an eyebrow at Jack, who’s still just kneeling and watching you. His eyes skate over your simple cotton bra like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

“You too,” you tell him and it spurs him into action. With one hand he reaches behind his head, tugging his t-shirt off and oh my god. His chest and his broad shoulders and his tousled hair.

He leans down, his hands meeting the mattress and he crawls over to you, caging you in as you lie back down. His lips find the spot between your shoulder and neck and then his teeth skate over your bra strap and is—-is he—yes, he is pulling your bra strap down by his teeth.

“Jack,” you whine and he grinds his clothed cock over your core, fucking you into the mattress without actually fucking you and your head buzzes.

He must sense your desperation in the way you say his name because he leans back and clothes are shed quickly. Your bra, his shoes and pants, your shoes and pants and then finally he’s looking down at you in only his briefs and you’re completely naked, your tits rising and falling and he’s panting, holding himself up, muscles corded in his arms and neck.

“I’m ready for you to ride my fuckin’ face,” he says, voice wrecked with need and you whimper again. He gently scooches you over and lies down on his back and you sit up, throwing a leg over him, your bare cunt meeting the skin of his chest.

His hands grab onto the meat of the back of your thighs, drift to grab handfuls of your plush ass and he moans, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”

You hover above his mouth, your hands find the top of his bed-frame and you look down. The sight almost destroys you.

Jack is looking up at you, curls disheveled, mouth glistening, a red flush down his neck, and your thighs are on either side of his head. He breathes you in and you almost come from that alone.

“Come on, baby,” he growls. “Ride me.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sit down — on his face — and you can feel his groan reverberate through your core. From this angle, his tongue hits so deep and you haven’t felt this in so fucking long.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you’re babbling, your hips already grinding against his face as he laps at your center. “Fuck it’s so good, Jack it’s so good.”

Jack’s eyes are open as he eats you because the man maintains eye contact like a motherfucker. His hands dimple your ass cheeks and he rocks you over his face while his tongue fucks you deep. The sounds that fill the room are obscene, your pussy wet and dripping. You slap your own thigh as you feel yourself getting so, so close—

“Yes!” you scream, gutturally, primal, you didn’t realize you were this loud during sex but it’s never been this good. “Right fucking there, fuck me right fucking there, Jack.”

Jack’s tongue is relentless and it finds your clit and he sucks hard and you’re done for.

“Oh fuck, I’m coming, Jack—-Jack, fuck, fuck!” Your vocal chords are shredded as your hands slam against his bedroom wall, your hips grinding against his tongue as your climax hits you, your nerve-endings on fire.

You can’t catch your breath. You’re trying to and look down as Jack licks up all your juices, kisses the inside of your thighs, looks up at you.

He looks so debauched, lips glistening, eyes pussy-drunk on you.

“You taste unbelievable,” he tells you, his voice husky. “I could die down here.”

You laugh, a wild free thing dislodging itself from your throat. You’re still straddling his chest, hands still braced on the wall. You move to get off, but Jack’s hands lock into your waist, keeping you in place.

“I’m not done,” he tells you, and — is he pouting?

“Jesus,” you say because you are spent and somehow already you feel yourself throb again. “You’re not?”

“Fuck no,” he tells you, and kisses your thigh. “Ride me again.”

You lick your lips and Jack’s eyes trace the movement. “I’ll ride your tongue again but then I need you to fuck me with your cock. Deal?”

Jack chokes on a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he can’t believe you're his.

He leans up, and right before his tongue licks into you again, he grins. It lights up his entire face.

“Deal.”

#dr jack abbot x you #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x f!doctorreader #dr jack abbot x f!reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot smut

604 notes · View notes