#sorry for talking about casios on main again

[rovermcfly]

ok but do you guys think marty wears a calculator watch because of doc 🥺🥺

like do you think marty talked about struggling in math class and doc went "why, marty, you must get yourself one of these nifty little devices!" 🥺 do you think the same way that doc just went ahead and bought marty an entire wardrobe in 1955, he also went out and bought marty the fancy new casio CA50 right when it came out 🥺🥺 are the calculator watches their friendship bracelets 🥺🥺🥺🥺

[bubblebuckys]

Bad Girls

warnings: 18+, kidnapping, fire, mention of a side character’s sexual harassment, mention of side character’s suicide; smut, rough sex, orgasm denial, slight hair pulling, slight dom!bucky (contact a bitch if you think i missed anything)

a/n: yall the first time i wrote this, i was nearly done and then it deleted, so fuck me. i’m bitter about that but i couldn’t get this idea out of my head. also, this is my first time writing smut, so like im sorry if it sucks, but feedback is appreciated

word count: ~2k

main masterlist

reblogs are encouraged. reposting is illegal

“Didn’t fuckin’ listen.”

Hostage situations never went exactly as planned. Unpredictable.

Mary Walker had held up the family of local wealthy businessman Alfred Casio, in a previously unknown location.  He’d tried everything, but became devastated when any amounts of money offered had been refused by Mary’s employer.

The police report was sent straight to the X-Men, who had requested your presence on their extraction team due to your ability to be unaffected by other mutants’ gifts. The mutant team had brought along Casio to explain the situation as clearly as possible. The man had recently fired former employee Richard Mahenia for harassing a female coworker. Rejected time after time by other interviewers, Mahenia had taken a bullet to the head shortly after realizing just how hard finding work would be with a sexual harassment lawsuit on his record.

Then, the X-Men had filled you in on their own findings. Richard had left behind no one but his 28-year-old son, Jeremiah Mahenia who had gone off the grid just two weeks ago after receiving his inheritance. Coincidentally, Typhoid Mary had accepted the exact same number of money from an anonymous employer the day after. Three days later, Angelica Casio and twins Jamie and Jonathan Casio were kidnapped.

“She’s pregnant,” Casio had pleaded at the end of it all.

Now, Bucky uses the wrist he’s been holding to nudge you through the doorway of your shared bedroom. You stumble a few steps before coming to a stop before the desk the two of you use to write your reports on. Just as Bucky had anticipated you would. You know to not move until you’re told, but damn if the reverberation of Bucky’s boots making their way behind you doesn’t make you shiver.

The warmth of his chest behind you alerts you to his presence before his voice does. You twitch, more than ready to get on with it, but Bucky has a finger in the belt loop of your tactical pants and tugs you against him. “Don’t move,” he warns. His voice is dispassionate and cold, but when his hand goes to your stomach to press you even tighter against him to the point where you feel the press of his quickly hardening cock, his touch is burning and hot like the anger you know he feels inside. “Don’t talk.”

The same hand goes from your stomach to the front of your pants and undoes the button and pulls the zipper down with deft fingers. You try not to make any noises of disappointment when both hands leave you, cold and panting.

There’s the sound of fabric rustling behind you before a hand returns to your back, higher this time and gently suggesting you lean forward. “Bend over.” His voice, once again, is hard and uninviting, and contrasts with the considerate way he just handled you.

You comply easily, pressing your chest to the cool surface of the wooden desk, about ready to scream in anticipation. The pulsing between your legs has been waiting to be dealt with since you caught that particular look on Bucky’s face, and you’re not sure how much longer you can go without tending to it. You’re close to begging, breaking all rules about don’t move and don’t talk which would only serve to make Bucky angrier, but then—

Then, finally (finally!), your pants are being pushed down, all the way to your ankles because your own boots are in the way of pulling them completely off. The air meets the heated skin of your pussy and it has you gripping the edges of the desk, knuckles whites and palms burning from the desk cutting into the skin. The sound of skin slapping skin nearly makes you moan, the knowledge of Bucky pumping himself almost as good as it would be if he were touching you.

It’s also the only warning you get before he’s ramming into you, pace punishing and grip on your hips furious.

He hadn’t liked the idea from the beginning, knowing how impulsive you could be and that you would be closest to Mary herself given your power. But with the detail of Angelica expecting, he knew you would be putting your all into the mission. What he also knew was that he wouldn’t be able to convince you to go back on your word to Casio.

The closest he could be to you without jeopardizing the family was a mile away from the abandoned building both teams helped find, stuffed into a sketchy van with monitors all around the back with five other people.

Your body cam had displayed the inside of the warehouse through the open space of the window that wasn’t boarded up. Mary had been on the phone, asking what she should do with the family that sat tied up behind her. Boy and girl huddled behind their mother. They couldn’t have been over eight. Angelica hadn’t been showing yet.

Mary had huffed and yelled through the phone, “Man up, Jeremy!”

That had been all the evidence you would need to satisfy Secretary Ross before beginning to move away from the window and round the building for a better point of entrance. However, Mary had turned upon hanging up and the movement had caught her attention.

“Don’t come,” Bucky growls. Because he knows. He knows how hot you’ve been for it since the look he sent you told you exactly what was to come. And then, if possible, he picks his pace up, enough strength behind each thrust to close the inch the desk needs to meet the wall, each thrust after sending the desk to collide with the wall.

Only having witnessed this side of him once, when you got shot in the thigh shielding him, you can only chalk this time up to your decision to jump into the building that Mary had set aflame once she caught sight of you. Safe in the van a mile down the way, Bucky has screamed in your ear not to do it before you even got the idea. 

“Ya sorry yet?” The question is punctuated with a particularly hard thrust. One that sends your hips driving into the edge of the desk near painfully. But whatever discomfort you experience he makes up for when he changes the angle. Every thrust slides just right on the spot that has your back arching and a mewl tearing through your throat. The sweet drag lights every nerve within your body and has your mind blanking. Vocabulary stunted, you’re a mumbling mess and can only manage to parrot a “sorry” before it’s nearly swallowed by the scream when an arm wraps around your hips and fingers settle between your thighs, giving light flicks to your clit.

Pissed as he is, he still asks, “You okay? Want me to stop?”

“Don’t stop!” you plead. Then your hips are moving as much as they can with his to get your point across, using the tips of your toes as leverage. Voice high, you whimper, “Go, go, go-o-o-o.” You don’t realize you’ve been repeating it like a mantra until you’re out of breath.

His forefinger and thumb on his other hand go around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he leans down so you feel his chest on your back. “Don’t move,” he reminds, voice careening over the edge of animalistic.

The desk continues hitting the wall, countless lewd noises leaving your mouth, and Bucky no close to slowing down. It feels like a lifetime before your walls starts contracting around Bucky, desperate to dive headfirst into what you know would lead to that euphoric, electrifying feeling.

But Bucky takes his hand from between your legs and pauses his thrusts, and you have no time to make any noises of indignance before he’s tearing your pants apart, gripping the flesh just above the back of the knee with his right hand, using his left to give a slight tug to your hair so your chest rises from the desk, and hoisting you off your feet for one terrifying second. He catches you with his left hand, fingers landing on the same place his right hand is on the opposite leg.

You look down in the second he allows you as he slides his hands from your thighs to your hips safely. Your ankles loop around his calves, he’s bent at the knees for a better angle, and, you note with slight captivation, he didn’t once slip out of you.

An attempt to lean forward and plant your hands on the desk to alleviate some weight Bucky’s carrying is derailed when he steps away from the piece of furniture.

“I got you,” he whispers.

Something about the soft words during the display of strength makes you clench around him. You can feel him twitch inside you, which only results in you tightening even more.

“No,” Bucky huffs, stern and authoritative. “No coming.”

And then he continues where he left off. Hips slap against your ass, that sensitive spot being pounded repeatedly, Bucky’s breaths and moans and grunts landing on your ear. He gets to orgasm twice and you haven’t at all and you want to pull your hair out at the fact.

You’re close, so close, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

“Bucky,” you try to warn, but you’re sure any words that leave your mouth are unintelligible. You try again by grasping at his wrist, nails digging into the skin as much as they can with how worn out you are. Keeping your head up is impossible, landing a bit harshly on the broad shoulder behind you. A noise leaves you, and this time you drag your nails along the forearm that’s wrapped around your hips.

At last, he seems to notice, grasping the hand in his and giving a squeeze. “Ya close? Y’wanna come?”

“Hmm?” It’s a plea and a question. Can I please?

Thankfully, he seems to understand your newly invented language and coos sympathetically. “Are you sorry?”

Your throat is raw, and you’re half convinced all muscles in your body have liquidized, but you know he wants a verbal answer or you won’t get what you want. So it’s a shaky intake of breath and a clench of whatever muscles that haven’t gone lax, before you open your mouth to let out the “yes!” that shakes your chest with all the effort.

Bucky hums contentedly at your affirmation. “You were bad today, weren’t you?”

All you can do is nod, but it seems to be enough for him, because he doesn’t question you any further. Only grips you harder and resumes the pace he was at before, grunting from the exertion of it.

“Bad girl,” he mutters, and you think it’s mindless, the way he says it. An accidental profession. Except, when your pussy begins fluttering, and your toes are curling, and there’s a stream of sounds leaving your mouth, he pulls out of you, and you’re left unfulfilled, dejected, and empty. It’s then that you think the comment had been intentional.

A sob leaves you as you’re set back on your feet, still leaning back on the chest of a traitorous boyfriend. “No,” you sound almost morose, and your vision blurs when actual tears well up in your eyes.

Bucky’s breath tickles the back of your neck as he leans down so his mouth is level with your ear. Tingles shoot up and down your spine the same moment your lips quiver.

“Only good girls get to come,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear so lightly and yet it’s one of the millions of things you are aware of. You feel like all your senses are on overdrive and you could collapse from it all.

And then he’s wrapping you in his arms and carrying you to the king-sized bed you share. He’s gone for a second and back with a rag he uses to clean his cum that trails down the inside of your thighs. Afterward, he throws blankets over you, only backing away when he’s sure you’re as comfortable as you can be.

Bucky rounds the bed and climbs into his side, burrowing under the covers and bringing your back to his chest.

He lays a kiss to your shoulder. “Be good tonight, and I promise I’ll make it up to you in the morning.”

please let me know what you think! reblogs are appreciated