#straight up pornographic over here

[gayedmundo]

Images that make you go hmmmm

[ceilidhtransing]

The discussions around whether or not to vote for Kamala keep being dominated by very loud voices shouting that anyone who advocates for her “just doesn't care about Palestine!” and “is willing to overlook genocide!” and “has no moral backbone at all!” And while some of these voices will be bots, trolls, psyops - we know that this happens; we know that trying to persuade progressives to split the vote or not vote at all is a strategy employed by hostile actors - of course many of them won't be. But what this rhetoric does is continually force the “you should vote for her” crowd onto the back foot of having to go to great lengths writing entire essays justifying their choice, while the “don't vote/vote third party” crowd is basically never asked to justify their choice. It frames voting for Kamala as a deeply morally compromised position that requires extensive justification while framing not voting or voting third party as the neutral and morally clean stance.

So here's another way of looking at it. How much are you willing to accept in order to feel like you're not compromising your morals on one issue?

Are you willing to accept the 24% rise in maternal deaths - and 39% increase for Black women - that is expected under a federal abortion ban, according to the Centre for American Progress? Those percentages represent real people who are alive now who would die if the folks behind Project 2025 get their way with reproductive healthcare.

Are you willing to accept the massive acceleration of climate change that would result from the scrapping of all climate legislation? We don't have time to fuck around with the environment. A gutting of climate policy and a prioritisation of fossil fuel profits, which is explicitly promised by Trump, would set the entire world back years - years that we don't have.

Are you willing to accept the classification of transgender visibility as inherently “pornographic” and thus the removal of trans people from public life? Are you willing to accept the total elimination of legal routes for gender-affirming care? The people behind the Trump campaign want to drive queer and trans people back underground, back into the closet, back into “criminality”. This will kill people. And it's maddening that caring about this gets called “prioritising white gays over brown people abroad” as if it's not BIPOC queer and trans Americans who will suffer the most from legislative queer- and transphobia, as they always do.

Are you willing to accept the domestic deployment of the military to crack down on protests and enforce racist immigration policy? I'm sure it's going to be very easy to convince huge numbers of normal people to turn up to protests and get involved in political organising when doing so may well involve facing down an army deployed by a hardcore authoritarian operating under the precedent that nothing he does as president can ever be illegal.

Are you willing to accept a president who openly talks about wanting to be a dictator, plans on massively expanding presidential powers, dehumanises his political enemies and wants the DOJ to “go after them”, and assures his supporters they won't have to vote again? If you can't see the danger of this staring you right in the face, I don't know what to tell you. Allowing a wannabe dictator to take control of the most powerful country on earth would be absolutely disastrous for the entire world.

Are you willing to accept an enormous uptick in fascism and far-right authoritarianism worldwide? The far right in America has huge influence over an entire international network of “anti-globalists”, hardcore anti-immigrant xenophobes, transphobic extremists, and straight-up fascists. Success in America aids and emboldens these people everywhere.

Are you willing to accept an enormous number of preventable deaths if America faces a crisis in the next four years: a public health emergency, a natural disaster, an ecological catastrophe? We all saw how Trump handled Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. We all saw how Trump handled Covid-19. He fanned the flames of disaster with a constant flow of medical misinformation and an unspeakably dangerous undermining of public health experts. It's estimated that 40% of US pandemic deaths could have been avoided if the death rates had corresponded to those in other high-income countries. That amounts to nearly half a million people. One study from January 2021 estimated between around 4,200 and 12,200 preventable deaths attributable purely to Trump's statements about masks. We're highly unlikely to face another global pandemic in the next few years but who knows what crises are coming down the pipeline?

Are you willing to accept the attempted deportation of millions - millions - of undocumented people? This is “rounding people up and throwing them into camps where no one ever hears from them again” territory. That's a blueprint for genocide right there and it's a core tenet of both Trump's personal policy and Project 2025. And of course they wouldn't be going after white people. They most likely wouldn't even restrict their tyranny to people who are actually undocumented. Anyone racially othered as an “immigrant” would be at risk from this.

Are you willing to accept not just the continuation of the current situation in Palestine, but the absolute annihilation of Gaza and the obliteration of any hope for imminent peace? There is no way that Trump and the people behind him would not be catastrophically worse for Gaza than Kamala or even Biden. Only recently he was telling donors behind closed doors that he wanted to “set the [Palestinian] movement back 25 or 30 years” and that “any student that protests, I throw them out of the country”. This is not a man who can be pushed in a direction more conducive to peace and justice. This is a man who listens to his wealthy donors, his Christian nationalist Republican allies, and himself.

Are you willing to accept a much heightened risk of nuclear war? Obviously this is hardly a Trump policy promise. But I can't think of a single president since the Cold War who is more likely to deploy nuclear weapons, given how casually he talks about wanting to use them and how erratic and unstable he can be in his dealings with foreign leaders. To quote Foreign Policy only this year, “Trump told a crowd in January that one of the reasons he needed immunity was so that he couldn’t be indicted for using nuclear weapons on a city.” That's reassuring. I'm not even in the US and I remember four years of constant background low-level terror that Trump would take offence at something some foreign leader said or think that he needs to personally intervene in some military situation to “sort it out” and decide to launch the entire world into nuclear war. No one sane on earth wants the most powerful person on the planet to be as trigger-happy and careless with human life as he is, especially if he's running the White House like a dictator with no one ever telling him no. But depending on what Americans do in November, he may well be inflicted again on all of us, and I guess we'll all just have to hope that he doesn't do the worst thing imaginable.

“But I don't want those things! Stop accusing me of supporting things I don't support!” Yes, of course you don't want those things. None of us does. No one's saying that you actively support them. No one's accusing you of wanting Black women to die from ectopic pregnancies or of wanting to throw Hispanic people in immigrant detention centres or of wanting trans people to be outlawed (unlike, I must point out, the extremely emotive and personal accusations that get thrown around about “wanting Palestinian children to die” if you encourage people to vote for Kamala).

But if you're advocating against voting for Kamala, you are clearly willing to accept them as possible consequences of your actions. That is the deal you're making. If a terrible thing happening is the clear and easily foreseeable outcome of your action (or in the case of not voting, inaction), in a way that could have been prevented by taking a different and just as easy action, you are partly responsible for that consequence. (And no, it's not “a fear campaign” to warn people about things he's said, things he wants to do, and plans drawn up by his close allies. This is not “oooh the Democrats are trying to bully you into voting for them by making him out to be really bad so you'll feel scared and vote for Kamala!” He is really bad, in obvious and documented and irrefutable ways.)

And if you believe that “both parties are the same on Gaza” (which, you know, they really aren't, but let's just pretend that they are) then presumably you accept that the horrors being committed there will continue, in the immediate term anyway, regardless of who wins the presidency. Because there really isn't some third option that will appear and do everything we want. It's going to be one of those two. And we can talk all day about wanting a better system or how unfair it is that every presidential election only ever has two viable candidates and how small the Overton window is and all that but hell, we are less than eighty days out from the election; none of that is going to get fixed between now and November. Electoral reform is a long-term (but important!) goal, not something that can be effected in the span of a couple of months by telling people online to vote third party. There is no “instant ceasefire and peace negotiation” button that we're callously overlooking by encouraging people to vote for Kamala. (My god, if there was, we would all be pressing it.)

If we're suggesting people vote for her, it's not that we “are willing to overlook genocide” or “don't care about sacrificing brown people abroad” or whatever. Nothing is being “overlooked” here. It's that we're simply not willing to accept everything else in this post and more on top of continued atrocities in Gaza. We're not willing to take Trump and his godawful far-right authoritarian agenda as an acceptable consequence of feeling like we have the moral high ground on Palestine. I cannot stress enough that if Kamala doesn't win, we - we all, in the whole world - get Trump. Are you willing to accept that?

And one more point to address: I've seen too many people act frighteningly flippant and naïve about terrible things Trump or his campaign want to do, with the idea that people will simply be able to prevent all these bad things by “organising” and “protesting” and “collective action”. “I'm not willing to accept these things; that's why I'll fight them tooth and nail every day of their administration” - OK but if you're not even willing to cast a vote then I have doubts about your ability to form “the Resistance”, which by the way would have to involve cooperation with people of lots of progressive political stripes in order to have the manpower to be effective, and if you're so committed to political purity that you view temporarily lending your support to Kamala at the ballot box as an untenable betrayal of everything you stand for then forgive me for also doubting your ability to productively cooperate with allies on the ground with whom you don't 100% agree. Plus, if the Trump campaign gets its way, American progressives would be kept so busy trying to put out about twenty different fires at once that you'd be able to accomplish very little. Maybe you get them to soften their stance on trans healthcare but oh shit, the climate policies are still in place. But more importantly, how many people do you think will protest for abortion rights if doing so means staring down a gun? Or organise to protect their neighbours from deportation if doing so means being thrown in prison yourself? And OK, maybe you're sure that you will, but history has shown us time and time again that most people won't. Most people aren't willing to face that kind of personal risk. And a tiny number of lefties willing to risk incarceration or death to protect undocumented people or trans people or whatever other groups are targeted is sadly not enough to prevent the horrors from happening. That is small fry compared to the full might of a determined state. Of course if the worst happens and Trump wins then you should do what you can to mitigate the harm; I'm not saying you shouldn't. But really the time to act is now. You have an opportunity right here to mitigate the harm and it's called “not letting him get elected”. Act now to prevent that kind of horrific authoritarian situation from developing in the first place; don't sit this one out under the naïve belief that “we'll be able to stop it if it happens”. You won't.

[gumified]

WATCHING THRU THE MIRROR !

pairing: suguru x reader, toji x reader, satoru x reader, choso x reader, sukuna x reader (all separate)

summary: jjk men and how much they love to fuck you with a mirror around.

content: 3.1k, smut, mirror kink (duh!), spanking, degradation, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation, breast play, spitting, public sex (it's in a club bathroom), creampie, dumbification, choking

note: this is filthy but i cba to revise for my history exam so here you guys goooo!

SUGURU GETO

"look at you." suguru coos at your figure in the mirror and your body is littered with dark purple bruises. you feel yourself grow wetter at the sight. his hands roam your body and your eyes are glued to the way his cock thrusts in and out of you. the way it disappears into your heat and how it's so big and thick. "do you like seeing me fuck you?" 

the sensation has tingles shooting up your spine. your boyfriend's voice is low and husky and it has your pussy clenching around his cock. strands of his dark hair fall into his eyes and he ignores it as he continues to fuck you relentlessly. the mirror in front of you both allows you to see your face and your reactions as he pleasures you. 

"love seeing you fall apart on my cock." suguru groans. you’re unable to take your eyes off the sight in front of you, staring at the way you look so unfamiliar and it’s so embarrassing that you turn your head to look away. suguru’s hands grab your chin, forcing you to look back at your messy body. “nu uh, don’t look away now, we’re about to get to the good part.”

you squirm in his grip, staring at your boyfriend's flushed face as a low growl leaves his throat. you whine at the sight. he fills you up and the room's filled with erotic sounds of his balls slapping on your sweaty skin. the tip of his cock hits a spot inside of you that has your body buckling over and you seeing the stars. everything feels so good and you can't help but feel your release approaching.

"s-suguru…" you moan. “ahh! so good, so so good, nghh-”

your stomach tightens and you feel your orgasm wrack through your body, pleasure shooting up your spine. you desperately try to keep your expression straight, not wanting to let suguru know that you had just come. you really should be known better though.

he stops his movements and his eyes harden into a glare. "did you just cum?" you shake your head. "no? really darling? you shouldn't lie to me."

“not lyin’ promise promise, didn’t lie, a-ahh!”

his eyes through the mirror has you shivering and you try to look somewhere else, anywhere else but you can feel him all around you. the truth is practically forced out of you and once it slips past your lips you hear suguru snarl and turn you over onto his lap. he delivers a harsh smack and a red mark begins to bloom. the zing of pain that shoots up within you only has your pussy dripping more. 

"such a needy whore, want me to fuck this cunt raw don't you? can't even follow simple instructions, do you need to be taught like a fucking baby?" each audible smack is delivered with more intensity than the last and you whimper at the pain. it spreads through your body and you wince when his hand comes into contact with your supple flesh. you’re moaning and writhing in his grasp. there's a steady rhythm to it and you can't help but stick your ass higher, craving his touch. “you don’t even know how to listen nasty whore.”

you whine at the numbness that fills the lower part of your body. suguru gives your ass a squeeze. you try to contain the moan that threatens to slip past your lips but it comes out and it's startling how pornographic you look in the mirror, your lewd expressions that reflect right back at you. you can feel him smirk as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"gonna teach you a fucking lesson brat."

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“t-tojiii-'' a scream is ripped from your throat as you brace yourself against the sink. your hands grip the hard surface, clinging desperately as you get pounded from behind. “toji toji toji, hnggh, ‘s too much, please please pleaseee.”

there’s tears edging at the corners of your eyes as you feel your pussy constrict around his cock. he’s fucking you like he’s got a point to prove and his thrusts are relentless as he continues to plough into you. each hit makes you keen with pleasure and you’re forced to look at your lewd reflection in the mirror.

“dirty fuckin’ girl.” toji snarls as his hands lift your chin so you stare directly at yourself. his hands slide down to your throat and you gasp as he squeezes it. you feel the air leave your lungs and your head becomes light. “look at yerself you whore, filthy face, ya only know how to cum around my cock like some desperate slut.”

his insults only fuel your pleasure and you moan as his tip hits your cervix over and over again. his other hand comes to grope your tits and you shriek as he pinches your nipples, twisting them and playing with the sensitive nubs between his fingers. his hands are rough and you feel him caress your whole body. 

“do you see this cunt?” his fingers snake down to rub your clit and your eyes flutter open as you watch as he abuses your pussy. his cock plunges in and out, splitting you open so deliciously. “it’s mine, fuckin’ all mine, f-fffuck you’re such a nasty whore.”

you’re dripping wet and you can feel the mess between your legs. toji’s cock feels so big and thick inside your walls and you can only moan like a bitch in heat as you feel him fuck you senseless. his hands tighten around your throat and it only makes you moan louder, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the foggy mirror all you see is your fucked out face. toji’s behind you, face flushed as he leans forward to place kisses on your neck. his teeth nip at your skin and his tongue brushes over the bite he leaves. you grind your hips against his, feeling the way his cock seems to expand inside you. 

“yours yours yours, ‘m all yours toji, ah! ah! ah!” you squeal as his cock hits that spot that has you convulsing with pleasure. the lewd noises fill the bathroom and you can feel the smirk against your neck as toji increases the pace of his thrusts. “gonna cum, gonna cum gonna cum!!!”

“yeah? go on then pretty girl, look at yerself as you cum on this cock, look at yerself as you get fucked stupid.”

his words push you over the edge and then your pussy’s clenching around his length, squeezing him so so tight that it has toji moaning above you as well. you scream as you feel yourself gush around him, liquid spraying everywhere as you watch your expression shift to one you had never seen before. you feel his fat tip bullying into your cunt and all you can do is moan as he continues to fuck you. 

“princess didn’t think we were finished did ya?” his tone is mean and condescending and you know that the next few hours would consist of you being bent over every surface imaginable as toji fucks his cum into you. “‘m gonna make you watch yerself over and over again until you’re too fucked out to even keep these pretty eyes open.”

SATORU GOJO

you’re pressed up against the floor length mirror, satoru’s behind you, cock plunging in and out of your cunt. the cool sensation on your cheek is a stark contrast to the burning heat that’s in between your legs. you feel your mind become hazy as you feel satoru’s cock throb inside you. 

“fuck baby, you look so gorgeous. love looking at your cute face as i fuck you, don’t you?”

his tone is mocking and you know he’s purposefully making fun of you. your too fucked out to even talk and all you can manage is a strangled moan as you feel yourself get lost in the pleasure. satoru’s cock is unreal and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he hits every single spot imaginable inside your body. he’s fucking you with so much fervour that you’re afraid that you’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow. 

“jus’ watch that filthy face, mouth open, tongue hanging out like some desperate bitch. who knew you were such a slut for cock?” satoru grips your hips like they’re the only thing keeping him sane as he fucks into your cunt. his dirty words fill your ears and all you can do is moan louder and louder as you listen to his haggard breathing. “tell me, who’s fucking you good? c’mon tell me who’s making an absolute, fffuckk, mess of this pussy.” 

“y-you, you’re the one fucking me ‘toru, you’re the only one who can fuck me this good, a-ah! ‘toruuu feels so good, wan’ more, please!”

a wicked grin spreads across satoru’s face and you scream when he lifts your leg, hoisting you to a higher position as his cock plunges into your tight hole. you feel him hit impossibly deeper and every thrust is accompanied with a breathy moan as he slams his hips against yours. 

his hands reach out to grab your face, twisting you to face him as he kisses you. his tongue delves into your mouth and you try to tug him closer to you. satoru swallows the lewd noises you provide him with, every moan, every whimper, every whine. he loves the way you call his name so desperately and he simply adores the way you look pressed up against the mirror, hands splayed pathetically in front of you. he pulls away, a string of salvia connecting the both of you and you watch as his eyes darken. 

“open.” and you obey his words, widening your mouth as you feel him spit into it. the feeling was enough to make you go insane. he moans before kissing you once more and it sends the both of you in a passionate frenzy. “god you’re so greedy, nghh, s-such a needy slut.”

and you can’t deny his accusations, not when you’re so erotically pressed up against the mirror for him, watching yourself unravel right in front of yourself. satoru’s lips rest on your neck, sucking harshly as he leaves a fresh trail of red marks. you’re rendered unable to move as he fucks you harder, your gummy walls sucking him in deeper.

“no no no, look at yourself pretty, c’mon look at the way you take me so well. can’t get enough of you.” your eyes are drawn to the way his cock disappears into you, the prominent bulge in your stomach the centre of your attention. satoru’s hands reach down to press against the outline of his cock and you mewl at his touch. warmth spreads throughout your body and you spasm uncontrollably as each thrust has you jolting. “we’re gonna be here all night and you’re gonna be filled so full with my cum that you won’t need anything else.”

CHOSO KAMO

choso’s eyes are glued to your reflection above him. he’s staring intently at the mirror on his ceiling as you bounce on his cock over and over again. you giggle at his cute expression, how enraptured he is to watch the both of you in the mirror. his face is flushed and his hair is splayed everywhere on the pillow while you ride him.

“you’re so pretty baby, do you like looking at me that much?” your voice is light and teasing as your fingers drag up his chest, feeling the hard muscle underneath you. “if i had known i would’ve installed a mirror above our bed much sooner.”

all choso can do is whine as he bucks his hips up desperately. your pussy squeezes his cock so tightly and he gasps, finding himself unable to take his eyes off your figure. you look so beautiful above him and the more he stares the harder he falls in love with you.

“y-y/n, fffuckk, feels so g-good, your pussy feels so good!” his moans are breathy as he struggles to catch his breath. his cock hits every spot inside you so deliciously that it has you whimpering as well. “wanna fuck you forever.”

choso’s hands grip your waist as he snaps his hips up to yours and you squeal at the sudden movement, not expecting him to suddenly thrust into you. his pace is unrelenting as he continues to pound into your pussy watching as you fall apart on his cock. he’s always been so big and he’s always been able to fill you up so full.

“a-ahh! o-oh my godd, choso love you so much, love you so so - hnghh - much!” you throw your head back, too engrossed in the pleasure and you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. lewd expression and fucked-out eyes greet your gaze. you smile at the sight above you. your boyfriend looks adorable, face blushing red and eyes squeezed shut as he groans and whines. the sight is almost too much to bear. 

choso reaches forward, grabbing your face close to his for a kiss. you moan as you melt into his body. your hands tangle through his hair and he lets out a whine when you tug at the roots. there’s tears pricking his eyes as he feels you tug on his dark locks.

“more, p-please more, need you s-so bad.” his words only fuel you more and you rock your hips back and forth faster, desperate to reach both of your highs. his hands wander around your body, caressing every inch of your skin until he finds your tits. his fingers play with your nipples, pinching and twisting them until it has you gasping for more. your cunt clenches around his cock and you can feel every protruding vein as he throbs painfully inside you. “w-wanna cum, please please please, ‘m so close y/n pleaseee.”

before you know it, you’re flipped over and choso’s on top of you, roughly ploughing into your pussy in a frenzied haze. his incoherent babbling fills your ears and all you can hear is him begging for his release. you feel your senses dim as his tip bruises your cervix and his cock seems to expand within you. your eyes lock onto the pens looking back to you in the mirror and you don’t recognise the girl whose mouth is agape and who’s moaning like a slut. choso captures your lips in a passionate kiss and he’s grinding his hips onto yours, fucking you dumb. 

“look y/n, hah, look at yourself as you c-cum on my cock, wan’ you to see yourself as i fill you with - nghh - my c-cum.” your hands claw at choso’s back and you see the red marks it leaves as your nails dig into his skin and he hisses at the sensation. the mirror gives you a clear view of yourself and your boyfriend as you release all over him and as he spurts his cum into your pussy. you moan as you hug him closer to you, so you can feel every inch of him. hot thick cum invades your body and you feel your mind blank as you lie beneath choso blissed out.

SUKUNA RYOMEN

“nasty fuckin’ bitch.” sukuna grabs a handful of your ass as he plunges his cock into your pussy. his palm makes contact with the smooth curve and you scream as the pain spreads through your body. “wearing such a slutty outfit, you’re just asking to be fucked dumb aren’t you?”

the only response you’re able to give is a strangled moan as you grip the dirty surface in front of you. your tits spill out of the tight dress you’re wearing and you watch as they bounce in the mirror. every harsh thrust sukuna delivers is reciprocated with the recoil your ass provides. his hand makes contact once again and you feel tears roll down your face.

“think you can break up with me then come to some club in some scraps of fabric you call a dress? guess you’ve really gone insane haven’t you princess?” his words only make you grow wetter as you whimper in response. the moment you had spotted sukuna in the dark corner of the club you knew he would drag you to the bathroom and fuck your brains out, not that you were complaining. “f-fuck forgot how well this pussy takes my cock, such a greedy girl.”

“hngghh, ‘kuna-” your words are cut off with a shriek as sukuna lifts you higher. his cock hits you even deeper and you’re falling apart all over again. you watch the mirror in front of you, looking at the way your face is sweaty and the wicked grin that’s on your ex's face. “so good ‘kuna, so so good!”

“yeah? missed me dirty girl? did you miss the way this cock fills your slutty pussy?” sukuna’s hands are rough as they grope your breasts, he’s not gentle as he pulls on your nipples harshly. “answer me slut.”

“m-missed you so much ‘kuna, s-soo much ahhh!”

sukuna smirks and he’s pounding into your cunt sloppily again. you feel your arousal dripping down your thighs as it lands on the floor. he kneads your soft skin between his hands, tainting you with his touch. “filthy fucking whore, that’s all you’re ever gonna be, my fucking cum dump.”

the repetitive slapping of skin fills your ears and your breathy moans mix in to create a lewd concoction. you sob at the overstimulation as you watch yourself get fucked in the mirror. it’s gone foggy yet you can still make out your figure bent over as you get stretched out from behind you. each thrust has you jolting forward and you desperately cling on to the little bit of sanity you have left as sukuna fucks it out of you. 

“you’re mine got that? don’t ever think about leaving me again, i’ll always find you princess because you’re mine, my cute little cocksleeve.”

you can’t take it anymore as you feel yourself squeeze his length. you’re so tight and his cock splits you open perfectly. his fat mushroom head invades your insides and you feel yourself craving his cum. you want him to use you so badly and you feel your own morals slip from your grasp. sukuna only continues his dirty praises as he leans forward, whispering them into your ear and his hot breath fans across your face and you mewl at the feeling.

“yours ‘kuna, only yours, wanna be yours forever please pleaseee!”

when you look up in the mirror you see the shit-eating grin that spreads across sukuna’s face and you feel your stomach tighten at the sight. his cock throbs in your pussy and you feel your whole body light on fire as he fucks into your harder. 

“that’s right, you’re mine.”

[gutsby]

Trigger Tease

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

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

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

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

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

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

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

You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

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

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to fuck you now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thump, thump, thump.

Three knocks in quick succession.

You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.

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

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Need you downstairs. Now.”

It was Sam.

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.

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

“Yeah. Legal’s here.”

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

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

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

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

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

He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.

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

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

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

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

You shot him a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“BUCKY!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give you a baby right now?”

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

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

“Barnes.”

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

Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.

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

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

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

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

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

The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.

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

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

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

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

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

“Momma.”

“Now is not the time.”

Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.

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

No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.

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

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

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

Then, when your eyes wandered left again,

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

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

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

Steve blinked a little harder.

“What do y—”

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

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

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

You figured as much.

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

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

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

Every head nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.

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

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

“And now?” he cut in.

“I’m getting there, James.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky rolled his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not going back to that shithole.”

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

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

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

“So?” Bucky snapped.

His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.

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

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

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

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

“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sharon nodded that she did.

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

"Bucky," she said.

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

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

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

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

"Look. Over there."

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

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

"What's this?" he murmured.

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

Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

Then the eyes stopped in one spot.

Bucky stood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"

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

Your father averted his gaze.

He knew.

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

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

Something clicked in Bucky's brain.

He knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Zip me up?”

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

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

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

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

“Wanna—?”

“Bucky!”

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

“Are you serious?” you bit.

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

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

He had thought wrong.

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

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

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

And you planned to. Eventually.

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

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

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

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

You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.

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

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

“We can talk,” you said, measured.

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

“Okay. What about?”

Where the hell could you even begin?

“Sit first,” you urged him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.

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

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

“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”

“You never bothered to ask!”

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

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

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

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

“No,” you answered simply.

“No?”

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

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

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

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

“That wasn’t—”

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

“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you didn’t, and you got me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave it,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky frowned.

“Yes murder,” he retorted.

You sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky.”

“Bunny.”

Damn, that name.

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

“Baby—”

“Promise.”

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

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

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

“I— I promise,” he stammered.

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

Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—

STOP.

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

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Maybe even two—

FUCK YOU.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t start with this shit.”

“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”

“I’ll kill you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.

“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.

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

“Bucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right?”

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

“I’ll go.”

It was stupid.

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

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

“She could,” he said, shortly.

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

“Sure, why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he said, again.

“Yes.”

“Baby—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t bow that easily.

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did. Or would, eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Honey? You there?”

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

“I love you.”

This fucker.

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

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

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

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

You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.

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

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

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

“Hi. Zemo sent me.”

You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.

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

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

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

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

But you already knew that. You stepped inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then a beat.

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

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

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

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

You chipped away at the ice even faster.

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

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

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

Mr. Who?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until the dipshit hit you again.

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

“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.

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

You turned.

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

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

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

You swallowed.

“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.

The man’s grin stretched even wider.

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

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

“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.

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

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

“Take it easy now, he’s just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But if they had, they didn’t show it.

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

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

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

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

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

Then he grabbed you by the waist.

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

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

“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”

“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”

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

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

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

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

You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.

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

“Whatever you want, sir.”

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

It wasn’t real.

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

Roleplay.

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

“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.

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

“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.

You froze in fear.

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

You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.

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

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

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

Then another. And another. And another.

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

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

You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.

“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?! Where’d he go?”

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

“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.

“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For you—where the fuck had you gone?!

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

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

In his periphery, he saw two forms.

He stopped fully and turned to the side.

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

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

Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.

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

He fired without a second thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He saw you crawl over the body.

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

He watched you lift the mask.

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

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

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

“DAD!”

—

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

[pseudowho]

Cunt-Drunk

18+, MDNI, just a filthy little drabble...

For @delirious-donna , my Higuruma brainrot muse

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Hiromi didn't often go out with his colleagues. But one week, duty called, and he was obliged to attend karaoke and drinks with his firm's new clients. He was going to be out for hours. It was a Saturday night, and you were off too, and he was absolutely incensed because--

"They said no spouses allowed! Can you believe it?" Hiromi ranted, clattering around the kitchen in a strop, shoving scattered files into his briefcase, "It's almost like they think I'd spend the whole evening talking to you, and squeezing your thighs under the table, and--"

"--well let's be honest, Hiromi, you would--"

"--and who could blame me, really--"

"---Hiromi it's just one night, I won't be doing anything interesting anyway, just go, and have fun, and send me videos of you doing karaoke--"

Hiromi scoffed, clipping his briefcase shut, "I do not do Karaoke."

He stood staring down at you, straight, and tall, and serious for a moment. You bit your lip, barely hiding a smirk. Hiromi slumped dramatically, his face crumpling into a look of abject despair. He cupped his hands around his mouth and nose, head tipped back.

"...do I have to?" He whined. You did not answer. You simply sidled up to him, straightened his tie, and pulled him down by it, pressing a kiss of promise to his lips, so prophetic that he moaned into you.

You whispered against Hiromi's lips; "Off you go, my brave soldier. Have a drink or six for me."

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You worked your way through the usual bottle of Shiraz that you and Hiromi shared on a Saturday night, but, without him there, being drunk just felt sad. You took yourself to bed, in just one of his shirts fished out of the laundry, and fell asleep in the thunk way that only drunk women do.

You woke in the small hours of the morning with a jolt, feeling yourself dragged down the bed by two strong arms looped around your thighs. You squeaked, reaching down and tangling your fingers in a familiar shock of grey-streaked black hair.

"I-- Hiromi--" you started, mumbling and half-asleep. You heard a giggle from between your legs.

"Shhhh," Hiromi slurred, and giggled again. You heard a p-tuu, and felt a glob of warmth, slippery-wet, dripping down your labia. With little warning, Hiromi lathered his tongue between your folds, and you cried out, your body still sizzling with the wine.

"...missed you," Hiromi whined, nuzzling between your puffy folds, "...wanted...to see you...our S'day night...ruined...s'boring without you..."

"--Hiromi--" you panted, dazed and disoriented, "--just come to bed--"

"Shhhhhh," he whispered again, loudly, "m'fine...right here...pull m'hair...jus' hold onto somethin'..."

Hiromi ate your pussy without remorse, without restraint, as drunk as could be, and fucking the bed in his sloppy, rumpled suit. Hiromi moaned, pornographic and dirty, every time he fucked his twitching, aching length against the sheets.

Still suckling your clit between his lips, Hiromi reached down to hook his cock up to press against his belly, his cockhead frictioned deliciously between his black happy trail and waistband.

You had never been eaten out in a way that was so primal, with Hiromi fucking his tongue into your heat, massaging the area around your clit with his liquor-soaked lips, and rolling his tongue over the hard little pearl of your clit until you almost blacked out, your nerves stripped bare by the shock and wine.

Hiromi was rough, looping his arms over your thighs and dragging you back to his mouth every time you mewled and tried to crawl away from him. He'd respond with a sharp nip to the inside of your thigh, and an admonishing look, before rubbing his face savagely from side to side over your sopping cunt and clit, growling into the wet mess he'd made of you.

As you squirmed and yanked the roots of his hair, clamping your thighs around his head, Hiromi mumbled into your pussy, focusing his tongue and lips on your clit before abruptly sliding three bunched, long fingers into your hole, fucking you hard and fast with them until he felt your silky sweet spot.

Hiromi fucked the bed in time, imagining in his drunken stupor, that the wet squelches and frantic cries from you, were from his cock slamming in and out of you instead.

"--c'mon baby...in m'mouf, cum in m'mouf...good girl, so good, s'good...gonna cum...m'gonna cum...fuuuuckkk, shit--"

Dragging you with biting, sucking, growling urgency through your orgasm, Hiromi came in tandem; his ruts into the mattress, and his pitched, desperate moans became slower, and softer, as his seed poured out under his shirt, soaking the white fabric, sticky and cloying against his twitching belly.

His fingers still inside you, his nose and mouth still between your folds, face-down on the bed as you came down from your absolutely feral high...you heard a snore.

Rising on shaking elbows, you looked down the bed. Cum-soaked, drunk, and sticky with your arousal, Hiromi snored soft, drunk snores into your pussy.

In the morning, you showed him the photo you took of him, this way, before watching the video Hiromi's colleague sent you of him singing old rock songs while the whole karaoke bar cheered him on.

[lerclan]

duct tape | lando norris

type: written + smau at the end

pairing(s): assistant!reader x lando norris

summary: youve been landos assistant for a while now and you were asked to do the most embarrassing thing ever, but it wasnt you that was the most embarrassed in the situation; it was your boss.

warning(s): a funny and POORLY edited photo of lando norris done by me (i was cackling making it 💀)

fc: luisinha oliveira!

---

"you want me to WHAT???" you spit out your drink.

"kiss him." the photographer, elise, says as you stare at your friend, eyes quite literally bulging out, "come on y/n..."

"you act like i kiss random people for fun." you say as you take a proper sip from your water.

"but hes not a random person?" she fires back as you roll your eyes.

"still. hes my boss and looking at the situation in general, thats quite embarrassing to do." you feel your face heat up, "how about we find someone else? i bet i can call someone with really luscious lips." you take out your phone and start scrolling through your contacts.

"no," she lowers your phone as you look at her, "he said he wanted YOU to do it."

"ME???" your jaw drops as elise starts laughing at your reaction, "youre lying."

"no im not!" she puts her pinky up as you intertwine your pinky with hers, "pinky promise."

"why me though?" you asked her curiously.

"i told him about the idea and how the stylist would do the kiss marks but he said he had the perfect someone to do the kiss marks and said your name." she explains as you give her a look, "okay to make it easier for you, hes gonna have duct tape covering his mouth. its for the aesthetics." your look immediately disappears and is replaced with a relieved expression.

"oh, you shouldve told me that earlier." you say as you finally smile, "that sounds a little bit easier to do."

"my bad, kind of forgot about it till i told you the story. woopsies." you laugh at her as she chuckles cheekily, "lets go to the set, its almost time for him to be ready."

you both arrived at the set and you noticed your boss all geared up next to an f1 car.

"i thought the set would be more scandalously themed, but this is so much better than what i anticipated." you let a breath out as elise laughs at you.

"do you think im a pornographer or something? gosh have faith in your friends innocence." she rolls her eyes jokingly and it was your turn to laugh now.

landos head instantly turned to your direction as he heard your laughter. he didnt know if you had agreed to the suggestion, but he hoped that elise didnt bring it up since he was feeling a little embarrassed now for acting impulsively with suggesting you to do the kiss marks instead of the stylist.

with how caught up he was in his thoughts, stressing over his impulsive move, he didnt realize that you guys were in front of him.

"lando? landooo???" you say waving your hands in front of his face.

"oh–yes? hi?" he says as he finally snaps out of it.

"you were zoning out. what were you thinking about this time?" you asked as he smiles.

"nothing in particular, just a little nervous on what to do in this photoshoot." he admits mostly.

"youre gonna do good, boss. dont worry about anything! just do what you usually do, your fans are gonna love it no matter what." you comfort him with a smile as he reciprocates the same expression.

you guys stare into each others eyes for a bit until elise finally interrupted you both.

"ahem! love birds can you guys contain yourselves for a sec–" you slap her shoulder lightly as she laughs at it as landos face turns a bit red, "i was just kidding!! anyways...im just here to tell you that y/n agreed to the idea, so ill be back with some duct tape and red lipstick." she walks off and you were left with lando.

"so...you agreed???" he asks as he feels his face heating up more from the fact that you agreed.

"yeah, at first i thought i was kissing you straight up...which is a very hard task to do considering our positions, but she told me you were gonna have duct tape over your mouth; so its like an indirect kiss. which i can mostly do." you answer his question with a small chuckle as he feels his face heat up more, "are you good, lan? youre looking kinda...red?? ish???"

"yeah, no, im fine. this is fine. im perfectly normal." he says quickly as you eye him out.

you reached for his forehead and noticed it was a little warmer.

"are you sure? you feel a little warm." you say as you start to panic thinking about his schedule for today.

"y/n, i am perfectly fine. its just the suit..." he lies as you look at him with doubtful eyes.

before you could pester him more, elise came back with red lipstick and duct tape just like she said.

"here, put this on your lips and also tape his mouth shut." she says as you grab the items.

"it will probably do us a favor if his mouth is taped shut." you joke as he rolls his eyes at you.

"gosh whats that supposed to mean?" he side eyes you as you laugh.

"it means..." you drag on as he looks at you, waiting for you to answer his question.

"it means wha—" his sentence gets cut off by you taping his mouth, "hmf mhmhf!!" he tries to talk but it comes out muffled.

"what did he say?" elise asks as you both laugh at his attempt.

"he probably said 'you muppet!', to insult me or something." you answer her, mimicking landos voice.

"sounds like him alright. perfect impression!!" she says as you take a small bow.

you put the duct tape down and opened the lipstick so you could put it on, kiss him, and get done with it already.

"you ready, lan?" you ask him as he puts his hands up to rip the tape off his mouth half way.

"no–wait. i need like a drink or something..." he comes up with an excuse as he feels his face get hot again due to the situation he put himself in.

"come on lando..its a quick peck and boom were finished!" you reassure him feeling a little flustered as you realize what youre actually doing, "come here."

he dodges you as you glare at him.

"WAIT. PLEASE GIVE ME A SECOND." he yells out as you roll your eyes getting impatient.

"okay fine." you go back to the spot you were standing in.

you look at him grab a bottle of water to drink and he starts fanning himself.

"are you sure youre good?" you asked as he nods his head quickly.

"dont worry about him, y/n. hes just feeling a little flustered because hes getting an indirect ki—" elise gets cut off by an empty water bottle getting thrown at her, "what the hell LANDO." she throws the water bottle back at him.

you laugh at their little squabble until the water bottle hit you and now theyre the ones laughing at you.

"I ALWAYS CATCH STRAY BULLETS I SWEAR. cant laugh in peace anymore..." you say as they laugh harder, "ANYWAYS, lando come here and let me kiss you." you feel your face heat up as soon as you realized what you really said.

"yeah let her kiss you lando." elise chimes in with a little melody.

"not like that–you know what–gosh whatever come on lando, you have places to be after this." you say finally grabbing his arm as he gets closer to you.

"okay, just do it..." he says as he grabs your arms and puts it around his neck, "WAIT WAIT WAIT AAAAHHHH!!" he yells out as he sees how close you guys are.

"LANDO MAN UP GOSH." you finally grab his face and kissed him on both of his cheeks, his forehead, and his lips. directly. completely forgetting the fact that his mouth was not taped shut.

you both dont notice that you guys were kissing lips directly until you both heard a camera click. you guys pulled back and thats when you noticed his lips completely covered in red.

"OH MY GOOOOSHHHH!!!!" elise squeals out as your eyes widen.

"I AM SO SORRY LANDO. I FORGOT YOU DIDNT HAVE IT ON–" you get cut off by lando.

"no, no. its totally fine, y/n...youre good. simple mistake. im completely normal and youre completely normal." he smiles at you, ready to explode from holding in a scream, as you smile back out of relief.

"also...ELISE DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW." you jump her as shes fighting for her life.

you suddenly feel somebody pull you back, which was lando with a huge grin.

"elise, let me see the photo." he says as you look at him.

elise unlocks her phone and pulls up the photo of you and lando kissing, which was a pretty cute angle and photo. you cursed her photography skills.

"you should totally send me that." he says as your jaw drops, "what? its a cute photo of us." he says not knowing where the confidence suddenly came from.

"before y/n dies from a heart attack, have her kiss you again. WITH the tape on this time." elise says as you felt your eye twitch, jaw still on the floor.

you eventually snapped out of shock and reapplied the lipstick so it was more pigmented and you kissed him again, with the tape over his mouth. you looked up at him and realized that he was smiling. you didnt know why, well you had a hint but you didnt wanna act on it.

lando quickly finished his photoshoot and now it was time to go to another place for an interview. you both entered the car and you were met with silence until he spoke up.

"sooo...do you maybe wanna go out for dinner tonight?" he asks breaking the silence as you look at him.

"arent you hanging out with carlos tonight??" you question him as he cheekily smiles at you.

"not–" he takes out his phone and texts carlos something and looks up to look at you, "anymore."

you laugh at his little act and smiled warmly.

"id love to have dinner with you, lan." you met eye contact as he smiles from ear to ear.

he grabs your hand and intertwines them together, keeping it that way till you both arrived at the interview place.

---

landonorris

Liked by ynnn, mclaren, elise_amor, and 1,272,183 others

landonorris dropping in with a kiss 💋

tagged: eaphotography

View all 21,612 comments

---

mclaren our driver has never looked better! 🧡

landonorris thanks, mclaren!!! 🧡🧡🧡

user1 OMG I AM SCREAMINGAHEB

user2 HE LOOKS SO FINE OH MY GOSH

user3 WHY DOES HE LOOK SO SEXY 😻😻😻

user4 real question tho...who gave him those marks? 🤨🤨🤨

user5 probably the stylist or something

eaphotography nuh uh

user5 HUHH???

eaphotography 🤫🧏‍♀️

user6 HELPPPP

user7 im so jealous of the person that did that 😭😭😭

user8 CHAT I WANT HIM SO BAD

carlossainz55 wow is that why you were busy mate?

landonorris no? 🙄

carlossainz55 elise sent me a photo, are you sure? 😒😒

landonorris SHHHHHH

elise_amor LMFAOOO

ynnn MAN WHAT THE FLIP DELETE IT

elise_amor NEVERRRR. YOU GUYS LOOK TOO CUTE.

user9 photo? 🤨

ynnn NOTHING.

user10 what if this was a soft launch or something 😻😻😻

landonorris yeah..that would be totes..crazy...👀

user10 IT IS?!?&2&:

ynnn LANDO SHUT UP.

user11 GUYS LANDO AND HIS ASSISTANT, Y/N, ARE DATING 😳😳😳

user10 I AGREE W YOU

user12 how??

user11 i saw them kiss last night at this one restaurant

ynnn @/landonorris YOU SAID IT WAS A BLIND SPOT...

landonorris woops...cats out of the bag ig ☺️☺️☺️

user11 OH MY GOSH!/!/&2&:

user10 WHAT THE SIGMA

lerclan HELPPP THE PHOTO IS SO FUNNY

---

ynnn

Liked by elise_amor, landonorris, carlossainz55, and 26,173 others

ynnn bro cannot keep his mouth shut. BRING BACK THE DUCT TAPE.

tagged: landonorris

View all 2 comments

---

landonorris IM SORRY IM JUST HAPPY BABE 😻

ynnn youre lucky youre cute ❤️

Comments on this post have been limited

---

authors note(s): iaheiqhehwjq i hope this was good cuz i absolutely had no plot line 💀

ALSO YOU DK HOW BAD I WAS DYING AT ME EDITING THAT PHOTO OF LANDO I LITERALLY COULD NOT BREATHE 😭😭😭

[berrychocolatey]

Hands

🕷Summary: Sometimes, the only thing you want from Miguel is his 5 fingers.

🕷Warnings: Fingering

Miguel liked to fuck. 

This was no surprise to you, seeing as the way he was in bed matched the way he acted outside of it. He fucked you like you took something from him, and he wouldnt stop until you repaid him in every way he wanted you to. He would fold you in half while he fucked you, pressing your legs to your chest so hard that there were bruises on the back of your thighs the next morning. He would fuck you from behind, bending you over the counter and pushing your back to make it arch so he had a perfect view of your plump ass. He would give it a smack, groaning at the way your flesh would recoil. He would also fuck you with his fingers. This might have been your favorite way. Yes, you loved the way he felt inside of you, but there was something different about just taking his fingers.

He would always start with kissing you. His lips molding perfectly with yours, while his tongue immediately sought out your own, wanting to taste you. His hands slowly caressed your body, starting with rubbing and kneading your breasts through whatever fabric you had on. You arched into him, whimpering and wanting more. You straddled him, pushing him back against the headboard, only for him to pull your mouth right back to his. 

“Miggy..” you moaned. His hands grabbed your ass, kneading it in a way that had you burning up. He started to move you back and forth against his growing erection, making you wrap your hands around his neck and up into his hair making him hiss in pleasure. You could feel how wet you were getting, your clit was pulsating. You were sure he could feel it. Hell, he could probably even smell you right now. 

He leaned his head back away from yours, needing a few moments to breathe. “Baby…” he groaned. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his hair was tousled. He was fucking beautiful like this. 

“Tell me what you want, mi amor.” he said. You whined at that nickname, grinding on him harder. 

“Ah f-fuck…you want my cock? Hmm?”

You shook your head, your hands reached out to grab him from your ass and onto your tits. “Want your hands Miggy” you said. He wasted no time in ripping your shirt off of you , his hands going straight to your nipples, giving them a harsh tug. 

It doesn't take long until the both of you have your clothes off. His fingers trail down your body, before palming your clothed cunt. He moans your name, feeling just how wet you were. All for him. He slides your panties to the side, taking no time to start circling your clit. You throw your head back, your body shuddering at the feeling. 

His mouth found purchase on your neck as he continued to rub you. He groaned once his finger reached your hole. “Youre so fucking wet, baby.” he rasped. Your hips greedily chased his fingers, trying to get him to put them inside of you. Miguel used his other hand to slow your hips down, “Relax baby, relax. M’gonna take care of you.” 

You nodded, opening your eyes to look into his. His finger slowly entered you, your wet cunt hastily sucking his thick digit in. Miguel started to pump his finger into you, shutting his eyes at how well you were sucking him in. “Fuck baby,” he murmurs, “s’fuckin tight.” This had you clenching around him, your hands tugging on his hair. You whimpered a soft “please” and that was all it took before he pushed in a second finger. 

“Miggy!” You sucked in a sharp breath as he curled his fingers, hitting that gooey inside of you that only he could reach. 

“Yeah?” he breathed out, “right here,cariño?” You nodded your head, unable to speak as he quickened the pace of his fingers. You felt your stomach start to coil. You were getting close. The way he was finger fucking you had your pussy making squelching noises, making you leak more of your juices onto his hand. 

Just his fingers alone had you releasing the most pornographic moans and whimpers from your throat, constantly calling out his name only for him to shush you and mumble an “I know baby, I know” into your ear. His palm applies pressure to your clit, making your mouth form into an ‘o’ shape, silently screaming. 

At this point, you were fucking his hand entirely. Your hands moved to his broad shoulders to help you move against his hand. And the best part was that he let you. He let you completely take over, let you get lost in the pleasure he was giving you. Your hips faltered, “Oh fuck, M-Miguel I'm gonna cum..!” You ground against him, trying to get his fingers to go deeper. Miguel's tongue started to lap at your nipple, bringing you even closer.

“Cmon mi amor, I want you to cum. Want you t’cum all over my fuckin hand. Make a mess all over me baby.” 

“Miguel!” Your hips snapped, and stuttered, black dots clouded your vision as you came. 

You were panting, coming down from your high. Miguel's chest rapidly moved up and down, his eyes looking away from yours and down in between the two of you. Your brows furrowed, looking down to see just what he was looking at. His gray sweats were soaked. The outline of his hard cock became very visible. Miguel had made you cum plenty of times, but he had never made you squirt before. Until now, that is. 

You didn't know how to react, your face got hot. “Shit! I-I'm so sor-”

“-No” He shook his head, locking his eyes with yours before roughly kissing you. 

“You think you can do that again?”

[ifangirlalot]

could you write a fingering smutfic w reader x mike or richie?? I love your fics 😭‼️

˗ˏˋ 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐒 ˎˊ˗ | starring mike wheeler & richie tozier

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

*~smut!~* [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘]: fingering, lewd language, no p in v this time

You guys do know it's okay to request for more than one character, right? I'm more than happy to do more than one :p

Also, sorry to disappoint, but requests are off until further notice, I have like 20 something in my inbox that I need to get...... :')

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ˚➶ ｡Mike Wheeler ˚ ☁️

Mike Wheeler was most certainly not a "ladies' man". Mike Wheeler was a nerd. He spent most of his time playing nerdy fantasy RPG games in his basement with his friends. He didn't know the first thing about pleasing a woman.

Or at least, he didn't think he did.

But from the way [Name] was currently writhing underneath the tips of his fingers, the way her plump pink lips were opened into an 'o' shape, the lewd, pornographic moans slipping through as she screamed at him for more, he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he was better at it than he gave himself credit for.

[Name]'s fingers closed around his wrist as his two digits continued to piston in and out of her wet, gummy opening. "Oh god- oh god, Michael, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop!" she begged, panting heavily for a few moments before elicting another loud moan.

Mike's teeth sank into his lower lip as he slowly circled her clit with his thumb. He watched with fascination as she parted her legs even further apart, chewing on her own lip as she looked between her legs, watching his fingers appear and disappear from her pussy opening.

"Cumming soon." [Name] announced, tilting her head back against the pillow.

With new motivation, Mike pulled his fingers out slightly and jammed them back in at a new speed. He could hear the wet pap sound his fingers made every time they thrusted into her sweet, wet hole. She was so wet he could see the moisture glistening beneath the dim lighting in his basement.

And then she came. With a series of throaty moans, high pitched gasping, and loud whimpers, [Name] spilled her orgasmic liquids all over his fingers. He could feel the bulge in his pants throbbing as he watched the thick, cream colored liquid drip down his wrist.

┊ ˚➶ ｡Richie Tozier ˚ ☁️

Richie pretended to be into the movie playing at the Derry theater. He really did. But he just couldn't. The damn thing was so fucking boring. So about twenty minutes in, he walked his fingers between he and [Name]'s seats and to her thighs. She was wearing a sundress tonight. Lucky for him, right?

Keeping his gaze straight ahead so as not to draw attention to himself, he pushed the hem of the dress skirt up slowly with his index finger. He could feel the soft, smooth skin of her thigh beneath his fingertip.

[Name] gasped, quickly pushing his hand away. "Richie, are you crazy?!" she hissed, her face flaming red with embarrassment. "Not here, we're in pub-"

Richie cut her off. "Shhh… Just relax, doll. Lemme work my magic."

Evidentally, she wasn't too objected to him, as she didn't protest again. On the contrary, she cracked her legs open slightly. Richie smirked to himself and slowly pushed his hand up her skirt again.

His fingers reached what he wanted and he let out a low, satisfied hum. "Hm… all wet, doll? Damn girl.. already?" Richie smirked and pushed the girl's panties aside.

As his fingers began working her over slowly, [Name] let out a soft moan and reached between her legs, placing her hand over Richie's above her clothes. Richie inserted two digits into her sweet, juicy cunt and slowly thrusted them, his thumb brushing her clit in quick stroking motions. He wanted so badly to finger fuck the shit out of her, but he didn't want the noise of her sopping cunt to draw attention over, so he kept his thrusts slow and even.

[Name] could barely contain herself as is anyway. She squirmed and whimpered through her clamped shut lips, her hand pushing against Richie's and trying to get his fingers to go in deeper, deeper.

Her sounds were starting to get to him. He could feel his cock stirring to life in his jeans and he groaned quietly, wanting nothing more than to bury inside her pussy to relieve the both of them. But instead, he pummeled his fingers deeper into her cunt and ticked off the minutes until this damn movie was over.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Beggin' For It | Joel Miller

The Checklist - Orgasm Denial

Chapter Summary | Your new boyfriend Joel, in the process of helping you pack up your apartment, finds your stash of porn, full of all the things you've been scared of asking for. He surprises you by offering to help you tick them off, starting by denying you the thing you always love the most.

Chapter Warnings | This is basically porn without plot. Explicit smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected PiV sex, talk of contraceptives, orgasm denial, creampie, dirty talk, pet names (baby), hair pulling, established relationship, No Outbreak AU, No Use of Y/N.

Word Count | 3.7k

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Authors Note | Well here we go, the Joel Miller Kink extravaganza. I had SO much fun writing this and putting this together so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I love writing it! If you do enjoy this, reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

Your face is burning hot, and your stomach is in knots of anxiety as you stand in the doorway to your room, two glasses of water in hand, watching Joel, who is sat on your bed with a spread of magazine’s spread out across the duvet. Those fucking magazines, stored carefully in the bottom drawer of your bedside table. Some are straight up pornographic, plucked from the top shelf of the store, paid for and shoved into the depths of your bag before anyone apart from you and the cashier knew what it was. Others are those silly gossip magazines, Cosmopolitan mainly, pages folded in all of them of the pictures you like the most, the ones that help you get off the quickest, the things you want to try the most. And they’re all spread out for him to see. 

“W-where did you f-find those?” You choke out, swallowing thickly, hands gripping the two glasses so hard you’re surprised they don’t shatter. 

Joel shrugs, “You asked me to start packing the stuff from the drawers into boxes,” He says, because you did, your apartment in disarray as you’re packing up to move into his home, “I opened the drawer and found them.” 

Joel was never planned. You’d been more than happy on your own. When you met him, on a random Sunday morning, you’d been out of your last relationship for almost a year. You’d been staring at different types of nails at the hardware store, cursing yourself that you hadn’t thought to research what the best nails for hanging pictures up would be, when his Southern drawl had pricked your ears. 

“Need any help, miss?” 

You’d turned, taken a step back because he was taller than you, broad, and definitely older too. Grey scruff peppered along his jaw, some in his hair too, and big brown eyes that screamed kindness at you. He was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. 

“Huh?” Was all you could manage to let out, cursing yourself for seeming like the typical dumb woman at the hardware store. 

“Been milling around gettin’ some stuff and you’ve been starin’ at that wall’a nails for a while,” He chuckles, stepping forward so he’s next to you, “What d’ya need ‘em for?” 

“Oh,” You breathe, he smells good too, woodsy and masculine, “I’m wanting to hang some pictures on my walls.” 

He hums in understanding, reaching over to grab a pack of nails that are miles longer than the ones you would have chosen. He holds them out to you, which you take, fingertips brushing against his as you do, “Thanks,” You smile at him, “I would never have chosen these ones.” 

“You got everythin’ you need to hang them?” He asks, “Tools and stuff?” 

You shrug this time, “I’ve got a hammer, is that going to do it?” 

The look in his eyes is akin to what you imagine someone would look like if you’d just kicked a dog in front of them, he shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and then hands you card that he pulls out. You take it, the words ‘Miller Contracting’ and a phone number underneath it. 

“Usually, I’m more of a building from scratch guy, but you can’t hammer these nails into a wall, so give me a call and I can come and hang your pictures for you.” 

So, you do. Late that evening, you call him, tell him you’ve got the weekend free, and you’d like to get your pictures hung. He comes over, you watch him closely as he hangs them perfectly on your wall. You make him dinner as a thank-you, considering he won’t let you pay him, and then after two beers, you let him fuck you on your couch. It’s not usually your style, but nine months later, it seems to have worked, considering he’s moving you into his house. 

Like most things that had to do with your life and Joel, moving in this early had never been planned either. Sarah, his daughter, who you’d met multiple times, had her own life, her own home, and the lease to your apartment in the city was ending early. Something to do with the landlord wanting to completely redecorate. Joel had offered his place to you, which made sense, considering you spent most of your time at his anyway. So, you’d emailed your landlord, told him you’d be out by the end of the month, and were now packing up everything you owned to move into Joel’s place. Start a new life. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, baby,” He coos, “Some interesting stuff here.” He muses, reaching over to pick up a copy of one of the more explicit magazines, opening it on a page that’s got the corner folded over, the picture is a woman, bent over on her knees with her hands spreading the cheeks of her ass, an anonymous man pounding his cock into her, a look of ecstasy on her face. 

You can’t bare it anymore, so you put the glasses down on chest of drawers and made a beeline to snatch it out of his hand, “Now, hold your horses, baby,” He teases, managing to grab your waist to catch you off balance, pulling you onto his lap where you straddle him, the other hand holding the magazine out of your reach, “What do the folded pages mean?” 

You groan, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder, grumbling incoherently into him in the hopes he drops the subject, but this is Joel, and you should have known better. He pushes his shoulder forward, forcing your head up, “I didn’t quite hear you, baby?” 

Dick, is what you think, “They’re things I like,” You mumble, “Think that get me off.” 

He turns his head towards the bed with a smirk, “Lots of folded pages, baby,” He teases, Joel lets the magazine in his hand drop to the bed, gripping your waist in both hands, “Don’t need to be shy baby, nothin’ wrong with any of it.” 

It’s not really that you’re embarrassed by what’s in the magazines, it’s more the fact that even though you and Joel have an extremely healthy sex life, not one you would necessarily call vanilla, but certainly not kinky, there were things you were scared of asking for. There was a mental list of things you’d read about in the advice columns of Cosmo, pictures you’d seen in the other magazines, that you were dying to try, but how do you bring up to your boyfriend of not even a year, that you want him to bend you over and stuff his cock into your ass? 

Joel brings a hand up to your face, cups your cheek and brushes the skin there with his thumb, “Why don’t you show me something you want to try?” He coaxes gently, his brown eyes meeting your own. 

Your eyes go wide. You had always been worried of asking for these things, worried it would scare him off, or that he just didn’t want to branch out into anything too kinky, but here he is, offering to help make your fantasies come true, “Go on.” He taps at your sides. 

You lean over, grab one of the issues of Cosmo and flick through it to the page with the folded corner right at the back. You pass it to Joel, who takes it, letting his eyes flick to the column of sex advice. He clears his throat and starts reading with you still perched on his lap. 

“Dear Angela,” he reads in his Southern drawl, “I’ve been with my fiancé for over five years now. We’re very happy and our wedding is in a year’s time, but I’m struggling to connect with him sexually now. I think the problem is that he’s too nice. Outside of the bedroom, this is wonderful, but do you have any advice on how we might be able to spice things up with our sex life?” He then clears his throat again before launching into ‘Angela’s’ response, “Dear reader, this is something I deal with often. You’re happy with everything but the sex, but don’t lose hope because this is fixable. If you want him to get a little mean with you, nothing says that like denying you the big one, the final ‘O’ if you will. Talk to him, tell him it’s something you want, and have fun!” 

You’re looking at his face as he ponders what that means. He’s putting the magazine down on the bed, bringing his hands back to your hips, looking into your eyes, “Am I too nice to you, baby?” He coos, “Need me to be a little mean t’ya?” 

His voice flashes straight down to your cunt. You wriggle in his lap, the seam of your jeans rubbing along the bulge that is prominent in his own lap. He holds you still, fingers pressing into your hips, “I don’t think so baby, tryin’ to get yourself off like that.” 

You groan a little as he lifts you off his lap, spreads you out on the mattress. You open your legs for him, let him settle his hips between yours, grinding his hips as he presses his mouth to yours. You can feel his chest pressed against your own, the entire weight of him smothering your body, his hands smoothing your hair from your forehead as you open your mouth for him, letting him lick into your mouth, tasting him as your tongue works against his. 

You buck your hips up into his own, your hands coming down to slip into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling his hips forward so you’re grinding together through your clothes, something skin to how you used to behave as a horny teenager. 

“You feelin’ needy, baby?” He whispers into your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe as he does. 

You don’t want to admit that you are, mainly because you know he’s not going to fix the problem. You’ve asked for him to be mean to you, asked him to do nothing but use you and your body for his own pleasure and leave you wanted more, so you just let out a breathy moan, which makes him chuckle, makes him grind his hips into yours again before he pushes himself back on his knees, dragging you up with him so he can pull your t-shirt off your body. 

He pushes you gently back down onto the mattress, drags those big palms of his down your sides until he reaches the waist of your jeans. He pops the button, drags the zipper down and moves his body just enough so he can peel the material down your thighs and off your body, throwing them behind him to be forgotten now. Joel leaves your bra on, but drags your pantie down your legs, pushing your thighs apart so you’re bared to him, no doubt slick and shiny for him. 

Joel stands from the bed, drops to his knees and starts pressing warm, wet kissed to the insides of your thighs. Up the left side, down the right, but never right where you want it. He teases you slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world, and in moments like this you’re always in awe of how patient he is, always willing to defer his own gratification in place of getting you off first and, more often than not, multiple times, before he even thinks of sinking himself into you. 

His face finally makes its way to settle where you always love having it, right at the apex of your thighs, where you’re already wet with want for him. You can feel his hot breath skittering across your skin so, although you didn’t think it physically possible, you spread your legs wider, showing him your glistening, slick cunt. His fingers press into your thighs as his mouth presses a single, chaste kiss right to your clit. You breathe out in pleasure, letting yourself relax a little as you feel his tongue move slowly through your folds, moving from your entrance where your slick is pooling, just for him, all the way up to your clit. He teases you a little at first, small little kitten licks placed ever-so-gently to your clit. He knows this is what you like, when he takes his time to work you up to the edge. The edge you have to continually remind yourself you’re not going to get the opportunity to push yourself over. 

He pulls his mouth off you when you start moving your hips in time to his mouth, his palm pressing down on your belly to keep you still, “This ain’t for you,” He reminds, nipping at the delicate skin of your thighs with his teeth, “Just makin’ sure you can take me.” 

He sinks two fingers into you, curling them up just right, your back arching up off the bed to grind up into his palm as he works you open for him. It doesn’t last nearly long enough, much like with his mouth earlier. Normally he’d make you come on his tongue, then sink those fingers into you and make you come again, but he’s pulling them from your pussy, looking you dead in the eye as he presses his fingers onto your tongue. You clamp your mouth around them, licking your slick from his fingers, rolling your tongue over them in the same way you know he loves on his cock, your eyes training directly on his with no shame as you pull off them with a ‘pop’. You giggle slightly, biting at your bottom lip as Joel leans down to kiss you, tasting you on your own mouth, tasting yourself still lingering on his tongue. 

“Taste good, don’tcha baby?” He smirks, pushing you back, watching you intently as he strips himself of his clothes. 

You don’t think you’ll ever quite get over how beautiful a man he is when he stands in front of you naked. Defined and muscular at his chest, with those big arms that wrap around you, his belly, spattered with hair trailing all the way down until you get to his cock, hard, almost painfully so at this point. His strong thighs that you love to nestle yourself between at night. He is truly a spectacle and it’s moments like this that you still don’t quite believe he’s yours. 

He settles back on the bed, between your thighs, your hands grip at those broad shoulders as he reaches between the two of you, fisting the base of his cock, moving his hips slowly so his cock drags through your slick folds, the bulbous head nudging at your clit as he fists himself, spreading your wet along his length. You feel him settle himself at your entrance, pushing his hips forward just enough to give you just the tip. His nose runs along your jawline, kisses from his mouth trailing just behind, as he rocks his hips into your own, but only ever enough that it’s just the tip of his cock inside. 

“Beg for it baby,” He breathes into your skin, “You want my cock?” 

“Want it so bad, Joel,” You whine, moving your hips into his to try and take him deeper, but he’s gripping your thigh, warning you not to push it, “Please, Joel, please fuck me.” 

“Beggin’ for it even though you ain’t gonna come?” He teases, one hand moving up to your chest to pull the cups of your bra down, fingers taking your nipple and rolling. 

“Wanna feel you.” You say, burying your head into his neck, pressing your own kisses to his skin. 

Joel seems to find that satisfactory, slowly pushing himself all the way into you, dragging himself all the way out again. He leans back a bit, gripping you behind your knees to press your thighs as far into your chest as he can get them. Then he really does fuck you. He’s big, and although you know you can take him, it’s always a shock to you that it’s so easy. That he can pound into you with the ferocity he currently is, tip of his cock brushing against your cervix in that perfect mix of pleasure and pain. 

“Awful quiet baby,” He gasps out, watching you bite at your bottom lip, “Don’t like it when you don’t get to feel good?” 

You shake your head, Joel dragging himself all the way out of your aching cunt, flipping you over onto your belly. He presses his palm into the back of your neck, keeping your lower half pressed to the bed, whilst his other hand drags you up onto your knees, ass in the air for him as he guides his cock right back to you, thrusting back in all the way. You always loved it when Joel fucked you like this. The angle always managing to feel just perfect as he fucks you. 

The only sound in the room is that of your combined moans, little grunts from him and whines from your mouth, and the sound of his hips hitting yours, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. You’re starting to regret asking for this, because God it would be so easy for him to reach round, press his fingers to your clit and tip you over the edge in seconds. If it wasn’t for the way his hand was pressing at the nape of your neck, you could do it yourself, so desperate to feel the euphoria of coming undone around him. 

Joel’s thrusts are getting more frantic, even though it’s only been nine months of you together, you know he’s not going to last much longer. He slides his hand down and into the hair on the back of your head, gripping it tightly in his fist to drag your head up and out of the material of the bed. The sounds of yours once muffled by the duvet under you now let loose into the room, echoing around the walls and doing nothing but egging him on, getting him closer to the finish line. 

“You like this, huh?” He asks you from behind, “Like getting’ used, baby?” 

“Yes Joel,” Because you do, despite knowing you don’t get to finish, something about him being selfish with you, using you just get himself off, makes you unbelievably wet, “Still feels good.” 

You can hear him chuckle, fingers of his other hand gripping so hard to your hip that you’re sure he’s going to bruise you there. You don’t mind, not really, you love carrying him around with you like that. Secret marks on your skin, evidence that you’re his that only you know, only you can see, apart from when he bites at your neck, claiming you in front of everyone. 

“I’m close baby,” You can hear from behind you, the grip his hand has in your hair arching your back perfectly, angling him just so that if he just carried on like this for a few minutes you think he could make you come just like this, “You want it inside?” He asks, “Want me to fill you up?” 

This was new between the two of you, still exciting. After months of using condoms, never once a complaint from Joel, you’d held up the tiny packet of pills, the ones you’d been taking for a week in secret. Asked him to fuck you bare, fill you up with every drop if his cum, and the two of you were struggling to find a way of finishing that you enjoyed more than this. 

“Please,” You beg, whimpering as he gives another tug to your hair, pulling you back into him even further, “Please Joel.” 

“Ain’t no need for beggin’ now baby,” He groans thickly behind you, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

You feel his hips slam into the plush of your ass a few more times before he goes still, groaning deep from his chest as you feel the warmth of his cum spread through your cunt. You can feel your own walls fluttering around him, taking his spend as deep as you can whilst trying to catch your breath. 

Fuck. You can hear him sucking in ragged breaths from behind you, hands still gripping your hips as he pulls himself from you. You whine at the loss of him, push your hips back trying to coax him into giving you what you want. God, this was such a stupid thing to want. Why would you want Joel to deny you the very thing he’d proved over and over again was the one thing he would give you without question? You’re desperate, and it wouldn’t take much, he’d have you screaming his name in less than a minute. 

“Please Joel,” You beg, “Please baby.” 

“What’s that?” He asks from behind, you can feel his chest lay across your back, pushing you down into the mattress, his cock still semi-hard against the cheeks of your ass, “You beggin’ for it, baby?” 

“Make me come.” You demand, like a little brat. 

“Awww baby,” He coos into your ear, hand coming to grip the back of your neck, “I’m such a mean man, aren’t I?” You nod your head, hoping it shakes his resolve, “Leaving you all wet and needy.” His teeth nip at your jaw, he pushes himself off you and then completely off the bed. 

You turn onto your back, watching as he picks up his clothes to get dressed. Why did you ask for this? You spread your legs, finger dipping down inside your pussy, dragging out the mix of slick and his spend to drag up to your clit. It wouldn’t take very long, already so worked up and sensitive, but he catches you before you can get there, hands tearing your own away from you. 

“Don’t be naughty,” Joel chastises, tugging on your wrist to get you to sit at the edge of the bed, he gets on his knees, loops your panties right over your ankles and drags them up, “Stand up,” You want to complain, but you do it anyway, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he drags your panties all the way up, pressing a kiss right where the waistband sits, “Be a good girl for the rest of the day and I promise I’ll make you come however you want later, okay?” 

It should embarrass you how quickly you nod your head, how your voice promises him you’ll be good for him. He kisses your forehead, helps you put the rest of your clothes on, passes you the glass of water you’d forgotten about earlier. 

“Come on,” He says, “Plenty more boxes to pack up.” 

[billsbabydoll]

“𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁ℯ 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝒶𝓂ℯ𝓇𝒶, 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎!”

contains:PURE SMUT<3

warnings:barely any plot just straight into yk what, three-some, hard-dom!bill, hard-dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (doggy-style), oral (m!receiving), light degrading, light praising, light spanking, bill and tom making a sex-tape with reader, basically bill and tom treating reader like a total sex-doll.

note:sorry this story doesn’t have much of a plot but i couldn’t really think of one that fit with such heavy fucking lol.

“oh my god, look at her tom!”bill exclaimed chuckling as he proceeded to zoom the camera lens onto my oozing pussy, tom giggling along with him,

“was für eine verdammte schlampe..(what a fucking slut.)”he replied smugly, intently looking down at my weak figure that was currently trying to recover from the 3rd orgasm ive just endured.

“mal sehen, wie viel mehr sie aushält, bill(let’s see how much more she can take it.)”

tom then rapidly flipped me over to my stomach placing me in doggy position, as bill sat himself near my face still camera in hand, while tom squeezed and slapped my ass a few times before inserting his veiny cock inside my aching cunt.

“t’much i-cant mhm!”i cried out looking up at the camera before staring into bills lustful eyes, my hands turning white from how tightly i was gripping the bed sheets, my tears flowing down and ruining more of my already destroyed makeup.

“aw poor baby-”he cooed down at me from above, slightly leaning down to place a comforting kiss on my lips before pulling away.

“es ist alles in ordnung, wir sind fast fertig damit, dass du weiterhin hübsch für die kamera aussiehst, schatz(its okay we’re almost done with you just keep looking pretty for the camera honey.)”he further explained, a devilish smile creeping on the corners of his lips.

“ughh-okay!”

were the only words tom needed to hear before he began to aggressively pound away at my walls, his tip slamming profusely against my bruised cervix.

“fuck fuck fuck!”tom shouted behind me one of his hand keeping me in place, his jaw dropped as loud grunts spewed from his lips.

bill moved back a bit, recording every second of the scene that was happening right infront of his own eyes, zooming out the camera lens to capture the quite pornographic moment.

after a minute or two bill scooted back up to my face, moving the camera down to his cock and my lips curved into a cheeky smile as he rubbed my drool on my red tender lips, before leaning forward and handing the recorder to tom.

“gonna fill that lil whore mouth up, better take fucking all of it, understood?” he demanded as he gestured for me to open my mouth, sliding his full girth into my mouth stopping once his tip hit the back of throat.

they continued to fuck my brains into utter mush and all i could really feel is, tom using my pussy to pure filth chanting the most pathetic words down at me while filming my ass clapping on his length, and bills cock painfully ramming in and out of my throat his precious whimpers filling my ears, both equally fucking me at the most primal pace.

soon the familiar pleasurable knot began to bubble up in my stomach,

“i-im gonna cummhm!”

“hold it dumb bitch, ughh f-fucking hold it!”tom yells at me, harshly slapping my ass as a sign to immediately obey, quickly giving the recorder back to bill.

“smile for the camera baby,

here comes the cum shot!”

bill excitedly exclaimed pulling his length out of my mouth momentarily, zooming into my heaving and fucked-out face, panning out to tom finally letting me cum as he as well finally proceeds to coats my walls completely white with his hot load.

this takes bill straight to the edge, shifting the cameras focus back again down to my lips as he urgently stuffs his cock inside my mouth, his thick seed deliciously splatting onto my tongue.

they then both pulled their members out of me, letting me fall and collapse onto the sticky drenched sheets, our mixed juices spilling out of my cunt and mouth.

“yeah we definitely gotta’ bring that tape on tour with us bill.”

“nein nein (no no), shes coming with us atleast we know shes down to share.”

THE END

[whiteferrar1]

listen… sugu with gojo in the other room 🤭🤭

YUHHH GET INTO IT BITCH LMAO

“Quiet Down”

Summary: Suguru and Gojo are best friends and they happen to share their apartment with their pretty friend.

Warnings: Smut(Crazy right?), unprotected sex(Wrap it before you tap it🙏🏼), Doggy style, rough sex, hair pulling, squirt, eating out, Suguru is pussy drunk! Gojo wants to join in at the end :3

Your vibrator buzzed against your clit as You bit your free hand to stay quiet.

Suguru came you into the room a little bit into the movie marathon, asking if you wanted food. But he quickly noticed your out of breath state and the flush blown across your face. He offered to help. how could you say no?!

Here you were, face shoved into the pillows as Suguru’s cock roughly shoved in and out of your cunt with force.

“You gotta stay quiet honey. Satoru is in the other room and if he hears those noises you’re making he’s gonna want a feeling of this sloppy cunt too” He breaths out.

“Fuck! Sugu’ to much!” You moaned as his tip angled to hit the sweet spot in your gummy walls. Tears streamed down your face as drool dripped down onto the pillow.

“Fuck-Cunt squeezing me so good baby” Suguru groaned as his large hands fondled your ass in his hands, gripping and leaving little slaps across the skin to see it jiggle.

Suguru’s hip hit against your ass so hard, hard enough to leave little red marks that would leave bruising. your moans were like angels singing to him, sobbing and pornographic whines making him go faster.

“Sugu’ it’s too big” You whine loudly into the pillow. Your face rubbed up and down into the pillow, unable to form actual sentences.

Suguru laughed at your pathetic state. His black hair undone out of his usual bun. He almost moaned himself when he felt your sweet cunt squeezing him in, begging to never stop.

“It’s to big?” He mocked with a grin. He angled his hips a bit up making you screaming into the pillow. “Fucking take it, this pretty pussy is mine and I don’t wanna hear ya’ complaining” He roughly states when he bends down to your ear.

“Now shut your mouth before Satoru comes in, if you don’t be quiet; I’ll let him shove that cock in your mouth to keep you quiet” He warns you

The way his cock went in and out, in and out made it hard to breathe. You squeeze around him, your pussy feeling so warm around his dick, pressing his girth into your wet walls.

He sneaked his hand down and began to play with your clit. He squeezed and pulled it, laughing as you screamed into the pillow again.

“Sugu! Gonna-Fuck! I’m gonna cum please let me cum” You begged him. Tears fall down your puffy cheeks, Suguru laughing at the way you pushed back into him.

“Hold it.” He said roughly as he slammed into you more. His cock twitching lightly at the way your cunt squeezed him harder.

“Please Sugu’ I need to cum, lemme cum” Pleas left your mouth as your body rocked against the bed. Sweat dripped down your forehead, arms giving out.

Your face fell straight into the pillow. Suguru roll at his eyes “Can’t do anything yourself, can you?” He mocks. He grabbed your wrists in one hand and pull your upper body up.

“Please just let me cum I can’t take it anymore!” You whimpered.

“Alright baby, you can cum now” He agreed.

Your pussy clamped around him, his fingers still rubbing your clit in smooth circles as your body began to twitch. You let out a strangled moan. Your orgasm left your breathless for a couple seconds. Suguru smiled at he felt your pussy cum around him, he kept roughly fucking into you.

“No more no more! To much Sugu!” You hissed out as your stomach began to get tight again.

“Shut your mouth and lemme cum in ya’” He spat. He grabbed the back of your head and shoved your wet face into the pillow.

After a couple more thrusts he shoved his hips into your plush ass before spilling his cum into your pussy with a strung out groan. He waited a few seconds before he pulled out.

Your body fell limp, Suguru turns your body over onto your back. He rubbed your thighs softly, letting you come down from your high. You close your eyes to relax before you feel a swipe of a tongue across your cum covered pussy.

“Suguru! No more” You gasped. He used his hands to hold you.

His tongue dipped into your used cunt, licking out the cum that mixed together. He used two fingers to open your lips as he kissed across your skin.

“Such a beautiful pussy, can’t get enough. Can’t believe I never fucked her before” He groans. He began to press kisses across the clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves keeping you squirming.

“Favorite meal ever” He moaned into your hole.

“I’m gonna cum again! Stop” You begged with your back arched off the bed.

“I’m not stopping your baby” He mumbles as he used his two fingers to scoop out the cum leaking out. He spits a glob of spit onto the twitching organ with ease. Going from sucking your clit like a piece of candy to rutting his tongue in and out.

You grabbed his hair tightly. Suguru rubbed your face up and down on his nose and slick mouth while his tongue swirled across the hole. You felt a tight squeeze in your stomach before you screamed out, unable to hold it in anymore.

You squirted all over Suguru’s face. He smiled into your cunt, happy as he pinched your clit again.

“You just squirt?” He asked with a husky voice.

“Uhm yeah…” You answered. Your thighs shook when he pulls his face back.

“Gonna make you do it again”

“Make her do it again” You two hear. You both snap your head and see Gojo, his white cock being rubbed up and down by his large hands. His pink tip dripping cum while he leaned against the door frame.

[idontcare4urmom]

“don’t worry about it” || matt sturniolo

preview:blurb,smut,explicit content,plot twist at the end (?),rough fucking,orgasming,etc.

“please,please matt” you pathetically mewl through ragged breaths,your body arched down on the soft mattress as he ravishes wet open mouthed kisses at the bare flesh of your breasts.the thin fabric of his painfully tight boxers squashing against your clothed folds as he rhythmically ground himself on top of you.

if someone had predicted that you would be in this position at this current state,you would have laugh bitterly straight at their face.he was nothing but a noisy neighbour man who was weirdly obsessed with sneaking to acknowledge more about your personal life,at least that was your point of view.

everyone in close circle was aware of his always overprotective instincts and spirit,especially when it came to you.it was beyond his abilities to ever prevent it,and you often would find yourself being absolutely horrified,until now.

brief minutes ago he managed to captivate you over,leaving you flabbergasted once you observed the view of his note app written to the fullest with emotions and dispositions just about you,your heart aching with overwhelming mirthfulness at the well explained authoring.

“shh sweetheart,i am right here,just relax and i am gonna take care of you,going to make you feel so good” the whisper reassurance in his utterance made your walls clench around the air,anticipating the moment his balls would be deep buried into your guts.

his body buzzed straight with arousal as he stared at your exposed heat once he slid off your lace thong from your feet,the wetness of your juices enveloping your glistening inner thighs.his urge of tumbling down into your swollen clit to taste you was a insatiable amount of craving,but he needed to have you first.

he purposefully removed his last piece of clothing in a agonisingly pace,unveiling his direct bulge that was formed on his cock,his pinkish tip burningly yearning for any sort of release from you.

you chocked out a lewd mewl once he started to rub his head against your slick entrance with his hips transitioning in a back-forth motion,creating a exasperating frenzy friction that triggered to leave you lightheaded and dizzy.you exuberantly gasped when he pushed into your hole with a slow fervent thrust,his length filling you up completely. “fuck,so tight,this pussy was made for me”

he didn’t wasted time to initiate pounding in you,already hitting your sweet spot frequently and causing you to see stars,at same time coaxing up a follow of pornographic whimpers and moans out of your mouth.his fiery impassioned gaze never broke contact of your face,and he nearly tripped off to the edge at the view in front of him.

your soaked moist forehead along with the lidded orbs on the corner of your eyes being practically rolled back,your spine bowing against his naked chest and your hips bucking upwards so they are rolled off from the bed in attempt to cling him further inside of you was his peak.

he was addicted,intoxicated by all the sensation,the warm blood rising suddenly through him and landing directly on his lower abdomen,developing a sore pressure that was about to burst. “so fucking pretty,who else is able to drive you into this mess,huh?”

“no one,only you,you are the only one” you suppressed through a throaty sob as you squelched around him when his dick jerked uncontrollably within your bumb,unexpectedly stuffing you with his heavy liquid “shit,i am cumming,i am cumming!”

his vulgar grunt echoed through the room and likely outside the hall for a while.quietness then drowning both of you as he gently pushed off from you,dragging a hiss of a pain from your lips that was cut off abruptly by a vibrating whirl coming from the opposite direction of you,your eyebrows furrowing in suspiciousness as you scan over to surprisingly spot a faint red light dot hidden behind some books.

“oh don’t worry about it” he spoke up calmly,reaching over to reveal a digital camera clutched to his fingers,a slight alarming gleam appearing and shining up to his pupils before uttering again.

“it will be our small secret,added to my personal cart of collection with my dvd videos including you..you know,you should definitely close your blinds more often at night”

can you tell that i got this based off his vibes to todays video with the whole sabotage stalking scene?🤓 kinda proud of this one

tags!: @dirtylittleheart333 since she told me she wants to be tagged in more of my works😭

[valtrieys]

★ pairing : bf!chan x reader

★ warnings : smut (ofc) , degrading , some praising , chan calls reader interesting words (whore) kinda mean!chan, d&s dynamics , jealousy , daddy kink (mentioned like 2 times) , overstimulation at the end

★ a/n : this was a draft for a good while and was the original for my second work (sexting w chan) so lmk how it is....

Is this what you wanted? —- do you like it when you make me mad, so I can fuck the brat out of you?"

"n—no," you choked out desperately trying to show that he doesn't have an effect on you

you were currently laid on chan's desk in the studio, his work and things long forgotten on the floor as he couldn't bother with them, not anymore at least

chan was thrusting his hips into you, pace rapid and rough, your mind only being flooded with the feelings of immense pleasure that were going throughout your body,

your senses being heightened to the max, feeling extra aware of your breathing and way blood ran to your head-

"I don't think so baby, you seem to be enjoying yourself," he says with a shit eating grin before throwing his head forward to nibble on your shoulder

the pleasure building up in your stomach becomes too much that you can't hold in your moans anymore, toes curling and eyes rolling to the back of your head

not wanting to give chan the satisfaction he so desperately wants, you try to cover your mouth but he beats you to it and grabs both your wrists holding them up

not being able to say anything without sounding straight up pornographic, you simply bury your head into his desk where his work once was, cheeks running hot

he knows the effect he has on you

he can't ever help himself from teasing you, seeing your flustered face each time he does it, your image so beautiful when it happens,

he can never help the feelings of excitement rushing through him leading all the way to the tip of his thick and veiny cock

"look at me or I'll stop," he threatens, his voice projecting throughout the room, he feels you tighten to his deep and hoarse voice

not being to think properly without the constant thought of the way his cock was filling you to the brim, or the way his punishing thrusts made you feel things you have never felt before,

finally as you go to turn your head, one of chan's hands that was previously holding your hands up moves over, suddenly he's holding onto your chin forcing you to look at his face,

the eye contact you both hold is full of lust and desire, chris examines your face through his hooded eyes, looking at you as his you were a piece of art, his piece of art. all his.

"fuck- look at you. you are mine, all mine,"

he wasn't asking, he was letting you know that you were in his possession, that you are bonded with him forever.

"yes, all y-yours," answering his declaration of your forever bond although knowing what he truly meant, hands moving to grip the corner of his desk in order to stabilize yourself a bit more

"chan, fuck. I'm so close," whispering out, leaving your mouth ajar after letting chris learn the new source of information that you let out,

"my personal whore is gonna come, yeah?" his accent thickens towards the end of the sentence, voice presenting false sympathy adding onto his the pout he was giving you.

moving his hands to go knead your ass giving a few slaps here and there that would definitely leave your skin red for atleast a couple of hours, he slows his pace, slowly rolling his hips into you giving you the full experience of his length.

you let out a choked moan, chris feels the way your walls tighten against him, your close and he knows it

"let it all out for daddy," he hisses out, a mix of his and your sweat sticking to his skin, his face red from the heat of the room,

finally letting yourself cum after holding it in until you were given the permission to do so, riding out your high until you finally came back from the heavenly experience

stringing out whines from the overstimulation of chan still continuing his pace of abusing your tight cunt, "just- a little more baby," he huffs out trying to reach his high

"fuck- you wanted this- don't complain and let daddy do what he needs to," his eyebrows furrowing when you try to whine once more, your whole body sore after a good fuck.

his hips finally start to stutter as he approaches his high, letting out his load inside of you, "my good girl," he sighs putting his chin on your shoulder.

moving you over so he could face you, he pushing your wet hair back finally giving you a peck on the forehead

"my baby did so well for me," he chuckles, his aura completely changing after the fact

"thank you channie," you whisper showing your appreciation for him.

finally adding on as he started to gather both of your clothing, "sorry, for earlier. I didn't know he was flirting with me, I thought he was just being extra nice," staring down at the floor avoiding any eye contact, your voice showing the embarrassment of not being able to take hints.

"yeah, I noticed. just wanted to make sure you know who you belonged to."

[bugs1nmybrain]

✨️ L Lawliet w/ a Shy & Insecure Reader Headcanons ✨️

Notes: I got real specific here. I need some validation haha. I swear if L ever complimented me I'd implode and then explode like I've done many times in the DS game (don't make fun of me >:<)

I'm adding pink text and sparkles to the title. Cope with it DN twt

Warnings: 18+!!! There is some sexy content, no gendered terms or pronouns. I tried being inclusive with the sexy stuff. Talks about poor self-esteem and insecurities. L being his rude ass self at one point. Reader described as quiet. I did indeed write L as a sweetheart, and I don't regret it one bit! :D. Not proofread

For starters, shy isn't a problem for L. He appreciates that you're quiet and relatively polite. It makes it easier for him to get away with dating you because he knows you're not going to be obnoxious around headquarters, and there's a good chance you'll never even mention that you're his partner

He finds it vry cute. Especially when you stumble over your words when he flirts with you. His pride is very comfy with you.

You are a perfect parallel play lover!!! He's grateful that you don't pester him when he's busy, but he doesn't mind you being around him. You can draw, do homework, write, play video games, anything. He just appreciates your company. He's also 100% paying attention out of his peripheral vision.

But because you're quiet, sometimes you don't share all of your thoughts with him and it can make for a satisfying relationship. L sure as shit isn't disclosing a lot of stuff, so he sees it as even

A lot of your secrets are insecurities, though. You worry a lot about your competency as a romantic partner. Whether it's your intelligence, physical beauty, personality, interests, anything really. You're always anxious that you're not enough, and not enough for him.

L knows well that you lack confidence. He's torn, actually, because he wants to see you become more sure of yourself and he'll try to help. He teaches you skills when he has time and makes sure to compliment you when you do something good. Sometimes he stretches the truth in his praises just to make you feel better. He knows you value his opinion a lot.

However, your insecure nature is an easy opening for him to get away with a lot. Nothing that serious, but secret tests are a given with L, and he does like to test if you'll push through him not given you the validation he knows you want. It actually does make him feel like 10% bad, though, and he'll make up for it.

He understands why you're insecure, but at the same time, he thinks it's silly. Especially when you admit to him that you're worried about your physical appearance or sexual abilities. It's in those moments he just wants to tell you to stop because "have you seen me, y/n?"

But yes please flatter his ego

When you started sleeping together it actually was pretty smooth and natural

I truly believe L was a virgin until you, so he probably wasn't much more confident than you

The doom of adult virginity/inexperience is that everyone expects you to be pornographic by now, and for an insecure person that can be very demanding

L doesn't expect that and won't be disappointed by something slow and "vanilla." He likes that, honestly. But of course, if/whenever you're ready for something more spicy, he's very open to communicating about it

This guy is just happy to touch you, period

If you fumble because you're nervous, he's not upset, but he'll redirect you with affirming words

He does admittedly get irritated by consistent nagging and the self-deprecating comments you make. It annoys him after a bit. He'll likely disengage to avoid hurting your feelings, but if you're persistent, he'll give it to you straight.

"The only thing you should be insecure about is that you're a broken record."

Fight the tears

It actually does make him upset when you doubt him and his love for you. It makes him feel like you don't trust him. L is aware that he's deceptive by nature, but he wants you to trust that he values you. He certainly wouldn't be in a committed relationship with you if his feelings weren't genuine

So he reminds you. Again. And again. That he wants you in his life and treasures you

You're lucky that he loves you so much

Sometimes, you'll go through periods of isolating from him because you're afraid of bothering him. Trust me. He's glad to have time to work, but he does pick up on your distance quick

You're so afraid of asking him for attention

or even just a bite of his cake. He always offers, tho.

But yea. L is a busy guy and comfortable in seclusion, so he isn't that clingy. He can go a long time without checking in on you, which doesn't help the paranoia

When he decides to take a break for once, usually his first instinct is to either 1. Get coffee or a treat, or 2. Make a bee line to see you!!

OR 3. BRING YOU FOOD TO SHARE

Know that he loves you much more than most things. You are his priority, even if his work takes precedence at times.

He'll attempt to build your trust over time because he understands how hard it is to believe in someone's honesty. It'll get better, and you'll likely start to feel more self-assured with him. L talks a lot, but he believes actions speak louder than words, so he'll show you how much he loves you through the little things because you light up his world after an exhausting day full of murder and nonstop thinking. You're home to him and he wants you to feel the same way about him.

[sinnamorolly]

*.•^Baby Lemme Lick On Your Tattoos.^•.*

summary: you come home with onys name tatted🤭

reader warnings: black coded reader, smut, creampie, reader called “princess” and “baby”,reader calls ony “papa”, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: likes are very appreciated but pls also reblog! lmk how i did, my ask box is always open to all the sexy people reading this😛🫶🏾enjoy!!

“onyyyyy” you could only whine his name as he mercilessly fucked up into your almost sore and weeping pussy. your legs grew tired from riding him a while ago, and now you were hanging onto his shoulders for dear life while he rearranged your insides.

“cmon princess, you know what i want” you tried to lift up off him with a whine. you couldn’t help it, he just so big and he was making you take all of it! “nun un don’t fuckin run from it. walkin in here wit my name on you like i wont fuck you up for days” he says at your ear before biting the lobe. his hand snaked to the nape of your neck to place a firm grip while his arm wraps around your body to hold you still for his pounding.

“omygodddd why’re you fuckin me like this” you were slurring and on the verge of tears at this point, but you already knew exactly why.

it was over an hour and 2 rounds ago when you skipped into the apartment you share with your boyfriend of 5 years, onyankopon. you had texted him that you had a surprise so he immediately sat up from the couch when you came in. “my pretty princess” he says after you giddily greet him with a kiss, “whatchu got fa me hm?”. with a mischievous little smile you turn around and pull down the waist of your velvet tracksuit to reveal a small wrapped tattoo on your lower back that reads “ONY”.

“you like it papa?” you turn your head to see him sitting there with his lip between his teeth, a growing erection, and some big ass heart eyes. you’ve had every inch of his dick in you since.

“give it ta me pretty, lemme see that cream i love. yk i love it when you get messy fa me baby.” your pussy was already squelching so much from the previous loads of cum he stuffed in you and you could only imagine the sounds that would ensue after you came.

“m so close papa fuck” your whines we’re getting louder as that knot in your stomach got closer and closer to snapping. ony briefly pauses his thrusts to lean you back and move his hand to the front of your neck before picking his pace back up. “ohhh godd” you cry into the air as you grab onto his wrist. with every thrust, tears start springing from your now crossed eyes. the stretch, the sheer force of which he’s pounding into you, and the new angle allowing his to rub right against your sweet spot became all too much.

your mouth goes slack before letting out a pornographic moan as you come undone. you flood his dick with milky white cream that piles up at the base and drips to his balls. he fucks you straight through it before pulling down to take every inch and filling you up again.

your legs are still trembling when he lifts you off his dick and kisses you slowly. he pulls away only to see your pussy leaking cum back onto his softening dick. “think that’s enough ta make a baby, princess?”

“nigga get me a ring!”

All rights reserved to sinnamorolly, do not copy or alter in any way, shape, or form.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Blow A-Train (A-Train)

Description: Homelander tells Y/N to blow A-Train

Warning: Blow Job

Word Count: 601

“Blow A-Train.” Y/N’s jaw dropped as Homelander told her to blow the guy. “I’m not kidding. Go over there, pull out A-Train’s cock and blow it.” Homelander told her. She looked around at the table and everyone else was shocked as well. “Are you gonna do it or what?” Homelander asked, annoyed that she was just sitting there.

She got up and walked over to Reggie. He stood up and watched as she carefully dropped to her knees. This was a dream come true for him but he didn’t want it to happen like this. Any minute now she expected Homelander to tell her to stand up but he didn’t. She undid his belt and pulled down his pants to reveal his cock that was hard.

“Oh wow. Ya see I was gonna tell ya to stop but he’s hard. He wants this Y/N. He wants your mouth on his cock.” Y/N gulped as she looked up at A-Train who looked down at her. “Tell her.” A-Train takes his eyes off her to look at him. “What?” He asked. Homelander rolled his eyes and sighed, “Tell her you want her mouth on your cock.” Reggie looked back down at the woman, “I-I want your m-mouth on my cock.” He tells her. His heart was racing and he wasn’t just from the anxiety of them doing this infront of everyone.

Y/N lifted her hand to wrap around his dick and he let out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. “Your mouth Y/N not your hand.” Homelander said. Y/N nodded and took him in her mouth causing him to grasp the table. His cock filled her mouth up perfectly as she took him whole. The feeling was so nice and good but he swallowed all the noises he had. “Don’t hide how good it feels. I bet you she feels amazing.” Homelander said. As she started blowing him he closed his eyes and his breathing got heavy.

Y/N watched him as he did this and got wet. He was trying so hard to hold back how good it was but he let a moan slip that was almost pornographic. Y/N felt herself soak after that and she went faster. His hand that wasn’t grasping the table laced through her hair. “Fuck.” He groaned not caring about the other people in the room anymore. His only focus was her warm wet mouth drooling on his cock. He felt himself get closer to his climax just at the thought of being watched.

Y/N felt him twitch and she reached up and massaged his balls sending him over the edge. Without wanting to, he let out a whimper as he came in her mouth. His hips bucked and his cum went down her throat. She swallowed all of it and let his dick go with a pop. Homelander watched the girl lick her lips and stare up at the man. His jaw clenched at the sight.

She looked so slutty and hot as she licked Reggie’s cum off her lips. Homelander faked a smile and began clapping. “Now that was hot.” He said standing up. A-Train helped Y/N stand up. “Y/N you really got some mouth on you.” A-Train glared at him and that made Homelander smirk even wider. “Y/N?” She turned towards him. “Blow me next.” He said with a straight face. Y/N stared at him not knowing if he was being serious or not. “Y/N get over here and suck my dick.” He growled. Y/N and Reggie looked at each other and she slowly walked over to Homelander accepting her fate.