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thiswasinevitableid · 1 year ago

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Beware the Bear (Indruck)

The winner of the "spooky places" prompt poll was 24 Hour Arcade

Credit to Bellafarallones for initially playing in the "only nice when a werebear" super villain space on discord.

The Halloween season is the only time Kepopolis becomes less grim. The winter holidays offer too much contrast, too much of a reminder that the world could be warm, bright, and peaceful if only somebody gave a damn. The rest of the time there’s nothing to offset the gloom, no way to ignore the tombstones of utopia clouding the skyline. Not without feeling like an ostrich whose head is in the sand while a lion runs off with its body.

Come the end of July, the city reaches an agreement to spend three months coated in orange and purple lights and fake cobwebs, to pretend everything is a horror movie backdrop that will roll away when November comes.

Mothman’s Arcade is no exception, though Indrid prides himself–as owner–on going above and beyond when it comes to Halloween cheer. He’s rather pleased with this year’s purchase of new, blacklight responsive skeleton banners, which flap cheerfully on the walls as he clocks out, Kirby waving to him as he comes in for his midnight to eight a.m shift.

It’s eight blocks home, blocks he could do blindfolded, and there are even two streetlights between here and there. Maybe that’s why he lets his mind wander far enough that it’s like being yanked by the throat when someone speaks to him.

No, wait, someone’s hand is literally on his throat.

“Okay pal, we don’t want any trouble.” The taller of the two muggers pushes him into an alleyway, behind a dumpster where he has no chance of being seen, ��wallet and anything else you’ve got.”

Indrid passes over his wallet, knowing full well there’s nothing in it to steal. The second robber opens it and frowns, “you got anything else? Maybe some cash you’re taking to the bank after emptying those machines?”

He tries not to think too hard about the fact he’s been stalked from work, nor about the fact he does have an envelope of cash he’d been planning to deposit in the morning.

“Hey, shithead, you heard me, you got any cash?”

“No. I do not have any.” He lies.

His back bangs into the dumpster as four hands shove and tug at his clothes, coming away with the envelope. His heart sinks; there goes payroll and his nose.

“You lying piece of-”

Both men leave the ground at the same time, their feet kicking in the air as huge, furry paws grip their scruffs.

“Now fellas, I’m gonna give you two options: you either give this man back his money and walk away, or I take his money back and toss you in that dumpster.”

The envelope smacks Indrid in the face, sneakers pattering away before he gets it back into his pocket.

Were-creatures aren’t unheard of in Kepler, and there was a very nice were-cougar who used to come to the arcade after work to place Pac-Man. But he’s never been this close to a werebear, and even on all fours the monster’s snout is level with his face.

“You okay, slim?” One blue eye and one brown one look him up and down, “they didn’t hurt you too bad?”

“My back is bruised” The adrenaline is dying and his fingers are starting to shake, “I, I’m more shaken up than anything else. And honestly feel very foolish. I know better, I just, I live here, I know here and, and do I look like the kind who has money on him??”

“Nah. But in a cool punk way, not in a bum way.” The werebear pads beside him back onto the sidewalk, “you want me to walk you home? Just in case those chuckleheads get any ideas?”

“Yes, please. It’s not far.” Indrid turns towards Oak Avenue, follows it until Pine, the werebear staying a polite distance to his right, occasionally stopping to throw litter into the nearest trash can.

When they reach Eastwood Apartments, Indrid hesitates.

“They ain’t followin’ us, if that’s what you’re scared of. Can’t smell ‘em. Just you and” he sniffs the air, “couple of raccoons. Aww, there they are.” He smiles as the masked faces look up from the rain gutter at him.

He’s so cute. And huge. And Indrid’s apartment is cold this time of year.

“Would you like to come up with me? I haven’t had dinner and it seems only polite given you helped me.”

“If it ain’t too much trouble, sure.”

There’s a slight amount of trouble navigating a werebear up the narrow stairs, but they manage, and his guest sniffs out the water glasses while Indrid opens the fridge.

“I warn you, I have only the fanciest foods. Behold” he presents the boxes of pizza rolls with a flourish.

The werebear laughs, “Hell yeah you do.”

Indrid heats the rolls as claws gently click across the fake tile, his furry protector studying the art and posters on the walls and frowning at the shaky kitchen table leg. Since the chairs are not werebear sized, Indrid perches on the arm of the couch as the werebear happily sits and leans against the wall.

“May I know the name of my guest?” Indrid swings his legs.

“Duck. It’s a nickname.” The werebear drops half the plate of rolls into his mouth, “So, uh, Indrid, what’s it like workin’ at an arcade?”

“How did–oh, yes, my nametag–well, it has its benefits and it’s annoyances like any job. But the hours suit me and I own the place free and clear. Plus being in charge means I pick what goes in the vending machines.”

“You get free play too?”

“Yes. Also the discretion to give tokens to who I please and select the least grim plushes for the prize counter.”

“Who gets free tokens?” Duck finishes his plate.

“Anyone who saves my life, for starters.” Indrid winks at him, gets an ear wiggle in reply.

“Wouldn't turn down a few, especially if you got old school games. Or Tony Hawk ones. Seriously though, how do you decide who to give ‘em too?”

Indrid explains and finds four more follow up questions waiting for him. Duck makes conversation like a man who hasn’t heard a human voice in ten years. Indrid doesn’t mind one bit.

Eventually, his body reminds him he needs at least a little sleep, and he yawns.

“Oughta let you get to bed.”

“I suppose…” Indrid bites his lip, “but I really am enjoying spending time with you. If you have somewhere to be I completely understand but, ah-”

The werebear stands, snuffling the top of Indrid’s head, “Okay slim, I’ll keep you company until you fall asleep.”

Duck covers his paws with his eyes while Indrid changes into his pajama pants and a sweater, then lays down next to the mattress. He’s big enough that his head is level with Indrid’s as they lay in the dark.

Indrid falls asleep on his stomach, but when he wakes up during the night, he finds he’s draped an arm over a snoozing Duck.

When he wakes up again, it’s to cursing and the sound of someone rifling through his rickety dresser.

“Nooo” he whines playfully, “don’t go. You’re so warm and fuzzy, you should stay here.”

“Yeah, well, warm and fuzzy time is over.” A gruffer version of last night's drawl is accompanied by a shutting drawer, “I’m taking these swears and one of these tank tops.”

“Oh, of course.” Indrid sits up, putting on his glasses, “It hadn’t even occurred to me that you’d need clothes if you changed back while here.”

“Bettin a lot of things don’t occur to you.” Duck pulls on the shirt. It stretches across his belly and dark hair peeks through the collar. This softens the insult severely.

“Well, you’re welcome to them. I have a sweatshirt that might fit too, you can drop it back off at the arcade when you have a chance.”

“Got better things to do than return some kids' laundry.”

“In that case, no sweatshirt, as I happen to like it.” Indrid stands, crossing his arms, “if you are being defensive because you are afraid I will tell people you are a werebear, you do not need to be. I know people do not always treat the unfamiliar well. Your secret is safe with me.” He tries to meet Duck’s eyes, but the shorter man keeps looking away from him. His face is round, handsome but hardened, and all Indrid wants to do is run his fingers over it.

“That ain’t what I’m afraid of. Honestly, ain’t afraid of anything you’d do, skinny. I could break you in half. All the same, this never happened, y’hear?”

“Perfectly.” Indrid sits back down, “Is there any chance I will see you again? Perhaps in a less, ah, grumpy mood?”

Duck opens the door, pauses, then says, “doubt it” before stepping through and slamming it shut.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

There was a time where waking up next to a cute guy would have made Duck’s day. There was a time where a lot of things would have made his day; seeing a cool plant, talking with Juno, leading a tour group.

That was before. This is after. Now if only he could remember that four all the days of the month.

His lunch is a protein smoothie and a sleeve of Thin Mints, which he bought two full moons ago, making one Brownie’s day.

He looks at the cookie in his hand. He bets Indrid would love cookies for lunch.

No. That Duck doesn’t come out again. Not until next month, anyway.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay sips his from his travel cup, emblazoned with the logo of Amnesty Lodge, as he and Indrid stand in line for the ATM in the evening light.

“You want to go see the new Scream movie with me? Brian bailed.”

Indrid isn’t surprised, given that his friend’s boyfriend seems like he’d prefer anything to spending time with Barclay.

“I’d love to.”

He moves one spot forward in line, then hears Barclay groan, “guess we’re getting our cash somewhere else.”

Indrid turns to see a supervillain striding towards the line. It’s the Bear, in his beaten duster coat and black mask, boots tromping on the concrete.

“Everybody moves aside, nobody gets hurt.” He doesn’t even have to flash the gun on his hip; Indrid and the others all move away from the ATM, giving him unimpeded access.

He’s heard the Bear is a very physical villain. He’s still not expecting him to just walk up and punch the ATM to get at the cash.

There’s an ease and confidence to his strength, and when he hauls his bag over his shoulder it’s like he’s daring the world to take him on, just so he can give it a black eye to keep it humble.

Indrid’s wondering what else he could do with those arms when Barclay nudges him and says, “C’mon, let's go grab dinner. I found this new sandwich place you’re gonna love.”

As they walk towards one of the less battered sections of Old Town, Indrid does wish he could have gotten a better look at the villain.

He regrets this wish a week and a half later when, around two in the morning, a bank alarm sounds two blocks from the arcade. A few seconds later a masked figure comes into the view through the window and ducks inside the arcade.

The Bear scans the consoles and Indrid pretends to be very busy with his inventory of tickets and tokens. Heavy footsteps that stop at the counter tell him this has not worked.

“You the only one here?”

“Yes.” Indrid turns, keeps his eyes on the villain’s chest or lower. Which is a bit tricky since he’s actually taller than the pistol-packing example of Kepler’s finest cottage industry.

“You gonna say anything if they come in?”

“No, as I am much less durable than an ATM. If it is of use to you, that room there” he points to his right, “is mainly full of machines that do not work. No one would ever go in.”

The Bear gives a grunt of assent and disappears through the glow in the dark curtains. Indrid returns to his checklist, only to put it down two minutes later as three cops shove the doors open and make a beeline for him.

“Hey kid, you alone in here?”

Like any seasoned bystander of Kepler, Indrid lies.

“Yes. It’s a very slow time of night for us.”

“We’re gonna have a look around all the same.”

He smiles, “Of course, officers. Oh, ah, but do be careful” he points to the glowing curtain, “my repair room has a leak in the roof and there is a terrible mix of water and loose wires in there.”

The cops do a short circuit of the main room, poking their heads into the storeroom, break room, and Indrid’s office before saying, “All clear. Night, kid.”

As the bell dings at their exit, Indrid mutters, “why does everyone keep calling me that? I am thirty-three.”

He’s still musing aloud as he kneels and starts unboxing plushes for the prize shelf. Just as he decides the Bear must have snuck out the back door, weather beaten boots step from the curtain.

“Nice hiding spot you got back there.”

“Thank you.” Indrid looks up, which means he’s staring at the Bear’s crotch. A roaring, golden grizzly sits as his belt-buckle above a tantalizing bulge in his pants.

“Appreciating the view?”

“I, ah, I” he blushes, figures there’s no harm in a flattering truth, “yes.”

A hand roughly ruffles his hair, “Consider it a thank-you.” The hand moves through his hair again, slower this time, almost gentle, “and you oughta fix up that two-player Pac Man. It’s a crowd pleaser.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He starts to look up farther, to catch a glimpse of that handsome face in the colorful lights of the machines, but the Bear lets go as he tilts his head, turning his back and sauntering out of the store.

Indrid hopes he’ll see him again, just for the masturbation fodder, but he doesn’t. There’s no sign of him around for weeks, and so Indrid figures he left for a new neighborhood. That or something scared him away. It’s that exact thought he’s mulling over when a knock comes to his door and he opens it to find a different kind of bear altogether.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Duck spent two weeks and change avoiding any place he might see Indrid motherfucking Cold, in spite of the fact his werebear senses, dulled as they are when he’s a human, kept picking up his scent around town.

So what does he do the minute he transforms? He turns his useless-ass paws towards that skinny weirdo’s door. The moon wasn’t even all the way up yet.

By the time he’s there, he’s feeling much better; there’s no harm in having a friend he sees once a month. Or maybe even more than a friend, if Indrid is into the idea.

The human is surprised when finds Duck on his doorstep, but the resulting smile is worth every second of arguing with himself about this.

“Thought I, uh, I’d check to see if you needed a walk to work? Or if you turned out to be at work, was gonna offer to walk you back.”

“I start at midnight this week.”

“Yeesh, don’t know how you do it.”

“I have always been a night owl of sorts. I used to stay up drawing until I passed out in my crayons.”

Duck follows Indrid inside, chuckling, “You’re like a little moth.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Y’know, all nocturnal and interesting to look at. And you got those tattoos” He tips his snout at the Luna moth on one shoulder and the Emperor Moth on his arm.

Indrid cocks his head, “Duck, have you been trying to come up with a nickname for me?”

“Maybe, uh, I mean, uh, fuck, I…yeah.” He scratches his ear sheepishly.

“I’m flattered you’d spend so much time thinking of me.” Another smile, a touch more guarded.

Duck drops to all fours so he can meet Indrid’s eyes, “Hey I, uh, I wanted to apologize for last time. I know I was a dick the next morning, and I shouldn’t have been. In fact, that was me trying my damndest not to be, in some ways. When I get all fuzzy I get, well, fuzzy in here too” he taps his chest, “when I ain’t always the nicest the rest of the time. If that means you’d rather I scram, I can. I gotta patrol some tonight anyway.”

Indrid pets his cheek, dooming him to months of trying to recreate the touch with his own fingers, “Thank you for apologizing. And explaining. I’d very much like company on my way to work, and you’re welcome to play and, ah, shoot the breeze, as they say, once we’re there.”

“Sounds great” Duck nuzzles his forehead, “I’m gonna go patrol; when I’m like this, it’s easy to be a hero for folks, and I like to help when I can. See you at midnight, slim.”

“See you then” Indrid purrs.

—-------------------------

Indrid takes his spot in the tour bus; the Monongahela is beautiful this time of year, and he promised himself that he’d finally get around to taking the tour up the Greenbank summit to see the view.

As the bus putters forward, he pulls a postcard from his coat pocket. It was waiting for him this afternoon.

There’s been one in his mail every three days for the last two weeks.

This one is of the Kepler waterfront. On the back, in slightly sloppy writing, is this:

Hi little moth,

You ever been on the ferris wheel here? I went as a kid. It’s how I learned I was scared of heights. Wouldn’t stand on anything taller than the front step for months.

We should go some full moon. I know a real cool spot to see river otters.

-Duck

The messages have all been written in the same pen. His address has not, and the writing looks like someone’s hand was being forced across the paper. All he can figure is that the reason Duck left early to “run an errand” was so he could write all these before his cranky self returned.

Untangling his feelings about that is barely started by the time he reaches the summit. He wanders out with the rest of the group, reads the few signs and takes in the view. There’s a firewatch tower near a small, seasonal gift shop, and he looks up to see a man in a ranger uniform watching the visitors, stony-faced all the while.

Then he sees Indrid and pulls his hat down over his eyes before crossing to another rail.

That does explain why so many of the postcards are from the national forest.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

In Duck’s defense, he thought Roswell crashing the governor’s civic celebration banquet would keep the cops occupied the whole night. That’s the only reason he’s now running for the one place in this neighborhood he knows he can hide.

Indrid is behind the counter like last time, looking exasperated rather than afraid when he sees who it is.

“Same room as last time?”

“Damn right.” Duck slips into hiding, listens as Indrid does the same song and dance with the cops as before.

Huh. The two-player Pac Man has definitely been tinkered with since the last time he was here.

This time, when he steps through the curtain Indrid is waiting for him.

“You know, I have a perfectly functional back door. You do not need to make me lie for you. You could just run out that door and into the alley or up a fire escape like a sensible villain.”

Duck is not in the mood to be lectured. Not by someone who could never understand what it’s like.

He grabs Indrid’s shirt and shoves him against the wall, pressing close as he growls, “Let’s get on thing real clear: I can make you do any goddamn thing I want.”

Indrid’s squeak of alarm is not as alarmed as Duck needs it to be right now.

“Heh, I get it. You’re one of those villain chasers.”

“Nono. If anyone is it’s my friend, I am certain he reads fan-fiction about villains abducting civilians and I will stop speaking now, apologies I babble when, when-”

“Nervous?”

“That’s not quite the word I’d use.” Indrid leans closer, peering at his face, and asks the worst possible question.

“Do I know you?

“N-no, uh, fuck, you, you don’t not, fuck”

He should punch him and run. Yeah. That’ll work.

Duck balls his fists and yanks Indrid into a kiss. The other man stiffens, then melts with a moan and cups Duck’s face, kissing him back like he knows him. Duck could break the kiss any second he wanted to, he could, if Indrid would just stop touching him, stop making pleased little sounds and hooking one ankle around Duck’s calf.

Indrid pulls away, humming happily, and smiles, “You should consider solving more of your problems that way. You are very good at it.”

Duck’s heart sings with affection. So he snarls, shoves Indrid into a pinball machine, and runs out the door.

—-----------------------------------------------

It’s not Duck’s fault.

It’s not his fault that Indrid looked so sad in the early morning light, not his fault Indrid chose to wake up extra early so he could bid the werebear goodbye (because Duck had decided to spare him dealing with his grumpy human self come dawn).

It’s not his fault. Just like the dock fire wasn’t his fault. Just like it wasn’t his fault when he saw what the city was doing to Agent X and couldn’t convince them to stop. Just like it wasn’t his fault that they goaded Athena into leveling two city blocks. Just like it wasn’t his fault that when Kepler Chemical blew it’s goddamn top, he was the only member of his team to survive.

Indrid Cold is just some guy. Duck will not be responsible for him.

“Ahem.”

Indrid Cold is just some guy who is now standing in the door of the firewatch tower.

“We need to talk. And please do not try to lie, that is torture beyond anything you can do as a villain.”

“I uh, I-”

“Duck.” Indrid says more firmly.

“What? You want a fuckin medal for putting who I am together?”

“No. I want…I wanted to talk with you as human you. Because I am not sure how much of when you are a bear you remember, but last night you begged me to be your boyfriend.”

“And you said no.” It comes out pathetic and defeated.

“Correct. Because I do not want a boyfriend who is kind to me one night a month. Who only wants to see me one night a month.”

“I do.” He bites his tongue, which does nothing.

“You do not act like it. You barely act like human-you sees me as a person, even when he’s not in his villain outfit.”

Duck takes a step closer, “Indrid, a whoooole lotta folks have tried to talk me out of the villain thing, and they offered way more than some skinny freak who’d let me fuck him now and then.”

Indrid’s face remains placid, “I’m not trying to talk you out of anything, or into being a hero again–yes I said ‘again’, anyone with any sense can work out who you used to be even if you or the city won’t confirm it–I am telling you that I am not going to be wooed one night and ignored for thirty, even if the one night makes me so very deeply happy. I think whoever you are when you are a werebear is still in there, and I want that person.”

“I ain’t sure I can give him to you. It’s…it’s complicated, little moth. I got my reasons for things and while they ain’t all noble they ain’t because I get my kicks being an asshole.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, feeling two-feet tall, “but I hear what you’re sayin. You don’t want me around, you say the word and I’m gone. Give you my goddamn word.”

“And what if?” Indrid closes the space between them, “I said I wanted you to try going out to dinner with me like this? Just once, after I get off work, as casual as you like.”

Duck meets his eyes, “I’d say The Bear ain’t one to run from a challenge.”

Indrid kisses him once, “Tomorrow at eight?”

“I’ll be there.”

Indrid turns for the door, then looks over his shoulder as he says, with a wink, “and if you come early, I might even give you some free play tokens for the pac man game I just fixed.”

“You got a deal, slim.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #taz amnesty #superhero au #supervillain au #werebear #human/monster romance #monster boyfriend #promptober

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bucks-babe · 10 months ago

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Be Mean To Me

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Summary: After a long day at work, you just want to lose all control and have your boyfriend fuck you into oblivion

Warnings: Established relationship, slight angst, fluff, smut, mean!dom!bucky, reader asks for it, they are so in love, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, oral (male receiving), ball sucking, slapping, spit kink?, degradation, humiliation, name calling (slut, whore, bitch, sugar, good girl), daddy kink, some praise, spanking, pussy slapping (like once), safe word (yellow), vaginal sex, no prep anal, Bucky has a huge dick, choking, aftercare, check-ins, crying during sex, crying after sex, soft!Bucky, no mention of Y/N, no description of reader other than being female

Word Count: 4.9k of mostly smut

A/N: This was very self indulgent. Work has been kicking my ass and I want to be taken care of. Any mistakes are my own. If I missed any warnings please let me know. @bucknastysbabe it's done! I think I should go back to therapy. But hey, smut

You feel your throat tighten as you walk up to the apartment you share with Bucky. It was one of those days that left you beaten down and wanting to curl up under your blankets and cry. You didn’t even want to go into work this morning, having to force yourself to get ready. Too many rude customers, incompetent coworkers giving you more work than you get paid to do, everything leaving you overstimulated and wanting your boyfriend.

It left a craving deep down inside of you, a want that you knew only he could quell. You just wanted to shut your brain off, have Bucky take care of you, ruin you, treat you like a whore, break you down, just to put you back together again.

You swallow the lump in your throat and unlock the front door, finding Bucky on the couch watching some random action movie that he claimed to hate. At the sight of him your body naturally relaxes and the urge to crawl onto his lap is too much to bear.

“Hey, sugar. I’ve been missing you all day. You’ll never fucking believe the video Sam sent me of Tony trying out his new thrusters! He flew rig- What’s wrong?” He perked up at the sound of the door opening, truly missing his girl. Whenever you’re around him his entire day gets better, a lightness filling his chest, but when he sees how run down you are, his heart literally hurts for you. Bucky wants to protect you from everything, from supervillains all the way to spiders in the house.

“Long day, baby. Just wanna be with you.” He opens his arms and you instantly crawl into his lap, eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed. He runs his metal hand up and down your back, pulling you as close to him as possible, while his flesh hand rests on your head, holding you to his neck, letting you breathe him in.

“What can I do for you, sugar? Want to talk about it? I can order from your favorite place. Can run you a bath. Whatever you want, sweet girl.”

“Please, be mean to me, Bucky.” Bucky feels his heart clench in his chest. He wants to keep your heart safe from whatever it is that is plaguing you, but he knows he can’t. What he can do is follow your request and make you forget.

“How mean do you want me, sugar?” Bucky has done this for you a few times. He always asks how you want him to treat you. It’s in his nature to be sweet to you, fill you with praise, but that's not what you want right now. You want to be degraded and treated like a fucktoy.

“Mean.” You keep your eyes trained on him. This is the only part where you need to keep your head on, make sure that he knows you want this.

“Remember your colors, sugar?” You nob, excitement bubbling up inside of you. “Remember, daddy will only be upset with you if you don’t use them. If you need to say yellow or red, you will.” His tone is final. This is the only way he would ever agree to treating you like a slut.

“Yes, daddy.” And just like that, Bucky’s entire demeanor changes. He goes from your sweet, cuddly boyfriend to a cold and callous body of muscle.

“Then take your clothes off, slut.” He pushes you off his lap, just hard enough to give the illusion of indifference. As you strip, Bucky keeps his eyes trained on the TV, not paying you any mind. Your core throbs at the fact that you are completely exposed while he is still fully dressed.

“On your knees.” He’s still not looking at you, but you obey without thought, willing to do whatever he wants. Grabbing the back of your neck, he forces you in between his spread legs, and you whine at the fact that his cock is still soft inside his sweats. Any other day, Bucky would make sure that your knees were never on the hardwood floor without a pillow or something soft underneath, but not today.

On days like these, when you want to feel completely submissive, it takes Bucky a while to get aroused. It’s in his nature to love up on you, make you drunk with pleasure in the sweetest way possible. He feeds off of your energy. When he is sure that you are having fun, his body lets himself fall into his role.

“What? You think at the first signs of some tits I’m gonna get hard? I knew you were a dumb slut but I didn’t realize just how thick you were.” Your pussy was absolutely pulsing with need. With his hand still on the back of your neck, he rubs your face against his crotch, feeling his cock begin to harden at the smell of your arousal.

He pulls you back far enough to slide his pants down, foregoing boxers, and you immediately try to take his half hard length in your mouth. Before you can process it, Bucky’s right hand lands a slap to your cheek - hard enough to make a welt that will take a few hours to disappear. You gasp and your cunt pulses even harder than before at the sting left on your cheek.

His metal hand wraps around your chin, much cooler than it’s supposed to be, and forces you to look him in the eye. In the back of your mind you realize that he turned on the cooling function in his arm to sooth your cheek; the arm was built to keep him cool in the Wakandan sun and heat. “Did daddy say you could suck his cock?” He uses his hand to shake your head from side to side, answering for you. “Then keep your slutty mouth shut.”

He spreads his legs wider and pulls your face closer to his heavy sack, already full of cum. “Hands behind your back, and suck on daddy’s balls.” You join your hands together behind your back without question and nuzzle his balls. Wasting no time, you take one into your mouth, sucking feverishly, enjoying the light dusting of hair tickling your face.

“Oh, fuck, come on, slut, I know you can do better than that. Take ‘em both in your dirty mouth.” He pushes you further into him, cutting off your oxygen, and you swear you hear your slick drip onto the floor. Your jaw aches as you try to get them both in your mouth, but you can't; his balls are too big. Bucky ruts against your face, squishing his balls, precum leaking from his tip, dripping onto his stomach after he takes his shirt off.

With your limited amount of movement, you alternate between each ball, licking at the seam. Every time you switch balls, you feel the other drag wetly across your face and you have to clench your legs in an attempt to quell the ache between them while fighting with your need for air. “Such a dirty bitch, lapping at your daddy’s nuts, shit.” He pulls you back just as your head starts to go fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, and you gasp for air, spit is covering the lower half of your face and is dripping down your neck and chest; Bucky feels his cock throb at the sight.

Reaching out, Bucky smears your spit around your face and leaves another, weaker smack to your cheek before he grabs his cock and uses his weeping tip to tease you, dragging it on your face. “What a nasty fucking bitch, drooling all over the place just from sucking some balls.” He slaps your cheeks with it a few times before forcing your head down all the way, making you gag and you immediately pull off, coughing.

He stares into your eyes, cold and calculating, waiting for you to speak. When your coughing subsides you manage to get out a hoarse ‘green,’ giving him the all clear. He takes your head and once again makes you take his cock, this time much slower and not as deep, the first time he wanted to fuck with you. “Such a perfect fucking mouth, shit.” He stops you from bobbing your head, “Stop being such a desperate whore and let daddy finish his movie.” You're sure you’re leaking onto the floor at this point.

You are able to see his face and he looks wrecked, mouth hanging open and head back; he’s not watching shit. Nonetheless, you rest your head on his thigh, getting comfortable, spreading your legs out to get closer to the floor so your head won't be bent at an awkward angle, ignoring the pain in your knees and the ache in your jaw.

The only sounds filling the room are Bucky’s ragged breathing and the movie playing in the background. There is saliva everywhere, his cock, all over his balls, down to his ass and on the couch. His cock is constantly leaking precum into your mouth but you don’t swallow, letting his taste linger on your tongue.

This isn’t what you wanted, you wanted him to demolish you. Sitting with his cock in your mouth is giving you too much time to think, so you do what any sane person would do - be a brat. At the first suckle, Bucky lets out a broken moan, at the second, he knows what you’re up to. Flicking your ear with his metal hand he hisses, “Don’t make me punish you, bitch.” At the third, he yanks you off of his dick, a trail of drool and precum keeping the two of you connected, as slaps you once again with his flesh hand, this time not soothing the marred flesh with his metal hand.

He stands and kicks the couch out of the way and pulls you with him by the neck. “You disobedient little-” he cuts himself short at the small puddle of slick that he finds from your previous position. “Is that what I think it is?” You only whine in response, his grip on your neck never faltering.

With his free hand, he reaches down to your pussy to feel just how wet you are, confirming his suspicions. “What a dirty fucking slut, leaking all over my floor.” He pulls you in closer to him just to whisper, “Lick it the fuck up, bitch,” before pushing you to the ground.

Your knees hit the wood hard and pain runs up your spine. You ignore the ache and brainlessly lap at your juices on the floor before Bucky smushes your cheek against the puddle and you moan. “Messy bitch, you are? Cunt is pulsing, waiting for my dick. Too bad I have to punish you, isn’t it, slut?” He leans down to the floor, eyes lined up with yours. “Daddy is going to give you ten spanks and I want you to count them.” You don’t respond immediately, stuck in a sort of limbo, drawn in further at the softness in his eyes.

No matter how hard he tries, Bucky can’t hide his devotion to you, that’s why he doesn’t let you look at him when he needs to play this role. His whole face softens at your silence, fearing he’s gone too far. “Color, sugar.” Stroking your cheek, he leans in closer, breathing you in.

“Green, daddy, so green.” The sigh Bucky lets out is audible and he feels ten times lighter.

“Good girl, you want to keep going the way we were?” Even though you said green, he wants to be certain.

“Yes please, daddy, want you to be mean.” You look so small and soft. Bucky struggles to put his facade back up, but he knows you need this.

Bucky positions himself behind you, staring at your ass and glistening pussy, and feels his cock bounce. The first slap isn’t soft by any means, you know there will be a handprint left. Your body jolts and Bucky groans at the jiggle of your ass. “One.” The second is on your other cheek and makes you clench around nothing. “Two.” He lands the next two much harder on the same cheek and you feel tears form in your eyes, yet continue to count, digging your nails into your palm.

He repeats the two spanks to your left cheek and takes a break to sooth your heated and raised skin with his metal hand after you’ve counted. The ground beneath your cheek is hard and unforgiving, leaving you neck bent at an odd angle. Spank seven lands on the back of your right thigh and somehow feels much stronger. “Shit! Seven, daddy.” Eight is on your left, and is just as hard. Your entire lower body aches: cunt pulsing and throbbing for his cock, thighs burning, and ass red and raw, sobbing with every impact.

“These last two are going to be harder, slut, since you forgot to count.” Even with his warning, you aren’t prepared. They are hard and fast, hearing them before you feel them, knocking the breath out of you, and you try to scramble up, but Bucky holds you down. “Don’t run away from me, you know better.” All of a sudden, the sharpest and most excruciating pain blooms from your cunt, and then you hear the wet smack of his metal hand hitting your core.

You wail, body shooting up, legs fighting to close to soothe the sting left. Before you can, Bucky’s hand on the back of your head keeps you to the ground, while he slams his cock into your cunt, not stopping to let you adjust. “That’s it, fuck. Such a good pussy. Dirty fucking bitch.” You can’t breathe, his cock is knocking all of the air out of your lungs. The only sounds in the room are Bucky’s moans and the wet slapping of skin, his heavy balls banging against your sore clit. With each thrust you’re sure he’s hitting your cervix.

The hand on the back of your head leaves to grab your hip, letting him fuck you even faster, the both of you sliding further and further on the floor. You try to brace yourself with your hands, but the brutality of his fucking is no match. “Daddy, fuck, s-so g-good, please!” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but your cunt is pulling him in, barely letting him pull out.

Bucky is practically chasing you on the floor, hips never slowing down, eyes trained on your pussy, loving the creamy white mess on his dick. “Fuuuck, look at the ass bouncing on daddy’s cock, shit! Love the way this fat fucking ass looks when its all red and sore.” He’s in heaven, with the tight clench of your cunt wrapping around his cock, making him feel crazy.

“Daddy! I can’t, f-fuck, please, too much!” You’re fucking delirious with pleasure, feeling something twisting inside of you. You searched for something to hold on to, only finding smooth surface, legs locking, body seizing up.

“You can and you will take this dick, bitch. I don’t care if it makes you fucking bleed.” The pressure in your core builds tighter and tighter, all the while, Bucky’s hips never falter, sack still ramming against your clit.The breath is knocked out of you when you feel the most intense orgasm of your life pass through you.

Keening and wailing, you squirt on Bucky’s cock, the sounds of your fucking somehow getting even more wet until the force of your orgasm pushes his cock out. Your body is left twitching. There is a much larger puddle on the floor now - your cum. Bucky could fucking cum at the sight of your pathetic body laying on the ground, body wrought with pleasure. “Fuck, sugar! That was so fucking hot! You squirted all over, shit! I fucking love you so goddamn much.”

The entire lower half of his body is covered with your cum and Bucky swears he can feel his heartbeat in his cock. Nonetheless, he wraps his arms around your waist and hulls you over to where he kicked the couch, placing your upper half on the cushions. “You’re so fucking wet now I bet I could slide right into that tight ass, what do you think, slut?” Your core pulses at the thought of his fat cock in your ass, the two of you don’t usually do anal, given how big he is, but you can’t think straight, especially after cumming so hard.

“Yes, daddy. I want your big cock in my ass, want you to fill me up.” Bucky groans at the thought of his excessive load running out of your ass. Leaning back, he ruts against your pussy, gathering more of your slick, before spreading your cheeks with his hands, staring at your puckered hole. He lines his cock up and watches as precum leaks from his tip.

His cock is huge, much longer and thicker than average, and he knows it. Grabbing himself near his tip, he pushes, grunting at the resistance, knowing that this would be much easier if he takes the time to prep you, but you want to be treated like a whore. “You gotta loosen the fuck up, bitch or else I’ll really fucking hurt you. Want this fucking ass so bad, better let daddy in. Cock is too big for this little ass, isn’t it, gonna split you in half, leave you leaking for days.”

He pushes harder, tip finally popping in, causing searing pain to shoot through you. Crying out, you try to pull forward to escape the burning pain, wiggling further into the couch. Bucky leans over, careful not to push in any further, he knows you need a moment, any other time you would have been fully prepped and he would have slid right in, and wraps his metal hand around your neck, shushing you, “Shhhh, stop being so dramatic.”

After a few minutes, the pain begins to subside and your breathing calms down. Keeping his hand around your throat, he pushes in, inch by inch, and the pain comes back. You whine into the cushion, every new inch burning more than the last until his hips are flush with your ass. “What the fuck?! Your ass is so fu-fucking tight, shit! Fucking milking my cock, wanna pound this little hole, wanna fucking ruin you.”

Burying his face in the back of your neck, Bucky was taking deep breaths, completely out of it. He wasn’t thinking straight, not when your tight hole was hugging every inch of his cock. You on the other hand, were struggling, it was too much too fast. It fucking hurt, there were tears in your eyes, but your pussy was aching like it wanted more. Your clit throbbed with need, even when your ass was stretched to the brim.

You didn’t want to stop, but you needed a break, before Bucky could move his hips you muttered, “Yellow, daddy, yellow.” The hand on your neck left and Bucky maneuvered his upper body so that he could look you in the eye without moving his cock. His entire demeanor was different, back was your sweet, caring boyfriend.

“Good girl, daddy’s so proud of you for using your safe word. Shhh, it’s okay, sugar. Do you just need a second to breathe? Take your time, if you need to stop I will.” Bucky caresses your face as he soothes you, bringing you back down. His cock is still buried to the hilt in your ass, driving him insane. He wants to rail you so fucking bad, tip of his cock probably purple by now, but he would never do anything you didn’t want to, more than willing to sit with his cock inside of you until you’re ready or decide to stop.

You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, you loosen up and your mind goes fuzzy once again, desperate for him to move. You wiggle your hips, rocking back and forth, instead of pain, blinding pleasure courses through you. “Green, daddy. I’m ready, just needed to get used to your fat cock, want you to pound into me.” Bucky lets out the most sinful groan and stills your hips with his hands.

He starts out slow, easing you into his motions, gradually gaining speed and force the louder your moans get. “Daddy, faster, please, harder, feels so good!” You were practically sobbing, loving the way he was splitting you open. His hips and thighs were wet from when you squirted on him, slapping against your ass, everytime he pulled back a vulgar shlick sound could be heard.

He fucked you faster and harder, staring at where you were connected. “This fucking ass feels incredible. Taking me so well, knew you could do it, fuck. Splitting your tiny ass in half. Oh God!” He could feel his orgasm building up, fighting it off everytime his cum filled sack slapped against your pussy. Letting go of your hips he snarled, “Show daddy how much of a fucking slut you are and bounce that fat ass on his cock.”

You whined, but complied anyway, digging your toes into the floor to get more leverage to keep slamming back on his cock. The sounds of skin slapping and both of your moans completely drowned out the ending of Bucky’s movie, not that either of you cared. Panting and moaning, you kept working yourself on him, feeling another orgasm bubbling up.

Meeting your thrusts, Bucky was rambling, not having one coherent thought in his head, “Look at that, give me that ass, yes! Don’t you dare fucking stop, bitch, want you to milk this cock. Love the way it fucking bounces, never seen anything like it, oh fuck!” He was getting whiny, high pitched moans falling from his lips. He couldn’t help it, his cock was too fucking sensitive and you felt too good.

“M Gonna cum, daddy! Can I cum?” Bucky practically growls, getting up to his feet to squat, not missing a beat while still trusting in you. Every time his pelvis met your ass he whined and whimpered, loving the way it jiggled. He could feel you clenching around him, drawing his own orgasm closer.

“Not until I do. Fucking hold it, bitch.” It seemed impossible, but Bucky fucked you even faster, his hips moving at a ferocious speed. He wanted to cum so fucking bad and your high pitched moans were about to make him bust. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I’m gonna fucking nut. You want daddy to fill your ass up, huh? God! Fuck, I’m splitting you in two. Uhhh. Balls are so heavy, so much cum. Fuuuuuuck. Daddy’s gonna fill you up, have you leaking.”

His hand wraps around your throat and chokes you, hips still smashing against yours, your orgasm barely being held in. You try to talk, get him to let you cum, but no words come out. Bucky felt his orgasm approach, balls pulling up, “Shiiit, daddy’s gonna cum, gonna flood your ass, you ready, cum with your daddy. Right. Fucking. Now.” Bucky cums with a long, drawn out moan. The feeling of his endless load pouring into your ass sends you over the edge and you cum so hard your vision goes black for a second. Waves upon waves of pleasure coursing through you. Bucky’s hips jerk involuntarily, prolonging both of your orgasms.

As you both catch your breaths, you feel Bucky begin to soften inside of you, still plugging your hole, stopping his cum from leaking back out. “You were so good for me, sugar. I’m so proud of you.” At those words you feel your bottom lip begin to tremble. Burying your face into the cushions, a sob escapes your throat, all of your emotions finally bubbling over.

Running his hands up and down your back, Bucky soothes you. This was always his least favorite part, seeing you cry. He knows that you’re crying isn’t because of him, but there is always a twinge of fear that shoots through his body, scared that he went too far with you. Bucky pulls out as gently as he can, hissing when the air touches his spent dick, and moves to rest his back against the couch, pulling you into his lap.

Neither of you care that his cum is leaking all over. Bucky will clean the room later, after he takes care of his sweet girl. You cling to him as you sob into his neck, his hands massage your sore cheeks as he whispers in your ear, “Such a good girl for me, you made me feel so fucking good. Can’t even begin to explain how good you felt. There you go, let it out. I’m right here.”

Carefully, he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. When he tries to set you down you just cling on harder to him, not wanting to leave his embrace. “I gotta draw us a bath, sugar. You know you have to pee, I’ll be right here when you’re done.” You hesitantly let him go while he draws the bath, putting in your favorite oils. After you pee and wipe, he helps you up so you can wash your hands before sitting you both in the tub.

Bucky sits against the wall of the tub and you curl further into his lap, not wanting any space in between you. Somehow you still aren’t close enough to him, wanting to be surrounded completely by him. Tears are still leaking down your face and even with Bucky’s consuming presence, you can’t seem to pull yourself up to the surface. Bucky’s arms are wrapped around you, making sure that you are as close as possible without him being inside of you.

“Sweets, can you look at me? Want to see those pretty eyes.” You can hear the concern in Bucky’s voice, but you can’t bring yourself to move away. He’s your safe space and you just want to bask in his warmth. “Sweets, please. Can you tell me how you feel? I need to know you’re okay.” You don’t know why that set you off, but all of a sudden more tears escape you, sobs fighting to make their way out.

Bucky’s entire world stops, fear shoots up his spine. He doesn’t know if he could live with himself if he hurt you, if he did something that you didn’t want. He knows that you asked him to treat you like a whore, but what if you didn’t want him to go as far as he did? You used your safe word when it got to be too much, but what if you really wanted to say red, not yellow, but wanted to please him, or felt like you had to please him. “Sweetheart, did I hurt you? Did I go too far? Please talk to me.”

Even though you didn’t want to talk, you could hear that he was about to cry. “I’m okay. Just love you so much.” You could feel Bucky relax under you.

“You sure, sweets? I’ve never seen you like this before.” While some of his fears subsided, Bucky was still worried about you.

Picking your head up so you could look him in the eye, you saw just how scared Bucky truly was. “I promise, Buck, I loved every second of it. You made me feel so good and cared for. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.” Bucky closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. At that moment, Bucky understood why aftercare was so important. Of course he knew you needed to be taken care of so that you knew how much he loved you, but hearing those words come out of your mouth made him feel loved in a way he didn’t know was possible.

Before the water gets cold you’ve stopped crying, making Bucky feel much better and he washes the sweat and spit off of your face and body, being extra careful with your sensitive pussy and ass. All the while whispering sweet nothings into your ear while you take turns kissing each other all over.

Bucky feels ten times lighter when he gets a giggle out of you. He knows that there will be days when you need him to treat you like a slut, but you know how much he loves and respects you. He lays you on the bed before grabbing your favorite lotion to put on, being extra careful when it comes to your sore ass, placing kisses in each spot after he's rubbed in the lotion.

The marks on your face are gone by now, but Bucky still fusses over your skin care routine, knowing you don’t have the energy to complete it. After taking care of you, he climbs into bed and covers the both of you up, still naked but you don’t care. Bucky reaches into the bedside drawer and grabs some chocolate while you feed it to each other. Neither of you say much, but nothing needs said.

You place kisses on his chest and arms, anywhere that you can reach, trying to let him know how much you appreciate him - Bucky knows. You fall asleep first, not being able to keep your eyes open any longer, Bucky moves you to his chest, cocooning you into him before he falls asleep, your head tucked carefully under his chin, legs tangled together, completely protected by him.

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