#also the wedding ring still fucks me up

[pinklemonadesociety]

Smoking, side profile + wedding ring, lethal combination.

[mustasekittens]

congratulations christopher!

self indulgent near-future in which when christopher graduates high school buck n eddie take hiim to hawaii to celebrate and they all have a nice vacation over here. friend n i were brainrotting it a bit and we decided buck definitely hyperfixated on hawaii and stuff (history, nature, geography, mythology, etc)

[hauntingblue]

Oh my god why........ why would someone do this omg.... feminism would have saved them all... lesbianism too...

[jensensluvr]

bathroom quickie at a wedding....

ೀ ‧₊˚

"fu--uk," you squeaked, head dropping back against the mirror with a gentle thud as chris' hand lifts from your hip -- long, veiny fingers wrapping around your throat, squeezing gently as an attempt to keep your noises that were echoing off the bathroom walls to a minimum. chris grunts, the sound slightly muffled by the sleek black fabric of his suits' tie that's tucked between the two rows of his pearly white teeth as he held it up and out of the way -- giving himself a clear view as your cunt sucked his cock in and out with each brutal thrust he gave.

his hand on your inner thigh tightened, blunt nails digging in to the soft, plush skin as he pushed your leg open wider - the action earning yet another whimper from you as your muscles stretched beneath your skin. "chris..." you mewl, voice strained due to his grip on your neck. he didn't respond for a moment, shifting the angle of your body to his liking - the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as he buried himself to the hilt.

"oh—!" your jaw went slack, drool dribbling from your reddened, kiss-swollen lips, leaving a glistening trail down to the back of his hand. chris groaned, both at the sight of his hand now covered in your saliva as well but also from you clenching around him. "yea'.. baby," he chuckles, his tie slipping from his mouth as he spoke. "right there, huh--mama?"

another whine escapes you, fingers gripping the sleeves of his suit so hard you were surprised your nails hadn't punctured a hole in the fabric. "please, p-," you blubber, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the knot in your stomach wound tightener - signaling your impending release. chris tsked, "uh huh—c'mon, sweetness',"

he nodded, his breaths heavy and uneven as tiny beads of sweats slid down his face. "gonna cum for me? huh?" he questions, his hand leaving your throat, sliding down the front of your body to your swollen clit - "gonna cream all over my cock again?" chris hummed, fingertips rubbing in circles against you. "oh my god--" you nearly scream, trembling thighs attempting to clamp shut around his hand.

chris couldn't contain the way his lips curled up in a smirk as your back arched up from the marbled countertop, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. "c-clo—" you start, your warning cut short as a strangled cry tore from your throat. your walls fluttered around his cock as your orgasm hit - the force of it blurring your vision and knocking the wind from your lungs as your entire body shook violently.

"there we go--" he coos, staring in awe at the white ring coating the base of his cock. "so good," he hisses, his words causing you to clench around him again, a choked sob leaving you as his fingers continued their movements on your aching clit - "squeezin' me fuckin' so tight, holy fuck,"

within seconds, his cock twitched inside of you, a loud, gutteral groan falling from his lips as his thrusts stilled, ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your gummy walls. "sh..shit," he gasped, his head falling against your shoulder, heavy breaths warm against your ear, "y'okay...?" he manages after a few moments. "mhmm—yea'.." you slurred, utterly spent.

RAFESPRECIOSA © 2025 .

tags 🏷️ @secretlocket @deansbeer @et6rnalsun @isnyv @cupiidk1lls @freshloveee @starzify @chrissturnsfav

[pedroscurls]

runaway bride (one-shot)

summary: on the day of your wedding, you find out that your maid of honor and husband-to-be has been hooking up behind your back... and you run directly into the arms of a stranger to help you cope with the sudden betrayal. pairing: old man!logan x fem!reader content warnings: smut (18+, mdni), oral - f receiving, dirty talk, manhandling, light choking, unprotected p in v sex (be safe folks!), doggy style, cowgirl, public sex in his limo, creampie but logan just keeps going, mentions of cheating (but not from logan), toxic relationship / friendship, implied age gap (but no mention of how old reader is), no use of y/n. word count: 3.6k a/n: ok, this is complete filth. i'm not even sure how this story came about or how it even came to mind, but here it is... i wanted to write old man logan so badly so what better way to do that is to write a smutty one-shot???

“Are you fucking serious?!” you exclaim, having opened the door to see your fiancé and your maid of honor in a heated kiss, hands exploring each other’s bodies. They both pull away from each other abruptly, eyes widening as the sudden realization of getting caught now settling in.

“Baby, it’s not–”

“Fucking save it.” You remove your engagement ring and toss it in his general direction, tears trickling the corners of your eyes. 

Your best friend tries to step forward, but you raise your hand in the air and glare at her. “Don’t fucking get near me or I will lay you on your ass.”

“I’m sorry–” your fiancé begins to say.

“We’re done.” you interrupt, anger fuming in your veins. “You can go out there and tell everyone that the wedding’s canceled because fuck you,” you tell him and then point to your maid of honor, your best friend of over fifteen years. “And fuck you.” 

You don’t even bother to hear their protests, already having turned on your heel and left the building without telling anyone. You see two limos parked out front, knowing that one belonged to your bridal party and the other belonging to your fiancé and his groomsmen. You don’t have time to think which one was the limo you rode in, already wanting to leave far, far away from here. 

Pulling open the door, you slide inside and then finally allow yourself to let the tears fall. You bury your face in your hands, your breaths coming in pants. 

“Just– Just take me anywhere else but here,” you tell the driver, looking up and expecting to see the same driver from this morning. When you realize it’s someone else entirely, you bite your lower lip and shake your head. Of fucking course you chose the limo that your fiancé had been in.

“A bit early to be leaving your own wedding, isn’t it?” he says, looking at you from the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, well, the wedding is off. Can you just take me away from here?” 

Logan clears his throat. It doesn’t take a genius to know what might have happened, but he also knows that you’re not the one who he’s meant to drive and he’s certainly aware that you aren’t the one who’s going to be paying him either. 

“Listen, darlin’, I’m supposed to be driving the groom and–”

“Well, he can go fuck himself. Can you please just drive?”

“Last I checked, he’s paying me and you ain’t.”

“Oh, he’s gonna still pay you. Now, drive.” you tell him, holding his gaze. “Please.”

Logan stares at you. He isn’t sure what exactly happened, but based on the conversations he heard the groom and groomsmen having earlier that morning, he has some idea that it had to do with the groom cheating on you. He just lets out a grunt and then starts the engine, pulling away from the curb and driving away from the venue.

He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go or where you want to go, so he just drives. Logan continuously looks at you from the rearview mirror, now fully taking in your features. Logan wasn’t a man who ever cheated on a woman he was with; he’s always been so loyal, especially to the ones he cares about the most. He never understood why men (and women) cheat, why they just couldn’t end the relationship if they were no longer happy. 

He hears you sniffling from the backseat and Logan slowly comes to a stop at a red light. He turns his head to look at you from over his shoulder. “Bub, you gotta tell me where you wanna go or else I’m just gonna keep charging him.”

“Good. Let’s take a trip to fucking Mexico and make him pay for it,” you say through gritted teeth. 

Logan lets out an amused chuckle and then presses lightly on the gas once the light turns green. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel as he uses his free hand to enter Mexico on his phone and–

“Wait, I wasn’t serious.”

“No? Then, where do you wanna go, darlin’?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Anywhere but here.” you mumble to yourself.

Logan nods to himself and then sets his focus on the road ahead of him. He doesn’t know where to go, but he does find that he doesn’t want this ride to end. Even in the silence, he finds your presence soothing, comforting. He knows you’re having a shitty day – after all, you probably had woken up this morning expecting to be married by the end of today. 

He does keep stealing glances at you, finding you completely captivating. Even when your eyes meet his from the rearview mirror, Logan feels like he had been caught staring and a blush slowly blooms across the side of his neck. He’s too old to be feeling like this, like some kind of a teenager with a crush on the most beautiful girl who’s out of his league.

“How about some food?” Logan asks after driving for about twenty minutes. “Are you hungry?” 

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Wanna go to a bar? Drink your problems away?”

“No.”

Logan tightens his jaw and then pulls into a gas station, putting the car in park as he turns around to look at you. You bite your lower lip, getting a good view of just how handsome your driver is. He’s definitely older than you, gray in his beard and hair, crow’s feet at his eyes, but you can’t help the attraction you feel towards him. Suddenly, you’re well aware that you’re staring too long at him because when you finally meet his eyes, he’s smirking. 

“Why’d we stop?” you ask.

“Gotta fill up, especially if I don’t know how long I’ll be driving you around,” Logan replies. “You want anything from inside?” 

Just as the question leaves his lips, you climb out from the backseat and walk inside. Logan sighs and steps out of the limo as he follows you into the small store. He towers over you and he can’t help but get a good look at the dress you’re wearing. You look so angelic, so beautiful and serene – how could anyone think that there’s better than you? 

“Get whatever you want,” Logan calls out and you suddenly turn around to look up at him. He watches your lower lip pull itself between your teeth, sees your eyes take in his frame from top to bottom, and suddenly, he feels very shy under your gaze. Logan clears his throat, eyes narrowing. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you say, tilting your head up at him. “Just didn’t think… Well, not all limo drivers look like you.” 

“Not all limo drivers are like me either,” he mutters to himself. “Right. I’ll be up at the front. Just meet me there once you’re ready.” Then, Logan turns on his heel and slowly limps his way to the front, only glancing over his shoulder to briefly look at you. Your back’s already turned as you reach for a few items in the freezer section. 

After a few minutes, you meet Logan at the front of the store and drop two bottles of water and a cherry-flavored popsicle. Logan eyes you suspiciously, but you keep your eyes trained on your feet. He has to wonder if your mind is drifting to your fiancé. Once Logan pays the cashier, he motions for you to walk ahead of him with a slight nod and then he follows you outside. Logan quickly limps to the door and opens it for you, staring down at you. 

“Here,” you tell him, handing him one of the bottle of waters. 

Logan arches a brow. “Thanks,” he mumbles, the close proximity almost making him weak in the knees. His eyes deviate to your cleavage, clearing his throat when his mind begins to drift. All Logan can think about is seeing you come undone underneath him, trembling and moaning because of him. He has to take a step back, has to create some distance between your bodies. 

You then remove the wrapping of the popsicle and then wrap your lips around it, the deep red popsicle now coloring your lips. You keep your eyes locked on his and smile mischievously before you climb back inside. Logan shuts the door once you’re inside, the image of your lips around the popsicle giving him a clear image of your lips wrapping around his–

He hears the window roll itself down and Logan quickly walks around to the other side to fill up the tank, not bothering to look into the backseat as he feels the center of his black pants begin to tighten with each passing second. 

Logan hasn’t been intimate in a very long time, his main concern being Charles and his own health, but you… Well, you’re stirring something in Logan that he thought lay dormant. He craves you and he knows that you’re also very vulnerable, having just ran away from your own wedding after finding out your fiancé was cheating on you. Logan doesn’t want to take advantage of you, despite sensing that you might want him too. 

Once the tank is filled up, Logan then walks back to the driver’s seat and climbs in, starting the car. He looks at you from the rearview mirror, still sucking on the fucking popsicle with a dark gaze in your eyes. 

“Where to?” he says, not realizing how quiet his voice comes out.

“Anywhere.”

“Making it real difficult for me, bub.”

You pull the popsicle away from your mouth a quiet pop! and then lets a small smile line your lips, deeply red from your cherry-flavored popsicle. Logan’s hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white and his claws threatening to come out as a result. 

“Fine. How about your place?” 

Logan lets out a quiet cough, not thinking that you’d be so forward and straight to the point. He shakes his head and then looks over at you from over his shoulder. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, darlin’. You’re only going to regret it and–”

“Listen, I just found out my fiancé and maid of honor were screwing around behind my back. The only regret I have right now is saying yes to marry that man and being friends with that woman. I don’t think I’m going to regret fucking you, though.”

Logan isn’t used to women saying what they want as bluntly as you do and it excites him. He doesn’t answer, just begins driving away from the gas station. He’s so hard beneath his pants, glancing over at you and seeing your eyes locked completely on his. He pulls up into an abandoned parking lot and parks the car, thankful that the windows on his limo are tinted. Logan climbs out from the driver’s seat and then opens the door to the backseat, gently reaching out to take the popsicle from your hands and tossing it over his shoulder. 

“Let’s have you suck something else, huh, darlin’?” 

You grin and then gently tug on the lapel of his jacket, pulling him inside with you as you shut the door behind him. You’re glad that the backseat of his limo is actually rather spacious because now that he’s hovering above you, he seems so much bigger than you, so much more broad. Your hands immediately move across his chest, feeling the chiseled muscles underneath your fingertips.

“I don’t normally do this,” Logan groans, feeling your lips move along the side of his neck, teeth grazing his skin.

“And what’s that? Fuck your passengers?” 

He growls lowly, moving his strong hands to your hips and pressing himself firmly against your lower half as he settles himself between your legs. “You always got a mouth on you?” 

You smirk and pull the ends of your dress higher up your legs until you bunch it at your hips, your white lace panties in full view for him. “Only when I want something.”

“Yeah, and what do you want?” Logan asks, hands moving to play with the waistband of your panties. 

“A distraction,” you grip the lapels of his jacket and bring him down to press your lips against his. He growls against your lips and tugs down your panties, hand moving quickly to your folds and running the length of his finger across your wet heat. 

Logan slides two fingers into you, not giving you time to get used to his thick digits. You let out a quiet gasp, pulling away from his lips to toss your head back at the intrusion. Logan moves you to sit back against the seat as he lies on his abdomen, lowering himself until his head settles between your legs. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him between your legs, your fiancé having never done this for you. When you feel his mouth latch onto your clit, his tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves repeatedly as his fingers thrust in and out you, you have to let out a loud moan. Your hands move to his hair, gripping it tightly as your arousal drips onto the leather seat. 

Logan pulls his fingers out of you and laps at your juices. He stares up at you, watching as you toss your head back in ecstasy, your mouth agape as continuous moans escape your lips, and he can feel your walls begin to tremble, begin to tighten around his tongue. Logan knows his joints and muscles are going to ache after this, but he knows it’s going to be worth it. Knows that he’s going to want to do this again with you. 

With his free hand, Logan undoes the buckle on his belt, followed by undoing the zipper and button on his pants. He pushes his slacks and boxers down his legs to relieve the pressure against his manhood. He pulls back to look up at you, his chin and beard dripping wet from your slickness. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he growls. 

“About fucking time.” 

Logan narrows his eyes and moves up your body, hand coming up to rest on your throat. He leans down and gently nips at your jawline until his forehead rests against yours, eyes staring deeply into your own. 

“You like this, don’t you, bub?” Logan whispers huskily, the grip around your throat tightening to add a bit of pressure. You gasp, eyes staring up at him as you feel the tip of his length brush against you repeatedly. The grip around your throat only makes you wetter and you lift your hips impatiently, chasing his hardened length to slide down onto him.

“So impatient,” he grins. Logan releases his grip around your throat and then grabs your hips, turning you over onto your stomach. He grabs you roughly, pulling you back into him as he grips the fabric of your dress. He pulls you to prop yourself on your hands on knees as he kneels behind you, gripping the base of his manhood as he rubs his tip along the length of your sex. 

“Please!” you say impatiently, trying to push back against him. 

Logan smirks and then pushes himself into your tight heat, not wasting any time in filling you to the hilt. He groans at your wetness, at the warmthness of your walls, the tight hold it has around his girth. He pulls back to his tip, only to slam back into you. Logan was telling the truth that he’s never done this before. Driving had only been a way for him to get extra cash, to keep his mind busy, and he certainly didn’t have time for this, but now he can’t even imagine parting ways with you after this. 

His thrusts continue, your walls sliding along his manhood and milking him with every movement. Logan moves to rest his chest firmly against your back, his lips hovering near your ear as you moan continuously with each thrust he delivers. 

“This what you wanted, huh, bub?” Logan growls, gently nipping at you earlobe. “Wanted me to fuck you like this?” He thrusts roughly into you, his skin slapping against yours. 

“Y–Yes!” you exclaim, slowly pushing your own hips back into his. Logan groans, leaning away from you and briefly pausing his movements to watch you move along him. He grunts to himself, lightly slapping your backside as he watches you push back against him. 

Logan watches himself disappear within your depths, only to reappear when you pull back, his entire length glistening with your arousal. He groans to himself and gently pulls out of you. You’re about to protest when he sits against the backseat and grabs you by the hips, placing you to sit on his lap. He grips your dress and rips it in half, causing a loud gasp of surprise to leave your lips. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Fuck the dress,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pay for it anyway.” 

Logan smirks and then feels you lower yourself down onto him, groaning at your tight walls wrapping itself once more around him. He reaches around and undoes your white lace bra, watching it fall from your body as you now sit firmly on his lap, completely naked and exposed for him. 

“Fuck me,” he grunts, watching your breasts bounce with your movements. He feels your hands begin to undo the buttons on his white button down shirt, removing it from his body. Today, he opted to forgo his usual white tank top, so when you lean in to press your chest against his, he can’t help but groan at the sensation of your erect nipples pressing firmly against him.

Logan feels your walls begin to tremble with each movement and he leans in to press his lips against yours, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. With one hand, he moves to grip your throat lightly, sliding his tongue past your lips when you let out a loud moan. He stares up at you, thrusting his hips upwards when your body begins to shake and the grip around your throat only tightens a smidge to cause pressure. 

Your eyes shut tightly and you reach down to grip his shoulders, slamming yourself firmly onto his lap as he feels you to the hilt. Logan doesn’t falter his movements though, chasing his own release. It comes out of nowhere there, hand dropping from the grip around your throat to grab his base, thrusting upwards once, twice, before he pulls out to see his release trickle out of you. 

You’re breathing heavily and you’re looking at him with a small smile and hooded eyes. When he looks down between your legs, his come continuing to trickle down your leg, it only ignites a fire inside of him and he suddenly feels hard again. 

“One more, bub,” Logan growls. “One more.” He thrusts his tip inside of you, grunting lowly before he slides back into you, hands gripping the meat of flesh on your thighs as he feels the stickiness of your arousal mixed in with his come against the base of his lower half. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging them down his arms as your walls are already overly sensitive. Logan doesn’t falter, but his thrusts do become more erratic. “Oh god,” you whimper, trying to pull yourself away from him, but Logan holds you firm on his lap, making you take his assault on you. 

You wanted a distraction and you were certainly getting it. 

Logan leans up and gently nips at your jawline as he plants his feet on the floor of his limo, driving his hips further upwards. He does this a few more times before he holds you against him, releasing into you a second time as he paints your walls with his thick spend. He’s breathing heavily, forehead resting against your chest as his hands on your thighs move to rest on your hips. 

“I uh, fuck,” he mumbles. “I should have asked first and–”

“Stop,” you interrupt. “I like that I can still feel you inside of me,” you smile, feeling him slowly pull out. Even though you miss his girth, his release remains and fills you up. You reach down to wipe the trickle of his come off your inner leg and capture it on the pads of your fingertips. You stare into his eyes and then bring your fingers to your lips, wrapping your lips around it and sucking his release off of it. “Mmm, yum.”

Logan growls, feeling his length stir awake once more. “That want you wanted?” he asks again. “A distraction?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But I think I’m gonna want more distractions from you.”

Logan smirks. “That so, bub?”

“Oh yeah, I need someone to help me through this breakup,” you say honestly. “As long as that’s okay with you…”

Logan nods and then looks down at your exposed front, hand coming up to slowly knead your breast into the pit of his palm. “Yeah, baby. That’s more than okay with me.”

You grin excitedly, letting out a quiet whimper. “So… Your place then?”

“My place,” he confirms. “But how about you ride up front with me?” 

“Yes, please. I do want a taste of you,” you bite your lower lip, hand moving to gently run your fingertip along the length of his manhood. “And I want to do it while you’re driving.”

Logan groans. “Oh, you’re fucking naughty, aren’t you?” 

You nod shyly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’ve been suppressed,” you admit. “My sex life has been… boring, to say the least.” 

“Blessing in disguise,” Logan points out. “Thank god you’re not getting married to a man who doesn’t take care of your needs.” He leans in and then pecks your lips. “Don’t worry, though, bub. I’m happy to take care of you until then.” 

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[lxvvie]

Couples shit with Simon Riley, Newlywed Edition:

You and Simon got married, and Price was the Best Man. Kyle stood on your side, and Soap was the flower girl. He blew bubbles instead of throwing flower petals because you and Soap thought it would be funnier. There's a picture floating around somewhere of Simon staring rather concerningly at a particularly large bubble Soap blew, too.

You two swearing you're gonna fuck all night long on your wedding night... only to crash as soon as you hit the bed. You didn't even take your clothes off. The sexathon came later. You two just woke up, looked at each other, happy as a pair of clams, and bloody hell, you made an honest man out of Simon fuckin' Riley.

Getting each other gag gifts as a wedding present. You were serious about getting him that cockring weren't you, love? Well, he has all the time in the world to make use of it.❤️

Noticing how relaxed and settled Simon is after you two start your married lives. Well, as relaxed and settled as Simon could be, all things considered, but he's not as anxious. He's... content. Happy.

Simon still can't believe it though. He's married. He's bloody married. You married him. A right bastard like him, at that. Simon makes a promise to himself and you to never turn what you two have into the shit show that defined his parents' union, promises to never become the asshole his father was, and it gives him all the strength he needs to combat his demons. He'll fight them every day if means seeing your smiling face, luv.

Simon also using the fact that he's married for shock value for everyone other than 141. He doesn't really tell the others but also doesn't bother addressing the news when it gets out. He just lets it be. It's amusing, though, seeing the confusion and shock on the other soldiers' faces when they find out. "Wait, Lieutenant Riley's married? He has a missus?" Correction: "I'm the missus."

He also jokes with the rest of 141 on some, "Sorry, lads, 'm an honest bloke now," which makes the others snort. Will also use a variant for you, too. "No can do, lovie, you made an honest missus outta me." Pfft.

You've also taken to calling him the Hubster ("Pretty cute, eh, Si-bear?" ".........") and you're banned from saying it in public lmao.

Similarly, you use the shock value to troll your associates. Your coworkers were not expecting Simon of all people to be the one you married. You call HIM the Missus? ("Sure do.") The way they see it, you two are polar opposites. Well, they do say that opposites attract.

Simon buying a chain for his wedding band for when he deploys because even with the gloves on, he refuses to wear his ring near his gun. It's a symbol of you, one of the best fuckin' things to ever happen to him, and he'll be damned if he ever lets the two touch.

You jokingly suggest that because Simon has really taken to the missus thing and ran with it, he should get it tattooed on him. This being Simon bloody Riley, he goes and does exactly that. The shock on your face was worth it all. Cheers, darling.

You two holding hands if only to look at your wedding bands side by side and bloody fuckin' hell, you're falling in love with each other all over again.

[jeongin-lvr]

🎼 ─┈┈ hubby heeseung ̩̩͙˚ ᩙ ⠀

husband! heeseung with the fattest crush on you literally ever. he worships the ground you walk on; he practically kneels before you, awaiting every need and command you bring to him. he’s so serious when he says he’d take every star out of the sky and give it to you as a gift if you asked. which also includes in bed when he has your face buried into the messed up, unkept bedsheets, whispering i love you’s as he kisses your g-spot with his fat cock. or when he has you in the shower, bent between your legs on his knees as water rushes down his back because you looked too pretty with soapy hair and skin. he mumbles against your clit as he does so, gurled by water but his point still comes across, “the prettiest girl... and you’re all mine, thank you...“

husband! heeseung who recites his vows as he fucks you in a mating press. its crazy but he does it every single time he has you all curled up, knees beside your head, too fucked out as buckets of his cum leaks out of you and stains the sheets. he’s telling you every promise he made on your wedding day and more. he’s reminding you it really is till death do you part. he doesn’t realize he’s doing it; it’s probably just because he gets so worked up, so full of love. every thrust into your flutterung hole is heaven, and all he can think about is how badly he loves you and how badly he wants to get you pregnant.

husband! heeseung who finds you the absolute sexiest when you’re wearing your glasses and his big t-shirt, bare legs, messy hair, rosy cheeks. it’s perfection, he can’t get enough. if he sees you like that fully expect to be completely ruined within the next hour. he fucks you with the glasses on, an dyou’re confused because he doesn’t get crazy like this when you actually dress up or put effort into your appearence, and all he has to say is, “this is the you that turns me on.“ he’ll pin your hands above your head and press your knees into your chest as he stuffs himself inside of you, loving the way the fabric of his shirt bunches at your hips. you weren’t even wearing any panties anyway, what did you expect <3

husband! heeseung who kisses your wedding bands whenever you two are having intimate, lazy sex. lifting your wrist and hand to his lips and pecking your knuckles, kissing on your shaky hands until his lips trace the cold metal, humming with a smile at the way your gaze flickers to his. its the cutest thing, immediately making you smile when you see the sparkles filling his gaze. its so obvious he loves you so much. he even promises to buy you more rings because, “you deserve it,“ and he never fails to fulfill his promise. the next day he somehow comes home from work with a new band, something new for your growing collection.

husband! heeseung who is the first to bring up kids and is very serious about wanting at least two. he’ll casually bring it up into conversations and its adorable... until he’s lifting you onto the counter and lifting your skirt because you’re ovulating and it’s, word for word, “the perfect time to get you pregnant.“ he says it sneakily, with a wink and a cunning grin. you can’t say no, especially since the idea of him being the father of your children was almost perfect. you’re both young but it doesn’t hurt to try does it? so he’s waking you up to his cock filling you up in the morning, or when you’re just watching a movie he ends up sitting you on his dick and filling you up. you have no complaints. just shaky legs and a nice, warm creampie.

husband! heeseung who finally gets you pregnant and is somehow even more obsessed with you. he’s doting on you hand and foot. every craving you get he’s finding every ingredient. every symptom you experience he’s researching diligently, telling you cures or remedies, scheduling doctors apointments to get an experts opinion. and on days when all you wanna do is be near him, feel him, feel sexy with him, he’s so perfect at being exactly what you need. he worships your body; praising you on how pretty you look full of his baby, how you’re glowing, kissing your ankles or your tits or anywhere you might feel a little unsure of.

[fictionismyreality3]

Being Ghost’s Wife

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, mentions of sex

Notes: I’m literally so tired so all I could whip up was a hc today. The urge to nap with Simon is eating at my brain whEN IS IT MY TURN, also this image belongs to n was created by @ave661

a lot of your relationship was stunted at the start because as soon as he realized he actually loved you he shut you out

but then he got over himself 🙄 and proposed to you 3 months into dating

knows he’s overdue to be seriously injured or killed so he doesn’t want to wait

splurges on a ring the very next day

literally was more terrified to propose to you than he’d ever been for a mission

just randomly said it one night while you were making dinner and he was standing behind you h o v e r i n g

“marry me.” “huh? I mean, yes but Si-” “you’re my wife now.”

changes his contact name in your phone to ‘husband 🖤’ even though technically your still just engaged

the rest of the 141 only finds out by mistake when he forgot to turn his ringer off, you kept bombarding him with texts because you couldn’t figure out how to work the grill he bought you and soap saw about 20 missed messages from ‘wife 🤍’

somehow the whole base knows Lt riley is engaged by the end of the day (soap swears it wasn’t him)

the wedding was small, only your family and the 141 plus Laswell

took the whole ‘fuck on your wedding night’ thing very seriously 🤭

you live a cute little domestic life

after so long not knowing if he was going to live to see the next day, all Simon wants is just to have a little bubble of peace he can protect

uses all his military money that he never bothered with to buy you a big house with a wrap around porch

i fully believe this man will build a deck 🤠

within a year of you being married he already has you knocked up because he ‘doesn’t want to waste any time’

[jamminvroomvroom]

get to work.

LN x leclerc!reader

a sequel of sorts to as sick as it sounds, i loved you first - part 1 - part 2

in which lando starts the life with you that he’s always wanted

hi! me again - obsessed with these two soooo much so best believe i had to write (and will continue to write) more for them! thank you so much for continuing to read my work, ilysm and also huuuuuge shoutout to my brainrot bestie @lavenderlando because i truly could not do any of this without her xoxox lemme know what you think, likes and reblogs are aaaalways so so appreciated!

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!!! this one is kinda filthy hehe. smut, fluff, highkey breeding kink, brief switch!lando and switch!r, unprotected p in v, general sex acts in silly places, charles still having it out for lando lmao, mentions of pregnancy/family planning

7.2k words

you stare up at him, breathless, awestruck, leaning further into his touch. he’s swaying you gently to the music, ignorant to all the eyes of your nearest and dearest family and friends. fairy lights cast a warm hue over his face, leaving him golden and sparkling, gleaming with his love for you.

lando’s still pristine, suit unwrinkled, dress shirt crisp, tie straight, not yet wrecked by the party that will undoubtedly overflow all around you both as the night progresses. your dress flows out around you, fanning out in intricate layers of sharp white lace. your newly acquired wedding bands feel foreign on your fingers, but perfect nonetheless. you’re more used to it than him, though, having hauled around the giant rock of an engagement ring he’d presented you with just a few months before.

martin had been called on to be a groomsman, but he’d vouched for the DJ who’s inviting the rest of the party to join you and your husband on the dance floor. people swirl all around you, blowing kisses, squeezing your arms affectionately, but lando can’t keep his eyes off of you.

your husband.

your husband your husband your husband.

it felt just as delicious to think of him with that title as it is to say it. you say it anyway.

“my husband.” you hum, content, pressing your head to his chest, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“my wife.” he coos down at you, pressing a lasting kiss to your hairline, cautious not to mess up your carefully crafted hair.

but it’s your wedding night, and you want to kiss him properly! you figure you’ve earned the right to kiss him anywhere, anytime, whenever, so you tilt your head back and drop his hands, pulling him down. his hands find your cheeks, cupping them ever so softly as your lips meet, loving and tender. you smile into it, and he mirrors you.

“can’t wait for everything.” you sigh, blissed out from the adoration rolling off of him in waves.

“everything?” he laughs, forehead resting on yours.

“life, with you. always.”

“i’ll give you everything you want, baby.” he promises.

you wholeheartedly believe him.

-

“better make this quick, norris.” you giggle, backing up towards the marble counter.

lando stalks towards you, grinning hungrily, and hoists you up onto the sink top, making sure not to damage your dress - not that it would be the first time he’d ruined a white dress of yours. wasn’t that how you’d both ended up here, anyway?

“sue me for wanting to fuck my wife, norris.” he mocks, mouthing at the skin of your neck. you flush. mrs norris.

“no marks.” you breathe, trying to convey a tone of warning, but it comes out needy and weak, and would have fallen on deaf ears regardless.

“but you’re all mine now, honey. forever.” lando murmurs against your jaw, and your head falls back to let him run ruin across your delicate skin. “want everyone to know it.”

you don’t protest again, spreading your legs as he ruches the material of your dress so that it bunches around your hips. his hand skates below the material, blindly feeling the satin and lace of your panties. he groans as he traces over a damp patch, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder.

“soaked for me, baby. been wanting me? just had to ask.” he rambles, tugging your underwear to the side. “can have my cock whenever you want it, you know? it’s all yours.”

lando smears your wetness around with a swipe of his thumb, switching rapidly between messy circles around your clit and teasing dips into your cunt, shallow enough to make you squirm for more.

“just fuck me.” you pant, rutting your hips into his hand.

“the mouth on you, baby. filthy.” he scolds teasingly, but adheres, belt clinking and slacks dropping just enough to free himself.

he drags your hips even closer to the edge of the counter and you feel the warmth of him, hot and throbbing, ghosting over the seam of your pussy. you feel the tip of him press firmly against where you’re leaking, and a roll of his hips sheathes him deep into you smoothly.

“shit, we don’t have a condom.” his eyes fly open, finding yours. you just smirk up at him.

an earnest and vulnerable conversation in the weeks leading up to your wedding had you deciding to abandon your birth control, but you’d been using condoms ever since, not wanting any accidents in the run up to your nuptials.

“you said you wanted to get to work once we got married.” you clench around him for dramatic affect. your desire for flair makes sweat bead in his hairline. “so get to work.” you bite your lip, gazing up at him through lustful, hooded eyes.

“you’re gonna kill me, i swear.” he growls, finding a wild rhythm that makes you writhe into him.

slaps of skin echo through the bathroom, whines and cries of satisfaction and his name bouncing between the cream walls. he can’t take his eyes off of you, beautiful and spent beneath him, rutting your hips to meet his.

“i love you, lando, love you like this, mon amour.” you whimper, clinging to him. his shirt hangs wrinkled, tie loose and brushing against the skin of your chest that your dress doesn’t cover.

“i love you, too, baby. so fucking perfect for me.” lando groans, pressing a messy, open mouthed kiss to your lips. it’s all tongue and teeth, raw desire as you lick into each other. “you want me to put a baby in you already, huh? ready for me to fuck you nice and full and we’ve only be married, what, six hours?” he taunts.

“i want it, please.” you beg, softening your eyes and pouting your lips.

“my wife is such a needy slut for me, yeah, baby? gonna make me a daddy?”

a few more thrusts, and you’re undone, coating him as he stutters, fills you up. you pant into the intimate space between you both, satiated as you giggle, kiss him. you rake your hands through his sweat slicked locks, holding him close.

“we better get back.” he whispers.

“you’re dripping down my thigh.” you deadpan and he cackles, neck flexing as it does. you lick your lips subconsciously, anxious to mark the taut, tanned skin up when you have him all to yourself again.

“don’t worry, honey, i’ll clean it all up later.” he winks, and you slap his shoulder.

and when you’re curled into his side, cry laughing at max’s speech, recounting the unhinged DM you’d sent him once upon a time in qatar, you work overtime to keep your thighs clenched tight.

-

it’s 3am when you finally reach the villa, tucked away somewhere in sardinia, secluded and gorgeous. you creep around exploring while he drops your bags in the master suite, finding yourself on the back deck. from there, you can see the garden, green and ornate, bursting with flowers in shades of pinks and white. then, there’s the sea, waves crashing softly onto the white sand of your private beach. the privacy stretches on for miles in both directions, faint lights far away down the coastline.

you sigh, content, tears pricking your eyes. lando had picked this out, just for you, and his choices made it clear just how well he knows you. that’s how he finds you, wiping a stray tear, and he wraps you in his arms, his head perching on your shoulder. he breathes you in, and you feel him smile against the skin of your neck. open mouthed kisses are dotted over your shoulder and you relax fully into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“it’s so gorgeous, amour. thank you so much.” you whisper, turning your head and awaiting a kiss that quickly comes.

“don’t thank me, baby. this is the least you deserve.” he murmurs, resuming a soft suckle at your neck. you roll your eyes at his generosity. he’s so selfless sometimes that he forgets that he deserves this every bit as much as he thinks you do.

“can we go down to the shore? i’m too excited to sleep.” you giggle, and he hums into the hickey he’s leaving.

“course, honey. we have plenty of time to sleep.”

the plan was, after all, to eat, sleep, fuck, repeat. and swim, of course.

you walk down to the water hand in hand, taking your time through the gardens. he picks you a flower, tucks it sweetly behind your ear.

you ditch your shoes, sighing as your feet sink into the cool sand, damp from the push and pull of the waves. the stars are out, clear as day, and you play dot to dot, pointing out constellations to lando.

“do you have any idea how happy i am?” lando asks when you’re both sat in the sand. he pulls you into his side, your head tucking below his chin.

“if you’re as happy as i am then i’d guess pretty fucking happy.” you reply.

“the wedding was… god. i was kinda nervous about the whole event but as soon as i saw you walking down that aisle…” he trails off, scoffing in disbelief. “you’re a fucking angel.”

“i wasn’t even sure that charles was gonna let me go, you know?” you chuckle, gazing up into his watery eyes.

“i did have to pry him off.” lando laughs along with you, shaking his head.

“and then his speech.” you slap a hand over your mouth, stifling laughter. lando throws his head back in faux agony.

the speech in question had started with “to my sweet, dear baby sister and… lando”, and had ended with “and if you choose, for whatever reason, to make her unhappy, they will never find your body.”

“don’t think he’s ever gonna like me.” lando shrugs, tightening his arm around you, like someone might come and take you away.

“oh, shut up, he likes you! he just… likes to torture you more.” you grin cheekily up at him, and he can’t help but lean down and kiss you urgently.

“you are so beautiful.” he mumbles against your lips. “‘m so fucking in love with you.”

“je t’aime pour toujours.” you coo, licking into his mouth. i love you forever.

something urgent and guttural sounds from deep within him and you smooth your hands through his hair. he pulls away breathless, something wild in his eyes.

“we never talked about what happened in the bathroom.” lando rasps, eyes darkening.

“we got to work.” you smirk, echoing your previous words.

“but last time we spoke about it, you weren’t one hundred percent sure about the timing.” lando furrows his eyebrows, searching your face. your smirk relaxes into a smile, genuine with excitement.

“as soon as we said our vows, i knew i was ready. those things you said about family, about us having our own family… god, lando i would have let you have me right there at the alter.”

you are the light of my life. you make me happier than i ever thought i could be, and i will spend every day trying to make you feel the same way. from the moment i saw you, i was yours and i’ll stay yours until my last breath. my greatest joy so far is getting you call you my wife, and i can’t wait to call you the mother of my children. there’s no one else on this earth that i’d want to live my life with, raise a family with, come home to. you make me whole, baby.

safe to say, you’d said your own vows through a chorus of sobs.

“are you sure you’re ready?” lando whispers.

“i want a family with you, amour. let’s make one.” you raise an eyebrow, an invitation.

“i say we start right here.” lando beams, lunging towards you.

you fall back into the sand, laughing against his lips as he kisses you deeply, mouthing down your jaw. he wastes very little time, pulling at the strap of your camisole, licking over your bare flesh as he drags it down your arm.

“here? in the sand?”

“i said what i said.”

he peels off your top, nips at your bare chest as he pushes your sweats down, just enough to get his hand beneath your panties. you gasp wetly, eyes fluttering shut as he teases your folds with his fingers. he moans into the skin of your breast, hardening at the pooling wetness he’s discovered. a few calculated swipes of his fingers and he’s sinking them deep, your sweat pants restricting his movements. he adapts, rutting his fingers into you in a slow grind, thumb bumping your clit. your nipples peak, the ocean breeze and the cold sand under your back causing you to arch violently into him.

“you’re so wet for me, baby.” lando pants, before he closes his lips around your breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple. you’re sensitive, clenching around his fingers.

“want you inside of me.” you whine, bucking your hips to meet each grind of his digits.

“i am.” he flashes you a devilish grin, punctuating his words with a harder thrust.

“lando!” you growl, warning him.

“anything for my wife.”

he pulls his fingers out of you, the sound of the action obscene, and makes a show of sucking them clean while he strips himself bare. you huff, wriggling your sweats off so that you’re naked too, your thighs falling open on cue. he settles between them, brushing your hair out of your face as he settles on top of you.

you can feel him, throbbing and hot between your legs, small drops of him hitting your bare cunt. you keen into him, rolling your hips up to meet his.

“now, baby, please.” you beg.

“never get used to this, you know?” landos chest heaves as he pushes into you. “always feels as good as the first time.”

he sinks all the way in, taking note of every minuscule movement of your face. his breathing stutters at the warmth and wetness that envelops him whole, his tummy tight. you’re no better, lip caught between your teeth as you watch him hungrily.

“you remember our first time, baby? how good we were together, even then?” lando rasps, pulling out of you the tiniest bit, just to slam his hips right back against yours. it makes electricity shoot up your spine to the top of your head, leaving you hot all over.

“of course, amour, i think about it all the time.” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he sets his pace, slow yet so deliciously brutal.

“did you think then that we’d be doing this forever? that you’d be all mine, begging me to get you pregnant?” he teases, fingers digging into the plush of your hips.

“i used to think about it then, if we’d make it. knew we would. wanted you forever from the very first time.” you choke out, meaning it. “‘m so fucking happy lando.” you gasp, grabbing at every part of him that you can.

your hands smooth over his bronze skin, bound to get even richer from all of the sun kisses the rest of your honeymoon would bring. you zone out, honing in on the sound of the waves dancing against the shoreline, eyes staring up at the moon just behind his head. you can’t believe that you’re his, here, that this is real life and that you share a last name with a man that glows like the sun. a head of chocolate frosted curls obscures your vision, and you realise that you’re crying.

“baby? you with me?” lando draws you back to him, hips still.

“i’m here, ‘m sorry, it’s perfect. you’re so perfect.”

you pull him down, so desperate to taste him, moans muffled. your tears trail down his cheeks as well, so close and intertwined. he’s gentler now, pawing at your sides attentively, pulling your body along with his.

“gonna give you everything you want, pretty girl. my beautiful, beautiful girl.” lando coos.

“come with me.” you plead, nerve endings set alight by the overstimulating way his cock drags against your walls.

“you gonna take it all for me, mama?” and your vision goes white. he’s evil for that, playing you like a fool, but it makes you quiver around him, thighs shaking where they’re locked around his waist.

you chant his name, blasphemy, and words of absolute adoration as you let go, coating him in waves of your very own creation. he tries his best to ride through it, but one look at your twisted face, of your quaking body, and he’s dumb with pleasure, crashing down on top of you like a heated blanket.

the sun rises in the east when he carries you to bed, your eyes drooping as you loop your arms around his neck.

“get some sleep for me, angel. we have a baby to make.”

-

“do you ever wonder about trying new things?” lando asks, hand linked loosely with yours.

sea water rushes over your feet up to your ankles, the sun warming the skin of your backs as you stroll lazily along the coastline. it’s been three days of nothing but each other, a big, peaceful house and endless sunshine.

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“lando, for the fourteenth fucking time, i promise i’ll play tarkov with you when we get home, but it’s just not really my thing-“ you whine, but his louder than life laugh cuts you off, slicing through the serenity of the beach.

“not what i meant, baby.” he chuckles, utterly fond of the way your face wrinkles with confusion.

“what, then?”

“in the bedroom.” lando smirks, and your eyes go wide.

“like… like what?” you squeak, slightly lost.

your sex life was nothing short of adventurous, to say the least.

“like maybe…” he hums teasingly. “you take control?” lando raises his eyebrows suggestively, and you feel yourself flush.

“me? i thought you liked taking charge?”

lando stops, pulling you into his body. water splatters higher up your legs, cooling you down the slightest amount. his hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head up to look at him.

“i love watching you.” he states simply. “and i wanna watch you push yourself.”

“okay.” you inhale shakily. “okay.” you repeat with more conviction. an idea pops into your head. you can’t resist the smirk that pulls at the corner of your lips, and lando grins at the glimmer in your eyes.

“go back to the house. wait for me in our room.”

“naked?” he quips cheekily.

“what do you think?” you tease. lando kisses you quickly, but you push him back. “go.” you command.

he turns to walk away, repeatedly turning back to you, as if he wants to make sure he hasn’t imagined your entire existence. you just turn your back, staring out to sea. the sky is awash with streaks of purple and orange, and you feel your skin prickle with excitement. you take your time walking back, actively trying to slow yourself down. when you reach the door to the master suite, your breath hitches in your throat.

your husband looks fucking ethereal, stretched out across the off-white linen on the king sized mattress. he’s elongated by the way his head is thrown back, bathed in the lamp light as his muscles flex, taut from the way he’s gripping himself, working himself from base to tip. a faint sheen of sweat coats his bronzer-still skin and your mouth runs dry.

“couldn’t wait?” you rasp, low and dangerous. his eyes flutter open, and the bastard has the audacity to beam at you.

“took too long.” he shrugs, resuming without a care in the world. you hear him pant, teeth gritted from the pleasure.

“hands off, lando.” you slowly undress, untying your sarong and letting it flutter to the floor. your bikini quickly follows, landing in a colourful heap on the floor. you stalk towards him and watch him swallow hard when you perch on your knees at the end of the bed. “you asked for this, amour, and you couldn’t even wait to enjoy it properly.”

you’re pouting at him, feigning sadness. he picks up on it, eyes locked on you, trailing shamelessly over your breasts.

“was thinking about how pretty you looked out there.” lando rasps, fisting the duvet beneath him. you tilt your head to the side, raking your eyes over his frame.

“bad boys don’t get the real thing.”

you smooth your hand up his thigh towards his hipbone, and you notice the way he twitches, cock stood tall and waiting. he’s leaking, desperate and aching, but he plays along, needy for it. you grin lazily, wriggling up the bed until you’re close enough, throwing your leg over one of his until you’re straddling his thigh, the skin warm against your bare cunt.

“baby…” he breathes, bringing up a hand to graze your thigh, but you bat it away.

“no touching.” you scold. “i’m gonna take what i want and,” you pause, thoughtfully. “then, maybe, i’ll give you something.”

lando pouts up at you, slowly retreating his hand until it’s back at his side. his jaw is tight as he fights to keep his mouth shut, trying to be content with just watching. after all, you are quite the sight.

you roll your hips experimentally, gasping at the way your clit grazes his skin. your head falls back, out of it as you find a rhythm that works. you drag yourself backwards and forwards, panting as you go, your wetness smearing across his flexed thigh.

“it’s so good, lando,” you moan. “wish you could touch me, but you don’t behave.” you tut, smirking down at him.

“i’ll be good, baby.” he chokes, and your eyes fly open. you rake you eyes over the shape of him, the tense dips of each of his abs, the way his hip bone pulses, leading all the way down to where he’s throbbing.

“looks painful.” you bite your lip. “want me to help?”

“please.” he coos, reaching out for you again before he thinks better of it, twisting his fingers back into the sheets until his knuckles are white.

you grip the base of his cock, loose at first, squeezing tight a few times. his mouth falls open, a deep, unhinged groan rumbling through his chest. you almost lose yourself in how gorgeous he looks but you remain focused, fucking your hand up and down on him a few times, experimenting.

“you gotta wait, amour.” you warn, thumbing at the tip, smearing beads of pre cum over the head. lando whines, squeezing his eyes shut, teeth gritting so hard that his jawline pops, defining it even more than usual. you grin. he’s wrapped so tight around your finger.

“don’t tease me.” he begs, bucking his hips into your hand.

“but you gotta keep it all in for me, amour. save it all so you can fill me up whenever i want.” your voice drips all over him like honey, making him shiver violently.

“you can’t just say that-“

“i can, lando. i can,” you giggle, evil. “and you’re gonna take it.” it’s a promise and a threat and he’s seconds away from blowing his load all over you.

“jesus, i’ve created a fucking monster.” lando hisses, gasping with every slow rub of your hands over his cock.

“and now you’re gonna deal with the consequences, sweetheart.” you purr. “you wanna fuck me?”

his eyes shoot wide open, and he nods desperately, his gaze boyish and needy.

“so wet for you, lando, think i’ll just sink right…” you trail off, manoeuvring yourself so that you’re hovering over his length, red and swollen. “down.” you moan, filling yourself up with ease.

lando cries out, a broken man of his own design, and you pant, rocking yourself backwards and forward as you adjust to the intrusion.

“we feel so good together.” you breathe, peering down at where he’s splitting you open.

“so good.” lando affirms. “can i touch you?” he whines, the veins in his arms protruding through his skin. they remind you how powerful he is, how easily he could flip you over and pound into you like a madman, but he’s letting you destroy him and he’s loving every second. you clamp down around him at the thought, a gush of your slick dripping down around him.

“touch me.” you comply, and he springs from the mattress, sitting unsupported in the middle of the bed as his hands snake around your waist. you anchor him though, holding him close as he holds you tight against him, rutting up into you so deliciously that you cry out his name wetly, face buried in his hair. “so good for me.” you whisper.

your hands cup his face, pulling back from his frizzy curls enough to press your lips to his, swallowing each-others moans.

“gonna come, baby.” lando mumbles into your lips, eyes glazed over with panic, scared you’re gonna deny him.

“that’s okay, amour, you saved it all for me.” you kiss the words against the corner of his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as your own orgasm tightens your belly to the point of no return. “good boy, lando, fill me up now, sweetheart.”

the grunt he lets out heightens into a whine, lost to the crook of your neck as he releases, grinding into you as he lets go. it sends a rush of heat up your spine, a flame to gunpowder, and you thrash in his arms, meeting your own end seconds later.

you come down in his embrace, pulling away to meet his wide eyes, awestruck and glossy.

“thank you, baby.” he mutters, hugging you tight for just a moment, before rolling you onto your back.

“love you.” you whisper, confused as to where he’s going when he starts to move down the bed.

you don’t have to wonder for long, watching as he settles his head against your thigh, licking his lips as he finds his release dripping out of you. two fingers run through your folds, teasing each and every overstimulated nerve. your teeth sink into your bottom lip right when his fingers sink into your cunt. lando’s in a daze, watching the way everything seeps out of you.

“keep it in for me.” lando slurs, transfixed on every clench of your spent cunt around his thick fingers. your eyes roll back in your head.

-

you roll over in the bed, the sunlight streaming through the linen curtains rousing you from your slumber. you push your hair from your face, reaching blindly for your husband but your hand lands on cold sheets, thudding dully against the mattress. you wrinkle your nose, sitting up and scanning the bedroom. you don’t find him, confused. he never wakes up first. your feet meet the cool tiles of the floor and you pad into the en-suite to freshen up, pulling a loose robe on before you make your way downstairs. you can smell eggs, toast and something floral, and you grin giddily, already anticipating what awaits.

you find lando in the middle of the kitchen, sleepy eyed and smiling at you like you’re the centre of the universe, sent to earth just for him. he’s surrounded, surrounded, by flowers, all kinds of varieties, and they flood the space, every surface covered by bouquets and arrangements. behind him, nestled amongst the sea of pinks, yellow and whites, the table is laid out with a delicious spread, and you feel a pang of hunger at the sight of fresh pastries and juices.

“mon dieu.” you sigh dreamily, grazing a hand over flower petals as you make your way through the jungle towards lando. “all of this for me? how the fuck did you manage this?” you swoon, wrapping your arms around his neck. he leans down, kisses you sweet and slow.

“rumour has it, there are no flowers left on the island.” he chuckles into your neck, and you giggle, leaning up to kiss him again.

“you’re insane.” you reply, awestruck. how did you get so lucky?

“ready for the day?” lando asks, toying with the ends of your hair.

“as long as i get to eat my body weight in sfogliatella first.” you tell him, eyeing the table behind him hungrily.

-

droplets of water sparkle in the sunlight, dripping slowly down his lean back, flexing with every shake of his head.

lando had crawled out the pool, and right between your legs, where he now resides, mouthing at the crotch of your bikini bottoms. he snaps the band of them against your waist, and you arch further into him every time his nose bumps your clothed clit.

“you’re being mean.” you whine, head falling back against the sun lounger. your book has fallen to the stone paved floor, your place surely lost, but you couldn’t care less. every time you pick the damn thing up, your husband has found a new, unique, way to entice you out of actually reading it, usually with his tongue.

“you want my mouth, baby? just say please.” he smirks up at you, wet curls falling over his eyes. water droplets drip over your thighs, cold against your warm skin and you shiver.

“please.” you growl, not really meaning it, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“polite.” lando tuts, but he relents, twisting the ties that hold the bottoms together until they come undone. he tugs the material away, throws it blindly, and the quiet splash that sounds from behind him tells you both that they’d landed in the pool. he looks up at you, sheepish, and you glare at him.

“make it up to me.” you mutter, bucking your hips into his face.

lando complies, closing his mouth over your clit, sucking softly at the bud. you’re throbbing for him, writhing in the heat of the sun at his electric touch.

two fingers slither between your folds, and he groans into your cunt at the slickness that he finds there, laving his tongue through your slit to savour your taste before his fingers sink inside of you. as he builds a rhythm, fingertips bumping that special spot, you cry out, melting completely into the lounger.

“can feel us from earlier,” lando slurs, lips bumping your clit as he speaks. you shiver, the wet squelch between you quivering thighs leaving you utterly breathless. “so good for me, keeping it all in.”

you let go a few seconds later, grinning languidly as you watch him lick his fingers clean through your sunglasses. he kisses you cheekily, leaving you with your taste on your tongue, and he throws himself back into the pool.

“get my bikini bottoms!” you call, flustered by the way the low sun hits him, paints his golden and shiny.

“but i prefer the view without them.” he winks, but dives under the water to retrieve them nonetheless.

-

“‘m so, so in love with you.” lando rasps into your ear, mouthing at the skin of your flushed cheeks.

you’re chest to chest, eyes locked as he grinds into you, deeper and deeper somehow with every thrust. he leaves you dizzy, tingling and weightless with every stroke, hips brushing yours.

“lando,” you sigh dreamily, threading your fingers through his curls. they’re loosening from the humidity, the heat burning between you both, no longer perfectly coiled like they had been during your dinner date.

lando had hired out a small italian restaurant overlooking the sea, soft fairy lights strung over your heads as you’d sipped wine, hands loosely clasped together. he’d toyed with your wedding band the whole time, eyes rarely leaving yours. it was a perfect end to a perfect honeymoon, and as he’d driven you back to your villa, the tension had simmered.

he had you on your back quickly, but he was careful with you, lazily revealing more and more skin as he slowly undressed you. he’d tried to slide between your thighs, eyes lit up with longing, but you’d refused him. you needed him against you, buried so deep, intertwined. lando hadn’t fought you much, pouting at the deprivation of getting a taste, but when he’d slid his cock through your folds, easy because of your glistening slick, his eyes had rolled back and he’d gotten over the disappointment.

“you’re so perfect.” you pant, leaning up to kiss him. it’s sweet, full of passion, leaves you wanting. “i love you.” you whisper when he pulls away, his forehead resting intimately against yours. warm breaths mingle, rapid and needy from the intensity of it all.

when you fall apart under him, a string of jumbled french rolls off of your tongue, your eyes squeezed shut at the pure inferno of ecstasy that washes over you. you’re both damp with sweat, his curls falling in a mess over his forehead, framing pretty eyes that roll back in his head when he burrows deep and reaches his own release.

once you’re untangled, you lay facing each other and his fingertips ghost over the curve of your bare waist. you watch one another, utterly content with the silence, bathing in the warmth of the bedside lamp and the pale moonlight that filters in through the open balcony doors. the cool nighttime breeze grazes over your naked bodies, pulling you out of the unrelenting heat of the moment and into something serene, peaceful.

“i can’t wait to spend my life with you.” lando whispers, his words soft in the quiet of the room. you let them wash over you, tuned in to the waves rippling against the shore in the distance. you grin coyly back at him, grabbing the hand that he’s stroking you with. you pull it to your lips, kiss it sweetly.

you fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you, your back to his chest, loose curls tickling the skin of your neck. one of his hands rests gently over your lower belly, covered with one of yours.

your bags wait by the door, packed and ready to go home, where the rest of your life with him begins.

-

“i like this colour better, i think.” you muse, flicking between paint swatches. violet white and apple moon have caught your attention, but you wonder if a colder undertone would work best. you’ve taken on the task of redoing a guest room, a little end of summer project.

lando wrinkles his nose and you roll your eyes playfully.

you’re lounged across your sofa, the sun slowly dipping behind the horizon and you watch it through the open balcony doors. the room is tinged orange, glowing, painting your husband angelic.

“don’t you think something… warmer would work better?” he asks, leaning closer to have another look.

“not everyone loves fluorescent yellow.” you tease, and he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“okay, not that.” he laughs. “what about,” he scans the other swatches on the coffee table, reaching for one. “this one?”

he hands you honey beam, and you toy with the small card.

“i think it’s too pink.” you say.

“it’s cute! i just think we should paint it something soft, just in case…” he trails off, leaning forward and immersing himself in the samples. you lean in, too, chasing him. he has this small smile on his lips, lost in thought.

“hey, ‘in case’ what?” you ask.

lando turns to you, just stares for a second. the low sun makes your eyes sparkle, and he melts.

“in case we get pregnant.” he says quietly.

“oh.” you coo, grinning up at him. “i suppose you have a point.”

“yeah?” he breathes, excited in a way you can only compare to a sweet, innocent puppy.

“yeah.”

“like, baby, i love your eye for design but i don’t want our baby to grow up in a a pretentious, grey, prison-“ lando teases you, and you shut him up by wrestling him back onto the sofa.

“ve te faire foutre.” you scold, kissing over his cheeks.

“i love you and i love our house.” lando murmurs sincerely.

the paint swatches are forgotten as you laugh together and kiss him sweetly into the sofa.

-

lando relaxes into the seat, waiting for the plane to take off. oscar sits across from him, already falling asleep, hoodie pulled tight around his head. charles and alexandra are supposed to be joining them on the flight back to nice. he wonders where they are - he wants nothing more than to get home, curl into his wife’s side. lando snaps a picture of his dozing teammate, smirking at the screen, but before he can upload it to his instagram story, your contact photo fills the screen. he accepts the facetime, beaming as your tired eyes meet his through the screen.

“hey baby.” lando coos, sticking his tongue out at you.

“mon amour,” you greet, grinning at him lazily. “have you taken off yet?” you ask softly. you’re on your side in bed, blankets cocooning you, and lando aches to be there with you.

“soon, waiting for your brother and alex.” lando rolls his eyes jokingly, and you tut.

“i’ll tell them off.” you frown, unserious.

“god, don’t do that! i’m already terrified of that man.” lando shivers, and your laugh fills his ears, warms the blood flowing through his cheeks. “are you okay, though, baby? you look tired.”

“yeah, think it’s just sugar crash,” you half shrug. “i’ve been really tired for the last few days, it’s nothing.”

“sugar?” lando’s eyebrows furrow. you’re not one for sugary things, supplementing it with your body weight in snacks. you’re a savoury girl, through and through.

“yeah, i’m all kinder-d out.” you giggle, sheepish. his eyes go wide.

“my kinder?” lando gasps, feigning hurt. he sees it, then, the pile of wrappers on the nightstand behind you.

“whoops? don’t even know what came over me, but your entire stash is gone.”

“how am i ever gonna forgive you for this?” lando shakes his head, smirking at the screen.

“just get more on the way back? please?” you plead, giving him the eyes that he’d die for.

“course, baby.” he promises, but he’s mulling it all over in his head. “you’re not getting sick, are you?”

cravings. overly tired. all you had to say next was that you were nauseous and he’d be buying a crib. he kept his mouth shut, though, because it clearly hasn’t dawned on you yet.

“not sure, i’ve been fine mostly.” you shrug again, and lando can’t help but smile like a fool. “what?” you ask, noticing his untamed expression.

“nothing, i just love you. okay, baby, i’m gonna call charles and see where he is. i’ll be home in a few hours.”

“don’t forget my kinder!” you call, blowing him a kiss. “have a good flight, amour, i love you.”

lando can’t quieten his mind, too overwhelmed with the possibility that you’re about to expand your family, something he’s imagined since before he’d even proposed.

when charles steps onto the small plane, met with the sight of his brother in law grinning like an idiot at absolutely nothing, he wonders, yet again, what kind of joke god was playing on him.

-

you hear the front door open, the soft thud of bags dropping to the floor, and you spring from the mattress. you ignore the way your tummy turns uncomfortably, and speed down the hallway to meet him.

“hey baby.” lando murmurs, holding you tight when you jump into his arms. you never get used to him being gone.

“missed you.” you whisper, breathing in the familiar scent of him, warm and spicy, and even better than usual. “i’m so proud of you.”

lando was leading the championship, but he couldn’t get too comfortable. charles and lewis were looming in the near distance, and oscar was creeping towards the party at a rate of knots. but lando was on a streak of race wins, and he couldn’t deny that your praise made him giddy. after all, these days it was all for you.

“yeah?” lando asks, pressing his forehead against yours. you hum in agreement, leaning in for a kiss. it’s sweet, tender, silent confirmation of just how much you’ve missed one another.

“did you pick up my chocolate?” you pout, fingers intertwined as you walk to the sofa. you drop down, curling up and lando sits next to you.

“i did, and i also got you something else.” lando smiles coyly, unzipping his bag. your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

first, he hands you the kinder chocolate. then, he hands you a pregnancy test.

seeing the two items together makes it dawn on you, and you slap your hands over your face.

“mon dieu!” you gasp. “how did i not realise?” when you lower your hands, lando sees how your eyes glimmer with tears, your lips stretched into a nervous smile.

“so i’m not crazy for thinking it, right?” lando laughs, cupping your cheeks with warm, shaking hands.

“you’re not. should i take it now?”

“i might die if you don’t.” lando’s dead serious, the tension between you palpable.

you stand from the sofa, speed towards the bathroom, and lando watches you go. he sighs, rubbing his eyes, overcome with jitters and excitement.

time seems to stand still as he waits, eyes locked on the door that you’d gone through, waiting for any movement. five minutes must have passed, but if you’d told him it had been five years, he would have believed it. the door handle makes him jump to his feet, and he walks towards you tentatively. your expression is unreadable and he wants to scream.

“so? are you- are we?” lando pleads, only a few steps away from you now.

your neutral expression morphs into one of pure joy, the tears you’d been holding back streaming in a free-for-all.

“all that work we put in must have paid off.” you whisper, and lando surges towards you. your feet leave the ground, held so tight as he spins you around.

“we’re having a baby?” lando breathes, placing you back on the ground carefully.

“you’re gonna be a dad.” you manage through tears.

“my god,” his voice is laced with disbelief, utterly enamoured with you. “i can’t even believe it.” his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you feel his wet, hot tears pooling there.

“i’m pregnant.” you say it slowly, tasting it on your tongue, feeling the weight of it. your husband clings to you, and your hands rake through his hair, soothing him with your dull nails across his scalp, as you ground yourself in the ecstasy of the moment.

“we did it!” lando cheers, flushed red, his watery eyes shining like the sun hitting the sea. you’re shaking, fingertips grazing your sweatshirt covered belly. his fingers lace with yours, rubbing gentle circles over the fabric.

“we did.” your voice wobbles, cheeks aching from your unshakable smile. “what the hell do we do now?”

“we plan a really elaborate hiding spot so that charles never finds me. you and the baby can visit.” lando replies earnestly, bursting into giggles when you swat his arm.

he pulls you into a kiss, so slow and gentle that the whole house melts away around you; all that’s left is you and him, and something so beautiful that you’ve created together.

“thank you.” lando mumbles against your lips.

“i’m just glad you convinced me not to paint the spare room grey.”

-

taglist

(lemme know if you wanna be added or removed. tags that don’t work will be removed)

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: as requested, part 2 :) not sure if this is what you had in mind, but i think i like how this turned out

summary: masc rich lawyer!reader, (former) bartender-turned-trophy-wife!nat

warnings: smut (fingering, oral, penetration/strap in v), alcohol/being drunk, reckless driving (is that a warning? idk), angst

word count: 11.7k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— NEW YORK, USA —

Dinner's been ready for almost three hours, yet you're still in the office.

It's not entirely your fault. You're currently working on a big case — some corporate war between two giants. Your client got sued for billions because of a fraud scandal, and since you're known for handling high-stakes cases, you got the job.

Losing this could mean either bankruptcy or a stock market crash — both, probably —, so you've been working overtime for weeks. No missteps allowed for you. All eyes are on you, always, but especially when handling things that others deem to be out of your league.

The problem? You promised Natasha to be on time. Just tonight, since it's Friday, and Fridays are date nights. You're not allowed to spend them in the office. You're supposed to spend them at home, with your wife, and not with a ton of contracts and emails you still need to comb through.

Outside, the sky is dark. No stars are visible. The glittering city beneath it, alive with lights and vibrant neon signs, makes up for that. Everything looks small from up here. Manageable. The mess on your desk, however, seems to only be getting bigger.

You squint your eyes when your vision goes blurry. Too focused on the email you're reading, you don't notice how your phone vibrates again.

When you don't pick up, Natasha slams her phone down on the table and crosses her arms. The lobster in front of her: cold. The mashed potatoes: having formed a crust. The asparagus: soaking up lemon juice and oil and turning limp.

The big penthouse, once so appealing, is nothing but a big empty shell. It's silent, lifeless, lonely. So much so that Linda, your private chef and maid, even offered to stay and keep her company. Of course, Natasha had turned down the offer. It's not that she doesn't enjoy the woman's company, but come on — having an employee stay overtime just because her own wife won't come home from work is just embarrassing.

She exhales, slowly, twisting the wedding ring on her finger. One leg crossed over the other, she stares into the adjacent kitchen. She's still hoping you'll show up soon, but it doesn't seem likely. Eventually, she gets up. Bare feet pad over the woolen rug and carry her all the way into the hallway.

She pauses, but only to slip into a coat. She picks out a pair of high heels and takes the elevator downstairs.

You're immersed in a thick financial contract when the door opens. Any normal human being would jump up immediately — but Natasha's found you have the survival skills of a rock, at least compared to her, so you keep your head in your hand and your eyes on the paper you're holding.

Natasha pauses for a second, just taking you in. Messy, tousled hair, soft to the touch and smelling like the guava shampoo you love. A suit, ironed and fitted. Shoes you got in Italy.

It's the little things she notices about the idiot sitting in front of her. Because that's what you are — an idiot. An idiot she loves, though. Her idiot.

She's already decided you're done working. You shoot out of your chair when the contract is suddenly plucked from your fingers.

"Jesus fucking- oh, it's you!"

Natasha slams the contract down on the desk, glaring at you. You feel your insides shrivel up with shame.

"Yes, it's me", she says, keeping her hand pressed on the stack of papers. "And, oh!, it's you. Still not at home."

You rub the back of your neck, shifting. You're tired. You're overworked. And now, you're also feeling guilty.

"Sorry", you start, cringing at yourself. "The case, it just...it's a big deal. There's a lot to go through. It's important, and-"

"And I'm not?"

Your eyes widen and you nearly start sputtering. Admittedly not the smartest move, but again: you're tired. Overworked, in fact. Hopefully she'll forgive you for being a bit of a dumbass at the moment.

"Come on", she challenges. "Say it. Say it's more important."

"What?? Of course it's not! But it- it's a case, you know, and I'm a lawyer, so I kinda sorta gotta..." You gesture awkwardly and she rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry, love. You know how it is."

"One night, Y/N", she says, stepping closer. "One night. I don't ask for anything else."

"I know, baby", you quickly say, voice desperate. God, you really fucked up. "I'll make it up to you."

Natasha sighs. She lifts her hands and runs them through your hair, ruffling it up further. You crack a hesitant smile and wrap your arms around her waist. The look on her face is pointed, but she keeps combing her fingers through the unruly strands she loves so much, so you know she can't be too mad.

She grabs your tie and yanks you closer. You let out a wheeze, but she's unfazed.

"Listen, honey", she says, tugging at the tie a few times. "We'll go home. We'll have dinner. Tomorrow, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Deal", you immediately say.

"No more nights at the office."

Your mouth opens, but she presses her index finger against your lips.

"Don't even try to argue", she says firmly.

If she lets loose now, this will never end. You've already spent a few nights too many asleep at your desk. Your bottom lip pokes out, just barely, and she pinches it.

"Sorry", you mumble, looking like a kicked puppy.

Gone is the lawyer-level damage control, the confidence with which you carry yourself. You've spent hundreds of hours standing in front of judges and other lawyers, yelling at people, repeating your points and finding new arguments and letting others yell back at you as well.

But this is your wife. When you're with Natasha, that facade you built so meticulously just crumbles. Which, despite the fact that she's bossing you around, is actually a good thing.

Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip, then she lets go of your tie and smoothens it out. You exhale, leaning in and catching her mouth in a kiss. She makes a soft noise, but then wraps her arms around your neck.

Hands run up and down her sides, around to her back. You pull away and study her. Green eyes, plush lips, a face so pretty it hurts.

The case you're working on may be out of your league, but Natasha definitely is. You have no idea how you got her to marry you.

"I'm sorry", you repeat, massaging her back through the fabric of her coat. "Let's go home."

Natasha softens. She squeezes the back of your neck and leads you out into the hallway. The rest of the building is dead silent, except for the soft hum of the a/c's. All your employees have gone home.

You blink, a little disoriented, and run your hand through your hair. Spending nearly 16 hours at your desk, even having lunch there, took a toll on your brain.

You enter the elevator and lean against the wall. Natasha notices your tired eyes and tuts. You look at her, see her smile, see the worry in her gaze, and recover enough to grab her and spin her around. A soft thud, and she ends up pinned against the wall.

"Oh, now you're awake?"

"No matter how much energy I may spend on work", you mumble, undoing the front of her coat, "I always make sure there's enough left for you."

She hums and sighs, hips buckling forward. You let the coat slide off her shoulders and bite back a grunt, then press your lips to her neck. Your hands roam and squeeze skin, soft as butter and smelling heavenly.

Natasha wore nothing but a tiny piece of lingerie underneath when coming to pick you up from your office. It makes you wonder what she had planned originally. It's not like you haven't made use of your reclinable office chair before.

The elevator dings. You whine softly, trying to stay attached to her, but she's already slipped away and out into the lobby.

"Wait, wait, wait-" You grab her coat and hurry. She's too close to getting outside, into the streets, where anyone could see her. "Fuck!"

You reach her just in time, throwing the coat around her like a shield and pulling her back against you. She stumbles backwards, but you've already got your arms wrapped around her. Before she knows what's happening, the world tilts and you've got her dipped down.

"We've talked about this."

"I like seeing you freak out."

"Obviously", you murmur, kissing her. You kiss her like you don't have time, like you're in a hurry, which is far from the truth. This is your law firm. If you wanted, you could drag her behind the reception desk and let her have her way with you there.

She runs her hands into your hair, slowly tousling it up more and more. She loves the messy look. Adores it. If it was up to her, you wouldn't have access to a hairbrush.

Slick mouths slide against each other, lips kiss bitten and swelling up. You straighten up, still clutching, still kissing her, and walk her backwards until the summer night air envelops you.

Her back against the wall. Her back against the front of your car. It takes all of your strength to let go and get into the driver's seat.

"Fuck", you mutter, glancing at her. Lips red and still slick, cheeks flushed. A dream to kiss, a nightmare to sit next to while driving. "Pray we don't get in a car crash."

"You'll do fine", she says.

You won't.

You're driving down the street when she suddenly turns around. She leans in, one hand playing with the hair at the back of your head and the other slowly loosening your tie.

You gulp, and your throat bobs. Natasha smirks faintly and brushes her fingertips over the little hollow base of your throat.

"I have to focus", you say, voice strained, and shift in your seat. You were already worked up, and she's not making it easier on you.

"Focus, then. Focus on me", she mumbles, dragging her finger down to the part where your shirt is buttoned up. "A good driver could do it, you know."

"Nat, baby, I-"

"Come on, hotshot", she whispers, unbuttoning the first button. The car swerves slightly, and she laughs. Laughs. Right in your ear. "We got five more minutes, then we'll be home. Can you last that long?"

Can you? With the way heat is flooding your body, making wetness gather between your thighs? With her lips against your earlobe, her fingers continuing to slowly undo button after button?

No. Not without crashing the car, at least.

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel desperately. "I'm pulling over", you say, begging. "Please."

"No", she says, hooking her finger into your sports bra. "You made me wait three hours, and you're telling me you can't do five minutes?"

You let out a quiet, frustrated wheeze. That's why she's doing this. To get back at you for working overtime.

"A normal wife would-" You squirm in your seat, her hand sliding down your stomach, "would just make me sleep on the couch."

"Should've married one, then."

"Nat", you whine. "Come on. Get in the back."

She makes a disapproving noise, her fingers trailing back up your chest. Suddenly, she cups your jaw and makes you look at her. The car swerves again, this time so badly it makes your eyes widen.

"Four more minutes", she taunts.

You glance at the road, blinking a few times. Your hands are white-knuckled, your pupils blown. Arousal and panic are flooding your veins and soaking your underwear.

Natasha lets go of your jaw. You turn your head. You hear the rustling of clothes. Dumb as you tend to be when it comes to your wife, you glance at her.

Gone is the coat. She's back to being in just lingerie. Red lace adorning creamy supple skin, showing off every inch of her body. If you could, you’d get on your fucking knees and worship her, but that’s not an option right now. Instead, your brain gets fried by the inability to act on your urges.

Tires screech on asphalt. You curse under your breath.

"Eyes on the road, love."

"Put that back on."

She tilts her head at you. "Put what back on?"

You exhale and grit your teeth, stubbornly staring at the road. So far so good. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe ignoring her will work.

Then, she reaches into your lap and starts fumbling with the zipper of your slacks.

You jump on the gas pedal and make the car accelerate way too rapidly. You slam backwards into the seats, but that's not what you're worried about. Natasha's fingers, deftly undoing the button now, is.

"Do you want us to get into a car crash?!"

"Hush, baby. Focus on the road", she coos, tugging at the waistband of your boxers. "These are my favorites."

You keep going faster and faster until you're well over the speed limit. A bad idea — the faster a car goes, the harder it is to keep it under control. But you're not exactly able to think rationally.

Two minutes, you think, silently begging you'll make it out alive.

You let out a frustrated noise and slow down the car just enough. One hand on the steering wheel, you grab her hand with your free one. She clicks her tongue.

"Awfully feisty tonight. I thought you were tired?"

"Nat", you whine. You recognize one of the stores nearby the building of your penthouse and speed up again. "Give me a minute. Please."

She hums, cupping the side of your head. Suddenly, her lips are all over you. Your neck, your jaw, your ear. You squirm and curse and grip the steering wheel.

The car rockets into the parking lot at such an insane speed you can't slow it down fast enough. It bumps against the wall, but at that point, you don't care. You jump out of the car and hurry to the other side, only to basically throw her over your shoulder.

"You're so dead."

Her arms wrap around your neck, body still half-naked. Grumbling, you grab the coat and kick the car door shut behind you.

"Well done", she says, cupping your face and making you look up as you carry her into the building. Almost midnight, so hopefully you won't run into any neighbors. Your reputation hasn't been exactly flawless since Natasha moved in.

What can you say? You're noisy and shameless.

"I crashed the fucking car", you mutter, lips attaching to her chest before the elevator doors have even closed.

"We made it home, though", she says, her voice shifting into a sigh. You pepper kisses all over her chest, resisting the urge to just slam your fist on the button next to you and make the elevator stop. "My, you're eager."

You don't say anything. You're too distracted by the feeling of her body against yours, soft and warm. Humming against smooth skin, your face nuzzles the spot between her breasts.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open, revealing your living. It was once so cold here, so lifeless. It wasn't a space you lived in; merely one where you existed. Then Natasha moved in, and everything changed.

It's the small things. Her reading glasses on the coffee table, the stack of magazines next to it. Her abandoned cup of coffee. The painting she picked out and hung above the fireplace.

Not that you're paying much attention to it right now. You move to the couch and drop her down on her back. Straightening up, you pull down your pants and boxers and reveal the strap you've got attached to a harness. For the first time that evening, Natasha's speechless.

"You..."

"Date night", you say, kicking off your slacks and unbuttoning your shirt. It falls to the floor. "Wanted to be prepared."

"God", she moans. You crawl on top of her. "You can't just do that."

"No?" You run your hands up her body and hook your thumbs into the sides of her lingerie. You pull it down right as you kiss her neck. "Did it, anyway."

You lean up to kiss her. Your hands slowly part her thighs. You settle between them, but right as the tip pushes in, you nuzzle her cheek.

"Love?"

Natasha bites back a soft sound of frustration. This isn't the right moment to start talking, but you'll do it anyway.

You push in deeper, fingers gripping her skin for stability. You feel her body tremble. Her hips rock against yours, searching for more — more friction, more depth, more you.

You kiss her ear and bottom out. She moans, her head dropping back into the cushion.

"You, me, London. Next week."

"Again?"

You hum, rolling your hips. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, thighs squeezing your middle. You're aware you've been traveling a lot, but most of the time, it's necessary.

"Yeah", you grunt, simultaneously thrusting into her and pulling at her hips. You're fucking her into the couch, you're leaving her head devoid of thoughts, you're literally mid-stroke — yet you're talking to her like this is a completely normal situation. "Got a meeting with an investor. We'll stay in a suite. Have some fun."

"Baby, you..." She makes a useless noise, her hand gripping your tie. "Don't talk."

"Why?", you ask, breathless, and keep pounding into her. She lets out a choked moan. "It's important."

"Sure, but...oh..." Her lips part and her chest heaves. Her hips meet every thrust, and you smile against her neck. "Fuck."

"Close already? I haven't even told you about the new private jet I bought."

Natasha shakes her head, refusing to talk. She's writhing and moaning beneath you, stomachs slick with sweat as they rub together, back arching and thighs clenching. And you're trying to talk business trips with her? Absolutely not.

You decide to have a little mercy on her. You kiss her, deeply, taste her moans as she comes apart and shudders. Every moan is taken like a win.

It takes a moment for her to recover. You smile at her, your fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair away from her forehead. She stares up at you, panting and eyes unfocused, then tilts her head.

"Another jet?"

"New model."

"Dear god", she mutters, wrapping her arms around your neck. "You've got to calm down a little."

"Why?" You lean in, nibbling her earlobe. "You said you liked the seats."

Natasha pauses and lifts her head. You raise your eyebrows.

"That's why we went looking at jets?", she asks, the disbelief written all over her face. "You said it was a gift!"

"For you."

"Well, that wasn't clear."

You snort and kiss her cheek before sitting up. Natasha follows, grabbing the shirt you discarded on the coffee table and putting it on. You pad into the kitchen, her hand in yours.

You turn on the lights and make your way to the fridge. Natasha sits on the counter, bare legs crossed, and accepts the plate you hand her.

"Warm it up?"

"No", she says, grabbing a piece of asparagus and biting into it. "You're returning the jet."

You look up from your own plate. The first thing that Natasha can think is that you should probably get a haircut — the strands in the front are long enough to partially block your vision. But she can't voice that thought. She adores this look a little too much.

"Why?", you ask through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Because it's insane."

"The interior was custom made, though."

"So?"

"Well, I can't return that, can I?"

She frowns, then sighs. You have a point. Returning a multi million dollar aircraft? With a custom made interior? Not happening.

"Okay", she says, thinking. "Donate it."

You give her a deadpan look and set your plate aside. "Love. Baby. You can't be serious."

"I am."

You shake your head and kiss her. She tastes like lobster and lemon juice, but when it's the right person, the fishy taste doesn't throw you off much.

"You're sweet", you mumble, squeezing her waist. Natasha places a dollop of mashed potatoes on your nose, and you scrunch up your face. "Play nice."

"I'm serious", she says, kissing the mashed potatoes off your nose. You grimace and grab a napkin to wipe it off. "Donate it. Someone might need it."

"I think we're both too tired to think straight", you mumble, pecking her lips one last time. You step away and put the half-full plate back into the fridge.

Natasha slides off the counter. Her arms wrap around your middle, her chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

"Finish your dinner", she says, watching you grab a bottle of sparkling water. "You had a long day."

"At this point, all I want is to go to sleep."

"Fair. We're still not keeping the jet."

You turn around, a little disgruntled, and wrap your arm around her. You start your two and a half minute journey into the bedroom.

She pulls you over the threshold, making you stumble right onto the bed with her. Guilt nags at you as you realize it's been a while since you didn't get here only after she'd fallen asleep.

"I love you", you murmur, kissing her. Your fingers brush over clothed and bare skin, the feeling enough to make your heart beat a little faster.

No reply. Natasha deepens the kiss, fingers gripping your face and keeping you close. No way to leave, at least for tonight.

Good. You don't want to leave, either. Because you're right where you want to be, where you're supposed to be. You'd buy her the moon and the stars, fulfill every last one of her wishes.

(You're still not returning the jet, though.)

. . .

— LONDON, UK —

"One more hour", you mumble, typing away on your laptop. Natasha hums, her legs stretched out on the leather sofa.

You're 50 thousand miles in the air. Clouds surround the private jet you're in. You're in slacks and a shirt, the top button undone, your hair damp after you washed it in the bathroom onboard.

There's a platter of fruit on the table you're sitting at. Cubed mangoes, papayas, strawberries. Two champagne flutes, empty now.

You let out a frustrated noise, the click-clack of the keyboard becoming more pronounced. Natasha turns her head, but you don't notice. What a shame — she's wearing that one red dress that'd normally leave you drooling. But you're focused on work, again, so you're not becoming part of the mile high club yet another time.

She watches you for a moment. Her teeth sink into her lip, chewing slowly. You're focused, which is as attractive as it is annoying. Why did you even get her a jet with a hot tub if you don't plan on using it? What's the huge couch for, then?

It's not even sex that she wants. Just a tiny bit of attention would be nice.

Natasha gets up and approaches you. She grabs your arm, ignoring your noise of protest and gently peeling your hand off the keyboard, then slides right into your lap. You adjust her so you can see the screen again and continue working.

The audacity makes her roll her eyes. Subtly, she reaches for the laptop and shuts it. You grunt in surprise.

"Hey, that-"

"You can finish later", she says, turning around enough to undo more buttons, "but first, you let me finish."

Heat shoots into your cheeks. You squirm beneath her and grab the laptop, opening it again. You let out a silent sigh of relief when you see the email you were working on isn't lost.

Natasha frowns, her fingers loosening. She's used to your attention wavering quickly, but this quickly? For god's sake, she's literally in your lap. She's undoing your shirt and offering herself to you like a buffet.

"Love", she mumbles, tracing your jaw. You hum absently, still staring at your screen. Then, the dreaded click-clack continues.

Click-clack, click-clack. Your moans should be filling the air instead of this annoying noise. Your hands should be on her, not on the keyboard.

Maybe Natasha is being selfish. Given the fact that this is one of the rare occasions where you're able to spend a couple hours together, though, she seriously doubts that.

She swallows, trying to ignore the feeling of hurt that's settling in her stomach. Don't take it personally, she tries reminding herself. She works a lot. You knew that when you married her.

It still hurts. It's been hurting for a while.

Finally, she finds her voice again. Her fingers are tugging at the top button of your shirt, tentatively, but the only sign of you noticing is the subtle raise of your eyebrows. The light from the screen in front of you is making your face glow.

"Is it always going to be like this?"

Your head whips around, mouth opening in shock. Now you heard her.

"What do you mean?", you ask, cupping her cheek. She takes your hand and peels it off her face.

"You know what I mean."

"Nat, you..." You exhale slowly, your stomach turning with guilt and mild nausea. The words 'you knew' are on the tip of your tongue.

Because she did. She knew what your life is like when she married you. She knew how much you work. She knew you only spend about a quarter of your week at home. Most of the time even less.

It wouldn't be fair bringing that up, though. Nobody expects the negative things to stay negative when getting married. That little flame of hope usually dies way after.

"I'm sorry", you say quietly. "I'll make it up to you."

This time, it's Natasha's turn to swallow down something she'd regret saying. She just nods, lip balm-soft lips pressing against your temple and slender fingers tousling your hair, then she gets off your lap. You watch her sit back down, staring out the window, her manicured hands twisting in her lap.

Do you get up? Do you continue working?

You exhale, slowly, then quickly finish the email you'd been writing. Just one more email, then you'll hop into the hot tub together. You'll have just enough time to relax a little before arriving in London.

One email turns into four. Four emails turn into you reading through a contract. As you're reading, you conclude that you may as well take notes now.

The click-clack doesn't stop. Natasha sits there, staying silent as to not disturb you.

You're still typing when you reach London.

The silence is suffocating when you enter your suite. You've barely even closed the door, and Natasha has already disappeared in the bathroom. You stand there, suitcase in hand and hair slicked back, a little stunned.

You're aware of where you went wrong. Right in the damn jet, when you couldn't take a ten minute break from your stupid job for once. You should've closed the laptop. It's not like you're behind on anything, anyway.

It's too late now, though. You hear the water run, which probably means she's running herself a bath. You hesitate — is it even worth trying? — but then you go and knock.

Silence. Nothing but the muffled sound of water lapping.

"Nat?", you call. You knock again, then rest your ear against the door. Your hand is flat against the cool surface. "Nat, baby-"

The door opens so suddenly that you nearly tumble over. Natasha crosses her arms, not making a move to steady you.

"What?"

"Uh", you say stupidly, rubbing your neck. "What you doing?"

Her expression doesn't waver. What happened in the jet was enough to make that last string of patience snap. And now? Not yelling, no. Not trying to start a fight. Just giving you that detached coldness.

"The water's running", she says. "I thought you had work to do?"

"Yeah, but-"

The door slams shut. You stare at it, baffled, then the panic sinks in.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Sweat starts gathering at the back of your neck, your heart begins to race, you blink in disbelief. During your entire relationship, you've never had Natasha slam the door shut on you. Not even during your worst fight.

This, however, has been building up for weeks now. The pot has been bubbling — it was only a question of when it'd boil over. It hasn't boiled over yet, though, not fully at least. Are you going to let it boil over? Oh hell no.

You shake your head and reach for your phone. Meeting? Canceled, done, over. (Actually, postponed. Cancelling a meeting with a potential investor, especially one who's this powerful, wouldn't be the smartest move.)

Then, you start reaching out to a few contracts.

Contact one. Book a castle (the entire thing, of course) for the night. Make sure they have those silk bedsheets Natasha loves. In her favorite color, obviously. Don't forget the little chocolates — she loves those.

Contact two. Find a horse-drawn carriage. White horses too, while you're at it.

Contact three. Private chef, please. Specialized in Italian cuisine.

Contact four. A new dress, tailored if possible so it'll hug her curves perfectly. Of course, you have all her measurements on hand.

Contact five. Jewelry. Necklace, rings, earrings, all matching and all of them with a price tag that'd get the average couple through an entire year.

By the time Natasha's done with her bubble bath, you've got everything planned. She exits the bathroom to find you on one knee, a bouquet of  baby's breaths in your hand. The way you tilt your head is nervous, and she almost feels bad for slamming the door shut on you like that.

"What's that?", she asks, nudging one of the flowers.

"Flowers", you say dumbly, then shake your head. "An apology. A question. Let me take you on a date."

She gives you a wary look, but accepts the bouquet anyway. She takes a tentative whiff of the white flowers. Light, fresh, slightly sweet, but so subtle she can barely smell them.

"You have a meeting tonight", she says.

"I do. No, did. I, uh, I postponed it", you explain, straightening up. "You, me. Tonight at 7. I just...I've been acting like an idiot, and you don't deserve that."

Natasha smiles faintly. She looks at the flowers again, her nose buried in them. They tickle her face. Just watching her like this is enough to make your heartbeat stumble.

"Good thing you're self-aware", she says. "I was close to booking a flight on my own jet and go back home."

You stare at her, doubting both her statement and your interpretation of it. Is she being serious?

She shakes her head at the look on your face. Suddenly, she's on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to yours. Minty and sugary, the bouquet against your chest and the petals brushing your neck.

"Good thing you always know what to do", she mumbles, stepping closer. You let out a breath of relief and wrap your arms around her. "You promise we'll have time for us?"

"Promise", you immediately say, kissing her again. Your hands smooth down her back, the robe she's wearing fluffy beneath your palms. "Just us two."

And this time, you do.

The dress looks stunning on her (obviously — not like you ever doubted that). The carriage makes her laugh (now you're doubting something, though, and that'd be your ability to choose the right form of transportation). The castle leaves her speechless.

You're not sure whether her red dress is giving queen or vampire bride, but either way: it gives you a few dangerous ideas.

"You like the castle?", you ask, leading her up a stone staircase. "How much?"

Natasha pauses, her hand on the railing. "No."

"I wasn't-"

"You were."

Maybe you were. You bring her hand to your mouth and kiss her knuckles.

The dining room is all set when you arrive. A roaring fireplace to your right, a domed ceiling, crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. Food served on fine bone china, brought to you by staff in uniforms.

Much to your relief, the night has been going well. Good food will always better her mood — that's something you learned a while ago. And not many people can stay mad while getting a taste of carpaccio and handmade black truffle tagliatelle. You're right at dolce when things seem to take a turn for the worse, though.

You're holding her hand over the table. You're talking, laughing quietly, pressing kisses to fingers and sharing a tiramisu al limoncello that's sitting between you.

Then, your phone rings. You pause but ignore it, squeezing her hand. Natasha raises her eyebrows.

It stops. You keep talking. It starts ringing again.

You shift, clearly conflicted. Being called twice in a row when you told your assistant to cancel all meetings and appointments for the night usually means it's important.

Natasha knows that, too. She glances at the table, chewing her lip, her thumb rubbing your fingers like she's bracing herself.

You reach into your pocket and accept the call.

Ten seconds. It's fine. Natasha clears her throat, eats another bite of the tiramisu.

Twenty seconds. She sighs, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. The guy on the phone is still talking rapidly.

Thirty seconds. She puts her fork aside and crosses her arms. You shoot her an apologetic look.

A minute. She exhales, eyes closing, and drums her fingers on the table.

After five more minutes, you finally hang up. The silence between you is far too awkward, far too heavy. You rub your neck and adjust your tie, then get up from your chair. Natasha gives you a look that's both wary and warning — if you leave, you're done for.

But no. You grab her hand and give her a shy nod. She tilts her head but gets up, letting you pull her close.

"That wasn't about work", you start, wrapping your arms around her. She loops her hands around your neck, and you begin swaying slowly. No need for music.

"No?", she mumbles, frowning.

"No", you confirm, lowering your head to press kisses to her jaw. She closes her eyes. "I booked something. Just us two. That was the confirmation."

Natasha sighs. The last time you went on vacation together, you spent 90% of it working. She's grateful, yes, but she'd rather spend time with you at home than watch you overwork yourself in some tropical paradise.

You overwork yourself at home already. You'll step into the living room, spent and exhausted, barely able to talk. She rarely witnesses it, but when she does, it kills her.

"Y/N..."

"Just hear me out", you say, one hand slipping under the fabric of her low back dress. Smooth, warm skin, soft and familiar under your palm. You trace her spine with your thumb. "I know you, baby, and I know London isn't going to cut it. Let me take you to Bora Bora."

She shakes her head, but you shush her with a kiss.

"It'll be different", you assure her. "Just us."

Believing you is hard. Just us — two words she's heard too many times. You rarely ended up keeping that promise.

Natasha tilts her head. You kiss her, again and again, the wind outside howling and the leaves rustling. Candles flicker, the fire in the fireplace bathing you in a slow, lazy heat.

Summer is ending, but the sun is coming up anyway.

. . .

— BORA BORA, FRENCH POLYNESIA —

A white bikini and strawberry lip balm.

The netted hammock swings in the warm breeze, the sun warming your skin and the cocktails your throat. She's draped over you, hands on your sides, lips trailing down your neck.

You turn your head and catch her mouth in a languid kiss. Coconut, salt, expensive perfume. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of her bikini bottoms. She hums, sucking your tongue into her mouth.

It's quiet. It's secluded. It's everything you needed and more.

Natasha shifts a little, the hammock swaying in the wind. You smile against her lips and tighten your grip. She's not going to slip away, but you'd rather be safe than sorry.

"What are we doing tonight?", she mumbles, raking her fingers through your short hair and tugging on it. You got a haircut just before you left.

"Dinner", you say, nose nudging hers. You press another kiss to her mouth. "Swim." You tug on her bikini. "No clothes necessary."

Natasha smiles against your mouth, her soft laugh slipping straight to your heart. It's intimacy in its rawest form, and even though you've been married for nearly two years, you feel like you haven't had enough of it so far.

More of this. Less of everything else.

Forget getting up at 5 in the morning. Forget working until a regular teen's bedtime. Forget emails, and contracts, and having to wake her up to kiss her goodnight. Forget the press, who's been after your relationship ever since the public caught wind of it. Forget not being able to want kids because you work so much. Forget it all.

Natasha sits up and straddles your waist, her knees sinking deep into the hammock's net. Fingers trail over skin, find the clasp of her bra, let it pop open. She shrugs the delicate piece of fabric off and you make a noise of appreciation.

You're not sure why you put on clothes in the first place. You're alone out here — when booking this overwater villa, you made sure no one could see you. All the other villas and guests are far away. It's you and the ocean, fishes and other sea creatures included, and nobody else.

Unfortunately, you didn't consider two things: the existence of boats and the fucking audacity of the media.

You slowly pull away, staring in disbelief. An entire boatful of photographers, slowly getting closer to the house. Natasha, confused, turns to look at them, but you quickly pull her down against your chest. She's literally not wearing anything on the top half of her body.

"What the fuck?", she asks, voice muffled against your neck.

You curse quietly and grab your phone. She made you turn it off the night you got here, to avoid distractions. Now, as you're scrolling through messages by your assistant (most of them written in all caps), you realize that may have been a bad idea. Headline after headline, speculating about why you'd go on vacation when your high-profile case isn't finished yet.

You toss your phone aside and grab a towel, wrapping her up in it. You nod at the door.

"Inside. Now."

She doesn't argue. Your wife doesn't want topless pictures of her going viral, and neither do you. You shield her as best as you can, shooing her into the house and locking all the doors and windows. Once the curtains are closed as well, you sit down on the counter to call a few people.

Natasha doesn't need to be told what to do. Unfortunately, she's used to this. It's even worse than that time where paparazzi chased her around the city.

"This is unacceptable", you bark, sliding off the counter. You're too pent up. You need to pace, otherwise you'll explode. "This is a private villa. Nobody should be able to approach it... No, I want you to fucking go outside and get rid of them!"

You scrub a face down your hand as they continue to find excuses.

"No", you say firmly. "Complete privacy was guaranteed, yet you failed to provide it. I can take legal action against you."

Natasha, leaning against the wall in one of your shirts, gives you a tired look. She's not mad at you. She's mad at the fact that, recently, everything seems to be going wrong.

You bite your lip as you look at her, guilt churning in your stomach. Your time here had started well. Ice cream, late night swims, sex in the hammock and privacy. No distractions, no worries. Too good to be true, apparently.

The resort manager apologizes once more, promising to take care of the issue immediately, then hangs up. You're not done there — your PR team and some of the employees at your law firm follow. About half a dozen calls later, you exhale shakily and put your phone aside.

Your eyes meet. It's eerily silent in the way too big villa.

It's just the two of you. Suddenly, you don't get why you had to book this real estate-monster. A nice hotel room would've done the trick. Actually, your penthouse would've done the trick as well.

Natasha doesn't say anything, just clenches her jaw. You rub your neck.

"What do you want?", you ask quietly. She tilts her head. "I've called the shots way too many times. It's not fair."

"I want you."

"You have me."

"Do I?"

You frown, blinking. "Of course you do. You always do."

She bites the insides of her cheeks. You step closer, tentatively. She lets you.

"Tell me", you mumble, grabbing her hand. She glances down at your entwined fingers. "Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

Natasha sighs. She squeezes your fingers.

She knows you're being sincere. Whatever she asks for — she gets it. Vacations, expensive rings, perfumes specifically designed for her. You treat her like royalty, but your time together is limited.

"I told you", she says carefully. "If that's something you can even do."

Your free hand comes up to straighten the collar of the shirt she's wearing. She swallows when your fingertips brush against her neck.

"I can do anything."

"I'll believe it when I see it", she teases, her heart heavy. "Let's just stay here."

You hum, looking up, and take that last step that brings your bodies flush together.

"And the photographers? The paps?"

"Screw them", she says. Her fingers hook into the pockets of your swim trunks, keeping you pressed against her. "Actually, sue them. They'll probably leave us alone."

You hesitate. Now that your location is known, there's the possibility that this will keep happening. The resort manager assured you it wouldn't, that they'd take the necessary steps and guarantee complete privacy and safety everywhere. But they failed to provide it once, and you don't gamble — especially not when it comes to your wife.

"I don't know", you say quietly.

Natasha studies you. Way too many words lie on the tip of her tongue, way too many fears and doubts. She wouldn't be this intent on staying if she didn't think you'll go straight back to work as soon as you arrive home.

You know her, though. You know what she's thinking. You kiss her.

"Okay", you mumble, pecking her lips again. "We'll stay. The full week."

A breath of relief. Arms wrap around your neck. Outside, the photographers find a curtain that's nudged aside just enough to provide a glimpse of you.

. . .

— VIENNA, AUSTRIA —

Your fingers ghost over her arms. You adjust the straps of her dress, then push her hair aside to kiss her shoulder. Perfumed skin, warm and soft to the touch. You look at her in the mirror and press another kiss to her ear.

"You're beautiful."

Natasha turns and brings her hands up to your hair. It's messy, but in a nice way. She brushes her fingers through the gelled strands. "I like this on you."

"I know."

"Mhm?"

"You're not exactly subtle", you reply and quickly kiss her cheek. "I noticed years ago."

Natasha hums, studying you. She smoothes her hands down your front and makes sure everything sits right. The tie, the shirt, the rings on your hands. They match her own jewelry. A small detail, but it's enough. Enough for her to kiss you.

Dark chocolate and vanilla. You deepen the kiss and pull her closer. Your hands toy with the silky fabric of her dress.

"So", she mumbles, briefly pulling away, "business dinner, huh."

"Not exactly." You nuzzle her cheek with your nose, then step away. "Just...dinner. But an exclusive one. I don't know, a bunch of CEO's will be there and I feel like it can't hurt to charm a few of them."

"You?", she teases, turning around to slip her heels on. You watch her, the adoration in your eyes unconcealed and simple. "In your suit and with your short hair? Charm old men?"

A crooked grin tugs at your lips. She has a point. For obvious reasons, you don't seem to check the boxes of what straight old men are attracted to. Not just that — they seem to actually resent you. Probably because, despite it all, you married someone they can only fantasize about.

"Fair", you say. You can't help yourself. You take a few steps closer and wrap your arms around her, feeling her rounded backside press against your crotch. "Good thing I got you."

"I see. I'm the eye candy, huh?"

"Mhm." You kiss her shoulder. Your fingers sneakily nudge aside the strap of her dress. "Eye candy for them."

Natasha laughs quietly. "And you? What about you, hotshot?"

You go quiet, lips lingering on her shoulder. Your hands rest on her stomach, squeezing and rubbing gently.

"Too many words", you mumble, "and not enough time. We gotta leave."

The Palais Coburg. Massive wrought-iron gates, a red carpet rolled over the stairs, marble steps and a white-stone facade. High society and wealth, packed into one restaurant.

You get out of the limousine and round it to get to Natasha's side. You open the door and she puts her hand in yours. Around you, camera lights flash. The smile on her lips is polite and practiced. She's used to this.

You aren't, though. You should be — you're the one with the famous parents, the one who grew up surrounded by cameras, the one who knew how to dodge paparazzi before you knew how to long divide. Yet you're still the one who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

You fight your way into the restaurant. By the time you get inside, you feel like you're sweating through your suit. Natasha watches you tug at the collar of your shirt a few times, then she leans in and loosens your tie.

"Are you sweaty? I'm sweaty."

"I'm good", she replies, brushing her thumb over the lapel of your suit. She's close, so close you can smell her perfume. It's that special blend you had a luxury perfumer create just for her. "You're good, too."

"I'm not good", you mumble, scanning the room. The people walking past you are exactly the kind you usually surround yourself with — mostly out of obligation —, but you feel like someone who randomly ended up here. "What am I even doing?"

"Hey", she says, tugging you closer by your tie. "None of that, hotshot. You're not alone, are you? So stop acting like you are. Anything goes wrong, I'm getting you out of here."

"But-"

"But no." She presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. She smiles when she sees the smudged lipstick on your skin. "Come on. I'm starving."

There's no point in arguing. You trail after her, grasping her hand, looking a little like a lost puppy that's clinging to the only source of comfort it knows.

Nothing should be able to go wrong in a place like this one. Vaulted ceilings and massive chandeliers, mirrors that reflect suits and form-hugging dresses, arched windows and candlelight. A pianist, not unlike the one who played at your wedding, is sitting in the corner.

Nobody's loud here. The voices are soft, hushed, exchanging secrets that aren't nearly as precious as it's pretended they are. You stare at a group of people, zoning out. Natasha brings you back to reality.

You give her an apologetic look. She nods at the table.

Everything is fine at first. You're served caviar, figs prosciutto, wine. You talk to a few people, introduce Natasha, hold her hand and twist her wedding ring whenever everyone else becomes too much.

You're not sure where you go wrong.

Maybe it's when you let go of her hand. When the closeness, once comforting, suddenly becomes as overwhelming as the dozens of conversations happening around you. When you close your eyes, rub your temple.

No. That's not it. Natasha knows what's going on, and she doesn't blame you. You may be a lawyer, a businesswoman. You may deal with insufferable clients and judges and opponents and employees all the time — but you're used to being on your own. You're used to the silence of your office, to the soft hum and her slow breaths in the darkness of your bedroom. But big events? They still freak you out.

Steak is served next, accompanied by aligot and an array of colorful vegetables. More wine. You down it like it's water.

Once you're right between tipsy and drunk, you're doing better. Much better. It's almost over the top, considering how you were too close to spiraling just moments ago.

A CEO turns to you, introducing himself. He's polite at first. He seems interested, and competent. Everything about him is typical — old-money, rich, well-respected. You should want his approval and, at first, you do.

Then, he starts pointing out things that aren't his to point out. He asks about Natasha — which is good. You like talking about her, being able to introduce her. She's that one part of your life that makes every other part worth it. You once used to do this without her. You're not sure if you could anymore.

Most of his questions are expected. 'You're married?' 'For how long?' 'Where?'

People like him tend to be nosy, though. They thrive on watching others feel uncomfortable, inferior. From the moment he saw you, he recognized you. Best believe he's not a fan.

He takes a long sip of wine, studying Natasha with that kind of look that always makes you wary. Most rich people have no shame. They can buy their way out of almost everything.

"So", he says, swirling the dark red liquid around, "married a bartender, huh?"

Your grip on her hand tightens. He saw the headlines — the ones being released right after your marriage. To this day, you don't know who leaked Natasha's former profession. You don't know why it should be important, either. You do know that everyone expected you to follow in your parents' footsteps and marry someone who's in a similar social class as you (which would already cancel out over 99% of people). Ideally, a man. Ideally, you'd have swapped the suit for a dress and let your hair grow out.

"I did", you reply. Your thumb rubs her knuckles, firmly. A desperate attempt at reigning in your composure. You're too drunk to start arguing. "She makes a mean martini."

"Oh, really?" He nods, looking at her again. Really looking. From head to toe, from her high heels to her makeup. She averts her eyes. "Well, maybe it'll work out."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He raises his eyebrows. You give him a challenging look and ignore Natasha squeezing your hand. Drinking this much wasn't a good idea. You're a little too loose-lipped.

"I'm just saying", he says, leaning back in his chair. His beer belly makes his shirt strain. "When two people — especially with such different life experiences — jump into marriage like that? It doesn't end well. You should've looked for someone who's in your league."

Your hand slips away from hers before she can do anything. Thankfully, she manages to catch your wrists just before your hands twitch toward his collar.

"You take that back now."

The older man stares at you, stunned. "Why are you young people so sensitive these days? Child, I've seen way too many marriages break up over absurd things. There are differences that love just can't overcome."

You try to pull free from her grasp, but Natasha's relentless. "Get yourself together", she whispers.

"You're saying an awful lot for someone who's here without a wife", you snap, still wiggling your wrists. "Nobody could stand being married to you, huh? Have fun dying and leaving that shit ton of money behind for nobody."

"That is unacceptable-"

"It is?" You laugh bitterly and give pulling free one last attempt. Natasha keeps hissing at you to stop, to shut up and go outside with her, but you're drunk and furious and this entitled shit-bag is the perfect target for your anger. "You don't know anything about my marriage. Anything. We're doing perfectly fine! We're happy! Are you happy? You don't seem happy!"

By now, the entire room is staring. Conversations have turned into whispers that are both scandalized and amused. You're still glaring daggers at the man.

"Someone who's happy wouldn't spend this much time defending their happiness", he says, voice curt and cold.

He's right. You know it, and Natasha knows it. That's why you finally break free and grab your wine glass, dumping it right into his face.

Gasps and chairs screeching on marble floors. Natasha jumps up and grabs your arm, pulling you straight toward the exit. You try resisting — you're leaving, which means you'll be alone, which means a conversation you're not ready for.

Natasha? On the verge of tears. On the verge of starting the worst fight you've had so far.

Because it isn't about you defending your marriage. It's about how you did it. About how it seemed like you're trying to prove something. Like overcompensation. Like fearing the truth being said out loud. You were too desperate, too terrified of what he was saying.

If you were confident in what you and her have, you would've laughed it off. But you didn't. You did something that was even worse than what she was fearing.

The car ride is silent. Natasha's behind the wheel this time. If you're drunk enough to cause a scene like that, then you're definitely too drunk to drive.

The hotel appears in front of you. Natasha stops the car, but neither of you get out.

"You want to tell me something?", she finally says.

"No", you mutter, slumped into the seat. You screwed up, and now you'll have to pay for it. "I'm good. We're good."

"Stop lying."

You turn your head, frowning. "Don't tell me you believe what that old bastard said. He's old and unhappy. Probably just pissed he'll have to plan a funeral no one important will attend."

"That's not what this is about!"

"Oh, no?" You sit up and hit your head against the roof of the car. You glower and rub the spot. "What's the issue, then? The whole 'bartender'-thing? 'Cause you know I don't care about that!"

"Can you stop deflecting for just one goddamn minute!", she says, turning in her seat to face you entirely. "Why were you so afraid? Why did you lose it back there?"

You stare at her, breathing heavily. You can't take it. You're drunk, defensive, spiraling. You don't know how to handle this. So you do the only thing you know how to do.

You grab her face and slam your lips against hers. Natasha moans in surprise, her hands flying to your neck. You start tugging her into your lap, and she resists at first. But one soft 'please' is enough for her to break and straddle you.

Clothes barely come off. There's no need to get undressed. You're still in the car, still in front of the hotel. Being caught would be bad enough already — it'd be all over the news, just like those stupid pictures from Bora Bora. So all you can do is bunch up her dress a little and dip your hand underneath it.

She squirms and grinds against your palm. Breathless sounds escape her, her breathing heavy. You trail kisses down her neck and mouth at her shoulder. Your lips brush against the necklace she's wearing. It's the one you got her as an apology for having to work on a holiday.

Your fingers nudge the fabric of her underwear to the side. You rub circles on her clit, then pump your fingers into her. Natasha's back arches.

No 'I love you'. No kisses. No softness. You feel too much to express it.

You thrust your fingers into her, pressing your knuckles in deep. She buries her face in your hair, smelling guava and hair gel. Her fingers toy with your earring.

Tingles shoot up and down her spine. She shivers against you, hips jerking forward and thighs shaking with the effort of keeping herself upright. She comes around your fingers, pulsing and throbbing hotly, and you pull out.

Outside, a car pulls up. You adjust Natasha's dress before getting out of the car with her. You sneak into the hotel using the side entrance that the staff gave you a key for. You're still not talking. Silence fills the vast space between you as you hush through hallways and find the staff-only elevator.

She looks at you. You've got her pushed up against the wall before she can say a word, her butt pressing random buttons on the control panel.

No talking. Gasping into each other's mouths is easier.

It's a game of guessing. You stop at random floors, but don't pay much attention to them. When you hear your floor get announced, you briefly break the kiss only to dive back in.

The elevator door opens and you step out into the hallway, still lost in each other. You fumble with the zipper of her dress before you're even halfway to your suite. Ragged breaths and lips against skin, her fingers unbuttoning your shirt.

Your back is against the door to your suite. You slide the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and the piece of fabric pools at her feet. She steps out of it, one leg between yours. Gripping her thigh and hoisting it up, you pepper kisses along her collarbone.

Her scent is literally just hers. A mix of her special perfume and the scent that always envelops her early in the morning, the one that makes you bury your face in her neck sleepily. You've done that not nearly enough times. You wish you'd set the alarm an hour later more often.

Natasha's hand sneaks past your hip. She unlocks the door and opens it, making you both stumble into the room. You don't even care that you left her expensive dress in the hallway.

More clothes come off. Your tie, shirt, slacks. Her bra and underwear. You make a pleading sound against her neck and press her down into the mattress. Her hand in your hair, you trail kisses all over her body, worship every inch, before parting her thighs and burying your face between them.

She tastes familiar. You spent your first night together doing exactly this. Something cold wraps around your stomach, twisting and squeezing, when an unbidden thought hits you. What if you spend your last night together doing that same thing, too?

Your train of thought is interrupted. It's hard to think straight when you've got her thighs wrapped around your head. Your nose nudges her clit in silent reassurance, then you continue eating her out.

Manicured nails dig into your scalp, massaging lightly. You drink her down, grip her hips, pin them in place. A raw moan, sweet and wrecked. Her thighs are slick with sweat, and she comes for a second time that night.

You swallow and look up, cheeks slick. Natasha's staring at the ceiling, still trying to catch her breath. You hesitate before pressing a kiss to her thigh. She looks at you when you crawl up to face her.

Your index finger tips her chin in your direction. Lips still swollen and tasting like her, you kiss her.

She pulls away after a moment. You lay down and let her curl into you, head on your chest and one leg thrown over yours. You rub her thigh, staring into nothingness, feeling everything hang between you. Her fingers draw circles on your side. The room smells like perfume, candles, faintly like sex.

The memories from earlier sober you right up.

You should feel at peace. Neither of you do. Words tumble out of you, sharp and stabbing at what's left of you.

"You think we rushed it? Marriage, I mean?"

Natasha's hand stills, her entire body seeming to pause. Slowly, she continues tracing your ribcage.

"Where's that coming from?", she asks, turning her head so her nose is pressed against your chest.

"What do you think?", you mumble. "We're a fucking mess."

Natasha exhales, her breath shaky. Her fingers curl into your skin, grasping for something. She's not sure what she's holding onto, but she knows letting go isn't an option.

"You're saying you want a divorce?"

"What?" You almost shoot up and out of bed. Natasha lets out a surprised noise and you quickly wrap your arms around her. "God, no! No. Not a divorce. Just...I don't know. I feel like if we keep going like this, it...it might become an option."

She closes her eyes. The necklace she's wearing doesn't feel as suffocating anymore.

"You want to change something."

Not a question. A statement. You kiss her hair.

"Yeah." You take a breath, smelling her shampoo. "Not just 'something.' More like everything."

"Oh yeah?" She looks up, chin on your chest, eyes both lazy and wary. "Think you can do that, hotshot?"

You hum, studying her. You brush your fingers along her jaw. You're tipsy, but you're genuine.

"For you, I think I can do anything."

Natasha scoffs but smiles. Her hand comes up to your face, squishing your cheeks and making you roll your eyes. You tilt your head and awkwardly kiss her thumb.

"You mean that."

"I do."

"And that thing at dinner?"

You feel your cheeks heat up, a rosy flush creeping into your face. That's what she does to you — she managed to make you forget about the fact that you threw a glass of wine into some CEO's face.

"About that", you mumble, resting your forehead against hers, "what was the guy's name?"

"Gerard Ash-something."

"Ashford??"

"Yeah, that", she says, kissing your chest. You sigh. "You don't sound too happy."

"His business is a fucking empire, babe", you say tiredly. You really screwed up. "He's one of the most successful people of the century. He has connections to literally everyone. How did I not recognize him?"

Natasha shrugs, her hand sliding up and down your side. "Face blindness?"

"You're hilarious", you mutter. You pull her closer until she's basically on top of you. "I think he shaved his beard."

"Well, he should've kept it. Maybe it would've helped with that gush of wine he nearly choked on."

You pinch her side and she flinches. Her hand slaps your arm, lightly, and you laugh into her hair.

"It's fine", you say, then let out a sigh. You embarrassed yourself and your wife. You also probably ruined your career. "At least it'll make selling the company easier for me."

"The company that's lost a bunch of its worth?"

Silence. You exhale.

"That one, yes."

Natasha looks up, and you give her a guilty look. It's out in the open now. You're not sure why you've been hiding it from her. She's your wife, your partner. You should've told her. But how could you? It's not like anyone ever told you wealth or success aren't the keys to love and happiness. Quite the contrary.

Besides, you met her when you were at your peak. When your business was thriving, and your career as a lawyer. When everything seemed perfect. Now, you have to disappoint her. Your business has been failing, and all your attempts at saving it were in vain.

"You should've told me", she says.

"I didn't want to scare you." You pause, closing your eyes. "You noticed?"

"No", she says. "It seems obvious now, though. You were overworking yourself all the time, and there was no real reason for you to do that."

You let out a short, bitter laugh. "Thought I could fix the unfixable."

Natasha smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. You've been keeping secrets from her. She understands why, but does it sting? Does it wound her pride? Yes. In a way, yes.

She stays quiet for a few seconds, her fingers drumming against your side. She's not sure she wants to know the details. She asks, anyway.

"How bad is it?"

"It's still fine", you say vaguely. "Even if I stop working, we're financially sorted for the rest of our lives. It still sucks, though. My family..."

"Honestly, fuck your family."

You crack a smile and kiss her temple. "So charming."

She sits up enough to make you look at her. "I'm serious. Y/N, even if you have to sell the company, we'll do okay. I'll find a job, you can work as a lawyer in some law firm."

"I'll go from CEO to employee. Lovely."

She grasps your chin, eyebrows raised. "Hey."

You lift your hands. "Okay, okay. I get it."

"I'm just saying. As long as you're telling the truth, we'll be alright."

You nod, your throat suddenly feeling tighter. You should've had more faith in her, should've known she'd react like this. You pull her in and kiss her, one hand resting on her lower back.

"I picked the right girl, you know."

"Mhm?"

"Yeah." You smile softly, brushing your thumb over her cheek. She's leans in again, lips grazing yours, hand resting over your heart.

Maybe you will be alright.

. . .

— ŠIBENIK, CROATIA —

The ocean glitters in the sunlight. Birds chirp, cars drive by. A beach, concealed by a bunch of trees and basically empty. It's noon, which means that, at least according to locals, the sun is at its most aggressive — best to stay indoors for the next few hours.

It's not like Natasha cares about that, though. She's perched on the wooden table on the porch, a bowl of figs next to her, hair damp and tousled from the breeze. You join her outside and kiss her forehead.

"Hungry?"

"Filled up on figs", she says, hooking her index finger into the pocket of your shorts and tugging you closer. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's this restaurant in one of the surrounding areas", you say, leaning against the table. "A tiny one, but apparently really good. Freshest fish you'll ever eat."

"I think I've filled up on fish, too", she teases. "But sounds good."

"We don't have to. We can grab a bite at the bakery, if you want. The heat's kinda killing my appetite."

"Sounds even better." She puts her hand on your nape and pulls you into a kiss. Her fingers toy with the short hairs at the back of your neck.

Definitely figs. Their taste is all over her tongue. You step closer, put your hands on her waist, feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her tank top. Gone are the dresses and expensive blouses.

You deepen the kiss. Natasha tugs at you so you're standing between her legs. Her thighs are snug around your hips.

When she pulls away, the redness of your cheeks results from something that definitely isn't a sunburn. You exhale, lips twitching, and steal another kiss before she can notice.

You break the second kiss and cup her cheek. She's warm, and you're not sure if she's already developing a sunburn.

"You should go inside", you say, grabbing one of the figs and peeling it. "You heard our neighbor."

Natasha sighs and leans back on her hands, head lolling back. You bend down and kiss her knee.

"I mean it", you say. "Come on, we'll go swimming later."

Reluctantly, she slides off the table. She'd probably live outside if she could, and you don't blame her. The air is salty from the ocean and sweet from the fig trees, the sun is warm, the world seems at peace. It's so unlike your penthouse in Manhattan, and it only confirms that moving here for a while was a good idea.

Why stay in New York, anyway? Your company has been sold. You're currently unemployed, for the first time since you were 16. Staying in the US didn't make any sense. You don't regret coming here — you only regret not coming here sooner.

It's healing, that's what it is. You're not just married, but actually in a marriage now. She's not your wife, but your partner. Whatever you'd been doing wrong before has been fixed. And for the first time, there's no hurry. You're allowed to exist with her, in the same space, and don't have to worry about anything but the two of you anymore.

Inside, it's cold from the air conditioning. After being outside for over an hour, it's enough to give Natasha whiplash. You pull her into your side.

"Told you not to stay outside. It's too hot."

"And I told you to get sunshades."

Smiling faintly, you roll your eyes and let go once you reach the kitchen. You grab the empty bowl from her and watch the sticky residue of the figs away. You only notice how she's gotten closer when she wraps her arms around your middle, her front pressed against your back.

"I don't want to leave, you know."

"Mhm?"

"It's nice here. Nicer than New York." She kisses your shoulder, lips lingering. "Maybe we could stay a little longer."

You hum. You did buy the house for this specific reason — so you can stay as long as you please to, return whenever you like. You have the necessary money, too. And if Natasha wants to stay? You're staying.

"I like that", you say. Her hand slides under your shirt and splays out on your abs. "We'll stay, then. How long did you have in mind?"

"I don't know." Lips press against your neck, again and again, covering your skin in kisses. She nuzzles your shoulder. "Maybe until we get started on our family."

'Family' could mean anything. You don't need the specifics — you feel like you'll be happy with anything.

You're in this together, after all.

[bloatedandalone04]

Rich in Life

Summary: Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: smut, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex, swearing, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, hair pulling, fingering, all that good stuff, i had writer’s block and for some reason the only person i could write about was bob, so...enjoy.

It was Saturday night, and instead of being at home by himself like he had grown used to, Bob was out at The Hard Deck, perched on a stool with a Ginger Ale in his hand as he watched Phoenix kick Hangman’s ass at pool. 

It was entertaining, to say the least, because Jake was usually so stuck up and cocky about everything and anything, it was nice to watch his fellow aviator effortlessly beat him at something. 

The bar was lively as usual, but Bob didn’t mind it. He had ditched his usual khakis for a white tee and jeans, his casual clothing choice outside of his work uniforms. 

As he listened to the comical bickering, he looked over at the bar and watched as you talked with Penny, a kind smile on your lips as you gave her your full attention. God, you were so sweet and so sexy, Bob was still in a little disbelief that he is the one who gets to take you home after this. 

He adjusted his glasses and looked over at Jake, who was smirking at him, and Bob just shook his head. He’d grown accustomed to the teasing remarks and looks from his co-workers about how hot his wife is. He knew you were fucking gorgeous, he’s married to you. 

“I still don’t know how you landed her, Bob,” he said as he bent down to line up his shot again. “She’s a fucking stunner. Total smokeshow. I don’t know what she sees in you. No offense.”

Bob just shook his head again as Bradley reached over and smacked the blond on his shoulder while Nat glared at him from across the table. He didn’t care to say anything back as he turned his head and saw you begin to make your way through the crowded space, your drink held up a bit as you carefully maneuvered between bodies. 

Your pretty engagement ring and wedding band reflected off the lights as you settled beside him once again and leaned up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He was still a little taller than you, even from his place on the stool, but it also made him the perfect height for you to snuggle against him. “Sorry I took so long. Penny is so sweet, I just had to stay and talk with her for a bit,” you murmured, a gorgeous smile on your lips as you sipped on your red drink. “But I’m back now.”

Bob smiled back at you as one of his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer. “It’s okay. Penny is great, I don’t blame you for wanting to hang with her instead of us guys and Nat,” he said, knowing Phoenix was far too focused on drilling into Jake to hear his words. “You know, you look stunning tonight.”

You really did. Your pretty blue and pink sundress looked gorgeous on you, and it was one of Bob’s favorite things you owned. Of course you knew that, though. 

A blush coated your face as you nuzzled your head against his shoulder, hiding as if you were embarrassed by his words. “Are you trying to ensure you get lucky tonight when we get home? Or are you just being your natural sweet self?” you teased, nudging his side with your elbow. “I can never tell with you, baby.”

Bob grinned, his hand tightening its protective hold on your hip. “Can you blame me? You’re the most gorgeous girl in the room,” he said back, knowing just how lucky he was to have you by his side, and he loved the flirty banter that always happened between you and him every time you went out together. “I just want to make sure you’re having a good time, baby.”

You leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m having a great time,” you said, winking up at him as you moved closer to his side and sipped your drink some more. “But I kinda can’t wait to get back home with my hot husband.” you added, shrugging casually as you slipped your left hand into the back pocket of his jeans and gave him a teasing squeeze. 

His breath hitched slightly and he held back a low groan as he leaned into your touch by pure instinct. “Is that so?” he hummed, trying to keep his cool in front of his friends. He was known as the sweet, shy and quiet guy at work and in public, but with you, he was as dirty as it got. 

But that side of him was just for you. 

Bob lifted his hand and cradled your jaw between his fingers as he looked you in the eyes. “I think we can arrange that, sweet girl,” he said, his tone promising as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips

You moaned softly against his lips, because you were shameless as much as you are sweet, and that’s one of the things Bob loves about you. “Bob,” you whispered against his lips as your fingers teased the collar of his shirt. “Take me home. Please?” 

Bob stood up and set his forgotten drink aside before he wrapped his arm around your waist and guided you towards the door. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said quietly as he led you out towards his truck, where he kissed you a few more times before getting in the driver’s seat. 

As soon as he was behind the wheel, he reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers as he drove. Once he parked the truck in the driveway, Bob was pushing open his door before rounding the front of the truck to open yours. He gathered you into his arms as he walked with you towards the front door, his lips peppering kisses along your neck. 

When he got you up to your shared room, Bob laid you down on the bed, his gaze heated as he looked at you. His hands were already tugging at your dress as he kissed you deeply, tasting the fruity drink you’d had at the bar on your tongue. 

He pulled away and pressed a few kisses to your shoulder blade before he looked at you with nothing but adoration and desire in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, cradling your face in his hands as if you were the most fragile, most stunning thing he’d ever seen. “I need to taste you.”

You moaned at his words, your eyes unguarded and trusting as you writhed under him. You reached down and pulled off your dress, tossing it aside to find later, which left you in just your panties since you skipped a bra tonight. 

Bob’s hands gripped your knees and spread your thighs, his eyes darkening as he looked at the lace clinging to your heat. You were so hot, he was having a hard time taking his eyes off your gorgeous body, but your soft laugh had his gaze meeting yours. “Taste me,” you encouraged as he pulled off his shirt and kicked off his jeans.

Your words definitely had an impact on Bob as he leaned down and nuzzled his face against you, inhaling your all too familiar scent. He was rather slow as he hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties and tugged them down your legs, showing him the pretty view of your glistening folds. He leaned in and licked a stripe up your slit before flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue, and Bob moaned at your taste, so addictive and sweet and all for him. 

He worshipped you with increasing fervor, switching between gentle licks and hard sucks that had you bucking against his face and sliding your hand into his hair. “Mm, I love tasting you,” he murmured, one of his hands sliding up your stomach to palm your breast as his thumb teased your nipple.

Your head fell back on the pillow as you writhed on the bed, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Bob…fuck, baby,” you gasped, arching your back as he devoured you like a man starved. 

Bob groaned, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers as his tongue explored your most private part. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you pinned to the bed as he feasted on your sweet taste. 

His hand left your chest and slid down your torso, and he slipped two long fingers inside you, your arousal and his saliva giving him easy entrance. You were so wet for him and warm and tight, Bob had no control over the way his hips bucked against the mattress. You were so hot. 

“Come on, baby,” he mumbled against your pussy, his lips brushing against your clit. “Let go for me, I got you.”

When he curled his fingers and sucked harder on your puffy clit, you came for him with a soft cry, your eyes squeezing shut as your back arched. Bob licked and lapped at your folds greedily until you had quieted down and fell back on the bed, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. He crawled up your body, slowly pulling his fingers out of you as he did so, and he licked them clean before kissing you deeply.

Then he pushed his boxers down and slid inside you. “God, baby,” he groaned against your mouth as he began to slowly roll his hips against yours. You were so tight, Bob had to hold himself back from fucking into you like he wanted to. “You feel so good, taking me so well.”

He broke the kiss and trailed his lips along your jaw, his nose nuzzling against your cheek as he picked up the speed a bit, making your mouth part as soft moans left your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your back arching as his cock immediately filled you. You were still sensitive since he’d just made you cum a mere five seconds ago, but you didn’t mind it at all. Your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, your body shaking a bit as you tipped your head back on the pillow. “Bob…oh, my fucking God.” 

Bob lifted his head and kissed you again, his tongue brushing against yours and muffling your whimpers. “I love feeling you wrapped around me. So tight and warm,” he rasped, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as his hips snapped a bit harder against yours. “So sexy, baby.” 

He reached down in between your bodies, his fingers instantly finding your throbbing clit, and he teased the bundle of nerves as he increased the pace even more until you were shaking once again. 

“Gonna make you cum again, sweet girl,” he promised, his voice low and husky. “Right here on my cock. Just for me.”

In public, Bob was a softie (for the most part), but when he was with you, he had no filter, and the filthiest things freely left his mouth. He knew it drove you wild, the switch up that only happened with you, and he knew how much dirty talk turns you on. 

You were shuddering from the sensitivity, your eyes rolling back a bit as you moaned louder. “Just for you,” you echoed, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as your hands slid into his hair and made it a mess. “Just yours.” 

Bob moaned, peppering kisses along your shoulders as he reached down to grip your knee with his free hand, and he lifted it slightly to change the angle. “Just mine,” he agreed against your skin, his body heating up as a light layer of sweat formed on his forehead. When you clenched around him, he let out a strangled sound as he fucked you into the bed. “That’s it, baby, squeeze me.”

Your moans and whines were growing louder and louder, and your fingers were beginning to pull at his hair. “Bob,” you whimpered, guiding his lips back to yours in a messy kiss. 

Your hips were bucking against his as his fingers continued to rub fast circles onto your clit, and he knew you were close when he felt you tighten around him once again. “Come on, sweet girl,” he murmured, his body pressed right up against yours as he rocked his hips into yours. “Cum for me again.”

Your body tensed up in his arms as you broke the kiss and tipped your head back, a long, loud cry leaving your lips as you came around him, enveloping him in a warm wave as you shuddered uncontrollably. 

“Fuck yes,” Bob groaned, his hips stuttering as you clung onto him. A few seconds later, he was there too, and he was filling you up entirely as you whimpered and trembled under him. 

He gave a few more slow thrusts before he pulled out of you, and he watched as his glistening cock slid free from your warm body, and a bead of cum dripped from you. You were so beautiful, he’d never get tired of watching you come undone for him. 

Bob leaned down and pressed a softer kiss to your lips, and when he pulled away, his mouth was turned upwards in a lazy grin. “I love you,”

You hummed, draping your arms around his shoulders as you finally settled under him. “I love you too,” you said back, keeping your legs wrapped around him as you kissed him again in a post-sex make out session. “Stay like this, right here. Don’t get up yet.”

“Okay,” he whispered, holding you tightly in his arms as he gently eased his body down on top of yours, covering you like a shield. “We’ll stay like this for as long as you want to.”

You nodded slowly, a soft smile on your lips as you smoothed out his messy hair and adjusted his glasses. Then you were leaning in and kissing him again, and you continued to for a long time after that.

[lethalknight]

husband!jason todd x fem!reader

content warning: mentions of sex, brief mention of injuries

word count: 1449

a/n: this was originally supposed to be for my hc of butch lesbian jason todd but yk what this can still apply anyway. this isn't proof read btw, i lowkey rushed this, my apologies if there are errors

husband!jason todd who struggles to find what kind of ring you'd like. of course, he did go around and ask for a couple of his girl pals for their opinion since they would be more critical

husband!jason todd who really had a hard time trying not to peek at the wedding dress you got. and when he did get to see you, he does his best to hold back from running down to meet you and kissing you right away. in his defense, you looked absolutely stunning

on the night before leaving to go to your honeymoon, jason insisted that you keep the veil you wore while he makes love to you. you're his wife now, and he is proud to be your husband.

husband!jason todd who had to be convinced a few months before your wedding ceremony to take a real vacation trip for your honeymoon. besides, it's not like his adoptive family wasn't some sort of crime-fighting vigilante family to take care of the business in gotham while you'd be gone for a week or two at most

husband!jason todd who loves to refer to you as his wife

"my wife told me about that place before"

"let me tell my wife first"

"i think my wife would like this style"

he also likes it when you refer to him as your husband of course!

husband!jason todd who wears his wedding ring with pride. he's not one to show off or brag, but he'll try to be subtly show the expensive band wrapped around his finger

husband!jason todd who likes when you make your presence physcially known around him. you'll hold his hand and keep it in his pocket to keep it extra warm since gotham's winter can be really cold. or you'll simply have your knee against his leg when you're sitting together. he feels a sense of safety and security when you make these small gestures

husband!jason todd loves reading out loud to you. he doesn't care if you're listening or not (although he does appreciate it when you do), he finds it relaxing. often times, he's sitting up and you have your head on his lap. most of the times, you fall asleep, but he'll continue to read to himself or help you get to bed

husband!jason todd who likes to be held in your arms. he feels like he can relax because your embrace puts his worries to rest. and in bed, he likes to bury his face against your chest or sometimes your stomach, taking in your scent and warmth

husband!jason todd who makes the excuse that he needs to shower with you in order to save water. in the end, his argument does not stand because you'd both end up fucking in the shower

husband!jason todd loves watching you get dressed, especially when you're taking your time if you're not in a rush. something about it feels intimate despite how mundane it is. in fact, he just likes to watch you get ready, whether it's washing your face or putting on makeup if you are into that. he probably knows your whole makeup routine as well

and speaking of mundane, jason relishes the moments that are calm and simple. his life has been on a tightrope. he grew up in crime alley, was a sidekick for a bit, died, came back to life, and still got caught up in the vigilante business. it's not that often where he gets to finally watch that tv show you've been talking his ears off about. or visit different bookstores in gotham with you

husband!jason todd who always calls you when patrol is slow. sometimes, he feels guilty if you're already asleep or if he keeps you up, but he can't help it. he just wants to listen to your voice and make sure you're okay

husband!jason todd whose routine after patrolling was to get straight back home and have you clean up his injuries. even before getting married, you insisted to take care of his wounds despite his protests

husband!jason todd melts in your hands whenever you idly trace one of his scars

husband!jason todd always asks you to taste the food he is cooking. he values your input because he is making these meals for you and wants it to be very delicious

before marriage when you didn't move in together yet, he kept a relatively healthy, protein packed, nutritious diet. but when you did move in, he gladly cooks the foods you like and would also alter the recipe so that it's still nutritious. he wouldn't force you to eat tuna from a can despite the amount of protein it packs

husband!jason todd who insists that you don't need to call a plumber or a mechanic. he'll get the job done and you also save money! he also just likes to give you the impression that he can be a reliable husband for you

husband!jason todd who gets you sick with baby fever when you're both helping a little kid find his parents since she got lost in the crowd. jason made sure the kid felt safe, cheering up in order to get her to stop crying, and helping her return to her parents

or the other times where you were babysitting your nieces and nephews. jason always said he wasn't that good with kids, but here he was, letting them climb all over him like a statue

husband!jason todd who is happy that you refuse to let him go to bed angry, or if he willingly chooses to sleep on the couch after an argument. sometimes, he has trouble verbally communicating how he really feels, especially in the heat of the moment, and would snap and storm off. you know he doesn't mean it when he lashes out at you, but you both give time to yourselves to calm down before having a proper conversation

husband!jason todd who finds himself falling in love with you all over again when you're not letting anyone talk you down. in gotham, it's almost inevitable that you'll run into a snobby person, perhaps a stingy server or some random karen that decides to bother you. he admires the way you are not afraid to talk back. of course, he'll still step in anyway

husband!jason todd who loves going out on morning runs or to the gym with you if he wasn't on patrol the night before. it's a great way to start the morning

and if you are at the gym lifting weights, he acts normal but secretly likes it whenever you ask him to spot you or to ask how to perform a new exercise for perfect form

other times, you'll only ask him so that you can watch the concentric and eccentric contraction of his muscles. he doesn't realize you only ask him to help you out until much later in the day and it makes him feel giddy

also! when you're both at the gym together, he likes to make fun of you whenever you get a little jealous of other people staring at him. who can blame them? he has a great physique. but he still reassures you that everything is okay

husband!jason todd who tries to be civil and social whenever your friends are over at your place. it's not that he doesn't like him, and he trusts that you surround yourself with good people, but he is just kind of awkward around them in general

husband!jason todd who teaches you how to fire a gun, along with useful combat skills. again, gotham is pretty unpredictable, and he would rather make sure you have a better chance at being safe than risk having you go missing or hurt

husband!jason todd who has your initials carved into his gun

husband!jason todd who gets annoyed whenever dick or another batfam member is on patrol with him and teases him about his relationship with you, only for him to get deep in thought and say something utterly sweet and sincere

husband!jason todd who always kisses you before he leaves to go out on patrol

husband!jason todd who sometimes comes back from patrol with pastries or drinks from a coffee shop that opened early in the morning

husband!jason todd who stays in bed with you whenever you're really sick or have painful period cramps. he'll get anything you need. some raspberry leaf tea to ease the cramps? jason will cook you whatever you're craving or he'll have it delivered to their door. he'll make sure you don't forget to take your medicine and keeps you busy so that you don't feel bored staying in bed all day

husband!jason todd who loves you very much !

@luxaphrodevotee

[gremlingottoosilly]

I know this page now is filled with Mafia König, and Monster König, and Slasher König, but it was revealed to me in a dream- Executioner König. Apparently, (though I don't have a source) given that the profession often met with isolation, which obviously made it hard to find a bride. Some executioners if they weren't married already, could pardon a woman prisoner if she agreed to marry him. Now enter, all in white, Reader that has commited an unspecified crime. It's still enough to be on death row for it. But Konig, seeing her, just can't let such a pretty thing die. He's lonely, and not getting any younger....

Cut to Reader confused later in life how her life from stealing or conning went to cooking potatoes and warming his bed at night while he's busy ripping someone's intestines out.

(plus fucking Reader in a pillory as a treat)

You prayed every night. They gave you a week before the execution - threw you in a cold basement, dampened your feet in water, and waited until you begged for the sentence to come faster. They couldn't - the royal executioner was out on the road from another city, and they couldn't have a royal maid to be killed by some commoner. You thought you'd have time to let them know how you didn't do what you did - how you were innocent all along if only crime for protecting yourself. No one listened, of course. The royal executioner has cold hands, and you can almost feel them preparing for the torture. This is what he is going to do, you think - put you in a pillory, slowly rip you from inside out. A fitting punishment is to dump your common blood so everyone can see just how much of a filth you are. Konig knows he has a right to you - a royal maid, probably framed. Maybe you are guilty- but he looked at your wide eyes and tear-stained face, and he didn't really care. You have soft legs and nice hips, a body that even prisoner's rags couldn't hide. You'd give him nice, fat babies - about a litter of them, poor bastard living with their father's profession. Daughters never get married, and sons get themselves wives in a similar fashion. Konig draps a hand over your thighs, under the rags - you're filthy, but he never minded. Can clean you up after, make you a wife. Honest woman, getting clean with his cock lodged deep in your cunt. He always liked girls from the royal district - clean, fresh, looking small like dolls on their fast legs. Like deers in the forest, except that he can now get himself one. Like catching a forest nymph. You don't even whimper as he drags a hand over your pussy, fingering you slowly - learned his way with brothel girls, always too nervous to actually do something, but also too horny not to. No one would be with an executioner willingly, so he would fuck you until heaven and the crown would forgive you and then would put a nice ring on your finger. Drag you to his house and made you his made - and his princess, too. Would buy you a dozen little goose feather pillows and a soft blanket from a foreign merchant so your body would forget the cold and the depth of the dungeon. He knows you'd be a good housewife because you managed to work in a castle - he doesn't care if it was the lower quarters if you only worked with other servants. He calls you a princess in bed and gets expensive cuts of lamb to cook. You burn your first one, roasting it too much, not knowing how to deal with meat if it's not made from scraps - and he ate it anyway, nuzzling his face into your breasts later as if asking for seconds. Puts a baby in you two months after the wedding. Haggles with merchants for soothing herbs and tortures 5 people per day for a bigger cut of what was in their pockets. Gets you a really nice bracelet out of some poor merchanting bastard, and you wore it like a shackle, your hands still trembling lightly when embracing him. The smell of your hair makes him forget about blood, and he clings to your body like a dog whenever he is home. Konig couldn't be happier.

[atrwriting]

trust me -- billy the kid x barowner!reader

hi everyone :) sorry I've been MIA — law school has been kicking my #ass but it's ok. I saw the new thg movie and while IAMNOTACORIOSNOWSTAN but I am a t*m bl*th and the man was so fine in this show. so fine. I've only seen like three fics for this man (maybe I just don't know how to search correctly thats probably my fault) but I was SEARCHING FOREVER and then I just got pissed because I couldn't find any so I wrote almost eight thousand words for this man that is how down bad I was

informal warnings: me. 1) I should be put on a leash 2) I use italics way too much 3) and whatever the fuck this "—" is 4) will i ever give up the female bar owner trope 5) will I ever stop tho? [vanilla ice voice] no, I don't know

as always, the actual warnings: smutty smut smut SMUT!, unprotected sex (1880's bby but you still gotta wrap it before you tap it), violence, guns, bit of gore but like the tiniest bit, virgin!reader, p in v sex, oral sex, bit of a dom!billy, bit of a bratty!sub!reader, overstimulation what can I say I should be put on a leash

anyway.... here's trust me:

when your father died… it was hard to be sad. he wasn’t very kind and he never seemed to like you very much… but in his will, being his only surviving kin, he left you money.

a lot of it.

and an old building.

the town it resided in was convenient in the way that many people that were passing through had to stop there. so what did you do? well, the only thing you could do — turn it into a restaurant and boarding house.

the money he left behind was used to fix up the place and pay your employees.

within a few weeks time, your place was up and running with very little vacancy. families and important people were always in your bar or comfortably in their rooms. never had you ever thought someone could be as lucky as you.

until one day. that day.

you worked alongside your employees but flipped between positions. sometimes you were a hostess, ran the front desk, a bartender, or anything else that needed tending to. in response, many people did not know you were the owner — and, therefore, some people treated you like you weren’t.

mainly gross old men, which you could handle. however, when a young, strong, and tall man challenged you?

that was dangerous. too dangerous.

even a fake wedding ring didn’t steer them away.

on that day, a young blacksmith had found his way into your bar. he was handsy with you much of the night, and you tried your best to steer him away. it wasn’t until you pulled a knife on him that he finally let up. it didn’t look like anyone saw, but still — you were scared and worried. would people think you classless, for pulling a knife on a patron? would they see you as weak? would they notice that the alcohol you served brought in too rowdy of a crowd? would they stop venturing in?

you thought no one noticed, and tried to convince yourself of that fact — but you were wrong.

when you were closing for the night, mostly everyone had left. a small group of men usually stayed until close — and you didn’t mind. they drank well, paid their tab, and were mostly quiet and polite. you didn’t know any of their names — but it was usually bad when you did know a patron’s name, so you liked them.

you had your back turned to the front of the bar, stacking bottles, when someone cleared their throat from behind you.

“ma’am?”

you turned around.

a tall, fair skinned man with a hat stood before you. his clothes were old and worn, and his fingernails reflected that he was a hard worker during the day. that type of exhaustion was also reflected in his eyes.

but, damn... his face? no one could deny that that man was handsome.

you smiled. “another drink, sir?”

“no. thank you.” he paused for a moment, keeping your gaze. “i wanted to check if you were alright.”

you immediately knew what he was talking about, but kept your face stoic. “yes, sir, thank you.”

he looked like he wanted to say something, but struggled with how to word it. “he usually a problem?”

you clenched your jaw. “he’s… he’s fine. too much drink, ‘s’all. gets the best of working men. can’t blame ‘em.” you swallowed, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. who was this man and why did he care? was he a friend of the man? “you sure there’s nothing i can’t get for you?”

“some wouldn't blame ‘em.” he ignored your question. his bright blue eyes held your gaze. “i would.”

you forced a tight lipped smile. with a laugh, you joked, “i’ll… be fine, sir. thank you. thought a fake wedding ring would do the trick… gotta think of something else now.”

he smiled, but in a sad way. “i was going to ask if your husband ever checked in on the place.”

“no husband,” you affirmed with a sigh. you introduced yourself, and then asked, “what’s your name?”

“william h. bonney, ma’am… but you can call me billy.”

“nice to meet you, billy,” you smiled. “and, please — don’t call me ma’am.”

“alright.” he returned your smile. “the men behind me… we run a sort of — security detail for part time work. if you ever wanted to hire us, we could have a man here when we can spare.”

you nodded, contemplating your offer. he explained the per diem, and you immediately agreed.

“if your man can keep this place safe with little bloodshed, i’ll even throw in a free bottle a day,” you countered.

and that was how your business with billy the kid and his men began.

the men that came along were usually polite and quiet, and mostly stayed at the edge of the bar. they watched for problems, and slowly but surely your fear had begun to subside. there was a minor scuffle one day, where a man had cracked a glass and cut you with it… but billy’s man had stopped him before he could do anything else. you didn’t hold it against billy’s guy — you cared about your business and if the business got bloody, not so much yourself.

billy, on the other hand… did not agree.

one day, bright and early, he parked himself at the middle of the bar where you stood behind the counter.

“rarely see you for detail,” you smiled, wiping down a glass. “much less this early. breakfast, mr. bonney?”

“billy, ma’am,” he responded. “breakfast does sound fine.”

you laughed. “i hate when you call me ma’am.”

“don’t much like it when you call me mister,” he quirked an eyebrow. billy was a rather emotionless and hard man, but you could tell he was joking.

you laughed again. “steak and eggs for billy, coming right up.”

the rest of the day went on peacefully, and you kept billy’s glass full. he was quiet and didn’t talk much, which you weren’t too keen about. he was mysterious, tall, dark and handsome — which was usually a bad combination. you knew it was, and you should’ve cared — but you didn’t.

as you were filling billy’s glass into the later hours of the afternoon, you finally bucked up the courage to ask him a question.

“so why did you stop in today?” you asked. “not that i mind. i just have only seen you when you come in at night.”

“we made a deal, sweetheart,” he responded. your eyes perked up at the nickname. you didn’t hate the nickname — but you hated yourself a wee bit for how much you liked hearing billy call you it. “the man i sent here was supposed to make sure he kept you from harm — he didn’t hold up his end on the deal.”

“it was kept quiet from the other patrons,” you responded. “that’s all i really care about. i’m a woman in the restaurant and boardinghouse business — stuff like that is bound to happen. no need to be hard on him.”

“you keep my men’s glasses too full for them to let slip ups like that happen,” he replied. “he knew better. should've acted better.”

“you’re the boss, billy,” you sighed with a smile. “i’m just the bartender.”

“damn good bartender at that,” he spoke. “too good.”

you giggled, and grew ashamed rather quickly at how much you enjoyed his company. you didn’t know him well, no… but damn, was it nice to have him around.

the rest of the night was rather quiet. a few families had stepped in and out, and a few meetings were being held where the tables sat. that was until the blacksmith that started this whole thing came in and sat himself only a stool away from billy.

you threw a look at billy, but he didn’t meet your eyes. his peripheral vision was already on the man. billy remembered him, and you couldn’t say fondly.

“whiskey, sweetheart,” he grunted. “leave the bottle.”

you sighed. a quiet day was going to turn into a rough night in a matter of a few moments.

“mr. martin, i can’t leave the bottle unless you settle your tab from the nights prior,” you answered. “i can get you a double and add it on, though, if that’s alright with you?”

“that’s not alright with me, girl,” he grunted again, glaring you down. “leave the damn bottle!”

you stood your ground. “there’s a bar across the street, mr. martin.”

“you don’t want my business, that it, sweetheart?”

“not much business if you don’t pay," you quipped.

through gritted teeth, he spat, “leave. the damn. bottle.”

“pay. the. tab.”

he went to catch you by the arm, but you were too quick. you anticipated his antics this time. you snatched an empty bottle, and broke the base of it in the sink. you put the broken, jagged edge of the neck of the bottle in between the two of you. your eyes were wild — you could feel it, and both men could definitely see it. startled, he drew back.

“this is the only bottle you’re getting with that attitude.”

that was when billy stood up and walked towards the man. the thuds of his boots, though few considering the short distance, were deafening in the mostly silent bar. you may have had a makeshift weapon, but billy? billy the kid? everyone knew what he had on him.

“time for you to leave, friend.”

the man laughed. “friend? who’s my friend to tell me when i need to leave?”

“the one who’s a quicker draw than you, that's who." his answer was slow and cool — too calm, which only made the shiver of a threat run up and down your spine faster.

the man, all talk, clenched his jaw as he stared at billy. he slapped the tab money on the top of the bar, and walked out.

you didn’t let out a sigh of relief until the man left.

but billy was the one that spoke first. “was going to step in immediately… but you held your own. they need to respect you before they’re scared of me.”

you laughed. “little does he know i’m all talk as well.”

“with that bottle?” he chuckled. “sweetheart, even i was scared.”

“you threatened him with a gun… i don’t think anything scares you, billy,” you asked. “thank you for stepping in.”

“‘s my job.”

“i know… but still,” you spoke.

you were continuing to close before he spoke again.

“what made you want to start this place?” he asked.

“my father passed a few moons before i opened this place,” you responded. “no parents, no husband — thought i might try this out.”

“my ma wanted to start a place like this,” he replied. “never got the chance.”

you nodded with a sad smile. “didn’t know her… but i think she’d be proud of how you handled that. don’t think he’ll be much trouble anymore.”

“she’d think i’m trouble with how full the lovely bartender keeps my glass,” he spoke, but looked like he instantly regretted it. “my apologies, i shouldn’t’ve — the whiskey —“

“you’re fine,” you laughed, your blush pinching your cheeks. as you walked away, you threw over your shoulder, “hopefully your ma wouldn’t mind that i keep her son’s glass full for his good work… nor that i think her son’s handsome.”

from that day forward, billy was always the man who sat at your bar.

he always greeted and made pleasant conversation with you, and glared at any man that got too aggressive with you. if looks could kill… billy would never need what he held in his holster.

you’d giggle to yourself after the creepy men would walk away. you’d never know… but when billy would hear your giggle afterwards, he’d smile, too.

but he kept that to himself.

however, slowly… he was becoming more comfortable with your company.

“so why didn’t you marry?” he one day asked randomly.

you were wiping down a glass when you got lost in the thought. “when there’s a nice one that’s interested… maybe. haven’t already because there aren’t very many nice ones. it was very convenient when you started keeping the bad ones away.”

to your dismay, he didn’t say anything in response.

but you had gotten comfortable with his company, too. too comfortable.

“and why isn’t there a mrs. bonney, billy?”

“she’d get jealous about how much time i spend with you,” he responded.

there was very little emotion in his voice, and you were afraid of reading into what he was saying. was he returning your flirtations? was he telling you that you were a drag? to answer your own question, you jokingly said, “well if i’m too much trouble, mr. bonney, you are more than welcome to have another one of your men step in.”

“well, ma’am —“ he began. “then i’d get jealous of how much time they were spending with you.”

you couldn’t hide the blush that rose into your cheeks. billy looked upon your face with a small smile tugging at his lips, and his gaze didn’t waver.

“keep talking like that, billy, and i’ll become trouble for you,” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“can’t say i’d mind much,” he responded, taking a sip of his glass, but holding eye contact with you.

if you weren’t frozen, you would’ve pulled yourself over the bar right then and then and planted yourself in his lap. you would’ve flung his glass to the floor, and wouldn’t have cleaned it up until you had kissed every inch of that man. you would’ve responded, but you couldn’t...

that was when billy’s men had stepped into the bar.

the air immediately darkened. the blonde one, named jesse, had led the pack as they stalked in. billy immediately flipped around to see what the problem was.

“sweetheart, give us a minute,” billy asked, calling over his shoulder.

billy never gave you orders, let alone in your own bar. however, if he was asking you to… you figured you should probably listen. you left the bar and went into the back. most of your employees had left for the night, so you helped the remaining ones clean up. it would be a few minutes or so before billy had come back into the kitchen to find you. you went back into the bar with him.

“i’ll be back before you close,” he spoke. “lock the doors.”

a second order. something he never did in the first place. something was wrong. you didn’t pry… you just scrunched your eyebrows in response.

“something’s up,” he spoke. he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before he turned to leave. “i’m takin’ care of it.”

there you stood, absolutely stunned. billy and his men left the bar with haste and didn’t look back. you, on the other hand, stood frozen… unable to leave the spot where you had billy the kid, known for his deadly skills, kiss you on the cheek.

you finally moved, reluctantly, but only to close up.

it would be close to an hour before billy finally came back. a few of his friends came with him, and they dragged in a man on their shoulder who was grunting in pain. blood was pouring from his leg, and you immediately went for the medical supplies you kept hidden under the counter. you grabbed two bottles of whiskey for good measure, arguably also a part of your makeshift kit.

“put him down on the table,” you gushed. his men were stunned to see you hustling, but they didn’t hesitate to rest their friend. you immediately took a look at the man’s leg, and were thankful to see that there would be no permanent damage. you shoved a bottle at jesse, and stated, “make him drink this.”

jesse had unscrewed the bottle and helped his friend drink before you fished out the bullet. thankfully no arteries were punctured, but it would be some time before he was good again. you cleaned up the man the best you could, and asked if any of the men needed anything.

“no, ma’am…” jesse responded. “we were going to bring him here and do it ourselves, your place was closest… so thank you.”

you smiled at him. “take the bottles. need it more than me.”

he tipped his hat to you.

“jesse,” billy began. “you and the boys head home.”

without question, jesse nodded. they helped their friend to his feet and left with a goodbye. even though they left, the unsettling feeling of the room hadn’t changed. billy seemed… different. heavier. he wasn’t the same man that had kissed you on the cheek before he had left.

you turned to him. “i won’t pry, but —“

“good,” he spat, turning to you. billy’s eyes bore into yours like you were one of the problem men at your bar. “don’t.”

a look of hurt flashed across your face. you could feel it. “you’re looking at me like i did something.”

“i told you to lock the door,” he spat again, his look of anger unwavering.

you had only seen billy's eyes that wide and that angry when there was someone being cruel to you. the thought made you shiver.

“how would you have gotten back in?” you asked.

“knocked,” he bit.

you narrowed your eyes at his curt response. “i had a feeling something was wrong. if i had waited to unlock, i couldn’t have gotten that bullet out as fast as i did.”

“doesn’t matter,” he bit. “how am i supposed to keep you safe if you won’t listen to me?”

you scrunched your brows together in confusion. “billy… whatever happened where you were, it wasn’t here. i could’ve gone to bed… but i stayed up. waiting for you.”

“and what if someone came in, huh? what then?” he hollered. “what would you have done then?! what would i have done if you had gotten hurt?”

you shook your head in disbelief. you couldn’t believe billy was speaking to you with such disdain. “with the way you’re talking to me, billy — sounds like you’re used to women who don’t pull knives on creepy men, hold broke bottles to their necks — or fish bullets out of legs when i don’t know why he was shot in the first place. you’re used to those kind of women, and have a problem with me? maybe you should go back to them.”

you immediately turned away from him, beginning to walk towards the bar. billy was hot on your heels when he reached out to grab your wrist and turned you around.

he grabbed both sides of your face and pressed his lips to yours.

you wanted to scream at him, throw fists at his chest, push him away — anything to let you know how he hurt you, how he wronged you... but you couldn't.

no. you couldn't.

you were so stunned you stood frozen in place as his lips moved against yours. you loosely held his wrists in your hands, and kissed him back.

“don’t want those girls, darlin’,” he spoke, breathless, in between kisses. “knew you were a real woman the first time i saw you. the kind that puts the fear of god into you, but looks at you with such a sweetness in her eyes that you can’t look away.”

“better believe it, bonney,” you spat, half joking. “you’ve seen how quick i am.”

“i know, darlin’, i know,” he whispered, kissing you once more. “i also know i was wrong to speak to you the way i did.”

“shut your damn mouth and kiss me,” you replied, pulling him closer to you.

“yes, ma’am,” he playfully responded, and you slapped his shoulder.

billy had backed you up against the wall and pressed his body towards yours. you stood on your toes to reach him, and even then he had to lean down a foot or two.

“billy…” you began, pulling away. “i’ve never… but if you wouldn’t think less of me, we could go upstairs. to my room.”

“i’d never think less of you,” he spoke, shaking off your comment. “but… what’d’ya mean, ‘never?’”

“i’ve never been with a man, billy,” you responded, suddenly embarrassed.

he was quiet for a moment, before stating, “you sure you want it to be with me?”

you nodded. “if… if you want to, that is.”

he didn’t respond to your statement, he just kissed you. he kissed you with every emotion you didn’t think he ever possessed — raw, hot, desperate emotion that held you close and tight to him. the heat and the intensity made your brain swim, but you could only care so much when billy the fucking kid wanted you.

he slipped an arm around your shoulders and then underneath your knees before he picked you up. you bit back a squeal before you threw your arms around his neck.

“light as a feather, sweetheart, don’t you worry,” he spoke.

“all that steak i been feeding you?” you joked.

“my belt can’t help it if my woman feeds me well,” he replied, almost at the top of the stairs.

“you’re a flirt,” you giggled.

you pointed him towards your room. once in, he laid you down on the bed and laid on top of you. his body was warm and sturdy over yours, and you couldn’t help but feel warm. his hips were pressed against yours, but you couldn’t feel him through your dress. you grew frustrated at the thought.

you made quick work to undue his shirt, and billy was quick to catch on. he pulled away to take off his shirt, and you tried to take off your corset with his help.

“damn death trap,” he spat, fussing.

you giggled. he was cute when he was flustered, but nothing compared to the way he was looking hungrily down at you. you were completely bare before him, and you should’ve been embarrassed… but shame wasn’t present in this moment. the only thing you registered was how billy looked down at you — with adoration in his eyes as they raked down your naked form.

“will you…” you began. “will you show me… how to please… you?”

“another time, sweetheart,” he spoke, stealing a quick kiss from you. “i need my head between those legs of yours.”

“you-you don’t have to —“ you spoke. “i know that’s not something — that boys —“

“yeah — boys.” billy snapped, glaring at you. “real men want to taste their women.”

that shut you right up.

billy wedged himself in between your thighs and spread your folds. it caused a sharp intake of breath on your part, but you didn’t realize what you were in for. billy flattened his tongue, and licked a long stripe up your slit. your teeth sank into your lip at the foreign feeling that cause so much warmth to make your veins twitch.

…but when billy’s nose had nudged a specific spot at the top of your slit — your legs jerked.

“what — what —“ you stammered.

“shh,” billy cooed, slightly laughing. “i forgot how sensitive you were. my apologies, sweetheart.”

you trusted billy, sure, but you had never felt anything like that before in your life. the jerking motion of your legs was involuntary and made you fearful. billy could see the fear written on your face.

“that spot that i touched, that you felt?” he asked.

his eyes were so wide and meaningful you felt like you could melt in them. you brought yourself up to your elbows and hummed in acknowledgement.

“that is the most sensitive part of a woman, and if i play it just right —“ ever so lightly, you felt his middle finger and ring finger touch the spot. you shivered at the feeling, but you didn’t flinch like last time. you held his gaze as the warmth began to spread inside you. “i can make you feel better than you’ve ever felt.”

billy bent over your body and held himself up with extended arm planted firmly by your side. he swiped the two fingers over his tongue to lubricate them, and brought them right back to where they were. you both watched his fingers play at the most sensitive part of you, and your lip began to quiver.

“look at me, sweetheart.”

your eyes glanced back up to him.

like you thought before, if angry looks could kill… anyone would die by just a look from billy the kid. however, what would they say about the way he’s looking at you now? with his plump lips parted, and his eyes wild and hungry? you didn't know... but you knew you would find out.

“y’trust me?” he asked.

you hummed in agreement, nodding.

“say it.”

you sharply inhaled, caught off guard by his order. “yes, billy — i trust you.”

instead of leaning back down to plunge his face in between your thighs, he kissed you. his lips connected with yours in one of the most dominating ways you ever thought a man could. with his hand playing between your thighs, he swallowed every moan and cry you struggled to keep hidden inside of you. billy was breathing hard against you — relishing in how it felt to have you so vulnerable and close to him.

that was when his fingers picked up speed.

and, god… did it feel damn good.

“b-billy,” you whimpered. “feels…”

“still trust me?”

“yes,” you cried, screwing your eyes shut. “yes, it’s just…”

he leaned his head down so his mouth was right by your ear. his breaths were hot against your ear, and you hummed at the feeling. your hand played with the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging at the roots.

“fuck — you takin’ what i’m givin’ to you, darlin’,” he rasped, then continued, “drives me insane.”

you could barely hear what he was saying, nor could you respond. your head was swimming with the weight of billy so close to your naked body, holding you down and safe, with those skilled fingers of his working you like you were a damn trigger. you were a whimpering, crying mess — and billy loved every second of it.

“something — feels —“

“d’ya want me to stop?” he asked, breathless.

“no,” you whimpered, confused how the warmth inside you felt like it was going, going, going. you didn’t know where it started, where it was going, and definitely didn’t know where it ended. you were worried that you were going to explode — but you didn’t understand. “something feels — like i’m — i’m going —“

“let it happen, sweetheart.” his kisses were wet and sloppy along the skin of your throat. he nipped at the skin, and that only sent you into more of a frenzy. “that’s right, darlin’. that’s it. trust me. i’ve got you.”

and that was it.

the thing — billy’s words, that sent you toppling over whatever metaphorical edge you could think of to describe it. it felt like white, hot sparks went off behind your closed eyelids and were going off on every nerve ending in your body. whimpers left your bitten lips like you were a babe, and your back arched off the bed. distantly, you could hear billy cooing with excitement, laughter… and praise.

a light sheen of sweat was on both of you, and billy had never looked better. his musk was wafting through the air and had completely taken over your senses. you felt like the only thing in the room was billy and the only thing in the world that mattered was billy. men got drunk off whiskey, but you? you got drunk off of that pure, unfiltered scent and look of a masculine man who showed you how to experience the pleasure of a woman you had never known.

“fuck…” you whimpered as you came down from your high. you tried pushing billy’s hand away, but you were so weak you didn’t think you could.

“sorry, darlin’,” he laughed, kissing your throat again. “got selfish. wanted to keep seeing that pretty look on your face.”

it was difficult for you to find words, let alone enough for an adequate response. “billy… that… that felt…”

“i’m gonna be trouble for you now.” he stole a kiss. “nothing better than seeing you below me, like that…”

“i want you to feel good, too,” you began. “please, billy? i wanna see you, too.”

his lips formed a tight line. “i don’t want it to hurt you.”

“first time doesn’t always hurt,” you spoke. “no one says the second time hurts.”

he smiled at that, and began to roll on top of you. you stopped him, and gestured for him to sit up against the headboard. he was hesitant at first, but he did it anyway. you hovered your hips above his before licking one of your palms and gliding it over the tip of his length. you stroked him a few times, and a soft moan left his lips at the feeling.

“i can keep going,” you spoke, throwing a sultry look up at him. “i want to make you feel good.”

“no, doll,” he rasped. “too selfish. need to see that pretty face of yours do what it does again.”

you pouted for a short moment before you lifted your hips above his length and began to sink down. you could feel a slick leaking from your folds, which made you feel better about actually getting him inside you.

“go slow,” he ordered suddenly. “you stop if it hurts, got it?”

you nodded, half ignoring him.

but it didn’t hurt.

the first inch didn’t hurt. the second didn’t. the third, the fourth, the fifth, sixth, — you lost count. billy was so big and filled you so nicely that you were so greedy with how you sank down into him. you couldn’t have cared less about what he said before about going slow — all you needed was to feel all of him completely.

“you didn’t listen —“ he grunted, slightly mad. “you’re so lucky you feel good, fuck — you’re so tight —“

“so what if i didn’t listen, mr. bonney?” you smiled coyly at him, a sudden bout of confidence coming over you. maybe it was the post orgasm glow, maybe it was the new feeling of having the most perfect man inside of you — you weren’t sure. “you feel — so good.”

“don’t get bold on me, sweetheart,” he smirked.

you didn’t listen. you picked up your pace, rocking your hips back and forth to what felt good inside of you.

billy’s cock liked that, sure — but he didn’t. you could see the mental turmoil on his face as his neglected cock was finally getting the attention it deserved, but his hothead person didn’t like that his girl was getting smart on him.

that was when billy flipped you over onto your back, much to your dismay. you liked putting on a show for him and doing all the work for a change.

“you wanna act like that, darlin’, huh?” he asked in your ear with a raspy, lust filled voice. “not gonna listen to me?”

“it just felt so good, billy, please —“ you were whining at this point, pissed he had taken away that feeling.

“oh, you’re a greedy thing, that right?” he taunted. “gets one fuckin’ taste, and now she can’t get enough?”

you shook your head, desperate for something — anything. “so greedy, baby. please, billy — please just fuck me.”

his hips snapped against you. hard.

maybe it should’ve hurt — but fucking christ, it didn’t. it felt so good to have his strong, forceful hips thrust against yours and hit that spot so deep inside of you.

“you like that?” he asked, taunting you. “that’s what my greedy girl wanted? — needed?”

his hips were relentlessly snapping against yours now as he hovered above you by holding himself up on his elbows. the sight of his broad and strong chest and shoulders… enough to make any woman weak. a firm crease was in his brow, signaling he was struggling to keep up his mean persona.

“yes — yes —“ you cried. “billy, you’re so deep — it feels — fuck, you can’t stop billy. please —“

“sweetest fuckin’ pussy,” he grunted. “squeezing me so tight.”

“right there — that’s the spot, baby,” you bit your lip to keep your voice down.

billy leaned his forehead against yours, and his exhales fanned against your face. little moans were escaping his lips as well, but nothing like yours. instead, he spat, “couldn’t let me be nice to you and fuck you sweet, huh? had to get smart on me?”

you could barely hear him. billy’s usual raspy, and commanding voice was enough to make anyone stand at attention — but now? now you were some cockdrunk whore who didn’t care how she got what she wanted, only that she did. his thrust were hard and fast, hitting a deep spot in you that was making that warmth swell up in you again.

“didn’t want sweet, billy,” you whimpered. “wanted you to use me just like this.”

you weren’t sure what came over you — and billy wasn’t sure either. his thrusts didn’t falter, but he couldn’t understand how the pretty, innocent looking bartender could be so fucking naughty — but only for him. a sense of pride had never welled up inside him like that before, knowing that he was the only one who got to see the prettiest girl in town keen for someone’s touch like this.

his touch. only his touch.

“gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he spat against your ear. “should’ve known you’d be such a good girl for me — taking my cock like this. can you cum around my cock like this? gonna be the best girl — and show me how that pussy tightens around me?”

the curse words billy drew from you were not your sunday best, but they made billy’s guttural groans against your throat and ear that much more enticing. you were both covered in sweat, spit, and slick — and nothing had ever felt better. you were close, so close — and all you wanted was to see him finish so you could see it for yourself.

“billy, i’m so close —“ you cried. “but i wanna —i wanna see you —“

“shhh,” he cooed. “gonna take what i give you, sweet girl.”

he sent a hand in between your bodies, and started playing with that spot that had made you explode the last time. you almost protested, but there was nothing like having a man buried so deep inside you do whatever he could to make sure you felt the best you could. you whined, you cried, you screamed, fuck — you did everything to let him know that you were close, billy, i’m so close, please, i’m begging, please don’t stop, and billy refused to look away from your beautiful face as you came undone below him once more.

with your beautiful hair fanned out around you, billy thought you looked ethereal as your second orgasm overtook you. there was something about the way your eyes fluttered softly closed, but broken gasps left your lips like you were so far gone in pleasure that you were lost in it. here, beneath him, before him, was a woman he had spent so much time protecting, so worried about her safety… all he wanted to do was make her feel good. when your limbs began to quiver, knowing you were so deep in your orgasm that you were at the peak, billy couldn’t help himself. he knew you were sensitive, he knew how it would be too much, he knew he shouldn't — but he had to. he was so, so selfish with his greedy girl.

his fingers kept spinning circles on your pink rosebud, and it was like the white light behind your eyes couldn’t stop. you were gasping for air — begging, pleading, hoping, wishing. it was so much. it was too much. it was everything and anything all at once, and you didn’t realize how far you were falling until tears leaked from your eyes.

he should've hated himself for making you feel so lost, but he didn't. not one bit.

“billy —“ you cried, shaking. “i’m so — so sensitive —“

he engulfed you into a long kiss, smiling smugly against your lips. you would’ve laughed with him, but you were so weak. so, so weak. he knew how sensitive you were, and stopped his movements completely. you didn’t realize he hadn’t finished with you until he began to pull out of you.

“billy — you didn’t —“

“s’alright, darlin’—“

“no, it’s not,” you said firmly. “teach me how to do — that thing.”

“that... thing?”

“with my mouth.”

he hesitated before shaking his head. “i don’t… tonight was a lot — for you.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “boys don’t taste their women, right? men do?”

he scrunched his eyebrows together, confused, but nodded anyway.

“and what about real women, billy?” you asked. “you think they like leaving their men unsatisfied?”

his lips parted at a loss. he couldn’t argue with that, could he?

“sit on the edge of the bed,” you spoke, sliding out from under him and finding a place on the floor.

he hesitated, but he didn’t argue with that, either.

you tried to hide your smirk from him.

he'd never tell you he saw it. he also would never tell you he loved it.

"you gonna tell me what to do, or what, cowboy?" you smirked up at him, taunting.

he shook his head, and pursed his lips in a way that he knew you were in over your head. "you're acting bold. let's see if you got a reason to."

you narrowed your eyes at him, but smiled anyway.

you returned your attention to the muscle you were holding in yours hands. it was long and thick — you weren't sure how it fit inside you before, and you definitely weren't sure how you were going to fit it in your mouth.

"too much for you, darlin'?" he quipped.

you shot him a look. "wasn't too much a minute ago, was it?"

you didn't let him respond. you licked the palm of your hand — throwing manners to the wind — and wrapped your hand around the tip and the top of the shaft. you made circular, stroking motions at the top and licked a stripe, like he did to you, up his shaft.

that shut him up.

a long and drawn out fuuuck had left his lips.

you shouldn't've — you knew you shouldn't've.

but you did anyway.

you started to kitten lick at his balls, and you could feel him shift from above you. hot and heavy groans were leaving his lips, to the point where he was incoherent. now that you had found his sweet spot, you'd never let go. just like he didn't.

"fuck, you are naughty," he rasped, voice dry and cracked. "my naughty girl. so good f'me."

you hummed as you wrapped your lips around the skin of his balls. they were warm and salty, and you relished in the taste. billy placed a heavy palm on the back of your head. you realized then and there he was foreign to giving up control — usually you'd give in, but not now. not when he was teasing you before.

you replaced your hand with your lips, and brought him down as far as you could.

from the corner of your eye, you spotted him beginning to fist the sheets.

tears were springing to your eyes, but you didn't care. you wanted to — had to keep going. you wanted this so badly — to take care of him. you needed this, and if he wanted it, too — he was going to give it to you.

you began to bob your head up and down, taking care to mind your gag reflex and teeth. the slurping sounds from your mouth were obscene — as was the drool falling from your lips, down your cheek, and along the skin of your raw neck.

both of billy's hands were on the back of your head now, giving you slightest — almost ghost like — push down. you welcomed it, hoping to show him you could take him far, farther than he thought you could handle.

above, he was going crazy. fucking nuts. his entire body was hot and on fire, and it took every ounce of him to not drag you back up into his lap and impale you on his cock. however... his muscles were tired, and his sweet girl looked so perfect on her knees before him, and who was he to deny her what she wanted so badly — what she earned?

he'd never tell you — but he wanted you to have it more than you wanted it yourself. he wanted you to know that he only felt comfortable enough with you to be in such a vulnerable position like this — pretty woman, teeth so close to his jewels. he wanted you to know that you were setting every nerve, vein, blood vessel on absolute fucking fire with the way your silky tongue slid down the length of his shaft, and the way your tight, warm throat enclosed around his sensitive cock... he wanted you to know how much he adored you, and how much he wanted to give you everything you had ever wanted.

"fuck, sweetheart —" he bit. "I'm so close — you better — pull off —"

"too much for you, cowboy?" she only pulled off for a second, before she put him into the deepest parts of her throat.

the way you teased him set a raw set of anger and adoration through this veins, and he didn't know what to do with it. he was so weak, tired, spent, and fucking horny — he couldn't move, think, or fight back. all he wanted was to cum down this sweet girl's throat and make her his.

"that's it, baby, fuck —" he spat through gritted teeth, the hands on the back of your head encouraging your movements. "right there, right there — fuck."

you held your place, keeping a few inches of him in your mouth. his thick cock throbbed a few times before ropes of white decorated the walls of your throat, and you swallowed every last drop. you pumped him a few more times, for good measure — and also to get back at him for earlier.

"don't be mean to me, baby —" he whined. "come up and lay with me."

you giggled, crawling up the bed to lay next to him.

"gonna tell me how that was?" you asked. "or too proud?"

he chuckled then. his post orgasm glow was so beautiful... for the first time, william h. bonney didn't have a permanent from embedded in his brow. he looked so... peaceful.

"not too proud to admit that was the best I've ever had in my life," he laughed, letting his eyes close. you trailed a hand up and down the soft skin of his chest and stomach before curling up next to him. "going to be proud after i take you to the courthouse tomorrow and make you my wife."

you scoffed at that. "i didn't think cowboys were the settling down type."

"they're not — but i'm no cowboy, sweetheart," he rasped, turning to look at you. "you're it for me — if you'll have me, that is."

you smiled then. a real smile. the type of smile that gave billy hope.

"on one condition," you spoke.

his eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded his head anyway.

"you'll ask me for real in the morning, mr. bonney."

"i'll give you anything you want, mrs. bonney — as long as you're mine."

---

what did we think?? xox

-L

[notafunkiller]

out of style

Summary: A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

Pairing: ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, fingering, oral séx, no condom (but f is on birth control), language, a little alcohol, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 7.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you'll enjoy it!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

What an ass... He has no shame at all. And the worst part? You’re still somehow surprised by it. As if you haven’t known him for years.

You look away, making sure to take a sip from your wine before focusing on the conversation again. It’s Nat’s big day, and you’re so happy for her, but listening to this story for the seventh time is exhausting. Same reactions, too: “Wow, he’s so well trained.” or “The wedding bands didn’t fall even once. Enzo is fantastic.” He’s a trained dog, you don’t get why they’re so fucking impressed.

You give Nat a smile before you excuse yourself to go to the bar. Maybe you should get a cocktail, the wine tastes terrible. On the way, you notice Steve talking to Miss Sunshine in the right corner, and you just nod toward him politely, trying to look unbothered. It’s his best friend’s girlfriend after all. What did you expect? Plus, maybe it’s just a polite conversation.

“A Sex on the Beach, please,” you murmur to the bartender.

“Vodka so early?”

You turn your head with a sigh just to see a guy you recognize from Nat’s engagement party. A fresh haircut, a simple suit and wandering eyes.

“Is there a time limit for a cocktail?” you respond, rolling your eyes when you notice he is still fixated on your chest.

He immediately raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat next to you.

God, if you hate one thing about being single besides the lack of sex is this… needing to deal with those men. It was perfect when Bucky used to take care of them.

“I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart.” You scrunch your nose instantly. God no!

“Here you go!” The bartender places the glass gently in front of you, and you’ve never been more grateful to see her.

“Thank you!” You smile before taking a huge sip, hoping it will turn him off and make him get away.

“A vodka tonic for me.” His tone is commanding, and you try not to roll your eyes again as he leans in closer. “We’re matching.”

“Huh?” You choke.

“Vodka lovers.”

Alright, time to get out of here!

You quickly grab your glass and stand up, making sure to fix your dress just in case, but his eyes are already on your breasts again. For fuck’s sake! How is he Steve’s cousin?

And talking about Steve, you almost jump when you hear him saying your name.

“Hey.” You’ve never been happier to see him.

You can’t say the same thing about his friend, who’s right next to him, looking the creepy blondie up and down.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with obvious concern.  “Do you feel okay?”

“Hey, man! The food is great and the company even better. Look at her, such an eye candy, am I right?” He chuckles at his own disgusting comment. “I mean, you’re married. Don’t answer that, I don’t want Romanoff on my back.” And after all of this, he has the audacity to wink at Steve. But before you can throw your cocktail over his shirt and make a scene, Bucky’s already getting in front of you, blocking your view with his huge back.

“If you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here and never, ever get even within three feet of my wife. Am I fucking clear?”

His tone is so cold, harsh, and arrogant at the same time, but also so possessive. It surprises both: you and Steve, because he immediately looks at you confused before dropping his eyes on your hand.

He must be looking for a ring.

God, you never hated Bucky more than when you see blondie standing up and going straight outside just like that. It makes you even angrier because it’s always a man who has to explain the obvious signs to these assholes so they leave. You say no? You are playing hard to get. You are with a man? Then it’s all off-limits.

You sip your cocktail with frustration, the taste of vodka lingering on your tongue.

Then, you take a step toward Bucky, grabbing his arm and turning him so he can face you. “Listen and listen good, I’m not your wife and I don’t need you to play the macho hero! I can handle myself, so back off!” You wanted to leave after saying this, but the way he looks at you makes you change your mind. His eyes softened, showing a trace of your old Bucky, and it only pisses you off more. He labeled you just like that... “I divorced you for a reason, I’m not your property or responsibility. Stay out of my fucking business or I’ll show you exactly how well I can take care of myself!”

You hand him your half-full glass and storm out, seeing red. Or well, blue.

You anticipated that he’d come after you, of course you did. You know him, as much as you hate to admit. You still know him well. Too well.

And when you hear his sigh behind you, you don’t jump.

“You can handle yourself, but he was all over you. Sorry for being a gentleman.” He apologizes sarcastically. “I guess old habits die hard.”

“Too bad, Barnes! I am not your little wife. I am not your girlfriend. I am not even your friend.” You turn your head to look at him as he’s standing on the other side of the balcony. “And I am not that flavor of the month of yours, you have to kill these habits.”

He raises his head. “Flavor of the month?”

“Yeah, your plus one. You know, you should take care of her instead of trying to play hero and calling me your wife.”

“Keeping an eye on me? He smirks. “Thought you divorced me for a reason.”

Fuck him! He thinks he got you... “I did! You couldn’t open your mouth to say what bothers you, remember?”

“Well, I opened my mouth to do something else, far more exciting.”

You gasp, incredulous at his audacity.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, walking toward him. “Seriously!”

“What is wrong with me? You tell me! You divorced me for a reason.”

“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Fuck off already, Bucky!”

“You got angrier with me now than back there with him. Unbelievable!” He shakes his head.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a crisis. You are not gonna let him get to you. “Look, can you just pretend this didn’t happen?”

He instantly looks at you shocked as he leans in. “This as in,” he waves between you two. “Our marriage? You think I can pretend our marriage never happened?” His voice grew louder, his words punctuated by sharp, angry inflections. “You think just because we divorced, you get to ask me that? How can you...”

You’re taken completely aback by his whole attitude, and it’s like you’re back in time at your wedding as he made you sneak out so he can make you come on his tongue after saying all sorts of things.

You don’t know why you suddenly remembered that, but you need to snap out of it.

“I meant the whole interaction, you annoying man!”

“How was I supposed to know?” He looks much more relaxed now, though, and before you can think about it, you’re poking his chest.

“Why would I tell you to forget about our marriage, Bucky?” You smile. “You are more than free to think about me as you fuck your little flavor of the month. I am not gonna stop that.”

You see his eyebrows raise instantly as his gaze drops to your finger. “My little flavor of the month? How many times did you think about me fucking her?” His hand finds your wrist. “Did you wonder if I’m fucking her from behind as I choke her? Did you imagine me coming all over her tits? Did you-”

You grab his cheeks, just the way he likes it, to stop him.

“You think I have nothing better to think about? I have my own dicks that occupy my thoughts,” you lie through your teeth, and he knows it. God, he knows it as he chuckles right away.

“What’s so funny, Barnes?” You let go, expecting him to do the same, but he’s still holding your other wrist.

“You have no dick to think about. I know you broke up with your last flavor of the month, honey.”

He knows how much you hate being mocked with the word honey, but you bite the inside of your cheeks. “It’s funny really,” you fake giggle, looking up at him. “You assume I don’t have someone already. Maybe I’m just enjoying my life after our divorce... new dick every month since I am a free woman. I don’t even need something serious. You know how much I love sex.”

His smile immediately drops, his face reddening.

“You are absolutely infuriating!” Even his tone carries a sense of irritation.

“Aww, what happened?”

It’s his turn to grab your face, making you gasp. You don’t remember the last time he touched you, and you’re shivering.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, and you know it!”

“I don’t play games, Bucky, that is your specialty.” You smile, trying to maintain your composure. “Now let me go and get back to your little girlfriend. You can be mad about how many dicks she thinks about.”

“You can’t do the whole non-attachment shit. I know you well, don’t forget that. You’re my...” He talks so fast you’re surprised he stopped. You know what he was gonna say, of course you know. The audacity!

“I am not your wife, Bucky. You literally have a woman with you here tonight. We divorced, we live in separate places, and we fuck different people.”

“Who are you fucking, huh?” He almost spits the last words. “Tell me! Nat said you’re single.”

“You’ve been asking Nat about my personal life?” And she is spilling to him? No way.

“Fuck...” he frowns, dropping his hand from your face. “No.”

“Steve!” You realize. “God, this is pathetic! Why do you keep tabs on me, huh? Can’t you just mind your own business? Is your life goal to piss me off?”

“I’m not the one calling Jessica the flavor of the month.”

“Ha!” You laugh in his face. “Well, you have no success in getting a girlfriend. And they all look pretty familiar.” You can’t hide the venom in your voice. “The differences are they’re just taller and with less in the chest department. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“So you’re keeping tabs on me too!”

“You flatter yourself. It’s quite obvious, look at Jessica. Does she know you were married to me? Does she beg you to fuck her mouth? Does she...” You take a deep breath. “Does she call you daddy, James? Does she ride you until you lose control and turn her on her back so you can pound her?” You don’t care anymore. Right or wrong, you’re gonna let it all out. “Do you praise her? Tell her how wet she is for you? How your cock is made for her? Do you... do you tell her you love her while she’s coming? Do you fucking call her your good girl?”

“Jesus-” You don’t let him continue his sentence, interrupting him.

“Does she take you like I did? Does she beg for you because she feels empty, James? Does she? Did any of them?”

“Stop. It.”

“Why? You didn’t stop!”

He sighs, reaching out to grab your cheeks gently. “No one does, are you happy? I don’t even fucking try. I don’t let anyone call me daddy, I don’t choke anyone and I definitely don’t fuck anyone like I fucked you. Are you happy? Seeing me miserable and pathetic? Are you enjoying it?”

You can’t deny the satisfaction and relief you feel when you hear that. Dating post-him was a very bad experience overall, so him not upgrading, indeed, in any way, makes you feel victorious. At least, you’re both suffering.

“Yeah, I actually enjoy that.”

“What about you?” He snaps. “Do you do all of that?”

“I don’t want to be called daddy, James.”

“You know exactly what I meant! You call those losers daddy? You choke around their cocks? Do you beg for their small dicks to go deeper and finish yourself off after it?”

“Like I begged for your small dick?” You ask annoyed, knowing how dumb this lie is, but what else can you say? No one compares to him and never will.

His response shocks you as he reaches down to the zipper of his worn jeans and pulls it down.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“Wanted to, you know… give you more mocking material in case you forgot how small it is.”

You have to think twice about what to say because the first thought was: I have enough videos, thanks. But you can’t. You can’t expose yourself like that.

“James, what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“With my small dick?”

You look away for a few seconds, not wanting him to read you. “Why are you doing this? We divorced, you’re seeing someone, I’m good by myself... just let it go.”

He smiles at that, and you realize you indirectly told him you are indeed not fucking anyone.

“Why would I let go of my wife?”

You’re slapping his chest before you realize what you’re doing. “Stop this, Bucky! Just fucking stop.”

He’s hurting you, how can he not see that?

“You said you divorced me for a reason. You said...” he pauses. “You ordered me to leave you alone. Well, what if I don’t want to?”

“What are you, a fucking stalker?”

“No!” He almost screams. “I am fucking in love with you, you infuriating woman!”

“W-what?”

He can’t be joking about this, can he? He is not cruel. He is not vile. This isn’t a game.

“I’m in love with you. I love you. You own me... you fucking control me.”

“How?”

He laughs hysterically, running his hands through his hair before pulling. “I am fucking obsessed with you: how you are, if you’re doing well, if you miss me, if you’re fucking someone else, if your date went great, if you regret being with me, if someone else makes you smile wider. I dream about you, I am so miserable I couldn’t be with anyone. With Mia it lasted a month. I wasn’t... I wasn’t okay. I am not okay.”

You look at him, waiting for more. “Go on and zip your jeans, we’re in public.” You  watch him quickly do what you demand before you continue. “And what about Jessica tonight? Or Alexa a month ago? Why are you lying to me?”

“It’s not real. Jessica... I was just trying to make you jealous, okay? I was sneaking looks all night, have you not noticed at all?”

You don’t smile, despite your huge instinct to. Instead, you cross your arms, watching him drop his gaze straight to your boobs.

“Why would I notice, James?”

“Well, how did you notice Jessica looking a little like you, that she’s with me here?”

Fair point...

“Just...” You’re suddenly gripped by this crazy urge to just fuck him right here. You even regret telling him to zip back up. You could have just lifted your dress as he lowered his briefs and took out his cock. And just like that, you could have just fucked against the wall or something. You would have let him rip off your panties too. You just need his cock so badly! “Shut the fuck up!” You snap, grabbing him by his neck so he can lean in enough for you to be able to kiss him. And oh, you kiss him!

You don’t have to fight to dominate the kiss, surprisingly, because he lets you. He lets you bite his lip and almost draw blood, he lets you unzip his pants again and push down his unfit-for-a-wedding jacket, and most importantly, he lets you be his again, as pathetic as that might sound. You feel him emotionally, not just physically.

Without wasting more time, you drop to your knees, making sure only your dress and shoes touch the floor directly. You drag down his pants and briefs at the same time from your position, and he looks at you surprised.

“I thought we’re in public and you were fucking some-” his words die as you bring your tongue to the head of his cock, tasting the precum, but not sucking even a little bit.

“Weren’t you saying something?” You tuck your hair strands behind your ears as you mock him. You love being on your knees for Bucky. He has this dominant energy, but he always makes you feel in power even when he fuck your mouth. And you enjoy it, you feed on it. One of the reasons you missed him so much. And he can take mocking. “Please go on. I am all ears.” You breathe out on his dick. “And tongue.”

“Oh god,” Bucky’s voice is a moan at this point, and you laugh. So easy...

“I’m your god now? Aww! Come on, do I have to do everything tonight?”

He looks down at you confused. His blue eyes are almost grey, and you know he’s on cloud nine already just because you’re there.

“What?”

“Oh, you need translation. Well,” it’s all you say before wrapping your lips around his dick and using both of your hands to push him as deep as he can go inside your mouth. He moans at the same time you gag, and his balls slap you in the face. He instinctively looks at you to ask if you’re okay, but you are more than okay. You are fucking alive. You encourage him to fuck your throat at this point by squeezing his ass cheeks and touching his balls.

“God, look at you! That pretty black dress…” He pulls out and back in not as forcefully as he can, but enough to make you start tearing up quickly. “On your knees for your man. That mouth!”

You find yourself moaning at the feel of his fingers grasping and tugging at your hair. Jesus, how you missed this...

“You have the sweetest mouth.” Does he even realize what he’s mumbling? “I could die right here. Right now,” he says and thrusts harder, which makes you close your eyes. You can barely see anything because of the tears, and he’s already close. “My pretty baby, my fucking girl.”

You’re getting wetter and wetter the more he talks, and it’s crazy. You’re cold and your jaw is hurting, yet you love this.

“Not caring if someone can catch us, just making sure you mark me again. God, I'm gonna come, baby. Gonna... should I p-pull-”

You don’t let him finish his sentence as you grab his ass to make sure you keep him there, in your throat, as he comes while moaning your name.

When he finishes, he immediately helps you stand up, before he kisses you desperately, his tongue immediately licking your bottom lip to get access. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. You moan in the middle of the kiss because his semi-hard cock is right where you need it, and it’s like torture...

“Need to taste you, okay, baby?” He asks with so much need in his voice. He sounds so whipped. “Need my pussy. Can I take you to my room?”

That is perfect, a dream at this point. But you need to make him a little more desperate.

“But the wedding… They would kill us.”

“I am sure you care sooooo much about this wedding and Nat’s stories. More than about getting my tongue on that pretty clit of yours and making you come all over my face.”

You can’t hold back your laughter.

“Fair point, Mr. Barnes. I deserve my orgasms, especially after listening to you pathetically trying to seduce me by admitting how desperate you are.”

“You dropped to your knees on this balcony just to mark my cock as yours.”

You pull his hair a little. “You said it yourself, it's already mine. Now get that ugly jacket and carry me.”

Bucky snorts, kissing your cheek. “You bought me that ugly jacket.”

“I know.”

*

You don’t know where you left your phone and even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. All you can focus on is Bucky taking off your dress and groaning at the sight of your cups. You couldn’t wear a full bra, so you improvised. They could barely hold your breasts, but no nipples showing? Win.

“Hurry up!”

“Jesus,” he moans and reaches for your cups. Desperate man... you roll your eyes, but let him uncover your breasts and grab them into his hands eagerly. He’s not just holding them, he looks and touches them as if he’s never seen boobs in his entire life, let alone yours.

“James...” You sigh, throwing your head back in pleasure when he finally gets your nipple into his mouth. Your hand finds his hair instantly, and you watch him suck happily while playing with your other nipple.

“You’re quite hungry,” you say with a smile, stroking his hair. You missed this so much. His need to always touch or sleep on your boobs, the way he grabs them while he’s pounding you... You shiver in anticipation when he switches to the other tit.

“Fucking shit, I missed them so much.”

You snort. “My boobs?”

“Mine.” He’s not sucking anymore, he’s eating them, shocking you.

“H-hold on a second, Bucky. They’re breasts, not my clit.”

“It’s been a year, love. Let me get my fill. I died without them. Died!”

As much as you wanted to think only about the part he missed your boobs, you can’t help the jealousy that clouds your mind. You were divorced, yet the image of him sucking someone else’s tits makes you want to hit a wall. Mia all over him... You pull his hair angrily. “You surely had other tits in your mouth, Bucky, for the past year. Don’t pretend this is any different.”

He immediately stops sucking. “You... you can’t believe this. Tell me you don’t believe this.”

You look away, too proud to face him. “What am I supposed to believe, huh? It’s been one fucking year.”

“I’ve been yours this whole year. I’ve been thinking about you, fucking my fist while watching... our videos, as fucked up as it might be. I tried to date, but I failed, and trust me, it has nothing to do with the size of my dick and my age. No one is you. No one smells like you or talks like you. No one is my brat with the god complex.”

“God complex?” You raise your eyebrow, keeping your face straight. “Fuck you.”

“I will fuck it out of you as I usually do, don’t worry.”

“Then why does it keep coming back?”

He chuckles. “Because you want to get fucked all the goddamn time.”

“Like you don’t!” You puff. “Come on, I breathe in your direction and you get hard, Bucky.”

“Did you see yourself? Did you have sex with yourself? You cannot judge me!” He grabs your breasts again. “There is no comparison, okay? You have no rival. Never did, never will.”

“That’s all?” You puff, amused. “My looks?”

“Do I even have to say… Your god complex exists for a fucking reason. You’re the smartest, most sarcastic, and feistiest person I’ll ever meet. One mocking comment, and you know how I get.”

“Pathetic?” You mock him on purpose just to get the reaction he is talking about. You love it when he compliments you.

“Is this why you divorced me? Cause I am a pathetic son of a bitch?”

You  take a deep breath. “I divorced you because you refused to communicate properly with me anymore, and you know it.”

“So not because of my small dick, either,” he remarks, making you roll your eyes.

“No, your small dick is one of the reasons I am here.”

Bucky dramatically touches his heart. “So you’re using me for my sex skills!”

“As if you don’t beg me to use you. Come on, put that mouth to good use before Nat comes after us.”

He doesn’t disappoint as he finally rips your underwear off, just like you fantasized about, and you use this as the perfect opportunity to fish for more.

“What happened, Jamie? So eager. Aren’t you a little good-”

The word boy comes out as a moan when you feel his index finger curled up inside you suddenly.

“What happened, honey? Too big for you?”

“Dick!”

“You’ll get that. I just need to erase the memories of having little pencils in here. That must have been traumatic.”

“You’re such a jerk!” You snort, but he’s right. It was really bad.

Bucky shrugs, finally kneeling properly between your legs before lifting them on his shoulders. God, yes!

“Gonna give my pussy some loving.”

“D-didn’t know you have a pussy, James.”

He smiles against your inner thigh. “I certainly keep what I lick.”

“Eww, what the fuck.”

He snorts, kissing your slit. “I am joking, baby. Tried to imitate one of those dicks you thought you could replace me with.”

Petty fucking bitch! You grab him by his hair and push him closer to your pussy.

“Shut the fuck up and eat!”

His tongue feels like heaven, indeed, on your clit. You’ve lost count of how many times you remembered him eating you out so you can come this year. He's just so good at eating your pussy.

You let out a satisfied sigh when he adds a second finger. You start to feel like before… like you and Bucky are still married and with no problem. Like you're happy. He makes you so happy. Made.

So you stare at his hair and stroke it as he sucks on your clit, completely squashed between your thighs, and try to hold back your tears.

When he adds his third finger and starts tracing eight figures on your clit with his tongue before he flattens it, you know you’re about to come.

There is something about the way he always manages to make you vulnerable even if it’s not intentional, to cut you open and get in... and you don’t want it to be over. You can’t let him go again after tonight. You’d suffocate.

Your efforts to delay your orgasm and not tear up are futile because when he sucks a little harder, you come and start sobbing somehow. The orgasm is strong and even though you’d want to watch Bucky, you close your eyes, letting yourself go, and shut your mind down for a second. Everything feels so overwhelming. So amplified…

You’re grateful he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, either, even though you felt him hesitating when he heard you crying. You really needed this.

As soon as you finish, you drop your legs, furiously trying to wipe your face. He knows the difference between crying because of a crazy orgasm and you being emotional. He instantly gets back on the bed next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve had in two years.

“God, I’m...” You don’t know how to continue this phrase. You should not feel sorry for crying and you���re not pathetic for it. “I m-missed you so much, Bucky. Why did you give up?”

You feel his warm breath on your forehead. “I never gave up, baby, I swear.”

“B-but you did. You didn’t even try for more than six months. When I told you...” You take a deep breath. “That I want a divorce, you didn’t even look at me. Once, Bucky! Not even once…” You show him your index finger. “You simply agreed. You gave up on us. I was waiting for you to say: no, let’s try. No, I’ll communicate. Your words...” You sob. “Your words would have been enough for me. You should know that.”

“Oh my god, baby, please, breathe!” He kisses your forehead over and over again. “I never gave up, I swear. I wanted to say no, I wanted to tell you all of that, but you asked me for divorce. It felt like you wanted out. You were tired of fighting... you were tired of me. And I didn’t want to tell you to stay just so you could either stay with me out of pity or reject me. I would have died... To look at you and beg, and to see you detached.”

You shake your head into the crook of his neck. He cannot...

“How would I be detached if I tried for six months? How would I get tired of you?”

“Exactly. You tried for six months. I thought you snapped out of it...”

“Out of what?” You whisper, scared to say it louder, but he hears you anyway.

“Out of love.”

You immediately lift your head to look at him. He’s crying, too. “Bucky...” You bring your fingers to his cheeks and start to caress them.

“I just couldn’t remember us like this. I couldn’t look into your eyes and see you staring at me like I’m a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, when did we fail to communicate this much?”

He knows you don’t expect an actual answer, so instead of speaking, he holds you, and kisses you, and makes you giggle.

The more you move into his lap, the better you feel his erection pressing against your pussy. So close, yet so far.

He groans, placing his hands on your hips. “Careful.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be careful. I want you to fuck me raw right now.”

“Right now? He snorts, using his position to his advantage and moving. And just like that, you’re suddenly pressed with your back against the bed, and his mouth covers the valley between your breasts. That didn’t take a lot of convincing.

“Did you fuck anyone else without protection?” You ask unsure how to formulate it without it sounding a little weird. You’re not even sure you want to know the answer if it’s positive, but still.

“No. Only condoms and well... to be honest more my fist,” he chuckles, helping you get on your back again by bringing a pillow under your head. “I tested myself, of course.”

You nod, trying to hide your happiness. You selfishly wanted this: no one but you to feel him without any barrier.

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“No one for me, either.”

You would laugh at his proud face if you didn’t know he might use it to tease you later. You can use it too, though.

“Come on, baby, spread your legs for me. Daddy’s home.”

You laugh surprised, but you do what he says. You really missed having him between your legs.

Needy, you reach for his T-shirt, that for some reason is still on, and you tug it down, showing him you want it off.

He hesitates for a couple of seconds too long before grabbing his T-shirt by the neck.

“Come on, what did you do? Got a tattoo?”

You get your answer as soon as he’s finally naked.

“Oh, God!” You instantly lift your hand so you can grab his necklace. “What the fuck, James...”

“I told you I never gave up on us.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve been keeping it on since we divorced?”

He blushes, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Even when you were with other girls?”

Your heart is racing.

“Never took it off.”

You giggle, touching the surface of the ring over and over again.

“No wonder why nothing worked.”

“I had no intention to make it work.”

You say nothing, just looking into his eyes and letting him see how fucking much you love him, how he could never be a stranger, and you kiss him, wrapping your legs around his ass to show him what you need.

“I want you to pound me, okay? I want to feel you for days, do you hear me? I am so wet and ready. Please, just fuck me!”

You shiver a little when you feel the back of his hand brushing against your clit while he brings his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna make you mine again, alright? Gonna make you forget this year and everyone who,” He finally thrusts inside you. “Tried to get you.”

He’s thick. Really thick, and you can’t believe how you managed to survive without this stretched-out feeling for a whole fucking year.

“I hate you so much!’

He snorts. “I am pretty sure you love me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my cock inside you after one year.”

“This is the problem!” You hiss when he pulls almost completely out. “One year, Bucky!”

“Aww!” He says a bit mockingly before thrusting all the way in again. Oh my God... you close your eyes. “Is this your bratty way of telling me you missed my small dick?”

“Bratty? You think this is bratty?” You ask him sarcastically before bringing a hand to his ass. “Harder!”

“Harder, huh?” He quickly unwraps your legs and turns you on your belly before you can react.

You gasp, shocked by how fast he is and hating the emptiness, but he ignores it, bringing a pillow under your pussy.

“Ass in the air, come on.”

You comply immediately, staring at his face from the side. He looks like he’s on a mission, with his hair already in all directions and the wedding band hanging around his neck.

The first thing you feel is his mouth on your ass cheek, licking on a spot before biting.

You hiss. “James!” It hurts, not more than a spanking, but you weren’t ready for that.

“Mine.”

You snort, wiggling your ass. “Yeah, yeah. Now gimme my cock.”

And he does. He so does, he’s not slowly entering you, no. He pushes in almost fully with only one thrust, making you bite into your pillow.

“You missed that, didn’t you? The way I fill you up is so good. The way...” He slaps your ass. “No one can make you feel so good. No one can fuck you like the desperate whore you are for my cock.”

You moan loudly into the pillow. You love being called a whore like this. Because he is right and he is obsessed with it, anyway. “B-Bucky...”

“Tell me whose cock you love? Tell me.”

He’s thrusting so fast at this point that you can barely even hear him.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, no. That is not what you call me like this.”

“James...”

He suddenly stops thrusting, and you whine, lifting your spinning head to look at him over your shoulder. No matter how much you try to tilt your hips to make him move, you fail.

“If you want to get fucked, baby, you gotta call me the right-”

“Daddy. Daddy, daddy. Happy now?”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not that happy with your tone.

You smirk.

“I see you need a lot of battiness fucked out of you.”

“Then why are you not fucking me, daddy?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” He’s not holding back now, moving like he used to. “Tell me, baby. Tell me you love me... that no one, fuck- no one is like me!”

His voice tinges with a hint of neediness... maybe even urge. His vulnerability takes you a little aback because it’s stronger than his mocking. He’s genuinely seeking for reassurance as he gazes at you with a mixture of desire, desperation and longing. He’s searching for validation in your eyes the way you were earlier, so you give it to him.

“You’re the only one for me, J-James. I love you forever. I never... I n-never stopped!” You can’t keep your head up a second longer as you drop it on your pillow, moaning.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You half-snort, half-moan. “W-we can’t.”

“We can.” The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy almost covers the sound of his voice.

“We... we have to apply first.”

He spanks your ass again, and you scream, the sudden pain making you feel so good.

“So wet for me. They stood no chance. T-they don’t know how hard you want it.”

“Daddy, please... Please!” You’re a moaning mess. You just need a little harder. Just a little.

You’re not sure if you’re gonna have a voice after this. He’s pounding you so hard.

“My good, good girl.” He’s squeezing your hips, and the sound of your skin slapping is echoing. “God, gonna come for me? Jesus, wanna fill you up with my come too. Please, baby.”

You don’t know when or how he manages to do it, but he sneaks one of his hands under your body and pinches your nipple. You gasp, the wave of pleasure hitting you as he keeps fucking you. You feel your body weakening when he says your name over andl over again, but you don’t open your eyes for a while, letting him fuck you desperately while playing with your breast.

“Gonna- fuck, take my come, wife! Take me!”

He’s coming so much... surprisingly much even for him. You can feel him dripping down your thighs even when he slows down, then stops his movements before he falls on top of you as soon as he finishes.

“James...” You groan. “You’re heavy.”

He places a small kiss on your back, and you giggle.

“I love you.”

You melt, but he moves to the side before you can reach for his cheeks.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him. “So much that I let you drag me out of my best friend’s wedding reception.”

Bucky snorts, brushing his nose against your face. “Pretend all you want, I know you were bored as fuck.” You feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whine. It’s a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, wifey.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“Yet, but you were and you will be again this week.” He takes your ring finger into his mouth.

“Bucky!”

“What? We need new rings.”

You try to pull out your finger. “No, we don’t. I have mine.”

“We need...”

“How about we use all that money for a vacation instead?”

“Neah, honeymoon is honeymoon.”

He finally lets your finger go. “We are not buying other wedding bands.”

“I am not debating a new engagement ring, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you know it’s the best deal you can get.

“Fine, a new engagement ring,” you agree while rolling ro his side and placing your head on his chest. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Don’t want to or can’t?”

You decide to surprise him by biting a spot right above his nipple. He groans while you simply laugh.

“You just can’t be subtle, can you?”

“If you’d wanted subtle you’d have gone for someone like Steve.”

“Eww, Bucky. I have your come dripping out of me and you bring up Steve?”

“You literally talked about Nat a sec ago.”

Then, as if a switch was flipped, your eyes widen. “Oh shit, my phone!”

“Where did you forget it?” Bucky asks casually, so used to gathering your things for you. You really missed that, too.

“Table. God... Do you think they know?”

“Know what?” He giggles, raising both of you until your backs touch the headboard. “That you dropped on your knees in the middle of the wedding to suck my cock? Or how I fucked you raw until you cried.” A sudden realization crosses his face. “You asked me to fuck you raw. Are you... still on the pill?”

You roll your eyes. “You think I’d let you fuck me like this for the first time we talked to each other properly since we divorced if there was a big chance to get pregnant?”

“I assume you are still on the pill, don’t be patronizing!” He kisses your nose, which he knows tickles you.

Ass...

“You are asking a dumb question instead of getting your ass downstairs to bring me my phone.”

“How is that dumb? I wanted to know if I should get you a pill or something.”

“So you don’t want babies with me!” You try not to laugh as you say it, biting your lip to keep your face serious.

“Why do you act as if I told you I don’t want a baby with you?” He chuckles when he sees you pouting. “We’re just getting back together and no way you’d want a baby now. But if I am wrong, let’s go for it. I can give you a baby, just get off the pills.”

“You don’t give me a baby, James. We have a baby together!”

He sighs, getting off the bed to get his clothes back on. “Obviously, but I am the one coming inside you. This is what I meant. I am all in. But we need some adapting time at least.”

You should stop this whole teasing-testing thing. You both have the same opinion after all. You might have a baby, and you know he’d be involved one hundred percent, but not now. Absolutely not.

“I know. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re such a tease.” He snorts, putting on his pants. “Before I go, do you want me to run you a bath or should I bring you a towel?”

“Do you plan on staying there?”

He turns his head to you instantly. “Yeah, sure. I am gonna eat some steak and brag about fucking my wife.”

“Alright, alright. Bring me a snack and we can take a bath together. Actually,” you think about it better. “I’m gonna clean up and wait for you.”

“You want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” He asks as he fixes his jacket.

“Why? Is this all you could give me?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Sure.” You spread your legs at the same time you grab your own breasts, making him groan. It’s so easy to get to him. And it’s hilarious.

“Jesus, you’re planning to kill me.”

“Not you acting as if it’s the first time this happened.”

“It is the first time in over a year, baby.”

You feel yourself softening again. “True. Now, please, please, please, don’t give them any details and bring me a snack.”

“What snack?”

“Anything, make me a plate, I don’t care.” He nods before reaching for the keys. “Oh, and Bucky? Tell your flavor of the month you don’t need her anymore.”

“I told you she is not-”

“And tell Nat I’ll make it up to her!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. You don’t need him to defend a random girl’s honor.

“You’re so jealous.”

“Lock the door!”

You giggle satisfied when he closes the door and let yourself scream out of happiness while staring at the bite he left on your ring finger. Mrs. Barnes never got out of style.

[6okuto-moved]

WEDDING MOMENTS

gn!reader | kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, hinata, atsumu, osamu, ushijima

hello everyone i'm back 🫶 these are more reception moments than wedding but y'know. give me a break man...

KUROO leans in and whispers in your ear as you dance, “is it bad i want to go home and just lie in bed with you now?” “why are you whispering as if someone can hear you?” you snicker back. tetsurou shoots you a cheeky smile. “so it looks like i’m saying something romantic.” you hit his shoulder, and he only laughs before pulling you into a tight hug. you wait for him to let go before replying. “idiot. but no, it isn’t. my back and feet hurt.” he hums, and you can feel his fingers tapping your back. “do you think it’s possible for newly weds to sneak out of their own wedding reception?”

BOKUTO is walking down the aisle again as everyone disperses to talk or get ready for the reception. you walk up to him, curiosity piqued as he bends down. “what are you doing?” “huh?” he drops a few petals that he was clutching. “crap—hi, baby. i’m just, uh, picking up some of the flowers to take with us. i saw someone do it online, and i thought we could press them or put them somewhere,” he explains softly, as if a little embarrassed. your heart flutters at the thought, and you smile before reaching down yourself. “we better get some flowers, then. and a ziploc bag or something.”

AKAASHI relaxes and rests his head against yours while you watch your guests mingling and dancing. you reach for his hand and intertwine fingers. “you okay?” he nods in response and presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. “yeah, i can finally calm down and not worry about something terrible happening.” “mm, something terrible could still happen.” “love of my life, can you please give your husband a break?” keiji blows air against your skin, eliciting a laugh from you. his tone is light, and you can feel him smiling even while you apologize.

HINATA takes one of the polaroid cameras that you got for the guests. you watch as he poses and takes a picture of himself before handing it to you. “do you want me to take a selfie?” he nods with a grin. “yeah! and also sign it so i can put it in my wallet, or maybe the back of my phone?” his sentence ends as a question to himself. you get your phone so you can check your appearance before mimicking your now husband’s pose. “sho, i swear if mine is bad i want a redo,” you say. he sputters as he looks at his forming photo. “well that’s good because i definitely screwed mine up. i’m like half in the frame.”

ATSUMU’s knee bounces as the video of your relationship the both of you got done nears its end. you shoot him a look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed on the scene. that’s when you hear a familiar voice, but unfamiliar clip start to play. “it’s, fuck, what day is it? november 13, and i’m pretty sure i need t’look for an engagement ring,” your now husband says into the camera. you gape, shock evident across your face. atsumu’s voice is soft as he says your name. “i love you, really. and if you’re seeing this then i didn’t fuck this up, and you decided to marry me, and i’m probably ‘bout to have a heart attack,” he nervously laughs. you turn to atsumu next to you, whose face is flushed red. “don’t look at me, the video isn’t done yet.”

OSAMU keeps holding your hand, and if he isn’t holding it he’s probably thinking of doing so. you don’t mind, finding comfort in the way he rubs the back of it. you’re sitting together when he silently reaches for it again. “i’m pretty sure you’ve held my hand more today than this entire week.” osamu rolls his eyes but smiles. you stare as he gently takes hold of your ring and fidgets with it. “sorry, can’t stop thinkin’ about how we’re actually married now.” you stare at each other, and he rests his chin in his palm. with his other hand, he brings yours up to press gentle kisses against the ring and your skin. “just another excuse to stay close t’you.”

USHIJIMA looks over when you poke his shoulder, and quickly realizes you’re trying to feed him some cake. “say ahh,” you sing song. it’s a half-joke, and you don’t fully expect him to accept, but he leans forward and opens his mouth, hand underneath the fork to catch any crumbs. despite his serious expression and stature, you can't help but think he looks cute. “i know we picked this flavour, but does it taste good?” you ask. wakatoshi nods. “it was a good choice.” he gets a forkful for who you assume is himself. but instead he lifts it toward you. “do you want to try now?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist