#but accuse him of the right crimes at least
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In Defence of the Sons of FĂ«anor
Wait, again? Yes, always. But not anything really bad! Kinslaying, I hope we can agree, is pretty indefensible. But an accusation I often see levelled against the younger sons - that they failed to rescue Maedhros from Angband out of cowardice/stupidity - is bugging me. So! Before I get a fandom reputation as "the Gil-galad poster", I thought I might write something about a character I actually care about - Maglor! Also his younger brothers, but Maglor is the one Iâm particularly invested in defending.
In fic (particularly a lot of Russingon fic) the views I tend to see expressed by characters, and backed up by the narrative, go something like "The FĂ«anorions heartlessly refused Morgoth's offer to release Maedhros and left their brother to torture for thirty years! Dangling from a cliff in full view of their camp! But then heroic Fingon showed up and immediately rescued him with nothing more than a bow and a harp - he barely even stopped to eat first!"
Firstly, I obviously understand that views expressed by the characters are not that of the author. It is absolutely valid for Fingon to accuse the FĂ«anorions of cowardice, and completely in-character for Maglor to feel incredibly guilty about not rescuing Maedhros (and in fact a pretty essential part of their dynamic, in my opinion). My issue is with fics that very much imply that this view is the Only Correct One. There are a lot of things Maglor does wrong over the course of the Silm. This is not one of them.
Beginning with the refusal to surrender to Morgoth in exchange for Maedhrosâ release - I hope nobody seriously considers this a bad decision? A crushing one, certainly. You can write really sad fic about this (I plan to). But the Noldor had just received an excellent lesson in why trusting Morgoth to parley was a bad idea. They had no reason to believe that Morgoth would actually release Maedhros if they surrendered - which is correct. He wouldnât have. The published Silm adds, âand they were constrained also by their oathâ - incidentally, a fairly compelling point of evidence in favour of the oath being binding in nature to some extent, but not the point here. The point here is that they couldnât have surrendered to Morgoth, and shouldnât have anyway.
So, with that out of the way, we can accept that what Maglor et al are being accused of is not refusing to parley with Morgoth, but failing to mount an independent rescue mission.
(Incidentally, itâs generally assumed that Maglor, the second-eldest brother, was the one in charge during Maedhrosâ captivity. I usually subscribe to this myself, but I would also like to note that Maglor is not once named during the description of these events. Itâs always âthe sons of FĂ«anorâ, as a unit. You could make a pretty strong case that they were deciding things together, or even that one of his younger brothers had usurped him somewhat - C&C have form in that areaâŠ)
Actually before I move on from Morgothâs proposed deal, an important question: did Maedhrosâ brothers know that he was alive? According to (I think) the Grey Annals, Maedhros was captured in YT 1497, and suspended from Thangorodrim in YT 1498 - presumably after his brothers had refused Morgothâs offer. Thatâs potentially around 10 years in which they heard nothing, before Morgoth makes them the offer! Perhaps they reasoned that Morgoth wouldnât have put such a valuable prisoner to death; perhaps not. Itâs doubtful they were offered actual proof that Maedhros was alive, at any rate.
âSure,â you might say, âbut they definitely knew he was alive once they could see him suspended from Thangorodrim!â I canât actually express how strongly I disagree with this common headcanon. The FĂ«anorions couldnât see Maedhros on the cliff! Where did people get this idea from? I presume itâs because of Legolasâ various physics-defying feats of eyesight in LoTR. I would like to make the argument here that thereâs no reason to assume Noldor accustomed to the light of the Trees could see as well in the starlight as a Silvan Elf of shadowed Mirkwood, but thatâs not really necessary. Thereâs much stronger evidence pointing clearly to the fact that Maedhros wasnât visible: Fingolfinâs host marches right up to the gates of Angband and nobody notices him. He even yells for help, and they donât hear him! There is no way that anyone knew he was there (and the Sun had risen by this stage, too. If he was visible, theyâd have seen him.) Iâm allergic to geography, so donât take my word on this, but my understanding is that Thangorodrim is a whole little mountain range or something, not like a single cliff. As additional support for this, Fingon gets lost on his eventual rescue mission (in which heâs trying to break into Angband itself, because thatâs where he thinks Maedhros is) and only finds Maedhros when he hears him singing. The FĂ«anorions were absolutely not spending thirty years going âooh look clear day today! Give Nelyo a wave!â
The next thing to tackle is the odd implication that rescuing Maedhros was really easy, actually, and his brothers were cowards for not even attempting it. Not only do I think this untrue, I donât see why youâd want it to be true? Fingonâs rescue of Maedhros is one of the best parts of the silm. Itâs moving because Fingon is so so brave, and heâs brave because what he attempted was impossible. There is seriously NO reason why that should have worked, and thatâs whatâs wonderful about it. Suggesting that Maedhrosâ brothers held back from attempting a rescue because of cowardice or not caring about him, and not because it couldnât be done, imo really devalues the magnitude of Fingonâs act of grace.
On a more practical level, nothing about the description of the rescue mission suggests it was easy and anyone could have done it? I genuinely hate to make this joke but⊠one does not simply walk into Angband. Fingon is specifically described as âaided by the very darkness that Morgoth had madeâ - a darkness which, you recall, he had made in response to the light of the new Sun. If youâd tried to walk up to Thangorodrim before Morgoth had made his smog, youâd have been caught! There were orcs there! And probably all manner of other fell beasties! Maedhros absolutely couldnât have been rescued before the rising of the Sun, and specifically Morgothâs response to it.
A final point - the somewhat common claim that Fingon immediately, the instant he learned what had befallen Maedhros, set out to rescue him, and didnât even stop to like, brush his teeth first. This is a nice image! The Russingon feels are unparalleled! Unfortunately, I donât think the text backs it up. The published silm states that Fingon went to Angband âresolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldorâ. This rather strongly implies that Fingon only left on his mission some time after he arrived at Mithrim, since there was clearly time for tensions to arise between the two hosts. One of the Annals (Grey or of Beleriand? I get them mixed up - at any rate, the timeline on Tolkien Gateway) puts this in even starker terms, stating that Fingolfinâs host arrived at Mithrim in Year 2 of the Sun, and Fingon rescued Maedhros in Year 5. Thatâs three years of waiting around before he set out! Now, you could headcanon that maybe Maglor et al told Fingon that Maedhros was dead, and he only later learned that they meant âcaptured and we never found a bodyâ - but itâs also possible that he knew Maedhros was a captive the entire time, and still didnât do anything. Three years is obviously not the same as thirty, but I find this detail interesting even so. It rather muddies the dichotomy of âMaedhrosâ brothers didnât care enough to rescue him, Fingon immediately saved himâ that I often see.
tl;dr the FĂ«anorions werenât cowards who didnât love their brother, they were sensible and itâs tragic.
Right I hope that was a fairly measured and reasonable post (it was supposed to be at any rate) so now I can very quickly say how DARE you imply that Maglor didnât love Maedhros consider how close he settles to Himring consider how heâs the only one Maedhros brings with him to the Mereth Aderthad consider their last debate ie the most heartbreaking dialogue in the entire book consider how heâs right and yet he still follows Maedhros in stealing the Silmarils consider how he only finally breaks after Maedhrosâ death you can pry that tender loving codependent relationship from my COLD DEAD HANDS ok Iâm normal now :)
#silmarillion#meta#my meta#maglor#maedhros#fingon#the line of miriel#accuse my poor little meow meow of crimes!#but accuse him of the right crimes at least#this is mostly directed at an imaginary person who claimed all these things#since theyâre most commonly arguments I see separately#but I decided to rebut them all together
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guh. guhhh hate when i read knives meta that starts off rlly good but then begins pulling points from tristamp. no offense but that is not knives he did not do all that!!!
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In the early afternoon of 29 November last year, several Palestinian boys descended on to their street in the occupied West Bank, where they often played together.Minutes later, two of them lay dead from gunshots fired by Israeli soldiers - Basil, 15, and eight-year-old Adam. As part of an investigation into the conduct of Israel's security forces in the West Bank, which has been under military occupation for more than half a century, the BBC has pieced together what happened on the day the two boys were killed. Mobile phone and CCTV footage, information about the movements of Israel's military, witness testimony and detailed investigation of the scene, including taking measurements, combine to reveal evidence suggesting serious human rights violations. The evidence we found has prompted Ben Saul, UN special rapporteur on human rights and counter-terrorism, to say the death of Adam appears to be a "war crime".Another legal expert, Dr Lawrence Hill-Cawthorne, described the use of lethal force as âindiscriminateâ. The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) said the circumstances of the deaths were âunder reviewâ but said âlive fire is used only in order to remove immediate threats or for arrest purposes, following arrest protocols after exhausting other optionsâ.
Video footage from 29 November shows Basil standing next to a hardware store, its shutters firmly locked down. When Israel's military arrives, shops close quickly in Jenin, a city in the West Bank - Palestinian territory which, unlike Gaza, is not run by Hamas. Witnesses said gunfire had been ringing out from a nearby operation by Israel's army in the Jenin refugee camp. Adam, a football fanatic and massive Lionel Messi fan, stood with his older brother Baha, 14. There were about nine boys on the street in total, all captured on CCTV cameras that provided a nearly 360-degree view of what happened next.
A few hundred metres away, a convoy of at least six armoured Israeli military vehicles turned a corner and began heading towards the boys, who clearly became uneasy. Several of the boys started to move away. At this precise moment, mobile phone footage shows the front door of an armoured vehicle opened. The soldier inside had a direct view of the boys. Basil had darted into the middle of the road, while Adam was 12m further from the soldiers, running away. Then at least 11 gunshots rang out.
Medical reports obtained by the BBC show that two shots hit Basil in the chest. Another bullet struck eight-year-old Adam in the back of the head as he ran away; his older brother Baha desperately tried to drag him to cover, leaving a trail of blood as he screamed for an ambulance.
#yemen#jerusalem#tel aviv#current events#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#news on gaza#palestine news#news update#war news#war on gaza#west bank#children of palestine#palestine genocide#war crimes#end the occupation#end the genocide
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License to Kill
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.
Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.
At least that was what youâd told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.
âYou worry too much,â he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.
Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didnât seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.
Hazards of the job, heâd said.
Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.
Bucky hadnât even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didnât flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.
Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.
If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though heâd seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadnât so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.
At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.
âWhoâs my girl?â he murmured an inch from your ear.
You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.
âI-I am,â you whimpered.
The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. Heâd glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as youâd let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved youâeven if he was fucking you like he didnât.
Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.
âWho likes getting stuffed full of this cock?â he taunted.
âI do.â
âWho loves making daddy feel this good?â
âI do.â
He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene wayâhis sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legsâbut he loved it nonetheless.
Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like heâd never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.
Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.
Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.
âYeah, Steve?â
The mob bossâs business never took a break, it seemed.
âSo what?â
âYeah, no, I heard you the first time.â
âWell, Iâm plowing my wife right now, can it wait?â
Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Buckyâs blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.
You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Buckyâs in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.
âReady to cum for me, honey?â
You whimpered and nodded.
âAlright then,â Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, âCum all over daddyâs cock.â
With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Buckyâs length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.
And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he couldââShit, honey, you taste as good as you lookââwhile he smirked. Wouldâve grinned even bigger if he wasnât so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldnât keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.
For a few, dizzying moments, the manâs mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldnât rid the thought of giving you a baby.
But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destinationâsomeplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctlyâyour mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.
Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.
The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didnât mind.
At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.
âI think you displaced my cervix, James.â
Bucky couldnât deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.
âDid I really?â he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, âIâm awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.â
âLike hell you are.â
With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, youâd barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.
That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.
âCan you horndogs hurry the hell up?!â
So Sam had heard you after all.
You just mightâve blushed if you werenât being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husbandâs friend ringing low in your ears.
âYour old manâs ready to hit the roof,â he mumbled to Bucky, âWonât start drinking until you two show face.â
âProbably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,â Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.
The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; heâd been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.
As you had come to find out, Sam wasnât just a friend of your husbandâs but also a close associate of sortsâthe kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadnât been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some âstrange soundsâ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husbandâs entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where theyâd dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadnât asked many questions afterâjust thanked him. Profusely.
âYou look like hell,â the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friendâs direction.
âReally? I feel great,â Bucky replied.
The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoersâevery single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husbandâs mangled face as he passedâand you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell couldâve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.
âJa-ames!â a sing-song voice trilled across the way.
You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.
Buckyâs mom and dad.
As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didnât.
In fact, they didnât bat an eyelid. Seeing their sonâs face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.
âGood, youâre here! The photographers just arrived.â Buckyâs mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.
âSorry, ma. We got caught up,â he said.
âSure looks like it.â
That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.
âGet in a fight with a grizzly last night?â he quipped.
âThree, actually,â Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-earâor as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.
You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldnât begin to imagine why.
âThe bruising shouldnât be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,â Buckyâs mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, âItâs those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.â
She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.
You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.
When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.
And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldnât be bothered to stop ogling Buckyâs gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.
âYouâre glowing, my dear.â
She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.
Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldnât quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.
âPlaces, people!â
The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.
The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Buckyâs father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?
That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldnât stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.
âMy hand slipped,â Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.
You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.
Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.
There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.
A smirk tugged at Buckyâs lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.
âMy cum dripping out already?â he whispered, low as heâd ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.
âShut. Up.â You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.
âChin to me, Mrs. Barnes,â the lady in charge called out.
You did as you were told, and Buckyâs hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.
A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.
âThink itâll stay in your panties?â Bucky managed delicately under his breath.
You didnât respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.
âFeel it sliding down your thighs?â
âEyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, andâhere, please.â
The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.
âBucky.â
âWhat?â
âBehave,â you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you couldâve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.
Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.
If you werenât on camera and surrounded by family, you probably wouldâve liked to smack him upside the head.
As the cameras continued to fire away, Buckyâs touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.
âNow just the bride and groom!â
The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.
âHow âbout I push it back in?â
âBarnes, I will kill you.â
âNow kiss!â
At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.
âI love you,â Bucky murmured with a grin.
âI love you, too.â
The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashionâbeing pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.
You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought youâd ever met in your lifeâthough perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisalâand gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.
âYou look stunning.â
âBuckâs a lucky guy, Iâll tell you that.â
âAre you planning on having kids any time soon?â
You just smiled, nodded, and didnât have the guts to tell them that Buckyâs baby batter was baking inside you right now. That wouldâve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.
And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?
Just twenty minutes ago heâd sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.
Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.
You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.
Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husbandâs second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Buckyâs face.
You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.
At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.
You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have startedâlike most fun things in lifeâbut the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.
You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spotâless than a stoneâs throw away from the ocean.
Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.
Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.
Youâd taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.
Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.
If youâd told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Buckyâs touch, you wouldnât have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably wouldâve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husbandâs cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.
You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.
In any case, you didnât really care.
You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When youâd plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.
Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.
You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.
A grinning, bright-eyed blond.
In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.
âHi.â
âHowdy.â
Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.
âNo need to stop on my account,â he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, âI wonât snitch.â
His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.
âCourtesy of your husband,â he said.
You frowned. A flask?
âItâs not even noon,â you answered.
âBucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it donât seem theyâre fixinâ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.â
Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.
âFuckinâ A,â you coughed, âWhatâs this, nail polish remover?â
âStolichnaya. Canât talk shit until youâve tried it.â
Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the manâs outstretched arm againâthis time, to shake your hand.
âJoey, by the way.â
You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.
âYouâre a friend of my husbandâs?â you asked.
âFrom the service, yeah. We go way back.â
You couldnât help but raise both brows in question.
âThe service,â you repeated.
âRussian Armed Forces,â Joey smiled.
And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.
âSorryâI thought you knew,â he said sheepishly.
Your husbandâs old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.
âPerks of arranged marriage,â you said, âWeâre wed for life and I donât even know the guyâs job title.â
That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasnât smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.
âYou mind?â
âNot at all.â
You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When heâd taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.
With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didnât normally get to see that happenârarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangersâbut this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Buckyâs old friend possibly do?
You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You werenât ashamed to admit he mightâve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naĂŻvetĂ©, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.
You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.
âSo youâre a Puritan, then?â Joey said at length.
âHuh?â You leaned back to stretch.
âYou havenât touched that flask.â
You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.
âHavenât been into straight liquor since college,â you shrugged.
âBut itâs your wedding weekend,â Joey smirked, âThink it says somewhere in the rule book youâve gotta be hammered the whole time.â
âDoes it? I mustâve missed that one,â you hummed.
Rather than answer you verbally, Buckyâs old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.
âOpen.â
âNo!â
You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their âbrotherhood.â You had to assume he was just being friendly.
âCâmon. Quit bitchinâ and open up,â he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.
That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man itâd cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.
âHoney? Hon, you there?â
Immediate relief at hearing your husbandâs voice.
You craned your neck to look around.
âIâm here, Bucky!â You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.
It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.
You turned back to Joey but found that heâd vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldnât find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.
âBucky, I justâïżœïżœ
âWe need to go,â your husband cut in.
His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.
âGo whââ
âNow, baby, please. Iâll tell you in the car.â
Your face dropped.
âWeâre leaving?â
Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as youâd ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.
âWhole fuckinâ swarm of âem now,â he pronounced.
Bucky didnât wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.
âGet the fuck up,â Steve spat.
You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Buckyâs best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?
Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the manâs shoulder and made sure he felt it.
âDonât you start this shit again,â he said, âLay off.â
Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotelâs perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.
Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.
At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.
You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearbyâthis time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all overâand whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that couldâve snapped it in two, but you didnât blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.
âHere!â Steve called presently.
He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.
Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.
âHangarâs clear.â
Sam, by the sound of it.
He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadnât gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.
You werenât sure what youâd been expecting then, but it certainly wasnât your husbandâs weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.
This wasnât the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didnât hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steveâs driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.
Minutes, seconds, sights, and soundsâor what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered positionâall bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Buckyâs own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.
You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Wouldâve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.
The price of admission to board Buckyâs Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be âpregnant.â
Youâd been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangarâa place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparentlyâand had been carried onto a jet. You didnât squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.
After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.
You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.
âItâs notâ not her blood, is it?â your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.
âSome of it,â one nurse answered quietly.
Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.
âSheâs not looking at me,â Buckyâs lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, âHoney, Iâm hereâ Iâm right hââ
âSheâs in shock.â Another voice came flatly.
Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldnât speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.
âShe looks like death warmed over.â
Thank you, Steve.
Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didnât have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.
Your husband turned to the nurses again.
âSheâs pregnant.â
I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.
âNo, sheâs not, Buck,â Sam said from down the aisle.
âWell, she could be,â Bucky chided, âWeâve been going at it like rabbits since theââ
âFuckâs sake,â Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you werenât currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably wouldâve done the same.
Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you wereâor very well could beâcarrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? Sheâs my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses werenât all on Buckyâs payroll they probably wouldâve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isnât pregnant, even if you think your sperm is âbuilt differentâ than most.
âSheâll be fine either way,â the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.
Bucky wasnât convinced. Against all physiciansâ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.
By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Buckyâs gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.
âSee? See? Sheâs back.â Bucky squeezed your hipâand immediately released it when you winced.
ïżœïżœïżœMind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.â
Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasnât going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as youâd let him.
Steve, on the other hand, didnât seem quite as thrilled.
Sam watched the medicsâ departure with a wary look.
âShe probably needs to rest, Bucky,â the latter said, careful with his words.
Buckyâs eyes never strayed from yours.
âSheâs okay, Sam. Sheâs good.â Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.
In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.
âFeelinâ alright?â Sam asked.
You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.
A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.
âSheâs not a child, Barnes,â Steve muttered.
âShould probably keep that elevated,â Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, âWeâll get some ice.â
Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,
âIâll go.â
He kissed the top of your head and assured you heâd be right back. Heâd just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.
When you turned to Steve, you understood why.
The man had you pinned with a stare that couldâve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.
You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.
âSomething wrong?â
You werenât sure how youâd even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.
âYou tell me.â Tone dripping with disdain.
You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suitâmuddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than youâd seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldnât shake.
What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldnât make sense of the manâs indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,
âWe shouldâve left you to die with the rest of your family.â
Your jaw slackened a bit.
âWhat?â
âYou, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you shouldâve stayed there to rot.â
Never mind the fact that heâd just wished you dead to your faceâwhat did he mean about your parents?
âBut theyâre coming with us. Bucky said,â you managed.
âHe did?â Steve grinned humorlessly, âHe lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.â
That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.
âWhat are you talking about?â
You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.
âWhat? That wasnât part of the plan?â he quirked a brow, âDidnât think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking familyââ
You hardly even noticed youâd swatted Steveâs drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.
âThe fuck did you just say to me?â Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.
Steve was beaming.
The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.
âYou picked a real spitfire, Buck,â the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.
Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldnât budge.
âWhat the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?â You tried to shake your husband off as Steveâs grin grew even bigger.
âTheyâre fine, honey. Sit down, please,â Bucky mumbled.
âNo! He said they were dead!â you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.
âWhy donât you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.â
âShut the fuck up, Rogers,â Sam uttered quietly.
âTell me what?â
âItâs nothing, your parents are fine,â Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.
âDonât you fucking lie to me, James,â you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, âWhatâs going on?â
âEither sheâs a world-class actress or she really doesnât have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.â Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You wouldâve liked to knock back one or twoâor tenâyourself.
You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.
âBabyââ He reached for you, but you pulled back.
âNo.â
You wouldnât ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoilâand perhaps by some painful truths heâd be compelled to share as wellâand he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.
Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.
âWhyâd you marry him?â Steve said suddenly.
Buckyâs face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,
âBecause my dad was in debt.â
âFor what?â
You paused.
âReal estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.â
Steve nodded. Ignored Buckyâs sharp, reproachful gaze.
âAnd how much money did he owe?â he asked.
âSteve,â Sam warned.
âFour, five millionâmore than he could ever repay.â
This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.
âYouâre forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you donât even know the price that tight little bodyâs paying?â he scoffed.
His words hadnât hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steveâs tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.
âSay it again.â Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.
âShe shouldâve known!â Steve snapped anyway.
You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.
âI wasnât exactly in a place to negotiate,â you grumbled, âThey were going to kill my father if we didnât settle it, so I wasnât all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.â
If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.
You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.
âFair enough,â Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his wordsâones that wouldnât prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throatâand looked to you, curious,
âWhy would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?â
You shrugged.
âHeâs a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldnât fork over that kind of cash.â
Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Buckyâs expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.
âWhat?â you spat, âDid I say something funny?â
Sam shook his head slowly, starting, âI donât thinkââ
âYour daddyâs a fucking gunrunner, sugar,â Steve wheezed, âHead of a multinational arms trafficking syndicateâmotherfucker is not selling houses.â
Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldnât let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.
âAnd how the fuck would you know?â you said to Steve.
âWe work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,â Sam answered.
âAnd the man is horseshit at businessââSteve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attentionââHe was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.â
âJames?â You finally turned to him.
âAnd your daddy didnât even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,â Steve sneered.
âJames,â you pressed again.
You couldnât understand why your husband refused to speakâgoing as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.
âHYDRA as inâ the Russian mob?â you asked him.
âNo, the Girl Scouts,â Steve huffed, âYes, the mob.â
âSchröderâs boys. Your dadâs been in business with them for yearsâowed them a lot of money,â Sam added.
âAnd your dad and Buckyâs dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured heâd do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.â Steve seemed eager to tell this story.
All the while, the hue of Buckyâs cheeks grew even deeperâlike he didnât want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldnât stand down until youâd heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.
âThen whyâd he need me? Just another bartering chip?â Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, âA pawn?â
âA peace offering,â Bucky said quietly.
Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.
âYour father didnât owe me anything. I wouldâve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted Iâ that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.â
Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.
âThat was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided heâd have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,â Steve said.
âAt the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Buckyâs warehouses in Brooklyn,â Sam continued, âOnly problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.â
âSo Schröder paid him a visit today,â Bucky muttered.
Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if youâd just ingested cyanide.
Fuck, did you need a drink.
You couldnât look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.
You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joeyâs flask.
And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.
âSo you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?â you asked, âYou honestly thâFUCK!â
Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.
âLiquor? For our baby?â he barked.
You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.
âWhere did you get this?â Bucky asked, suddenly pale.
âYou, dumbass!â
âMe?â
Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.
âYour friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,â you said.
All three men looked up at once.
âWhat friend?â Sam asked.
âJoey,â you answered, âBuckyâs friend from the army.â
If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin mightâve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.
Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.
âWhat friend from the army? Whatâd he look like?â
You were still scanning Buckyâs face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,
âI-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.â
âTall fella?â Steve asked.
âVery.â
âHave a German accent?â Sam pressed.
âNo, a real thick Southern accent,â you shook your head. It didnât occur to you then that it couldâve been fake.
You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.
âHe had aââ You tapped your chin lightly, ââa little scar right here.â
You wouldâve thought youâd just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if theyâd just discovered the Atlantic Oceanâand found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.
Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.
âJoey?â he intoned feebly.
âYes,â you answeredâfeeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.
Fortunately, Sam wouldnât let you wallow in ignorance.
âJohann Schröder,â he supplied in a second, âThe man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.â
Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass heâd taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.
âLooks to be a serum of his,â Steve said, hollow as youâd ever heard him, âKind of likeâŠroofies.â
âYou didnât drink any of it, did you?â Sam asked.
âNuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uhâ to pour it in my mouth.â
A beat of silence gripped the room.
Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someoneâs skull. Or both.
Still, he wouldnât speak to you.
The inside of your head was throbbing.
You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steveâs eye when heâd suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husbandâa motherfucker who couldnât even speak so much as a syllable to you.
You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldnât stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.
Then your nose started to bleed.
That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.
In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.
You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldnât lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around beforeânot entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonethelessâand slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying heâd be right back with those ice packs.
You reached for his hand before he could leave.
âI donât want it,â you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, âWant you to talk to me, James.â
Buckyâs brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.
âI amâ Iâm talking to you right now, honey, Iââ
âYou know what I mean.â
Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.
âI donât want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,â he said simply.
âWhy not?â
âYouâre not in the right place to hear it.â
You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.
âWeâre on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.â
Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.
âOkay.â
Infuriating.
âOkay?â you snapped, âWe couldâve died five times today and all you can say is okay?â
âUh-huh.â
Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.
Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.
âI need to see my family,â You stood firm, âAs soon as we land wherever it is weâre going, Iâm on the first flight back to New Yorkâor wherever they are.â
You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.
âNo, youâre not,â Bucky returned.
âWhat? Youâre gonna stop me?â
âYes, I will.â
The worst part was he wasnât even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The manâs reticence was grating on your nerves.
âWhy bother, Buck?â you snorted, âItâs not like Iâm even your wife, really. Iâm just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?â
You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Buckyâs chest. You looked up to find him frowning.
âDonât say that again,â he glowered down at you.
Unlike most times before, you didnât flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didnât let him win.
âIâm not your wife,â you repeated, âWe may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.â
You ignored Buckyâs evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.
âYou are my wife,â he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, âEverything I do now is for youâitâs not a goddamn game to me.â
âYou used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!â
âI donât even know what the fuck that means,â Bucky said, âBut I love you.â
âYou met me yesterday, motherfucker!â
You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.
Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your faceâapparently heâd grabbed a washcloth and dampened itâand laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.
âIs it so hard to believe that I love you?â he asked quietly.
He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.
âYou want someone to control, Bucky,â you said, âLove is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.â
Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You werenât finished.
âYou look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch overâ who canât take care of themseââ
âThatâs not true.â
âReally? Thatâs not what a âgood little wifeâ is to you?â you retorted.
At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.
âThatâs aâ a bit I do when Iâm horny. I donât actually want you subservient to me,â he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.
âSo holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?â you quizzed.
âTo keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. Iâm sorry I donât want to see you butchered because of me,â Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.
âThatâs rich coming from you.â You despised the indignation in your tone but couldnât help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tieâjust like the night beforeâand, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.
âWhat are you talking about?â Bucky asked, brow furrowed.
âLast night,â you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, âAnd today. Tonight. Youâre as still as the fucking grave and wonât say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.â
You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.
âNo, I donât,â Bucky objected.
âYouâre doing it right now! You wouldnât tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who couldâveâ hurt me. You didnât say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe weâre in this together? That youâre trying to keep me safe? You couldnât evenââ you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a littleââcouldnât even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!â
Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.
âI had to do that,â he snapped.
He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.
âYou didnât do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didnât even try to fight back.â
Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.
âYou think I wanted to do that?!â he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.
âYou were too chickenshit. Didnât wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,â you seethed.
Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didnât moveâjust watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.
âIâm chickenshit?â he repeated.
âYeah. Coward,â you spat.
âToo much of a coward to keep you safe?â
âPrecisely.â
At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.
âDid you hear what language they spoke?â he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.
âIt sounded likeââ
âRussian, thatâs right,â Bucky cut in, âDo you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?â
You swallowed and said nothing. Buckyâs breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your bodyâyou werenât sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.
âThey told me, âIf you move, weâll kill her,ââ Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, ââIf you fight, weâll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.â Or something to that effect.â
The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Buckyâs head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.
âBuckyââ you started.
âI know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.â
Your husbandâs grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.
âI know I shouldâve told you then. And after. I shouldâve told you about your father as soon as Steveâs informant told us. I justââ Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldnât meet your gazeââI didnât want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.â
It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.
âI am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you couldâve been unfortunate enough to marry.â For a moment, Buckyâs gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, âBut thatâs not how Iâm supposed to love youâor going to love you.â
You werenât sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.
âIâve been a shit husband, fake or not. Iâm sorry.â
Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expressionâsuddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted thereâand focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.
While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,
âIâm sorry, honey. Iâm so sorry.â
He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.
You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didnât know how.
So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise youâd sustained over the course of that day, watched Buckyâs brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.
You wanted to be the one with your hands on himânow more than ever.
When Buckyâs hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didnât think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Buckyâs turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.
âHoney,â he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warningâwhat were you trying to do?
You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.
âYou canâtâŠâ Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didnât want to see you strain yourself any further.
But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.
The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didnât intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Buckyâs efforts all the same.
You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.
âYou worry too much, Mr. Barnes.â
The echo of his words from earlierâthe ones heâd said as he was railing you against a mirrorâmade Buckyâs cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.
âDonât wanna hurt you, bunny,â he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.
âHurt me how?â
You really hadnât meant to sound like such a tease when youâd said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.
And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.
Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldnât fathom how heâd fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly heâd gotten hardâas if the two of you werenât just having a heart-to-heart a second agoâand you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.
âYou know I donât mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,â you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Buckyâs mind.
You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.
Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.
Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when heâd first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadnât so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.
âYou have no idea what you do to me,â Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.
Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.
âCan I take you in my mouth, daddy?â you asked softly.
Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.
For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadnât seen his length at all last nightâtoo busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good lookâbut holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You werenât sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.
My husband is hung like a fucking horse and Iâve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.
Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didnât notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.
Should IâŠlick it first?
It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.
When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.
âFuck, baby,â your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, âTake me in your mouth.â
You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do thisâyouâd be fine.
Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.
What you didnât expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.
The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Buckyâs dick did not taste like spearmint.
He pulled his cock out as quickly as heâd pushed it in.
âSorry. Shit, sorry.â Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.
The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off beforeâmost blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.
âWe donât have to do this if you donât want to, baby,â Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.
Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.
You raised a brow.
âWhy? That all you got, Barnes?â
Bucky couldnât help but chuckleâand grunt, a littleâwhen you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.
âHoney, are you sââ
He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.
âMy mouth isnât made of paper mĂąchĂ©. You can fuck it a little harder than that,â you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.
Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurtâthen bobbed your head even further. One of your husbandâs hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.
Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouthâ
ââfucking hell you feel good,â he groaned.
Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.
It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the worldâs sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. Youâd nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomenâand looked so pretty doing it.
Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.
âYou like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?â
âBarely fits but you take it so well, bunny.â
âMy good little wife and her pretty fucking mouthâlikes sucking daddyâs cock however deep he needs it, huh?â
You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldnât quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer âyes.â He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.
He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then heâd pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time youâd answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.
You were amazed youâd lasted as long as you hadâhow quickly youâd devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.
Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldnât cum down your throatânot yet, at least.
His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.
Bucky wasnât sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.
Lots and lots of babies.
A hundred or more, if he had it his way.
Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. Youâd just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.
In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.
The first thing to greet you was your own reflectionâin a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bedâfollowed by Buckyâs broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.
You refrained.
Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.
âYou didnât mean it, did you?â he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.
âMean what?â
It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you couldâyou wouldnât let him win that easy.
âWhen you said you werenât my wife. Did you mean it?â Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.
âNo. I didnât,â you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.
âDo you want to be my wife?â Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.
âYes.â
âYou do?â
âI do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?â
In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirrorâdaring your hips to move back another inch.
âWhat else do you want to be, doll?â
To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.
âYour wife, your girlâ thatâs it, Bucky.â
Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.
âA good girl?â he hummed.
âYes, daddy,â you cried and clenched around him.
Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the worldâs most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.
At this point, you didnât care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.
âBucky!â
âWanna be my obedient little cockslut?â he asked.
âUh-huh.â
âMy bunny?â
âYes, James.â Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.
Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.
âHow about a momma?â he pressed, almost too low to be heard, âWanna be that, too?â
His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,
âW-what?â
Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.
âDo you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?â
Oh, fuck. Fuckingâwhat the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Buckyâs in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.
âNoâ James, weâre not, shitââ you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, âWeâre not ready for that.â
âLook prettyâŠready to me,â Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.
It wasnât clear just who was more overcome with desireâboth of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as youâd ever beenâand then Bucky flipped you onto your back.
He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.
âJames,â you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.
In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How heâd shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.
âJust one, honey,â he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, âOne baby and I promise weâll be done.â
Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.
âCan you do that for me, doll?â he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, âFit my baby in there?â
You couldnât deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Buckyâs hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as youâd ever felt before orgasm, and it wasnât hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.
âMy sweet girl,â he cooed, rubbing that spot, âYouâd look so pretty all swole up down here, donât you think?â
Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.
âSomeoneâŠtried to kill usâŠtwice in the last twenty four hours,â you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Buckyâs cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.
Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.
âIâll take Schröderâs life with my own two hands if it means keeping youââ he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, ââand our child safe, honey.â
You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promiseâeven if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knewâbut you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little youâd seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.
âNo, Bucky,â you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, âThatâs entirely justâ just irresponsible. You know it would be.â
âMaking a child together?â Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.
And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.
âOkay. No, youâre right. Itâs your choice, my love,â he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.
Your legs tightened around Buckyâs sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Buckyâs drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.
âGonna cum for me, doll?â
You nodded.
âSo close, Bucky,â you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.
You felt your husbandâs hand move from your belly to a place just below itâtaking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nervesâand started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.
âGood girl,â Bucky growled, âGood fuckinâ girl, taking me so well.â
The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.
âGonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?â
You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupidâand begged for your release.
âCum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.â
A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Buckyâs shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.
âThatâs my girl,â he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.
The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.
âHoneyâ honey,â he said, voice strained, âBaby, youâ you gotta let go of yourâ ah, fuck.â
Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.
âBaby, let go, I gottaââ
He probably couldâve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.
Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.
He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.
Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what youâd told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.
âIâm sorry. Shouldâve pulled out quicker,â Bucky panted against your neck.
You stroked his bicep and shook your head.
âYouâre fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,â you breathed and shared a weary laugh.
Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.
Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day nowâsurely one more half-load of his wouldnât get you pregnant, right?
Fortunately, you didnât have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.
A phone call? At 45,000 feet?
âJust the intercom,â Bucky called out, âProbably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.â
Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.
âYou think they could hear us?â you asked.
Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.
âHope so,â he said with a shrug, âYou know Iâd never miss a chance to let âem know I took a trip to poundtownââ
âPlease never say that again,â you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.
You were just about to speak up againâperhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didnât hurry the fuck up with that towelâwhen the intercomâs jarring peal started up once more.
Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.
âBarnes residence,â you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, âBucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, heâll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!â
You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.
Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.
He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.
From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phoneâs receiver.
âSure thing, doll. Tell him itâs Joey Schröder calling.â
Taglist: @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut
(If I missed anyone or tagged improperly, please let me know! This is my first rodeo taglist)
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#marvel#mcu#mob bucky barnes#marvel smut#marvel x reader#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes
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This is the only thing Iâm going to say on the matter of Neil Gaiman for now:
The accusations against him are awful. If they are true, I wish the victims nothing but the best. I am not going to speculate about whether or not theyâre true, because that would be incredibly disrespectful. What I am going to do is wait until we have more information before saying anything definitive. Because from my understanding (and correct me if iâm wrong,) this information is coming from a single true crime podcast that almost no one has actually listened to in full, and that does not seem like an incredibly reliable source of information. I am not defending Neil in any way here, but I do think itâs important to always take the time to gather information from multiple sources, *especially* with something as serious as this.
Also, if youâre one of the people going âoh no what does this mean for Good Omens season 3??â Literally shut the fuck up, put your phone down, and go outside. That is not even remotely important right now and itâs an incredibly insensitive and tone-deaf thing to say.
EDIT 8/2/24 (Because Tumblr decided this should be the top post on my page.) There are now several people who have listened to the podcasts in full and publicly posted all the info from them. Iâd encourage everyone to read at least one of those posts (preferably more than one, everyone is biased in one way or another) and make up your mind from there, not from the hundreds of posts paraphrasing and doing the whole âwell I heard from this person who heard from this person who heard from this personâ thing. Also, while I havenât looked into this much myself, Iâve heard other people are coming forward with accusations against him.
#again i want to reiterate that i am not defending neil gaiman. i am not saying the people accusing him are lying.#i am saying that we do not have a lot of information at the moment and it would be wise to keep watching for anything else that comes out.#neil gaiman
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Sylus gets a headache | ao3 | other fics in this 'series'
Summary: Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.
Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, no use of y/n. This story contains: fluff, banter, Sylus has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, legal arguments, bad puns, self-indulgent writing, repetitive finger caressing, insomnia that Sylus is determined to vanquish by any means, Xavier is an innocent victim in all this and has no idea, except has Xavier ever been innocent in his entire life? CWs: insomnia, consumption of alcohol, profanity SFW, mostly. With some filthy innuendos at the end. It's Sylus, after all.
It has been a few days since you had the best nightâs rest you can remember on the back of a certain miscreant crime lordâs motorcycle, and youâre once again preparing for a long, torturous night of staring at the ceiling and trying to catalogue all the classes of wanderers in an attempt to lull yourself to sleepâNeroâs suggestion. You have your doubts about whether it will work, but he gave the advice so earnestly after overhearing you talking to Tara about your insomnia that you feel obligated to give it a go. Sylus would probably scoff and say something about âpeople pleasing,ââyou shake your head. That man does not get to live rent free in your brain, no matter how suspiciously kind he was the last time you saw him.
The kettle squeals, and you pour the boiling water into your chipped âWorldâs Greatest Hunterâ mug that Caleb had gifted you once you were admitted into the Associationâs ranks. The hot liquid steams soothingly into your face as it drowns a chamomile teabag, and you try not to think about the last time you saw him, when he was smiling. Patting your head. Whole, and so, so vibrantly alive. You take a deep, shaky breath.
After a suggestion from Tara, you add some honey and then slice a lime and squeeze the juice into the tea, absently stirring the spoon and gazing out your balcony window. Youâre home early for once, and the sun is only just setting. You canât see it through the high rises around you, but dusk filters down into the streets below your flat. The gentle sounds of the city moving into late evening drift up, the traffic like waves crashing on the shore, laughter and shop bells tinkling, a dog barking somewhere.
Suddenly, your doorbell chimes through your apartment and startles you out of your reverie. Did you forget that you had ordered something to be delivered today?
Without thinking too hard about it, you take your still piping-hot tea and pad to the foyer to answer the door.
Only to have your sense of calm shattered as you fling the mug out of sheer, instinctual self-preservation that Zayne accuses you of not having, when you see who is standing on the other side.
Quicker than your brain can actually process Sylusâs presence outside your flat, scarlet-night tendrils have prevented the mug from shattering on the floor, but have failed to stop the liquid from continuing its projectile path right onto his red, standing collar shirt and black vest.
âThe fuck, Sylus?â
âYou really, and I mean really, need to work on your greetings, kitten,â he tells you calmly, evol delivering the mug into his waiting hand while he holds the suitcase he has in the other hand away from his body to avoid being dripped on by his now soaked torso.
âSorry, you were the last person I was expecting.â You wince, heart still threatening to beat its way out of your rib cage.
âOh, expecting someone, are we?â he lifts a dark silver eyebrow.
âNo, but least of all⊠you.â You flap your hand in his general direction. âWhat are you even doing here?â
âHow about,â he drawls, âyou let me in, and Iâll tell you. You wouldnât want your neighbors to get curious and come to inquire about the mess Iâm making on your doorstep, would you?â
You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to think of a way out of having him in your space, again, but youâre tired at the end of another long day, another long week, another long month and this whole entire fucking year. Trying to get rid of him will take more energy than just letting him do what he wants so that heâll go away again. You run a hand down your face and shuffle aside.
He enters, and the scent of him fills the small foyer, warm and mouth-watering. He sets the briefcase and mug on the floor, removes his dress shoes and places them neatly by your own hastily-kicked-off boots next to the step leading into the rest of your flat. He then picks the mug back up and reads whatâs written on it.
âWorldâs best hunter, indeed.â He snorts softly, eyes flicking from your face to your thin tank top and sleep shorts covered in grinning little bounce, bounce planet blobbus, to your bare feet. âIs this how the worldâs greatest hunter always answers the door to unknown visitors?â
âIt was a gift,â you say defensively, snatching the mug from him and cradling it to your chest. âAnd the only people who would be at my door this late is Xavier borrowing a cup of sugar for some doomed baking experiment, or a delivery person. Iâm sure theyâve seen much worse than this,â you sweep your hand down your body in a dismissive flourish.
âOh, Iâm sure theyâve seen much worse.â Sylus frowns slightly.
âYeah, so if they donât like it, theyâre welcome to move on to their next delivery.â
âOr buy their own sugar,â Sylus murmurs, reaching out to run a finger along your knuckles as you clutch the mug. âAnd who gave you this highly accurate mug?â
You hesitate, knowing that his face is going to do something complicated, like it always does, when you mention your family. But fuck it, he asked. If he doesnât like the answer, he can also move on to whatever his next nefarious errand is. âSomeone who was like a brother to me.â
âBrother, huh,â he says softly, still gently stroking your skin. âWell, he wasnât wrong in this.â His hand falls back to his side. âInvite me all the way in, kitten. With your words,â he commands.
âAnd why should I do that? The deal was to let you come in. Youâre in now. You donât need to come in any further. Now itâs your turn to honor the deal. Why are you here?â You glare up at him, your foyer feeling minuscule with his big body and presence filling it.
âYou offered me your place if I ever needed it,â Sylus narrows his glittering eyes. âI needed it today before you flung steaming liquid all over my clothes. And now I need it even more.â He looks pointedly down at the still-dripping clothes in question.
âWhat did you originally need it for?â You stall, the guilt of throwing a mug fullâhalf! Half full! of tea at him starting to creep in.
âHow about you invite me all the way into your home, with your words, help me take care of this mess you caused,â he waves a lazy finger at his torso, âand Iâll tell you.â
âBut you already promised to tell me why youâre here in exchange for the initial value of me letting you in, and I let you in. I already paid. You canât make me pay twice for the same goods,â you protest.
âRemind me to take you with me the next time I have contract negotiations. Youâre more useful than my own legal counsel.â He pauses, considering you. âCircumstances have changed. Force majeure prevents me from fulfilling my original promise without requiring additional time and means to fulfil that promise. You owe me the opportunity to successfully deliver what I owe you.â
âWhat, exactly, is preventing you from telling me why you originally came to my home right here in my entryway?â
âThe consequences of an unforeseeable natural disaster,â he answers with a little helpless shrug. âNamely, the trauma of nearly getting drowned in tea following almost being taken out by a mug launched with your god-like strength. Kitten, your assault is the equivalent of an act of god, and I canât be responsible for the fact that I now need a dry shirt and a safe place to recover from the shock of almost being murdered by your tableware.â
You canât help it. It has been so long since youâve actually laughed out loud, so the noise that comes out of you doesnât even sound human. Youâre laughing, and you canât stop. The affronted look on Sylusâs face in response to your ugly-snorts, causes you to laugh even more, and youâre suddenly bending over, holding your knees, laughing like you might die if you stop.
After a long moment, when you are finally able to breathe again, you straighten and find Sylus looking at you with a soft expression, one corner of his wide mouth slightly lifted⊠which is alarming. But youâre too filled with gratitude for the relief of laughing that his absurd exaggeration just gave you, so you refuse to think about anything at all too hard right now. You give in.
âSylus, would you do me the honor of coming into my home? You can tell me what the hell youâre doing here after I find you a dry shirt.â You sarcastically bow as low as you can, your arms uplifted to gesture him forward.
âI suppose I canât refuse such a graciously extended offer,â he says, as if resigned to a terrible fate, but his smile is smug and he wastes no time striding into your living room while unbuttoning his vest. He gently lays it over the back of your couch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You force yourself to stop staring as the pale skin slowly being revealed with each flick of his long fingers and head to your bedroom.
You paw through your chest of drawers, trying to find a shirt that will fit his broad shoulders and chest, but all you manage to do is make even more of a mess in your barely organized drawers. You stand, remembering the hoodie Xavier leant you after a recent, particularly messy battle on a chilly night. You move to your closet where you had hung it carefully to remind yourself to give it back to him after having washed it. You pull it from the hanger, turn around, and squeal loud enough to shatter glass.
Sylus is standing right behind you, chest bare, black slacks hung low around his narrow hips, and you did not heard him come in.
âI thought we were past the terror stage of our friendship, sweetheart,â he says, cocking his head, the same ruby stud earrings he was wearing at the club flashing in the light. âBut thatâs twice today that Iâve frightened you to the point of violence. Am I really that scary?â
âYou keep⊠appearing, out of nowhere. A little warning would be appreciated,â you huff, heart pounding. You donât know why youâre so nervous around him. Really. It has nothing to do with the broad expanse of creamy skin and pillowy man-tits shoved in your face at the moment. âAnd honestly, considering the fact that our friendship started with you choking me out and keeping me captive for days, itâs a wonder that Iâm not more scared of you,â you flare, because yeah, how dare he act like you should be over the absolute shit-show of your first encounter, when youâve hardly had any time to get to know him. Thatâs why youâre nervous. There is no other possible explanation. A couple friendly interactions do not make up for how much of an evil bastard he was when you first met him.
âWould you like me to wear a bell when Iâm here, then?â he asks, conveniently ignoring the reminder regarding how he treated you not so long ago.
âHow about you just stay out of my bedroom and stay where I can see you at other times,â you snap, feeling violent again at the intrusive thought of Sylus wearing a collar around his thick neck, cute little bell dinging every time he moved.
âIâll do my best,â he says absently, clearly distracted by his thorough inventory of your bedroom as he takes in the tumbling plants in mismatched pots on floating shelves hanging over the unmade bed, the army of plushies scattered over the bunched up mountain of duvet and pillows. Your bed used to be your sanctuary. The place where you could find rest and relaxation after exhausting battles and long days squinting at the computer filing incident reports. Now it just gives you anxiety. You try to pull his attention away from the chaos of your former safe space by holding Xavierâs hoodie out for Sylus to take.
âHere, this might fit you.â
Sylus looks down at your offering, crosses his arms, and takes a step back, as if the hoodie is so offensive that it warrants recoiling physically from it. âThatâs quite a big hoodie for you, even for days when you want to be comfortable,â he says evenly.
âItâs not mine, but itâs clean, and Iâm pretty sure itâs the only thing I have right now that will fit you,â you say, shaking it a little in the universal, impatient gesture of just take it already for fuckâs sake.
âAnd who is its actual owner?â
âXavier.â
âIn the habit of wearing your partnerâs clothing, are we?â he asks, still staring at it, the disdain now plain in his assessment of the sweatshirt.
âUh, sometimes? We were on a mission recently and my jacket got torn to the point of uselessness, and it was cold. He let me wear his hoodie so I wouldn't be cold. It's been washed since then, so it's clean. Iâll just wash it again when youâre done using it before I return it. Iâm sure he wouldnât mind.â
After what seems like a ridiculous amount of time for him to apparently make some mental calculations that only he will ever understand, he finally takes the soft hoodie from you, fingertips brushing yours as he grasps the fabric. You canât figure out why he he suddenly looks more smugly evil than youâve ever seen, with his lips curved up in a sardonic smirk. âOh, of course, Iâm sure he will not mind at all.â He pulls the hoodie over his head and shimmies a little as he drags it down is body; itâs a little tight around the shoulders, but you donât think itâs tight enough to permanently stretch the fabric.
After itâs on, he tugs the collar up to his nose and inhales deeply.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask, as if you canât see perfectly well what he is doing.
âIt smells like you,â he answers, shameless, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer to your question.
âWell, I did wear it, and wash it with my normal detergent and it has been hanging in my closet for a while, soâŠâ your voice trails off.
âAnd soon it will smell like me too,â he continues, letting the collar fall with a satisfied flick of his fingers.
What even is this conversation? âCan you just be normal? For once?" A look of boredom is all the response you get, so you continue. "Now get out of my bedroom. Come tell me why youâre here in the first place.â You stride past him, making your way into the living room.
He follows you obediently and plops down on the couch, and just like last time, spreads his legs wide. This time, he is able to rest his arms on either side along the back of the couch, effectively occupying the whole damn thing. He sits quietly, looking at you expectantly.
You stand, arms folded, a safe distance away from the couch near the kitchen island.
âWell?â You prompt.
âItâs customary to offer your guest a refreshing beverage upon receiving them in your home. I believe I offered you wine the first time I hosted you in my own home.â
âHosted?â He canât be serious. âWhat a generous euphemism for âunlawfully imprisoned,ââ you bite out.
âPo-tae-to,â he says serenely, âPo-tah-to.â
âSylus,â you warnâabout what, youâre not sure. He wants a beverage? Okay, perhaps youâll fling more hot tea at him if he doesnât start talking.
âKitten.â He continues gazing at you, clearly in no hurry to move things along.
âIf you donât tell me, right now, why the hell you showed up at my place unannounced, I will report you as a burglar and have you removed by the authorities.â
âBut then how will you explain to Xavier why Iâve been arrested wearing his sweater?â he asks, eyes wide, all concern for what your partnerâs thoughts on the matter would be, and what they would mean for you.
âBurglars have been known to be creeps and go rooting through their victimsâ closets and wearing their clothes! Iâll just say you were wearing it when I got here. Maybe heâll be worried that itâs him youâre actually interested in harassing,â you snicker, trying to picture Xavierâs reaction.
As youâre speaking, Sylus pulls out his phone and fiddles with it with a bored expression on his face. Â
âOh, Iâm sorry, am I boring you? Perhaps you should go find something more interesting to do and leave me in peace,â you grind out after youâve finished and notice his complete lack of attention.
Your irritation is interrupted by a notification on your phone. Since Sylus is so busy messing with his, you grab yours from where it has been lying on the counter since before Sylus interrupted your peaceful evening staring out into the city. You see that you have a new message from⊠the man currently oozing across the entirety of your couch, head lolled to the side and watching you with a hint of amusement curving his mouth.
You open the chat, and your eyes widen at the conversation that never fucking happened currently loading into your chat history, with time stamps corresponding to when Sylus showed up at your door.
You: Oh Sylus, my big, handsome partner in crime, I think thereâs an intruder in my flat and Iâm so scared!
The Sytuation: What makes you think theres an intruder in your home, kitten? Im on my way.
You: There is sugar missing from my pantry! I just bought a new bag yesterday, and itâs gone! Oh please, my dark knight, come protect me from the sugar thief who should buy his own sugar and stop coming to my place to pilfer mine!
The Sytuation: Of course, sweetie. Go wait by the door, Ill be there in 5.
âWhat. Is. This. Fuckery,â you demand, thrusting your phone in his face.
He shrugs. âYou threatened to lie about why Iâm here in a bid to get rid of me. Did you not expect me to counter your move to ensure that no one will believe you?â he pauses, and then narrows his eyes. "Did you really save me in your phone as 'The Situation,' with a Y?"
"Punny, right? My phone doubles as my work phone. You really think I'm going to save your real name in my contacts? I might as well just save you as 'Sylus Qin, leader of Onychinus, most wanted criminal in the N109 zone," you grumble. "And trust me, that's the nicest name I could come up with."
"Punny," he repeats derisively, unimpressed.
âAnd don't derail. What is this nonsense about a sugar thief?â You wave the phone again.
âYour colleague should learn to stock his own pantry if he wants to engage in⊠what did you call them? Doomed baking experiments?â
âHow did you even⊠why does it look so real?â You gaze down at the texts that look so authentic that if they hadnât been filled with such bullshit, youâd be doubting your own sanity about whether the conversation had really happened.
âYouâre really surprised that faking evidence, alibis and dirt on my opponents is a part of my vast skill set? Iâm hurt that you underestimate me so.â He looks at you like heâs disappointed, a little pout pulling down his stupid beautiful mouth.
âFor fuckâs sake.â Youâre done. The longer you resist, the longer Sylus will be in your flat, driving you up the wall. âFine. Fine!â You set your phone down again and throw up your hands. âWhat do you want to drink, Sylus?â
âTwo fingers of gin, if you have it. Or brandy. Or vodka.â He thinks for a moment. âIâm not feeling too picky tonight.â
âI donât keep hard liquor in my house, you alcoholic. I have a half-open bottle of rosĂ© in the fridge. Will that satisfy his lordship?â You turn resignedly to trod your way to your fridge.
âWhat vineyard and vintage?â he asks, perking up.
You open the fridge and pull out the bottle. You squint at the label. âI dunno. It has a cute fish on the label, so I bought it.â
He looks at you like you just murdered Mephisto, and you begin pouring the pink liquid into another mug. This one says UNT on the side in big block letters, matching the size of the handle so that when you hold it, the handle looks like a matching C. You walk back to where heâs sitting, and you think that maybe your smile looks as smug as Sylusâs usually does when you hand him his drink.
He takes the mug from you, snorts when he reads the side, and then look at its contents dubiously for a moment.
âYou taste it first,â he finally says, looking back up at you.
âWorried I poisoned it?â Youâre still grinning.
âAs you say,â he says, tilting his head.
âPerhaps you shouldnât demand beverages from people you donât trust then.â
âI trust you, just not your taste in wine after learning you choose bottles based on the cuteness of the label. Indulge me,â he murmurs. âProve to me that youâre willing to drink it, and that itâs not just swill youâre trying to get rid of by offering it to me.â
You take the mug from him and lift it to your lips, taking a sip, watching him over the rim as you swallow. His nostrils flair, and he lifts his hand in a gesture for you to return it to him. Instead of giving it back, you take one more big gulp, and his brow furrows. Only after you've slowly swallowed again do you comply, relishing the warmth spreading through your body as you lower the mug for him to take. He brushes your fingers again as he takes it back. He turns the mug, so that his mouth hovers where yours just was. He then closes his eyes and inhales, gently swirling the liquid inside. Eyes still closed, he takes a sip.
After a moment, he sighs. âThank you. This is actually not bad, for a rosĂ©.â
âYouâre such a snob,â you smile down at him, irrationally pleased that he seems so pleased.
âLife is too difficult, and too short, to waste on inferior experiences. I only like tasting the best,â he says, bright red eyes opening and fixing on you.
He looks up at you like you should be able to draw some deeper meaning from his words, but youâre tired, warm from the wine, and despite how much he winds you up you were just moments ago, right now youâre strangely relaxed for the first time in days.
âTell me why youâre here, Sylus,â you say quietly.
âYou told me I could use your place when I needed it,â he says, just as softly. He takes another drink, rolls it around in his mouth. Swallows, his adamâs apple dipping.
âAnd why did you need it this evening?â
âI had some negotiations regarding a business acquisition that Iâm considering in this part of Linkon City, and they were abhorrently boring. By the time they were over, I had a splitting headache, and the sunlight didnât help. It would have been unsafe to operate a motor vehicle under those conditions, so I thought Iâd come and wait for it to pass in my newest âsafe house,â he answers gravely, as if getting a headache was a perfectly logical reason to crash your evening and take over your couch. âWouldnât want to endanger the innocent citizens of Linkon City with reckless driving, now would we?â
âArenât all of your shady business deals done under the cover of darkness? Why were you here at a meeting during the day?â
Heâs holding the mug in one hand by his fingertips now, along the rim, slowly swirling it. He crosses one long leg over the other and answers languidly. âYouâre assuming that todayâs business was âshady.ââ
âSo your business today was legitimate?â Youâve been standing for awhile now, and begin to shift from bare foot to bare foot.
He hums in acknowledgement. âMy business interests are as varied as they are successful. You insult me by looking so surprised.â
âWell I would never want to insult you,â you drawl. âSo thatâs it? You got a headache and decided youâd crash my evening?â
He nods, touching his temple and grimacing. âItâs still pretty bad, to be honest.â
âThe daylight bothers you that much?â you ask, genuinely curious. You have always assumed that it was the nature of his occupation and perhaps just a proclivity for being a night owl that explained his nocturnal existence, but now youâre wondering if itâs not something deeper that has him avoiding it as much as possible.
You finally decide to give your tired feet a break and perch on the little corner of couch cushion that has been freed for use by Sylus crossing his legs. âIf sunlight bothers you that much, what could possibly be so important to come out in it today?â
âAre you really asking about the details of my business ventures, sweetheart?â he asks in what you suspect is feigned astonishment.
âAnd if I am?â
âThen Iâll tell you,â he responds easily.
âThen I am.â
âIâm in discussions for acquiring a chain of entertainment venues in Linkon City.â He leans his head on the couchâs backrest and lets it roll to the side to keep looking at you. He catches the look of disgust that is no doubt obvious on your face.
âEntertainment venues,â you say flatly.
âYes. Is there something wrong with that?â
âWhat kind of ⊠entertainment venues?â you ask, hating yourself for wanting to know. Itâs his business if he wants to buy porn shops, or strip clubs, or brothelsâyour stomach twists, and you refuse to consider why.
âWhat kind of ideas are racing through that fascinating brain of yours?â he asks, reaching up and running two of his fingers along your temple, brushing your hair away from your eyes.
âNothing,â you bite out, turning your face away from his touch. You normally dislike how you have a hard time concealing how youâre feeling, but you particularly hate it right now.
âMmhmm,â he murmurs. âThen, to answer your question, itâs a chain of arcades.â
Your brain grinds to a halt. Did he just sayâ
âArcades?â
He nods, and winces, closing his eyes. Youâre starting to believe that his head is actually hurting him, and you feel bad for throwing dishware and hot tea at him and refusing to offer him more than the one drink he asked for.
âWhy would you be interested in acquiring an arcade chain?â
âEven for odious crime lords, itâs always wise to have a diversified business portfolio.â
You have called him a lot of things both out loud and in your head, but youâd never call him odious. Odorous, perhaps, when heâs sweating heavily after being riddled with bullets. But you have to suppress the urge to chastise him about talking about himself that way.
âWhich chain is it?â
âYou probably donât know it,â he says, as if bored with the question. âItâs not a very large chain, but large enough for my interests.â
âTry me! I love going to the arcade when I have some free time. I mean, youâve seen my plushie collection now that you invited yourself into my house,â you bounce a little on the couch.
âYou invited me, kitten. Youâve had a choice, each and every time.â
âDonât deflect! Answer the question!â Youâre quite excited about this. Maybe if itâs a place you know, that has a location nearby, heâll give you a discount if he ends up buying them? Like an employee discount or something. Is that ethical? You should check the Associationâs employee handbook for conflicts of interest.
He squints, as if preparing to evaluate your reaction, and names your favorite place to play the claw machine.
âFor real? Youâre really going to buy them?â
âI still have to review the contract that was proposed during todayâs discussions with my legal counsel, but if negotiations are successful, then yes,â he says, casually examining his nails.
Your excitement is hard to contain, but you suddenly have a troubling thought. âYouâre not going to change anything, right? Like, that place is perfect as it is, and the employees are all really friendly and helpful and clearly work hard to keep it really nice,â you rush out, worried that heâs planning to reduce the staff or try to jack up the prices for a larger profit margin.
He turns to look at you again, and doesnât answer for long enough that youâre really starting to worry. But then he says softly, âNo, Iâm not going to change a thing.â
âOh? So theyâre doing well? Itâs a solid financial investment?â Youâre so relieved, safe in the knowledge that your plushies will continue to be accessible, insofar as claw machines by design allow them to be.
Sylus laughs softly. âYes, the financials all look good. Considering your interest in the nature of binding agreements, would you like to look over the purchase agreement with me? I have it with me.â
âIâd actually really like to, but Iâm starting to get really tired,â you yawn, the relief you were just feelingâthe relief of knowing that Sylus wasnât up to anything that would leave a blood trail today, relief that he didnât come tonight to try to force you to resonate or finally kill you for refusing to do so, and most importantly, relief that he wasnât going to acquire and ruin one of the little pleasures in your lifeâall of it is now drowned out by a heavy feeling of pleasant drowsiness.
âThen Iâll read it to you, until you fall asleep.â
âHuh? You want to stay?â
âYes,â he says, hauling himself to his feet and offering you his hand. You take it in confusion, and he lifts you to your feet as well. He sets the now empty mug on your coffee table, and then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you from behind to your bedroom.
âWhy?â you ask, not even thinking to object.
âHeadache, remember?â He pushes you gently by your shoulders so that youâre sitting on your bed.
âHow can you review legalese when youâre suffering from a headache?â You sink into the softness of the mattress.
âWhy donât you let me worry about that?â he says, nudging you until youâve scooted to the middle of the bed. âDonât move. Iâm going to get my tablet out of my briefcase.â He disappears through the doorway, and youâre left sitting on your bed, surrounded by all of your plushies, and you have no idea whatâs happening. Youâre just too tired to argue with him. You really did miscalculate by spending all of your energy trying to get rid of him when he first arrived.
But just because youâre bone-tired, doesnât mean youâre going to let him boss you around. You get off the bed and pad into the kitchen, passing him as he snaps his briefcase shut, tablet in hand.
âI distinctly recall telling you not to move,â he gripes, pushing up an elegant set of gold framed glasses perched on the uneven bridge of his nose with a middle finger. Huh, you didnât know he needed glasses to read. He looks almost ⊠cute wearing them, a little less feral. Like a leopard wearing a monocle.
Suppressing the thought of Sylus and cute in the same sentence, you ignore him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Then you rummage through your most chaotic kitchen drawer for a few moments, before triumphantly pulling out what you were looking for.
You pad back over to where heâs still watching you, and offer him the glass and the half-used blister pack of over-the-counter painkillers you fished out of your chaos drawer. âHere.â
He looks down at your hands, offering him what you hope is some relief from his headache. His face is impassive, and youâre worried he assumes youâre trying to poison him again. But then he tucks the tablet under one arm, and reaches out with both hands to grasp the glass and the pill packâexcept he doesnât take them from your hands. He envelops yours with his, and pulls you gently closer to him. He somehow manages to pop two tablets out of the pack with his thumb, and they drop into your curved palm. Still holding your hand, he leans down to sweep them from your skin with his tongue. In a complete daze, you watch him lift the glass that youâre still holding to his lips, and he takes a long pull of water, washing the pills down, all the while holding your gaze with his. When heâs done, he slowly lowers your hands again.
âThank you,â he murmurs âFor the benevolence of your heart.â He says it gravely, as if youâve just saved his life instead of giving him some headache medicine.
âYouâre welcome,â you whisper, feeling like youâve been struck by a truck after⊠whatever that was, feeling the warmth of his tongue in the palm of your hand like he was still licking it. Sylus then turns and heads back to your bedroom.
You set the glass and the now-empty pill pack on the kitchen island, thinking youâll clean up tomorrow if you manage to sleep tonight, and follow him.
In the bedroom, Sylus sits, leaning back against your headboard, having needed to gently scoop some plushies out of the way to make room. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a sigh. He looks so soft, wrapped in the white hoodie, silver hair rumpled, surrounded by pillows and cute little plushies.
Itâs getting increasingly difficult to remember that the man currently sinking into your duvet and wiggling his sock-covered toes in contentment is the same man who straight up exploded the man who dared kidnap you, and then proceeded to kidnap you himself after choking you to the point of passing out. You try to hold both of these truths about him in your mind at the same time, but the image of Sylus dancing you gently through a press of bodies, of the way he caresses your fingers at every opportunity, the soft slide of his tongue along your palmâthese images are conquering every other version of him that you know to be true in your mind. You wonder briefly if this is part of some larger scheme of his, and what his endgame could possibly be. But right now, youâre too fucking tired to care.
âWhat is even happening,â you ask. Youâre exhausted, but you still have enough mental reserves to question how you got here, in this situation, with this man migrating from vanquishing your couch to a large part of your bed. âIs the coffee table, or kitchen table insufficient for your needs? Why are you going to review the paperwork here, on my bed?â
âDonât think I didnât notice how quickly you fell asleep on my back on the motorcycle the other night, sweetheart. Iâm just reading you a bedtime story featuring limitations of liability and allocation of risk so that you can finally get some sleep again.â He pats his thigh. âHere.â
You just stare at him. âDonât make me repeat myself,â he warns, tapping his thigh again with one long finger. Just for that, you glare mutinously at him and fold your arms over your chest.
He sighs again, this time in exasperation, and leans over, firmly lifting you and setting you down so that your head is pillowed against his meaty thigh. He begins to run his fingertips gently up and down the middle of your back. He returns his attention to his tablet. âNow listen carefully,â he commands, before flicking the screen with his thumb and beginning to read in his softly in his deep, rich voice.
But of course you don't. You fall asleep as the skyscrapers light up like a dragon's hoard of jewels in the night sky outside your window, to the sounds of Sylusâs quiet recitation of indeed, a terribly boring contract, and the whisper of his fingers along your skin.
When you wake up, there is another black feather on your pillow, and you are alone. You yawn, once again feeling unbelievably rested despite the chaos Sylus always brings to your door and into your life. You stretch leisurely, spreading your arms wide and turning your head on the pillow, when something catches in your earlobe. You reach up and run your fingers along a stud earring that was not there when you fell asleep. You feel your other earlobe, but it's empty. You grab your phone from the nightstand, knocking over a semiautomatic hand pistol with scarlet flames engraved along the grip that you also don't remember owning onto the floor. You stare at it briefly, ready to commit murder if you check it and find that the safety isn't on. But first things first: you put the phone camera in selfie mode and lift it to your face, but quickly lower it again after confirming that it is indeed a ruby stud in your ear, sparkling cheekily in the morning sunlight.
Later, you're relieved to find that Sylus did actually leave the safety on on your new little ... toy, and you'll find that the mugs have been washed and set neatly away, the empty pack of painkillers placed in the recycling bin. You also see that various takeout containers and other debris that had piled up on a lot of surfaces in your place are also gone, and the countertops are clean, the coffee and kitchen table gleam in the early morning sunlight. You don't notice that the white hoodie is nowhere to be found, until you meet up with Xavier later in the day. He's wearing one that looks exactly like it.
"Thanks for returning the hoodie," he yawns. "But you really didn't have to."
You pause, feeling a thread of panic start to wind its way through your stomach. You decide to just... go with it. "Oh? You found it okay?"
"Yeah, but why did you just leave it hanging from my door handle? You could have rung and come in. I had a new limited edition bag of those cookies you were looking at in the corner store last week. I would have shared some with you... but now I've eaten them all," he admits sheepishly, big blue eyes shimmering with guilt.
You try to think fast. Did Sylus give back the hoodie without washing it? What the fuck was he thinking? He could have been seen! Does this flat have surveillance footage? Does Xavier suspect anything? You realize that you still haven't answered Xavier's question as your panic spirals. "Oh, you know, didn't want to wake you up," you flap your hands, as if you can flap this entire situation right out of your messy life.
"Well, I don't know what you did to it, but it feels brand new. As if it's never even been washed. And you somehow got out the bbq sauce stain that no matter how much I sprayed it with that stain remover stuff would never come out. So you're going to have to teach me some of that laundry magic," he says contentedly, snuggling further into the entirely new hoodie that you now realize Sylus must have somehow, over the course of the night, had hand-delivered to Xavier's place. "Uh huh," you say absently, pulling out your phone to furiously text Mr. Asshat when you see that he has also changed his name in your contact list.
You: What the hell did you do with Xavier's hoodie?"
My Sy: It doesnt matter who it belonged to before me. All that matters is that its mine now.
You: It doesn't even fit you properly! You're too big for it!
My Sy: Nothing a little size training cant fix.
Your jaw drops. He cannot be implying what you think he's implying. This is your filthy mind at work. You decide that you will simply pretend this conversation never happened. Absolutely nothing good can come from trying to figure out what the fuck is going through Sylus's head at any given moment.
You: And 'My Sy?' Really?
My Sy: Its not punny, but it rhymes. And its accurate. Gotta put the phone down for a bit, kitten. Business requires my attention. Ill be seeing you soon.
You stare at his last message for long enough that Xavier asks if you're okay. You're not. You're not okay. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask him about the other earring, or the gun. You just slowly slip your phone back into your cargo pants pocket and try very hard to stop thinking, for the rest of the day.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#l&ds sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x mc#love and deepspace fanfiction#my fanfic#did i spend time in glint just to make a photo of sylus touching his temple for this post#to go with today's theme#yes your honor#i hope someone finds this enjoyable#i'm having fun writing and fixating on this king
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ê«Â áŽá
ᎠAllegation of Love.
Aaron Hotchner x Lawyer!reader
Summary: When you arrive at the police station to defend a client's innocence, you don't expect the man accusing her to be the same man you've been dating for months.
Words: 1,6k.
TW: fem!reader. mentions of crime and serial killers. established relationship. aaron already divorced. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: I just love Hotch and wanted to write something with him here. To me, he is definitely the kind of man who is so tired from work that he tries not to mention it on a date (of course, after all the trauma he has been through).
Also, I'm warning you that this is all very chaotic because I'm doing a lot of serious writing lately and I need pink love, comforting and even uncomfortable chaos to relax. So I've been re-watching the first season of the show (sorry, I'm just a girl and not a fan of the last few seasonsđ„Č) and I want to salvage a little of the Hotch we were introduced to before so much misfortune befell him.
⥠Enjoy! âĄ
It wasn't that you were annoying, particularly aggressive, or obsessed with being right, you just did your job to the best of your ability. Even if that meant being the villain of other people's stories and mentally going over every law to make sure it was obeyed.
The issue was that not everyone saw it the same way. In the workplace, where you managed, your exact memorization of the rules wasn't always appreciated if you were the one carrying the defense and doing everything to overthrow the other side's theories. For the same reason, you usually had to argue with cops, prosecutors, judges, andâon this occasionâeven an FBI agent who wasn't happy with your presence.
You had in your hands an alleged confession of several murders delivered by your client under the coercion of the man who was interrogating her, without your presence there and with some pretty questionable methods to put her in an empty room without concrete evidence or an order from the judge. Unbelievably, it was a fairly common occurrence in your day-to-day work.
At least it was until the boss of the agent you were arguing with showed up and everything started to get complicated.
âWhat's going on here?â
The cross words and your intensity in emphasizing the injustice of the manipulation of the confession did not allow you to realize that there was someone else in the room. Much less that it was someone who looked exclusively at you until one of the police officers present cleared his throat.
âThere has been a violation of the law.â You slowly turned to look behind you, and that's when you saw him.
Aaron stood stiffly, trying to look professional and serious, wearing a tie that matched your dress.
âThere wasn't one, Hotch. We just got the confession.â Agent Morgan interjected into the silence provoked by the exchange of glances between you and his supervisor.
For the first time in the half hour you'd been there, you were completely silent. Even when two more agents showed up to try to defuse the situation, you didn't stop repeating the same arguments and insisting on your point. Now, however, you seemed to have lost the ability to speak.
There was a long pause before Aaron spoke carefully. âI'll take care of clarifying the situation.â
Trying to remain serious and stoic, he led you to one of the station's offices with the excuse that he wanted to talk about the case quietly so as not to attract the attention of his team. The strange thing was that he called you by name in front of everyone, without anyone having introduced you before. Maybe one of you two would have noticed if you had been a little less attentive to the other and more attentive to how the situation looked in the other's eyes.
âWhat are you doing here?â He asked as soon as he closed the door behind you, loosening the tension in his jaw a little, at least now it was just the two of you.
âWhere's my 'Good to see you, sweetie. Please don't sue us' or anything like that?â
He raised an eyebrow at your comment, hoping you would take it seriously. Automatically and unconsciously, he had begun to move away from you and sat down on the other side of the desk, marking a distance between the two of you. Aaron had brought out his work side and you had hidden it at the mere sight of him.
âThe woman your team pressured into confessing to a crime is my client.â You finally spoke in a serious tone, staring at him with some surprise. This wasn't the usual dynamic with himâyou usually had a more relaxed side to him.
âSince when do you take cases like this?â
âSince it's been assigned to me.â You said, raising your shoulders. âOne of the buffet partners is on vacation and left me to his clients, as I mentioned the other night.â
The other night when you were in his car, when he had his hand on your thigh as he drove home, when he smiled at you every chance he got to turn around and look at you. When the two of you weren't on completely different sidewalks and weren't supposed to act like strangers.
âThis is pretty weird.â You said after watching him for a few seconds and noticing that he seemed lost in his memories. âI hope the agent I was arguing with isn't your friend. That would be awkward.â
Aaron looked at you, trying to figure out what could have happened before he showed up. He already knew you were a good lawyer, very capable and, above all, a good striker. It was too weird for him to think that you had been using your skills against his own team, against the friends he once wanted to introduce you to and that you had now met for the first time in the most unimaginable way.
âWhat?â You asked.
âNothing.â
âYou look at me like I'm a ghost.â
His brow furrowed again.
He didn't want to say out loud that everything related to his work had ended badly and was completely destroyed, just like his ex-marriage and any attempt to fix it. He had always felt comfortable with you because your work was just as demanding but less dangerous than his. You usually handled family cases, divorces, estates, and coordinating child care. You were away from the blood, the killers, and all the atrocities he lived with.
âI'm worried about you being in the middle of this. It can be dangerous.â He showed his concern for you and had to hold back from holding your hand.
âYou should worry more about the lawsuit.â You pointed out in a tone somewhere between teasing and serious. You didn't like him worrying too much. âI'm very good.â
âThis is serious.â He finally let his guard down and placed his hand on your knee from under the table, giving it a gentle touch.
That was the man you know and love.
âMe too, it's my job.â
âAnd you're making my job harder.â He pointed out with a small smile in response to yours.
What were the chances of your love life and work life crossing paths like this? You thought they were pretty slim, which is why you steered clear of talking about work when you were together.
You were just about to answer when you heard a tap on the door and one of the agents who had been watching you during your discussion came over to give Aaron some information about the profile. You couldn't understand him very well because he seemed to be speaking in code because of your presence.
âI'll be there in a moment, Rossi. Get the team together and we'll talk.â Hotchner finished earnestly. You could still feel the warmth of his touch on your knee. âI'm just finishing up here.â
As soon as he left the office, you looked at Aaron with surprise.
âIs he who you always mention?â You asked, and he nodded. âI thought it was 'Rosie,' not 'Rossi,' and that he was a woman.â
âNow I understand why you grimace when I mention his name.â He replied with some amusement. âYou were jealous.â
Yes, especially when you found out that they'd shared a room once.
âDon't mock me, I'm about to sue you.â You advertiste in a fake threatening tone, pointing a finger at him. âAnd I don't care how handsome you look right now, I'll do my job.â
âMe too.â He replied, trying to ignore your compliment to keep a serious expression on his face. âAnd you look pretty too, I like that dress.â
The love between you seemed to be bubbling anyway, and it was impossible to hide it when you had breakfast together just a few hours ago. You went from making him coffee to offering him a lawsuit if he didn't agree with you.
âI know, I'll use this dress while I debunk your profile theory.â You got up from your seat suddenly after taking your phone out of your bag. It was then that you looked him in the eye. âAre you going to release my client now or should I call the judge?â
âYou're not going to take a suspect in five murders. I'm not going to let her off the hook.â He copied your action.
âGive me the evidence then, love.â
Oh, to call him that at that point was a cheap shot, especially when you were the one who won because he had no concrete evidence, only theories and his complex profile.
âBut stay away from her anyway, she can be dangerous. My agents will keep an eye on her.â He snorted after a few seconds, trying to find an argument, but failing.
At that moment, you gave him a little smile, proud of yourself and what you had accomplished. âSee you at dinner?â
âSure.â He replied without being able to help but give you a small smile in return. âBut I'll pick the place.â
âWell, that's an argument I'll let you win.â You put your phone back in your bag and took a couple of steps towards the door, stopping when you saw him coming after you. âCan I kiss my opponent?â
âThis is pretty unprofessional.â He said, putting a hand on your waist and leaning you against the door. Without hesitation, he kissed you firmly on the lips.
After a few minutes, the two of you walked out of the office as if nothing had happened, and the professional scene continued. Your heels clicked towards the exit with your client at your side, while Aaron met with his team, trying to find new ways to solve the case and refine the profile. The only problem was that he happened to be working with people who were very detail-oriented.
And, gosh, it was impossible not to notice the traces of your lipstick on his lips.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fanfiction#thomas gibson
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I always love whatever you make but prompt 10 with a delusional Jonathan crane is making me think things đ€
10: âIâve seen the way you look at me when you think I donât notice.â
warnings: dubcon/noncon smut (18+ ONLY!!!), professor!crane and student!reader, semi-public sex, overstimulation, hardly any plot because plot is for geeks im here to FUCK
"I know, I know," he cooed right against your ear, his tone condescending and thick with arousal as he thrusted into you, knocking you forward against the bookshelves. "I know it feels good, but you need to stay quiet. Don't want to get caught like this in the library, do you?"
But your whine hadn't been one of pleasure, at least not intentionally-- it was shock, and fear, and an attempt to beg him to stop which was not very effective with his hand over your mouth.
"I know this is what you needed," he hissed proudly, his other hand holding even tighter onto your hips. "I know you wanted this. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice-- in class, in the halls-- you're too obvious, darling."
Reaching behind yourself to try to push him away hadn't done you any good, so even though it was sort of a sign of grim acceptance, all you did was reach forward and try to hold onto the shelves for some stability.
"I know you wanted me," he insisted again, voice even rougher as his thrusts came faster, though he was still careful not to make too much noise. Truth be told, you might have had a little crush-- you weren't blind after all-- but you never wanted anything to come of it! Even if you had been looking at him as he'd accused, that was all it was: looking. You had no idea he was this obsessive, that he would corner you in the library and force himself on you... because of course you didn't. It was disturbing, really, to see this dark side he'd been hiding so well, presumably from everyone. You couldn't deny he always seemed intense, but never violent, never predatory.
It made you rethink little moments you'd had with him before, when he complimented your work or gave you a tilted smile when you answered a question in class. Had he been planning something like this from the beginning? The setting made this all feel pretty spontaneous, a crime of passion perhaps-- but the way he held you down felt rehearsed, the way he responded to every attempt to fight back was too perfect. He'd studied your weaknesses well, apparently.
Speaking of: the hand on your hip moved between your legs, fighting to get under the skirt and panties he'd pulled out of his way to fuck you. Pressing to your clit, he touched you with a shocking balance of clinical precision and rough brutality; you tried to scream, but his hand in the way muffled it to hardly a whine.
"Fucking come," he ordered hatefully through his teeth. "I want to feel it; come right now or I'll hurt you-- don't think I won't do it here. You have no idea what I can do to you."
You shook your head (as much as you could with his hand over your mouth so tightly), but it was more for yourself than for him; he obviously wasn't going to stop, and you just wanted to believe that you could still control this, that you could still hold back and not give him the satisfaction. That this didn't feel amazing even if it filled you with nauseating self-hatred.
Your knees buckled as it hit you, but he had such a tight grip on you that you didn't fall, only went limp as shivers ran all over you. "Good," he praised darkly, "keep going."
As long as he kept going, so would you-- even when your sore clit throbbed and ached, even when your hips jolted and your eyes shot wide open and your hands grabbed onto his arm in hopes of pulling it away.
"Not until I say you're done," he said, as if he was answering the plea you couldn't make. "Not until I'm fucking done with you."
#jonathan crane x reader#scarecrow x reader#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#saturday night sleepover
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Positive Reinforcement
Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)
Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged
Summary | Youâre convinced heâs the one, but youâve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe itâs time to switch up the strategy.
Words | 6.2k
Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol
Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - thereâs something for everyone here. As far as youâre concerned, youâre here for no reason. At least no serious reason. Youâre a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didnât agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.
Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again â big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that youâve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.
But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup heâs sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. Heâs worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television thatâs always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?
Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didnât judge you. At least not out loud.
But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, heâs grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. Thatâs the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but youâre too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.
âAre you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?â Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.
The question makes you smile. Oh, heâs always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasnât the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patientâs face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich ladyâs ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other womanâs dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didnât do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. Itâs his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.
A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though youâve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.
âShe shouldnât have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?â
You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. Itâs a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.
âWhistler?â You furrow your eyebrows. âWhat does she have to do with this? I thought⊠I thought you were trying to help me.â
âItâs Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.â He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. âIâll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. Youâre a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.â
This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and thereâs a bitter taste in your mouth. Heâs thinking of giving you away?
âYes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, weâre not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think sheâs itching to test out some new sedatives weâve added to the catalog.â Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesnât care. But youâre sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.
âYou canât do this,â you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. âIf you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. Theyâll all know that you gave up on me because you couldnât handle me.â
Craneâs eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. Thatâs a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. Heâs quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage thatâs simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.
Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?
"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.
"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"
His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.
"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"No. Because I know what you'll choose."
"Then I'm not doing it."
Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.
"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.
"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.
Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, weâre not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.â
Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?
âLet me burst your bubble for a moment,â He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. âYou have no power here. No agency, no privileges. Youâre not âdoingâ anything, youâre having things âdone toâ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because Iâm forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,â he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.
âNo more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, Iâll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.â
The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.
Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought heâs seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man whoâs as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but itâs his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.
âListen,â he starts, almost tentative. âI donât want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe youâve made a little progress so far, but youâd be even further along if youâd stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.â
âBut I need to. You donât understand.â
âUnderstand what?â
You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Craneâs eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.
âWhy are you doing this? All of this resistance⊠the altercations with other patients⊠your life could be so easy. So why?â
âTo make you notice me,â you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Craneâs eyebrows furrow in response.
âYou donât think I wouldâve noticed you without all of this mess?â He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.
âNo, you wouldnât. You wouldnât notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldnât spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others⊠I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.â
Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you canât tell whether itâs in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a âbadâ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.
âYouâre right. I wouldnât notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets⊠how much the faces start to blur together after a while. Youâre not very special at all, if Iâm being honest.â
The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least heâs being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.
âI could⊠make myself special to you.â A pause.
âDo you think youâre capable of doing that? I mean, so far, youâve just been causing problems and itâs getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?â
âI can be good⊠I could show you how I feel for you.â Itâs a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.
âHow do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.â
âIâm in love with you. I love you.â Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times youâve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesnât quite reach his eyes.
âThat was⊠fast. Didnât even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose itâs expected from you,â he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. Youâre quick to defend yourself. This isnât a joke to you, after all. Youâre laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.
âI mean it.â
He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.
 âThen do something to prove it.â He says it so nonchalantly. As if heâs not really expecting anything at all. But heâs severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheartâs eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.
âIâll show youâŠâ you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.
Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.
âGod⊠your cock is so beautiful⊠you donât know how long Iâve been dreaming of sucking you offâŠâ you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. Youâve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while youâre sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.
âI bet you taste as sweet as you look.â You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Craneâs brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know heâs always pent up, always stressed, and you donât really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since heâs always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.
Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.
You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.
âNo teeth, doll.â He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.
âCross my heart, Jon.â Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.
âItâs still Dr. Crane to youâŠâ His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like youâre trying to devour him whole. Youâre on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.
âFuck⊠Youâre so pretty when you gag on it.â
You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesnât seem to mind at all. Craneâs hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.
After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Craneâs thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.
âPerfect little cocksucker⊠so eager to show me your loveâŠâ He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. âAll the way down⊠yes, keep your tongue outâŠâ
You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. Heâs making these noises because of you.
âThatâs it⊠good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...â
You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesnât budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And itâs exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.
Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.
âYou okay?â
âYeah...â you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Craneâs hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.
âCatch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourselfâŠâ He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Craneâs brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.
Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he â Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and youâre immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.
âWhat?â
âWhat are you doing?â He asks, not bothering to elaborate.
âAs far as Iâm concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, Iâd like to keep my word and reward you.â
He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. Heâs pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.
âLet me see what Iâm working with, doll,â he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. âFucking hell⊠maybe I shouldâve indulged you sooner.â
It isnât much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.
âDid sucking my cock make you this wet already?â
âI mean⊠it is a pretty cockâŠâ you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.
âQuiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.â The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.
âPretty⊠so, so pretty,â he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.
You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesnât do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and youâre almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he canât escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, heâs not even trying to this time around. You knew heâd come around.
His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.
âJonathanâŠâ
For the first time, he doesnât correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. Heâs insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. Heâs almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, itâs Jonathanâs turn to get messy, and he doesnât mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.
âFuck â â
âJust another finger, doll. Let yourself go for meâŠâ He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.
Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.
Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess heâs made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.
âChrist, I want to kiss that expression off your face⊠Actually, donât mind if I do.â
Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. Itâs messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldnât care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.
Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like heâs trying to calm a wild animal. âEasy there⊠come on, be good.â
You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and itâs in that moment that Jonathan decides heâd like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.
Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld youâve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way thatâs considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.
You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. Youâre still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy thatâs clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.
âYouâre gonna come for me again,â he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.
âC⊠can you â â
âMove?â he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. âOnly if you cum again, Iâm afraid. Itâll be another reward.â
You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.
âGod, why would anyone ever leave youâŠâ he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. âPretty thing⊠if you didnât break his legs, Iâd recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hallâŠâ
Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. âInsanity, I tell you⊠abandoning such a cute toy... Itâs beyond me.â He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. âThatâs it⊠thaaatâs it.â
You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while youâre stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while heâs rearranging your anatomy with his cock.
âThere we go⊠stretched open so well.â
You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.
Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.
"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.
"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."
Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.
"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"
You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.
His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.
"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."
You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.
The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.
âAre you going to cum again?â He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.
âN⊠noâŠâ you whine
âNo? This ââ Heâs cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. âThis is your reward, doll⊠Weâre going to have to work on â fffuck â on gratitudeâŠâ
âI canât...! Please⊠pleaseâŠâ you beg, but youâre not sure what youâre even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.
âYou canât? Well⊠youâre going to.â His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible âDo it for me, hm? Just for meâŠâ
âNo- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!â Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. âPlease, please, please- â
âI know you can do it⊠one more time, doll⊠Just one more timeâŠâ
And you finally do as youâre told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and youâre not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like youâre a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.
âFuuuck â Christ, fuck -â Jonathanâs voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like youâre wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse thatâs hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and youâre absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.
For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing thatâs coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and youâre struck by overwhelming affection once again.
âI love youâŠâ
âShut upâŠâ But thereâs no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, thereâs a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like itâs the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.
âLooks like Iâll have to come up with more rewards in the future.â
#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy#jonathan crane smut#jonathan crane x you#jonathan crane x y/n#smut#.moth writes
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Jealousy (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)
-> in which you know Sauron is only getting close to Mirdania as part of your plans, but it still bothers you
Warnings: evil reader who is Sauronâs partner in crime (itâs not exactly healthy but you match each otherâs freak)
Note: now part of the evil!reader collection (various scenes with the same reader but not written and posted in chronological order)
If sheâs not in love yet, she is awfully close to it. You can see it plainly on Mirdaniaâs face as Sauronâor, as she knows him, Annatarâcradles her hand in his, convincing her yet again to do his bidding with nothing more than a softly spoken word and a gaze that lingers just a moment too long.
âCan I trust you to make sure the others respect his wishes as well?â you hear him say from where youâre standing, only a few feet away. Mirdania agrees almost immediately, looking as though she might pick up a hammer and crush her own fingers with it as well, if her beloved Lord of Gifts only asked.
You are being dramatic, of course. Itâs a good thing, having as many smiths of Eregion be vulnerable to Sauronâs deception as possible, but itâs awfully unfair that someone else should get to feel his touch so freely when you, the one with the most right to it, must restrain yourself until you are alone.
By the time they are finished conversing, you are glaring daggers in their direction. If Mirdania notices, you donât know and you donât care. Itâs his gaze you meet and hold for a brief moment before you turn yours away and leave the courtyard, knowing he would follow.
He had better.
Youâve reached a corridor you know to be empty most of the time, and are striding down it when a hand wraps around your arm and pulls you to the side. You hold back a smirk as your back meets the wall and you stare up into Sauronâs eyes.
âJealousy does not suit you,â he remarks sharply.
âFeigned innocence does not suit you,â you retort. âYet you never fail to make it convincing.â
âMirdania is hardly difficult to convince. And who can fault her?â he says, smugly. He likes to make your blood boil, and you like to let him. It stokes the passion between you. Usually. Now, however, it only serves to further your indignation.
âWho can fault her, indeed?â you say bitterly. âPerhaps sheâs not the one worthy of my ire. It was, after all, the Lady Galadriel to whom you oh-so-poetically compared Mirdania not that long ago. Perhaps your time together in Numenor brought you much closer than you led me to believe.â
Your accusation diminishes his playfulness. He puts a finger under your chin, lifting it slightly to better fix you with a warning gaze.
âI do not care for this attitude of yours,â he says disapprovingly. âYou were never quite so... irritable, before.â
âBefore?â you hiss, removing his hand from your face and holding his wrist between you in a grip tight enough you hope it hurts. âBefore you were taken from me without warning, and I was left alone in the world? Living amongst my kind as though nothing had changed, as though I still belonged with them. Playing the obedient little smith as if I was not meant to be so much more. Forgive me if, after all those interminable years awaiting my husbandâs return, I do not care to see his fingers in some other elfâs hair!â
Your last words are practically a growl as you release his hand furiously, slamming it into his own chest. He glances at it, then looks at you, having the decency to seem somewhat contrite for a brief moment.
âHad I known it bothered you so...â The slightest smirk tugs at his mouth. âIâd have at least tried to touch her hair out of your sight.â
You shove at his chest, spitting out an adjective in Black Speech with a most indelicate translation in the common tongue. This time, you donât want him to follow. Itâs your full intention to storm away and treat him with nothing but silence until youâre satisfied you have frustrated him as badly as he did you.
Youâve taken a few steps when he catches you by the waist, pulling you with your back flush against his front in the middle of the corridor. You make a sound of surprise, your hands flying to his, but you donât try to pry them away from you. His mouth is at your ear, hot and alluring.
âThere is a purpose to my every word, gesture and touch,â he says, the low rumble of his voice traveling deliciously down your spine. âA purpose of which you are well aware. Our purpose. Do you truly believe a head of pretty hair would so easily sway me, when I spent centuries dreaming to taste you once more?â
His voice has dropped to a whisper, and his lips lower to your neck, pressing gently against your skin to soften you to him. It feels divine, as always, but pride demands you hold back from melting into his just yet.
âWhat you spent centuries dreaming of,â you counter flatly, âis ruling the world.â Your voice betrays only the tiniest trace of breathlessness as he gives your skin a light, warning bite.
âThe two may coexist, and they do. You know that very well.â He turns you around then, holding your chin between his fingers once more. His thumb brushes your lower lip, eyes boring into yours with no trace of the teasing glint from before. âCease your foolish doubts. Anger makes you impossibly beautiful, my love, but in this moment Iâd prefer it if you were angry alongside me, rather than at me. We must stand united, now more than ever.â
That is... infuriatingly true.
Oh, damn him. With his flattery and his touches and his... rational thinking.
âI just...â You let out a sigh with a hint of a groan, your anger giving way to reveal the source of frustration which had driven you to such impulsive actions in the first place. âIâve grown so tired of this pretense. This ridiculous charade, as if you were as much a stranger to me as you were to the other smiths before you came. Look at us, sneaking around like some rebellious youths exchanging forbidden kisses. They should know who you are. Who we are.â You cup his cheeks and lean in close, voice drenched in unbridled passion. âHusband and wife. King and Queen.â
âAnd so they shall,â he vows, pulling you against him in a tight embrace as he leans his forehead against yours, âonce the work is complete. I shall put a crown on your head, and we shall stand side by side as the world bows at our feet. Before their Lord of Darkness, and my beautiful, terrible Queen. This, I swear.â
Your heart thunders in your chest at the images invoked by his words. Everything youâve waited and strived for all this time, finally within your grasp. Being supreme ruler of Elves, Dwarves and Men alike. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can never be torn from the one you love again.
âThe day cannot come soon enough,â you breathe out, the last word barely escaping before your love captures your lips and kisses you with endless greed, perfectly matching yours. There is darkness within you, and it was always meant to become intertwined with his. One or both of you may be killed, as he once was, but no power in existence could ever truly part your souls. Itâs a certainty you see reflected in his eyes as he pulls away just slightly, just enough for his gaze to set you even more alight with desire before he devours you with his kiss once more.
âSoon, my love,â he whispers against your lips. âSoon.â
Previous fic with same reader -> A true gift
Next fic with same reader -> Reveal
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wtf is going on with cellbit - by a brazilian law major student
hey besties ever since the day cellbit released that PDF iâve been keeping up with his shit bc as a law student (only two years to go!!!!) in brazil itâs kinda really interesting to see how it goes, specially since i donât think weâve ever had this sort of judicial action taken by an internet celebrity, like, ever. so iâve decided to kinda explain whatâs going on. if anyone has any questions after this iâd be really up to talk about it i love talking about law 𫶠xoxo letâs start. also sorry if anything reads weird english is not my native language okay
for those who donât know, very recently, a judicial action taken by cellbit has made public. in this action, heâs suing over 200 people for the crime of defamation.
the action was taken to court in january, but it was under what we call âsecret of justiceâ, which means only cellbit himself and twitterâs lawyers had access to it. now that there have been decisions by the judge and everything, the processâs been made public.
basically, cellbit started an action against twitter (NOT THE PEOPLE WHO COMMITTED THE CRIME YET), citing a little over 200 tweets that accused him of crimes like SA, psychological abuse, pedophilia, and others. all of those are real crimes in brazil â and accusing someone of committing crimes (specially as awful crimes as those) without proof is a crime in itself (defamation). he claimed that the tweets were harmful to his honor, mental health, and reputation, besides categorizing as defamation, since thereâs no investigation going on against him for all these infractions heâs being accused of.
with that, he asked twitter to delete all the tweets, and to provide him with the personal information of said twitter accounts so he can sue them directly for defamation. he did these requests through something called âtutela cautelarâ, which means the judge gets to decide whether or not twitter has to do these things before proof production and proper investigation, since, if twitter doesnât do those things, the damage to his honor and reputation will be ongoing + he wonât be able to sue the proper people in time.
the judge conceded to his requests, and twitter has already deleted all the tweets. the main discussion going right now is wtf do they do about the international accounts â does our law apply to them? whatâs gonna happen? we donât know yet. thatâs being discussed in court for the moment and, considering brazilian courts, it might take quite a while.
so, yeah, all those people arenât being sued YET. but they will, probably somewhat soon.
itâs also important to mention that this lawsuit is from january and was only now released to the public. thereâs probably a lot more coming after the whole fiasco that led him to releasing his statement, including a lawsuit against his ex herself.
now, other topics â could he sue other twitter accounts for cyber bullying or death threats? probably, but my personal opinion is that suing for defamation and focusing on accounts that were accusing him of having committed crimes was a much better move because itâs a much stronger case.
thereâs very little room for discussion when a person has outright said âcellbit committed this crimeâ. death threats have more room for discussion: âoh, but theyâre hundreds of miles away, it wasnât a serious threatâ, âthey didnât mean itâ, âit was a jokeâ. same thing goes for cyberbullying: it can get too subjective.
defamation isnât subjective. you accuse someone of a crime they didnât commit? boom, defamation, at least according to our laws. so, to me, personally, it makes a LOT of sense for his lawyers to focus on that: heâs a LOT more likely to win than if he was suing for cyberbullying, threatening, insult, or any of that. also, heâs a lot more likely to win FASTER.
when he gets to sue the actual people who committed the crime, that is. for now, heâs only requested twitter to give him the necessary information to get to these people, which i think theyâll very likely be obligated to do. there are digital data protection laws in brazil, but a crime is a crime. digital data protection isnât gonna protect you from the court.
another thing: LGPD (brazilâs general law of personal data protection) forces all social media companies to keep records of all the content posted by their users for AT LEAST six months. many companies keep it for way longer. thatâs a law created for judicial purposes, in case something published to twitter, facebook, or instagram needs to be analysed by a court. thatâs why even tho twitter has deleted the tweets, they still have them, and why it doesnât matter if the people responsible are deleting the tweets, the accounts, the fucking app itself. the records are still there, and they will be used judicially.
i think thatâs the overall for the situation, but iâm willing to answer any questions and to discuss it if anyone wants to! iâm a big law enjoyer. also personally i think cellbit is so fucking right for this like YEAH people donât get to commit fucking crimes on twitter and get away with it. really interested in how this is gonna go law-wise, but in general also really glad to see someone take action like this.
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Titus [Space Emperor Yan] and former Assassin Cat-Hybrid Darling. (Just a blurbo for now but I love these two now so I'd love to come back to this)
When the pair met, Darling thought Titus was no different from the rest of their targets. A self proclaimed god untouchable by those below him. Little did they know that their employers were basically setting them up on a suicide mention as the tyrant is a damn near immortal deity. As they perch atop his bed - knife planted in his chest, Darling counts their cards as a large hand locks around their wrist; pulling the blade out as one night remove a splinter. There was nowhere for them to run. The element of surprise had been swept from under their feet. They struggle and claw at the man, but there is no give to his iron grasp. As their brain draws to any conclusion a trapped animal may have, the knife in their hands is tossed across the room before they can take the final plunge.
The Emperor should have his little intruder punished. Waking a kind from his beauty rest is a serious offense. A crime in which the accused receives no trial and punished to the highest degree. Their eyelids removed so they never experience another second of slumber before their execution. There is also the more "amusing" route of electrocution or burning everytime they attempt to shut their eyes. Darling surely would have been subjected to this fate if they weren't so... So...
Precious~
Did this adorable little feline really think they could kill a god so easily? They insult him, but fortunately for them, they're cute enough for him to let it slide. The poor thing could use a bath though... And those scars.... When was the last time they had a proper meal? Oh, and those rags!
Titus scoops up the feisty kitty and thrusts them into the hands of his guards while he sorts through his closet for something to throw on until he can get them measured. Darling attempts to flee any chance they are alone, but with Titus promising to have the heads of everyone in the palace if they escaped - they never got far. Once they had some food in them and fully realized Titus wasn't bluffing when he called his home their new place of resident - Darling came up with a plan to lure Titus into false security and learn his witness to take him down when he least expected it. The only flaw in their plan was they underestimate their own commitment to the role as day by day their acceptance of the tyrant's obsession became less of an act.
They no longer had to work for their meals. Everything they could ever deserve was thrust placed right in their hands if they snuggled up to their new master or swished their tail just right in Union with those big adorable eyes. Their word stood above all in his counsel. They were waited on hand and foot by everyone under Titus' rulevIt was paradise. Their former comrades and the person they once were would be disgusted by what they've become, but if the former ever came to drag them back to their old ways they were swiftly cut down without so much as a passing glance from the royal that once stood beside them.
Titus is ever so glad he managed to bag that angry stray and turn them into the sweetest lil dear anyone has ever seen. He nearly loses his composure everytime he catches them lazying around in his robes - cloth barely clinging to their smaller figure. He knows they only do it to make sure he never says no to him, but there's hardly anything he would deny them beside their freedom. Whatever their heart longs for is a small prize to pay for their company. The Emperor is absolutely whipped for his little bedmate and would do anything to keep them collared at his side.
-
Assassin: You used to be something.... You could have lived a life similar to this without sacrificing your freedom if you had just taken his head. You are but a shell of the person I once knew. I despise you.
Cat Hybrid Reader: Hm... What you say might be true, but there's still something this life grants me that makes it all worth it
[Reader tears their shirt and knees on the floor closer to the cell as they shout]
Cat Hybrid Reader: Titus! Help!
Titus, storming down the dungeon stairwell: Oh, my precious angel. [Picks up Reader and checks them over for injuries] Don't worry, my love. I will have these awful, awful person executed at once. I'll have a necklace made from their ashes, but for now - will a massage and treats make do for leaving you all alone?
Cat Hybrid Reader, wiping fake tears from their eyes: yes....
#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere x reader#yandere oc#yandere x you#yandere blurb#yandere insert#yandere scenarios#male yandere#Titus my oc#tw yandere#yandere alien#yandere exophilia
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Old Flames, New Wounds (Kinktober 2024: Day 4)
SUMMARY: Years after a bitter breakup, you find yourself face-to-face with Jake âHangmanâ Seresin at The Hard Deck, reigniting all the anger and unresolved feelings you'd buried.
PROMPT: "I could help you feel better."
KINK: Hate Sex
WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT. (P in V sex)
WORD COUNT: 4.9k
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The last thing you ever told Jake Seresin was that you hated him. And you meant it.
That smug, cocky pilot had taken what little spark your short-lived relationship had and snuffed it out with his dismissive attitude. He called you âtoo much,â oversharing, saying you revealed more about yourself than a ânew girlfriendâ should. The accusation still stung every time you thought about it, as if wanting to connect was a crime in his world. You, in turn, made it clear that he was nothing more than a flirtâa man who couldnât resist checking out other women right in front of you, even on dates. You told him off, and before he could toss another patronizing smirk your way, you let him have it, âI hate you, and I hope I never have to see your stupid face again.â
And for years, you didnât.
That is, until tonight.
You were settled at The Hard Deck, your favorite spot at the bar, engrossed in the latest thriller youâd picked up, occasionally chatting with Penny between chapters. It was a quiet evening. The salty sea air was soothing, and the barâs familiar warmth offered a welcome break from the world outside. At least, it was peaceful, until you heard that voice.
That same, infuriating drawl youâd spent years trying to forget. Your stomach dropped as you turned in your barstool and saw him. Sure enough, there was Jake âHangmanâ Seresin, laughing it up and playing darts with his buddies like he hadnât left a trail of bitterness in his wake.
You turned back around, pulling your book closer, determined to avoid him. You had no interest in rekindling any form of conversation with him, let alone acknowledging his presence. But of course, you werenât that lucky.
You could feel his eyes on you before you heard his footsteps. When Penny rang the bell after an older guy made a fool of himself, Jake approached the bar to order another round. His gaze zeroed in on you, like a predator stalking its prey.
âWell, well, well,â came that smooth, too-familiar voice. âIf it isnât the woman who swore she never wanted to see my face again.â
You clenched your jaw, your eyes narrowing as you met his smug grin. âAnd I meant it,â you muttered under your breath, trying to focus on your book.
Jake chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. âStill sticking with that story, huh? You sure you're not just a little happy to see me? Admit itâmissed this face just a bit.â
You scoffed, setting your book down and looking at him, deadpan. âIâm serious, Seresin. Seeing your face again is like getting hit by a truck I didnât see coming.â
Jake smirked, leaning against the bar with casual arrogance. âAw, câmon, sweetheart. Thatâs a bit harsh, donât you think?â
Your blood boiled at the way he called you "sweetheart." He hadnât earned the right to use nicknames, not after what had gone down between you two.
âWhatâs harsh,â you shot back, âis the fact that youâre still under the impression I care about anything you have to say.â
Jake raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. âThat a challenge?â
Before you could snap back, Penny interrupted, sliding him his drinks and giving you a look that said Donât let him get under your skin. You took a breath, trying to calm the fire building inside you. But Jake wasnât done.
âStill got that attitude I see. No wonder things didnât work out between us,â he teased, his voice just loud enough for some of the others to overhear.
Your patience snapped. âYouâre right, Seresin. It didnât work out because you couldnât go five minutes without checking out some random woman while we were out. I guess commitment wasnât your strong suit.â
The mood around the bar shifted as people started to pick up on the personal nature of your jabs. Rooster, sitting nearby, exchanged glances with Coyote, and even Penny gave Jake a warning look.
But Jake, being Jake, didnât back down.
âFunny,â he mused, âI donât remember you being the poster child for a great girlfriend either. A little too eager to unload all your baggage on date number two.â
That stung. Hard. The words hit you like a slap to the face, and for a moment, you were speechless. But the hurt quickly morphed into anger.
âAt least I wasnât a shallow, self-absorbed asshole who could barely hold a conversation unless it was about himself,â you shot back, your voice sharper now.
Jake's smirk faltered, and for a moment, something more than cocky amusement flickered in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that infuriating grin once again.
Before things could escalate further, Phoenix stepped in, laying a hand on Jakeâs shoulder.
âCool it, Hangman,â she said, her tone firm. âWeâre here to have a good time, not start a bar fight.â
You crossed your arms, glaring at Jake, who simply shrugged, looking like he was enjoying every second of getting under your skin. âNo fight here. Just some honest conversation between two... old friends.â
âYeah, old friends,â you muttered bitterly, grabbing your book again, though your mind was far from the words on the page. The tension lingered, thick in the air, as Jake gave you one last glance before heading back to his game of darts.
But you knew this wasnât over. Not by a long shot.
You tried to focus on your book, but the words blurred on the page, your mind still spinning from the last encounter with Jake. How could he waltz back into your life like nothing had happened, that same irritating smirk plastered on his face? The memory of his smug tone and condescending remarks gnawed at you, making it impossible to concentrate.
You took a sip of your drink, trying to shake it off, but his voice and presence lingered in the back of your mind. It didnât help that every so often you could hear his laughâloud and obnoxiousâcoming from across the room as he played darts with his friends. You gritted your teeth and forced yourself to keep reading, anything to ignore him.
For a while, it worked. He left you alone, and you tried to convince yourself that he wasnât worth the space in your head. The bar around you carried on as usual, people laughing, talking, music playing. But peace was short-lived.
About half an hour later, you heard him again, this time back at the bar. He was ordering another round for the guys, and you kept your head down, praying he wouldnât notice you. You didnât want to deal with him again, not after the way the last conversation went.
Just as you turned the page of your book, you heard a giggle next to you. A girl, clearly tipsy, leaned over the bar, swaying a little as she tried to catch her balance.
âOh my god,â she slurred, her eyes wide as she whispered to her friend. âThat guy... heâs been looking at me all night. Heâs so cute.â
Curious, you glanced up and followed her gaze, and sure enough, it was Jake. He was standing at the end of the bar, waiting for his drinks, casually leaning against the counter as his eyes swept over the roomâapparently landing on the girl next to you.
Your stomach twisted with irritation. Of course, Jake was back to his old tricks.
The girlâs friend giggled back, but you couldnât help yourself. Before you could think it through, the words slipped out.
âTrust me,â you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for the girl to hear, âheâs not the kind of guy you want to go home with.â
The tipsy girl blinked at you in confusion, her smile faltering slightly. âWhat do you mean?â
You leaned in slightly, your voice low. âI mean, heâs a flirt. Heâll sweet talk you, charm you, but once youâre hooked, he loses interest. Heâs not worth the trouble.â
Unfortunately, you underestimated how close Jake was. He clearly overheard you because the next thing you knew, he was standing right behind you, his voice dripping with faux innocence. âOh really?â he drawled. âThat what you think of me?â
You turned in your stool, and there he wasâhis green eyes glinting with amusement, that same cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Of course, heâd heard you.
âYouâre eavesdropping now?â you shot back, refusing to let him intimidate you.
Jake raised an eyebrow, pretending to be hurt. âJust happened to catch a warning about myself. Thought Iâd see if you still felt the same way after all this time.â He leaned closer, lowering his voice. âStill hate me, sweetheart?â
You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. âThat hasnât changed, Seresin.â
The girl next to you, sensing the tension, awkwardly shuffled away, leaving you and Jake alone at the bar. He took her place, casually leaning against the counter again, his smirk never wavering.
âFunny,â he mused, âI donât remember doing anything that terrible to deserve all this hate.â
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. âThatâs because youâre too self-absorbed to notice.â
Jake tilted his head, a faux-thoughtful expression on his face. âSelf-absorbed, huh? Are you sure you werenât just a little too sensitive back then? Maybe reading into things that werenât there?â
You could feel the heat rising in your chest, his words poking at an old wound. He was doing it againâdismissing your feelings like they didnât matter. âSensitive?â you repeated, your voice sharp. âNo, Jake. I wasnât being sensitive. You were a walking red flag. You couldnât even keep your eyes on me during a date without checking out every other woman in the room.â
He chuckled, not taking you seriously. âCome on, youâre exaggerating. I was just being... friendly.â
âFriendly?â you shot back, incredulous. âYou were flirting with other women while we were out together. Hell, you probably flirted with the waitress the night you broke up with me.â
Jakeâs smirk wavered for a split second, but he quickly recovered. âOh please,â he muttered, his voice low, âYouâre acting like I was the worst thing that ever happened to you.â
âWell,â you said, your eyes narrowing, âyou werenât exactly the best.â
Jakeâs playful grin faltered for real this time. Something in your words hit a nerve, and you could see the flicker of irritation in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Penny stepped in again, sliding a drink in front of him.
âThatâs enough, both of you,â she said sternly, giving you both a look. âThis is a bar, not a battlefield.â
Jake took the drink from her, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped back. âWeâre just having a conversation, Penny,â he said, his voice deceptively calm.
Penny wasnât buying it. âSure. But keep it civil, alright?â
Jake nodded, but there was still that glint in his eye. He downed his drink in one swift motion before setting the glass back on the bar. âWell, Iâll leave you to your... reading,â he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. âBut donât worry, sweetheart. Iâll still be around if you decide you need a little reminder of what youâre missing.â
You clenched your fists, biting back the retort that was on the tip of your tongue as he sauntered away, that damn smirk back on his face. You hated how he could get under your skin so easily, how he made you feel like the years hadnât changed a thing between the two of you.
The bar had thinned out as the night wore on. Most of the pilots had already left, and only a handful remainedâunfortunately, Jake was one of them. You were doing your best to ignore him, nursing your drink and pretending he didnât exist. As long as he stayed on his side of the bar and you stayed on yours, everything would be fine.
After a trip to the bathroom, you came out into the dimly lit hallway, wiping your hands on your jeans. Thatâs when you saw himâthe guy who had been hovering around you all night. Heâd tried talking to you earlier, hitting on you with a few drinks in hand, but each time you politely turned him down. You werenât interested, and youâd made that clear.
But now, in the narrow hallway, there was no way to escape him.
You felt your chest tighten as he stepped closer, his eyes glinting with something darker than the casual flirting from earlier.
âCome on, sweetheart,â he said, his voice low and slurred, âyouâve been giving me the cold shoulder all night. You donât have to play hard to get.â
He moved in, his breath heavy with alcohol, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. You recoiled, pressing your back against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. Panic surged through you as he pinned you there, his body looming over yours. You wanted to scream, to fight, but your body was frozen, your mind struggling to process what was happening.
His grip tightened on your arm, and you felt the walls closing in. You opened your mouth to shout, but no sound came out. Fear had swallowed your voice, leaving you powerless.
Just then, the men's bathroom door swung open with a creak, and you turned your head, desperately searching for help. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw himâJake Seresin. Of all the people who could have walked out in that moment, it had to be him.
He caught your eyes instantly, and something in your expression must have set him off because his face shifted in an instantâfrom his usual cocky smirk to a look of deadly seriousness.
Without a secondâs hesitation, Jake crossed the hallway, his eyes locked on the man pinning you against the wall.
âWhat the hell do you think youâre doing?â Jakeâs voice was ice-cold as he grabbed the guy by the shoulder and yanked him off you with surprising force.
The man stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion. âHey, man, back off. This one's taken,â the guy slurred, trying to square up to Jake, but Jake wasnât having any of it.
âShe said no,â Jake growled, stepping between you and the drunk. âSo I suggest you take the hint before this gets ugly.â
The guy laughed, clearly not understanding the danger he was in. âWhat, you her boyfriend or something?â
Jake didnât miss a beat. He stepped forward, his chest puffed out, radiating that cocky, intimidating confidence you had always hated but were suddenly thankful for.
âYeah, I am,â Jake said, his voice calm but lethal. âAnd I donât take kindly to assholes like you thinking they can put their hands on her.â
You blinked in surprise, your heart still racing, but Jakeâs presence was grounding, pulling you out of the fog of fear. He slid into the role of your protective boyfriend so seamlessly, like it was second nature. And for once, you werenât going to argue with it.
The guy looked between you and Jake, finally realizing he was outmatched. Jake towered over him, his jaw clenched tight, and for a moment, you thought the guy might try something, but then he backed down. He mumbled something under his breath and turned to leave, but not before Jake grabbed him by the back of his shirt and shoved him toward the door.
âGet out,â Jake ordered, his voice low and dangerous. âBefore I make sure you never step foot in this bar again.â
The guy stumbled out, muttering curses under his breath, and with a final glare at Jake, he disappeared into the night. You stood there, still pressed against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest.
Jake turned to you, his expression softening now that the threat was gone.
âYou alright?â he asked, his voice gentler than you expected.
You nodded, though you were still trying to catch your breath. âIâI think so. I just⊠froze.â
Jakeâs eyes softened, a hint of concern flashing through his usual bravado. âHey,â he said, stepping closer, his tone low and reassuring. âThat guy was a creep. None of this is on you.â
You managed a weak smile, grateful for the fact that he didnât push for more details, didnât make you feel small for freezing in that moment. Jake Seresin, of all people, had been the one to step in when you needed it most, and it was throwing you for a loop.
As if sensing the shift, Jake tilted his head, his smirk returning just slightly.
âSo,â he said, a glint of playfulness back in his eyes, âstill hate my guts, or am I back in your good graces for the night?â
You couldnât help but laugh, despite everything. âYouâre still an ass, Seresin,â you muttered, but there was no real heat behind the words.
He chuckled, leaning against the wall beside you. âFair enough,â he said, looking a little too pleased with himself. âBut for tonight, Iâll take being your ass over letting that guy get away with anything.â
You rolled your eyes, but there was a part of youâhowever smallâthat was thankful for him tonight.
As the night began to wind down at The Hard Deck, the bar had mostly emptied out, leaving just a few stragglers nursing their last drinks. You were still on edge from the earlier incident, even though you tried to push it to the back of your mind. You told yourself you were fine, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach said otherwise. Jake had gone back to his friends after the confrontation, but every now and then, you caught him glancing your way, keeping an eye on you.
You finished your drink and set the glass down with a quiet clink, deciding it was time to head out. As you stood from your stool, you felt Jakeâs eyes on you again. He was still with the last few pilots who hadnât called it a night yet, but you could tell he was paying more attention to you than to them. You waved Penny a quick goodbye, thanking her for the company, and made your way toward the exit.
Just as you reached the door, Jake caught up with you.
âYou heading out?â he asked casually, but there was an edge of concern in his voice.
âYeah, Iâm fine,â you replied, trying to brush it off. âJust gonna get home before it gets any later.â
Jake glanced around, then looked back at you, his expression unreadable. âLet me walk you to your car.â
You hesitated, feeling that familiar mix of annoyance and gratitude at his sudden protectiveness. âJake, Iâm fine. Itâs not farââ
âI know,â he interrupted, his tone firm but not pushy. âBut I donât want to take any chances. Youâre still a little shaken up, and I donât trust that guy from earlier.â
You opened your mouth to protest, but something in his eyes stopped you. He wasnât being smug or cockyâthis was different. He was genuinely concerned. Reluctantly, you nodded, letting him follow you outside.
As soon as you stepped into the parking lot, you spotted himâthe guy who had cornered you earlier. He was lingering near the far end of the lot, leaning against a beat-up car and lighting a cigarette. Your heart skipped a beat, and your body went tense as you instinctively took a step back.
Jake immediately noticed your reaction and followed your gaze, his expression darkening when he saw the guy. Without missing a beat, he stepped in front of you, shielding you from the manâs view.
âYeah, thatâs not happening,â Jake muttered under his breath. He turned to you, his jaw set. âYouâre not driving home tonight. Iâm taking you back to my place, and weâll come get your car in the morning.â
You blinked, surprised by his sudden decisiveness. âJake, thatâs not necessary, Iââ
âIt is necessary,â he interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. âIâm not letting you drive home with that asshole lurking around. What if he follows you?â
Your heart raced at the thought, and despite your instinct to argue, you knew he was right. The guy hadnât exactly backed down earlier, and who knew what he was capable of, especially after a few more drinks. You sighed, your frustration ebbing as you realized Jake was just trying to keep you safe.
âFine,â you muttered, crossing your arms. âBut only because I donât want to deal with him.â
Jake smirked, though the usual cockiness was tempered with something softer, more serious. âGood. Letâs go.â
He led you to his truck, unlocking the door and waiting for you to climb in before he got behind the wheel. As he drove, the hum of the engine and the quiet of the night settled between you. For once, Jake wasnât talking or cracking jokes. He kept his focus on the road, glancing over at you occasionally, making sure you were okay.
The ride to his place was quicker than you expected. When you pulled up outside his apartment, Jake turned off the engine and gave you a soft look.
âIâll grab you something to wear,â he said, opening his door.
You followed him inside, feeling a little out of place. His apartment was surprisingly neat for someone you used to consider a mess of a person. Jake disappeared into his bedroom for a moment, then returned with a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
âHere,â he said, handing them to you. âBathroomâs down the hall. Make yourself comfortable.â
You took the clothes and nodded, retreating to the bathroom to change. Once you were in his clothes, you felt a little more at ease, the comfort of the soft fabric and the faint scent of his cologne oddly soothing. When you returned to the living room, Jake was already setting up the couch for himself.
âYou can take my bed,â he offered, tossing a pillow onto the couch. âIâll crash out here.â
You shook your head, feeling a twinge of guilt. âNo, Jake, you donât have toââ
âNot gonna argue,â he said with a grin. âBedâs yours for the night.â
But before you could protest further, a strange feeling settled over youâone of safety, of knowing Jake wasnât going to let anything happen to you tonight. And despite everything, despite how much history lay between the two of you, you found yourself unwilling to sleep without him next to you.
âJake,â you said softly, your voice almost catching in your throat, âcan you just⊠stay with me?â
He paused, clearly surprised by your request, but the seriousness of your tone seemed to strike a chord with him. He nodded slowly, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.
âAlright,â he said quietly. âIâll stay.â
You both settled into his bed, the tension from earlier fading into something softer. As you lay beside him, the weight of the night began to lift, and for the first time, you felt like maybeâjust maybeâyou could trust him to look out for you.
As you and Jake lay side by side in the dark, the tension that had built up throughout the night refused to dissipate completely. The silence between you felt heavy, and though youâd initially felt a strange comfort in his presence, the weight of old wounds still lingered beneath the surface.
Jake shifted beside you, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place as if he couldnât help himself.
âYou know,â he said, his voice breaking the quiet, âyouâve really got to loosen up.â
You blinked, staring up at the ceiling, not quite believing he was starting this now. âWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?â
âI mean, come on,â Jake replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. âYouâre always so wound up. Itâs like you canât let go for even a second. Whatâs the matter? Been a while since anyone helped you relax?â
You clenched your fists beneath the covers, anger flaring inside you. âExcuse me?â
Jake shrugged, seemingly oblivious to how close you were to snapping. âIâm just saying, whenâs the last time you got laid?â
You turned your head to face him, your eyes narrowing in the darkness. âThatâs none of your business, Jake,â you said, your voice low but biting.
He raised an eyebrow, not backing down. âOh, come on, it was a joke.â
But it didnât feel like a joke. The frustration of the past two years, the unresolved anger and tension between the two of youâit all bubbled to the surface.Â
Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out, quieter than youâd intended, but they carried the weight of a confession you hadnât wanted to make. âThe last time I was with someone was you.â
Jake went still beside you, the cocky smirk falling from his face. For a moment, he said nothing, clearly not expecting that. The air between you grew thick with the sudden shift in mood, the flippant nature of the conversation disappearing.
âYouâve got to be kidding me,â he finally muttered, his voice low and disbelieving.
You shook your head, looking away from him. âWhy would I joke about that?â
Jake chuckled and said more to himself than you, âThat explains so much. I could help you feel better, you know?â
The silence that followed was almost unbearable, the tension in the room intensifying. Jake shifted again, this time turning toward you, his eyes searching your face in the dim light.
âIâm sorry. That was uncalled for. I didnâtââ he started, but whatever he was about to say was lost as his gaze locked onto yours, something unspoken passing between you.Â
The anger, the resentment, the desireâit all came to a head, and before you knew what was happening, you were reaching for him, your lips crashing into his.
The kiss was messy, heated, full of everything youâd both been holding back for far too long. It was like all the pent-up frustration and unresolved feelings had been waiting for this moment, and now that the dam had broken, there was no stopping it.
Jake groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer, his touch rough and demanding. You matched his intensity, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kissed him harder, your body reacting to the fire igniting between you.
The years of distance, the bitterness, it all melted away as your bodies pressed together, the heat of his skin searing against yours. His lips moved from yours to your neck, biting and kissing with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine. You gasped, arching into him, your fingers digging into his back as if trying to ground yourself in the whirlwind of emotions that had taken over.
âYouâre so goddamn frustrating,â you whispered against his ear, your breath hot against his skin.
âTrust me, the feelingâs mutual,â Jake growled, his hands slipping under your shirt, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His lips found yours again, and this time, the kiss was even more intense, a clash of lips and teeth that left you both breathless.
Whatever restraint had been holding you back was gone now, replaced by raw, undeniable need. You tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head before he did the same to you, his hands roaming over your body with a possessiveness that left you wanting more.
The tension that had been simmering for years exploded into something hot and primal, your bodies moving together with a desperation that neither of you could control. The sheets twisted around you as you shifted, Jakeâs weight pressing down on you as he kissed you harder, deeper, his hands exploring every inch of your skin.
It wasnât soft or sweetâthis was pure, unfiltered passion, all the emotions youâd buried over the years coming to the surface in a heated, almost angry release. You couldnât get enough of him, couldnât get close enough, your mind clouded by the intensity of the moment.
When he finally pushed into you, it was like the culmination of everything youâd both been holding back. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he set a relentless pace, his lips finding yours again in a bruising kiss that left you breathless.
The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the slap of skin against skin, and the occasional growl of his name as you both lost yourselves in the moment. It was fast, rough, and full of the tension youâd both carried for so long. Every thrust, every kiss, felt like years of frustration finally being unleashed.
You didnât know how long it lasted, but by the time you both collapsed onto the bed, spent and breathing heavily, the tension in the room had shifted. The anger and frustration were still there, but now they were tangled up in something elseâsomething raw, unresolved, and far more complicated than youâd expected.
Jake lay beside you, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. You stared up at the ceiling, your mind racing, wondering what the hell youâd just done.
âWell,â Jake finally muttered, his voice rough and still a little breathless, âguess we got that out of our systems.â
#Top Gun Hangman#Top Gun Hangman Fanfiction#Top Gun Hangman Fanfic#Jake Seresin#Jake Seresin Fanfiction#Jake Seresin Fanfic#Jake Hangman Seresin#Jake Seresin x reader#Hangman x reader#Jake Seresin Smut#Hangman Jake Seresin Smut
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Kinktober Masterlist here!
4.Detective/ADA Chuuya:
Warnings: fuck or die, spanking, degradation, and fem!reader
Chuuyaâs impatience grows with every ticking second; the thick, quiet tension in the interrogation room makes it harder for him to stay focused. He slams his hands on the table in frustration, his blue eyes glaring at you. âWill you finally fucking speak up?â He shoves the documents in front of your face, pointing to them as he accuses your organization of being behind all the criminal activities.
Despite the clear evidence, you shrug it off, denying all accusations and not speaking a single word. You have to watch your words carefully now that you're in enemy territoryâthe Armed Detective Agency. Anything you say could jeopardize your organization. You know that once this is over, youâll be scolded by your partner and likely your boss too. Itâs not like you wanted to get caught; you could have easily gotten away, but the detective in front of you managed to stop that. Sure, you couldâve put up a fight to increase your chances of escape, but damn, he looks too hot to say no to. So here you are, sitting across from him, with only the hard wooden table separating the two of you. You stare into his eyes, resting your chin on your hand as your forearm rests on the table, smiling as you admire his appearance. Honestly, youâve told him everythingâif you werenât risking your job and the good money (and itâs tough in this economy with the high inflation rate), youâd ask him on a date later.
Chuuya hisses at your nonchalant response; he doesnât understand it. He has dealt with a lot of criminals in this same interrogation room over the years, but he has never met someone like you. He canât seem to understand youânot in this momentâwith that smile curving on your lips as if you're challenging him. Could this be part of your evil plan to distract him, tricking him into falling for it easily?
âSpill it out: it was your doing, wasnât it?â
"I'm hurt, detective." You place a hand on your chest, giving him a fake sad smile. "Do you really think I did that?â
He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair with an annoyed expression. Chuuya couldâve saved so much time if it werenât for you. Originally, it was supposed to be his mission partnerâDazaiâinterrogating you, but Chuuya stole his spot. Chuuya couldnât stand that idiot being too close to you. Youâve been his target since day one, ever since he laid eyes on your file in the meeting with his boss. Not Dazaiâs, not anyone elseâs in the agencyâjust his; you are his.
"Blackmail, robbery, identity theft, kidnapping, arson, and murder." His eyes narrow as he lists your crimes. "The real question should be: is there anything you havenât done?"
Damn, Chuuya really did his research on you. You cough, "But detective, I have nothing to do with this case." You canât deny heâs on the right track, but this time, itâs not your doing. You didnât even get a chance to actâhe appeared out of nowhere and dragged you off just as your day was starting (though you went along willingly). You managed to call for backup without him noticing. Now, youâre just playing with him to kill time while waiting for your partner to rescue you. You know the ADA has had their eyes on your small organization for a while, and everyoneâs been bracing for the worst-case scenario: getting caught. How unlucky that you had to be the first. (At least the situation is a little more enjoyable with such a handsome detective.)
âYouâre saying that youâre innocent?â
âYes I am-â
Suddenly, a loud warning siren blares through the room at maximum volume, so deafening that your ears can barely handle it. A strong, sharp aroma fills the air, stinging your senses.
"THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! I repeat, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. We are under attack. The area is being surrounded by an unknown ability. We are working to identify the ability user responsible for this. In the meantime, please remain calm and find somewhere safe-â
The signal cuts off abruptly, leaving the room in dead silence. Chuuya glances up at the speaker on the ceiling, then back at you, a frown deepening on his face. Thereâs no way this could be happening right after you confessed your innocenceâit can't be a coincidence. Youâre grateful that your partner is here to rescue you, but the timing definitely needs improvement in the future. The sweet, heavy scent rises to your nose, and your body begins to feel strangeâweak and feverish, as if youâre stranded in a desert, scorched by relentless heat. You notice Chuuya is affected too.
As you ponder the possibilities, the realization hits you: sex pollen. An experiment your partner mentioned a month ago that significantly increases hormonesâand if you donât get laid, death will welcome you to the other side. You thought she was joking at first, but this situation proves otherwise. You wouldnât have minded her testing it on an enemy organization, but the problem is, youâre in their territory. Of all the days in the month, she had to choose today. You swear youâll kick her ass after this.
âItâs sex pollen,â you warn, breathing heavily as you explain the situation. âWe have to have sex, or we die.â
âHaa?â His eyes widen, looking at you as if youâve said the most ridiculous thing heâs ever heard. âDonât make me laugh. You think you can joke around at a time like this?â
A flyâhow it got in here is a mysteryâappears between the two of you and suddenly collapses, falling to the floor. Itâs unsettling; it makes no sense for an animal to die out of nowhere, confirming your suspicion that the pollen is to blame. âWell, detective, did you see that fly? It just died!â Itâs just a consequence of not having any sexual interaction, after the unlucky speaker couldnât finish their announcement. âNone of us even touched it; it has to be the pollen. Either we fuck or we die.â
He gasps at the sight, unable to believe whatâs happening before him. This whole situation feels like some kind of twisted fantasy that Dazai would be into. Chuuyaâs body aches, scorched by an overwhelming heat. He canât believe he has to trust a wanted criminal for a solution. He stands up from his chair, moving behind you. His hands slam down on either side of yours, hitting the table with more force this time. You spot cracks forming beneath his palms. Is he using his raw strength?
His head spins, thoughts consumed by you in this moment. Perhaps itâs the smell that makes him feel this way toward a criminal. Chuuya leans in closer, his hot breath brushing against your ear. Heâs resolute in staying with you, ensuring you canât escapeâthereâs no way heâll let you get away. For once, he defies orders. âIâll make you tell me everything I want to hear.â
-
âBeg for it, you bitch.â Chuuya's hand delivers a hard slap ass, showing no mercy on you or your reddened buttcheeks. His other hand grips your cheek tight as he lands another hard slap. Chuuya moves his hips, rubbing his hardened, thick cock against your wet cunt. âThis whore wants me to fuck the shit out of her? Then you better beg for my dick.â
You moan and cry, caught between the sting of pain and the rush of pleasure, each feeling like waves crashing over you. You've lost count of how many slaps you've received from him; it's becoming too much to handle. It feels like hours have already passed. He knows heâs doing this to torture you, trying to make you confess. Your resistance is vanishing, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. The mix of pain and pleasure isnât enough to satisfy you; your body craves more of him. You turn your head, locking eyes with himâhis gaze filled with anger and lust. His hair is messy, and his breaths are heavy, turning you on even more at the sight.
âPleaseâŠI need you...Please fuck me...I want your dick...â you beg again, throwing away all your dignity for him. In this heated moment, you're no longer thinking straight.. âIâll tell you everything you want. So pleaseeeâŠâ
"Took you long enough... You were into this, werenât you, fucking slut?" A smirk forms on his lips, like a madman achieving his goalâhis victory over a poor, defeated enemy. Yet, Chuuya canât cruelly refuse a pretty girlâs plea, especially when your voice trembles with need, stirring something deep within him and making him eager to give you what you desire most. Chuuya enters your entrance, causing you to gasp. Your body shivers at the unexpected movement. His cock twitches inside as he begins to move deeper into you. His pace quickens, driving into your sweet spot as he whimpers your name, cursing how good your body feels for him. Chuuya is lost in his feelings, unable to stop thinking about you, consumed by the pleasure you both share. Your eyes roll back, thighs trembling as your hands grip the edges of the table. In the heat of the moment, you accidentally reveal a secret you shouldnât have, and now thereâs no turning back. You feel like the biggest disappointment to your organization, but hey, at least youâre getting fucked good. Thereâs some luck in this misfortune that will make you feel a bit better after itâs all over.
#bsd x reader#chuuya x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs#chuuya nakahara#kinktober#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya smut#no summary for this one because the poem suckass#mdni
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wriothesley whoâs always very composed but breaks when this happened.
âyes, she said so when i was drinking some tea with her and neuvilette!â you claimed excitedly, but wriothesley has his cup mid-air, hanging awkwardly as he stared at you. he blinked, and then blinked once more, as if processing the sentence you just said.
âyou.. you went to drink tea with them?â he asked quietly, hoping for a certain answer. âyes?â you answered just as quiet, sensing the drastic change of the atmosphere. he put his cup on the table, as he fold his hands the gesture was almost like a slow-motion. âwithout inviting me...?â he whispered, the rough of his voice made it almost impossible.
now you understood the problem, as the guilt arises.
âwriothesley i have a sound explanation for this,â you sat across him, putting both of your palms on the table. the male crossed his arms. âdo enlighten me, then.â
âtuesday, 7 a.m. you told me you were going to be busy all day. so of course being a considerate lover that i am, i didnât tell you since i knew you probably couldn't make it.â you nodded to yourself, pleased by the lengthy excuse you gave him. but judging by the blank expression of your boyfriend it was clear that he didnât feel the same way.
âtuesday, 12 p.m. on fortress of meropide coupon cafeteria table number 2. we were having lunch together and you mentioned nothing of the little tea party i'd speculated you're having. why is that? the only thing iâm hearing now is that you couldnât be bothered to mention it to me or at least pretend to invite me out of formality.â he raised an eyebrow questioningly. whatâs your excuse this time, hm?
âspeculation? is that what youâre basing your entire argument on, wrio? i must admit iâm a little offended that you would deem me that untrustworthy that you would accuse-â
âwas i wrong?â
âno, no you werenât. i had the tea party right after having lunch with you. and youâre right i couldâve mention it to you, but i didnât.â
wriothesley only shook his head, dissapointed that he had to find out this way. he stood up, continuing the dramatic parade. and you just had to hold your laugh in, since you rarely get to see this side of his if it wasnât about his dear tea. âhow could you, (y/n)? you know how much i loved tea,â he said, sighing as if you just did the cruelest crime. âwrio, iâll make it up to you,â you said, approaching him as you put a hand on his chest.
âyes, iâd like to hear more of that.â he nodded solemnly, although the sulk in his demeanor was still apparent. you planted a kiss on his lips and he clearly didnât expect that judging by his surprised features. âyouâre trying to get me to go easy on you, arenât you? alright, i just need a hundred more of that for you to at least make up half of the crime you did.â he leaned down, fully believing that you owed him at least two hundred kisses. you just laughed at the siliness, âthatâs way too much! how about this then, what if i arrange us another tea party? and iâll invite even more people.â you offered, grabbing a hold of his face. he pretended to think hard about it before breaking out into a smile. ânow thatâs something i could get on board with.â
he held you close, resting his head on your shoulder. âthank you baby.â you only chuckled at this rare indulgent side of him, another side you wished you could see more of. âand can i please get invited to every tea party youâre having in the future?â
#genshin x reader#genshin scenarios#genshin impact x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#genshin fanfic#genshin fluff#wriothesley x you#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley fluff#wriothesley x y/n
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Neil Gaiman is still following the PR playbook
I'm so sick of how Neil Gaiman is continuing to manipulate the conversation while displaying ZERO accountability or remorse.
Do you think him leaking that he's apparently offering to step back from Good Omens Season 3 is a sign that he realizes he fucked up and is trying to make it right? Absolutely not.
What he's doing is making the first moves to launder his reputation so that he can keep making money off of his IP and, eventually, return to the spotlight. All of the overjoyed reactions here and elsewhere are part of that plan.
One part of that Deadline article really stuck out to me.
[Highlighted Text: Deadline understands Gaimanâs offer is not an admission of wrongdoing...
Gaimanâs position is that he denies the allegations and is said to be disturbed by them.]
This is what makes me think that it is actively irresponsible to publicly celebrate or advocate for the continuation of any media project that involves or enriches Gaiman. The fact that Amazon has even announced that Good Omens is on hold shows the credibility of the accusations. And yet Gaiman leaking this information suddenly puts them on the backfoot. "Just take the deal!" cries the fandom. Neil is no longer the bad guy, it's Amazon who are now denying you your comfort show. It's blatant manipulation and it sickens me that it might actually work.
Boosting Good Omens or Sandman or Coraline at this time is not a victimless crime. True, no one person is going to be the difference between Gaiman facing consequences or not. But it's public opinion that will truly determine whether his legacy will be impacted. That's why he's spent a considerable amount of money on the same PR firm as Russell Brand, Prince Andrew, Danny Masterson, and Marilyn Manson. Their specialty is helping rapists get their lives back.
So please think of the long-term implications of breathing a sigh of relief and going back to posting about Good Omens, or signing a petition that gives Gaiman a way out of finally facing the consequences of his own actions.
Yes, none of these shows were 100% made by Gaiman. It sucks that this is going to affect people other than him. But maybe he shouldn't have chosen to sexually abuse at least 5 women and very likely more. In a just world, you fuck around and find out.
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