#that would hurt any girl’s feelings — if they didn’t know why. and i think these short lived flames have caused ivy to like … | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gutsby · 8 months

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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

Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.

At least that was what you’d 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.

“You worry too much,” 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 didn’t 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, he’d 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 hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t 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 he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t 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.

“Who’s my girl?” 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.

“I-I am,” 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. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d 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 you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.

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.

“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.

“I do.”

“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”

“I do.”

He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.

Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d 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.

“Yeah, Steve?”

The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.

“So what?”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”

Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s 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 Bucky’s 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.

“Ready to cum for me, honey?”

You whimpered and nodded.

“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”

With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s 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 could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t 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 man’s 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 couldn’t 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 destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your 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 didn’t mind.

At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.

“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”

Bucky couldn’t 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.

“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Like hell you are.”

With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d 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.

“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”

So Sam had heard you after all.

You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.

“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”

“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” 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; he’d 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 wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.

“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.

“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.

The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.

“Ja-ames!” 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.

Bucky’s 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 didn’t.

In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.

“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s 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.

“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.

“Sure looks like it.”

That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.

“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.

“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or 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 couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”

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 couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s 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.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

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 couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.

“Places, people!”

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 Bucky’s 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 couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.

“My hand slipped,” 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 Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.

“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.

“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.

“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.

You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.

A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.

“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.

You didn’t 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.

“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”

“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”

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.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve 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 weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.

As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.

“Now just the bride and groom!”

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.

“How ‘bout I push it back in?”

“Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Now kiss!”

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.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being 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 you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and 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.

“You look stunning.”

“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”

You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve 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 he’d 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 husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s 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 started—like most fun things in life—but 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 spot—less than a stone’s 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.

You’d 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 you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve 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 husband’s 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 didn’t really care.

You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d 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.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.”

Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.

“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”

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.

“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.

You frowned. A flask?

“It’s not even noon,” you answered.

“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”

Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.

“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”

“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”

Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.

“Joey, by the way.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.

“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.

“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”

You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.

“The service,” you repeated.

“Russian Armed Forces,” 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.

“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.

Your husband’s 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.

“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”

That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d 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 didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s 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 weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, 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.

“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.

“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.

“You haven’t touched that flask.”

You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.

“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.

“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”

“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.

Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s 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.

“Open.”

“No!”

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 ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.

“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” 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 it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.

“Honey? Hon, you there?”

Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.

You craned your neck to look around.

“I’m here, Bucky!” 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 he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.

“Bucky, I just—”

“We need to go,” your husband cut in.

His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.

“Go wh—”

“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Your face dropped.

“We’re leaving?”

Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.

“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.

Bucky didn’t 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.

“Get the fuck up,” 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. Bucky’s 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 man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.

“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”

Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s 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 nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and 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 could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.

“Here!” 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.

“Hangar’s clear.”

Sam, by the sound of it.

He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t 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 weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.

This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t 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 Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.

Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all 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 Bucky’s 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. Would’ve 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 Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’

You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t 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.

“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.

“Some of it,” 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.

“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”

“She’s in shock.” 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 couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.

“She looks like death warmed over.”

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 didn’t 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.

“She’s pregnant.”

I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.

“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.

“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.

Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.

“She’ll be fine either way,” 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 wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ 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 Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.

“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.

“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”

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 wasn’t 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 you’d let him.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.

Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.

“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.

Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” 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.

“Feelin’ alright?” 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.

“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.

“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”

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,

“I’ll go.”

He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d 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 could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.

You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.

“Something wrong?”

You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.

“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.

You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t 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 couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,

“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”

Your jaw slackened a bit.

“What?”

“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”

Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?

“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.

“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

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.

“What are you talking about?”

You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.

“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”

You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s 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.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” 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.

“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” 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 wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.

“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.

“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”

“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.

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.

“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.

“No.”

You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.

Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.

“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.

Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,

“Because my dad was in debt.”

“For what?”

You paused.

“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”

Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.

“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”

This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.

“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.

His words hadn’t 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 Steve’s 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.

“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.

“She should’ve known!” 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.

“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”

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.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,

“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”

You shrugged.

“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”

Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.

“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”

Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”

“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”

Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.

“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.

“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.

“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”

“James?” You finally turned to him.

“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.

“James,” you pressed again.

You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.

“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.

“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”

“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.

“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.

All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.

“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”

“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.

“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— 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.”

Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.

“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.

“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”

“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” 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 you’d just ingested cyanide.

Fuck, did you need a drink.

You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.

You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s 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.

“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”

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.

“Liquor? For our baby?” 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.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.

“You, dumbass!”

“Me?”

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.

“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.

All three men looked up at once.

“What friend?” Sam asked.

“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”

If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.

Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.

“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”

You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,

“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”

“Tall fella?” Steve asked.

“Very.”

“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.

“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve 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.

“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”

You would’ve thought you’d 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 they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and 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.

“Joey?” he intoned feebly.

“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.

Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.

“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”

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 he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.

“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”

“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.

“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”

A beat of silence gripped the room.

Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.

Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.

The inside of your head was throbbing.

You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d 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 husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.

You reached for his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.

“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.

“Why not?”

“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”

You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.

“We’re 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.”

Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.

“Okay.”

Infuriating.

“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

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.

“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”

You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.

“What? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I will.”

The worst part was he wasn’t 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 man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.

“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”

You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.

“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.

Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.

“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”

You ignored Bucky’s 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.

“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”

“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”

“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”

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 face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.

“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” 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.

“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”

Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.

“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” 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.

“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.

“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.

“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.

“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”

You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.

“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”

Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.

“I had to do that,” 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.

“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”

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.

“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.

“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” 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 didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.

“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”

“Precisely.”

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.

“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.

“It sounded like—”

“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”

You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.

“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”

The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s 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.

“Bucky—” you started.

“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”

Your husband’s 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.

“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”

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.

“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”

You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.

“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”

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 expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and 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,

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

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 didn’t 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 you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s 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 him—now more than ever.

When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t 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 Bucky’s 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.

“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?

You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.

“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t 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 didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.

“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”

The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.

“Hurt me how?”

You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d 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 couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.

“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s 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 he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” 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.

“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” 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 hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t 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 I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.

Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t 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 I…lick 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.

“Fuck, baby,” 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, “Take me in your mouth.”

You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d 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 didn’t 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, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.

He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” 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 before—most 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.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.

Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.

You raised a brow.

“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.

“Honey, are you s—”

He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.

“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” 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 hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s 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 mouth—

“—fucking hell you feel good,” 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 world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and 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.

“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”

“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”

“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”

You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t 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 ‘yes.’ 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 he’d 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 you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.

You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d 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 wouldn’t cum down your throat—not 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 wasn’t 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. You’d 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 reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s 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.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.

“Mean what?”

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 could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.

“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.

“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.

“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”

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 mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.

“What else do you want to be, doll?”

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.

“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”

Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.

“A good girl?” he hummed.

“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.

Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s 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 didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.

“Bucky!”

“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“My bunny?”

“Yes, James.” 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.

“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”

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,

“W-what?”

Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.

“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”

“Look pretty…ready to me,” 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 wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and 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.

“James,” 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 he’d 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.

“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”

Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.

“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”

You couldn’t 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 Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”

Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.

“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s 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.

“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”

You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d 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.

“No, Bucky,” 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, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”

“Making a child together?” 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.

“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” 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 Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.

“Gonna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded.

“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.

You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”

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.

“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”

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 stupid—and begged for your release.

“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”

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 Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.

“That’s my girl,” 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.

“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”

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.

“Baby, let go, I gotta—”

He probably could’ve 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 you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.

You stroked his bicep and shook your head.

“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” 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 now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?

Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.

A phone call? At 45,000 feet?

“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”

Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.

“You think they could hear us?” you asked.

Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.

“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”

“Please never say that again,” 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 again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s 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.

“Barnes residence,” 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, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”

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 phone’s receiver.

“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”

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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rafecameroninterlude · 2 months

Note

can you pleaseeee do some angst with pogue!sweetheart!reader, like she overhears some of the girls at the country club talking about her and saying things like “i don’t know what rafe see’s in her, she’s still a pogue.” and rafe possibly reassuring her? thank you!

warnings: bullying (?), classist comments, slight fluff

a/n: i got carried away (like always lol) leave requests if you’d like!

“rafe, as much as i love you, i don’t think i can stand out here much longer.” you fanned yourself, using your hand to block the sun from hitting your face. rafe and topper were currently playing golf while you played cart girl for them, the summer heat quickly becoming far too hot for you to handle. rafe paused their game, jogging over to you as he took his wallet out of the pocket of his pants.

“start up a tab at the bar, go ahead and cool off, baby.” you accepted his card, silently asking ‘are you sure?’ before he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “go, on.” rafe reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you make your way inside the country club.

you couldn’t help but sigh in relief when a gust of cool air blew past you, immediately ordering a virgin piña colada as you took a seat at the rather empty bar. rafe loved to bring you over to the country club, especially since you pretty much knew everyone from all the times you came to sell your baked goods, although it wouldn’t hurt to make some actual friends instead of acquaintances.

speaking of friends, you spotted a table not too far away, all three girls already looking at you before you smiled at them. no one smiled back. clearing your throat awkwardly, you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you waited for your drink to be made. “you see rafe out on the golf course today? he is just so handsome.” oh, god. your breath hitched, your heart dropping as you continued to listen in on their conversation.

“he is! why he’s dating some pogue baker girl? i’ll never know.”

“that’s literally her over there.”

you shut your eyes, wishing the ground could swallow you whole. “i mean.. she’s pretty and all, but at the end of the day she’s still a pogue.” the girl’s laughter echoed in your ears, your skin flush with embarrassment. “well, it’s obvious that she’s just a charity case. rafe probably feels bad for the girl.” the way they all collectively agreed with one another made tears prick at your eyes.

just when you thought the comments couldn’t get any worse, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the next accusation. “maybe he’s paying her to have sex with him or something. i could imagine she has to scrape for some kind of change if she lives on the cut.” you were crying now, refusing to let them see any kind of tears running down your face. “one virgin piña colada.” the bartender placed the pretty drink down in front of you, a round of laughter erupting from behind you.

“a virgin piña colada? what is she? twelve?”

deciding you couldn’t take it anymore, you left a cash tip on the counter and muttered a ‘put it on on rafe cameron’s tab, please.’ before leaving without sparing them a single glance. to say you were mortified would be an understatement. rafe was probably going to freak out once he saw that you just up and left, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there another second.

you didn’t even make it out of the parking lot when you heard rafe’s voice calling after you. “y/n!” he was panting when he finally got to you, “hey, wait a second baby.” you quickly wiped your eyes before turning around, your boyfriend immediately sensing something was wrong. “woah, woah, what happened?” rafe tucked your hair behind your ears, cupping your chin before using his thumbs to stroke your tear-stained cheeks.

“nothing, i just don’t feel so good-”

“it’s not that.” he cut in, eyes flickering between yours. “what happened?” rafe asked once again. you knew it was impossible to lie to him. “tell me, baby, so i can fix it.” his jaw clenched, blue orbs wide with concern. you laughed bitterly. “you can’t fix girls who gossip.” at your words, rafe blinked before looking back at the country club. “are you talking about the snobs at the table near the window?” rafe took your silence as his answer, nodding slowly before draping an arm across your shoulders.

“what did they say?” his voice was eerily calm as he walked you two over to his truck. “it’s stupid, really.” you sniffled, letting rafe place you in the passenger seat. he kept the door open, leaning on the frame as he took your hand in his. “tell me.” rafe’s voice was stern, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you sighed, avoiding his gaze as you spoke. “they said that you have to be paying me to have sex with you because apparently i’m ‘scraping’ for change since i live on the cut.”

rafe’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he took your words in. “is that it?” he cleared his throat, his vision slowly blinding him with white hot anger. “they also said that they couldn’t understand why you would want to be with a ‘pogue baker girl’.. maybe their right.” rafe’s head shot up at your last statement, his face twisting in confusion. “what are you talking about?” he took your hand in his.

“i’m not even worth half of what these girls are,” you bit your lip to keep yourself from crying again, “i don’t have rich parents, i don’t have a trust fund that ensures i don’t have to work a day in my life, who am i kidding?” you shook your head. rafe studied you for a moment. “you know what you do have?” he lifted your chin, “a heart.”

“that’s something that no amount of money can buy. you have something priceless, y/n. you carry it with you everywhere you go.” rafe pressed a kiss to your temple, mumbling a ‘i’ll be right back.’ before he shut your door. you were a mess after that, his words not only being a comfort to you, but affirming.

rafe was gone for a few minutes before he strided out of the country club, a new piña colada in his hand. “here. now we sit and wait.” you took the drink from him, taking a sip as you watched two security guards escort the group of girls out. “what did you do?” you relaxed in your seat, glancing between rafe and the scene before you.

“got them blacklisted from the club. their parents aren’t as rich as you think.” he laughed, moving his attention to you. “don’t ever question yourself like that again. please.” he turned the engine on. “where are we going?” you asked. “we are going to go get you your own card, with your own little ‘trust fund’, alright?” he nodded.

“you’ll never have to worry about anyone talking like that about you ever again.”

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misaamoure · 2 months

Text

“You’re such a fucking brat.”

“Fuck you… mmph!”

Sylus chuckled lowly at you attempting to muffle your voice.

It always started with a little bit of an argument.

It’s not that you two didn’t get along; it’s just that you didn’t always get along. Arguably because of him.

For whatever fucking reason, Sylus loved to tease you and get under your skin.

Whether this be by stealing the glasses right off your face and holding them high above your head, even going as far as to suspend them in air with his evol, or generally just poking and prodding at you verbally until you snapped; he got an odd kick out of pissing you off.

And then turning around and acting as if you were the unreasonable one.

You often pondered what his redeemable traits were, if he had any. Nonetheless you made a deal, and it would hurt your pride not to fulfill it.

Annoying as he was, he was stupidly handsome, and his deep voice and tantalizing stature sent chills down your spine.

Sometimes you liked it when he bullied you. Just a little bit… not a lot.

Especially when it progressed on to a charged type of banter.

“Watch your mouth, kitten.” He’d pretend to warn you ever so sternly. As if his cock wasn’t aching in his pants at your defiance.

He found you so hot when you got like this.

“Or what, Sylus? What are you gonna do?” And you’d egg him on every single time.

Then he’d get up, walk over to you, grab your neck and slam you into the wall behind you.

He’d grip the sides of your neck harshly and force you to look up at him, which made your glasses shift.

“You’re aching for it that bad, huh? Maybe you’re useless at seducing me, because this seems to be the only way you know how to get me to fuck you.”

You looked up at a him with hooded eyes, your hands gripping arm he was using to choke you.

Sylus wasn’t oblivious to how you were trying to hide how pleased you were with yourself.

He knew you loved it as much as him. Riling each other up like this. Matching each others energy.

“Fucking hell,” He threw his head back, feeling his cock throb at just the look you were giving him. “Open.”

You did exactly as he said, not breaking eye contact as you opened your mouth for him.

Sylus wasted no time in moving the hand around your neck and running his thumb over your lips and tongue before spitting in your mouth.

“Swallow.”

You did exactly as he said, not missing the glint in his eye and the palpable bulge in his pants as he watched you.

“Say you liked it.”

“I liked it, Sylus. Please give me more.”

“You’re such a dirty little bitch.” He put his hand over his face, trying to hide his smile.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes at how much he was clearly enjoying this and how you were enjoying playing into him, you take the hand he put over his face and move it to the back of your head as you get on your knees.

You couldn’t mistake how wet you were, annoying and hurtful to your pride as it was.

This dynamic was so invigorating, and you were so attracted to him.

Once again not breaking eye contact, you licked the expanse of his hard on through his black slacks, sending a shiver down his spine.

“That’s a good girl. Keep going, just like that.” He breathed out.

Unbuttoning his pants, you made quick work of taking his cock out.

That was another thing about him… his size was annoyingly impressive.

His dick was thick and lengthy, and he knew exactly how to use it. That’s why you even bothered entertaining his fuckery in the first place.

“Want me to fuck your mouth?”

You hummed, more eager to have his dick inside of you than anything.

“I think I want to fuck you first,” He quickly reached down and grabbed your arm, pulling you up. “Turn around.”

It was times like this you were sure Sylus had a sixth sense for you and your desires.

You once again did exactly as you were told, making quick work of your mini skirt and the panties you were wearing underneath.

Pulling your skirt up and pushing your panties to the side, you reached back between your legs for his cock, making him chuckle.

“So eager,” He rubbed his tip up and down your folds, making you moan lightly. “You want it that bad?”

You huffed. Your attitude returning due to him fucking around again.

“Sylus for fucks sake,” You whipped your head around to look at him, staring at him pointedly. “Get the fuck on with it already!”

“You were so nice earlier,” He began to push the tip inside you before pulling out, teasing you as he loves to do. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me anymore.”

“Sylus-”

“Alright alright I’ll give you what you want.”

He finally pushed his entire cock into you, making your jaw drop.

Fuck it was so big. It was like he was in your guts.

“Oh… my god…” You whimpered, feeling your knees buckle.

Grabbing you by the waist, Sylus held you up.

“Easy there sweetie,” You practically could hear the smirk in his voice. “We barely started.”

“Shut up…!”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it, look how tough you were trying to act like his dick wasn’t making your knees weak.

He leaned forward, lips grazing your ear as he spoke, “Allow me to help you out.”

Taking both your hands in his, he bent you forward, pulling your arms up behind you and holding your wrists together with one hand.

You moaned at how deep he was in you in this position.

“Like that?” He ground his dick into you lightly, making you gasp. “Is that good?”

“Yesss Sylus,” You moaned out. “So good!”

That’s all it took for him to start fucking you in earnest.

Moans spilled from your lips with every thrust uncontrollably, the pleasure of him pounding into you was undeniable.

“So fucking tight, my god.” Sylus threw his head back and groaned.

He was just as loud in bed as you, he truly had no shame in his game in any aspect.

“You’re such a fucking slut you know that?” He grunted through clenched teeth.

“Yes… right there!” You practically screamed as he slammed right into your g-spot.

“Here?” He started fucking you even harder, aiming for that spot in specific.

Your mouth fell open into a silent gasp as your eyes rolled back.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer his question.

The pleasure make your clench down on him desperately, making him groan loudly.

“Keep doing that and you’ll make me cum.”

“Inside.” You babbled mindlessly, trying desperately to get your words out.

“What was that?” He smirked, using your arms as leverage to pull you back into his thrusts. “Couldn’t understand you.”

“Need you… to cum inside… Sylus!”

“Hm?”

You felt your orgasm impending as he continued to fuck into that one spot that made your vision go white.

You knew you weren’t gonna last much longer.

“Please please cum inside me!”

Sylus knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. Picking up the pace of his brutal thrusts, he felt that familiar knot in his abdomen tightening.

“Cumming… I’m cumming!”

He barely had time to respond before you were cumming all over his cock, squeezing him even tighter than before.

“Fuck…”

He felt your spend dripping down his balls every time he thrusted back into you.

Feeling his own orgasm quickly approaching, he thrust deep inside of you.

Moaning right in your ear, he came deep inside of you, feeling his cock twitch and throb with every spurt of thick cum.

It was so utterly satisfying to the both of you.

Sylus observed the milky white ring around his cock and he weakly thrust in and out of you, riding out his orgasm.

A content silence fell over the both of you.

That is, of course, until Sylus decided to ruin it.

“You’re so much cuter when you’re quiet, sweetie.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

#sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #sylus smut #sylus x you #l&ds smut #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace #lnds smut

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navybrat817 · 4 months

Text

Jawbreaker

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky put a mouthy rookie in his place. Word Count: Over 800 Warnings: Established relationship, mention of injury, misogyny, punching, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes defending you (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm dedicating this to @whisperlullaby , who got to read this in advance, because she deserves this man (along with the rest of you). ❤️Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A small part of Bucky felt bad as he idly wiped his hand with a towel. A very small part.

He didn’t want people to fear him because of his past and he refused to let it define him. That meant that he tried his best to avoid violent tactics unless absolutely necessary.

But today, well, fuck that. The fucker had it coming.

Steve stood in front of him, his blue eyes narrowed as he waited for his best friend to acknowledge him.

Oh, Bucky expected some sort of reprimand, but he was sure Steve would change his tune in a minute or so.

“You gonna ask me what happened, punk, or glare at me until I talk?” He asked, tossing the towel away.

The blonde huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t look amused. “Why did you break that rookie’s jaw?”

Bucky tilted his head. “What’s the phrase? He fucked around and found out.”

You would’ve been proud of him for that reference.

Steve shook his head when Sam burst out laughing a few feet away. “Sam, please,” he begged, though his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “What did the guy do?”

A bitter taste flooded Bucky’s mouth as anger coursed through his veins again. He inhaled as he thought of your sweet smile and soft touch before he exhaled, the storm inside of him calming.

“Buck, you gotta tell us something,” Steve urged, needing some sort of information to try and do some damage control.

The brunette straightened up to look his friend in the eyes, wanting him to see the fury beneath the cold mask. “He told my girl to throw an apron on and get back in the kitchen when she went to spar.”

You, one of the most capable agents Bucky had ever known.

You, who had shown nothing but kindness to everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.

The person Bucky was lucky enough to call his other half. His better half.

And some asshole rookie had the gall to treat you as if you didn’t belong there with the rest of them.

Sam was no longer laughing. Steve’s jaw clenched in understanding.

Bucky swallowed, that fury threatening to surface again as he remembered the hurt that filled your eyes at the comment. “You know I’d support anything she wants to do, whether that’s working or staying at home. It doesn’t give some prick the right to make her feel bad for her decision.”

“You know I don’t like bullies, but breaking his jaw?” Steve questioned. The guy deserved it, but did the punishment actually fit the crime?

“When she walked away, he said to come back when she was ready to see what a real man could do for her,” he said, the words coming out like a snarl.

The way you tensed up, fear and disgust flickering on your face, he didn’t think. A switch inside of him went off and he swung.

The fucker was lucky that all he got was a broken jaw. He could’ve done so much worse.

And it wasn’t that you couldn’t defend yourself because you could, but you shouldn’t have to put up with garbage like that.

A cracking sound echoed in the room before he realized he crushed the armrest of his seat. “Fuck. I’ll pay for that,” he mumbled, kicking a bit of the broken piece with his boot. “Can you just tell me how much trouble I’m in so I can get back to my girl?”

He didn’t care if he they suspended or even fired him as long as he got back to you.

The room stayed silent before Sam mused, “Technically, what the rookie did counts as harassment.”

Steve nodded. “And I’m sure Nat can persuade him not to sue for the injury he received,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll take care of it, Buck. Just. No more breaking jaws, okay?”

“When it comes to my girl, I make no promises,” Bucky smiled, his heart racing at the thought of you. “And maybe he’ll think twice before he opens his mouth again.”

“The damage you did, I don’t think he can open his mouth at all,” Sam mumbled.

Bucky’s phone went off before he could comment, his heart swelling as he read your text. He had to bite back a groan, too.

“Thank you again, Jawbreaker. I love you and I’ll be on my knees waiting for you.”

You wanted to thank him not just with words, but with your body and heart. It all belonged to him, like he belonged to you.

And he didn’t need to tell Steve and Sam what the message said since it was just for the two of you. “Love you, too, baby. Nothing to thank me for, but I’m on my way. Be ready.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Maybe we'll see how you "thank" Bucky down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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changisworld · 4 months

Text

“Why do you make me feel like this, pretty?”

fuckboy!hyunjin x reader

Word count; 5,902

Summary: After hyunjin took your virginity, you grew attached despite trying your hardest not to. You find out he hooked up with someone the day after it happened which broke your heart, making you cry.. but of course, hyunjin caught you crying. He didn’t really know what he felt, it being new to him, as he tries to refuse the silly ideas popping into his brain, he can’t ignore how much you being upset is making his heart.. hurt?? Surely he doesn’t like you too..?

18+ ONLY, MDNI, SMUT UNDER THE CUT.

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

part 3 here

**This can be read on its own despite it probably being confusing but i highly recommend reading part 1!**

SMUT WARNINGS: spit/drool, PIV, needy reader, pet names, shyish reader, rimming( f rec), oral ( f rec), fingering (f rec), finger sucking, unprotected sex, jealous jinnie, edging???,pull out method, literally 1 spank, slight dacryphilia, jealous jinnie, soft jinnie, kind jinnie, hyunjins a tease obvs, slight aftercare, wayyy fluffier ending than last time you're welcome!!

You & Hyunjin walk off campus, you still hiding your face from him, embarrassed at the tears now staining your cheeks, your face tinged red, you also don't fail to miss the looks you & Hyunjin are receiving from other students walking past the both of you, his arm still around you & you can't help but feel judged, so you push his arm off.

"Forget the cafe, I'm just gonna go home, I feel.. sick. I'll see you later Hyunjin." you murmur, still not looking at him in the eye.

"Y/n stop being weird, just cmon. I promise to cheer you up." He replies back, reaching out to cup your cheek but you move your head before murmuring a quick 'bye' before walking away from him hastily, leaving him standing there, confused & a bit annoyed.

He watches as you turn the corner & he huffs before kicking a stone nearby. 'Why do I care she's actually upset? 'What did I do wrong?' 'I hope she's okay' & 'Shit how can I apologise' are all thoughts that race through his head, no matter how much he tries to shake it all off, he genuinely feels guilty. But why? He never feels sorry for the girls he fucks n chucks, so what makes it different? He barely even knows you? He only spoke to you for a week which is barely anything. He sighs before pulling out his phone & going onto his contacts, about to call Joy, another one of his side things, before deciding against it, instead calling his friend Jisung& asking to meet him.

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Twenty minutes later Jisung meets him at the local dog walking park & they end up sitting on a bench, talking about random stuff before the topic of you comes up, but not because of Hyunjin.

“You’re lucky you got to partner up with y/n for that assignment, I got put with Changbin so obviously i fucking failed, tryna do that presentation on the spot was absolute torture, you still talk to her? she seems quiet as hell.” Han sighs, sipping his bubble tea through his straw & Hyunjin laughs.

“Ay! I actually helped her so shut up, just because you both have no more than eight brain cells, i’m just proof there is such a thing as looks & beauty. Nah, we haven’t really spoken since, just been busy i suppose & what the hell am i meant to say to her?” Hyunjin replies, a quick chuckle leaving his lips.

“What do you mean you’re proof that looks n beauty exist, y/n basically invented it you idiot. Wha'cha mean what are you meant to say to her? Did you fuck her too or something?" Han questions, leaning forward.

Hyunjin just kisses his teeth before nodding & Han just raises his eyebrows. "fuck, I didn't think someone like y/n would get around that way. Can you do me a favour n start speaking to her again n put in a good word about me I wanna approach her but she feels intimidating, you get me?" Once Hyunjin hears these words, a bad & gross feeling bubbles up in his stomach.. is what he feeling... jealousy?

"Uhh.. you're really not her type, she's not up for dating, she told me. Go try your luck with someone else." Hyunjin says in a bitter tone, not looking at the man in front of him & Han scoffs.

"You chat shit Hyunjin, stop gatekeeping! I'll just use my charms & trust me, we'll be fucking a week later n dating two weeks later." Jisung jokes, patting Hyunjins leg but he pushes it off.

"You're ridiculous Jisung, she won't want what's between your legs." Hyunjin spits out before standing up off the bench, stretching out & sighing. "I have things to do, you can keep day dreaming, I'll see you later. choke on your boba." Hyunjin jokes with Han & he spits out a bubble as a response before he walks away, leaving Han on the bench.

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He walks through the rest of the park, thinking about Hans words & he can't get over it. 'Why am I so jealous?' 'Who does he honestly think he is talking about y/n like that?' 'They wouldn't even look good together.' are things that keep racing through his head & he is getting more pissed off as the seconds go by.

He gets out of the park & he keeps walking on the pavement, not having an actual destination in mind.. until he seen you walking out of a random convenience store across the street & a lightbulb lights up behind his brown eyes.

He picks up the pace of his walk as he follows just far enough behind you on the other side of the road until you reach your apartment complex before entering & he can't help but feel like an absolute creep, but that doesn't stop him. He screenshots his location on find my Iphone, just so he won't forget where to go later on as he walks back the way he came, heading to the main line of shops near the campus.

He strolls around for around twenty minutes, looking at random little trinkets, bookmarks with the college logo on it, which he cringes at due to the look of it, before he keeps walking until he reaches a little florist shop.

He enters it, aimlessly walking around, fingertips grazing over a few roses & tulips, admiring the pretty colours as he sets his eyes on a bouquet of lillies. He picks it up, giving himself a better look at it before deciding he is happy with it, heading to the counter.

He places them down, not paying attention to the cashier as he looks at the little vases beside the register.

"Can I get this pink vase to- ohh, I didn't know you worked here Jennie, hiya." he says, surprised. "Sure. You know, Lisa doesn't like lillies, I suggest you get her daffodils, her favourite colour being yellow n all." she responds, smiling up at him. "Ah, they.. they're not for Lisa so I'll pass. Can you fill up the vase with a bit of water too? I think that's what you're supposed to do, right?" he says quickly, hand coming up to the back of his neck, the awkwardness filling the small space.

"mhmm. £29.11 is the total." She says in a cold voice, taking the tag off the vase as she turns around to the small sink, filling up the vase 1/3 of the way. She dumps the bouquet in the vase with no care at all before pushing it towards him, giving him the card machine. He pays, a strained, awkward smile on his face before saying thank you & leaving.

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After buying you a box of chocolates & a Vanilla bean smelling candle & following the path you walked on earlier, he ends up back outside your apartment complex.

He sits on the front steps, waiting for someone to leave the building so he can catch the door & once he is inside, he begins knocking on every door, talking to each person who answers in a quiet voice, Ignoring the confused looks of other students who recognise him who are all definitely wondering why he is knocking doors looking for you, making sure you wouldn't hear him & then refuse to open the door.

He reaches the fourth floor, mouth slightly dry from all the talking he has had to do & he is beginning to doubt his memory. He knocks on the third door & takes a step back, waiting for an answer as he hears footsteps & he can't help the smile that spreads across his face as you are the one who open the door.

"Surprise, & I'm not just talking about my pretty face. Can I come in?" he chirps as he raises his arms, making sure you see what he has brought despite it being almost all you can see, not missing the chance to give you an up & down look, you wearing black tight shorts & an oversized off the shoulder graphic shirt.

"Hyunjin, I told you I was sick.. How the hell do you know where I live?" you question, honestly just confused. "Does that matter? I asked a question, Don't leave me standing here I went to like twenty doors to find you!" he pouts. You roll your eyes & begin to shut the door but Hyunjin stops it with his foot.

"Okay okay okay! I followed you, but not in a creepy way I swear! I just wanted to.. apologise? But I knew you would ghost me If I text you." he says in a sulky voice. You groan before opening the door back open, his pretty face poking through the gap. "You are a creep, you know that? Why you apologising?" you question him, crossing your arms, not amused but slightly flattered despite not showing it.

"I'm not going to broadcast my deep, heart warming words in the corridor for everyone to hear, just let me inside, pleaseee." he pouts again & you just sigh before moving out of the way so he can enter, taking his shoes off as soon as they touch your laminate flooring.

You walk into your connected living room & kitchen before sitting on your corner kitchen counter, your legs swinging off it as Hyunjin follows behind you, looking around at the cute random decorations hung up on your walls & on the mantle pieces.

He places the flowers on your coffee table before walking back into your small kitchen & leaning on the opposite counter top, still holding the chocolates & candle.

"Okay, Can I give you my apology now? I rehearsed this to make sure I get everything right." He tries to joke but you just look at him with a blank expression before nodding, encouraging him to continue. "Okay, I didn't realise how much I've upset you & I'm sorry for not trying to check up on you sooner & stopped speaking to you. I partially didn't even mean to ghost you but I also genuinely thought you wouldn't speak to me anymore since you're always so concentrated on lessons & studying, I thought you would have thought I was getting in your way. I'm also sorry for fucking with that girl & you overheard it, if I'm genuinely being honest, I did it to try wipe my mind of you. I know what we did is a huge thing & it was wrong of me to have acted the way I did, if i'm being honest, this was the first time I did what we did so I just didn't really know how to act, but I'm genuinely sorry y/n. Chocolates?"

He blurts out, not taking his eyes off you as he feels his cheeks go hot, the nerves & also the way you're looking at him making him flustered. You both sit in silence for a minute, him waiting for a response & you thinking of a response.

"Gimme the box & light the candle for me, second drawer to your right n you will find a lighter. If you felt like this all week, You've still had seven days to come n tell me this but instead you've let me feel like shit for a week, this was the exact reason I was unsure to do it with you Hyunjin, in fear something like this would have happened & instead of just growing a pair & talking to me, you fuck someone else to just try forget?" You reply, your voice getting a bit shaky without meaning it, the feelings of it all hitting you again.

Hyunjin listens as he digs into his pocket & pulling out his own lighter & lighting it before putting it on the counter & he walks the few steps over to you, handing you the chocolate before standing right in front of you, leaning his hands on the counter on the outside of your legs, caging you in.

"Please y/n, don't think like that. I know I should have swallowed my pride n apologised earlier, I was just trying to convince myself I didn't give a fuck but I do, hence why I'm here. I honestly think you used those crystals & manifested this or something." he mumbles the last part, looking away from you, his ears going red after hearing his words out loud & your legs stop swinging as you pause at his words.

"What do you mean you actually give a fuck? What are you trying to say." you reply back, resisting the urge to reach out & stroke his hair. Hyunjin sighs & shakes his head. "Don't make me spit it out y/n, It's just gonna sound like a lie to you." You get an anxious feeling in your belly before taking his chin & guiding him to look back up at you. "Hyunjin, just say it, it's only me here anyway. Just say what you gotta say." you respond in a quiet but firm voice, honestly scared.

He doesn't have much option but to look at you as he lets himself melt into your hand lightly before taking a deep breath. "I.. care about you? I don't know, it feels weird but like... I genuinely felt like shit after how I treated you n i've tried to bury it but it just won't leave, I don't really know what it is about you n honestly it scares me." he says in a quiet, quick tone & your jaw drops.

You just freeze as you both just look at each other in complete silence not including the quiet crackling of the candle & your living room clock ticking. Hyunjin can't bare the awkwardness anymore as he gets shy for the first time in years, moving his arms to stand completely upright but you pull him in by the shirt to hug him, tears threatening to leave your eyes as his arms wrap around you in return.

"This better not be some sort of sick joke Hyunjin or i swear I'll kill you, you're gonna boost my ego to a fraction of what yours is." you half laugh as he nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell. "It's not, dead serious. You're just different n I don't know how to feel about it, stop casting spells to make me attached to you. I've been itching to ask to see you all week, I wish I wasn't being so stubborn." he muffles into your neck, moving his head side to side slightly, his nose tickling your neck, making you lean more into him, chuckling at his stupid joke.

"Stop with the silly magic jokes, you're ridiculous. I want to say you're not forgiven since you need to prove to me you're not talking out your ass but I do accept your indeed heart warming apology & I appreciate it just more than the flowers n chocolate." you say in a soft voice & you feel Hyunjin smile against your neck before he moves & kisses the tip of your nose, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"That's what I wanted to hear, I wouldn't be able to handle it if you had told me to fuck off, my first ever rejection coming from the first person I've ever bought a present for that isn't my mom." You chuckle at this before hopping off the counter, grabbing the box of chocolates that were staring at you.

"Rejection? You tryna say you like meee?" you tease, taking his hands before swaying them back & forth & he rolls his eyes, chuckling. "Was it not kinda obvious? I wanted to say it without directly saying it in case I embarrassed myself but... yeahhh I have a tiny crush, I think you made us soul tied or something." you just 'tut' at his remark but your face goes bright red at his confession, cheeks hurting from how much you're smiling.

"I'm touched. Got thee famous playboy hwang Hyunjin to like like me, not sure if it's a surprise but I like you too." You kiss his cheek before leading him to the couch as you sit on it, him flopping next to you. "Enough of the soppy talk for now or I'll get embarrassed, you can choose a movie while I get us a blanket." He just nods & you hand him the box of chocolates & he begins opening them as you scurry to your room to get your favourite fluffy blankets.

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You both end up watching a recommended Netflix romcom suggestion, both of you devouring your chocolates but you pay no mind to it.

Some point throughout, your legs end up swung over his as your head lays against his shoulder, him stroking your hair with one hand as the other hand caresses your thigh.

Every few minutes or so, you focus less on the movie & more on his touch as his hand slowly rises up your leg, then your thigh & his hand is now grazing against your inner thigh over your tight shorts, giving you goosebumps, which he doesn't miss.

This continues up until Hyunjin repositions himself, pushing your legs off him so he can lay down over your thighs, his view now sideways of the TV, not that he cares, not paying the slightest bit of attention anyway as you momentarily tense up beneath him.

You continue stroking his hair, sometimes digging your fingers into his scalp a bit to scratch it, making him let out a satisfied hum. You can't help but keep looking down at the beautiful man laying on you & you can't help but smile to yourself.

As if he can feel your eyes burning into his skull, he moves the blanket down your legs enough to expose your legs enough for him to begin planting little pecks on them, slightly tickilish but you don't miss the wetness now pooling under your shorts. "Stop teasing Hyune." you speak up, your voice quiet & he just chuckles.

"If you don't want me to tease, I won't complain if you lay back." he replies, not bothering to look up at you as his hand reaches to squeeze your thigh softly as he keeps giving your legs kisses, suckling at them slightly,

You think about what he says & you would be stupid to deny the chance, your pussy clenching around nothing. You lightly push his head up off you & he takes the hint, moving & you push the side of his arm, towards the edge of the couch & he looks at you slightly confused but does what he thinks you're hinting at, getting onto the floor right in front of you, looking up at you with his pretty eyes.

You give him a shy smile before you take it upon yourself to wriggle your shorts & underwear off, leaving your bottom half completely nude, biting your lip in anticipation.

"You really got this desperate since last time I saw you?" he teases & you put your hand in front of your cunt, covering it with how shy you've just started feeling but he is quick to pull it back off, looking at the small shimmer on your middle finger before licking it off in one go.

"Don't be shy, gorgeous. I've been just as desperate if not more, can I get a taste?" he says in a sweet voice, not looking away from you, stars in his eyes. "Please.. If you want to." you respond, hiding your face in your hands but he reaches up & swats your hands away yet again as his other hand begins to slowly drag through your folds, making your hips buck.

"Stop hiding, where's your confidence gone hmm? Do I make you that nervous? trust me, there's nothing I want more." he leans in & kisses right next to your lip before smirking at you & sinking back down onto the floor, blowing cold air onto your now soaking cunt, making your legs tense up & he tongues his cheek as he watches your face twitch.

He spreads your folds open, getting a better view of your hole, clenching around nothing before he licks a long, slow strip from your hole to the top of your clit, letting out a low groan in the process. "Taste better than anything y/n, I fucking swear." he says as he looks up at you for a split second. "eyes on me, if you look away I'll stop." he voices before digging in.

You do as he says & make eye contact with him as his mouth latches onto your cunt as he begins letting spit roll off his tongue, mixing with your juices just before slurping it back up, not afraid to make as much noise as the mixes of juices allow.

You weave your hand in his hair & play with his hair & scratch his scalp for him as he suctions his tongue onto your swollen button, both of you groaning at the same time.

"Hyune, so good" you whimper out, your breath shaky as your eyes struggle to stay open & you feel Hyunjin smile against you. He brings his fingers up to your clit before rubbing it in a steady rhythm as he lets go of before his tongue find its way into your opening before beginning to tongue fuck you & you throw your head back, your moans now louder than the TV still playing behind the both of you, your legs now closing around his head, not that he pays attention to that anyway, if anything he is enjoying it.

You begin to clench around his tongue which he remembers is your tell tail sign you're about to orgasm, your moans getting higher pitched & your grip on his hair getting tighter & he chooses to worm his tongue out of your hole before pinching your clit between his two fingers & dropping a glob of spit to it before giving it one more lick, smirking.

"I wanna try something I think you might like, turn over so you're facing your back to me, hunny." You huff at the beginning of a future orgasm beginning to appear suddenly bubbling away but you do as he says, slightly confused.

You get up on your knees & rest your elbows on the back of the couch, you now looking at the wall behind you. "Why am I fac-" you're cut off as Hyunjin spreads your cheeks & begins fondling them as he begins suckling on your pussy from behind, letting out a satisfied hum behind you as you begin kneading the couch until your fingers begin to ache, biting your lip to try hold back moans.

"G-gonna cum Hyunjin, keep g-going." you whimper, pushing yourself into his face, seeking even more from him if it's even possible & he gives you a quick slap on your ass as he removes himself from your cunt again, much to his own displeasure.

"Don't bite your lip y/nnie, I wanna hear you fully, Mkay?" he speaks from behind you as you yelp at the impact & he hums as he keeps kneading your ass, giving it a few kisses. "Your ass is to die for, you know that? Gonna taste it." Before you can even process what he says, your mind too full of lust to understand, he is letting a glob of spit fall past his lips & it landing right on your tightest hole.

You try jerk your hips away from him but he is quicker & pulls you back to him, keeping a tighter grip on your ass, keeping it spread as his tongue begins to graze over your pretty pucker, his eyes scrunching together as he smiles against you, tongue now drawing patterns on it as he lets go of one of your ass cheeks, going down to your leaking cunt again before entering two fingers, instantly finding the same G-spot that made you orgasm only a week or so ago.

Your hips buck at the new sensation & you let out a long mewl, letting your face fall onto the back of the couch as your knuckles turn white from how hard you're clenching on it.

Your pretty hole is clenching & pulsating on his tongue as he lets out a deep growl at your taste, so different compared to your cunt but still enjoyable, you're moans getting to an even higher pitch as his tongue enter inside you, swirling around as much as the tight ring will allow.

"Hyun- please l-let me cum, s-so- fuck!" you basically scream out, not even being able to find the strength to lift your head up to look at the man behind you as your pussy & ass clench around his fingers & tongue but right before you cum, Hyunjin pulls completely away, again & your legs shake from the painful pleasure of yet another stolen orgasm.

Hyunjin leans over so his clothed chest is touching your back & he tilts your head so he can see your pretty face & he sees your now tear soaked cheeks & your pretty, glossy eyes.

"Awww, pretty girl couldn't contain their tears, could you? I promise you can cum now, I don't have a condom on me though beautiful so do you just want my fingers hmm? or my tongue?" he questions as he strokes your now damp hair out of your face, pouting at you.

"J-just fuck me Hyune, j-just pull out." you whiimper back to him, your breath so unstable it's difficult to even push the words out. Hyunjin opens his mouth to re ask you, just to make sure he is hearing things right but you wiggle your naked ass against him & he bucks his hips before just nodding before kissing your shoulder & then shimmying his pants & underwear down, freeing his pretty cock.

He spits onto his cock, pumping it into his hand a few times, letting out a hushed groan before he aligns his tip with your pussy, rubbing himself against it a few times to coat his tip in your juices before prodding his tip against your hole, before pushing just the tip inside.

"I'm still gonna be gentle, it's only your second time, tell me if this position is uncomfortable." he speaks behind you & as you mumble out an 'okay' while your face now being mushed against the cushion again, he pushes his hips forward very slowly until he buries himself to the hilt, you both letting out a moan in unison.

He stills inside you, trying to not cum instantly from how hot your walls feel without the restriction of the condom he wore last time, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he waits for your signal to continue.

Your breath staggers as he pushes forward, the stretch being a bit painful but no way near as painful as last time & after a minute or so, you push yourself on his cock experimentally, making you both hiss.

"You- please move, mak-make me cum Hyune, p-please." you elongate the last word, turning your head to the side so he can actually hear you. He takes a deep breath & pulls out half way before pushing back in, the both of you letting out a whine as his balls slap against your clit, making it even more intense for you.

Hyunjin sets a steady rhythm, lightly using the tips of his finger nails to add sensation to your back, tickling it but also feeling nice as you know it will leave those pretty little red marks later on. Both of your moans & whines fill the small apartment, not even thinking about how your neighbours can one hundred percent hear you.

"Y/n yo-you're too tight, s-so warm." he breathes out, lifting his leg & standing it on the couch for a better angle as he keeps rutting into you, leaning over your back again to kiss your cheek, your moans going straight into his ears.

"To- so big hy-hyune, pleas-e lemme c-cum." you whimper, your eyes scrunching closed, the ends of Hyunjins hair tickling your face as he begins to nibble on your earlobe, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around his cock, almost suffocating it.

"c-cum with me baby, h-hold on for me." he groan back as he tilts his neck into an uncomfortable position just so he can kiss your lips. His tongue instantly enters your mouth & you suckle on it, tasting the remaining taste of your juices from what he hasn't already repeatedly swallowed, making you moan in content.

Hyunjin speeds up his pace slightly & your G-spot loves this, making your legs almost give out on the spot as your brain turns into mush. "I-in my s-stomach Hyun-deep." you babble out against his lips, barely even knowing your own name at this point.

As Hyunjin stands back upright after giving your shoulder a few pecks, his phone begins to ring. Your eyes spot his phone on the other end of the couch, where he was sitting earlier but he reaches over & declines it before shutting his phone completely off, throwing it to the side, his pace not slowing once.

You don't bother questioning it, instead focusing on the noises of your slick & his balls connecting together mixed with the sweat of the both of you, sloppy clapping noises of your skin connecting filling the room, your legs begin to give out as Hyunjin worms his fingers down to your clit yet again before rubbing it frantically.

"In your s-stomach hmm? You can cum for me angel, n-not gonna last, too w-wet n tight." he squabbles, breathing frantically & this i all you need to hear as your entire body tenses up as finally, your orgasm hits you like a brick wall & you let out a squeal & Hyunjin has to grip onto your hips as his life depend on it in order for you to not flop & slip off the couch.

Your noises & the way your pussy flutters around him is just too much for him to handle & as much as he doesn't want to, he pulls himself out of your wet, hot walls as his cum spurts down your ass & back, throwing his head back as his cock quite literally pulsates as his balls empty, a high pitched whimper leaving his lips, breathing staggered.

He comes back to his body quicker than you do & he helps reposition you so you're fully laying on the couch, trying to make sure his cum doesn't get onto any other surface.

He grabs his underwear & wipes the cum off your back in a comfortable silence, slightly twitching as he wipes it off. He leans over your back again before kissing your earlobe. "Did so well, so proud of you, still so pretty for me despite being sticky with sweat." you both weakly laugh as you turn onto your back before using the ounce of strength you have left to pull on his wrist.

"cuddle." is all you say as you pull on him until he lays on top of you, half his weight dangling off the arm of the couch as he lays his head on your chest, listening to your still racing heartbeat & he can't help but feel secure.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･:༅｡.｡༅:ﾟ::✼✿　　✿✼:ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You both sit like this for a while, talking to one another about what you both spoke about in a bit more detail & also just talk to each other about things you don't know about one another, things like family pets, favourite colours, favourite brands etc.

Hyunjin ends up powering his phone back on & you are both just scrolling through his for you page, when you remember his phone ringing. "Quick question hyune, who was it that called you? If it was important you coulda stopped to answer." you ask him, not lifting your eyes from the video playing on his phone screen, not really thinking too much of it.

"Don't stress it, it was just someone I'm not gonna be speaking to anymore." he replies in s tired voice, still scrolling. His reply slightly confusing you. "Who? I don't mean to be nosey or anything but now i'm curious." you respond back, your fingers in his hair now pausing.

Without saying anything, he switches apps, onto his call log & it's Lisas name at the top.. nineteen missed calls. He just sighs as he presses on the 'more' option before deleting her number & deleting the Imessage conversation without even bothering to read her spam of texts, yelling, crying & cussing him out before switching apps back onto tiktok without saying a word & you just blush, your hands cupping his cheeks from above, your thumbs just below his eyes.

"You're cute." you say as you squeeze them playfully & he just 'tut's but still, he melts himself into your touch.

I'm not completely sure if I want to leave this story as a two parter orrrrrr do a third n final part but to everyone wanting a happier ending here you all are!

Tags: @troublemaker02 @ismokeeweed @lmhcats @isagerada @tsunderelino

#hyunjin skz #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #skz smut #stray kids #straykids x reader #straykids #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz #skz hyunjin #smut #kpop smut #fanfic

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 5 months

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DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc au #dpxdc memes #dpxdc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead on main #dead on main ship #alcohol

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dreamingonfilm · 2 years

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✧˖*°࿐ Love Letters | d.m

Draco Malfoy x f!reader, fluff

Summary: In which Draco tries to find the girl who sends him love letters, unaware to the fact that it’s you.

W/C: 1.5k

Draco’s fingers traced over the writing on the pink envelope once again. His mind was not able to rest as he tried to piece together who left the note on his bedside in the middle of the night. Delicately opening it once more, he reread the words inside;

Draco,

I hope you can learn to see yourself the way that I see you, with love and acceptance. You are what makes everyday worth it. Constellations are named after you, and each day I can’t help but to be thankful for the sun breathing on you once more. You are my light.

He carefully closed the envelope and placed it inside his bag. ‘They like me.’ the boy thought to himself, ‘someone actually likes me.’

It’s not that the boy was a stranger when it comes to love, but never once has he been perceived as something more than what he truly is. He’s always been Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy throne, son of Lucius, and most importantly a Slytherin. For this reason, he constantly rejected any advances that came from the female students around him. While his rejections came off as rude and cold-hearted, the other students failed to see that Draco, just like everyone else around him, was human too. He was scared of being hurt by the one feeling that he craved the most.

The walk to class was almost unbearable, he couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. He wanted to know the poet behind those beautiful words, the ones that kept repeating over and over in his head as he tried stirring potions or taking notes. You are what makes everyday worth it. He became hyper aware of his surroundings, assuming that he would know when he sees her, but he failed to realize that she was not someone that could be so easily spotted. She came exactly when you needed her to, not by desire alone.

—-

“Draco,” his friend Blaise called to him, “focus.”

“Oh, right.” Draco replied, trying to get his thoughts together as he walked back to his seat. It was the middle of the school week and his mind was only getting more crowded with the thoughts of her. As he sat back down, his friends swarmed him with questions as to what it was that he smelled in his amortentia, assuming that this would be the first step to finding her.

“I can’t describe it.” He sighed, running a hand through his platinum hair in defeat. “She has me going crazy and I don’t even know her.”

“Well,” Pansy spoke up, “I suggest maybe moving on? I mean, if she wants to be anonymous it may be for a reason. Plus, you have hundreds of other girls that would kill to be with you, Draco. Maybe try your luck somewhere else.” She flashed him a sincere smile before going in to hold his hand, but her efforts were cut short as the boy suddenly stood up.

“I don’t want to be with anyone unless it’s her.” He sneered, shaking his head as he turned around and started heading straight to the door. He said a hushed goodbye to his friends before exiting into the crowded hall.

Why couldn’t his friends see that he didn’t want anyone else? He didn’t care about her wealth, status, or looks, all that he wanted was someone that could love him in full. Love him in a way that can’t be tamed, a love that lives long after they do. This was something that he knew he wasn’t going to find any time soon, for as long as he was at Hogwarts he could only be Draco Malfoy.

His hopes were on her.

He walked through the hall, pushing through students that stood in his way as he asserted dominance with a ray of confidence and high ego. Students glared at him but none had the guts to say anything, this fear that Draco instilled was not one that was going to go away any time soon. It was one that he brought upon himself and now had to live with. Somewhere in between his daydreams and the crowded corridor, he felt someone bump into him. Their shoulders collided as his books fell to the floor. The stranger mumbled a quick apology before running off.

In the midst of his anger, he froze. He smelt it. That same scent that clouded him only a few minutes before. There it was, it was her, but just as quickly as he smelled it, she was gone. Only seeing her hair as she turned at the corner of the hallway.

He quickly got up and chased after her, pushing and shoving anyone that got in his way. This was his chance, he was finally going to meet the girl that’s been making him mad, the one that he’s been dreaming of. His heart was pounding as he ran faster and faster down the hall, students staring at him in confusion as he was passing them by, quills and journals flying out of his bag – but he didn't care, he couldn’t let her get away.

Once he turned the corner, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sensation of defeat. His heart crushed as he stared into the empty hallway.

—-

Two weeks have passed since the day that Draco and her collided. He sat in his bed, holding a brand new letter. The same shade of pink as the one before, with the handwriting that he’s fallen in love with.

“Draco,

I’m sorry for not writing to you. I’ve been thinking of you every day, and I just can’t bear to keep dreaming of you without letting you know that I’m sorry for bumping into you in the hallway. The truth is, I’m scared, Draco.

I’m scared you aren’t going to like me for who I am. I’m scared that writing to you was a mistake. I’m scared that the only way you will ever see me is through these letters. I see you every day, why can’t you see me?

You’re always in my heart, shining above me every night, my constellation. If we remain strangers forever, just know that I’ve never come to love someone like how I love you.”

He was getting restless. Constant possibilities of who it could be running through him, he even considered the possibility that this could be a prank, but no amount of doubt could prevent him from finding her, his hope overpowered all the fear that he had.

Draco sat up once more and started getting ready for dinner. Brushing his hair and straightening out his tie, he needed to look presentable for the off chance that he could be meeting her today.

He headed down into the Great Hall and that’s when he saw it. A pink envelope in the hands of a girl he’s never talked to, but not just any girl, it was you.

He shouted out into the void, but he wasn’t quick enough. “Hey wait!” he called out, as you quickly grabbed your things and ran off once more. He couldn’t see you like this, it wasn’t the right time. Your face flushed red as you ran, your breathing quickening as your legs started to grow tired, but you could not let him find you.

Draco chased after you, he was only a few feet behind but with enough determination you knew you could lose him. As you sprinted through the maze of halls, you started to grow light headed, you knew that if you didn’t stop soon you would faint.

But it’s not the right time

You stopped in front of a random classroom, rushing to open the door before he could catch up to you, but it was too late. He crashed into you, both of you falling to the ground with a loud thump, his hands landing on either sides of you as you laid in between him.

He finally found you.

“Who are you?” He asked, not wasting any more time to get to know the girl who stole his heart. You stared into his eyes, feeling a frog in your throat as you mustered up the courage to finally talk to him.

“M-my name is (Y/N).” You whispered, neither of you breaking eye contact. He smiled, grabbing hold of your hands as he went to pick you both up. You were both nervous, too scared of saying the wrong things, but wanting to say them all regardless.

“(Y/N),” he repeated, looking at you with a face full of love and adoration, “I’m Draco.”

He brushed your hair with his fingers and went to pat the dust off your shoulders. You didn’t know what to say or do, but you didn’t have to.

This was the right time.

“Come along then (Y/N),” Draco smiled, interlocking his hand in yours before leading you back down to the Great Hall, “we have a lot of catching up to do.”

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nathaslosthershit · 7 months

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A Much Needed Interview (OP81)

(Part 2 of Teen Dad) Summary: After the shock of Oscar revealing himself to be a former teen dad, he joins an interview in the hopes of clearing everything up and limiting the overwhelming amount of questions he has been getting.

“Oscar, it is nice of you to sit down with us. I know it has been an interesting few weeks for you and your family. How are you guys all doing?” The interviewer asks.

‘Yeah, y’know, I had expected to one day have to open up about it all, but I never thought I’d have to do it the way I did. It has been fine, obviously my kids are young enough to not be impacted because they aren’t on social media, but it has been strange for my fiancée who is now getting hundreds of requests on her private account. I have sort of decided to take a break from social media because the response has been overwhelming and like none before. Mostly positive but I think a few people have gotten the wrong idea so I was hoping to clear everything up.” Oscar rambled. He was more nervous about this interview than any he had done before.

“Of course. Why don’t we start at the beginning, how did you and your fiancée meet?”

“We actually met at one of my races. She went to support one of her close friend’s brothers. After the race that I sadly didn’t do too well in, I saw her with her friend and I was kinda frozen in my spot, immediately head over heels. Sadly, it seems like everyone but her noticed. I was too scared to do anything so I just watched her leave. I think I sulked for days, totally regretting my decision to do nothing. A totally heartbroken 16 year old. I looked for her every single race until she finally came back a few months later.”

“Oh please tell me you finally got the confidence to shoot your shot.”

“Nope! I just stared at her and stuttered when she caught me looking then ran off. I then had an amazing race, I think part of me was just trying to make up for the embarrassment and luckily it seems my car got the memo. After the race she came up to me and asked for my number.” God, he was blushing profusely at the memory. He knew he would be getting slack for this for a very long time.

“Such a story! The young Oscar Piastri was no ladies’ man.”

“He was absolutely not. Soon after we started dating.” Oscar awkwardly laughed, sensing what was about to come up.

“And then kids came shortly after?” The interviewer asked with care in his voice, certainly able to sense Oscar’s change in attitude.

“Yeah. Uh, obviously not planned. I don’t think many people plan to become parent’s at 18. It was a shock… I didn’t handle it the best at first, something I think I will always regret. She was scared and while so was I, I should have been more supportive. I was embarrassed for a while. Felt like a total idiot. I didn’t tell anyone outside of my family and made them swear to secrecy. I also began to isolate myself from friends because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them but also felt terrible lying. A few months in I finally snapped myself out of it and began to focus on all the wonderfulness that was to come. I loved her more than anything and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t already imagined a life together in great detail. By the time we found out it was twins, a boy and a girl, I was ecstatic.”

“Well mate, I don’t blame you for your feelings. I definitely would have been a terrible father at 18 so I salute you.” The interviewer joked.

“Honestly, I had the same thought for a while, even when I was excited to have kids. I had so many doubts about it, I mean how could I not? But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford to be anything less than a great father. Of course I had my moments, and still do years later, but I wouldn’t be able to let myself be anything less than I am. If you love your kids enough, you find a way.”

“How did having kids so young impact your career? Obviously it didn’t hurt it too much considering you are in your second year driving in Formula 1.”

“Well, I decided I wouldn’t advertise my situation unless a team was very serious about me. Prema knew, Alpine did too and of course McLaren does. All were welcoming and accommodating, as much as they could be. I don’t think I would have gone with any of them if they weren’t cool with it though. I realized the minute my kids were born I would give it all up for them, which scared the hell out of me.”

“That is admirable. All these years later you are still with their mother, correct?”

“Yes! I asked her to marry me over break. Everyone close to us had been confused as to why it took so long but we had discussed marriage together many times and made the decision that because our relationship moved so fast with having kids so young, we would wait a bit. I mean, we are still young but I honestly couldn’t wait any longer. She is everything to me and the most wonderful mother my kids could have.”

“Have your kids been around the paddock yet? I assume they are old enough to understand what you do.”

“They have been to the factory and come with me to meetings when we haven’t had a sitter for them. Luckily, they are both very well behaved in public, they also really like watching the races on tv and have somewhat of an understanding of what I do. They don’t believe I actually drive the car though.” Oscar rumbled. Trying to convince his twins that yes, their father actually does drive the cars they see going super fast, has been an ongoing issue. They seem to believe he is tricking them but have no problem believing Uncle Logan and Uncle Lando drive the cars. It has definitely humbled him immensely.

“Well you will have to fix that soon huh? Will they be attending races in the future?”

“I am trying to work that out with my fiancée actually. They are almost four so we don’t want them traveling too far, I also don’t believe they will be able to be entertained solely by the race the entire time so we have a lot to deal with. But I think seeing them on the paddock supporting me will be one of the best moments of my life. I selfishly can’t wait for them to come.”

The interview wrapped up shortly after that. Getting to reminisce on the start of his relationship and how far they have come and how many wonderful things are in the future put Oscar in a deliriously happy mood. He couldn’t wait to get home to his family.

Walking through the door, he was immediately welcomed to the sound of toddler meltdowns. Fully entering the house, he saw his very tired fiancée rubbing her face as she tried to calm her babies down. Clearly this had been going on for a while.

Despite how upset she looked, she immediately perked up at seeing Oscar had returned. But that immediately went away as she remembered the screaming kids and how messy the house and herself were.

“Sorry honey, I know you are probably so tired after the interview and meetings earlier and these two missed their nap so they are so cranky and I just-” He cut her off with a kiss. Once he pulled away she looked at him, perplexed. A kiss from Oscar was never unwelcome but it was the last thing she expected at that moment.

“Hey, look at me.” He said as he put a hand on her cheek. “I love you and our little family so much and you never, ever have to apologize for something as trivial as this. Why don’t you go get in the bath and relax a little and I will try to wrangle these two, okay?”

In her eyes, Oscar had never been hotter than he was now. Now it was her turn to surprise him with a kiss, even more passionate than the first. They would have continued if it hadn’t been for more screaming from their two kids.

Still, Oscar wouldn’t change a thing.

#formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #op81 fluff #op81 imagine #op81 x reader

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mavigator · 8 months

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i talked about it a little bit already but i have things to say about it. for context, i was born with amniotic band syndrome. the amniotic band wrapped around my left wrist in utero and stunted the growth of my hand. i was born with about half a palm, four nubs for fingers, and a twisted half of a thumb. i can open and close my thumb and pinkie joint like a claw.

yesterday at work i had a shift in the room with 5-10 year old kids. i had my left hand hidden in my sleeve (a bad habit of mine). a kid asked if he could see my hand, and even though internally i was debating running into traffic, i said “sure you can” and showed him my hands. he stared for a moment, looking disturbed, and then said “i don’t want to look at that anymore”. that hurt to hear, but i understand that kids are new to the world and he probably didn’t mean it out of malice. i put my hand away again, told him that it was okay, and that i was just born that way.

he then went on to talk about how he knows a kid with a similar hand to mine and called it “ugly”. i told him that wasn’t a very kind thing to say and that he wouldn’t feel good if someone said that to him, and he replied that no one would say that to him—because he has “normal hands”, and he’s glad he does because otherwise he’d be “ugly”. i tried to talk with him for a bit about how everybody is born differently, but he just started talking about a girl he knows with a “messed up face” and pulled on his face to make it look droopy. i went on some more about how it wasn’t very kind to talk about people that way, but the conversation moved on to something else.

i’ve told my supervisors about it and they’re going to have a talk with his mom. what i wanted to say is this: i’m genuinely not upset with the kid. kids are young and naturally curious, and he clearly simply hasn’t been taught about disabled people and kind ways to speak to/about others. which is why i am upset with his parent(s). i know he’s encountered visibly deformed/disabled people before (he said so himself!), yet his parent(s) clearly haven’t had any kind of discussion with him about proper language and behavior. i knew from birth that some people were just different than others, but my parents still made a point to assert to be kind to and accepting of others. i wonder if adults in his life are the type of people to hush him and usher him away when he points out someone in a wheelchair. that kind of thing doesn’t teach politeness. it tells children that disabled people are an Other than can’t be acknowledged or spoken about; which, to a child, means disability must be something bad.

i’m lucky enough that this was a relatively mild incident, and that i’m a grownup with thicker skin. i’m worried about the other kids he mentioned to me. has he been talking to them this way? when i was a kid, i had other kids scream, cry, and run away at the sight of my hand. or follow me around pointing at me and laughing at me. or tell me i couldn’t do something because i was ugly or incapable or whatever. one time a girl at an arcade climbed to the top of the skeeball machine, pointed at me, and screamed at me to put my hand away and wouldn’t stop crying until she couldn’t see me anymore. another time, a kid saw my hand, screamed at the top of her lungs, and ran into my friend’s arms, crying hysterically about how i was scaring her. that second incident made me cry so hard i threw up when i got home. i can kind of laugh it off now, but having people react to me that way as a child is something i’m still getting over. why do you think i have a habit of keeping my hand in my sleeve? it just irritates me to see children that have clearly not been taught basic manners and kindness—their parents Clearly missed something pretty important .

#and for the record i consider my deformity pretty mild. maybe i’m just used to it but things like amniotic band syndrome can turn out a lot #more severe. i rarely even call myself disabled because i don’t feel like the term is applicable to me. i’m more hindered by like #my adhd anxiety depression etc than i am my hand. so for those kids to react that way to what i THINK #is a pretty small thing. makes me worry about people that are more visibly disabled #Kids.That are more visibly disabled

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 5 months

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Wingwoman (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: You take your good friend/coworker, Spencer, out to the bar to find him a girl to hook up with. Things do not go as planned.

Word Count: 5107

Warnings: Romantic/sexual tension! Mentions of drinking / sex

A/N: Hi! I haven't written posted fanfic in like, 8 years, please be nice xD I would love to know your thoughts - if you have any requests or anything, I'm happy to oblige. ALSO -- I have only seen up to Season 7 of Criminal Minds because I'm a fckn loser. Anywayyyyy enjoy! Not my gif btw, all credit to the owner :)

———————————

It was kind of your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.

Actually, it was definitely your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.

It had been your suggestion to go out. It had been your idea to act as Spencer’s wingwoman, some last-ditch effort to try to get him out of your mind. He was your coworker, for Christ’s sake. And your best friend. And you’d thought about him desperately for eight of the nine months that you’d known him.

Emily, Derek, and Penelope had all agreed to tag along, but as the work day went on, each of your coworkers had found some kind of excuse to opt-out. Derek’s niece wanted to Facetime. Penelope forgot Kevin’s birthday was next week and needed to go shopping for a present. Emily had a headache.

Finding Spencer a romantic prospect on your own was certainly not the plan, but, stupidly, thoughtlessly, you’d decided to go along with it. You could do this. Just one night in a bar, chatting up women for the man you’d slowly been falling for the past eight months. As good of an idea as any, right?

You and Spencer took an Uber to the bar the group frequented. Ski-ball and pool in one corner, a vintage jukebox and small space set aside as a makeshift dance floor in the other. But the best part - half-off drinks for federal agents. You’d never been one to abuse the badge before, but…

Three Jack-and-Diet-Cokes later, your moral code had a bit of a crack in it.

Spencer stood next to you - towered over you, actually, because that man was a fucking beanpole - and you felt his eyes on you as you scanned the crowd. “What about her?” you suggested, jerking your chin to the woman at a high-top table against the wall. She had her nose stuck in her phone and an untouched martini on the table in front of her.

“She’s clearly waiting for someone,” Spencer pointed out, and you realized he was right just as the woman looked up from her phone and towards the door for the third time in the past minute. “I also don’t understand why you’re so dead set on finding someone to hog me up with.”

You snorted into your drink. “Hog you up with?” you repeated, turning in your barstool so you faced him. Your knees brushed his thighs.

“Yeah, is that not…” realization dawned on Spencer and he grimaced. “That’s not the phrase, is it?”

“Hook,” you corrected, but not impatiently. You made a little hook with your index finger, like a pirate. A little giggle escaped you. “And I’m not dead set on it,” you argued. “I just didn’t want to be the only one leaving the bar with someone.”

Your eyes flickered up to Spencer’s to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised by this implication that you planned to leave with someone - someone who was not him.

“Yeah? Who are you leaving with, matey?” Spencer countered, arching a brow and pointedly looking at your index finger, still in its hooked position. You dropped your hand.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” you blushed furiously, desperately trying to drive the conversation back to his romantic conquests. Your thought process was that if you actually saw Spencer with someone else in any sort of romantic capacity - dancing, flirting, kissing - you’d finally hurt yourself enough with the sight for those stupid feelings for him to dissipate. “We’re looking for you.”

Spencer merely hmm-ed in response, an indecisive non-answer, and you noticed he shook his head. Like he was annoyed, but trying not to show it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and polished off your drink before returning to examining the patrons in the bar. You nudged Spencer’s elbow with your own and your gaze landed on the group of three women giggling around one of the tables. “Any of them? The blonde is cute,” you pointed out.

“Not really into blondes,” Spencer muttered, and you glanced back at him. You could have sworn his eyes were locked on your brunette hair. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off. “But, sure, if watching me strike out will amuse you, Y/N.” Before you could protest, Spencer set his glass down on the bar and started towards the trio of women at the table.

You leaned down to sniff his glass, curious as to what he’d been drinking. Clear liquid. No smell. Was he… totally sober?

You watched with narrowed, studious eyes as Spencer approached the women. You could only see the back of his head, but the three women’s faces were perfectly visible. They smiled, friendly, unassuming, and then something came out of Spencer’s mouth that changed their expressions. The blonde in the middle furrowed her brows, and the two women on either side cocked their heads slightly. Spencer’s hand tapped the table and he earned awkward smiles as a goodbye was bid, and when he turned around to head back towards the bar, he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, like what are you gonna do?

“What happened?” you asked as he returned to you.

“I blew it,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. Too accepting of his defeat. Further supporting your theory that he’d gone over there and purposefully botched it.

“Right,” you flagged down the bartender to order another drink.

“You’re getting another one?” Spencer asked.

You whirled your face to meet his and didn’t see judgment, but rather, concern. “Why does it matter?” you asked, no, dared.

Spencer shook his head, defeatedly. “It doesn’t,” he grumbled.

“What about that girl you were talking to earlier by the jukebox?” you asked, nudging his shin with your foot. “The grabby one. She seemed really into you.”

Spencer visibly gritted his teeth. “I’m not interested.”

“Are you interested in anyone in this bar tonight?” You asked. The words came too quickly for you to stop them. They were too real. Especially as Spencer’s frown hardened just slightly and you watched him look away from you.

You took in a sharp inhale, the realization hitting you, the possibility that Spencer might actually feel the same way about you. And that you’d dragged him out here tonight to try and set him up with someone else. You were selfish and thoughtless and stupid.

You hopped off the barstool, your feet wavering beneath you. “I’d better go home,” you said suddenly, grabbing your bag. You had to leave. You had to go home before you said something stupid, something irreversible.

You stalked out of the bar and onto the brisk, late-autumn sidewalk. You’d forgotten your coat at the office and insisted you’d be fine. The chill smacked you in the face and you tucked your bag beneath your shoulder so you could cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself for any semblance of warmth.

Thirty seconds hadn’t even passed before the door creaked and Spencer appeared at your side, throwing his coat wordlessly over your shoulders. “What did I do?” he asked. You looked up at him and saw his eyes - hurt, frustrated, confused.

Your lips parted and there was a small shake of your head. “No,” you breathed. He furrowed his brows and you explained further. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why the hell have you been so weird around me lately?” Spencer asked, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. Like a temperamental first-grader.

“Weird how?” You asked, trying to pretend like you had no idea what he was talking about. Like your stomach didn’t flip every morning when you saw him.

“Like you’re… like you’re mad at me. Like you don’t want to be around me,” Spencer looked at the street ahead of the both of you rather than at you. “You always find an excuse to leave the room when it’s just the two of us. You pull Derek or Emily or Penelope into the conversation so you don’t have to interact with just me. You’re out here trying to find me someone to hook up with?” he phrased the last sentence as a question, shaking his head. Your heart lurched. He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s either you’re trying to shrug me off as a friend entirely, or -”

He stopped himself. His eyes were fixed on the streetlamp a few feet in front of you. They widened and you felt your heart pound as he slowly met your gaze. The realization hit him, the second half of his sentence lingering, heavy and palpable between the two of you.

“Or,” you repeated, not phrasing it as a question. Your voice was soft as you said it, your tone anything but a question.

“Or?” Spencer asked, and you could see his chest start to rise and fall more slowly.

“Or,” you confirmed, taking in a sharp breath.

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he looked at you, his gaze piercing and soft, studious and lazy, hungry and satiated all at once. “Oh.”

Oh.

“How long?” he asked, turning his feet towards you.

Your face went red and you lifted your chin, refusing to make yourself feel ashamed of it anymore. There wasn’t any point, not when he knew now. “Since March,” you admitted. Your voice was squeaky.

“March?” Spencer repeated, incredulous. It was early October now.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and bunching it up by the middle. You handed it to him. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. Your body felt like it was on fire. “You don’t have to-”

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.”

You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a second. Your mouth fell open and despite your three drinks, you remembered clearly that Spencer had been drinking water. This was not some drunken confession, not for either of you, because the second he’d asked you why you had been so weird lately, you had instantly sobered up. “Oh,” was all you managed to choke out.

Oh.

“Yeah, oh,” Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smile. That playful, friendly, teasing little smile you’d learned to love on him. He stepped towards you.

You let out this little half-garbled laugh. Spencer reached for your hand, and you let him. Your fingers spread, allowing his in the spaces between. You looked up at Spencer and little fires shot up your hand. How could merely holding hands feel so monumental?

“What do we… what do we do now?” You asked, your mind in a haze, like a computer awaiting command.

Spencer let his jacket fall to the concrete and used his other hand to slowly, almost hesitantly, cup your cheek. He looked down at you and your entire face reddened. “Well,” his voice was soft, crackling, like a fireplace, and he met your gaze with searching eyes. “I’d like to kiss you now, if that would be okay,” he said finally. Your lips turned up into an idiotic smile.

“I think that would be okay,” you whispered.

His hands were so soft, you realized. His grip on your hand loosened and he was now cupping your face on both sides. And every nerve in your cheeks was firing off signals - Spencer is touching my face, Spencer is touching my face. Like it was some forbidden thing. But then, as if in slow motion, he ducked his head down and his lips touched yours. Gently, at first, tentative and wobbly like a foal taking its first steps. Your hands rested on his torso - taut beneath that stupid little sweater vest.

He pulled back after just a moment. It was really only five or six seconds at the most, but you were red-faced and breathless by the time your eyes fluttered open, into his. Spencer’s smile was now a full-blown grin, and your expression mirrored his. “Yeah?” He asked, the word carrying more meaning. You’re into this, right?

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer dropped his hands from your face, but your hands remained on his torso, not wanting to step away just yet. The syllable meant more coming from you, too. I’m really, very much, super into this. Please, for the love of god, kiss me again.

Spencer arched a brow ever so slightly, and you nodded your head.

Just like a dance, Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, and at the same time, you slid yours around his neck. He backed you up, completely disregarding his jacket on the sidewalk, until you were flush against the brick wall belonging to the bar. The brisk October breeze ruffled through his hair and yours, yet, suddenly, neither of you were terribly concerned about the weather.

He kissed you again, and this time it wasn’t as timid. Slowly, at first, his lips pressed against yours, and then his tongue darted out. It teased your lips in silent invitation, and you opened them to grant him access. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your hair, your face. You had moved your own down to his torso again. He coaxed the tiniest little mewl out of your throat, a completely uncontrollable and inevitable noise.

Spencer’s low, gravelly groan reverberated through your mouth. Your hands gripped the bottom half of his shirt, balling it up in tight, white-knuckled fists. An unmistakable hardness brushed against your thigh. You were perfectly content to stay right there, pinned against the exterior wall of a D.C. bar, but the sound of a car honking its horn peeled Spencer off of you.

His face was flushed and you released his shirt from your grasp. He let out a small grunt, stepping away from you to grab his jacket off the ground, wrinkling it haphazardly in his hand, holding it strategically over his middle.

Oh, he liked you a lot.

“You okay, Spence?” You asked all-knowingly, cocking your head to the side, leaning against the wall, lifting a foot to plant against it.

Spencer shot a set of narrowed eyes at you, as if noting your smirk and storing it for later. “Yeah, I’m great,” he said, obviously struggling a little bit. His eyes quickly left yours and looked everywhere but at you.

You didn’t want to embarrass him too much. So you just crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the sidewalk. But the smirk on your face wasn’t going away quite so easily. You considered briefly trying to talk to him about baseball or something to try and help him out, but you decided pointing it out would just humiliate him. Plus, it was a nice little ego boost, knowing you could get him like that with just a simple touch.

He took a second, but he finally cleared his throat and met your gaze. You sucked your front teeth with your tongue and then bit your lip. “Want me to call an Uber?” You asked.

Spencer just nodded, and you pushed yourself off the wall, stepping over to join him, digging your phone out of your pocket to order the car. “You okay?” You asked him again after submitting the request on your phone. Spencer’s face was still flushed, but he just nodded and reached for your hand. “Careful,” you warned, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. “Don’t want you having an-“

“Shut up,” Spencer cut you off, and you snickered.

——————————————————

You had never been in Spencer’s apartment before. It was unmistakably his, with stacks upon stacks of books in lieu of furniture.

There was a sofa in his living room, along with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television on a stand. The remaining space, besides a few spots here and there and a clear path with which to maneuver the room, was filled with books.

You had never seen so many books in someone’s possession before. And sure, you were an avid reader yourself. But nothing like this. Your heart fluttered at the sight, not only because books simply just made you happy, but because it was an incredibly endearing detail about Spencer. Your Spencer.

He shut and locked the door after you stepped inside, looking around with a childlike, awestruck grin. The TV had a thin layer of dust over the screen - he clearly didn’t use it often. And as you trailed a finger along the top of the nearest stack of books, you felt a pair of eyes watching your every move.

You and Spencer had both been quiet in the Uber ride here. He had simply held your hand, swiping his thumb across the back of your palm every few seconds. You would occasionally meet his gaze, but then quickly, bashfully, look away, like the two of you were teenagers.

It was so strange to think of what he had said to you - I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met. How had you not figured it out before now?

You supposed you had been hiding your true feelings as well, so he was allowed to, too.

There wasn’t any point in wishing to change the past, you reminded yourself. All you should be focusing on is right now.

And right now, the street lamps peeked in through Spencer’s living room window, glinting off of his endless brown eyes and making them look like he had the moon in his irises.

“So,” you said softly, not nearly as wicked as you had been when you were teasing him on the street by the bar. “This is where you live.”

“Uh-huh,” Spencer bobbed his head, that awkward, straight-line smile crossing his face.

“Lot of books,” you pointed out.

“Yep.”

You arched a brow, a teasing smile crossing your face once again. “What’s with the monosyllabic conversation?”

Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. “It’s just… really difficult to just stand here and not touch you,” he admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his face.

You grinned. “You can touch me,” your voice dropped an octave, without you even really thinking about it.

Spencer licked a canine with the tip of his tongue. God, that tongue. You remembered how he’d teased you less than an hour ago outside of the bar. “Maybe I will,” he shrugged, and you rolled your eyes.

“You can’t really play it cool, right now, Spencer. Not when I just gave you a-“

“Please stop talking,” Spencer laughed, crossing the room and cupping your cheeks in his hands all in the same movement. You snickered and he kissed you and anything you might have been wanting to make fun of him for was forgotten about.

You pressed your hands against his chest - holy pectorals, Batman - and craned your neck up so you could reach him. Spencer slid his own hands down your arms and to your hips, and you looped your arms around his neck. One palm flattened against the back of his head, holding him in place, fingers curling around pieces of his soft hair.

Your heart was hammering away, and there was this aching, hot feeling that was pooling in your core and you all of a sudden felt hungry. Starving for Spencer, for every piece of him, for fully and finally crossing that line from friend to lover. An insatiable hunger for nearly every moment since you’d known him.

Finally you broke away from him, simply because oxygen was a necessity, and he rested his forehead against yours. Your eyes were still closed and your fingers ground into his scalp. “Look at me,” he requested, his voice low.

Your eyes opened obediently and one of Spencer Reid’s hands curled under your chin. His face moved away from yours but his gaze was locked on yours, a pinpoint, a Northern Star.

And when Spencer spoke again, your knees buckled.

“I want you.”

Your mouth fell open, ever so slightly, and you nodded. “I want you, too,” you whispered.

“Are you still…?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You’d had three drinks earlier that evening, after all, but you’d polished the last one off nearly an hour ago. Maybe not fully sober, but sober enough to know what you wanted.

“I’m fine,” you assured him.

Spencer inclined his head to the side. “You’re sure? Can you pass a sobriety test?”

You narrowed your eyes at him before you realized he was being sarcastic. You stepped back from him, shrugging off his hands, and extended your arms, touching your nose with your left hand, then your right. Spencer just laughed, and reached out for you, tugging you back to him. “Okay,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on your neck. You let him. “You’re fine, then?”

“I’m fine,” you agreed, shrugging him out of his sweater vest, and then reaching for the buttons on his shirt underneath.

Spencer kissed your neck as you fumbled with the buttons - how were buttons suddenly impossible to undo? Your head craned back just slightly on instinct, wanting - needing - to allow Spencer more access. Your dexterity had become abysmal at this point, and Spencer’s lips were kissing your neck, down your throat, teasing at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you managed to groan out, a wave of annoyance present in your tone.

“What?” he asked, pulling back, concern filling his face.

You realized you had actually worried him. “Oh, no, no,” you waved it away, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m just really frustrated, because… because your shirt,” you stammered, and Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smirk.

“My shirt,” he stated.

“That one, right here,” You laughed softly, curling your fingers around the buttons. You managed to wiggle one free, then another. Spencer leaned forward to continue kissing your neck, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Hang on,” you murmured, working through another button, and one more. “I’m concentrating.”

“You’re sticking your tongue out,” Spencer snickered. Your eyes met his and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m concentrating!” Your voice rose slightly in self-defense. Spencer’s hands went to your hips.

“It’s adorable,” he told you. “You make the same face at work. When you’re in the middle of filling out a form or trying to open a new bottle of coffee creamer without spilling it,” Spencer rubbed circles in your hips and your fingers stopped working again.

“You noticed that kind of stuff?” You asked softly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Spencer just nodded. “All the time.”

I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.

You inhaled sharply, finally undoing the last button.The skin beneath the shirt was pale, smooth, and perfect. And when he slid his arms through the sleeves and the shirt fell to the ground, you bit your lip, unable to help it.

“Y/N?”

You met Spencer’s gaze and let out this awkward little laugh. Embarrassing, really, if you hadn’t been in the company of your best friend. “You okay?” he asked, and you felt a little giddy as you nodded, moving your hands to his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him again.

You didn’t know which direction the bedroom was in, so you just took a guess, pushing him back towards one of the doors. He kept his hands on your hips and his lips pressed against yours as he guided you, walking backwards, to the right door. You entered the bedroom and could not possibly be bothered to look around right now, not when Spencer was guiding you in a circle by merely touching your hips, not when the back of your knees hit what was unmistakably a mattress, not when you fell back against it.

Your eyes were shut, unwilling to take in your surroundings as Spencer guided you onto your back. You toed off your shoes before lifting your legs, and Spencer hovered over you. Your lips were locked with his the entire time. And when you finally opened your eyes and you saw only Spencer, you grinned like a fool.

Spencer’s fingers were like taking a shower. They were all over you - your hips, first, then your stomach, and you had to resist the urge to giggle because they tickled as he teased the bottom hem of your shirt up. You sat up slightly to get the blouse over your head and you watched him discard it onto the floor. And then his hands were over your chest, thumbs teasing under the wire of your bra, outlining the shapes of your breasts.

Your breathing had gone heavy and staccato by this point, your body sinking into the mattress, shipwrecked as Spencer touched you. His eyes wandered over your and that little smile on his face was enough for you to know that he was immensely enjoying himself.

“Can I…?” Spencer’s hands wandered down and gripped your pants as he looked into your eyes, a brow arched.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and your blush appeared over your cheeks at the same time as his. “Yeah,” you whispered, and Spencer helped you wiggle out of your pants - black slacks, since you had gone straight from work to the bar. They were soon tossed to the floor, and you were only in your underwear and your bra. And Spencer’s brown eyes did not make you feel objectified or embarrassed, but safe.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he told you, seriously, and your breath hitched in your throat.

“You-”

“I’m not done,” Spencer cut you off, lifting a hand to run his thumb down your chin. “You’re so beautiful. And you’re so kind, and smart, and funny. And I’d really like to show you how much I care about you,” he looked into your eyes as a sort of request.

“I’m not on birth control,” You breathed out in response, feeling your cheeks redden for even bringing it up. Way to damper the mood. Still, you wanted to be responsible. “Do you have a c-”

Spencer’s soft smile turned into a wicked grin and he shook his head. “We’re not going to need one,” he promised, and after looking into his eyes for a moment, you understood.

________________________________________

Spencer had thoroughly worshiped you, until you quaked and cried out with absolutely no thought to how thin his apartment walls might be. Usually, you didn’t allow yourself to be the center of attention for too long, but Spencer had insisted, and, well, you couldn’t very well deny him what he wanted, right?

Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair matted to the back of your neck, Spencer finally lay down beside you. Your breathing was just starting to come back to you as you turned on your side to face him. Spencer’s body mirrored yours, the tips of his fingers - those fingers - trailing up the side of your arm. “That was…” his voice was soft, gravelly, and he looked at you like you had anything to do with it. It was literally all him. “Incredible.”

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, unable to really focus on anything besides the curve of Spencer’s lips, the way the apples of his cheeks appeared when he smiled like this. Spencer kissed your lips, unlike any way he had before. All the other kisses tonight had been hungry and excited, exploratory and new. This one was lazy and slow and you let his tongue dance across yours, and when he finally pulled away, your nose scrunched up in delight.

Your eyes traveled from his lips, down his neck, his collarbone, then back up, taking him in. The glow of his skin, the tired yet exhilarated look in his eyes. So different now than at the beginning of the night, when he’d looked at you with that slightly annoyed expression as you had tried to set him up with other women. You recalled how he had gone off to that group of three women right before you’d abandoned the bar, how he had struck out on purpose just to satiate your nagging. “What’d you say to those women tonight?” You asked him curiously, furrowing your brows at him.

Spencer, in turn, arched his brows at you. “Why?”

“Because I’m curious,” you said as his fingers continued to trail, feather-light, up and down your arm. You traced your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin. “You were obviously blowing it on purpose.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I actually do have some game, despite what Morgan might say,” he said, his tone defensive.

You snickered. “Sure you do, Spence. Took you, what, eight months, to get me in your bed?”

Spencer shot a playful glare at you and pinched the skin on your arm. You squeaked in response and he just laughed. “I just asked them how they were doing tonight,” he said finally, and you knew just from the look on his face that he was lying.

“You did not,” you pushed back. “Come on, Reid, spill it.”

“Ok, fine,” Spencer heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed, his back against the headboard. You sat up, too, looking at him with concern. Why was he so embarrassed? “I told them… Jesus.” Spencer rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb and his forefinger. “I told them I was here with a coworker that I had a massive crush on, and that you were trying to set me up with someone else,” he began.

You started to smile.

Spencer continued. “I told them that I had absolutely no interest in going home with anyone tonight, and that I had been purposefully striking out all night long because I couldn’t stand the thought of even trying to look at someone the way I look at you.”

Your smile grew and you moved to sit on your knees, inching closer to Spencer and throwing one leg over him, effectively straddling him against the mattress. “So I asked them,” Spencer continued, his lips turning slowly from an exasperated frown to a small smile. “I asked them if they could just look at me like I had said something stupid, and then I would leave them alone.”

“Did they say anything to that?” You asked as Spencer’s hands found your hips, contouring to match the curves into the small of your back.

Spencer’s voice got slightly lower, more serious, when he said, “The girl in the middle did. She said ‘that girl definitely has feelings for you, too’. And then they did what I asked, and I walked back over to you.”

“She did not say that,” you rolled your eyes, just as Spencer kissed your lips.

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N,” he reminded you in a low whisper, as his lips lingered against yours. “Would I lie to you about that?”

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