Summary: The first time Andrew Cody sees you is within the confined walls of Folsom State Prison. You’re volunteering with a prison library program, helping inmates read and providing educational support. One look at you is all it takes for him to become instantly attached to you and he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.
Tags/warnings: Age gap (reader is in her 20s and Andrew is late 30s), yearning, prison Pope, mention of violence, brief scene of violence, obsessive behaviour, parasocial behaviour, mention of mental health issues, prison abuse, no use of y/n
Word Count: 3,256
Author's note: NOT PROOFREAD. I'm really excited about this series and for the first time, I actually have most of the series already written/planned out. I've been working on this idea for the past few months and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Season 1 Pope is very special to me. The picture is actually from when Shawn Hatosy was playing Lawrence Sheppard in Law and Order: Los Angeles but he looks like season 1 Pope Cody. Thank you for reading and I hope you guys enjoy this series!
Pope stood in the middle of the bank, guns drawn and pointing at the hostages laying on the floor. There were only a few unlucky customers who had decided to go to a bank in the middle of the work day. An elderly woman lay on the floor, tears streamed down her face as she recited a prayer. A businessman was cursing another his breath about missing a meeting while he studied the carpeted floor, trying not to draw attention to himself. A pretty young woman, wearing a skirt and cardigan was laying on the floor across from where Pope stood, looking up every few seconds at her captor’s masked face. She was the most composed out of all the other hostages. The security guard’s face was pressed against the ground by one of Pope’s heavy black boots, his gun had been tossed towards the opposite side of the bank.
Deran and Baz were getting the bank tellers to fill up bags with cash. The Cody brothers had been robbing banks for years and they had mastered bank robberies down to a science. It was supposed to be a simple job, in and out within ninety seconds.
“Is that all the cash?” Baz asked. His voice was muffled slightly by the ski mask covering his face.
“Y-y-yes,” the shaking bank teller nodded.
“We got it. Let’s go!” Deran called out to Pope.
The boys rushed past the counter, heading towards the back doors where Craig was waiting in the getaway car. They only had twenty seconds left before the police would get to the bank and surround the entire building. Deran was first to exit through the back door, followed closely behind by Baz and then Pope. As Baz ran past the teller counter, he tripped on the waste basket.
“Shit,” Baz groaned as he stumbled into the counter.
From there, everything happened in slow motion.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Pope saw the security guard reaching for his gun and pointing it at Baz.
“Fuck,” Pope cursed under his breath. He looked ahead at Baz who was trying to get to the exit. Pope was sixteen seconds behind Baz, there wouldn’t be enough time for him to get out of the bank without risking both of them getting shot.
“Baz and Pope, get the fuck out of there!” Craig’s voice crackled in his earpiece.
It was against Pope’s nature to let someone he loved get hurt and in that moment, there was only one thing he could do. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the security guard, shooting him in the leg. The guard went down with a thud, clutching his right leg as he cried out in pain. At that same moment, he could hear the thud of the backdoor closing and the roar of the getaway car’s engine as it sped away; Baz had made it out. Then the unmistakable sound of sirens surrounding the bank rang in Pope’s ears, the familiar blue and red lights reflecting onto his face as police charged into the bank with guns drawn.
“Drop your gun, put your hands on your head, and get on the fucking ground! Now!”
Andrew replayed that day nearly every second of the past few weeks since he arrived at Folsom State Prison. Although he didn’t regret sacrificing himself for Baz, he couldn’t help but feel a little resentment towards his family. It had been just over three weeks and they had only visited him a few times. When they did visit him, conversations were limited, he could feel a distance between him and his family that only grew larger with each visit. They were moving on with their lives while he was suffering alone in prison.
“Inmates line up against the wall!” Hilty, one of the brutal corrections officers yelled out. “Inside that library are volunteers from the California Prison Library Program. These are unpaid volunteers, so don’t give them any shit. You are expected to behave, shut your fucking mouths, and listen to them. If anyone falls out of line, that's an immediate loss of privileges. And if anyone really wants to fuck with me, you’ll be thrown into solitary. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” some of the inmates grumbled.
“I know most of you can’t even fucking read, let alone care about books but you’ll suffer through it. The volunteers will be coming every Wednesday for the next month before they move on to a different prison. Get in there and sit down at the tables,” another corrections officer said as he handed out pamphlets about the library program.
Before Andrew could step inside the library, Hilty stopped him. Placing an imposing hand on his shoulder, grip so tight it was intended to leave marks. “I’m keeping my eye on you. If you act up, I’m gonna throw you back into solitary. You remember what happens there, don’t you?” he asked, a sinister smile forming on his scarred face. .
“Yes, sir,” Andrew nodded in a monotone voice. His eyes stared blankly into the library ahead, unable to meet Hilty’s beady eyes. It was taking every ounce of self control he had not to punch Hilty square in the jaw but Andrew knew better. After beating up a prison guard in his first week at Folsom, the other guards retaliated by throwing Andrew into solitary, stripping him naked and blaring loud music for hours on end. The torture was relentless, seemingly endless attempts to break Andrew’s already broken spirit and Hilty was the ringleader behind the abuse.
After Hilty let go of him, Andrew stuffed the library pamphlet into his breast pocket- the only pocket his orange jumpsuit had before he walked into the library and stood beside his cellmate, Vin. While Andrew wasn’t particularly fond of Vin- he talked too much and was too intrusive, Vin had been his only cellmate that lasted longer than a week. All of his previous cellmates had wound up in the infirmary after starting fights with Andrew.
The prison warden was standing at the front of the library, calling up each volunteer before letting them introduce themselves. While Vin was whispering about how useless the library program was, Andrew found himself getting distracted by thoughts of his family. He wondered what jobs Smurf was planning, if Deran and Craig were out doing stupid shit, and whether Baz was taking care of Lena. The thought of Lena instantly sent a rush of melancholy through Andrew’s body, his perfect little niece who he was just starting to get to know before he was arrested. Lena was only three years old, just a baby in Andrew’s eyes and he hoped she wouldn’t forget him.
Just as Andrew’s thoughts started drifting off to a darker place, as they often did when his mind went off on tangents, he heard your voice. The second you spoke, everything went quiet, which was more than rare for him. It was a miracle, divine intervention and you were that divinity. Your voice, so soft and sweet, was like that of a siren, your call luring him in.
“Hi, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” you took a step forward and introduced yourself to the inmates. You moved your hands around as you spoke about what you studied in university and how excited you were to be at Folsom.
For the first time since Andrew arrived at Folsom a few months ago, he was happy to be there, because in the depraved cruelty and coldness of the prison, there you were, standing with his fellow inmates, an angel amongst demons. You were far too beautiful to be in such an ugly place but he was eternally grateful that you were here. He was sure that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Reading has always been an outlet I use to escape-” you paused as you nervously glanced at the warden who met your gaze with a stern look and a subtle shake of his head at your word choice, “Sorry, that’s probably not the right word…but it’s just a great way to get away from your thoughts or whatever’s going on in your life. When I was younger, whenever things weren’t great at home, which to be honest was often, I would stay up all night with a blanket over my head and a flashlight in my mouth as I read books. For me, reading was an immersive experience that allowed me to take a break from all the thoughts in my mind and follow characters through their journeys of self discovery. I look forward to helping you guys do the same.”
“Let’s give a round of applause to our volunteers,” the warden ordered.
There was a scattered round of applause coming from the inmates but Andrew’s clapping, while fairly quiet so as not to draw attention to himself, was genuine. He admired the way you spoke about reading, you sounded so passionate and inspired. Your mention of reading at night to escape when things weren’t good at home resonated with him. He was all too familiar with trouble at home, Smurf was always pitting his siblings against each other, always vying to be in control of every situation. You didn’t have to share that part of your life, all the other volunteers had very surface level reasons for why they were volunteering- required community service hours, bullshit about helping the less fortunate, or a pretentious ramble on the pedagogical value of reading. But not you, you were real, honest, and vulnerable to people you didn’t even know, and not just people, convicts, men who had committed crimes the court deemed bad enough to be thrown into a six by eight feet cell.
“You’ll be split into reading groups and assigned a volunteer to help you find something to read. Fifty inmates per group, each group will have three volunteers and six corrections officers,” the warden continued.
Andrew held his breath while the groups were called out, hoping that he would be assigned to you.
“Cody, group six.”
“Group six over here by the window!” you called out.
“I’m group eighteen. Tell me if someone gives you shit,” Vin said, patting Andrew on the back before heading over to join his volunteer.
Before walking over to you, Andrew took a deep breath to compose himself. By the time he joined the group, you had already started speaking to some inmates, some of whom were shamelessly flirting with you. Although he had absolutely no reason to be, he felt a sudden pang of jealousy. He didn’t like the way the other guys were looking at you with hungry eyes like they wanted to eat you.
“So, do you have a boyfriend?”
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”
“Ever been with a gangster?”
You answered each flirtatious question with a pleasant smile, totally unfrazzled by the attention you were receiving. “No. I already answered that. And no. Now, let’s get started. I’m gonna get each of you to fill out a reading comprehension booklet. It has some standard reading comprehension questions- multiple choice along with some true and false that will help me gauge your literacy levels. Once you’ve finished those questions, make sure to fill out the ones about the genres or topics you’re interested in so I can help you find the right books.”
The inmates each took a booklet and began answering the questions. Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he gripped the dull pencil tightly in his hand, trying his absolute best to answer the questions correctly. For some unknown reason, he wanted to impress you. As he answered the questions, his eyes kept gravitating towards you, as if there was a magnetic pull, willing his body towards you.
With the other volunteers, it was clear that most of them were there for some ulterior motive. College students who were just there because it looked good on their resume and some older volunteers who probably just wanted to brag about volunteering; they didn’t really care about helping inmates read. But not you. You were there out of the kindness of your heart, although you seemed a little scared at first, you poured all your energy into helping people. You stood right beside each inmate, closer than anyone else would’ve stood, and helped them pick out books according to their literacy levels. You didn’t flinch or subtly move away from inmates if they got closer to you, instead, you leaned in, treated them like real people.
Once he finished answering the questions, he stood up and walked towards the table you were sitting at with the other volunteers. He wanted to hand his booklet to one of the other volunteers. There was something about you, your overall presence that made him feel uneasy. It wasn’t because you were intimidating or seemed untrustworthy, it was the opposite. You had a warm, welcoming, and trustworthy presence. He wanted to be close to you, protect you, and let you disarm him.
But you were the first one that looked up as he approached the table.
His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would explode. He wasn’t someone who was easily rattled, he could crush someone’s carotid artery without breaking a sweat but with you, his hands were fidgeting by his sides and for someone whose stare was so intense that people were constantly avoiding his eyes, he struggled to meet your eyes. It felt sacrilegious for him to even look at you, someone as pure, sacred, and beautiful as you. Your eyes were full of love and kindness, he felt guilty whenever your perfect eyes met his dark, troubled eyes, the eyes that some people had looked into before dying.
A kind smile formed on your face that had Andrew’s heart pounding even harder and his pupils dilating. “Thank you,” you said, your voice soft and sweet like honey as you took the booklet from him.
You didn’t even know it but in that moment, Andrew pledged his devotion to you All it took was a smile and you become the centre of his universe. The light that radiated off of you reflected onto him, overpowering the darkness that had seemed to plague him his entire life before meeting you.
“Inmates, take a seat at the desk and the volunteers will come by with books for each of you,” a corrections guard ordered.
Andrew sat down at the desk and eagerly waited to see what books he would get. Unlike his sister Julia, he had never liked school. The teachers didn’t care, the subjects were useless, and the homework was too hard. Smurf never cared about his grades, she focused on the things she deemed more important like how to steal, lie, and cheat. But you made him excited about learning and reading because in his eyes, it was a way to get closer to you and understand you.
One of the other volunteers handed him a reading sheet and three books. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed your name beside his assigned list of books. These were the books you had chosen specifically for him and he would treasure the books.
As the first session of the library program was wrapping up, Andrew overheard two of the inmates talking. The second he heard your name in their conversation, he stood up straighter, his body rigid and alert.
“Did you see the way that pretty one kept looking at me? She wants me, I could see it in her smile.”
“Wasn’t she smiling at everyone?”
“Nah, she gave me a look. Fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve seen fine shit like that walk through here. I can’t let her go without giving her some special lovin.”
Andrew’s jaw muscle twitched and his fists clenched at hearing those words. Solitary be damned, there was no way he would ever let anything happen to you. Within seconds, Andrew’s fist was pummeling into the inmate's face. The inmate was knocked to the ground, his head hitting the ground with a thud but Andrew didn’t stop. With his biceps flexing against the fabric of his orange jumpsuit, he grabbed the inmate’s hand, pressing it against the wooden leg of the table and kicked it as hard as he could. The sound of bone cracking echoed in his ears as the inmate cried out in pain, trying to clutch his limp wrist.
“Cody, on the ground now!” the warden yelled as three guards restrained him.
“I’m taking you straight to solitary,” Hilty sneered as he cuffed Andrew and led him towards the dreaded room.
Even while Andrew sat in solitary, naked and strapped to a metal chair with heavy metal music blaring from the speakers, he was unbothered. As cold as the room was and as much as his body ached from the beating he had gotten from Hilty, he was at peace because now he had you. The thought of you pulled him out of the darkness, you had become his escape.
Later that night when Hilty finally let him out of solitary, Andrew lay on his cot and pulled out the pamphlet of the library program from earlier. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. It was a picture of you, judging from the slightly shorter length of your hair, it was taken a few months ago. You were sitting in the library beside an inmate at another prison pointing at a section of books. Andrew held the picture close to his face and stared at the picture of you until the sun came up.
For the next month, Andrew watched you from afar, diligently taking note of all the books you talked about and mentally cataloguing every detail of you. He wanted to remember it all so that when the time came for his release, he would find you. Each night, he went to sleep with the photo of you from the pamphlet. He had torn out your picture as neatly as he could and stared at it all night. Sometimes he would play out conversations with you in his head, pretending that you were really there with him. He held the photo to his chest, wanting you to be as close as possible with the distant yet sure hope that someday, he would get to actually hold you in his arms.
As the library program at Folsom was coming to a close, Andrew felt a sense of impending doom. You had been such a light in the darkness that consumed him, temporarily soothing his chaotic mind. He had grown attached to you and Wednesdays had become his favourite day of the week, solely because those were the days he got to see you. Each library session, he silently watched your every move and memorized every observable trait. He knew that the remaining five years and 10 months of his prison sentence would pass agonizingly slow so he wanted his memory of you to stay sharp. The thought of you would carry him through the rest of his sentence.
On the final day of the prison library program, the urge he had to approach you and be close to you was stronger than ever but he held himself back. He didn’t want your first time meeting him to be in prison, that just wouldn’t be right. You deserved a real love story and that was exactly what Andrew would give you.
summary: tired of your boring, lonely life as a mafia princess, you go out on halloween looking for a little fun, and end up running into two of your father's most feared enforcers. you expect them to ruin your night, but maybe they're exactly who you need to make your life more meaningful.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), reader has a few drinks but isn't drunk, threesome, smut, piv sex, double vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, cockwarming, vaginal fingering, masturbation (m), guided handjob, tit worship/nipple play, light knife play, choking, panty sniffing, heavy breeding kink (with the intention of getting pregnant), pregnancy kink, daddy/dad kink, light mommy kink, dirty talk, praise kink, light degradation, light bdsm with lots of check-ins, pet names (sweetheart, babydoll, sunshine, princess), aftercare, happy ending, fluffy flash-forward
word count: 13.3k
a/n: i had to scrap my plan for my final halloween 2025 fic because it was a little daunting (hopefully i'll write it eventually) and i was trying to think of something a little simpler for my usual Bucky & Steve x reader finale. i've been in a breeding kink/baby fever mood this week for reasons, and i just thought it'd be fun for a mafia au/halloween spin! i had a lot of fun writing this one and i'm happy with how it turned out even if it's a little ridiculous/unrealistic. just go with it ok!!! anyway, hope y'all enjoy—and happy halloween!! 🎃👻
halloween fics masterlist
The universe was conspiring against you.
It had to be, it was the only thing that explained how you’d gone out for some Halloween fun and ended up at the same Brooklyn bar where your father’s two most feared mafia enforcers had decided to spend their night off.
You’d spotted Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes soon after you’d been let into the club. It was hard to ignore the aura of danger and charisma that swirled around them like warlocks’ cloaks.
They’d stood in the back, posted up around a high-top table, enjoying their drinks. So wrapped up in their conversation, they were seemingly oblivious of all the attention they were getting from the scantily dressed women hovering around the periphery.
Not that you could blame the women for looking. As soon as you’d noticed the men, you’d paused for a moment to admire them—how could you not?
You’d had a crush on Bucky and Steve since you’d met them during your college years, when your father had decided you were old enough to start learning the ropes of his organization. Everyone else had treated you like you’d shatter at any moment, but not your father’s most vicious enforcers—the Captain and the White Wolf.
They’d been protective, but not overbearing, and friendly, but not so close they could be called your friends. You’d always thought of them more like work colleagues than babysitters, so you thought it might be safe to stay at the club.
Maybe they wouldn’t ruin your night simply because you weren’t where you were supposed to be—back home at your brownstone in Park Slope, handing out candy to trick-or-treaters.
Besides, you’d already paid the cover fee for the night, and you were determined to have some fun for once.
So you elected to ignore your father’s enforcers, moving through the crush of Halloween partiers to saunter up to the bar.
Your costume was simple in comparison to some of the getups in the club, but no less skimpy. You wore the shortest, tightest, most revealing little black dress in your closet, something you hadn’t put on in years and was, truthfully, a little too small.
It hugged all your curves obscenely, teasing a glimpse of your ass as it fluttered around your thighs, the neckline so low-cut, your tits were practically spilling out of the top. You’d paired the slutty black dress with a cheap black cat ear headband for an ultra-lazy Halloween costume.
But at least you weren’t the only one in a late-minute outfit. Plus, it made you feel sexy, which was a rarity for you.
As you moved through the club, you could feel hungry gazes raking over your body and it boosted your confidence further, until you were practically strutting through the crowd, your head held high.
For once, you were getting some attention not for being a the perfect little good girl mafia princess, but for how hot you looked, and that knowledge went straight to your head.
By the time you reached the bar, you were basking in all the hungry looks, flashing a sultry smile over your shoulder at a particularly attractive lumberjack. He had a thick beard and sparkling eyes, his soft mouth curved into a smirk that made your belly swoop with excitement.
Unfortunately, you’d also managed to snag the attention of your father’s enforcers, who’d spotted you through the crowd and closed in on you without you even realizing.
All too soon, your view of the hot lumberjack was cut off, replaced with a wall of muscle clad in a black shirt and black jacket. Lifting your eyes, you were met with the disgruntled glower of Bucky Barnes, his blue eyes bright with annoyance as he scowled down at you.
Bucky’s metal arm looped around your waist, throwing a snarled, “Get lost,” over his shoulder. You pursed your lips into a disappointed frown when you saw how quickly the lumberjack high-tailed it out of the club. Bucky wasn’t that scary—at least, to you.
Shoving away from the enforcer, your other shoulder knocked into another solid wall of muscle and you glanced up, unsurprised to find Steve Rogers looming over you. His crystal blue eyes were watchful as they skimmed over your face, like he was checking if you were alright.
Steve was dressed just as sharply as his fellow enforcer, in a simple tailored black suit and tie, wearing a white shirt that contrasted against Bucky’s all-black look. His jaw was closely shaved, while Bucky’s sported some days-old scruff.
You never could resist the dichotomy of the two men, who’d been best friends since childhood, but what you loved were their eyes. Both Bucky and Steve had beautiful blue eyes that you could easily get lost in if you weren’t careful, even in the crowded chaos of the club with its flashing lights and dark shadows.
It took a great deal of effort to wrangle your crush under control so you could shoot daggers at both men and their overprotective stances. But before you could snap at them to give you some room, Steve settled his arm around your shoulders, effectively caging you in between the bar and Bucky’s equally broad chest.
“Aren’t you a little young to be out alone on Halloween, kiddo?” Steve asked, his tone dripping with dry condescension. You rolled your eyes—they weren’t that much older than you.
He’d leaned in close so you could hear him over the thumping music and chattering crowd, and the move had his scent wafting past your cheek, teasing your nose with the rich, spicy smell. You sucked in a deep breath, savoring the scent that had warmth simmering beneath your skin.
Your nipples pebbled beneath the thin fabric of your dress, delightful tingles zinging through your body at the way you felt positively surrounded by Steve and Bucky. But you didn’t want them to see how you were responding to them; you needed to hold onto some scrap of dignity.
So you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned forward, propping them up on the bar and striking a nonchalant pose that also forced their arms from your back. Immediately, you missed the warmth and steadiness of their hold, but reminded yourself that you had a mission for your Halloween night—one that did not include your father’s enforcers.
“Yeah,” Bucky said, jumping in where Steve left off, his own tone mockingly playful. “Shouldn’t you be out trick-or-treating, babydoll?”
Though you’d put some space between you and the enforcers, they moved in tandem, closing in around you, until you could hardly breathe without smelling their spicy scents. Steve’s was more earthy, while Bucky’s was richer, but they worked so well together, going straight to your head.
The men were as intimidatingly ruthless as they were handsome, and you were certain that if you were anyone else, their schtick would’ve had you cowering against the bar—or fleeing the club like that lumberjack. But you were your father’s daughter, and Steve and Bucky had never given you any reason to think they’d do anything but protect you.
The worst they could do was call your father, so their scare tactics didn’t work on you.
In fact, their taunting questions grated on your nerves. It was nice that they didn’t treat you like you were something breakable, as everyone else under your father’s thumb did, but it was still infantilizing the way they talked to you like some kid needing their protection.
You were a grown woman goddammit, and they were going to treat you like one, even if you’d have to make them.
All your life, you’d been nothing but the perfect mafia princess for your father, doing as he said when he said it. And all it had gotten you was a sheltered, boring existence. You wanted to have some fun, you wanted to be a little bad.
You wanted to push some buttons. And apparently those buttons were going to belong to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.
Grabbing the two shots the bartender had just poured for the people next to you, you downed them in quick succession, not even wincing at the sharp sting of the alcohol. You pulled some money from your bra and slid it across to the bartender to cover the drinks, then turned to the wall of muscle caging you in.
With a snarky and exaggerated eye roll, you crossed your arms and faced off with your father’s enforcers, refusing to let their overwhelming presence intimidate you into submission.
“Please, boys,” you began, your voice dripping with disdain. “Quit with the patronizing bullshit.”
Accidentally, your crossed arms and squared shoulders pushed your tits out, the soft mounds nearly spilling out your dress. It gave you a small sense of satisfaction to see both Steve and Bucky’s gazes dip quickly and subtly to your chest, before darting back to your face, both men acting as if they hadn’t just ogled your tits.
With a smirk, you arched your spine and popped your hip, enjoying the way they raked their gazes down the curves of your body before reclaiming their attention with a flippant comment.
“I’m old enough to have a kid of my own and take him out trick-or-treating.”
You realized immediately that you may have gone too far, because it suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. At your comment, Bucky and Steve snapped to attention, their bodies going taut and solid as two brick walls, while their eyes heated and narrowed on your face.
It occurred to you that you could feel the way they looked at you changing, both men peering at you in a new light. Bucky even tilted his head slightly to the side, like you were something—or someone—entirely new, a slow smirk curving his soft mouth.
“Y’know, I can see it,” he said, holding your gaze as he leaned forward, looming over you in a way that had your thighs pressing together against a pulsing thrumming between your legs. “You’d make a very pretty mommy, princess.”
His words made your heart lurch unexpectedly in your chest, all the sassiness sliding off your face, leaving you with your lips parted in surprise and your eyes wide as you stared at him. “Do you really think so?” you asked, before you could bite back the needy, vulnerable question.
Bucky faltered, glancing quickly at Steve, the two of them sharing a whole conversation in that brief look. The blond enforcer crowded into you on your other side, caging you in between their broad, strapping bodies.
“If you’re so grown up, sweetheart, why hasn’t someone knocked you up yet?” Steve asked, the taunting in his tone belying a real, yearning curiosity beneath. One of his hands lifted, his fingertips ghosting ever so delicately along the line of your jaw while you looked at him with wide eyes. “You’d be such a good mom, sunshine.”
Another pang ricocheted in your chest, and you had to bite your lip to keep it from wobbling. “You know exactly why, Captain,” you murmured, not knowing if the men surrounding you could even hear you, but somehow sensing they understood. “No one’s ever had the balls.”
It was your deepest, most closely guarded secret how disappointed you were that you hadn’t been able to settle down and start a family yet—which was made all the worse by how well-known it was throughout New York City’s entire underworld that you were still alone.
No matter how hard you’d searched for a partner, someone who would one day help you lead your father’s organization, no one had measured up to the family patriarch’s exacting standards. As the years had gone on, it had made you essentially untouchable, especially given the stories of all the men who had met gruesome ends after trying their hand at wooing you.
In fact, you were certain most of your would-be husbands had met their ends at the hands of the men surrounding you in the club that Halloween night. But at that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel sorry for those whose lives had been taken by your father’s enforcers.
Because for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel cold and lonely with despair. You didn’t feel hopeless that you’d never be able to find someone who could stand by your side and not cower in the face of your father’s power or flee when things got too hard or too scary.
It occurred to you then, very suddenly, that perhaps you should’ve been looking for two someones—specifically, two enforcers who were strong and protective, and merciless in their determination to keep your father’s organization in order.
Perhaps Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were exactly who you needed in your life to give it some meaning, to make you feel less alone—to make you happy.
While you’d been ruminating on your life and the loneliness of it, your father’s enforcers had been having another of their silent conversations, and it seemed they’d come to a decision just as you had.
“That sure sounded like a challenge to me, Stevie,” Bucky said, his voice conversational and loud to be heard over the noise of the club. “Did it sound like a challenge to you?”
Steve was already nodding when you looked to him, brushing his thumb along the edge of his lower lip, staring at you with a thoughtful expression.
“It certainly did, Buck,” he agreed, the corner of his mouth flickering with a smile when your eyes widened infinitesimally. “It sounded like our princess just dared us to knock her up.”
A sharp gasp whooshed through your parted lips. You swayed a little under the weight of the sudden yearning that gripped your heart, and the desire that pulsed through your belly.
Your fingers clutched at the lapels of the mens’ jackets, clinging to them as you tried to reorient yourself in the new world you were living in—the one where it seemed you were so close to getting the men you never even dared dream to hope would someday be yours.
Their big, strong arms, circled your waist from both sides, their chests pressing close to prop you up between their large, sturdy bodies. Their presence, their grip, their entire beings grounded you in that moment, giving you the strength to meet Bucky’s gaze.
“Please,” you begged, tugging uselessly on the lapel of his jacket, knowing there was no way he could possibly get closer and yet hoping for it all the same. “I want it,” you said, your voice cracking with the depth of your desire as you turned to Steve. “I want both of you, please.”
The blond enforcer glanced at his best friend, the two of them conferring silently for a moment. Then they were hustling you through the club, their arms supporting you so assuredly, they were practically carrying you between them.
In the dark hallway at the back of the club, they ducked through a doorway and led you up a flight of stairs. Bucky shouldered his way into an office, making sure the door was locked while Steve tugged you over to a couch set facing a wall of windows.
The thick glass muffled the sounds of the music and the crowd below, so the office was quiet save for the distant din of the club.
You knew from experience with similar glass that the two-way mirror effect of the windows meant you could see everyone dancing and drinking on the club floor, and the flashing strobing lights filtered into the office, but the people down below couldn’t see you.
Before you could get a better look at the office, which was lit dimly with a warm lamp set on a desk in the corner, Steve guided you down into his lap. Your knees sank into the smooth, leather cushions of the couch, your legs spreading wide across the enforcer’s thighs.
You slid your hands experimentally up Steve’s broad chest, shoving his jacket over his shoulders, purring happily when he pulled his arms free. You were just about to crash your lips to his and kiss one of the men you’d crushed on for your entire adult life when he stopped you.
Steve’s big hand wrapped around the front of your throat like a collar, holding you back so he could look at you. His eyes were filled with the same watchful expression as earlier while they raked over your body, paying particular attention to your face.
“How much have you had to drink tonight, sunshine?” Steve asked, his voice softer in the relative quiet of the office. It made it easier to hear the affection laced through his tone, even as you found the question to be a little patronizing.
Bucky flopped down beside his best friend, one of his hands falling to your thigh like it was instinct. He too looked at you expectantly.
Thankfully, his touch washed away some of your annoyance at Steve, and your lips curved into a small smile when Bucky’s fingers began stroking your inner thigh, teasing at skimming higher than that.
Rolling your eyes at Steve, you huffed an annoyed sigh and met the blond’s gaze. “Only those two shots you saw me take, daddy,” you answered brattily, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wasn’t here that long before you found me.”
While’s Steve’s expression remained patient and calm, Bucky’s hand squeezed your thigh in warning, making you squirm in his fellow enforcer’s lap.
“Babydoll,” Bucky chided lightly, his tone still managing to be playful even as he chastised you. “We’re just trying to check in. Things are going from zero to a hundred fast, and we want to make sure nothing happens that you don’t want.”
“Sorry, dad,” you couldn’t help but mumble, rolling your eyes, even though you secretly appreciated them checking in with you.
That time, Steve’s hand tightened ever so slightly around your throat, and Bucky’s fingers flexed against your thigh. You got the distinct impression that the two merciless men liked it when you mouthed off, even if their expressions remained scowly.
“Do you really expect us to just take what we want from you, sweetheart?” Steve asked, his tone almost taunting. “To fuck your precious cunt raw with our bare cocks and pump you full of our cum until there’s no way you aren’t knocked up with our pretty baby? Is that how you really want us to act?”
A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips and your mind spun a little, your body reacting to Steve’s words before you could stop it. Your hips rocked blindly on his lap, seeking friction and pleasure and finding it when your heated core pressed against his thick, throbbing bulge.
Steve’s eyes narrowed, and he squeezed your throat again, choking you lightly to get your attention. His other hand fell to your hip, holding you in a stern grip until you stilled in his lap.
“No wonder you haven’t found anyone strong enough to go toe-to-toe with your father,” Steve growled, leaning close until you could taste the whiskey on his tongue. “You’ve fucked too many immature, self-serving shitheads—you need a couple of real men to show you how you should be treated, huh, sunshine?”
Your chin knocked against Steve’s hand repeatedly as you nodded eagerly in answer to his question. “Yes, Captain,” you said on a soft sigh, sinking into his hold and letting your eyes go heavy-lidded as you stared into the dark blue depths of his gaze.
“Are you on birth control, princess?” Bucky asked, stealing your attention from Steve, who let his hand fall to your collarbones so you could turn your head more easily.
Biting your lip to hold back a sneaky smile, you shook your head. “No, Wolf,” you murmured, watching as Bucky’s eyes darkened, his gaze fixed on your plump lower lip, right where you’d bitten.
The brunet enforcer looked, for a moment, possessed with the idea of kissing you, but he seemed to get himself under control and met your gaze again. Still, his free hand palmed the bulge in his slacks, rubbing himself almost idly as he stared at you.
“We could really knock you up if you let us fuck you bareback, babydoll,” he said, watching your face closely, gauging your reaction. “Is that really what you want?”
“Think about it, sweetheart,” Steve ordered before you could give an answer too soon. When you looked at him, though, his expression was gently encouraging. “We can wear condoms if you’re not sure—hell, we can get you the morning after pill if you decide later you don’t want to have our kid.”
The thought of not having Steve and Bucky’s baby sent a stone sinking in your belly, and for a moment, you simply sat with that feeling. The shots you’d taken were swirling through your bloodstream, making your body feel pleasantly warm and tingly, but your mind was clear—or, clear enough, anyway.
You knew, with sudden clarity, that you wanted this. You wanted everything with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.
Sure, it was sudden, but you’d been stagnant in your life for so long that you couldn’t pass up the opportunity in front of you. Besides, with the violence inherent in their jobs, you didn’t want to risk taking things slow only to lose Bucky or Steve, which already felt like too much to bear.
You knew in your bones that Steve and Bucky would be great fathers. They’d been protective of you for years, and they were powerful in their own right. The Captain and the White Wolf could certainly stand up to your father, they could weather any storm by your side.
They were everything you’d been looking for and more. The mafia enforcers were who you wanted—and if the hunger in their eyes and the hardness of their cocks were any indication, they wanted you just as much.
“I know what I want,” you began, your voice starting off as a mere whisper, but growing with confidence as you confessed to your heart’s desires. “I want both of you, together. I want you to be the fathers of my children—I want to have your cute, adorable babies,” you finished, giggling with pure, unadulterated giddiness.
For a moment that felt like an eternity, your admission hung in the silence of the office, Steve and Bucky staring at you, their shoulders tense with barely leashed energy. While you held your breath and waited, they glanced at each other, exchanging a quick look. Then, identical smirks spread slowly across their faces.
“We always wanted someone who wanted us both,” Bucky said, sitting up and leaning in close to you. His hand cupped the back of your neck, and his eyes looked at you with a reverence you felt in your gut. “We’re a package deal, and no one’s ever understood that.”
“Never though it’d be the boss’s pretty daughter who’d be the one to accept us both,” Steve murmured, deep and unfathomable awe on his voice. His expression was dazed, but then his eyes locked with yours. “You’re everything we’ve ever wanted.”
Then Steve leaned in, and crashed his mouth to yours, knocking every thought from your head at the first fierce feel of his kiss.
He was, all at once, consuming, his tongue persistent as he licked along the seam or you lips, diving inside when you parted for him. Steve’s kiss was wreckage and ruin, the great enforcer throwing himself at your feet even while pillaging your mouth for the treasure that was deservedly his—and that you offered willingly.
A groan reverberated in the enforcer’s chest, a plea for your supplication as much as it was a promise of eternal devotion, the sound spilling into your mouth and making you whimper in answer. It was all you could do to kiss him back, to claim him just as he claimed you.
Before you were entirely ready, Steve ended the kiss, leaving you panting for more. With a smirk on his glistening lips, he turned your face to the side, his thumb pressing gently to your jaw, relinquishing you only so you could kiss Bucky next.
Bucky’s mouth was just as devastating as it captured yours. He devoured you with playful nips and soothing licks, savoring every soft gasp and breathy sigh you uttered until he was rumbling pleased sounds against your mouth. Bucky kissed you like you were already his, swearing his undying fealty in the same flick of his tongue as he claimed your heart and soul.
It was a vow, these kisses. A promise shared between the three of you that you were united as one. Maybe it wouldn’t last past that Halloween night, but deep down, you knew the truth. You were theirs, just as much as they were yours. And you sealed the deal with a kiss.
While your mouth was consumed by Bucky, Steve’s mouth was so close to yours, breathing the same air as you and his best friend. You shifted back to Steve, kissing him hard as your hands began to wander. Sliding down their muscular chests, your palms found the bulges in their pants.
They were both hot and hard beneath your fingers, and you squeezed them through their clothes. Bucky let out a helpless grunt against your cheek, and Steve groaned fervently into your mouth. You grinned as you drank the sound down, feeling powerful at having two such brutal, powerful men at your mercy in the palms of your hands.
“You’re a dream come true, sunshine,” Steve rumbled reverently, breaking away to press sweet kisses along your jaw while Bucky recaptured your lips.
The blond enforcer’s hands skimmed down your sides, rucking up the skirt of your dress to make it easier for you to press your heated core against his bulge. He guided your hips to rock against him, groaning as you did.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him raking his darkened eyes down your body, lingering on your heaving tits and plush thighs. But then he blinked, tilting his head to the side, a line of confusion appearing between pinched brows.
“What are you supposed to be, sweetheart?” he asked, his big hands pushing your dress up around your waist. “This isn’t like any of your Halloween costumes I’ve seen before—it’s… slutty.”
Pulling away from Bucky with a giggle, you shook your head at Steve. You couldn’t believe he remembered your past costumes—all of which undoubtedly fit the good girl mafia princess image you strived to achieve for your family.
“Gee, thanks, Stevie,” you drawled sarcastically.
Bucky blinked his eyes a few times, taking a second to catch up with the conversation. When he did, he swatted Steve upside the head.
“It’s hot,” he corrected his best friend before sliding you sly look. “And slutty, if that’s what you were going for, princess.”
You tipped your head back with a genuine laugh, shaking with mirth at the two of them. They could’ve been a comedy act—except you didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting to see this lighter, funnier side of the brutal enforcers. It was all for you, and you alone.
“I’m a cat, duh,” you said to Steve, pointing at the ears on the headband you were wearing. “A slutty, slutty cat.” You cut your eyes to Bucky, both of you pressing your lips together to hold back your laughter.
“Yeah, duh, Stevie,” Bucky echoed, his voice wobbling with barely concealed glee. He knocked his shoulder roughly against Steve’s, then reached for you, sliding the headband off and tossing it somewhere in the room. “You’re not gonna be needing that anymore. For what we’re about to do, you’re not going to need a Halloween costume.”
With that declaration, the atmosphere in the room shifted, turning hot and heavy with anticipation.
You blinked at Bucky, unable to form any kind of response—snarky or otherwise—and Steve used it as the opportunity to pull your dress up over your head. The move left you naked, save for a pair of black lace panties.
In tandem, the two men let out sharp exhales and settled back into the couch, their eyes hungrily devouring the smooth planes of your exposed skin and the soft curves of your body.
They reached to touch you, their calloused hands gentle, ghosting, teasing—especially Bucky’s metal hand, which was cool enough against your heated skin that it made you shiver on Steve’s lap.
“Wow, babydoll,” Bucky breathed, his words overlapping with Steve’s reverent, “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.”
Their praise made your heart thump happily in your chest, pride blooming hot and sweet between your ribs, and making you sit up straighter. With a happy grin, you threw your shoulders back and pushed your chest out, putting your tits on display and giving them a good view of your body.
Steve pressed his fist to his mouth, biting his knuckle while Bucky’s hands skimmed up your ribs to cup your tits, letting out an amazed breath.
“These are the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, princess,” Bucky murmured, catching your eye and holding it as he ducked his head. He took one of your peaked nipples into his hot mouth.
As soon as his lips closed around the aching pebble, you gasped, feeling him suck and pull your soft flesh deep into his mouth. Pleasure pulsed straight down your spine, wrapping around your clit and tugging delightfully. You rocked your hips against Steve’s bulge, a whine building in the back of your throat.
“Can’t wait to watch them grow swollen with milk,” Steve murmured, sounding like he was almost in a trance.
He pushed Bucky’s hand away from your other tit so he could cup it in his palm. His thumb flicked over your tight peak, and you gasped again, arching your spine and pushing your chest into them even more.
“You’re gonna have such pretty, milky tits, sunshine,” Steve went on, his voice low and lusty as he circled his thumb teasingly around your nipple. “And if they ever get so achy you can’t stand it, Buck and I will help you out.”
With that promise making you squirm against the bulge between your thighs, Steve ducked forward, capturing your other nipple in his mouth and giving it the same suckling treatment as Bucky. You let out a low moan and gave yourself to the pleasure they offered.
Tenderly, you carded your fingers through their hair, enjoying the softness against your skin while you held both men tight to your chest. You imagined doing the same thing when your tits were full of milk, a loud, helpless whimper falling from your lips at the fantasy.
You moved on instinct, moaning and writhing in Steve’s lap, grinding against his cock through your clothes. There was so much wetness leaking between your thighs, you were certain you were drenching the front of his pants—not that he seemed to be bothered by it.
Both enforcers sucked synchronously on your tits, drinking you down like they really were devouring you, and your pussy pulsed pathetically around nothing. Their hot mouths and groping hands left you nearly sobbing with need.
“Please!” you cried when you couldn’t stand it anymore and you needed more. “I need you—I’m so wet and empty! Captain, Wolf, please, fill me up. I need your cocks please, please, please!”
Bucky lifted his head first. “Anything you want, babydoll, it’s yours,” he said, slurring his words like he was drunk on the taste of your tits.
It took him a few tries to open his eyes, and when he did, there was a decidedly dazed look on his handsome face that took another moment to blink away. He noticed Steve still suckling on your nipple, groaning softly into your soft flesh. Bucky grabbed his best friend by the scruff of his neck, pulling the other man off you.
“You heard the princess, Stevie, she wants our cocks,” he said, shooting you a playful grin and a wink. “And what our princess wants, she gets.”
A grin stole across the blond’s beautiful face as you giggled at Bucky’s solicitousness. “Can’t leave our princess waiting and wanting, can we, Buck?” Steve teased, his words a little slurred. He gathered you close and pressed a kiss to your cheek, making you wheeze out another giddy laugh.
Reaching between your thighs, Steve quickly undid his pants and pulled out his cock. You sucked in a sharp, excited breath when you sat back on his knees and got a look at him. His dick was so thick and hard, you knew instantly that it would fill you up perfectly.
Eagerly, you pushed onto your knees and lined yourself up with the tip of Steve’s cock, using your fingers to tug your panties to the side. But before you could start sliding down his length, Steve stopped you with a hand on your waist.
“Buck,” Steve said, and you didn’t understand why he’d stopped you or why he’d said the other man’s name.
You looked to the brunet, and were momentarily distracted by the sight of Bucky’s cock. He’d taken himself out of his pants as well, and was stroking his long, hard, perfect length in his fist. His movements were lazy, his blue eyes dark and hooded as he watched you prepare to take his best friend’s cock.
Whatever Steve was asking, Bucky seemed to know intrinsically because he lifted his hips off the couch and shoved his hand into the pocket of his pants. The move made his cock bob in a way that had you wanting to take him into your mouth, but you were too curious about what he was doing to lean over and do just that.
When Bucky’s hand withdrew, he held a silver pocket knife, which he expertly flicked open. The soft metallic snick made your pussy clench around nothing, your wetness leaking down from your hole to coat Steve’s cock.
Even with the sudden appearance of a knife, you didn’t feel any fear, only excitement. You trusted the enforcers implicitly, and your body somehow knew, all the way down to your bones, that you were safe with them. So you simply watched Bucky curiously, waiting to see what he’d do.
Both men seemed to sense that you weren’t scared, Steve brushing a kiss to the apple of your cheek and murmuring a sweet, “Good girl,” while Bucky grinned shamelessly at you. He dragged the flat of the knife over your hip and down to the curve of your ass, watching as goose bumps erupted across your bare skin.
The path of the knife only stopped when he got to the edge of your panties, digging lightly into the skin at your hip. It wasn’t enough to cut you, but your heart gave a thrilled thump when you felt the blade press against you.
“You won’t be needing these anymore, babydoll,” Bucky rumbled, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he slid the knife under the fabric and sliced right through it. “So I might as well relieve you of them.” He reached around your front and cut through the other side, then yanked the ruined panties from your body.
“That was one of my favorite pairs,” you pouted playfully, mostly so your jaw didn’t drop at his actions. You hadn’t thought having one of your father’s enforcers literally slice through your panties with a knife would be so hot, but when Bucky did it, it made you drip with even more desire.
And that was nothing compared to what he did next. You lost the fight against your mouth falling open in surprise when Bucky brought the drenched gusset of your panties to his nose and gave a deep sniff. His pupils blew wide with lust, his expression turning hungry and predatory as he held your gaze captive.
“You better replace them,” you said faintly, barely remembering what you were talking about. Your entire mind was consumed by the sight of Bucky sniffing your panties like you were a delectable little treat he wanted to savor.
“We’ll buy you as much lingerie as you want, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, grinning at your dazed reaction.
It seemed the blond didn’t want to be left out, because he grabbed Bucky’s wrist and pulled your panties close so he could smell them. When he did, his eyes slid closed as he groaned loudly, his hips bucking instinctively between your thighs to press his bare cock against your soft, wet pussy.
“Fuck, sunshine, you smell like heaven.”
“Stevie,” you whined, squirming your hips and grinding down on his twitching cock. Your dripping slit slipped against his thick length, coating him in your desire. Your clit bumped against his mushroom tip in a way that had you mewling pathetically, your fingers scrabbling against his white dress shirt for purchase.
When Steve opened his eyes, his pupils were blown just as wide as Bucky’s, and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was on drugs. But the only drug he was on was you.
Wrapping a big hand around the front of your throat, Steve dragged you in for a sloppy, messy kiss, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth like he wanted to claim you all over again. You could taste yourself faintly on his lips, and it made the kiss even dirtier, filthier, as you devoured each other hungrily.
When Steve broke away to press greedy kisses against your cheek and the underside of your jaw, you watched Bucky shove your ruined panties into the pocket of his pants along with his knife. He shot you a wink when he saw you looking, but before you could ask why he was keeping them, Steve kissed you again, dragging your attention back to him.
“Ready for my cock, sweetheart?” Steve asked when he pulled away, his hands sliding down your body to grip your waist and help you to lift up again so your weeping slit was pressed to the head of his cock.
You bounced on your knees as much as his grip would allow, nodding your head and chanting, “Yes, yes, please, Captain, I need your cock inside me now!”
“What an eager little slut our princess is, isn’t she, Stevie?” Bucky said, chuckling, his metal hand smoothing down the line of your spine while the other stroked his cock in his fist. He shot his best friend a look as Steve let out a low laugh of his own.
“The best, most perfect eager little slut,” Steve agreed, grinning when you preened under their praise.
Then he was guiding you to sink down on his stiff length and your focus was stolen entirely by the feeling of his thick cock sliding inside your wet pussy. A high-pitched, breathy moan spilled from your lips and your head fell back as inch after inch of his fat cock pushed inside your tight hole.
“Steve!” His name was a high, plaintive cry bursting from your tongue as you lifted your head, catching the enforcer’s eye and letting him see the way pleasure contorted your face.
You’d been right when you first saw his cock—Steve filled you up perfectly. He stretched you just enough to feel him fitting snugly inside your pussy, but without any of the stinging burn that came with someone too big to fit. Steve was perfect and he filled you up perfectly, just like you were meant to be.
“Oh fuck, sunshine,” Steve grunted, pulling you down even further, until you were almost all the way seated on his cock. His big hand reached up, cupping your cheek and pulling you close until your forehead pressed to his. “Y’know, I kind of liked it when you called me daddy. If you wanna call me that, sweetheart, by all means go ahead.”
Your pussy clenched hard around Steve’s cock at the invitation, making him let out a deliciously deep groan. You grinned as you whimpered a sweet, soft, “Daddy,” before leaning in for another kiss.
Steve welcomed you readily, his tongue tangling with yours while you finished sinking down on his cock. Both of you broke from the kiss to exhale a sigh of relief when you were finally fully impaled on his hardness.
“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Bucky muttered, dragging your attention from Steve for a moment.
Bucky’s metal hand was laying possessively on your thigh, while the other stroked his cock, pumping up and down the shaft. You could see a tiny bit of precum already leaking from the tip and, again, you had the urge to lean over and take him into your mouth, but Bucky’s fingers on your chin lifted your gaze to his.
“You doing alright, babydoll?” he asked, a slight crease of concern forming between his brows. But there was mischief in his dark eyes. “Does Stevie’s bare cock feel good inside that pretty cunt of yours?”
When you nodded, Bucky slid his hand from your chin down your body, tweaking one of your nipples and making you cry out softly. His metal fingers slipped between your thighs to the soft, swollen flesh of your pussy. He found your clit and flicked it teasingly, watching your face to see what had you moaning and squirming the most.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Buck, she feels so good on my cock,” Steve groaned, his hands flexing against your hips, like he was using all his self-restraint to stop himself from grabbing you and fucking you good and rough. He gripped you tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough, you knew he’d leave marks behind. “Our girl feels better than heaven.”
“Of course she does, Stevie,” Bucky said, grinning arrogantly at you, his fingers playing with your clit while you writhed on Steve’s cock, moaning mindlessly as you watched both men through heavy-lidded eyes. “That’s because she’s ours—our girl, our perfect good girl.”
Just then, Bucky stroked the underside of your clit exactly right and you let out a loud, sobbing cry of pleasure, your cunt clenching hard around Steve, making him twitch deep in your pussy. Your entire body was trembling as you rocketed toward your release, drowning in the deep, pleasured groan Steve let out.
“Fuck, right there, she likes that,” Steve grunted to Bucky, his figners digging even harder into your hips, until you were whining from the mixture of pleasure and slight aching pain.
Bucky’s grin hitched higher on his handsome face and he rubbed your clit again in the exact same way, watching pleasure contort your face as you moaned. Your cunt pulsed violently around Steve’s cock, making him groan even louder.
“Fuck—fuck, sunshine, you feel so fucking perfect,” he growled, his eyes blinking dazedly until he caught your gaze. “I could live in your cunt if you let me,” he confessed, then grabbed your throat and dragged you in for a messy, claiming kiss.
While you and Steve kissed, Bucky leaned close, his stubble rasping against your cheek when he murmured in your ear.
“You just sit pretty on Stevie’s big cock, princess,” he rumbled, still rubbing your clit and making you huff a senseless whine in Steve’s mouth. “You keep his cock nice and warm and we’ll pump you full of our cum until you’re knocked up with our kid, yeah? How’s that sound, babydoll?”
Instead of answering, you moaned, long and low against Steve’s mouth while he grinned, nipping at your bee-stung lips and swallowing your sounds of pleasure greedily, like they were his favorite sweet treat in the world. It was all you could do to cling on to Steve and Bucky and let them consume you until you were little more than fire and light and sensation.
Between your thighs, Steve rocked his hips, urging you to join him in a slow, languid rhythm. It felt so good, the way his thick cock dragged against your sensitive inner walls, Bucky’s fingers still teasing your aching clit, that it was almost too much. Your release was building in your center, but both men seemed content to take their time to make sure that when you did finally come, it would be devastating.
“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Steve asked when he pulled away to let you catch your breath. His blue eyes were bright with lust but intent on your face, checking in with you even as you risked losing yourself to pleasure.
You nodded, feeling a bit like a bobblehead, and blinked hazy eyes until they cleared enough to find the pretty blue of Steve’s. They were darker than normal, so much of his irises taken over by his pupils that they were nearly blotted out entirely.
But they were still the eyes you’d known for years and years, and you found yourself sinking into Steve’s gaze.
It had an almost hypnotic effect, and without remembering when you’d decided to open your mouth and speak, words were spilling from your lips, a babbling litany of begging.
“Wan your cum, daddy,” you murmured, fingers curling tight in Steve’s white dress shirt, wrinkling the fabric beyond saving. With your other hand, you did the same to Bucky, dragging him as close as possible as you caught his eye. “Wan yours, too, dad.”
Bucky’s eyes flared for just a moment, his entire body going rigidly still. “Did you just call me dad?” he asked, his tone quiet and unreadable.
Anxiety shot through your body, making you tense, your eyes going wide. “Do you not like it?” you asked, worried you’d crossed a line.
For a moment, Bucky simply stared at you, and it wasn’t until Steve smacked his chest that he finally broke free from his spell. Leaning in, he cupped your face in the palm of his hand, looking at you with so much naked affection in his gaze, it burned away the nervousness that had sprouted in your belly.
“I fucking love it, babydoll,” he said, pulling you in for a quick, fierce kiss that had more heat scorching through your body. He was just as greedily devouring as Steve, and when he finally let you pull away, you were gasping for breath. “You call me dad as much as you want, princess. It makes my dick throb for you.”
Bucky wrapped his fingers loosely around your wrist, dragging your hand down his body to circle around his thick cock. He folded his palm around the back of your hand, guiding you to stroke him just the way he liked, your fingers curling tightly around his fat girth.
Letting out a grunt of pleasure, Bucky’s forehead pressed to your temple, his eyes sliding closed while he pumped your hand up and down his cock. You watched him appreciatively, enjoying the way he groaned in pleasure, his warm breath ghosting against your bare skin.
It was glorious, the sight of the big, tough enforcer practically brought to his knees simply by your hand. You reveled in the feeling of Bucky’s cock in your palm, enjoying the velvet-wrapped steel of his hardness. At the same time, you couldn’t forget Steve, your cunt squeezing around his dick still buried deep inside you.
Still, it wasn’t enough for you. It wasn’t enough to take Steve and Bucky in different parts of your body. Something about that didn’t feel right.
You didn’t quite understand what you were feeling or what you wanted, and a soft, distressed sound tumbled from your lips.
Immediately, Steve and Bucky snapped to attention. Both men sat up straight and crowded in around you, twin lines of concern forming between their brows. They wrapped you up in their arms, holding you tight between their bodies while stroking your skin soothingly.
“What is it, babydoll?” Bucky asked at the same time Steve murmured, “What do you need, sunshine, we’ll give you anything you want.”
Although Steve’s cock still buried in your pussy stole some of your attention, you tried to focus on parsing out how you felt. After taking a deep breath, you attempted to put it into words.
“I want you both inside me,” you said, glancing from one pair of concerned blue eyes to the other. “At the same time.”
“Of course, sweetheart, we can make that work,” Steve rushed to reassure you, something like relief in his voice as he kissed your temple. “I’m sure Buck wouldn’t mind fucking that pretty mouth of yours.”
At his suggestion, you shook your head. That wasn’t what you meant—it wasn’t what you wanted.
“Not like that, I want you both in the same hole,” you explained, staring deep into Steve’s eyes before looking to Bucky. “I want you both to cum inside me at the same time,” you said, finding the words and growing more confident as you did. “I want your cocks in my pussy together, and I want you to cum inside me at the same time so you both knock me up.”
Your pleading words hung in the air for a moment while Steve and Bucky processed them, then they glanced at each other, their expressions a mirror image of uncertainty. As you waited patiently, they had one of their silent conversations, their faces twitching subtly like they were having some kind of argument.
Finally, Steve looked back at you, a deep well of worry in his gaze. “Are you sure, sunshine? This is what you want?”
“We don’t want to hurt you, babydoll,” Bucky jumped in to say. “But if this is what you want, we’ll give it to you.”
A gentle smile curved the edges of your lips as you nodded slowly, endeavoring to show the men how sure you were without being reckless. “I trust you,” you said, looking at each man in turn. “And I want this—I want you to cum inside me at the exact same time so we never know who the father is, because you’ll both be their father.”
You grabbed one of each of their hands and brought them to your lower belly, the place in your body that would swell when their baby grew inside you. The rightness of it settled deep in your soul, and you knew this was exactly what all three of you needed.
If they came inside you together, there’d never be any reason for one to suspect the other was the father. Only one of them could really knock you up, but none of you would ever know who it was, and they’d both be the baby’s father.
Steve and Bucky slid their hands closer together, until their fingers were tangled against your belly and they shared another of their loaded looks. Bucky nodded decisively and Steve let out a long exhale, bowing his head in a nod of his own.
When he looked up, the blond enforcer was determined, the glint in his eye contrasting the excited glee in Bucky’s, and he grabbed your chin gently, pulling you close so he could give you a stern look.
“We’ll go slow,” Steve said, his tone uncompromising, and both you and Bucky nodded eagerly.
Bucky pressed a wet, smacking kiss to your cheek, making you giggle at the silliness of it, delighting in the way his stubble rasped against your skin. Then he sat back a little and gave your ass an encouraging slap.
“Bounce on Stevie’s dick, princess,” he instructed, his hand giving your thigh a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll start with something easier than my cock first.”
With another nod, you began lifting yourself up and sinking back down on Steve’s hard length, bracing your hands on his shoulders for balance. The blond enforcer settled his big hands on the place where the curve of your waist met your hips, holding you tightly and guiding you as you found a rhythm.
“Good girl, sunshine, such a perfect, pretty slut bouncing on daddy’s cock,” Steve cooed, a small smirk on his face that widened when your pussy fluttered around him.
“Such a good girl, babydoll,” Bucky murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw while his hand slipped from your thigh back between your legs. His fingers stroked your clit adoringly, making you clench and gush around Steve’s cock, but they didn’t stay there long.
Bucky slide one of his fingers down to where your hole was stretched around Steve’s thick shaft. A shiver raced down your spine when he teased your entrance, your body not knowing what to do with the feeling.
“Relax, princess,” Bucky rumbled soothingly, pressing the tip of his finger inside you as you lowered yourself on Steve’s cock. His thumb rubbed your clit while you trembled on your knees, you pussy convulsing around the added intrusion.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” Bucky exhaled, catching Steve’s eye out of the corner of his own. The other man groaned, nodding, his chin hitting his chest as he watched the spot where his cock and Bucky’s finger disappeared inside you.
“I know, Buck,” Steve rasped. “I’m trying really hard not to lose it.”
“Keep it together, Stevie,” Bucky chided, shooting you a cheeky grin.
Steve’s eyes closed and he moaned like he was being tortured, his face tensing with concentration as he focused on holding off his release. He made such sweet sounds, your pussy couldn’t help clenching around Steve’s cock and Bucky’s finger, which earned you a thrust from the blond enforcer as Bucky slipped even deeper inside you.
Just as they promised, Bucky and Steve took things slow. Steve helped you ride his cock, your hips moving slowly and deliciously, savoring every inch of his hard shaft while Bucky worked more fingers inside your cunt, stretching you out methodically to make sure you were ready.
It was all you could do to gasp and moan and relax for them, let them both into your pussy so that you could eventually get what you wanted—their two cocks inside you. It was such slow, tormenting work, but it felt good, spectacular even.
You felt like you were transcending to a new plane of existence, one where all that mattered was the three of you and your desire to be joined so intimately together. The tears gathering in your lashes and the strain in your muscles didn’t matter. You were going to have Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes at the same time, even if it took all of Halloween night to get you ready.
Thankfully, it didn’t take quite that long, and after a while, Steve and Bucky determined you were stretched enough. Steve pulled you close, gathering you up against his chest, kissing you slow and sweet before he eased you gently off his cock.
“Get on Bucky’s lap, sweetheart,” he murmured encouragingly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Let’s see if we can fit two cocks in that tight cunt of yours.”
“You can,” you responded quickly, your voice practically breathless even as you flashed a confident smile at the men. Moving on shaky legs, Bucky helped you into his lap, then guided you to sink down on his cock. “I know you can make it fit, daddy.”
“That’s a good girl, being so good for us, babydoll,” Bucky crooned, smoothing his hand down your spine while you impaled yourself on his hard length. “Such a brave little slut, so eager to be stuffed full of two big cocks.”
“Yes, dad, so eager,” you purred, lowering yourself until Bucky’s stiff shaft was buried fully inside you. Your thighs were spread wide across his lap and your bare tits pressed against his broad, clothed chest.
For a moment, you paused, letting your forehead fall against Bucky’s as you reveled in the feeling of him inside you for the first time. He was just as perfect as Steve, filling you up like your bodies were destined to join together. It made you smile, how good it felt, because you knew it was meant to be.
“My gorgeous, perfect girl,” Bucky rumbled, shifting his head to slant his mouth to yours for a kiss.
It was slow and sweet, the slide of his lips cherishing you as much as they devoured and claimed you. His kiss made your heart sing and your pussy pulse greedily around his cock, wringing a desperate grunt from the rough man.
Steve gave you and Bucky another moment, letting you enjoy yourselves, just the two of you, as he stood from the couch and moved behind you. Once you pulled away from Bucky’s kiss to gasp for air, the men manhandled you into the position they wanted.
You were leaning forward against Bucky’s chest, laying on top of his body, which was slumped deep into the couch so his ass was close to the edge of the cushions. His knees were spread wide, allowing Steve to step between them and get close to you.
Smoothing a comforting hand down your flank, Steve eased two fingers into your pussy alongside Bucky’s cock, making you moan shamelessly. The blond enforcer fucked you slowly with his fingers while his best friend stayed still, holding you against his chest and brushing raspy kisses to your face anywhere he could reach.
“Ready, sunshine?” Steve asked, pulling his fingers from your slick cunt.
You could guess from the way his soaked knuckles brushed against your ass that he was stroking his cock, coating himself with your desire. The tip of him nudged gently against your entrance, reminding you of his question, and you nodded.
“You say the word and we stop immediately, alright?”
“Got it,” you said on an exhale, focusing on relaxing.
Glancing over your shoulder, your gaze met Steve’s, seeing the depth of his devotion in the stark lines of his face. It took your breath away, and you had to let your eyes rake down his body to be able to breathe again.
He’d thrown his black tie over his shoulder, and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows. It was inexplicably hot that both Steve and Bucky were still mostly clothed while you were naked between them. You enjoyed it so much, you hummed a pleased purr and returned your gaze to Steve’s face.
His eyes had dropped to the place where Bucky was already buried inside you, his eyes dark and intent on your pussy. Wanting to give him even more to look at, you arched your spine and offered yourself to him, inviting him to join you and Bucky in depravity.
“I’m ready, Stevie,” you said, your voice breathless but strong. “Breed my pussy, daddy, fill me up until there’s no way I’m not knocked up.”
Steve’s pretty blue eyes closed with a groan, and you glanced at Bucky, sharing a conspiratorial look of delight at torturing the other man. Without missing a beat, Bucky picked up the thread of teasing, shooting a mocking smirk at his best friend.
“C’mon, Stevie, you heard our girl,” he said, using his hands to spread your ass and reveal your pussy more fully to the other man. “Stuff her so full of cock, she’ll be feeling us for days.”
Giggling, you pressed your face into Bucky’s neck, whispering an encouraging, “Tell ‘im, dad,” for only him to hear.
“We gotta pump her full of cum and claim her as ours,” Bucky went on, giving your ass a sharp smack that had you moaning wantonly into his scruffy jaw. “Just think how pretty our girl’s gonna look with her belly all swollen with our kid. Everyone is going to know she’s ours.”
“Yours,” you echoed, nodding your head eagerly and lifting up enough to look at Bucky, then Steve, repeating it to him, “All yours.”
Blinking his eyes dazedly, Steve looked overcome for a moment, like he was imagining the future you and Bucky had teased—your belly big and round with their baby, your body tucked between theirs as they paraded you around Brooklyn so everyone, including your father, knew who you belonged to.
It was a sweet picture, you had to admit, your mouth curving into a beaming smile.
A moment later, Steve blinked and focused on you, his eyes softening even as he grumbled, “You’re both gonna be the death of me.”
Tipping your head back, you let out a loud, happy laugh. So consumed in your mirth, you nearly missed the way Bucky and Steve stared at you with so much open adoration. It was on the tip of your tongue to tease them about it, but Steve chose that moment to start pushing inside you.
Your laugh choked off in a moan when the tip of Steve’s cock pressed to your hole, meeting resistence from your tight entrance even after all that preparation.
Bucky must’ve felt you tense, because his palm smoothed down your spine, comforting your body as he murmured, “Relax, babydoll, let Stevie into your sweet cunt.” He brushed a rasping kiss to your cheek. “We just wanna give you what you want—both our cocks at the same time.
Steve’s hands stroked along your sides, both men using their strong fingers to work your muscles and help them soften. In no time at all, you were calming, laying down on Bucky’s chest and letting Steve into your body.
Grunting with pleasure, Steve pushed the head of his cock past your entrance. The movement wrung debauched moans from all three of you that were loud the relative quiet of the club office, drowning out the din of the crowd and music.
You felt your pussy clench hard around their dicks, making the men wheeze with something close to pain, and you focused on staying relaxed. Pressing your face into Bucky’s neck, you breathed in the scent of him, so spicy and wonderful, letting it fill your head with hazy clouds of pleasure.
It took another short while of careful thrusting before they were both buried inside you. Steve would gently push inside, then retreat a little, only to press deeper and deeper, sinking his cock into your cunt alongside Bucky’s one inch at a time.
At one point, you got so overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness that tears fell from your eyes, splashing down on your cheeks as you squirmed in Bucky’s lap. The men paused, checking in with you again, and seeing if you wanted to stop.
But you were so close to getting what you wanted that you refused to let them end it there. So they continued on once you were ready.
Finally, Steve’s hips pressed flush to your ass and it felt like, for one glorious moment, that even the universe stopped to appreciate the perfection of the three of you joined together. You exhaled a sigh of relief, a sense of deep satisfaction settling deep into your soul while a dreamy smile played on your lips.
“How’s it feel, babydoll?” Bucky asked, his words slurring slightly again. When you merely mumbled an unintelligible answer, he tipped your chin up to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. “You okay?”
“Sooo good,” you moaned, your lashes fluttering as you opened your eyes to stare into Bucky’s beautiful blue gaze. His eyes were dark with lust, but there was a spark of affection that had you smiling again. “You fill me up so good, dad,” you murmured, then glanced over your shoulder to catch Steve’s eye. “Love having your cocks stuffed inside me, daddy.”
A slow, wolfish smile spread across Steve’s face while Bucky grinned shamelessly, the brunet enforcer squeezing your ass hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises behind. The rough treatment had your pussy clenching down on their cocks, all three of you moaning at the feeling.
“You ready for me to move, sunshine?” Steve asked, his deep voice slightly strained, like he was focused entirely on not coming too soon. “I don’t know how much longer I can last.”
“Yes, Captain,” you said sweetly, rolling your hips and grinning when both men grunted in pleasure. “Fuck me, fill me up, make me a mommy.”
“Oh fuck,” Bucky groaned, his hips kicking up from below, fucking his cock deeper in your pussy until the tip was just kissing your cervix. He looked over your shoulder at his best friend with desperate blue eyes. “You heard our girl, Stevie, let’s fuck ‘er full and knock ‘er up.”
“With pleasure, Buck,” Steve purred, one of his hands grabbing your hip in a bruising grip while he leaned forward to wrap the other around the front of your throat.
The enforcer brushed a kiss to your cheek, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the sides of your neck and making your mind go blissfully blank. You were trapped between the two men, entirely at their mercy, and you didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” Steve murmured in your ear. “Let your dad and daddy use your sweet cunt and we’ll give you everything you want—we’ll make sure you’re pregnant before the night is over.”
“Mm, we’re gonna breed this sweet pussy, princess,” Bucky rumbled, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and sliding his hands down to cup your tits. He thumbed your nipples, pinching them to draw out a plaintive cry. “You’re gonna make such a pretty baby for us.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, your hands reaching for your men.
Your fingers curled in the collar of Bucky’s black shirt, undoing the buttons clumsily so you could press your face to the crook of his collarbone. With the other, you sank your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding him close, making him cage you in between them.
The three of you moved together, your bodies connected in the most primal, physical way possible while your souls aligned into something greater and more meaningful. It was wet, messy fucking—and it was magnificent.
Bucky rocked up from below while Steve fucked you in short, hard strokes, your hips rolling to meet their alternating thrusts. You were all pressed so close, you could feel the sweat dripping from Steve’s brow onto your cheek, mixing with the tears spilling from your eyes, and being kissed away by Bucky’s mouth.
All the while, Steve choked you gently, only enough for your vision to crackle around the edges and your breaths to come in desperate, needy gasps. Bucky sucked and nipped at your parted lips, his hands playing roughly with your tits, pinching your tight, aching peaks until you were mindless with pleasure.
Between the two of them, it wasn’t long before you were right at the edge of your release, the tension in your core coiling to the point of snapping.
“Gonna cum, daddy,” you gasped, your entire being narrowing down to the place where their cocks split you open so perfectly. Bucky was grinding into your cunt, rubbing your clit against the base of his cock. “Oh god, dad, right there!”
“Go on, sweetheart,” Steve cooed in your ear, his hand tightening around your throat, causing your cunt to clench around their hard shafts. “Let us feel you cum on our cocks, wanna feel you sucking us deeper into your sweet pussy, milking all the seed from us until we’re draining our balls in your womb and knocking you up.”
The enforcer’s hand slipped from your hip to between your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing it mercilessly. The last thing you saw was Bucky’s hungry grin and greedy eyes before your vision whited out and your release detonated deep in your body.
It was the most intense orgasm of your life, your lips parting on a piercing scream as Steve and Bucky shoved you savagely over the edge. Even with Steve’s hand squeezing your throat, you were sure the whole club could hear you scream, the sound no doubt adding to the Halloween ambiance.
Pleasure flooded your body in a tsunami, every muscle clenching, your pussy gripping the cocks splitting you open so tightly that the men let out choked grunts. In tandem, they shoved their dicks deep inside you, and it was such a tight fit, you could feel them swell slightly right before they came.
With two ferocious roars, Bucky and Steve followed you over the edge into oblivion, their hands gripping you tightly, their chests crowding you in between their big bodies. Their cocks twitched inside you, throbbing as they spilled their seed deep into your still pulsing pussy.
“Fuck, that’s it, sunshine, take it,” Steve muttered, rutting wildly into you, his hips stuttering, thighs clapping against your ass. “Take my cum—you’re gonna make such a pretty mommy for daddy.”
Bucky groaned beneath you, his warm breath fanning against your cheek while his fingers dug hard into your plush hips. “Feel so fucking good,” he rumbled, cursing as he flooded your pussy with his release. “Jesus fuck. Take dad’s cum, princess, take it all. Gonna breed you good, babydoll.”
It felt so good, so perfectly sublime, that you were beyond words. All you could do was moan your pleasure, humming happy purrs when they brushed kisses everywhere they could reach, Bucky’s scruffy jaw rasping over your face while Steve’s mouth trailed along your shoulders and down your spine.
Together, the three of you rode out your releases, your bodies writhing in a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs. When you began trembling more from overstimulation than bliss, Steve finally eased off, pulling himself carefully from your body.
Bucky helped you gently lift off his cock, then sit beside him on the couch. Steve collapsed on the cushions on your other side, and the two big men tucked you into their bodies, giving you their warmth as their hands roamed over your cooling skin.
“Alright, babydoll?” Bucky asked while Steve dropped a kiss to the apple of your cheek and asked, “Anything hurt?”
You took a moment to take stock of your body, noting the ache in your hips from being in the same position for so long and the tenderness in your pussy. But for the most part, you felt good, deliciously spent and sated. A smile curved your lips and you pressed a kiss to each of the men’s shoulders.
“I’m a little sore,” you said, wrapping your hands around their biceps, clinging to your men to make sure they stayed close. You snuggled into their warmth, breathing in their familiar spicy scents and letting your eyes drift closed. “But I feel okay.”
For a long moment, the three of you just enjoyed being together, the men cooing about how good you were for them, how perfect it felt to fill you up. Steve massaged your neck where he’d choked you, and Bucky used his fingers to gently push some of the cum spilling from your hole back inside you.
Your hips squirmed but you spread your legs open to give him better access, hooking your thighs over the men’s legs on either side of you. You opened your eyes, watching Bucky’s fingers disappearing inside you, shoving their cum back where it belonged.
“Do you really think it’s going to take?” you asked in a small voice, hope and uncertainty warring in your words.
Steve cupped your cheek in his hand, turning you to look at him. There was a crease between his brows and concern in his bright blue eyes. “Do you still want it to, sunshine?” he asked, his expression serious but unreadable, like he wanted to make sure you weren’t swayed by his own desires.
The alcohol had long since burned out of your system, so your head was clear when you gave Steve’s question the earnest consideration it deserved.
Even before that Halloween night, you’d wanted a family, and it had been so long since you’d had any hope of building one of your own. Perhaps it was impulsive to jump at the first real chance you got to have a baby with a willing man, but you’d known Steve and Bucky for years.
They were good men, and they’d be good fathers. They were strong and protective and capable, exactly the kind of men you wanted to build a family and a future with. Plus, you were already halfway in love with them after seeing the way they’d treated you with so much care.
Everything was happening so suddenly, you could acknowledge that. But life was short, and you knew what you wanted. So you nodded decisively and met Steve’s gaze.
“I do,” you told him. “And if it doesn’t take, I want to try again, with both of you.” You turned to Bucky, making sure he could see the honesty in your eyes as you spoke. “I want us to be a family, all three of us—if you’ll still have me.”
Your words trailed off with hesitation but both men were quick to pull you close and reassure you.
“We absolutely still want you, sunshine,” Steve cooed, petting your cheek with gentle fingers while Bucky’s metal hand clasped your hip possessively and he said, “You’re ours now, princess, and we’re yours until you get sick of us.”
“Never!” you cried, giggling happily as you pulled Bucky in and kissed him sweetly before turning and doing the same to Steve.
When you settled back between them, your shoulders gave an involuntary shiver, the chill in the office finally nipping at your skin. Bucky noticed and he grabbed his jacket, helping you into it while he glanced at his best friend.
“Whaddya say we take our girl home, Stevie, maybe pump her full of a few more loads,” he suggested in a fond, playful voice, giving you a sneaky wink. “Y’know, just to make sure we knocked her up like we promised.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me, Buck,” Steve said, though he paused to make sure you were okay with the idea. When you nodded happily, he grinned and kept talking to his best friend. “We can show her around our place, let her decide if that’s where she wants us to raise our kids together.”
“Kids plural?” you asked teasingly, one of your brows winging up in playful surprise.
“Of course, sunshine,” Steve said warmly, his smile wider than you’d ever seen, and so happy it made your heart thump joyfully in your chest. “We’re gonna have a couple of rugrats, isn’t that right, Buck?”
“Hm, I’m thinking at least four, Stevie,” Bucky rumbled, squeezing you tight in his arms and pressing a smacking kiss to your cheek that made you laugh. “Maybe more—I have a feeling we’re gonna love seeing our girl with a big, round belly swollen with our kids.”
Bucky’s metal hand settled on your stomach, Steve’s palm doing the same, and all three of you glanced down at your body, smiling like you could picture the way you’d look pregnant with their baby. It was a wonderful fantasy and you couldn’t wait for it to become reality.
“I like the sound of that,” you said, giving a soft, happy sigh and leaning on Steve’s shoulder. He brushed a kiss to the crown of your head.
When you gave another shiver from the cold, Steve stood, helping you up. He and Bucky guided you out of the club through a back door, hustling you into a bulletproof SUV before whisking you through Brooklyn to the home they shared.
You were delighted to learn that the enforcers had used the money they earned from your father to buy a gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian house on a beautiful tree-lined street in Brooklyn. It had plenty of room for a family, and you were so excited to start filling it, you insisted the men take you to the master bedroom to begin that night.
Steve and Bucky took turns pumping you full of more cum for the rest of that Halloween night. It wasn’t until the gray sky of the early autuman morning began to lighten with the first rays of the rising sun that you finally collapsed in the bed that wasn’t quite big enough for all three of you.
You didn’t mind, though. You were pressed close between the two enforcers’ big bodies, feeling safe and warm and perfectly cared for. You fell asleep with a sated, blissful smile on your lips, cum dripping from your well-used pussy, wrapped up in the protective embrace of your two men.
A year later, when Halloween came around again, everything about your life was different—and better.
Most importantly, you were no longer alone, having given up your brownstone to move into Bucky and Steve’s house. The three of you had begun to make it a home, renovating and redecorating the space to match all your tastes. The first thing you’d done was get a bigger bed for the master bedroom so you could all comfortably sleep together.
When you’d found out you were pregnant, the three of you had gone to your father and told him about your relationship. You’d explained your intention to marry and start a family, and that you’d already begun building your life together.
The powerful leader of the mafia damn near lost his mind with fury, but your men were brave and strong—and they loved you so much they made it look easy to stand up to your father. With a great deal of discussion, and no small amount of threats of bodily harm, your father had eventually begun to see reason.
After all, who could protect his you better than his most vicious enforcers?
Besides, they were the fathers of his grandchild, so the mafia leader accepted the idea of your marriage, albeit begrudgingly. You’d had a small, modest wedding ceremony in early spring, with only family and close friends in attendance, and you’d spent the rest of the year preparing for your baby.
That next Halloween night, your plans for the evening were much different than the years before. Instead of staying in to hand out candy, or making the reckless decision to go out looking for some fun, you went trick-or-treating with your little family.
Bucky bounced your baby boy in his arms, the sweet three-month-old babbling mindlessly in his pumpkin costume while the big, tough enforcer cooed adoringly. You and your other husband walked beside him, Steve pushing the stroller with one hand, while his other arm was wrapped securely around your waist.
You couldn’t help the bubble of happiness that grew in your chest while the four of you moseyed on down the sidewalk of your Brooklyn neighborhood, already debating what your son would dress up as for his next Halloween.
Bucky thought another year as a pumkin would be adorable, while Steve wanted to dress him up as a baseball player. You just grinned and let them argue. It was moot anyway, you knew you’d let your son pick out his costume next year and be whatever he wanted.
As you walked along with your husbands and son, you couldn’t help your mind from wandering to your plans for later that evening.
Sam Wilson would be babysitting your son while you, Steve and Bucky had some Halloween fun of your own. You were pretty sure Sam was looking forward to it almost as much as you were.
Settling a hand on your lower belly through the cheap fabric of your witch costume—the one you knew Bucky would be using his pocket knife to tear from your body later—you hoped you’d be as successful with your night as you had your previous Halloween.
And when you were knocked up by the mafia’s enforcers on Halloween night for a second time, you hoped it would be a girl.
You knew your husbands, the feared enforcers Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, would be brought to their knees by a daughter, and you knew they were going to be such perfect girl dads—just as perfect as they were as boy dads.
Not for the first time, you thought about how you were so, so happy with how your life turned out. You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with your husbands, growing your family and then growing old together. Living happily ever after, one Halloween at a time.
summary: In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo.
tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), piv sex, pussy eating, fingering, pussy slapping, jack abbot certified bush lover, overstimulation, implied age gap (reader is a resident), medical inaccuracies (peritoneal lavages are rarely used nowadays, but who cares), no use of y/n, trauma scene based on an episode of ER teehee.
wc: 9.5k
a/n: okay this is fully like two weeks late to the trend but it was inspired by that “you shaved your bush” tiktok trend lol. I genuinely do not know how this got so long, It was supposed to be a cute little fic but i got carried away, oopsies! I hope you enjoy <3
credits: gif credits to @ho-ii !!
It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny.
You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster.
Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem.
Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment.
And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now.
That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you.
So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was.
It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule.
But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven.
You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably.
You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed.
The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it.
It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message.
Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.
You settled on:
you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;)
You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out.
What a mistake.
Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen.
Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them.
Why?
Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you.
Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing.
You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either.
And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him.
It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency.
“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably).
He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway.
Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.
You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress.
It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun.
What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot.
Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo.
Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually.
Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened.
There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up.
Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare.
Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo.
Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with.
You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off.
You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you.
You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it.
You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that.
You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios.
In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation.
But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…
Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you?
A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification.
Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍
It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance.
You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days.
You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.
You woke up two days later and ran through your options.
Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)
Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble)
Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?)
Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible.
That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay.
You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started.
“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask,
“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.
“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing.
Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis.
Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done.
“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.
“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second.
He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own.
And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze.
When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile.
Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work.
This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.
Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either.
His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more.
But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore.
And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former.
As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling.
Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.
The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse.
To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom.
Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night.
You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through.
“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient.
The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15.
“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.
You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room.
“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now.
You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life.
“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his.
“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”
Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.”
“BP is down to 60!”
“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.
Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty.
“Must be the belly,” Santos said.
“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?”
You shook your head.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.
Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin.
“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear.
“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.
Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked.
“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway.
Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked.
“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.
Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student.
Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there.
“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.
You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot.
“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact.
You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder.
“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them.
You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to.
He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat.
“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin.
“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face.
Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.
Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips.
“Dr. Abbot–”
“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought.
“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.”
“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.
He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.
“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked.
A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.
“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there.
You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence.
“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin.
You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.”
He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending.
You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.
He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.
You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips.
“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top.
His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly.
You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks.
“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face.
You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top.
He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you.
You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.
The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency.
It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you?
He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy.
“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.
His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.
You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art.
But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools.
“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself.
You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine.
The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation.
“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it.
You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”
You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale.
“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face.
“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile.
He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs.
Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you.
The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours.
He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.
“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?”
You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said.
“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop.
“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?”
You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign.
“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it.
“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone.
A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits.
Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him.
“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now.
He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.
His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face.
He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway.
Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing.
“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?”
No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there.
He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden.
He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.
“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”
“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.
And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much.
He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve.
“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument.
“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb.
“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger. Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes.
Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably.
And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.
Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.
You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve.
“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.”
You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome.
“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit.
You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out.
“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout.
“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore.
He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him.
Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.
A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time.
Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you.
“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy.
The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.
You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy.
“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.
Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm.
It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him.
Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could.
Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought.
Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath.
Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up.
He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated.
“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.
You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together.
“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you.
“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice.
“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.”
You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s.
“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.
a/n: whew that was a lot!! thank you if you made it all the way through!!
18+ thinking about subby pope receiving a handy <3
fem! reader, mdni. 0.8k words. sub pope, oral fem receiving, usage of ‘mama’ once, edging, crying, handjob, popes a whining mess, porn no plot.
pope cody who moved with predatory stillness, stepping into rooms all broad shouldered and unblinking. casting a shadow of uneasiness that nipped at his ankles, following him always. craig joked that he was like your guard dog, gaze tracking every small shift, literally ready to pounce at any moment.
everyone assumed he was the same in the bedroom. they were gravely mistaken.
poor pope, literally crying into your cunt, lazily lapping at your clit. fat tears streaking down his cheeks, mixing with your juices and coating his chin. he was pawing at your thighs, squishing the plump skin, spreading you open wider for him.
“feels so good… doing so good, andy.” you whined, back dipping off the bed in a near pornographic arch.
and god, the glassy eyes and furrowed brows. he genuinely was looking up at you to make sure he was doing good, like he had no idea how fucking good he felt licking you open. you couldn’t help but coo looking down at him, your fingers carding through his curls.
he was whimpering into your core, desperately humping his hard cock into the mattress. pope relished in your moans, pre cum drooling from his shaft, making his boxers all sticky. :((
it literally takes an army to get pope to stop suckling on you. he’d gave you a few sloppy kisses on your puffy folds before reluctantly parting with her.
you finally managed to get him off you, and slumped against the headboard. your nails were slowly scraping down his chest, finally disappearing into his boxers.
his hips jerked up. gaze searching yours, giving you those sad puppy eyes when you wrapped a hand around his length. he hissed, trying his best still the upward bucks of his pelvis, taking every ounce of his strength not to fuck into your fist right then and there.
“oh, fu—huck. i’m—hm not gonna last.” he whines as you begin to stroke him. he was drawing his bottom lip into his mouth to stifle his moans, biting down hard enough to taste blood.
“awh… that’s okay, honey. i’ll make it last, huh?” you croon, twisting your fist as you tug him, squeezing tightly at the base of his length. you find a slow pace, drawing it out as much as possible.
you bring your free hand up to his mouth, cupping your palm right under his chin. “spit.”
he complies almost instantly. keeping direct eye contact as he musters up enough saliva to spit out directly into your palm. your hand finally finds his cock again, smearing the newfound wetness all over his angry tip.
“ah—oh god… fu—fuck.” he’s hiccuping now, withering against the sheets, knuckles white as he grips fistfuls of the comforter. eyes rolling back, chest heaving with each shaky breath as tears slip down the apples of his cheeks.
“i can’t—ah… gonna cum,” you see it—the way the muscle of his thighs jump, abdomen tightening and balls contracting, desperately ready to bust.
you gave one final tug, stopping to squeeze the base of his cock as pope hopelessly bucked his hips into the air, cock springing around trying to find any sort of friction. “no, nooo…” he sobbed, eyes squeezing shut.
slowly, his breathing began to even out, the ruined orgasm melting away as the muscles in his body began to finally relax again. your hand left his cock and he gasped, dick slapping back against his stomach.
pope sniffed, forcing his eyes open to see you—the sight alone almost had him cumming untouched. you were crooning at him, because he was just so sweet and needy! it wasn’t his fault! :(
your fingers slowly ascended up his knee, palm gently traveling up his leg until your skin was softly rubbing against his inner thigh. he jerked hard—cock twitching painfully as your skin finally came so close to where he needed you the most.
“please, mama… need it so bad.” he’s sniffling, and how could you ever deny him?!
“oh, i know… jus’ need me to take care of you, huh? that it, honey?” he’s nodding along with you—but to be fair you think he’d agree to anything you said right now.
your hand gripped around his cock again, popes head instantly fell back against the bed frame with a choked moan. you found a pace that had him squirming against the sheets, this time swiping a thumb over the tip of his aching cock—earning you a pathetic whimper.
it didn’t take long for his orgasm to creep up again, he was a wailing mess, mumbling words almost incoherently through whines.
“oh my god—thank you, thank you… uhhhh… so good t’me,” pope fucked his cock harder into your fist as he came. spurting thick ropes of cum all over his stomach, your hand and even his thighs.
⋮⟢ drabble: jack abbot and his controversially young gf who likes to mark her territory
⋮⟢ warnings: not proofread at all - this is lowkey a word-vomit of all my dreams, reader loooooves marking up jack (hickies! so many of them!) (no dignity for either of them!) (sorry if it’s not up ur alley it wasn’t up mine either but the thought just spawned i couldn’t help it), jack’s freckle appreciation which was self-indulgent tbh lmao, a lotttt of handmade gifts that jack loves wearing all at once, robby makes a slightly mean joke about her habits that sits with her (so a slight hurt+comfort?), lovesick and gf-trained jack gets actually flirted with and takes it worse than her, mutual possessiveness, it should be toxic but i think it’s a whole lot of fluff!! age gap, suggestive but nothing explicit
⋮⟢ notes: literally one of my Favorite fic to have worked on omg whipped this up So quickly i LOVE writing this dynamic so much - thank you for the request ml @angelabbot i definitely went a little overboard with it but i hope you enjoy!!
send requests for controversially young gf!reader!
jack abbot who loooooves when his controversially young gf stakes her claim on him. he wasn’t much for donning trophies of his escapades – having grown out of that phase sometime during college – but there was just something about the way you did it that undid every one of his rules on that subject. you’d get to work on him, usually after working him to his last sweat as he lay under you with all his muscles relaxed.
you’d tilt your head, bottom lip caught between your teeth, as you surveyed him. your eyes would track over his collarbone, his shoulder, the line of his throat. sometimes you’d study jack by connecting the freckles on his shoulder and biceps, the pads of your fingers dragging over his skin slowly, and he could’ve sworn that you had little perpetual bursts of lightning coming out your fingers, every track leaving some faint electric trail behind, gooseflesh rising in whatever you left.
“this one’s new,” you’d murmur, tapping your finger against it twice as you clicked your tongue in delight.
“none of ‘em are new,” he’d say through a chuckle, but humoring you as he tried to tilt his head at an awkward angle, craning to see the spot you’d found.
“new to me,” you’d huff out. his hand would drop to your knee at his side, thumb dragging idle circles there, entirely too content to be mapped, remapped, and mapped again for the rest of his life. and then you’d lean your face down, mouth catching against the underside of his chin when he threw his head back against the pillow.
“ooooh-kay,” he’d breathe out, baring his throat even more without deciding to. “‘s time for this now?”
“you’re looking too empty,” you’d say against his skin. and you sounded so sad about it that even jack felt himself actually offended on your behalf, and slightly guilty about how the nature of time and healing had gone and undone all your hard work. “looks like you’re single.”
“m’sorry, baby. not single, though,” he’d murmur, entirely unserious and sincere at the same time, hand finding the back of your skull to push your closer to his skin. “get to fixing me now.”
he used to think it was so uncouth when he saw men walking around with bite marks. he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d ever cared, not when your lips sweetly sucked on your chosen spot, drawing a deliberate bloom of color into his skin like you were signing your name on it. his breath would catch on the exhale, hand fisting tighter at the back of your head, and by the time you pulled back to admire your work, his chest was already rising too fast, staring up at you like you’d just done something sacred.
there was nothing uncouth about this, he thought.
“how come they come up so fast on you?” you’d ask later into his throat, thumb pressed flat over the one you’d just finished so you could feel the heat under it. and jack would smile at the ceiling because you’d asked him the same question every eight weeks like clockwork. “tell me,” you’d say, tapping the side of his torso lightly.
his hand would find the back of your thigh where you sat over his hips, and he’d say, into the top of your head, “‘cause i’m old, baby.” sighing, he’d add, “skin’s thin – ”
you’d cut him off by pressing a peck against his throat. “skin’s so pretty.”
he’d lose the thread of what he was saying entirely, a nonsensical sound that was meant to be a word leaving his mouth. “is that so?”
“mhm.” you’d press another peck, lower. “the prettiest.”
jack could definitely get used to this. he already had, if he was being honest.
jack had taken off his jacket when he got to your bar, robby sitting beside him. you were making their drinks in front of them when robby’s eyes snagged on jack’s neck, at the scatter of the marks, trailing in an almost intentional-looking line from his jaw down to where his collar cut off the view. some faded into soft, forgiving lilac, days old, while others sat dark and fresh, still tender-looking.
robby’s eyes had widened as he blew out a breath. “jesus, brother.” he’d shake his head slowly, fighting off a laugh. “everything okay?”
jack would just grin, tipping his glass toward you proudly. “never better.”
and you’d pause in the middle of pouring behind the bar, the ice in the shaker suddenly very loud in your ears. you’d never pegged yourself as insecure for how you and jack were, but even you were prone to the occasional intrusive thought – is this too much? are you too much? does everyone look at him and think the same thing robby just said out loud? – and it took embarrassingly little to knock the confidence out of you.
jack would find you a few days later, hunched over the coffee table, sleeves pushed up, a mess of embroidery floss and beads spread out in front of you. you’d startled when he came up behind you and your arms curled over your work like you were caught cheating on a test.
“whatcha doin’?”
“nothing.”
he’d sit behind you on the couch, legs bracketing your figure, and pull you in by the shoulders so you were leaning against the bottom of the couch. “can i help?”
“no.”
“i’m good with my hands. you know this.”
“this has nothing to do with you being a doctor,” you’d grumble fondly, leaning your head back against the couch to look up at him.
he’d smile instantly at the sight of your face, palms coming up to cup your cheeks as you looked at him upside down. “i wasn’t talking about being a doctor.”
“jack – ”
“let me help,” he’d say, words almost a plea. and you let him, to an extent. you’d handed him the spool to hold steady while you worked, let him cut the lengths of the floss when you measured them out, watched him take the task far more seriously than it required.
you’d finish the product two days later in bed (which was a whole mess now that you’d become one with the craft) with him lying beside you, watching. he’d propped himself up on his elbow, head resting in his palm, tracking the movement of your fingers, mesmerized. every so often he’d reach out with his hand to touch your calf, your back, your knee, because he found that he needed a point of contact even while doing nothing but watching.
“almost done,” you’d murmur, more to yourself then him.
“looks cute.”
you’d giggle conspiratorially to yourself as you reached over for the last piece – a tiny metal charm he couldn’t make out – threading it on and tying it off.
you’d reach over, tugging on his wrist – a little insistently – and he let out a small breath. “this for lil ol’ me?”
“what do you think?” you’d drawl sarcastically, tugging on the bracelet now on his wrist.
he’d let out a tiny huff, then turn his wrist over to examine it with a very unmistakeable glint of a smile. his eyes went to the little charm that caught under the lamplight, your initial, small and sitting right over his pulse.
“fuck,” he breathed out, heart seizing at your handiwork and the thought of you working yourself to the bone over him.
“i don’t care if you hate it,” you’d say immediately, crossing your arms over your chest as you thumped down against the mattress – all that hardwork of little beads had truly taken it out of you! “you’re never allowed to take it off.” you’d fix him with a pointed glare. “ever.”
he’d click his tongue, arm reaching out to gather you against him as you bashfully turned your face into his chest.
“i’m tired an’ my fingers hurt,” you’d murmur into his chest. “if you make fun of me i’ll actually cry.”
jack’d frown, briefly wondering what would’ve given you the impression that he’d ever find something so sickly sweet as this from you funny, when the truth was closer to the fact that you had, somehow, managed to undo something in him once again.
“not gonna make fun of you.” his hand would find the back of your head, slowly threading his fingers through your hair. he’d press his lips to the top of your skull, feeling himself smile at the idea.
“good. ‘cause there’s two.” you’d shove up off his chest and hold your wrist directly in front of his face, and his eyes caught on the same beads, floss, tied off on you. a little ‘J’ sat over your pulse. “obviously did mine first.”
“obviously.”
he’d take your hand and hold it up in the lamp, turning it a few degrees.
“no. do them together.” you’d grab his wrist, too, hauling it up beside yours, holding both of them very close to his face. “see?”
his hand would turn in yours until his palm was flat against your palm, the bracelets moving at an angle to sit by the bones of your wrists, both charms hanging side by side.
“that’s a good way to look at it,” he’d say, reverent. his fingers would slot through yours and close, and he’d bring the whole knot of it to his mouth, kissing your knuckle first, then the charm, then the inside of your wrist.
after the bracelet, you’d get more comfortable, especially after catching jack turning over his wrist randomly at red lights, before he went to bed. when you weren’t around, too. he’d look at it mid-conversation with one of the nurses like he’d forgotten they were talking, just tracing the little charm with his thumb. he’d pause mid-chart, tongue slightly sticking out, the corners of his eyes crinkled, as he looked at your initial on his wrist and waited out the hours before he could go home to you.
nobody’d noticed it until a patient’s mother pointed at it, aw’ing, as she asked, “your kid make that for you?”
ellis would look down at his wrist from beside him, brows shooting up. when jack didn’t respond, she did for him, saying, “he’s got a really committed girlfriend, actually. pretty sure that’s her handiwork.”
“it is,” jack’d say, puffing out his chest as he squared his shoulders. “she’s the best. i love her.”
ellis shared a look with the mother, shrugging, as though communicating that yeah, he’s like that all the time. he did – there’d be random moments in-between conversation where he’d just drop it in, entirely unrelated to the conversation. discussing someone’s discharge, he’d say you didn’t like the smell of scrubs after his doubles. while reviewing a resident’s chart, he’d casually mention you made the best grilled cheese he’d ever had, completely apropos of nothing, then go back to discussing whatever he was like he hadn’t just changed the topic.
jack wasn’t sure where you’d started getting the ideas from. but he’d never not loved seeing you committed. he’d act as if it was completely normal when you dressed him head-to-toe before he started his shift, eyes raking over him, then clicking your tongue as your eyes snagged on his wrist. jack would cock his head to the side, not bothering to hide the amusement at how he could practically see the lightbulb go off in your head.
you’d tug your hair out of your ponytail, then looped the scrunchie onto his instead, right above the bracelet.
he’d put his hand down by his side, doing a small motion of walking, watching his hand move with the pink silk, testing it out. then, he’d nod at you. “suits me.”
and you’d grin, all teeth showing, then wrap your arms around his neck as you pulled him down to press a peck against his lips. “obviously. it’s mine.”
jack felt, yet again, that heated rush. “the hair tie?”
you pressed a quick peck against his lips, patting his pecs twice as if to send him off. he immediately felt the loss of you, now wanting nothing more than to pull you back. he tried, arms coming up loosely at his sides, fingers curling to the memorized shape of your waist, but you’d walked away to grab his bag off the counter
“and the man wearing it.”
and god was he yours. he was sure that if you saw him throughout his days at work, even you’d reconsider him.
but maybe you wouldn’t, he supposed. you’d tucked a reusable coffee tumbler into the side of his work bag one morning (baristas being your biggest fear considering how good you knew he looked post-shift grabbing a coffee, all rumpled up in scrubs and bone-tired charm; read: the exact thing that had gotten a heart doodled on his cup and never would again if you had any say in it).
he hadn’t noticed it until he’d gotten to the cafe, taking it out absentmindedly thinking it was the same matte green thing he’d started using recently, and almost choked on air when he saw around a dozen of your kiss stains (from the lipstick that you loved to leave behind on the collars of one too many shirts already).
he smiled as he took the first sip of his coffee, snapping a selfie from a low angle to show the bottom that very clearly said whose property he was!
your reply came in under a minute. so cute! drink up.
he’d continue smiling like an idiot all the way to work, proudly holding his girl’s work in his hand all while robby assigned the leftover cases, eyes distracted by all the thorough kisses jack was gripping between his palm, the wrist above gleaming with your scrunchie and the bracelet.
“gonna start wearing scrubs with her name on ‘em next?” he’d say after walking him through everything.
jack shrugged, lips pursed in thought. then, he said, “if she wants.”
dana passed by, letting out a chuckle at the conversation. “jealousy’s showin’, robby.”
jack looked entirely too pleased with himself, and also eternally grateful, fully believing he got the better end of this deal and wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve you. he glanced down at the tumbler again, thumb finding one of the darker kiss marks near the base, and let himself sit in the unglamorous luck of being the one you spent your time on.
on a random wednesday night, jack would find himself digging through his wallet at the vending machine, hunting for exact change. shen and the new nurse behind him would be waiting, and shen would click his tongue behind jack impatiently.
“need your readers, old man?” shen would say.
“shut it,” jack would keep rifling through card slots.
the nurse leaned a shoulder against the machine, watching him work. “here, i can spot you, dr. abbot – ”
“nah. m’good for it,” jack would murmur, barely sparing a glance.
“you sure? i really don’t mind,” she’d say, leaning over in his direction slightly to peek down as his hands fumbled with the cash. “consider it a bribe. they told me at orientation to find the attending that answers questions. i think it’s you.”
shen made a sound from behind, clearly offended.
“don’t need bribing,” jack would say. “ask anyone whatever you want while you’re working. that’s the job.” he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “teaching hospital, after all.”
“sure, but not everybody teaches the same.” she’d tilt her gaze, eyes lingering on his jaw. “i’m on every wednesday for the forseeable future. so if you ever wanna grab coffee later, outside the teaching hospital.” she shrugged.
jack felt something fire in his brain, this felt off. he shifted back, brows rising, and his hands went to his collar without thinking. his fingers searched for the heart-shaped locket that usually sat right at the dip between his collarbones.
he made a sound low in his throat when he only found the smoothness of his scrub’s fabric. he patted again, finding it under his collar, invisible.
he yanked it free in one motion, holding it up against his chest like evidence, and shot shen a look of pure, wounded confusion. he didn’t like this! he only felt slightly satisfied when the charm caught the light again. this was probably how people felt when they found their keys, he supposed.
but this still didn’t feel right. which was why he turned his wallet around, thumb grazing over the picture you’d taken of yourself in a little photobooth in a bookstore. he held it up, forcing an awkward smile on his face.
“isn’t she pretty?” he’d say, bottom lip catching between his teeth as he tilted his neck to the side to look at it, too. couldn’t help it. whenever it came to you, there was a completely helpless pull in his eyes every single time he laid eyes on you, photograph or otherwise. he’d click his tongue, smiling properly now. “she can show you all the good spots in pittsburgh.”
because for jack, every new person was just a new person to talk about you with! it felt like the correct use of his mouth in any given moment where you weren’t the topic. the nurse said something polite in response that jack didn’t catch, too busy noticing the little crease in the photo where he’d folded the wallet shut too many times, thinking he really ought to get it laminated, or maybe a second copy for the car. he cut himself off there, aware he was spiraling, and just tucked the wallet back into his pocket, forgetting he even needed something from the vending machine.
a few minutes later, when shen would find jack scrolling on his phone, lips pursed, he’d ask jack, “whatcha doing there?”
“gotta check in on her,” jack would say simply, still feeling unbelievably rattled.
shen would hum, and jack could sense the slight hesitation in the man. when he snapped a short, what is it, shen would say, “maybe don’t mention the nurse.”
“why?” jack would drawl.
“‘cause we’re short-staffed and could use some nurses.”
“the hell’s that supposed to mean?” jack’d grumble, rolling his eyes as he clicked on your contact.
“means i think she’d scare off the new hire if she knew that she may have flirted with you.”
“she’s not scaring anyone off. she’s just gonna have something to say about this.” jack tutted his lips, eyes crinkling at the corners at the thought – already picturing the exact face you’d make and how you’d make sure to let him know he was in big trouble. he felt like a kid before the night before a field trip, already rifling through what he’d wear, what he’d say, and how he’d let you fuss over him the entire time and (hopefully) come out with even more bits and bobs to show off on him tomorrow! “i can’t wait.”
it was the only way he could get through the shift, knowing that you’d be just as mad at him as he was at himself for being flirted with.
he’d tell you later during the afternoon about it. the hours after, the rest of the shift, may have made him a little nervous. the excitement had worn off and now he felt a little (actually, a lot) uneasy about the simple fact that someone may have thought of him as available.
you’d notice it as your head lay against his chest, catching his wrist to stop his fidgeting with the corner of the pillow.
“what’s wrong – ”
“i’m sorry,” he’d say before you could even finish asking.
you’d turn your neck slightly to look up at him, eyes narrowing as you gripped the bottom of his face with your fingers. he found himself leaning into the touch immediately, the tight anxiousness in his body loosening the second your hands made contact, despite said contact being closer to scruffing than a caress. it made no difference to him; jack had been rung like a bell too many times to have a say in the matter now.
“what’d you do?”
“nothing,” he’d immediately. “just – i think a new nurse flirted with me today – ”
“what?” you practically squeaked out. “you think?”
“asked me for coffee.” his jaw shifted under your fingers. “outside the hospital – yeah. that’s flirting.”
“no shit, jack.” your hand dropped from his face.
“i showed her your picture in my wallet and told her – ” he dared to take a peek down at you, watching the way your nose had scrunched up, and your lips had curved into a frown. his fingers found the corner of your mouth, brushing the pads over. he was sure he was mirroring the same expression as you.
you’d huff out a breath after looking at him for a long time in silence. you knew that jack would never do anything, obviously. but that possessive itch you simply couldn’t ever kick perked up at the thought of some stranger whose attention he’d caught. hadn’t you branded him enough?
“i hated it,” jack would say, tipping his head down slightly to get closer to your face.
you’d groan, bringing your palm up to cover his face. “well, i hate it, too!”
“then do somethin’ about it,” he’d say, words muffled against your palm.
your palm would slide over his face – you really couldn’t ever push it out of view, especially when it was right there in front of you – and settle against his cheek, giving it a light tap as you scowled. “what more can i do?”
he’d tut softly, eyes glinting with something mischievous. the gall on him! you could practically see his pupils get blown out in real time from this angle, all the pretty hazel being shadowed over, the darkness swallowing the color at the edges like ink bleeding through paper.
“i mean.” he’d tap his finger against your lip, listing them off. “we’ve got the bracelet. the tumbler. the scrunchie. the pen. the lighter – which, thank you for, by the way, because i quit – ”
“could light a candle for once,” you mumbled.
“yeah, used it to light up dana’s cigarette instead. you scandalized her.” his eyes would go up to the ceiling in faux-thought as he continued, “the keychain with our picture on it. my stethoscope.” he sounded so fond, and you felt the words rumble up through his ribs and into your cheek where it lay flat against his chest.
the pad of his finger dragged down your bottom lip a little on every name he counted, tacky and warm.
“and she still flirted,” you’d mumble around his finger, almost sadly. dramatic, you knew you were, but you couldn’t help it. jack was like your little diorama and sometimes you wished you could lock him up in a glass case. you hmf’ed, teeth impulsively catching at the top of his finger to bite it slightly.
he’d sigh, letting his index stay there, letting you have it. the rest of his fingers awkwardly maneuvered down to cradle your jaw, eyes raking over you. “fuck, you’re pretty,” he’d say, tapping his fingers slightly under your chin to punctuate it.
you breathed out against finger, letting it leave the grip of your teeth. “don’t try to get out of it,” you’d murmur, very obviously moved by him.
he tapped your chin once more, tipping your face up so he could keep looking. “i’m on your side. i’ve been on your side.” when you playfully rolled your eyes, he’d click his tongue, shaking his head. “i think it’s your fault, actually.”
you’d blink at him, thrown off. “excuse me?”
he tipped his chin up, free palm gliding across the expanse of his neck as he hummed.
“if i recall, my best girl would have said i’m lookin’ like a single man.” he’d let the words do their work on you, so very fishing and unashamed, while his palm kept moving over his throat, tracking the tendon down to where the locket lay tipped on its side in the hollow of it.
you made a small, nonsensical noise, eyes fixed on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “you don’t look single. i put so much on you,” you’d say, the words coming out of you with no weight.
“and i love ‘em all,” he’d say. “but they’re so sweet, angel.”
“oh, i’m sorry,” you’d say through a laugh, eyes narrowing, as you moved your arm up to curl your fingers around his wrist by his throat. “is my hard work too nice for you?”
“i just think you could be a little meaner to go along with it,” he’d say casually, musing. he’d shake your fingers off his wrist, only to grab your own and guide it to his neck. “c’mon. gonna leave me like this?”
your fingers would spread over his throat, and his hand pressed yours in a little further. you could feel the corner of his jaw working under your littlest finger as his pulse thudded against your palms.
your lips would curve into a smile off your own accord, the familiarity of what you wanted to do settling over you after you’d forgotten how good it felt. you’d gotten so good at this and it’d been a long three weeks without doing it. what a stupid three weeks.
then you’d turn your body around, maneuvering yourself so your legs would bracket his. jack would immediately settle into a better position to accomodate you, shoving himself up on one elbow, then another, and his hands would find your hips to steer you down onto him.
it didn’t take long for your mouth to latch onto his neck, and jack let out the biggest sigh of relief at the pressure, so embarrassing, the nature of it, but he’d hardly care. he wasn’t sure what had happened to his girl, because whatever had happened to you had very clearly affected him, too. it’d be evident in how he would go so loose-limbed under your mouth like he was a dog being scratched in the right place.
“you’re so weird,” you’d say against his neck after a small ‘pop’ as you unlatched. “i think you like this more than me.”
“not really a competition, baby,” he’d say, eyes shut. “but yeah.” he’d find the back of your head again, tracing the shell of your ear. “why’d you stop anyway?”
“didn’t stop,” you’d murmur, softly biting at the soft of the skin beside his adam’s apple before your head would drop to his shoulder, nuzzling into the curve of his neck. “wasn’t a decision.”
he’d snort, knowing you were lying and also about the fact that you thought you could get away with it. “liar.”
you’d stay there a while, tucked, breathing him in as you fiddled with the short curls at the nape of his neck. “i don’t know,” you’d say eventually. “didn’t want people making fun of you. or – i don’t know. people thinking you’re the guy whose girlfriend does that to him.”
jack’d feel his features twist. “pretty sure i am the guy whose girlfriend does that to him.” at your groan, he’d add, with a small, chuckle (even though he’d felt his entire mind race at the idea that there’d been a part of you you’d tried to take away for his sake, a part he loved to no bounds, too), “i like being the guy. y’know this.”
“i know.”
“then what’re we doing here?” he’d pull you in by the hips.
“i don’t know,” you’d say through a groan, suddenly feeling silly for ever taking it so seriously. “never listen to robby again?”
jack huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “robby?” he’d tap your hips twice. “seriously? pretty sure just wanted one. of his own.”
and jack believed it! though he’d never, ever want to know if his best friend is truly jealous because that’d mean you’d been running around in some other man’s mind. jack found he had no interest whatsoever in that thought. for all he knew, you simply were his: to think about, to know, to picture. if that made him a small man about it, well, he’d been called worse by better.
when he’d feel you ease under his hold, he’d grab the soft of your hips with his whole palm. “now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he’d murmur. “you’ve got some backlog to make up for.”
“you’re so greedy.”
“and i’d like you to keep making me things,” he’d add, almost sheepishly, trying to force his voice to casual.
“greedy,” you’d repeat, letting out a chuckle.
if you could know what it felt like with you, you, too, would be greedy. and you’d spend the entirety of the next few hours letting your mouth go over his skin, fidgeting with the little things you’d accessorized him with. you’d turn over the bracelet around his wrist so the charm sat just right, thumb the scrunchie down then back up, untwist the knot that’d gotten on his chain he hadn’t noticed.
he would deal with the questions later, which meant he wouldn’t deal with them at all. it was nobody else’s business but yours, anyway. he wanted to be nobody else’s business but yours; he was sure he’d been conditioned in some way. god, all these years and he’d gone and turned himself into a dog that hears a leash, completely content with it, with the idea of spending the rest of his life at your mercy, at your beck and call for whatever else you decided to put on him next.
somewhere in the middle of it all, you’d get an idea. you’d crawl further up his body as he lay horizontal, spent completely, and prop up your elbow over his bare chest. he’d crack an eye open at the feel of your gaze.
“uh oh,” he’d say, eyeing the mischievous curl of your mouth. “what is it?”
“you should get a tattoo,” you’d say.
“oh? of?”
“me.”
“okay,” he’d say, eye falling back shut again. that was all he had left. you’d taken it out of him and now he was down to short words, arms heavy at his sides, palms open on the sheet, and mouth slightly parted.
“will you?”
he’d hum in response.
“okay.” you’d drum your fingers against the side of your cheek, thinking. “you can get a qr code to my instagram right here.” you’d tap the flat pane beneath his collarbone twice.
he clicked his teeth, letting out a short laugh. “no.”
“why not?”
“‘cause.” he’d open his eyes then, furrowing his brows. “don’t need some random guy scanning me and finding your pictures.” his hand would come up off the sheet and press down at your back, forcing your elbows to give out so you’d land flat against his chest. “you wanna become famous, you build your own fanbase.”
he’d move his hands between your shoulder blades to keep you tucked there against him.
“what about,” you’d start, words muffled against his chest, “do not flirt.” you’d maneuver one hand out from between you, finding the one he lay on the mattress as you traced your fingertip down the top of his index finger. “here.”
he’d sigh. “no.” then, he’d move his hand up from your back to your hair, fingers disappearing underneath it, to lift your head up slightly from his chest, then pull it down to his face, mouth capturing your lips. making a satisfied sound when you sank into it, his fingers would fingers yours where they still lay slumped against the top of his palm, intertwine them, and pull them up between your faces.
he’d break the kiss just enough to speak against your mouth. “i think i got one.” he caught your top lip between his teeth for a second, pulling for barely a second, then settled his head back against the pillow, turning over to look at your hands. “think you’ll like it.”
“okay,” you’d say a little dumbly because your mouth was still stinging where he’d caught it.
his thumb would move slowly across the back of yours, brows faintly furrowed. he’d take long enough that you’d start to shift against him, and he’d have to curl his palm around your shoulder to still you.
after a moment, he’d turn your joined hands over to let go, and spread his fingers wide beside his head on the pillow, nudging your attention onto it with his eyes.
he knew it was lots of big things wrapped in a small one, and he knew you’d know it, too.
“here.” he’d tap the base of his fourth finger with his thumb. “your name, right here.”
he’d hear your breath hitch, and then you’d promptly duck down to nuzzle your face against the crook of his neck. letting out a short, amused laugh, he’d bring up the palm to the back of your skull again, murmuring, “would you like that?”
you’d nod, face still hidden.
“s’that a yes?”
you’d nod again, and his hands would tap your head lightly twice. “words, baby.”
“i’d want to pick the font,” you’d mumble eventually.
“gotcha,” he’d say, pressing his lips to your hairline.
word count: 4.6k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, rape/non-con (bc of implied somnophilia), afab reader (no mention of gender, but i do use “clit” and “pussy” still, sorry!), stalking, self harm (he hurts himself so you'll take care of him oop-), blood and mild injury, alcohol (you both drink together), murder (yep!), possessive behavior, unprotected sex, squirting, size difference, delusional thoughts, might be the tamest smut ive written in a while (this is indeed a warning!)
summary: pope is a hopeless romantic. he sees things that are simply not there. he thinks you love him like he loves you. but you have no clue where he got that idea.
so he needs to show you that you want him just as much as he wants you.
a/n: based on this ask, usually I dont do requests but I was called in to work again and this sparked joy so i wrote it up on my shift real quick for funsies!
hope it's a sick read ♡
There was only one good thing about being put in the hole. It meant Pope got to see you after.
His beacon of hope. His ray of sunshine after more than a week of solitude and darkness.
Seeing you meant it was over.
“You cut yourself real good this time, Andrew.” You sigh, patting the cut he made in his lower abdomen gently with some disinfectant. “How does this always happen when you get out of that hellhole?”
“Keep snagging on the doorframe on the way out.” There's a piece of sharp metal that Pope is privy to on the door to the hole. He always makes sure to get caught against it before he heads out, which gives him ample reason to see you.
“They need to get that fixed. You'll come in here with your organs spilling out next time if they don't.” You brush your fingers lightly along the scars from the many other times he's done this.
Pope loves the feel of your hands on his skin. He doesn't hide how hard his cock is in reaction to your touch.
You always have the cutest look on your face when you notice he's hard. You never mention it.
He likes that you're shy about it. He knows you must be looking forward to the day he gets out of here and can finally be inside of you.
“There won't be a next time.” He tells you, his hand grabbing onto yours, squeezing it. “I'll be out soon.”
“Oh really?” You had no idea.
Pope likes how you're pretending to be surprised. He is certain you've been counting down the days like he has. Just a few more weeks and he'll be free.
“They approved my appeal. I'll be out even sooner than we thought.” He laces his fingers in yours and you squeeze his hand back.
Because you assume he's feeling a lot of pain and needs someone to steady him. You have no idea that Pope believes you're showing him a sign of affection.
It's your job to care about people, especially the prisoners at your workplace. Someone has to do this work and you have lots of compassion and empathy.
Traits that Pope reads as love and desire.
“That's wonderful, Andrew.” You say to him with a smile before letting go of his hand so you can start bandaging him up. “What do you plan to do when you get out? Got anything special planned?”
He smiles back at you, loving that you're so curious about what he has in store for you once he's free from this place. He has so much planned for the two of you.
Pope can't wait to touch you like he's been dreaming about since the first day he met you. It takes all of his willpower not to grab you and kiss you right here. He settles for taking a lock of your hair between his fingers, memorizing the feel of it in his hand.
“I have a lot to do when I'm out.” He tells you and you don't know why chills run down your spine. His words are rather ominous.
Which is why you say back, “just be sure not to do anything too crazy, okay? I would hate to see you back here.”
“Don't worry about me. I promise I will never come back here.” He would never jeopardize his time with you. He wants to be free to hold you, care for you, love you.
Pope will not risk doing anything that would hurt his chance at a happy life with you.
“Well that's good.” You finish bandaging him up. “Since I worry the next nurse won't be as kind to you.”
Your words startle him. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” You realize you let it slip that you'd be leaving this place too so you might as well just reveal, “I took another job. Better pay. I start in a few weeks.”
“Where?” He asks because he needs to know where he'll be moving to.
“Just a local hospital. Near the beach.” You can't wait. You love the beach.
“I live near the beach.” He should've known you wouldn't want to keep working here once his time here was up.
“That's right! I think you've told me before. How nice. Glad you have a place to go to after this. Not everyone is that blessed.”
Now Pope realizes that you must've changed jobs for him. Because you knew he lived by the beach. You wanted to be closer to him. He should've known you wouldn't want to have to commute so far from him for work.
“I'm lucky to have you.” He leans in, unable to help himself anymore, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. “You've helped me survive this place.”
“You did that all on your own, Andrew.” You give him a smile, stepping away so he can't kiss you again.
Try as you might, it's difficult to avoid inmates displaying some forms of affection towards you. So, as long as it's harmless, you don't bat an eyelash at it or overreact. You won't be working here for very long anymore anyways.
What's the harm in letting him give you a light peck on the head?
More harm than you'll ever see coming.
Because once you've started your new job, you see Pope again.
At your hospital. Hurt.
“Andrew?” You rush up to his bedside, concern coloring your features. “What happened? What are you doing here?”
“I broke up a bar fight and the guy smashed a beer bottle over my head.” He turns so you can see the cut they've stitched up on the side of his temple.
“Did you press charges?”
He shakes his head. “I don't like getting involved with the cops.”
“I'm sorry this happened to you.” You let out a sad sigh. “How long have you been out?”
“Just a few days.” He wanted to see you sooner but it took him a while to figure out where you worked.
“Are you…holding up alright?” You sit down on the stool beside him. “There's some pamphlets I can give you of resources that might help your transition.”
“I'm alright. Glad I got to see you.” He puts his hand out and waits for you to hold it.
You know you shouldn't. It was just something you let happen because he was in pain. But he is in pain now so…you lay your hand in his. His hand engulfs yours, holding it gently but firmly.
“I missed you.” He says to you, his eyes full of love that you don't notice. “You're a better nurse than the one that stitched me up just now.”
You chuckle. “Don't let them catch you saying that.”
“It's the truth. You took really good care of me. I hope I can do the same for you one day.” His words don't phase you the way they should.
“Are you thinking about going into the medical field?” You interpret what he's saying as interest in helping others.
“Do you think I should?” He wants your input.
“I think you can be anything you want to be, Andrew.” You squeeze his hand, your tone soft and sweet. “You've got a long life ahead. Spend it doing things that make you happy.”
“I will.” Pope is so deeply moved by your words. You have always been such a wonderful light in his life.
Where would he be without you?
He needs to keep you safe, to make sure no harm will ever come to you.
That's why Pope takes care of anyone who seems to linger around you for too long.
“Do you have an alibi for the night of the 5th?” The police officer at your door asks.
“I was at work. You can check the cameras and my timesheet. Why, what's wrong?” This is the third visit you've gotten from the police in the last few weeks.
And again, it's the same scenario.
A guy you went out with ends up dead.
You're the connecting dot but you have alibis for the time of each murder, so the police can't pin this on you. It may just be a strange coincidence.
“Is there anyone in your life who may have it out for men you've shown interest in?” The detective for this case wants to figure out something, anything to help solve these murders.
You shake your head. “I mean, I'm an ER nurse. I see tons of patients every shift. It could be one of them but I'm under oath. I can't tell you about any of them.”
“If you think of anything, don't hesitate to call.” You take the detective's card.
The card disappears the next day. You don't know where it went. You should've saved the number but you've been so tired from back to back shifts that you spaced. You figure if you need it, you can go down to the station.
For now, you decide to stop dating. If there is someone out there going after the men in your life, it's better for you not to put anyone else on their radar.
You don't think anything strange is happening. Other than the fact that you swear you were out of cereal but suddenly the box is full again. Or the milk in your fridge was supposed to go bad tomorrow, but now it's good for another week.
You've been exhausted from work lately so you blame your mental mishaps on that. But you can't remember going to the store and replenishing anything.
You plop down on your couch after a long shift, leaning your head back. You pass out right there. You're sure you did.
But you wake up in your bed.
You don't remember getting up from the couch. You don't remember putting on your pajamas. You don't remember tucking yourself into bed…
Nor do you remember the dream you had that resulted in so much slick to build up between your legs.
You touch yourself, feeling how wet you are. How sensitive your clit is, how swollen it is to the touch. It's like you were rubbing it in your sleep.
Did you?
“You look beat.” One of your fellow nurses comments at the end of your next shift. “Having trouble sleeping?”
“No, actually, I've been sleeping really well.” You can't wrap your head around it.
As weird as it has been, you have been sleeping great. But you're troubled as to why.
Because you keep waking up with that same, overstimulated feeling between your legs. Sometimes, you even ache inside.
As if your body wants something buried deep, like it craves it.
It's been a long time since you've had sex. You could just be needing to satisfy the itch.
You aren't looking for a one night stand, though.
At least you aren't until you run into Pope on the way home from work. He waves to you and you wave back, unsure how to turn him away when he starts walking towards you.
“Just got off work?” He asks, even though he knows.
He memorized your schedule. He knows exactly when you'll be home every day.
“Yeah. You?” You remember he said he lived around here. “Out for a walk?”
He nods. “Was thinking of grabbing a drink. There's a nice bar nearby. Can I buy you one?”
“A drink?” You should say no. This is definitely not the first time a patient has asked you out.
But a drink does sound nice…
“I want to thank you for always being so kind to me.” Pope says with so much sincerity that you don't see it as manipulative.
That's why you agree to the drink. “Sure. Just one though. I'm a lightweight.”
You follow Pope to the bar and it is a nice bar. You both sit at the counter. He orders a beer. You order the special for the night to try.
You find it oddly easy to talk to Pope. It's like the two of you have known each other for so long. He knows exactly how to make you laugh and tells such crazy stories.
You have another drink somewhere down the line. Then another. Because you reason to yourself that you're off work tomorrow so you can live a little.
You're a bit tipsy by the time the bar closes. Pope offers to walk you home and you agree, since you live a couple blocks away. He holds your hand the whole way, keeping you steady beside him.
“Thanks, Andrew.” You lean into him a little more than you should. “I think I went a bit overboard. I don't usually drink that much, I swear.”
“I know. It's okay. You had fun.” He's watched you on many dates not finish your drink. But you did with him.
And that makes him feel special.
Because you're comfortable enough around him to show him this alternative side of yourself, the one you hide from other people, worried you're bothering them with your mindless babbling.
“I did have a lot of fun.” You tell him, smiling up at him. “Thank you for paying. I'll have to treat you next time.”
“I'd like that.” He likes that there will be a next time.
Usually you don't go on more than one date with someone. Because if you do decide to, he kills them before you can.
He doesn't have to worry about that now.
You seem fixated on him, which he is grateful for.
Because you let him kiss you when the two of you get to your door. You let him press you up against your front door, his body flush to your own, his kisses more feverish than anything you've felt recently. You have to stop yourself from moaning when he deepens the kiss and pins you in place with his body.
“Wait, Andrew.” You try to catch your breath so you can say, “I should sober up a little first if we're going to do this.”
“Can I kiss you while we wait?” He doesn't mind waiting, since you're open to having him touch you. This is what he's been waiting for. He can wait a little longer.
“Okay.” You nod, your heart hammering in your chest.
You don't normally do anything like this.
This might be a first. Having a one night stand with someone you met at work.
A one night stand with someone you met at a prison…
But your mind seems to ignore that bit.
Because the moment you open your door and walk inside with Pope, he locks it behind him before dragging you to your couch, pulling you onto his lap, then kissing you with that same unwavering desire he had at the door.
You feel how hard he is underneath you, grinding up against you, your body aching to know what he would feel like inside of you. Your brain flashes to the memories of seeing the outline of his cock while you would treat him. You tried to ignore it, but it was difficult to when he was so big.
You've never had a cock that big before. He could make you cum just from you rubbing against it.
You haven't felt this riled up in a long time…
It must be the liquor lowering your inhibitions. Or the fact that Pope has tugged off his shirt and you're able to stare at his muscular chest in an intimate setting, not a medical one.
Your fingertips trace along the scars on his lower abdomen, the ones you treated. It makes his cock throb under you and you bite back a moan.
“I want to hear the sounds you make.” He reaches up, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip to stop you from biting it. “Don't hide them from me.”
You've never been seduced before but this might be the closest you've ever felt to being completely seduced. Because he's staring at you with so much desire in his eyes, you feel like you're drowning in his intense gaze.
Then, you remember, “wait, I don't think I have any condoms.”
“It's okay.” He was never going to fuck you with a condom anyways. “I just want to go down on you.”
Pope knows exactly how to make you cum on his tongue by now. He's done it plenty of times in your sleep. You'll surely let him fuck you once your pussy is aching to be filled.
“Really?” You've never had a guy offer before.
“I want to make you feel good, like you have for me.” Pope leans in, giving you another kiss, making you melt into him.
“It was my job to make you feel better.” You don't want him to give you too much credit for just doing what you were paid to do.
“And now it's my job to make you cum.”
Pope proceeds to haul you up by your legs, wrapping them around his hips as he carries you so easily to your bedroom. He lays you down on your back before kneeling in front of you, his hands at the waistband of your pants.
“I-I should shower first.” You've been at work all day. You're sweaty and you should rinse off a bit.
“You're perfectly clean.” He waits for your permission. “Let me do this, please.”
You put your hand over your eyes, shielding yourself from the embarrassment that floods you when you allow yourself to feel this much lust to tell him, “okay, if you're sure.”
Pope doesn't wait a second longer. He pulls off your pants, leaving you in just your underwear. He plants kisses in a line, trailing up your thigh until you can feel his warm breath over your soaked underwear. Shyness overwhelms you at the realization of how wet you are. You can't believe you're this turned on. It's like your body yearns for the pleasure it knows he can provide.
Like it's tasted it before, many, many times.
Even if you don't know anything about it, your body remembers.
That's why when Pope tugs your underwear off and finally dips his tongue inside of you, you gasp, startled at how quickly he found where you like being touched, the tip of his tongue flicking that spot inside of you over and over again until your legs are shaking.
“Andrew, how, oh god—” You're already so close to cumming. You could explode any second now.
You do when he rolls your clit between his fingers at the same time as he ravages you with his tongue. You grip the sheets beneath you like you might topple over if you don't, your orgasm hitting you so hard.
You hear him lick his lips. You must've made a mess.
You go to apologize but then Pope says, “can I do that again?”
And you stop resisting him entirely.
You always told yourself that you had to maintain some kind of decorum, especially in bed. It's an incredibly vulnerable experience to let someone unravel you completely.
But you can't seem to care about appearances right now.
Because the moment you nod, Pope is back to playing with your clit, swirling circles around it perfectly with his tongue and you just let loose.
You don't even register how loud you're being, how the things coming from your mouth must sound to your neighbors. You couldn't care less when Pope is making you cum more than you've ever cum in bed before.
And he hasn't even fucked you yet.
But you want him to.
You want him to desperately when your mind drifts to how big he is.
“Are you clean?” You ask him, against your best judgment. “Have you slept anyone since you got out of prison?”
He shakes his head. “I've only wanted to fuck you.”
“Then you can.” You need him to. “If you want to.”
Pope pulls off his pants immediately, kicking them off before climbing on top of you, dragging your body upwards so your head is nicely cushioned by your pillows. He stares down at you, his eyes drifting to your chest so you pull off your shirt, letting him see you completely naked now.
It's even better when you're awake. He loves getting to look you in the eyes while he's touching you, his hands siding up and down your bare skin, caressing you all over.
“You're beautiful.” And all his. Every piece of you is all his. “I can't wait to be inside of you.”
Your hands drag down the length of his chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin under your palms. Then, you wrap your hands around his cock, feeling it twitch in response. You can barely wrap your hands around it.
“It'll fit.” He doesn't like the worried look on your face.
Pope has prepped you enough these last few weeks. You can surely take him. He would've fucked you in your sleep but he decided he wanted to wait until he could hear you scream his name while he pounded into you.
“Come here.” He lays down beside you, pulling you so you're facing him. “We'll take it slow. I'll use my fingers to loosen you up.”
“I don't want to be the only one feeling good.” You feel a little too spoiled by his generosity. “I can put you in my mouth?”
He leans forward, shaking his head so you can feel his nose brushing against yours as he does, “I only want to be buried inside your warm pussy. Let me get you ready first, okay?”
His hand slips between your legs and you spread them, making it easier for him to thrust a finger inside of you. You cling onto his shoulders, unprepared for how thick his finger would feel. You hadn't noticed how big his hands were…
“Focus on me.” He turns your attention back to his lips pressing against yours, kissing you again.
You kiss him back, your tongue wanting to taste his. He smiles against your lips before thrusting another finger inside of you, stretching you out more. He draws out a moan from you when his fingers curl, finding the same spot his tongue was flicking earlier. He starts thrusting his fingers right there, over and over until you're grabbing a hold of his hair, pulling him flush to your body, your hips grinding against his hand.
“Andrew, I'm going to cum.” You lean your forehead against his, your breaths so heavy as you let out, “oh god, it's coming, I'm going to cum—”
He steals your breath away right as you squirt all over his fingers, his tongue slipping into your mouth, denying you of the air you so desperately need while your orgasm shoots through you. You hold onto him tighter, not wanting to let go, not wanting to be apart from him.
“Please, I need you.” You want him inside of you right now.
He nods, climbing on top of you, pulling his fingers out of you with a pop that makes your whole body convulse. “I hope you do that on my cock.”
“Just give it to me already.” You whine and he loves it.
Pope has been waiting to see you this needy. You're absolutely everything he has ever wanted.
Such an eager partner.
He lines his cock up and then slowly pushes into you. You feel like you're being torn apart, the pressure unlike anything you've felt before. He is really big.
“Relax.” He presses his hand down on your lower belly, kneading right there. “If you let me in, you'll feel me right here. It'll feel amazing, so breathe and don't fight it.”
You look down, at where his hand is, at how deep he'll be inside of you. He feels you loosen up, letting him in.
“Good job.” He praises you when he's halfway inside of you. “Just a little more to go.”
“There's more?” You can't believe it…
“You'll take it.” He starts slowly rolling his hips, pushing a bit more of himself inside of you with every stroke. “Almost there.”
Such a wave of bliss crashes through you when Pope finally hilts. You open your arms up, wanting to hold him. He welcomes it, hooking his arms under you to hug you back.
“If you start moving, I'm going to lose it.” You tell him, your nails digging into his back already. “I might hurt you.”
“Make me bleed.” He invites you to tear up his back. “You'll treat me after.”
You want to laugh at his joke but then you are immediately hit with him ramming his cock deeper into you and your nails actually do slice into him when you drag them down his back. You continue to claw into him as he pounds harder into you, his cock rubbing up against every spot inside of you that makes you see stars.
Your vision blurs completely once your orgasm hits. You've never cum from penetration before. It's a different kind of orgasm, your pussy milking his cock, wanting him to fill you up with his release.
You want it too. You're consumed with thoughts you never thought you'd have.
All because he's fucking you like he owns you. Like your body is his completely.
“Say my name when you cum.” He instructs, since he knows he's getting close.
And you are a great listener because you repeat his name over and over again with every orgasm that rolls through your body, “Andrew.”
He doesn't last much longer, his release spilling deep inside of you. You didn't know how warm it would feel. Or how addictive that feeling is.
Sex has never felt so fulfilling before.
Pope lays beside you and pulls you in for a kiss. The two of you kiss until he's soft and slides out of you. Then, he takes you into your bathroom with him.
You shower together. He dries your hair for you. You let him have a toothbrush so he can brush his teeth because for some reason, you don't like the thought of him leaving.
You want him to stay the night. You want him to stay every night.
Because you have to feel that again.
Once you find him something to wear, the two of you lay down in your bed together. He wraps his arms around you, tugging you to lay on his chest. You don't resist, closing your eyes, listening to his soft heartbeat.
“Be careful, Andrew.” You tell him, a bit nervous.
“What's wrong?” He really doesn't like when you get that worried look on your face.
“It might just be a coincidence but…the last few guys I've gone out with have ended up dead. I just…I don't want that to happen to you.” You cuddle closer to him, clinging onto him.
“So, does that mean we're dating?” He elects to ignore your concern since you have nothing to worry about.
He won't kill himself, after all. He will kill anyone else that tries to get close to you, though. Hopefully no one tries anymore. It was difficult enough to not get caught.
“Would you want to date me?” Suddenly, you're all shy.
He likes it when you have this bashful look in your eye. “Yes, I would. I like you a lot.”
Actually, he loves you but he'll wait until he's sure you love him back before telling you.
“I like you too.” You smile into his chest, your eyes getting droopy with sleep. “I can't wait to spend more time with you.”
You're out like a light, the warmth of him snuggling close so comforting. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before laying his head back and looking up at the ceiling.
So very grateful everything worked out exactly the way he planned.
And he hopes it stays that way.
Because if it doesn't, he'll have to do something drastic.
Pope would rather not have to resort to that. He'd rather you stay content in his arms just like this.
Forever.
a/n: so in the original ask, the end bit was to have him kidnap you and make you his, which is something I do plan on writing in the follow up to this, where you inevitably find out he's been killing people and you freak out. looking forward to that if people are interested!
hope you enjoyed the read ♡ big thanks to @peachjellyy for the lovely idea! made my night shift a bit more fun hehe ~
summary: you broke up with titus danforth this morning. by nightfall you’re running through his family’s forest with a seven-minute head start and one rule: if he catches you before sunrise, you marry him.
You never thought you’d live to see this day. But it’s here.
You’ve broken up with Titus.
“You know too much.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“You know too much.” he said again. “I can’t just… let you go. Rejoin the rest of the world, not while you know what you know. I know you see the dilemma.”
Fuck.
“Well, what’s my word gonna do against your family’s? Or the councils’?” You offer. It could lead to nothing, but it’s worth trying all the angles. “You could simply claim I’m not mentally well and have me sent to a psychiatric facility. I’m sure it’s been done before.”
“And how long until you sweettalk a guard long enough for him to listen and start a rumor?” He argues, shaking his head with a tut. “We can’t have that, you see?”
“I haven’t said a word all these years. What makes you think I'd start now, when I know my freedom—my life—would depend on me keeping my mouth shut?” You argue, trying, hoping mostly, to reach an agreement.
But Titus… he has his firm set of opinions.
“It can’t happen,” he shrugs, squaring his shoulders, clasping his hands in front of his body.
“Titus-“
“But see, I am not an unfair man, especially with you,” he starts, and just going by the look on his eye, you know this won’t be nice. “So, I propose a deal.”
“I-“
“We play a game,” he begins to explain. And holy shit, those are some dreadful words to hear from a council member, from a Danforth, especially if you know what his family does. What people like him are like. “It won’t be official, of course. But the rules will be basically the same. You run, hide, and if you make it till morning, I’ll let you go. If not…”
“You’ll kill me?” You question, slightly (very) terrified of the answer. You know he has the strength in him, the dexterity, the methods.
He scoffs. “No, of course not. What good would you do me dead? If I catch you… you’ll marry me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. If you win, you go. If I win, you’ll marry me,” he repeats, firmer this time. “We’ll have a small ceremony, move into the house I bought for us—before you decided to be an insolent little bitch and broke up with me—and live there as a couple, as we should. And we’ll have children, to inherit my name, my legacy.”
He’s insane. There is no way he means this, is there? You hesitate before saying anything, staring at him, trying to read his face. But all you see there is… that he means it. He’s set on this.
You’ll have to try to find your way out of this somehow.
“Well, that’s hardly fair, is it?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest, hiding the shaking of your hands. “You know the complex better than I do. How would I be able to hide?”
“I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“But what about the rules?”
“Anything goes. Except killing, of course.”
The more he talks, the more you realize there’s no way out of this. You will have to play.
And yet you hesitate. He’s made it clear he can’t let you go, so even if you win, what’s stopping him from keeping you anyway? What’s stopping the Council from having you quietly disposed of the moment you’re no longer under Titus’ control? In the official games, Le Bail’s rules are absolute. Unbreakable. People explode for breaking them. But this? This is unofficial. There’s no contract, no supernatural enforcement, no consequences for going back on his word.
All you have is his word.
You almost ask. You can feel the question sitting right there —his word, and what it’s actually worth—but you swallow it back down. What would be the point? If he says yes, you have no way of knowing if he means it. If he says no…
Well. You’d rather not find out what comes after no.
So instead you just look at him for a moment, and then nod.
“Fine,” you say. “I’ll play.”
He was gracious enough —if that word can even apply to him— to give you some kind of head start. He let you leave the mansion before he did, which is technically the bare minimum, but in these circumstances is practically generous.
Your headstart is seven minutes. Seven.
You force yourself to think fast, clear and precise, which actually takes a lot of effort when you know your crazy ex boyfriend is literally hunting you down.
The thing about his family’s complex—you think as your feet start moving— is that it’s huge. It has a casino resort, the golf course, stylish lobbies, the kitchen, the laundry room and a gazillion other rooms you’re probably unaware of. The downside? Titus is aware of all of them. And he has eyes and ears everywhere. You can’t assume he’ll play fairly, not when it comes to you and the risk of losing you. The property will be crawling with employees that could, and probably would, report back to him on sight.
So, you choose the most even terrain you could think of under duress.
The forest.
You run straight to it, trying not to be unsettled by how unfamiliar it feels.
Sure, in the two years you were with Titus, you’ve been in the forest a few times, but it was never alone, always with him. Once it was to get to know the terrain when you started dating, the second is when he taught you how to shoot; once he’d revealed enough about his family for you to understand that your life was always at risk simply by being with him. And oh, there was a third time too, but that one was to fuck.
You try not to think much about the latter, instead, you try to focus on the first visit, the tour, trying to recall whatever useful information he’d given about the forest that you can possibly remember right now.
And as it turns out, you can’t remember shit. Not under all this pressure, not when you know he’s following you.
So you run deep into the woods, with no sense of direction or idea about the depths of it, you just run and run, trying to find somewhere with enough coverage to stop and think of something. Of a strategy to win.
Coming up with a strategy is difficult though. You could always just hide, and stay alert for any noises or signs that he’s close by, but then what? You run and confirm that you’re there by making a whole lot of fucking noise in a forest that feels like it’s holding its breath on purpose? You’ve seen that man in action before, he’s strong and unnervingly fast. And you know he’s got stamina. So you stand no chance against him. Not to mention, you have no fucking clue what time it is, and he said you’d win at sunrise. Which is… a lot of time.
Fuck.
The forest swallows you whole.
You find a cluster of trees dense enough to crouch behind, pressing your back against the bark and forcing yourself to go still. To stop breathing so loud. Your heart is doing its best to get you caught, hammering so hard you’re half convinced he could hear it from across the property.
But there’s nothing. Just the wind moving through branches somewhere above you, and the sound of your own pulse.
A minute passes. Maybe two. You don’t know for sure, it’s impossible.
You start to think, stupidly, desperately, that maybe you’re better at this than you thought. Maybe he went to the casino first. Maybe he assumed you’d go somewhere familiar, somewhere with walls and doors, with many rooms and the illusion of safety. Maybe for once in your life, you’ve managed to surprise Titus Danforth.
You almost smile.
“You always did like your trees. Especially when I fucked you against them.”
His voice comes from directly behind you. Not approaching, but already there, already close enough that you could reach back and touch him, and your stomach fucking drops. It was like he’d been standing there the whole time, patient and unhurried, just waiting for you to finish thinking.
You scramble to your feet and spin around. He looks completely unbothered. No sweat, no urgency. He looks like a man who went for a leisurely evening walk and happened to find you along the way.
“How-” you start.
“I know you,” he says simply, like that explains everything.
And the worst part is… it does.
You run.
It’s stupid, you know it is. You just mentally calculated your chances and came out in red numbers, you are aware that this is senseless and just prolonging what has always been inevitable. And yet you still try.
You hear him scoff, it echoes with how quiet these woods are, and then his steps begin.
You’ve never felt like this in your life. You had no idea you could even run like this. It’s probably the adrenaline. Your body, ironically, can’t tell the difference between being chased by a wolf and being chased by Titus. Being chased to death or being chased to marriage. There’s probably not a big difference there, to be fair.
Your lungs start to burn before you expect them to.
You push through it. You push through the branches catching on your clothes and the uneven ground trying to twist your ankles and the darkness that’s settling between the trees faster than you’d like.
You can hear him. That’s the worst part. He’s not silent and he’s not trying to be. His footsteps are steady and unhurried, like a metronome, like someone on a morning jog.
Your legs are already protesting, paired with a sharp stitch blooming under your ribs. To be honest… you don’t work out, not really. The only cardio you’ve ever gotten, the only thing that’s ever left you this breathless and aching, is Titus. Nights spent riding him until your thighs shook, mornings bent over whatever surface he wanted, afternoons where he’d fuck you slow and deep just because he could. Your body knows exertion, sure, but it knows it in the shape of him, not this. Not sprinting blind through roots and dirt like prey.
You change direction sharply, cutting left between two trees. Maybe if you’re unpredictable enough, maybe if you zigzag, double back, make it complicated-
His footsteps don’t falter behind you, there is not even a moment of hesitation in his steps, you’re not even making him make an effort or work for it.
The thought makes something cold shoot down your spine. You run faster.
You break into a small clearing and for one stupid, desperate second you think —this is it, this is where you lose him, and then…
…Then your foot catches a fucking root and you stumble, catching yourself on your hands, scrambling back up before you’ve even fully registered falling. Your palms sting. You don’t stop.
Behind you, almost conversationally: “You’re going in circles.”
You don’t answer, because you don’t want to, but also because you don't have the breath for it right now. God, you hate him.
You hate that he’s right. You’ve completely lost all sense of direction out here, the trees all look the same no matter which way you turn, and the sky above has shifted from dark blue to almost black, swallowing any hope of figuring out where the hell you are. You can’t tell north from south anymore, everything blurring together in the growing dark.
You cut right this time, then right again, mind racing toward the perimeter. If you can just find the edge of the forest, hit the fence, spot anything that gives you a landmark, then maybe you’ll have something solid to go by. But he’s closer now, you can hear his breath, steady and way too near. You hadn’t even noticed him gaining ground, but somehow he’s right there behind you.
The impact comes from the left without warning.
He doesn’t just grab you, he takes you down in one clean, decisive motion, and you hit the forest floor hard with him over you. One of his hands braces so he doesn’t crush you completely, which somehow makes the whole thing worse, that little bit of consideration cutting sharper than if he’d just slammed you flat. The breath gets knocked right out of you, and for a second the world narrows to nothing but darkness, his solid weight pressing you into the dirt, and the smell of him, unfairly familiar, wrapping around you like it has every right to be there.
You recover fast though, twisting and fighting with everything you’ve got, managing to get one hand free so you can shove hard against his chest. Titus lets you push, just enough to give you that flicker of thinking you might actually be winning for once. Just enough.
Then he shifts his full weight and you go absolutely nowhere. He’s stronger and heavier than you, pinning you so completely against the forest floor that all your struggling turns useless. He’s looking down at you with that expression you’ve seen a hundred times before, patient, certain, almost warm. and his breathing stays completely even. Not even winded. It’s so fucking unfair. He’s older than you; how the hell is he in this much better shape?
“Get off me,” you manage to gasp out.
He doesn’t. Instead he tilts his head slightly, like he’s actually considering it as a real option before dismissing the idea entirely.
“You did well,” he says instead, voice quiet. “Longer than I expected.”
“Don’t.” You twist again, uselessly, but his hand catches your wrist and pins it gently but completely beside your head. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.” And the infuriating part is he sounds like he genuinely means it. “I’m actually impressed, baby.”
You go dead still. Not because you’ve given up—you’ve got way too much goddamn pride for that—but because your brain is spinning, scrambling to find the one mistake he’s bound to make eventually. He’s already onto you though. His eyes track every little twitch of your pupils, reading you with that same effortless, irritating fluency he’s always had.
The clearing around you has gone completely silent except for the ragged sound of your own lungs working overtime.
He’s crowding you now, his weight a heavy, solid heat that presses you deeper into the dirt and leaves. You can feel the direct pressure of his fingers locked around your wrist and the way he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing in this godforsaken woods worth paying attention to.
You need to say something sharp. You had a line ready, something bitchy and mean that would actually sting, but the thought gets swallowed whole the second he moves.
He doesn’t hesitate. He just takes what he wants.
His mouth slams into yours with slow, heavy hunger, lips forcing yours apart and eclaiming something that’s always belonged to him. When his tongue slides in it’s a deep, wet drag that sends a hot liquid weight straight down to your crotch. You let out a noise you immediately want to choke back, it’s half moan, half pathetic whimper, as he tilts his head for a better angle, sucking on your tongue before slicking back into your mouth in a way that’s just fucking filthy.
Your free hand scrambles for his jacket, knuckles turning white as you bunch the fabric tight. You can’t even tell if you’re trying to shove him off or drag him closer anymore, but your body isn’t listening to your brain. It arches up into him anyway, chasing the heat of his chest and the rough scrape of his stubble against your chin. When your teeth accidentally snag his bottom lip he lets out this low, vibrating groan that you feel rumble all the way through your own chest.
He pulls back just a fraction, lips wet and swollen, hot breath mingling with yours. His thumb strokes slow over the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse is hammering out the truth he already knows.
“Still want to run?” he asks.
The bastard is smiling. Not pissed, not even serious, he’s having the time of his life. You should’ve known he’d get off on the chase like this.
“Yes,” you snap.
And you mean it. Mostly.
Then you reach up, fist your hand in his hair, and haul him back down.
He goes willingly, of course he does, the man is horny by nature. This time the kiss sinks slower, deeper into the spit and heat. You slide your hands up his chest, fingers hooking into his collar as you feel him shift, settling his weight more comfortably between your legs. He’s getting distracted, his iron grip on your wrist loosens, just a tiny bit.
There it is.
You let your hand drift lower, low enough to make his breathing hitch against your mouth. He makes this thick, needy sound in the back of his throat that tells you his focus is exactly where you want it now. You shift your leg in a slow, deliberate tilt of your hip that looks like you’re just trying to get his cock flush against you.
He falls for it.
Your palm slides over his stomach and presses hard against the thick, rigid line of his cock straining through his pants. He’s already fucking wrecked for you, throbbing and hot under your hand. You rub him slow, giving him a squeeze that makes his hips jerk forward into your touch. The groan he lets out is raw and guttural, vibrating straight into your mouth as he loses himself in the kiss, his tongue licking deep and messy against yours, teeth catching your lip in a sharp tug. You can feel him pulsing against your palm, thickening even more as you stroke him through the cloth like you’re finally giving him the reward he thinks he earned for catching you. His breath stutters against your lips, his tongue moving in ways that are pure filth.
He thinks he’s finally broken you.
That’s when you plant your foot flat against his hip and shove with everything you’ve got.
It’s not a clean move by any means—it’s pure desperate leverage—but it’s enough to break his hold and create one beautiful, stumbling second of space. You’re on your feet before he can even blink, already bolting back into the treeline.
Behind you, you hear him grunt as he hits the dirt.
And then you hear him laugh. A private, delighted sound, like you’ve just done something genuinely charming instead of kicking him while he was down.
You run harder, but you’re still breathless, mind distracted by how fucking good he kisses and the way he groaned and how quick he’d gotten so hard for you. Turns out your little strategy to distract him had backfired and distracted you instead.
You make it maybe forty feet. And that’s being generous, giving yourself way too much credit.
The arm that wraps around you comes from nowhere, thick and absolutely immovable, and suddenly your feet aren’t touching the ground anymore. He hoists you up like you weigh nothing, pulling your back tight against his chest while your legs kick uselessly at open air. He doesn’t squeeze, and he’s careful not to hurt you. He just holds you there, completely secure, one arm locked around your middle as you writhe and swear and accomplish absolutely fucking nothing.
He’s breathing harder now. Finally. But it sounds less like exertion and more like pure satisfaction, like relief.
“There,” he says close to your ear, almost fond. “All done. I won.”
After that ordeal, Titus brought you back to the mansion. Once there, he personally escorted you to your shared room, as if you didn’t know the way already. Though you can’t blame him for keeping you close, not after what happened today.
You shower. The water comes out murky with dirt at first, so you wash your hair and your body as many times as it’s necessary until it’s all clear, until you cease to perceive the scent of dirt and sweat and his cologne all over you.
By the time you exit the shower, the sun has fully gone down, and you find a white gown delicately hung by the door. It’s so beautiful. And it’s a shame; because it truly is. It’s exactly your taste, in a style you adore, a fabric you seek often in formal dresses. It's perfect for you.
He’d gone to those lengths, of having a dress made specifically for you. But then again, he’s known for going to lengths.
You do your hair the way you always do, it’s all muscle memory by now, all with such ease that it requires no effort for you to look good.
Then you slip the gown on. And it’s… bittersweet. In the two years you were with Titus (or have been, are you back together? Who the fuck knows), the thought of marriage did cross your mind. You won’t sit here and pretend to be an innocent bystander. You know what he’s like. You know the things people like him do—and let’s not even go that far— the shit he has done. You know he has many irredeemable qualities. So you won’t sit here and pretend to be a victim. You stayed, longer than you should’ve, sure, but you had stayed.
Marriage had come to mind before, but you’d never allowed yourself to think too much about it. You were scared, still are, about what it would mean to marry into his family, his world. Starting with the fucking initiation. All it takes is pulling the wrong card before everyone is on a game to hunt you to death.
You shiver.
So seeing yourself in this dress is… bittersweet. You had, at some point in time, longed to marry him, even with all his issues and his bullshit. But you knew, deep down, that it’s also something you should fear. Something no one should want.
And yet, here you are.
A knock on the door makes you jump slightly in your place. You take a breath to steady yourself before doing anything.
“Yes?”
“Are you ready?”
“Almost.”
Well, you might as well have said ‘yes’, because he unlatched the door as if you’d said it.
The moment his eyes land on you, he stills completely. His gaze moves over you slowly, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world, though tonight he does; he won. It drags from the hem of the dress upward, taking its sweet time, and when those eyes finally meet yours there’s something in them that makes your stomach do a slow, unwelcome flip you’d really rather it didn’t.
You’ve seen Titus Danforth unmoved by things that would fuck other men up completely. You’ve watched him stay unbothered in rooms full of people trying to intimidate him, composed in situations that had no right to feel calm. And yet here he is, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, looking at you like you’ve just undone something deep inside him that he didn’t expect to feel tonight.
He clears his throat. Looks away for exactly one second, then his eyes are back on you, heavier than before.
“You look beautiful.”
And the worst part is that he means it. You can tell there’s no sick angle, no calculated game in the words. Just Titus being completely sincere, genuinely undone by a dress he picked out himself. It’s exasperating how real he can be sometimes, how he can drop the armor and just say shit like that without any ulterior motive.
“Thank you,” you say, and you mean it too, because what else is there left to say at this point?
There’s a brief stretch of silence where it’s obvious both of you want to say something more but neither of you does. This whole situation is so fucking complicated. You broke up with him this morning, and now here you are, gowned up, about to marry him. Not without a fight, but still. It makes you wonder if you ever had any real backbone at all. If you even wanted to break up with him in the first place, or if some part of you had been waiting for him to refuse to let go.
“This isn’t how I imagined it,” you finally manage to say, the words coming out quieter than you expected. “I imagined something huge, something that would probably annoy me because you know absolutely everyone that matters and I don’t, and you’d keep getting pulled aside for all those meaningful conversations. Then I’d get mad and you’d call me immature because we were already married and you’d never go anywhere without me. I imagined music, pretty scenery, flowers everywhere…the whole thing.”
He looks down at his shoes for a second. It’s brief, very brief, but you catch it. Then he adjusts his cuffs, because yes, he’s all suited up and unfairly handsome, much to your dismay.
“It’s not what I imagined either,” he agrees gruffly. “This isn’t how I had planned things to go.”
You can already feel the ‘but’ coming.
“But you left me no choice.”
Of that, you’re painfully aware. You probably threw a massive wrench into all his carefully laid plans. The breakup had been such a sudden decision, dropped right in the middle of one of the good periods between you two. You really had been in a solid place before you sprang it on him. If anything, you’re still surprised by how calmly he took it. You’d been terrified for those few seconds before the words left your mouth, half expecting him to snap, but he hadn’t. Nothing thrown at the walls, no cruel words thrown back, besides the ones you’d already said to start the conversation, anyway.
But now you understand why he stayed so calm. He wasn’t going to lose you, no matter what you said. He’d already bought the house. He’d had the dress tailored and made perfectly for you. He’d turned the whole thing into a game he knew he could win. He knew you weren’t actually going anywhere.
The attempt at breaking up had really disrupted his plans, though.
“It’s time,” he says, and extends his hand to you.
You look at it for a second. Open and waiting, like this is the most natural thing in the world, like you’re just heading out to some nice dinner instead of signing your life over. You take it anyway.
His fingers close around yours immediately, warm and sure, and he leads you out of the room without another word. The mansion is unnervingly quiet around you. Your heels click against the floor, and you focus on that sound, nothing else. Just that steady rhythm instead of letting your mind spiral about where you’re going and what happens when you get there.
The room he brings you to is small. Candlelit. There’s a man already waiting: the lawyer, or someone who passes for one in this world, standing with papers and a pen, his expression suggesting he’s done far stranger things than this. Titus is probably paying him a fortune for the discretion.
It’s just the three of you. No music. No flowers. The complete opposite of everything you’d imagined.
Titus positions himself in front of you and turns to face you fully. For a moment you just look at each other, the air thick between you.
The lawyer clears his throat and begins.
“Do you,” he says, looking at Titus, “take her to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Titus says. No hesitation. Not even a fraction of one.
Then the lawyer turns to you.
“And do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
And there it is.
You think about this morning, standing in front of him with your heart in your throat, saying the words that were supposed to end everything. You think about the forest, those seven minutes, the way he found you like he’d never even needed to look. You think about the dress hanging by the door—perfectly your taste, perfectly your size—bought long before you ever said a word about leaving. You think about the fact that even now, standing here, some traitorous part of you doesn’t entirely feel like a victim.
The lawyer waits. Titus waits. His eyes stay locked on yours, steady and certain, because he already knows what you’ll say. He knows you.
You take a breath.
“I do.”
Your voice comes out steadier than you feel, which surprises you considering your heart feels like it’s trying to leap straight out of your chest.
“The rings,” the lawyer says.
And of course there are rings, because this is Titus and he’s thought of everything, has been thinking of everything for god knows how long. His ring slides onto your finger with an ease that feels almost rehearsed. You slide his onto his finger, your hands only shaking a little.
“The license,” the lawyer says next, producing the papers and setting them on the small table beside him with a pen.
You sign your name. You watch the ink dry for exactly one second. There’s something about seeing it there, your name, your handwriting, now permanent, that makes the whole thing feel more real than anything else tonight. More real than the dress, more real than the vows. This is the part that can’t be undone.
Titus signs beneath you, quick and certain, then straightens up.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The lawyer says it like a closing argument, the matter finalized, binding. “You may kiss the bride.”
Titus closes the gap between you, and suddenly the air in the room feels way too thin. He reaches up, his thumb dragging slow and heavy across your cheekbone, like he’s giving you every second to realize exactly what he’s about to do. His eyes drop to your lips for a quick flicker before locking back onto yours.
Then he’s on you.
It’s nothing like that panicked, adrenaline-soaked mess in the forest. This is different, slower, more deliberate. He’s taking his time, his mouth moving against yours with a focused hunger that makes your knees go embarrassingly weak right there in the candlelit room. His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady like you’re something he actually wants to keep intact, while his other arm hooks around your waist and hauls you that last inch forward until there’s no space left between you.
The kiss doesn’t just happen, it grinds and lingers, thick and heavy, delicious in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the lawyer still standing three feet away. This is just Titus finally getting his hands on something he’s wanted for a long goddamn time, and he’s not rushing any second of it. You hear him catch a sharp, ragged breath through his nose, the sound barely held together as he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding slow and sure against yours.
When he eventually pulls away, his eyes are blown out and dark, heavy with everything he’s not saying. His thumb is still tracing slow patterns across your skin, and he’s staring at you like you’re completely his now.
Which, technically, you are. Legally and irrevocably.
“Hello, Mrs. Danforth,” he says, his voice a low vibration meant only for you, the words sinking straight under your skin.
And despite the total shitshow your life has become, despite how much you should hate him for all of this, something in your chest does something it really, really shouldn’t. It fucking flutters.
The lawyer gathers his papers with quiet efficiency, offers a curt nod that feels more like a final seal on a contract than any kind of congratulations, and slips out of the candlelit room without another word, leaving the two of you alone in the heavy silence.
Titus doesn’t move away. His hand stays cradling your jaw, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your flushed cheek as he looks down at you with those dark, unreadable eyes. The title he just gave you—Mrs. Danforth—still hangs in the air between you, heavy and permanent.
“You’re shaking,” he observes quietly, voice low and rough around the edges.
“I’m not,” you lie, even as your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, betraying you completely.
A small, knowing smile curves his lips. He leans in closer, brushing his mouth against the shell of your ear, breath warm as he murmurs, “Liar.”
Before you can even get a retort out he’s scooping you up again, effortless, carrying you down the quiet hallway toward the master suite. Your heels are dangling stupid off your toes, one slips free and you don’t even care where it lands. The white gown pools and tangles around you, heavy silk whispering against your skin. You don’t fight. There’s no point anymore. The game’s over, you lost bad, and some treacherous, stupid part of you is already humming low and hot with what’s coming next, buzzing under your skin like electricity you can’t shut off.
He kicks the bedroom door shut behind him with his foot, the bang echoing a little, and sets you down on the edge of that massive bed. The room’s dim, just one lamp throwing soft light and moonlight sneaking through the heavy curtains, making everything feel hushed and secret. Titus stands over you, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it aside without looking. His fingers work the cuffs of his shirt open real slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. That stare pins you.
“Take the dress off. Slowly.”
It’s not a request, it’s an order.
You hesitate, just long enough that he notices, the corner of his mouth twitching, and reach behind you for the zipper. The sound of it sliding down feels obscenely loud in the quiet, like it’s giving everything away. The fabric slips from your shoulders and pools at your waist, leaving you in nothing but that delicate white lace lingerie they gave you for tonight. His gaze drags over you shameless, slow, possessive, hungry, lingering on the way your nipples pebble tight against the thin lace, the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, the word rough, scraped raw with want. He steps closer, cups your face in both hands and tilts your head up. “My wife. Finally.”
That word shoots through you, part fear, part something way more dangerous that makes your stomach flip and your thighs press together without thinking. You open your mouth to say something—probably stupid, something to grab back even a sliver of control—but he kisses you before you can. This kiss is different, deeper, slower, filthier than the one in the ceremony room. More like the forest one but hungrier. His tongue slides against yours with lazy confidence, tasting, claiming, sucking on your tongue like he’s trying to devour every last protest, every doubt, every bit of resistance you’ve got left.
He pushes you back onto the bed until you’re lying beneath him, the gown still tangled around your hips like it doesn’t want to let go. His body covers yours, solid, warm, overwhelming in the best worst way. One of his knees nudges your thighs apart as he settles between them, grinding the thick heavy line of his cock against your clothed core with these deliberate rolling presses that make your breath hitch. You gasp into his mouth, hips twitching up involuntarily as heat floods between your legs, fast and embarrassing.
“Already so wet for me,” he teases against your lips, voice dark with amusement. “Even after trying to run from me all night. Your cunt knows who it belongs to, doesn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” you breathe, but there’s no real heat in it anymore. Not really. Your body’s already betraying you completely, aching for more of that friction, that pressure.
He chuckles, low and filthy right by your ear. “That’s the plan, baby. Until you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave.”
His mouth trails down your neck, sucking and biting just hard enough to leave faint marks that’ll bloom tomorrow like proof. He peels the rest of the dress off you with practiced hands, tossing it aside like it’s nothing more than wrapping paper on a gift he’s been dying to unwrap for years. The lingerie follows; bra unhooked and discarded, lace panties dragged down your legs slowly. You catch the way his pupils blow wide when he notices how the crotch of your panties is stuck to your pussy, soaked through because of how wet you already are.
When you’re completely bare beneath him he sits back on his heels for a second and just looks, drinking in every inch like he can’t get enough. His hands follow, palming your breasts roughly, thumbs circling and pinching your nipples until they tighten into aching sensitive peaks. He leans down and takes one into his mouth, tongue swirling hot and wet, teeth grazing and tugging while his fingers pinch and roll the other. You arch off the bed with a broken moan, fingers threading through his silver curls and pulling hard, harder than you mean to.
“Titus, fuck—”
“Shh.” He releases your nipple with a wet pop and kisses his way down your stomach, spreading your thighs wider with his broad shoulders. “I’ve waited long enough for this, lemme taste you.”
He doesn’t tease for long. His mouth is on you in the next breath, hot and relentless. His tongue drags through your slick folds with one slow savoring lick from entrance to clit, then circles the swollen bud with firm knowing pressure. You cry out, hips jerking against his face, but his strong hands pin you down, broad shoulders holding your thighs open, keeping you exactly where he wants. He eats you as hungrily as he did the very first time, that never changes. Messy, greedy, groaning against your cunt like your taste is the only thing that’s ever satisfied him. Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, curling hard against that spongy spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes while his tongue flicks and sucks your clit with those obscene slick sounds.
You come hard and fast, thighs trembling around him, a sharp broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves. He doesn’t stop to give you some reprieve, of course he doesn’t. Keeps licking and sucking through the aftershocks, fingers pumping steadily, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his head.
“Too much-ah, Titus—”
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips and chin shiny with your arousal, eyes dark and satisfied. “Not nearly enough.” He crawls back up your body, shedding the rest of his clothes as he goes. His cock springs free finally, heavy, thick, flushed dark and already leaking precum at the tip, as it rests hot and heavy against your thigh.
“Look at me.”
You do. His eyes lock onto yours as he lines himself up and pushes in, he always loved eye contact while he slides in, and fuck, it is pretty hot. The stretch burns in the best way, filling you completely until he bottoms out, balls-deep inside your clenching heat. You both groan, the sound raw and filthy. For a moment he just stays there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, letting you feel every throbbing inch of him. You’re thankful for the pause—you always needed some time adjusting to his cock. It’s huge. That, and because you’re still incredibly sensitive after the previous orgasm.
“Fuck… so tight. You feel like you were made for my cock,” he rasps, and it’s such a delicious tone you have to hold back from clenching around him right then. “My wife’s greedy tight cunt sucking me in like it missed me.”
Then he starts to move.
It’s not gentle. Which is also a contradiction to how you imagined your wedding night with him as his wife, but you’re not complaining, how could you? His hips snap forward in deep punishing strokes that rock the expensive bed beneath you, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room along with your ragged moans and whimpers, mixed with his groans. Each thrust drags against every sensitive nerve inside you, the thick vein on the underside of his cock feels so good dragging along your walls, the head kissing your cervix with every brutal plunge. He fucks you like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your breakup right out of your body.
It’s working. God, it’s working too well.
His left hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, the golden ring on his finger digging into your plush skin, a blunt reminder that he’s not your boyfriend anymore—he’s your husband now. He pulls your hips up so he can go even deeper while his other hand braces beside your head, driving into you harder, faster, angling those strong hips to hit that spot that makes you see white. You wrap your legs around his waist, nails digging into his back and shoulders, urging him deeper even as you gasp his name like it’s both a curse and a prayer.
“Say it,” he demands, voice rough against your ear, hips never slowing. “Say you’re my wife. Say you’ll always be mine.”
You shake your head, stubborn even now, biting your lip to hold back the words. But he angles just right and slams in harder, grinding against your clit with every thrust, making your back arch off the bed with a keening whine.
“Say it,” he repeats, punctuating each word with a brutal wet thrust. “Tell me who you belong to, Mrs. Danforth.”
“I’m-fuck- I’m your wife,” you finally choke out, the words breaking on a moan as another orgasm builds fast and vicious under his relentless pace. “I’m yours- oh god—”
“Good girl.” He reaches between you to rub tight rough circles over your swollen ultra-sensitive clit, pushing you over the edge again. You come with a sob, clenching around his thick cock so hard it drags a guttural groan from his throat, your walls fluttering and milking him as the waves rip through you.
He doesn’t slow down. Fucks you through it, hips stuttering only when his own orgasm starts to hit. With a low broken sound—a whimper, for your ears only—he buries himself as deep as he can and comes hard, pulsing inside you, filling you with hot thick spurts of cum that make your toes curl and your mind go blissfully blank. You feel every twitch, every rope as he empties himself, marking you from the inside.
For a long moment the only sound is your shared ragged breathing. Titus collapses half on top of you but careful not to crush you completely, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His lips brush your pulse point in something almost tender while his cock twitches inside you, still half-hard, like he’s not quite done claiming you yet.
But he’s far from finished.
After a few minutes he lifts his head, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lingering lust. He brushes a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead, then pulls out slowly. A thick trail of his cum leaks from your swollen pussy right away. The sight seems to please him immensely.
“Round two,” he murmurs, voice husky. “On your hands and knees. I want to watch my cum drip out of you while I fuck it back in.”
He flips you over with ease, pulling your hips up so your ass is raised high, chest and face pressed to the sheets. His hands spread your cheeks and he groans at the messy sight of his release coating your folds. Without warning he pushes two fingers inside you, scooping up his cum and pushing it deeper, making you whimper at the overstimulation.
“Look at this sloppy cunt,” he says, voice thick with filthy appreciation. “Already full of me and still greedy for more?”
He replaces his fingers with his cock in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt again. This time he fucks you harder, one hand fisted in your hair to arch your back, the other slapping your ass with sharp stinging smacks that make you clench around him. The angle is deeper, more punishing, his balls slapping wetly against your clit with every snap of his hips.
You come again, screaming into the sheets, and he follows soon after, flooding you with another load until it’s leaking down your thighs.
He doesn’t let you rest for long.
By the time the sky begins to lighten outside the windows, you’re a trembling, cum-soaked mess, your limbs weak, voice hoarse from moaning, every inch of you marked and claimed. Titus pulls you into his arms one last time, spooning behind you with his cock still nestled inside you, softening but refusing to leave your heat.
“Sleep, Mrs. Danforth,” he murmurs against your neck, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss there. “You’re mine now. And I’m nowhere near done with you. We’re going to see our new house later today.”
You should hate the way that promise makes fresh heat coil low in your belly, but you don’t hate it. And yeah, you feel stupid, like you’re betraying the version of you that was set on breaking up with him yesterday, but you can’t hate this. Hate him. The break up had never been out of lack of love, if anything it had been the opposite what drove you away, it had been knowing the lengths he’s willing to go to for you and being afraid of the responsibility of having his heart in your hand.
With a sigh, you press back against him, letting exhaustion and that dangerous, ruined satisfaction pull you under.
SUMMARY: you introduce a vibrator to your relationship. spencer enjoys it a little too much, and he decides to put it to the test.
GENRE: smut (MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 1.2k
TAGS: fem!reader, overstimulation, sex toys (vibrators), spencer using sex as research, he even has his glasses on and everything, f orgasm, squirting!!, mentions of multiple orgasms, slight mention of somno, sexting, and cock rings, not proofread
NOTES: wrote this because i was mad at another fic, actually really enjoyed it. shoutout to ann summers' rampant rabbits <3
Letting him pick was your first mistake. He sat scrolling through the websites for over an hour, long enough for his wide eyes and flushed cheeks to settle into a deep, thoughtful frown.
You left him alone for a few minutes to fix yourself a cup of coffee, and you returned to find him plotting out a lengthy spreadsheet, categorising the different toys by shape and size, intensity and function. The prices weren't included, or considered at all, when he was narrowing down your options; apparently the cost "wasn't important", and Spencer was willing to shell out whatever necessary to find your perfect match. You'd be lying if you said his dedication didn't earn a laugh, but it was cute—endearing, even—to see just how invested he was in your pleasure.
In the end, Spencer concluded that your ideal toy was none other than a rabbit. You could have told him that from the start, saved you both the time spent exploring increasingly raunchy webpages, but there'd have been no fun in that.
He had settled on the exact toy that you would have chosen for yourself, if you hadn't handed the reins off to him, and that, in the moment, was one of the most attractive things you'd ever seen. He was perfectly in tune with your body, with you, and that thought alone was enough for you to shut the laptop and pull him down on top of you right there on the couch.
—
"How does that feel?"
The only response you offer is a low whine, but Spencer nods attentively all the same.
You don't know which one of you looks more ridiculous: you lying on the bed, legs spread, head of the vibrator pressed to your swollen clit; or Spencer kneeling on the floor, glasses on, watching you clench around nothing, teetering dangerously close to another orgasm, like he's watching God at work.
"Spence…"
His name leaves your lips in a squeak. Your thighs are shaking, desperate to clamp shut.
"I know," he murmurs, keeping his voice soft. Comforting.
"I…I can't—"
"You can."
Soft, but firm. Comforting, but unwavering. He doesn't touch you, doesn't force you in any way, but his words hold you in place, reassuring you, telling you “you've got this” and, fatally, that “you're doing so well”. The praise goes straight to your head, then ricochets down to your core where it tangles in the fast-growing knot, pulls it so taut that you're sure it's about to snap.
You aren't sure how long you've been doing this, lying here playing with your new toy whilst he watches, engrossed, studying how your body reacts to different angles, pressures, modes—because yes, it has different modes; three increasing speeds and seven different vibration patterns—to see which combinations bring you over the edge the fastest, and which push you over it the hardest.
What you do know is that you're nearing your umpteenth orgasm, and Spencer hasn't so much as glanced at his persistent, and presumably quite uncomfortable, erection. All he cares to look at is you, sweating all over his sheets, moaning for him like an angel.
"I really— fuck, Spence…" you're choking on your words, almost babbling as you try to gather the strength to speak. "I really…can't. Please…"
Spencer purses his lips, visibly torn between cutting his little experiment short for your sake and pushing you that little bit further—for research's sake. But, after a moment, he concedes with a small nod. "Okay. This can be your last one, alright?"
"…thank God—"
"And we'll run through the rest of the settings tomorrow."
Weakly, you raise your head to meet his gaze. He's smiling—grinning, actually. Too tired to argue, and too weak to kick him in the face, you just let your head fall back against the mattress, and you resign yourself to your fate.
"Do you wanna put it back in?" he asks, immediately returning his focus to the toy, to the questionnaire he's been running since he first asked you to lie down. "Or do you prefer it like this?"
When all you can muster in reply is a hum, Spencer gives your foot a gentle tap.
"I know you're tired, honey, but we're almost done. I promise," he says. "I read online that the insertable length has more of a rumble feel to it, whereas the 'rabbit ears' provide a lighter vibrational feel—would you say that's correct?"
"Spencer, I—" a sharp gasp cuts through your words. Your hips buck, rubbing your over-sensitive clit against the toy, and you bite your lip, stifle a whine, before answering, "Yes. Yes, i-it's…whatever you said."
"And do you prefer that?" he asks.
Your answer comes in the form of a moan—a loud one—followed by a sudden, unexpected gush of warmth as the knot finally snaps, unravelling in an instant, and it takes the last of your strength with it. The orgasm hits like a tsunami wave, pulling you under the tide before washing you up on the shore, so overcome with exhaustion that you fail to register Spencer's stunned silence.
"…I suppose that's as good of an answer as any," he says, puffing air into his cheeks as he leans back.
He's grinning line a kid, smile stretching from ear to ear as he admires the mess you've made of yourself.
"…what?" you mumble, confused. You've a dim awareness of how warm the sheets have become under your hips.
"Have you, um," Spencer clears his throat. "Have you ever squirted in the past? Or is this new?"
"What?"
"I see. So it's new, then? Noted."
—
Spencer's experiment was a resounding success. Sex was never lacklustre in your relationship—it was quite the opposite—but since opening your doors, and wallets, to the prospect of sex toys, your intimate lives have improved tenfold. You continue to discover new things about yourself, about each other, and Spencer stores each little fun fact away in his library of a mind; he has an arsenal of knowledge about you, your body, how to make you squirt even though you were sure you couldn't—and he never hesitates to use it.
You wake up to it, sometimes, that low rumble against your clit. You're already soaked through your panties, sleep-leaden body desperate for release before you even open your eyes. He peppers your face with kisses, whispers “good morning” as he guides you towards an orgasm that will likely put you straight back to sleep. You doze off in his arms, wake up some thirty minutes later already cleaned up.
He asked you—begged you, if we're being honest—to use it when he's away, to get off as much as your heart desires and, of course, to send him videos of it (even a technophobe like Spencer Reid is willing to use WhatsApp if there's something in it for him). You oblige, of course; you put on your prettiest matching set, and you put on a show for him.
And what you earn in response is a mouth-watering video of Spencer in his hotel room, moaning your name as he pleasures himself with his hands and, in more recent times, the vibrating cock ring you bought for his birthday.
jack overstimulating you with a toy until you're crying…
you felt your brain turning to mush, the only thing coming out of your mouth was mindless babbling mixed with quiet moans. your body seemed almost numb, incapable of any movement. but your nerves—your nerves were alive and screaming—all because of the silicone vibrator bullying your overstimulated pussy, which was swollen and so soaked that a wet circle was forming around you, its color growing darker and darker.
jack was watching you; his face was focused and composed, while his hand, with the same focus and almost cruel precision was moving the toy in a way that affected every sensitive nerve inside you, causing your gummy walls to spasm violently, tearing out one orgasm after another from you, each one stronger and more intense than the last.
“no more…no more daddy…please, please ,please” you whimpered, exhausted, feeling your eyes well up with tears with every long second of this sweet torture.
“shhh, sweetheart” jack whispered into your hair, brushing his lips against your sweaty forehead “i know it might seem like you've had enough, but daddy knows what's best for you. take what I’m giving you and don’t fight it. you’re doing so well. you’re so good for daddy” he murmured hoarsely, pressing the silicone deeper, causing a silent scream to escape your lips.
you’re cumming so hard that you think you’re going to pass out.
white spots appear before your eyes. your hips shake violently, while your puffy pussy clenches tightly around the vibrator, squirting your juices, covering you—and jack, who’s watching greedily as yet another orgasm ravages your poor body.
now those same tears are streaming freely from your eyes; you can’t hold them back, letting them roll slowly down your cheeks and jawline. and as soon as jack sees it, he immediately pulls your trembling body close to him, cradling you in his big, broad arms, whispering sweet words of praise into your ear, stroking your head like a concerned father comforting his beloved little girl.
warnings : smut, p in v, feral!frank, possessive!frank, unprotected sex, established relationship, MDNI, praise kink, size difference/kink and idk if im missing anything
a/n : not proofread !! based on this rq (jack abbot fic and other frank fic coming soon i promise)
Frank notices things.
That’s the problem.
Tiny things. Stupid things. The way your breathing changes when you’re nervous. When you switch shampoos. Which floorboard creaks under your left foot versus your right. Nothing gets past him for very long. Which is exactly why hiding the underwear had become weirdly stressful.
In your defense, they’d been funny when Karen showed them to you.
Tiny little black lace things with white lettering stretched across the back: PROPERTY OF A U.S. MARINE
You’d laughed so hard you bought them immediately. Then immediately realized showing them to Frank Castle might actually kill you on the spot.
Because Frank was… Frank.
Intense on a regular Tuesday. So you hid them in the back of your drawer and tried to forget they existed.
Which worked.
Until tonight. You shuffle into the kitchen, wearing one of Frank’s old shirts and absolutely nothing else except the stupid underwear currently stretched over your hips. The door to the apartment opens, and your head snaps over to the sound.
Frank had been gone all day, and all you'd been doing is wandering around the apartment, eating food and watching shows.
Frank shuts the apartment door behind him with a tired exhale, keys jingling softly in his hand. He looks exhausted. Scruffy. Henley stretched tight across his shoulders, sleeves shoved up his forearms, rain still clinging damply to the collar of his jacket. Then he hears you padding into the kitchen. And everything about him changes instantly.
Softens.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs automatically. You smile without thinking about it, leaning against the counter.
“You were gone forever.”
“Yeah?” Frank drops his duffel near the door and starts toeing his boots off. “Miss me?”
“No,” you say immediately.
“Liar.” He sounds amused already. Comfortable. Safe. And for one stupid second you completely forget what you’re wearing. Frank rounds the corner into the kitchen, shrugging his jacket off one shoulder while he talks.
“Traffic was a nightmare an’ Micro wouldn’t stop—” He stops. Mid sentence. Your stomach drops instantly. Because Frank Castle notices things. And right now his eyes are fixed directly on you. More specifically— On the fact that his old shirt barely covers the black lace stretched over your hips.
Oh no.
Oh no.
You straighten so fast you nearly slam the cabinet shut on your fingers. Frank doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Then very carefully sets his coat down.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You can already hear the grin in his voice. Heat floods your entire body.
“It’s not—”
“The hell am I lookin’ at right now?”
“It was a joke.”
“A joke,” he repeats faintly. You refuse to turn around fully now because you can physically feel his eyes burning holes through the back of the shirt.
“Karen made me buy them.”
“Uh huh.”
“She said it would be funny.”
“Mm.” Frank leans back against the front door slowly. “Think Karen might be the smartest woman alive.”
“Oh my God.” The laugh in his chest is deep and dangerous now.
“C’mere.”
“No.”
“Baby.”
“No, absolutely not.” You hear his boots thud against the floor. Panic. Actual panic. You make it exactly two steps before Frank catches you around the waist from behind, hauling you back against him with a startled squeak.
“Frank!”
“What?” He sounds deeply amused now. “M’just tryin’ t’read.”
“You already read it!”
“Wanna make sure I got it right.” You’re mortified. Frank buries his face briefly against your neck, shoulders shaking once with laughter before he presses a kiss just below your ear.
“You been hidin’ these from me?”
“Yes because I enjoy living.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You’re being weird already.”
“Weird?” He sounds genuinely offended. “Sweetheart, my girl walks around my apartment wearin’ lace underwear claimin’ she belongs t’me an’ I’m supposed t’be normal about it?” Your face burns hotter.
"Technically, it says I belong to a U.S Marine. Maybe this is about Curtis." Frank goes completely silent behind you. Not joking anymore. Not laughing.
Just… silent. Then very slowly, his arms tighten around your waist.
“…Curtis,” he repeats flatly. You bite your lip immediately because there it is. That tone.
“Oh my God, Frank, I’m kidding.”
“Yeah?” His mouth brushes your ear, but there’s a new edge to him now. “Funny joke, sweetheart. Real funny.” You squirm a little in his grip, mostly because you can feel the shift in him physically now. Bigger somehow. Warmer. Possessive in that dangerous quiet way Frank gets.
“You know Curtis is basically my brother.”
“Mhm.”
“He literally gives me life advice.”
“Uh huh.”Frank’s jaw flexes against your temple. “Still don’t wanna hear you wearin’ his Marine underwear.” You burst out laughing.
“They are not his underwear!”
“Then why’s his name comin’ outta your mouth while you got that thing on?”
“Because you’re jealous.” Frank scoffs like you’ve deeply insulted him.
“M’not jealous’a Curtis.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I sound like a man hearin’ his girl say another guy’s name while she’s half naked in his kitchen.” His hand slides lower on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.
“And I gotta tell you,” he mutters near your throat, “not my favorite experience.” Heat flashes through you instantly.
“You’re insane.”
“You keep sayin’ that like it’s new information.” You grin despite yourself, leaning back into him just enough to be annoying.
“Well maybe Curtis would appreciate the humor.” Big mistake. Frank’s grip clamps down hard enough to pull a startled squeak from you.
“Alright,” he says calmly. Too calmly. “Now you’re bein’ disrespectful.”
“Oh my God—”
“Nah, sweetheart, don’t ‘oh my God’ me.” He turns you in his arms abruptly until your back hits the counter and he’s crowding into your space completely. “You think I’m gonna stand here listenin’ to you talk about another Marine while you got ‘property of a U.S. Marine’ written across your ass?” You are laughing too hard to be properly intimidated, which only seems to annoy him more.
“There she is,” he mutters darkly when you giggle again. “Thinkin’ this’s funny.”
“It is funny.”
“Mm.” His eyes drag down your body slowly. “Not t’me.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Baby, I came home exhausted an’ found my girlfriend wearin’ lingerie apparently dedicated t’the Marine Corps. I’m reactin’ appropriately.”
“It’s not lingerie!” Frank just looks at the lace. Then looks back at you.
“…You wanna rethink that statement?” Your face burns hotter. Frank notices instantly, because of course he does. His expression softens for exactly half a second before the possessive streak comes roaring right back. “Lemme ask you somethin’.” His hands settle on either side of your hips. “You buy these thinkin’ about me?” You hesitate just long enough to doom yourself. Frank’s eyes narrow immediately.
“…Sweetheart.”
“I mean— maybe a little?”
“A little.”
“Well Karen showed them to me and I just thought—”
“You thought what?” He steps closer. “Thought your boyfriend might lose his damn mind seein’ you in ‘em?” Your silence is answer enough. Frank actually groans.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You knew exactly what you were doin’.” He shakes his head slowly like he’s genuinely overwhelmed. “Walkin’ around my apartment in my shirt wearin’ those little things—”
“You didn’t even notice at first!”
“Sweetheart, I noticed the second you turned around.” His hand slides over the curve of your waist again. “Been tryin’ not t’tackle you into the couch since.” You laugh softly, but it catches when his gaze drops again. Slower this time.Not playful anymore. Possessive. Hungry. Frank exhales once through his nose before looking back up at you.
“C’mere,” he murmurs.
“I’m already here.”
“Closer.”
“There’s literally nowhere else t’go.”
“Smart mouth too,” he mutters, clearly suffering. Then his hands are suddenly under your thighs, hauling you up onto his shoulder like a bag of potatoes
“Frank!”
“What?”He grips onto your thigh. “Tryin’ t’figure out where t’put my name since apparently the Marines are handin’ claims out now.” His hand comes down smacking on your ass cheek as he marches to the bedroom, giving your ass an appreciative squeeze.
You shriek through laughter as he carries you down the hallway upside down, your hair hanging everywhere while Frank’s big hand stays locked around the back of your thigh like you might somehow escape.
“Frank Castle, put me down!”
“Nope.”
“You are so dramatic!”
“You brought Curtis into this.” He smacks your ass again through the lace, less hard this time, more possessive than punishing. “Actions got consequences, sweetheart.”
“You’re acting like I cheated on you with the United States military.” Frank snorts darkly.
“Might honestly be easier t’process.”
“Oh my God.”
“You think m’jokin’?” He shoulders open the bedroom door and tosses you onto the mattress with enough care to prove he absolutely notices every bruise you’ve ever had and enough force to make you bounce once with a squeal. Frank follows immediately. Big body caging yours into the bed, knees nudging between your thighs while he stares down at you like he genuinely cannot believe this is his life right now. His shirt hangs off one shoulder now from all the wrestling around.His hair’s a mess. His jaw rough with scruff. And his eyes— God.
His eyes are locked on the lace peeking beneath the hem of his shirt like he’s seconds away from losing every remaining shred of self-control.
“You think this’s cute?” he asks quietly. Your smile wobbles immediately under the weight of that look.
“…Maybe?” Frank exhales slowly through his nose.
“Sweetheart.” His hand drags up your calf. “I walked in dead tired, ready t’eat leftovers an’ pass out.” Higher. Over your knee. “Now m’lookin’ at my girl laid out in my bed wearin’ panties claimin’ she belongs t’a Marine—”
“Technically—”
“Careful.” His palm slides firmly over your thigh. “You are one Curtis joke away from me losin’ all patience.” That only makes you grin wider.
“You’re sooo jealous.” Frank leans down until his mouth is hovering right over yours.
“Damn right I’m jealous.” Honest. Immediate. “That’s my girl.” His thumb hooks lightly under the waistband at your hip. “Mine t’come home to. Mine t’take care of.” Another inch closer. “Mine t’look this pretty for.” Your breath catches embarrassingly hard.Frank notices instantly. He grins.
"Now. I'm thinking..." His hands drift up your shirt, fingers grazing at your ribs. "We tattoo "Property of Frank" right on your tits." He hums, grinning to himself.
Frank’s grin turns positively wicked at the way your entire face heats up.
“Oh, there it is,” he murmurs, voice rough with amusement. “That look right there. Knew y’weren’t nearly as brave as you were actin’ five minutes ago.”
“Oh my God,” you groan, trying to shove at his shoulders. “You cannot tattoo your name on me.”
“Can’t I?” His hands keep sliding beneath the oversized shirt, palms warm against your bare skin. “Feel like I got a pretty strong legal argument after tonight.”
“You’re insane.”
“Nah.” He dips lower, mouth brushing your jaw. “M’just territorial.” You snort, but it comes out shaky because Frank is looking at you like he wants to crawl under your skin and stay there. His thumb traces lazy circles high on your thigh while the other hand spreads across your stomach possessively.
“Besides,” he says thoughtfully, “might save us from future confusion.”
“There is no confusion.”
“Oh? Coulda fooled me.” His mouth twitches. “Thought maybe my girlfriend was out here secretly enlistin’.”
You laugh again, softer this time. “You’re never letting the Curtis thing go, huh?”
“Absolutely not.” Frank kisses the corner of your mouth once. “Got me all worked up picturin’ you prancin’ around thinkin’ about another Marine.”
“I was not thinking about Curtis!”
“Mhm.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Sweetheart.” He finally kisses you properly this time, slow and deep and still grinning into it a little. “You brought him up three separate times.”
“That was because your face got all—” You wave vaguely near his head. “Broody.”
“Broody,” he repeats flatly.
“Yeah. Like a caveman.” Frank huffs out a laugh against your mouth.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I’m hilarious actually.”
“You’re trouble.” His nose nudges yours. “An’ you know exactly what you’re doin’ t’me right now.” Your stomach flips hard at the honesty in his voice. Because underneath all the teasing, Frank really does look wrecked over this. Not angry. Not actually jealous of Curtis. Just deeply affected by the sight of you in his clothes and lace and his name—well, almost his name—stretched over your skin.
“You really like them that much?” you ask quietly. Frank just stares at you for a second like the answer should be obvious.
“Sweetheart,” he says finally, rough and sincere, “I like every damn thing you do.” His hand squeezes your hip. “But you wear somethin’ like this waitin’ for me t’come home?” He shakes his head slowly. “That does somethin’ t’a man.” Your chest goes warm and melty all at once. Then his eyes drift downward again. And darken.
“You know what’s really killin’ me?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“The fact that you put these on knowin’ I’d lose my mind.” His fingers hook under the waistband lightly, teasing. “That means somewhere in that pretty little head’a yours, you wanted this reaction.” You bite your lip.
Frank notices immediately. Of course he does.
“Knew it.” he says softly, sounding unbearably smug now.
“Maybe I was curious,” you mumble.
“Curious.” He repeats it like he’s savoring the word. “Baby, you nearly gave me a coronary at the front door.” You laugh into his shoulder when he ducks his head against your neck again, but the sound cuts off into a squeak when his teeth graze lightly beneath your ear.
“Frank—”
“M’thinkin’,” he says casually, kissing down your throat, “next time you decide t’play games with me, you oughta give a man some warning.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“So I can come home faster.” His hand slides down the back of your thigh, hiking your leg higher around his waist. “Nearly broke three traffic laws gettin’ here an’ I didn’t even know I had this waitin’ for me.” He mouths the words against your skin, then bites—delicate, but just shy of gentle. You clench your jaw, breath tripping.
“Frank,” you say, but it’s just your voice—weak, a noise, not even an instruction.
“Yeah?” He kisses lower, hand tracing your thigh to the bare skin beneath the lace. “Gimme a minute.” He takes his time, all that giant energy wound tight, holding you in place with just a grip on your hip and his body heavy over yours. He’s talking himself down. Or maybe amping himself up. You’ve never been able to tell where the line is for Frank, whether the need to possess or protect is stronger. Right now, he looks at you like you’re both a dare and a daredevil’s only lifeline.
“My girl,” he says it like a prayer—to the ceiling, to the gods, to you, and then it’s less a statement than a need. He strips the shirt, your shirt, his shirt, over your head, leaving you in nothing but the lace. His hands run up your ribs, palms hot, reverent. Then he sits back on his knees, just looking down at you like he’s making a memory.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, half to himself. Runs a hand over his face. “Look at you. You like these, sweetheart?” You nod, a laugh bubbling through you because it’s all so fucking absurd, him looming over you, genuinely lost for words. He’s never lost for words. Frank slips both hands beneath your knees, spreading your legs wide around him. “You wanna see what you do to me?” he asks, voice low and all gravel. He makes you look. Glances down at himself, straining against the fly of his jeans, impossible to miss. Your mouth goes dry. He’s still in his goddamn jeans. Frank leans in, bracing his arms either side of your head, his body never fully on you but pressing, pressing, hot and solid. His lips land on your jaw, a string of kisses trailing down the line of your throat. One hand comes up and grips your chin, making you meet his gaze.
“Should make you apologize,” he murmurs. “But I like this better.” Then he bites your jaw, hard enough that you gasp. He grins again, wolfish and all teeth. “There she is.” He’s not really rough. He’s never rough, not really, but the threat of it—God, it’s right there under his skin. He’s holding back because you want him, but you want all of him. You reach up, grab at his biceps.
“Frank.”
“Yeah, honey?”
“You gonna make me beg?” You mutter. His chest collapses and he breathes out a heavy breath, before he’s tearing his own shirt over his head and fumbling at his zipper. You can’t help it. Watching him strip down, all muscle and tension and scar tissue and long lines mapped in angry pink and raised white, you ache for him. All of him. You reach for his face, thread your fingers through the too-long hair at his crown, and pull him in for a kiss—messy, uneven, neither of you caring about rhythm or finesse, just the raw hunger of two people who’ve worked up an appetite. Frank’s teeth knock against yours; you gasp into his mouth and he swallows every sound. His hips slot into the cradle of yours, denim dragging at your bare thighs, the rough seam scratching just where it makes you wild. You want the friction, want the weight. You grind up into him, whimpering when he groans, and he laughs, low and hot, so openly fond it makes you dizzy.
“Look at you,” he says, even as his mouth tracks hot along your jaw and across your cheek. “Little thing’s gonna eat me alive.” He’s got your wrists in one big hand now, pinned above your head, while the other works at the fly of his jeans with the kind of intent you’d expect from someone disassembling a rifle. You giggle despite the thrum between your legs.
“Frank.” You drag his name out, making it a complaint and a need at once. “C’mon. Hurry up.” His mouth ghosts over your ear, voice gone all smoke and grit:
“You wanna take it that bad, baby?” You nod, and he just about loses it. The rough sound in his throat vibrates all the way through you. He sits back, freeing your wrists, and yanks his jeans and boxers down his thighs. He’s so heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip and bouncing against his stomach when he finally gets himself free. You blink up at him, jaw loose, and he grins like he’s caught you in something dirty, which, okay, he has. Frank fits on the bed over you like it was built for him, like the frame would snap backwards if he ever left it for good. He takes hold of the waistband at your hip and tugs gently, once, then stops. Raises an eyebrow, waiting for your okay. You nod again, breathless with it. He slides the underwear down, slow, savoring every inch of skin he reveals.
“Gonna frame these,” he mutters when they’re off, tossing them over his shoulder. “Maybe hang ‘em up in the fuckin’ living room.” You yelp, half-mortified and half aroused beyond reason. Then he settles between your legs, broad hands bracketing your thighs.
“Spread for me,” he instructs, soft but firm, and you do, like you’d part for him even if the world was ending. Frank’s big hand glides up, palm hot, thumb brushing over your folds. You clamp down on a gasp, arching into the touch—he’s not teasing this time, just wetting his finger, checking how ready you are. And you are. You so fucking are. He hums, pleased—almost proud—at the slick mess he’s worked from you.
“Always so ready for me.” He hums. He dips his fingers inside of you, retreats them wet and slick, and spreads that slickness over his tip. You whine, head dipping back, thighs clenching around his waist as your back arches impatiently. You nudge your hips forward, chasing the stretch that brings you to tears, your own hands coming up to grab at your breasts. Frank notices the way your fingers tighten on your own breasts, the way your back bows, and his gaze goes molten, hungry and impossibly tender all at once. He strokes himself once, twice, and lines up, the head of his cock rubbing slick against your entrance. The pressure makes you gasp—he’s never small but never feels as big as he does when he takes his goddamn time. He leans in, bracketing your head with his arms, caging you in, his nose skimming your jaw.
“Relax, baby,” he rasps. “S’okay. I’ve got you.” The head pushes in, just the first inch, heat and stretch and the mind-numbing promise of more. Your hips twitch involuntarily, trying to chase him, but he just shushes you in that quiet, lethal way, threading a hand through your hair.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, rolling his hips to press deeper, notching into you a little at a time. “You take me so good. Always do.” He’s right, but Christ, it never gets easier—or better—than the way he fills you: deliberate and slow, like he wants to feel the split-second every time you open up and let him in. You choke on his name—fuck, it’s almost too much, burning through you, but you don’t want to stop. You want the ache. You want his fucking claim written all down your insides. Tears prick at your eyes, and Frank notices that, too, thumb coming up to wipe the corner of your eye before you even realize it’s wet.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, voice all rough edges. “You got it, baby. C’mon, breathe for me. That’s it.” He bottoms out, hips flush against you, and you freeze—in awe, in relief, in the perfect tension of having all of him, every inch, inside you. Frank is breathing hard above you, holding himself still like he’s barely holding onto control.
“You okay?” he checks, and you nod—or try to nod, but it comes out more of a whimper. “Goddamn,” Frank breathes, “you’re so fuckin’ tight.” He tries to pull out a little, but your legs lock him in place. He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, sweat beading at his brow.
“Greedy,” he mock-scolds, but his voice sounds so proud you could cry. “Somebody miss me that much, huh?”
“I hate you,” you manage, but it’s weak, almost laughing. He bites your neck, quick and claiming, and pulls out just enough to make your vision blur—then thrusts back in, hard. You see stars. Claw at his shoulders, his arms, anything. He’s huge and deep and the friction is insane, and Frank sets a pace that’s… not brutal, but relentless, like he’s working out all that Marine discipline and rage on your body in the best way possible. His hand tucks behind your knee and pushes, folding you in half so your legs cant go up even higher, the angle obscene and perfect.
“There we go,” he growls. “That’s better, hmm ?” You nod, almost going cross-eyed, a satisfied and pained moan rumbling in your chest. You nod, almost going cross-eyed, a satisfied and pained moan rumbling in your chest. He maneuvers you, never breaking rhythm, never letting you breathe without him filling you, folding your knees over his shoulders and pinning you deeper, tighter, until you’re positive you’ll crack in half and maybe you want to. There’s nothing but him, the press and grind, Frank’s hands gripping your thighs so hard you’ll be wearing fingerprints for days. You can’t find the air to tell him how good it is—how full, how perfect—so you just lie there helpless, whimpering, clinging to the arms that cage you in. He’s not even really fucking you anymore, just rolling his hips, tip grinding against the spot inside you that turns your vision white and nerves to static. He takes your jaw in one hand, thumb rough along your cheek, and yanks your gaze up—
“Right here, sweetheart, eyes on me.” The voice is a command. The look is worshipful, like he’d burn the city to keep you in his bed, making these sounds, shivering underneath him. “Wanna see you,” he says, and the knot in your stomach twists tighter as he drives in, over and over, keeping you right on the precipice and not letting up. It’s not enough. He knows it. He fucks you open until you’re shaking, until the words finally force themselves past your teeth, high and needy,
“Frank, please—“ He groans through gritted teeth, squeezing your jaw with a gentleness that barely masks the tremor in his hand.
“That’s it, baby, know you can take it. Fuck—good girl, you make me so proud.” He’s talking you through it, every filthy word a benediction, tethering you to the world as your back bows, your body coiling with the force of sensation. “You love it, don’t you?” he whispers, softer, railing you through the high while his free hand strokes your thigh, gentle, coaxing, grounding. “Love bein’ split open for me.”
“Yes, yes— Frank, fuck—“ He kisses you sloppily, misses your mouth entirely the first time and you’re both giggling and then gasping and then a long, ragged moan is vibrating your bodies together. You’re clenching down so hard his rhythm stutters.
“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna— that’s it, c’mon.” You whine, back arching, and he pins your thighs closer to his chest before leaning forward slightly, bending your legs forward and deepening the angle and stretch. It nearly knocks what little breath you had left right out of your lungs. The stretch is obscene, like you’re being folded in half and stuffed full all the way to the back of your throat. You see white. Black. Like lightning behind your eyes.
“Shit, that’s good, huh?” Frank’s voice, gone low and frayed, like he can almost feel what you’re feeling. “You love that, baby? Lemme hear you say it.” You can only mewl in response, legs trembling where he’s got you pinned. You try to say
“Frank, God, please,” but it’s all vowels, nothing but begging sounds. He just grins, smug and barely holding onto his own composure. The angle has him punching so deep it’s like you were made just to take this, just for him.
“Can’t even talk, huh?” he says, not so much a taunt as a prayer—a note of awe soaked in filth. “Strong girl, takin’ me like this. Fuck, you’re perfect.” There’s nothing to do but lock your ankles behind his shoulder blades and take it, his cock dragging raw and hot everywhere inside. Your brain fuzzes out, turns down to a tunnel, and all the world is Frank Castle splitting you open and grinding you right up into the heavens.
He lets go of your jaw, bringing that hand down to bracket your hips, and for a second he just holds there, not moving, just pressed in to the hilt. You’re both shuddering in the negative space, struggling to survive the stretch and the pressure and the intimacy of it.
“You okay?” he asks, breath barely more than a scrape. You nod vigorously, wrap your arms around his neck so you can cling even tighter. He starts thrusting again, shallow but relentless, the kind of steady, claiming rhythm that’s all about wringing every sound out of you. Every time he bottoms out, your vision pulses with stars.
“Doin’ so good,” he whispers, “so fuckin’ good for me.”
You bury your face in his neck, whimpering, biting at the sweat on his shoulder because it’s the only thing that might keep you from coming apart completely. Frank laughs raggedly, but you can feel how close he is too. Every muscle strung tight, every thrust more frantic.
“That’s my girl,” he coaxes. “Such a tight fit, holy shit.” His voice almost breaks. “How’m I ever supposed to go back to normal pussy after this, huh?” You snort, delirious, because the only normal you’ve ever known is Frank Castle making you feel like you could take on the world—or beg for mercy. He keeps your thighs stacked high, and the change in leverage wrings a sob from you, your entire body going tense and hot.
“Frank— too much—” you gasp, but he just hushes you.
“Shh. Can take it, I know you can. You’re my good girl, always take it. Remember that last time? How you said it never hurt so fuckin’ good?” He’s right. You can feel every inch, every ridge. You reach for him, grab the back of his neck, haul him down so his chest is flush to yours despite your legs still hanging on his shoulders. It should crush you but it only makes you burn hotter. Frank’s mouth is hot and wet across your shoulder, biting down until you whimper. Then he licks the mark, soothing it, mumbling sweet, molten filth against your skin. “
That’s it, sweetheart. Take it. Make it yours. Fuckin’ mine, all mine.” You drag your nails down his back—he hisses—and clench down, and the look on his face is nothing short of worship. He pistons his hips, no longer in control, chasing both your pleasure and something only he seems to recognize in you. The arch of your back. The break in your voice. He shoves his forearm under your shoulders, props you up and angles for that spot again, and again, and you’re crying—real tears, overwhelmed, ecstatic, unable to process how much you want this, want him, want to belong.
“Frank,” you manage, but it sounds like a sob. He softens at the sound. Slows, grinds instead. Kisses your hairline, then your brow. “You with me?” he asks, frantic and gentle at once. You nod, mess of tears and saliva and sweat, and whisper,
“Please, keep going—don’t stop.”
“That’s my girl,” Frank praises, and you feel the words all the way into your bones. He presses a hand to your stomach, palming the bulge his cock makes inside you. Your eyes go wide, and he notices, the sight making him falter, nearly lose it.
“Jesus, honey—you feel that?” You nod, delirious, and he shakes his head, reverent. “You like the stretch, baby?”
You lose track, right about then, of which one of you is shaking harder. Your thighs have started to ache where he’s holding you pinned, but the ache is nothing compared to the blinding, mindless fullness riding up your center of gravity and ringing every goddamn nerve you’ve got. He watches you closely, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing, and his thumb never leaves your cheek, tracing the wet there before he wipes his own brow and laughs—a jagged, breathless thing.
“You’re a fuckin’ menace,” he chokes out, then shoves himself deeper, if that’s even possible. “Look at that. Stuffed so full you’re gonna be ruined for anyone else.” He seems to like the sound of that, and even though your brain’s fried, the words shoot straight to your core. “You love it, don’t you? Too much cock for a little thing like you.” It’s obscene but you love it, you need it, and he can see it etched across your face—how you nod, how you cling, how you clamp down even tighter. He grunts, involuntary, and you feel a drop of sweat hit your chest where he starts to really work for it. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it—take it, honey, take all of it.” His body is so big above you, bracing, arms locked and trembling, eyes wild and locked to yours. You can’t blink. You want to see him watching you open for him. He folds you further, legs bent up by your ears, the angle insane, like he wants to see if you’ll crack in half. The stretch is dizzying—you’d beg for mercy if you didn’t want it so much, if the pain and the pleasure didn’t blur so beautifully. Frank holds you down, keeps you right at the edge, lets go of nothing. He drives it in, slow and grinding, almost tender even as the force knocks words out of you.
“That’s my girl, look at you fuckin’ take it. Jesus.” Your breath goes to pieces. You’re beyond words, just fluttering cries and helpless grabs at his sweat-slicked arms—God, his arms, the same ones that have hurt people, protected you, now pinning you like you’re the only fucking thing he wants in the world. He leans down, mouth at your ear, panting:
“You gotta tell me if you want me to stop, baby. You just say it and—” You shake your head, frantic.
“Don’t—don’t stop—please, keep—” And you gasp, entire body clenching up at the new angle, the way his cock catches right there, that spot that makes every atom in you disintegrate. He laughs, but it’s a wounded, worshipful sound. He’s proud, like he’s never going to let you forget just how well you take him. His hands splay over your lower back, anchoring you, and it’s like his entire body is an engine, keeping you together even as he tries to rip you apart.You can barely move, pinned and doubled in half, the mattress arching sweat-slick under your shoulders. He is breathing hard, like he’s had to rip through a concrete wall. Still, the rhythm doesn’t waver: thick, careful thrusts, the slide so tight that every withdrawal almost takes the breath from your lungs. He rolls his hips hard and the pressure spikes—so deep it hurts, in the best fucking way. You aren’t making sounds anymore. It’s just crying out, jaw slack, fingers locked in his hair, greedy, desperate to keep him right there. Frank wipes the snot and tears off your face with brutal gentleness, then kisses the wetness from your cheeks, whispering nonsense as if every syllable is a crucible.
“S’good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you’re doing so fuckin’ good, proud of you, Jesus Christ—” He ruts in like he could leave a blueprint, like you’d split around him and never fully close again. You want that, far more than you should. The ache is in every joint now, the burn so bright it’s almost clean. You want to be fucking ruined. You want to wake up tomorrow with Frank’s handprint on your thigh, the pulse between your legs echoing his name. You want to sob, or scream, or both, but it doesn’t matter because Frank’s got you bracketed so tight to the mattress you can’t do anything except take him—take all of him—and isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that exactly it? He’s got your hands pinned above your head, fingers laced so tight your knuckles are going numb, but you can’t stop squeezing back. The angle has you nearly folded double, knees pinned up by your ears, and every thrust sends a hot, bright shock up your spine. The room ripples at the edges. You lose sight of anything but him. The world condenses to sweat and heat and his voice, ground down to a whisky-edged rasp, talking you through the whiteout:
“So good for me,” “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” “Taking it like no one else ever has.” You’re shivering, burning, unable to remember what it was like not to be stretched around the impossible heft of him or pinned under the fierce, unrelenting weight of his need. You try to make a noise—a complaint, a curse, something—but it comes out as a hiccup, pathetic and hungry, and Frank’s laugh splits open in your ear, wild and beautiful. You taste sweat on your tongue and the peppery, ozone crunch in your lungs as the world narrows, narrows, until the only thing left is him and the burn and your name, again and again, wrecked on his lips:
“That’s right, baby. Let me hear you.” He pumps into you, never faltering, each drag making you splinter and cling harder to his hands. You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, the ache a living, pulsing thing, alive and loud and fuck, it’s so much—too much—and yet. You want more. You want everything. He’s so careful and so fucking brutal all at once, talking you through every inch, every new stretch, watching your face when he rocks in deep and groaning, almost in pain with how good it is. He says your name, sometimes slow and reverent, sometimes a growl behind his teeth. Says you’re a fucking angel. Says you’re going to break him, fuck him up for life. He doesn’t stop, not for one goddamn second. You don’t realize you’re crying until salt stings your lips and Frank is licking it away, tongue darting over your cheek and jaw, then sucking on your neck, marking you up as if he can’t stand the thought of you belonging to anyone but him.
You lose track of time, of what hurts and what feels good, of whether the nails digging into his arms are yours or his. Just this relentless, beautiful stretch that crowds out every thought except the next, the next, the next. Frank finally lets your hands free, and you grab for him, clinging to his shoulder, fingers buried in his hair, yanking him down so you can babble, mouth pressed to his ear:
“Yours—yours—never stop, Frank—” His pace stutters, hips jackhammering forward and then grinding in, and suddenly it’s like the world snaps in two. Pleasure detonates up your spine like gunfire, like someone just set off a flashbang right behind your eyes. Your body wrenches, curls, the muscles in your thighs quaking where he’s got you folded almost in half. You grab at his shoulders, his hair, wild for something to anchor you down, to keep from shaking straight out of your own skin. Frank rides it out, making these shivery little noises between his teeth—half cursing, half worship—while his hands press down on your waist, pinning you to the bed like you might float away if he let up. You don’t even hear yourself come, just the way the world blanks out for a long, impossible second, then snaps back in all color and sweat and the taste of his shoulder between your teeth. You’re still shaking, locked tight around him, when he finally lets up on your thighs and lets them fall. Your knees are jelly, numb and useless. You can’t remember your own name, but it’s there in his mouth, a shaking
“Attagirl, that’s it, fuck—“ as he pulses inside you, hard and greedy and so deep it almost hurts again, new. He clings to you, weight trapping you perfectly, chest pushing you down into the mattress as he spends himself inside, like he’s afraid if he lets go you’ll disappear. His breath is heavy, hot against your hairline; sweat from both of you pools where your bodies meet, your skin stuck to his like glue. The slow, shuddery grind of his last thrusts, more soothing than sex at this point, keep you pinned under the haze until the aftershocks shiver out and your body finally, finally, remembers how to breathe. He holds still. Just for a second. The world is silent except for the wet, needy sound of you breathing. His hands cup your jaw, as if you’re breakable. You try to laugh, but it comes out raw, almost a whimper, and his lips find yours, feather-light this time.
Frank’s whole body softens the second he hears that sound.
That tiny, wrecked little whimper against his mouth.
Immediately, the intensity drains out of him—not gone completely, never gone completely with Frank—but gentled down into something warm and careful and devastatingly tender. He kisses you again, slower this time, lips lingering like he’s apologizing for every rough thrust and thanking you for taking them all at once.
“Hey,” he murmurs quietly. “Hey, c’mere.” You’re already there. Boneless beneath him, shaking in little aftershocks while he brushes damp hair away from your forehead with surprising delicacy for someone built like a tank. His thumb strokes over your cheek again, wiping away tears you hadn’t even realized were still there.
“You with me, sweetheart?” You nod weakly. “Words, baby.”
“M’here,” you mumble. Your voice sounds wrecked. Frank’s expression immediately goes soft around the edges.
“There’s my girl.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Did so good for me.” The praise hits embarrassingly hard after everything. Your eyes flutter shut for a second, and Frank notices immediately.
“Tired?”
“A little.”
“Yeah.” He exhales softly, still hovering over you like he’s reluctant to put any real weight down. “I know, baby.” Very carefully, he eases himself off you with a low groan, one hand braced on the mattress while the other stays on your hip the whole time. Protective. Grounding. The second he pulls away, you whine quietly at the sudden emptiness, and Frank actually huffs a tired laugh.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters fondly. “Can’t even make it five seconds without me, huh?” You crack one eye open.
“You literally folded me in half.”
“And you loved it.”
“…Maybe.”
“Knew it.” You try to kick him weakly. Frank catches your ankle immediately, grinning down at you before pressing a kiss to the inside of your calf. Then his expression shifts again when he notices the way your thighs tremble afterward. Instant concern.
“Hey.” His palm smooths up your leg gently. “Too much?”
“No,” you say quickly. “No, s’good.”
“You sure?” You nod. Frank studies your face for another long second anyway, because Frank notices things. Then apparently satisfied, he leans down and presses one more soft kiss to your forehead before climbing off the bed completely. The absence of his body heat is immediate. You make a pathetic noise before you can stop yourself. Frank pauses halfway to the bathroom doorway and looks back at you with the most smug expression you’ve ever seen.
“Oh, now y’want me back.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought.” You hear water running a second later. Drawers opening. Frank moving around the bathroom with the same quiet heaviness he does everything with. A minute later he comes back carrying a damp washcloth and your favorite oversized sleep shorts tossed over one shoulder. Your chest squeezes stupidly hard at the sight. Because this is Frank too.
Not just rough hands and filthy teasing and possessive growling against your skin. This. The care afterward. The way he always checks. Always notices. He sits beside you on the mattress, expression softer now, and nudges your thigh apart carefully.
“S'cold,” he warns. You hiss when the washcloth touches sensitive skin. Frank immediately slows down. “Sorry, honey.”
“It’s okay.” His jaw tightens a little anyway, like he’s annoyed at himself for not somehow preventing basic friction from existing. You watch him quietly while he cleans you up with absurd gentleness for a man who looks like he fistfights walls recreationally.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs without looking up.
“You’re pretty.” Frank snorts.
“Sweetheart, I look homeless.”
“You look hot.”
“That’s because you got problems.” You laugh tiredly, and the sound makes his mouth twitch. Once he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and helps pull the shorts carefully up your legs before immediately tugging you into his lap like it’s instinct. Your entire body melts against him. Frank leans back against the headboard with you sprawled bonelessly across his chest, one massive hand rubbing slow circles against your spine underneath one of his old shirts he’d pulled back onto you. For a while, neither of you says anything. Just breathing. His fingers comb lazily through your hair while your cheek rests over his heartbeat. Then:
“…Still thinkin’ about Curtis?” he asks casually. You choke laughing.
“Frank.”
“What?”
“You are unbelievable.”
“M’serious.” He sounds deeply offended. “Need t’know if I gotta fight him now.”
“You are not fighting Curtis because I wore novelty underwear.” Frank hums thoughtfully.
“Maybe just a little fight.”
“You’re insane.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He kisses the top of your head. “Still your favorite Marine though.” You tilt your head back just enough to look at him.
“Debatable.” Frank stares at you for one long second. Then abruptly rolls you beneath him again with a growl while you shriek laughing.
𓏵 ┊ younger girlfriend squirting with jack abbot . 18+
you tell jack who’s been knuckles deep inside your pussy for the past hour that something feels weirder than usual, as you’re sitting in between his legs — your back pressed against his chest with your thighs parted giving him the perfect amount of access needed to pleasure you.
“what’s wrong, baby?” he murmurs against your temple with a gentle kiss as his calloused digits are rhythmically plunging in and out of your hole. curling his fingers sweet into that spongey spot inside of you, it’s almost cruel the way he knows exactly how to make you lose it. “it feels weird.” you testify, eyes fixated on the recurring disappearance of your boyfriend’s fingers inside of you.
“yeah? tell me what feels weird, hm.” he hums, feeling you shift and squirm against him as he holds one of your legs open by the backside of your knee. and you can barely utter the words from your mouth, “your fingers keep pressing against my bladder, its making me feel like i have to go— go to the bathroom.” you bite down on your bottom lip.
every time jack’s fingers plunge back inside you, it feels as if you’re peeing yourself already. as if the motion of his fingers are forcing that specific release from you. “that so?” you feel his chest rumble against you as he lets out a gruff chuckle, “that’s good then. that’s the feeling you want when it starts feeling good, sweetheart.” he reassures, as your walls pulse around his fingers.
you whine, throwing you head back against his shoulder. each drag of his digits bringing you closer, and closer towards the edge as you let out soft moans.
jack let’s out an impressed whistle once he starts to feel your hips rock into hand. “fuck— it feels good.” you moan warm against the side of his neck, “so good i might actually pee.” which earns a low, amused groan from jack.
“mhmm, you gonna make a mess on my hand?” he lifts his thumb up, before pressing mean against your swollen clit making you jolt. “w—wait!” you stammer, throwing your hands towards jack’s forearm in attempt to halt his movements as he shakes his head in disapproval. “uh-uh, can’t have you telling me to stop now.” he rasps, pressing circles around your nub as it twitches under the pad of this thumb.
“c’mon and show me how messy you can get.” his breath fans warm against your cheek, before your body’s involuntarily letting loose. your body is shaking, and your walls are caving in around jack’s digits as you’re whimpering. “thaat’s it, baby— give it to me.” he groans, targeting that sweet spot inside of you, before you’re making a wet mess all over yourself.
“mmgh, jack— jack.” you’re whimpering as slight humiliation fills your chest, though the pleasure is far too euphoric as he coaxes every last drop out of you. “atta girl.” he nudges his mouth against the side of your head to whisper in your ear. “i love nasty girls.” he groans.
word count: 7.7k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, rape/non-con (bc of somnophilia), fauxcest, enemies to lovers (you don't like your uncle jack…), he calls you “dear”, perv!jack, age gap (you're in college), there's only one bed! (bc your uncle wants you to sleep with him, oop-), stalking, surveillance, non-consensual drug use (he sedates you), implied loss of virginity, captor/captive dynamic (he holds you captive in his house!), stockholm syndrome, murder (wow am I nuts or is he?), sadism, unprotected sex, breeding kink, edging, forced orgasms, pet play (you're wearing a shock collar…), praise kink (lots of “good girl”), squirting (on puppy pads), anal play (he makes you wear a tail), sex toys, choking, humiliation/degradation kink, size difference, possessive behavior, jealousy, uncle!jack takes very good care of his pet niece!
summary: due to unforeseeable circumstances, you're forced to move in with your uncle jack. you promised him that you would wait until he has a day off of work to put together your bed frame so you've been sleeping in his bed until then.
but he keeps putting it off, as an excuse to keep you in his bed.
so when you decide to put together your bed by yourself, he gets really angry…
a/n: since the citizens of freak nation have been asking for pet play, I decided to return to this draft I completely forgot about with my pervy icky uncle!jack ~
hope it's a sick read ♡
You wish you didn't have to move in with your uncle.
It's a bit dramatic to say you hate Jack Abbot but…you have never really liked him.
He's just a family friend, someone who happens to show up to the parties your family gets invited to. He usually never goes to these outings but whenever he does, he always singles you out.
You have no idea why. Maybe it's because when you were younger, you said that you had an interest in medicine and someone in the family introduced you to Jack, since he's a doctor.
Even though you have long since pivoted away from medicine, it seems like he is hyperfixated on you despite everything.
And now, you're stuck living with him…
It's supposed to be temporary. Just for a while, until you get back on your feet since you got kicked out of your house.
Jack had heard what had happened and reached out to you. You never expected a text from him.
You never should've agreed.
But you couldn't say no to the prospect of no rent and living closer to your college campus. Plus, Jack gave you his credit card for any purchases, like groceries or stuff for your room.
You told him that you won't buy too much since you don't plan on staying. You wanted to get an air mattress to sleep on until you found your own place but Jack insisted that you get a nice mattress and bed frame. He would help you move it when the time comes.
Though, will Jack let you move out now that he finally has you in his house?
Definitely not.
You're so silly for even thinking he would but you seem rather oblivious to how attracted he is to you. You don't react to his casual touches or his direct flirtations. You brush them off as symptoms of his carefree personality.
If anything, you dislike him.
He knows you do.
He doesn't understand why you do, but he would be a fool not to recognize how often you try to avoid him when he's home.
The only time you can't avoid him is when it's time to sleep. And that's only because he refuses to help you put together your bed frame until he has a day off but he has been “too tired” on his days off to want to do it and he won't let you do it on your own. He got a rather difficult to assemble bed frame that requires two people to put together.
Jack did this on purpose, so you would have to sleep in his bed with him for as long as he can stall out the assembly because he won't let you “dirty the nice mattress by putting it on the basement floor”. He has a shitty couch, more like a tiny loveseat, that can't possibly be comfortable to sleep in. You have tried, several times, to see if you could but you always resorted to sleeping in Jack's very plush, king-sized bed.
It's like he purposefully made his bed extra comfy so you can't help but sleep so well there.
Even though sometimes you wake up with him tucked in behind you after his night shift, his arms wrapped around you. You've talked to him about this but he claims he isn't doing it on purpose. According to him, he is fidgety in his sleep because of his PTSD.
That's why you can't fight him on it.
Jack knows that, deep down, you're a sweet girl with a big heart. You never make him feel bad for having a physical disability. You are open to helping him with his prosthetic if he ever needs it. But he doesn't like to ask because he wants you to rely on him, not the other way around.
Like the way your body is slowly craving his touch.
You aren't conscious of it because Jack only touches you after he's certain you've drunk some water from the cute water bottle you always drink out of right before bed. He adds a pinch of something that renders you immobile until you wake up.
Only a pinch because he wants you to still be able to feel the orgasms he gives you. He just doesn't want you to wake up and ruin his fun.
You've been having the weirdest dreams. It doesn't help that you wake up wet between your legs and occasionally with Jack's hard cock pressed up against your ass. He's fast asleep so you know it's not on purpose but it makes you so uncomfortable because of how big he is.
Though, it makes you more uncomfortable that your mind wanders to how it would feel inside of you.
Thoughts you shouldn't have but your body aches for it.
Like your body has felt it before…
But that can't be possible.
You've never even had sex before.
Not that you know of.
Jack has had sex with you plenty of times by now. He's cum inside of you too. He always fingers you until it all spills out so you don't notice it too much when you wake up. He administered the birth control shot in your sleep a while ago to prevent a random pregnancy.
If he wants you pregnant, Jack will get you pregnant. But for right now, he needs you to want him first.
Something that's proving to become more and more impossible everyday.
Your body wants him. He has trained it to desire him. But you don't want him.
He overheard you saying as much over the phone to some guy you've been “seeing”. You don't know that Jack has your phone wire tapped so he hears every phone call you make. He specifically pays attention to the ones you take when you go out on a walk in the neighborhood to avoid him hearing you complain about him.
“It's not like he does anything weird but my uncle just gives me the creeps sometimes.” You sigh as you round the block for the fifth time during this conversation. “I don't know if I'm making it up in my head but I swear, it feels like he's…watching me.”
The guy you're talking to provides you with no comfort because he's not looking to hear you complain. Jack knows exactly what this guy is looking for when he comes to you.
He stalked him for enough days to piece together that all that guy wants to do is get in your pants.
And that's a place reserved for your uncle.
So, against his best wishes, Jack simply has to take care of the issue.
A few days later, there's a knock on the front door.
Jack is cleaning his shoes, a routine he does whenever he wakes up a bit early before his night shift, so you go to answer the door.
You look through the peephole and furrow your brows, confused.
“Who is it, dear?” Jack asks and you try not to physically cringe at him calling you “dear”.
He refers to you as “his dearest niece”, something that still gives you the creeps but you elect to just ignore it and blame it on the fact that he's an old man.
“The police.” You open the door for them.
The two officers ask if you live at the house and you nod. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Apologies, ma'am, but we just need to ask you a few questions—oh Jack!” The officer recognizes your uncle and you nearly flinch when you feel Jack's arm wrap around your shoulder. “Is this that niece you're always talking so fondly of? I knew this house seemed familiar.”
“You've only ever come over here drunk so I figured you must've had trouble recognizing it.” Jack says so casually, throwing in a light laugh before asking, “anyways, what seems to be the issue with my niece? Did she get into some trouble?”
He squeezes your shoulder playfully but you don't like the way his fingers dig so hard into your flesh…
“We just wanted to ask her some questions.” They show you a photo of the guy you were talking to, who ghosted you a few days ago. “Do you recognize him?”
You explain everything to them, since they ask about your last conversation with that guy. You tell them that the two of you barely know each other and that he's someone who asked for your number in class. That is a trend that the police officers are noticing because they reveal to you that you aren't the only one he was talking to. That much you figured but it stings a little hearing it put so bluntly…
“Is everything okay with him?” Not like you care but the police have to be here for a reason.
Jack doesn't like that you ask that. He thinks you're asking because you care. He tightens his grip on your shoulder unconsciously.
The tension remains when the officers tell the two of you, “we found his body this morning. Been dead a few days.”
“Oh fuck.” You can't believe it. Maybe he didn't ghost you after all… “How did he die?”
The officers look at each other. They probably shouldn't disclose it.
But then Jack pushes for the answer, since he's curious how much the cops know. He was going to snoop around during his next SWAT shift but this is a little easier.
Officers love to gossip with people they think they can trust.
“Must've been bad if you're questioning my niece.” Jack fishes for it without asking directly.
“It was pretty brutal.” The officer Jack is friendly with admits. “Guy got all of the blood drained out of him. He had to have been alive when it was happening, according to the medical examiner.”
Jack can feel you tense up at that so he waves the officers away, “you're scaring her. If you don't have any other questions, I think you should give her some space to mourn her classmate.”
The officers apologize and then head out, telling Jack that they'll see him next time he's on shift.
He shuts the door and turns to you, seeing the way you've gone completely still.
“Are you alright?” Jack cups your face with his hands, bringing you up to look at him. “You're trembling.”
“I-I…I've never had someone I know die before.” Especially not someone your age. “And he was murdered…”
Jack should've killed him sooner. You're allowing him to touch you so easily right now. Could he have had you all this time if he had just scared you a little?
He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close to him, hugging you as he gently rubs your back. He comforts you and you accept it because you are genuinely freaked out.
“It's hard so take your time to grieve.” Not too long but he'll let you grieve since you've never had to before. Plus, it is his fault you feel this way right now, since he killed the guy. “I'm here for you if you want to talk about it. I've had plenty of people I know die.”
“I don't know how you do it.” You seriously don't.
Your uncle sees people dying almost everyday. It's one of the reasons you decided against medical school. You aren't mentally strong enough for that.
“Lots of therapy.” He pats your head gently, speaking softly and kindly. He might not get another chance to draw you into him so he needs to make it count, “do you want to see a therapist? I can pay for it.”
You shake your head. “I'll be okay, Uncle Jack. Thank you though, I really appreciate it.”
You hug him back, grateful to have the support. He holds you close, wishing this moment could last forever.
Since then, you aren't as annoyed when you feel him spoon you in his sleep. You find his touch oddly comforting now, even though you shouldn't entertain the idea of it.
You can't live here forever and you definitely can't keep sleeping in the same bed as your uncle.
Your dreams keep getting filthier and filthier…
You imagine Jack on top of you, pounding into you furiously, shoving you deeper into the mattress, grunting, groaning, cumming hard while he says your name on repeat, filling you with hot ropes of cum deep inside that feel real.
You wake up with your fingers in your pussy, wet with your slick, and Jack's arms securely around your waist. He has no clue you had such a raunchy dream about him just now.
And you have no clue that it wasn't a dream at all.
Jack did pump his entire load inside of you, having been pent up all day long at work from thinking about his niece's tight pussy wrapped about his cock. You've been swallowing him up so easily lately. You might not need the prep anymore.
But he still makes sure you cum a few times in your sleep before he starts fucking you. He may be fucked up, but he isn't that greedy. He likes seeing you cum, your body convulsing uncontrollably when your orgasm hits in your sleep.
If only Jack could see the same sight while you're awake.
He hasn't crossed that line yet.
He hadn't planned to.
Until he comes home from work today and you aren't sleeping in his bed like you usually do.
You're always asleep at this time. You're supposed to be. He is certain he drugged your water before he left.
But you didn't drink from your water bottle today. You actually put it in the dishwasher because you figured it needed a clean since the water had been tasting a little funky lately so you washed it and drank from a glass instead as you spent hours putting together your bed frame in your bedroom, which is in the basement.
You had found a video online on how to assemble the exact bed frame Jack got you but with only one person. It took an extra hour to accomplish but you no longer have to sleep in Jack's bed anymore.
Meaning you will, hopefully, stop having wet dreams about him…
You fall right asleep once you've put the mattress on the bed securely and washed up for the night. You can finally sleep with a locked door between you and Jack, which is how it was always meant to be.
But Jack can't stand it when he tries your doorknob and it's locked.
Because now, if he unlocks it to fuck you in your sleep, you will know. You put a piece of tape on the door, so if it breaks, you can prove that Jack broke into your room.
It's something you had to do because your parents would come into your room at night to snoop around your stuff. It's why you got kicked out because you confronted them about it with evidence and they didn't like how “ungrateful” you were. But you didn't like how fucking weird they were being, sneaking into your room.
Something you figured would eventually happen with Jack…
And Jack debates throwing caution to the wind because he wants to fuck you so badly.
He had grown used to using your perfect pussy as stress relief after a long night shift. He feels like he's being denied a basic need of his.
But he is too smart to give in.
He needs to plan something to show you that you belong to him.
And it starts by trapping you in your room.
You wake up starving so you go to unlock your bedroom door to grab some food but it won't open.
You pound on the door, shouting, “Uncle Jack! Are you there? My door is stuck!”
You try pushing it a few times but it won't budge.
It's like it's still locked.
Because it is, from the other side, with a biometric lock…
Your eyes glance over to the tape.
It's ripped.
That means Jack was in your room.
You dart around the room with your eyes, noticing now that the room has no windows.
Isn't that a code violation?
But it's in the basement so…
You hadn't thought about the room much and you were so tired after putting your bed together that you just went right to sleep.
You're thankful that you have a working bathroom but that's all you have.
There's nothing but clothes in your room. You don't have your phone. You don't have your laptop or your school supplies.
What the fuck is going on…
Are you—
You start frantically pounding on the door, screaming, “Uncle Jack, let me out!”
No response.
You are fucking trapped in here.
Jack likes seeing the way you panic. He installed a few cameras to watch you like you're a pet he needs to monitor while he's away.
You should've known better than to disobey him. He told you to wait until he could help you put the bed frame together.
Just because he was purposefully putting it off doesn't mean you should've went out of your way to do it yourself!
Truly, this is all your fault.
All you had to be was his good girl.
But you just had to be difficult.
So now, of course he has to punish you!
All of a sudden, you hear your uncle's voice coming out of a speaker in your walls, “you don't get to leave until you apologize for not listening to me.”
“Excuse me?” You can't believe this! “What the fuck is your problem, you fucking freak!”
Jack sighs, tired of your attitude.
Then, all of a sudden, you feel an electric shock around your neck and you yelp!
“What the fuck—” You finally perceive the thin collar around your neck, tugging at it. It won't budge. “Did you put a shock collar on me, asshole?!”
He shocks you again and you wince. It doesn't really hurt but it stings, like someone's slapping one of those weird plastic wristbands around your neck over and over again.
“Stop!” You plead because you don't like the feeling.
“Apologize to me.” Jack is stern with his tone.
“I'm sorry.” You tell him.
“For what?” He wants a full apology.
“I'm sorry I didn't listen to you and put together my bed without you, Uncle Jack.” You brace yourself to get shocked in case your apology isn't good enough but thankfully he doesn't.
“Get on your knees.” He instructs.
“W-What?” You are definitely not doing that.
“Get on your knees at the door and wait for me or else.” He makes his threat very apparent.
Jack watches how reluctant you are. You obviously don't want to do it, which only makes it all the more delightful when you finally submit.
You kneel at the door, waiting for him, your lips all pouty. He wants to shove his cock into that pretty mouth of yours right now.
But he'll have to hold back.
Though, it's difficult to when he opens the door and you're staring up at him with so much fury in your eyes.
“Did you seriously fucking lock me—” You're interrupted in the middle of cussing Jack out by him slamming the door shut behind him, locking it. “What the fuck is your—!”
He hits the button on the remote and you are immediately shocked much harsher than earlier!
“Stop, stop, it hurts!” You cry out and Jack hits the button again, stopping it.
“Are you going to be a good girl or not?” He asks you, standing over you.
“Please take the collar off.” You can't wear this any longer.
It feels like it's burning a hole in your neck…
“I asked you a question.” He hovers his finger over the button and basks in the fear that strikes in you.
“I-I will be.” You swallow your pride. “Just please take it off.”
“I will.” Jack says, his eyes locked on yours. “In a week.”
“What?!” You can't wear this thing for a week!
“If you can be a good girl for a week, then I'll take it off. But the moment you do anything bad, we add another week. Understood?”
You want to scream at him. You want to beat the shit out of him.
But the collar is metal. No unlocking mechanism. Specially made.
Jack is the only one who knows how to unlock it. And it can shock you much worse than the low levels he has been hitting you with.
You can see it in his eyes. He wants you to disobey him. He wants you to give him an excuse to keep that collar on you longer.
You can't let him win.
But you need a guarantee. “Do you promise if I'm a good girl to take off the collar?”
“Yes, dear.” And as a sign of good faith, he kneels down in front of you and pops the collar off, to prove that he can. “You can go without it while we're in your room. But you're putting it back on if you want to leave. The door won't open otherwise.”
Jack invites you to try to unlock the door. It won't budge. Then, he walks over and snaps the collar back on you and suddenly, the door can be opened.
“In case you get any ideas.” He whispers low in your ear, causing shivers to go straight down your spine when he reveals, “it'll shock you hard enough to kill you if you try anything, like run away or tell anyone about it. I wouldn't risk it.”
“I won't.” You know he's being serious.
Only a crazy man would lock his pseudo-niece in a basement and put a shock collar around her neck.
And you won't provoke a crazy man.
You just need to survive whatever he has in store for you for the week.
Then, you'll be free.
But the perversion starts sooner than you thought it would.
It starts at breakfast.
Jack makes you sit on his lap while you eat. You have to pretend you don't feel how hard he is beneath you as you scarf down your food because you're so hungry. You have to ignore how his hands are resting on your thighs, sliding up and down, making you feel so small given the sheer size of his hands.
“My niece eats so well.” Jack says against the shell of your ear before nipping at it with his teeth. “Did that food taste good?”
You don't understand why you're getting wet from this. You shouldn't. You should feel fucking disgusted.
You can't let your discomfort show so you answer, “yes, Uncle Jack. Thank you for cooking for me.”
“Look at me.” He has you turn and face him. “Kiss me if you're really thankful.”
“W-What?” You stammer out.
Why would you kiss—
“Kiss me or I'll add another week to your training.” He threatens and you stiffen up.
Then, you lean in and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Jack.”
“Straddle my lap facing me.” He snaps at you to do so.
You listen, even though you don't want to. You feel so icky having his chest pressed against his, with his hard cock pushing up against you.
He cups your face, making you look at him before he leans in and kisses you. You don't want to kiss him back.
But then he says against your lips, “don't make me do it.”
And you kiss him back right away.
Jack smiles against your lips, kissing you nice and sloppy. You hate it. You hate it so fucking much.
Because your body is getting hot all over.
You don't get why you're reacting to him. Your pussy is aching to be touched. It doesn't help that he keeps grinding his hips, making you fully aware of how big his cock is, how good it would feel buried deep inside of you.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can't be thinking this.
You can't—
“You're so wet.” Jack's words are warm on your lips and horribly degrading. “I can feel you soaking my sweats.”
You look down. There's no way…
You are that wet. You can feel your slick through your flimsy sleep shorts, the fabric doing nothing to keep in how turned on you are.
You shouldn't be this attracted to your uncle!
Something is going on. There has to be an explanation…
“Uncle Jack, what did you do to me?” You're scared of whatever this is.
“I didn't do anything bad to you, dear.” He gives you a kiss on the forehead that provides no comfort.
“But you did something.” You want to know what it is.
“Do you want me to show you what I did?” Jack would be happy to.
You bite your lip, nervous.
What are you about to get yourself into if you agree?
But you have to know…
“Okay.” You say with a nod.
Jack stands up then, carrying you by your thighs. You have to cling onto him as he takes you to his bed, dropping you on the edge.
You prop yourself on your elbows when you see Jack kneel down in front of you before tugging off your shorts and underwear in one swift motion.
You should tell him to stop. Yell at him to get away from you. Not let him spread your thighs apart and—
Your eyes roll back in your head when his tongue swirls around your clit perfectly. Too perfectly. He knows exactly the right pace, pressure, rhythm to get you close to an orgasm.
Then, he stops right before you get there. You squirm in his hold, his hands holding your thighs apart so you can't rub them together and make yourself cum.
“Does my niece want to cum?” Jack asks then drags his tongue along the length of your slit, making your whole body shake with need. “It looks like you do.”
“Uncle Jack…” Why do you want him to make you cum?
This is the same guy that literally just put a shock collar on you and locked you in your room!
“What do you want, dear?” He flicks your clit once, as a tease. “Use your words. What do you want your uncle to do for you?”
You can't feed into this. You can't!
This is wrong!
But your pussy is throbbing. You're desperate to cum.
You want to so badly…
“I want my uncle to make me cum.” You tell him before covering your face with your hands, hiding how embarrassed you are.
You can't hide for long. Because Jack starts ravaging you with his tongue, playing with your clit exactly the way you need him to until you're screaming and moaning into your palms, cumming hard.
Jack loves it. Loves finally getting to hear you be vocal. You're awake and enjoying his touch, albeit with a touch of humiliation.
He leans into it for your sake. “My niece just came so hard on my tongue. Do you like how I'm going down on you?”
You nod into your hands, unable to admit it out loud. It feels too good. Your body is still reeling from that first orgasm that you aren't ready for him to dive back in and start sucking on your clit.
“Wait, Uncle Jack!” You cry out when he thrusts two fingers inside of you, the wet sounds filling the room. “Stop, stop, I'm going to cum again!”
He nearly chuckles at that. How cute. You have no idea how many times he can make you cum before your body is unable to take it anymore. You're barely at your limits.
Jack can push you to the very edge, make you cum like crazy. And he needs to, now that you're awake to fully react to it.
His cock wants to burst out of his sweats when you squirt on his fingers the moment he curls them inside of you just right. He loves that bashful expression on your face, so full of shock that you came that hard.
“How was that, dear? That must've felt amazing.” Jack pulls his fingers out of you so he can taste you.
You watch him in such a daze, not understanding how he knows your body so well.
Like, how does he know that his cock can fit so easily inside of you?
You can't even process it quick enough. Jack just climbs on top of you and then sinks his cock inside of you. He hilts without any resistance from you.
And you cum so hard when he does.
The moment the tip of his cock kisses your womb, you cum all of a sudden, just like he trained you to.
Your pussy wraps around his cock so well. Jack knows exactly how to thrust inside of you to get you gasping for air.
“Uncle Jack, what's going on!” You're so confused because you shouldn't be taking his huge cock this easily, especially not your first time ever having sex.
“We're having sex.” He states the obvious, rolling his hips against yours, making your whole body shudder in response.
“B-But it's my first time.” Isn't it supposed to hurt?
“It is your first time.” Jack tells you. It's your first time awake, so he's not technically lying.
“But your cock is—” Your words are cut off by a moan when he pounds into you deeper all of a sudden.
“You like your uncle's cock, don't you?” He keeps up his quicker pace until you're squirting all over his cock with every thrust. “That's it, dear. Cum lots for me.”
He doesn't have to tell you to. Your body is well trained already. It's just your mind that's growing fuzzy from the pleasure you're finally experiencing while alert.
By the time Jack finally cums inside of you, you're a fucking mess on his bed, your body still convulsing and cumming even after he's pulled his cock out of you.
And it only gets worse when he tells you, “you're due for your birth control shot but I don't think I'll give it to you.”
“Uncle Jack…” You're having a hard time processing what he must've done to you in your sleep.
“If you're a good girl and you aren't pregnant by the end of the week, I'll administer it.” He lays down beside you, patting your head. “But only then.”
You look up at him when his hand slides from the top of your head to cup your cheek, the warmth of his palm disturbing given how comforting it feels. You shouldn't lean into his touch.
So, you lean into his lips instead, when he presses them against yours and you don't stop yourself from kissing him back.
You reason it's because you have to. You obviously don't want to kiss him. You don't want him to pull your body close to him and hold you. But he does and you submit.
Jack smiles against your lips, liking the lack of resistance. No matter what happens this week, his goal is to make it so you can't live without him.
Because he can't live without you.
You're unsure if you're lucky that it's spring break this week. It's probably good because then you don't have to explain to your classmates why you're wearing a scarf when it's warm outside. But it's bad because your uncle takes the whole week off so he can continue his slow torture of your body.
To test just how far you'll let him go, Jack has you on a leash now in his house.
When he tells you to sit, you sit. Usually on his lap or at his feet while the two of you watch TV in the living room. He always has you on his lap for meals. You don't even remember when he started resting his cock inside of you while the two of you ate.
But you do remember how hard you came when he played with your clit as you were trying to cut up the food on your plate.
Now he does it every meal...
“Aren't you a spoiled pet?” Jack teases you more, pinching your clit, making you jolt in his lap, driving his cock deeper into you. “You should focus on eating.”
You hate when he tells you to focus. It means he's going to edge you to the brink of insanity. And now that you're aware of the kind of pleasure he can give you, it truly is torture to have to hold it in.
Jack likes edging you, though. Your pussy tightens up around him, squeezing him so desperately, wanting to cum so badly. He finds it amusing. He never thought he'd have so much fun with a pet before.
“Finish your plate, dear.” Jack slides his other hand to your lower belly, kneading you right there. “You need fuel if you're going to have pups, you know.”
There's something so degrading about the way he's treating you like a dog. But you have to listen.
Because it's only when you're a good girl that he breeds you like an animal.
Jack shoves your plate across the table once you're done to clear space. Then, before you can have a moment to brace yourself, he slams you down onto it chest first and starts pounding into your pussy from behind exactly how you need him to.
The orgasms that always roll through you when he has edged you then finally lets you cum has you shaking, your legs wobbling, your knees buckling, your body barely able to hold itself up.
Jack has his hands firmly gripping your hips as he fucks you through your orgasm, reveling in how easily you cum on his cock over and over again. He loves the sound of you moaning his name. You don't tell him it's too much for you anymore. You just take it like a good girl.
“My dearest niece loves being bred by her uncle, doesn't she?” Jack smiles when your pussy tenses up at his question and then you burst, squirting all over his cock in response. “You're dripping onto the floor. We'll have to get you some puppy pads, huh?”
As if this isn't humiliating enough…
From that moment forward, any time Jack fucks you anywhere that isn't in bed, he lays a puppy pad down and makes you fully aware of how hard you've cum every time he touches you. And you aren't allowed to complain because you need to make it through this week.
Just a few more days of him fingering you over a pad until you're squirting onto it. Just a few more days of him fucking you until you see stars and your womb is full of his release.
Just a few more days of him kissing you so softly, telling you how beautiful you are, cuddling you in bed, taking care of you like you really are a pet he adores.
Just one more night and you'll be out of this collar.
And then Jack will know if he has broken you or not.
“You've been very good, dear.” He pats you lovingly on the head while you're kneeling at his feet by the couch. “Just a little longer.”
“Get on all fours and turn your ass towards me.” He says with a snap and you listen like he's trained you to. “Good girl. I love seeing you wag your tail.”
You chew on your bottom lip, not sure if you can last much longer...
Jack has you sitting on a puppy pad with beads in your ass and a vibrator buzzing on the lowest setting in your pussy. You want to cum but you can't. He turns off the vibrator every time you get close, like he does right now. But this time, he pulls it out of you, leaving you hollow inside.
The beads that are tormenting your ass have a fluffy tail attached to the end of them. A tail Jack likes to grab a hold of and tug, popping a bead out of you just to watch you shake your ass. You nearly cum when he shoves it back in past your tight ring.
This has been his favorite show to watch. You, naked, on your hands and knees, edged to the brink of insanity, your pussy aching to be filled with his cock until you cum as many times as your body will allow you to.
Now, Jack wonders how much you like being his little pet.
So, he slides his hand up and presses his finger over the biometric lock. Your collar comes right off then, much to your surprise. There's still a night left but he's taking it off early…
Then, Jack tells you, “you've done so well, dear. You're free to go now.”
What? You turn back to look at him.
Your uncle gets up from the couch, going into his bedroom to put the collar away somewhere safe, leaving you there on all fours, wondering what you're supposed to do with yourself when you want to cum already.
Are you allowed to cum?
You need Jack to tell you what to do...
You're unsure.
Your body…doesn't know what to do.
Wait, what! No, you don't!
You're not his pet. You don't need to wait for him to tell you what you can or can't do.
So, why are you still waiting for him to come back?
Fuck. You're fucked.
Because why are you crawling to his room?
Why are you happy when you see him smile when you get there? Why are you kneeling by his feet at the foot of his bed where he has been sitting, waiting for his pet to find him?
You're past the point of humiliation.
That's why you let him pat you on the head and say, “I knew you were a good girl.”
And the slick between your legs grows in response.
“Do you want your reward for being so good?” He pats the spot next to him. “You know what to do, dear.”
You scramble onto the bed quicker than you intend, heat flooding your system when Jack laughs at how eager you are to get on all fours for him. He stands up then, pulling his clothes off until he's completely naked too.
You try not to moan too loudly when you feel the tip of his cock gliding along the length of your wet slit, gathering your slick up so he can tease your throbbing clit.
“Will you keep being good for your uncle?” Jack asks you and you nod right away, filling him with delight. “I need you to rub your clit but you can't cum, okay? I'll be right back.”
Your fingers are on your clit the moment he moves away from you and you rub yourself until you're so close to bursting. That's when Jack comes back with the vibrator he had in your pussy earlier, handing it to you.
“Turn it on when I tell you to.” He instructs and you nod, placing it against your clit, shivering with anticipation.
Though, that might just be your reaction to him putting a new collar around your neck. A soft leather one, with a leash that he has wound around his fist. He yanks it back just a tad, as a test, and you nearly cum when he cuts off your air.
Jack has really messed you up, hasn't he?
“Don't cum until I kiss your womb, okay?” He waits for you to nod and then chuckles when you do so very eagerly. “That's my good girl. You'll get to cum a lot once I do, I promise.”
You don't hold in the moan when you feel Jack finally push his cock into you. But he is torturing you now, purposefully keeping his thrusts shallow so you're left clawing at the sheets, your body so tense that you could explode at any moment.
“Please, Uncle Jack.” You finally allow yourself to beg. You haven't all week but since he doesn't have the shock collar on you anymore, you plead to him. “Please fuck me.”
“I am fucking you, dear.” Jack knows he's tormenting you because you're wriggling, needing him to go deeper. “Tell me exactly what you want your uncle to do to you.”
And it's like all the dignity you have left completely erodes away when you tell him, “please breed me, Uncle Jack.”
“My niece wants me to put a baby in her?” You can't see the devilish grin on his face but you know it's there.
“Yes.” You answer and then repeat that word over and over again the moment he rams his cock inside of you and you're cumming all over him, your body bursting completely.
“Turn it on now.” He commands and even in your daze, you know to listen.
You flip on the vibrator and the vibrations hit your clit at the same time as the tip of his cock grinds against your womb and now you're squirting uncontrollably.
“I should've made you lay down a pad if I knew you'd cum this much.” He says with a chuckle, liking how lost you are in your orgasm that you aren't even processing his degradation. “What a cute pet I have, wagging her tail for me.”
Jack wraps your tail around the same hand holding your leash and with the single tug, a bead pops out of your ass as your collar chokes you. You're swimming in a sea of stars, your vision going dark when you can no longer breathe.
And the pleasure doesn't cease…
He pulls out another bead, choking you harder, watching your body spasm beneath him, your pussy milking his cock beautifully.
“Good girl.” His voice is soft and gentle compared to how harsh his actions are, keeping you from the air you need to survive. “Cum nice and hard for me, dear.”
He shoves the beads back into your ass, the sudden rush of pressure winding you, the release of your leash allowing air to funnel back into your throat but it's caught there by how intense your orgasm shoots through you.
The sounds you're making aren't even human anymore. Just mumbles and whimpers and whines and cute little attempts at babbling his name.
You've dug your nails into his sheets now, tearing into them as Jack puts his hands back on your hips, digging his nails into your flesh for leverage so he can slam every inch of his thick cock as deep as your body will let him go. The rhythm in which he's fucking you has you losing faith in your mind, in your ability to reason things through.
You're so far gone now.
So consumed by your uncle.
That when Jack asks you, “tell me you want to keep being my dearest pet and I'll keep breeding you just the way you like it.”
Your mouth moves before your mind can stop it, “I want to be your pet, Uncle Jack.”
“Flip over.” Jack slides his cock out of you, chuckling with amusement when you pout at him for leaving you feeling empty. “Come on, dear, I'll be inside of you again soon. Quickly now.”
You lay down on your back and he pulls you until your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed.
“Hold your knees up for me.” He takes the vibrator from you so you can pull your thighs as close to your body as you can. “Good girl. I can play with your tail this way.”
Your eyes widen when his hand wraps back around your tail and his other hand holds the vibrator back on your clit. He smiles at the fear and excitement in your face.
What a precious pet he has.
The moment Jack slams his cock back inside of you, he tugs the beads out of your tail. Then, when he pulls his cock out of you, he pushes your tail back into place. All while the vibrator abuses your swollen and overstimulated clit.
“Here, dear.” Jack sees the way you're biting down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming and grabs your leash. “Bite down on this instead.”
He stuffs as much of the leash into your mouth as he can until you're choking yourself from holding it in your mouth, your collar tightening around your throat.
“You're going to cum so nicely now.” Jack moves his hand back to your tail. “Just focus on being a good pet niece for your uncle.”
You've lost count of how many orgasms he forces out of you with this all consuming rhythm of his. The beads in your ass, the vibrations on your clit, the rough pounding of his cock against your womb, it's all too much.
And everything you've ever wanted.
Almost everything.
You spit the leash out of your mouth to beg, “please kiss me while you cum, Uncle Jack.”
That almost ruins his rhythm but he catches himself before he seems too shocked. Then, he flips off the vibrator and yanks your tail completely out of your ass. Every bead popping out of your body sends shockwaves through you that distract you from him suddenly grabbing your face and kissing you, his hips rolling against yours at a harsher pace now.
Jack is fucking you into the mattress like he has many times before. Only this time, you're fully awake for it. Only this time, you're kissing him back while he does it.
You like how happy he is, smiling against your lips, groaning and grunting your name, telling you how perfect you are, how glad he is that he trained you so well.
“My dearest pet niece.” He breathes against your lips, looking into your eyes with such affection. “Are you ready for your uncle's cum?”
You nod, nuzzling his nose with your own playfully, acting so cute that he doesn't want this to end. “Please cum deep inside of me, Uncle Jack.”
“I will.” He says before his lips are back on yours and you cum with him the moment you feel him fill you with that warmth you've grown addicted to.
You're both left panting like animals, kissing in between breaths, unable to part from one another. Jack adores how you cling to him, holding him against you, wanting his comfort after getting fucked so hard.
“I've got you, dear.” He pulls you onto your side so he can rub your back. “Take your time to cool down and we'll take a nice bath after this.”
There's nothing wrong with enjoying life as your uncle's pet.
You smile happily into the crook of his shoulder, since you like taking baths with him. You like that you don't have to pretend that you don't like it anymore.
You don't have to pretend you hate him anymore.
He taught you that it's a good life to live.
a/n: I wrote this bc I put together a new bed frame a while back and I needed a treat like a good pet deserves!
pussy inspection with pope but it’s because he’s never been able to just… look at one before he has sex.
cw: nsfw, deeply descriptive, pussy whipped!andrew, andrew loves feet, mention of sex work, oral (f recieving), not proofread, em dashes (it’s not AI, i promise i just love them) <3
andrew’s first (and majority) experiences with sex come from time with prostitutes— women paid to get straight to the point of pleasure and leave.
but you, he wants to take his time with you.
your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms cuddling you to him as he walks to his room. laying you on his cozy full sized bed; he’s been meaning to go up a size, but if he’s honest, he likes that you have to basically sleep on top of him when you sleep over. he places a palm on your belly, fingers sprawling against your torso as he catches his breath.
moving to sit up, you reach for him petulantly. but andrew shakes his head “n-no. no. wanna look at you. please-wanna… gotta see you first.” falling to his knees and kissing yours. he nuzzles into your thigh, calloused thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive, untouched skin behind your calf and under your knee.
andrew inhales, having to stop his tongue from lulling out and drooling on you. kissing the center of your cotton panties, he licks over the fabric until his tongue burns with irritation. doesn’t bother him, never could.
after peeling your panties off you, taking his hands from off of the bedroom floor to aid you, he returns back to his knees. a sudden clap of skin reverberates, andrew yanking you closer to him— eye level to your weeping cunt.
his tender green eyes flicker across her, puffy and cute in the warm light of his house. andrew’s trying to steady his breathing, but he’s a bull in a china shop; traipsing through getting you naked while desperately fighting every instinct to tear you apart with his teeth.
you whine as his thumbs move to your lips, spreading you open for him & the cold, air conditioned air. andrew’s eyes shimmer, with tears or want, who knows? either way, he pouting, the tiniest pool of saliva forming on his inner lip. he squishes your lips together, an experimental pinch to put pressure on your clit.
“oh my- oh, andrew-” “she’s so pretty.. like her so much”
he’s entranced as he responds, sitting up on his knees in focus. he swirls his tongue in his mouth, breath still coming in hard as he watches you writhe. moving his right hand back to the floor, he pushes down on his cock, trying to mirror the earlier sensation he gave you. his left thumb moves to the hood of your cunt & his mouth fills with water again at the sight of your clit trembling.
“oh, hi, baby.” he whispers, more to her than you. pressing his palm down harder on his thick cock, andrew’s breathing turns shaky as he eyes you.
your hips buck up impatiently, the room feeling entirely too hot and personal. a sudden weight across your lower tummy stops you, “p-please. just a few more minutes, bun, okay?”
nodding, you lay back down, hands covering your eyes so you don’t cry– you’ve never wanted him this badly. he returns to your cunt, pressing his thumb up and down over the hood, moving the skin to hear you whine and watch your toes clench.
he sits back on his haunches, hands pressing your thighs to spread wider. you think that if he had stirrups he’d make you use them. but his hands are on his lap, just looking, eyes flickering back and forth, back and forth. he kisses your thighs, nuzzling his nose against them before speaking, almost to himself, “just love her so much. wanna stay here all the time.”
again his thumb pulls back the skin of your cunt, clit swollen and throbbing under his stare. from above, andrew rolls his tongue before dishing out a long glob of spit. he lets it glide down your clit, and you kick your legs in anticipation, subtly crying “andyyyy”
for a moment his eyes meet yours, a brief, romantic moment. he palms at himself, slack jawed as he watches your chest heave. but the moment ends very quickly once he catches sight of his bubbly saliva melting onto your pussy.
diving forward, he whines into you. andrew’s hands return to the floor, fists pushing down onto the hardwood to ground himself as his eyes flutter shut. swirling the glob of spit in his mouth, andrew circles your bud with his tongue— slurping it back up, just to pull back and spit on your cunt again. his pointer and middle finger framing & pulling you open as he wiggles his head side to side, drowning in you.
andrew breathes deeper, whining himself as his nose nuzzles deeper into your mound of hair. his face is pressed so tightly to you, there’s nowhere for you to move, really. in between long, thick stripes, he’s pulling back, again speaking to himself before diving right back in.
“oh my god. oh my- god, oh god.”
his right hand holds your ankle, teeth nipping at your lips before his tongue sloppily licks you from hole to clit.
wedging his face further into you, if even possible, you feel his tongue prod past your entrance– desperate, reaching motions.
it’s messy, a mix of andrew’s spit and your essence. his fingers move down to run over your manicured toes as he tilts his head to rest on your thigh, tongue never disconnecting once as he breaths through his nose.
the feeling of your foot clenching at his devotion sends him over the edge. cumming untouched, andrew surges forward, a loud “fuck!” crawling out of his chest.
but he doesn’t stop, just keeps devouring you. slurping and gulping and taking breaths as he rubs his tongue raw amidst the squelching. moaning into you like he’s overstimulated.
“i-i love you. love your pretty pussy, oh- oh my god you’re so good, she’s so good.”
leaning back on his haunches, he thumbs at your clit as you thrash. his arm is planted across the pudgy flesh of your lil tummy as he speaks. figure 8s, red cheeks and a wet chin, he licks his lips.
Simon Riley and his need, borderline addiction, to eat you out
Something about getting on his knees and eating you like the last supper, worshipping you as if you are God just does it for him. Makes his cock throb even harder in his jeans as he flicks his tongue through your folds.
Thrusting it in and out of your hole till you’re screaming, groaning on your cunt that sends vibrating on your sensitive pearl when you grab his blonde stands of hair. Sucking your pulsing little clit till you’re sobbing out in pleasure and your juices are running down his chin.
He’ll stay down for hours till the hunger slightly subsidies, till you’re overstimulated and whimpering for him to ease up. But he’ll look up at you with those pretty brown eyes, not stopping of course, slapping your pussy a few times while he kisses around your hickey and bite ridden legs, squishing his face into your thigh, slick glistening on his perfect lips.
He pants, “Just- fuck mee lovie, let me have it one more time, yeah? Make a mess on me one more time.”
But I mean fuck, is he even asking you at that point?
He’s talking to your poor pussy, and he knows exactly what she needs.
But it’s never just one more time, you’ll have tried to climb up the bed and on all fours and he’ll draaaag you by the hips back to his face, slurping and sucking and drinking up your syrupy sap that leaves your soaking pussy.
Don’t let him catch you on a day your ass just looks so perfect. Too perfect. In those jeans that hug your curves, or that dress he likes more than you do. Simon will turn into a real pussy drunk fool.
He’ll have you riding his face, from his nose to his mouth to his chin and back. Sloppily eating and groaning as you make yourself feel good on him like he’s only an object to you. Good. He’s a slut for this, the way you shake and mewl his name, your mouth agape and your head thrown back. The way you buck your hips, try again to get out his grasp but he sits you down proper on his face. The feel of your plump ass on his chin as you grind down on his he can’t help but slap. The brute lives for every moment of it, humping into the air as he gives your watering pussy much deserved French kisses.
Arms wrapped around your waist tight, lapping up your walls and everything inbetween your with vigor till you’re squirting and creaming his face, getting him and the bed even messier. But he drinks it up, eating you till your clean again and his face is soaked,
He shivers, finally coming up for air as your straddle his chest, his hand kneeding your perfect globes and then pulling them apart.
hard of hearing!simon riley who comes home from a long op to you already mid-rant about your day, talking at full volume while you cook. He doesn’t flinch at the noise like he does with everyone else. Instead his shoulders drop, he leans against the doorway, and just watches you with that unreadable stare. You’re the only sound that doesn’t make his head hurt.
hard of hearing!simon riley who leaves little notes on the counter when his hearing is especially shot, but still pulls you into his lap on the couch so he can feel your chest vibrate while you yap. He rests his good ear against you, eyes half-closed, letting your endless chatter and giggles rumble through him like a balm.
hard of hearing!simon riley who fucks you with one hand cupped behind your head, tilting your mouth right against his better ear. He wants every broken whimper, every loud “Simon—fuck—right there—”, every single rambling praise you can’t stop spilling while he pounds into you deep and slow.
hard of hearing!simon riley who flips you onto all fours and presses his chest to your back, mouth right behind your ear. He rails you with one hand gripping your jaw so your loud, desperate moans go straight into his better ear. “Louder,” he grunts every time your voice starts to crack. “Need to hear you fall apart.”
hard of hearing!simon riley who discovers he can make you scream by curling his thick fingers just right while eating you out. He sucks on your clit and pumps two fingers deep, eyes locked on your face as you yap and cry and moan loud enough that the neighbors probably hate you. He doesn’t care. The louder you get, the harder he works you until you’re gushing on his tongue.
hard of hearing!simon riley who fucks you against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. He keeps one hand behind your head so your face stays buried against his neck and shoulder. Every time you moan and babble right into his good ear he slams into you harder, chasing that perfect pitch in your voice when you’re about to cum.
hard of hearing!simon riley who, on nights when the tinnitus is brutal, puts in earplugs on purpose just to heighten everything else. He fucks you in complete silence for him — only feeling the slap of skin, the way your body vibrates with every loud moan, your nails raking down his back. When he finally yanks the plugs out and your wrecked, screaming orgasm floods his ear, he cums instantly, burying himself to the hilt with a broken groan.
hard of hearing!simon riley who keeps you plugged full of his cock after he cums, lying on top of you while you’re still yapping sleepily. You’re mumbling about how full you feel, how much you love when he fucks you stupid, how his cum is leaking out already — soft, cockdrunk rambling right against his ear. He stays buried inside you, eyes closed, letting your voice lull the ringing away until he falls asleep.
hard of hearing!simon riley who starts waking you up with his head between your thighs just so the first thing he hears in the morning is your loud, surprised moan turning into endless yapping as he works you open with his tongue and fingers. Best sound in the world.
BUNNY GONE WILD
the winter soldier x ditzy!reader [8.5k]
— ⟢ SUMMARY: the winter soldier infiltrates a college halloween party to follow the pretty girl with bunny ears who collided into him on the sidewalk.
— ⟢ WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI; she/her pronouns for reader; ditzy & clueless!reader; reader is mentioned to have hair & wears a skimpy bunny costume; size difference (he's beefy and taller than reader); original characters; mention of punishment and violence (suck dick, hydra); mention of alcohol & weed (they're not the ones intoxicated); mention of murder; bucky mainly speaks russian (it's english in cursive because I don't speak russian + I don't trust google translate when I don't have a basic knowledge of a language) and a little broken english; he asks reader to call him soldat; touch starved bucky; slightly dark & possessive!bucky; light fluff & angst; smut (no explicit consent but both of them want it); feral behavior; big dick bucky organization (🙂↕️); oral (f receiving); spanking & pussy spanking; pussy pronouns; nipple play; a little bit of degradation; sex in the woods; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); primal and rough sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; panty sniffing & stealing.
A/N: I posted this last october if I'm not wrong, and honestly this is still one of my favorite one-shots lol. the reader's behavior and personality was heavily inspired by karen from mean girls and rose from the golden girls (a line in particular comes from one of the episodes 🥸). hope you'll enjoy it!
“I can already smell the weed from here. It’s only eleven, for fuck’s sake.” Sarah grimaces as she gets out of the driver’s seat of her Nissan Versa.
“It’s a college party, were you expecting tea and cookies?” Nicole sighs, bent over as she reties the straps of her shoes for the umpteenth time.
The huge mansion sits among the bare trees like a sore thumb. Strings of fake cobwebs dangle from the balconies in tangled clumps, lazily swaying in the cold October breeze. The projectors wash the building in a ghostly glow and pumpkins with bizarre carved faces line the porch, their flickering candles warping the jagged smiles into something unsettling.
The front steps are already crowded with masked people smoking, drinking and laughing too loudly. Sarah snorts out loud as one of the few latecomers nearly trips over a fake gravestone planted in the lawn beside a massive steaming cauldron that reeks faintly of dry ice.
“At least this year Ethan and his minions put some effort into decorating. Do you remember last Halloween?” Nicole turns towards the house with Sarah beside her, but then glances back to find you still standing by the car window, adjusting the corset of your costume.
“Jesus,” Sarah huffs exasperated, planting a hand on her hip. “Stop fussing, you look good!”
“Just a sec…” You mumble absently, turning sideways to check your back.
This year, the three of you agreed to not pick a group costume. Last Halloween had been a disaster from start to finish, mainly because Nicole wanted to go as Cher, Tai and Dionne from Clueless, while you suggested Sam, Clover and Alex from Totally Spies. Sarah was too busy with her now ex-boyfriend to care either way, and a few days before the party she ditched both of you to dress up as Princess Peach and Super Mario with him.
Naturally, you and Nicole still managed to clash over something as simple as matching outfits: she pushed for Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, but you barely knew who they were, so you argued for Daphne and Velma instead. Long story short, neither of you had time to buy decent costumes and ended up throwing together the easiest thing possible: a devil and an angel.
Just like at least thirty other girls at the party.
That same night, Sarah caught her dear Super Mario kissing Princess Daisy—her cousin—in one of the upstairs bathrooms of this exact mansion, and from that moment on, she swore off group costumes forever.
One year later, in front of the Nissan, a Kim Possible looks pretty much done with life, while a Cher from Clueless sits on the curb smoking her first cigarette of the night. And you, a bunny in a very revealing outfit, tap your lips to even out the glittery gloss.
You thought the ears were a little too big when you bought them, but now, paired with the sheer corset and the short skirt, they look perfect.
“Okay,” you tug the skirt down out of instinct, though the snug fabric barely moves against your thighs. “I’m ready!”
“Fucking finally.” Nicole mumbles, lifting herself from the sidewalk with a groan.
“Hey—”
Sarah’s warning comes too late. Your body is already colliding with something solid, hard as steel. A startled yelp escapes you as a large hand instantly clamps around your bare arm to keep you from stumbling backward. You realize your eyes have squeezed shut reflexively only when they flutter open at once, landing directly on a broad chest covered by what looks like a black tactical vest. Your gaze slowly drifts up, along a strong neck, until it catches on a pair of blue eyes staring down at you. The lower half of the stranger’s face is hidden behind a black mask, yet you are instantly fascinated.
“Oh, hi!” You beam, tilting your head slightly, fully aware of how much guys usually love it when you do that.
The bulky stranger simply looks at you, expression barely changing. There’s a faint furrow between his brows that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s assessing you or debating scolding you for nearly knocking yourself flat against him.
A beat of silence passes between you, in which you let your curious eyes roam shamelessly on his face, before dropping to his impossibly large shoulders. Heat tingles low in your stomach, before a hint of embarrassment curls through you at how obvious you must look beneath his unwavering stare.
Someone clears their throat behind you, but you can’t look away. You don’t want to.
“Honey, let the gentleman go, c’mon.” Sarah grabs your wrist while wrapping her other arm around your waist to gently steer you away.
The long fingers around your forearm jump back as if your skin burned him.
“Nice costume, man. Looks expensive.” Nicole nods at the strange guy, still standing rigidly in the same spot. Only his eyes move, tracking you carefully as your friends lead you toward the entrance at an unhurried pace.
Something about him feels off and Sarah has no interest in provoking some potentially dangerous individual. After all, nights like these are full of creeps looking to take advantage of crowded parties and drunk girls.
Still, you glance back twice.
Each time, you catch him still looking at you.
Before fully crossing the threshold and navigating the sea of intoxicated students, your head turns one last time. The stranger is now facing the house with his shoulders squared beneath his dark clothes, and a stupid little thrill runs through your veins at the thought that maybe he might be here for the party as well.
Years without being touched by anything except harsh hands and cold medical equipment, and what unravels the Winter Soldier is a sweet-looking girl wearing bunny ears and clothes so tight he could almost trace the shape of her nipples.
He can’t remember the last time he felt such a delicate thing brush against him.
Because you are soft. Too soft. Too pretty. He could snap your bones with one twist of his wrist, yet you looked at him like you wanted to be swallowed whole.
His heartbeat has not slowed down since the moment his hand closed around your arm. And as much as he wanted to glare at your friend the moment she took you away from him, he had taken the chance to study your body properly: from the luscious curve of your hips straining against that pathetic excuse for a skirt, to the way your tits threatened to spill from the indecent corset that looked almost painted onto your torso. The fishnet stockings bit into your flesh with every step you took, the tiny bows stitched along the hems probably meant to make the costume cute, but to the Soldier, they only made it filthier.
But the thing that truly made him swallow thickly was the puffy, white cotton tail sewn to the back of your skirt, right at the top of your ass.
Fake.
Such a shame.
He could picture it so clearly: grabbing it between his fingers and tugging until you made that sweet little sound again for him.
It makes his jaw clench beneath the mask.
With a sharp shake of his head, the Soldier forces the intrusive thoughts away.
You weren’t supposed to be here. Nobody was.
The orders had been clear: break in, eliminate everyone inside, then wait at the nearest safe house for extraction.
No witnesses.
The target is a former HYDRA scientist who’d escaped over a decade ago. He’d covered his tracks well, moving states almost yearly, changing names often enough to become little more than smoke in old files. The Soldier vaguely wonders if the man had worked on the Winter Soldier project at some point, even if there would be no way to know. The face in the mission folder had looked painfully ordinary. Like all the others.
The wife and son were to be eliminated too, if present.
HYDRA had enforced the no witness rule brutally during his earlier missions. Back when he still hesitated. Back when stray civilians had managed to survive because he’d been too uncertain.
He can almost feel the scars across his back throb faintly at the memory—a lesson carved into flesh.
However, this situation is entirely new for the Asset.
For starters, the black SUV belonging to the scientist is missing from its usual spot in the driveway. And considering the mansion now resembles a nightclub overflowing with sweaty college students in cheap costumes, the target is clearly elsewhere.
He can’t proceed with the mission.
HYDRA hasn’t contacted him with further instructions either, which means he’s expected to wait at the designated safe house until retrieval. That could mean tomorrow. Or next week.
The Soldier looks back at the house spilling laughter and obnoxious music into the cold night air, then glances down at his gloved hand, slowly flexing his fingers.
Your warmth still seems trapped against his palm.
With a quiet exhale, barely audible beneath the pounding bass, he starts walking toward the door.
Inside, it’s pure chaos.
The bass from the speakers had already been rattling the lawn outside, but in here it practically punches through your rib cage. You roll your eyes at the umpteenth awful EDM remix of some new pop song you don’t even know the lyrics to. Personally, you’d rather dance to early 2000s hits—preferably ones not butchered by a DJ with a SoundCloud account and too much confidence.
People spill through every hallway of the mansion. The improvised dance floor is packed shoulder to shoulder with students clumsily grinding against each other beneath flashing purple lights, while smaller groups cling to the walls, shouting over the music with red cups clenched in their hands.
The smell hits the second you step inside: a mix of cheap perfume, spilled beer soaked into hardwood floors, and sweat that makes your nose wrinkle—all layered beneath the sickeningly sweet scent of vape smoke. Laughter ricochets off the high ceilings, blending with shrill screams every time the DJ blasts the fog machine over the crowd.
A staggering vampire bumps hard into your shoulder, nearly sending you wobbling off your pumps, but Sarah promptly catches your elbow before you can stumble. She immediately sends his back a glare, before shooting a look of utter disgust toward a group of visibly wasted frat boys gathered around the kitchen island.
“I hate college.” She gags dramatically, scowling as they loudly dare each other to shotgun whatever neon-colored concoction the host is pouring into their plastic cups.
You grin at her because, honestly, Sarah would rather be home wrapped in a blanket watching some obscure slasher movie marathon. But after the stunt she pulled last Halloween, you and Nicole practically dragged her here by force. Ever since her cheating ex, she’d shut men out entirely, and a small part of you hopes tonight might finally loosen her up enough to flirt with some attractive masked stranger for a few hours.
Your attention drifts toward the windows lining the far wall. Beyond the glass, the quiet street stretches through the chilly night, washed in pale streetlights.
The strange man is nowhere to be seen.
Almost immediately, your eyes flick toward the front door, scanning person after person as they wander in and out. Vampires. Cheerleaders. Devils. Witches. Cowboys.
No sign of the hot, tall man in black tactical gear.
Disappointment settles strangely heavy in your chest. With a small, dejected sigh, you turn back toward your friends, who are currently debating whether it’s worth risking the kitchen—where there’s at least a seventy percent chance of walking in on some couple making out—for drinks, or staying in the living room to dance instead.
Adjusting your bunny ears with a small smile, you vote for alcohol.
“Hey, Nic!”
All three of you turn at the sound of a familiar voice.
Jacob, captain of the basketball team, jogs toward your group, stopping directly in front of Nicole with an easy grin plastered across his face.
“Hey, girls. Nice costumes.” He grins, wiggling his fingers at you and Sarah in greeting. She gives him a flat nod in return.
“Hi, Jacob! You too!” You smile politely, before leaning closer to your friend. “Is that a... basketball uniform?” You mumble into her ear.
“Of course.” She raises both eyebrows, pressing her lips together as she fights a chuckle at the sight of your college team’s uniform.
Jacob isn’t a bad guy. Just a little painfully self-absorbed. And maybe slightly too obsessed with basketball—to the point where being team captain has somehow become his entire personality. Nicole went on one date with him last semester and came back with a migraine after listening to him talk about playoff rankings for nearly two hours straight.
She’d tried letting him down gently afterward, but he insisted on staying friends. Now he trails after her like an overgrown golden retriever.
“Which player did he dress up as?” You ask quietly.
Sarah’s face goes completely blank. She stares at you for a full second, mouth opening and closing once before she gives up entirely and decides eavesdropping on their conversation is more worthwhile.
“I need a teammate for beer pong,” he mentions offhandedly, pointing toward the long folding table at the far end of the living room, where rows of red cups are already set up beneath flashing lights.
Nicole grimaces slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe later? I’m with my friends right now.”
“Don’t worry about us, Nic.” You interrupt immediately, grabbing Sarah’s arm before she can object. “We’re getting drinks, then we’ll come find you, right?”
Sarah smirks at Jacob’s instantly hopeful expression and nods once.
“See?” He spreads his arms dramatically. “C’mon, we’re gonna crush them. Don’t you remember? You’ve got a winning streak to defend.”
Nicole laughs—a sharp, bright sound that somehow cuts through the pounding music.
“Okay, fine.” She sighs, sending you a half-smile.
As she steps beside him, someone near the table suddenly shouts her name. Then another voice joins in. Within seconds, half the group is chanting Nicole! loud enough to rival a halftime show.
Throwing her arms into the air, she pumps her fists along with the cheers like she’s entering a stadium instead of a living room.
Sarah shakes her head before nudging you toward the kitchen. “C’mon, Lola Bunny. Let’s get a drink.”
If his handlers found out about this, he isn’t sure he would get away with something as mild as hair pulling and a few lashes on his back.
“Cool outfit, dude!”
A guy dressed up as a banana—only his face visible through the costume—shouts after him. The Soldier glances at him briefly, expression unreadable, before continuing to run a silent scan of the room, re-evaluating the night’s target. His enhanced senses catch everything at once, unfortunately: from the humid press of bodies, to the sour-sweet spill of rum beside the DJ booth. Sweat and perfume and alcohol mingle into something thick and suffocating.
“Shit, man. That’s a nice costume you got there.” Someone slurs behind him. “Looks like real metal—” Before the hand can even reach his wrist, instincts detonate and his fingers clutch the guy’s forearm.
Hard.
“Ow ow ow—sorry sorry! Y—You’re crushing my bones, dude!”
The man wearing a cheap Jack Sparrow costume goes pale beneath the eyeliner, features twisting in pain as the Asset looms over him, a silent threat carved into posture alone.
At some point, he registers a small cluster of students turning towards them, whispering with curiosity blooming into something sharper.
Exhaling, the Soldier ultimately decides to release his grip. The pirate stumbles back into his friend, who immediately starts scolding him about consent and personal space.
Satisfied with the clear warning, the Soldier turns around, moving again through the crowd.
He raises an eyebrow, scanning the sea of people with his keen eyes. Finally, he catches a familiar pair of bunny ears excitedly turning left and right.
He walks to a dark corner of the living room with deliberate ease, folding his arms across his chest and leisurely resting back against the wall.
And he waits.
Nicole’s yellow and navy-blue plaid jacket is neatly draped across Sarah’s arm as she rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, a cocky grin spreading across her face.
“Watch and learn, losers.” She snaps, reaching for a ping-pong ball.
From the sidelines, Sarah offers a shout of encouragement, her voice already a little hoarse from all the previous screaming as Nicole sank those balls one right after the other in the rival team’s cups with brutal consistency. You lean into her slightly, eyes tracking the table from one end to the other as a red cup still full of peach vodka sits loosely in your hand, mostly forgotten as you watch the game unfold.
Nicole lines up her shot with practiced ease, wrist flicking at just the right angle. The ball arcs, drops, and sinks cleanly into the last cup with a satisfying splash.
The crowd erupts, chants of her name break out from multiple directions as you and Sarah cheer, briefly pulling Nicole into a tight, celebratory hug. Jacob throws himself at her, and she shrieks as his muscled arms lift her body from the ground, parading your friend around like he would do with the player scoring at the last minute of an important game. Nicole blows a kiss at the losing team, and once her feet touch the floor again, she bows before the intoxicated crowd surrounding the table.
You dart forward to hug her again, while Sarah claps behind you, still laughing.
“God, you were amazing. That was a really Tour de France!” You beam excitedly, but Nicole just stares at you deadpan for a second, before bursting out laughing, too tipsy to deal with your clueless ass.
“Thank you, bunny.”
“Also, Jacob is still very much smitten with you.” Your eyebrows wriggle up and down and Nicole is already sighing half-amused, lips parting to say something, but Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her expression tightens, focus snapping in place as she leans closer to you and Nicole, lowering her voice.
“Tactical guy is here.”
“Who?”
“The weird guy you bumped into outside. Black gear and blue eyes. Tactical guy.” She explains as if her choice of the nickname should be obvious.
He’s easy to spot because he doesn’t belong here—not in movement, not in stillness, not in anything about the way he stands. He towers above the crowd in matte black, posture too controlled and a judging frown permanently etched on his features.
The people around him are too inebriated to notice him, yet he doesn’t even spare a mere glance to anyone who isn’t you, not even the girl in a lingerie-level costume strutting up and down the room, hoping to catch the attention of his icy eyes.
She doesn’t know he’s busy admiring a much better view that is making his pants tighter and tighter the more he studies it.
“Holy shit,” Nicole gasps. “He’s staring at you.”
Your stomach does a weird flip at her confirmation. At least you aren’t imagining it.
“Yeah, and it’s creepy as hell. He hasn’t blinked once in the past five minutes.” Sarah frowns, goosebumps running up and down her arms. Nicole just smirks, eyes flicking between him and your parted lips.
“Go talk to him!”
“What? No way!” Sarah retorts, her head snapping towards the other. “He looks like he eats people like her for breakfast.”
“Duh, that’s exactly her type!” Nicole chuckles, nudging you forward as she gently takes the cup of vodka from your hand. “C’mon, put on that pretty smile of yours and he’ll be asking you to go upstairs before the next song starts.”
Across the room, his steady gaze still hasn’t moved.
Sarah grabs your right arm again. “Seriously, something’s off about him.”
“Boring!” Nicole says in a singsong voice, rolling her eyes to the sky. “We’re literally right here if anything happens.” She touches your left elbow, subtly pushing you forward.
If this were a cartoon, they’d be the angel and devil arguing over your shoulders.
You grin as usual, even if your heart is pounding so fast you are sure it’s going to come out of your chest any moment now.
With a small nod, you leave your two bickering friends behind and slowly make your way through the bodies swaying to the beat of Candy Shop. Your heels click against the sticky floor, until they stop short in front of the brooding man.
“Hey.” You smile, shouting over the music. “You look kinda lonely. It’s okay if you don’t know anyone, first parties are totally the worst. At my first college party, I ended up throwing up on my crush’s shoes after kissing him.” He doesn’t answer, but a deep line forms between his eyebrows.
“You’re very quiet, but that’s fine. My friend Sarah says I talk enough for two people. Or a whole group, depends on how much caffeine I’ve had.” You shrug.
Still nothing.
“So, um… what’s your name?” You tilt your head, this time expecting at least a reluctant answer, but the guy just keeps staring down at you with an unreadable expression.
“You’re the silent type, hm?” You muse, your amused chuckle soft. “That’s okay. You’re like those spy movie protagonists who never smile until the very end, and then make everyone swoon the second they do.”
He blinks once. Slowly. Maybe a little confused?
“Anyway,” your manicured fingers adjust your bunny headband as you introduce yourself. “I don’t know if you remember but I actually ran into you earlier outside. Sorry again about that. I’m a little clumsy.” You clear your throat, taking a step forward.
“You really are a good listener, by the way!” You sigh dreamily. “Most guys just check their phones halfway through our conversation.”
“So,” You lean closer, slightly standing on the tip of your toes. “Do you want to dance? You look like you need to loosen up a little.” Your eyes immediately fall down to his torso, following the sculpted muscles hidden under those heavy clothes. It’s honestly a miracle slick doesn’t start running down your thighs the moment you realize he could literally pin you to the ground and have his wicked way with you right here in the middle of the party.
Well, you spoke too fast.
The flimsy pair of panties you chose tonight to avoid the outline to be seen through the fit skirt, is getting damper. The thought of this beefy man fucking you until you pass out tickles the back of your brain for a second too long, and suddenly your thighs are clenching against each other in a way you are certain went unnoticed.
It didn’t. But you couldn’t know that the man in front of you is an enhanced individual who could probably track you from a single sniff of your pussy.
The pungent scent of something inherently you teases his nostrils even through the thick black mask. Yet he hesitates, as though he’s trying to determine whether ignoring you would make this conversation end faster. The problem is, he isn’t entirely sure he wants it to end. On one hand, he doubts he can keep himself together much longer if you continue speaking to him in that sweet voice, especially while standing this close to his starved body.
On the other… he doesn’t want to leave you.
But then you slip your hand into his left one, and his body stiffens.
“Wow, your hands are freezing!” You mention casually, squeezing his palm once. It’s indeed cold and weirdly smooth. Before his brain can fully process the alarming ease with which you’ve intertwined your fingers with the most dangerous weapon he possesses, you are unknowingly leading the fucking Winter Soldier straight onto a dance floor packed with sweaty college students—him silent and tense behind you, you practically glowing with excitement.
Yet, he doesn’t dare to stop you.
Why would he do that? A gorgeous girl with soft hands and even softer eyes has been watching him like he embodies all her prohibited wet fantasies. He would be a cruel bastard to deny this pretty thing anything.
The dance floor is a chaos of flashing lights and flailing arms that makes the Soldier’s breath hitch, but you don’t give up, and lead him right into the middle of it.
“Okay!” You yell over the music—far too close—and raise a finger. “Rule number one: just move! Don’t think too much about it or you’ll get self-conscious. I’m talking from experience.” Then raise a second one. “Rule number two: have fun!”
He just stands there—stiff as a marble statue—blue eyes darting back and forth, as if he can’t decide whether to scan the crowd like he’s on guard duty or watch the angel swaying her sinful hips right in front of him.
“See? It’s easy! Just let the music guide you.”
You smile anyway at his lack of response, peering up at him through your eyelashes. “You know, you look so cool. You’ve got this very brooding bodyguard vibe going on, like I’m some rich, dangerous man’s daughter and you’re protecting me from his enemies trying to harm me.”
Another confused blink.
“Maybe I read too many fanfics.” You ponder under your breath, before you reprise your little tantalizing moves, giggling as your fingers barely wrap around both of his wrists to coax him to move with you.
Somewhere at the edge of the improvised dance floor, Nicole is whooping, bouncing on her feet like an overexcited puppy as she takes a sip of your drink. Beside her, Sarah observes the scene appalled.
“Shit.” She mutters, tiredly dragging a hand down her face.
“I like your company. You don’t talk much, but that’s okay. Also, you’re kind of scary—but like, in a cute way.” You chuckle, twirling once and nearly bumping into him again.
That’s when it happens.
A slow, careful shift of his shoulders, but it still is something. His movements are stiff, precise, like his body is negotiating with itself about whether it’s allowed to respond at all. But it’s enough to make you smile satisfied.
The heavy bass pulses hard through your bones, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget he isn’t even really dancing, yet his presence feels like gravity: solid, unshakable, dragging attention toward him without trying.
You turn once again, this time giving him your back. His hand accidentally brushes your hip, causing you to shiver at the faintest twitch of his fingers. They jump back at his side, flexing once like he’s fighting the urge to touch you.
You tilt your head up at him, eyelashes lowered just enough to make it feel deliberate. “Are you having fun, big guy?”
You don’t expect an answer, obviously, but the way his gaze sharpens, intensely following the movement of your lips, is enough for you. It’s not unsettling. On the contrary, it feels… focused. And you already love being the centre of his undivided attention.
The music slows into a deeper beat, couples around you melting closer together, so you get bolder. Initially it’s your back simply brushing against his chest. And then, you unexpectedly find yourself gasping as his right arm circles your waist, keeping you firmly to his front. His jaw locks as you rub yourself against his solid body, your ass inevitably grinding against his bulge. For a second, you really think he might actually say something. Instead, his chest moves behind you with a slow exhale.
“You are so beautiful.” He murmurs against your neck, almost too quiet to hear. As a matter of fact, you don’t catch that, the words being swallowed by the loud song and the thick mask.
“Not so bad, right?” You bite your bottom lip, turning your face back enough to glance at him.
But your lips accidentally brush his mask and the last thread keeping his brain anchored to sanity rips in half.
“Oh!” A loud squeal erupts from your lips as the man spins you around and takes you into his arms. Suddenly, the world is hanging upside down.
Well, no. You are.
He throws your squirming body on his shoulder with an ease that should scare you, yet your stomach twists in excitement as you are kept completely still into his strong arms. You can feel several eyes burn through you as he struts towards the front door, an abrupt gust of cold wind sending a shiver down your spine as you realize he’s taking you somewhere outside.
“Oh my Gosh!” You giggle, feeling the urge to kick your legs like a teenage girl gushing about her crush.
He’s taking you to the woods. This is really happening!
Inside, Nicole freezes mid-sip. “What the—is he taking her away?”
“I told you! Fuck, Nicole! I told you!” Sarah shrieks, running to the door with her friend in tow. They both stop on the porch, eyes frantically searching into the darkness, until they see you waving at them from his shoulder, grinning ear to ear.
“Don’t wait up!” Nicole bursts out laughing, astonished.
“Holy shit, look at her, she’s loving it!”
Sarah groans in response, pressing a hand to her forehead, her chest heaving with quick, short breaths. “She’s giggling. She’s actually giggling. Why is she giggling?”
Nicole simply shrugs. “If a quiet, huge masked man with those gorgeous eyes picked me up like that to fuck me in the woods, I’d giggle too.”
They observe in silence as you get smaller and smaller, until you completely disappear amongst the dense trees. Nicole sighs, placing her hands on her hips.
“Well, you heard her, don’t need to wait up.” She claps once, skipping down the front steps.
“Where the fuck are you going? Of course we’re gonna wait for her to come back.” Nicole stops at the bottom of the stoop, throwing Sarah a deadpan look.
“You really think she’s coming back here? They will probably go at it like bunnies—pun not intended—all night, and then he’s going to take her home tomorrow morning.” She climbs two steps, grasping her friend’s wrist. “Like any adult having fun on Halloween.” She tugs at it, until Sarah reluctantly complies, hesitatingly following her to the Nissan.
“I don’t know, Nic. There’s something wrong about him—”
“So what if the guy is quiet? Maybe he just wants to stay in character.” She huffs, raising both her eyebrows expectantly.
“Mmh... that makes sense.” Sarah mutters, frowning at the trees. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“Home. And we are watching the new The Conjuring. You look miserable here.”
“Well thanks, you asshole.”
“You still haven’t told me your name.” You breathe out, yet to be released. After a few seconds of silence, you huff out a laugh. “You really don’t talk much, do you? By the way, that exit was so dramatic. I loved it!” He grunts in reply, shaking his head. It’s a deep sound that makes your legs shake a little, and you hope you’ll hear it again when he pounds you against a tree.
The walk feels endless as you dangle upside down, forced to watch the ground without anyone to talk to. Finally, he stops in a rather secluded place, and from the looks of it, you must be quite far from Ethan’s house.
Good. You don’t need some wandering drunk couple ruining your night.
As soon as your heels touch the crouching leaves scattered on the damp land, you shriek in surprise, finding yourself pinned to a tree as the man’s hands eagerly explore the sides of your body.
“O—oh! That—that feels nice.” You gasp when his palms squeeze your tits, his thumbs roughly stroking your nipples. The Asset’s eyes don’t know where to focus, torn between your hazy eyes staring up at him pleadingly and the outline of your turgid nubs pressing insistently against the fabric of your top.
“I need to kiss you.” He mumbles, the tip of your nose brushing against his mask. The hoarseness in his voice makes you flinch. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in a while... A long while.
“I don’t understand you.” You complain, clinging onto his vest to keep him close. He sighs, abruptly leaving your chest to cradle your face with a certain rudeness that twists your insides with arousal.
“Kiss. But you close… eyes…” He utters tentatively, staring right into your sparkling eyes. “Don’t look.”
The implications of seeing his face are several and dire. First and foremost, he doesn’t even remember the last time he saw his reflection, and his heart wouldn’t bear a potential rejection. What HYDRA forces him to do is repulsive, but of course you don’t know who he is—and you don’t need to. His face could reflect that repulsiveness though, and be in the worst conditions known to mankind. At that point, why would someone as lovely as you allow him to taint your body with his touch?
Plus, recognizing him would mean putting a target as large as a skyscraper on your back. If anyone were to ever find out about this, you would be in serious danger with both legal and illegal organizations.
The less you know, the better.
Your eager nod momentarily sets his worries, your hands immediately shooting up to cover your face. The Soldier’s mouth twists into what should be a small smile, but probably looks more like a grimace after years of his features knowing only pain and anger. His trembling fingers reach for the side of the mask, stopping there briefly to take you in. He waits, just enough to make sure you are actually following his order. Then, the device is tossed to the side with an uncaring flick of his hand, falling on the ground with a dull thud.
His fingers shake as they wrap around each of your wrists, waiting.
“Kiss, but… don’t look.” He repeats, his voice coming out in a rough, agitated whisper.
“My eyes are closed.” You swear, giving him a resolute nod. The Soldier lowers your hands with great care, until he can see your pinched expression as you keep your eyes squeezed shut.
And then, your lips finally meet. From the way he was treating you a second ago, you would think he was going to kiss you just as softly, like a doll made of glass.
Wrong.
The kiss is feral. His teeth clash against yours, biting and tasting you as if he has been waiting for you his whole life, his tongue frantically searching yours as his hands keep your jaw firmly open, allowing him to do whatever he wants with you.
And you can’t help a needy whimper from clawing out of your throat.
The Soldier pulls you closer to his chest, his metal arm now wrapping around your waist as the other hand traces a slow path down your body, from the side of your breast to your exposed thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.
He knows he just crossed an inviolable line he won’t easily come back from. He was ruined the moment he decided to look for you inside that chaotic mansion instead of following HYDRA’s orders. Yet, that stinging guilt rapidly crumbles the more he kisses this sweet creature.
He has yearned for something warm for so long. Something soft, and pretty, and nice. Something that is completely and utterly his. And now, it is time to finally collect what he is owed.
The sloppy kiss is met with eagerness from your part, your hands urgently tugging at his vest to keep him pressed against your squirming form. You need more. You need to feel him too.
He reaches for the corset first, pulling both cups down until your breasts spill free from their confines. Once his lips leave yours to focus on your neck, you let out a gasp at how dizzy you feel—your head has been spinning all along because of the intensity radiating off him.
Your moans are still pretty restrained, and the Asset doesn’t like that at all. He wants to hear you whimper for him, beg him to paint your insides white, scream his name over and over again in that sweet voice of yours.
His name.
He doesn’t own a name.
Maybe you could give him one. You sound like a creative girl, with all your silly little anecdotes.
When his mouth finally reaches the swell of your chest, the sight of your soft, bare tits makes him grunt appreciatively. His lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, while his capable fingers flick and tug at the other. Your whimpers echo through the small clearing as he uses his teeth to lightly pull at your sensitive nub, moaning as he feels it hardening in his mouth. The way he kneads and sucks at your soft skin reminds you of a starving man being offered food after a week without eating.
The Soldier has never seen a more beautiful pair of breasts in his entire life. Well, he doesn’t remember ever looking at a woman’s chest before, but if he did, he is sure it wouldn’t even get close to yours.
The hickeys that now mark the tender skin of your tits are burning, causing you to flinch each time the Soldier’s tongue worships them softly.
“What—oh shit—what’s your name?” You utter between your own wanton noises, eyes still closed as your head falls back against the bark of the tree. Your bare back keeps brushing against it as your body jerks in time with his tongue stroking your nipples. They are so sore, tingling whenever he leaves one exposed to the chilly October air to give the other some love. Still, the scratches on your back are already burning as the coarse surface cruelly scrapes your skin, and you’re certain they are going to hurt so bad in the following days.
The Asset momentarily leaves your nub with a wet pop, frowning up at your parted lips. He grips your jaw with one hand, keeping your mouth open while rising to his full height. He gathers a bit of saliva, before letting it fall gently onto your tongue. Your breath hitches at the unexpected, lewd act.
“Swallow.” His cock twitches at the way you obey at once.
“Soldat.” His voice is authoritative, leaving no space for questions and doubts, before going back to lavish your nipples. Your eyebrows momentarily knit in confusion, not understanding what it means.
Is it a video game character? Is that why he’s all geared up like some sort of spy?
Your brain doesn’t have the time to elaborate a sensible question, as a twist of your poor, abused peaks draws a loud cry out of your throat.
The scent coming from between your legs is now too much for his straining cock. He needs to taste all of you: your mouth is sweet, your breasts are sweet... but the Soldier is certain your pussy is even sweeter.
With an annoyed huff at the realization he has to leave your tits, he makes quick work of removing his tactical vest, tossing it on the ground. You squeal as you are once again lifted in the air; still, you keep your eyes firmly shut and that makes his expression soften a little.
“You’re such a good girl for me, sweetheart.” With a small peck, he takes you away from the poor tree that has already witnessed enough for one night, manhandling you down on your knees and guiding your hands on the ground to make you understand he wants you on all four.
“Stay.” The order growled right into your ear, along with his hands squeezing your hips, makes you whimper and nod quickly as a reflex.
Now that he’s behind you, you deem the situation safe enough for you to slowly open your eyes. Black spots soon materialize out of nowhere, yet you notice immediately the rough fabric underneath you.
“Oh,” you blink at it. “Thank you, Soldat.”
There might be a feral beast clawing at his chest, challenging him to take you right there right now, over and over again, but he doesn’t want the rough ground to scratch your knees and palms. The softness in your voice makes him tense up, enough to feel an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes. His name—his title—said with so much gentleness stokes the flames in his lower belly until he feels a damn blaze licking at his insides.
You barely catch the black glove being discarded to the side as his calloused hands grope your hips, pushing you back against his crotch. You gasp at the ferocity he puts into his thrusts as he starts rutting your ass, grunting and panting with the effort of not coming in his pants like a fucking virgin seeing a pretty girl half-naked for the first time.
“This is what you’ve done to me.” He groans under his breath.
“Soldat…” You hum, one arm reaching behind to caress a strong thigh. “Don’t tell me you’re going to come like this, humping me like an animal.” The little airy giggle you let out makes him swallow, a shiver running down his back at those mocking words that should make him recoil. Instead, the fire grows, and before he can regain control of his body, his hips stop abruptly.
His nimble fingers don’t waste any more time, lifting the hem of your skirt until your ass is completely at his mercy.
“Yes, yes!” You encourage him, gently rocking back. The heady scent is stronger now, but it’s still not enough. The flimsy panties leave you with a sad ripping noise and a feral growl rumbling in his chest. A gasp falls from your lips at the sudden bareness of your core, giggling when you hear him inhale deeply. Is he smelling your underwear? Fuck, you want to turn around so bad and enjoy the show.
The Soldier almost drools when your scent clings to his nose, along with your slick soiling the delicate fabric. He clumsily stuffs your panties into his pocket, shifting around until he’s lying right beneath the lower half of your body.
“C’mere, bunny.” His digits sink into the skin of your thighs, forcing you down until you are fully sitting on his face. “It’s time to eat.”
“Wait! Oh, fuck!” Your lips part pathetically around a breathy moan as his tongue looks for your clit, pulling your knees apart until you’re completely spread open for him. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as your hips uncontrollably buckle down, clawing at the vest when the tip of his tongue leisurely flicks your throbbing nub.
A loud moan escapes your lips when he finally breaches your hole, eating and sucking as if he’s savoring the most exquisite delicacy he’s ever had the chance to taste. Your body squirms at the unforgiving stimulation, still, you’re covering his face like a fucking oxygen mask and you’re far too worried he’s not breathing at all.
“S—Soldat, wait! You can’t brea—AH!” A smacking sound echoes through the air as his palm leaves his mark on your asscheek. “Fuck, please! Do it again.” You beg, hips grinding down without restraint as slick shamelessly falls into his waiting mouth.
Finally.
The Asset internally preens at your enthusiastic reaction to something he did so spontaneously. Unprompted. Human.
Because you are not treating him like a ruthless weapon. A lethal killer that acts in the shadow. An ugly experiment with no dignity left.
But like a man.
So he does it again. And again.
“Taste so good, my pretty bunny.” He rasps out, returning to your clit, two of his fingers curling inside you in the meantime. You yelp, the knot in your belly getting closer and closer to snapping. Your asscheeks are burning, yet you don’t stop his punishing palm, instead arching up into his hand every time it comes down on your tender skin.
“I’m gonna come.” You mumble deliriously, sobbing when in response his metal palm smacks your ass before meanly grabbing the tender flesh, and a third finger joins the other two, pounding against that sweet spot of yours before your orgasm hits you out of nowhere.
“Fuck fuck—Soldat!”
He wonders what he’s going to do from now on when he hears that word. It would be impossible to not get hard as your delightful whines resound through his mind.
Your hole clenches desperately as he nurses on your throbbing clit one last time, panting heavily once he lifts your shaky thighs up.
“Holy shit.” He whispers surprised, licking his lips clean. His lower face is completely damp with your arousal, and in that moment he decides he’s not going to wash his face until the scent disappears on its own.
The Soldier takes a good, long look at your trembling body, now back on his knees behind you. His palms gently caress your raw skin, pulling a shiver out of you as one of his two palms is colder than the other, yet the sensation is soothing against your burning cheeks.
He would really love to kiss the sensitive spots until you fall asleep, but he can’t stop now, not when his cock is painfully craving to be inside you, his imposing bulge pushing forcefully against his pants.
The rustling sounds behind you are loud but you can’t find it in yourself to focus, still dizzy after the violent orgasm Soldat drew out of you mercilessly. You are not inexperienced by any means, yet you’ve never come this hard and fast in your life. You wonder if it’s the whole situation influencing you—being half-naked in the woods while a feral, beefy stranger eats your pussy as if it’s his last day on Earth—or if he’s just that good.
Maybe it’s a mix of both, maybe it’s something else. You don’t care. You just want him to rearrange your insides. Now.
You seem to share the same sentiment as your eyes widen at his cock obstinate at your wet folds. Your gasp soon morphs into a startled moan when the tip slides inside. The way he feeds you his length is far from careful, and without warning, your hole is tightening around all of him.
The Soldier needs to take a deep breath, the muscles in his abdomen clenching to prevent himself from disappointing you by spilling his cum at once.
When was the last time he was intimate with someone? When was the last time he felt something other than fear?
He doesn’t hold back, gradually pulling back, before lust takes over him and your trembling arms give up under you. You fall forward with a whimper, resting your cheek on his vest as his grip on your hips becomes brutal, and barely catching the foreign words being muttered under his breath.
You are delirious with pleasure, the stretch of his thick girth burning so good you can’t breath—for a second you truly fear your hole is going to tear apart.
It’s almost humiliating how it takes only a big cock and a pair of broad shoulders to reduce you to a shaky mess of moans and whimpers.
“Beautiful, sweet creature... you’re so lovely.” The obscene, sloppy noises of your pussy swallowing every inch of him drives him insane. You’re like heaven incarnate wrapped around him, and he refuses to leave, his hips barely pulling back as he clumsily humps you from behind.
“Mine, mine, mine.” You whisper the name he gave you, lying helpless with your eyes rolled into oblivion and drool soaking the dark fabric under you. It’s a miracle how the bunny headband still survives on your head as his harsh thrusts push your body back and forth, your fingers weakly holding onto the same ruined vest that your nipples brush against, now rubbed raw and sensitive.
“That’s a good girl. She’s squeezing me so tight, baby. I can’t let you go now that I found you, need to keep you forever here around my cock.” He grits out, head falling back as he feels his orgasm dangerously close, yet he’s ready to deny himself over and over again until he can feel you come around him again.
“Bet you’d like that... be my little cumdump until you are too full it starts spilling down your thighs. But I’ll just fuck more into you and then everyone will know you are fucking mine.” That’s when, with his mind clouded by pure pleasure, he reaches between your wet thighs, experimentally spanking your clit.
“Fuck!” Your squeal pulls a smirk on his lips, prompting him to do that again, his thrusts still frantic and erratic.
“Take it, my sweet little bunny. That’s it.”
Your nub throbs as the man fucking you like an animal smacks it repeatedly, and you’re certain he’s enjoying himself so much watching you jolt each time, panting like a dog the louder you whimper. His tip relentlessly taps your sweet spot, and it’s just a matter of time before you let out a delirious moan, walls tightening as your second climax washes over you—this time leaving you stiff and crying as wave after wave of bliss settle deep in your bones.
“Got… you.” The Asset grits out breathless as he buries his cock deep into you with a hard, final thrust, succumbing to the overwhelming sensation of your hole squeezing him. He falls over the edge with a guttural groan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your insides at once—there’s so much of it you almost choke at the unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation of being stuffed full.
You shiver under him, exhausted but sated, yet the Soldier doesn’t seem to want to budge, still hugging you tight as his thighs shakes at every little twitch of his cock.
It feels too much.
His dick snug inside your tight heat, your body held with care by the same hands soiled with innocents’ blood, the sudden emptiness in his chest after such a heavenly experience... Should he cry? He feels like crying. He’s almost certain of it, though he doesn’t understand why. He just had the best night of his entire life with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.
Still, the weird sensation sits somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar, pressing against ribs that only know obedience and survival.
He knows he’ll have to move eventually, reality catching up to him the moment he steps too far from this strange warmth you keep offering so freely.
But he doesn’t want to let you go yet.
Honestly, he isn’t sure he can.
“Soldat, my back hurts.” Your voice is feeble yet tinted with amusement. Still, he scrambles on his knees, pulling out carefully in fear of hurting you. You wheeze softly at the sudden loss, your weak arms barely moving at your sides as you try to get yourself into an upright position, but the man behind you has other plans. You find yourself facing him at once, gently led down until your back is touching the vest.
With your mind too foggy with exhaustion, it is hard to remember the only rule he gave you. And shock flashes across your face the moment you can finally see Soldat’s handsome features clearly.
Your lips part, a compliment already rising to the surface, but it never makes it out. His hands come up instead, cradling your face with surprising tenderness before guiding you into a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no urgency in his actions this time, no hunger sharpened by desperation. Just some deep and achingly careful adoration that makes your heart clench painfully all the same. The kind of kiss that feels dangerously close to a goodbye. Like he’s trying to memorize you through touch alone.
He kisses you until your lungs are begging for oxygen, and when he finally pulls away, neither of you can move. His blue eyes simply observe you, urgently tracing your features with a spark of veneration glinting in his gaze.
You look like the personification of debauchery with your smudged mascara and lips swollen from kissing and biting, the poor bunny ears hanging crookedly from your hair after being fucked so crudely.
Yet, the Winter Soldier thinks he has never seen anything prettier.
“I looked at you.” You whisper softly, your dazed eyes dancing over his face with sleepy fascination, utterly devoid of remorse.
His right thumb lovingly strokes your cheek, and somewhere beneath the Soldier, beneath HYDRA’s cruelty, something human finally smiles back at you.
— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍
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