Where there is a showman, setting the cards to your fall.
A vampire Harry Stylesâ thriller Tale of Love. The spirit of the story was fabricated from the Lyrics of Lana Del Reyâs âYoung and Beautifulâ, and played on the heartstrings of a soft, barely tanglible, unbeating heart
A story painted by the wheels of time as an enigmatic man with too many skeletons in his closet navigates his way through wasted nights, open doors, a new feeling of safety at the eye of the storm and of course, the greatest showman.
Warnings: Vampire AU, Vampire! Harry Styles x vampire! Reader.
Smut, mature themes, blood, murder, darkish themes, graphic descriptions, each chapter will have individual warning lists. Reader discretion advised. Minors DNI.
A/n: I am super excited for this! I have wanted to write a series for a while, but I never thought I would be actually getting to doing it. This series is gonna go slow but each chapter is gonna be around 10 K words, so I hope it makes up for the gaps between releases. I am a student and it is sometimes difficult to juggle between online classes, my mental health and my tumblr life. Please be kind. All edits will be mine unless stated otherwise.
0.0: Meet My Shadow( Prologue)- releasing soon
A person standing next to a window;
Drops of rain pattering on their footsteps slow;
The best you can, is what you are doing;
Watch from a distance, a shadow is all you meet.
0.1: You got me loosing all my cool- releasing soon
Where a breakup doesn't go easy on you but maybe, it was meant to lead you both back together.
Dancer!reader x Makeup Artist!Bucky.
Warnings: First time writing angst! Feels. Some career oriented people. Some bitterness. Hopeful ending. Bucky wears eyeliner in this, beware.
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He always reminded you of the moon. Gnashed piece by piece, suture by suture of imperfections all crumbling in beautiful entropy and coalescing together to form something so beautiful, you couldn't bring yourself to look away.
"Pretty, isn't he?"
One of your fellow dancers swooned and gigglednas her eyes wolfishly follow the curve of Bucky's back, his brown hair toppling to the front of his face as he laughs at something one of the cameramen says. You turned to look at your friend, cringing when you found she was already in her practice outfit- those tights and heels adding to her a definition which your loose cardigan and jeans lacked.
You had to change. Clara also needed to shut up about Bucky and his arms, because you were not having any of it.
You didn't want to hear about him. Specifically, you didn't want to hear people talk about how much they wanted him.
"Rehearsals in ten," you murmured, intercepting her speech about how much she wished Bucky would bend her over some equipment stacked away in your crew trucks, maybe some music box or stage prop- and have his way with her.
The fuck he will.
Bucky's the gentleman. The perfect partner anybody could wish for, who respected you and propelled you forward and played your body like a fine-tuned instrument behind closed doors. He was everything you could dream of and more.
So why were you here then?
Broken up, scarred from the scandalizing truth that love isn't enough. You thought about it when your body ran out of adrenaline, broken pieces of the glass of denial pricking your feet, a sheen of tears glossing over your eyes at how empty you felt without him.
You marched up to your trailer, swinging the door open and climbing in. The tinted windows hid what happened inside from the eyes outside, but from the translucent screen, you could see him.
He was just as pretty. Eyeliner slightly smudged from his waterline to the perfect array of lashes, and to the very last bone, he looked exquisite. And he was looking straight at you.
You blinked, sighing as his face remained trained in the direction of your bus, your clothes crumpled over your travel bag. Rory, the makeup artist who had to quit midway through the shows because of a legal mishap back at home, was talking to him. You gave him one fleeting look before pulling your eyes away from him, a haunting burn in your chest as you moved to the other side, ready to change.
Two years. Two complete revolutions of the earth around the sun, more than seven hundred days. If you had to keep a track of all the places you had been to, all the people you had met and of things you had tried, you would mess up at least once. You travelled, danced, and had fun. You had explored, learnt new stuff, had new experiences, made and broke relations. You had experienced growth first hand, you tasted happiness.
So why were you swaying to this tumultuous onslaught of emotions the moment Bucky was back?
You pulled away your cardigan, replacing it with the crop top and tights. You checked a map of the stadium you were supposed to perform in today, the winter fest which would be attracting a crowd of eighty thousand or so and you had to make sure you didn't mess anything up. Nothing could be more important than this, dancing and performing was your priority. Everyone else could go fuck themselves.
Rehearsals and stage balancing faded into a blurry bokeh of people, heels and flashy clothes, your mind infiltrated by a daunting presence in the form of a man whose soft hands and baby blues comprised your world at some point in time, a man you had lost to both of your professions and careers.
With a million butterflies squirming in your stomach, you sulked your way to the dresssing room, a frown etched on your face and fingers threading through your hair over and over again. You tried to replay tonight's choreography in your head, wishing for once your crew was the background for some musician and not the solo performers. Your emotions were all over the place today and you weren't sure of what you would deliver.
The three makeup artists you had with the crew were all bunched up over your friends, all concentrated on whatever they had to do to make you shine. The only difference today was that in place of Rory, we had Bucky, which meant six feet four of pure muscle in place of a petite young lady. It was surprising watching him work sometimes, the most delicate of brushes and the lightest of strokes of the eyeliner delivered from such huge, veiny hands. It messed with your mind back in those days, invoking corrupted images of what those hands could do.
Much to your chagarin, that was something which hadn't changed over the last two years.
Now that you were here, perched at the edge of a stool, legs crossed and fingers knitted together, an overexcited Clara chattering away next to you, you took your time to analyse Bucky. He hadn't changed much either, except for the line of the lighter shade of brown that hung from his temple and caressed the side of his cheek, falling over his eyes occasionally. He looked fit, maybe a tidbit beefier than the last time you had seen him. Somehow even now, his mere presence was enough to lull the distant cacophony of your brain into a comforting silence.
The snap of fingers in front of your face jolted you out of your little dreamscape, Clara's amused face filling up most of your vision.
"Your turn, babe. Got a call to make."
And with that you were rising up, almost robotically, moving towards the one person you had avoided, much like a deer straying from the rustling of leaves. You take your time walking over to the two people, nodding a hello to the others before you look at Bucky.
He's smiling at you. Softly. You don't dare read more into his expression, a familiar warmth bubbling in your chest. It outshines the pit in your stomach, the warm smile his lips lift into prompting yours into curling upwards. You take a deep breath and settle in the chair, trying very hard to ignore your heart beating out of your chest, your face embarrassingly hot and as your ex bends down to put eyeshadow over your eyes, tracing them out with the eyeliner as Josh works on your hair.
There was a time when those rose pink lips would map your face. Now you just had his hands, working on what he did best, prepping you up for your performance. When it was done you mumbled a 'thank you' at the hair and makeup guys, your throat going dry as you caught the look your ex lover was giving you. It was the same look you had given him when he first arrived in the morning.
A look which could only be described as reverence, like he couldn't believe you were real. Just the way you had felt. Like he couldnât wrap his mind around the fact that you were there, present, in front of him. Just what you had struggled with all damn day. The corners of Bucky's eyes were also dusted with a vague despair, like it hurt him to be so close to you, but not hold you. Just the way you had been feeling all day and beating yourself up for it.
You had broken up, years back. It was a mutual agreement, but an initiative taken by Bucky. You had promised to remain in touch, but you had deleted him from every aspect of your life the moment you stepped out. Focusing on your career like that was all you ever cared about. Which was partially true but it was aggravated to forget about him. So why did your brain and body feel the need to melt against him, pour out everything and strip yourself bare again for him to love?
âButterfly,â The soft call of a nickname you hadnât heard in the last two years, the same voice you loved- love- so much stirred you out of the little stagelight musing you had entrance yourself into. You were backstage, the heavy curtains keeping you from the brain of the lights and the uproar of an excited crowd, your dance group being one of the internet popular groups that pulled in audiences from all around the country.
You had your leg raised on a stool, your six inch pumps lined with straps of pasteable lights, glittery stockings covering up the expanse of your legs. If you didnât feel like a tumultuous wayward storm of emotions, you would have clicked a few pics and admired how hot you looked. You couldnât do it today, not when Bucky was here, and he wasnât yours, and it all felt like a fresh punch in the gut, all over again.
If he kept looking at you like that there was a good chance you would bolt. You had run away from him for so long, tried to hate him and forget about him for so long that you had forgotten about the comfort he exuded, the warmth he radiated. A part of you wanted to run again, just like you had been doing it, because you wouldnât be able to deal with an imminent realization that you could never stop loving him.
*Don't call me that." Your voice was hoarse, heavier than the times you would yell the lyrics to a song and spin and saunter about the room trying to get moves right.
"Please," you didn't like the vein of desperation journeying under his fragile words, you didn't like how soft his eyes looked under the backstage lights.
"You're on in 10."
And just like that, you pried every fibre of your attention from him to the performance you would be presenting in seconds, to the art he had asked you to pursue over living happily with him.
You marched onstage, the ringing of the crowd and the honeyed twinkle crowning his pupil the only processible information in your brain as you swayed your hips and shoulders, body gliding into forms and heels clicking on the stage in the symphony, and for that once moment you could ignore everything else.
The performance was terrific. The effects, the fires, the jumps. The screams turned to roars as the formations built up, outfits shed and front liners swapped till it was etched forever in the forms of blurry reds and electric blues, your heart still beating out of your chest and ears ringing as you finally exit from the stairs to the side.
Maybe you guys had performed a little too well. Some choreographer turned businessman turned producer reached out to your crew and invited all of you to his rooftop bar for 'a night of fun'. Which meant you were out of your stage ensembles and sliding into another equally restraining one, one pair of heels traded for another. Your feet hurt and there was only so much for fake smiling, so you found yourself dug in a dark corner of the place, your eyes hurting a little from all the flashing lights, body dead tired.
Thank fuck you didn't have any more back-to-back performances and for the next two you were just going to be background dancers.
The drink in your hand blurred as your eyes drooped again, the need for a good night sleep overpowering your friends who were a little too energetic. You hated being the grinch, but sometimes you deserve your time to sulk.
You tossed back the contents of your glass, ordering for another. Maybe that would work to keep you awake for a moment, maybe you would pass out right here after the second drink. Either worked for you.
Wow. Weren't you being a damsel in distress? You didn't know the repercussions of a heartbreak from a lifetime ago struck so hard, but you couldn't be sure. Love and heartbreak just wasn't your craft.
For the moment, the alcohol prompted you to stagger to your feet, directing you towards the dance floor, despite your legs feeling like they had waltzed over a thorn bush. You made your way up, the last beats of some bass track fading against the grinding bodies before it mellowed down. Like some main character moment, the lights changed, the saturation dimming and the beats changed. The opening melodies of some piano track rolled out, your hair moving behind as you bared your neck, your hips moving in a honeyed curve as half of the people on the floor left, the others slipping into some form of couple dancing.
And you were dancing to a lover's track, all alone.
Till you were not.
The tips of Bucky's fingers hovered over your back, his other hand catching yours as he slid in front of you. Your eyes widened but your body melted like butter under his touch, a sense of familiarity washing over you in a way you hadn't felt in a very long time.
Fuck.
"What are you doing here, Bucky?"
He sighed, the shadows of his lashes falling prettily over his cheeks. He had changed out of his too-tight tee shirt to a formal shirt, reminding you of some disney prince as he swayed with you to the tunes of perfect.
"Dancing in the dark, with you between my arms." His deep voice had your heart fluttering, and you wanted to slap him for eliciting such a reaction from you.
"You think that is really going to work?" You asked tiredly, already done with this evening and craving a good night sleep.
"I don't. But I want to try."
"Why?"
"Because two years back was a mistake. Everyday without you was a mistake."
"Took you two years to figure it out?" You seethed, eyes flaring in annoyance at this guy for whom you weren't able to tear your love into shreds.
"You blocked me. Everywhere. You left your job, your apartment, were traveling god knows where. Steve wouldn't open his mouth even if I threatened to knock his teeth in."
"He's a good guy." You glared at him. "And why would you be threatening to knock his teeth in? You were the one to call things off."
"And I have been regretting that every single day ever since. I was scared. Terrified even. I thought the relationship wouldn't go anywhere. Not when we never saw each other."
"We could have figured out a schedule." You pointed out, stepping between his legs as the bridge of the song played.
"And sabotage our careers? Leave the chance to do something we had been dreaming of all our lives?"
He was right. You would have resented him everyday if that relationship had overshadowed your career. You knew this. He knew it too. You had taken up your chance the moment you had gotten out. So why the hell were you having this conversation? Why was Bucky regretting it? Why were you regretting it?
"And then what happened to you?" You asked, somehow gravitating closer to him.
"Got deals. Met people. Worked in pageants and fashion shows."
"I read up on you. You've made quite a name."
"So have you."
He twirled you around, pulling you right back into his arms. The sudden movement made you painfully aware of your heels cutting into your skin, and you winced.
"And now that you are stable, are you thinking we have a way to go back? Cause, fuck. No. We've changed. I don't want you."
Bucky frowned, slowly slithering to a halt before lowering his head till his forehead was hovering over yours.
"You still hate martinis. You still use your left hand to strap your heels in and you still prefer coloured chapstick over lipstick. You sure about it?"
"Don't go all classic rom com on me."
"You still hate rom coms too. And right now you would be cursing the life outta me because we are still dancing. Don't your feet hurt?"
"Why are you dancing with me then?" You looked away from him, not sure if you could carry on this conversation anymore.
"I'm hoping you would allow me to give you a massage. Take care of you."
You seethed. The blood in your veins burned. The entitlement had you tipping your head back in pure ire.
"James Buchanan Barnes you think you can fucking waltz back into my life and I'll let you into my room?" You panted, almost ripping yourself off of him but the arm wound around your waist held you to his chest. "With a half assed explanation for breaking my fucking heart?
"Shhh" Bucky cooed, his eyes sad and still so beautiful. You found yours welling up at the sincere lines of pain and anguish tearing through his irises, wondering if all of this was worth it.
He broke your heart.
"Not like that, Butterfly." You swallowed a lump at the nickname, scoffing halfhearted. "I want to take care of you. Make up for all the shit I have put you through"
"It doesn't happen that way."
"Let me try, then. Please."
And you found yourself giving in. Like sweetened butter, you melted and coursed right down his arms, just the way he wanted you too. If you weren't so tired you'd take a moment to marvel at the ease with which he could convince you, the power he held over you. You found yourself not giving a shit about it. Bucky leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, one which had you purring.
"Thank you."
"Don't get any hopes up," you snapped, the tone meant to deliver a sharp blow but the cracks at the edge of it had your resolve and patience crumpling, the night taking its toll on you. Your instinctive response to melt into Bucky's arms had a part of your brain screaming foul profanities at you, the bandaged, cracked shards of your heart screeching under the forceful binds you had assembled them into.
"You're not going to get to anything. Not that easily." You whispered against his chest, the familiar rumble of his chest thrumming through your head. "I'm not that doe eyed girl anymore. Now get a cab before I cry and look like a mess."
His eyes were beautiful as his tilted your cheek upwards, his lips pressing on yours in a feather light kiss, one leaving you charged and flared at the tips, reaching out for more. He just held your waist, deciding on keeping you close to his chest and you were grateful, the heels too much for you to handle.
You decide you want to be fucked. Bucky decides you need to be fucked.
Warnings: This is porn. Written porn. Smut. Please keep some holy water ready. Dom/Sub dynamics. Brattiness. Manhandling. Rough sex. Overstimulation. Gun kink kinda thing at the end. Choking. Metal arm kink. Slapping maybe. Pain kink. Authority kink. All that.
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It starts at the restaurant. Your hair catches the light from everywhere, spraying out in messy concentric rings from the individual strands. Your lips painted a bright red, pulled under your teeth, a sultry, invasive grin gracing them as you flick your eyes all over Bucky.
Bucky isn't sure of what he wants to do to you. A part of him always craves to worship you, hold you close, feel every gasp and curse and he pushes into you, your body digging into the mattress, his face buried between your breasts.
Another part was seconds from snapping, fingers twitching to drag you out of your seat and throw you over his lap, to spank you and finger you till you could barely think. Or sit.
Then you inched forward, lifting your glass of wine to your lips while your breast almost hung out from the little white dress you had worn, the outlines of the black lingerie you had dorned glaringly obvious under Bucky's piercing stare. Your tongue stroked a full circle over the rim of the wine glass, his growl making you shudder even as you nudged the tip of your heel to the side of his knee, crossing your legs till you could drag your shoe all along the inside of his thigh.
"You know, this place might be a little bland," Bucky circled his hands around your ankle just an inch from his crotch, infuriated eyes narrowed at you as your words were cut with a light gasp, before you leant back, tongue catching a drop of wine trailing down the side of your glass, lapping it up.
"But the leg space is good. I kinda like it here."
No you don't.
By the time Bucky would be done with you, you wouldn't even remember the name of this place, let alone the tremendous leg space it provided, or all the ways you had used the place to tease the hell out of him, and be a brat.
He slaps his debit card over the leathered bill holder, punching in the numbers and slamming the tip before he is yanking you out of your seat, groaning at how your stockings give definition to your legs, your gait slender even as he tugs you along.
"There isn't one place I can take you without you being a brat" he gritts, huffing when you smirk and fumble back, muttering something about the night being young.
Bucky is furious. He really is. He is also super stiff in his jeans, his cock aching from all the low whispers and sultry brushes of your lips over his ears, his jaws, your skin on his skin. The traces of your lingerie which peep out each time you are in a fairly lit place -that is everywhere you guys have been today- those thigh high lace socks, everything has been testimony to the fact that Bucky is a patient man.
Patience can go piss its pants now.
"Hey sarge," you call out, beaming at him even as you stagger to a halt, an innocence in your eyes like you hadn't been pouring acid over his boiling water for the last two hours. Even with adrenaline erratically fuelling through his veins, Bucky caught himself wondering how the hell could you manage that innocent expression, a glass-like silkiness to your features masking the devil's horns you wore whenever you were up to get a rise from him.
Bucky clenched his jaw, looking you over, his eyes stopping for a minuscule second at your breasts and the thin line of lace curtained behind the white, before he was narrowing them meanly at you again. Daring you to piss him off even more.
"Care for some ice cream?" You took the liberty to wrap his arm around your waist, pushing yourself to his chest and tugging at the collars of his leather jacket till he relented and placed his lips over your puckered up red ones. "I could use some chocolate to lick."
"Damn it." Bucky hissed, grabbing your jaw and crashing his lips on yours in a searing kiss. It was filthy in the way that it got you moaning into his mouth, a flare of arousal heating through him as his tongue snaked in immediately. You stumbled backward, your grip on his collar feeble, prompting him to tighten his arm around you, keeping you pinned to himself. Your lips rolling between his teeth, he licked the hilt of your mouth, all of your lipstick smudged and your breath erratic and uneven.
He curled his hand around the back of your neck, holding you to him and kissing you. Bucky flipped you around, pinning you to the side of his car heavily, palms landing on both sides of your head, your leg slotted between his, your boobs bunched up under his hard chest.
Fuck.
"Still want the ice cream?" Bucky sounded cocky, voice low and words gravelly as you heaved heavily under him. He felt a high building up somewhere, the turbulence in your pulse pumping up the fire in his veins. His eyes seemed to sharpen with each second, the resolution of every imagery turning up a notch with each second.
He licked his lips, smirking at the sheen of sweat glossing your body as he crowded you, drinking you in. He watched as you flashed your eyes open, lust dusted and unfocussed. Even in your disgruntled state, hair flying out and lipstick smudged, you couldn't stop that smirk from flirting on your lips.
"Think you can give me anything better?" You chuckled a little, possibly at the surge of fury which cascaded Bucky's face at your flirty insulation, his rage not escaping even when you trailed your fingers to scoop the drops of sweat rolling down to the side of his jaw.
The hand touching him was yanked back in seconds at the glare he sent your way. His metal arm flung from the window of his car to lace around your throat, eyes darkening at the airy simper that escaped your lips. The sweet scent of your pussy mixed with the dewy flowers mixed in your perfume had him going feral, every nerve in his body craving to push you into the car, throw one of your legs over the seathead and pound into you till you were seeing stars, all your brattiness fucked out of you.
That he did.
Bucky yanked you closer to him by the neck, throwing the door of the backseat open- he might have ripped it off and he couldn't care less about it- before he was throwing you face first inside, your startled gasp and the thickening of your scent not missing his heightened senses.
Bucky felt like a wolf stalking its prey as he watched you crawl up on the seat, a dark chuckle tearing out of his throat at how easily you were submitting to him. Lifting your ass up like that. Spreading your thighs further so your dress could be pushed higher up, the creamy skin where your stockings ended visie to his predatory gaze.
He clicked his tongue menacingly, grabbing your hips and allowing himself a second to seal his feral desires under a more decisive approach, one which was a little long-drawn and brutally tethering, so you'd know exactly what you get for being the brat you are. Bucky wanted to give it to you good, he wanted nothing more than to watch you come apart under him, sobbing and thrashing around as your body would spasm with each stroke of his cock into your stuttering pussy, his hands thoroughly marked over every inch of your body. So you would know who is in charge. Who owns you.
You craned your neck, resting your shoulder on the seat, a sultry grin on your face even as you offered yourself to him. Bucky's primal urge to hold you down and make you fall apart till you were just a scattered mess of whines and trembles and need overtook every other thought. He just needed to have you, to hell with everything else. Like the very glaring fact that you two were in his car parked at the side of the street, and anybody could pass by and see what you were up to.
Domspace.
It was a state Bucky sometimes found himself in, a projection of his very obvious inclination to the thought of being in control. The adrenaline pumping through his veins at the very moment, the sharpness in his vision, the quick intake and processing of every stimulus around him, everything pointed to this headspace that was cutting through his being like a ship rolling in water.
At this point, Bucky didn't need to be enhanced to be automatically aware of everything going on around him and you, including each minuscule shiver raking down your body, the break of a few fallen leaves, the groan of the seats as he adjusted himself behind you, a few fading footsteps, the scratch of the heapy november wind against the streets.
Bucky loved it. Domscape brought with it the euphoria of cocktails and smokes, it made him feel powerful and more centered than ever. Most importantly, though, domscape brought the maddening, cor-deep urge to be responsible for you. To care for you. Make you feel good. Make you feel happy and guve you the love or punishments, as you need it. Mostly love. And lots of orgasms. It made him want to hold you, secured in his arms as you would fracture into a millions pieces of glass sharp pleasure. It made him want to kiss your forehead and hold you and keep you safe, make sure you never cried yourself to sleep. Domspace made him feel.powerful, and showed it, more glaring than ever, how much power you held over him.
Bucky felt like a wolf with you being the trembling lamb under him -if he was making the comparison at some literature student level- but instead of tearing you down and feasting on you, his primal objective was to tear every reason which could ever chance at hurting you, and then feast on you.
Isn't that about right?
Bucky bunched your dress up, snapping your hips upwards till your dripping slit was at level with his mouth, his tongue poking out to run through your folds, a smirk pressed against your clit when you screamed, your body almost losing all the balance you had worked so hard to maintain.
When that high hit, there was no going back for Bucky. He couldn't list out a definite set of activities which pushed him over that edge. To this frenzy which left him dark-eyed and devious and predatory, his sharp sense stalking every little movement. Till you were wound around his spell and melting like butter on his fingers, your slick running down your thighs and your body moulding against his like muscle memory. But he really craved it, both the unabashed filthiness it right out of him,and the flame of intimacy that it burned through the both of you.
"Think there's anything that can compare to this, kitten?" Bucky chuckled, sucking at your clit one last time before he pulled himself up, chuckling at your whines of protest.
"NoâŠ" you started, the rest of your words cut off because Bucky did not want you talking. His hand clasped around your mouth, the glass window fogging one last time. He pulled you backwards, attacking your neck with his lips, the flare in his chest growing as he felt your breaths dance over his fingers, the wetness of your lips from all the licking and kissing now pressed against the flat of his-
"Did you just bite me?" Bucky hissed. Pulling his hand back, his eyes flicked to your sly smirk, jaw teeth gritting together, seething at your audacity. What did he have to do to get you to fucking listen?
"Did I, sir?"
He was already palming himself as he flipped you around, his metal arm reaching the top of your dress. He gave you a nod, eyes glaring into your soul and lips dancing over yours before he pulled back, ripping your dress into half.
"Hey-" The hand he had pressed to your stomach held you pressed to the seat, a chuckle running through him at the indugnance in your voice.
"You did, kitten."
The high only built as he opened your legs pushing your panties to the side and burying his face between your thighs, lapping up your sweetness as you thrashed under him, one leg hanging off the seat, another thrown carelessly over the seat head, your hands holding on to the tinted and foggy windows for dear life. That was Bucky's deal, he would give you what you want -his undivided attention, which was always yours anyway- only as long as you did not remove your hands from the window.
"You take those hands off, you don't get a thing from me."
Bucky never broke a promise to you, and even as you gasped and opened your legs for him, eyes drenched in lust and body slipping like honey under his hold, he knew he wouldn't be making an exception now.
There was no way you would take your hands off the window tonight.
He coaxed an orgasm out of you pretty easily, his eyes going wild at you spread out under him, body covered in pretty lingerie and skin lathered in sweat and slick. Eyes shut in pleasure, head thrown back and arms limp as all the brattiness slowly diffused out of you, the pleasure raking through every fiber and bone.
Bucky flicked your nipples through the flimsy lace as you sighed and struggled to keep your hands pinned to the glass, your fingers sliding down but your fingertips gratingly held on, eyes trailing over his form. He tugged at your nipples, pushing your bra down. He grabbed your boob, popping one of your nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the pebbled bud, his eyes fixated on yours as you lost yourself to him again.
His fingers teased your folds as he marked up your neck and breast for the world to see, your hands still clinging, best as they could, to the window behind you. Bucky methodically peeled off every layer of clothing from your skin, indulging in his little sessions of partialism with every body part, your breasts, your hips, your thighs. Cold metal fingers slipped past your folds, the whirring and grating of metal against your skin only making you whine more, slowly succumbing to his will.
Bucky had you fall apart on his tongue, twice, before he allowed you to move your hips. He wiped the tears off your face as his metal fingers slid in and out of your pussy, his cold thumb rubbing circles all over your clit. He held you in place through each spasm that jolted through your body, your thighs marked up and stinging faintly from his teeth and fingers, your jaw hanging open, a little bit of drool hanging out of your lips.
Maybe this sight was what tipped him over to that mindset. To his domspace. It started with the little things, when Bucky felt constantly on the edge, head reeling from being thrown into missions one after the other, weeks of absence from you leading to him craving it with animalistic desire. Bucky didn't need ropes or handcuffs or long sessions of harcore domination to be pushed to this headspace.
What sent him reeling over was the sight of your fucked out face, tears streaming down your cheeks in overstimulation, hints of your makeup trailing down and catching his eyes. When he would cup your jaw and make you look him in the eye -keep looking at him like that- like he was all you could ever imagine, all you could ever need.
In such situations, Bucky swore to everyone he could feel the burn of desire flow from your chest to his, your scrambling fingertips leaving not just their possessive evidences over his back, but also marks of trust and intimacy and care and devotion which he had never felt in millions of years. More than anything, he wanted to give back to you all that you made him feel, amplified a million times over.
Bucky watched your eyes linger over his crotch, suddenly aware of how aroused he was. He pushed back the momentary struggle when he saw your eyes ghost over the bulge next to the more pressing one, the layered outline of his gun peeking out from under his jacket.
One look at you and he knew what you wanted. You both had experimented with knives before, some fun times involving a knife and a jar of nutella, or that time when he had slaughtered an entire hoard of your lingerie in his attempt to make them accessible.
What Bucky's girl wanted, she got.
He took out his handgun, coincidentally the one which was gold plated, and your favourite. It was the gun you sometimes sneaked out of his pocket and ran over to the shooting range, subtly trying to avoid his stalking gaze as he did his push ups in another corner of the room.
Now this gun was waltzing its way across your boobs. Bucky tangled it with the lace of your bra, purposely ripping off a little bit of it, smirking as you hissed under your breath. The barrel cascaded down to your navel, running down the insides of your thighs in slow strokes, the cold metal making you shiver, Bucky's warm lips stamping over its icy trail.
"The gun's locked. Loaded though. You want me to use it on you?" Bucky asked, softer now, two of his fingers holding your chin in place, his eyes boring into yours. You whined and pushed your hips up, licking your lips and shaking your head in a desperate yes.
"Words." Bucky quipped, tightening his hold on your face and running the cool tip of the gun from your navel to the centre of your mound, so.close to where you needed him. "Were being so smart back there. Where'd ya words go now?"
As you screamed out your 'yes' he slid the nuzzle over your drenched pussy, chuckling as your wetness dribbled down to his weapon. He pushed your pussy lips apart, pupils getting wider and sense stronger as you trembled and rocked against him, your hands barely holding onto the glass, just as he had ordered, your face numb with pleasure.
He pushed the muzzle inside you, slowly, methodically, taking all of his time as you moaned and threw your head back in pleasure. He built a tantalizingly slow pace as he fucked you on his gun, pressing it to the sides of your walls and fixing you with stern glares each time you moved too much, sweet nothings whispered in your ears as you did so good for him, taking it like a good girl.
Bucky had you suck his gun clean after he had made you cum around it, your juices and taste lingering in his mouth when he scooped up some of your wetness, not able to resist his need to taste you again and again.
When you had fallen apart on his hand for the fourth time, body slumped back against the seats, your lips swollen, the scrapes of so many people walking by bouncing around the roof of the car, Bucky took mercy on you. He scooped up your hands, eyes softening just a little at the muffled shriek which escaped your lips, thumbs running over your knuckles in an attempt to sooth the trembling which persisted in your arms. It would take time to go away, but it wasn't anything Bucky couldn't handle.
He pushed your hair away from your face, leaning over to the side to pull out some tissues, patting them over your temple as you relaxed a little. Body slowly sinking into ease against the leather sheets, the aftershocks of your orgasms still blared in the way your thighs clenched with each of his movements. Bucky brought your hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle gently before popping one of your fingers into his mouth, hands flying out to massage your biceps.
Bucky lifted you up, resting his back to the seatrest and flicking drops of sweat off his forehead before resting it on yours, your heavy breaths mingling with his. He held you till your breaths went in sync with the periodic taps he made on your waist, his hand caressing your face and neck and back. He pulled your lingerie back in place, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around your body, running his eyes all over you once again, accessing for any injury you might not be able to locate. It was his job to make sure you were okay, and that nothing went too hard on you.
He massaged your biceps and cooed occasional sweet nothings over the shell of your ears, finally asking you to wrap your legs around his waist before he carried you to the front seat, wrapping his jacket tightly around you and securing the seatbelt.
You were smiling when he got into his side. Your eyes trailed over his form, the tight black shirt he might have worn to seduce you, lingering lustfully at the drenched fabric clinging to his chiseled chest, a wristwatch wrapped around his right arm. He had strapped his gun back to his belt, the metal scented with you, fond memories of this adventure burned on its surface forever.
"Wait-" your words were airy, his eyebrows crumpling before he could help it, already looking you over and replaying everything that happened to know if anything had gone wrong.
"You're- I want to take care of you too-" you pointed to his bulge, hand already shooting out to unzip his pants.
"Hey, kitten, stop." He commanded gently, brushing his thumb over the cute crease that had woven itself into your forehead when he placed your hands on your lap. "Open that."
He watched as you opened the little air-conditioned section in the car, lips curling into a smirk when you fished out a bullet vibrator, your lips parted in a hollow gasp. The air perfumed with your sweet arousal again, Bucky's cock jumping for some action, finally.
"Prep it up," he smiled at you, unfrazzled by everything. "First red light you see, spread those legs and push it inside."
Bucky lifted up his phone and gave it a little shake to indicate he would be having fun with this, starting the car. As you sat there, gasping, he leant over, hands still on the steering wheel, crashing his lips on yours.
His tongue slipped into your mouth, robbing you off your breath before he was focussed on the road again, flexing his thigh and biting back the smirk at your low whimper.
"I'm not quite done with you, kitten. Don't think I'll ever be."
Warnings: Smut. Rough sex. Some gaming stuff. Toys. Presentations. General cockiness and chemistry.
James- because you're still not used to calling him Bucky- has this twisted little smirk on his face. Stupid hot-as-hell fucker. He's got his 'I'm-King-Zeus' vibe in your little conference room, flipping the bottle in his hands casually, watching you as you present your group's weekly work report in front of your managers.
He has been grating your nerves from the moment you flew into the premises, your skirt lopsided and hair fanned all over your shoulders from running all the way up- You had been roped into your favourite cafe three floors below, all your intentions set on grabbing a cuppa and fleeing but you had no idea when you sauntered over to the gaming booth there and ofcourse, you were late.
Bucky had made it his mission to annoy you today. Maybe it had a little to do with the competition you both devised over multiple rounds of minecraft, the loser being tasked to play the next round while finding ways to make the winner cum- and you had won them all.
All of last evening you had spent nestled on his cock, grinding against his thick girth while your pussy clenched and dripped all over him, groaning and cursing when Bucky lost again. With a loud cheer he had you on your knees, ass up on his couch, his cock rolling against your hips and then he pounded into you till you forgot all about the game, till all of your adrenaline was burned out and all you could do was sleep.
You didn't even realize when he had slipped a vibrating bullet into your bag, a quick text of 'have it in your pussy for the day, babyđ' and here you were.
Him and his stupid pink lips, his easy smile as he added on to something you said. It was killing you. Then Bucky puckered up said lips, the eyes of three of your colleagues, and two of your managers filled with lust, and you were done. How easy it is to piss you off. Those weren't their lips to look at.
Your fake couch had Walker of all people wincing- which in turn only made you sweeten your voice till it pricked your ears, sweetly calling for everybody's attention back on you.
That stupid grin was back too. Those pretty blue eyes all crinkled up, hands still wrapped around the bottle as Bucky shifted in his seat, his face turning serious as you continued with some statistic.
And then you felt it. The sudden vibration stemming from the metallic bullet which you had pushed between your folds as per Bucky's instruction in the cafe. It drummed to life, the sudden intensity having you lurch forward, your legs suddenly reduced to a weavy mess of muscles and tingles. You felt the burn zip down your spine as you clenched your eyes shut, turning sharply to the side to mask your embarrassment as a barrel of pleasure rolled down your face.
Focus.
"Hey, mind repeating what you said? I missed the last point." Bucky. Seriously? Was he a fifth standard student missing out on a dictation?
With clenched jaws, you caught his smirk, brushed away by his fingers before he was back to the picture-perfect employee everybody knew him to be.
Who knew this was the guy who jogged all the way over to your apartment from his gym because you once fleetingly mentioned you liked it when boxers wrapped their hands up. With thise wrapped up hands he held your wrists as he fucked you against the door of your bedroom, his lips pressed to your temple to hush you down, sweet nothings whispered in your ears along with the gravelly praises of "good girl."
Focus.
You forced out a smile, heaving a sigh of relief as the vibrations dulled down, your panties wet from the sudden stimulation, your heart rattling against its cage. You took a deep breath, catching Bucky's sneaky fingers hovering over his phone screen, now prepared for the next attack.
You narrowed your eyes as you repeated what you said, maintaining your composure till this meeting ended. When you did, Sean, one of your nicer bosses, clasped his hands together, calling you and Bucky over.
"I've got some drafts to format. They're old, should've been done ages back but we never got around to it. Tanya from Accounts will give you a setlist that needs to be updated, and I would prefer it be done before we go off for our weekends. Can I count on you two to take care of it?"
Bucky beamed as he nodded, receiving an encouraging pat on the shoulder. You nudged his side and he clasped your wrist behind you, discreetly, all while pretending to go through the file Sean was showing him.
Sneaky lil bitch. He nodded, holding out the file for you to examine, the cockiness replaced by a professionalism you always admired.
"We got it. I'll make sure everything's taken well care of."
There is so much you love about your internship- the exposure it gets you, getting to kick ass and of course, the undeniable chemistry between you and your coworker.
Warnings: Smut. Public sex. Walker bashing. Gaming terminology? ( I dunno what's going on eitherđč). Fluff. Some frustration and anxiety. All that.
You never know where you would end up in the next few years. Five years back if somebody had told you you'd end up bagging an internship at Stark industries and get a shot at doing your thing in the best of all corporate environments, you would have laughed at their faces.
A broke college student barely had the time to sleep, and with your addicted fingers cramping from flying over the console and head pounding under the pinch of all that had been dumped on your head, where did you get the time to dream of this kind of success?
Time skip to a month back when you were getting emailed with an invite, the familiar logo of Stark Industries -one you had spent half of your college life staring at in your form of wishful thinking- blinking back at you. You never knew you would have a 'I-absolutely-can't believe-this' moment, but you did.
Even then, as you bounced around like a little bunny, yelling about the invite to anybody who did or didn't want to hear about it, you would have laughed if somebody said you might find a guy who would finally be able to sweep you off your feet. You'd roll your eyes, scoff and leave. As if there could ever be some mystery man who could show you stars in broad daylight, light little hearts in your eyes each time you looked at him.
Such mystery men exist only in fanfictions and movies. Or maybe they do exist outside your radar, but then again, how is it supposed to be good if you can't have it for long?
Then you saw him. On your first day at work, almost like some cliche romance movie's flawed main character who the audiences hate to love.
He was late.
The last one to saunter into the room, he strode his way to the awkwardly shaped circle of nervous, fidgety people without a care of it, easily outshining everybody. He wasn't smiling the first time he entered, but he wasn't apologetic either for making any of you wait. He shuffled in, his hands clasped behind his back. He gestured a confident nod at your manager, indicating the start of your discussion.
And with a snap of a finger, you were gone for.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Don't we all love it when someone comes in and immediately the reigns are thrown their way, even if they are not supposed to be the one in charge?
That someone in the office was James Barnes, just another intern like you all. Who wouldn't be impressed?
Dressed in black formal wear which did not look imposed on him, a huge and beautiful wrist watch and rings adorning his right hand. You found yourself gawking at the alignment of the blue veins streaked over his arm, wondering if you could have the chance to peel off that suit and gawk at his muscles.
The faint dark lines of scars and lumps of broken skin on the insides of his palms showed that James lifts weights. Maybe he was a boxer? Considering how he had been knocking out words from the other intern's lips by simply looking at them, you knew it was probably true.
He was the perfect 'flowers and sex' kind of guy.
You? You had one moment that day which you were proud of.
"Hey- red blazer, why don't you go get the printouts from Mr.Martin?" You frowned, not liking how the guy was ordering you around.
"I thought I was supposed to review the database?" You couldn't help the cocked eyebrow, irritation spiralling down every joint as you locked eyes with the narrowed ones of the smug idiot in front of you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw James watching your interaction from where he was hunched over at a laptop with three other people, the lines on his forehead and the light interest he had shown on this beckoning you to hold your stand.
Walker and the other guy exchanged glances, a little baffled you hadn't immediately agreed.
"We've done this before. Leave it to us so you don't mess up."
You pressed your lips to a thin line, looking to the side to see James and another girl you had spoken to, Natasha, fully standing up to stare at this guy- Rumlow.
"Well that's great. Good for you. Let me have my go at it then, I gotta learn." You uncrossed your feet, standing straighter. "In case I go wrong I'll have somebody with newly found expertise to refer to, right?"
You dragged the last word, looking over at the red head and the tall charmer who nodded aprreciatively, faint traces of a smirk on their faces. Natasha looked proud and James looked impressed. You felt the heat burning your face when James threw a flirty wink your way, mouthing the words "destroy him."
That was good enough for you. Rumlow looked like he wanted to say something and you were sure you looked like you would trample him with elephants if he dared to. Great first day, isn't it?
That's how your first interaction went. James wasn't one for too much of mingling, but the effortless charisma that radiated from him had you, and many other women of this office, including some very high ranking milfs, inside a tight forcefield. Good at his job, bright and intelligent. He came to conclusions and dished out ideas faster than the others, He didn't have to say too many words to slap Walker and Rumlow's humongous ego's right off their faces.
James also looked damn hot when he was hitting the keys of his laptop, typing away furiously in the last minute touch ups of some pseudo-presentation you were ordered to prepare at the last moment before a weekly progress meeting.
And you were floored.
He caught you playing that little dinosaur game on chrome at the end of the first day. The network had snapped for a second, the tiny little dino jumping as you clicked away at the space button- your concentration all fixated on the screen as the background changed from black to white, your eyes flashing with bursts of uncanny lighting.
Still buzzing under the familiar tingle of excitement, you turned your eyes from a screen, your hands freezing to a halt as you suddenly looked at James- his eyes intently fixed to your screen. Isn't it great? Getting caught playing at work. That too the dinosaur game of all the games.
You noticed his frown, cringing before you looked back at the screen. Your dino- your poor dino, had smashed into some stupid pixelated bird, your score inches away from the highscore. You whined, exiting the screen before you impulsively started another one.
James shrugged at you, a look thrown your way as his gaze burned over yours for a second- he looked damn hot looking at you like that- and then he was gone.
It was the third day that you realised why you felt so attracted to him.
He looked like your ex.
Correction.
He resembled that one guy you hooked up with at a halloween party two years back. You had a vague recollection of what you had dressed up as- some forest nymph, or maybe a fairy- you had made it slutty and golden, and milked it for all its worth.
A couple free shots, a little dry humping before you caught the eye of someone from the bar. Hair curling under his ears, beefy arms which made you drool, a smile which had you swooning like a bewitched little girl. He was dressed pretty ordinary- or maybe you were too drunk to actually decide who he looked like, you had taken the charge and wandered up to him.
Puckered lips and causal winks as you both gravitated closer, all touches way past the point of flirting as you both hung off of each other, skin touching skin, tongues licking up the taste of drinks and chasing the other for more.
Taking the back exit, you both stumbled to the clearing behind the farmhouse, your hair tousled and bodies wrapped over the other. The lake by the side of the highway gleamed a beautiful silver and stripes of night jasmine lined the unmowed end-of-october grass at the side of the road where you two fucked. Easily the best orgasm you had had, it turned out a lot more romantic and ethereal in the way it was executed, all the pleasure you felt stemming from the heat under this beautiful stranger's hold, his longish hair and gorgeous blue eyes gleaming in the night. He had made you feel good, even if you were dirty and your outfit too ragged to be flaunted anymore.
Then you both went your own ways. You had taken a name- you weren't so desperate you'd fuck a nameless stranger- and you were proud of your hungover self to remember it the next morning.
Something along the lines of 'Bucky'
James looked very much like him. His hair was shorter, granted, which probably made him way hotter than Bucky, but that man had taken you under the stars, open and without reservations. You couldn't imagine poised and proper James doing that, he looked more of a worship-thy-lips-in-the-bedroom kind of guy, but who doesn't want that?
From the first hour of work, right from the moment James punched in his card, bright eyed and attractive as fuck, to the time he left office, his clothes a little crumpled and hair a little toussled from the constant running around, he has your attention.
You could totally imagine him going back home and rushing off to the gym- those arms and thighs need work, and bringing out the frustration on a boxing bag.
You want those hands wrapped around your neck.
James might look like a gentle-in-bed kind of guy, but you would make it your mission to corrupt him. Make him crave tossing you around and taking you as he wished, invoking the feral animal who had you trembling and getting down to your knees with a snap of his finger.
You caught yourself drooling in the distance quite a few times in this little fantasy. Truth is, you'd never be able to do what you're thinking, cause there was no way you were approaching James. Tall claims aside, you didn't think you had the nerve to saunter up to someone and openly flirt with them. You weren't drunk enough to do that.
What a shame people aren't allowed to drink at work.
By the third day of your internship, your slightly-stalkerish fangirl tendencies had kicked in. You found Natasha giving you a quick smirk each time she caught you watching him from the corner of your eye as a few project managers brief you on what you are expected to do for the two month period, discreetly checking him out. It escalated to Wanda giving you a little thumbs up each time James handed you a file and smiled at you. You were also convinced his best friend, Steve Rogers, found ways to get you both to talk.
Cute, isn't it? Other than the few asshats here and there, this internship is good.
You didn't know what got you to slip and get such an intense crush on him so quickly, but your suspicion lingers on the magnetising charisma James exudes, from the top of his perfectly set hair to the ends of his black shoes.
Or maybe those fingers flying over keyboards, jotting down points feverishly. Or the close-to-explicit images your mind tends to conjure with those hands at focus. Typically, those hands around your throat. Or boobs. Or cupping your cunt. Or glistening from being lathered with your juices.
The eighth day was a shitty day. You had been yelled at by far too many people, and for reasons you did not hold yourself responsible. Is it your fault the boss's computer breaks down in the middle of a project briefing? Apparently yes. Did Walker and Rumlow smirk in victory and cheered discreetly as you were running around trying to fix stuff? Yes. Did you not so discreetly dump water all over Rumlow's laptop in his presence and put Walker's annoying elbows and gesticulations to blame? Yes.
You were a little hysterical and totally done with the world when you saw James.
You knew that this guy was tall, but damn, the monent you ran into him, a bunch of files in your hand and your eyes screwed shut as if it would stop the inevitable crash in your stupid heels, that's when you realize just how much of a height difference you two have.
You couldn't even be embarrassed at how you are salivating as his hands easily gripped your elbows, settling you before he was bending down on his knees to pick up your files.
Your pulse racing and your head a little airy, you watched James crouch down, a smile sent your way which almost topped you back on your heels and all you could think of was "It's always the eighth day that something cool happens."
Since when was falling cool? Since today, apparently. Or if falling means being doted over by James Barnes.
They say, the eighth day is the charm. Somewhere in your head Natasha's voice chimes in. "Only you say it."
You had spent the last one week mildly stalking this guy on social media, not very surprised to find less than little content about him. He posted sunsets, the skyline, and a cool pic of his shoes. He had one picture of his, a selfie with a large golden retriever, which you later found was Steve's dog, Shadow.
So much for a little crush.
James gave you a little once over, handing you your files and asking if you are okay.
You're so not okay. A little embarrassed and hot in the face, especially because there were people who saw this and many of those were people who you did not like.
But you don't say that. Ofcourse. You wouldn't want the guy to think you're some damsel in distress, and the little furrow in his brows looks cute but he could do just as good without it.
He looked a little worried. And maybe he was trying to stifle down a laugh, and somewhere in your hindbrain you know that so were you.
It's endearing in a way which makes you stop yourself from shooting the middle finger at Walker's disgusting snicker, lulling yourself out of the pit of hysterics you were so close to toppling into, to look at his steel blue eyes.
Big mistake. It never ends well from here. Those bluish-grey irises held an incandescent that had you tipping back in wonder, awestruck and all your thoughts diverging on him. You had just run into your crush and made a fool outta yourself and now you were standing here- clinging to the last bits of your sanity. Damn great start.
He offhandedly looked behind your shoulder, shooing away Wanda who might have been there to hear you rant, eyes boring back into yours, the ardour in his gaze startling you.
Everything has a first time, and this situation counts where you've been left tongue tied by a mere look into somebody's eyes.
What can a girl do in this situation? You fixed your skirt, gulping down, a little embarrassed at how close you were to your breaking point over a set of files you can't manage. Especially when there are other interns like him who are so good at this.
"It's fine, sweetheart. You're doing very well." Sleek fingers pushed your tresses out of your face. The cool and composed aura which he exuded, very potent at fucking up your sense of public mannerism and general ovulation each time you are in a room with him, that very calmness almost knocked you in the gut, sending you topping over, atleast in your overdramatic head.
Right. Great. You are officially screwed.
"It's not. I'm a mess. I can't do shit for anything-" you knew you should keep your mouth shut if you want this guy to notice you as anything beyond the girl who's too messy and disoriented to handle something important, but damn, you're angry.
You've got sparks flying out of your eyes and your mind a metal crusher as all the thrash that has been manufactured in a week is all thrown over it, and your only objective is to destroy it all. Your fingers quivered and your throat was a little dry from all the indignant huffs as you struggled to keep your voice low, James's hands engulfing your wrists when you grip the spare table stacked with your files a little too tight.
You should be feeling bad for James, you really should, but you were frustrated. Your eyes were pricking and burning with the advent of angry tears, and you couldn't bring yourself to care. He walked into this. And- he's got the nerve to smile that freaking seductive smile at you as you rave and rant about how all the project managers here are the worst.
He's got the nerve to look so gorgeous and distract you all through work and make stuff more difficult to you? James definitely deserves to see you rant.
"And it's not fair that I'm yelling your ears off when I should be fixing some rich daddy's only child's computer-"
"Sometimes the best option is to punch it out," James threw in, cutting you off as he snatched your phone from your hand, placing it on the counter before you crashed it somewhere.
You blinked. "Punch a computer?"
His face broke into a big laugh, eyes flickering as you blinked in confusion. He held your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles before pulling you along.
"You got some twenty minutes left," he informed, stringing you out of the cafeteria. "I'll show you something."
Walking in a pencil skirt and heels is something you needed to improve your proficiency at, but you clung to James's arm, a little tentative at first but it doesn't take you long to realise James really adores the idea of touch- no matter how out of reach he might seem to be. He didn't even let go of your hand. So you indulged him, holding onto him as he led you to the elevator, and to the cafe three floors down.
Okay?
You found Steve there, mesmerised by a book, his hands curled around a cup of coffee. James ignored his friend, leading you to the wall on the other side, straight to a gaming booth.
Wow.
"As thrilled as I am to know there's a gaming centre right here, in that wretched building- don't think we have the time for that kind of thing." You looked out of the corner of your eyes, gasping as he discarded his jacket and threw it over one of the chairs, punching a card on the side of one of the booths. The computer flared on, a sudden pricking in your fingertips as you felt the familiar high rush back in- one you hadn't indulged in for the past few weeks.
"Then we'll make sure you enjoy all of the limited fifteen minutes you've got. Get in there."
It didn't take you a second to get into action. The choices were many, and in your excitement, you did not even notice he hadn't taken a device for himself, choosing to hover closely behind you.
"I'll be cheesing. Also, I've lost touch with my d&d group. Do you have one?"
"See Stevie there? For a gentleman he's one hell of a hissy ragequit."
You laughed, fingers flying over the controls as you repeated the same movements in your safezone, the influx of scores at the scorebar settling into the crevices of your brain a happier kind of buzz.
"You won't play?"
"Hmm I will, fairy." Your eyebrows raised at the pet name, or maybe at the little jump in your chest and maybe between your legs- you hated pet names. But when James was calling you one? You'd be anything he calls you.
Simp.
You flicked your sight away from the screen, just for a fleeting second, and you regret it. No, this time it isn't the eyes that you get lost in, it's Bucky's hands. He's clicking his wristwatch open, eyes cast downwards, cheekbones and jawlines looking immaculately framed under the lights. He slipped the chain out, setting it on the space next to him while your character gets beaten to a pulp on the screen, a grimace on your face as you peel your eyes away from him to the lost game.
He chuckled behind you. "That happens a lot," He's close, so close you feel the rumble of his words directly over your skin, a shiver streaking down your back when his hands settle on your armrests, slowly inching to the end of it as his front presses to your back, his breath dancing on the side of your cheek.
"I make you lose focus?" He whispered over your ear, a velvety wrap of seductiveness coiled over it. You felt him come closer, his shoe slowly sliding under the chair as he eased himself into your personal space. His hand moved to the controls, starting another game for you. "Ten minutes." he whispered huskily, his shoe pushing your heels apart, your thighs opening.
On you're fucked.
You start what you have to do, your fingers moving mostly out of muscle memory as you find out a pattern, camping at a spot and filing all the points because you didn't have much left in your brain with James this close to you, his shoe deliberately opening your legs.
"Fuck-" you cursed at something, and James choses that exact time to place his hand on your shaking thigh, dangerously close to the hem of your bunched up skirt. Skilled fingers push it up further, pads of his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your skin. You catch a glance at him, his lips curled in a cocky smirk as you narrow your eyes at the screen, willing yourself to focus.
"Take it easy, fairy. Just be good and play." He whispered, his lips catching the side of your jaw. His teeth nipped at your skin and you squirmed away, the ticklishness from his pillowy lips pulling a smile to your face. Which turns into a smirk when his hand lands smack on your pussy, sharp and accurate. "Focus."
Oh damn.
The underline of your jaw stings from the trail of his lips, your pussy throbbing away under your skirt as your fingers waver over the controls, the sirens of 'stay focussed' fading into the distance as James keeps running his fingers through the inside of your thigh, pinching and smacking your mound each time your eyes stray from the screen. He whispers random instructions into your ear- most times you would hate it but right now, this feels like heaven.
You want him to slip his hands between your legs and stroke you clit.
James does just that.
The controller slips from your hands the moment his long finger brushes over your embarrassingly wet panties, the flutter in your clit jumping as he strokes his finger through it, a chuckle breathed against your neck.
"We're in public," you muttered shakily, catching up at the game just in time before your character was taken out. Your cunt fluttered and wept as James hands cupped your mound, the ends of his fingers pressing your thighs apart.
"And you aint letting me be good to you."
You whined, your lips pulled under your teeth as you fixated on the screen again, jumping when he stroked through your cunt again, stopping at the wettest part, before pushing your panties to the side.
You cursed, shifting to accumulate James and bunching forward when your character almost died off.
A hand steeles over your shoulder, pulling you back. "This is bout you clearing your head. Stay still." It inches down, caressing your collarbones, the ends of his neatly cut nails pricking at the dip, before it curls around the base of your throat.
You moan out, eyes flapping open because Steve is just a few metres from you both and a few guys from the staff are just on the other damn side.
A finger runs through your folds, the tip dipping inside and you moan out, heaving under his hold. You keep playing, somehow aware that the moment you lose, James would stop.
Fingers press into the sides of your jugular before a pair of plushy lips land on the side of your neck, staking a claim and journeying upwards. His fingers slowly massage your nub, his index dipping lightly into your hole and smudging your wetness all around0, your thighs clenched and nipples poking through your shirt.
Fingers till wrapped aroubd your throat, he keeps your head still, finger fucking you all qhike you carry on with your game, your moans dangerously close to slipping out, little gasps rushing out of your lips as you cursed and spluttered under him. His thumb worked on your clit, circling the wetness like he was spelling something between your folds, probably his name, and you could already feel the burn and pleasure coil in your stomach.
You bit back moans, your lipstick definitely swallowed and messy from all the biting you had subjected it to, the deepend flush of James's lips as he stamped them all over your skin- you wonder how you would hide these in the office.
"You're cute when you're sneaking all around to look at me." Your breath hitches, cheeks burning. "And so fucking cute when you're angry. Tearing Walker down? Made me so fucking hard I had stop myself from taking you right there."
You were panting, your nipples stinging from the pressure against your shirt. When Bucky chuckled, you realised your juices are dripping down your thighs into the leather of the seat, his large hands never leaving the place between your legs. You leaned back, fingers halting as your character slowly returned its state of being flopped to the floor, the game coming to a close. Just like you were, just like that-
The messy figures drawn over your clit stopped, the periodic thrust of his finger into your hole all coming to a halt as you heard James click his tongue behind you in disappointment, his hands leaving you bare, completely.
"What-" you stared, too stunned to speak.
"You're not playing anymore, so I stopped." He brought his fingers to your mouth, pulling out your bottom lip and letting the sticky trail coagulate on it before he brought them up to his mouth. You watched him with lust blown eyes as he licked his fingers clean, eyes entirely on yours as he slurps your juices off of his fingers, licking up every drop with a smirk.
Cocky little fucker.
You should have yelled, thrown something. He edged you, like who the hell does he think he is to tease you like that-?
James picked up his watch, eyes cockily following your movements as you stood up, your knees shaky and movements distorted.
"Got a d&d game for tonight. Wanna join us"
"Only if you call me half an hour before. You got some stuff to complete, James."
He clicks his watch back, smirking when he sees you eyeing it around his wrist.
"Make that an hour, fairy."
He smirks, walking backwards to where his jacket is, all while you try to fix your outfit. You are so fucked today.
Your discoveries about a less-than-normal band might have led you to something monumentally more than you had bargained for.
Warnings: Dark!Fic. Vampire AU. Everybody's a little unhinged. Especially Bucky. Drummer!Bucky. Mentions of cuckoldry. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Smut. Teasing. Denial. Remind me if I've forgotten to add somethingđș
Dividers by
Musicians.
Musicians who were a part of a band. A multi dimensional one, with multiple instruments and good quality vocalists. The Avengers.
The fun, goofy ones. Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff. Gamora.
The chill, cute ones. Thor Odinson, Peter Quill and Tony Stark.
The silent but kind ones. Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner.
Last but not the least. The lone wolf. The typical broody, quiet, mysterious one with the metal arm. Bucky Barnes.
You would have called the band the cliche extraordinaire, had things about them not been so fishy. Unlike typical band people, this infamous group of musicians was never caught in bars, drunk off their asses or starting a fight. These people were never out in the streets at all, hardly ever captured on camera. They met their fans only and only on scheduled meet and greets, never said a bad word, never stopped even for a two minute water break while performing. No scandals. Nothing.
You did not consider yourself to be some high profile journalist doing a sting operation. You were certainly not without work, and you did not spend all your time on the internet hunting for celebrity gossip.
So why exactly were you here today, spilling out details about the daily activities of musicians who had nothing to do with you?
A few videos had made their way to you from the internet.
One of them involved Gamora- painted all green on some Halloween party- drinking something red. Without even thinking you had decided it was blood. You could also swear her eyes burned red.
Another one of them was of Steve Rogers tumbling out of a window- the tape was of horrid quality but you were sure it was him. You also had more than enough reason to tell somebody had thrown him out of the window, the bars barely dangling from the sill being an evidence to your derived conclusion.
What was worse was that Steve did not seem to face any injuries. He scored a perfect landing, shrugging and dusting off his trousers before squinting at the setting sun like it had violated him, and marching back to the building
Like this was all supposed to be that simple.
Like fuck it was.
Then there was a picture of Bucky Barnes. Standing next to a very young Mick Jagger, Bucky looked exactly as he did today, the only difference being that he was dressed in the fashion which was prevalent in those days, and his hair was a little longer. Spinning his drumsticks in his hands, an intense expression as done by people.in music in those days crowning his annoyingly pretty face.
That picture was fifty years old. Untampered.
And you just had to find out what the fuck was going on.
That is what you keep repeating to yourself in your head as you snuck your way to Bucky's trailer, using one of your hairpins to click open the door and walk inside. You smashed the security alarm before it could go off, the loud beats from the stadium covering up all the sounds that you made.
Good.
You stumbled inside, piles of clothes discarded on the seats, some concealer and a lot of nail polish bottles. Yeah. The drummer liked having his nails painted and it made you swoon for him. You spotted a few broken drumsticks, a huge drumset all set up at one corner.
You turned to face the mirror, yelping when you caught sight of one of the pictures stuck to the corners of it.
A dick pic.
No. It was Bucky, all naked except for the leather shoes he had worn, a cigarette rolling between his teeth. His hair fell to his shoulders, a prosthetic, different from the black and gold one he uses now resting on his thigh. His cock stood plump and heavy, drops of precum oozing out. You gasped as you pulled the picture from where it was attached, mesmerized by his abs and a little drunk on the lines of veins scattered over his cock.
"I took that one in nineteen sixty two. Used to have long hair then."
His silky voice floated through the air, causing you to yelp and throw away the pic in your rush, your wide eyes directed at the mirror. A sharp prick crackled down your spine, the temperature dropping to an eerie level, a pounding blasting away in the recess of your head.
There was nobody behind you.
The mirror showed nothing, only your terrified face and the picture which was now hovering vertically in the air behind you.
You flipped around to find Bucky Barnes casually leaning against his drum set, totally in the reflecting range of the mirror.
Fuck.
"You- youâŠ" you started, barely able to hold in the increased thumping of your heart, your mind clogging and shutting down as the drummer smirked at you, metal arm casually twirling his drumsticks the exact same way he had done in that pic.
"MeâŠ" he started, walking over to the drawer next to his dresser, the echoing of his boots the only evidence of his existence if you were watching the mirror. Your body shut down as he pulled out a stack of pictures, lightly extending them towards you.
Vampire.
With shaking hands you took them, careful not to touch his skin. He chuckled at your startled gasp when you were faced with another of his bare body pics, close up pictures of his abs and lips and - fangs. The pictures turned filthier with each one that you tossed behind, the sound of Bucky's drumstick tapping against his thigh almost hypnotizing you.
Pictures from the nineteen twenties. Him and Steve in some bar, dancing with a few women. Him and Natasha in some club in Vegas in the eighties, him and Tony snowboarding through mountains which were no longer snow covered in this century. And to end it all, another picture of him with somebody else's hands wrapped around his dick, his eyes shut in pure ecstasy.
Well, that kinda stung.
That burned. You did harbour a tiny crush on the drummer, his blue eyes and fluffy hair and the faint lines of stubble along his cheeks always drawing you to him.
You hated that he was showing you pictures of somebody else touching him in that way.
It should have been you.
A cold hand touched your chin, a body sliding behind you. You felt him tilt your neck up, holding you still so you could keep facing the mirror.
"That was my girlfriend from the sixties. She was one hell of a minx," You couldn't watch what he was doing to you, not in the mirror at least. From the corners of your eyes, Bucky Barnes was gazing down at you, still in his drummer's outfit, all black and leather with heavy rings on all fingers. And nailpolish.
F*ck.
Bucky Barnes was telling you something about his fling from the sixties. 'She must be all grey and old now' you thought bitterly, shaking your head at why were you even so possessive about him.
You couldn't explain it. You just were.
And why the hell were your panties dripping wet already?
"Sweet fuck, I can smell you from here," Bucky started, fingers lining over your jaws and pushing your head backwards, his metal arm slowly flotterong over your breasts. "Does the thought of me fucking somebody eles turn you on?"
You shook your head faster than you had expected, not really into the idea that he would believe you had a cuckolding kink, angry red lines of possessiveness keeping you from exploring things.
"So this pretty little thing," He wrapped his arms around your chest and pushed your breasts upwards, his thighs spreading and landing on both sides of your hips, keeping you from moving. "Likes to hear me talk about my old flames. So she can go imagine herself in their place and touch herself till she falls asleep. Isn't it?"
"Does knowing that I can make dames like you fall to their knees in seconds make you crave to be one of them?"
How does he know?
It is. You looked at pictures of Bucky every night, touching yourself and crying out his name, imagining his voice directing you to touch yourself in whichever places you did. You sometimes fantasize that it was him running his hands over your body and making you fall apart on his fingers, tongue and cock.
You sometimes played audio tapes of the select few interviews he had done, his velvety voice pushing you towards your brink.
"You couldn't keep yourself from coming in here, could you? Coming here to find out who I was. How old I am. Where I come from." He sneered, the sharp prick of something- his fangs, burning against your shoulder.
"Tell me, princess, isn't this what keeps you hooked to your phone all damn day?" You felt another prick on the side of your arm, his metal fingers lowering from your breasts to lift up the end of your top, slowly carving its course over the waistband of your jeans. "I got your dm's. I have access to your search history and your screenshots. Safe to say princess, you are pretty obsessed with me."
"I'm not. I was suspicious," you started, hesitating and watching his hands go lower before he popped open the button of your jeans, sliding the chain down. "I came across a few pictures which- which didn't seem right."
"I got Tony to hack into your account and inject a trojan. That's why you got all those pictures in just one sitting. Those aren't really for public eyes , babygirl. I wanted you to see them."
Fuck. Fuck.
Bucky Barnes wanted you to know who he was. If this day couldn't get any better. You remembered the last time you had met him, revelled in the fact that he had held your hand for a quarter of a second, mentally dancing when he leant in and pulled you in for a hug.
You never wanted him to let you go. You even tried to soak up his cold touch, already begotten by the stell blue of his eyes.
Tilting your head slightly you looked at the man- vampire, holding you to him, sliding his hands down your panties, his eyes glowing red, his fangs on full display, faint lines of your blood raking through them.
Isn't this what you had always wanted? Isn't he what you had always wanted? You hadn't counted on Bucky being a vampire, but didn't that make things better?
Good judgement had left this conversation a long time back.
Doesn't vampire venom on mixing with human blood form some kind of aphrodisiac? He would have to feed you his blood to turn you, and something told you Bucky wanted youtube as human as possible for him.
"Fuck. Can't wait to have a taste. You've got any idea how desperate your sweet smell got me for you?" He slid his metal hand into your hair, tugging at the roots and pulling your head backwards, its pair pinching your clit. He towered over you, catching your lips in the messiest upside-down kiss, all teeth and spit and breathless gasps as you grabbed the back of a chair, holding on for dear life.
"I felt like I was dying again, having to hold myself back from doing that. If you didn't come here tonight," his fangs tore out, digging into the skin of your jaw and skimming down your throat. "I'd have come to get you."
You gasped, your head reeling. This was all too much to take, and everything you had ever wanted.
Too much at once.
"Don't look at me like that, baby doll. You wanted me. I wanted you." Bucky shrugged, not missing a beat before he was swooping down, digging his fangs over your bared neck and biting down, hard.
You screamed, louder than you had ever, two holes digging into your neck and drops of blood dribbling down in the mirror, getting licked up by something which did not have a reflection. The mirror played its part, a witness to Bucky claiming you as his own, his hands possessively sliding over your folds as white hot light tore through your vision, your legs jerking apart at the burst of pleasure streaming through your body.
He kept flicking your folds, tremors burning through your body as he played with you, gently licking up your blood and smearing his venom to seal the wound. You watched the gaping holes fill up for a second before he was biting down on the exact same spot, the pain sharper and much more pleasurable as you vision fogged, your legs convulsing from his teasing and mind hazy from the venom he was transferring into your bloodstream.
"You get what you want, here. All your dreams and fantasies which you write about," Bucky whispered in your ears, lips drenched with your blood, leaving marks of their bloody trail over your skin, an unhinged glint in his eyes.
He turned you around, making you face him in his full vampiric glory, eyes a fading red and lips caked with your blood, his tongue dipping out to lick some of the liquid up. His arms wrapped around your body, holding you steady. The metal arm inched up to lace around your throat, forcing you to look into his eyes, two fingers shoved into your needy cunt, the base of his rings working against your clit.
"In return I get to keep you. I feed from you. I fuck you. Only I get to have you. Forever."
Tease him with light touches at a party you may have forgot to wear panties oops
Lots of love!!!!đ„°đ„°đ„°đ„°đđđđ
BESTIE!!!
I love this!!! Can I be a world class brat and pick both? Maybe yesđ
Orđ
đ
The first oneđđ
NSFW Thots below
:screen cuts to the the black and white, moan filled, picturesque sight of Bucky's metal arm wrapped around your throat:
"Gone soft, huh? Just lost your empire and thats sent you spiralling, huh?" You cooed, your grin pinching, evil. The mafia glowered at you, choking you harder. Without remorse, he pushed you further backwards, chuckling at the startled gasp when your head dropped down the edge of table, leaving you partially suspended upside down. Your hands uselessly gripped the edge of the table on both sides of your head and you sighed, rolling your head a little helplessly.
Atleast your current predicament allowed you to look at Steve, manspread at the throwaway couch you all could arrange, clicking your tongue before pushing youself up. "He isn't even between my legs and his boner's bigger than yours."
Cold and warm hand which had been tracing down your raised calves curled over your knees, the contrasting temperatures digging into the flesh of your thighs, scarred from the multiple hours of fighting which had led you all here.
"You can ogle at him all you want." Bucky chuckled darkly, digits travelling down to your swollen cunt, glistening with your juices from being teased for the last half an hour or so, just ten minutes after he stumbled into this safehouse, away from the hazards and the gore in he had caused in the city.
Only to find you sitting cozy in Steve's sweater. And that was where the ex- mob boss's fuse ruptured, because he was done with all the bullshit and the last thing he needed was someone stealing you from him.
Maybe he just needed to clear his head. Maybe he was milking this for all its worth, letting out the anger and the possessiveness by pounding into you till you passed out.
He had taken your knife, pressed it to your throat while you were on your knees between his legs, and made you recite all the ways you loved his cock.
Then that poor sweater was shredded and tossed limp somewhere on the floor, the pure ire in Bucky's gaze directing you to be docile enough so he could tie you in the position that he wanted, exposed under him, open to his devious, lustful plans.
The mafia had to stake his claim, even if it meant typing you up and edging you till your brian slowly melted into butter and your brattiness crossed every limit. You were all he had left.
"You can look at him all you want," He spat, slapping your pussy harshly. "A treat for the eyes isn't she?" Directed at Steve, he shoved three of his fingers inside you, the torturous process of thoroughly opening you up and letting you leak on his fingers till you were shivering and close to crying before stopping altogether starting again.
"And she's mine. You'll sit your ass there and watch till it gets ingrained in that brute brain of yours."
Fiery blue eyes snapped to you, his gaze sweltering, words low and a tad threatening, making your slick run thicker. "Wouldn't you show him, princess?"
A/n: Its here!!! After a long long long time, Iâm back with this besotted Mafia King going about swooning and ruling and showing overall BDE, and I hope this is going to be worth the wait.
Word Count: 3.1K
Warnings: Allusions to smut. Soft!dark stuff. Over-romanticising of everything. Obsessions. Typical Mafia king shit. Shitting on Stereotypes. Coffee machines hate Sam. Sam hates Buckyâs lost marbles. The mafia boss knows how whipped he is. Some everyday accidents, like murder. Some creepy stuff. Plot building. World Building. The tuypical mafia shit. Typical Lovey-Dovey shit. Also *takes in a lot of air at once* SOMEONEâS ASKING SOMEONE OUT AND-
Fic library is @chaashnifics
Odinsonâs neice.
Student. Journalism.
Student loans.
Apartment 28.
A series of crisscrosses in loopy, cursive handwriting, bright pink and yellow pages sprayed all over the sullenly monotonous area that Bucky called his workspace. This desk, formerly the regulation and coordination centrepoint for most of the syndicateâs activities, was now transformed into a small scale insignia for his newfound love.
Petals.
Pastel pink and gold.
Cracked Laptops.
More sticky notes. More papers. More pictures shot from odd angles from buildings around your apartment, when you would be working out, or cooking in the kitchen in your underwear. At the bottom drawer was a compiled list of all your friends, the people you had interactions with on a regular basis, all the typical items in the memo of a man in love, wanting to discover everything about his girl.
Youâve fucking lost your nuts, Barnes.
Samâs faux British accent and wrongly framed slang chimed in the mobsterâs ears and he suppressed a chuckle, a satiated part of his brain yelling âthereâs some things you gotta do for love.â while another rang bloody murder at the blatant disregard he had been showing to his business. Buckyâs addiction to having one girl by his side had melted into him rolling his days into a backwood and blowing his love declarations for her in the sky.Â
So in short, Sam was fucking correct. He had lost his marbles.
And for once, Bucky didnât give a shit about deviating from the harsh bone and dust of his reality, instead focussing on the shimmering treasure buried at the end of the rainbow.
He liked to imagine himself in the shoes of some starry eyed tourist who had travelled to Vegas for the first time, the casinos and clubs and the dazzling lights straying them from their regular lives to this hellhole draped in fairy lights. He had started loving Vegas again, not the âbro-this-city-feeds-me-and-I-own-itâ kind of love but more of a soft âdamn-this-city-has-something-good-in-it.â
That something good was you. Bucky knew the gore and the darkness had nestled itself into the last, deepest ends of his veins, but after seeing you, he knew there was some hope for him.
You seemed like you were actually as sweet as the honey seeping out of the hives in the middle of literal jungle, and the mafia king had no qualms being the meticulous bee guarding it from greedy hands.
If you had a darker, red streaked face hiding behind these soft hues of pink and sunflower yellow, well then, heâd had experience breaking little demons into pieces, fracturing them and reassembling them. Heâd break you too. Till your scars diffused into stardust and the red cracked and blemished to a tender baby pink, just the way he wanted you to be.
Perfect.
Black t-shirt and grey sweatpants on, his cup of coffee with the calligraphy of âScooby doo ainât got shitâ printed digitally on it, the mafia king strolled over to his balcony, overlooking the grand paradise of Vegas.Â
Wasnât Barber supposed to show up anyday? After the last incident at Odinsonâs party, where he might have accidentally slit the throat of some old ass moron, he had come to an understanding with Barber. Multiple discussions on keeping their business as separate as possible, cause it was another unspoken rule grounded in stone for the Mafia men-mind you, not the Italian mafia- you donât fuck with otherâs businesses. So yeah, he might just have spent all of the last two days scrounging around the gps and several hacked systems, observing and annotating routes cleared by his staff for the trucks of weapons and of course, drugs, which had to take specialised routes. Sam did the hands-on work for him, tipping off cops and biker clubs and distributing fake identities. Bucky preferred sitting back and taking his time with the chessboard.
And much more than that, Bucky preferred watching you through the spy cameras he had installed all over your place.
Warnings: Blood. Some gore. Sexual tension thick enough to slice through a knife
Fic library is @chaashnifics
"Fight like you're dating."
You cocked an eyebrow, tutting at the man currently tied to the chair in front of you, furious at the helplessness you had thrown his way. Nick couldn't wrap his head around the fact that you had actually knocked him out cold and got him in tied this situation- literally.
"Draga, this isn't a fight you'd like to pick"
Even with blood smeared all over his face, Nick's words were smooth and thick like honey. Even after months of stemming in unadulterated hate for the atrocious man's guts, you could find a part of your brain swooning a sugar high.
Screw him. He looked too posh for an escape convict, and you'd make it your personal mission to make sure he's bac, where he belongs.
"No smart answer, huh?" Collectingthe blood sprouting out of his lip at the tip of his tongue, Nick rolled his neck, giving you a slightly aroused expression, sour spite cracking underneath his facade.
You had him right at the tip of the knife.
You marched forward, the muzzle of your gun pressed under his jaw, eyes flashing. "The only answers we'd be getting would be from you." You hissed, tilting your head and curling your hand around his throat, the insides of your nails armed with poisoned needles, pricking his skin devilishly.
Nick smirked.
"One lucky chance and you might just get my dick, but aren't getting an answer, draga."
The gun pointed at his throat slammed the side of his jaw, the sound of his groan and the bone cracking filling your its a sadistic pleasure, leaving your fingertips buzzing with an eerie thrill. You had wanted him for so fucking long, if you couldn't have him that way, you'd rather have him this way.
Wheezing out a curse, Nick reared his head back at you, roaring out in anger as you smirked at him. Veins pricking out of his neck, you watched as he spat the blood on the floor, right in front of your feet, furious eyes snapping right back at yours.
"Fucking bitch."
You bent to his level, slowly wiping a drop of blood off of the corner of his lips.
"We both know if I was given the job this would have been so fucking different."
The colour rising up Nick's face, of anguish and spite, had you chuckling, dragging your painted thumb over his lips, smearing his blood all over.
"So its best you start talking, pretty boy. I haven't got all day.
What good is an author who cannot make the characters come to life?
A/n: I was yelling to all the besties about my wips and then here I come up with some completely different concept because your girlâs gone crazy. Iâm a hoe for Nick Fowler and apparently a crazy ass one, I just canât get him out of my head.
Word Count: 1.5K
Warnings: Smut. Masturabation. A version of sex dreams. Obsessed vibes from reader. Reality-detachment? or just a Queen who doesnât give a fuck about dudes from around here? (We all know the fictional ones are superior). The making of a character. Unrealistic expectations? or are they really? Darkish reader. Talks about rough sex and free use. Bondage. Fetishes. Chasing kink. Someone loves fiction more than reality. Someone lowkey wants to have a fictional character to life. Someone is lowkey gonna succeed.
Fic Library is @chaashnifics
Nick Fowler. Businessman. Enigma. Criminal. A mystery. A whole plot woven with gold threads and speckled with iron dust, dazzling like the waves of the crystal seas on the exterior and a blistering furnace on the interior.
Okay, slow down babe. Youâre bordering on cringe.
The perfect protagonist never exists, they said. Fuck them, you had said. And vowed to create a protagonist everybody would want to fuck.Â
The whole idea seemed so romantic at first. Mandy muttered something about having the skill to create a character that could make you cry. Selene gushed on about characters who were written so expertly they could make you believe in love all over again.
You, bless you. You had hit a bit of a dry spell, finding life rather monotonous and bland due to the lack of colourful characters who could stimulate you, both physically and mentally. Sorry, not characters. Humans. People, you meant. Most of them these days are so lacklustre you could drown in your own tears of frustration.
So you made a whole dramatic show of tossing your hair over your shoulder and flickering your lashes, before you tapped your fingers on the table.
âImma gonna make a character whose only job is to fry everybodyâs brains, make them cum. Primary objective? Orgasms. Characteristics? BDE.â
âWhat a prev!âÂ
âBitch, just go get laid. Josh has been wanting to take you out. Just go. Donât want you drying up and wasting your degree writing porn.â
And here you were, writing and erasing words as your brain fired missiles in every direction, fingers flying over the keyboard. The corset dress you had draped over yourself for the evening constricted your breathing just enough to keep you on the edge, the pricking of your fingertips propelling you to write something hot after the ridiculously ruined date.
Itâs so fucking convenient for men these days. Pick a girl, have your way with her regardless of your mortifying ineptness in general seduction and foreplay. Disappoint her for even dressing up, because all men are the same, unskilled at the concept of giving pleasure, messily grabbing what they could get and scrambling back into their tiny mouseholes once they have spilled out.
Exactly why they say that fictionâs so much better than reality.Â
You couldnât just magic yourself into a fictitious world, so your best bet was creating something good enough to stimulate yourself towards an orgasm, born out of your fingers , in your own bed, alone. Still a much better alternative to the seven inch dick which was ploughed into you about an hour and a half back.
Atleast here you know what you are doing.
You had named him Nicholas Fowler. The origin to the name held a entirely different story, one you would prefer to preserve for another time.
Nick Fowler was gonna be your dream guy.
And he was hot.
Cropped hair. Perfect sapphires for eyes, which looked mostly empty. Maybe it was you channelizing your energy and attraction towards toxic men, maybe you had read too many enemies to lovers stories. Maybe you were one of those people who conjured too many red flags in everyday situations, maybe you were just shamelessly fetishizing. Nick Fowler was the kind of guy who would come up and fuck your world, leave you in shambles at the doorway to heaven, thirsting for the sin he drew out from hell.
A/n: Dark? Nope. Unhinged? Yes. And I do love the implications of a morally grey reader.
Warnings: Smut. A/B/O dynamics. Cheating. Rough sex. Man handling. Dub con. Face Slapping. Spitting. Legal age gap (reader is 20 when the alpha meets her). Nick's a crazy alpha and theres a slightly crazed omega so its balenced. (look at me lie)
Fic library is @chaashnifics
Nick Fowler was seething.
Vision brimming with red, blotchy and spluttering like the fire that was currently razing through his veins, the keys of his house almost cutting into his palm.
There weren't many reasons for him to be this close to snapping the neck of an immature boy, but when he decides he can get his hands on you- well, there's only so much restraint an alpha had.
You, as usual, are a little tease.Â
The tightness in his pants wasn't helped in the least by the sight of you having your neck bared out, so beautiful and exposed, dripping with your arousal.
Arousal which wasn't stemmed out of lust for him.
Arousal which was for some scrawny shrub of an alpha with those awful, juvenile pheromones.
Arousal which was meant to be claimed by him.
The snarl that twisted out of his lips had the young alpha jump away from you, the sight of the very mysterious businessman, coupled by the immense waves of anger rolling off of his scent- the boy looked like he would pop off an eye from his nervousness.
You didn't look any better. Shame. Your luscious scent was coated with it, packed with rocks of mortification which could be mirrored successfully enough in your eyes- Nick didn't have to be an alpha and detect your scent to know you were embaressed.
Well, who would like having their step father walk in on them having sex?
And wet.
Because he was your Daddy too. And Daddy hated, despised, absolutely abhorred the idea of you showing off your precious body to somebody else.
Another growl and the snap of his fingers had the boy scrambling out, your eyes widened in anger which simmered to a low sizzle when Nick's thunderous eyes snapped on yours.
Suddenly Nick was back on the day of his wedding, a younger twenty year old you skipping around for her mother's special day, only to squirm and drop to your knees like a good little omega the moment he got you alone- you had been his the moment he saw you.
Hadn't the alpha made it clear enough?
You squirmed, like a little mouse that had been lured right into its trap, your fumblings only entertaining Nick. He deserved to see you stutter, try to dish out an explanation for why you had a boy over in his home, why you were half naked in his kitchen.
Nick and you both knew nothing could soothe the anger razing through Nick's body now. Nothing except the soft, wet spot between your legs, tingling and dripping with increasing vigour as Nick strode forward, stalking towards you predatorily, eyes flashing.
That slick was meant to be for him. That neck- should have been marked by him, its been too fucking long. He had allowed you a little too much freedom, scoffed away your conversations of "C'mon, its about time I mate" with your friend who had to shift to another town right due to personal reasons, thus not able to fulfill her promise of helping you find a good alpha and get laid.
He smirked as he felt the hairs at the back of your neck rise, your piquant scent deepening every second. It was like the longer he waited to put his hands on you, the stronger became your call for his touch.
And he had to give you a reminder.
The hand which was gripping his gun a moment back now was dug into your hair, eyes scrutinising the adamant tick in your jaw as he pulled your head back, your revolting eyes boring into his equally furious ones.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" He growled, another hand cuffing around your neck as he propped you against the counter, ready to pin you to it the moment you decided to run your mouth.
"Just what you're thinking, Daddy." The venom in your voice did not match the arousal dripping out of your gland, your scent so painfully thick Nick could feel it wrap around his neck like a chord, pull him closer to you.
His hand flew from your neck to your mouth, grabbing your jaw and pulling it open forcefully, his spit crashing on the flat of your tongue just a second before you were being thrown flat on the cold counter, your skirt ridden up, Nick between your legs.
"I'd shut the fuck up if I were you." The smooth talker that Nick was, his words never fumbled , the need for an alpha voice almost discarded because with those silky ribbons that escaped his mouth, he could as well make you his puppet and get you to do exactly what he wanted.
"Yes daddy."
Your words were instinctive, your sweet omega scent wafting around him at your mellow submission, your eyes grazing over his veiny arms, a vein of arousal tearing through your core.
The alpha chuckled darkly, fixing you with a glare that got you straightening up, just the way he had trained you.
"Daddy's going to ask you this one last time, princess. " Nick started, his knuckles tracing the side of your face softly, a sharp contrast to the fury thundering in his brain, all the structures working to find ways to stop his instinctive need to claim you right there. "What the fuck was he doing here?"
You smirked, your scent thickening to a condescending one, one which he couldn't wait to slap off your face when you were done being a brat.
"Claiming me. Exactly what you don't have the balls to do."
Your smirk lingered even as your face snapped to the side, the impact of his hand ratting your teeth and embedding into your skin in the form of irregular shockwaves. You looked back up at Nick, his form still so poised and proper, the alpha in him just begging to be released but the moron of a man he was, doing everything to keep it inside.
He looked...disappointed.
The second splat of spit had you wet like a kitten again, the growl of "you'll learn, omega. What it is to be mine."
You so fucking wished you could.
Even then you scrambled when he asked, getting rid of your clothes and presenting for him like the good little omega he had trained you to be, his cock ramming into your pussy, all stretched out and perfect to take his knot.
"Going to breed you. Make you round and glowing with my pups, thats what will get you to know." His cock rammed into your cervix, fingers rubbing your clit as you thrashed and moaned, one of his legs caging yours on the counter, the other trembling from Nick's onslaught.
"Daddy should rub his cum all over your face." He rolled his hips, curving himself around your body so his teeth could graze your mating goand, chucking darkly when you tensed, before drilling his cock in again. "That should show these little flies they shouldn't bother."
"You're daddy's little whore, aren't you , omega."
"So fucking dripping. All the time. 'S all for daddy right? Just for him."
"Could have just fucked you in front of him."
"Try fucking me in front of your wife." Your snarky whisper was not lost between your moans, Nick's thrusts slowing down and you found yourself tethering at the edge of a needy whine, gasping when his hand pulled your hair back, pressing your back to his chest. He reached for something behind you- a phone, handing it over to you, a contact you had been alienating yourself from covering his screen.
"How bout this, little girl. Daddy will claim you in front of her. Mark you up and make you mine. Collar you up, add some chains and locks too." He brushed some hair away from your mating gland, inhaling your scent deeply as your slick deepened, the lush crazy from anticipation and want.
"Go ahead, call her. The quicker you are, the faster Daddy gives what you want."
Nickâs manipulative, obsessive and absent, and you, youâre his butterfly in heels.
Word Count: 3.2K
Warnings: Smut. Filth. Deranged filth with our newest obsession. Guns. Gun play. Power Play. Obsessive behaviour. Manipulation. Lying. Strippers. Semi Public Sex. Dominance. Slight S/M play. Possessiveness. The only price you get is good dick(and a wad of cash too). Light Angst. Face Fucking. Oral. Did I mention guns? Did I mention THAT sceneâ?
A/n: My first Nick Fowler Fic!! This man has me in a chokehold from the moment the film came out and Iâve been drooling over gifsets for so long, I had to write this. My submission for @geminixevans @fineanddandy @jamalflanagan @cocobutterqween @syntheticavenger @sunshinexsin @boxofbonesfic âs Aphroditeâs Manor Challenge.
Fic Library is @chaashnifics
Hot pink nails curled around your second free drink of the night, you rolled your shoulders, the delicate body chains wrapped all around your body and looped over your bralette sparkling as you sauntered towards the man, his sharp cheekbones and eclectic blue eyes drawing you in closer.
It was easy to forget you were the temptress when it came to Nick Fowler. Beautiful as he was, his words held an engaging darkness, struggling to rip free, crossing you in your own game and luring you in every time he decided to visit you.
âNick Fowler.â You eyed him up and down, eyes lingering at his belt, lingering at the gun he had strapped in there before snapping back to his lustful ones, keening to see that you were the object of his attention. Even now. âWhat brings you to me, huh?â
His chuckle was dark and expensive, just like everything else about him, the lustrously ardent eyes flickering with darkened flares as he sized you up and down, looping an arm around your bare waist, fingers itching to caress the lace of your bra. âNothing can ever keep me from you, printesa.â
You rolled your eyes, keeping your glass on one of the tables and pressing your palm on his chest, walking away, swaying your hips with grace, just the way you knew he liked. Somewhere behind you, you knew he had a tick in his jaw, his fists clenched. You could almost feel the roll in his eyes as he followed you, eyes trained on your legs. Even in the booming, lush tunes of the strip club, you could hear him thinking of ways to rip off the nylon stockings and stake his claim over your skin, tear down the curvatures of your body with his touch, mark it, brand it.
Of all the things about Nick Fowler, his possessiveness was what you understood.Â
Possibly because you were always looped in an uncertain web of its existence, the coils which held you hostage loosening and tightening according to his convenience, but never really setting you free. Like a trapped butterfly, Nick let you flutter your wings all you want. Heâd have no qualms with you dancing the night away, swinging from man to man all through your shift at the club, but the moment youâd get too close- intimately close- his words, not yours, heâd riot.
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