Canon Event Cannot Interfere

Made in China | She/They | 20s | Queer | I make a fantastic fangir| 18+

[rylandsgrace]

#Let them be besties, please 🤸‍♂️

[shrubbush]

I’ve seen people draw parallels with the new superman and The batman film but why aren’t more talking about THISSSSSS

[cherienymphe]

Worth It

Topper Thornton x Reader

Summary: After finally finding the strength to end your toxic relationship, Rafe thinks he can win you back, no idea that you've been sleeping with his best friend.

warnings: Non-Con, mentions of cheating, toxic relationship, semi-public sex, jealousy, secret relationship, mentions of side of Rafe x reader, kook!reader, non canon ages, p*rn with a plot

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

➥ Can this be read as a one shot? Yes! Can this be read as a follow up to Escapism? Also yes!

⭑

You hated the way tears spilled over as Topper forced you to stare into his eyes. You blamed it on the alcohol in your system—your inability to fully control your emotions, right now. The living room was only lit from the glow of the TV, a movie playing that all three of you had long stopped watching, but you could see the blond—and the determination on his face—perfectly.

“Topper,” you quietly gasped, pushing your arm against his neck. “Stop. Rafe-.”

Your words were cut off in your throat with one particularly hard thrust from him, his hips smacking against yours as he fucked you on the floor of Rafe’s living room. The other blond was in the shower, slightly tipsy himself and none the wiser to what was happening downstairs. Topper snapping and taking matters into his own hands wasn’t surprising. Knowing how he could sometimes get about you, you’d expected it at some point…

Just not here and now.

After a tumultuous eight months with Rafe Cameron, you finally found the strength and resolve to break up with him and keep it that way. He was an okay friend, but he’d turned out to be an even worse boyfriend. The constant lies and disrespect and betrayal had finally gotten to you and pushed you to do something about it that didn’t just involve fucking his best friend.

No one was happier than Topper when a month went by and you still hadn’t given in to Rafe’s half assed apologies and pleas. 

It was when it finally started to sink in for everyone that you were serious this time. Rafe wasn’t going to win you back this time, and especially not with the sorry excuses of apologies he always gave. You could see it in his eyes every time you were around each other—the barely contained anger and disbelief and most of all the aggravation that he couldn’t do anything about it.

To the public, you were a single woman.

It was a different story behind closed doors.

Topper never had a problem crawling into your bed every time Rafe hurt you, so he especially had no qualms about it now that you and the toxic blond had broken up for good. He could touch you and kiss you and fuck you without abandon. You no longer had to worry about the sound of Rafe’s knocks interrupting you or being quiet when he was asleep just down the hall or refusing sex with him because you were still sensitive from the feel of Topper’s cock only an hour before.

You and Topper were in heaven…

Until Rafe decided that he wanted to actually put in the work with earning your forgiveness.

“I treated you like shit,” he’d said to you one day, shocking you. “I always have and I know that and…you were right to leave me. You should’ve left me after the first time I cheated.”

There’d been a time when you would’ve killed to hear those words coming from Rafe’s mouth. Now though, now you didn’t care. Even though he didn’t know it, you’d gotten back at him in the best way possible, and it was only made better because that’d never been your intent. You hadn’t wanted to ‘get back’ at Rafe that night Topper told you about the other blond and some girl. You’d just been heartbroken…and craving the touch of another.

“Well…thank you for saying that,” you’d responded.

It was sincere. Even though you were at a place where you didn’t need to hear those words anymore, they were still nice to hear all the same. Rafe had nodded as he gazed at you, both of you in your own world away from the rest of the party.

“We’re over, and I get that now, but…we were friends once.”

You’d looked down at that, gathering where he was going with this and wondering how you and he could ever be friends again after all he’d done to you…and even you to him. He’d been your friend once but that hadn’t stopped him from cheating on you and embarrassing you and just overall treating you like shit. You were friends once but that hadn’t stopped you from sneaking around with his best friend once you found yourself at your breaking point with Rafe’s behavior.

“Look, I miss us being around each other and actually talking, you know. And I know I don’t have anyone to blame but myself, but I miss it…” your gaze met his. “I do, and I’m serious about showing you how sorry I am this time.”

You thought it was…nice.

Topper disagreed.

“We both know Rafe,” he spat at you that same night. “You know better than this. The normal routine isn’t working, so now he’s trying something different, and if you think Rafe has any interest in being your friend, I swear to God, Y/N, I will lose any respect-.”

“I am not some stupid bimbo! You don’t think I’ve considered that?” you threw your hands up. “...but I don’t see you cutting him off as a friend anytime soon, so unfortunately I still have to be around and interact with the man who broke my heart. That’ll be a lot easier now that he’s not trying to kill me with his mind every time we’re in the same room.”

Topper hadn’t had a response for that because it was true. Despite how awfully Rafe had treated you, he was still part of your normal circle—the two of you having way too many people in common—and it was something that bothered you but the alternative was isolating yourself from the people you cared about, and that just wasn’t fair to you.

It was obvious then that Topper wasn’t happy with the turn of events, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He was forced to sit back and watch as Rafe played nice with you and talked to you like nothing had happened and even flirt with you in that way he used to back before you dated. He hated it, and it was obvious long before tonight, but with alcohol flowing and trips down memory lane, Rafe got too comfortable.

…and right there in front of Topper, the other blond had thrown his arm around you before pressing his lips to your cheek.

It was only with your quick thinking that the kiss landed on your cheek instead of your lips, and picking up on the change in atmosphere, Rafe had pulled away.

“Shit,” he’d mumbled with a chuckle, running his hand through his hair. “I think I need to sober up a little bit.”

Neither you or Topper paid him much attention as he talked about needing a shower, completely oblivious to what he’d just done. You and the remaining blond merely stared at one another as Rafe made his way upstairs—his family out for the night—and it was only when you heard the bathroom door shut that Topper pounced. A hushed argument turned into something more, Topper’s anger only getting worse by the second, and you couldn’t hold in your pained gasp when his hand twisted into your hair.

Topper’s lips were on you, and his other hand was pushing at the skirt you’d put on this morning. He was a man with tunnel vision, completely uncaring about your ex—his best friend—just upstairs in the shower. No amount of times mentioning that seemed to matter, and despite the fact that you were not in the mood to have sex with Rafe so close by, Topper had reached his breaking point.

His fingers had started to curl inside of you before you knew it, one hand hanging onto him to keep from falling and the other pulling on his wrist as a means to get him to stop. Despite your slight inebriation, your feet had firmly planted on the floor to prevent Topper from pushing you down because you knew that it was over the moment he managed to get you onto your back.

With every push of his fingers into your walls, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter, his movements becoming smoother as his fingers and hand became slick with your juices. His teeth scraped at your neck, causing a shudder to travel up your spine, and you felt his thumb join his other fingers, circling around and over your clit. The way he massaged that bundle of nerves had you faltering, and Topper saw the opportunity and took it.

It was how you found yourself on your back, literally pushing at him and pleading with him to stop.

“I don’t care,” was his only response when you mentioned Rafe the first time.

You did though, and for the first time, you found yourself genuinely resisting him and trying to get him off of you. Your skirt was hiked up around your waist—the shirt you were wearing ripped open—and Topper had long pulled at your underwear and twisted them and stretched them to give him access to push his hard cock into you. You’d almost been unable to swallow down the choked gasp that threatened to escape your throat.

He was slow in fucking you at first, distracted by the way the length of him repeatedly disappeared inside of you. He always loved that, watching your cunt greedily taking him, watching the way you dripped around him and made a mess on the pink shaft. Every protest mumbled from your lips went ignored, and it was only because you could still hear the sound of Rafe in the shower that you didn’t panic.

However, mentioning Rafe again had the man on top of you changing his pace. His thrusts grew in temp, pushing himself into you and pulling out quicker and quicker. Topper had long discarded his shirt, his shorts pulled down to his ankle as he curved his hips against yours.

“Fuck,” he cursed, grinding himself against you. “Stop talking about Rafe, just stop.”

Your forearm was pressed to his neck, tears in your eyes as you attempted to get through to him.

“He’s right upstairs,” you angrily whispered, voice panicked. “Are you crazy? Get off of me!”

It came out louder than you intended, but you’d have a much easier time explaining to Rafe what a possible noise was than what he’d see if he came down the stairs at any moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that the thought turned Topper on, his blue eyes glinting in a way you’d never seen as he continued to plunge his cock into you. Every time he pulled his hips back until only the tip of him remained just inside of your folds, you could hear the wet sound it made. When he thrust back into you, the squelch reached your ears, and you were too terrified to linger on how that normally turned you on.

You could only think about Rafe hearing the same thing and going on a rampage.

When Topper pulled back, you foolishly thought he decided to listen to you, but instead he only rested on his knees, his hands grabbing your thighs and yanking you closer. The moan you let out was loud and breathy, the action having caused you to feel the tip of him deep into your gut, Your legs rested over his own thighs, and Topper’s fingers dug into your hips as he jerked himself into you over and over.

Your chest was heaving, and you didn’t miss the way his hooded eyes traced over you, taking it in. Your toes curled with every push of his hips, and faintly, you could hear the distant sound of water running. A blue glow was casted over Topper’s tan skin, evidence of how much time he’d been spending in the sun. under any other circumstance, you’d reach out to run your hands over him.

Not tonight.

“Topper, please,” you breathlessly sighed.

It almost sounded like you were begging him for more, but as it were, you were begging him to stop being an asshole and get off of you. Your gaze trailed over his face and the intensity you saw there. His lips were parted, and his tongue rested just on his teeth as he looked down at you and enjoying the sight of you taking his cock. Your eyes traveled down his chest, taking note of the sweaty sheen it held.

Your gaze eventually stopped.

You watched the way his cock slid in and out of you, almost transfixed by the sight. He stretched you out so good, always had, and it was hard to ignore the way your body buzzed and your heart fluttered and your stomach tightened. You were torn between wanting to give in and adopt his ‘fuck Rafe’ mindset and trying your hardest to push him off of you.

You and Rafe weren’t together anymore, but him catching the two of you would open a whole can of worms that would ruin the dynamic between you three far worse than anything Rafe had done. Rafe had done you dirty so many times, and it didn’t matter that you’d only cheated on him with one guy. It was the right guy—the only guy that would turn his world upside down in the capacity that he’d turned yours. You didn’t want to experience the fallout of that.

More tears spilled over.

“You look so pretty like this, you know that?” Topper wondered, shifting and leaning over you as his hand circled your neck. “Panicked and teary-eyed and absolutely squirming on my cock.”

“Topper, I am begging you,” you tearfully pleaded, grabbing his hand and using your other to push at his chest. “Rafe…”

“You know what? I want him to see, and I’m tired of pretending like I don’t.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“It’d be more than what he deserves.”

The animosity and venom in his tone shocked you, and you didn't react to him brushing your tears away with his thumb. His nose brushed against yours, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he started fucking you harder, putting way more vigor into each thrust.

“He’s done nothing but treat you like shit…and he thinks he still can,” the blond quietly said, and you heard the sound of the shower turning off upstairs. “I want him to see me fucking the shit out of you.”

He reached down, gently pinching your clit and taking pleasure in the way you moaned.

“I want him to see me stretching you out and burying my cock into this pussy that only gets wet for me…”

Your eyes rolled at his words, and you almost forgot why you wanted him off of you so much.

“I want him to see me come inside of you,” Topper moaned, burning his face into the crook of your neck. “I want him to know that I’m spilling into you and you’re greedily milking me for every drop. I’ll happily tell him all the times I’ve done it.”

You shuddered at that, your nails digging into his arm.

“All the times I sent you right back to him with my cum between your thighs.”

“Fuck, Topper.”

You didn’t know if you were saying that in a good way or bad way. You didn’t know why, but you had never realized just how much animosity Topper held for Rafe. You supposed that he’d have to have a healthy dose to repeatedly fuck his girlfriend, but you’d always thought that had more to do with Topper’s feelings about you and recognizing that Rafe simply wasn’t good enough for you.

However, considering that the three of you were once the best of friends, it made sense that Topper would grow to hate Rafe more and more every time he witnessed him putting you through hell.

“I’m going to fill you up and I don’t care who sees.”

His words were doing a good job of convincing you, and you felt yourself caring less and less too the longer Topper fucked you towards your high. You felt your own hips lifting in time with his to meet his thrusts, getting to a point where he held himself still while you fucked yourself onto his cock.

Rafe had hurt you so much, and yes while his actions of tonight were probably driven by alcohol, he clearly thought he’d get the opportunity to hurt you again. He clearly thought you’d give in, and you two would be right back where you were three months ago. Not only did that make you angry, but it hurt. Choosing to try and be friends again was way more than he deserved, and once again, he was attempting to take advantage of your kindness.

For the first time ever, you wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt you.

Really hurt him.

…and when you found yourself on top of Topper, you didn’t care. He was lifting his hips up into you, one hand on your breast and the other on your hip to help guide you up and down his length. The tip of his cock was hitting something inside of you that had you gasping for breath. You couldn’t stop the breathless gasps and softs mewls that left your lips, eyes half closed as you fucked Topper in Rafe’s own house. You were making a mess on his skin, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t care that you were dripping around him, the inside of your thighs sticky from your juices. You didn’t care that your bra was askew as Topper pinched a hardened bud between his fingers. You only cared about pressing the palms of your hands against his chest to ground yourself and make it easier to bounce on top of him. You only cared about chasing your climax, feeling it come closer with every stroke inside of you, and when you tightened around him—Topper spilling into your eager cunt with a groan—you didn’t care when you looked up and fixed your gaze towards the stairs, locking eyes with his best friend.

[cherienymphe]

Bewitched

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: You were so desperate to make Rafe Cameron yours that you never thought a day would come where you didn't want him to be.

Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, witchcraft, yandere behavior, morally ambiguous reader, pogue!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

☾

You didn’t actually think it would work and that was your first mistake.

Rafe Cameron was the first and only son of Ward Cameron. He was handsome and rich and way out of your league, and you knew that he would never look at you in a million years. That didn’t stop your gaze from landing on him though anytime he was in the vicinity, and there was a point when you felt ashamed of your little crush, but now it hardly mattered to you. It’s not like he would ever actually be interested in you, so you saw no harm in indulging in silly fantasies.

…but then you started to wonder what it would actually be like.

What it would be like to be looked at by him like he looked at so many other girls—skinnier girls, richer girls, prettier girls. What it would be like to hold his hand and even kiss him. It was harmless, yes, but it was happening often enough to distract you, and you felt yourself being pulled from your thoughts.

“We’re about to head back to John B.’s for the night,” JJ told you after tapping you on the shoulder.

You gave him a nod, reluctantly following after him, but not without a last glance over your shoulder. You looked back just in time to watch as Rafe followed some girl up the stairs, one hand holding hers and the other holding a drink. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched them disappear, and you only forced yourself to move when JJ called your name.

You knew that your friends would think there was something wrong with you if you voiced these thoughts. The only one that might try to understand would be Kie. She was a girl like you who wasn’t related to him, and so she might be able to sympathize with why you couldn't just see him as some asshole. 

And he was certainly an asshole.

There was never any wool over your eyes about that. You’d witnessed enough of his interactions with your friends to come to that conclusion yourself, and you were sure you too would've been on the receiving end of his ire if he ever took the time to actually notice you. As it were, you were practically invisible to the blond, and you still couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse, but that indecisiveness didn’t last much longer as you later came to the conclusion that it was indeed a curse.

A curse you could no longer live with.

“This is so stupid,” Sarah laughed one night, flipping through the book Kie had thrifted. “Look, look, this is one for how to get rich.”

“It’s not like you need that one,” the dark-haired girl teased, snatching it back.

“Neither do you,” you told her, reaching for it.

Kie laughed at you as you stood shoulder to shoulder, flipping through it. Her mocking gasp made you pause at the page y’all flipped to, and you didn’t join in right away as she laughed again.

“Look at this one,” she grinned, facing the pages towards Sarah. “A love spell!”

Sarah found it just as funny, taking the book and smiling at the page.

“Are you and John B. having any problems?” Kie joked.

“Are you and JJ having any problems?” she threw back, tone just as light. “...because now we know how to fix any.”

You were quiet as you took the book from the blonde, looking over it as Kie stood over your shoulder.

“Huh,” she commented. “It’s surprisingly simple. A little blood, their name on some paper, and a red candle and boom!”

“Sounds too easy to be true,” Sarah replied, taking the book back with a sigh. “You think they have one in here for a fat ass?”

You all laughed at that, but your mind was still stuck on that silly love spell. While Sarah found one for longer hair that she was willing to try, you kept thinking about Kie’s comment. You’d read it yourself, and it was surprisingly simple—easy to do—and it wasn’t like you’d be going completely out of your way to try it. It would take what? All of five minutes? Sarah was certainly having fun with it, currently brushing cinnamon through her hair, so why couldn’t you try some silly little love spell?

Worst case scenario, nothing came of it.

It’s not like that would be some devastating loss for you. Rafe already didn’t notice you, and it wouldn’t hurt you if he continued to not notice you. You’d learned to live with it for years, now, and it’s not as if you were expecting some miracle from some book Kie bought for laughs. You just wanted to try it, wanted to see what would happen.

“If my hair is down to my butt in two weeks, I owe you twenty dollars, Kie.”

Kie responded with something you couldn’t quite make out, your attention on your phone as you flipped through the book she’d left on the couch. They were none the wiser as you took a picture, telling yourself there was a chance you wouldn’t even do it, but wanting the option in case you changed your mind. Deep down though, you knew that you were lying to yourself.

Over the years, your harmless crush had morphed into something just a tad more desperate, and you couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of your mind whispering to you what if it did work. What if you could make Rafe see you? Talk to you? Pursue you like you often dreamt about? The possibility filled you with butterflies, and you ignored the silly spell in your phone for all of a week.

You told Sarah that you weren’t feeling too well when she invited you to stay over. She hoped you felt better and asked you if you needed anything, but beyond that, she didn’t find your sudden ailment suspicious. Only you knew that you would never pass up an opportunity to see Rafe, even in passing, health be damned.

You felt somewhat foolish as you sat on your bedroom floor, a red candle lit next to a bowl of water. Truthfully, you didn’t know why. It’s not like anyone was around to witness this, but you would be lying if you said your desperation didn’t make you feel just a tad pathetic. Either way, it’s not like it stopped you from writing his first and last name on that paper, hand shaking as you did.

You thought that the blood would be the hardest hurdle to jump through, but it turns out that little thing in your brain that made it hard to hurt yourself decided to take a break for the night. Or maybe your desperation was just stronger. It took nothing at all to press a safety pin into your finger, and moments later Rafe’s name was covered in both your blood and the red candle wax.

You only started to feel unsure when you picked up the slip of paper.

What if it did actually work? While you weren’t sure what you believed in exactly, you did believe in something. You believed that some higher power did indeed exist and played a part in everything that happened in this world…and what if that higher power made this work? What if you woke up tomorrow and Rafe was knocking on your door to take you out on a date? What would you do? Your desires were so beyond out of reach that it had never occurred to you what you would actually do should you get what you wanted.

Your train of thought made you chuckle, rolling your eyes in the quiet room. You believed in something, sure, but magic didn’t exist. You believed in energy and faith backed actions, but you didn’t think you believed in magic. Either way, telling yourself it was pure curiosity, you held the piece of paper over the flame.

“We’re looking for John B.,” Sarah told you with a sigh. “Pope drank too much, so we gotta call it a night.”

“I think he was in the kitchen,” you let her know. 

“Can you check the backyard just in case he had to pee or something? I’ll text you if I find him so we can go.”

You both went in opposite directions, and you squeezed your way through bodies as you made your way outside. Mostly everybody seemed to be inside though with the exception of a few people, so it wasn’t hard to see pretty quickly that he wasn’t in the backyard anywhere. Not wanting to push your way past bodies again, you made the decision to just make your way to the van.

Your trek was interrupted by a very familiar blond.

“Woah,” he drunkenly said, having almost run into you. “Someone’s on a mission.”

You were stumped.

Not once had Rafe Cameron ever spoken to you—not even a word—and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him in a mixture of shock and awe. You felt your lips part, and you knew that you were staring at him like some kind of idiot, but you were finding it really hard to fathom that Rafe Cameron was talking to you.

The guy in question frowned at you, eyes narrowing a bit as he snapped his fingers in your face.

“You good?”

Acknowledging that you needed to speak and that you probably looked all kinds of unwell, you blinked.

“I..I’m sorry, I… What?”

He thought you were funny, apparently, chuckling at you with this haughty drunken smile on his lips. He tilted his head at you, dirty blond strands falling onto his forehead.

“I said are you good,” he slowly repeated.

“Yeah,” you hurried to reply, not wanting to look any more foolish in front of him. “Sorry. My friend…he’s kind of not feeling good, and I’m just trying to round everybody up.”

You felt like you were standing on air, having a somewhat out of body experience. Were you actually holding a conversation with Rafe Cameron? Someone who had never acknowledged you a day in your life? It felt like a dream, and you could only stare at him as he softly laughed to himself. You only noticed the blunt in his hand when he brought it up to his lips.

“Sarah drink too much?”

You frowned at him, and you felt confused. You and Sarah were friends, but you didn’t know that he knew that. You didn’t even know that he knew you knew her. Your silence must have stretched on for too long because he was speaking again.

“You are one of her little friends, right?”

For the second time that night, you were stumped.

“Yeah…I am,” you slowly told him, hurrying to defend Sarah after you processed what he said. “...and no. We’re looking for someone else.”

Feeling completely out of your element, you started to walk past him, wondering if you were hallucinating. Rafe Cameron never talked to you, never even so much as looked at you, and in one night you’d had a whole conversation with him.

“You don’t seem like the partying type.”

Make that two.

“What?” you wondered, facing him again.

You watched smoke swirl between his lips for a while before he exhaled.

“You don’t seem like the partying type,” he repeated. “You seem like you’d rather have your head in a book somewhere.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that so you simply said:

“I can’t like both?”

Rafe’s only response was a slow smile, and something about it made your stomach twist—in both a good and bad way. Before he could say anything else thoguh—and before you could further embarrass yourself—you heard your name being called. It sounded like Sarah, and giving Rafe one last look, you ran off to find her.

It turns out she’d texted you that she found John B., and you’d been so distracted by Rafe that you hadn’t felt the vibration. You were distracted by him for the rest of the night in fact, even as you rubbed Pope’s back as he threw up in the toilet. Rafe Cameron had talked to you, and it still didn’t feel real. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you dreamt the whole thing up, but the goosebumps still on your skin said otherwise.

A brief thought of a red candle and some blood passed through your mind, and you shook your head. You actually scoffed out loud to yourself, telling yourself that Rafe was drunk and high out of his mind, and he just happened to run into you outside. Even if magic was real, it wouldn’t be in the form of some spell done by some silly nineteen year old girl. That’s what you told yourself anyway, but you were having second thoughts about that when Rafe Cameron stood at your door only a few days later.

“I just wanted to do the old fashioned and respectful thing…”

You stood in the living room with your lips parted, looking over your father’s shoulder as he faced the blond—the blond who had shown up at your doorstep with flowers and candy and a charming smile on his face asking your father for permission to take you out on a date. It was so outdated and so unlike him, and you could only avoid your mother’s gaze as she looked at you in confusion.

“Well, that’s…that’s very admirable of you, Rafe.”

When your father turned to you, you didn’t need to be a genius to see that Rafe’s chivalry had gotten to him. Normally so over protective, your father instead stepped out of the way for you, and you remembered that it was you Rafe was asking out. It was your response he needed, and you cleared your throat.

“We’ll be on the porch,” you softly said to the older man as you moved past him, quietly shutting the door behind you.

You took the flowers and the box of chocolates, but frowned when you did. The box felt weirdly light, but before you could comment on that, Rafe was speaking.

“It’s old school, I know, but…” he shrugged at you. “My ego can’t take not being liked by your parents.”

“Rafe, what are you doing?”

You jumped right to it, voicing your confusion and uncertainty and questioning his actions.

“Asking you out,” he said like it was obvious.

It was.

“Why?” you wondered, a deep frown between your brows.

“...because I want to take you out.”

Again, he said it like it was obvious.

“Why? We’ve had two conversations, including this one,” you reminded him.

“...and I can’t want to change that?” he wondered, voice dropping, and you hated the way your heart skipped a beat.

You looked down at the flowers in your hand, completely in shock.

This wasn’t like Rafe, at all, and you’d watched him enough to know. The entire thing was strange and unsettling, and you almost wanted to reject him but… Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hadn’t you watched Rafe for years just wishing that he would see you? Talk to you? Hadn’t you fantasized to have him look at you as he was currently looking at you?

Hadn’t you bled for that wish?

The thought that that silly little spell actually worked made your head spin, and even still, you didn’t want to believe it. There just had to be some other explanation, but nothing else made any sense. Didn’t this bring his consent in the matter into question? Wasn’t this beyond ethically bankrupt? Did you care?

It was wrong, so wrong, because deep down you knew where all of this was coming from. You’d wanted this for years, and here it was literally at your doorstep. Rafe Cameron was asking you out and wanting to pursue you and you were questioning it because of the ethics of witchcraft? Who were you to say no? It was so beyond selfish, but if Rafe could be selfish his whole life, why couldn’t you for five minutes?

You bit your lip and tightened your grip on the flowers.

“Okay,” you whispered, lifting your gaze. “I’ll go out with you.”

The look on Rafe’s face was one you’d wanted to see for ages, and any guilt that you felt was forgotten as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek.

Rafe’s lips were harsh against yours as he kissed you on the bed of his truck. The cool night air was barely felt as he ran his hands over you, unable to keep them in one place and you were glad for it. The blond moaned into your mouth as he pressed himself against you, fitting comfortably between your legs. You felt like you were living in your wildest of dreams, and you couldn’t believe it.

Sarah had said something similar only days earlier.

“I don’t believe this,” she’d scoffed. “You and Rafe are going on a date?”

“He asked and I said yes. It happened so fast that I didn’t even consider how it might make you feel until after,” you’d honestly told her.

If all of this was really the result of some stupid book, you didn’t want to sell any more of your soul by being a bad friend too. You’d watched as the blonde ran her hands through her hair, seemingly in shock. She seemed like she had a lot she wanted to say, but she probably kept it to herself for your benefit.

“If this is what you want, what can I even say, you know? I didn’t even know you liked him like that,” she murmured to herself. “Although I suppose I can see why you never said anything.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

“I don’t know if okay is the right word, but…” she shrugged. “I can’t tell you or him what to do.”

Your talk with the other blonde definitely made you feel better about answering the door when Rafe arrived at your house. The date went well enough, Rafe taking you to some restaurant you’d never be able to afford, and giving you his undivided attention the entire time. His heavy gaze kept your face warm the entire night, and you reminded yourself that this is what you wanted and you got it.

“I don’t want to take you home just yet,” he’d murmured outside of the restaurant, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You hadn’t wanted to go home just yet either, not wanting this night to end.

“Okay.”

…and that was how you found yourselves parked in some abandoned field with Rafe on top of you in the back of his truck. A thick blanket was underneath you, and it was hard to remember how long you’d been kissing him. His tongue tasted the inside of your mouth and his hand was on your jaw. Every so often you’d lift your hips and he’d groan against your lips. Two weeks ago you had never said one word to him, and now here you were.

Rafe’s lips traveled to your neck, giving you a moment of reprieve, and you gasped for air. Your heart was racing in your chest, and you ran your fingers through his dirty blond strands, head thrown back. Every open mouthed kiss he left on your throat made your heart flutter, and you once again couldn’t believe that this was your life.

When his hand reached for the top of your dress, however, you reminded yourself that not only was this the first date, but that your mother was no doubt waiting up to make sure you made it home safe. As much as you wanted all of Rafe, the speed at which this had all progressed was definitely making your head spin.

“It’s getting late…”

Your words didn’t affect Rafe none, and you gasped when he nipped at the top of your chest.

“Rafe,” you said, reaching for him.

Only then did he pause, looking up at you from his position, and it took everything in you to keep your head on straight. The blond looked like he wanted to eat you alive, and that made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t used to.

“I think I should head home, now.”

He stared at you for too long to be comfortable, but he eventually moved.

“You want to go home?” he asked you, running his hand through his hair.

At your nod, it was like something in him shifted, and he became a lot more relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and he looked between your eyes, and Rafe appeared a lot more docile in the span of a second. It was crazy to witness the sudden shift, and in that moment you accepted that you had done this. There was nothing natural at all about any of this, and you swallowed, hating that you didn’t care.

Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he righted your dress and helped you down. The ride home was silent yet comfortable, his hand on your thigh the entire way, and every so often you felt his eyes on you. On the occasion you met his gaze, he always returned it with a smile. Rafe seemed happy to be here, so how awful could this really be?

You glanced down at the diamond bracelet on your wrist, recalling the shock you’d felt to find it inside the box of chocolates instead of candy. Rafe had said something about wanting to impress you when you brought it to the date, unable to find it in yourself to stop him when he took the box back before putting the jewelry on you himself.

You’d looked at him in a mixture of awe and worry. You should’ve accepted then that nothing about this was natural, but you were still in denial. After all, if what you did was actually real and all of this was the result of that, what did that make you? How far were you willing to take this?

Those questions were still on your mind when he walked you to your door, and again, Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he placed a kiss at the corner of your mouth. You stared after him as he walked back to his truck, tugging his jacket closer. You liked to think that you weren’t some horrible person, and you told yourself that you’d enjoy this for a little while longer before finding a way to undo what you’d done.

Rafe Cameron was your boyfriend, and you liked it.

You didn’t just like that he was your boyfriend, but you liked what that meant for you. You liked the privilege that came with the relationship. You liked walking into doors you would’ve never been able to walk through otherwise. You liked when he spent money on you and bought you the kinds of things you could only dream about owning.

…and the girls.

You liked the way they looked at you.

It didn’t take long for Rafe’s exclusiveness to become noticeable, for it to become apparent that the once ladies’ man and heavy partier had done a 180. Girls he used to spend every weekend with no longer got so much as a glance from him. Phone calls and texts went ignored before those numbers were eventually blocked altogether, and when you were out and about, it was clear that you were to blame.

Rafe was absolutely obsessed with you, and you relished in the way some of his former lovers looked at you.

You, who had never so much as had a single boyfriend, was now on the receiving end of the most envious looks you’d ever seen in your life. You knew that if any of those girls had access to the kind of magic you had, you would’ve been dead a long time ago. You were always overlooked by boys and barely even seen as a woman in their eyes, and now you were with Rafe Cameron and he looked at you like you hung the moon.

“I won’t lie…I definitely expected this to crash and burn,” Sarah admitted. “Through no fault of yours, of course.”

Kie snorted at that, and you took a sip of your drink.

“I’m serious,” she said, “He’s like a completely different person. Part of me wants to ask what you did, but another part of me is scared of the answer.”

Her and Kie thought that was funny, and you could only hold back your smile.

“He literally worships the ground you walk on,” Kie commented, slightly disgusted. “...and that’s the only reason the guys are even respectful about any of this.”

It was true.

Rafe gave into your every whim and he answered your every beck and call. Sometimes he felt more like a servant than a boyfriend, asking you what you needed and running you hot baths and kneading his fingers into your shoulders after you had a long day. With that kind of behavior, how could you deny him for much longer?

You hadn’t planned on sleeping with him, telling yourself it was a line you just couldn’t cross considering the circumstances, but it happened so seamlessly. One moment he was kissing your face and telling you how beautiful you were, and the next his fingers were inside of you and massaging your walls so good that it had you clinging to him.

Rafe was a man starved.

“I’ve never…” you had trailed off, somewhat embarrassed to admit to him your lack of experience.

Rafe had only grinned at you before kissing you.

“I feel honored,” he’d whispered against your lips. “To be your first and your last.”

His words had given you pause, but then he was pushing his cock into you, and your nails were digging into his skin, and they were forgotten.

You’d anticipated the pain, and that surely didn’t disappoint, but you hadn’t anticipated just how good it could feel. That honestly could've just been Rafe though. It’s not like he didn’t have a reputation, and you quickly realized that it was not without reason. His lips stayed on you the entire time you had sex, and it was just enough to not be overstimulating.

Every curve of his hips into yours had you gasping, and you were so happy that your parents wouldn’t be home for hours. Having him inside of you felt nothing like your fingers or his. It was a different experience entirely, and Rafe was ravenous as he fucked you and tasted you. One of his hands was behind your neck as he repeatedly pressed his lips to yours while the other was tight on your waist.

“Do you like that?” he whispered, and you could barely get a word out.

You could only nod, and that seemed to satisfy his curiosity, and you swore that you heard a low growl escape his throat as he stretched you around his cock. He looked down between you where you connected, his hair hanging onto his forehead, and you couldn’t hold in your moans. You’d been dating for months, but it was finally setting in.

Rafe Cameron was yours.

You’d daydreamt about it for years—harmless and silly fantasies—but now it was your reality. Rafe held your hand and kissed you and paraded you around town for all to see, making you the envy of just about every girl who’d ever so much as looked at him. He doted on you and called you beautiful and said all of the things and looked at you in a way you wanted him to for years.

…and now he was in your bed and making love to you and giving you your first experience.

You were on cloud 9, and you allowed yourself to bask in it. You threw your head back as he bit at your neck, and your chest arched up into his as he thrust into you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him closer, and Rafe moaned at the action. It seemed like he wanted to be as close to you as possible too, and he slid his knees underneath your thighs.

“Rafe,” you sighed, breath hitching as he filled you to the hilt.

Every time he pulled his hips back, only the tip of him remained, and when he surged forward he filled you up again. It was driving you crazy in the best way, and your nails scraped down his back and arms. The blond hissed at the action, and his teeth grew rougher on your skin. You came around him once, but that wasn’t enough for him, and you swore that when you came around him for the third and final time, he told you he loved you.

Rafe was obsessed with you.

It was like once he had you, it was never enough. The first night you slept together blended into one long night. You came around him too many times to count, small naps in between, and he only left a few minutes before your parents came home, but you were sneaking him back in a few hours later as soon as they were asleep. He wouldn’t stop kissing you the moment he climbed through your window.

“Are you going to chew it for her too?” Sarah wondered one day when Rafe cut up your omelet for you.

Her tone was teasing, and you threw her an equally teasing glare, but Rafe hadn’t responded outside of a scathing look towards his sister. His behavior was glaringly obvious for all to see, and you couldn’t say you hated it. Your life had become a fairytale overnight, and you’d happily ate your food while he sat next to you, his seat so close to yours that his arm rested over your shoulder as he watched you eat.

“Honey, I’m just worried,” your mother had said another day. “It just seems like you spend all of your time with him these days and you hardly see your friends.”

Her concern was understandable, but you assured her that you were fine.

“I do see them,” you’d told her. “Rafe has just never gotten along with them too well, and it’s not like that’s changed now that we’re together.”

It wasn’t a complete lie.

Your friends were cordial with Rafe, now, and you appreciated that, but Rafe loved having you to himself. Any time you convinced him to be around your friends, it never lasted long before he was convincing you to sneak off with him somewhere, and the blond could be very persuasive. 

“Five more minutes,” he said to you in the middle of the night.

His head was between your legs and your thighs were aching from being bent so long and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. Rafe’s fingers were pressed into you as he held you in place, and you shuddered when his breath blew along your folds. You’d never been this wet in your life, and you were scared to look at the time and see just how long he’d had his mouth and tongue against your cunt.

You were exhausted and out of breath and Rafe refused to let you go.

You told yourself that it was fine, that it was just what came with that honeymoon phase of every new relationship. Granted, it’s not like you would know, but you figured that things would calm down between you the longer you were together. A time would come where you were more normal about each other and he didn’t want to spend every waking moment on you or in you.

You thought that, at least, but you were woken up in the middle of the night a month later. The knocking on the door was incessant, and you’d thought that something was wrong, that some kind of emergency was happening. Your parents beat you to the door, and no one was more shocked or horrified than you to see that it was Rafe on the other side.

Your father glanced at you with the kind of anger you’d never been on the receiving end of, and your mother looked between you with a disturbed frown.

“Rafe?” you wondered in shock. “What…?”

“I had to see you,” was his only excuse, and you shrank under your father’s withering gaze.

“Dad, I… I don’t know what’s…”

Your words died in the air, unable to understand what was happening. However, despite how much he’d grown to like Rafe, you could see your father’s patience thinning. You hurried to deescalate something before it began, profusely apologizing to your parents as you told them you’d handle this.

“Something could be wrong,” you hurried to say to him. “Five minutes and then I’m inside.”

Your father didn’t say a word, but the way his mustache twitched told you enough. Your mother was the only one to linger a bit before eventually leaving too.

“Five minutes,” were her soft parting words.

Rafe’s hand was tight on yours as you forced him off of the porch, wide eyes on him.

“I wanted to see you,” he said, and you blinked.

“Is something wrong? Is it Sarah?” you worriedly asked him.

His scoff made your frown deepen.

“No, Sarah’s…fine,” he waved that off. “I was thinking about you and…I just had to see you.”

You stared at him for a long time, mouth falling open when you processed his words.

“You were thinking about me and you just had to see me? Rafe, it’s three in the morning. You woke up my parents—they have jobs they have to go to tomorrow,” you told him, voice rising in pitch.

“I wanted to see you,” he repeated. 

“I get that, but…this isn’t okay. You have to go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Technically you’d see him later on today, but that didn’t need to be pointed out.

“...but I don’t want to go home,” Rafe said with a frown, and you blinked at him.

“Rafe…”

“I’m not going home.”

His tone was strong with conviction, and you swallowed. You looked over your shoulder before glancing behind him. You didn’t see his truck, so you guessed that he’d parked it somewhere before sneaking over here. His hand was still tight on yours, and when you looked at him again, he hadn’t looked away from you once.

“I’ll meet you at my window…okay…?”

That was the right thing to say, and Rafe gave you a crooked smile before kissing you. You pulled away before it could become heated, and you hurried inside, sure that your five minutes was up. Your mother was in the hall as you locked the door, and you apologized to her several times before wishing her a good night.

Like you agreed on, Rafe was at your window when you shut your room door, and he didn’t hesitate to climb inside the moment you opened it.

“Rafe, my parents are home, okay? Do you understand what that means?”

The way you were talking to him felt strange.

“Of course,” he said with a nod and a small smirk. “I just wanted to see you.”

He kissed you again, arms wrapped around you, and you kissed him back after a while. His hold on you was tight, and when he broke the kiss, he briefly kissed your cheek.

“Just want to sleep next to you, tonight…”

His words made you less tense, and you felt your face soften as you separated. You helped him get undressed, only his boxers remaining, and you watched him slide into your bed after you. He didn’t give you any time before reaching for you and pulling you closer, and Rafe only seemed to relax when your head was comfortably on his chest.

You traced patterns into his skin, and you bit your lip as you told yourself this was nothing.

“Rafe,” you warned, but he didn’t hear you.

Or chose not to, it was hard to tell these days.

One of his hands was curved around your throat while the other held your wrists against the small of your back. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the kitchen, and you squeezed your eyes shut from both the pleasure he was giving you and the nervousness that filled you. Rafe was getting harder and harder to say no to, and he didn’t seem keen on listening to your concerns when he started kissing you in his kitchen.

“No one’s home,” he’d said.

“...but they could walk through that door,” was your response.

“...but I need to be inside of you,” he replied.

The blond loudly groaned behind you as he filled you up, slowly pushing his cock into you as he held you down against the counter top. Every dip of his cock past your folds had you gasping, but despite how good it felt, you couldn’t stop worrying about someone walking through that door. Everyone was out, now, but it wouldn’t be the first time Rafe was inside of you in a not so private place when someone came home.

You’d never been caught yet, but you never liked to chance it.

He pulled you back until his chest was against you, and the strain in your arms made you wince. Rafe hummed, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours. You were dripping around him and the sound it made every time he pushed his cock into you was loud in the otherwise quiet room. You whimpered when he tightened his hold on your throat, and you both knew that he was the only thing keeping you upright.

This was the fifth time you’d had sex today.

You were worn out—and even a little sore—and it seemed that it was never enough for Rafe. He liked to get his hands on you at every opportunity, and what you thought was a honeymoon phase turned out to be something beyond that. Every day several times a day was the new normal for you, and when Rafe couldn’t be in you, he had to be with you and touching you in some way.

…and he was the only one allowed to.

You still thought about the boy whose arm he broke only last month for pulling out your chair. It was a terrifying and embarrassing debacle, one that was solved with a little bit of money from Rafe. You’d stared at him in horror, and he’d acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Or when he’d rammed his truck into Topper’s jeep, citing it as a drunken accident, but you knew better. You’d seen the look on his face when Topper gave you a hug goodbye.

Rafe was equally possessive as he was obsessive, and the more it escalated, the closer you were pushed to facing the truth.

Nothing about his behavior was normal or explainable, but you didn’t want to accept that this was your fault. When he snuck into your room in the early hours of the morning or when he picked out your clothes and put them on you or when he cut the brakes on some guy’s car who’d looked at you for too long for his liking.

You didn’t want to accept responsibility for any of this.

…but when you woke up in the middle of the night to find him staring at you in the darkness for the umpteenth time…you knew. You knew that this was all your fault, and you stared back at him with a sinking feeling in your heart. You’d played God, and you’d had your fun, but now you had to find a way to undo this.

“Kie…what happened to that book you bought a while back?” you asked her the next day when you finally had some time to yourself.

The other girl frowned at you, and you elaborated.

“You know, the one with the love spells and stuff.”

Her face evened out as she remembered.

“Oh, that thing? I tossed it,” she waved off.

You stared at her, stomach dropping.

“You what?”

Your tone must have given her pause because she looked at you.

“It was bullshit,” she shrugged. “Something somebody made when they were bored, because it’s not like it worked. Sarah’s hair is shorter now than it was then. I keep telling her she needs to just cut those split ends…”

The rest of Kie’s words were lost to you as you looked away, mind going a mile a minute as you thought about what you were going to do. You had long accepted that you did this to Rafe, and you’d told yourself you were only going to take it so far, but you’d loved being Rafe’s girlfriend and loved having him all to yourself as you’d always wanted. Now, you had him all to yourself, and you were terrified out of your mind.

“I was only at Kie’s for an hour,” you told the man in question later in the day.

His arms were wrapped around you from behind and his face was pressed into the crook of your neck.

“I know…but I missed you. I always miss you,” he murmured, kissing your skin.

“Do you ever think about why you miss me so much?”

“Because I love you,” he said to you as if you were silly for asking.

With difficulty, you pulled away from him, facing him. You looked into Rafe’s eyes with worry, and you noted that they were completely dilated. You pulled your lip between your teeth, at war with yourself.

“...but why do you love me? Do you ever think about that, Rafe—why you love me so much? Don't you think it came out of nowhere?”

The blond seemed to think on it for a minute.

“No,” he answered, and you frowned. “I woke up one day…and you were just there.”

You swallowed as he touched your cheek.

“...and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I had to have you and I did.”

You blinked at him.

“I always get what I want.”

He didn’t take his eyes off of you as he said that, and he grabbed your arm before you could take a step back. He threaded his fingers through yours, and he brought the back of your hand up to his lips. Rafe’s eyes held yours the entire time, the blue of them hardly visible, and the gravity of what you did finally settled on your shoulders.

“...and I’ll never not want you.”

You stared after your friends through the crowd, Rafe’s arm feeling like a weighted belt around you. There was hardly a difference between his arms and chains these days, and you forced yourself to look away from their fun. You hadn’t hung out with them in what felt like ages, and while Kie and Sarah assured you there was no hard feelings—seeing firsthand how needy Rafe could be—you still felt like shit in more ways than one.

“You okay? Are you cold?”

Rafe didn’t give you a chance to say no, already slipping out of his jacket. You accepted it with a small smile, and he returned it before giving you a heated kiss. His friends were used to his public displays of affection by now, but considering your relationship at the moment, you were beyond uncomfortable.

You needed to break up with Rafe…and you were terrified to do so.

Kie had thrown out that book, and everything you looked into that didn’t seem like some cheesy gimmick all basically said the same thing—you had to let it run its course. What did that even mean? Did it mean he’d eventually get tired of you? How long would that be? Did it mean you had to tell him the truth? Get him to break up with you? Break up with him?

In the beginning of all of this, you felt so…powerful. You’d snagged the Rafe Cameron, and you’d had him eating out of the palm of your hand and hanging onto your every word. You’d had other girls green with envy, and you'd been basking in all that came with being his girlfriend. Now, though?

Now, you were frazzled and drained. Rafe was fucking you and kissing you more often than he was not. You spent more nights at his house than your own despite what you wanted because he was going to get what he wanted regardless if your parents were home or not, and the Camerons were much more relaxed about certain things than your parents. He stuck to you like a shadow, even leaning against the door and talking to you when you had to go to the bathroom.

You never thought you’d long for the day when you could cut up your own food and dress yourself and speak for yourself. He was doting and sweet yes, but Rafe was also insatiable and violent and suffocating. It was driving you to your breaking point, and you were silent the entire ride home.

When you asked him to take you to your house, he obliged, but you should’ve known that he expected to come inside with you.

“Rafe, I…I think I want to be alone tonight.”

It was like he didn’t process your words, at all, staring at you with a blank look, and you sighed.

“My parents are going to be home in like an hour…”

Again…nothing.

You glanced away, feeling completely unnerved, before taking his hand. The corner of his lips curved upwards into a small smirk, and he walked you inside. Your thoughts seemed so loud in the quiet house as you considered what you had to do. There was no hesitation in Rafe as he walked towards your room, and you eventually followed him.

You pulled your lip between your teeth as you took off his jacket.

“Rafe…I don’t think that we should see each other anymore.”

It was the nicest way you could say it, and Rafe still looked at you like you’d told him the craziest thing. The snort that left him made your jaw clench, and you took a deep breath.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice shaking. “You’re not in love with me.”

“Of course, I am,” he fired back.

“No, you’re not. Rafe…”

You felt like you were going to be sick, and you were acutely aware of his heavy stare.

“I did something to make you love me.”

“I know you did,” he said with a smile, reaching for you.

“No!” you moved away from him. “I did something wrong, okay? I made you love me. I had a candle and I had some blood, and I made you feel how you feel about me…”

Rafe was frowning at you, now, and you hoped that he was getting it.

“Before this, you never even looked at me, Rafe. Remember? I was invisible to you—I was nothing! Nothing, and then you suddenly can’t stop thinking about me? I’m the only girl you want to be with? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

The room was silent as you just stared at him, gaze pleading as you hoped and prayed you got through to him. Rafe slowly blinked at you, and in a matter of seconds, you watched his expression shift. It was hard to place, but you knew that it made you uncomfortable, and a shiver crawled up your spine.

“What’s odd is you coming up with this nonsense—this bullshit—to try and leave me.”

You let out a sigh of defeat, pressing your hand to your forehead.

“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying–.”

“I hear you.”

“No, Rafe, no. This isn’t natural. I…I messed up,” you tearfully said. “I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it, but part of me didn’t think it would work and another part of me hoped it would, but now… I don’t know how to undo it.”

He was moving towards you, and you stumbled back.

“You’re not leaving me,” he quietly told you.

“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying. Please, fight it because I don’t…I don’t know how to make it stop,” you cried. “...but you’re so you, and you have to still be in there. You have to be!”

You felt like you were talking to a wall, and you pushed at his hands as he reached for you.

“Rafe, please,” you begged.

When his hand pulled at your shirt, tearing it, it was sinking in. 

There was no leaving him, no getting away, and you brought your knee up. You didn’t stay to see if he was okay, stumbling into the hall and running for the door. Your name was loud in the air as he shouted it, and it made you flinch. You were running past his truck when you heard the door bounce off of the wall, and tears blurred your vision as you ran across the yard.

You’d never run so fast in your life, but Rafe’s legs were longer—or he was simply more determined, fueled by something other to catch you—and he caught up with you sooner than you would have liked. You both fell to the ground, a grunt leaving you as he tightly held onto you. Your hands pulled at the grass to get away, ripping out a few blades as Rafe pulled you back.

You kicked at him, crying and screaming, and Rafe yanked you back so hard that it hurt your hands. One of his hands was tight in your hair, pulling your head back before slamming it back down. The action made you see stars, damn near knocking you out, and you groaned in pain. The sound of that seemed to trigger something in Rafe, and he let you go.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you heard him whisper, turning you over.

Your vision was spinning, and you could just barely make him out as he leaned over you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly said to you, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. “...but you can’t leave me.”

His hands were all over you, now, and you felt him press kisses to your chest, your shirt tearing some more to make room for them.

“I love you,” he breathed, kissing you. “...and you love me.”

You weakly pushed at his chest.

“Why would I let you leave me? Why would you want to?”

“Rafe…I’m sorry,” you mumbled, trying to sit up.

The blond shoved you back down, and your struggle continued.

“I forgive you,” he hummed, nipping at your skin and settling in between your legs.

“No, no….”

He thought you were apologizing for something else, and you couldn’t stop crying. You shoved at his face and tried to back away, but he gripped your wrists, moving his mouth against yours. The breeze from the water cooled your skin, and the clouds hid what little light there would’ve been from the moon. The sound of tearing fabric made your heart race, and you cried harder, unable to get him off of you.

Rafe moaned like a man starved when he finally managed to sheath himself inside of you, holding himself there with parted lips before pulling his hips back. One of his hands held your wrist to your stomach, and the other slid behind your head as he pulled you in for another kiss. The kiss was salty from your tears, but Rafe didn’t mind it.

He fucked you against the grass, unconcerned about where you were. If you didn’t know any better, he was more hungry for you now than he was the first night you slept together. His grunts and moans were loud in your ear, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“What were you thinking, baby? Hmm?”

He slammed his hips against yours, letting your wrists go to reach underneath your thigh.

“Rafe,” you gasped, trying one last time to undo what you did. “This isn’t you.”

He only pushed your leg back, hungrily kissing at your jaw and neck and chest.

“Please, listen to me,” you sobbed.

Your words went ignored, and more tears fell as he thrust into you, losing himself in the feeling. His hand behind your head slid to your neck, and it tightened around your throat as he lifted his head to look at you. His blue eyes did not look away from yours once.

“If you try to leave me again,” Rafe quietly started, blond strands kissing your forehead. “I might have to lock you away until you come to your senses.”

He said it with a laugh, but you knew he was entirely serious, and you blinked back tears as he kissed you again.

“Or kill us both…whichever’s easier.”

[cornmousequeen]

Wow wow wow I loved this! I’m loving your spooky October fics and this just takes the cake! Loved the slow unraveling of it all! This really is a man possessed

[superbassbuck]

one hundred sleepless nights

ii. "keeps us together" || part one || masterlist

civil war!dark!bucky x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, noncon, smut with a sprinkle of plot, p in v, stalking, brainwashed bucky, guilt, hurt/no comfort, coercion, dirty talk, manipulation, panic attack, hyperventilation. please tread carefully.

Summary: After three months of hiding since Hydra fell, he thought he had finally rid himself of you. But when he runs into you at a market in Bucharest, the Winter Soldier programming in his mind kicks in instinctively, urging him to claim you as his once again.

Word Count: 3.8k

Your mind was now fractured and broken. Since your escape—or rather, since the soldier let you go—you’ve been on a painful journey, gathering your shattered pieces and trying to put yourself back together one by one.

Three months into your freedom, the headlines exploded. Captain America had gone against the Winter Soldier, and in the process brought down Hydra—and S.H.I.E.L.D along with it.

The man you once knew as the Winter Soldier was revealed to be James Buchanan Barnes, a soldier who had fought alongside Steve Rogers before Hydra captured and twisted him into their deadliest weapon.

When his familiar face appeared on the screen—the same face that haunted you both in dreams and in waking life—your body froze with fear. Since then, you’ve only seen him through television reports and newspaper clippings. 

Every article said the same thing. 

The Winter Soldier vanished after the battle, a deadly ghost still running free.

Now the thought that stalks you day and night, is what would you do if you saw him again? Would you turn and flee? Would you regret not pulling the trigger when you had the chance, when he handed you his own gun?

Or would you stay rooted to the ground, unable to see the monster that abused you, and instead see the broken boy Hydra had stolen—tortured and used, just as you had been?

When Hydra fell, so did their files. Among the wreckage were documents proving you had been forced into serving the Winter Soldier for his “pleasure.” The release of those records left you feeling reeled and… utterly alone.

You half-expected sympathy—maybe even pity. And in truth, you craved it. You wanted people to comfort you—someone, anyone to tell you that you’ll be okay. But the world is cruel. Instead, some people saw your face and branded you nothing more than a killer’s whore.

Bucharest was meant to be a fresh start. A city large enough to disappear in, yet quiet enough to keep to yourself. You rented a small apartment above a cluster of grocers, where no one asked questions or even looked your way. But despite that, the silence was a gift. It was better than the judgemental stares, the whispers, or the endless questions about Hydra that you had no answers for. 

You found work cleaning rooms in a dingy hotel—a job that kept your hands busy and your mind mercifully blank. You didn’t need to speak the language, and no one cared about who you had been before. But with each small step forward, that dreadful shadow of your past trailed with you—looming over you from behind. 

You were only able to sleep with the lights on, and even then you woke up in a cold sweat, clutching at yourself and checking if your clothes were still on. You looked around the bed frantically, trying to silently reassure yourself that the soldier wasn’t there, laying beside you. 

Getting through the nights was the hardest, but at least your days were busy enough to distract you. It was a Saturday when you found yourself at the market, crowded as always. You liked it that way, losing yourself in the chatter of voices, the shuffle of footsteps, the comfort of being hidden.

You stood at a vegetable stall, weighing potatoes in your palm, when someone brushed past your shoulder. The contact made you flinch. You turned, but the man kept his head down. 

Dark jacket. Baseball cap pulled low. Backpack strapped across his chest. 

You shrugged and kept to yourself, but what you didn’t realize was that the man who lingered just a few steps away, kept stealing glances from beneath the brim of his cap.

Bucky swallowed hard, his gaze tracing the familiar slope of your arms—arms he had once bruised with his grip and lovemarks. His eyes followed the line of your neck, remembering the way his fingers wrapped around it, the way his mouth had marked it. Then his focus dropped to your lips.

Your lips. The same ones that once moaned for him, cried for him, begged him to stop. Now, they were asking casual questions about produce, and it made his chest tighten, his cock twitch, his pulse quicken.

The man at the stall he was hovering by was trying to get Bucky’s attention, but his eyes were still stuck on you. When you adjusted your bag and turned to leave, he followed. He took quiet steps, trailing you through the streets, past corners and alleys, until you reached your small apartment.

He stayed far enough behind to remain unnoticed. Years of training had made him a ghost when he wanted to be. You didn’t hear him when you unlocked your door. You didn’t hear him break in seconds after, slipping in silently the moment the shower faucet turned on.

Now, he stood in your living room, still as stone. 

Waiting. Watching.

He didn’t know what he’d say to you when you stepped out. Would guilt make him apologize?

But guilt wasn’t the only thing in his chest. His body naturally ached for something else. The soldier inside him didn’t crave forgiveness or closure. He wanted your body again. 

He wanted you. 

After your shower, your bare feet padded into the hallway, tugging the towel tighter around your body. Drops of water clung to your skin, your hair still damp as you hummed softly to yourself. You stepped into the living room, then froze.

He was there.

The man from the market. The soldier.

He stood in your living room, those familiar broad shoulders shadowed by the dim light, his eyes stared down at you, completely unreadable. 

For one fragile and tortuous second, you couldn’t move. You thought you were free. You thought that you finally left the nightmare behind. No more being his. No more being the Winter Soldier’s whore. 

But freedom had been an illusion. And here he was, tearing it apart.

“Wh—what are you doing here?” the question slipped out, thin and broken, your voice betraying the fear you fought hard to swallow.

His head lifted towards you, those sharp blue and scary eyes catching the light. He stepped forward, then paused, raising his flesh hand slowly, palm up steady as if he was trying to soothe you. Your gaze naturally darted to the other hand—gloved, concealed, yet you could still feel and taste the metal that’s hiding beneath it. 

“Don’t,” he rasped out, his voice low. “Don’t be scared. I’m not here to hurt you.”

He claims he’s not here to hurt you, yet all you knew being around him was hurt. 

You clutched the towel tighter against your chest, silently cursing yourself for being caught in such a vulnerable state—even though none of this was your fault. With a pounding heart, you took a cautious step back.

“I… I had to see you,” he said, taking a step closer as you took another one back. “I don’t even know if I should’ve come. But I couldn’t stay away.”

Couldn’t stay away.

You knew what that meant. You knew what it implied.

Back in your cell, the walls echoed with your screams as he came to you only to take, to break, to claim your body until your mind shattered piece by piece. That’s what it means to not be able to stay away.

And now, in this quiet town you’d hidden yourself in, he had found you again.

Your devil.

“Please,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this anymore. H–Hydra’s gone… you’re free now.”

The words spilled out desperate and pleading. You searched his face, hoping—begging—for him to hear you. The way he spoke now was different than before, different from when he’d been Hydra’s weapon. There was a hitch in him, a hesitation.

He paused. His expression shifted, a slight frown and his eyebrows furrowing—the same expression you’d seen once before, in the moment he let you go.

“I’m not free,” he mumbled so quietly, it was like he was speaking to himself. 

Your chest tightened. But that was something. A crack in the soldier’s shell. Something you could work with. After all, you knew what it meant to be a prisoner. You two were different sides of the same coin—kidnapped, broken down, used by monsters.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to take a small, careful step forward.

“W–we’re the same, you know? You… you don’t have to do this. I don’t even know why you’re here, or what you plan to do to me, but you don’t have to use me anymore. You can just…” your throat tightened, the words trembling out of you, “…leave. I’ll pretend you were never here. You can just turn around and walk away.”

Your voice cracked, timid and thin, and you hated yourself for how small you sounded as you tried to talk your way out of this. 

“Just leave, okay, James? Th–that’s your name, isn’t it? I… I saw it on the news.”

His shoulders stiffened at the sound of his name. Slowly, he stood up straighter, eyes locking onto yours. Just the look of his cold eyes alone was enough to knock the wind out of your lungs. Every instinct screamed at you to run, towel be damned, but your body refused. You stayed. Because you knew what he was capable of. 

Even here, under your own roof, he held the power.

Three months of hiding without your body to use did a number on him, hollowing him out. 

He knew it was wrong—God, it was so fucking wrong—but the wanting never stopped, and he didn’t know why. At night, he dreamed of you, his body betraying him, craving you. 

And now that you were in front of him again, his whole body burned—stiff with restraint, hot with need. A part of him wanted to hold you, to whisper how sorry he was for everything. But the stronger part ached to pull you in, rip that towel away, and take back what he’d lost the night he let you escape.

It was wrong. So utterly wrong. But it felt carved into him—like the Winter Soldier had been programmed to claim you.

“I couldn’t help it,” he rasped, voice fraying. “I saw you and… it’s like something in my head tells me to come to you.”

He stepped forward. You took one step back. 

“I want to apologize,” he continued, his voice unsteady. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. For what I’ve done to you.”

He took another step closer. This time, you didn’t move.

“I don’t think I could just let you go without saying it. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but…” his voice dropped even lower and rougher, as though the words themselves dragged against him.

You said nothing. You didn’t even know what to say. Ironic, really—how you used to beg for him to speak to you back in your cell, and now that he stood here apologizing, your voice failed you.

“Can… can I hold you?” he asked, the words trembling and heavy. “Just once more. One last time. After that, I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone. Forever. You won’t have to see me again. You’ll never even know I was here.”

You didn’t know if you could believe him. God, you wanted to—you were desperate for him to be out of your life forever. But hadn’t he let you go once before? And still, here he was. If he could hand you freedom once and take it back, what was to stop him from doing it again?

But still. You wanted to believe him. Just one embrace. That was all he claimed to need to finally release you. 

One hug… and then you’ll truly be free. 

Your feet started moving before you could think. Slow, cautious steps carried you forward until you were standing right in front of him, towel clutched tight against your body. He raised his arms stiffly, like he was silently asking if you were sure this was okay. 

When he pulled you in, it was hesitant—awkward, almost human. His chin dropped, breath brushing the crown of your damp hair. For a long second, it felt like the kind of embrace he might have given if life had been different. 

If neither of you had been broken.

But the longer he held you, the less it felt like an apology.

His grip tightened around your waist, practically crushing you against his strong chest. He inhaled you, his chest rising and falling against you—harder and rougher like he was struggling to keep control. 

“God,” he murmured against your hair. “I can’t get enough of you.” 

You shuddered in his arms, the towel slipping against your damp skin. You pressed lightly at his chest.

“O-okay, that’s enough—”

“Just a little longer, baby,” he cut you off, his grip tightening. “Your soldier needs this.”

Your eyes widened as his hands began to roam, rough against the thin fabric, the towel rustling under his touch. His breathing grew heavier, chest rising hard against yours, until you felt the unmistakable press of his arousal straining through his pants.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Please. Let go of me.” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” his head shook slowly, his nose brushing through your damp hair. “My body craves you. It always has. I let you go once, that was mercy. This…” his voice dropped, almost reverent, “…this is my reward. The soldier always gets his reward.”

A cold chill ran through you as his hands left your hips, sliding up until both circled your throat. Pressure built around the fragile column of your neck.

You pushed your hands harder against him, gasping. “No, stop! You don’t have to do this anymore!”

“Don’t scream too loud, baby,” he murmured. “I could snap this pretty neck of yours in an instant. You remember that, don’t you?”

Your throat bobbed against his palm as you swallowed hard, eyes squeezing shut to keep the tears from spilling.

“Please. Don’t do this. Don’t do this…” you cried. “You said you would go.” 

The words trembled out of your mouth like a prayer with no hope of being answered.

He gazed down at you, thumb stroking your jawline—what was supposed to be a soothing gesture felt like a cruel mockery. 

“I know, angel. I know. But I just need you one last time,” his voice softened to a whisper, coaxing, poisonous. “Then I’ll set you free. I promise.”

The false promise rang in your ears. You didn’t dare meet his eyes—those blue eyes that had been dragged through hell and back, through Hydra’s torture. Eyes that had once spared you.

You hated this. Hated yourself for standing frozen instead of screaming, for trembling instead of fighting. But if he let you live before… maybe he would again. Maybe if you endured, if you gave him what he wanted, he would finally leave you alone.

So you told yourself you’d survive this, just once. 

And then you’ll finally get your freedom. 

“You… you promise?” 

“With everything I have, angel.” 

But you knew how hollow those words were. He was a man running, a man who barely recognized his own name, a man without a home. In truth, he had nothing. Nothing to sacrifice.

“And you’ll leave me alone? Forever?”

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. One hand moved gently under your chin, tipping your head upward. “Open your eyes.”

You remembered the last time he barked those same words in your cell, but this wasn’t the same. His tone was softer, coaxing, as if he were luring you into a trap.

Slowly, reluctantly, you blinked your eyes open, one hand clinging to your towel, the last scrap of modesty you had left.

His eyes drifted down to your towel. “Take it off,” he ordered. 

You shook your head, breath shaking. “I… I don’t want to—”

His grip on your throat tightened, just enough to make you gasp again. His face hovered close, voice sharp as a blade.

“I said take it off. Now.”

Your hand trembled as you loosened your grip and let the towel slip down. It fell to the floor, pooling at your feet. You kept your gaze on him, fighting every instinct to turn away. Because if you did, you knew you’d be in trouble. 

His face remained unreadable as his eyes moved down slowly. Then his hand moved, rough fingertips brushing along your fragile neck before gliding even lower. He traced the hollow of your collarbone, pausing at the soft curve of your breast, and you shivered under his touch.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” he murmured, tracing slowly over your hardened nipple. “I know you’re nervous… but we’ve done this plenty of times before, haven’t we?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. And it didn’t seem like he was waiting for a response anyway.

A low and amused hum escaped his lips as his fingers circled and teased, tugging lightly with unexpected care. The softness unsettled you. He was never gentle like this with you in the cell.

“You always begged me to be gentle,” he said, his breathing getting heavier. “So I’ll give it to you gently this time. Just like you wanted.”

Hearing him speak this much was strange.

Back in your prison, his words had been rough, sharp, and commanding. Now they were quiet and… almost soft. And it was worse, because it sounded like a twisted imitation of kindness. Whatever part of him that wasn’t The Winter Soldier anymore was still broken and fractured.

“Just… please make it quick,” you pleaded. 

He glanced at you, his brow twitching slightly in annoyance. “I can’t do that, sweetheart.”

His hands slid lower, gripping your waist and pulling you snug against him. “I haven’t seen you in months. I need to take my time… savor you… before I leave you for good.”

Before you could say anything, his mouth crashed onto yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips. He said he would take his time, yet he kissed you like there was no more time left in the world—tasting, consuming, devouring—until his hunger overtook every emotion. 

His hands tightened on your waist, forcing you to stay still. You stayed rigid, unresponsive, until he arms shifted and lifted you easily by your hips. His gloved left hand—the one you remembered was metal—steadied you effortlessly against his chest, while his flesh hand hooked beneath your thigh, spreading your leg to wrap around his waist.

You clung to his shoulders instinctively as your body was being carried helplessly down the hall toward your bedroom. He lowered you onto the mattress slowly, his lips never leaving yours, claiming you with every breath.

When he finally pulled back, he stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at you with ravenous eyes.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he ordered, peeling off his jacket. 

Then his henley. Boots. Belt. Pants. 

Until at last, he was completely bare before you.

For the first time, you saw him stripped of his gear, stripped of the leather and belts that had always shielded him. Scars marred the place where flesh met metal. His chest was broad and scarred, his arms large, and his legs sturdy.

And his cock—hard, leaking, and eager—ready to take you once again. 

He stepped closer to you, his eyes lingering on your body.

“You’ve taken good care of yourself,” he muttered. “I’m… happy for you.”

His knees sank into the mattress as he crawled towards you, eyes burning with unsatisfied hunger. His hand slid along your side, pausing at your waist.

“You’ve been eating right. Better than whatever they fed you back in your cell. I can see it in your curves… like here,” his fingers squished down on the soft flesh of your hip, “...and here.” He squeezed at your bare leg.  

You whimpered at the contact—a small, helpless sound that made his cock twitch against your thigh.

He groaned low in his chest, grabbing his cock and giving a few rough pumps before dragging his tip along your reluctantly slick folds. The faintest brush of your warmth against him had his breath stuttering, his whole body shaking like he might lose control right there. This—this heat, this softness—was what exactly he’s been starving for.

“When I fuck you,” he rasped, voice heavy with hunger, “I don’t want to hear ‘soldier’ anymore. Not even James,” his gaze locked on yours. “You’ll call me by my real name. Bucky. Understand?”

You nodded weakly, but his eyes narrowed.

“Say it.”

“I… I understand, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

A satisfied sigh escaped him as he pushed forward, slowly forcing himself past your entrance. The stretch made him grunt, his cock throbbing hard inside your tight and warm walls.

“Fuck,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “After all the times I had you in that cold cell, you’re still so goddamn tight. Like this little pussy was made to take my cock and mine only.”

You whimpered beneath him, your body trembling against the mattress as the bedframe creaked under each thrust. One of his hands pinned firmly to your hip, steadying you, while the other roamed your body—grabbing, groping, desperate to feel every inch of you.

At first, he moved slowly, his hips rocking against yours. But you can tell with the way his jaw clenched and his arms flexed that he was holding himself back. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your temple softly. 

“Gentle… just like I promised,” he murmured softly, yet there is a strain in his voice. 

The longer he stayed buried inside you, the more his restraint unraveled. His thrusts grew heavier, his breath harsher against your ear. The poor bed groaned louder, as though it might give out at any moment.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. His words shook with guilt, but his body betrayed him, driving faster, harder. “I’m… trying. I swear, I’m trying—but I can’t. I can’t stop.”

You gasped when his hand gripped your thigh, hauling it upward and angling your hips. His cock slid deeper, impossibly so, forcing you to take every thick inch. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, clinging to him as his pace pushed you further into the mattress.

Every movement was filled with borderline desperation. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, hips snapping hard against yours. “Too rough—I know. I know. But I need you… I need you too much.”

His words slurred together as he continued rutting inside you, his hips moving with a litany of guilt and desire. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your lips together to keep yourself from spilling out any noise. 

“Look at me,” he ordered when he noticed your eyes were shut. “Eyes. On. Me.” 

You opened your eyes reluctantly—dazed and trembling. He let out a wicked grin at the sight, his chest heaving and his pupils blown wide. He rolled his hips, making you whimper again. 

“Good girl,” he breathed. “You remember how to take me.”

“Y-you said you’d be gentle…” you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks as he slammed into you. 

His face twisted into a snarl. “I know, angel,” he groaned, his thrusts growing rougher and deeper. “I know I promised. I’m sorry—I can’t stop. I can’t.”

Your body shook beneath him, every punishing drive making the bedframe rattle even more. His flesh hand clamped down hard on your thigh, forcing your legs wider, forcing you to take him to the hilt.

“I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” he rasped, voice breaking even though his pace turned merciless. “But I need you. God, I need you. It’s like my body remembers you… programmed to claim you… no matter how much I fight it.”

You gasped as he rutted harder, his cock digging deep inside against your tight walls. His metal hand pinned your wrist above your head. His chest heaved, his eyes dark and wild, but also wet with guilt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shaking his head, his thrusts savage despite the apologies spilling from his lips. “I’m hurting you, I know I am. I’m sorry, angel—so fucking sorry—but I can’t slow down. I can’t stop needing you.”

His mouth crashed against yours in a desperate, devouring kiss, like as if kissing you would make you forgive him. 

His thrusts turned frantic, every snap of his hips were hard and rough, like he was punishing himself as much as he was using you. 

“C-can’t stop… I can’t stop wanting you,” he gasped. “It’s been too damn long, baby. Too fucking long—” 

“Angel…” his voice cracked as he rutted deeper, his metal hand forcing your hips still against the mattress. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—but I need to finish inside you. I need to claim you one more time.”

Your body arched beneath him, his cock stretching you, filling you until all you could do was whine and groan beneath the weight of him. “P-please… just hurry up!” 

His thrusts started getting sloppy and messy, his pace completely losing rhythm as his dark mind took control. His jaw clenched, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips slammed into you one last time—bottoming out completely. 

A loud and broken groan escaped his lips, his cock twitching and pulsing deep inside you as his release flooded into your tight walls. The warmth spread through your core, and you felt utterly full and disgusted.

His body slumped against yours, his hold on you softening just slightly.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice raw with guilt. “Forgive me—I couldn’t let you go without leaving a part of me inside you.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven pants. Your trembling hands pressed against his strong bare chest, weakly trying to push him away even though he was still buried deep inside you. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost in the ringing in your ears. You shook your head, sobs tearing free as your body shook violently beneath him.

Then his arms gathered you close, pulling you tight against him. He tried to rock you gently, but your body remained stiff, broken. He murmured against your ear, words you couldn’t catch—or tried to tune out. You didn’t know. 

You felt wet kisses trace your hair, your temple, your cheeks. But your body reeled at the contact. 

Little by little, exhaustion took over. Your eyelids grew heavy, your sobs softened, and your trembling eased. Your breathing slowed. His arms never loosened. He cradled you, rocking you gently until sleep finally claimed you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, even though you were long gone in unconsciousness. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

When you finally woke up, the room was silent and cold. His warmth was gone, his presence erased.

Only the faint imprint of his body remained in the sheets, the lingering scent of sex in the air a haunting reminder. Your body still bare, still trembling from the night, proof that he had been here.

And then, just like a deadly ghost, he was gone.

[cornmousequeen]

I’m in distress 🥵

[superbassbuck]

one hundred sleepless nights

i. "the chain" || part two || masterlist

winter soldier!dark!bucky x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, noncon, smut with a sprinkle of plot, p in v, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, brainwashed bucky, confinement, dacryphilia, angsty, degradation, dirty talk. please tread carefully.

Summary: Your only purpose is to serve as a reward for the Winter Soldier. Each time he completes a successful mission, Hydra delivers him to you, and he uses you however he pleases. But when the other super soldiers wreak havoc and the base falls apart, you expect the cold and heartless Winter Soldier to finally dispose of you. Instead, you’re left reeling. Because you never anticipated what he would do next.

Word Count: 3.3k

You had been confined in a Hydra base for what felt like a hundred nights. But in truth, you lost count after day sixty-three.

Every night since your capture, they locked you in a freezing cell—nothing but a toilet in one corner, a thin mattress and a chain in the other. They fed you, they cleaned you, they kept you alive—though only in the way captors keep their prisoners alive.

You still remembered the first night they brought you in. Hours of crying and screaming had left your throat raw before you finally slumped in exhausted defeat. You thought those moments would be your last—until the heavy metal door creaked open.

A tall figure stepped inside, the glint of a metal arm catching in the dim light. You shot to your feet, begging and pleading for your life. The guard spoke to him in Russian, words you didn’t understand. But the soldier’s eyes never left yours. When the guard left, shutting the door with a cold metallic clang, the air in the cell grew heavier and scarier. 

“Please,” you pleaded to the soldier as he approached you slowly, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. 

Maybe he couldn’t understand you. 

“Please don’t do this. Just let me go. I won’t tell a soul—”

But before you could finish your words, he was already pouncing on you. He ripped through your clothes like it was paper. You tried to cover your body with your arms but he’d only grab them roughly and pried them away. He grabbed the chains and used them against you. He ignored your cries when he threw you on the mattress, forcing your legs apart and sinking deeper and deeper inside your unwilling cunt.

And from that day onward, The Winter Soldier came to you every night after every mission—ready to claim his reward.

Sometimes his presence was terrifying, but sometimes… they were confusing. 

There were nights where he said nothing at all. Nights where he would simply remove his clothes, sit beside you, and hold you in silence until he fell asleep. But by morning, he would always be gone.

It wasn’t until three months into your captivity that you realized he spoke and understood English. One night, after you had begged for him to be gentle, you heard his voice for the first time—low, quiet, and unexpectedly human.

“Please,” you whimpered. “I can’t, soldier. I-it’s too big!”

Some nights you would beg for mercy, some nights you would just be silent and take what you were given. But your body was so sore and aching from the brutal pounding the night before—you felt like you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Soldier, I can’t—” you cried out, clinging onto him tighter. “Please!”

You knew it was meaningless. You’ve cried, kicked, and begged before, and every single time he didn’t pull away. At this point, all the yelling and fighting was just a coping mechanism for you—a pity way to mask the reluctant moans that threatened to escape your lips every time he took you.

Then his voice came in. It was the first time he spoke, and at first, you thought you were imagining it. 

“I know,” he murmured, brushing a hand against your hair in a gesture at odds with the tight grip he had on your thighs. “Just a little longer, okay? I need this.”

You froze, staring up at him—unsure of what unsettled you more. The fact that he understood every word you’d ever said and ignored you… or that he’d chosen this very moment to answer.

“You… understand me?” 

He looked you in the eyes, and for a second, you think he might actually pull away. But instead, his grip on your thigh tightened and his other hand twisted deeper into your hair. His body enveloped yours entirely as he leaned over, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed sloppy and wet kisses. Suckling. Biting. Surely leaving marks and claiming you as his. 

“Wait!” you shoved weakly at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to put space between you. But instead, he grabbed your thigh and hiked it over his shoulder, giving him the angle to plunge into you even deeper. “Ah!” 

He let out a low groan at the tight and warm feel of you—your pussy squelching helplessly around him as you’re forced to take every thick inch of him. 

“Hold still,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Can’t—can’t fuck you properly if you don’t hold still.” 

His breathing is heavy and labored against your neck, his heavy balls were slapping against your bare ass, his hold on your leg was tight—all of it combined were overwhelming your senses. Your bodies were hot and sweaty, yet your blood ran cold in fear.

“Please,” you squirmed beneath him, desperation in your voice. “You’re hurting me—”

His hand came up from your thigh to your neck, fingers pushing up against the smooth column roughly as he held you down against the mattress. With one hand still in your hair, the other around your neck, and his entire body swallowing yours—it was a losing battle you were never destined to win. 

The least you could hope for was for him to listen to you. 

“Soldier! I can’t—slow down… it hurts—” 

“Shut up,” he growled. “You’ve taken my cock plenty of times before. You can do it again.” 

One thing about the Winter Soldier was that he didn’t like being ordered around while he was claiming his prize. In this cell, in this very moment, he was the one in charge. There were no orders for him to follow for once—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to you. Not especially since you belonged to him. 

You whimpered and cried beneath him, tears rolling down your cheeks and onto the mattress as he rutted into you like a beast in heat. 

“P-please,” you begged, your voice wheezing out pathetically.

“Keep begging,” he grunted. His cock throbbed and twitched in pleasure after every whimper and whine. “Fuck. I love it when you beg… makes my dick s’fucking hard.” 

He angled his hips slightly, hitting that sweet and sensitive spot deep inside you with his weeping tip. Your walls instinctively clenched down on him as you pressed your lips together and squeezed your eyes shut—trying to drown the moans that threatened to slip out. 

“Fuck!” he barked out. “Your pussy is taking me in so sweetly, baby. I can’t get enough.” 

You couldn’t help the broken whimper and pathetic sobs that came out after being pet-called. Before this, he never spoke. He only grunted, moaned, and snarled. You never expected to hear the word ‘baby’ ever escape his lips.

His hand came down from the locks of your hair to your face, rubbing the tears and smearing them all over your cheek. “That’s it,” he growled, thrusting into you even harder. “Cry for me, baby. Cry for your soldier.” 

He leaned down, pressing kisses all over your face. You tried to pry yourself away from him, but his hand cupped your cheeks—squishing them roughly and forcing you to look at him. 

“Stop looking away. Look at me, baby. I want to see your pretty eyes wet with tears,” he grunted, his patience wearing thin as you continued to defy him. “Dammit. I said stop—fuck.” 

“Let me go! Please—!” 

His grip on your cheeks tightened. “Look at me, goddammit!” he screamed in your face. 

You flinched hard, shrinking deeper into the mattress with fear. You rarely hear him talk, much less raise his voice. His hips stilled inside you, and his grip on your cheeks softened just barely. He let out a sigh—and you couldn’t tell if it was a sigh of sympathy or annoyance.

“I could easily snap this pretty neck of yours,” he warned dangerously, “but I won’t—because I need your body nice and warm for me. So if you want to make this easier for yourself, you’re going to do as I say. Got it?” 

His other hand lingered around your neck, pressing his fingertips deeper into your skin—a warning. You whimpered, and his cock twitched inside you.

“Tell me you’re sorry.” 

You swallowed hard and looked up at him in fear. “I’m sorry.” 

He hummed in approval, but you could tell that he wasn’t satisfied. 

“Tell me you’re sorry for being such a disobedient slut,” he growled, his face getting closer and his grip on your throat getting tighter.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, your small hand encircling his wrist, trying to pry it away. “I’m sorry for being such a disobedient slut—I’m so sorry!” 

A deep, threatening chuckle escaped his lips as he slowly ground his hips against yours, his cock twitching at the friction from your silky and tight walls.

“That’s right, baby. You should be sorry. You should be sorry for having such a tight fucking body. You should be sorry for being so damn irresistible,” he moved his hips faster, fucking you with newfound vigor. 

“Every time I’m sent on those damn missions, the only thing I can think about is getting back to your cell…” he grunted as your walls tightened down on him, “and fucking you senseless, over and over again until your body’s had enough.” 

He let out a hiss as your sobbing cunt pulsed and ripped around him—tightening against his thick shaft as he rutted into you. He brought his hand down between your sweat-slicked bodies, his rough fingertips finding your clit and rubbing it in quick circles. 

“I—I can’t… soldier–!” you whined as you held onto his shoulders for support, feeling yourself come undone around his cock. 

“Oh fuck, there you go…” he moaned, grinning as you sobbed harder and struggled beneath him. “Take it, baby. Take every fucking inch of me. Fuck… gonna cum—your soldier’s gonna cum!” 

A hard sob choked out of you the minute he slammed into you with one final, brutal thrust. His hips jerked and spasmed as he filled you up completely—hot, thick, ropes of his seed trickled down your puffy, swollen lips and seeped onto the mattress. His heavy body slumped against yours with a tired sigh, his face burying into the crook of your neck. 

By now, he would zip himself up and leave without a second glance. But this time, he remained still on top of you, his cold metal fingers brushing along your jaw in a way that you think is supposed to be comforting, but it doesn’t feel like it at all. 

“Good girl,” he breathed into your neck.

He wasn’t one to give you aftercare when he finishes. The most he’ll do is hold you close against him and fall asleep, but most times he’d leave. You’re not sure if you like this or not. You sniffled as you tried to calm your breathing, and he tilted his head to press a kiss to your wet cheeks. 

“That’s it, let it all out, baby,” he cooed. “Such a perfect little prize for me.”

Since then, he’d been more vocal with you during his reward times—and you’d been trying, cautiously, to reach him with words. Every night when he came, you’d attempt some small exchange.

The metal door creaked open, then slammed shut. Heavy footsteps crossed the concrete toward your mattress. You looked up. His hair was matted with sweat and blood, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Soldier…” you swallowed hard, your fists tightening around your nightgown. “H-how was your mission?”

He advanced on you as he always did, stopping right in front of you. You looked up at him—eyes soft and vulnerable while you waited for an answer. Instead, a low growl rumbled from his chest. His hands clamped around your face, pulling you in so abruptly your breath caught. His mouth crashed against yours in a rough, unyielding kiss. You muffled, trying to turn your head, but his arm slid around your waist, lifting you effortlessly before pinning you to the mattress.

He pulled away from you to lift the hem of your nightgown, baring your glistening wet folds to him. 

“Soldier… I’m just—trying to talk to you,” you said, voice trembling.

“No talking,” he groaned, pushing your legs apart and settling himself between them. He pulled back just slightly to unzip his pants. His cock sprang out—already hard, leaking, and heavy just for you. “Just need your body.” 

You tried to squeeze your legs together, but he grabbed your thighs roughly and forced them apart. 

“No, please—” 

“Just be good,” he hissed, stroking his shaft as he pressed his spongy tip against your tight little hole.

You gasped as he pushed past your entrance without warning. He shuddered as he felt your tight silky walls accommodating and stretching around him. “That’s it,” he encouraged, sinking deeper inside you. “Fuck, you feel so good.” 

“No, stop,” you choked out a sob. “Soldier, please. I beg of you. Just listen to me—” 

“Shut the hell up,” he interrupted by shoving his metal fingers into your mouth, muffling your cries. “Don’t say a single word.” He warned. “Suck on them.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you began reluctantly sucking on his fingers—cold and metallic on your tongue. You don’t even want to know where they’ve been or what they’ve done. All you need to worry about now is what they’d do to you next if you don’t comply.

“Thats it,” he grunted as he brutally thrust into your dripping and clenching cunt. “That’s it. Suck on my fingers while I fill this greedy cunt with my seed.”

You choked and whimpered around his metal digits, and the sounds only inflamed his dark urges to claim you. He didn’t stop—couldn’t stop no matter how hard you begged or struggled. 

“So fucking good,” he moaned as he fucked you like a wild animal. “Shit, baby. Gonna cum… gonna… pump you full!”

He angled his hips and slammed his cock directly into your sweet spot. The sensitive bundle of nerves sent a jolt of electrifying pleasure all over your body. You arched your back and came undone reluctantly around his thick length, spilling all over him.

“Ah!” you choked around his fingers. “Mmmph!”

He let out a loud roar of pleasure as his cock pulsed and throbbed—he shuddered as scalding ropes of his thick cum painted your walls white deep inside your cunt. He removed his fingers from your mouth and slumped beside you, but didn’t pull out. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you close against him.

You two laid like that for a quiet moment. You were expecting him to leave, but he didn’t. 

“Soldier…?” you tried, but there was no response.

“How was your mission?” you tried again. 

Silence.

“Did… did you kill people? I smell blood on you—”

“What did I say about not talking?” he interrupted you coldly. But despite his words, it seemed like he made no effort to actually stick through with his threats. 

You shifted beside him, trying to get comfortable. “What do you do on your missions?”

He didn’t answer.

You frowned. “Do you have a name, soldier?” 

You felt his arms tighten around your waist, and he held his breath for a second. You blink up at him and he has a dark and dangerous look in his eyes—but there was something beneath them that seemed sad… and kind of lonely. He pressed his lips together as he wrenched his arms away from your body, pulling his softening cock out of your swollen pussy with a wet squelch. 

“Soldier?” you whispered, your brows furrowing in confusion as he rose abruptly, zipping himself back up and pulling on his boots.

He gave you no answer, no acknowledgement. You laid there—sore, shaken—watching him prepare to leave in cold and sharp movements. When you asked for his name again, he didn’t even give you a second glance. 

The door pulled open, and a moment later, the slam of the metal echoed through the cell, leaving you alone in silence once again. 

Two, maybe three days passed. For the first time since your capture, the Soldier hadn’t come. The metal door stayed shut—opening only for food. Your nightgown remained untouched, unwrinkled, whole—for the first time in ages.

For the first time since your capture, you were left alone with your thoughts—and that, somehow, felt worse. You found yourself waiting for him despite yourself, every shift in the shadows making your chest tighten.

While you were sleeping on the cold and stiff mattress, the ground shuddered beneath you. Dust fell from the ceiling, and you snapped awake in a coughing fit. Distant shouts rang from down the corridor, harsh Russian, followed by the rapid cracks of what seemed like gunfire. 

An alarm blared, red light flooding the concrete walls of your cell. You scrambled to your feet, heart pounding in fear. The sounds outside grew louder—metal crashing, men screaming.

You tucked yourself into the corner, terror swallowing you whole. What the hell was going on out there? Did something go wrong? From the noise—crashing, gunfire, endless screaming—it sounded like the entire base was falling apart.

The door slammed open. Blinding light spilled into the cell, and you squinted against it, certain it was a guard come to finish you off.

“Please,” you begged, voice trembling. “Don’t kill me—”

Heavy boots pounded closer. A hand clamped around your wrist and yanked you forward. Wide-eyed, you looked up into the face you knew too well—the same long dark hair. The same haunted blue eyes. The soldier who came to you every night.

“Stay close,” he ordered, his voice like steel. “Keep your head down. Be quiet. And keep up.”

“What are you doing?” you gasped, stumbling against him. “Please—don’t hurt me—”

His grip only tightened. With his metal arm, he hauled you close to his chest like a shield and dragged you into the blinding chaos of the corridor.

You kept your head low as he instructed, but your gaze darted to the floor. Boots pounding. Bodies clashing. Guns firing. Guards collapsing one after another. Screams echoed down the corridor, words in Russian you couldn’t understand—likely calling for him. He ignored them all, pulling you along without hesitation.

“I’m scared,” you whispered against him, hoping he could hear you. “Where are you taking me?”

“Stop. Talking.” 

He didn’t slow until you reached an empty room. He shoved you inside, slammed the door, and locked it. Crossing to the far wall, he forced open a narrow window.

“W-what are you doing?” you stammered, hovering timidly.

Your breath caught when you glanced outside. For the first time in months, you caught a glimpse of the world beyond these walls.

Without warning, he scooped you up in his arms. In an instant, you were lifted through the window. When your bare feet touched the ground, you shuddered at the feel of grass—real grass—beneath your toes.

“Go,” he said coldly, nodding past you. “Run. Run as far as you can. Don’t turn back.”

You just stood there. His words processing in your mind.

Go? Go where? 

Where would you even run to? 

You clutched your nightgown. Your legs felt useless, your bottom lip trembling. “Are you… are you coming with me?”

The door behind him rattled under heavy blows, Russian voices barking commands.

“I said go!” he snapped, drawing a pistol from his belt and thrusting it into your shaking hands.

You grabbed it with clammy and hesitant hands. 

“Go,” he repeated again. “Go, or stay here forever and die. Your choice.” 

You hesitated, the weapon shaking. You could point it at him, end it all, avenge everything he had done to you. He knew you could do  it—yet he didn’t move.

“What’s your name?” you asked him suddenly. 

For the first time, his expression faltered—just slightly—before his face twisted into a snarl. Without answering, he slammed the window shut, retreating into the chaos behind him.

You were left with only your reflection in the glass, drowned by the sound of shouting and gunfire. With the pistol clutched tight in your hands, you turned on your bare heel and ran—ran until your lungs burned, ran until your weak legs gave out. Ran until the base was outside of view.

And still, you didn’t know the soldier’s name.

[cornmousequeen]

I am am unwell and that was only part 1

[superbassbuck]

House Tour ❝ my house is on pretty girl ave! ❞ 

pairing: pool cleaner!bucky x rich girl!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, perv!bucky, dom!bucky, touch starved reader, sexual tension, mutual pining, dry humping, mating press, oral (f receiving), p in v, fingering, edging, begging, degrading, size difference kink, praise, dirty talk, masturbation, breeding kink, overstimulation, name calling and pet names: "slut" "baby" "pretty girl"

word count: 13.7k he's a busy man! masterlist

a/n: wanted to write a fic based on sabrina's song house tour. i was inspired by @houseofhyde's (literally sabrina carpenter) fics and if you haven't already, read her manchild series and check out her man's best friend inspired anthology coming soon! huge thank you to my girl @wildflowersandvibranium for helping me w/ the color gradient. thank you to @heldbybarnes and @its-in-the-woods for helping me w/ the moodboard. thank you to @juniebjonesin for being my beta-reader. thank you to @chateaubarnes for the divider. <3 much love.

synopsis: Your house is big enough to host a hundred people, but the only one you want in it is your maddeningly hot pool cleaner. You want him—bad. Yet no matter how hard you flirt, he never seems to take the bait. What you don't realize is that Bucky wants you just as badly, he's just very good at hiding it.

You paused in front of the full-length mirror hanging in the foyer of your sprawling three-story house. A skimpy swimsuit was snug to your body, an expensive pair of sunglasses perched on top of your head, along with a chilled cocktail in your manicured hand to top it all off. 

You adjusted the sheer cover-up knotted loosely at your hip that revealed just enough skin…though never quite enough.

With one quick glance out the window towards your backyard, your breath hitched immediately. 

There he was again—your pool boy, hard at work. 

The usual white tank he wore clung to his chest, already slick with his sweat. His arms flexed with every pull of the pole, muscles tightening beneath his sun-warmed skin, his hair falling into his eyes as his broad back bent and straightened as he moved around. 

The sight alone sent butterflies to your stomach.

You sucked in a sharp breath, smoothing your hair and bringing your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose. Sliding open the glass door, you were welcomed with the hot sun and a slight breeze, bringing with it a faint smell of chlorine. 

“Good morning, Bucky,” you called, your voice cheery with an inviting smile. 

Bucky glanced up from the water, sunglasses reflecting you back at yourself. 

“Morning.” 

Then, a small nod before returning to his work. 

It wasn’t much, but still, your smile didn’t falter. Ever since you hired Bucky to work for you as your designated pool cleaner, you couldn’t help but grow a little… attached.

You were a single woman living in a house big enough to hold a family of ten. Or twenty. Too much money, too much time on your hands, and not enough sex.

So when a strong, quiet, devastatingly attractive man showed up to work under your roof, what was the harm in having a little fun? Watching him became your guilty pleasure, like keeping your own personal eye candy by the pool.

First, it started with harmless admiration.  

You’d catch yourself watching him from the corner of your eye, stealing glances under your sunglasses or through the window when you thought he wouldn’t notice. You’d watch very closely—the way sweat dripped down his neck and in between the crevice of his chest. 

And his arms. 

God, his arms. 

You couldn’t help but imagine how they might feel cinched tight around your waist, or how those rough, calloused hands might look wrapped delicately around your throat. 

Silly thoughts, really. Inappropriate, even. 

He was just the man you paid to clean your pool. You never said anything, of course. Just… quiet looks, very long sips of your drink, and the guilty thrill of knowing you liked the view far more than you should. 

You leaned back into the reclining chair, stretching your legs out before crossing at the ankle, your fingers idly twirling the straw in your cocktail.

“It’s so hot out today,” you said, tilting your head towards him. “But I can’t really complain with a view like this.” 

Bucky didn’t react. He didn’t even look at you either. Just a quiet grunt, his expression unreadable behind the darkness of his sunglasses.

Very typical. 

Second, it became something physical. A physical attraction. 

The mysteriousness of him left too much room for your imagination to run wild. He rarely said anything beyond the occasional “Good morning” or a low grunt, and more times than not, you found yourself aching for just a little more.

“You know, if you ever need a break, my house is always open and well air-conditioned,” you offered lightly, finishing it with a soft laugh to make it sound playful instead of… well.

Predatory.

The truth was, for all its size, your house was lonely. A word, a glance, even the smallest scrap of attention would have been enough—and somehow, the person you wanted it from was the man fishing leaves out of your pool. 

It was no different than coworkers developing crushes just from seeing each other every day—or feelings sparking within a friend group simply from being around one another so often.

So really, it was only natural to feel this way… wasn’t it?

You wanted to feel him. All of him. His muscles, his jawline, his back… 

You wondered how hot his body would be pressed to yours—how his fingers would feel sliding into you, stretching you, filling you, instead of your own. 

You hated to admit it, but you have touched yourself to that thought before. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Maybe more. 

Bucky barely looked up. “I’m okay. Thank you,” he said, voice quiet, rough, and dismissive, before turning back to the pool like the conversation had already ended before it even began. 

Your lips curved up in a sly smirk as you tried again. 

“Are you sure? Do you want anything to drink then? A lemonade? Water? Or maybe a cocktail?” your tone stayed breezy, playful, all as if you weren’t holding your breath for an answer. 

“No, ma’am,” he replied casually, eyes still fixed on the pool. And he still didn’t look up. 

You exhaled slowly, swirling your straw before taking another sip. God, he was infuriating. And yet, the more he ignored you, the more you wanted him. 

And last but not least, it became a game. A challenge. As maddening and one-sided as it seemed, you couldn’t help but crave it.

You were a rich, young and beautiful woman. Realistically, you could have anyone you wanted and you knew it. You were used to being fawned over, used to nobodies tripping over themselves just to ask for your number. But the fact that you couldn’t so much as snag the gaze of your pool boy? 

That ignited something inside you.

For once, you were the one chasing. 

And you didn’t mind it one bit.

“So, do you have any plans after this? I was thinking of making a quick lunch if you would like to join me.” 

Silence. Just the sound of water swooshing gently against the pool’s edge and the light scrape of the skimmer gliding across the surface. He paused, his eyes fixed on something in the distance, near your water pipes. His shoulders straightened like a thought came to mind.

Then, he finally lifted his head to look at you. Your heart thumped faster in your chest. 

Finally. 

“Can you come here for a second?” he asked, his voice straightforward and blunt as he set the skimmer down. 

You couldn’t help the smile creeping on your lips. You rose from your chair, setting your cocktail down on the side table. You smoothed the cover-up around your hips as you made your way over, anticipation already fluttering wildly in your chest. 

The entire time, Bucky’s gaze followed you from behind his shades. You hoped he noticed the way your bikini clung tight to your curves, the subtle sway of your hips as you moved towards him.

You flashed him a charming grin, crossing your arms over your chest—subtly accentuating the way your breasts pushed up against your arms. 

Too bad his sunglasses hid his eyes. You had no way of knowing if he had even noticed.

“Follow me,” he said, curling his fingers to motion you closer. 

“Okay,” you agreed softly, letting him guide you. 

With his back to you, you couldn’t help but admire the view—the width of his shoulders, the way he moved. You were so caught up in the silhouette of him that you hardly noticed where he was leading you until you found yourself at the side of the house, standing before the jumble of water pipes and filters.

He stopped abruptly. “Stand here.”

You moved closer, your heart beating so fast it could leap out of your chest. The way he stood there, watching you, commanding you to come up to him… it all made your skin heat up in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. 

“Closer.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, one large hand brushing against your lower back to guide you into position. The touch was casual, almost incidental, yet it was enough to make your legs feel a little weak.

He held your gaze for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on your lower back. You wanted nothing more than to reach up and remove his sunglasses yourself—just to see his eyes, to know if he was feeling the same spark you were.

Then, finally, he broke his gaze and tilted his head towards the filter. 

“There’s an issue with the filter,” he explained. “It’s clogged worse than I thought. I’ll need to check it a few extra times this week to make sure it’s running properly.”

Oh. 

Your shoulders slump slightly, the thrill of his attention immediately colliding with a pang of disappointment. 

You followed his gaze to the pool and let out a very long and disappointed sigh. “Is that so?” 

He grunted quietly, his hand retreating from your back. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “I’ll start on it. Should take a while to get it fully unclogged.”

You swallowed, trying to force a nonchalant smile. Infuriatingly dry, and yet every word, every glance—or lack thereof—only made the fiery spark inside you burn brighter. 

“How ‘bout you come inside for a second?” you offered quickly. “Cool off a little before getting back to work… I mean, look at you—you’re sweating like crazy.” You added a soft chuckle, letting the words hang teasingly in the air, hoping, praying he’d catch the bait. 

Bucky’s head tilted up, looking past you and up at your three-story house. His expression was frustratingly unreadable, leaving you guessing at what might be running through his mind. After a long pause, he finally looked back at you.

“No, thanks.” 

It was just as you expected. With a soft sigh, you masked your disappointment with a small shrug. 

“Suit yourself,” you murmured as you already turned your back away. 

“But…” 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. 

“I’ll take a glass of lemonade,” Bucky said, his tone flat like he was granting you a concession. 

Your lips curved slowly up into a grin, that warmth coming back to life in your chest. It wasn’t much—but it was something. And with him, even the smallest thing felt like a victory.

“Lemonade, coming right up,” you said lightly, your tone playful. 

This time, when you turned toward the house, there was a little more pep in your step, the sway of your hips unconsciously enthusiastic. It felt good, being given something to finally work with—even something small.

What you didn’t see was the way Bucky’s eyes followed you, hidden safely behind his sunglasses. You missed how his gaze lingered on the curve of your ass through the sheer cover-up, how his jaw clenched once you finally slipped out of view.

From outside, he could see everything. 

The way you moved around the kitchen with far too much energy for something as simple as lemonade. How you dragged out a step stool to reach the tallest cabinet, just to pick the nicest glass for him. How you filled it with ice, frowned because you put too much, dumped it out, then poured it again until it was perfect. How you even fussed with the lemon slice on the rim like you were serving royalty and not some random pool cleaner. 

And the sight was fascinating. 

He loved watching you—a wealthy girl who could have staff do it for you—going out of your way to make a drink for someone like him.

Of course he knew about your coy smiles, your lingering stares when you think he’s not looking, the way your hips sway when you walk away, the skimpy bikinis you wore despite never once stepping foot into the pool.

He noticed everything. 

He just chose not to bite. 

Because watching you try—watching you put all that effort into getting a reaction out of him—was far more entertaining than giving you what you wanted.

As you leaned into the fridge for the pitcher, your sheer cover-up rode higher over your thighs, the thin fabric stretching to reveal the curve of your ass underneath. You bent forward slightly to grab some more lemons from a lower shelf, and… 

The sight made his throat go dry.

His cock stirred, thickening and rising slowly, an ache pressing against the confines of his work pants. He shifted his stance, trying to will the sensation away, but it was no use. The pressure was unbearable, insistent, and tight. Every movement reminded him of just how badly he needed you.

Bucky glanced toward the kitchen again, making sure you were still occupied. When the coast was clear, his hand slid to his crotch, fingers brushing over the straining fabric as if adjusting himself would ease the discomfort. 

It didn’t.

The brief contact only made his cock twitch in his pants even more. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, his hand palming his bulge through his pants. 

He had to bite back a groan as his cock throbbed, begging for more. It was so risky squeezing himself when you were only a few steps away, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

You had no idea what you were doing to him. And the cruelest part was knowing you wanted him too—that fact alone made it harder to keep his control.

Bucky knew he could easily barge in and ruin you, ruin all that polished perfection you surrounded yourself with. 

He’d dirty up your pristine house in an instant. He’d bend you over the arm of your thousand-dollar couch. He’d fuck you across all three glossy floors. He’d bury himself deep in your king-sized bed until you couldn’t bear to go to bed without him. 

His hand pressed harder against the outline of his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he growled to himself as filthy images flooded in his mind. 

He wanted to so badly drag that sad excuse of a cover-up off your body, bunching it around your bare waist and bending you over the kitchen counter that you hardly use to cook for your own. He wanted to take his time and savour you—make you finally crumble and beg for his attention instead of throwing out coy smiles and teasing comments.

His thumb circled the swollen head straining against his pants, the friction was delicious but it was not nearly enough. 

Fuck, did he want to split you open on his cock, watch your spoiled composure shatter as you clawed at him for more with those greedy, manicured hands.

He squeezed himself harder, breathing heavy, eyes locked on the doorway where you could reappear any second. The risk of being caught only made his cock throb harder.

Imagine if you walked out right now, catching him red-handed—

The sound of the door opening snapped him back to reality. He yanked his hand away, standing up straight and turning his back just as you stepped outside with his glass of lemonade with a bright and oblivious smile on your face.

“Here you go,” you said brightly, handing him the glass. 

“Thanks,” he muttered back, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest second before he took it. 

He tipped the glass back, his Adam's apple bobbing as swallowed, and you found yourself staring at his throat like you were thirsty yourself. He let out a satisfied sigh as he set the glass down on a nearby table. 

He gave you one quick glance under his sunglasses before nodding his head once. “It’s good.” 

Dry.

Flat. Like always. 

And you, of course, didn’t notice the irony that just a mere seconds ago, he had his palm against his cock, groaning your name under his breath. Now here he was, still as stone, acting like you barely existed. 

But for you, that tiny moment, your fingers brushing against his when you passed the lemonade, was enough to send your heart skipping like a schoolgirl’s. 

It was ridiculous, really, how something so brief could make you feel so electric.

You forced a small smile and slipped back into your chair, twirling the straw in your now half-melted cocktail. You tried to play it cool, but your eyes kept dragging back to him again and again.

You were hypnotized with the way his hands toyed at his belt like he was adjusting himself, the movement of his shoulders as he crouched low by the pump system near the pool’s edge—everything about him just made it harder to resist. 

Bucky leaned over the filter housing, twisting the valve to let off the hiss of trapped pressure. You watched as he unlatched the clamps holding the lid in place, muscles hard at work under his sun-warmed skin. 

With a low grunt, he lifted the heavy top free, setting it aside before reaching down into the canister. He worked quietly, pulling free a clogged-up basket stuffed with leaves, stringy muck, and god knows what else. You weren’t really paying that much attention to the filter anyway. 

“Mm,” he muttered, giving it a shake, water splattering onto the pavement. “The filter's jammed up worse than it should be. I’ll need to check on it a couple more times this week, make sure it doesn’t back up the whole system.” 

He tilted his head. “Gonna take a look at the pump’s pressure next.” 

He dropped the basket back into the filter housing and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Then, with a low grunt, he hooked his fingers at the hem of his damp white tank and lifted up and over his head. 

You nearly spilled your damn drink. 

His chest stretched out, broad and solid. His muscles shifted as he tugged the fabric free and tossed it aside. Sunlight caught on every line—the ridges of his abs, the sharp cut of his V disappearing beneath the waistband of his low-slung work pants.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, heat flooding in your belly.

Your thighs pressed together, desperate to soothe the ache between them. You wanted to keep watching, but every flex of his back as he crouched over the filter only made it worse. You pictured your hands running down the hard grooves of muscle, his body hovering over yours—

God. It was so indecent, sitting here and openly staring at him. 

You knew you couldn’t take it anymore when he started to grunt as he bent down to check the pipes. The sound was nothing but seemingly innocent, but to your ears, it came out unbearably filthy.

Clearing your throat, you scrambled to your feet, your drink wobbling dangerously in your hand. 

“Well,” you said quickly, voice rising high in pitch. “It’s getting… really hot out here, so I’ll just—” You hiked a thumb over your shoulder. “I’ll be inside if you need anything.”

You didn’t wait for an answer—not that you were going to get one anyway. With your face burning, you hurried back towards the safety of your house, desperate for cool air and four walls protecting you from the sight of his addicting sweat-slicked body.

Bucky glanced up, peering at you through his shades as he watched you scurry off inside, your cover-up lifting around your bare thighs. 

That was cute. For someone whose entire game was trying to catch his attention, you bolted the second you actually got it.

He bent back over the pipes, but his focus was shot to hell. Every few seconds, his gaze followed back to the house, tracking you through those wide, spotless windows until you disappeared past a wall… only to reappear again in your bedroom. 

The blinds were wide open, curtains parted to give him a clean view of your perfect body. You hadn’t even realized—or maybe you did, and this was your invitation for him to watch you. 

From where he stood at the pool’s edge, he had a perfect line of sight—your figure moving across the room as you wiggled out of your flimsy cover-up and tossed it carelessly onto the floor somewhere. He watched as you paced around the room, flustered and restless. 

The sunlight peeking through your windows lit you up like a goddess, a carving that was made to be worshipped by him. 

You looked edible. 

And Bucky wanted a taste. 

Just as he was about to force his gaze away to focus on the filter, you did something that made his throat go completely dry. 

You let out bikini straps slip from your shoulders. The top fell loose and he felt his chest—and his pants—tighten as you stood there, bare and unaware. But what really got him was the sight of you crawling into your bed, removing your bottoms and letting your polished fingertips glide down your bare torso and disappearing in between your smooth thighs. 

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered as his cock began to stir again. 

Watching you make lemonade earlier was one thing. But this—this was just obscene. Standing out here in your yard, shirtless, watching you touch yourself like you were putting on a show for him alone. 

It should’ve felt wrong. He should’ve felt like a creep—like a pervert. But it didn’t stop him.

Because this was exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to stare at you? After all, you were likely touching yourself to the thought of him anyway, so it was only fair for him to watch you in return. 

Your hair sprawled across white silk pillows, your legs stretching open as you began to work yourself with desperate little touches. Bucky’s cock strained with every twitch of your fingers. He could already imagine it—how wet you’d be for him, how tight. 

If it were his hand between your thighs instead of yours, you’d be clawing at him, begging to keep going—or to go easy. 

Fuck. Watching you earlier had been bad enough, but this? This was pure torture.

He could already imagine it, how wet you would feel against his fingers, how easily you would open up for him if it were his hand between your thighs instead of your own. 

His cock pressed hard against his zipper, begging for just an ounce of relief. Palming himself wasn’t enough, and if he wasn’t going to storm upstairs and fuck you into your mattress, he’d have to settle for his hand instead. 

You had your head tossed back against the pillow, your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hung open. Bucky couldn’t hear you, but God, he wished he could. 

With a low growl, he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, zipping his fly down quickly and desperately. His hand slipped into his waistband, pulled out his cock, already warm and heavy in his palm. The rush of cool air against his swollen tip made him hiss through his teeth, and his fist tightened around the length.

Bucky watched as you rolled your hips against your own fingers, your lips parting to gasp, he couldn’t hear but could damn well imagine. 

His fist worked over his cock, giving himself small and teasing strokes. But the longer he watched you, the harder he pumped himself. His breath hitched right along with yours, even if you couldn’t hear him. 

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he rasped under his breath, this thumb sliding over the leaking tip of his cock. “Fuck yourself nice and deep… open up that pretty pussy for me.” 

You gasped again, your head sinking deeper against the pillows, and he groaned, imagining it was because of him, because of the way he would sink his cock into you and split you wide.

“Bet you’d be so fucking tight around me,” he grunted, hips rocking into his hand as he pumped faster. “I’d stretch you out so good, make you scream my name instead of keeping it all quiet like that.”

Every shake of your body, every subtle move of your wrist, only made him harder, needier. His balls were tight and aching, but still he couldn’t stop, couldn’t drag his eyes away.

“Goddamn, look at you,” he muttered, voice strained. “So perfect… so fucking sweet—thinkin’ you’re in control all the time.” His hips bucked into his fist, precum smearing over his knuckles as he stroked harder. “You’ve got no idea, do you? How bad I wanna ruin that pretty little image of yours....”

Your thighs trembled, your lips parting in another voiceless cry, and he groaned deep in his chest, pumping himself faster. You were getting close, he just knew it. 

“I’d fuck you stupid, baby,” he hissed, gaze locked on the way your legs started to shake. “Have you begging, drooling, makin’ a mess all over my cock until you couldn’t even say my name without whimpering.”

He braced one hand against the edge of the filter housing, knuckles going white. 

“You’d be mine. Only mine. I’d keep you tucked away in this big house, fuckin’ you on every damn floor until you forget anyone else even exists,” he growled. “I’ll make sure you have no one else over but me.” 

His hips jerked, strokes getting messier as the image of you whimpering beneath him filled his head. Through your window, your back arched, your eyes squeezing shut as your fingers moved frantically between your legs. 

“Yeah… that’s it, baby,” he hissed quietly. “Cum for me, cum on my cock like I’m right there…” 

Your body trembled, chest rising up and down rapidly. Bucky felt his own release rising hard and fast. The sight of you—silk sheets wrinkling beneath you, hair sprawled out over the pillows—tore a groan clean out of his chest. 

Good thing you couldn’t hear him. 

You turned your head, cheek brushing softly against your tousled hair, looking like a goddamn angel.

Then your eyes fluttered open. 

Straight out the window. 

And Bucky’s stomach dropped. 

Shit. 

He immediately yanked his hand off himself and stuffed his cock back into his pants, turning his body toward the filter like he had been working on it the whole time. His breathing came hard through his nose, heart beating fast as he grabbed the nearest tool and pretended to check the pipes, praying you hadn’t seen him. 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. His heart was thudding in his ears, his cock still aching—slick and completely unsatisfied in his pants. 

He sucked in a deep breath as he tried to steady himself, trying to look like he hadn’t just been seconds away from blowing his load all over the pool deck. 

Play it cool. 

Work the pipes. 

Don’t look back up. 

Meanwhile, from above, you lay your back against your pillows as your gaze swept out the window and down to your pool. 

Bucky was still out there, bent over the filter and hard at work. His broad back was gleaming with sweat, and even from here, you could see his chest rising and falling heavily, his breaths coming in sharp.

A faint smile tugged at your lips. Of course he looked wrecked—he had been out there all morning, under the sun, hunched over pipes and skimmers and God knows what else.

He was really, really hard at work. 

Your smile dropped to something… guiltier. Poor guy, out there sweating through his work while you’ve been upstairs, sprawled out in silk pristine sheets, doing… well, not much of anything useful.

And even though he didn’t ask for it, he deserved another lemonade. 

You sat up and threw on a simple shirt and shorts this time. It wasn’t like you were going for a swim with the filters all messed up, and it wasn’t like that bikini had done much to catch his attention anyway.

You stepped outside, the glass of lemonade slick with condensation. The sun hit you right in the face, forcing you to squint as you raised a hand to shield your eyes.

“Round two!” you called, your sandals smacking lightly against the patio. 

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened before he stood up straight and turned to you. He cleared his throat, his fingers brushing over yours for the briefest second before he took the glass.

“Thanks,” he muttered, voice raspy and thick. He looked down at you, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His jaw clenched—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t, or…  more like he didn’t trust himself to speak. 

You were a different sight than before. Your hair was a little mussed, you had on a plain shirt—a few sizes too big—hanging over your body. It was so big that he barely noticed your tiny shorts riding up your thighs. 

No skimpy hundred dollar bikini. No sheer cover-up. And this time, no obvious attempt at allure. 

And still, he wanted you. 

Because even like this—especially like this—he was still hard, still unsatisfied, his cock pressing hot and heavy against his zipper. 

He swallowed hard before tipping the glass back. He downed the lemonade in one long chug, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow until the glass was completely empty. 

You smiled, hands behind your back. “Better than the first time?” 

He exhaled slowly, handing the glass back to you. 

“Yeah.” 

It was another sweltering afternoon, and you were sprawled out on the pool chair with a book in your hands—a book you hadn’t turned a page in for the last fifteen minutes. Your eyes kept straying past the print, landing on Bucky where he knelt by the water pipes.

Today was even hotter than yesterday, and he was out there shirtless, sweat dripping down his skin as he worked. You had on a different swimsuit—still skimpy, still expensive—and the heat was making you sweat right through it.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the view, you would’ve already given up and gone inside to the comfort of your AC.

You set the book down on your lap. “Bucky,” you called, tilting your head towards him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? It’s okay to take a break, it’s so damn hot out here.”

He didn’t even glance up from where crouched. He twisted a wrench, the metal clinking sharp against the pipe. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered. 

But the sun was glaring down on you both mercilessly, beads of sweat sliding down his temple, down his throat and over his chest. You were already burning up just by sitting still—so with him out there working, he seemed anything but fine.

You wiped at your damp forehead with the back of your hand, moving uncomfortably against the recliner with a huff. The heat was unbearable, and the bikini that was supposed to make you feel sexy felt sticky, suffocating, and gross. 

“Bucky,” you tried again with a weary sigh, “come inside. Just for a minute. I’ll crank up the AC and grab you a drink. You’re going to pass out if you stay out here. The filter can wait.” 

He didn’t bite. He never did. Even your own patience felt like it was melting under the sun. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he said roughly, tightening the wrench with another twist. 

He still didn’t look at you.

Normally you would laugh it off, throw out another playful line his way, and try again until you wrung even the smallest reaction out of him. But the heat, the sweat, and the mounting frustration of constantly chasing his attention had you clenching your jaw instead.

“Fine,” you muttered, sharper than you intended, snapping your book shut and rising to your feet. “Suit yourself.” 

Without another word—or even glance—you turned and marched back into the house, letting yourself be greeted by the cool air over your skin as the door clicked shut behind you. 

Bucky froze from where he crouched, wrench going still in his hand as he watched you stalk off and shut the door in a way that clearly indicated you were not coming back. 

What the hell was that about? 

You never just… got up and left.

You usually retreated in the house with a smile on your face, and every single time, you kept coming back, circling him with that playful little persistence of yours. 

His jaw clenched, tossing the wrench aside with a heavy clatter. He dragged a hand down his sweaty face, cursing under his breath. 

He stood up slowly, letting out a little groan at the strain. Sweat was dripping down his temple and soaking through the waistband of his pants. The sun was cooking him alive, and maybe that was why he was starting to feel a little frustrated himself. 

Because the truth was, he wasn’t fine. 

The heat was suffocating, and his head was spinning with an irritation he couldn’t quite put down. It wasn’t just from the sun—it was you. 

The way that bikini clung to your curves, the shine of sweat down your chest, the needy whine in your voice when you begged him to come inside. 

Christ. He was hard again, cock straining against his sweat-damp pants. He hated how quick it happened. He hated how easily wound up he got every time you looked at him, and he hated how you walking away only made it worse.

The pool gurgled behind him, the filter still clearly needing work, but his focus was all over the place. 

All he could picture was you inside, cooling down with that little frown on your lips—disappointed that he wasn’t in there with you. You were probably already stripping out of that bikini. Maybe laying down, legs pressed together, trying to take the edge off the way you had yesterday.

And because of those thoughts—those relentless, stupid thoughts—Bucky lasted all but five minutes. 

Five full minutes of pacing along the pool, knowing the pipes needed his full attention when all he could focus on was the tight ache in his chest and the heavier one pressing against his zipper.

When his gaze inevitably looked up towards the house, there you were through the spotless windows.

Laid out across the couch, your skimpy bikini straps were digging into your skin as you slouched against the cushions—not even caring that you were dirtying up the expensive furniture with your sweat. 

You crossed your legs at the ankle as your eyes fluttered shut, chest rising and falling softly. You weren’t even looking at him.

And fuck—he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He tugged off his work gloves and tossed them by the skimmer, muttering something grumpily under his breath that even he couldn’t catch. His boots stomped heavily against the patio as he made his way to the back door. 

He paused at the door, his eyes glued on your body through the glass. He should knock. Hell, he should turn around and get back to the pipes before he did something stupid. But despite his thoughts, his fingers wrapped tight around the handle anyway.

This was exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? The way you always lingered near him, flirted shamelessly, always tried to tempt him closer without ever saying it outright. You have been waiting for him to step inside this house for weeks.

In Bucky’s mind, he was finally giving you what you wanted. 

The door slid open with a low scrape, the blast of cold air brushing against his warm body. He stepped in as if he already lived there, heavy boots already dirtying the once-pristine plush rug. 

Your eyes fluttered open at the faint sound of the door closing. 

“Bucky…?” your voice was soft and confused as you took him in. 

A big, broad, sweaty Bucky, standing in your living room for the first time since he’d started working for you. 

“What are you doing in here? Is everything okay—” 

“Almost done with the filter,” he cut you off with a rough voice, his gaze trying to steer away from the tempting lines of your body. “Just needed to use the bathroom.”

You blinked at him, thrown off guard by the excuse but too caught up in the fact that he was finally in your house to even question it. “Oh—yeah, of course. Come on.” 

You scrambled to your feet, suddenly self-conscious in nothing but your swimsuit. When you pictured Bucky entering your home, it wasn’t like this. In your head, you would’ve coaxed him in with a drink, maybe with a teasing smile here and there.  

Not because he needed the bathroom.

So yeah, his unexpected presence threw you off. But still… at the end of the day, it was better than nothing.

“This way,” you said over your shoulder, leading him down the hall.

Your house had never looked better—freshly waxed floors were reflecting under the light, except Bucky’s dirty work boots were now leaving a trail. Your walls were decorated with curated art and frames that were probably worth more than most people’s salaries.

But Bucky didn’t spare a glance at any of them. 

His eyes were locked on you. 

And you could feel his heavy stare weighing down on your nearly bare back. 

The walk to the bathroom was short, yet it felt endless. Because for once, you had nothing to say. You stopped in front of the door, fingers twisting the knob before pushing it open.

You could feel him behind you, close enough that his breath ghosted over the back of your neck. Your pulse quickened, and your mouth went dry. 

If you turned around, if you so much as looked up at him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your composure.

You cleared your throat. “Well… this is it,” you said, flicking the lights on. 

The mirror above the sink lit up instantly, creating a warm glow across the tiled room. And in the reflection, you saw the two of you framed in the doorway.

And then you caught him.

His gaze wasn’t on the bathroom at all—it was on you. 

You saw the way his jaw was clenched tight as his eyes trailed over the slope of your bare shoulders, his gaze lingering on the thin bikini straps pressed against your soft skin. 

You didn’t say a word. And truthfully, you didn’t want to—because if you spoke, you would snap him out of it.

You wanted him to keep staring at you. You wanted to feel his eyes dragging over your body slowly, down your shoulders, over the curve of your waist and hips, to every inch of bare skin your bikini left exposed.

He wasn’t touching you, but his eyes felt like a touch—scorching, intimate. It made your stomach twist and your thighs press together. Through the mirror, you watched as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, a low groan slipping from his chest like he was fighting something back.

God, did that stare burn so bad. 

You wanted him to touch you—just a light graze of his fingertips, the heat of his palm against your waist. Anything.

For a second, you’re convinced he might actually do it—close that little bit of space between you, press you up against the doorframe, and give you what you’ve been craving. 

But instead, he tore his gaze away. He stepped past you into the bathroom, his shoulder brushing yours. The brief contact had a soft gasp catching in your throat, your body already trembling at something so small.

“Thanks,” he muttered before reaching for the door and shutting it behind him. 

You were left standing in the hall, your pulse thudding loudly in your ears. You felt your skin warm where his shoulder brushed yours—you almost felt feverish. You should’ve gone back to the couch and pretend like nothing happened. 

But instead, you found yourself pacing in the living room, restless and unable to sit still. 

Bucky was in your house. He was actually in your damn house. 

And yet, the worst part was knowing that the second he came back out, he’d go right back to normal—back to his work, back to being dismissive, like none of this had ever happened.

But as the minutes dragged on, your heart couldn’t help but slam harder in your chest with each second he remained behind that closed door. Any normal person would assume that he was… taking a number two. Instead, a dangerous thought crept in—the idea that maybe he was in there because he felt it too. 

Because he couldn’t hold back any more than you could.

That he was in there touching himself. 

Because of you. 

By the time the bathroom door creaked open, your breath was shallow with anticipation and your palms clammy. 

Your head whipped to the hall just as Bucky stepped out, broad shoulders filling the doorway. His hair was damp, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the sweat, or from splashing water over his face.

“Uh—are you… are you okay?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

He dragged a hand over his stubbled jaw, his expression unreadable as his eyes took you in. 

“I’m fine,” he said, dismissive as ever—yet his voice was rougher, like gravel. 

At this point, you expected him to brush past you, head back outside and lose himself in the pipes. That’s what he always did, and that’s what you told yourself to expect. 

But he didn’t move. 

You interlocked your fingers as your hands rested in front of you, looking prim as if he was the owner of the house and you were the one serving him. 

“Um—do you, uh, want something to drink before you head back out?” you offered. “Or you could sit down for a bit, maybe relax for a second? It’s hotter today than yesterday, and—” 

“I want a tour,” he cut you off. 

“A house tour?” you blinked, flustered. “O-okay… let me just change—” 

“No need,” he interrupted calmly, his eyes flickering briefly down to your body before coming back to your face. “It’ll be quick anyway. Gotta fix those pipes.” 

Your cheeks warmed up. A house tour was the last thing you expected out of him, but you weren’t complaining. Maybe this was his version of a break. You straightened your shoulders and tried to play it cool. 

“Alright… well, we’ll start here,” you said, gesturing to the living room couch where you had been lounging earlier. You walked him past the coffee table, and with your back now turned to him, you couldn’t help but if his eyes were lingering on your body the same way it did at the bathroom 

“This couch,” you continued, forcing yourself to sound light and casual, “is where I usually read or watch movies. Very comfortable, and it gets plenty of sunlight.”

Bucky stood close behind you. “Vitamin D,” he said. “Very important.” He glances down at the couch. “Do you mind if I take a seat?” 

If it were any other man, you would’ve been revulsed at the thought—your pristine, expensive couch soaking up sweat from someone who had been working in the sun all day.

But Bucky wasn’t any other man.

“Please,” you reassured, motioning with a smile. “Be my guest.”

He let out a quiet huff as he settled down, the cushions sinking under his weight. His broad shoulders stretched across the backrest, making your large couch look small. One hand slid along the cushion, testing the give of the fabric.

“It’s comfortable,” he said flatly. 

You laughed a little too quickly, the nerves getting at you. “I get only the best. I… spend a lot of time here.” 

Bucky tilted his head slightly, and for a second, you thought that he’d get up and give one of his usual gruff responses. But instead, he patted the empty cushion beside him, inviting you as if the house wasn’t under your name.

“Have a seat.” 

Your breath got stuck in your throat. “Uh—okay,” it was unexpected, but you shrugged and settled down anyway, your bare thigh grazing against his. “Sure.” 

He leaned back into the couch, arms stretched lazily across the top, one long leg crossing over the other. For someone stepping into your living room for the first time, he sure sat there like he owned it.

You perched on the edge of the cushion, hands folded primly in your lap while he looked as though he belonged—like this was his space, not yours. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

You turned, eyes slightly wide at the sudden question. “Anything.” 

He looked around the room with an unreadable expression, taking in the expanse of the clean kitchen, the wide dining area, and the chandelier dangling on the high ceiling. 

“Your house is big,” he said. “Most houses I work for, there’s a family, or people coming and going. But here…” his eyes land back on you. “You’re always by yourself. Why is that?”

You felt yourself going stiff. The bikini you put on to draw him closer suddenly felt like a mistake—because right now, with the way his eyes pinned you, you wished you were wearing anything else.

“I don’t really…” you hesitated, fingers fidgeting in your lap. “I don’t really like having that many people over. It makes it dirty, and I like the solitude sometimes, you know?” 

His head tilted slightly. The silence that followed felt tense, until his mouth quirked up in a faint smirk. “So that’s why your house is so clean?” his voice was rougher, almost teasing. “Would be a shame if someone like me were to come in and dirty it up, wouldn’t it?”

“W-what?” you stuttered, but tried to hide it with a small laugh. 

Spurred on by your flustered reaction, his smirk grew wider as he leaned in closer, his voice coming to a growl. 

“What’s wrong? Thought you always wanted me to come inside your house.” 

The way he said it, voice deep and husky, made your stomach twist and your legs press together. He wasn’t just talking about the house, and you both knew it. 

Bucky’s eyes swept lazily around the room before settling back on you. 

“I want to see the rest of your place,” he said, “but your couch… it’s pretty damn comfortable.” 

You opened your mouth, unsure if you should argue or joke, but the words never made it out. He shuffled, leaning closer, his thick thigh pressing harder against yours. 

“Scoot closer,” he murmured.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous, but you did as he asked and slid closer until the heat of his body filled every inch of space beside you. 

That’s when his hand glided gently on your bare thigh. His fingers were rough. Warm. His thumb moves in slow circles against your skin, testing you. 

“Tell me more about the living room,” he coaxed, his tone deceptively casual.

He looked at you and spoke as though he wasn’t even touching you, as though his hand wasn’t resting heavy and warm on your thigh. His touch was deceptively gentle, but it was enough to make your whole body tremble. 

Enough to leave you aching for more.

“Um… well, I usually… uh—read here… watch movies and sometimes, you know… just nap,” you stammered.

It was insane, really— how confident you were when trying to coax him in. But your words faltered as his head leaned closer, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck. A soft kiss, then another, each one carving into your skin as his hand traveled higher.

“And the rug…” you blurted out, desperate for composure. “It’s one of my favorites—it’s a limited-edition Oushak. Handwoven, cream and pale blue… only ten of them in the world.”

A soft press of his lips, followed by the scrape of his teeth and the slow glide of his tongue over your neck, left your breath caught in your throat. His hand squeezed your thigh, creeping dangerously higher to the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms.

“Where is it from?” he muttered against your skin.

You knew he didn’t care for the answer, yet you gave it to him anyway. “An—ah—it’s, uh… it was imported, um—from… f-from Turkey? Or Persia—somewhere like that—I don’t, I can’t—”

Your words were barely making sense now, every syllable trembling off your tongue. Because it had been so long—so long since anyone touched you like this. And being touched by the man who you secretly sought after made your head spin like crazy. 

His hand slid up higher and wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you close against him. You let out a soft gasp, your body trembling as you pressed into his hard, warm, and muscular frame.

“Bucky…!” you breathed, your hands rising instinctively and brushing against his bicep. 

But before you could go any further, his hand shot out immediately and caught your wrist. His grip on your wrist was gentle, but the movement was rough as he guided your hands back down to your sides with ease.

“Keep your hands at your sides.” 

You sucked in a deep breath, both embarrassment and arousal tingling inside you. The audacity of him—to be so commanding here, in your own damn house. He worked for you. It should’ve been the other way around. And yet, you cursed yourself for nodding because you were just simply too flustered to resist.

He grinned faintly at your obedience.

“Go on,” he said, lips ghosting over your ear as his hand caressed your naked waist. “Tell me more about the house.” 

“Bucky,” you hesitated, blinking up at him. “What are you… what are you trying to do—” 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he grunted, his nose brushing against your jawline. He pulled away slightly to catch your gaze, his blue eyes dark and desperate, pinning you in place. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to come inside?”

“Well… yes, but—” 

“Then go on.” He pressed, leaning closer. “Let’s relax for a bit, yeah? Just lay back…” he looked around the living room slowly, “and tell me more about your beautiful home.” 

His hand slid down your waist and around your back, his touch firm but careful as he guided you back against the couch cushions. He moved with you, settling himself between your legs, his broad shoulders nudging your thighs apart.

“Bucky..” you whispered, your voice shaky even though you made no move to stop him. 

He lowered himself slowly, his stubble grazing against the sensitive inside of your thigh. One kiss, then another—each torturously gentle, each one leaving your body trembling even harder.

“Go on,” he encouraged as he pressed another kiss higher. “Tell me more about your living room.”

Your head fell back against the couch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you tried to string words together. 

“Um… the… the ceilings are high—so high, and the chandelier… it’s uh, imported crystal. Very… elegant.” 

Bucky’s lips curved up against your thigh, a soft, raspy chuckle vibrating against your skin. His mouth traveled higher until, finally it pressed firmly against the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms. The sudden heat of his lips over your most sensitive spot made you jolt, a sharp gasp escaping your throat as your body shook.

“B-Bucky…” you panted, your hips bucking up instinctively, desperate for more contact. “Please…”

You felt the teasing curl of his smile against you. The thin fabric was already damp with your arousal, and the realization that he could feel it—that he could smell it—sent a hot flush of shame and need up your neck.

“Mmm,” he hummed against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. 

“You’re soaked, baby. And you smell so fucking sweet,” his tongue flicking over your clothed folds. “What was that you said about your… chandelier? Imported crystal?”

Then, his tongue flicked out, dragging over your wet folds through the fabric, the damp barrier doing nothing to dull the sensation. The light, tormenting trace of him had your hips rutting up shamelessly, chasing more friction, more of him.

“Oh, God—Bucky. I need you—” 

Your thighs quivered around his head as his tongue traced you again, the sticky fabric preventing you from feeling the real thing. He was playing with you, tormenting you, making you unravel with just the smallest movements of his mouth.

“Need me? What could you need from me that you don’t already have, baby?” he taunted, his hand rubbing up and down your thigh. “You’ve already got a fancy rug, a chandelier… so don’t be greedy now, sweetheart.”

Your hands fisted the cushions harder, nails biting into the fabric as your legs quivered around him. “I can’t—I need more, please, I need—”

Before you could finish, he shoved your bottoms to the side, exposing your slick heat to the cool air. A guttural groan escaped him at the sight, his eyes darkening as if he had been starving for this. He didn’t hesitate—didn’t want to waste another second as his mouth dropped back down, tongue flattening against your folds in one long, hungry lick.

“Oh my god!” you cried, your back arching as your hands flew to cover your face, too overwhelmed to do anything else. “Bucky—”

“Mm..” He hummed against you, savoring your taste before dragging his tongue even slower, teasing your sensitive clit. “Tell me more about the house, baby. The floors… they’re waxed, aren’t they?”

God. Here you were—sprawled out and nearly naked on your couch with your pool cleaner’s head in between your legs. This very moment felt like straight out of a dream, but here he was, asking about your wax floors.

“Y-yeah…” you panted. “The… the floors, they’re… w-waxed every—oh, fuck—every week.”

“Every week, huh?” he muttered into you, lips curling before he dove back in, sucking hard on your swollen clit until you cried out. “That why they shine so pretty?”

You have a very good feeling he isn’t just talking about the floors anymore. You could barely answer, choking on your moans, thighs shaking violently around his head. Your grip on the couch cushions grew desperate, clawing at the fabric for any ounce of stability.

Then came his fingers. Two, thick and rough, sliding through your soaked folds, teasing, spreading you open.

“F-fuck…” you gasped, hips twitching uncontrollably. 

Without warning, he shoved them inside deep, curling instantly against your softest spot. Your cry was sharp, needy, your back arching off the couch.

“B-Bucky!”

He didn’t let you adjust—his tongue fucking your clit in rhythm with the hard thrusts of his fingers, pumping into you wet and fast, filling the room with the sounds of your pussy squelching against his hand along with his deep grunts and groans. 

“That’s it, baby,” he grunted. “Cry for me. Fuck—you sound so fuckin’ pretty…”

The sound of his mouth, your wet pussy squelching from his fingers filled the air. Your body was unraveling, every nerve tightening as your stomach knotted hard, the edge of release coming into you with brutal speed. “I—fuck… feels so good. I’m so close, I’m—”

But just as you were about to come undone, he stopped. 

His mouth pulled away. His fingers slipped out with a wet pop as he left you trembling, wet, and aching for more.

A broken whimper left your lips as he casually tugged your bikini bottom back into place, covering the mess he’d just made of you.

“Bucky—why—” your voice cracked as you tried sitting up. 

He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it was nothing.

“You’ll get more when I’m ready.” He leaned back, calm as ever, while you trembled beneath him. “Now… are you going to show me the rest of this pretty house?”

You whimpered, legs still trembling. “Bucky… please…”

He pushed himself up slowly, adjusting himself in his work pants, the heavy outline of his cock impossible to miss. His eyes dragged over you—every curve, every shake of your body as you arched unconsciously toward him. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip at the delicious sight. Watching you come apart for him was already driving him mad.

When he took a step back from the couch, you moved without thinking.

“Wait…” you scrambled, crawling to the edge of the cushions. Your hands trailed along the thick muscle of his thigh until they found the waistband of his pants. You tugged gently, voice desperate and a quiet whisper. “I… I want to taste too—”

His eyes darkened instantly, locking on yours, and before you could pull him closer, his large hand wrapped around yours. The grip was firm, authoritative, and deliciously commanding.

“No,” he growled. “Tour first.” 

Your brows furrowed, lips parting in disbelief. 

You were frustrated, aroused, and utterly confused. Why was he torturing you like this? Didn’t he know that you needed him so bad? You were so close, and you can still feel your pussy fluttering against the thin fabric of your bikini—aching for him. A frustrated whine left your mouth as your nails dug into his hand, trying to tug him closer anyway.

But Bucky only shook his head, smirking faintly at your desperation. He leaned down until his lips brushed against your ear, his breath making your skin prickle.

“You wanted me inside,” he said quietly.  “Now show me your house.” 

None of this made sense. You couldn’t understand why he was dragging this out, why he wouldn’t just give you what you were begging for. But God, you couldn’t stop yourself from listening. You were already addicted to him enough—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hand… it could undo you completely. 

So you swallowed hard, nodded, and stood up. Your legs were weak, trembling with every step as you moved ahead of him, leading him towards the staircase. 

“That’s it,” Bucky purred behind you, deep and mocking. “Good girl. Lead the way.” 

Your fingers held onto the banister as you climbed, your thighs brushing with each step, the subtle friction of simply walking making you go mad. The fabric of your bikini felt suffocating and sticky, and you knew he could see it in the way your hips swayed as you walked. 

“You’re shaking,” he taunted softly. “Legs that weak already? And I’ve barely touched you.” 

“Bucky…” you whispered, not sure if you were pleading or warning. 

“Keep going,” his hand brushed against your lower back, steadying you like he owned your body. “Show me more of this big, empty house that you’re so proud of.” 

When you reached the landing, you paused, swallowing hard and desperate to catch your breath. But Bucky was already closing the gap, his chest brushing against your bare shoulder blades. 

“This is… the hallway,” you said quickly, gesturing down the long stretch of polished wood and soft lighting. “I, um… had these sconces imported from Italy. They’re—” 

“Imported,” Bucky cut you off, his tone slightly mocking and amused. “Everything in this house’s imported, huh?” 

Your cheeks burned, and you tried to keep walking, pointing towards a piece of art hanging on the wall. “That’s an original oil painting, early 19th cent—” 

His chest pressed harder against your back, trapping you between him and the wall. Warm breath brushed over the shell of your ear, and then his mouth was on your neck again—soft kisses, then rougher as his hands slid around your waist. 

“B-bucky…” you sighed, “please, can we just—” 

“Keep going,” he murmured. “Don’t stop.” 

His hands gripped your waist tight as he rolled his hips forward, his hard length grinding against your ass through the barrier of his work pants. The friction was maddening as he rutted up against you, hard and slow. 

“Th-that… that painting… it’s, um, early 19th century—ah!” 

Your words broke apart the minute his lips found that sweet spot just under your ear, sucking until you whimpered. 

“You already said that, baby,” he growled. One hand slipped up, cupping your breast through the tiny triangle of your bikini top, thumb flicking over the hardened bud. “C’mon, give me something new.” 

His other hand pressed lower, flattening against your tummy as he rutted against you harder, each thrust of his hips pushing you forward a step. 

“F-fuck…” he hissed through gritted teeth, his breath ragged in your ear. 

His rutting grew rougher, his cock thick and heavy against the curve of your ass through his pants. Your palms splayed flat against the wall, the sconces rattling faintly from the impact. 

You were a shaking, whimpering mess under him. “The—th-the flooring,” you babbled, “mahogany… oh god, imported from Brazil…!” Your words were caught off by a sharp moan as his hands slipped under the bikini, squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple. 

“Imported,” he repeated mockingly, panting as he ground against you. “Fuck, baby, you feel that? You’re makin’ me so fucking hard.” 

“Bucky—please, please,” you whined, shamelessly pushing your hips back into him, grinding against the thick outline of his cock. The friction sent sparks up your spine, your thighs quivering and clit throbbing. 

“Shit,” he cursed, forehead pressing into your shoulder as his hips rutted against you harder, sloppier. His hands roamed and fondled you roughly as he fucked against you through his pants. “Gonna make a mess in my work clothes if you keep wiggling that ass against me.”

You gasped, head tipping back helplessly against his chest. “Then do it—fuck, please—”

“Goddamn, you’re fucking desperate,” his hand circled up around your neck, not choking, but squeezing gently as he held you in place and rutted faster. “Keep talkin’ about the house, pretty girl. Go on. Tell me about your perfect little hallway while I ruin you right here.” 

You nearly collapsed and his hand finally slid under the thin band of your bikini bottoms, his fingers brushing through your slick heat. 

“B-Bucky!” you gasped, hips jerking when the pad of his finger circled your clit. The contrast—his hand working you, his hips grinding rough and needy into your ass, it had your body unraveling in seconds. 

“That’s it,” he rasped against your ear. “Fuckin’ soaked for me. So good, baby.” 

You whimpered and clawed at the wall, your body caught between his rutting cock and those ruthless circles around your clit. “Please—I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” he panted, hips stuttering as his cock pulsed and leaked hard against you, the friction almost unbearable for him too. “Gonna come for me right here in your pretty hallway? Fuck—me too, baby, me too—”

But just as your body tensed, pleasure right there at the edge, he tore his hand away. His hips stilled, chest heaving against your back as his grip on your waist tightened before letting you go. 

The sudden loss felt like ice water in your veins. 

“N-no, no,” you begged, looking over your shoulder with pleading eyes. “Please, not again. Why—” 

He chuckled as he pressed a mocking kiss to your cheek. “Not yet,” his hand caressed down your thigh while the other tugged your swimsuit back into place. “Tour’s not finished.” 

Your body was trembling beneath him. You’re about to turn around, grip onto his shirt and start begging, but his rough voice cut through. 

“Show me your bedroom.” 

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning, every nerve frustrated from being denied. “Bucky…” you whispered in plea, but you didn’t dare to finish your sentence with the dark look he was giving you. 

His fingers came up and brushed your cheek in a teasing stroke, making you jolt. “You gonna keep me waiting? Or do I need to find it myself?”

Your knees nearly buckled, the thought of him striding into your private space—into the most intimate part of your house made your heart beat even faster in your chest. With a shaky breath, you straightened up while still clinging to the wall for support, and nodded.

“This way,” you said, legs trembling as you took small steps down the hallway. 

Behind you, you could hear him exhale a soft laugh, amused at how weak and needy you were from so little. 

Your hand trembled as you turned the knob, pushing the door open to your bedroom. The soft scent of your perfume was floating in the air, laced with fresh linen and the faint sweetness of flowers from the vase on your nightstand.

“This is it,” you said softly, stepping aside so he could see. 

The room looked pristine. Large windows—where you could get the full view of him, of course—with sheer curtains to let in the afternoon light. A perfectly made bed with ivory sheets, not a thing out of place. 

It was your sanctuary. Your most private place.

And now he was in it. 

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in every inch of the room before landing on you again. 

“Figures,” he said. “Perfect. Clean. Polished. Just like the rest of the house.” 

You fidgeted, your palms brushing nervously over your thighs. “I… I like to keep things neat. It helps me feel—”

“Safe?” he interrupted, his voice almost a growl. He pushed off the frame and stepped closer to you. “Then why’d you invite me in, sweetheart? I’m the messiest thing that could ever happen to this house.” 

Your breath caught, your heart hammering in your chest. “I didn’t let you in,” you whispered. “You… invited yourself in, actually.”

His jaw ticked, a dangerous flash of amusement glinting in his eyes. “Lay down,” he ordered suddenly, his voice rough and demanding. “On the bed. Now.”

Your gaze darted from his still-sweaty and still-dirty work clothes to your untouched, pristine sheets. The contrast made your stomach twist. 

“Uh… I don’t know—”

“Are you kidding me?” he scoffed, crossing his large arms over his broad chest, muscles flexing. “You’ve been eye-fucking me since the day I started working for you, and now that I’m standing here, you’re telling me you don’t want me in your bed?”

“Well,” your eyes flicked from his sweat-stained shirt to your spotless sheets. “I don’t mean to offend, but… you’re dirty—” 

Before you could even finish, his mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was rough, greedy, stealing the rest of the words right off your tongue. His rough stubble scraped against your skin, his lips bruising yours. 

“I was rubbing all over you in your hallway—” another hard kiss, “had my tongue and fingers buried in your pussy—” his hand grabbed your hip, dragging you closer against him as he kissed you harder, “and now you’re worried about cleanliness?” 

Bucky’s mouth left yours, lips stealing kisses down your jaw and down your throat. You were panting, clutching desperately at his shirt. 

“You think I care about these clean sheets?” he muttered against your skin. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me—every damn day, like you want me to ruin every inch of this perfect house?” 

Your heart was beating so hard it hurt. “Bucky…” 

He leaned back, eyes boring into yours with a hunger you couldn’t quite explain. His thumb brushed over your trembling bottom lip. 

“Fine,” he grunted. “If you’re that worried about the bed, I’ll just have to fuck you on your pretty waxed floors like a slut, then.” 

Before you could respond, his hands wrapped around tight around your waist, lifting you up and gently setting you down on the floor. The cool hardwood hit your bare back, your hair spilling across the glossy wax as he hovered over you. The contrast made your skin prickle—your perfect, polished sanctuary versus the filthy way he was pinning you down in it.

“You like that, don’t you?” he rasped, spreading your thighs wide with one big hand while his other gripped your jaw to keep your eyes on him. “The thought of me ruining all your hard work—dirty boots, sweaty body, cum dripping down your nice clean floors.”

A broken moan tore from you, your back arching under him as your thighs trembled. “Bucky—please…”

“Please what?” he taunted as he ground his hard cock through his work pants against your barely covered pussy. “Please fuck you like the needy little slut you are? Right here, on the floor you polish every damn week?”

He pulled away slightly to pull his shirt over his head. Then his fingers made quick work of his belt, tugging his work pants down until his cock sprang free. Thick, heavy, the flushed head already slick with precum.

A hiss escaped his lips as his fist wrapped around the hot shaft, working himself with a few steady pumps as his hands tugged at your bikini, while his other hand yanked your bikini bottoms down your thighs in a single rough motion. 

You gasped, trembling, your pussy slick and finally bared for him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, running the tip along your warm folds. He tapped against your clit once, making your hips jerk. “Look at you… already dripping.” 

He smirked, leaning over you. “You’ve been trying to get me in this house for so long. Always flirting, always begging. This is what you really wanted, isn’t it?” he nudged himself against your entrance, just enough to make you cry out. “Don’t be shy now, baby. Say it.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, your voice turning into high, breathless moans. “Yes—yes, I wanted this, I wanted you—please, Bucky—”

“That’s a good girl,” he cooed as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming as he pushed in slowly. Your mouth dropped open with a whimper, fingers digging into his broad shoulders. 

“God—you’re so tight,” he grunted, jaw clenching as he eased just an inch deeper. “Relax, baby. I’ll be gentle… just—let me in, fuck…” 

But gentle wasn’t easy with you clenching and fluttering around him like that. You whimpered louder, your back arching off the floor as the thickness of him split you open. “Bucky—too big—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, his lips brushing your ear. “Just breathe… let me in, baby.”

He tried to push in deeper, inch by careful inch… but every time he pushed forward, the tightness of your body made his breath hitch. The control he promised you was slipping with every squeeze of your body. 

“Too damn tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours as his eyes flutter shut—trying to keep it together, because damn, did he want this just as badly as you did. 

“Could’ve had it on the bed… make it nice and comfortable for you,” another inch, another cry from you. “But no, you didn’t want to dirty it up. So now you’re taking it here, on the floor, like a dirty slut.”

He pushed deeper, almost halfway in before pausing at the tight sensation. He tipped his head back, lips falling to let out a frustrated groan. 

“Fuck—but I’m too big, aren’t I?” he slowly pulled back, then back in, fucking you with what’s already inside your clenching pussy. 

Your walls fluttered around him, your body trembling as it slowly began to adjust to his large size. The initial sting turned into a deep, burning and delicious stretch, each shallow thrust easing him in further. 

“Th-that’s it,” he coaxed sweetly, voice breaking as his hips rolled carefully, testing your limits. “Good girl—taking me so fuckin’ sweet…”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, hips shifting beneath him to meet his slow movements. The pain was melting into pleasure, and every tiny adjustment of your hips let him sink a little deeper. 

You were opening up for him, and he could feel it. 

His jaw clenched, hovering over you with one hand against the floor to balance himself, and the other gripped in your hip. 

“Spread your legs a little higher, baby,” he rasped, voice restrained. 

Before you could move yourself, he caught the back of your thighs and pressed them up, folding you into a desperate and messy version of a mating press. The angle had you gasping, crying out at the sudden, deeper stretch.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “Look at you—pretty little thing… takin’ me like this.”

But just as he adjusted his knees on the polished food, his boot slipped against the waxed and smooth surface. 

He lost his grip for just a second, and the slip forced his hips forward in one hard, uncontrolled thrust. 

Slamming all the way in. 

“Oh my god!”

A helpless cry ripped out of you as your back arched off the floor—hot pleasure and pain shot through your body. Tears blurred at your eyes at the overwhelming stretch, the sudden fullness of him stealing breath from your lungs. 

Bucky’s moan was just as wrecked, his forehead leaning against yours as his body shook. 

“Shit—fuck—baby… I didn’t mean to—oh, goddamn…” he tried to pull back, but your cunt fluttered too tight around him, clamping down so hard he groaned again, shuddering from the sensation.

You clung to him for support. “S-so full—oh my god, Bucky, don’t—don’t move—”

“Fuck… I–I can’t… s’too late, baby. Feels too good now.”

His words were a growl, ripped straight from his chest as he drew his hips back and slammed forward again, burying himself to the hilt. The waxed floors squeaked beneath you with every rough thrust, the sound swallowed by your moans and his ragged grunts. 

“My god… look at you,” he rasped. “All that whining about me being dirty, but here you are—getting ruined on the fucking floor.”

You couldn’t answer or even form a single word—the only thing leaving your lips were strangled moans and broken gasps. The stretch, the fullness of him—it was overwhelming. 

And addictive.

“Bucky—” you sobbed, head falling back against the polished floors as tears spilled. “I—oh my god—”

“Shh,” he hushed, voice mixed with gentleness and possession. “Take it. Take all of me. You wanted me in your house, baby? Then fucking have me.”

His thrusts grew harder and deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur. Every slam of his hips resulted in another cry from your throat as your body shook beneath him. 

You were gone. 

Utterly undone. 

You were reduced to a babbling, slutty mess. 

Bucky’s thrusts were relentless as he fucked you deep. His hand clamped down on your jaw, forcing you to look at him. 

“Bet you regret not going on the bed now, huh?” he gritted between shaky groans. “Could’ve had me stretch you out all soft on those pretty sheets… but no—you had to take me right here. On the floor like a dirty little slut.”

Your walls clenched hard around him, and his eyes darkened. His cock twitched deep inside you.

“What do you say, baby?” his voice was rough and possessive as his pace quickened, impatient for an answer. “Want me to breed you while you lay there nice and pretty on your comfy bed?”

You tried to answer, but only broken whimpers and pathetic gasps left from your lips. The words wouldn’t come out, but your body gave you away—your thighs trembling, pussy fluttering desperately around him, already begging without words.

“Uh-uh,” he pinned you down harder, his nose brushing yours as he stared into your eyes. “Don’t just lay there. Tell me.”

But your brain was fried. Completely scrambled by the way he was splitting you open—so you gave the only answer you could. 

You nodded, frantic and whiny, tears brimming as your lips formed a silent plea. 

Bucky groaned in approval, his control snapping. “That’s my good girl.”

He pulled out, and the sudden emptiness left you whining. His hands gripped your waist firmly, lifting you effortlessly off the floor. A startled yelp escaped your lips as your legs curled around him for support, clinging to his broad body.

He set you down gently on the bed, but his hands didn’t stop exploring—grabbing, gripping, teasing every curve. 

He stepped back to the edge of the mattress, and before you could even say anything, he yanked your bikini top off in one rough motion. The straps snapped, falling away to leave your chest bare, nipples already hard and flushed from the heat between you two.

A low growl rumbled from his chest at the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Fuck,” he groaned, already tugging down the rest of his clothes until he stood completely bare. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Bucky got on the bed and pressed himself against you, the heat of his heavy cock meeting your dripping folds yet again. You let out a soft gasp as he filled you again slowly this time. 

“Think you can take me again, baby?” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tight, tilting your body up to meet every stroke. Each movement was hard, fast, and unrelenting, making you gasp and whimper with every hit.

“F-fuck… yes, Bucky!” 

Bucky’s eyes rolled back, jaw tight, as he leaned over you, pressing his forehead to yours. He shifted your legs back into the mating press, hands gripping your hips to tilt you up just right. 

“Gonna go even deeper this time, baby,” he panted. “Need you to feel every inch of me.” 

“Oh my god, Bucky—fuck… you feel too good,” you moaned, looking up at him with soft and pleading eyes as he fucked into you. 

“Look at you, all fancy and perfect… and I’m the filthy pool boy inside you,” he growled, voice rough and raspy. “Taking my rich girl… making you mine.”

Your hips jerked instinctively at the words, thighs trembling around him. “P-please…” you whimpered, fingers tight on his shoulders. 

He smirked darkly, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Shut it, baby… you don’t get to talk right now. You just get to feel me—filling you up, making that tight little cunt all mine.”

His hand dug into your hip, pulling you closer as he slammed in deeper. 

“Bet you never thought someone like me would get you this wet… taking your perfect little pussy and using it, huh? Fuck, you love it… don’t you?”

Your back arched, hips rolling with his thrusts, and the heat building tight in your stomach, building fast. With a loud and deep groan, he drove into you harder, faster, every stroke pushing you closer.

“Fuck—cum for me, baby,” he growled. “I can feel you squeezing me so tight… fuck, I’m right there too—”

“Bucky—” you gasped, nails dragging down his bare back as your legs trembled violently around his waist. “I’m gonna cum—please, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

That was all it took for him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart!” 

He slammed into you one last time—hard. Hot streams of his release spilled deep inside you, filling you up while your own orgasm shook you, your body convulsing around him. The wet, messy sound of your cunt milking every drop only drove him further, leaving the both of you trembling, coming undone together in a haze of sweat. 

The two of you collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled and sweat-slicked, your chests rising and falling as you caught your breath. 

“Good girl,” Bucky’s arm draped possessively across your waist, his hand tracing lazy circles along your hip. “That was so good, sweetheart. You took all of it, baby.” 

You rested your head against his naked chest, the warmth of him calming you down. All the while, he’s pressing soft kisses to your sweaty forehead, fingers treading your hair in a gentle and soothing manner. 

“Have you… really noticed the way I’ve been trying to catch your attention?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his chest.

Bucky let out a quiet and amused huff, his big palm gliding lazily up and down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he said casually. “It was pretty damn obvious.”

There was a brief pause for a moment, just the sounds of your breathing filling the air. 

Then, a teasing little smirk curved your lips. 

“Well, did you think I didn’t notice you too?” 

He raised a brow and tilted his head down to look at you, confused. “What do you mean, baby?” 

But you didn’t look up at him. 

“When you… stood outside my window. Watching me…” you dragged your nails down his ribs, feeling him tense beneath you. “…jerking off… while I touched myself, thinking about you?”

Bucky froze beneath you, his lips parting but no sound coming out at first. His blue eyes widened and his face flushed in embarrassment. 

“You—fuck, you saw that?” his voice broke, suddenly not so cocky anymore.

“Mhm,” you hummed, grinning as your hand slid down his stomach. His abs twitched under your touch, and before he could even process it, your fingers wrapped around his still-hard sensitive cock.

He gasped, body jolting at the contact. “Shit—baby, wait—”

But you didn’t wait. You stroked him slow and steady, relishing the way his entire body trembled under yours. He was the one in control, taunting and commanding… but now? 

He was a mess, chest heaving, fists clutching the sheets as he tried and failed to keep his composure as you worked him with your hand. 

“You looked so desperate out there,” you teased, leaning down to press your lips against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Stroking your cock while you watched me play with myself. Did it make you crazy? Knowing you couldn’t touch me?”

“Fuck,” his hips jerked up and his legs trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut, head shaking. “Baby—please… I’m too sensitive—oh!” 

His head fell back against the pillows, a strangled moan coming from his throat as your wrist twisted just right, drawing another bead of precum from him. 

He was so sensitive, every stroke making his thighs twitch and his hips buck up helplessly into your hand. “Please, please…” he moaned, “please… my god, it’s too much. Fuck…” 

“Not so smug now, huh?” you purred, giving him a firmer squeeze that made him hiss through clenched teeth. “My poor, dirty pool boy. You’re just as needy for me as I am for you.”

Before he could respond, you straddled him slowly, the head of his cock nudging against your puffy and wet folds as you settled onto his hips. His whole body went taut, a groan ripping from his chest as his hands instinctively gripped your thighs, trying to stop you. 

“Fuck…” he whimpered, eyes glued to where you were teasing him, your wetness smearing over his flushed tip. “Baby, I can’t—shit, I’m still—”

A soft and not-so-innocent giggle left your lips. You leaned down, lips brushing his jaw as your hips rolled just enough to make him twitch beneath you. He sucked in a sharp breath, his cock throbbing helplessly against your drenched heat.

“House tour’s not done, Bucky,” you whispered, your smirk brushing against the corner of his mouth. “We’ve still got a third floor.”

❝ my house was especially built for you! ❞ thank you for reading <3  

🏷️ — @earthsmightiestbenders @barnesonly @bckyslover @iamthatonefangirl @54nboo @sheriff-bodecker @buckyfmd @umbreoni @heldbybarnes @winterdecember18 @blowingbarnes @adalvsseb @barnesgirlx @tw1sters @maplesyrizzup @ronaldbreath @quantumwindstranger @wint3rbarnes @flockoff-featherface @stanmarvelous @barnesflowers @tellybearryyyy @miraclediviner @wickedfun9 @vicky066 @nanikio @wildflowersandvibranium @yvieliny @sergeantsebastian @xxeatualivexx @metal-armed-muse @vickynguyennn @nevereclipse @honeylana

[cornmousequeen]

FERAL FOR THIS I AM ABSOLUTELY WRECKED AND OBSESSIVE 🥵🥵🥵 new fav fic

[superbassbuck]

p*rnstar — [camstar!bucky x virgin!reader]

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, porn, masturbation, fleshlight, sex toys mentioned, p in v sex, innocence kink, sex recording, coercion, blowjobs, dirty talk, degrading, praising fingering, virginity loss, stalking, size difference kink, very cringe usernames. word count: 9.7k he's a busy man! masterlist a/n: first post for bwa's buckyverse collab! so happy to have created this lil group of bucky writers to come together and make a series of bucky fics for you guys. credit to @barnesonly for reader's and bucky's username. if you find them cringe, blame her. /j

synopsis: You’ve never had sex before, still untouched and completely inexperienced. But when you stumble across Bucky’s porn channel—you quickly become his number one fan. You’re always in his comments, always in his chats, and never expecting it to go anywhere beyond the screen. Luckily for Bucky, your social media is linked to your account, making it easy for him to find you.

You were completely mesmerized by the video playing on the screen. The image of a large and strong muscular figure rutted his hips up into the silicone, slick with his precum and lube—the poor toy looking like it was on the verge of tearing apart in his large hands. 

After stumbling across the account Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917, you were immediately hooked. 

He never showed his face, but you didn’t need to know what he looked like to be entranced. His grunts and moans were engraved in your mind like a song you knew by heart. You were enthralled by the sight of his broad, sweat-slicked back, every movement etched into your memory. The sheer length and size of him held you captive, hypnotized. You had memorized the rhythm of his patterns right before he came, you knew it like the back of your hand. 

His moans would rise slightly higher in pitch. His breathing would get heavier. He’d curse and grunt out, “fuck, fuck.” or “shit, fuck.” 

And then it happens. 

With one final thrust, he filled his toys to the brim with his cum, always thick and a creamy pearlescent white. 

You had one hand tucked in your panties, rubbing at your clit as you came just in time with him. You tossed your head back against the pillow, panting and sweating from the aftermath of your self-lovemaking. 

You withdrew your hand, catching your breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm faded. Moving lazily, you wiped your fingers clean before reaching for your phone. Just as always, you began typing out a comment—first in line the moment his new video drops. 

Pleasure_Ring: Great video as always! It made me feel really really good! I can’t wait to see the next!! 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Thanks, baby. I’m glad you enjoyed it. That one was for you.

A minute passed by and another notification popped up on the bottom right of your screen, but this time, it was a direct message.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I just read your comment. You’re always so supportive. I wish you were here. I’d be fucking you instead of this flimsy toy. 

Your face flushed after reading his message. He was always so quick to respond, and although he was pretty responsive to other commenters too, you couldn’t help but feel like his replies to you were always a bit more personal than the rest. 

Pleasure_Ring: I really wish I was there too! But I admit, I’m a little scared just thinking about it haha. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typing… 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Scared? How come? 

Pleasure_Ring: I’m a virgin. I’ve never had sex before. 

Most people would find it pathetic to be flirting through a porn site. Even more would say it’s worse to be tangled in a para-social attachment to one of the biggest stars online.

And sure, maybe they're right. You were hooked on the mysterious man with the ridiculous username. But this was your ritual, your private indulgence, the part of yourself you never let anyone else see. Besides, you knew it would never be more than flirtatious comments flashing across a screen. 

Men like him always had plenty of women waiting in their inbox.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: A virgin, huh? That’s cute. What’s a sweet little thing like you doing watching videos like mine?

Pleasure_Ring: Because yours are the only ones that actually satisfy me. Any woman would be lucky to spend even one night with you.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Oh, sweetheart… I don’t think you could handle a night with me.

Your heart thumps faster in your chest at his response. As much as you wished you could stay up and keep chatting, reality always kicked in. You had responsibilities, so conversations with him were usually cut off after midnight. 

Pleasure_Ring: I don’t think I could either… but I’d still like to try for you.

Pleasure_Ring: It’s getting late, and I’ve got a shift in a few hours. Have a great night, Bucky. And thank you for another wonderful video. <3

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: So soon, doll? I was just starting to enjoy our little chat.

You stared at the screen, tempted to type something back to keep the conversation going. Glancing at the clock, you let out a reluctant sigh. 

You logged off before you could second-guess yourself, because you knew that if you responded, you’d be up for hours. 

And when Bucky refreshed the page, impatiently waiting for a response, your username was already gray and your status was offline. 

Bucky laid back in his chair, finishing the last line of the description before hitting upload. He has never been great with captions—or usernames, for that matter… but lately, his descriptions weren’t just filler text to satisfy his fans. They were subtle messages, written only for you.

Need my pleasure ring to come help me out instead. Getting tired of using my hands and toys. Enjoy.

Once everything looked right, he clicked post. Same ritual, same time. Every three days.

The moment his upload went live, he sat up straight in his chair. The glow of the monitor lit his dark room, his eyes glued to the screen. Eleven minutes—that’s how long the video ran. By his calculations, you should already be online and commenting in twelve. 

Two minutes in, he refreshed. Another two more minutes, he refreshed again. Over and over, because he knew. He knew you’d be the first one there in his comment section without fail. 

You always were.

At this point, it’s been well past eleven minutes with zero notifications. In Bucky’s eyes, this was more than enough time for you to receive the notification, watch the video, and send a comment or a message like you usually do. 

So why the hell weren’t you doing it? 

He dedicated this video to you, goddammit. Actually—he dedicated all of his videos to you. But this one especially was planned, recorded, performed with you in mind. And yet, your account still showed offline.

He pumped himself for the first half of the video—his face nuzzled into the softness of his pillow. His groans and grunts were muffled as he fisted himself, his leaking tip grazing against the smooth fabric of his bed sheet, leaving a wet stain every time he grounded and bucked his hips. 

Then about halfway through, he reached for the clear silicone toy. He positioned the camera against the headboard, sitting up straight as he started fucking himself with the toy—the clear silicone squelching and spreading wider as he rutted into it like an animal. 

“Fuck, yes baby,” he groaned in the video. “S’fucking good, taking all this cock in your tight little virgin pussy.” He said. 

And God was that line especially meant for you. 

It was a damn good video—he was so fucking proud of himself. Which only made it harder for Bucky to understand why your account still showed offline.

With an annoyed sigh, he propped his elbow on the desk, chin resting in his palm, and refreshed one more time for good measure. When nothing changed, he clicked on your profile and began to lurk.

For all the attention you gave him, your account was practically a ghost. No videos. No profile picture. No caption. No name. You were only following one account—his. And you had one follower, too… also him.

Bucky never followed anyone else. 

He scrolled down a bit, and his eyes widened at what he saw on the screen. 

Your account was linked to your social media profiles—your Instagram and TikTok.

In order to create an account, you had to attach a phone number or email address. During sign-up, there was also the option to link your social media—tied to that same phone number or email—a small popup buried among the usual flood of terms, agreements, and permission requests that appeared in sequence.

So either you let it slip past you, your finger tapping carelessly just to get it out of the way.

Or… you wanted him to find you.

The cursor hovered over the link. Bucky sucked in a breath, clicking on your Instagram. When the screen finally loaded, his eyes immediately widened and his heart skipped a beat. Your profile was public. Your name was right at the top, and there you were in your profile picture—smiling, front and center.

Aside from his secret porn account, Bucky didn’t do social media. He couldn’t be bothered figuring out how it works, but he knew enough to recognize that Instagram was all about pictures and videos. And that was exactly what he needed.

Finally, he could see you.

His number one fan. His pleasure ring. 

He scrolled down, coming across a mix of photos. Selfies, your eyes bright and innocent with a sheepish smile. Food. Didn’t care. Landmarks. Didn't care. Pictures of family and friends—he only looked for you. 

There were beach shots, carefree and playful, your body posted in a skimpy bikini glowing in the sunlight. 

His breath caught in his throat. His pants grew tighter. He shifted in his seat, trying to adjust the growing pressure between his legs. He leaned closer as he looked through every picture, careful not to accidentally leave a like in his wake. 

“Damn, baby,” he muttered, staring at your pictures, unable to tear his eyes away. 

He scrolled down, saving every single image that displayed your face and your body—each one feeling like a treasure.

All the pictures of you were seemingly innocent. Even in your bikini shots, you weren’t trying to show off. You didn’t jut your hips out or pose provocatively. Your pictures weren’t screaming for attention. 

It was cute. 

But it just made him want more. Need more. He would’ve loved to see you bend over just a little bit. Maybe even press your arms together to accentuate your cleavage.

God. He would’ve loved to see that. 

His dick throbbed in his pants as he scrolled further down your Instagram. More selfies of you just meant more photos in his special folder. With one hand rubbing himself steadily and the other on the mouse, he hovered over your TikTok link next. 

Once your page loaded, he felt his heart drop in his stomach. 

There were only two videos, both of them being with your friends. It was some stupid trend you were doing—Bucky never understood the whole appeal of trends—but you were dancing to them, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest as he watched, captivated. 

Your dancing was… pretty bad to say the least. Actually, it was awful. 

But Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away because he got a full view of your body. Every movement of your body, even the clumsy dance steps, had him entranced. The rhythm was completely off, but it didn’t matter. It was the way you moved, the curve of your body in each frame. 

His cock was completely hard, poking and straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. He was palming himself for so long, his warm hand rubbing up and down against his throbbing clothed shaft—he didn’t even realize the precum leaking through his pants until his fingers grazed against it. 

“Shit,” he grunted. 

There was something about watching you—his once mysterious, loyal viewer and commenter—right here, in his monitor. Dancing. Your body on display, completely unaware, yet captivating in every move.

He grabbed the hem of his sweatpants and brought it down to his thighs, freeing his cock from the suffocating fabric. His hand encircled around his shaft, his grip tightening just slightly as he began pumping himself. He dragged his thumb over the wetness of his tip, smearing it over the head. 

Bucky let out a low groan, his breathing growing heavy as he fucked his hand to the sight of you. With the other hand, he kept switching through your photos, moving faster as his cock throbbed helplessly in his grip. 

He grunted and groaned, staring at his monitor with half-lidded eyes as he stroked himself. He stopped at another picture of you, a top down selfie with a low cut blouse. Your eyes—wide and innocent, batting up at the camera, the curve of your breast straining against the shirt. 

A low moan rumbled from his chest at the sight. His hands moved faster and eagerly against his cock, precum leaking down from the tip to his shaft as he pumped and worked his throbbing dick. 

“Fuck, baby. I want to cum all over that pretty face,” he breathed. “Gonna paint your face and tits with my seed—shit.” 

Everything was overwhelming his senses right now. Your pure and clueless eyes, the way your lips—soft and plump—curved up into a smile. 

Everything about you screamed ‘innocent.’ 

And the best part of it all, was that you were a fucking virgin. A helpless, clueless, little virgin. Perfectly ripe for the picking.

His cock throbbed hot and heavy in his hand, each pulse bringing him closer. He could hardly believe it—your social media, left wide open, public and linked straight to your account. Like an invitation. 

Like you wanted him to see.

His fist worked faster, the slick sounds of his own hand echoing in the dark room. He was right there, teetering at the edge, when another one of your videos caught his eye. A casual clip, nothing special—just you laughing with your friends, the camera panning across a storefront in the background.

His heart lurched in his chest. He knew that place.

He blinked hard, his other hand flying to the mouse as he replayed the clip, pausing on the sign. His pulse roared in his ears. That store was only a few streets away. Which meant…

You were here. In his town.

“Fuck—” 

The word ripped out of him as his body jerked. His cock erupted in his fist, hot streams spilling over his knuckles and thigh as he shook, riding the wave of release harder than he had in years. Harder than he had in any of his videos. The excitement, the discovery, the sudden nearness of you—it all came crashing into him, tearing his orgasm from the very pit of his stomach.

He slumped back against his chair, chest heaving, eyes still glued to the frozen frame of your smiling face. 

You weren’t just his number one fan anymore. Fuck, you were real. You were so close, and now, he knew exactly where to find you. 

He was still catching his breath when he switched tabs, his cock softening in his hand as he scrolled deeper through your pictures. Every shot held him captive. Was this how you felt when you watched his videos—entranced, unable to look away?

A few minutes had gone by when he heard a ping! sound from his other tab. He switched over, and there you were. Your account, blank as ever, no profile picture, no name, but now a message glowing at the bottom of the screen.

Pleasure_Ring: Loved your new video! It was amazing as always. I can’t believe your toy isn’t broken yet!

He felt his heart stutter in his chest. A needy grin curled at the corner of his lips. You were late to his video, but that’s okay. He had your videos and pictures to keep him at bay for now. His fingers darted across the keyboard, replying almost too quickly. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Glad you liked it, doll. Took you longer than usual to show up tonight.

His fingers hovered over the keys, debating if he wanted to send this next message or not.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Had me wondering if you forgot about me. 

You took longer than usual to respond, and even though he was coming down from his post-release haze, his heart was still pounding anxiously in his chest.

Pleasure_Ring is typing… 

Pleasure_Ring: I know! I’m sorry. I got distracted cooking dinner. 

Pleasure_Ring: But I could never forget about you, Bucky. 

His grip on the mouse tightened, and he felt his cock twitching again. God, he loved when you said—typed—his name. But the longer he stared at your words, the more restless he felt. He needed more. 

He needed you.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Dinner, huh? You had me worried there for a second. You’re usually the first one here. Couldn’t stand the thought of you forgetting me.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You know… I don’t even know your name. What should I call you, sweetheart?

He already knew it, of course. 

He could say it out loud, taste it on his tongue right now if he wanted. But he wanted you to give it to him. To hand it over willingly. 

He saw you typing, then stopping. Typing again, then stopping. The little dots taunted him, making his jaw clench. He hated this. He hated playing the waiting game—especially now that he knew you were just a few minutes away, living in the same town as him.

Pleasure_Ring: Do I really need to tell you my name? I kinda like being your little secret. <3

Pleasure_Ring: Besides… I think you like calling me doll, don’t you?

Bucky’s brow twitched in mild frustration, his cock throbbing in his lap again as his eyes traced your text over and over. You were a teasing little minx—taunting him, torturing him. He knew you were obsessed with him just as much as he was with you, so why the hell were you playing so damn hard to get?

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Come on, baby. Don’t be like that. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You touch yourself to my videos every night, and yet you can’t even share your name? Don’t make me beg for it. 

He dragged in a sharp breath as he waited for your reply, his hand lazily stroking his half-hard cock while he leaned back in his chair, tension swimming through every vein.

Pleasure_Ring: You’re so silly, Bucky. 

Pleasure_Ring: Why ruin the mystery? I kind of like it this way… just you and me, no names needed. <3 

His cock was rock-hard again, straining for a second round. He wrapped his fist around it as he split his screen in two—one tab open to a photo of you smiling sweetly, the other to your chat box on the site. His strokes were slow, shudders slipping past his lips as he teased the sensitive flesh. Every pulse in his palm matched the flick of his gaze between your face and your words.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You won’t give me your name, but I bet you’d spread your legs wide and let me fuck you like the needy little slut you really are.

He was playing a dangerous game with that message. It was too direct, maybe even a little mean. He might even risk scaring you away. 

But with your picture staring back at him, soft and innocent, how the hell was he supposed to hold back? 

Pleasure_Ring is typing… 

Pleasure_Ring: I would do anything you’d want me to if you were here. 

His heart stopped. His cock throbbed violently as the words sank in, repeating it in his mind like a prayer. A sweet little virgin like you, so naive, so unknowing, willing to let a man like him do anything to you?

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Oh, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have said that. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He stroked himself faster, pressure coiling hot at the base as he pumped his length with desperate need. Groans tore from his chest, hips jerking up into his fist as pleasure overtook him.

In his mind, it wasn’t just his hand—it was you. You on his bed, camera capturing every angle as you wrapped those innocent lips around his cock. You moaning, trembling, surrendering that precious virginity to a filthy porn star like him.

Pleasure_Ring: Maybe. But I really would do anything you’d ask me to.

And fuck, you lived in the same town as him. You actually lived in the same town as him. 

It would be so easy to find you. To claim you. To stuff your tight, untouched little holes full of him until you were stretched and dripping, used just like one of his toys.

The thought alone was enough to make him come a second time. With his head tilted back, a low growl-like moan escaped his throat. His hips stuttered wildly as his release tore through him in sharp waves of pleasure, hot seed spilling over his fist until his hand was a sticky, soiled mess.

He slumped back in his chair, breath ragged as he wiped himself clean with hurried, clumsy hands. His fingertips grazed the keyboard, already halfway through typing his next message. 

He couldn’t let the moment die, he didn’t want to lose you just yet. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typing… 

But then your text bubble popped up first.

Pleasure_Ring: It’s late, so I’ll be going to sleep now. I’m sorry our conversation got cut short. But thank you again for your video! I’m already looking forward to the next one! <3 Nighty night, Bucky!

And just like that, your status flickered gray. Offline. Gone.

His hand froze over the keys.

What? 

That’s it? 

You showed up online extremely late, give him a few teasing words that leave him aching, and just… log off? 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Come on, baby. You can’t leave like that. Aren’t you having fun? 

He knew you were offline, yet he sent the message anyway—clinging to the hope that maybe your status would flicker green and you’d answer him right away, being his number one fan and all. 

A minute passed. Then another. And another.

He sat there, staring at the empty chat box, his foot tapping impatiently against the wooden floor. When it finally sank in that you weren’t coming back, he closed the porn tab with a long and disappointing sigh. Dozens of comments waited for him on his latest video, begging for his attention—but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be bothered.

All he wanted was you. 

Your picture still glowed on his other monitor, your smile taunting him. He pulled his pants back on, leaning forward as his mind spun. You were so close—he could feel it. And with your account still open, still public, still inviting, he knew he wouldn’t stop.

He would find you.

And once he did, you would be his.

It had been three days since you last commented on his videos. Three days without your little messages, without your sweet words that fueled him through the long and lonely nights. 

Bucky was restless. 

He kept checking your account, refreshing the page, waiting for that familiar username that was dedicated to him to pop up in his notifications list again. But instead, you were busy elsewhere. 

Your Instagram was suddenly so active. Story after story, pictures of food, photos of crowded streets, little story clips of you laughing with friends. They were all innocent things, but to him, they were breadcrumbs. 

He looked closely at the background in your stories, taking screenshots and zooming in on shop signs and store logos. Most of these were ones he recognized. He compared timestamps, piecing together your routine slowly.

Each update you shared felt like you were inviting him in, pulling him closer without even realizing. 

And no—he wouldn’t call himself a stalker. Sure, he scrolled through all your socials, jerked off to your pictures, learned your full name, the area you lived in, who you spent time with. 

But that wasn’t stalking.

That was devotion. 

He was your number one fan. Just like you were his.

Your cart wobbled against the tiled floor as you turned into the produce aisle. Today was your weekly grocery restock. The store was busy, noisy, and packed with people trying to weave in and out of each other’s way. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and snapped a quick picture of the cotton candy grapes piled high in their cartons. 

They were your favorite, and this was the only grocery store near your area that carried them. 

Try these! They taste just like cotton candy! 

You added the caption and posted it to your story, sliding your phone back into your bag before moving on. A few minutes later, as you rounded the corner towards checkout, someone brushed past your shoulder.

You glanced up, and a man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice low, achingly familiar. “Didn’t see you there.” 

You smiled politely, brushing it off. “No worries.” 

You went back to your cart, but for some reason, your gaze lingered on him for just a second longer. There was something… familiar about the way he carried himself, about the way his words came out and how he looked.

You shook the thought off and pushed the cart forward, but you didn’t get very far when he stepped behind you, resting a gentle yet heavy hand on your shoulder. 

You glanced over and paused. The same man was staring at you, his eyes locked on yours with a look like that feels unsettling. You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“Uh… can I help you?”

His jaw tightened, his grip on your shoulder pressing just a little harder.

“...Pleasure ring?” 

Those words rang back in your ears like a loud bell. Your eyes went wide and you felt like your heart dropped in your stomach. Your gaze darted quickly around the aisle, checking to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. 

“I—I’m sorry? What did you just say?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

The longer you stare at this man, the realization hits you all at once. The thickness of his neck. The breadth of his shoulders. The sheer size of him, impossible to mistake. You’ve seen this frame before—night after night, on a glowing screen.

You leaned in slightly, whisper-yelling, “You’re Lord of The Rings nineteen-seventeen? You’re Bucky?” 

The ridiculous username felt even more absurd now that it left your lips.

He didn’t even look around or even seemed to care about his alter ego being mentioned outloud. All he cared about right now was having you, right in front of him. 

“...You haven’t been watching my videos,” Bucky said instead. His thumb brushed once across your shoulder, subtle but possessive. “Are you okay?”

The words should have sounded caring, but instead they struck you like an accusation. Your pulse quickened, panic rising up your throat. 

He was watching you that closely? 

He noticed? 

How did he even find you here? 

“I—uh—yeah, I’ve just been… busy,” you muttered. 

You knew you should step back and pull away from his touch. This man was stalking you. Yet, your body betrayed you. The deep rasp of his voice sent a warm sensation trickling down your spine, curling in the pit of your stomach. 

Creeped out or not, your body remembered him. It remembered his moans, his growls, the way he spoke dirty to the camera like he was speaking only to you. 

“I’ve missed you in my comments,” he continued, his hand moving from your shoulder to the ends of your hair, twirling it with his fingers. “I’ve missed our cute little chats… haven’t you?” 

You sucked in a breath. 

The loud chatter of customers and grocery carts dimmed into the background noise. You should pull away, God you should pull away—but your body swayed just slightly towards him instead. 

“Y-yeah,” your voice was soft and shaky. “I… I do too.” 

The moment the words left your mouth, your stomach curled with dread. Yet, your body didn’t match your fear. Your chest was rising and falling faster, your thighs pressing together instinctively. You hated the way a tiny spark of excitement flickered inside you when he stepped closer. 

Bucky’s mouth curled into a faint smirk, like he knows your own body is betraying you. He gave your strand of hair a gentle, teasing tug before letting it fall. 

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his eyes tracing every curve on your face, studying you, taking you in. 

You pressed your lips together, you stared back at him, captivated. He never showed his face in his videos—only his body, hands, and voice. You had always wondered what the man behind the camera looked like, and now here he was, inches away. He was unbelievably handsome. His gaze was intense. His voice was magnetic. You couldn’t look away, even if you tried.

“Are you nervous?” 

You blinked at him. “What?” 

A small chuckle escaped his lips, his hand lifted up to your cheek, cupping it softly and making your skin tingle. 

“You teased me in your texts,” he reminded you, his voice deep. “Told me you’d let me do anything to you if I was with you.” His thumb brushed your cheek softly, almost soothing. 

“How true does that still ring?” 

Your eyes darted nervously around the aisle. A few people passed by with carts, sparing you both brief, casual glances. To them, it probably looked like nothing more than a man grocery shopping with his girlfriend, caressing her cheek tenderly.

But you knew better.

“I…” your lip trembled nervously. “I-It’s still true…” 

His mouth curved into a slow, smug smile, as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you—how easily your knees wanted to give beneath you. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “My number one fan.”

You felt your stomach tighten. Every inch of your skin felt hot under his gaze. This was dangerous—you knew it. You were untouched, inexperienced, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice reached your ears, only made the ache between your legs grow heavier.

“How ‘bout we go back to your place,” he leaned in slightly, voice getting lower and dangerous, “and you do your grocery shopping later?” 

Your heart felt like it could burst out of your chest. You glanced down at your cart, the cotton candy grapes you’d been so excited to buy, and then back up at him. The way he held you, the way his eyes burned into yours, the very offer you’ve been secretly dreaming of despite your nerves…

It made the idea of staying here feel like hell. 

“Okay,” you breathed out. “Yeah, let’s… let’s go back to my place.” 

A small, approved hum escaped his lips. He pulled his hand away from your cheek and trailed his hand down to your bare arm, down to your hands—interlocking his fingers with yours. 

“Lead the way, princess.” 

This was wrong. So dangerously, undeniably wrong. But you had spent countless nights dreaming about this man, the pornstar with the ridiculous username, and now he was right here, holding your hand.

He led you out of the store with a smile on his face, already looking proud to have you by his side even though you guys just met. 

“I can’t wait to see your place, princess,” he murmured smoothly, stopping just outside the sliding doors. His gaze dropped down to you, quiet and expectant, waiting for you to take the lead.

“There are so many things I want to do to you.”

By the time you reached your front door, your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might break free from your chest. 

Your hands trembled so badly you could barely fit the key into the lock. Bucky stood behind you, his presence comforting yet demanding as he waited for you to open the door. 

The door finally opened, and you felt an insane wave of embarrassment as soon as he stepped inside. Your apartment wasn’t exactly ready for company. You had shoes littered near the door, laundry draped over the arm of the couch, your desk drowning in clutter.

He looked around and let out a low and amused hum. 

This was a terrible idea, inviting a stranger into your home. You’ve never done this before. But he’s not technically that much of a stranger if you two have been talking online for months now… right? 

“Show me your bedroom, sweetheart,” he said, his tone gentle but leaving no room for disobedience.

When he sensed your hesitation, his chin tilted subtly toward the hallway, like he already knew exactly where your bedroom was. That smug smile never left his lips.

“Go on.” 

You swallowed hard and turned toward the hallway, each step feeling heavy and anxious. You were nervous, extremely nervous. But the excitement of having a man in your home, this man you’d been secretly attracted to for months, sent a shiver of arousal down your spine.

You led him down the hallway, his footsteps heavy behind you. Pausing at your door, you glanced back over your shoulder. His smile widened, eyes glinting.

“You gettin’ shy, doll?” 

Your cheeks burned, and with a shaky exhale you pushed the door open.

Embarrassment hit instantly. The bed was undone, white sheets tangled in a mess, with clothes scattered lazily across the mattress. He stood in the doorway, his silence madly deafening while you stood there nervously with your hands clasped behind your back, waiting for him to say something.

Finally, he stepped forward, the corner of his mouth curving upward.

“I like your room, princess,” he said smoothly. He stepped up to the edge of your bed, his fingers dragging lightly across the wrinkles in your blanket.

“Is there where you watch my videos?” he asked. “Do you touch yourself right here, in this bed?” 

“I—I… do sometimes,” you confessed. You pointed your finger toward the desktop in the corner of the room. “Sometimes I watch… on my laptop.” 

His head turned to follow your finger, a smile tugging at his lips. He strode toward the desk, fingers grazing over the surface.

“Yeah? This is where you chat with me?” his fingertips trailed slowly across the top, pausing over the chair. “You sit here, spread those pretty legs on this chair, and put your fingers in that tiny little pussy of yours?”

You fiddled with your fingers, too flustered to meet his gaze. “Y-yes…”

He came back to you, steps steady and eyes locked on your face. When he reached you, he took one of your hands, gently prying it from the other, holding it in his much larger one. His palm stroked against yours, tender in contrast to his words. Then he lifted your hand slowly, pressing  a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes half-lidded and dark.

“How did you find me?” you asked softly. 

He exhaled, rubbing soft circles against your skin. “You stopped commenting on my videos. You stopped chatting with me. And I know it was only a few days…” his voice went softer, “…but doll, I missed you.”

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, your face hot and warm. The ache between your thighs pulsed with every word he spoke.

“I missed you so damn much. Couldn’t stop thinking about you…” he continued, pressing another kiss to your hand, then brushing your knuckles along the slight stubble of his jaw. “I couldn’t help it. I started looking through your account.”

You sucked in a breath, looking up at him as he continued.

“Your account was blank. No name. No picture. Nothing.” His voice dropped lower. “But your social media was linked, all public and left wide open.” His smile deepened, almost smug as he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours. 

“You wanted me to see them, didn’t you?”

His voice was so raspy and so hungry, it made your whole body shiver. You couldn’t trust your voice, especially not when you were so afraid it would crack and betray how timid, how inexperienced you really were. 

“I-I… didn’t know—”

“Oh, but you did,” he cut you off, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other cupping your cheek. “You wanted me to find you. I bet you hoped I’d click, hoped I’d follow the trail…” 

He spoke so confidently and so sure of himself—but the truth was something else entirely. You didn’t realize that your social media was tied to your account and you didn’t bother to check. You had only made that account to interact with Bucky’s videos only. 

You should have been afraid. The way he tracked you down, the way he admitted to stalking your socials—it should have terrified you.

But it didn’t.

It only made your body burn with excitement, your core clenching with a hunger that only he can satisfy. 

“You teasing little slut,” he murmured, his voice growing rough. “But you’re not a slut, are you? You’re a virgin—isn’t that right?” 

You nodded. “I-I am…” 

“And you’d still do anything for me? Anything at all?”

You paused for a moment. You knew exactly what he meant. He hadn’t followed you home for small talk. 

Your body screamed yes, aching for him, but your mind shook with hesitation. You've seen his videos. You knew how rough he could be. How brutal his thrusts looked, how the silicone toys bent and threatened to snap beneath his strength. The way his grip tightened until his muscles flexed and strained—it was terrifying, yet intoxicating. 

Could you really take him? You weren’t sure. 

But God, you wanted to try.

So you nodded.

An approved and low growl escaped his lips. He leaned closer, pausing right before your lips. 

“There are so many fucking things I want to do to you, princess,” he rasped. “First, I’m going to kiss you—then I’ll teach you how to really please a man. And after that…” his mouth curved into a wicked smile, “I’ll show you how a man properly pleases his woman. You understand?”

“O-okay.” 

His lips pressed against yours. 

It started off soft, patient, exploratory—until his hunger took over. The kiss deepened, his mouth grew reckless, his tongue desperate. His hands roamed greedily, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. He broke away only to tug at your clothes, then immediately slammed his lips back against yours like he couldn’t resist you. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned into your mouth. “You taste exactly like I imagined—maybe even better. Shit.” 

Bucky was getting harder by the second, but truthfully, he’d been aching since the moment he laid eyes on you in the store. But now, with you trembling in his arms, he finally had you. 

He caught your hand in his, guiding it down until your palm pressed against the thick bulge straining against his jeans, you shuddered at the contact. Your fingers started moving without you thinking, rubbing against him in small, and timid strokes.

He let out a low chuckle. “Look at you, baby. You want it so bad, don’t you?” 

Your breath hitched, and you could only nod, meek and shy. 

He moved your hand along his clothed length, forcing you to feel every ridge of him. His lip caught between his teeth as he let out a hiss of pleasure. He was so hard for you—so desperate—that he started to feel himself leaking just from the friction of your trembling palm.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, ripping your hand away from his crotch. 

You blinked up at him, startled and confused.

He reached in the back of his jean pocket, pulling out a small camcorder. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes were dark. 

“Baby,” he rasped, voice needy. “I want to record this. I want to see you undress for me… capture every second of it.” His fingers trembled as he flipped the device open, eyes half-lidded, fixated on you like a starving man.

“Bucky…”

“What do you say, baby?” he pressed, taking a slow step forward.

You bit your bottom lip, nerves tying your stomach in knots. You weren’t ready for this—not at all. But the thought of being behind Bucky’s lens, of being admired and captured the same way you had admired him through his videos, made your skin warm with anticipation. 

He grabbed your hand gently. “I won’t upload it,” he promised. “This one’s just for me—to keep, to look back on. Think you can give me that, doll?”

His words were soft yet strained with a lust and desire that he was desperately trying to hold back. The ache between your legs pulsed harder with every word, and deep down, you already knew you couldn’t say no.

“…Okay,” you whispered. “I want to be put on display for you, Bucky. I want to be yours.”

A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. “That’s my girl.”

He nodded toward the bed. “Stay there, at the edge. Watch me.”

You stood frozen, captivated, as he began to strip down. Shirt, jeans, everything—gone in moments, until his bare and large body stretched against your sheets and rested against the headboard. With one hand, he steadied the camcorder, and with the other, he reached for himself slowly.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, the red recording light blinking as the camera pointed straight at you. “I want every second of this. Give me a show, baby.”

Heat climbed your chest and neck as you began lifting your shirt, pulling it over your head. You glanced at him—and your knees nearly buckled. He was already stroking himself, precum glistening at the flushed tip, his chest heaving with each desperate pump.

“Good girl.” 

You pushed your pants down, stepping out of them until you stood in nothing but your bra and panties. Your hands fidgeted nervously at your sides—not knowing what to do with them next.

“D-do you… want me to keep going?”

A dark chuckle slipped from his lips, almost mocking. “Oh, baby. You’re fucking adorable, you know that?” his hand pumped slow and hard, his cock twitching under his touch. “Yes. Keep going. Take it all off, nice and slow for me…”

Your fingers trembled as they hooked around the strap of your bra, sliding it off your shoulders before unclasping it. The straps fell loose, and you let it slip from your hands. The cool air rushed against your bare chest, making your nipples pebble instantly. 

“Panties, baby,” he murmured, voice rough. “Get rid of ‘em.”

Slowly, you eased them down your legs, stepping out of them until you stood completely bare before him. Your arms instinctively folded in front of you, trying to hide yourself.

Bucky’s mouth curved into a smug grin. “Don’t you dare hide from me. You’re too pretty to cover up.”

Your arms dropped hesitantly at your sides, and his grin only widened.

“Good girl,” he rasped. He shifted against the headboard, spreading his legs wider, the thick length of his cock pulsing as his fist pumped it. “Now crawl to me, princess.”

“C-crawl..?” 

His eyes darkened, his hand tightening around himself. “That’s right. On your hands and knees. Crawl over here like the sweet little virgin you are.”

Your breath caught, and for a second you thought you wouldn’t be able to move at all. But his hungry stare made your body obey before your mind could catch up. You climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly, and lowered yourself onto your hands and knees. 

Slowly, you crawled toward him, the soft sheets brushing against your bare skin, your heart beating fast in your chest. 

Bucky let out a low and approving growl, the camcorder following your every move. 

“That’s it, baby… fuck—” he groaned. “You look so perfect like this. Like you were made to kneel for me.” 

You swallowed hard as you approached him, staring at his cock—thick and hard, flushed at the tip. Your lips parted as you let out a soft gasp—the sheer size of him made your throat go dry. 

“Have you ever had a dick in your mouth, baby?” he asked. 

You can only shake your head no. 

He let go of himself, his free hand sliding into your hair, guiding you closer to his lap. “Open that pretty mouth for me, doll,” he coaxed. “I want to be the first man you taste.” 

How could something that big possibly fit in your mouth? His grip kept you steady, urging you forward. 

“There you go,” he smirked, watching your nervous little breaths. “God, you’re trembling. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll teach you exactly how to do it. All you gotta do is listen to me.”

“Stick out that tongue—yeah, just like that. Such a good girl.” His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth before pressing down on your lower lip, opening you wider. “Mm, look at you. Never done this before, huh?”

You shook your head, embarrassed, but he only chuckled.

“Of course not. My innocent little fan, saving herself for me,” he guided you closer until the blunt tip of his cock brushed your tongue, smearing precum across it. The taste was strange, salty and thick, and you whimpered softly at the unfamiliar sensation.

His laugh was low and condescending, but not cruel. “That’s it, baby. Don’t pout so cutely like that… only makes it harder for me to hold back.”

He stroked your hair, petting you like you were some pet while his hips gave a subtle roll forward, testing you. 

“Just wrap those lips around me nice and slow. I want to see that sweet virgin mouth stuffed full of cock for the first time.”

Your lips closed timidly around him, sealing over the tip as your tongue flicked against it, tasting more of that salty, musky flavor. Your jaw ached instantly, but the way he groaned, deep and guttural, made you shiver with pride.

“There you go,” he praised, fingers tightening in your hair. “God, look at you. My perfect little virgin, already learning how to please me.”

You tried to sink further, taking more of him in, but the sheer thickness made your throat tighten. You gagged softly, tears threatening to well in your eyes, and pulled back with a desperate little gasp.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, thumb brushing your damp cheek. “That was good, baby. So fucking good. Just relax your jaw, take it slow. You’ve got such a tiny mouth—I didn’t expect you to take all of me your first try.”

His hand guided you down again, inch by inch, your lips stretching around him as drool began to slick your chin. He hissed through his teeth, head falling back against the headboard.

“That’s it… fuck, that’s it. God, you don’t even know how sweet you look right now, doll. Choking on my cock like you were made for it.”

You felt his cock pulse on your tongue, thick veins throbbing against the roof of your mouth. 

“Fuck—baby—” he growled, his breathing ragged as his cock twitched violently. “Gonna—shit—gonna cum down your throat—”

Suddenly, his hand yanked you back, pulling your mouth off him with a wet pop. You gasped, spit stringing between your lips and his swollen tip, confused and dazed.

“W-what…?”

“Not yet,” he panted, his hand flying to his cock and holding it still, trying to calm himself down. 

His chest heaved, his eyes glazed and hungry as he stared at your flushed, ruined face. “Not wasting my first load on your mouth, princess. I’ve been waiting too long for you.”

“Bucky…” 

He leaned forward, thumb smearing your spit across your swollen lips. “No… I’m gonna be the first man to cum inside this virgin cunt.”

He adjusted the camera in his hands, sitting up straighter. “Lay down,” he ordered, nodding toward the mattress. “Face down, ass up.”

His words were so filthy and vulgar—it made your face burn—but still, you obeyed. Lowering yourself onto shaky arms, you crawled forward and eased your chest against the mattress. Your cheek pressed into the sheets as you raised your ass for him, baring yourself under his gaze.

The arch felt awkward, your back straining from holding the position. But the low, hungry sound that escaped from his chest sent a shiver of pride racing through you. You pushed yourself even higher, desperate to please him.

“Look at you. My shy little virgin, already posing like a whore for me,” the sound of the camcorder’s little beep made your body tense—he was recording this, capturing you in such a vulnerable position.

The mattress dipped as he shuffled closer, his large palm running over the curve of your ass. You gasped, burying your face into the sheets in embarrassment.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, squeezing the soft flesh in his hand. “You nervous, baby?”

You nodded weakly, voice muffled against the pillow. “Y-Yeah…”

“Mmm, but you’re already being so sweet for me,” he rasped, his thumb gently pressing against your wet, slit folds. “Your pretty little cunt is weeping just for me, sweetheart.” 

You let out a soft gasp, the camcorder beeped again as he adjusted it to get a better view. His grin widened with hunger. 

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll take care of you. Gonna stretch this virgin pussy nice and slow… and make you put on the sweetest show for my camera.”

He teased your pussy, thumb rubbing over your entrance and his finger rubbing against your clit. You were already so wet—embarrassingly so.

“God, baby… you’re dripping,” he groaned, the camcorder beeping softly as he angled it lower. “All this for me?”

You whimpered into the sheets, trembling as he shifted his hand and pressed a finger, testing your tightness before slowly sinking inside. 

You gasped louder, your whole body jolting forward against the mattress even though it was just his finger. “B-Bucky!” 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning close. “Just my finger. Gotta test this tight little pussy before I give you more.”

He moved slowly, letting you adjust to his finger as you writhed against the sheets, your walls already fluttering helplessly around him. He slowly eased another finger inside, drawing out a desperate moan from you. 

“So tight,” he groaned so low, almost like he was talking to himself. “So fucking tight—baby. Can’t wait to put my cock inside you…” 

When he finally slipped his finger free, you sagged against the bed in relief—but then you felt him shifting behind you. The camcorder beeped again, and the feel of his heavy, thick cock pressed against your entrance—hot and throbbing.

You suddenly remembered how his toys would stretch helplessly around his thickness—literally on the verge of tearing. Your eyes widened. You weren’t sure if you could take him fully. 

“B-Bucky…” your stomach started twisting with nerves. “You’re too big… I don’t think I can—” 

“You can, baby,” he interrupted softly, steadying himself with a hand at your hip. He leaned close, his lips brushing your ear. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you.”

He pushed forward before you could say anything. The thick tip pushed past your virgin walls. You cried out at the burn, your hands gripping the sheets.

“I know, I know,” he soothed, though his voice shook with restraint. “I’m sorry, doll. I’m so big, I know—but you’re doing so fucking good for me.” 

The stretch hurt, but it also made a strange heat bloom low in your belly.

He kissed the back of your shoulder, keeping himself still while you trembled beneath him. “Breathe for me, princess. Let me in nice and slow… I promise—it’s gonna feel so good.”

Your fingers clawed at the sheets as you let out a high, broken moan.

“Shhh, that’s it, baby,” Bucky rasped, his voice thick with both lust and control. “My sweet little virgin… finally getting split open by a real cock.”

You shook your head against the mattress, gasping. “B-Bucky—it’s too big, I can’t—I can’t take it—”

He hushed you softly, his hand sliding from your hip to rub comforting circles against your trembling waist. 

“Yes you can, doll. You’re made for this—you’ve been watching my videos every night. Studying me. Practicing with your pretty little fingers and wishing it was me, isn’t that right?” His cock inched deeper, slow but relentless, his breath hitching at the unbearable tightness of you.

“That’s my girl,” he encouraged, pressing kisses along your bare shoulder. “Doing so good for me. Ruinin’ this sweet little virgin pussy nice and slow…” 

A sharp moan escaped you as he sank another inch inside, your body trembling around him.

“God… you’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he groaned, teeth grazing your shoulder as he adjusted the camera with one hand, angling it to capture the stretch of his cock sliding in and out of you. The red light blinked, recording every second of your first time.

“Such a sweet little thing,” he moaned, condescending but tender. “Crying on my cock like you don’t love it—but listen to yourself, baby. You’re moaning like a slut already!”

Another desperate cry left your lips, and he groaned low in his throat. You adjusted your hips slightly, moving your back a bit to try and get comfortable. The slight movement made his hard cock pulse and throb inside you uncontrollably—the sensation unbearable. 

“Oh, fuck—” he cursed, his breath catching. “Fuck. If you keep moving like that, doll… shit, I’m not gonna last.”

You shuffled your hips back, desperate for more, for him, even though the stretch burned.

“B-Bucky…” you gasped, your voice breaking into a moan. “You’re so big… too big… f-feels so good…”

That praise alone made him groan, his head dropping to your shoulder as his cock twitched inside your tight heat. His hand squeezed your waist, trying to stay in control, trying to savor it, but every little shuffle of your hips threatened to undo him completely.

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “You keep saying that—calling me big while you wiggle on my cock so cutely… I’m gonna lose it.”

You moaned again, arching your back to push into him, the words tumbling out between gasps. “Want you, Bucky… wanna take you all… please, you’re so big, fill me up, please…”

That was it.

A sharp growl ripped from his chest as he tossed the camcorder aside, the device landing forgotten on the sheets somewhere. Both his hands clamped down hard on your hips, holding you in place.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he gritted out, voice laced with hunger. “You asked for it.”

With one rough, needy thrust, he drove himself all the way inside, stuffing you full until his hips were flush against your ass. The sudden fullness made you cry out, your walls clamping down on him so tight it pulled another curse from his lips.

“Jesus Christ—this tight little virgin pussy’s gonna kill me,” he gasped, his fingers digging into your hips possessively. “You feel that, doll? That’s me—every fucking inch of me—buried inside you.”

Your cry broke into a helpless moan as he bottomed out, the stretch almost unbearable, but your body clung to him desperately. The way your cunt spasmed around his cock made Bucky curse low and vicious.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled against your ear, pulling back only to slam in again, harder. “Taking me so deep, squeezing the life outta me. My sweet little virgin, getting ruined on my cock.”

“Bucky—ah—s’too much—” you whimpered, though your hips still rocked back to meet him.

His laugh was dark, breathless. “Too much, huh? Then why’s this greedy little pussy dripping all over me? You’re lovin’ it, doll. You’re lovin’ how I’m stretchin’ you out.” 

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, every inch of you unraveling under his relentless pace. He held your hips so hard you knew he’d leave bruises, pounding into you like he wanted to brand himself inside your body.

“Good girl—fuck, you’re my good girl,” his hips moving rougher and sloppier. “Fuck. So much better than the videos, huh?” 

“Oh my god,” you cursed, your face pushed up against the pillow. “I… can’t—gonna… gonna cum—” your walls fluttered and clenched down on him so tightly as you let your release take over you. 

“Jesus—fuck, sweetheart—” he snarled, hips snapping erratically as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fuck, fuck! Shit… fuck.” His cock pulsed deep inside you, and with a final shuddering thrust he spilled into you, filling you full with hot, warm and thick seed. 

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged moans and his guttural curses, both of you trembling through the aftershocks.

Bucky slumped forward, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing the side of your damp and sweaty neck. “That’s it… that’s my girl. Took me so good.”

You were still trembling, your body sensitive and aching, when Bucky finally eased himself out of you with a slow, careful pull. You whined softly at the loss, burying your face into the sheets.

“Easy, doll,” he hushed, his voice husky but gentle. His big hands smoothed over your hips, down your thighs, rubbing away the tension he’d left behind. “You did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.”

You turned your head slightly, catching his smug little grin as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your damp temple.

“Messy bed, messy girl,” he teased lowly, though his tone held nothing but warmth. He brushed your hair back from your flushed face and tucked it gently behind your ear. “Knew you were my number one fan for a reason.”

Despite your exhaustion, a shy laugh escaped you, your chest fluttering at his words. 

“You’re… so full of yourself,” you mumbled weakly. “H-how did I do…?” 

“You did so fucking good, sweetheart. Shit, I remember when I was a virgin too, baby,” he chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “I was a whimpering, sensitive mess. But fuck, I had so much fun ruining you.” 

Your face flushed hot, nuzzling your nose in his chest out of embarrassment. 

He laughed softly, holding you tighter. “Get some rest, princess. We’ll go back for your groceries later.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh again, small and breathless, before your eyes fluttered shut, comforted by his large hands on your waist and the warmth of his body wrapped around yours.

Days passed, and Bucky kept his promise. The video never showed up online. 

He went back to posting his weekly content, but this time, there was something different. In one of his recent uploads, a faint audio clip played in the background as he stroked himself for the camera.

Your moans.

His grunts.

He never showed the footage on screen, but the audio was enough. Enough for you to recognize yourself, enough to leave you trembling in your chair, your fingers buried between your thighs. The thought of him getting off to your body, your sounds, over and over—it made you fall apart embarrassingly fast.

You slumped back in your chair now, thighs trembling, breath uneven as you dragged your hand away from your thighs. For a moment you just sat there, dazed, staring at the frozen video frame on your laptop.

Then a notification blinked in the corner of the screen. 

You clicked it.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Hey, doll. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typing…

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Can’t stop watching that little video we made. But I dropped the camera right before I got to stuff your pussy full of my cum.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: How about we try filming another one? 

[cornmousequeen]

When its time to fight, flight or freeze reader chose to fuck… and omggggg was this SOOOOOOOOOO HOT 😭🫶🥵 I love how confident Bucky was in being a total creep and how delusional he was 🤭🥵

[kinanabinks]

what i want

18+

he'll let you go once you give him what he wants. at least, that's what he says.

content warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark!bucky barnes x fem!stripper!reader, mature themes, dark themes, bucky is a weirdo stalker, non/dubcon, kidnapping, filming without consent, man handling, nipple play, fingering, degredation, sex, blackmail, no aftercare.

a/n: this one is... very special to me. i've been re-reading some of my dark fics and realized it's been too long since i wrote something dark. hope u enjoy it too <3

You wake up in a bedroom which makes you think the horrific memory flashing in your aching head in which you were kidnapped was just a dream. But, a few seconds later, when it becomes clear that this isn't your bedroom, you realize that it wasn't a dream.

The chains around your wrist are the second thing you notice, and when you do notice them, you begin to scream. You scream and scream until you think you might vomit, then you take a deep breath and continue to scream. A good minute later, you hear heavy footsteps racing towards the room, making your heart skip a beat. Before you can decide whether it's a good or bad thing that your captor knows you're awake, the door slams open.

"What the fuck are you screaming about?" The man asks as he walks in with a frown on his face. He has dark hair and a scruffy beard, but it's the glasses he's wearing that help you recognize him. You've seen him a few times in the club; he's not the most generous tipper so you barely give him any attention, but the last time you saw him was when you were about to give him a private lap dance.

"You," You whisper, eyes wide as you stand up to your feet, looking around for something to defend yourself with. Apart from the bed, there isn't much else in this room. A few magazines sit on the bedside table and a tall mirror seems to be stuck to the wall, and in front of the bed is a full-wall wardrobe with a few cabinets. The handle of the lowest cabinet is where your chains are connected to.

"Yeah, it's me," He says softly, closing the door behind him. "See? There's nothing to be afraid of."

Looking down at your body, you see that you're wearing nothing more than one of your signature white underwear sets. helping you remember exactly what you were doing when this freak kidnapped you. He must've waited out back for you to leave the club - you're always the last girl out - and snatched you.

"I just thought, this way, we wouldn't be interrupted," He goes onto say, his casual tone only making you more uncomfortable as he takes a step closer. "I'm James, by the way. Well, you can call me Bucky. Yeah, call me Bucky."

"Okay, Bucky," You reply, doing your best to remain calm. "Listen, could you undo these chains? They're really uncomfortable."

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Angel, I can't. I can't guarantee that you won't run off if I untie you. You understand, don't you?"

Wanting to stay on his good side, you reluctantly nod. "I understand, Bucky," You reply politely.

A warm smile grows on his lips. "I knew you would," Bucky says before clapping his hands together. "Right. Shall we get started?"

You raise a brow, giving him an expectant look.

"Oh. Of course," He chuckles. "The little knock on your head must've messed with your memory a bit... well, you were all set to give me a private dance - which I was really, really looking forward to - but then you left. You just... left me there. No explanation. No apology. You just walked straight out."

Your stomach churns as your memory returns. He's telling the truth - you were about to give him a lap dance in one of the private rooms as he had pre-booked, but just before you got the chance to even flash him a smile, your boss, Steve, walked in and dragged you away to another, more important client. You wince. This freak wouldn't kill you for ditching him, would he? Either way, you decide to play nice. "I am so, so sorry, James - Bucky," You say, hoping it sounds genuine.

"No, I don't want an apology," He cuts you off, holding up his hand with a glint in his eye. "I just want you to make it up to me. I want my dance."

Slight relief makes your fingers twitch, but you also feel slightly confused. "Seriously?" You ask him bluntly. "That's why you abducted me? For a dance?"

He lets out a sigh, doing his best to remain calm. "I saved up for a long time to be able to afford you, Angel," Bucky points out.

"You couldn't just book another dance?" You ask him wildly, at your wits end. "I would've rescheduled for free - if you had even just waited an hour-"

"Shut up," He cuts in curtly, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I told you what I want. Now, you'll give it to me. And once you do, I'll let you go."

Maybe you're stupid for believing him, but you don't exactly have a choice. You give him a nod, and his face and body visibly relax.

"Good," He mumbles almost inaudibly before making his way back to the door, which he shuts. He takes out a key chain with multiple keys from his pocket and locks the door. Then, he walks back over to you and uses another key to unlock your chains.

The relief around your wrists is instant, but quickly replaced with new pressure when he grabs them and walks you over to the foot of the bed. Bucky takes a seat on the corner of the bed, takes off his glasses which he places next to him, and then gives you an expectant look.

You raise a brow and let out a nervous laugh. "No music?" You ask, half in an attempt to lighten the mood and half because music would make this a lot less awkward.

Bucky thinks for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No music," He decides firmly. "You can start, now."

You close your eyes as you try to calm your nerves. Although he's kidnapped you and is holding you against your will, he probably still isn't the most dangerous client you've ever had. All he wants is a dance. He doesn't want to hurt you. Don't give him a reason to.

With a deep breath, you start to sway your hips. It feels wrong to be dancing with no music to follow, but you just need to get this over with. You focus on the movement of your body, no doubt he's doing the same. When you feel his big hands grab hold of your waist, your eyes shoot open and you immediately stop moving.

"No touching," You say sternly, as if he's one of your regular clients in the club.

With a clenched jaw, he tightens his grip on your waist. "I make the rules here, Angel, this is my house. Just keep fucking dancing," He orders you. "There's no such thing as 'no' for you anymore. You do as I say. You ask no questions. You do not stop me."

Holding back the cuss words on the tip of your tongue, you grit your teeth together and continue dancing. You imagine a song playing in your head to help kill the awkward silence, and do your best to ignore his rough hands stroking your bare hips.

"I think this is the part where you take your tits out for me," Bucky says flatly, and you know it isn't just a polite suggestion.

Sticking to your usual routine, you spin around so you're facing away from him, before turning your head to the side. "Pull the string," You say, hoping he won't hear the resentment in your voice.

He takes his time in moving his hand up your back, feeling your soft skin before finally pulling on one of the strings of your bra. You pull it off your shoulders and toss it to the side, and then slowly turn back to face him.

It isn't his first time seeing your boobs, but he looks as if it's his first time seeing any boobs. "Fuck," He whispers, bringing his hands up to cup them. "You're so sexy."

You know there's no use in telling him not to touch them, so you hold back your eye-roll as he rubs his thumbs over your hardening nipples.

"Getting excited?" He asks with delight in his eyes as your nipples respond to his touch.

"Don't flatter yourself; they're sensitive," You tell him bluntly. You may have to do as he says, but you don't have to be happy about it.

"Is that right?" He questions you curiously before his eyes meet yours. "Sit on my lap, Angel."

With a sigh, you obey, cringing when you feel his boner poke against your ass.

Bucky pulls you closer so your back is flush against his chest, before his hands return to your tits. He immediately goes for your nipples, pulling and twisting on them, making you cry out against your control.

"That hurts," You tell him, squeezing your legs together as you feel yourself get wet. Stop being so turned on for this bastard.

"Good," He replies simply, pulling them harder. "It's okay if you want to moan. In fact, you should moan. Go ahead, Angel. Moan for me."

Unable to stop yourself, you do as he says, hating yourself for it. Whimpers and cries escape your mouth as your body rocks against his, pure frustration causing your thighs to rub together.

"Moan my name," He utters into your ear. "Do it."

"Bucky," You whine, throwing your head back on his shoulder.

"That's it, baby Angel, that's a good girl," He groans as his boner rubs against your ass. When his left hand releases your nipple and begins to slide down your stomach, you come to your senses and immediately clamp your hand around his wrist.

"Not there, Bucky," You say sternly. "That's where I draw the line."

He grabs your chin, fury in his eyes. "Where you draw the line?" He repeats before laughing darkly. "There is no fucking line here, and certainly not one you draw. I told you; you do as I say, and you do it without question. Now, shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear anything from you unless you're moaning, you slut."

You suck in a deep breath as he forces his hand down your panties, his fingers immediately settling between your folds.

"Holy fuck. You are so fucking wet, Angel," Bucky grumbles into your ear. "Shit. Like a fucking swimming pool down here. Do you get this wet for every lap dance?"

You let out a shaky breath.

He slaps your cheek. "I asked you a question. Answer me."

"No," You say pointedly. "I don't get wet."

"I know that's right," Bucky groans. "Fuck, this kitty knows she's home, doesn't she? I bet I could just slide my fingers straight into you with how wet you are. Just... like... this."

You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes two of his fingers into your pussy, curling them inside you. For a moment, you forget the context of why you're here and who with, and just focus on how good it feels to have his fingers sliding in and out of you.

His right hand continues toying with your nipple, making your eyes roll back as he fucks you with his fingers. "That's it, I knew you'd enjoy yourself eventually," He says, and you can hear the smirk on his lips. "Look at you; your pussy's fucking soaking. Desperate for it, aren't you, you slut?"

Incoherent moans are all that leave your mouth.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of you and instead moves to unbuckle his belt. You suddenly become acutely aware of your surroundings and sit up, turning back to face him.

"What are you doing?" You ask as he pulls down his zipper.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He asks with a smirk as he pulls out his huge, swollen cock. It's incredibly impressive for someone so creepy and incel-like.

"No," You utter, shaking your head. "That's way too far, now. This was just supposed to be a fucking lap dance, I've already given you way more than you'd get in the club!"

He lets out a sigh at your outburst, but surprisingly doesn't hit you or yell. It's eerie how calm he is. "Look ahead, Angel. At the wardrobe in front of you," He says, making you frown.

You look straight at it, confused as to what it is you're supposed to be seeing. "What about it?" You ask him. The doors are slightly ajar, but there's nothing special about it.

"See, you probably can't tell, but there's a camera in there, and it's been recording this whole time," He reveals, making your stomach flip.

Narrowing your eyes, you stare at it, gasping when you see a tiny red light.

"And unless you want me to post the video of me fingering your pussy and playing with your tits to the world for everyone to see, you're gonna take my cock like the good girl we both know you can be," Bucky growls into your ear. "Now, there's plenty of men who have seen your tits before, but I know there's one man in particular who you don't want to see what I just did to you. No. Rogers would be pretty mad, wouldn't he? Your boyfriend-slash-pimp would probably kill you for letting another man touch your cunt. He's incredibly possessive, isn't he?"

Your breaths are shaky, the thought of Steve finding out about tonight making you sick to your stomach. He gets pissed enough when someone dares to grope you during a dance at the club, but this? He'd kill Bucky and you.

"So, unless you want him seeing the footage of his favorite girl being used by someone else, you're gonna let me fuck you until I cum deep inside your pussy," Bucky snarls. "And you're gonna enjoy it, like the whore you are."

With that, he grabs your arm and forces you down onto the bed, making sure the camera's got a good angle as he rips your panties apart. Without warning, he stuffs his fat cock into you, making you scream out. Your hands grab fistfuls of the bed sheets as he forces himself into you, spreading you open and filling you up. The stretch burns and you feel lightheaded.

"Fuck, didn't think a slut like you would have such a tight cunt," Bucky grumbles as he bottoms out. "You never had a cock as thick as mine?"

"Mmph," Is all you can let out, your face smushed against the bed.

He slowly pulls out of you. "Ready for it?" He asks, before chuckling. "I couldn't give a fuck either way." And with that, he starts fucking you, hard.

Gasps and whimpers escape your mouth as he pounds into you, tightly gripping your hips. One of his hands moves up your stomach and finds your tits, and he pinches and pulls on your nipples. Your eyes roll back and you feel dizzy, overwhelmed with pain and pleasure as the two mix.

"That's it, take this cock," Bucky grunts. "That's all you're good for, isn't it, you stupid slut? Making me wait... being a fucking tease, blowing me kisses then walking past me like I mean nothing... Now look at you. Fucking destroyed."

You're utterly powerless against him, reduced to nothing as he fucks you with vigor and rage. You can feel his need to ruin you; his frustration is palpable. And you're at his mercy. All you can do is take it. So, that's what you do, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure as he uses your body.

"An-gel," He sings teasingly, bringing his lips down to your ear. "I can feel you pulsing around my cock. Gonna cum?"

You let out a cry.

"Use. Your. Words," Bucky utters, slamming into you with each word.

"Yes," The word bursts from your mouth like a bird finding its wings.

"That's my Angel," He says smugly, bringing his fingers down to your clit which he rubs. "Show me who this pussy belongs to. Cum around my cock. Now."

With a strangled cry, you feel your orgasm hit you like a wave, stunning you. Your body convulses beneath his while he keeps fucking you, growling your name as his cock twitches inside you.

"You're gonna take my cum; every fucking drop," He says gruffly. "Gonna fuck you pregnant. Make you mine, forever."

Your mind is empty as you float through your pleasure, too taken to process what he's saying, or the fact that he's cumming inside you without a condom on.

Bucky grunts, thrusting a few last times as he empties his cum into you. "That's a good little whore," He grumbles as his hips still, his cock buried in you. "See? I knew you'd enjoy yourself."

You wince as he pulls out, leaving you empty, save for his cum which dribbles out of you.

"You did a good job tonight, Angel," He says, patting your ass a few times. "Maybe tomorrow we can give everyone an even better show."

"Huh?" You utter, lifting your head up to see him opening the wardrobe and pulling out the camera.

He brings the camera to your face with a wide grin on his lips. "Say hi to our supporters, Angel," Bucky says, making you feel sick to our stomach. "We'll see you guys tomorrow. Let me know if you have any special requests."

With that, he turns the camera off, and you're stunned into silence. You're so shocked that you can barely move, even when he returns the handcuffs to your wrist, binding you to the bedpost.

"I'll bring some snacks up for you soon," Bucky says casually as he walks towards the door. "Just give me a shout if you need anything." He opens the door and stands in the doorway, shooting you a bright smile. "Oh, and you can be as loud as you want, don't worry about bothering the neighbors.

There's no-one for miles around."

ahhhhh this has been in my drafts for SO. LONG. i'm so happy that it's finally done. made it a bit spooky to celebrate the fact that IT'S HALLOWEEN SOON 🤪

got a couple of halloween fics planned for you so keep an eye out xxx

bucky masterlist

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications for updates.

buy me a kofi <3

[cornmousequeen]

HOLY FUCK THAT WAS SO DELICIOUSLY DARK LOVED EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT THIS

[cherienymphe]

It Comes At Night

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: Death has a name and a face and a thirst for blood.

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, blood, murder, loss of virginity, ambiguous time period, vampire!Loki

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

♱⃓

Your sister was the first to go.

It happened gradually, so gradually that it took you so much longer than the rest to realize something was wrong. By the time you did, she was already at death’s door, and your mother was sitting you down to have a conversation about preparing for the worst. It was a conversation that you would remember for years to come and even as it was being had, you were deep in denial.

Your sister had always been healthy—much healthier than you—and the bout of illness seemed to have come out of thin air. One morning she was all smiles at the breakfast table, cherubic and perfect and bothering your father with silly jests as she always did, and then the next morning she did not even have the strength to get out of bed. You thought nothing of it.

A simple cold.

“I am having some tea put on for your sister,” your mother had said.

You had only hummed in response then, nothing about the statement causing alarm. A book was in your hand as you glided outside to read under a tree. You recalled the stray thought of wishing healing on your sister, but nothing beyond that. It saddened you now to think about your lack of concern at the time, but how were you to know? 

How could you have known that she would be dead in only two week’s time?

A mere fortnight?

One sick morning turned into two which then turned into three and before you knew it, it had been a while since you had breakfast with the other woman. What you thought would clear up in a few days had only seemed to get worse, and while your parents assured you that she would be better in no time, the worry in their eyes said otherwise.

As did their lips.

“...but you and father tend to her,” you argued one evening, looking at your mother with a frown. “Why is it that I cannot see her?”

Your mother started to take your hand before thinking better of it.

“...because we do not yet know what is wrong with her. We do not know how it could be passed along and one sick daughter is frightful enough,” was her excuse.

An excuse you did not agree with. Did she and father not care if they got sick? Did she not consider how it might affect you should they fall as ill as your sister? Perhaps your defiant thoughts were written all over your face because your mother gently shushed you before you could utter another word. She left you with your thoughts, and the next day you hid around the corner as the doctor came to see to their sick daughter.

“A diagnosis eludes me.”

His confession made your own heart sink, and you could only imagine the look on your parents’ faces as the great doctor in this town admitted to them that he did not know what ailed your sister.

“How can that be?” your father quietly asked him after some time.

“By all accounts…she is not sick—at least, she is showing no outright signs of any illness.”

There was a long beat of silence, and it seemed that he decided to elaborate.

“She has no cough and nothing is irregular about her heart or breathing–.”

“Yes, but she does not eat and she is always so exhausted and…look at her! You know what our daughter looks like, doctor, and she is half the size she once was in only one week’s time. Something is very wrong with her,” your mother hissed.

Your own back was pressed to the wall as they went back and forth with him, all of this information being news to you. Had your sister really lost so much weight in only a short amount of time? Was she really not eating? But was it also true that she had no cough or any other signs of illness?

“I fear that this may be more psychological than anything,” the physician finally said.

“Are you trying to imply that this is all in her head somehow?”

The other man’s statement brought forth a whole new round of questioning and anger, and you were forced to take your leave when you heard their footsteps coming closer. When they all exited through the door—to discuss this more at length, no doubt—you were seated with a book in your lap as if it were the most entrancing thing you ever read.

However, no sooner did the door shut that you found yourself hurrying down the hall and to the one place you had been forbidden from for days.

Your sister’s door had never been a barrier for you, and to stop in front of it with hesitation certainly made it feel as such for the first time in your life. This woman was your best friend, your confidant, the person you were closest to in the entire world. You could find her voice and pick out her face from any crowd, but as it were…she was almost unrecognizable to you.

Your mother’s words did not quite convey just how much weight she had lost, and as you stood in the doorway, you could not help but to think that she looked so frail—terrifying even. Under normal circumstances, one could mistake her for the younger of you two, but as you stood before her, you could only think about how sick one would think she was because she looked very sick indeed.

“Sister?”

Her voice was so small, airy. She sounded like a child.

“Is that you?”

Her thin arm lifted into the air, and her fingers—so skeletal—beckoned you closer.

“They have kept you away, and how I have longed to gaze upon your face…”

You took slow steps with every word that left her lips, and if she noticed the fear and horror on your face, she spoke nothing of it. The bedding was piled so high that only now could you really get a good look at her, and you wished that you had better self control to swallow down your gasp.

Her face was so gaunt that it looked painful, and her once thick and beautiful hair had thinned so. Her skin had lost its color, lips dry and eyes sunken in, and had you walked upon her while she was sleeping, you would have thought she was having an eternal slumber already. With that being said, beyond all that, she was still beautiful in a ghostly sort of way. It fascinated you as much as it terrified you.

“You are sick,” you breathed, looking over her. “Very sick.”

“No,” she hurried to argue, shaking her head. “I am just tired, is all.”

“Tired? This is no mere exhaustion. You look as if you will blow away with the wind.”

When she reached for you, you let her pull you to sit down, and despite how ghastly she looked, there was a twinkle in her eye that you had never seen before. A small smile danced along her lips, and in this moment she looked so much unlike herself.

“Really,” she stressed to you. “I am not sick.”

“Something is wrong,” you told her, sounding like your mother. “What is it then?”

You watched as your sister licked her lips in a way you had never witnessed. It disturbed you, and a shudder crawled up your spine as she slowly swiped her tongue between them. Her eyes glinted in an unfamiliar manner, and for a moment, you felt like she was not seeing you, at all.

“He visits me at night.”

She said the words so quietly that you almost did not hear her, but once you processed what she said, your frown only deepened.

“He crawls through my window…like a cat, you see,” she seemed to gasp. “...in the darkness…and he tastes me…”

Her vulgar words had you gasping, quickly rising to your feet in shock, and you watched as her frail hands glided along her neck and chest.

“He drinks from me, and Y/N, I swear,” she shook her head. “I have never known such heaven.”

Her disturbing words had you so frozen and turned around that you did not even hear your mother return, only the sound of her yelling at you as she pulled you out of your sister’s room. The sound of the other woman’s soft laugh reached your ears even from outside the door, and your feet had a mind of their own as they carried you down the hall.

You could only think to yourself that your parents hid much more about your sister’s illness than you realized. They spoke of no fever, and so you did not think the heat was making her say such delirious things, but perhaps the physician was not far off when he brought up her state of mind. Even hours later, her words disturbed you whenever you thought about them, and you could not get that look in her eyes out of your head.

It was a look of hunger and desperation and elation all rolled into one as she spoke of some phantom man who came into her room at night and drank from her. The thought made you shudder, and even in the darkness of your family’s manor, you swore that you could hear her childlike giggle from down the hall.

One week later, your sister was dead.

Your father was the next to go.

It happened quickly, the complete opposite of your sister, and you did not know if you preferred that. It was a simple carriage ride from the next town over when their carriage was…attacked. Somehow. At least, that is what you were told. You never did see anything for yourself, your mother having the responsibility and burden of identifying his body.

All you knew was that she was a wreck when you saw her.

It was only when you were at the funeral—the second in a month’s time—did you finally hear whispers of what may have happened that fateful night.

“The carriage driver was completely ripped apart,” a woman whispered behind you. “I hear they did not find much to even put in his casket.”

You froze at that, and you wondered if the insensitive woman even realized that you were there.

“...and poor Mr. Y/L/N was completely drained of blood…”

Your heart sank.

“Throat practically ripped out. Or…at least that is what they said.”

“What sort of animal can do such a thing?”

“It sounds like something straight out of a nightmare…”

Their words did not leave you for weeks, and you found it so hard to sleep.

The absence of both your sister and your father—and especially in such a short amount of time—was glaringly present in the manor. While your mother brought on help to lighten the load for the time being, when it was all said and done, she did not need someone to do the cooking and the sweeping and the dusting. Your mother needed someone to bring back your father and sister, and you very much wanted the same.

In the weeks that followed their deaths, a dark cloud seemed to descend over the house. You swore that it followed you with every corner you turned and every step you took. It was dark and ominous and suffocating, and there were many nights you sat up in your bed out of your sleep and gasping for breath. If you did not know any better, you swore that you could feel it choking you with its bare hands if it had any.

The demise of your sister was something you had come to be prepared for even if it was only a few days in advance. That is not to say that it made her death any easier to swallow, but your father’s was so sudden that no preparations—emotional or otherwise—had even been made. When your sister was buried, the grief had threatened to pull you down, but something about your father’s death triggered something else entirely.

You could feel it in your very bones.

There was a danger that hung in the air in his absence. Perhaps it was because you thought your father to be untouchable. His death was something you rarely gave thought to and when you did, you were confident that it would be something you would have to grapple with so far in the future. He was your provider and your protector and with him gone, you felt scarily vulnerable. Vulnerable to what? You did not know.

…but those nights in which you walked the dark hallways to find something to eat or drink grew less frequent. Every trip down to the kitchen and back up to your room felt longer than the last. At one point, you swore that your mind was playing a trick on you and that the hallway had grown in length. 

Every step felt shadowed, and too many times did you stop with a glass in hand, convinced that you could hear the whisper of footsteps echoing alongside yours. In those moments you stood so still and did not dare to release a single breath, afraid that it would bring something about you would not have protection from. In those moments, your hair would stand on end and you would stare straight ahead into the darkness for so long that you swore you even started to see things.

Telling yourself that you could not remain there all night, frozen between floors and rooms, you would force yourself to carry on, walking slow and soft in case you were being followed by something you swore you could not see. And when you finally made it to your room, you faced the door as you closed it, convinced that something would latch onto your back otherwise and that you would take it to bed with you.

As you laid in bed, you told yourself that the faint footsteps outside of your door was all in your head.

Your mother’s uncharacteristic silence had become the new normal. Breakfast was a quiet affair, tea time was a quiet affair, and you were sure that even if she did leave the house with you to go to the market, it too would have been a quiet affair. As it were, you could never even get the older woman to step foot outside of the door. 

Your sister’s death had shaken her, but your father’s had broken her entirely. It sometimes made you wonder how she might have reacted at your death, but as it were, she would never know. Despite how much the house terrified you these days, that ominous darkness had claimed her instead.

Like your sister, it crept up on her.

Unlike with your sister though, you were attuned to everything about your mother these days for she was all you had. So when those dreadful bags started to appear beneath her eyes from a lack of sleep, you were the first to point it out.

“I am just tired, sweetheart,” she softly told you, waving you off.

“...but all you ever do is sleep.”

She had no answer for you, humming softly to herself as if the brief exchange had never happened, at all. You stared at her for so long, and she continued to hum and needlepoint and for a moment, you could have sworn that she forgot you were there entirely. The entire time your gaze remained on her, she did not look up once, and a cold feeling washed over you, feeling the strangest sense of deja vu as you looked over her.

Your mother became something like a ghost—smiling past you and looking through you and resembling something like a lesser version of herself each day.

“Mother, you must get out of bed. Walk around, get some sunlight…eat.”

They were familiar words that she had been hearing for days, and like all the other times, your words fell on deaf ears. She merely smiled at you and took your hand and gently rubbed your skin from the comfort of her bed.

“You are so beautiful, sweetheart,” she whispered.

It was as if she was not even there, at all, and no one was more relieved than you when the physician finally came to see her, terrified of history repeating itself. But it seemed determined to do just that because he uttered the same words to you that he did to your parents all those months ago.

“She has no outright signs of illness,” he told you. “...and I fear…it is all psychological.”

The words ‘care’ and ‘facility’ reached your ears, but you did not know how to tell him that you were afraid to be alone in this house. This house that killed your sister and was currently killing your mother, and should you be left alone in it, you were afraid that it would kill you too.

It certainly felt that way, especially in the darkness, and each step to your mother’s room felt harder and harder to take. She did not want to eat nor drink, and so you felt it was your duty to see to it that she did not suffer her daughter’s fate. Every movement closer to her room felt…unwise, and when the candle in your hand lit up her door, a newfound silence descended over the corridor. As if there were faint whispers you had not been able to register before, only now that it truly felt silent.

“Mother?”

Silence was all that met you, and swallowing down your fear, you turned the knob.

You did not know what sight you expected to be met with, but oddly enough it was not the vision of your mother resting soundly in her bed. The sight genuinely surprised you, and for just a moment you silently told yourself to get it together.

You stepped into the room with a sigh, placing the water on her nightstand and looking over her. Your brows knitted at how peaceful she looked, and you recalled a stray thought about your sister once. If you did not know any better, you would say that your mother was dead, but the slow rise and fall of her chest pointed to otherwise.

Telling yourself that you would leave the water for her to drink in the morning, you made your leave. You turned your back on her and the room, the candle lighting the hallway before you. With the thought of your bed in mind, you turned to close the door…and froze.

It was a cruel trick of the light, but your eyes shaped the outline of a figure nonetheless. It towered over where your mother slept like some grim reaper, and the flame of the candle flickered despite the lack of wind. You did not look away once, and your lips parted in a silent gasp, but when you moved the candle past your face…her room was empty once again.

You told yourself that you were seeing things, but only your mind believed that. Your heart thudded and your skin grew cold and your legs shook as if something had really been there. You tried to convince yourself that it was nothing, but then why did you suddenly feel less alone?

When you looked over your shoulder, all that met you was darkness. No matter which way the candle moved, the flame only shined a light on darkness, and against your better judgement, you slowly made your way back to your room.

You buried your mother four days later.

And then you were alone.

Your sister spoke the truth.

He came in the night.

A house full of maids and kitchen staff and houseboys posed no deterrent for him for his sights had been set on you since before the first member of your family was buried. He did not want the maids or any of the houseboys or any of the cooks. He wanted the last surviving member of your family. 

He wanted you when you were down and isolated and afraid of something you could not see but could surely feel.

Your window was not open, but your sheets ruffled all the same as if it were. They moved like something was beneath them, and even in your sleep, you could feel it. You could feel that something was not right. A ghost of a whisper was in your ear and the whisper of fingers was on your skin. They danced along your flesh like spiders, and when you reached down to push them away, your hand only met air.

Staring up at the ceiling gave you no clarity. Your room was as empty as it was when you retired to bed, and you swallowed at the thought that you were losing your sanity too. It would not be surprising if you were. After all, burying all of the family you had in half a year’s time was not something you would wish on the worst of people.

You continued to stare into the darkness for what felt like hours, and despite your best efforts, sleep eventually won.

It was a good sleep—a great sleep even—and had one of the maids not told you, you would’ve thought that you slept for days instead of only one. Her proposal of breakfast surprisingly stirred up nothing within you, and despite how much it worried you that you did not want to get out of bed, you could not find it in yourself to move. Despite how long you had slept, you felt the most exhausted that you ever felt.

One day turned into three, and each morning you felt weaker and weaker.

Your body and your mind were in a battle, and the latter only won with the help of one of the maids, her shoulder acting as a crutch as she guided you to the washroom. Every action felt tenfold and took the greatest bit of strength to do. All of this seemed so familiar to you but on the other side now, and determined to get back to your room on your own, you brushed off her help.

Your bed called to you, and you almost heeded its call, but one glance in the mirror stopped you.

You looked weaker, yes. You had already started to lose your color, this was true. Looking into the mirror certainly stirred up some feelings that you had when staring into the faces of your sister and mother, but none of those things were what caught your attention. With parted lips, you tilted your head to the side, and your mind struggled to comprehend what you were staring at.

The bite marks were all that you could see, and your gaze eventually lowered to the floor.

Faint memories of waking up in the middle of the night with the feeling of something sitting on your chest hit you. The heavy feeling, the heat coursing through your body, none of it was forgotten, and your eyes traveled to your bed in fear. Its call was so strong, and your mind told you to go downstairs, but your body did not listen.

He found you right where he wanted you when darkness fell again, and this time he was no phantom. There were no whispers of a touch nor the faint murmurs of voices on the wind that you had convinced yourself you had imagined. 

He was before you in the flesh.

His soft hands glided along your frame as if they were committing you to memory. His lips kissed along your skin, and in between every peck, he took a bite out of you. Gentle bites, nothing alarming, but enough to make you gasp and arch off of the bed. His dark hair tickled your shoulder as he drank from you, and you could not hold in your hum as his fingers gently dragged back and forth along your spine.

He was beautiful, but he carried death with him.

When his fingers found their way inside of you—the first to ever do such a thing—it brought a noise out of you that you did not know was possible. It seemed to amuse him, and beyond the haze of ecstasy and horror, you heard something like a sound of appreciation leave his lips. His fingers were soaked with you, and the sheets whispered in the otherwise quiet room from every movement.

Your window was wide open tonight, and the wind blew the curtains along the walls.

His pale skin glowed under the moonlight—you both were bathed in it—and the smell of blood was strong in the room. He bit you everywhere he so desired—your neck, your breast, your ankle, and even that place between your thighs where you had never imagined a mouth could go. It made you feel on fire, and you twisted your hands into your hair as he crawled up your trembling body.

One of his arms snaked its way underneath you, lifting your chest towards his mouth, and the pulling sensation of your blood leaving your frame had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your legs were tangled with his, and he was on his knees, and your back was completely off of your bed. You felt as if you were floating, and you did not want to come down.

“What a pretty responsive thing you are…”

It was the first time you heard him speak—truly speak beyond whispers in the air and voices in your head.

When he finally slid his cock into you, your head hung off of the bed and your fingers twisted into his hair. It was oh so painful but the sensations were equally new and exciting and the mix of it all had you moaning into the darkness. Your blood from your chest ran down your neck and some of it even onto your lips. 

You even swore that you heard him growl into your skin as he fucked you, and it sounded so inhuman, but you supposed that is what he was—inhuman. He disappeared in the light and came out of the darkness and found his way into your head. He lived off of the blood of people like you, and only something other could do that.

Your foot slid up and down his leg as he stretched you out onto his cock, splitting you open and sinking into your folds without a care in the world. His tongue traced the trail of blood he left behind, and when his lips found yours, you tasted yourself on his mouth. He was rabid and savage and wild just like an animal, but more than anything, he was teasing and cruel and hungry like a predator.

He prevented you from hurdling over that cliff just too many times to keep you sane, and you felt yourself losing your mind more and more every time you were denied. Every stroke of his cock flamed that fire deep within your stomach, and as the night went on, you felt as if you were about to combust. You were sticky with sweat and blood, and your sheets must have looked like a crime scene.

He bit you again and again, satiating more than one hunger by taking his fill of your body. You were in heaven and hell at the same time, and everything around you melted away. You forgot where you were, you forgot your grief, and you forgot your solitude. You even forgot your name, and when you finally came around him, all that you felt was cock and his teeth and the pleasure that both were giving you.

Your mouth hung open and your head was thrown back and you enjoyed all the sensations of heaven as he dragged you to hell.

[cornmousequeen]

Ooo yessss so good oml! Love Vampire Loki 🥵🫶🤭 what a great way to start October off love the spooky eerie vibe

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

MAY YOU NEVER LOSE YOUR HYPERFIXATION

[introvertsnation]

[navybrat817]

Indulge with me if you will, lovelies, on this fine Sinday.

Warnings: Bucky Barnes, cockwarming, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), somnophilia, slight feels, established relationship

Banner by the talented @cafekitsune

Bucky who loves falling asleep with his cock deep inside you.

It’s an accident the first time it happens. After a long day and night of him fucking you senseless you both pass out with you still wrapped around him. You wake up to his hips rocking, a smile on his face and his blue eyes bright. 

“Best. Sleep. Ever.” 

You get used to him falling asleep buried deep in your cunt. You don’t bother with pajamas anymore because what’s the point? It’s easier to get that barrier out of the way. You do occasionally wear panties just so he can move them to the side and take what’s his.

Some nights he rubs your clit in his sleep and rasps, “Come on my cock, sweetheart.” while his other hand plays with your breast and teases your nipple. It’s almost like your pleasure helps him sleep a little easier. He nuzzles your neck when you give him what he wants, and you tremble in the aftermath of your orgasm when he adds, “Attagirl.”

Other nights he keeps a firm hold on you, your back against his chest as he thrusts every so often. Not to get off, but because he just can’t help himself. “Pussy’s so warm,” he mumbles, his mouth touching your shoulder. He doesn’t like being cold. “And all mine.”

You’ve woken up after he comes back from missions, your pussy wet and ready when he gently pushes in. “Shh. It’s just me,” he soothes against your ear when you whine, his tactical pants brushing your bare legs, like he couldn’t bother to get undressed. “I’m home.”

Tonight he has you lay on top of him as your eyes slip shut. “Feels so good,” he rumbles, your mixed release still seeping around him. He holds you closer, tight enough for you to feel his possession and tender enough to feel his love. “So fucking good.”

“So good,” you breathe. 

“You keep the nightmares away,” he whispers, his hand absentmindedly rubbing your back. Chest to chest, your walls stretched around his cock, his heartbeat matches the rhythm of yours, connecting you body, heart, and soul.

You reach up and run your fingers through his hair with a tired moan. “I got you,” you mumble before sleep takes you. 

You don’t see him smile, but you feel him get a little harder inside you. “Yeah, you do,” he agrees, kissing the top of your head. “And I got you, too.”

Nothing to see here, lovelies. Go about your business! ❤️

[cornmousequeen]

[stardestroyerss]

Adam Driver at the US Open ✨✨✨

Twitter credit to mediaforupdates

[heavenlybodies333]

Professional Conduct My Ass -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

You should’ve stopped at the second orgasm.

Maybe the third.

But Spencer had been looking at you like that—rumpled curls, shirt half-buttoned, a smug little smirk on his stupidly handsome face—and you had gone full slut. Now it was 7:12 AM, and you were in your bathroom mirror trying to make concealer do what no government-issued forensic cover-up ever could.

Your throat looked ravaged.

You tilted your head and winced. A neat ring of bruises, Spencer’s fingers like little trophies circling your neck in deep plum and ink-blue. And then the hickeys—dear God, the hickeys. He looked like a vampire victim.

You turned back to the bedroom, horrified. “We cannot go to the office like this.”

He was shirtless, bent over tying his shoes, and it was just—unfair. All lean lines and lanky muscle and a constellation of bruises blooming like wildflowers across his neck and shoulders.

You whistled. “I really went to town on you.”

“You bit me,” he said, straightening and pointing to a crescent mark just below his collarbone. “You left dental evidence.”

You shrugged. “It was a compliment. In the moment.”

He stared at you. “We have to go to work. With Hotch. And Morgan. And JJ. And Garcia. And we have a case briefing,” he said, rubbing his face like it physically pained him to remember.

You were too busy dabbing concealer onto your neck like a madwoman to look back at him. “You’re literally the smartest person in the Bureau and you let this happen.”

“Excuse me?” he shot back, slipping on his button-up with a hiss. “You bit me like I was a chew toy!”

“Only because you said—” You stopped yourself. “Never mind.”

He raised a brow. “‘Only because I said…?’ What?”

You muttered something about having a latex allergy and being turned on by fucking raw and kept blending.

You arrived at Quantico seven minutes late, coffee in hand, silently daring the elevator to move faster as you and Spencer stood like statues inside.

You sit down two chairs away from Spencer. Not next to him. Never next to him. You learned that lesson last week when you accidentally let your knees touch under the table and Morgan nearly imploded from curiosity.

He’s wearing a scarf.

Spencer Reid is wearing a scarf. In July.

JJ arches a brow. Morgan outright snorts. “Pretty boy, what’s with the neckwear? You join a jazz band?”

You immediately shove a too-hot sip of coffee in your mouth to avoid making a noise. Spencer blinks at Morgan like a man choosing violence.

“Had a sore throat this morning,” he says too quickly. “Didn’t want it to get worse.”

Garcia, bless her meddling heart, swivels around in her chair. “Oh no! Are you sick? Do you need tea? I have lemon ginger in my desk—”

“No! No. I’m fine.” Spencer coughs, like he’s trying to make the lie more convincing. “Just… precautionary.”

Emily’s eyes flick from him to you, to the scarf, to your turtleneck, then down to your wrists, where you accidentally forgot to cover one of his bruises with foundation. A ring-shaped imprint from his hand still lingers faintly. Her brow arches. Her mouth twitches.

You pretend not to notice. You focus on the whiteboard.

Hotch walks in, files in hand.

“Morning,” he says. “Briefing’s starting now. Let’s keep it efficient.”

9:12am Post-Brief Coffee

You’re waiting for coffee when Emily walks in, holding a mug and a smug look.

“Nice neck,” she says casually.

You freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You and Reid are really subtle, you know that?”

You nearly spill your drink. “We’re not—”

She holds up her hand. “Relax. I don’t care. Just… maybe cool it with the murdery makeout sessions before team meetings.”

Your face burns. “Noted.”

“And FYI,” she adds, stepping past you, “you’ve got a bite mark on your shoulder. Left side. Might wanna rethink the short sleeves.” You glance down and swear under your breath.

Walking back to your desk, coffee in hand before you collapse into your chair. Spencer sent you a text from across the bullpen:

SPENCER: We are so bad at being secretive.

YOU: I told you not to leave a fingerprint on my neck.

SPENCER: You told me to choke you.

YOU: I was drunk on your nerd dick. That doesn’t count.

SPENCER: Fair. Still. We need a new plan.

YOU: New plan: no more fucking before briefings.

SPENCER: Counter-offer: we fuck gently next time.

You met his eyes across the room.

That smug little smile was back. You bit your lip.

God help you.

You were going to do it all over again.

a/n: hehehe

[cornmousequeen]

I was drunk on your nerd d*ck

😭💀 I loved this so much! My man knows how to f*ck

[misserabella]

biiiig mean stretch!

spencer reid x fem! reader

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, THIS IS FILTHY. NAAAAASTY, you’ve been warned. mean harsh dom! spencer and bratty sub! reader, nasty make outs, spanking, hair pulling, cursing, degradation and praise (not quite towards you), use of good girl (again, not towards you), dirty talking, oral sex (s! receiving), face fucking, edging, gagging, facial, multiple orgasms and rounds implied, teasing, begging, hickeys, choking, spencer being a little bit of a pervert, piv sex, using cum as lube, unprotected sex (guys don’t do this), scratching, pussy talking, breeding kink, creampie, squirting, slapping, spitting, spencer has crazy stamina…

from this request.

@cherriesinthespring & @brattyspence 💋

you were actually exhausted. whole body aching, the last thing you needed was to talk to him, but as always, there he was. your asshole of a flatmate. with his stupid glasses on as his amber eyes strolled through the pages of his book miles per hour.

“well, look who it is. past midnight. seems like cinderella by how fucked up you look.”

you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his tone, kicking off your heels. “fuck off reid, i’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

your relationship had been strained from the start… you two were like oil and water. always had been, since the two of you were five and had the sufficient conscience to choose if you liked each other or not. and believe me, if you had had another choice… you wouldn’t have even taken up the offer to live with him. but your mother, diana’s best friend, as soon as she had learnt that you had been given a promotion and needed to move to quantico? had told the blonde, who excitedly told her that spencer was looking for a flatmate. that sealed your destiny. and now there you were. sharing space with the person you loathed most in the entire world.

“hell, okay, you’re not fucked up at all, ‘cause getting some dick wouldn’t have left you like that.”

you groaned, your head throbbing, full body tense. “well at least i get to fuck, not like you, you only get off to letters on paper.”

and he dared to chuckle, fucking chuckle. he closed his book and put it aside, tall frame leaving its seat at the sofa to slowly stroll over you.

“well isn’t your vocabulary a delight?” he crooked his head. “now why don’t you tell me what’s gotten you all bothered, princess. ‘cause i’m sure my incredible presence cannot be it.” he said sarcastically, but he seemed intrigued to know what had happened. “hard day at work? did starbucks ran out of caramel drizzle? or is your rose toy dead?”

“you little…” your hands were reaching for his throat, but he was faster, his tongue clicking as his strong long fingers surrounded your wrists, stopping you centimeters away from his warm skin.

“really, doll? trying to choke an fbi agent? such a bad girl…” you gasped as he pinned you against the wall. “you could get in a lot of trouble for that. maybe i should use my cuffs on you. or maybe not, i’m sure you’d end up enjoying it.” he muttered that last part against your ear, your cheeks reddish in both anger and embarrassment.

“fuck you.” you spat, and he chuckled, dark and teasingly against the skin if your neck. you were not done. he wanted to play dirty? two could do that. “and what do you say about extortion of people by your power, huh? an fbi agent trying to make me kneel under him for his status? i could easily get you fired. you should be ashamed, reid… but… it seems like you are more like… excited, huh?” and with a roll of your hips against him you confirm what you had suspected: he was hard. rock hard at that.

he smirked at you, ignoring your jab as he leaned over you. “are you threatening me?” he muttered against your lips, his tongue wetting his bottom one.

your eyes followed the movement, and your throat dried up. you squinted at him. “are you?”

“you know… all this brattiness of yours is really getting on my nerves.”

“really? by how hard you are… i would believe you’re enjoying it.” you muttered back. your breaths were mingling. there was heat pooling down on your lower stomach. and the tension exuding from your bodies could be cut with a knife.

“you need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” he growled, eyes dangerous.

“but wouldn’t you like it wide open…, reid?”

you could feel the moment he said “fuck it”, his brown eyes now completely pitch black. “yeah? then open the fuck up.”

and next thing you knew? his tongue was deep into your mouth, which had willingly fallen open for him. the two of you groaned, and the tight hold he had on your wrists turned bruising. it was as if he hated the idea that he desired you so much. maybe he did. maybe you did. but right now the only thing you could focus on was on his hard cock pushing against your belly, and how soaked your panties felt stuck against your throbbing clit. when had you gotten so wet?

a moan left you as his plush lips surrounded your tongue and sucked, a hum leaving his chest when he then moved to your neck, sucking some more on the skin there.

“i think i ought to teach you a lesson, don’t you?” you whined as he bit down on your pulse point. “answer me.” a choked gasp left your lips when one of his hands, the one that wasn’t holding now both your wrists up, came down harsh against the side of your thigh on a smack.

“yes.”

“that’s what i thought.” he purred, and your eyes almost rolled back at the sound of his deep voice. “on your knees.” he ordered as he let go of you, and busied his now free hands on unbuttoning his slacks. you got lost for a minute there as you caught sight of the wet patch decorating his boxers, but he was quick to get you back on page. your eyes widened when his hand took harshly your face. “do i need to repeat myself?” he hissed and you shook your head. “then. get. on. your. fucking. knees.” you complied, knees on the hardwood floor, puppy eyes staring right onto his. “that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it? let’s hope you suck cock better than you follow orders.”

your pussy fluttered. fuck. why was this turning you on so much?

“show me that tongue.” you stuck it out to him. pink. salivating. ready. he hummed and pushed down his boxers and pants down his thighs. your eyes widened at the sight of his thick cock. “let’s keep that dirty mouth of yours busy, yeah?” and before you could even react, you were gagging around him. it hurt. your lips were fully stretched around him, and your jaw was about to give up by the uncomfortable stuffiness. but god… it felt so good… he tasted so good… reid groaned, fingers winding into your hair and tugging as his hips snapped and his cock hit down your throat. “fuck. so that mouth is actually good for something, huh?”

your eyes couldn’t help but water, your nails scratching at his thighs as he didn’t even give you a chance to adjust before starting to fuck your face. you couldn’t help but moan, eyes rolling as the air in your lungs thinned. he was literally fucking you dumb. and you couldn’t love it more.

“such a fucking slut. look at you. you act harsh but as soon as a dick is shoved into your throat you start to act like a good girl, hm?“ you whined, thighs squeezing against the other, throat swallowing around him and making him grunt. “jesus, you’re tight. wonder how your pussy will be. probably will have to stretch it open first, break it in since you haven’t brought anyone home to fuck since you moved in, huh?” he chuckled. “the walls are thin, you know? you think i don’t hear you pumping your fingers into your little cunt every night? poor thing. you’re so desperate for cock you would take anyone’s, huh? even mine. but, actually… i’m starting to believe it’s the one you’ve been wanting the most, isn’t it?” you whimpered. “hm? what’d you think about while fucking your pussy, doll? did you think about me listening to you? that the reason why you’d moan louder? for me to hear? wanted me to come into your room and show you what a good orgasm is supposed to feel like?” you nodded, too lost to actually try and hide how the idea of him listening to you masturbating just a few doors away made you squirt all over your sheets. he chuckled. low. mockingly. “of course you did.” he pushed down your throat even harder. “all that time acting as though you hated me and you just liked me, huh?” you gasped and coughed as he pulled out of your mouth, smacking his wet leaking cock against your flushed cheek.

“i hate you.” you swore and his eyes glinted.

“yeah? well, for someone who hates me, you really love sucking my cock.” he chuckled when, while gliding his tip along your bottom lip, your mouth subconsciously opened. “you want it?”

you kept silent. what could you say? you couldn’t say no. that would be a lie. but you also couldn’t say yes, that’d would make it too easy for him. but before you could catch yourself you were…

“please.”

begging.

his smile was that of the cheshire cat. “atta girl.” you moaned when he fed it back to you, pumping it down your throat over and over again. you relished on the musky scent, on the tuffs of hair of his base kissing your nose, on his tip making you gag over and over again until you became so messy and sloppy that trails of spit dribbled down past your lips and chin onto your thighs. “thaaaat’s it. so messy. can’t help but want to…” and then you’re gasping as hot spurts of cum hit your face, making you even more messier. spencer moans as he strokes every last drop out of his breeding tightening balls. “fuck. look at you. so pretty like this…” your mouth stays open for the dripping of it, the salty release hitting your tongue and making you hum.

when you open your eyes, your cunt throbs. he looks gone. wild in pleasure. and starving.

“get up.” your legs shake and you almost trip by how fast you complied. “i’m not done with you yet.”

not even 10 seconds go by before you’re being thrown onto his bed —his bedroom being the nearest one of the two—, and another 10 is what it takes him to get you bare before his eyes. his eyes appreciatively took the sight of your heaving chest and rosy nipples in, the smoothness of your tummy, the plush of your thighs…

he pumps his still rock hard cock. how does he manage to have that much stamina? it hadn’t even gone down —not in the slightest— after making a mess of your face with his cum.

“it’s not gonna-” you try and say, but his words cut you off quickly enough.

“mouth shut. eyes on me. legs open. i’ll make it fit. even if i have to break apart your pussy for it.” you swallow, and god, if you hadn’t you’d have died of embarrassment by the whimper that tried to leave your throat.

you open your legs for him. pussy lips spread, soaking wet just for him, hole twitching in need of being fucked and clit puffy and sensitive pleading to be touched.

“knew she’d be pretty…” he groans, licking at his lips, hand tightening around his dick. his fingers come to your sticky cheek and gathers ropes of his cum, and before you could inquire him about it, he’s stuffing them into your needy little cunt. “jesus, she’s tight. can’t wait to break her open…” your eyes roll as he sinks them to the knuckle and curls up up up until he hits that spongy spot that makes you sing the prettiest moans late at night when you know he can hear you.

“spencer…!” you whimper, your legs falling further apart, hips twitching for more.

“that’s it. open up for me.” he smirked, pushing a third finger inside that has you choking on a scream, walks tightening down hard around his digits he grunts. “trynna milk me so soon, baby? i haven’t even put it in.”

he fucks you open with harsh strokes, but he’s diligent, he makes sure you’re slicked up and ready, loose enough for his puffy head.

but when he aligns it up with your entrance, his jaw ticks. “it’s gonna be a tight fit. now, say ‘biiiiig stretch’ for me, mh?”

“biiiig—ngh!!!!” you can’t even comply, not when he’s basically splitting you in half. your nails dig on his back as he pants and tries to fit in past the first ring of muscles.

“jesus.fuck.” with a ‘pop!’ his tip presses in, and you two moan in unison. your lungs feel like you’re on fire, and your eyes sting. but fuck if it doesn’t feel good being so full. “good girl…” he praises. and at first you think it’s directed towards you. but no. his thumb sweetly circles your clit and you cry. “taking me so good… you’re doing so good for me… now, open a little bit more for me, hm?”

he’s talking. to your pussy.

but it’s not “little” how much it has to open to accommodate him. every fucking inch is devastating. and by the time his balls hit your ass, his tip —if it could be possible— would have breached your cervix and fucked itself into your womb.

he falls onto you the moment you clench, and groans against your neck. “if only i had known you’d feel this good… i would have fucked you much sooner.” he then looks at your dizzy eyes and faded face. you’re half brain dead on his cock. he can’t help but chuckle. “so this was the fastest way to make you behave and shut up, huh? good to know.” he slaps at your cheek, and you blink, breathing ragged and heavy, his hips grinding deep against your cervix, making you whimper. “don’t you dare tap out on me. i haven’t had my way with you yet.”

and then he’s fucking you. reeeeeally fucking you.

your back arches, your nails draw blood down his back, and your cunt gushes in lewd wet sounds that resonate around his room by how hard and deep he plunges into you.

“fuck. so good… best pussy i’ve ever had. made for me, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he murmurs, and you are so lost… he’s mean. his hands are rough as they grip your hips in a way you know will bruise, and his cock is so harshly fucking you open that you believe he’ll leave the imprint of himself permanently molded to your walls.

you can feel every vein, every ridge.

“spencer, spencer, spencer…!” you cry and he chuckles in between grunts.

“so now it’s ‘spencer’, huh? what happened to ‘reid’? you’re so happy to get dicked down that you’re calling me by my name now?” one of his hands surrounds your neck, and when it tightens… your pussy does as well. “fuck! and here i thought you couldn’t get tighter…”your legs cage him, making your back arch and his dick reach deeper in places no one ever had. “needy little girl… feels good, huh?” you moan, mouth open and he takes the chance to spit on it. and when you quickly and obediently swallow what he gives you? he speeds up. “fucking slut. you love this, don’t you? love the fact that i’m breaking you apart. fuck. you even let me go in raw, bet you’ll even let me breed you if i wanted, huh?” your cunt flutters and his head hangs for a second as a strangled moan leaves him. just for a moment there, he almost lost control and busted. “you want it, honey? want my cum deep into this pretty little womb of yours?” you moan and he lets go of your neck to slap your cheek again, softly, but harsh enough to make your clit twitch. “answer me.”

“yes, yes, plea-“

“not you.” he grunts, going harsher, deeper, faster. “i’m not talking to you. i’m talking to her.” your breath leaves your lungs once two of his fingers meet your puffy clit, rolling it, pinching it. your pussy squelches. and he hums. “yeah? you want it that much?” another squeeeelch!, you’re dripping down to his sheets. “then take it, pretty. it’s all yours.” and you scream, ‘cause the way in which you’re coming when his thick warm ropes of cum fill you is insane. it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. your ears ring, your vision darkens at the corners, your brain seems to melt, and your pussy squirts in little unstopping spurts that soak his cock, balls, sheets… your juices are everywhere, and fuck if it doesn’t make spencer come even harder…

by the time his balls are drained and his hips halt, his cock up to the base inside you to keep you plugged in with his cum, you’re basically passed out, eyes crossed as you try to focus back onto the present. you can’t even remember your name. fuck, you can’t even remember how to breath.

and your legs shake like crazy when in a flip he’s got you on all fours —well not all, since one of his hands has your face smudged against one of his pillows—. “again.” he says, breathless as he pushes in his still hard cock into your abused and stuffed cunt. “show me how you squirt again. i wanna see it again.”

you were not getting out of this alive.

[cornmousequeen]

Staphhh this was sooo good! I love mean dom Spencer! It genuinely made me giggle every time he talked to the🐱

[rafesteddy]

“Take the top off. Leave the skirt on.” Rafe’s version… Based off this line from “The Summer I Turned Pretty”

frat!rafe x gf!reader

c/w: pet names, name calling during sex (slut/whore), unprotected p in v, smoking during sex (we3d), softdom!rafe, dirty talk, spanking, choking, spitting, pressing face into the mattress, praise kink, creampie, squirting, breath play, reader’s tipsy, rafe’s drunk + established relationship

1.2K

You’re still wearing the skirt. That’s the first thing he sees when you stumble into his room, giggling behind your hand, eyes glazed from the beer and weed. You’d been clinging to his side all night, warm and tipsy in your little skirt and too-tight tee, drunk off the way he couldn’t stop touching you

He’s already shirtless—broad chest bare, nothing but his gold chain catching in the light and the tan baked into his skin. He backs you toward the bed, joint still pinched between his fingers as he drops onto the mattress and grins.

“You gonna keep lookin’ at me like that or you gonna come here?”

You smirk as you step closer, letting your eyes drag over him. Rafe’s jeans are low, legs spread wide, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he exhales smoke. His baby blue eyes rake down your body zeroed in on the bounce of your tits under your shirt and the way your thighs peek from the bottom of your pleated skirt.

You crawl onto his lap straddling him with a knowing sigh. “You’ve been starin’ all night.”

He just grins wider, caught red-handed.

“And?” He murmurs flicking ash onto the tray beside his bed. “You wore this for me. Why wouldn’t I?”

You tilt your head playing along. “Thought maybe you’d like it.”

“Like it?” He snorts, cock already stiffening under you as you settle on his lap. “Baby, I almost lost it in the stands. Out there with your fuckin’ thighs out; ass out… Can’t remember a single play.”

You giggle as you dip in, kissing the corner of his mouth. “We won.”

“No shit?” He asks as his tongue slips between your lips, sliding against yours, smoke clinging to his lips, one hand sliding up the back of your shirt while the other squeezes your ass. “Fightin’ to give a shit about anything but you—”

You gasp when his big hand pushes under your skirt, fingers tracing up the inside of your thigh. “You drunk?”

“I’m horny,” he mumbles with a deep tone that rumbles against your soft lips. You laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips to tease.

“No shit.”

“Take the top off,” he drawls as his hand flattens against your lower back. “Leave the skirt on, yeah?”

You blink at him through the smokey haze, heart banging against your ribs as you lift your shirt above your head. He watches every inch of skin, pupils blown wide through the peeks of his weed-dazed eyes, teeth biting into his bottom lip again as you reach behind and unclip your bra.

“Shiiittt,” he groans, eyes locked on your chest. “You’re—Oh, fuck, baby.”

He leans closer; mouth hot and wet as he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking and licking with slow, lazy laps while his other hand pinches and pulls your panties to the side. Smoke rolls from his nostrils, the heat of him dizzying as he groans into your tits.

You whimper, hips rocking as his fingers drag along your soaked slit.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, eyes glazed. “She’s wet already. The fuck were you thinkin’ about, huh?” You can hear the smirk in his tone.

“You,” you whisper, shivering as his fingers play through your arousal. “Staring at me like that.”

“Mmm… And?”

“Thought about you bendin’ me over all night.”

He chuckles darkly, letting a little smoke seep out with it. “Turn. Get on your knees.”

You squeal as he flips you, completely impatient, not even letting a second pass before he manhandles you himself.

“This ass, baby. Want you just like that.” Your breath catches as his hands grab your hips, palming your ass, spreading you open with a low whistle. “Shit’s glistenin’—prettiest fuckin’ pussy.”

You moan as you press your hands into his sheets, sticking your ass out and he spits, the wet rolling between your ass cheeks, catching at your entrance before he stuffs it inside with two thick fingers.

“You wanted it like this, yeah?” He breathes. “Bent over like a little whore?”

“Please, Rafe.”

“Please… So polite, pretty,” he mutters with the joint bit between his lips, your skirt bunched up in his big fist, the other wrapped around his dick.

He reaches down and grabs you by the neck, towing you back, pressing his lips against yours, passing smoke in your mouth as he squeezes. Smoke billows from your lips as he pushes in just enough to stretch you with the fat head of his cock and when the last breath leaves your lips he pushes your face down against the mattress.

You cry out as he thrusts in rough and hard, making the fat of your ass bounce, his ringed hands gripping your waist tight.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps. “You’re fuckin’ squeezin’ me… You’re gonna—” He praises as he pulls out, sinking deeper, eyes set on the wet place the two of you connect. “You’re gonna milk me dry, baby.”

You moan, back dipping low, ass raised high, hitting that angle that has you seeing stars as his toned hips snap against your skin again and again.

“Take it,” he pants. “Fuck, you’re so good for me. My perfect little slut.” He starts to move slower, pounding into you nonetheless watching how your body moves—ass jiggling with every rough clap, each fucked-out cry squeaking past your lips, hands balled up tight in the sheets.

That skirt moves just like he dreamed it would framing your body perfectly, that pretty little harness fluttering around your waist that he can latch onto and punish you for each second you teased him earlier.

His hand messes in your hair and yanks you back against his sweat-slicked chest; lips finding your ear. “You know how perfect you are?” He hums. “Makin’ all those noises. Takin’ me so deep… Lookin’ this good.”

“I—”

“Yeah, baby,” he pants, biting at your neck. “You gonna cum for me? Gonna cream all over my fuckin’ cock? C’mon.”

“Fuck, Rafe,” your voice comes out in a hoarse cry as your pussy pulses around his cock.

“Good girl. Make a mess on me. Wanna feel you leakin’ down me,” he grunts as his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight little circles that have your hands flying to his forearm and thigh for balance, nails clawing into his flesh as you squirt around him with a hoarse sob.

“Atta girl—Fuckkk. Just—Mpfhh,” he grits his teeth, fucking into you deep with thick, sticky ropes of cum spilling inside you as he curses against your shoulder.

His breath comes out hard and fast against your throat, both your thighs and his slick with your shared release. Rafe lets the skirt fall, wrapping one big arm around your waist, the other around your neck. You press a kiss against his bicep, giggling like you got everything you wanted, and so does he.

“Shit, pretty girl,” he pants against your cheek, still catching his breath. “Got you so fuckin’ wet.”

“That was your plan…” you whisper, lips brushing his as your hands drift to the zipper at your back.

“Only half of it,” he murmurs, stopping you with one big hand.

“Half?” You giggle.

He grins, cock still twitching against your thigh as he mumbles out one last filthy whisper. “Half… Keep the skirt on. Want you bouncin’ on me next.”

🏷️ @rafesthroatbaby @babygoddam @cherrywriterrr @chriscroissant @littlelamy @imakeepers-world-blog @rafesbabygirlx @bisexualcvnt @love-4-rafey-lando @slut-4-rafey @prettybabyyyy @maybankslover @rafecameronswhoore @leather-n-velvet @user25786433455 @wtfdudesblog @i-love-dilfs @tatoda @krissy455 @mymelii @angelicameron @chem1cali @missmookie @rafespeach @heyitsmewee @taliescapes @lolasangelz @cokewithcameron @k4yr14 @starkeyjoseph @daddyrafeslittleslut @leviathan0000 @luvrcndy @mrswidowjohansson @vanessa-rafesgirl @sapphiresighs @atpeacee @alexxavicry @sithapprentice @spideysimpossiblegirl @dilflover72567 @esmerai-artemis @littleshinythoughts @apricityxoxo @rafecamlovr @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @boopiesmif @st8rkey @randomdupe @mqndi1

[cornmousequeen]

HOT HOT HOT

[whisperedmeg]

TALK LATER, KISS NOW ༄ s. reid x reader

summary: you’re finally about to sleep with your boyfriend spencer, but for some reason, he can’t seem to stop talking. you shut him up the best way you know how. genre: fluff, smut-adjacent word count: 0.6k tags/warnings: glasses!reid, giggly makeout in bed, yapper!spencer, undressing each other, (implied?) dry humping lol, spencer is kinda giving inexperienced vibes, fade-to-black smut, no use of y/n. 18+ MDNI prompt: here a/n: this fic was written as part of my 1k celebration event! enjoy xo 😚

main event post ༄ whisper week masterlist

You don’t mean to laugh into Spencer’s mouth, but his glasses fog when he exhales and suddenly, you just can’t help it.

“Sorry,” he says, already breathless, pushing them up his nose with the inside of his wrist. “It’s just—there’s a temperature differential and the humidity, it—”

“Spencer.” You tug him back down to you by his tie. “Just kiss me.”

He does, eager and sweet, all soft lips and careful hands. The edge of his frames taps your cheekbone and you grin against him. He pulls back a millimeter.

“Should I—um, glasses off or… I mean, I can see you better when wearing them, which is frankly a very compelling argument for keeping them on, but they’re kind of in the way and at risk of smudging and also—”

“Spence,” you interrupt again sweetly. You slide the glasses off, fold them neatly, and set them on his nightstand. “Problem solved.”

He blinks, wide and adoring. “You’re very blurry,” he confesses. “But somehow still unbelievably attractive.”

“You’re impossible,” you giggle.

His thigh slips between yours and you make a sound you weren’t planning on at the added friction. He goes very still, eyes darting to yours.

“Okay?” he asks. “We can stop or slow down or pause and talk about literally anything, like the physiological and neurological reasons for why you just—”

“Don’t you dare stop,” you interrupt breathlessly as you roll your hips up to meet his. The contact makes his brain temporarily short circuit.

“Oh,” he whimpers. “That’s—uh—so that sound was probably caused by dopamine and norepinephrine and also you, obviously you, and—” He kisses you in the middle of his sentence, like he can’t help it. You fist your fingers in his shirt and pull him closer until you’re chest to chest.

He breaks away to look at you, cheeks pink, voice wrecked. “You’re so beautiful. Just so…” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “I can’t find a better word than that to describe you with right now. I think you might’ve broken my brain.”

“That word works just fine,” you giggle, tugging the last few buttons of his shirt open. He helps clumsily, and then your top joins his somewhere by the end of the bed. He skims his hands over your stomach like he’s memorizing every inch, slowly, a little stunned.

“I can’t believe this is—I mean, I can believe it, because we’re both here and it’s empirically happening, but also there’s this sense of unreality and I know I’m talking too much but my brain just keeps—”

You kiss him to shut him up. He smiles into it, laughing a little, hips rocking helplessly against you. You bite his lower lip lightly and he makes a sound you want to bottle up and save for a rainy day.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right?” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours.

“Promise, but I don’t want you to stop.” Your thumb traces the edge of his jaw. “Keep going.”

“Okay,” he whispers. He finds your hand and laces your fingers together, squeezes once, and then you’re moving again — kisses and heat and the soft, breathless kind of giggling that only happens when it’s brand-new and you both know exactly what comes next. Your pants come off, then his, then you’re skin to skin and pushing a lock of hair behind his ear.

He noses at your cheek before bracing himself up on his elbows and looking down at you. “For the record,” he murmurs, “I’m going to find my words again later, and they’ll all be about you.”

“Later,” you agree, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him back down to your lips. “Talk later. Kiss now.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

this ficlet was written for my whisper week 1k celebration event! follow along from September 7-13 for more 🫶🏼

[cornmousequeen]

I love him