This is the section for things I created myself, updates are coming frequently and I hope you enjoy them. If you want to use this as an inspiration just don’t forget to tag me, and of course you can re blog.
MCU
Andy Barber
—————Reblogs————
This is the section mostly for other’s people work that I like a lot. Here are some links and I also add the authors name in order for you to follow them.
Warnings: Smut 18+ (paddle, pet names, oral, female and male recieving, ROUGH SEX)
A/N: This took me much longer than i wanted, but with training and now school officially back in session i am trying to find a balance. I hope you all enjoy this part as much as i enjoyed putting it together. Enjoy Bunny’s!
Enjoyed This Work? All Other Work Can Be Found On My Masterlist!
“Tony,” Pepper sighed as she watched her husband huff at the computer screen, “you’re letting your rivals get under your skin again, it’s one video,” she tried to reason, “one, you really think that video is going to have viewers switching over from Stark Hub to Hydra Films?”
Tony looked at his wife, a sigh leaving his lips as he slumped back in his chair, “Pepper, sweetheart, numbers in porn, aren’t just numbers, with the traction this one video alone is getting, it’s enough to have even our most loyal viewer switch over – curiosity killed the cat you know.”
Pepper’s brows furrows, “what exactly did Hydra Films film that has you worried about our numbers, we have ‘The Soldier’ tony, viewers always come back for him.
Tony scrubs a hand over his face before he’s jolting up, hands moving to his keyboard as he types something in. Tony had been hoping his wife wouldn’t have to see this video at all, but if he wants her to understand his frustration, it needs to be done, it’s the only way he might get her to understand. His jaw is tense as he looks for what he’s searching for, his eyes meeting his wife’s as soon as he finds it, “come around the desk Pep.”
Pepper does as she’s asked even giving her husband a comforting squeeze to his shoulder as she sidles up behind him. When she goes to move her hand Tony’s reaching for it, keeping it there, he meets her curious eye’s “you might want to grab onto something with what you’re about to watch, it might not sit right with you, in a way this video involves you as well.”
Pepper is very rarely one to worry or scare away with porn, but she still obliges her husband’s request and leaves her hand resting there. Curiosity indeed killed the cat.
Tony’s turning back to the screen, finger hovering the mouse over the play button, a soft click meets his ears, the video on screen begins to play.
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; fingering, fisting, squirting, kidnapping, spanking/whipping, some allusions to breeding.
This is dark! nomad Steve Rogers x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Synopsis: You’re trapped by more than four walls, trapped between the past and the present.
Note: Thanks to @lokislastlove for helping me brainstorm. I was just hungering for some good nomad.
Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
The light pad of your feet on the wooden floor was punctuated by the metallic clink, softened as you stepped onto the rug between the couch and the fireplace. You barely noticed the subtle weight around your ankle anymore. You barely remembered anything but those walls, the quilt spread neatly over the bed, the portrait of a woman in a Victorian era farm dress watching a field of sheep, the wooden bowl you filled with fruit from the garden.
summary. — for so long, he’s wanted to hold you down and tell you that he loves you.
pairing. — Dark!Stepdad!Andy Barber x innocent!fem!reader.
warnings. — DUBCON, stepcest, large age gap (andy is 51, reader is early 20s), coercion, lying, manipulation, gaslighting, grooming, taking advantage, perversion, possessiveness, obsession, isolation, loner reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, smoking, smut, Daddy kink, fingering, mentions of oral (both receiving), overstimulation, degradation, praise, blowing smoke in face, missionary, cowgirl, mentions of male masturbation, size kink (andy’s cock is huge), pet names (little girl, little one, baby, sweetie, sweet girl), creampie kink, reader is extremely innocent, inaccurate explanations of sex, virginity loss, spanking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
word count. — 9k
author’s note. — here’s the continuation of my step dad!andy concept that i posted in may. this is before, during, and after the concept. i copy and pasted some of the concept and inserted it here! everything is legal. andy married the reader’s mom when the reader was 18, and he formed feelings for the reader then. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY! @hansensfics
Andy sighs deeply as he sits in his room, bones aching immensely. He’s been standing by the window, behind the sheer white curtains for far too long. Fifty-one years of turmoil have caught up to him, but thankfully, it doesn’t show as much as it should.
He feels your discomfort as much as he does his stiffness. The awkward angle he’s been stuck in is a reflection of your personality. You never socialise like you should, and when you’re forced to, it’s all wrong.
Andy hates seeing you out of your element. The sight of you sitting on a white lounge chair in a dress you clearly don’t like is painful for him. He knows you prefer his company—that’s why he’s always offering it.
Today, he planned on showing you his notes from court on a case about a man assaulting his neighbour with a wrench.
It’s almost as if said wrench was thrown into his plans, because now he has to watch you try to keep up with the brain-rotting chatter of unruly college girls.
Your mother had organised the day with her fellow neighbours who incessantly brought up how lonely you are at the community barbecues. Andy remembers that day very well—he caught you crying out of frustration when you didn’t want to go.
Endlessly, he’s had to tell your mother to let up and leave you alone. Andy understands how you are all too well. Lonely, but content. You never connected with anyone growing up and stuck to your devices—books that are either overrated classics or underrated masterpieces.
It was no surprise that you were immediately drawn to the twice exiled, unlucky man. Like a moth to the flame, you looked at him with such wonder and stuck yourself to him, yet still remained far.
Your close connection was only formed when he found you in a pile of tissues and drowning in your own tears. Seconds away from hyperventilating, he pulled you back into the ocean everyone calls reality. To this day, however, he still isn’t sure why you were in such a state.
The laughter he hears is either fake or simply aggravating. He can’t find yours in that mess, though, and he tries to come up with a reason to take you away.
Andy is your stepfather—he can say anything he wants. Chores haven’t been done yet, your mom’s calling you, we have somewhere to be—I want you all to myself.
But it feels wrong—feels fake. He strives for authenticity after years of ingenuity. Before, he’d patched the cracks in the facade of his forced suburban life before anyone else could see them. Now, he embraces the breakage. In fact, there is none, because there is no farce.
From the low level of the bed, Andy unfortunately cannot see you. Even though your company is the sun, you remain in a white dress. It’s the face of ingenues all around the world. You shield yourself from the scorching sun, the brightness making your eyes ache.
The idea of making some lemonade (for you and only you) crosses your stepfather’s mind, and he decides to do it.
“Oh my gosh—So, basically, Elijah and I’s anniversary is coming up! Apparently, he wants us to go to Vegas, which I’m so down for. I’m not sure what to get him, though,” a woman in her early twenties, like you, nearly squeals. Her excitement makes you smile. “He’s not a fan of jewellery, so anything like that is out of the question…”
Her name is easy to remember, and very pretty as well. Gianna, and she’s an interior design major.
A snort is heard from the chair over—Kennedy, who finds humour in anything and is the nicest to you. “Sex, sex, sex! Dude, that’s the easiest thing ever. Just indulge in whatever fantasy he’s got. Maid, landlord, plumber—”
“—Ha! Let him do anal, GiGi. Get a sparkly plug, some decent lube, and spread those cheeks,” the other friend, Imogen, giggles. She claps at the end of her sentence, and the three women laugh for a few seconds.
“...We’ve already done anal. For his 25th…” The sheepish admission from Gianna makes her friends hoot and holler. You’re not sure what to say—you don’t understand.
“Is there anything you haven’t done?” Imogen questions in shock. “Listen, y’know that frat guy that keeps hitting on me? Well, I gave him a chance and we were, y’know, getting it on,” she eagerly spills.
“Getting it on? Just say you guys were raw-dogging and spitting in each other's mouths,” Kennedy interrupts, sipping on a fruity drink. Honestly, they’re all sweet. They keep trying to rope you into their conversations, but you’re not sure what to say, so you stick to little hums and gestures.
“Shush!—Anyway, we were fucking, and he started to talk a lot. And it was so hot, like he was saying the hottest shit ever. He checked every single kink-box!” Imogen brags, and the others are proud of her. “Like what?” Kennedy prompts, curious to the point where her eyebrows raise.
“Breeding, degrading, praising—even a Daddy thrown in every now and then,” she whisper-shouts. “And, get this, he made me squirt!”
The women continue trading stories about their debauched experiences, and you feel as if they’re speaking another language. You’re not sure what they mean or why the things happened. Questions fill your brain as you purse your lips, trying to give yourself the answers.
“—Uhm, I can take that in for you. I think I forgot to cancel this appointment and they keep you on hold for a while during the afternoon,” you lie, standing up and grabbing Gianna’s empty cup. “Oh, you’re so sweet. You’ll be back soon, right? We wanna get to know you better,” Kennedy says, and her girlfriends nod their heads.
You join them in their motions, before jogging to the sliding door and slipping past it. You place the cup in the sink, and then make a beeline for your room. It’s the space you spend too much time in, to the point that your stepdad has had to coax you out of it on numerous occasions.
The ceiling is at an angle due to the triangular roof of your home. The decorations might not match but they add a cosy feeling that is reminiscent of autumn. You wish the season could remain all year round.
There is even a window seat. Andy had it built and installed for you last year on Christmas. It was a dream come true—something you’d always wanted.
You plop yourself onto the space and pull your laptop over. You turn off SafeSearch and look up the things the women were talking about. Videos with dirty thumbnails pop up, along with articles and a warning about the setting you turned off. You’re too scared to click on the videos, so you stick to reading the articles.
But the words don’t translate well in your mind. You feel like you’re the last person in line in a long game of broken telephone. You’re left with more questions than answers, and so you snap your laptop shut.
Gnawing your lip, you let your curiosity eat away at you. It nags and it nags until you can’t take it anymore. So you wander down the hallway and stand outside the slightly ajar door to your stepdad’s room.
“D– Daddy? Are you busy?” you shyly question, standing with your hands clasped behind your back. At the sweet sound of your voice, Andy immediately rushes from his place in front of the sink. His hands smell of your lotion—a bottle he stole from you because he couldn't help it. “No, not at all, little one. What’s wrong?”
The older man opens the door even more for you, ushering you inside. You sit on the end of the bed, and he joins you. Your palms grow sweaty as nervousness takes you over. Bite the bullet, it won’t hurt you.
“Uhm…” you start, “I have some, uh, questions.”
“Hit me. I have some answers,” Andy jokes.
“Okay…” you unfold the sticky note of the things you wanted to know more about—the things your friends were talking about. “What’s a– anal? Like, the bad one,” you ask, whispering and worried.
Your innocence is like a drug that Andy has tasted for the first time and it has kicked in quickly. He swallows thickly and he wonders why you’re asking.
“Well… There’s numerous ways to have sex… With penetrative sex, you can penetrate any of your holes. And, you see, you have three holes. Your mouth, a– and your private parts. Anal sex is when someone penetrates your butt, essentially,” he explains, not sure what words to use.
He watches as your face twists in confusion. “What do you mean? They can do that to any of your holes? Like, they put something inside?” you press, voice incredulous and shocked. “Yeah, they put something in, and they move it back and forth. There are things meant to go there, though,” Andy tells you.
Clearly, you still don’t really get it. It’s neither your fault nor Andy’s.
“I– I have more.. S’that okay?” Andy immediately nods his head, looking down to try and look at your list.
“Squirting… Can you explain that one? Please? And why do people like calling other people mean things? And getting called those? I mean, I get why someone likes it when someone else says nice things—but the mean one, I don’t understand. And why do people like using the word Daddy? I thought that’s for certain people…” you ramble, pulling at the yellow paper until it slips.
“Shh… One at a time, baby. Squirting is something that happens during sex. It’s a kind of ejaculate. And with the mean names, it’s just what people like. It makes them all happy, y’know? All tingly on the inside—like when they get praised,” he says, cock fully hard and face flushed.
“Yeah, but, what’s sex? Oh! I get those tingles a lot… But not in my tummy…” you sheepishly admit, and it piques Andy’s interest. But then, he replays what you said. What’s sex? A question that normal people would laugh at—but Andy is anything but that. “...You don’t know what sex is, baby?”
You let out a whimper—something of frustration and fear and insecurity. It makes his cock throb within the confines of his pants. “...Nuh-uh,” you sigh, ready to dart and lock yourself in your room.
“Oh, that’s alright, baby. Don’t worry. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay? Daddy’ll explain it all to you—I’ll be your teacher,” he smiles, but then frowns when you shake your head. “B– But I don't understand any of it! Not when you explain it, and not when I read about it. It’s all so confusing and doesn’t make one bit of sense.”
Annoyance with yourself seeps from your words, and Andy detects the leak. He’s quick to patch it up, though.
“No, baby! Daddy’s gonna teach you it in an easy way! Remember how you didn’t know what acquittal meant? And I told you the definition? Now you tell other people what it means when they don’t know!”
Andy chooses to ignore the fact that it was only your mother who didn’t know what it meant.
“But that’s different! Even if you explain it simply, my brain just won’t grasp the concept,” you try to reason, so desperate to learn about the things that other women your age are so well-versed in. “Can you show me it, Daddy? Please?”
Your stepfather nearly asks you to repeat yourself. Your request is innocent and full of desperation—you want to be in on the joke that everyone seems to know. His cock has chubbed up inside his boxers, begging for a release and even crying tears of pre-cum.
“You want Daddy to show you those dirty little things, hm? C’mere, baby. Daddy’ll tell you all about it,” Andy encourages, motioning with his hands for you to move closer to him. You scoot your body until your right leg touches his left. “You’re gonna be a good girl and do whatever I say, right?”
When you nod your head, the older man wonders if he’s won the jackpot. Luck is on his side, clearly. After years of struggle, he’s finally got a good thing. And he’s going to take full advantage of it—he’s going to cherish the treasure he’s been bestowed with.
“Good girl—” Andy cuts himself off with a groan as you preen under the praise, “—so good for Daddy.”
Your stepdad slowly leans in and presses his mouth against yours. The kiss is searing and passionate, but it soon turns rough and possessive. You try to keep up with Andy as he claims your mouth—biting, licking, and sucking at your supple, wet skin.
He tastes of beer and cigarettes, and the smacking of lips grows wetter and sloppier. You let him take control and try to replicate some of his movements as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Andy holds the sides of your head with two large, strong hands.
But his touch is gentle and encouraging. You let the older man do whatever he wants to do, sure that you can ask him for another tutorial later on. Eventually, he pulls away with swollen, red lips and blown out eyes.
The pale blue (with a tinge of green) has disappeared. Like black paint spilled, darkness is all you can see.
“You’ve got such a cute little mouth, baby. Think I can fit my cock in there, all nice and snug,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. You’re not sure what he means, but you go along with it and nod your head. Your eagerness is almost unreal—maybe because Andy has fantasised about it for so long.
Moments with his hand wrapped around his large, leaking cock after you said or did something his perverted mind twisted and misconstrued. Showers longer than they should be, and boxers gone in the wash sooner than they would.
“But don’t worry your pretty head with that just yet, little one,” Andy tells you, standing up and in front of you. He gently pushes you back on the bed, and you land with a small thump. Be brings your feet to rest against the edge of the mattress, caressing your skin with his rough, warm hands. “So soft…”
The lawyer brings your left leg up, and meets it halfway. He presses open-mouthed kisses on your moisturised skin, taking in your scent. Eventually the romantic feeling turns ticklish, and you giggle and try to writhe out of Andy’s grip.
Though, there’s a warm feeling that blooms in your cunt. You folds ache, but you’re not sure why. It’s like the tingles you seem to get every now and then, especially when you’re around the older man.
“Daddy… I feel funny,” you tell him, and Andy halts his movements.
“What do you mean, little girl? C’mon, tell Daddy,” he urges, genuinely curious. Is it fear? Excitement? Or something more physical?
“Tingly… And warm… And it kinda hurts—but not in a painful way…” you try to explain.
“Where, baby? Show me where,” your stepfather demands. His eyebrows are mildly knitted in a bit of concern—curiosity. “D– Down there,” you whisper, looking away from his intense gaze.
A broad hand that belongs to Andy makes a bold move. It moves to your mound, and pushes at your pussy. “Here, baby?” he nearly growls, feeling your warmth and folds through the two layers of fabric that protect you from this ravenous man.
His fingers dig into your skin and find the bump of your clit, pushing on the nub and watch as you moan softly from the unfamiliar yet pleasurable sensation. “Uh-huh, right there, Daddy,” you mewl, subconsciously bucking your hips upwards.
The feeling is reminiscent of the kind you feel when you press your thighs together—just amped up by a few hundred volts. “Well, Daddy’s gonna make you feel better, okay, little one? This happens sometimes, and from now on, you gotta tell me whenever you feel those tingles. Understood?” Andy orders, and you shyly nod.
“Words. Use your words, little girl. I need to hear it.”
“Y– Yes, Daddy. I– I’ll tell you when I feel tingly—P– Promise.”
“Good girl.” Andy’s hands move to the waistband of your white skirt, and he pulls it down. Your panties go along with it, strings of wetness pulling and breaking when he gets too far. Your pussy glistens in the cracks of sunlight, his white curtains a blessing for once. “Such a gorgeous fuckin’ cunt.”
You bring your hand up to your face and shy away behind it, making Andy coo at you. He throws your bottoms behind him and pulls you a bit closer by your legs. He then looks up at you, pink tongue slowly darting out just a peek.
Three of Andy’s digits move upwards. He gives them one long, slow lick, soaking them in spit. “Gotta open your legs wide, little girl. Can you do that for me, baby?” he requests, and you immediately nod your head.
For your stepdad, you open your legs as wide as they can go without hurting. Anything he asks, you’ll do.
“Good girl,” he hums, and he brings his dominant, wet hand to your sopping cunt. Your stepdad tests the waters for a moment, swirling your slick around and caressing your swollen, achy folds. You gasp at the sensation as his large hand covers practically everything. From your clit down to your creamy fuckhole. “Feels good already, doesn’t it?”
You nod your head, and Andy smiles at you. “It’s gonna feel even better soon, little one. ‘M gonna get my cock in that little honeypot’a yours—fuck it nicely and ruin you for other men.” As he speaks, Andy maintains a trained gaze on you. “But you won’t have other men, will you?”
“You only want your stepdaddy, huh? Daddy’s girl—All mine,” Andy murmurs. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, gently biting down. “I gotta stretch you out first,” he tells you.
Andy pushes his pointer finger in first, and groans as your walls welcome it immediately. He lets the digit slip into you entirely, until it’s buried to the hilt. “You’re doin’ so good for me, little girl,” the older man smiles at you.
Slowly, he begins to thrust in and out of your channel. His finger glistens with your creamy slick, and Andy curses. Once he believes you’ve adjusted to the first digit well enough, he pulls it out and prods two.
“How was that, baby?” he questions, but you’re too breathless and at a loss for words to say anything. You give him a simple thumbs up, hoping it’ll suffice. “Use your words, little one,” Andy urges, and you whimper out a simple ‘was g– good’ for him.
“You’re soaking, y’know that? Makin’ a mess all over my hand,” he notes aloud. “So innocent but so needy… You make such a perfect whore for Daddy.”
Andy thrusts two digits into your drooling hole, and he fingers you with that same slow pace. Every now and then, he makes scissoring motions meant to open you up even more. “Daddy… ‘s so much now. Feels even more tingly,” you tell him, looking at your stepdad for reassurance.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be, baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?” he prompts, and you hesitantly nod your head. Andy is right—it feels so good. It’s like the fluttery feeling you tend to get, the one you felt just a few moments before, but it’s not nagging and it’s better in comparison. “Yeah, that’s it. Take Daddy’s fingers, slut.”
Your stepfather knows he shouldn’t be saying these demeaning things to you—shouldn’t be ruining you—but he can’t help it.
It’s almost hypnotising with the way your cunt sucks Andy’s fingers in as he penetrates your tightness again. And the way you cling onto him as he pulls them in and out of you is downright pornographic—just like the sounds you’re making.
“Bet you never even got this far, little one. All you ever did was rub this li’l cunny on whatever you could find, hm?” He wonders out loud. “Poor pussy’s been neglected. S’okay, Daddy’s here, baby,” Andy whispers, and he picks up the pace of his hand.
He finds that rough, spongy spot inside you. It makes you toss your head back and squeeze your eyes shut, limbs trembling. “D– Daddy!” you cry out, confused yet welcoming his touches. “Shh, it’s okay, baby,” Andy soothes, stroking your sweet spot with his fingers.
Purposefully, he neglects your clit. He knows it’s pulsating—aching to be touched by your stepfather. Your volume raises just a bit, and his cock throbs with every other noise. Your pretty face has formed a frown of pleasure, and Andy thinks to himself he can really get used to this.
“W– Wait. Feels like I needa go to the bathroom…” you shamefully admit, and this time, Andy really chuckles. “You’re so cute and innocent, little one. Gonna give Daddy a cavity with how sweet you are,” he says, picking up the pace of his fingers. He makes sure to keep stretching you out, though.
“Feels like it’s burning and building, huh? That’s normal, baby. Don’t worry. Just take one more finger for me, okay?” Andy skillfully brings you closer and closer to your release. The wet, lewd sounds of your cunt grow louder. “You’re fucking soaking. S’that all for me?” your stepfather asks.
You don’t really know what he means, but you chose to nod your head. At your answer, Andy decides to push a third digit into your cunt. The fit is strugglesome—tight, warm, and snug. You can barely handle his thick fingers, pussy struggling to adjust to them at first. He can’t wait to get his cock inside you.
“H– Hurts, Daddy,” you whine, the stretch uncomfortable. Andy shushes you gently, whispering praises until the pain dulls away and all you can feel is fullness and pleasure. “You’re drippin’ everywhere, little girl. I can’t wait to get a taste of that sweet pussy,” he murmurs, and he continues to attack your g-spot.
Your cries grow louder and more high-pitched, and Andy knows you’re close. The older man grunts, “That’s it, good girl. C’mon, give Daddy your cream, baby.” Your body goes from thrashing just a tiny bit to seizing when your orgasm hits.
It takes you by storm. Your eyes squeeze shut and you sob, cunt clamping down on his hand. “Atta girl. Goin’ all dumb for Daddy—that’s what I like to see, little one.” Andy fingerfucks you through your climax, admiring the creaminess that coats his skin. He’s sure some has dripped down to your rosebud, and that makes him so hard.
“Oh– Oh my gosh,” you pant, tears stinging your eyes from the stimulation. “See what I just did, baby?” Andy questions.
“Uh-huh.” He looks at you, carefully examining the fucked-out look you have on your pretty face.
“Only Daddy gets to do that to you, little girl. No one else. Understood? You belong to me.”
Obediently, you nod your head. “Uh-huh. All yours, Daddy.”
Your words have his cock twitching underneath the confines of his pants. Andy slowly pulls his fingers out of your wet channel, consoling you when you whine from the sudden emptiness. Your fuckhole gapes just a bit, and it makes your stepdad eager to get his cock out.
“Damn right, little one,” he grunts, unbuckling his belt and pulling his thick cock out. “See this, baby? It’s Daddy’s cock, and it’s the only one you’re ever gonna go near. Y’know, your pussy was made for it,” he hums, stroking himself from the thick base to the leaky, bulbous head.
Your mouth parts in interest. Whatever he says and does soaks right into that empty mind of yours.
Andy pulls you up to the bed with his other hand, strength coming in handy. He puts your head on his pillow and then crawls between your legs, making you part them wide once again. He hovers above you, and you involuntarily clutch the blue fabric of his sweater for comfort.
The older man slaps the fat tip of his engorged dick on your clit, making you flinch from the jolt of pleasure. He then slides the head down to your slightly-stretched hole, and he begins to push in.
When your face contorts in confusion and mild discomfort, Andy is quick to tell you everything is okay. “Shh… It’s alright, baby. You’re fine,” he says, speaking gently and pressing chaste kisses to your face.
He looks down to where his fat cock pushes into your tightness, stretching you wider than ever before and claiming your fuckhole as his. The sight is mesmerising, and Andy can’t help the groan he lets out from it.
“Taking my cock like such a good little fucktoy. Fuck—you okay, little one?” your stepfather questions, and it takes you a few moments to respond to him. Slowly, you nod your head. Though the breach is unfamiliar and a lot to handle, you’re determined to be Andy’s good girl and fight through it.
There’s a pain that burns—and you bite onto his sweater to keep quiet. Andy examines your face as he continues to sheath his length inside you. “That’s my good girl. Feelin’ shy, baby?” he coos. “Aw, how cute.”
Eventually, your stepfather bottoms out with his heavy balls against your ass. He hums your name and the pet names he’s given you, waiting for you to pull your pretty face away from his chest. “Show me those doe-eyes, little one,” Andy requests. Slowly, you peek up at him.
Your eyes are big and they still hold that innocence that Andy knows he can’t rip away from you. “Good girl. How do you feel, baby?” he asks.
“Uhm—weird? Feels different… Deep, too…” you process out loud, and the older man nods with your every word.
“Yeah, I’m so deep inside you, little girl. All the way in your belly.” The thought has him growling, and he begins to shallowly fuck you. You mewl with each of his half-hearted thrusts. The pain is soon replaced with pleasure, one that you immediately grow fond of. “There we go…”
“More tingles,” you note, punctuating your sentence with a gasp as Andy’s movements grow more vigorous. “So many, Daddy.” Your stepdad nods his head and smiles at you sweetly, “That’s right, little girl. That’s what happens when Daddy stuffs his fat cock inside your babycunt.”
When he calls you those two words—little girl—your body reacts. You shy away from him whilst your pussy clenches around his dick, and he bites back a loud groan. The veins at his throat bulge, while his jaw clenches.
“I’m gonna start fucking you now, little one. You just gotta sit there and take whatever I give you,” he forewarns, and you nod your head. “Okay, Daddy.” At your words, Andy begins to pummel in and out of your pussy. Obscene noises come from where you’re connected to him—wet sounds and skin slapping against skin.
Andy looks down and watches as his cock forcefully disappears and reappears, your tightness still not used to such a large intrusion. His heavy balls smack against your ass, where your slick stains. “Drippin’ everywhere, baby. You love this—I fucking knew it,” he grunts, his pounds the perfect speed and intensity.
His cock kisses your cervix each time, making you writhe in pain. But when he rubs against your sweet spot, that discomfort leaves almost immediately. “Look, little one, your cream is all over my cock. You’re leaking down to my balls—fuck,” Andy harshly pushes forward at the realisation.
You wail from the intensity. “Yeah, you like getting fucked by a dirty old man, slut? Hm? Like getting fucked by your stepdaddy?” Andy questions, and you hesitate before nodding your head. He swears once more, and then leans down.
Though he’s repeatedly knocked the breath out of you, he now stops it from moving at all as he kisses you. At first, it’s soft and what teenage dreams are made of. But then, like the way he takes away your virginity, it grows rough and desperate. He takes the lead, shoving his tongue into your mouth and doing all kinds of things you can’t keep up with.
Andy eventually pulls away, noticing that his thrusts have dulled down. He picks his pace back up, his pelvis slamming into yours. Your cream coats his cock, leaving a stain that even reaches his patch of hair. Your lips are raw and glistening from the passionate, bruising kiss he had you locked in.
Your stepfather rams into your fuckhole without relent, forcing more of your wetness out with his shaft. His length strokes your sensitive walls with skill and aggression, abusing your cunt like he’s always wanted to.
Your chest is pressed against Andy’s, and he uses one of the hands that holds him up to pull down the top of your shirt, exposing your hardened nipples. The cold air adds to the ache of them. “Stupid little girl making the biggest fucking mess on her Daddy’s cock. Y’gonna clean it up after, baby? You better—with that cute mouth of yours.”
Nodding your head, you make the older man inhale a sharp, controlled breath. In contrast, you pant like a bitch in heat as your chest rises and falls. There’s a feeling that grows at a fast pace. It’s like when you have to go to the bathroom so badly—except this time, it’s more intoxicating than intolerable.
“D– Daddy! Feels funny—like before, but way m– more?” You’re so unsure of yourself—of your body—that it’s utterly adorable to Andy.
“That’s called an orgasm, little girl. You just sit there and beg Daddy to let you come, okay?” he requests, and you nod your head.
It feels like something that needs to desperately continue and be alleviated—but you know only Andy can do that for you, so you do whatever your stepdad says.
“P– Please let me come, Daddy! Need to come so bad… Please, please please—!” you gasp loudly, Andy’s cock driving deeper and he grinds with each pump of his cock, rubbing against your clit. “Good girl—such a good little slut for Daddy,” Andy hums, sensing you’re even closer to coming.
“Soak Daddy’s fat cock, little girl. C’mon, wanna see you make a stupid mess on this dick,” he commands, landing some slaps on your ass and the side of your left thigh. Your cunt suddenly convulses around him, clit thrumming and back arching as you come around his cock for the very first time. “Atta girl.”
He growls as your eyes roll back into your head, lids squeezing shut as your face pinches. Your mouth drops open in shock from the heat that envelops you. The grip your pussy has on Andy’s dick grows tighter, squeezing him and begging for more.
Your stepfather fucks you through your orgasm, slowing down just a bit when you begin to twitch from the pleasure. Your walls spasm until he manages to get you through the high, and then he resumes fucking you harshly.
Your tits bounce with each slam of Andy’s hips, your body pushed upwards before he pulls you back onto his dick. “Ah—ah—ah,” you moan, going dumb on the older man’s cock. A mildly blank look is on your face, and you babble like a baby.
“Dumb little girl—talking about dirty things and behaving like a whore when you haven’t even had big girl sex yet,” Andy sneers, grabbing your jaw and puckering his lips up. He spits in your mouth, before telling you to swallow the wad of saliva.
Like a good girl, you do exactly as he says. You even smile at him afterwards, before your face pinches again from the sensations his cock brings. “Greedy girl—that hungry pussy is just swallowin’ up Daddy’s fat cock,” he grunts, forcing his thickness in and out of you.
Your toes curl and feet point as your stepfather pushes your legs against your torso. His strong, well-built arms flex, and so does his muscled-chest. Your hands clench his sweater and subconsciously grope his pecs, and you marvel at his figure.
Because Daddy has to do everything for his helpless baby, he takes your arm and uses it to hold up your left leg, while his left hand pushes on your right. At this new angle, your stepfather’s shaft is far deeper than it was at first.
It’s almost dizzying—the way he’s practically in your tummy. And his thrusts are now stronger, too. Andy’s got you pinned to the bed as he pounds into you, determined to bring you to another orgasm before he blows his load. And even after that, he won’t stop.
“‘S so deep, Daddy! C– Can feel it in my g– guts,” you whine, and your words make Andy’s cock throb within your tight, wet walls. Your cream drips all over his cock, leaving a thick sheen and ring coating his base. Even his balls are soaked. “Uh-huh—you’re just so tiny, baby. Daddy had to force it in—but now you’re takin’ it like a champ.”
You preen under his gaze and his praise, but your tears still leak. “Aw, poor little crybaby. Daddy’s just fuckin’ you too good, huh? S’okay, I got you,” Andy whispers, wet noises filling the air along with the smell of sex. Your sweet tang is amongst the scent, and Andy knows that later on, he’ll rub your cunt raw with his beard.
“My little fuckdoll… This is Daddy’s pussy now—all mine, just like the rest of you,” he grunts, and your second release hits you all of a sudden.
You writhe away from Andy as best as you can, but it doesn’t get you anywhere. Instead, your aching nipples end up rubbing against the stitched threads on your stepfather’s sweater, adding to your pleasure.
Andy’s thick length nearly splits you open, having a bit of a harder time to move with your increased tightness. “Good girl—that’s it, go dumb on Daddy’s cock. My good little slut,” he moans, peppering kisses at your jaw and nipping at the skin every now and then.
Heat spreads inside your body as the mattress gets wetter with each drop of your arousal. “You’re makin’ a mess everywhere, baby. But it’s okay. Daddy knows that little girls like you can’t help it—you need Daddy’s help with everything.”
Mindlessly, you nod your head. You gush around Andy, coating his cock while you have him in a vice-like grip. Your swollen folds get nudged by his dick, and the sight is pornographic—something he can never forget.
“Looks like this cunt is perfect for Daddy to fuck, baby,” your stepdad tells you. “Made for me to use however I want. Gonna turn you into my little whore.”
Andy’s words make your pussy constrict even more around his dick. You practically choke him, begging for his cum without even realising it. “Daddy…” you sob, limbs trembling from the amount of euphoria his actions bring. Your stepfather’s jaw clenches at your use of the title.
“That’s right, little girl. I’m your Daddy,” he grunts, now using your fuckhole like it’s his fist. He fucks into your with vigour, determined to fill you up with his cum before he switches positions. He loves the struggle of getting his dick to fit inside your pussy. “You’re making Daddy feel so good, baby. ‘M gonna give you a nice reward for being so sweet.”
At his statement, you perk up as best as you can. Though it’s difficult to think or say anything. “R– Really, Daddy?” you question, elated at the thought of a reward. “Really, little one. You’re such a good girl for Daddy—all the time, too. Never made me have to spank that ass ‘till you’re crying.”
He mumbles the last part, but you catch a bit of his sentence. You don’t understand him though—crying? No, Daddy would never hurt you. Andy’s said so numerous times—times where you’ve cried in his arms and clung to him like a kitten.
Now, your cunt does the same. It weeps and doesn’t let go of Andy’s dick, and the mounting pleasure inside him is as desperate and needy, too. “Gonna give you a belly full of my cum, baby. I’ll fill you up until you’re leaking with my seed for days,” the older man grunts, before cursing wildly.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck.”
Suddenly, the snapping of his hips stops, and he shoves his cock forward until he can’t move any further. The harshness makes you frown, wincing at the mild pain. Then, warmth fills you up, undoubtedly claiming your walls and coating them with white stickiness.
Andy pants above you, heart clamouring in his chest as he hit his release. He grinds into your pussy to prolong it, only stopping when his hard length grows sensitive. Already, his cum leaks from the sides of his cock.
“There we go—now you’re all mine, little girl. And I know you like being Daddy’s,” he smiles at you, coming down from his high. His face has a blush to it.
Andy takes one of his hands and puts it on your tummy, rubbing your skin slightly to get you to relax. It works—but not in the way he predicted.
“A– Again, Daddy? Please?” you start to beg, taking your stepdad by surprise. “W– What do you mean, baby?” he questions, moving his hand to grip your hip. “Do it again, please. F– Feels so good, made some of the tingles go away…” you explain, tightening your channel at the thought.
“You want Daddy to stretch this pretty pussy out again?” Andy asks. It takes you a few seconds and his index finger pointing to where he is penetrating you for you to answer. “Uh-huh!” you moan out, gyrating your hips to alleviate the newer, fluttery feeling at your core.
“Alright… Wanna play a fun game, little one?”
You nod your head, eager to spend more time with your stepfather.
“Good. It’s called horsey,” Andy says, slowly pulling out of your pussy. You whine loudly at the loss, cum leaking out of you and spilling onto the bed. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain it for your little baby brain to understand.”
Your stepdad grabs your and manhandles your body, sitting against the headboard and placing you in his lap.
Your dripping pussy is against his hard cock. “All you have to do is bounce on Daddy’s cock—feel it? Yeah—and make it go really deep inside of you. Think you can do that, little girl`?” he says, rubbing his dick against your swollen, wet petals.
Above him, you shudder. The pleasure is almost too much for your little-self to handle, but you push through its intensity. “O– Of course, Daddy! ‘M your good girl—gonna do anythin’ for you,” you mumble, and Andy’s hands pull at the cloth covering your torso.
It then rips, and he removes the shreds from your body. “That’s right, baby. You’re my good girl,” he coos, reaching down to grab the thick, wet base of his hard cock. He gives himself a few languid strokes, before lifting you up a bit.
The fat, sensitive tip of your stepfather’s cock prods at your hole that’s still mildly stretched-out from his brutal fucking. Andy pushes in, pulling you down a bit so you meet him halfway. He knows it’s going to be deeper than ever—and he can’t wait to see that dumb, empty look on your face when he bottoms out.
But then he looks at your mug, and he finds himself feeling something rotten. Something terrible, sinking in his chest until his lust takes over and turns him selfish once more. No—not selfish… Just complicated.
“Daddy, feels scary,” you admit, trying to fall forward and lay against his chest. Andy tuts, holding you up and giving you one of his charming, sweet smiles. “It’s okay, I got you. Daddy’s here, little one,” he assures you, tone saccharine in a stark contrast to his dirty actions.
As you slide down his length, it becomes more difficult to take him. You try to move away from the older man—run away from his intimidating cock. “Nuh-uh. I thought you wanted to play with Daddy, baby,” Andy pouts, and your heart breaks from his sadness.
“C– Can’t take it, Daddy,” you explain to him, half of his dick inside of you. “Yes, you can, sweetheart. Let Daddy help you, it’s okay.”
Andy’s hands hold your waist, and he looks down to where he’s connected to you, and suddenly thrust upwards. You fall forward with a cry, unprepared for the new angle. He lets you seek comfort in him and his sweater once more, rubbing his hands up and down the length of your back.
“Shhh… you’re okay, it’s okay. You’re lucky Daddy pumped your pussy full of cum, baby. It would’ve hurt way more,” your stepfather tells you, waiting for your whimpers to die down. “Daddy’s dick is so deep inside you, hm?”
You nod your head slowly, gripping his sweater and pushing your face into his chest. “I know, little one. But when you start to play, it’ll be fine. Try bouncing, baby. Just move up and down.”
Once again, you nod and try to sit up. Andy’s hands move down to your waist, and you splay yours on his clothed pecs. “Up and down—c’mon, you can do it. Daddy knows you can,” he urges, and you begin to lift your body up.
You stop when you feel it’s right—when half of Andy’s thickness is left inside you. Then, you slide back down. A growl rumbles in the older man’s chest, his cock throbbing as your walls stroke him. “W– Was that good, Daddy?” you question.
“So good, baby—have you played this game before?” he playfully asks, but then that humour turns to jealousy. The thought of you riding another man’s dick has Andy fuming—possessiveness boiling hot inside him and reaching the temperature of the sun. “Nuh-uh. Only you, Daddy. Nobody else.”
Like salve on a wound, you heal that vulnerability of his with your words. “Atta girl,” he praises. “How about we add a fun little rule, sweetie?” he offers as you continue to glide up and down on his cock. You whimper with each movement, muscles burning from the strain.
“O– Okay, Daddy. W– What’s the rule?” you innocently question, looking at him with your doe eyes. “Everytime Daddy slaps your ass, you have to move quicker, okay?” your stepfather tells you, moving his palms down to the globes of your ass. He caresses the skin gently.
Before you can worry about the pain, Andy lands a sharp smack to your butt, making you yelp. You pick up the pace of your movements, still careful, however. “Such a perfect pussy, little one. So tight and warm and wet… And made for my cock,” he whispers, punctuating his sentences with spanks.
Unfortunately, Andy’s cock doesn’t kiss those spots with expert aim. And you’re too scared to take his entire length. So, your poor legs give up, and you fall forward again. You cry out from the wasted euphoria—gone is the dull fire inside you. But not entirely.
“Aw, you can't do what Daddy does, hm? Poor baby. You need me so bad,” your stepdad coos, but it’s more like he rubs your failure in. “Dumb little girl—acting like a whore even though you can’t ride Daddy’s cock. How silly of you—don’t you feel stupid?”
You let out a whine that turns into a sob, and Andy quickly shushes you. Stupid Andrew, he chides himself, hurting this sweet thing… Don’t you love her? “Baby?” he calls out, trying to coax you out of the shell you’ve crawled back into.
His cock isn’t buried to the hilt like it was before, and the ache between your legs still needs to be taken care of—Andy’ll fix that after. He wedges his hand between your face and his body, pushing you off him roughing and holding your hand in his palm. You frown and cry out from the pain, face twisted in discomfort.
“‘M sorry, little one. Daddy's sorry. Fuck—can’t help it,” he slurs, hating himself for getting so rough with you. But it’s not his fault he’s this way. You just awaken something ferocious in him—something that needs to be held down with chains and locked away in a cage for eternities.
Something so terrible yet so addictive.
“I love playing with you so much—that’s why Daddy hurts you, little one. I love you, I just get excited sometimes,” he explains, cupping your cheek and smiling at you. Eventually, you come around. “S’okay, Daddy,” you whisper, looking downwards.
“It’s my turn to play horsey now, little girl. All you have to do is sit up straight, okay? Try not to lay on Daddy.”
Andy’s heels dig into the mattress and he bends his knees just a bit, still holding onto your hips. He looks down to where he breaches your tightness, and notices the tinge of pink that mixes with his spunk—the same cum that leaves out of your fuckhole.
At that moment, he ignores it. He stores that thought for later—for when he’s lonely and desperate to feel guilt. Andy bottoms out inside you slowly, enjoying the lewd squelching sounds that come with his action. “Oh, gosh,” you murmur, eyes rolling back into your head.
The hairy base of his cock touches your core, and his balls rest against your ass. Andy’s hands move to your butt, and he spreads your cheeks apart. One of his fingers prods at your other hole. The older man has half a mind to defile your little rosebud that’s sticky with wetness and his cum.
You can feel Andy’s cock so deep inside you; it’s dizzying. The breath is nearly knocked out of you, and you feel as though you’ve bared something to your stepfather that has left you utterly vulnerable. The feeling has you distraught, but Andy told you he’d take away all your thoughts, so it’ll be okay. Right?
“You're such a good girl for me. So good. My good girl,” Andy grunts, and he’s lifting you off his cock until just the tip remains inside you. His hips then return to the depths of your wet channel. He starts to fuck up into you, and the familiar sound of skin-on-skin reverberates throughout the room. This time, it’s louder.
Andy stares at your pretty face while he fucks you into oblivion, making sure to study each aspect. From the way your eyes roll into your skull when he shoves his thickness into you to how your jaw falls slack so quickly. It’s all for him.
“Daddy—Daddy—Daddy!” you squeal, toes curling and limbs stiff yet twitching. Is it possible to be hooked on the way someone says something? You’re not a ‘someone’ though—you’re so special and so different. The answer must be yes. It must be normal, too.
Your tits bounce with each of his upward-thrusts. This new angle is unlike anything you’ve ever felt—more profound and accurate. Your stepdad fucks into you with such roughness that it’s hard to keep upright. Especially with the building sensitivity in your lower abdomen.
“Fuck, yeah. Take Daddy’s fat cock in this tiny cunt, little one. Fucking take it, slut,” Andy grunts, getting meaner by the second. It’s a helpless habit, and thank heavens that you don’t understand half of the words he’s saying.
A blank smile spreads itself on your face, but your eyes are full of hope. Hope that you’re doing good for your Daddy.
“You’re my good girl. My good girl—my dumb little girl. No thoughts in that head, hm? You just wanna please your Daddy and get fucked until you can’t think anymore,” he spits, and the word that diminishes your intelligence has your bottom lip wobbling.
You want to please your Daddy, but you must be doing something wrong, no?
“Aw, don’t cry, little one. Daddy’s being nice to you, okay? It’s good like this!” Andy quickly tells you, slowing down his thrusts. He grinds into you in the meantime, and he doesn’t miss the way your cunt is gripping him even tighter. “O– Okay, Daddy. T– Thank you?” you apprehensively say, unsure of so many things.
“Daddy’ll teach you all about it after. Okay? You’re so cute and polite, little one. You’re doing so good for me,” Andy coos, rubbing a thumb on your face. You grin at him before squeezing your eyes shut, feeling that funny sensation inside of you.
It worsens as your stepfather continues to fuck your guts, stroking your walls with his thick member. In the midst of his actions, Andy craves a cigarette. He wonders if you’d let him blow smoke in your face since you said he can do whatever he wants to you. Of course, you would—you’re such a good girl.
“Wanna make Daddy even happier, sweetie?” he wonders, stretching one of his arms to reach the bedside table. He pulls the top drawer open and blindly sifts through it. “O– Of course, daddy. Please? Wanna make you happy,” you plead, absentmindedly gyrating your hips on your stepdad’s cock.
Andy finds the lighter grouped with the pack of Parliament cigarettes. He doesn’t bother closing the drawer, but he does bring you closer and forces you to catch yourself on your hands.
Your stepfather—who had promised your mom that he kicked the habit—plucks a smoke from the box and places it between his pink lips. “Daddy? What are you doing?” you question, halting your movements. Andy smiles at you, the cigarette wobbling a bit.
“Don’t worry your little baby brain about it, sweet girl,” he simply tells you, before lighting the cigarette. He takes a drag from it and puffs the smoke back out, satiating the craving he had a few moments ago. He then places it on the ashtray as you watch the grey smog swirl in the blue of his room.
Andy pulls you towards his chest and holds you, fucking up into your cunt. His cock drives in and out of you, balls slapping against your ass and his thick thighs jiggle each time.
“Uhm… Oh–! Uh, Daddy?” you murmur, finding it harder to breathe. “Shh… Don’t worry, little one. Just soak Daddy’s fat cock,” Andy shushes, and you mewl at his filthy words.
Your cunt aches immensely, but it’s the kind that is more resounding and pleasurable than anything. Andy abuses your cream-filled fuckhole like it’s all he can do—all he knows how to do. Make you feel good—that’s it.
He’s spewing grunts and curses, and each time he utters a filthy word, you take note of how gravelly his voice is, how it rumbles in his chest and you can quite literally feel it. It’s a harsh contrast to your high-pitched wails and choked-out moans.
“Come, little one. C’mon, fuckin’ make a mess for your Daddy,” he demands once more, punctuating his words with hard thrusts.
Your body comprehends his words, and it starts to have that reaction.
The one where your back arches yet your limbs flail and your head tries to pull away from the crook of his neck. It’s almost as if you’re trying to run away from your stepdad. He won’t let you go, though—he never will. Yet it makes him so hard when you try to escape.
Your mind soars high above the cotton candy clouds of your skies. You start convulsing around Andy’s member, creaming and soaking him. Your body freezes and you let out a wail that is music to his ears. He cheers you on with small ‘yeah’s that have you giggling slightly. “Good girl.”
Your tits jiggle, and your body jerks upwards as Andy roughly fucks you through your orgasm. “D– Daddy,” you mewl, and Andy simply begins to fuck you quicker. Eventually, those sparks he brought became too much. You’re not sure what to do, though, so you simply writhe on his lap.
“‘M gonna fill you up again. Gonna pump this cunt full of cum until you’re leaking for days. Turn you into my messy little girl,” your stepfather says through grunts and growls as he sloppily uses your pussy. You nod your head and grin, wincing every now and then.
The older man’s sloppy, selfish pumps grow erratic. Andy then stills deep inside your cunt, burying himself to the hilt. A guttural moan leaves him, one that is louder than intended. He holds your body tightly, not wanting to let go of you.
His white ropes paint your inner walls until the sides of his cock are dripping, and there’s a ring at the base. Spilling inside you, Andy turns you into his cumdump once more. “Fuck,” he groans, your tight pussy tempting him to go again and again.
Maybe he will. His cock remains locked inside you, and both of your chests rise and fall with exhaustion. “Daddy…” you whimper, cunt sensitive and stretched out from his engorged dick.
“Shh… Daddy’ll take care of this greedy pussy again, little girl. Don’t you worry,” Andy tells you.
Your hands are on his body, and you brace yourself up using his waist. It’s hard to stay upright with the weakness of your body and the wobble of your arms.
Andy reaches for the ashtray and plucks the cigarette back up. He dusts the ash off, and puts it back between his lips. He inhales the smog, and then pulls the smoke away to puff out the grey fumes.
“That’s dirty, Daddy. Don’t do it, please,” you bemoan, curling in on yourself at the sight of your stepfather harming his health. “Well, I guess that makes Daddy a dirty old man, no?” he half-quips.
Your stepfather takes another drag, and then he pulls you close to his face. Andy exhales, smoke directed in your face and he catches you at the right time. You take a breath in, unexpectedly drawing in the fumes of his cigarette.
You giggle apprehensively—still worried and it’s written all over your face, even if you don’t mean it to. You’ve got that look you always have when you’re trying to fight back your sweet tears, trying not to burst into sobs. Eventually, the smoke goes away. But the revolting smell of it remains, lingering in his room.
In Andy’s mind, it only makes sense a dirty old man like him would have an equally as nasty habit.
And to balance it out, an innocent little girl like you on his cock.
Summary: When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious?
Warnings: Bucky POV, revenge plot, age gap, older!reader, flirting, cheating, kissing, smut, mommy kink, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), ass play, spanking, p in v sex, recording of sex, cum play.
Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Dividers by @saradika. Hi, lovelies! It’s been a while 🤍 This is by far not my best work, but I started it at the beginning of the year and finally finished it and decided to let it go before I convince myself not to post it.
Also, I have little to no knowledge about the education system outside of the UK, since I’m British. So please excuse any facts I may have gotten wrong, this was purely for the smut 😅
The arms of the leather chair Bucky was sitting on creaked, straining under the tense grip of his fingers. Fury coursed through every muscle of his body, boiling his blood until he was sure steam was blowing out of his ears.
He had been sitting in his professor’s office for thirty whole minutes and not once had the man had the decency to look him in the eye and tell him a good enough reason for the C- marked on his most recent assignment. Thinking about it, he wasn’t even sure if his professor had ever made eye contact with him before; certain that he wouldn’t be able to recognise him if he ever looked at him.
Bucky was a straight A student, working towards the perfect GPA to graduate with full honors and claim the job of his dreams. And yet, the second since his professor had licked his finger and slapped the stack of papers — stained with a ring of coffee that wasn’t there when he handed it in — on Bucky’s desk, his whole world had been turned upside down.
He remembered his frenzy, the whirlwind of erratically flicking through each page and trying to find a single comment or suggestion that could help explain the low grade. But there was nothing. Only a forbidden red-inked C- that had taunted him ever since.
Immediately, Bucky had booked an office session, since his professor was strict on the rules of when and where to discuss anything other than current class material. There must have been a mistake he reasoned with himself in the beginning — maybe a mix up with another student or maybe his professor had missed a chunk of his work because surely that godforsaken C- wasn’t right.
However, Bucky soon came to realise in the thirty long minutes of his office session, that it wasn’t a mistake. In fact, it was the most generous grade received of the whole class.
“Sir.” He attempted once again to get through to his professor. “With all due respect, I worked extremely hard on his assignment. Every variable is valid, I ran through each test multiple times to gain an accurate representation. My method has been executed perfectly.” He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “I can’t understand why I’ve been graded so low.”
Dr Parker couldn’t have seemed less interested if he tried, the keys of his computer clicking away aimlessly as his brown eyes were glued to the screen. “For the last time, if you don’t understand what is wrong with your assignment, then I can’t help you.”
Bucky discreetly gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. The logic his professor spewed made absolutely no sense. He took a calming breath before he responded. “I’m not sure I can understand what exactly is wrong with my work if there’s no feedback to go off, Sir.”
Dr Parker sighed, seemingly fed up with the conversation. “It's not for me to serve you on a silver platter. If you want a mentor who gives you a free ride or has to hold your hand through a grade then it seems like college isn’t the place for you, James.”
The material of the chair almost ripped where Bucky’s nails began to furiously dig in. He never wanted a hand to hold or a free ride during his time in college; the bare minimum he expected was to at least have some kind of evaluation or support that offered more than a lousy grade that wasn’t fair.
Out of options, he desperately pleaded with his professor once again. “Sir, all I’m asking for is a reason for my grade being low. My GPA has been perfect all year and this assignment has made it take a huge hit. Please understand.”
Still, Dr Parker continued uselessly typing away without looking at him. “There’s nothing I can do for you, Mr Barnes.”
Bucky’s words came out jumbled as he jumped to offer an alternative. “What about— What if I did something for extra credit! You know? Just for— to boost my GPA back up?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Bucky was at the end of his tether and his throat began to tighten. “Please, Sir—I need—“
“What you need to do is move on from this assignment and work harder on the next one.” Dr Parker interrupted him coldly as he suddenly stood, packing his papers into his satchel. “My office hours are over and I have somewhere to be, so if you wouldn’t mind shutting the door behind you when you leave that would be great. Goodbye.” With that, his professor walked around the desk and out of the door without a second glance.
Tears sprung to Bucky’s eyes while he sat there, staring mindlessly at the now empty chair behind the desk in front of him. He forced the lump building in his chest down, never having felt so defeated in his life. Throughout his years of education, he had sacrificed, placed everything that wasn’t important on the back burner; holidays, parties, normal friendships, just to put his future career first and for what? For one complete asshole to decide he didn’t care enough about his job or students to fuck him over?
He shot out of his seat and paced over the carpeted floor. All of his dedication to his studies had been pointless — the thought burned through his mind and wounded him. All his life he had worked hard and this is how he had been repaid. The soles of his shoes thudded heavily until he came to a stop, running his hands down his face in despair.
When Bucky opened his eyes, he blinked until his blurred vision became clear, finding himself in front of the floor to ceiling bookcase that panned over the length of the full wall. Sighing at a complete loss on what to do, his eye flitted over the polished ornaments in front of him.
As he trailed over the neatly placed trophies and certificates, a scoff left his mouth — bitter and venomous. Every one of the awarded achievements built his resentment even more. The pretentiousness was aggravating.
He was about to walk away, go for a stroll with some fresh air to try and cool himself down and think properly. But just as he was going to leave, his eagle eye caught a small wooden picture frame shoved to the very back corner of the shelf, hardly noticeable with everything else taking front and center and ultimately hiding it.
Bucky glanced over his shoulder, making sure his professor had really left before stepping forward. His nosiness had gotten the better of him and now his interest was peaked. Careful not to knock over any ornaments, he plucked out the frame and blew off the dust that had accumulated over the picture for god knows how long.
To his surprise, it was a photograph of Dr Parker, many years younger and dressed in a tuxedo. Next to him, a stunning woman with the biggest smile on her face, dressed in an ivory, white dress.
Bucky’s eyes flew wide open while his jaw unhinged in shock.
Dr Parker had a wife?
Now that he thought about it, his professor did wear a gold band around his finger; one that the sun caught during a lecture one time and blinded Bucky enough to choke while he was drinking his coffee.
Studying the photo some more, Bucky only focused on the woman, one with kind eyes, pretty lips and a body to kill for; silhouetted in a gown that complimented her figure amazingly. He was utterly blown away.
The picture was at least ten years old, he summarised. His professor looked way younger than he did now, with frown lines and dark circles underneath his eyes. But he couldn’t get over how beautiful his wife was and how the hell he had managed to snag her with his douchebag personality. His mind ran a million miles per hour.
For all Bucky knew, you could have been just like your husband; just as dull and just as unbearable. It was only rational, because no one in their right mind would willingly be with a man like that.
He stared at you through the glass and tilted his head in thought, until the cogs started to turn. What if? he asked himself. What if he got his comeuppance somehow?
As soon as the thought presented itself, he batted it away, shaking his head and placing the photo frame back in its place.
But as he stood the frame upon the shelf, his hand stayed with it, unable to let go of the nagging idea that had now taken root in his mind.
What if you were his perfect route for revenge?
Looking out towards the window of the office, the setting sun beamed in. Bucky followed the streams of light that shined through, one landing on another photograph, larger in size of a chocolate haired boy with bright eyes. While he resembled Dr Parker, the boy’s eyes were all yours, kind and filled with light. The kid looked around the same age as himself, in a lab coat that had the same emblem as Bucky’s college.
A plan began to quickly form in his mind, each piece and detail intricately connected together to create the most beautiful retribution. The biggest fuck you to his professor for screwing him over.
Bucky sheathed his hands into his front pockets, running his tongue over his teeth with the most evil grin on his face. Dr Parker was going to get what he rightfully deserved.
Vengeance.
Having met up after their last classes of the day, Bucky followed Peter into his home when he opened the door, the droolworthy aroma of a home cooked meal slinking into his senses and making his stomach grumble.
It was now routine for him to come round to the Parker residence every week on a Friday afternoon. Once you found out your son had a new friend at college, you had extended the invitation to Bucky as Peter had recited. And of course, it would be rude of him to refuse.
The execution of his plan had come together seamlessly, almost too perfectly. It was just his luck that a clumsy Peter Parker happened to bump into Bucky on campus in a rush to his next class, spilling his coffee onto the ground and offering to buy him a new one.
Since then, he had made it his mission to become closer to Peter and soon enough, it was the night of his first dinner with you.
Before that first meeting, he had drilled it into his head that his scheme of revenge was strictly business; to get in and out and call it a day. But that went down the drain when he rounded the corner to the kitchen to introduce himself and he choked on his words when you spun around on your heels.
Bucky still remembered that moment, the first time he laid eyes on you in the cutest sundress, decorated with daisies that hugged your waist sinfully. The way your tits practically spilled out the damn thing stuck with him too.
You were a vision, a sight for sore eyes — the photograph in his professor’s office did not do you justice even with ten years added on. Then, as soon as you bounced over to him and pulled him into a hug that made his dick hard, his initial intentions went out the window. He was a goner and he knew one time wouldn’t be enough of you.
However, when it came down to dinner, Bucky was admittedly nervous. It wasn’t only just meeting you in the flesh and having his expectations blown out of the water that threw him off balance, the inevitable of seeing his professor outside of college worried him. His plan for revenge could have fallen through as soon as he met him. They almost did. If that would have been the case, Bucky wasn’t sure what his next steps would be.
But when he sat down at the dining table, his professor had only just noticed another guest in his home. Bucky remembered the slight sweat of his palms, the dryness of his throat as your husband looked at him over his newspaper and cocked his head; a familiarity brewing between them. Those couple of seconds lasted longer than he cared for. Then, unexpectedly, Dr Parker brushed him off and went straight back to reading his paper — evidently deeming Bucky unrecognisable and only a new friend of his son’s.
That memory still offended him slightly. There wasn’t a hint of recognition, even though he had fucked Bucky’s chances of attaining his dream career.
Snapping out of his memory, Bucky quickly shook his jacket off, taking care to hang it neatly on the coat rack and made a beeline to the kitchen.
“Dude. I know you like my mom’s cooking but damn.” Peter shook his head with laughter but Bucky ignored him in favour of something of much higher importance.
Stepping into the kitchen, he immediately found you balancing on your tiptoes, trying to reach the spice rack on the highest shelf. The skirt of your dress inched up your thighs and he couldn’t help but stare unabashedly at a sneak peak of your white g-string.
Clearing his throat, Bucky held out his arms wide and acted casual with a wide smile. “Where’s my favourite girl?”
His heart jumped as you snapped your head around, grinning wide once you saw who it was. “Bucky!” you cheerfully sang. “Hi, sweetie. I’m so happy you made it.”
You have no idea how happy I am to see you too, he groaned internally. “What do you take me for? Like I would ever miss your cookin’, Mrs Parker,” he teased aloud.
Raising an eyebrow playfully, you cocked your hip and crossed your arms over each other. “What have I told you about that, hm? Call me Honey, sweetheart. All my friends do.”
Bucky held his arms up to placate you. “Forgive me. Your food is too damn good to pass up, Honey.”
You rolled your eyes lightheartedly and turned back around to try and pluck the thyme from the top shelf. “You and that charm, boy. You’re gonna be the death of some poor college girl one day.”
Noticing your struggle, Bucky took the opportunity to come up behind you and reach over your head. His lips perfectly aligned with your ear and so with a sly hand to your waist, he grabbed the jar of herbs and placed them onto the counter in front of you while he whispered, “What if I’m not into college girls?”
Bucky heard the sharp inhale you tried so hard to smother, but it was useless with the proximity between you. It was instinct to then squeeze your hip, listening for your sweet whimper he lived to be the cause of.
The moment lasted only a couple seconds longer until Peter called out for you from the hallway. “Hi, Mom. We’re home if you hadn’t already noticed.”
Breaking away from Bucky sharply, you held a shaky hand to your chest. “H-Hey P, how was your week?”
Small incidents as such repeated themselves every week. You and Bucky would find yourselves — or he would create them — in intimate, dangerous positions that wouldn’t be explainable to your son or your husband should they ever catch you.
Which only made the game all the more exciting for him.
“Mom,” Peter whined while he walked into the kitchen. “Can you please not call me that when I have friends around?”
Bucky held his laughter behind his hand when you passed your son by, pinching his cheek and putting on a baby voice. “Oh, but you’re just so cute!”
However, that smile was soon wiped away from his face when the front door opened, immediately slamming shut with a loud bang. “I’m home, Honey,” your husband yelled.
Your name on another man’s lips left a sour taste in Bucky’s mouth. He had come to learn that your nickname was born from your old college roommate who had affectionately bestowed it upon you after your love of baking dessert treats.
The story was adorable, one he had soaked in with all the details you offered him. But your husband and his boring, monotonous tone turned even the sweetest name into something unpleasant.
With his keen eye, Bucky had spotted the fake smile you plastered on your face to greet your husband, even when he walked straight past you without a hug or a kiss and into his usual chair at the dining table.
“Glad your home safe, love,” you quickly offered him a half assed hello and headed back towards the kitchen to grab the meat out of the oven.
“Hey.” Bucky shot forward before you could grab the handle and slid the oven mitts laying on the counter onto his hands. “I got this, don’t worry about it.”
You paused to look at him like he had grown another head. “Bucky, I've done this a million times. I’m perfectly capable.”
“I know you are, beautiful.” He didn’t miss the way your lips parted from his compliment, reserved for your moments alone. “Doesn’t mean you should have to. Lemme do it, please.”
It didn’t take much for you to relent, already flustered enough to give in to him. Stepping aside, you made room for Bucky to take the dish out of the oven and place it on the worktop.
“Smells fuckin’ delicious, Honey.” You gently swatted his arm for his colourful language, but he couldn’t help test the waters as he stared directly into your eyes. “Hopefully tastes as good as she looks.”
What he didn’t expect was for you to retort back with a quick wit. “Oh, don’t worry about that. She’s as juicy as they get.”
These interactions were just considered harmless flirting to you. Bucky knew you had no idea that he went home and fucked his fist, replaying these exact moments in his head. He licked his lips with a groan. “I bet she is.”
“Where the hell is this damn food, woman? I’m eating away here!” your husband barked from the dining table.
Bucky gritted his teeth while he watched you bow your head in embarrassment. “Just plating up now. It won’t be much longer, dear!”
Turning back to Bucky, you smiled apologetically. “Sorry about that, he gets a little grumpy when he’s hungry.”
He couldn’t believe you were apologising for that son of a bitch, though this was a regular occurrence by now; excusing your husband’s wrongdoings even if you were ashamed of it.
Placing his hand over yours, Bucky told you firmly, “Don’t think for one second that you have to apologise to me, Honey.” The next words he grumbled under his breath. “Especially never on behalf of that fucker.”
Your free hand smoothed over the skirt of your dress, a nervous habit of yours when you were upset.
Bucky recognised your unease and took initiative to derail the conversation. “What do you need me to take?” he asked while rolling the sleeves of his shirt up.
You looked at him then, quick to protest and shake your head. “No, sweetheart. You’ve done enough, honestly. Go sit down and—”
“Honey.” Bucky held your hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll help you. I’m all yours.”
Sighing defeatedly, you nodded your head to the foil covered dishes on top of the counter. “The vegetables and mashed potatoes could do with taking to the table.”
Bucky grinned wide, all teeth and brought your hand up to place a kiss to the back of it. “Good girl.”
A shudder ran down your spine that he didn’t miss, the hitch of your breath that blew the front strands of his hair giving you away. With a wink, he backed away to grab the dishes, piling them in his arms, along with a couple extra to take to the dining table.
Soon enough, a full roast dinner was set out, steaming hot and ready to be eaten.
Peter was already sitting on the chair by his Dad’s side, speaking animatedly about his recent discoveries on his science assignment for class. You always sat opposite your husband, which meant the only free seat that Bucky could take was opposite Peter and next to you.
Not that he was complaining.
He steadily pulled the chair out and sat down. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence that he brushed against you, not when he shuffled his chair as close as possible to you without raising suspicion. “Everything looks incredible,” he whispered as he leaned into you.
The grip you had on your cutlery faltered. Bucky reveled in your bashfulness, always competing with himself to see how much he could make you squirm. So he smirked when you gulped, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “T-Thank you, Bucky.”
Your son‘s voice brought you out of your flustered state “—So I was right, Dad! My results actually confirmed my hypothesis.”
You cleared your throat and chimed in cheerfully when your husband only answered with an uninterested hum. “That’s amazing news, P!” With a stern tone, you addressed your husband this time. “Aren’t you proud of him, love?”
But instead of congratulating him, your husband turned the page of his newspaper while shoveling food into his mouth. “Mhm. He did good, I guess.”
Luckily, Peter didn’t notice or bat an eye to his father. Bucky had witnessed over the few weeks he had been invited over for dinner that your son had enough support from you alone to keep his spirits uplifted.
You decided not to bite and move on with the conversation, mouth open about to speak when your husband suddenly laid his newspaper down and spoke over you. “You know, I’ve had the worst week at work.”
Frustrated, your fingers clenched tightly around your knife. “Oh yeah?”
Dr Parker blew out an irritating sigh. “The students this week—god—I had a flock of them at my door, complaining about their grades being too low.”
Bucky felt the blood in his veins begin to boil. Normally he would tune out the grating voice of your husband, but he couldn’t help but listen to something that directly involved him — unknowingly to his professor.
“I mean, I can’t help that their work isn’t up to par. What do they want me to do? Mollycoddle them?” he scoffed. “If they come crying to me for help all the time then they may as well cut their losses and drop out. They’re only wasting their own money.”
The loud clink of your cutlery dropping against the plate cut through the tense atmosphere. “Are you serious right now?”
“Dad,” Peter cringed, obviously uncomfortable. “You can’t say that.”
“I’m not saying anything that’s not true.” Dr Parker shrugged.
“It is your job to guide your students—who are paying thousands for their education by the way—and give them feedback to help them improve,” you shot back, heatedly.
Bucky’s chest puffed out in pride. Though he couldn’t outwardly say anything, he was proud of you for inadvertently defending him — even if you didn’t know it.
Your husband’s tone turned biting towards you, however. “I’m not their babysitter, Honey.”
But you stood your ground. “No you’re not. You’re their teacher and they look to you for guidance. It's the bare minimum your job requires.”
A weighted silence fell over the dinner table while you and your husband glared at each other until the chime of a text cut through the awkwardness.
Dr Parker retrieved his phone from his pocket and read his message. After a couple of seconds, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it onto his plate. “I’ve got to go back into the office. Emergency.”
“What?” you asked in disbelief. “But you’ve only just come home.”
“Well, unlike some, I can’t just slack off at home all day.”
Bucky watched out of the corner of his eye as your mouth dropped open in shock at your husband’s barely hidden jab. Unrestrained anger filled his veins as he had to hold back. Though the urge to fly over the table at Dr Parker was hanging on by a thread.
Is this what life was like at home for you? A husband who so obviously didn’t care for you while you made his life as comfortable as possible. And Peter, a son who held his tongue while he stiffly carried on eating his dinner and not defending his own mother?
Bucky looked to you as you quickly regathered yourself, blinking away the tears building over your waterline and pretending like you weren’t hurt.
Your husband passed over his harmful statement as nonchalantly as he said it while lifting out of his seat. “Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be home late.”
And just as rudely as he came home, he walked out, the slam of the door reverberating through the house.
It wasn’t a minute after that when Peter also received a text. After reading the message, his eyes lit up with excitement. Bucky knew well enough what that face meant — Peter was getting lucky. “Hey mom, is it okay if I go out? Hang with my friends for the night?”
The dinner you laboured over had already gone out the window once your husband had ruined it. Of course it didn’t bother you as much that your son wanted to leave too. “Of course, sweetie.” You stood up and collected the half empty plates from the table robotically. “Just be careful and let me know when you’re there.”
With a dejected sigh that only Bucky noticed, you gathered the rest of the cutlery and took them to the kitchen, beginning to fill the sink to wash up.
Peter waited until you were out of ear shot to whisper, “Dude, MJ asked me to come round tonight. I think she finally wants it!” Bucky held back a cringe. “You think it’s cool if I shoot off? You can make your own way home, right?”
Bucky couldn’t have given a single fuck where Peter went or what he did right now. All he cared about, as he shot discreet glances of you in the kitchen washing the plates, was your wellbeing. “Sure, Parker. I can figure it out.”
“Awesome!” Peter laughed before whipping out of his seat and running towards the door. “Catch you Monday, pal!”
The house grew silent apart from the departing slam of the door, this time by your son. As soon as Peter was gone, Bucky instantly left his seat to join you.
He leaned his shoulder against the archway of the kitchen. “You okay, Honey?”
Looking towards him in surprise, your eyes held onto a last tendril of hope that someone hadn’t let you be alone. “Sweetheart, I thought you would have left with P.”
Bucky shook his head with a fond smile, the curls at the top of his head bouncing with the movement. “Of course not. I’ve got nothing better to do with my Friday night than spend time with a gorgeous woman.”
He caught the tightening of your lips, as though you were holding back your flustered smile. “Oh, stop that. You flatter me.”
“I can’t help it. You make a man go weak. What can I say?”
“Are you flirting with me?” you laughed incredulously.
“And what if I was?” Bucky noticed the way your eyes latched onto the sight of his shirt, tightening over his arms as he crossed them over each other. “Would you like it?”
Your eyes flicked up to his, holding his intense gaze for a few seconds before you huffed a breath and began cleaning the dishes again. “You’re cute, Bucky.”
Bucky licked his lips and ravaged your form silhouetted in your fitted dress. “Wouldn’t exactly be the word I would use, but I’ll take it from you.”
A rare giggle, only let out in his presence, escaped you. “Scram would you? You don’t want to be spending your Friday night with your friend’s mom, sweetie.”
Testing the waters, Bucky let slip exactly what was on his mind. “Actually, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Your hand stilled, chest rising and falling at a faster pace than before. “Oh, if only I was twenty years younger,” you chuckled quietly to yourself, not expecting for Bucky to overhear.
Jackpot, he smirked to himself.
Walking to the kitchen island, Bucky leaned his elbow on the counter beside you. “What would you do, Mrs Parker?”
You jumped with a yelp, visibly surprised to have received a response so close; eyes blown wide as they flitted over Bucky’s face in panic. “E-Excuse me?”
Bucky closed the distance between you even further. He leaned over the sink to turn the running water off. “I said,” he whispered huskily, keeping consistent eye contact with you. “What would you do if you were twenty years younger?”
“I—I um,” your breathing started to become heavy while Bucky stared shamelessly at you. “It’s just an expression, sweetie,” you laughed, shaking your head to try and brush the comment off. “I d-didn’t mean it like that—“
“No?” He watched carefully as your eyes darted around, trying so hard not to look at him. “How did you mean it then?”
The spotlight Bucky was intentionally putting on you made you falter, even more so when he tucked your hair behind your ear and let his hand linger over your collarbone.
“C’mon, tell me. I don’t bite.” A sadistic smirk adorned his face while you stared at his lips. “Unless you want me to, of course.”
“I s-swear, Bucky.” Your voice was breathless with the heat of his stare. “There was nothing behind it, I—”
“I don’t believe you.” Bucky backed you against the sink, trapping you with his arms on each side of your waist. “I think,” he rasped, teasingly trailing his fingers up the bare skin of your arms. “That you would let me bend you over this counter right here and fuck you senseless.”
The wind was audibly knocked from your lungs as you gasped. Words failed you, stuttering over yourself which was most amusing to Bucky.
Nonetheless, your eyes still followed him with a glaze, hooked onto every word that left his lips. “I think you’d let me take you from behind. Stuff your pretty pussy full with my fat cock.” He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the bulge in his trousers. “You feel that, huh? How good it would feel to take all a’me, pretty mama?”
Bucky watched as your eyes fluttered and you bit your lip — the last of your reserve hanging by a thread. One more deadly blow to your empty head and you would be putty in his hands.
Any remaining distance between you disappeared as he placed wet kisses from the pulse of your neck up to the corner of your mouth. “I think—” he whispered against your lips, his next words uttered in his most seductive voice. “I think you’d let me do it. Right. Fuckin’. Now.”
You placed your hands over the shirt on his chest to push him away; a mistake he imagined as you alternatively began bundling the material up with clenched fists. “Bucky—“ you painfully uttered with your eyes squeezed shut. You shook your head, as though that would help you. “This—this isn’t right. You’re my son’s friend and I n-need you to leave—“
“Look at me.” Bucky slid his hands over your neck, holding your jaw with his thumbs to tilt your head up. Slowly, your eyes squinted open and he saw the confliction clear as day in your glossy eyes, the battle you were facing in your mind. “You’re practically melting in my hands, Honey. You just gotta give in. We’ve been playin’ this game for far too long now, don’t you think?”
There was no escaping his blue eyes when you tried to look away once again and he firmly guided your gaze back to him. “None of that, now. Do as I say.”
Your expression was tortured — torn between right and wrong, pleasure and sin. Bucky knew you were good, a dutiful housewife and loyal to a fault to a man who didn’t deserve it.
Where had that gotten you? Whilst the revenge plan was hot on his mind — the very reason he had meticulously planned everything up to this exact moment — he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth that he was getting something extra out of this. You.
“We shouldn’t do this,” you pleaded painfully, still with a wild spark in your eye. “We can’t do this.”
“You know what I’m not hearing, Honey?” Bucky asked. “I’m not hearing that you don’t want to do it.”
You shook your head frantically with wide eyes until he tightened his grip on your cheeks. “I’m gonna give you one chance to answer me.” He squeezed your cheeks until your lips puckered. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”
Desire rolled through your eyes as your thighs clenched together. Though you still tried to deny your need for him. “Bucky—”
“Ah, ah. I want an answer.”
Bucky watched as your throat bobbed. Your nostrils flared with your harsh breaths and your breasts heaved up and down with exerted force. Seconds went by, the two of you staring at each other before you finally answered. “Yes.”
The two of you burst into the master bedroom — the one you shared with your husband, kissing erratically while your hands fumbled through Bucky’s hair.
He moaned deeply, pushing you against the wall, and turning feral over the feel of you as he kneaded your body. “You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he hummed against your lips.
Your head thumped back against the wall, chest heaving while you tried to catch your breath. All of Bucky’s attention was drawn to your chest. “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most perfect tits?”
Choking on your spit, you stumbled over your words, so adorably oblivious to your own attraction. “I—I didn’t realise—um, t—thank you—”
Bucky laughed, shaking his head before quickly ripping down your dress to your waist with force. Your upper body was bare, free for him to roam his rabid eyes over your naked tits.
“Bucky!” Your squeal of shock was followed by you hastily trying to cover your chest with your hands.
But a scowling Bucky immediately ripped them away; offended you would dare try to keep them from him. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ cover yourself up, Honey.”
He could tell it was intense for you, to be so thoroughly desired and the thought that you had never received this much attention before made him angry once again.
“It’s been a while,” you mumbled. The mousy confession only heightened Bucky’s fury towards your pathetic husband.
Delicately, he kissed you and began to trail his lips down the slope of your neck. “Ain’t gotta worry about that. I’ll take care of you.”
Slowly descending, Bucky laved his tongue over your peaked nipple, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go with a pop. Your breast bounced with the motion and he squeezed his dick over his trousers with a groan. “Look at you, Honey. You’re a fuckin’ goddess.”
Bucky’s tunnel vision made whatever you said next pointless. Grabbing your tits, he buried his head in between them, relishing in your softness. He peppered his kisses across to your other nipple and swirled his tongue around the peak.
Your legs crumbled, the sensation overwhelming for you. The thought that Bucky could get you off by just playing with your tits made his cock even harder. But he had so much more in store for you.
“Why don’t you take off your dress, baby?” he murmured into your skin. “Want you to kneel on the bed for me, alright?”
You nodded shakily. Bucky hovered over your breasts a couple of seconds more, savouring the feel of you before stepping backwards to give you space to move.
With a deep breath, you walked on unsteady legs towards your bed, letting your dress shimmy down your body on your way. Your back was turned to Bucky and he salaciously eyed your figure, each and every curve of your body. He internally created a map of your stretch marks and imperfections that only made him more crazed for you.
The mattress sank down while you knelt onto it carefully. Bucky watched the arch of your back intently, the flesh of your ass rounding out from your position.
Forget the damn reason he plotted this very moment, he was just excited to finally get a taste of you.
Your quiet murmur sounded over Bucky’s thoughts. “I’m ready.”
Biting his lip, he strolled forward until he came to a stop behind you. Still fully clothed, Bucky desperately singed the picture in front of him into his mind. He held so much power in that moment, and it felt like a dream that he had you bent over solely for him.
Bucky leaned over your form, beginning to place delicate kisses down your back. He basked in the goosebumps that arose on your skin. “How the fuck are you real?” he murmured to himself.
With a shaky sigh, you whispered, “I still don’t know about this.”
Chuckling, Bucky finally dropped down to his knees, ignoring your reluctance to eye the flimsy piece of material covering your pussy. Hooking a finger inside your underwear, he peeled it away and held it to the side. “Oh, fuck me.”
You squirmed in place as the cold air hit you in your most vulnerable state. Your raw scent clogged Bucky’s nose and his eyes rolled to the back of his head in bliss. “Can’t fuckin’ wait any longer, Honey. Gotta know how you taste.”
Surging forward, Bucky buried himself between your thighs. You screamed in retaliation to the feel of his tongue snaking its way through your folds and he was sure he hadn’t heard a better sound.
He explored every inch of your cunt, unwilling to leave the heaven you so graciously granted him. But it was the sensation of Bucky’s tongue beginning to ease its way inside your hole that made you vocal once again.
“My husband—“ you called out, obvious to Bucky that you were trying to clear your conscience of guilt. But he knew you couldn’t care less about him — you didn’t even mention the fucker once while you were too busy feeling sorry for your son in the kitchen and making silly excuses to not let him have his way with you.
Landing a harsh smack to the top of your thigh, Bucky savored your squeal of shock. “Don’t act like you give a fuck about him now, Honey. Who’s the one eating your pussy this good, hm?” He ran two fingers down the middle of your folds, biting his lip at the wetness coating them. When your only answer was a moan muffled by your pillow, he spanked you again in the same place with more force. “Answer me.”
“You, Bucky!” you instantly shouted out. “You’re the one eating my pussy so good!”
“There we go. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He eased over the marks beginning to bloom on your skin and smiled to himself. “Call me James, though. I like it better.”
Without letting you reply, Bucky dived back in, fucking your pussy with his tongue. You reached back to hold your asscheeks open with each hand, desperate to have him go deeper into your hole. The glint from the diamond of your wedding ring caught his attention and he smirked into your cunt; the reminder that you were married only fuelled his arousal even more.
“Fuck, baby,” he spoke into your cunt. “You really are sweet, ain’t ya? Taste fuckin’ incredible.”
The filthy sounds of slurps and moans filled the room. Bucky was a starved beast, held back and pushed to the edge for too long and every little bit of anger and resentment that had built in his body from your husband’s treatment was taken out on you.
It only boosted his ego when you grinded your cunt back against him too. His cock jumped with excitement with how fucking dirty you truly were. You had been locked up too, he remembered. Stuck holding back your true self for a shitty excuse of a man.
Bucky grunted deeply before licking a wide stripe from your clit, slowly running through your pussy lips and reaching higher towards the puckered hole that twitched with anticipation.
“Oh!” you exclaimed aloud in surprise. Bucky thought he may have gone too far, then. But once you relaxed and backed yourself into his tongue, he smiled wickedly.
“You like that, filthy girl?” he laughed, darkly. “Should’ve known you’d be a little freak.”
Bucky circled the tip of his tongue teasingly around your asshole, moaning at your eagerness when you tried to reach further back with your hands and drag him closer.
“Don’t tease,” you gasped, out of breath. “Please, I want more. Gimmie more.”
Almost immediately, Bucky complied, ripping your hands away with vigor to replace them with his. He spreaded your asscheeks wide and lapped at your tight hole.
“Fuck yes—oh my god, James—yes!”
The depravity was obscene and disgusting and Bucky absolutely loved it. Never had he been more turned on and he decided then and there that this wasn’t going to be a one and done deal. He wanted you to be his.
A string of saliva connected Bucky’s mouth to your ass as he reluctantly backed away. The slick that had poured out of you smothered his chin and cheeks and Bucky happily licked his lips with a groan. “Baby, as much as I wanna keep eating your ass, I need to feel your pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock.”
You whimpered while your pussy clenched with a need to be filled. Bucky watched your cute little hole flutter. “Put it in me,” you slurred. “Need your cock.”
He wasted no time unfastening his jeans to pull them down enough until his dick bobbed out of its confines. Bucky caught you peeking your head around, trying to catch a glimpse of his cock, but he spanked your ass and bit his lip with amusement at your scream. “Not yet, baby. You’ll get a chance to see it when I fuck your throat later.”
You squirmed impatiently, needy moans escaping you and Bucky couldn’t hold back any longer. Grabbing his cock, he began to push the fat head of his length inside you.
A loud gasp tore from your throat and your pussy instantly tried to suck him in deeper. Your walls, tight and warm, hugged his dick like a vice. “You’re—oh my fucking god—how are you so big?”
The smirk that donned Bucky’s face was lethal. He had you right where he wanted you. And yet his eye rolled back all the same, savouring the flutter of your tight hole around him.
“This is all for you, baby,” he breathily whispered, bullying his way deeper into your pussy. “Get me so fuckin’ hard everytime I see you. Cookin’ in them pretty little dresses. Just wanna lift your skirt up and fuck you wherever I want.”
Your moans both fell into sync as Bucky finally slid his cock all the way to the hilt. You couldn’t stop squirming and it drove him crazy.
“You need to move,” you begged in between pants. “Please, I can’t stay still.”
Bucky licked his teeth with desire blazing through him. “Since you asked so nicely, Honey.”
Without the decency to ease you into it, Bucky instantly set a brutal pace. He looked down, admiring the thick coating of your juices lathering his dick and he willed himself not to blow his load so fast. He tightly closed his eyes, adjusted his stance and began to fuck you.
You were quick to grab ahold of whatever you could, scrambling for purchase within the sheets, but you were useless to try to stop how your head buried into the bed. The force of Bucky’s thrusts were too violent and so you surrendered to what was inevitable, letting yourself drool over the cotton.
“Bu—CKY!” your cry of surprise when he lifted his foot onto the bed, allowing him a better angle to fuck you, was music to his ears.
“What’s’a matter, baby?” Bucky mocked. “Thought you were a big girl, huh? Can’t handle me?”
Your reply was instant. “I can! I can, I promise, I promise!”
“Then shut the fuck up and take it.”
Bucky didn’t know where to look, he was spoilt for choice. To watch your eyes roll back in ecstasy? To concentrate on the shlick shlick of your soaked cunt? Ultimately, his eyes were glued to the jiggle of your ass, his hands soon following as though he was hypnotised. How it so perfectly met his hips without a falt in rhythm.
“Fuck me—this ass is heaven, baby. You been hiding it from me all this time?”
There was no answer this time, at least not a coherent one. Bucky was instead graced with your constant squeaks and groans — a woman too invested in a physical gratification she had so sadly been starved of.
Bucky chuckled. “Ain’t gotta answer, Honey. The sounds comin’ outta that mouth are keeping my dick happy enough.”
He almost forgot the end goal of his proposition in the midst of the delectable feel of your cunt. With a sudden bolt of clarification as he felt a vibration against his leg, Bucky kept one hand on your hip while he reached for his phone in his pocket with the other. Keeping up the pace of his thrusts, you were clueless as he unlocked it and opened the camera app.
“Now, Honey, I want you to really scream my name, okay? Wanna hear how good I’m makin’ you feel. Can you do that for me?”
“Uh-huh.” You nodded, dumbly. “C-Can do that for you, James.”
He grinned wickedly and threw his head back. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.” Looking back down at you through the phone screen, he hovered his finger over the record button and brought his other hand down hard on your ass. “Go on then, baby. Put on a show for me.”
If Bucky thought you were a fucking treat before, his mind was blown once you began to take the reigns of your own pleasure. Bucky hardly had to move and you still plunged yourself onto his cock with an unmatched enthusiasm to anyone else he had fucked. He could hardly keep his hand that held the phone up from shaking. The combined sounds coming from the both of you were insane.
None of his wet dreams could compare to his reality. “You—shit—you’re killing me, Honey.”
You must not have heard him because you decided to torture him even more by arching your back just that little bit further.
Bucky thought he was a goner, soon to approach his end. But he couldn’t let that happen. He was far from done with you yet.
Propping one foot up onto the bed for better leverage, he gathered his restraint and began to drive forward once more. He felt high.
“That husband of yours ever fuck you like this, huh?” Bucky demanded. “Can he make you leak all over his dick like a fuckin’ slut?”
You violently shook your head from side to side, like the thought of your husband left a sour taste in your mouth you wanted to get rid of. “Nuh-uh,” you whimpered, popping your ass up even more to take as much as you could. “O-Only you.”
“Tell him, baby.” Bucky noticed too late that he had slipped up, too gone off the feel of your cunt wrapped snug around his dick. But you hadn’t seemed to realise his mistake either and the thought that you were too much of a wreck from his cock to comprehend who he was talking about made him even harder. “Let him know who’s balls deep in your tight, slutty pussy.”
“Atta girl,” he cooed, hoarsely. “Look at the fuckin’ mess you’re makin’ on me.”
Bucky reached down to where the two of you were connected with his free hand, sweeping the copious amount of your slick gathered in a ring around the bottom of his cock. “Here.” He leant forward, one palm up towards you with his phone still in his other hand out of your view. “Open your mouth, pretty mama.”
You slightly turned your head with your tongue sticking out wide and eagerly sucked the juices off his hand with a long moan.
Managing to get all of it on camera, Bucky watched as you licked between his fingers, not wasting a drop. “Holy fuck,” he grunted deeply. “You’ll really do anything I say, won’t you?”
You bobbed your head up and down, eventually letting his fingers go, clean as a whistle.
“What a fuckin’ filthy whore. You’re perfect for me.”
You backed yourself onto Bucky’s cock, meeting his thrusts perfectly while the meat of your ass clapped against his toned waist. “You’re a needy little thing, ain’t you baby?”
“Anythin’ you want,” you slurred. “Can be whatever you need.”
“Poor mommy hasn’t been treated this good in a long time I can tell.” Bucky gripped your ass harshly with his hand, jiggling the flesh for his own satisfaction. “Women like you, need putting in their place on a daily basis. Need a good fuckin’ to keep them happy.”
“Yes!” you agreed, firmly. “Mommy needs to be fucked like this all the time.”
Unbelievable. Bucky didn’t even have to try to add salt into the wound. He couldn’t help the continuous conspicuous messages that he could easily pass off to you. “This is what happens when you don’t take care of your wife.”
Harsh slaps echoed in your bedroom. The two of you could only share the raw sounds that left your mouths in your haze of the thrill as the string between you pulled tighter and tighter.
“I’m—so—close,” you murmured with all your depleted energy.
Bucky didn’t need the confirmation when he could feel the rapid pulses of your walls that squeezed him. He knew your orgasm was clutching at its straws and he was so close himself. The blood from his head had long since made its way to his dick and his composure was swiftly deflating.
“Want that cum,” he garbled as his mouth hung open. “I’ve been such a good boy, mommy. Give it to me, please.”
You whined loudly, like a dog in heat. But your voices became lost on each other. That didn’t stop Bucky from losing his inhibitions out loud.
Thrust. “I’ve been such,” thrust. “A good,” thrust. “Boy.”
The wound up ball of tension in your lower stomach exploded in a series of screams and violent shivering that overtook your whole nervous system and the very sensation brought Bucky to his defeat.
The muscles in his legs failed him as they turned to jelly. Bucky let out the sluttiest moan he’s ever experienced in his life and all but collapsed onto your sweat slicked body. He could feel his cock shooting a constant stream of cum into your cunt with seemingly no end in sight.
“Fuck,” he whimpered into your ear. Slowly, his conscience came back to life and the flow of his load finally came to a stop.
The two of you laid still, only the heavy panting serving to fill the silence. After a couple of minutes, Bucky kissed your shoulder blade, before lifting himself up. He gathered the strength to gently retrieve his length from your hole that still strangled him.
Bucky was reminded of the phone that was still recording in his hand and he quickly made sure to get the winning money shot of his load dripping out of your pulsing hole while he wholly detached himself from you.
He was only human to push his finger into your cunt, he thought, letting himself gather himself on his own fingers.
Flipping the camera around to himself, Bucky put his coated finger in his mouth, sucking your combined juices and humming and letting it go with a pop. He laughed, out of breath, his red cheeks and mussed hair only adding to the depravity of the video. “Y’know some people should really keep an eye on their wives. You never know what they’re up to in their spare time. Ain’t that right, Honey?”
Bucky knew you were out of it — he watched on while you buried your head in the sheets, rubbing your thighs together as aftershocks made your body twitch. Your needy, high pitched keens bounced off the walls. “Wan’ more of your cock, James—please—need you to fuck me again.”
He licked his lips in delight, the sight of your ass wiggling with his cum leaking out of you and your unprompted addition to the recording filling him with glee.
“Well,” he sighed, turning back to the camera and shrugging with no remorse. “You heard the wife. Duty calls.” With a cocky wink, he ended the recording with a final farewell. “See you in class, Professor.”
Bucky exited his camera app and quickly brought up his emails, scouring through to a saved draft and attaching the video link. After pressing send, he shut off his phone, making sure any future notifications would be silenced before throwing it to the ground with a careless thump.
“Baby,” you whimpered, looking behind you to search for him. “What are you doing? I said I wanna be fucked again.”
Undressing the rest of his clothes, Bucky stalked towards you, kneeling onto the bed and effortlessly flipping you over to kiss you deeply to share your combined tastes. “Don’t worry, mommy,” he breathed into your mouth. “I’ll take care of you now.”
Meanwhile at his college, a new email popped up on Dr Parker’s computer screen, shrouding the dark office with a white glow in the late night. With an exhausted huff, he looked up from grading papers — all of them marked with a C or lower — and squinted his eyes at the bright screen.
New Email from James Buchanan Barnes
He rolled his eyes with a sigh. The name was familiar as he thought back to the day the kid almost cried in his office, complaining about his poorly-graded assignment and his GPA; Dr Parker had gossiped with Professor Stark in his department on his dinner break, recounting the annoying way this particular student had whined like a baby. Though he couldn’t quite remember how James looked, unable to place him among the hundreds of pupils he taught.
Amused curiosity ran through him, wondering what his student had to moan about this time and so with a sadistic smirk, he clicked on the link, waiting until his message came up.
Though that smirk was quickly replaced with a frown when the email finally loaded with an attachment.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But I like mine warm, tight and sweet.
OMG!!! he at first was just going to use you, but did he really fell in love?!! maybe just fell like the asshole you have for husband... What will your husband do after he comes back from work?!!!
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F! Reader
Themes: Christmas Meet-Ugly, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers(ish), rom-com
Summary: You and Bucky are fighting over the last deluxe holiday gift set. The petty bickering escalates into a full-blown argument in front of shocked holiday shoppers, causing store security to intervene. As punishment, the frazzled guard handcuffs you together in the security office until you both "calm down."
A/N : This oneshot is part of my 4K Follower christmas themed celebration. I hope you enjoy this first one! Thank you so much for reading my stories! Dividers by @saradika-graphics
It was supposed to be a quick trip. Grab the deluxe toy train set, pay, and leave. That was the plan. But life had other plans, and those plans came in the shape of a six-foot something man with a smirk as sharp as the jawline above it.
You reached for the last box on the shelf—your prize, your golden ticket, the sole reason you braved the chaos of twenty-third shoppers.
"Excuse me, I believe I was here first," you said sweetly, gripping the box.
"Excuse you, sweetheart," the man countered, one metal hand already gripping the other end of the box. "I had my eye on this before you decided to swoop in like some holiday vulture."
"Holiday vulture?!" you spat, yanking the box closer to your chest. "I don’t see your name on it, Terminator."
He raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make you flinch. “Name’s Bucky, not Terminator. And I’d be happy to write it on the box for you... after I take it home.”
“Not happening,” you hissed, tugging harder. The box creaked ominously under the strain.
“Let go,” he growled.
“You let go!”
By now, a crowd of amused onlookers had formed, phones out, capturing every moment like a live-action reality show. One kid shouted, “Go lady! You’ve got this!” while a woman in a reindeer sweater whispered, “This is better than The Bachelor.”
“Look, lady,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to ruin Christmas for you—”
“Oh, really? That’s what this feels like!”
“But my friend’s kid specifically asked for this,” he finished, as if that were a valid excuse.
You rolled your eyes. “Well, so did my niece. And unlike you, I didn’t wait until the last minute to shop.”
“Your cart’s full of candles!” he shot back, pointing to your precariously stacked haul.
You gasped, scandalized. “They’re scented candles and they make great gifts! Not that you’d understand.”
“I understand they’re not as hard to find as this!” he said, gesturing wildly to the now-doomed train set.
The tug-of-war escalated, your battle waging in the aisle of festive chaos. The crowd grew, complete with commentary.
“Bet five bucks on the lady!”
“Ten on the guy with the arm!”
And then—CRASH. The box tore clean down the middle, spilling its contents across the floor. Tiny train cars scattered like shrapnel, and a miniature conductor figure flew into a nearby stroller, making the baby cry.
Gasps echoed through the store as you and Bucky froze, still clutching your respective halves. Somewhere in the distance, someone yelled, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”
A whistle cut through the air. “Alright, break it up, you two!”
You turned to find a middle-aged security guard glaring at you like an exhausted babysitter. His name tag read “Carl,” and he looked about one tantrum away from quitting.
“We were just—”
“I don’t care!” Carl snapped, his moustache twitching with barely contained rage. “Both of you. Security office. Now.”
The security office smelled like stale coffee and regret. You sat handcuffed to Bucky, who, despite his protests, looked far too comfortable with the situation.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, yanking futilely on the cuffs. “We’re adults!”
“Debatable,” Carl deadpanned, sipping from his 'World’s Best Grandpa' mug. “You two are staying cuffed until you learn how to act like it.”
“I’m not a criminal!” you protested.
“Not what the footage shows,” Carl replied, spinning his chair to reveal the grainy security camera feed of you and Bucky mid-squabble. The freeze-frame of you squawking like a bird while clutching a toy train in a death grip was particularly unflattering.
“I’m offended on her behalf,” Bucky said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.
“Oh, shut it,” you hissed, elbowing him.
“You’re the one who tore the box!”
“You’re the one with the metal arm. That thing’s basically a wrecking ball!”
Carl slammed his mug down.
“Enough!” He massaged his temples like a teacher on their last day before retirement. “You’re staying here until I feel confident you won’t burn the store down.”
“Burn the store down?” you repeated, aghast, throwing your hands in the air as much as the cuffs allowed.
“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Carl muttered, eyeing both of you like feral raccoons fighting over a sandwich. With an exhausted sigh, he locked the door behind him and muttered something about “needing a damn coffee break,” leaving you and Bucky alone in the tiny, overheated room.
The silence that followed was so oppressive it felt like the room had shrunk. Only the faint, mocking jingle of Jingle Bells played faintly from the store’s speakers as you and Bucky sat shoulder-to-shoulder, stewing.
Bucky, apparently unable to sit still, started bouncing his knee—a rapid, relentless motion that made your entire chair vibrate like a washing machine on spin cycle.
“Stop that,” you snapped, glaring at him.
“Stop what?” he asked innocently, his knee bouncing harder.
“Your leg,” you hissed. “The whole chair is shaking! Are you trying to make me seasick?”
His lips twitched, clearly enjoying your misery. “It’s a free country.”
“Not for your knee, it’s not!”
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be bouncing my knee if I wasn’t chained to someone with candle obsession issues,” he shot back.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who went full WWE over a toy train set!”
“You’re the one who tore it in half, lady!” he said, pointing accusingly.
“I was fighting for my family’s honor,” you retorted dramatically, crossing your arms as much as you could.
“You mean your candles.”
“It’s called being thoughtful, you Grinch impersonator!”
His knee bounced harder, and you grabbed his leg in desperation, making him pause. “Seriously, stop! I’m going to throw up, and then you’ll really regret this.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. But only because you look like you might actually hurl, and I don’t need Carl coming back and cuffing me to the radiator this time.”
“So,” Bucky continued after a beat of silence, “Do you always fight strangers over train sets, or is today special?”
You glared at him. “Do you always shop last minute and ruin people’s holidays, or is that your side gig?”
He snorted. “Ruining holidays? That’s harsh. I’m saving them.”
“By what? Sabotaging shoppers?”
“By making sure my best friend’s kid gets the one thing he asked for,” Bucky replied, voice softening slightly.
You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity.
“Okay, that’s… kind of sweet,” you admitted reluctantly.
“What about you?” he asked. “Candles for everyone?”
“No,” you mumbled. “The train set was for my niece. She’s… had a tough year.”
Bucky nodded, silence enveloping the two of you yet again, the tinny chorus of Frosty the Snowman blared overhead, and the absurdity of your situation finally hit you. You started giggling, and to your surprise, so did he.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, still grinning.
“This,” you said between laughs. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been part of.”
“Right,” he agreed, laughing harder.
For the first time since being forced to sit there, you weren’t arguing. Well, unless you counted arguing about whose laugh was uglier.
Carl finally returned, jangling the keys like a janitor who had seen too much. His Santa hat was slightly askew, and his mustache twitched with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. He looked like someone’s adorable grandpa who had just been told the grandkids set fire to the Christmas tree.
“Alright, you two,” he grumbled, unlocking the cuffs. “You’re free. But before you go…”
He planted his hands on his hips, his gut straining against his red vest, and glared at you like you’d just stolen cookies from the jar.
“I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years, and let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of nonsense. But this—” he waved a hand between you and Bucky “—takes the fruitcake. Grown adults fighting over a toy train set like it’s the last turkey on Earth? Really?”
You started to open your mouth to argue, but Carl cut you off with a stern wag of his finger.
“No, no. Don’t even try to explain. You’re both guilty. Guilty of being Christmas disasters. And you…” he pointed at Bucky, his stubby finger trembling with indignation. “You’re what? Pushing 40? Shouldn’t you know better?”
That’s when Bucky’s lips twitched. And twitched again. And suddenly, he was laughing. Not just chuckling—a full-on, shoulder-shaking laugh that echoed through the tiny room.
Carl’s mustache twitched in annoyance. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky said between gasps for air, “but… I’m being lectured by someone who looks like Santa’s understudy.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re like a cute little Christmas elf—just missing the pointy shoes.”
Carl’s face turned as red as his vest. “I am not cute!” he barked.
“You kinda are,” Bucky said, grinning.
You smacked his arm. “Stop antagonizing him!”
But even you couldn’t suppress a giggle as Carl threw his hands in the air. “You know what? I’m done. Get out. Both of you. Before I call other mall security and have you escorted out by the Grinch Squad.”
Carl muttered something about needing a stiff eggnog and waddled back to his desk, leaving you and Bucky to stumble out of the security office.
“Well, that was fun,” you deadpanned, starting to walk away, only to stop when Bucky called out.
“Wait! Hey!”
You turned, eyebrows raised. “What? Did you leave your dignity back there?”
He ignored the jab, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the first time since the ordeal started, he actually looked... awkward.
“I, uh… was just wondering what you’re doing after this.”
You blinked at him, genuinely caught off guard. “What am I doing? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, serious,” he said with a little shrug, his smirk less cocky and more boyish now. “You’re, uh… funny. And kind of cute, when you’re not threatening to strangle me over toy trains.”
You stared at him, wide-eyed.
“This—” you gestured dramatically between you both “—is the foundation of your flirting strategy? Chaos, insults, and shared custody of a train set?”
“Worked, didn’t it?” he teased, grinning now.
You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just spent an hour handcuffed to you while debating whether or not to throw you out a window, and now you want to… hang out?”
“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, like this was the most reasonable suggestion in the world.
“Because this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “I barely know you, we’re still enemies by all accounts, and—”
“You haven’t said no,” he interrupted, cutting you off with a pointed look.
You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Damn him and his stupid smirk.
Finally, you sighed, half-laughing at the sheer absurdity. “Fine. But if this turns into another wrestling match over a menu, I’m walking out.”
“Sure,” he said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Whatever you want.”
As you both walked out of the office areas and back to the mall, you muttered under your breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Believe it, sweetheart,” he said, falling into step beside you. “And next time? Maybe we’ll skip the handcuffs… unless you’re into that.”
You glared at him, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into an unwilling smile. Maybe chaos wasn’t such a bad foundation after all.
The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the room as Bucky groggily reached for the remote. Still half-asleep, he flicked on the TV, more out of habit than interest. The morning show’s upbeat jingle played, and he squinted at the screen, his brain catching up to the cheerful voices of the two hosts.
“—and now, for what might be the most hilarious Christmas shopping moment caught on camera!” the female host announced, barely suppressing her laughter.
Her co-host, a grinning man in a Santa tie, chimed in, “Oh, this is a good one. Forget Hallmark—this is real-life rom-com material, folks. Roll the clip!”
Bucky froze mid-stretch as the screen transitioned to shaky footage of himself and you, locked in a dramatic tug-of-war over the train set in the middle of the toy aisle. The commentary from the crowd was clear as day.
“Go lady! You’ve got this!”
“Ten bucks on the guy with the metal arm!”
“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, sitting up straighter, dread pooling in his stomach.
The video jumped to the box tearing in half, scattering train pieces like confetti, followed by the baby wailing and someone shouting, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”
The hosts erupted into laughter.
“Okay, okay,” the woman said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’m calling it now—this is the meet-cute of the decade. I can hear the Hallmark writers typing this into a script.”
Her co-host nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Two strangers, both fighting for the same toy on the eve of Christmas eve—classic enemies-to-lovers setup.”
They both howled with laughter as the clip transitioned to grainy security footage of you and Bucky cuffed together, bickering like an old married couple.
“And this is where the movie writes itself,” the man said, pointing to the screen. “They’re forced to spend time together, cuffed in the security office. Sparks fly. Cue the heartwarming ending!”
The woman leaned toward the camera, her expression conspiratorial. “So, the real question is… did they exchange numbers? Did they get coffee? Did they—”
Bucky groaned and buried his face in his hands as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, flipping it over to see a message from Sam:
Sam:
Congratulations, you’re famous.
A second message immediately followed:
Sam:
Also, what happened next? Don’t leave me hanging! Did you at least get her number?
Bucky tossed his phone onto the bed with a groan, only for it to buzz again. This time it was Steve:
Steve:
They’re right. This does sound like the start of a love story. Please tell me you didn’t blow it.
“Unbelievable,” Bucky muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face as the TV hosts continued speculating.
“What do we think, folks?” the male host asked, gesturing dramatically. “Should we start a Twitter campaign to find out what happened next? I need closure!”
“Absolutely!” the female host replied. “If you’re watching this, toy train couple, please—reach out. America is invested.”
“I’m never leaving the house again.” Bucky groaned louder, sinking into the pillows.
His phone buzzed again.
Sam:
Famous AND trending. Look at you.
Bucky grabbed a pillow and smothered his face with it, his muffled voice barely audible: “I hate Christmas.”
He sighed and shifted, his pillow falling to the floor—he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, his irritation melted away as he looked to his right, where your figure was still peacefully curled under the covers. Your hair was a mess from the night before, your cheek pressed against the pillow in a way that made you look adorably innocent—though Bucky distinctly remembered you weren’t so innocent a few hours ago.
A small, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. He let out a breath, shaking his head as he muttered to himself, “Actually. . . Maybe I don’t hate it too much.”
Summary: Andy wanted you. He wanted things right. But your dad refused. What other choice did he have?
Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader
Rating: explicit
Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, narrow views of sex due to the time period, slut shaming, unprotected sex, breeding kink, PIV sex, first time, creampie, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 3.9K
Andy Barber Masterlist
*dividers created by @firefly-graphics
Your mom fiddles around with a bouquet of roses and daisies, refusing to meet your eyes. You’ve heard her talk about how you made a mistake for weeks now. How you put yourself in this position. That you should consider yourself lucky that things are going the way they are. And still you feel her judgemental gaze as she peeks at you over the bouquet.
“Marge?” your grandmother questions your mother. Picking up your dress, she then turns to look at you. “What did you do, you stupid girl?” You hold your head high as your sister starts to zip the dress up. Grunting when she reaches a snag. Well…it is now too tight.
“How far along are you?” You play dumb. The dress wasn’t supposed to be a give away. Your grandmother walks behind you to help your sister. “You could have gone with a bigger dress.”
“It fit last week,” your sister is much too young, and does not understand the adult conversation happening between you and the women who are ashamed of you.
“That far along, huh? Are we going to have to bribe someone to lie about the date on the marriage certificate?”
“No,” Andy told you everything would be okay. And it would be. Everything would be just fine.
“Marge?” Your dad peeks out the front window, watching as the little boy from down the street pushes you in the swing. “Marge!”
“Yes, dear,” your mother responds. She wipes her hands on her apron as she walks into the living room.
“Who is that boy?” He points to the little boy with the bright blue eyes that had captured your heart the moment he and his mother moved down the street. “Hmm?”
“The kid from the old house up the street,” it isn’t like your father didn’t know this already. He asked about him every time you played with him. The problem was your father didn’t like him. Didn’t think the son of a single mother was good enough for his precious angel.
“The one whose father is in jail?”
“That would be the one. She fancies him.”
“I think he just sees an access to money,” your mother rolls his eyes, as she starts to step back into the kitchen to prepare lunch. “You laugh at me, but kids younger and younger are being taught by their parents the best way to money is finding some stupid girl that has a rich family to marry. He sees an in. A respectable man that owns a magazine, like myself. The heir…”
“We’re not royalty. His mother says he wants to be a lawyer.”
“Bah. That kid is a loser.”
“Sir,” your father attempts to close the door in Andy’s face, but the younger man places a foot there first. “I would like to take your daughter out on a date.”
“No,” he deadpans. “Is that all?”
“Why can’t I take her on a proper date?” He looks the man up and down. The scrawny little kid has filled out. But the reputation of a son raised by a single mom still lingered. A son who had to get a job far too young to make sure that he and his mother could survive. A son that was accepted into college, and now about to graduate Harvard law. And still he isn’t good enough for you. He is no good. And never would be.
“What do you mean by proper?”
“Oh, umm…I didn’t mean anything by it,” he meant he didn’t want to wait below your window as you snuck out with him. In order to not be spotted, he’d just take you on long walks at night, where eventually the two of you would lay looking at the stars. It was kind of infuriating to have you all alone. But you are a respectable woman. And clothes always stayed on.
“You know, Dwayne down the street mentioned something about you and her. Now, I thought it was a bit crazy to suggest that my daughter was riding in a car with the likes of you after midnight,” Andy stands up straighter. Nothing had ever crossed a line. But he has every intention of marrying you, and would prefer it be done the right way. “I want you to stay away.”
“I want to marry your daughter.”
“Over my dead fucking body,” Andy’s cheerful face turns sour, and he glares at your father. “You know nothing about my daughter.”
“I know that she prefers the moon over the sun. I know that her favorite flower is a lily, but your wife thinks her room looks better with roses and daisies. I know that she wants a big family, and wants to live just out of the city. I know she wants a dog, a golden retriever, and name her Bagel,” your dad stumbles back on that. You said you never would tell anyone that unless you knew they loved you. “I know she loves baking, and she loves to read. I know that you taught her to type.”
“You’re not marrying my daughter. Do you know why?” Andy shakes his head. He has done everything a man should do. He even has a job lined up. He has a home he is going to buy, just for the two of you, and eventually your children, and Bagel. He has a car. He will provide for you. “You’re a piece of shit, born from a piece of shit. Do you not think I know about your bastard father rotting in prison? Do you not think I don’t know about how your mom was making some extra money? You’ll never be good enough for my daughter. Never.”
—
You lean outside of your window, smiling when you see Andy on the lawn. Throwing your legs out of the window, you shimmy towards the tree branch, and make your way towards the most perfect man you have ever met. Getting down to his arms, where he gives you a bruising kiss. His hand is holding onto you a bit too high on your rib cage, and his thumb grazes over your breast before you jump away from him. He shouldn’t touch you there while at your parents’ home.
“Where are we going tonight?” your voice is so soft as he grips your hand, and leads you down the road and to his parked car. You are so proud of Andy and all that he has earned.
“Did you talk to my dad?” Andy opens the door of the car for you, and closes it before he crosses over to the other side. “Andy, did you talk to him?” He has to let you date Andy now. He is a lawyer. And you weren’t some shy little girl anymore. You wanted to become his wife, and have cute babies with him. And the sooner that this was public, the sooner you can have that, “Andy?”
“He said no,” your arms cross over your chest as you look out the window of the car. “It’s not stopping me.”
“Why is he like this?” it upsets you that your father can’t see the Andy that you see. He is perfect. And he will give you a perfect life.
“Because you’re his oldest daughter. His pride and joy, and he just doesn’t want you to be married off to some boy.”
“Except you’re not some boy,” you give him a smile, scooting over on the seat towards him. Your dainty hand rubs up and down his chest as you snuggle in, “You’re all man.”
“You have no idea,” he gets the most devious plan. It’s not as evil as it may sound. Andy plans on marrying you anyways. Currently he doesn’t have your father’s blessing, and this way wouldn’t exactly be a blessing. But at least he couldn’t say no. You are just like every other girl, and would only get the proper talk until you were engaged. You didn’t fully understand how babies are made, or the ways that Andy could love you, and evour you.
They’d tell you how a woman has wifely duties. But sex with you isn’t a duty. Sex with you almost seems like a life force for him. It is proper to wait for marriage, but this marriage doesn’t seem like it’s going to be approved by your father. And he’d hate to see you leave Andy behind because you needed that.
But…if you were to accidentally fall pregnant how could he say no? You would need to have a man to marry you. What man would marry a sullied woman? Leaving him with no choice but to approve the marriage. Demand it.
It’s not evil. It’s just changing up the way he would like things to go. He doesn’t want you to be looked down upon in the community. He wants you. He doesn’t want to wait. He wants his future wife properly. He’d taken way too many cold showers after leaving you. Relieved himself way too much.
His car turns in a different direction. The house was supposed to be a surprise. But he was also supposed to be given your dad’s blessing. It’s empty, and a bit bleak right now. But if he’s going to have your properly, he wants it to be in your future home with him. You would no longer be a lady, and sex didn’t automatically mean pregnancy, but he wasn’t going to stop until you became pregnant.
Andy has always played the long game with you. He knew the moment he saw this sweet little girl rocking in her saddle shoes as you stood there holding out a coloring book and crayons for him, and told him that you have a swing that he was in love. He fell instantly and even told his mom that he was going to marry you. And he will. Even if you have to get pregnant out of wedlock for it to happen.
“Andy, where are we going? We’ve never been here before?” You ask after a while of silence. You are perfectly content rubbing on your boyfriend as he drives. He gets all fidgety and squirrelly when you do. It makes you feel better knowing his heart is racing just like yours always does around him.
“I bought us something.”
“Oh?” You look up at him with doe eyes, and kiss him on his neck. Giggling when he makes that sound. Kissing on his neck always makes him squirm. You love watching him adjust how he’s sitting and even how he pulls you closer to him. Letting his hands roam where they want to roam. You don't mind as long as you are alone.
“It might not be much. But this is just a starter,” he says, slowing down as he turns onto a road. You squeal as you look forward. Your hand lays on his upper thigh, and he clears his throat. Andy is such a funny man when you touch him in certain areas.
“Andy, it’s perfect!” It truly is. The cutest little white house with a white picket fence. A perfect starter home. “Can we go look?”
“That’s why we’re here,” you don’t even wait for him to open the door before you spring to the house. Having to wait a bit too long for him to come to your side and unlock the door before you're running through the empty house.
Home.
Yours and Andy’s home.
The kitchen is bigger than your mom’s, and a few modern appliances. The living room is huge, but maybe that’s because there was no furniture. Running down the hall you see the perfect room for a nursery. Can already envision the crib.
“Honey,” Andy pulls your hand down the hallway, leading you towards the biggest room in the house. It is mostly empty, sans a bed. “This will be ours.”
“Ours?” You sigh, turning towards him, and run both hands up his chest. “And we’ll get to sleep in the bed together,” your mother hadn’t quite taught you anything concerning marriage. And you’d heard your friends gossip a bit about their husbands, but it just made you queasy. You didn’t want to think about another man. You just want him. You want those conversations with Andy or nobody.
“We can do more than sleep,” he says with a sly quirk of his mouth.
“What else does one do in the bed with their husband?”
“Well,” he says softly, pulling you into his body. His meaty hands run up your sides before they’re high enough for his thumbs to caress over your breasts, and you sigh leaning into him. You were in private, and there’s nothing you wouldn’t let Andy do. Or touch.
Your body heats up with ministrations, and you stare up at him with your eye lids at half mast. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to try with you.”
“And what’s that?”
“I want to make love with you,” your tongue flicks out of your mouth, and you pull your bottom lip in. Biting on your perfect pout as you look up at him. “Do you know what that is?”
You shake your head no as Andy’s hands go to your back, and he grips tight to your zipper as he pulls it down. You gulp, allowing him to undo your dress. It feels right. And you love Andy, so making love sounds right. “When two people love each other, they give each other their bodies.”
“And then what,” you release a wanton mewl when he fully unzips your dress. Placing his hands back on your shoulders, he pulls the dress down, and you watch with bated breath as it pulls at your feet. Andy’s hungry eyes roam over your body before he reaches back behind you, undoing your bustier, and you’re the one pulling it off.
He stands there, taking your nearly nude body in. “Then what, Andy?”
“I taste you,” you gulp. “You taste me,” you shudder. “I enter inside of you,” you whimper. “I come inside of you.”
“Inside where?” Andy’s finger taps between your legs, and your knees start to buckle. Leaning more into him for support, and you shyly pull at his jacket, and fumble with the buttons on his shirt. “Have you ever came inside someone?”
“No,” it isn’t a lie. He’s had sex, and only because he wanted to be the best for you. But that part of him…it is only for you. “Can — I touch you?” You nod your head enthusiastically, and he leans forward. Both hands cupping your breasts before he sucks one into his mouth.
“Oh, god,” the other breast he squeezes and pulls until he reaches your swollen bud, and gives it a little pinch. You pant as you stare down at him. Sucking on your nipple before he pulls off with a pop, and moves to the other one. “Andy…I can’t breathe.”
“We’re just getting started,” he practically growls. He grabs your hand, and places it on his crotch, while you moan. Slick heat races to your core, and your mind goes all fuzzy. Andy always has this innate ability to make butterflies race to your belly.
Feeling Andy like this doesn’t even feel criminal. He’s showing you exactly why he adjusts his pants, “This is what you do to me.”
“And this,” you take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. You can feel his pulse under your fingers. He’s so hot and heavy under your palms. Yours. This is all yours. “This goes inside me?”
“It does.”
“Show me,” Andy steps away from you before sinking to his knees. He starts to slowly peel away your panties and stockings down your body. Assisting you in kicking off your shoes, and stepping out of your confines while you stand completely bare in front of him.
“Andy,” you coo before he kisses you over your naked mound. “Andy,” you start to melt as he coaxes your legs apart, and he licks through your slit. “Oh dear,” Andy is getting a part of you that no man has. Open and so ready for him. Whatever it means. Is this what people are talking about when they mention the wedding bed?
Wedding be damned. You can’t stop this now. You want to feel him inside of you. “Andy, I want you in there,” he glances up at you with an almost evil smirk. “Will you show me what that means?” He will marry you. He will make an honest woman out of you. Your father drove him to do things this way.
Lifting you up, he lets your legs wrap around his body, while he moves you to grind over his enlarged bulge. Your eyes blow wide open with curious lust and the simpering sounds of your needy voice make his movements so much quicker. He could just about come looking at you like this alone. Laying you down on the bed, he spreads your legs so wide to stare at your weeping cunt. Perfect. And all his.
“Andy,” you whine, wiggling around. You feel so exposed, and want him so bad. You want him all over you. You want him to feel a part of you that no one has.
“Shh,” he whispers as he starts removing his clothes. You gasp as his cock springs free. Scooting back in the bed, suddenly scared of where he says he’s going to have you. “You can take it. You’ll take it all, and if it doesn’t fit, we’ll make it fit.”
Andy clamors onto the bed, using his wide berth to keep your legs parted as he lines himself up with your center. Pushing just the tip of him in you and quickly pulling back out, and you yip. “Honey, you can take it, huh?”
“Y-y-yeah,” you take a deep swallow as he goes deep, but doesn’t pull out. “Oh, golly,” he slowly sinks his girth deeper. Letting your body adjust to the intrusion inch by inch. “Oh…oh!” Panting when he fully sheaths his steel rod all the way inside of you, and into the depths of your soul.
Both of your bodies hum with the throbbing intensity that is the two of you becoming one. It’s overwhelming and lovely all at the same time. All these years have led you here. Spread wide open for him. Taking him. Loving him.
“There’s a good girl. There is my sweet good girl,” it is overwhelming having Andy inside of you. Stretching you out deliciously. You want him always there. It just feels right. How dare your father try and take this from you. You belong with Andy with him inside of you.
“Andy, I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I want a baby with you,” fuck yes. Yes. Just what he was wanting to hear. “I want to marry you, and live here with you, and have you inside me every single night. I want to take care of our sweet babies, and —“ he pulls himself out of you again, causing you to pout, but then he pushes back in with a jolt. “Oh, Lordy be!”
“You like me fucking you?”
“Uh huh,” such terrible language, but right here, right now, it feels wrong not to be saying that. “Fuck me harder. I like that,” he snaps his hips, barreling back into you. Again. Again. And again. And tears spring to your eyes, but he kisses them away. Pistoning into your body with such force you cry out.
The fullness of him. It makes it hard to breathe. Even the sting of the stretch doesn’t hurt all that much.
“Good girl. You sound so pretty crying for me,” you just cling on for dear life as Andy’s movements make the bed slap against the wall. “You were made for me, Sugar. Nobody can ever take this away from us. I won’t stop fucking you until I plant a baby in your belly.”
You’re too far gone to truly understand the implications in that statement. You just nod your sweet little head, opening your legs wider. Andy leans back, pinning both legs to the bed as he watches himself impale you. Your tight little cunt clings to his cock. Even your body didn’t want him to leave you. It was begging for him to stay buried deep inside you.
And he would be. He’ll keep fucking you, and planting his seed until it takes. What is your dad going to say when you’re swelling with Andy’s pride and joy? He wouldn’t want to ruin your good name, therefore the family’s. He’ll be forced to allow you to marry. And he’ll have you exactly how he wants you.
On your back, taking him every night, while every day he gets to worship you. The dream.
“Sugar,” Andy pants, his movements stiffening up. “I’m gonna give us a baby.”
“Yes, daddy.”
“Fuck,” he crows, keeping himself lodged deep in your body. “Fuck!” Warmth blooms in your belly, and your mouth goes slack as you stare up at him. “This will be our little secret, okay?”
Until your belly is so round that everyone knows that he’s fucked you good and hard enough to get a baby. Men will stare jealously knowing that Andy has had you with no inhibitions. There will come a day that he will get to tell people that the two of you are trying for a baby. Meaning they’ll know he’s fucking his come inside of you every night.
It will come. But for now, he’s going to keep coming inside of you. Creating a life in secrecy. In hopes that your father will approve this union. He won’t have another choice.
“Beige,” your grandmother huffs as your sister pulls the veil over your head. “You seriously think people won’t notice you’re wearing beige? You spread your legs for the first man that whispered how much he loves you in your ear. You will ruin this family!” your sister looks back and forth between you and your grandmother, but you keep your head held high. Today you become his wife.
“You were supposed to marry the astronaut.”
“Guess he wouldn’t want to marry some whore, huh, Nana?” You let your hand drift down your stomach, rubbing over the barely there bump. “Andy did ask daddy for his permission to marry me. He said no, but all I’ve ever wanted was to be Mrs. Barber.”
“He trapped you,” your mother gasps, holding her hand over her mouth, while the other fans her face. “Sweetheart.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I wanted this. I begged for him to give us a baby. And now he’s giving me his last name. We have a home, and he has a job, and will move up at the firm. Let me have this happiness. He kept his promise. So let me keep mine.”
Let your mom continue to pray that nobody sees the weight you’ve put on. Four months, and six weeks, it is becoming harder to hide. There wouldn’t be a honeymoon. There would only be you going home to your husband. Sleeping in the bed right beside him where you belong. No more sneaking around, and leaving before sunlight. Everyone may know that you didn’t wait, and you don’t even care. Because he still kept his promise.
There would be no more lies. Only the truth, and that’s what has always been known. You love Andy Barber.
pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader
rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)
word count: 8.6k
summary:
You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.
His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.
author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!
warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!
“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.
“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”
There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.
“Maybe I should—“
“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”
That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.
“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”
You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.
“Be back soon. I love you.”
Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.
The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.
He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.
The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”
“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”
After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."
"That must've been difficult."
"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."
Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.
"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.
Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.
"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.
Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.
A cross.
The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.
You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.
That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.
You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.
"C'mon out, pretty girl!"
You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.
"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"
His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.
“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”
You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--
You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.
"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"
You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.
“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.
“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.
A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.
The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.
“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”
“Yeah.”
“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”
“What about the other two?” You asked.
“The one of the red horse would be war.”
You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”
Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”
The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.
The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”
“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.
“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”
“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“
“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”
“I can’t—“
“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”
“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”
Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”
“Send someone?”
“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”
“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”
“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”
You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?
“Okay.”
“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.
“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.
Maybe he has to give more first.
“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”
“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.
“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.
“What does that mean?” You ask.
“You’ll see.”
Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.
Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.
“What—“
“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.
“But—“
“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”
You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.
You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.
"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.
You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.
“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.
“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.
“Uh—“
“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.
“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”
The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”
Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”
Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.
“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”
“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”
“A little more than a day.”
Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“
“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“
He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.
You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.
"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."
You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.
The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.
"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."
"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"
"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."
You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.
The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.
"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.
"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."
"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"
"Every flock needs a shepherd."
You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.
“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.
“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”
“Of course.”
She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.
Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.
“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”
The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”
“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.
“Just some concerns I was having.”
“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”
The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.
The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.
“Dig in,” he says.
Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.
“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.
Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”
“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”
“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”
“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”
“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”
He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.
Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.
“Yeah?” She asks.
“Can I come in?”
She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.
“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”
“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”
Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”
“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”
“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.
“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.
“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”
He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”
Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.
“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”
“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”
Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.
You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.
He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.
“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”
Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.
Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.
“What?” He grunts.
“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.
Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.
Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.
Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.
When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.
He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.
A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.
“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.
“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.
“Probably there already.”
You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.
“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”
“Sure.”
You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.
“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.
“Protection,” she says.
“From what?”
She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.
As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.
Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.
Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.
His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.
Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.
The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.
“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.
Then, you run.
You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.
He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."
"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.
"If you'll just listen--"
"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"
"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.
"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.
He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."
"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."
"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"
He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."
"But how?"
"The ceremony," he says.
"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”
“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.
His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”
“I don’t—“
“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”
His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.
“Okay.”
Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.
“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”
“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”
She shrugs. “Dunno.”
You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.
“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”
It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.
“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.
“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.
The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.
“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”
He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”
A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.
“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”
“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.
“Are you afraid?” He asks.
“No,” she says.
“Why?”
“Because I trust in your protection.”
Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.
He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.
Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”
Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.
“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”
He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.
He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.
“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”
“No blood saved,” the crowd says.
To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.
Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.
He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.
There’s hope for you yet.
Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.
The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.
You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.
“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”
“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”
He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.
“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”
“But—“
“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”
“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”
“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”
Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.
There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.
There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.
And now there was you.
“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”
You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”
Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.
“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”
While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.
While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.
He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.
“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.
“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”
“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.
“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.
“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”
Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.
“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”
When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”
Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.
“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”
“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.
“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”
Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.
He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.
There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.
One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.
Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.
His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.
You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.
“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.
“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”
“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.
His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.
“I don’t think—“
“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”
Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.
You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”
There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.
It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.
“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”
“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.
His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.
“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.
Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.
He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.
Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.
You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.
As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.
You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.
A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.
The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.
The music pulses against the walls, a steady thump that rattles through your bones. The place is packed—people laughing, drinking, pressing in too close. You shift on your feet, clutching your drink like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.
"You can’t just stand here all night," Mandy sighs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Go talk to someone. Have fun. That’s the whole point."
You glance at her, stomach twisting. "You’re the one who asked me to come."
"And now I’m asking you to not be a buzzkill," she mutters, checking her phone. Her eyes light up. "Okay, I gotta go. Don’t do that weird thing where you disappear, alright?"
Before you can answer, she’s gone, weaving through the crowd with purpose. You exhale slowly, gripping the glass tighter. You wouldn’t disappear. But you might want to.
You push forward, slipping through clusters of strangers, past the laughter and the clink of glasses. The air smells like whiskey and expensive cologne. You should leave, but you don’t. You’re not sure why.
Then you brush past someone—solid, broad shoulders, a low chuckle in your ear.
"Careful, doll," the voice rumbles.
You turn, already apologizing, but the words stick in your throat. Bucky Barnes is watching you, head tilted slightly, something amused in his expression. Beside him, Steve Rogers leans against the bar, nursing a drink.
"Didn’t mean to—" you start, but Bucky shakes his head.
"Relax," he says smoothly, "I don’t bite."
"Debatable," Steve murmurs, taking a sip from his glass.
Bucky smirks, nudging his best friend with his elbow before turning his attention back to you. "You look like you don’t want to be here."
You hesitate, shifting under his gaze. "I—uh. It’s not really my scene."
Bucky hums in understanding, then gestures toward the seat beside him. "Sit. Keep us company. Rogers was just telling me how much he loves these parties."
Steve sighs. "I said they’re not that bad."
"Which, in Steve-speak, means he hates them," Bucky grins, motioning again for you to sit.
You waver, glancing toward the exit. You could leave. But there’s something about the way they’re both watching you, like you belong here more than you think.
"Yeah, it would be rude if you just let this incident ruin your night" Steve adds.
Maybe just for a little while, you think.
You slide into the seat, and Bucky grins like he knew you would.
"Well, what's your name doll?" Bucky asks.
Of course, you know them because they are heroes, and they just told you their names, but...should you tell them?.
You hesitate, fingers curling against your lap. They’re watching you, waiting. It’s not just casual curiosity—there’s something more, like they’re testing you.
You swallow and finally murmur your name.
Bucky repeats it, slow, like he’s tasting it. Steve just nods, approving.
“See? Not so hard,” Bucky smirks. “Now, let’s get you a drink, sweetheart.”
Steve gestures toward the glasses on the table. “You don’t have to, but it might help you relax.”
The way he says it makes you pause. The way Bucky is still watching makes your skin prickle.
Something about this feels like a game. You’re just not sure if you’re playing it… or if you’re the prize.
ypu sip on the glass that's in front of you... ughhh, it's so much alcohol, you never really drink more than 2-3 beers, this is probably vodka.
After some shots and glasses of liquor. Your head feels light, the room swimming in golden hues. Laughter bubbles from your lips, though you don’t remember why. Everything is warm—Steve’s deep chuckle, Bucky’s teasing smirk, the way their hands brush against yours when they pass you another drink.
“Easy there, doll,” Bucky murmurs as you sway, his grip steadying you. His palm is warm against your back, fingers pressing just a little too firm.
Steve hums, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Think you’ve had enough?”
You try to answer, but the words tangle on your tongue. The weight of their attention is heavier than the alcohol, making your pulse trip over itself.
Bucky leans in close, his breath brushing your ear. “Maybe we should get you somewhere quieter, huh?”
Somewhere quieter. That sounds… nice.
You nod, slow, barely processing the way Steve and Bucky exchange a glance over your head. The world tilts as you’re pulled up to your feet, their hands firm at your sides.
“You’ll thank us later,” Bucky whispers, and then—
Darkness.
---------------------------------------
Your head throbs, a slow, pulsing ache behind your eyes. The air is thick—whiskey, leather, something faintly metallic. You shift, or try to, but your body feels heavy, unresponsive. A chill creeps over your skin as realization dawns.
This isn’t your apartment.
Blinking hard, you try to focus, but everything is blurred at the edges, like a dream you can’t quite wake up from. The dim room is unfamiliar—dark furniture, a single lamp casting long shadows. You move again, and that’s when you feel it.
Your wrists.
Bound.
Panic claws at your throat as you tug instinctively, the restraints biting into your skin. Your breathing quickens, heartbeat thundering in your ears. How did you get here? The last thing you remember—Bucky’s smirk, Steve’s steady gaze, their hands brushing yours, drink after drink until—
A low voice cuts through the haze.
“Look who’s awake.”
You twist toward the sound, pulse hammering. Bucky is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching. Not far behind, Steve lingers, eyes unreadable.
“Easy, doll,” Bucky drawls, pushing off the frame. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Steve steps closer, tilting his head. “You had quite a night,” he says, almost gentle. “But don’t worry. We’re gonna take real good care of you.”
The floor tilts beneath you. This isn’t right. This isn’t safe.
But the way they’re looking at you makes one thing clear.
You’re not leaving. Not yet.
You feel the walls closing in around you, your breaths shallow and fast. They’ve crossed a line, but you can’t quite process how, or why. Bucky steps closer, his boots clicking softly against the hardwood floor as Steve watches with an unreadable expression.
"We don’t want to hurt you," Bucky says, his voice almost too smooth. "But you need to understand something. This is just the beginning."
Steve remains silent for a moment, but his gaze never leaves you. The weight of it presses down, more suffocating than any restraint. Finally, he speaks.
"We’ve been watching you. You’ve caught our interest. And now," he pauses, just long enough for you to feel the discomfort coil in your stomach, "we’re going to make sure you understand how things really work."
Your pulse races, but you force yourself to steady your breath. You can’t let them see the fear. Not when you’re still trying to piece together what happened. They’re not acting like heroes anymore. They’re acting like something else—something you don’t fully understand yet, but it’s dark, and it’s dangerous.
Bucky leans in, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.
“You can struggle all you want, doll, but in the end, you’ll realize… this was inevitable. You were always meant to be part of our world.”
Your mind reels, questions forming but none coming out. Your wrists ache where they’re bound, your limbs stiff, but the confusion is almost worse than the physical discomfort. You’ve been trapped—pulled into something you never asked for.
They both smile, in their own way—Bucky’s grin sharp, Steve’s softer, but there’s no warmth behind it.
“What happens next is up to you,” Steve says, his voice now just a murmur in the silence. “You can fight it. Or you can learn. It’s your choice, but it’s also not.”
And just like that, you realize—you’re not going anywhere. Not until they’ve decided it’s time for you to leave.
The room feels suffocating now, every breath like it’s trapped in your chest. The walls seem to close in further as you struggle against the restraints, your panic growing. You need to get out. You need help.
“No!” You shout, your voice cracking as you tug harder. The ropes bite into your skin, and you can feel your heart pounding in your throat. “Let me go!”
“Someone please HELP me!!!!!”you scream so loud, then wait, but there is no light.
A sound of a door opening, stops your atemps to break free. As you turn your face towards the door, you hoped it was the help. But it was them again.
Bucky’s face shifts. That grin falters, but the edge in his eyes sharpens. His hand shoots out faster than you can react, fingers curling around your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“You really think anyone’s coming for you?” His voice is cold, the calmness unsettling. “You’re not in control anymore. We are.”
You scream, louder this time, the sound desperate. “HELP!” You try again, but it’s barely more than a sob. You strain against the ropes, pulling until your arms burn. The air seems to thicken with tension, the room closing in even more.
Steve steps forward, his face hardening, eyes narrowing into something darker. The softness from before has vanished, replaced by something far more dangerous.
“Shut. Up.” His voice is a low growl. “You don’t get to scream.”
Bucky’s grip tightens on your chin, his thumb pressing painfully into your skin. “You wanted to test us? You wanted to see if we’d let you go? Now you’ll see how far we’ll take it.”
Your breath catches in your throat. The realization hits hard, like a punch to the gut.
They’re not just playing with you. They’re toying with something much darker—something you never expected from the men who were supposed to be the good guys.
But it’s too late now. The fear grips you completely, suffocating you under their cold stares. There’s no escape.
“Please,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “don’t do this.”
Bucky chuckles darkly, his fingers leaving your chin to trace along your jawline. Then slowly moving his hand to the neck of your dress. Then Steve joing and in one movement he rips the dress in half and you are exposed. Only in lingere.
“We told you. You don’t get a say in this anymore.”
written for the beautiful, incredible @chrisevans-imagines on her special day. happy (belated) birthday my angel <3
Steve has been your best friend for years. Your sweet, innocent best friend- but he's sick of keeping his hands off you.
Content Warning: frat!steve x reader, dark!steve, slight angst, off-screen sam x reader, smut, dub!con, dom!steve x sub!reader, daddy kink, steve is a big meanie, degradation, face slapping, spitting, face fucking, mention of weed/smoking.
You aren't ashamed to be barging through your best friend's door at 1 in the morning, wearing nothing but a black mini dress with your stilettos in your hand. Steve loves you too much to judge you, and he's too nice to complain.
But when you see him sitting on the couch with another girl, you're taken aback. Steve hardly ever has girls over, let alone this late at night. You recognize the girl to be Karen Redshaw; equally as academically driven and innocent as Steve, which soothes the pang of jealousy you felt to see him hanging out with another girl. She's only a nerd.
"Y/N?" He asks with a frown, putting down the thick textbook and standing up. "What are you doing here?"
Not in the mood to put effort into being polite, you look the girl up and down. "No offence, Karen, but can you fuck off?"
Steve looks appalled at your words, as does Karen who immediately mumbles an apology before gathering up her things and rushing out the apartment.
"What the heck was that, Y/N?" Steve asks with a frown. "That was completely uncalled for."
You roll your eyes at his dramatics and push past him, taking Karen's place on the couch with a thud before slouching down. "I need you to myself tonight, puppy."
Taking his glasses off, Steve rubs the bridge of his nose, resting his free hand on his hip. "You shouldn't have spoken to Karen in that way."
"Who the fuck cares? She's just a fucking nerd!" You exclaim, before taking his hand and pouting up at him. "I said I need you, puppy. I've had such a rough night."
His gaze softens and he sits next to you, resting his arm on the back of the couch and placing his fingers on your cheek. "You've been crying. What happened, beautiful?"
You take in a deep breath and move closer to him, feeling comforted by his presence alone. Though Steve has always been a softie, and maybe even too nice at times, his huge arms and broad shoulders make him seem like a big giant. When he isn't wearing his glasses and he isn't dressed like an old man, he can even look like a complete fuckboy - but you know your Steve is way too soft to ever be anything close to a player. Unlike the guys you date.
"I had a nice dinner planned with Sam tonight," You begin with a sniffle, playing with the cuff of his shirt. "I thought- I thought maybe tonight was the night he'd ask me. To be his girlfriend and stuff, you know. But he said he didn't want anything serious. That this was just for fun, and there were no feelings involved."
Steve tuts, stroking your hair gently. "Oh, beautiful," He sighs, pity in his eyes. Slowly, his hand moves around to your shoulder, before his fingers creep up to softly wrap around your neck.
You shake your head, clinging onto his free hand. "He just used me for sex."
"Oh, honey," Steve whispers, tilting his head. "Of course he did."
Confused, you frown, a little uneasy because of the way he's looking down at you with absolutely no emotion on his face. "What? What do you mean, Steve?"
He shakes his head, almost like he's disappointed. "I have my hand around your throat and you haven't even noticed. That's how desensitized you are."
"Desensi- what?" You're utterly at a loss for words at this point.
"And just look at the way you're dressed," Steve says, pulling at the hem of your dress. "This is for a date? For a 'nice dinner,' you said? Walking around campus with your shoes in your hand?" Coldly, he brings his hand up to grip your jaw, his face flooding with malice. "You look like a fucking whore, Y/N."
You can't believe it. Your Steve; the socially awkward, shy, good boy, has just called you a whore. Your heart cracks in two and your eyes fill with tears, blurring your vision.
Steve immediately chuckles, cupping your face in his hands and stroking your cheeks. "Aw, my little baby, don't cry. It's not a bad thing - in fact, it's a fucking great thing. Wanna know why?"
Unable to speak, you remain silent and unmoving, wondering whether this is some sort of horrific nightmare.
"Because," He begins with a mischievous smirk. "The fact that you're such a little slut means you won't mind me shoving my cock down your throat."
His words send you in a daze. He notices the look of utter servitude in your eyes and smirks, knowing he has you right where he wants you.
"Stevie?" You whimper, terrified of his change in demeanor. "Puppy?"
A dark chuckle leaves his mouth and he shakes his head, his grip on your chin tightening. "Do you know how fucking hard it is to be your friend? To know that you're a dirty slut, and still have to keep my hands to myself?"
With a pout, you try to pull away from him but he's too overpowering. "You don't mean that, Steve."
"No?" He asks teasingly, squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. "You think I can ever focus on anything else when you dress like this? That I don't dream of ruining your dirty cunt every fucking night? 'Cause baby, I'd fucking ruin it."
Having had enough of his twisted words, you use all your strength to rip away from him before rushing towards the door, your bare feet hitting the cold flooring. Just as your hand touches the door handle, Steve wraps his arm around you and lifts you up into the air effortlessly, making you scream bloody murder.
"Oh, no you don't," He grumbles into your ear, using his free hand to pull your hair back. "You're not leaving. Not when I'm so close to getting what I've wanted for so. Fucking. Long. What I fucking deserve after all these years, don't you think? Being your shoulder to cry on, your best fucking friend, your motherfucking puppy?"
With a grunt, he throws you to the ground like a rag doll, making you cry out as your shoulder hits the hard floor. Steve then takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you up to your knees. The lines between the floorboards dig into your skin, making you wince.
"Stevie, the innocent little nerd, doing everything you ask of him," He seethes, rage in his eyes. "I fucking hate that pussy. I'm sick of him. Sick of jerking off while you lay in bed next to me, because I'm the only guy you can trust."
You're shaking at his feet, utterly at a loss for words. This whole time, your innocent Steve has been the devil. You feel sick.
"Well, trust in this, slut: tonight, and from here on out, I own you," He states firmly with a gravelly tone. "I've had enough of watching you whore around for every other guy on campus. I'm the only one you serve from now on. You live for my cock. You live off my cum. Do you fucking understand me, slut?"
It's as if his words have put you into a deep hypnosis. Like a robot, you nod, too scared to take your eyes off him. "Yes. I understand, Steve."
With a growl, he pulls his hand back and slaps you, making your eyes sting with tears. "Not good enough, slut," He spits, malice dripping from his tongue. "Try again for daddy."
Taking note of the name he used, you let the word imprint on your mind and tattoo itself onto your soul. "I understand, daddy."
He unbuckles his belt, satisfaction on his face. "Atta girl. Love how fucking obedient you are for me." His hand moves down to gently cup your face, making you purr as you melt into his warm touch. "You wanna make daddy happy, don't you? Wanna make daddy proud?" He asks softly, resorting back to the voice you've grown to know and love. The voice of your puppy. "Wanna make daddy love you?"
Keening for his affection, you whimper up at him, clutching his legs. "Yes, daddy."
Slowly, his eyes darken. Without warning, he takes his hand back before slapping you again, sending your head to the ground as you cry out. When you look back up at him, he's smiling, adoration in his eyes. "Aww. Such a good little girl," He mumbles with a pitiful look. "So desperate for my attention. For my approval."
You hum, nodding eagerly. Nothing but making him happy matters to you, and he knows it. He loves it.
"Open that whore mouth for me," Steve orders you, pulling down his zipper. You're still too dazed to do anything, making his eyes narrow. "Don't make daddy ask twice."
Immediately, you part your lips, and you barely have the time to take in a breath before he's pushing his hard, thick cock into your mouth, filling it up as his tip hits the back of your throat. You gag, the sound of you choking combined with the way your eyes are tearing up making Steve groan.
"Oh, God," He growls as his shaft slides over your warm tongue. Unable to hold back, Steve takes hold of your head and begins fucking your face mercilessly. "That's it. You're so good at taking my cock, such a good little slut."
The tears stream down your cheeks as you do your best to keep up with his pace, already feeling your throat grow sore from his invasion. You feel dizzy at the lack of oxygen, entirely taken by Steve and his all-consuming aura.
Suddenly, he pulls his cock out of your mouth before squeezing your cheeks in his hand and bending down. He tilts your head back before spitting onto your face, making your pussy throb.
"Daddy's dirty little slut," Steve coos, running a hand through your hair. "Suck on my fucking balls."
You quickly reach forward with his spit dripping down your cheek, wrapping your lips around his balls and sucking them. His dick rests on your face, and Steve reaches into his back pocket to pull out his phone. You see the flash go off as he takes a picture, making you feel electric. He thinks you look gorgeous like this, and your heart is swelling. Daddy's happy with you.
Steve saves the picture as his lockscreen wallpaper, before throwing his phone onto the couch. He lets out a groan as you suck his balls harder, loving the feeling of his heavy cock sitting on your face. With urgency, he grabs the base of his dick and slides it back into your mouth, where it belongs. Without wasting a second, he begins pummelling in and out of your throat again, getting high off the sound of your choking. You hollow your cheeks around him, making him suck in a breath.
"Fuck, princess," Steve groans, throwing his head back in utter delight. "Doing so well for daddy."
His praise motivates you to keep going, your hands moving up to hold onto his thighs. Steve quickens his pace, thrusting harder, his cock twitching against your tongue.
He moans loudly, settling his cock deep into your throat just as his hot cum shoots out, his hips stuttering as his balls press to your chin. "Swallow it all, slut," Steve orders you darkly, keeping your head in his grip to prevent you from moving back. "Don't you dare even waste a single fucking drop of daddy's cum."
You keep your wide eyes on him, swallowing his seed. He lets out some grunts, thrusting a few more times, riding out his high. Once he's spent, he pulls out, dragging a string of saliva out with his cock. He lets go of your face and you fall back without him holding you, exhausted.
Steve puts his softening cock back into his pants, breathing heavily as he stares down at you. "Good job, princess," He utters, running his hand through his hair with a sigh.
Craving his physical touch, you crawl forward, pawing at his leg. "Daddy," You whimper, yearning for some affection.
His face is expressionless, his eyes cold. To your dismay, he takes a step back, seemingly having lost all interest in you. "Clean yourself up. I need a fucking joint."
You sit there, shocked into silence. Your Stevie, your puppy, just abused and came down your throat and is now rolling up a fucking blunt. Who the fuck is he?
Steve falls onto the couch, lighting up the cigarette and shooting you a wink. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
a/n: i no longer use a taglist, but if you follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications, you'll know when i post 🥰❤
Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.
Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!
Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’
Word count: 2.9k
Forty-five minutes.
Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.
Well, maybe that was just his cock.
Joel looked down, scanning his pants.
Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.
At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.
You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all
At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:
“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”
You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.
Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.
It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.
Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?
David was a dick.
He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.
Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.
It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.
If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.
Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—
“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.
Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.
You blinked dreamily up at him.
“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.
I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.
“Again?”
Your word was exhaled in a laugh.
You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.
Stabbing your ass.
You started to turn then, puzzled.
“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.
You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.
But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?
Or had his dick gotten soft at all?
You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.
“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.
Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.
Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.
His dick was still hard.
Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.
The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.
Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:
“I think you gave me twins.”
Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.
Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.
“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.
Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.
“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.
What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.
He would be fine.
His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.
“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.
When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.
There was a shy smile on your face.
“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.
Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.
“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.
You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.
Hard as a rock.
Throbbing.
Needy.
Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.
He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.
No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.
“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.
Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.
“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.
Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.
You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.
Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.
More desperate.
“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.
You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”
Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.
Thanks to that one stupid pill.
Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.
“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”
Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.
You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”
Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.
His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.
“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”
And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.
“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”
Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.
He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”
You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.
Without saying another word, he slid back in.
Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.
How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.
“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”
He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.
You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.
When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.
“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.
“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”
The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.
“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”
“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”
That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.
Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.
You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.
Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.
It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.
Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.
The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.
“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”
He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.
“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”
And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.
Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.
He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.
All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.
Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.
“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”
Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.
“A pill?” you whispered back.
Joel’s gaze locked with yours.
He felt stupid for it all at once.
“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”
“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.
When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.
“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”
Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.
Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.
“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”
“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.
And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.
Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.
“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”
Joel’s face fell.
“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.
He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.
“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”
Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.
“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.
Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.
He nearly choked hearing what followed:
“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”
Summary: Your husband, the Great General of the Roman Empire, wishes for you to perform your wife duties
Pairings: Dark! Marcus Acacius x Priness! Reader
Warnings: Non con, marital rape, arranged marriage, abusive and toxic dynamics, choking, riding, slight spanking, verbal abuse, forced breeding, breeding kink, I want to make this a series, reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister but there isn't any physical description, size kink, Acacius is just huge, reader is afab, legal age gap (Reader is in her 20s, Marcus is in her 40s)
"The people of Rome are hungry."
You bellowed at your brother, glaring at him amidst the climax of your fight. He wouldn't listen; Geta had been as stubborn as he was as a child. He stood before you, draped in fine silks and gold, infuriated that you had disturbed his feast to talk about these matters.
"The people of Rome wouldn't be hungry if we had enough land to import food from." He grunted at you. "Our main aim is to conquer these lands in order to have so, is that clear, my dear sister?"
You laughed at his excuses. "You greedy little bastard, you could have the entire world and still find something to blame for your poor governing."
He glared at you, fingers twisting madly as he stepped, slowly, towards you. The slap resonated through out the empty corridor, drowning the sounds of the party just at mere meters away. Before you could place your hand in your aching cheek, his ringed fingers covered your neck, quickly cutting the air.
"I believe I have granted you too many liberties, my dear sister." He whispered with trembling calmness. "I believe you forget that if you eat, it is because I feed you, if you breathe, it is because I allow you to, and if you speak...it is because I haven't cut off your tongue yet."
You attempted to remain stoic, but the lack of air brought tears to your eyes. He watched you, grinning slightly from your position, before he let go.
"I have decided your fate;" He smirked, decisively. "I am to find a man to marry you. That will tame you."
As you gasped for air, your eyes widened, fearing whichever man your brother may choose for you. And you were right to fear it.
Two days after the fight, you continued praying that your brother forgets the threat, as he most usually does; however, as General Marcus Acacius returned from Numidia, with ships filled with fresh slaves and land conquered, the gods have decided to frown upon you.
You watched as he was paraded into the main palace in dashing white robes, certainly a spectacle fit for a Hero. He reached the steps as people chanted his name, and went directly to talk with the Emperors, not sparing even a glance at you, sitting along with your brother's pet monkey, Dundus. You caught a whiff of his scent; eucalyptus, mint and leather.
You were busy observing your nails as a shadow casted itself upon you, and you glanced to see Geta and the General standing right in front of you. You had never seen Acacius so close, the battle scars smearing into his skin, the streaks of grey in his dark curls, and his piercing dark eyes as he observed you back.
"Do you think you can handle her, my General?" Caracalla questioned, perching on his shoulder. Your brows furrowed in confusion, before it all doomed on you.
"No!" you whispered, to no avail.
"If I can handle Barbarians from the other side of the sea, I think I can handle a spoiled princess." Acacius replied, his eyes wandered down the neckline of your dress, which he could see as he was towering before you. You couldn't do more than stare into those eyes as your brothers laughed, demonically.
After that evening, you had done everything in your power to postpone the wedding. Ditching tailoring appointments, sending back any flower arrangements proposed and avoiding Marcus Acacius at all costs. But you couldn't miss the games thrown in his honor.
His presence emanated an aura of masculinity and ferociousness as the Colosseum chanted his name; you smelled him before you saw him, eucalyptus, mint and leather. You were taken a back when he sat next to you, being too immersed in thought as Geta and Caracalla announced your matrimony.
You watched as a group of slaves was tossed into the arena; as they fought and as one of them was notoriously more skilled than the others; Hanno, he was called. You wished for a second that your brother had decided to marry you to one of them instead, perhaps they'd be more discreet about staring at you, unlike Acacius.
The wedding day came, a sunny morning with games planned to be celebrated in the afternoon as an honor. Acacius stood in the altar, clad in white like the day of his parade, and you couldn't help but wonder about how little you knew about him; not a single word had he crossed with you. His face was stern, not a single ghost of a smile on his face. The evening went by quickly, quicker than you expected, and soon enough you were in his Villa, the place were you would now reside.
You barely noticed the decor of his chambers, the paintings and sculptures, the soft wool cushions and the white and crimson sheets. He walked in confidently, as one walks into his room, and you stood, long white robes and golden embellishments, looking the most gorgeous you ever felt, but the fear was overwhelming.
What did he expect of you, certainly? you were well educated, but no one had ever explained you what actually happened in a wedding night. You had some idea, a naive concept, but as Acacius disrobed himself, any idea of what to do slipped your mind.
He was soon standing in all his naked glory, and your lips parted. His shoulders were broader than you have seen, a muscled stomach scarred with evidence of his battle experience, thick thighs, and a cock that slowly grew before your eyes.
"Why are you stilled clothed?" He inquired; the first words ever directed to you. As you stumbled with your words, he neared you dangerously. You felt the warmth emanate from his body as he unwrapped your dress from your body.
"Wait," you pleaded, tugging at the dress. "I have never been with a man."
He looked at you; and for the first time, he snickered.
"You think that will change anything?" He questioned, taking the silk from your hands; he ripped his way through the fabric until you were bare, only the gold on you. His hands, rough and calloused, palmed your stomach, smoothing the skin as if inspecting you. Tears welled up in your eyes.
His fingers smoothed over your nipples, making you squirm, he observed and then he pinched them, enticed as you let out a yelp. One hand trailed down your abdomen, pointer finger touching your skin until he reached your mound; tears now poured down your cheeks. His finger graced your slit, feeling sudden wetness you haven't anticipated. His scent, eucalyptus, mint and leather.
"Have you ever rode a horse?" He asked, intrigued. You nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. "It would be pretty much like that."
Before allowing you to respond, his hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you behind him as he made your way to the bed. Any effort against it was futile, he would easily overpower you.
As he laid against the pillows, still gripping you, he nodded at his cock, now fully erect. You stared in awe, as even the veins on it looked huge; his tan skin melting into the red hot tip, weeping precum, standing proudly enough, you thought that if could tear you apart, reach your guts.
"Put it in." He demanded, because he couldn't just rape you like a barbarian, he had to force you to do it. You breathed, trying to recollect any previous knowledge as to how to do it. Impatiently, he grabbed a handful of your leg, forcing you to straddle him. His thighs were so wide, the stretch from your legs hurt.
You let out a breathe and grabbed it, careful of hurting him in fear of his anger. Angling his cock with your entrance, you attempted to push it in, only securing a searing pain. As more tears sprouted of your cheeks, Acacius spat on his hand and pushed yours away, pumping his cock with slick. His fingers then found your cunt, and his grip on your arm tightened. Wet with his saliva, he circled the spot that sent waves of pleasures towards your stomach. Wetness grew down there, and he slipped one of his thick fingers.
You gasped from the sudden intrusion, feeling as he pumped the digit, stretching you for him. Before you could feel pleasure building up, he had taken his hand and lined his cock. Your other hand fell to the middle of his chest, seeking support as he stretched you with his mushroom top. Every ridge and vein took its place inside of you, forcing your mouth agape. He fed your cunt slowly, inch by inch until you felt as full as you could possibly be. Your crying had seized as your body processed the new feeling, of being split open.
You felt him stop, nudging at a curve deep inside of you, and you felt a slight relief that it was over before his hands went to your hips, forcing you on the half his hand had preciously been wrapping around. Quick and rough, you doubled over, attempting to find a spot were it wouldn't press against you like it did. Acacius grunted in pleasure at how your walls fitted tightly around him.
"Was that so hard, foolish girl?"He barked, and you looked at him between the strands of your hair that had fallen away from your laurel wreath crown. His hand slapped your ass, leaving pain the size of his huge hand. "Move."
You physically couldn't; shaking your head, you tried to plead for him to stop, but all he did was seize your neck with his hand, pressing similarly to your brother months before. He gave you a warning look, eyes glossy from pleasure, and you attempted to move, guided by the grip on your hip.
"There you go,"He groaned. "Didn't think you could take it."
You attempted to keep the pace of his hand, staggering. Through your droopy eyes, you could see his face illuminated by the candle light; a scar across his cheek that didn't maim his handsome face, the grey in his scruff and his hands moved you to fuck him, his brown eyes were closed in pleasure as his cherry tainted lips parted, allowing grunts and moans to escape. You felt his desire as he increased his speed, his cock burning into you in every thrust as he commanded you with his hands. He seemed to be fighting his pleasure, his eyes rolling back every now and then as he attempted to keep his gaze on you.
"That's it," he guided, voice gruff. "You look much prettier like this."
Your gaze, that had been stuck to his chest in effort to advert his eyes, rose to look at him. Oh, he was entranced by the way your crown had knocked to the side due to his maneuvering, the way tears glistening in your blushed cheeks, and how small your hands looked pressed into his chest. And finally, how your cunt pulsed around him every time he slammed you down onto his hips along with the sweet whimpers you emitted.
His hands departed from the place they have stuck to, roaming to cup your ass for more support. You gasped as he effortlessly raised you off his cock, letting it slip out with a faint "pop". Without a word he tossed you to the side of the bed.
"Enough of my amusement," he groaned as your face slammed into the pillows. He was everywhere as he positioned you on all fours, immense chest stuck against you and hands arranging your limbs. His hand fell across your cheek, igniting fire in his touch. "I am going to fuck a heir into you, stay still."
He said it with such easiness in his command that you knew he was used to giving this type of orders.
"No no please," You attempted, thrashing around to persuade him, but his cock was already lined between your legs. "Please, please don't-"
The scruff of his chin scratched against your neck a he bottomed inside of you, quieting you definitively. You could feel him in your guts, balls sticking to your clitoris due to the wetness he had caused.
"What can make a foolish little girl like you to behave more than carrying a General's heir?"
He began his assault on your core, one hand grasping the hair on your nape as he fucked you as a animals do.
"Your brother told me-"He grunted between thrusts, allowing himself to go inside, all eight inches of him. "You doubted his reign."
As you wept into the pillows, moans escaping your mouth, against your honor. He halted, hand pressing against the back of your neck.
"Answer me." He pressed, pushing your face even deeper into the pillows. "Did you?"
"Y-yes." You choked out, cock so deep inside you couldn't string a coherent word.
"Good." He admitted, to your surprise, continuing his pace. "Your brother is a foolish man; proved it himself when he gave you to me."
Your knuckles wrapped around the bed sheets, attempting to suppress the waves of pleasure that erupted as he picked a strong pace. Your cunt became wetter and wetter as it clenched, unwillingly, around him.
"What can a war torn general do to a tiny princess like you?" He mused between his sighs and groans. "Foolish Emperor."
As he said the last part, he rested once again his chest to your back, both covered in sweat from the heat of both of your bodies. His arm, strong and rough, wrapped itself around your lower stomach, holding you in place as his lips sucked your neck. The closeness felt awry, even if you were newly weds.
"Once I have fucked a child into you, no one could deny it's place in the throne."
That took you by surprise, but your eyes were closing off from exhaustion and your lips were too busy whimpering from the hot fire he had ignited in your core.
"Oh," he chuckled against your salty skin, dipping his other hand in between your body, tracing a path until he found that spot. His pointer and middle pressed against it, recollecting moisture from your pussy before circling it slowly. You felt the pressure build, as if you urgently needed to go to the bathroom. "a gentlemen as myself needs to make a girl cum before painting her insides. How could I forget that?"
He teased, managing a rhythm with his hand and hips. You felt a knot building right where he was rubbing, spreading through your nerves to make your whole body become limp. You let him fuck you, body tired and sore and unable to pose any more resistance other than gentle whimpers, swallowed by his loud groans, the sound the bed made against the floor and the squelching of his cock drilling into you. You were too gone to process any more than the pleasure washing over your body; pain bloomed, but in the most exquisite way as you felt yourself cling around the thick thing drilling into you.
"There you go," He cooed, closing his eyes as he felt it too. "there, there..."
Your mouth suddenly opened agape, as a hoarse whine left your throat and you felt it. You came undone so easily, beneath him.
He attempted to last, at least a few minutes more, prolong his pleasure, but the way you looked over your shoulder at him, as if attempting to understand what just happened, drove him wild.
It took him three final thrusts to come; You could count them as each was more punishing and rough than the previous, despite being hammered into you quickly. With a final grunt, you felt his burning hot cum pour into your insides, and his huge body collapsed on top of yours. You waited patiently for him to pull out, but as a child smitten with his favorite toy, he rolled over and continued to hold you close, hot breathe fanning in your neck.
He panted, regaining his breathe, before he actually spoke to you, who was quietly laying in his bicep. You felt tears spring from your eyes again.
"You will birth me an heir to claim the throne after your brothers have fallen."
OMG!!! first of all ... THe age gap, but second of all.... He's asking you to fullfill your duties but at the same time he's showing mercy and even though he wants you for a specific reason, it's all a plan
Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.
Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol
Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!
Read the first part! > part 1
Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.
Especially gift-giving.
To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.
This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.
It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.
You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.
However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.
He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.
So your victory was short-lived.
But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.
You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.
Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.
Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.
You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.
You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.
You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.
God, you hoped he'd come back soon.
And luckily, he did!
You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.
She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.
She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.
So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.
You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.
As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?
You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.
You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.
Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.
Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"
"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.
"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."
You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."
Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"
You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.
Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.
You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.
But no dice.
Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.
Was he doing this on purpose?
Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.
You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.
You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.
As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.
You spin around, your hopes high.
"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.
You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.
"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.
You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.
"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.
You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.
"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.
"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.
You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.
"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.
You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.
His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.
You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.
Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.
"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.
Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.
"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.
It makes your core tighten with need.
Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.
You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.
His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.
"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.
"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."
Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.
You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.
"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.
He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.
"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.
He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.
"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."
You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.
Grouchy old man.
"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"
Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.
You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.
"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."
Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.
He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.
He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.
He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.
After a moment, he finds something to say.
"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.
You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"
Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.
That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.
You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.
Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.
"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."
You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.
"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?
"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."
Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.
A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."
He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.
Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.
You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.
Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.
But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.
His cock immediately gets hard.
"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.
"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.
Fuck you looked good.
He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.
He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.
Why were you always making him go against his morals?
A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.
"C'mere."
Got 'em.
You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.
In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.
Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.
Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.
You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.
Now he knows what you're trying to do.
He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.
"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.
Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.
"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.
Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.
His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.
But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.
You surprise him everyday.
His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.
You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.
Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.
He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.
You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.
Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.
You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.
"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.
Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.
But you don't stop. You're eager to please.
Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.
You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.
He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.
You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.
You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.
You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.
"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.
You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.
"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.
Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.
The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.
"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.
...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?
A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.
You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.
Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.
You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.
Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.
You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.
"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"
You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.
Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.
"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.
You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.
You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...
You effectively lose your mind.
"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.
Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.
You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.
"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.
You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"
Joel chuckles.
God, he really never stood a chance against you.
"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"
You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.
You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.
The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.
His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.
There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.
"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.
You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.
You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.
All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"
...Well.
You weren't expecting that.
His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.
He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.
You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.
"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.
"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.
Probably the ladder.
You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.
"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.
"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.
When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.
"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.
You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.
Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.
He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.
Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.
"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."
You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."
Joel looks down at you, stupefied.
Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.
You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.
After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."
He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.
"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.
"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.
Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.
You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.
You shrug.
"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.
"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.
"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.
You don't quit though.
"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.
Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.
You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.
He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.
"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.
"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.
The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.
Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.
You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.
***
A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.
You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.
"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.
When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.
Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.
You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:
I absolutely love this... the fact that he does want to just forvige but at the same time, he's like "you're mine" ITS AMAZING!!!.... I love Joel so much
