zoe ⟡ ݁₊ .‎ꫂ᭪݁ @flushedmilk - Tumblr Blog

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴀʏᴍᴇɴᴛ?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: landlord!bucky barnes x tenant!reader ᴡᴄ: 6.9k ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: 18++ {minors dni!!!}, smut, fem!reader, dom!bucky, riding, face riding, unprotected p in v, creampie, lots and lots of hickeys, oral (f!m!receiving), spit kink, bigdick!bucky, reader secretly being freaky as hell, bucky being in love with reader for monthsssss, panty stealing ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you're behind on your rent, but you haven't got paid yet. and your oh so sweet landlord, gives you another option for payment ᴀ/ɴ— ayeeee first smut do u guys like it plssss like it or ill be embarrassed (not proof read!)

You had such a long day at work today. Customers at the bar were just… something else. Everyone seemed to forget about boundaries and personal space. You were also not supposed to work today, but your coworker, Karina, begged you to take her place because she "wasn't feeling good,” but you know she was with her boyfriend.

You got home around 10pm, already annoyed and wanting to just relax. Unfortunately someone else had different plans.

When you got home you noticed a paper sticking halfway in you door. Your heart sunk. You knew you were behind on rent, but your landlord would never evict you… right? You grabbed the paper and unlocked the door—scared to open the paper and see the big red words.

Once you settled in, change of clothes, locking the door and windows, shutting the curtains—you finally grabbed the envelope and opened it. You finally breathed once you realized it was just a reminder for rent.

You hung it up on your corkboard near the fridge. You obviously knew you needed to pay rent—but your manager was being an absolute pain in the ass. She hasn’t paid you for last weeks check either. It’s not that she was planning to fire you—you were her best worker—she claimed she “hasn’t found the time.”

You explained your situation to your landlord, and he’s been supportive. He said you can take your time—but it was clear he didn’t know it was going to take 2 weeks after rent was due.

Once you finally sat on the couch and put on a good show—there was 3 knocks on the door. You groaned and stood up, walking over to the door. Once you opened it, all your annoyance was gone, it was your landlord.

“Hi, Mr. Barnes.” You said, feeling your heart beat even faster—was he about to evict you? No, he couldn’t. Right? He barely gave you the notice.

“Hey. You get the paper?” His voice was husky, his hands were in his jacket pockets.

“Uh, yes sir. I’m sorry. My manager still hasn’t paid me. I’ve been begging and nagging her and—”

“It’s okay.” He cut you off, raising a hand slightly. “Just wanted to talk about how much longer you have until I… need to send an eviction notice.”

“Oh.” Your heart sank. You swallowed and stepped aside, allowing him to walk in. “Come in.”

Bucky stepped inside, the familiar scent of his leather jacket and something crisp—like pine—immediately filling your small living room. It was a sharp contrast to the smell of stale beer and cheap perfume that usually clung to you after a shift. He didn't sit down; he just stood near the couch, looking more like a permanent fixture of the building than a guest.

"I don't want to evict you," he said, his voice low, eyes tracking you as you nervously smoothed out your sweatpants. "You know that. But the owners... they're breathing down my neck. They see the zeros on the spreadsheet, and they don't care about 'manager troubles.'"

You leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing your arms. The exhaustion was making you bold, or maybe it was just the way he was looking at you—not like a landlord, but like a man who had been thinking about this conversation for a long time.

"I'm doing my best, Bucky," you sighed, dropping the 'Mr. Barnes' for a moment. "I took my coworker’s shift today just to get the extra tips. I’m exhausted. I’m stressed. And I really don't want to be homeless."

He took a step closer, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on the corkboard where the notice was pinned. "I’ve been patient. Two weeks is a long time."

He turned back to you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something dark and intense in his blue eyes. The air in the room felt thicker, warmer.

"I was thinking," he started, his voice dropping an octave as he closed the remaining distance between you. He placed a hand on the counter right next to your hip, effectively pinning you in place. "Maybe we can find another way to settle the balance. Something that doesn't involve your manager’s checkbook."

You felt a thrill run down your. You didn't pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, meeting his gaze with a look that was far more daring than he probably expected from his "sweet" tenant.

"Another way?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. "What did you have in mind... sir?"

He didn't move his hand from the counter. Instead, he leaned in closer, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder. The "sweet landlord" persona was officially gone, replaced by the man who had spent months watching you walk into the building from his window, counting the minutes until you were safe inside.

“Maybe you could… do something for me?” He asked, his voice dipping lower. His hand was close enough to you that he could reach his thumb out and stroke your hip.

“Like what?” Your voice suddenly seemed so small. You swallowed—the many thoughts of what could happen rummaging through your mind.

“You have sensitive knees?” He asked, throwing you off guard.

“My… knees? I guess so, why?” You searched his eyes, looking for any hint about what was about to happen.

“Get on ‘em.” He said, eyes dark with hunger.

Your eyes went wide, but you didn’t make him say it again. You got down on your knees and gathered your hair on one side—ready for what was next.

The shift in the room is instantaneous. As you sink to the floor, the cold linoleum of the kitchen tile bites into your knees, but the sensation is nothing compared to the heat radiating off Bucky. From this new vantage point, he looks even more imposing—towering over you, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the dim light of the apartment.

"Good girl," he rumbles, the praise vibrating deep in his chest.

He slowly pulls his hand away from the counter, but he doesn't reach for you yet. Instead, he takes off his leather jacket, the material creaking in the silence of the room. He throws it onto the couch, revealing the way his shirt stretches across his frame.

He takes a small step forward, his boots clicking against the floor until he’s standing right in front of you. You’re at eye level with the buckle of his belt now. The air smells like rain and anticipation.

"Now," he says, reaching down to tilt your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look him in the eye. "I want you to show me just how much you want to keep this apartment. Show me exactly what you're willing to do to make sure I don't sign that notice."

You nodded, hands reaching up for his belt buckle. You unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, pulling the zipper down. Once his pants were pooled around his ankles, you were directly in front of his cock—which was now straining against his boxers.

"I've been dreaming about this since the day you moved in," he rasped, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly growl. "Watching you come home late, wondering if you'd ever let me get this close. You have no idea how much trouble you’re in."

He didn't wait for a response. He reached down and gripped your chin, his thumb pressing firmly against your bottom lip until you were forced to open your mouth for him. The proximity was overwhelming—the heat radiating off his body, the scent of leather and spice, and the sheer power he held over you in this position.

He shifted his weight, his presence looming over you like a shadow. "Use your hands. Use your mouth. I want you to make me forget about that rent check entirely."

You nodded as best as you could. Once he retracted his hand, you lifted yours up to hook into the waistband of his boxers. Once you peeled them down, your mouth watered at the size of him. He was big. Big. The veins on his cock were standing out extremely. The tip was red and already leaking with precum.

The sight of him, thick and pulsing in the dim kitchen light, sent a jolt of pure heat straight to your core. You didn't hesitate; you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick the bead of precum from the tip, tasting the salt and the promise of what was to come. Bucky let out a choked, guttural sound, his hips jerking involuntarily toward you.

You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, your fingers barely meeting around the sheer girth of him. You started slow, swirling your tongue around the sensitive rim of his head before taking him into your mouth. The heat of your throat against his cock was an immediate shock to his system. You pushed further, feeling the thick, veined length slide past your lips, your cheeks hollowing as you began to suck him with a rhythmic, desperate hunger.

Bucky’s hands immediately found your hair, his fingers tangling deep in the strands. He wasn't gentle anymore; he was guiding your head, his breathing coming in jagged, heavy hitches that echoed off the cabinets.

"God, you're so warm," he hissed, his voice breaking as you increased the suction, your tongue flicking against the underside of his shaft.

Every time you went deep, the back of your throat hit the broad head of his cock, making his knees buckle slightly. You looked up at him through your lashes, watching his eyes roll back, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were straining. You were making Mr. Barnes completely unravel, and the power of it felt incredible.

You sped up, your hand pumping his base while your mouth worked frantically over the top, the wet, slurping sounds of your mouth filling the quiet apartment. Bucky’s grip in your hair tightened, pulling you even closer until you were buried against him, his hips beginning to roll in a slow, demanding grind that told you he was reaching his limit.

The friction of your mouth against his burning skin was relentless, the sound of your frantic, wet suction echoing off the cold kitchen tiles. Bucky’s breath had turned into a series of jagged, ragged hitches as he looked down at you, his pupils so blown they nearly swallowed the blue of his irises. Your hand was a tight, slick vice around his base, milking the thick, throbbing length of him while your tongue lashed at the sensitive underside of his head, driving him to the absolute brink of his sanity.

"F-fuck," he choked out, his voice a raw, primal rasp. He let go of the counter entirely, both hands now diving into your hair, his knuckles white as he guided your head with a desperate, forceful rhythm. He was no longer just the landlord collecting a debt; he was a man completely undone by the heat of your throat. You took him deeper, pushing past the initial reflex until the broad, rounded head of his cock was buried against the back of your throat, the sheer girth of him stretching your lips to their limit.

He began to thrust back, his hips snapping forward in a sharp, demanding motion that forced you to swallow him whole again and again. The taste of his salt and the slick, sticky trail of his precum coated your tongue, making your own arousal spike until you were soaking through your underwear. You looked up at him, your eyes watering from the depth of him, and saw the raw hunger on his face—the mask of the "sweet" neighbor had shattered completely, leaving only a dark, possessive need.

"Take it all," he growled, his voice vibrating through the crown of your head as his thrusts became more frantic, more uncontrolled. "Show me what a good little tenant you are. Suck every drop out of me."

A hot, thick jet of his cum hit the back of your throat, followed immediately by another, and another. You didn't pull away; you stayed right there, your throat working to swallow the heavy, salty cream as he filled your mouth. Bucky let out a long, guttural moan that sounded like a prayer, his hands shaking in your hair as he slumped slightly, the raw power of the release leaving him breathless and reeling. He stayed buried in your mouth for several long seconds, his pulse still thrumming against your tongue, marking the exact moment the debt was settled and something much more dangerous had begun.

He finally slid out of your mouth with a pop sound—a string of your spit mixed with his cum being drug out. Bucky stood over you, his chest heaving as he stared down at the mess you’d made of him. He looked completely wrecked, his usual composure shattered by the way you’d just taken every drop of him. He reached down, his thumb catching that thick, pearly string at the corner of your mouth and smearing it across your bottom lip, forcing you to taste him all over again.

He let out a low, dark chuckle when he saw the dazed, blown-out look in your eyes. The power dynamic in the room had shifted permanently. The rent notice was still pinned to the board behind you, but it felt like a lifetime ago that you were worried about a check.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. He didn't pull his hand away; instead, he let his fingers linger on your jaw, his touch possessive and heavy. “You look so ruined… I haven’t even done my best yet. Stand up.” You stood up, your thighs sticky with your own arousal.

“Go to your room.” He demanded, stepping out of his pants and pulling up his boxers. You nodded eagerly and made your way to your room. He then called out, “And strip.” So once you got to your room—you stripped. You discarded your shirt and sweatpants, being left in only your lingerie. You debated whether to keep them on, or go fully nude. You quickly made your mind up, sliding your panties down and into a pile, and unhooking your bra and tossing it on the floor.

Standing in the center of your bedroom, the cool air of the apartment felt like a caress against your bare, heated skin. Your pulse was a frantic rhythm in your throat, and your body felt sensitized to every shadow and sound. You heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots approaching, and then the door creaked open. Bucky stood in the threshold, having discarded his shirt as well. His bare chest was a landscape of solid muscle and dark hair, and the sight of him—half-undressed, and looking at you with a hunger that felt predatory—made your knees feel weak all over again.

His eyes swept over you, taking in every inch of your naked form, from the flush on your chest to the dampness between your thighs. A dark, possessive smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I knew you’d be a quick study," he rumbled, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly low. He didn't just walk toward you; he stalked, his movements fluid and predatory until he was standing directly in your space.

He reached out, his large, rough hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. The friction of his skin against yours was electric. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Now, let's see just how much of a mess I can make of you," he hissed. He lowered himself onto the edge of your bed, sitting back and spreading his legs wide, exposing the massive, pulsing tent in his boxers that was already soaked through with fresh precum.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes dark with an unholy intensity. "You want to settle that rent? I want to see that pretty little pussy of yours up close. I want to feel exactly how wet you are for me." He reached up, his fingers digging into your hips as he guided you toward him. "Climb up. I want you to straddle my face. I want to taste every bit of that heat while you grind yourself into my mouth."

You didn't hesitate. You stepped over his thick, muscular thighs, the heat radiating off him making your head spin. As you lowered yourself, your slick, swollen folds hovered just inches above his mouth. The scent of your own arousal, heavy and sweet, filled the air between you. Bucky groaned, a deep, guttural sound of anticipation, as he reached up to grab your ass, his thumbs hooked into the creases of your thighs to pull you down.

"Sit on it," he growled, his breath hot against your soaking wet slit. "I want you to ride my face until you're screaming for me."

You didn't need to be told twice. You lowered yourself slowly, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs rubbing against his stubbled cheeks until your soaking wet heat finally made contact with his mouth. The sensation was an absolute shock—the contrast of his hot, rough tongue against your slick, swollen folds made your back arch instantly.

"Oh, god, Bucky," you gasped, your voice breaking as you gripped his broad shoulders for balance.

Bucky didn't waste a second. He buried his face into you, his nose pushing deep into your clit while his tongue began to lash at you with a heavy, rhythmic force. He wasn't being gentle; he was eating you out with a starving intensity, his hands squeezing your ass cheeks and pulling you down harder against his face. You could feel the stubble on his jaw grazing your sensitive skin, adding a delicious, stinging friction to the overwhelming wetness of his tongue.

You began to move your hips, grinding your clit against his mouth in a slow, desperate circle. "Yes—right there, please," you whimpered, your head tossing back as you felt his tongue flicker over your opening before darting back up to tease your nub. You were becoming a vocal mess, your moans filling the quiet bedroom, punctuated by the wet, slapping sounds of your pussy meeting his face.

Bucky let out a muffled growl against your skin, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still so he could go deeper. He started to use long, firm strokes, laving you from bottom to top, drinking in the overflow of your arousal. You were so slick that every movement felt like sliding over velvet and fire.

"You're so loud for me," he rumbled, the vibration of his voice buzzing right through your clit, sending a fresh wave of electricity through your nerves. "Keep making those sounds. I want to hear exactly how much you like this."

You increased the pace, your breath coming in short, ragged pants. You were riding him hard now, your hands moving from his shoulders to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as you forced yourself down even firmer. The scent of your own sex was heavy in the air, mixed with the smell of his skin, and it was driving you over the edge.

"I'm—I'm gonna..." you trailed off, your voice high and thin. You felt your muscles begin to twitch and tighten, the pressure building into a tight, unbearable knot. Bucky sensed it, too; he intensified his focus, his tongue working frantically, his suction turning into a vacuum that threatened to pull your soul right out of you.

"Cum for me," he commanded against your wet skin, his voice dark and demanding. "Flood my face with it. Show your landlord how much you appreciate the extension."

The command in his voice was the final straw. You slammed your hips down, burying his face so deep in your soaking heat that his muffled groans were lost against your skin. Your walls were already beginning to spasm, clamping down in tight, rhythmic pulses that milked the very air.

"Bucky—fuck—I’m—" You couldn't even finish the sentence, your voice breaking into a high, keening wail as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you.

You ground yourself into him, your clit buzzing with an electric intensity as his tongue flicked faster and faster, relentless in its assault. You were completely vocal now, screaming his name as your pussy began to drench his mouth and nose in a hot, sweet flood of your release. The sheer volume of your squirt coated his beard and jaw, dripping down his chin, but he didn't pull away for a second. Instead, he lunged upward, his mouth opening wide to catch as much of you as he could, swallowing the heavy, slick cream of your climax.

"That's it, give it all to me," he growled against your thrumming folds, the vibration making you sob.

Your legs were shaking so violently you thought you might collapse, but his massive hands were like iron clamps on your hips, keeping you pinned to his face while your body wrung itself out. Every twitch of your inner muscles was met with a firm, laving stroke of his tongue, making sure you felt every agonizingly perfect second of the comedown.

The room smelled entirely of you—of sex and sweat and the raw, heavy musk of Bucky’s own growing desperation. When you finally slumped forward, your chest heaving against his bare shoulder, he stayed right there for a moment, breathing in the scent of your satisfaction.

He slowly pulled back, his face a glistening, wet mess. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with a terrifyingly possessive pride. He reached up and wiped a streak of your juices from his lip, then slowly licked his thumb clean, his gaze never leaving yours.

"You're a goddamn mess," he rasped, his voice sounding more like a predator’s than a man’s. "And we're just getting started. I haven't even gotten what I really came here for yet."

He gripped your waist and sat up, the bed creaking under the sudden weight. You were now in his lap, the only barrier between you guys being his boxers.

Bucky’s hands were large and warm, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist as he pulled you flush against him. With every ragged breath he took, you felt the heavy, throbbing heat of his cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, pressing right into your still-aching, hypersensitive center. The friction was maddening—the rough cotton rubbing against your swollen, soaking wet lips with every small shift of your hips.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against your neck as he inhaled the scent of your release. "You’re so wet for me," he growled, the vibration of his voice rattling through your entire body. "I can feel you soaking right through these."

He didn't wait for you to answer. He tilted your head back, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of your shoulder and biting down just hard enough to leave a mark—a dark, purple brand that would remind you exactly who you belonged to when you looked in the mirror tomorrow. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands as you ground your crotch down against him, desperate for the barrier to be gone.

"Please, Bucky," you whimpered, your voice thick with a need that made the rent notice feel like a distant memory. "I need you. Now."

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a dark, predatory smirk playing on his lips. "You need your landlord, do you?" He reached down, his thumb hooking into the waistband of his boxers. "Then show me how much you're willing to take. Because once I'm inside, I'm not stopping until I've claimed every cent of what you owe me."

Bucky didn't make you wait another second. He gripped the waistband of his boxers and shoved them down his muscular thighs, kicking them off his feet until he was completely bare beneath you. His cock sprang free, thick and angry-red, the heavy head slicked with a fresh coating of precum that glistened in the lamplight. You gasped at the sheer size of him up close, but before you could pull back, his hands were on your hips like iron vices.

He guided you upward, lifting your hips until the broad, pulsing head of his cock was lined up perfectly with your soaking wet opening. You hovered there for a heartbeat, the heat radiating off him making your head swim. Then, with a slow, deliberate pressure, you began to lower yourself.

"Fuck," Bucky choked out, his head snapping back as you took the first few inches. You were so tight, so incredibly hot, that the sensation felt like being swallowed by fire. You eased down further, your walls stretching and molding around his impressive girth. You let out a long, broken moan, your head falling onto his shoulder as you finally bottomed out, taking every bit of his length until your pubic bones slammed together.

Bucky didn't let you rest. His mouth immediately found the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he began to suck a deep, dark hickey into the junction of your neck and shoulder. He was marking you—territorial and rough—ensuring that every time you looked in a mirror, you’d remember exactly how you paid your debt.

"Move for me," he hissed against your skin, his hands digging into your ass cheeks to help you find a rhythm.

You began to rise and fall, your movements slow and syrupy at first. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, punctuated by the high-pitched whimpers leaving your throat. As you gained confidence, you started to grind your hips in a circular motion, your clit rubbing against his base with every downward stroke.

"Oh god, Bucky... you're so big," you cried out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, your nails leaving red crescents in his skin. "I can feel you... everywhere."

"I want you to feel nothing else," he rasped, moving his mouth to the other side of your neck to start a fresh mark. He began to thrust upward to meet your descents, his heavy balls slapping against you with a rhythmic, carnal sound. He was relentless, his cock hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made your toes curl and your vision go blurry.

You were becoming a vocal wreck, your voice rising in pitch with every fast, shallow breath. "Please... harder... Bucky, please!"

He obliged, his hands moving from your ass to your waist, holding you steady as he increased the pace. You were riding him hard now, your hair flying around your face, your breasts bouncing with the force of the movement. The scent of sex was thick, a heady mix of your sweetness and his raw, masculine musk.

Bucky let out a guttural, animalistic sound, his chest heaving against yours. He wasn't close to finishing yet; he was savoring the torture of your tight, wet heat. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark with a terrifying level of lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure.

"Look at you," he panted, his hands sliding up to cup your face, his thumbs smearing the tears of pleasure from your cheeks. "My favorite little tenant. Screaming my name while I'm buried deep inside you. You think you're gonna be able to look me in the eye tomorrow morning?"

You couldn't even answer. Another wave of pleasure was building, tighter and sharper than the last. Your internal muscles began to seize around him, milking his length with desperate, involuntary pulses. You threw your head back, your throat exposed and covered in the dark marks he’d left, as you prepared to shatter for the second time that night.

The pressure inside you was unbearable, a coiled spring of pure electricity that Bucky was winding tighter with every brutal, upward thrust. Your vision went white as your walls clamped down on him, milking his thick, veined length with desperate, rhythmic spasms. You screamed his name, the sound tearing from your lungs as you collapsed against his chest, your body vibrating with the force of a second, even more violent climax.

Bucky didn't slow down for a heartbeat. He thrived on your undone state, his hands moving from your waist to the back of your neck, pulling you in so he could bury his face in the crook of your shoulder. He began to suck and bite at the sensitive skin there, adding to the map of dark, bruised hickeys already blooming across your collarbone and throat. The sharp sting of his teeth combined with the over-sensitized heat of your orgasm made you sob into his ear.

"That's it, sweetheart," he growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that you felt deep in your chest. "Give it all to me. Soak me in it."

He gripped your hips and lifted you slightly, just enough to change the angle so he could ram himself deeper into your cervix. You were a sobbing, vocal mess, your fingers tangled in his hair as you tried to keep up with the pace he was setting. Every time you bottomed out on him, a wet, squelching sound filled the room, the scent of your combined fluids heavy and intoxicating.

"Bucky—please—I can’t—it’s too much," you whimpered, your head rolling back.

"It’s exactly enough," he countered, his teeth grazing your earlobe before he moved down to mark the other side of your neck, his tongue laving the skin before he sucked hard enough to leave a permanent reminder of the night.

Suddenly, he gripped your waist with a strength that left no room for argument. In one fluid, powerful motion, he lifted you off his lap. Before you could even catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back in the center of the bed. The mattress bounced under your weight, and before you could even spread your legs, Bucky was there, looming over you like a shadow.

He grabbed your ankles and shoved your knees up toward your chest, exposing your soaking, swollen entrance to the cool air for only a second before he dived back in. He didn't ease into it this time; he drove his entire length home in one heavy, punishing stroke that knocked the wind out of you.

"F-fuck!" you cried out, your hands clutching the bedsheets until the fabric threatened to tear.

He was relentless now, his hands pinning your wrists above your head as he began to jackhammer into you. This was the raw, unbridled power of the man who had been pining for you for months—just a man claiming what he felt was his. He leaned down, his chest crushing yours as he continued to pepper your chest and neck with rough, bruising kisses, his mouth never staying in one place for long.

"Look at me," he commanded, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. "I want you to remember this every time you see me in the hall. Every time you walk past my door. You’re mine now. You hear me?"

You could only nod, your voice gone as you surrendered to the rhythmic, wet slapping of his skin against yours. You were reaching another peak, your body tightening around him as he pushed himself faster and faster, his own composure finally beginning to fracture as he prepared to settle the debt for good.

The mattress groaned under the rhythmic, violent force of his weight as Bucky drove himself into you with a primal, unrelenting focus. Your legs were draped over his broad shoulders now, exposing every inch of your dripping, swollen heat to his predatory gaze. With every heavy, wet thud of his hips against yours, you felt the air leave your lungs in a high-pitched, broken keen. He was hitting your cervix with every deep, punishing shove, sending shocks of pure, unadulterated pleasure through your spine that made your toes curl and your fingers claw at the sweat-slicked sheets.

"You’re so tight," Bucky hissed, his voice a raw, jagged rasp of a man who had reached his breaking point. He leaned down, his massive frame pinning you into the mattress as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He didn't just kiss you; he was devouring you, his teeth grazing your pulse point before he sucked a fresh, dark-purple bruise into your skin. He moved to your collarbone, then your chest, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, stinging hickeys that marked you as his property from the waist up.

Your head tossed from side to side, your hair a tangled mess across the pillows. "Bucky—please—I’m gonna—" You couldn't even finish the thought before another wave of climax began to build, tighter and more demanding than anything you’d felt before. Your internal muscles were seizing around his girth, milking him with desperate, involuntary pulses that made his own breath hitch in a strangled groan.

The friction was creating a slick, slapping sound that filled the room, the scent of your combined fluids thick enough to taste. You felt the dryness of your throat and the heat of your skin, and a sudden, depraved craving hit you. You looked up at him, your eyes blown out and pleading. "Bucky," you whimpered, your voice a desperate, gravelly thread. "Please... spit in my mouth. I want to taste you. Please, sir."

A dark, dangerous look crossed his face—a flash of pure, dominant satisfaction. He didn't hesitate. He hovered directly over you, his eyes locked onto yours, and let a thick, warm string of his saliva pool between his lips before letting it drop directly into your waiting, open mouth. You swallowed it greedily, the intimacy of it sending a fresh jolt of arousal straight to your clit.

"Good girl," he growled, the words vibrating through your chest as he suddenly increased the pace. He was jackhammering into you now, his hands moving to your throat, not to squeeze, but to hold you steady as he claimed every inch of your body.

He moved his mouth back to your skin, his tongue laving a spot on your shoulder before he sucked hard, creating yet another bruised mark over your racing heart. You were screaming now, your voice raw and vocal, pleading for him to never stop, for him to fill you up, for him to take everything you had to give. The power dynamic had dissolved into something purely carnal; there was no landlord, no tenant—only the wet, heavy friction of two bodies colliding in the dark.

"I've got you," Bucky rasped, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic as he felt his own climax nearing the surface. "I've got you, and I'm not letting go." He bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, his teeth sinking in just enough to make you sob with pleasure as he prepared to finally break.

The room was a symphony of carnal sounds—the wet, rhythmic slapping of Bucky’s heavy thighs against yours and the desperate, high-pitched keening coming from the back of your throat. His teeth were still sunk into the skin of your shoulder, his jaw locked as he pumped into you with a raw, primal force. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, larger and harder than you thought possible, hitting your cervix with a blunt rhythm that made your entire world tilt.

"Bucky—Bucky, please!" you sobbed, your head thrashing against the pillow. Your hands moved frantically over his back, your nails digging deep into the muscles of his shoulders, leaving red tracks that matched the marks he was leaving on you.

He finally pulled his teeth away, only to immediately latch onto the sensitive skin of your throat. He sucked with a desperate, bruising hunger, claiming the last bit of untouched skin on your neck. You could feel the heat of the hickey forming, a deep, dark purple brand that would tell everyone exactly how your night was spent. He moved his mouth to your ear, his breath a scorching, ragged mess. "Tell me," he growled, his thrusts becoming even more violent. "Tell me you're my good little girl. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," you screamed, your voice cracking as a third, soul-shattering orgasm began to rip through you. "I'm yours, Bucky! Please, fuck, finish in me! Fill me up!"

The request seemed to be his final undoing. Bucky’s entire body corded with tension, his muscles jumping under your fingertips. He let out a low, guttural roar that sounded more like an animal than a man, his hips snapping forward in one final, deep lunge that buried him to the very root. He stayed there, pinned against you, his chest crushing yours as he finally broke.

You felt it immediately—the hot, thick jets of his cum hitting your walls with such force it felt like he was branding you from the inside out. He pumped into you again and again, his cock twitching and pulsing as he poured every ounce of his months-long pining into you. You cried out, your internal muscles clamping down on him in a desperate attempt to milk every last drop of his release.

Bucky’s face was buried in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in one last, lingering nip before he slumped his full weight onto you, completely spent. He was still throbbing inside you, the slick mess of his cum beginning to leak out and coat your thighs. The air in the room was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the raw, heavy musk of a man who had finally claimed what he wanted.

For several long minutes, the only sound was your synchronized, heavy breathing. Bucky slowly lifted his head, his blue eyes dark and hazy as he looked down at the masterpiece of bruises and hickeys he’d painted across your chest and neck. He reached up, his thumb tracing the newest mark on your shoulder, a dark smirk tugging at his lips.

"Rent's paid in full," he whispered, his voice still a gravelly wreck. He leaned down and pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead. "But don't think you're going anywhere. I think I’m going to need a few more payments before the month is over."

Bucky didn't pull out immediately. He stayed buried deep inside you, his heavy forehead resting against yours as his breathing slowly transitioned from jagged gasps back to a low, steady rumble. Every time his heart thudded against your chest, you felt a corresponding pulse from his cock, still twitching weakly within your over-sensitized walls. The room was heavy with the scent of salt, sweat, and the unmistakable, musk-heavy aroma of his release.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he began to withdraw. The sound was wet and carnal—a soft, suctioning slide that made your toes curl as the air hit your internal heat. A thick, creamy mixture of his cum and your own slick juices began to leak out, trailing down your inner thighs and soaking into the mattress. Bucky watched it with a dark, possessive pride, his hand sliding down to catch a stray drip before he smeared it back over your hip.

"Clean yourself up, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel.

He stood up, his massive, muscular frame silhouetted against the dim light of the bedroom. He didn't look tired; he looked revitalized, like he’d finally claimed the prize he’d been eyeing for months. He reached for his boxers, pulling them up over his thick thighs, but as he moved to grab his pants from the floor, his eyes landed on the small, lacy pile of your discarded laundry.

He reached down and hooked a finger into the waistband of your panties—the ones you’d stripped off with such desperate haste earlier. You watched, breathless and still dazed from the climax, as he brought the delicate fabric to his face. He inhaled deeply, his eyes closing for a second as he took in the scent of your arousal and the lingering tang of his own musk.

A slow, predatory smirk spread across his face. He didn't drop them. Instead, he balled the fabric up and shoved it deep into the pocket of his leather jacket.

"Bucky?" you whispered, your voice a raspy thread. "What are you doing?"

He leaned over the bed, pinning you down with one last, heavy look that promised this was only the beginning. He reached out and traced the darkest hickey on your collarbone—a deep, bruised mark that would take a week to fade.

"Collateral," he rumbled, his thumb pressing firmly into the mark. "I need something to keep me company until I come back for the next payment. And trust me, I'll be back tomorrow night to check on my investment."

He straightened up, zipped his jacket, and headed for the door. He paused at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder at your shivering, marked form. "Don't bother locking the door, princess. I still have the master key."

With a soft click of the latch, he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet apartment with nothing but the cooling sheets, a body covered in his marks, and the knowledge that your "sweet" landlord was never going to let you go.

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