#cw: possessive behaviour

[hoessance]

Imagine mark fucking you and somebody walks in but he keeps going

Bean, are you implying that Mark Grayson has a bit of an exhibitionist kink?? God, I can't simply imagine that going down all too well unless zzz unless he has a bit of liquid courage in his system or he's fucking you out of jealousy.

Just imagine yourself face down, ass up on whatever surface Mark deemed safe enough to use, absolutely riddled with jealousy and seething with anger about how you were misbehaving and flirting with another person. He wanted to put you in your place, remind you who you came to the event with—only for said person to walk in. OH they want to leave alright. They really do, the blush and the shifting eyes was clear, but Mark refused, "Oh no, you can stay and take this all in since it wasn't clear in the first place that [Y/N] was taken."

[crimsonscorpii]

@goodsouldier

     prompt !      The small talk is stifling, and Steve finds himself outwardly sighing in disappointment as he scans the gallery for signs of Bucky. He’d disappeared earlier under the guise of fetching them more drinks, but Steve suspects that he too just wanted a break from drawling conversation. Still . . . he should’ve returned by now . . .  

Steve’s gaze floats around until finally he finds the back of a very familiar head. He doesn’t bother with excuses, he owes nothing to his present company and the mutually beneficial deal they have is strong and well weathered enough that Steve doesn’t need to appease anyone. As he makes his way over, he notices that Bucky is speaking with someone, another man, blonde, just a little taller than Bucky, conventionally attractive. He laughs at something Bucky says, placing a hand on Bucky’s elbow affectionately, and oh . . . he must not know just who Bucky is, and who he belongs to. Maybe he does, and he wants to die.

Steve has never felt this way about someone before. Bucky had gotten to him the moment Steve had laid eyes on him. A sweet, kind face despite the world they lived in, a smart mouth that could keep toe to toe with Steve’s, their bodies like two pieces of a puzzle made to fit together. Bucky had consumed him quickly, creeping his way through the cracks of Steve’s steel heart, making a home out of the roughest parts of him and making him soft. Steve’s always been a man of purpose, and while he’d been driven to dismantling the pieces of society he hated and rebuilding it under his own guiding hand . . . he’s never had a purpose before that has made him feel quite so human. Steve doesn’t do anything by the halves so everything that he feels . . . it burns in him like an inferno and his love for Bucky is no different.  

It’s unfortunate that Steve is within a crowd that he can’t make too big of a scene in front of. The art world isn’t as used to Steve’s violent proclivities as his usual circle, and there are certain appearances he has to maintain in a place this public. There are journalists and photographers crawling the walls of the gallery and Steve has to weigh up how much trouble it’s going to cost him to keep any outburst that happens here tonight under wraps. What he can’t do now, he will ensure happens later. What he can do, however, is lay his claim on Bucky, a reminder to everyone present that even entertaining the idea of Bucky, even passing a glance over him in appreciation or intent, even breathing in the scent of him, let alone touching him so flirtatiously was an exercise in futility . . . because Bucky was well and truly spoken for. And Bucky would do well to remember that, too.

Steve’s fingers wrap firmly around Bucky’s throat, Steve’s hand almost large enough to enclose him completely. The web of his palm fits snug into his airway, fingertips digging harshly into the muscles at the base of Bucky’s neck --- he can feel Bucky trying to swallow, and failing, but the choked off sound he makes is satisfying. Steve turns him towards him, dragged by the throat, and kisses him on the mouth, equal parts tender as it is domineering, and he eases his grip enough for Bucky to breathe, though he’ll have to struggle around Steve’s tongue pressed into his mouth for air. He pulls away just as Bucky melts into him, lightheaded and made vulnerable by the suddenness and heat of the kiss, and Steve shrouds him with an arm around his shoulders. ‘ You’re mine, ’ Steve murmurs by Bucky’s ear, for only him to hear, and feel the low vibrations of Steve’s voice.  

There’s spilt champagne and a broken glass on the floor by Steve’s feet, Bucky’s earlier acquaintance staring shocked and hand empty. ‘ Clean that up, ’ Steve tells him, as he begins to lead Bucky away, the man’s face and name tag engrained in his memory for future reference

      It’s a different world here, one Bucky is acutely aware that he doesn’t really belong in. Everything with Steve has been a whirlwind of change, or finding out things about himself he never would have discovered otherwise and while he is an exceptionally talented man, the high world of art and the seedy dealings that occur underneath all the finery was beyond him. Still, here’s here because Steve wants him to be -- and the idea of being away from that man is not something Bucky ever wants to entertain. The overwhelming attachment he has to the most dangerous man in the US is close to obsession.

            A feeling matched by his partner ten times over.

      His journey to get drinks hadn’t been an intentional long one. The talk wasn’t holding his interest and while Steve gave Bucky a lot of freedom, he still wanted to be good for him here. This world was different, the people were different and Bucky didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing that could fuck all that up. He was still learning, and since his gaze rarely left Steve Rogers, he had been taking his cues from how different Steve had been acting. He was more in control, more... refined than usual.

      Still, Bucky had bored easily and left in search of alcohol only to bump into someone who seemed rather pleasant. His flirting was mediocre at best -- though anything compared to Steve was now mediocre -- and not knowing the world here, Bucky hadn’t wanted to be too rude. He’d gotten two more glasses of Champaign for himself and Steve, but the charming stranger hadn’t quite given him a chance to dip out of the conversation.

      Bucky hadn’t know what to do, in truth had it been anywhere else he would have told the man to fuck off or even name dropped Steve. Here though, unsure of the territory, Bucky has to weigh up what he wants to do, and what’s best for Steve from what he knows. The man then compliments Bucky’s attire; a black dress shirt with a few top buttons open for a relaxed look, black pants and a white belt, then comments on how well built Bucky looks. Sure, the material of his shirt is straining because of his arm, but Bucky instead makes a joke about how he’d need to wank with the other arm to balance out his muscles.

      The man laughs, touches his arm, and Bucky’s skin floods hot with dislike. He doesn’t want to be touched by strangers but the way this man touches, he’s clearly seeing Bucky as nothing more than how the assassin feels -- out of his depth in a world he doesn’t understand. Still, his temper flares a little and he opens his mouth to respond----

        The words don’t come. Breath doesn’t come as a strong, familiar warm weight settles tight around his throat and Bucky’s whole world tips. That large, all encompassing hand cuts off his air way, cuts off his circulation in a flood of possessiveness that makes Bucky;s blood run so hot so fast that his world tips into darkness. He’s moved then, trying to swallow the words he had but he can barely get his muscles to flex. He can feel the bruising points of fingers pressing into his neck and then a hard, deep press of lips against his own. His own lips part immediately for Steve’s invading tongue and as the grip eases to allow breath, Bucky sucks in air straight from Steve and a soft, dizzying moan escapes him. The hand on his throat, the tongue pressing so deep into his mouth Steve can surely taste the words Bucky had lost, the press of that solid body against his own; the sound of shattering glass is so distant as Bucky’s world is washed in warmth by those striking words.

      He slumps a little, lost in the sensation of Steve’s powerful arrival and Bucky’s thoughts are as jumbled as his body when the kiss breaks and he hears Steve speak. Never had Bucky felt so desired, so loved and wanted and hell, even needed as he did in Steve’s arms. That mission from HYDRA had been the best fucking thing he ever did. As the shock softens and blood flow resumes to Bucky;s brain, he realises Steve is pulling him away and he swallows a couple of times to enjoy the lingering restrictive sensation around his throat, and smiles quite blissfully.

      His entire movement is turned towards Steve and his hand comes to settle on Steve’s chest, fingers tightening in the lapel of his jacket as he’s led wherever Steve deems fit. While he’s trying to work out how angry Steve is, there’s no fear in his blood. Only excitement as his mind races to explain, apologise, make it up to him. Unfortunately all his muddled mind can think of to say as he moulds himself to Steve’s side is:

            “I left the drinks at the bar...”

[askmacavity]

(from here) @bomba-the-queen

“And you do it so well.” Macavity turned his head, nuzzling against Bombalurina’s ear. “I knew I could rely on my empress. You always know how to manage people for me.”

His voice was warm, almost loving; and Demeter looked up eagerly, eyes wide. He laid a gentle hand on her head, and she leaned into the touch.