Sometimes Stuck(y)

Wheezy ~ 28 ~ Autistic ~ Scottish ~ Minors DNI ~ Don't Be Mean ~ header by @lilacevans

[wheezy-stucky]

Beautiful banner from @shadeysprings ❤️

[moringmark]

[runcibility]

I liked this post, scrolled for like another minute before I went “SHIT FUCK SHIT” and scrolled back to reblog it

[quadriviummuse]

I always reblog this one when I see it on my dash. When someone posts their own art, writing, or music here they are really hoping you will share it.

[lilacevans]

༊*·˚ main materlist | pete’s place’s opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairings & future pairings: pete brenner x female!reader. lloyd hansen x female!reader. ari levinson x female!reader. curtis everett x female!reader. steve rogers x female!reader. jake jensen x female!reader. (and others that will be revealed at a later date.)

word count: 9083 | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚

warnings: implied abusive relationship, homelessness, alcohol, general sadness, advances, pete being a scumbag.

this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.

✧.* ೃ⁀➷ notes: two years later and the first chapter is finally here. i really have missed you all dearly and i'm so excited to share this with you. the second chapter will kick off the darker elements, but enjoy the set up! and i promise to not take two years to give you the second chapter. as always, please tell me what you think, i really enjoy hearing your thoughts, opinions and guesses on whats coming up next. adore you, mwah!!! all mistakes are my own. already had to go back and take out a section. that's what i get for not separating my notes from my actual writing. whoops.

A year after you packed brown boxes scrawled with black ink, clothes stuffed into various bags, and the hope of your true love, into the back of your car, to move across the country to live with your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself one night in a heart pounding screaming match. Thrown dishes, broken glass, picture frames on the floor. The remnants of a lost love etched by the sounds of your cries into the tattered walls of the home you shared.

With pleading cries, tear stained cheeks, and heart in your throat, you’re grabbed and shoved out the door in nothing but a pair of sweats, and shirt with a coat being darted at you whilst you laid on the ground. One too many hours were spent afterwards pounding your fists against the front door, begging  to at least have your purse so you can get a hotel room. 

Just as you were about to leave, looking down at your battered, red hands from pounding on the door, your purse dropped out of a window; the contents spilled onto the grass below. With a sigh, either sadness or relief; you weren't sure which, you bent to pick up your scattered belongings, cursing the man during. 

Luckily, you had everything you needed; cash, ID, and your shitty, overused phone. 

You called around for a cab, numb fingers shaking as you pressed the blurry numbers, but with it being Friday night, you were looking at a long wait so instead, you decided to cut your losses and walk to find the nearest hotel. 

The downside of moving, and being essentially trapped within the same four walls for months on end, is that you quickly found yourself lost– and being lost on Skid Row was the last place you wanted to be. You willed your tears to not fall after you walked by tent after tent, stranger after stranger, clutching your purse tight, old keys spread between your fingers, and finally found yourself outside a rundown hotel.  You laughed to yourself in disbelief of having to head inside and get a room; but nonetheless, you did just that. 

Lying on a dingy bedspread, surrounded by more nicotine-stained walls, you muffled your cries behind your hands and slowly fell into a somber slumber and wondered just how the fuck you had gotten yourself here. 

Over the next few days, you walked around, getting to know your surroundings and applying for jobs left and right. You were forced to ration your food while you looked around for cheaper hotel rooms. You were trying your hardest to avoid the sprawls of clubs begging for dancers but after finding yourself downtrodden as you’re dismissed after applying for yet another job and getting immediately dismissed, and it was then when you were suddenly blinded by a huge, purple neon sign:

Pete’s Place.

Underneath a small notice hung from the sign read: Dancers Apply Within. 

You looked around and whined quietly while you watched patron after patron enter the club. Two heavily built doormen eyed you. You shook out your bundling nerves, hung your head and followed the thump of the bass into the belly of the seedy club. You handed over your last twenty bucks to the red-head woman that was sitting behind a platformed desk, smiling sheepishly and giving a small nod before pushing through the curtains that framed a doorway. Purple and blue hues guided you into the belly of the club where you found red booths filled with drunk bodies that circled small stages. Girls with perfect form swirled around the pole, capturing the attention of everyone inside. 

‘’And who might you be?’’

You turned to find a man staring intensely, glass warm in hand, sharp suit and sea-blue eyes. Your mouth hung, mind blank for a moment before sputtering out,

‘’Oh, I–  I’m looking for the owner– I was hoping to… Audition…’’ You trailed off as the man began to circle you, fingers pried away your coat slightly, gaze wandering over your body. Calloused fingers tilted your chin upwards while he inspected your face before a slight smile appeared on his lips. ‘’If you’re still looking for dancers.’’

‘’Oh, we’re always looking for new girls, Sugar.’’ He gave you another once over before grinning, voice low and honeyed, ‘’Yeah, you’ll do,’’ He concluded, hand dropping from your chin before he began to walk away. ‘’Follow me.’’

‘’I take it you’re the owner,’’ you inquired as you followed the man to the other side of the club and down a dimly lit hallway, smiling back at, what you assumed was, one of his girls. ‘’You’re Pete?’’ 

‘’That’s me,’’ he confirmed as you’re led into an office. ‘’Gonna need to see ID, need you to sign a couple contracts, and for you to take your clothes off,’’ he quickly fired as he sat himself in his chair and threw a small stack of paper across the table. 

‘’Contracts?’’

‘’All my girls sign to stay loyal to the club, I don’t need anyone running off and taking my profits with them– helps limit competition, and I need to see what I’m working with here, you’re not exactly gonna be wearing a winter coat out there. Usually you’d come during the day, work the pole but, I got three of my regular girls out tonight, so it’s your lucky day.’’

‘’Oh,’’ You answer simply, pausing before a moment.  ‘’Right, yeah, lucky me– Of course,’’ you stumble out as you reach into your pocket and slide your ID on to his desk before peeling your jacket off and taking in a heavy breath before lifting your shirt over your head and sliding down your skirt with shaking hands. 

‘’You got any experience?’’ He asked simply. 

‘’Uh, no,’’ You answered, kicking your skirt to the side, fussing with your hands due to having no idea what to do with them. ‘’I’ve never done this before.’’ 

You dropped your head, feeling your cheeks heat up. When you finally looked back up, Pete was lounged back in his desk chair, eyebrow raised with a slick smile on his face. He didn’t look disappointed, he looked delighted, like the idea of a novice seemed to amuse him. Pete stood with a long intake of breath, leaving his station and stepping around the desk and moving towards you with a slow, almost predatory grace. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander the same way he did, eyeing the well tailored suit that left nothing to the imagination, large biceps crinkling the fabric as he crossed his arms. You let out a small gasp as he began to circle you, hand reaching out to smooth down your back, fingertips ghosting your sides. The floorboards creaked with each footstep until he was standing back in front of you. He reached out a hand to pluck at your bra. 

‘’Loose this,’’ he instructed casually. 

You gave a shaky nod, reaching behind to unclip your bra, slowly letting it fall down your arms before it was discarded on the floor with the rest of your clothes. You eyed him shyly, unsure if you were wanting the ground to swallow you up or if you wanted him to reach out and touch you. 

And touch you, he did. 

The back of his hand stroked down your stomach, knuckles grazing the softness of your lower belly. Nerves began to take over, you felt yourself trembling a little, and you knew he felt it by the way his mouth poked up at the side. Although, he was very obviously attractive, the bile still rose in your throat when you felt a familiar warm ache tug at your legs.

‘’I-I’m a hard worker,’’ You said hesitantly, desperately needing to fill the silence. 

‘’Hard worker,’’ Pete snorted, lips tugged up in a mocking smile. ‘’I don’t care about your worth ethic, Sugar. I care about the view.’’

‘’And?’’ You probed. 

His hand slipped around to your back, pulling you in close as he stared down at you, eyes flickering across your face. 

‘’Views are good,’’ He judged. ‘’You’ve certainly got a… Desperate innocence vibe going on. Guy’s are gonna eat that up.’’ He nodded as he stepped back, moving back towards the desk, propping himself against it. ‘’Here’s the deal: You’re gonna show me what you got, so I know whether you’ll need a few days with some of my best girls to work on those skills. Doesn’t mean you can’t work, but it means you’re limited to laps, and it’s just a bit less money. Base pay at the end of the week, tips are handed in and the house takes a cut and redistributed back to the girls. Be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.’’

You stood awkwardly nodding, arms crossing over your chest which made Pete laugh. 

‘’Drop ‘em,’’ He ordered, wagging a finger downwards. ‘’Just me and you, Sugar, how are you supposed to handle it being out there? Put ‘em down.’’ You complied as Pete carried on explaining: ‘’Pay the door, same way you did to get in, but my girls pay half to work. You gotta give to get in here, baby. VIP is for my more seasoned girls, better money, but we’ll talk about that further down the line. The contract…’’ He reaches behind himself to grab the small stack of paper. ‘’...Is so you understand that every single cent that your hand touches goes through me. No making deals with my clients, no outside work with the men that step into my club. That’s what VIP is for. There’s no need for you to be bent over in the back of some rented Bently, okay? You fuck me and you’re back on that street and you can’t go to any other club.’’ 

You nodded. ‘’Didn’t plan on it.’’

‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised. ‘’Or, you will be, when you sign.’’ 

‘’So, I would start tonight?’’ 

He nodded and rattled the paper. 

With some hesitancy, you took the paper and the pen that quickly followed and stepped around him to lean and sign the dotted line, looking back up to find him staring down at you. He slipped the contract off the desk and stood straight, moving around the other side to slide into a locked draw before grabbing his glass and wandering over to a small couch in the corner of his office. He sat down, thighs spreading open, gaze locked on yours as he took a long swig of the amber liquid that sloshed in the crystal. 

‘’Come show me what you got, Sugar.’’ 

You let out a shaky breath, attempting to rid your body of the nerves, as you slowly stepped towards Pete’s open thighs. You turned in a fluid motion, hoping to God that it looked good, and lowered yourself onto his lap. Using the muted thumping from the club's belly, you began to wind your hips, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. The cigarette smoke that clung to his suit assaulted your senses, mixing with the alcohol on his breath, making your head spin.  Your eyes closed, breathing unsteady as you continued your dance. You heard the soft thump of his glass being placed down and soon felt his fingers on your chin, guiding you to look behind. 

Your eyes fluttered open and were met with his intense gaze. Your breath hitched as his hands then found your waist, helping to guide you into a better rhythm. He hummed low in his throat, taking in a deep breath as his other hand slid over your thigh, goosebumps following in a traitorous line.

‘’There we go, just like that,’’ He coached, voice low and breathy. ‘’Gotta look at ‘em, Sugar. Gotta make sure they feel like the only man in the world, but they don’t touch you like I am, okay?’’ You begged your heart to slow as his hand smoothed over your stomach, heavy and strong. ‘’You’re good, Sugar, but you’re not ready to be out on the pole yet. You gotta put in some work, gonna set you up with one of my girls.’’ 

He tapped your thigh and motioned for you to stand. He followed suit, getting to his feet and looking down at you. He swept a stray lock of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear. 

‘’You can work tonight. You got anything to wear?’’ 

You shook your head. He let out a little laugh. 

‘’Didn’t come very prepared, did you, Sugar?’’ 

‘’I– I used my last 20 bucks to get in here. I didn’t plan on coming in–’’

‘’You did what?’’ He questioned sharply, eyebrows raising. He sighed when you nodded your head. 

‘’S’why I really needed this to go well. I promise I’ll get better–’’

‘’Yeah, yeah, I don’t care about that right now,’’ Pete cut off. ‘’Where are you staying?’’

‘’The hotel at the end of the street, the–’’

‘’Yeah, the shitty one. How long have you got the room for?’’

‘’Three more days,’’ You confessed.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence was heavy with the weight of him knowing the situation; with admitting just how fucked you were. You searched his expression, he didn’t look even the slightest bit sympathetic. He looked like he had just found a really good loophole in his contract that made a smirk tug at his lips.

‘’Totally broke? Not a dime?’’ He asked, and nodded his head and let out a slow hum of contemplation when you confirmed. ‘’Alright. I can help.’’ 

You reached down for your shirt as he walked to his desk.

‘’I can’t really have you sleeping on a park bench. I need my girls at their best, so, here’s what I’m gonna do.’’ He sat down at his desk, elbows resting on the wood, his gaze getting more intense as he lingered on you as you dressed. 

‘’I’m gonna give you… An advance, you could say…’’ He trailed off, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a book and an envelope. He plucked a pen from a pot and clicked it before flicking open the ledger, and scrawling inside. ‘’I’m gonna take a little bit more of a cut until it’s paid off, but it means you can pay your door fee, you can eat, have a roof over your head and have a bit of time to work on those skills. It also means, you won’t actually have to work tonight if you’d rather rest up and spend the day practicing.’’ 

‘’Are you sure?’’ You raised a brow. ‘’Why would you–’’

‘’Consider it good faith, taking a chance,’’ He quickly interjected. ‘’Shows how sure I am that you’ll be one of my best.’’

There was a look in his eyes, predatory, and you weren't sure if he was throwing you a lifeline or a noose. ‘’What do you say, Sugar?’’ 

He held out the envelope. You hesitantly reached out for it, feeling like you were signing a deal with the devil. Your eyes locked on his as your fingers gripped the paper, an easy smile pulling at your lips in response to the smirk on his. 

‘’’Atta girl.’’

You lowered your head, looking down at the dusty patterned carpet. The weight on your shoulders felt heavier than ever, but at least you could get a decent meal. 

‘’I really don't have to work tonight?’’

‘’Nope,’’ He said, popping the ‘P’ and reaching over the desk to hook a finger under your chin as he stood, drawing your gazes back to each other. ‘’But, I wouldn’t mind a ‘thank you’.’’ 

He didn’t release his hold as he guided you around the desk, the smell of stale cigarettes, alcohol and a woody aftershave assaulting your senses again. Your heart kicked up speed, like someone had set off a tiny jackhammer in your chest, as you stepped into his space. You lifted onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sucking in a breath and praying that it’ll be enough to please him. His touch moved to the side of your neck, his hand heavy and splayed across the column as he leaned down. 

‘’S’that all I get, Sugar?’’ He teased, hushed and sickly sweet. ‘’Not got anything else for me?’’ 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened your mouth to speak, but nothing wanted to come out. You took to shaking your head instead and gripped the envelope tight and pushed it against his chest as you turned your head. Your eyes closed and shoulders sagged when he let out a laugh, dropping his head to your shoulder and releasing the hold he had on your neck. 

‘’I’m fucking with you,’’ He chuckled darkly. ‘’Go on, get out of here before I decide to charge you for breathing the same air as me.’’

You stepped back, a small smile tugging at your lips and you reached for your bag from the floor.

‘’I’ll walk you out, actually. Need to check on my girls.’’ 

He walked to the door, swinging it open and motioning for you to step through. As you did, his hand found the middle of your back, heavy and guiding. The thumping base hit you as you walked back into the neon-lit chaos of the club, the night still in full swing. Pete nodded to several men on the way to the exit, hand slipping to your waist, pulling you close and keeping a tight grip and by the time the cold night breeze hit you, his warm palm was sitting on your ass. 

‘’I’m gonna be here at twelve tomorrow, I want you here,’’ He instructed, guiding you to face him, his voice taking on a sudden professional coldness. ‘’Do not be late, hmm?’’ 

You nodded. His eyes scanned you one last time, sea-blue eyes still holding that uneasy glint that made your stomach turn and your toes curl. 

‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised with a tap to your backside before stepping away. ‘’See you tomorrow, Sugar.’’ 

You sucked in a breath and began your walk back to your hotel, the envelope weighing down your bag  and filling your throat with bile. The neon sign buzzed in your ears as you watched the purple hue on the sidewalk fade.  The rest of the walk was a blur, your mind filled with the flashing of lights, the booths of men, the smell of smoke and sweet drinks and the terrifying anxiety that clawed at your chest when you thought of having to sit in those men’s laps, strip down on a pole, vulnerable and exposed, for the sake of a roof and warm food; all while owing a man you’ve just met. 

The next day, you made your way back to Pete’s Place. 

The seedy club seemed less terrifying in the daylight. The neon sign hung unlit, the velvet red rope enclosed the open air and not the multiple bodies of men waiting to feast their eyes on women who couldn’t give a single shit about them, and Pete… Stood with his hand in his pocket, the other lifted to his lips as he took a long drag of a cigarette, eyes gleaming as he caught your eye. 

‘’There she is!’’ He greeted, cheerful and honeyed. ‘’My new favourite, fresh and ready for the day. How’d you sleep, Sugar? Room booked for a little longer?’’ 

You nodded, ‘’All secured for the next two weeks, and I’m gonna go and get some groceries when I’m done–’’

‘’Yeah, sounds all golden, Sugar,’’ He laughed. ‘’One of my best is waiting inside for you. She’s gonna show you the ropes, how to shake that ass good enough to empty some wallets for me. I’m gonna come and see you in a few hours and see how you’re getting on and hopefully we’ll get you on that pole and not stuck in laps.’’ 

With that, he stepped out to the curb as a black Sedan pulled up. 

‘’Off you go,’’ He ordered.

You nodded once again before heading inside of the club. 

You searched the club’s belly for the woman but she was seemingly nowhere to be found until you made your way into the dressing room. The atmosphere was stifling despite it being empty. It stunk of hairspray, multiple different perfumes blending together and smoke. The vanities were a thing of chaos, make up strewed, rollers and different hair tools. Rails of sequins and fishnets and a wall of lockers that were decorated in different styles, showing off the aesthetics of each woman that owned them. 

You turned to leave when you bumped into a woman, already kitted out in something Pete would absolutely have chosen, she gleamed brightly, seemingly genuinely happy to be here.

‘’So, you’re the new little lamb Pete picked up?’’ She asked sweetly, cigarette hanging from her lip and adjusting the band under her bust. She moved into the room and towards the railing of clothes with a grace and confidence you prayed to acquire as quickly as possible. ‘’I’m Rachael, Pete’s asked me to show you how to not get eaten alive tonight.’’ 

She plucked a simple, sheer black slip and held it out, ‘’Let’s see if you can actually move, or if you’re just a pretty little lamb.’’ 

After you changed you gave yourself a second, third and fourth glance over before she playfully rolled her eyes and pulled you out to the club floor and towards one of the smaller side stages. She left to flick on the club lights, shy under the sunlight that waved through the balcony windows and clicking around inside the DJ booth until the bass rattled through the floor. The polished chrome gleaned under the purple and blue lights, cold and intimidating as she made her way onto the stage. She demonstrated multiple moves with an effortless ease, her heels clicking softly against the platform floor, fluid and languid. 

‘’You see, it’s not about dancing, not really,’’ She said as she swirled around, leg hooked around the pole. ‘’It’s about the tease. You never give it away all at once, you gotta make them ache for it. You gotta make ‘em think that if they throw just the right amount, they might just get a chance to touch you, have your attention.’’ 

You nodded watching her closely.

‘’Now, get up here and try a basic spin. Just copy exactly what I did.’’ Rachael slid down and stepped off the stage, motioning for you to step up.

‘’I’ll try my best,’’ You said earnestly. 

‘’Your best doesn’t pay the bills, honey. Confidence and ass does.’’ 

You stepped onto the platform, the polished surface feeling slippery beneath your heels. You wrapped your hand hesitantly around the pole. You attempted the spin she had demonstrated, but instead of a fluid glide, your foot caught the edge of the stage and stumbled. You cursed yourself as she smiled and waved for you to try again which while the second attempt was better, the grace Rachael had exhibited was nowhere to be seen. She circled you like a hawk, eyes watching every move, often reaching out to make you arch your back more, to drop your shoulders, to reposition your legs. 

‘’You’re like a newborn lamb, stop thinking about it so much,’’ She giggled, sweet and light until her tone suddenly turned serious. ‘’Never look them in the eye for too long. Makes ‘em think they own you. Keep it light, fleeting, make them chase it,’’ She coached. ‘’The pole is a tool, it’s your friend, use it to hide what you don’t like and highlight what you do like. Use it to your advantage. Do not fear it.’’

The next few hours passed in a blur of twirls, clicks of heels and red knees. Exhaustion clung to your skin, damp and slick under the spotlights, the sun dipping behind the clouds casting a golden glow into the club as you spun and dipped for the hundredth time, finally gaining some semblance of control of the cold metal. Rachael  gleamed and squealed when you would find your footing, hit a dip in time to the music and get through at least a minute without a stumble. 

You were trying to follow another of Rachael’s demonstrations when a familiar voice cut through the air and drifted its way over to the stage. Pete had returned, leaning against a pillar on the far side of the club floor, drink in hand and watching with an amused glint in his eyes, tracking you carefully. 

‘’What a clumsy little thing you are, Sugar. Tell me, baby,’’ He said, a tinge of playful annoyance coating his words as he sauntered forward and towards the edge of the stage. ‘’You always like this or is it the thrill of being in my presence?’’ 

Rachael rolled her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

‘’She’s getting there, she’s just… A little cautious… Shy– It’s cute!’’ She defended, a sweet grin as she returned the kiss to Pete’s cheek and then looked back at you with a wink. 

‘’I don’t need cute, I don’t need cautious. I can’t sell that,’’ Pete spoke, short and to the point. ‘’It doesn’t make me money. Desire does.’’ 

He made his way to the base of the stage, looking up at you. The spotlights casted deep shadows across his face, making his eyes seem black. You let out a breath as he eyed, not as a person, but as a product that was ineffective. He rapt his knuckles on the platform floor, his voice dropping,

‘’Get down here.’’ 

You practically leaped from the platform, steading yourself on his arm as your footing faltered, your chest heaving from a mix of exhaustion and nerves. Up close, the scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses, your head spinning as he pulled you in closer. He looked you up and down, shaking his head with a disappointed frown. You couldn’t help the shakes that swam under your skin as he peered into your eyes. He walked you back slowly, the back of your thighs digging into the edge of the stage. 

‘’Look at you,’’ He began to scold gently. ‘’Shaking like a leaf, like you’re waiting for the firing squad rather than a paycheck.’’ 

Pete then reached up a hand, finding the back of your neck, his thumb pressing firmly into the dip at the base of your skull, forcing you to keep your gaze on his. The amusement was long gone and replaced by a demanding, icy intensity. He leaned his head down, breath hot against your cheek.

‘’The men that come through those doors do not pay for ‘nervous’. They pay for a fantasy. A fantasy of a woman who knows exactly how to drive them crazy. If you walk out there looking like a lost puppy, they’ll smell the fear, they’ll take advantage, and then you’ll owe me for that nice advance I gave you and I’ll want it in full and I know sure as shit…’’ He leaned down further lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered in your ear. ‘’You don’t have it, and we’ll have to work something else out, won’t we?’’

He released you abruptly, and you fell against the edge of the stage, willing the tears to stay at bay as he stepped back and guested at Rachael and then towards the stage.

‘’Keep working her. I want her ready.’’ 

The next two hours were full of exertion, exhaustion, sweat and damn near tears until it finally came time to go back to your hotel to rest up for your shift. Rachael seemed happy with where you managed to get to, she had taught you how to use your shyness as a weapon, how to perfectly arch your back and how to breathe through the nerves but whether Pete would end up sharing the same feelings was still to be determined. Your muscles ached and cried out with each step back to your hotel, palms raw from the friction of the pole, and the fear of ending up on the street sat heavy in your stomach along with the feeling of feeling less like a woman and more like a piece of property, catalogued and highly priced. 

The night swept in with a heavy tension, the club hummed; scattered voices from the line outside as you walked through the front with a nod to security and a crisp ten slipped into the hand of the woman on the door. You shucked up your bag higher on your shoulder, watching as the staff at the bar moved with a frantic energy, attempting to keep up with the hoards of men tapping their fingers for a drink while their eyes leeched on the dancers at the pole. 

You made your way to Pete’s office, rapping your fingers on the doorframe and smiling when he looked up at you with a grin. 

‘’Hey, Sugar, what d’ya need?’’ He asked, stepping from around the back of his desk and moving towards the door. 

‘’Is it okay if I borrow an outfit for tonight? I didn’t get a chance to run and grab anything– Maybe a pair of heels as well?’’

Pete nodded, ‘’Yeah, take what you want from the rails in the dressing room, shoes are underneath. Just make sure they’re returned or I have to charge you for it.’’ 

‘’Thanks,’’ You replied sweetly.

Pete then pressed his hand to the small of your back, leading you towards the dressing room. The girls were in full swing, the clatter of make up and the clicking of straighteners and curlers mixed with their laughs and banter as they applied finishing touches. 

‘’Alright, my lovely ladies, this is Sugar,’’ Pete addressed loudly, adopting the nickname he gave you as your dancer name without giving you a chance to argue about it. ‘’She’s the newest addition. Be nice, look after her, she’s a shy one… And get out there and make me some money.’’ 

You felt cornered as the other dancers scanned you from head to toe, receiving a mixture of curiosity, warm welcome and cold competition. You wrung your hands together as Pete stepped away to grab an outfit from the rack, bending to snag a pair of shoes and walking back over to you. It may as well have been a collection of strings rather than an outfit; baby pink and covered in sequins. 

‘’You’ve got twenty minutes and then I want you on that stage,’’ He ordered, firm but oddly sweet. ‘’I’ll be watching from the balcony booths so don’t fuck this up, alright, Sugar?’’ 

You hummed in agreement as he bent down, presenting his cheek to which you quickly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Pete grinned and gave a wink, and without saying another word, he laid a soft tap on your ass and walked out the door, leaving you with a tightness in your chest and a sinking feeling in your stomach. You walked to a spare vanity, setting your bag down and started at the reflection, finding a girl you barely recognised anymore. Even more so once you had changed, the baby pink set Pete had chosen, clung to every curve and valley, and left nothing to the imagination. The soft colours contrasted painfully with the dark circles of fatigue which you had tried your best to cover with multiple swipes of concealer. 

You wondered if this is exactly how Pete wanted you; looking like a daydream on the verge of a deep, dark nightmare. 

‘’Hey,’’ A voice spoke, drawing you away from your thoughts, and you looked up to find a woman standing behind you, a smile on her face and dressed in green. ‘’He’s really trying to push the ‘barely there’ look tonight, isn’t he?’’

You nodded, a shy smile on your face as you smoothed down the outfit.

‘’I’m Crocki. Like, crocodile. Pete found a stuffed crocodile in my bag once– totally forgot it was there, and hasn’t let me live it down since,’’ She laughed, genuine and comforting. ‘’Just do your job, keep him happy and you’ll have no issues. Most of the girls here are really nice. They just wanna make their money and dip. It’s not all bad, okay?’’ 

You nodded again, struggling to find the words to speak, nerves were eating at your vocal cords and tugging at your throat. 

‘’I’ll see you out there, you’ll be great, don’t worry,’’ Crocki reassured, giving a comforting rub to your arm before disappearing out of the dressing room. 

The other girls soon left, leaving you on your own. You took another minute to breathe deeply, eyes closed; the thumping of the lion’s den pounded in your ears. 

The transition was jarring to say the least; one moment you were safe in arms of bulb lights, perfume and mirrors and the next you were willing your footing to not falter as you stepped into the club’s belly, the music shifting and deepening into something primal, visceral. The lights were a bruised purple, the smoke from cigars and cigarettes acted as a map to the men huddled around the stages and perched in the booths. It merged into a hungry roar and you were the meal. 

High above the main floor, a singular familiar figure leaned over the railing, elbows propped against the metal, swirling a drink with keen eyes locked on your every move. Pete gave you a grin, nodding towards the stage, that predatory glint on full show; it crawled over your body like a physical touch, sending a shiver down your spine and forming a lump in your throat. 

You made your way to the stage as another dancer collected the cash from the floor, the crowd dying down a little as the smell of alcohol, flashing lights and the sea of hungry eyes waited in a subdued anticipation as you climbed the steps and clicked onto the stage. You smiled weakly at the dancer as she passed you and gave one last glance at Pete before gripping the pole. 

A heavy, industrial beat slammed into the room, the bass rattling the panels of the stage as your body began to react to the rhythm. The sequins caught the strobe lights, sending shards of glitter and gold dancing on the floor and faces of the crowd. You focused on the pole, remember your tutelage, hiding your sloppy footwork behind the pole and using it as a grounding point amidst the chaos, spinning and arching your back. 

The atmosphere shifted to expose a raw hunger, men leaned forward, their eyes fixed on your every move. You earned whistles, dollar bills and captivated silences from others. You dared to glance again up at the balcony, finding Pete still stood in the same spot, watching you with an intensity you just couldn’t pinpoint, the cigarette in his hand glowing a cherry-red as he took a deep drag and blew out the smoke slowly. It didn’t seem like he was looking at you like just another dancer; more like an investment he was ready to wring out for as much cash as possible. 

The next song started, giving you no time to recover, switching to a slower, haunting ethereal pull. The lights dimmed a bit further, the purple lights casting a shadow across your body which helped you feel more hidden. You relaxed a little, finding a hidden ease in the slower, more languid movements. You transitioned into a slow descent on the pole, body arching, a softness that was stark against the grit of the club. The air felt thick and charged as you locked eyes with Pete once again, a smug satisfaction written across his face as he stubbed out the cigarette and took a swig from his glass. 

As the song reached its end, you gave a slow swirl around the pole with a lingering, new found seductive grace, and slowly dropped to your knees. Your chest rose and fell heavily, hand still gripping the pole as money rained and Pete grinned. He didn’t move an inch, his stare was like a physical weight, like he was claiming every inch of your skin by his force of will. 

You stayed in that pose for a short moment, before getting to your feet, and quickly scooping up the bills. You didn’t dare to give another look towards Pete as you left the stage. The adrenaline hummed through your veins, crumpled bills sticking to the sweat of your chest as you made your way back to the dressing room to have a moment to gather yourself before heading back out to the floor. 

The transition from the blinding lights, to the grim reality of the backstage area was discordant and bleak, but the weight of the cash in your hands felt like a small victory, one worthy of essentially selling your soul. The other dancers glanced with small smiles and nods of newfound respect. As you reached your locker to stow your earnings until the end of the night, the door to the dressing room opened with a slow, deliberate creak. The girls quickly cleared out, pressing kisses and giving hugs to Pete as they exited. 

He stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, hair disheveled and shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, his large biceps bulging under the thin fabric as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. He looked less like the shady business man you met the night before and more like a predator who had decided to stop watching and start pouncing. He didn’t say anything at first, simply stared at you, eyes seemingly peering through you and the way you clutched the money in your hands. 

‘’Quite the show, Sugar.’’ His voice was low, dangerously sweet. ‘’Didn’t know you had it in you. Proves hard work pays off when you really want something.’’

He stepped into the room, the click of his shoes sounding like a countdown. He stopped just inches away, his presents suffocating and overwhelming; the scent of bourbon and expensive tobacco enveloping the air around you both. He reached out, fingers sliding under your chin to keep your gazes locked. 

‘’You enjoy the attention, baby? The money make you move like that?’’ He asked in a hushed tone, breath ghosting your cheek. ‘’You playing me, Sugar?’’

You shook your head, ‘’Beginners luck, I guess.’’

Pete let out a soft, dark chuckle. The grin didn’t reach his eyes as he grazed your lower lip with a gentle, but possessive pressure. 

‘’Beginners luck,’’ He parroted, husky and contemplative. 

He didn’t release the hold on your chin; his grip tightened, ensuring you couldn’t escape his eyes. It was heavy, stripping you bare more effectively than the skimpy bundle of strings of your costume ever could. He seemed to be savouring the simplicity of your answer. He then shifted his weight, pushing you back against the cool metal of the lockers. The heat from his body crept over your skin, pricking at your senses as he leaned down, his voice barely a whisper.

‘’You’re a terrible liar, baby. I saw the way you looked at them; saw the way you looked at me.’’ His lips grazed your ear, his other hand gripping at your waist, bringing your middles together, eliciting a muted gasp that settled in your throat. ‘’You played the room, the hunger… And now, you’ve got me wondering how much more of that ‘luck’ you have hidden away.’’ 

He looked down at your hand as he stepped back, his expression shifting to something more demanding; the softness vanishing and replaced by the cold authority of the man who owned your entire being.

‘’Hand it over, Sugar,’’ He commanded, gesturing to the cash bundled in your hand, palm up and waiting. 

You placed the money in his hand and sighed as he counted the bills with a rapid, well seasoned motion, eyes flicking over the amounts. The soft snap-snap-snap of the bills drummed in your ears and drowned out the muted thump of the bass as you waited with bated breath to see how much your cut would be.

Once he reached the total, he folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket and then reached out to pull a smaller, measly stack from the other, holding it out to you with a satisfied grin. You took it, splaying out the few bills between your fingers, a lesser amount than what would even be considered a fair pay, but regardless of your feelings you looked up and smiled with feigned gratitude. 

‘’I had to deduct your newcomer's fee, and the prime slot on the main stage, of course,’’ He said casually, arms folded across his chest again, he watched for your reaction with a cruel sort of curiosity. ‘’An investment in your future here. You understand, right, Sugar?’’

You nodded with a strained smile. He didn’t wait for you to say anything else, he turned his gaze towards the door, checking you were still alone, before he looked back at you with that same predatory, hungry gaze.

His voice dropped to a low, purr. ‘’You’ve got a lot of potential, Sugar. I can’t wait for the day I get to be on the receiving end of it.’’ 

He reached out again, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you flush against him for one last, possessive moment. He lingered, nose brushing against your temple, taking in a small inhale and making your heart jump in your chest.

‘’Get back out there, Sugar.’’

Pete released you abruptly and sauntered out the room, door clicking shut behind him. The tension that had brewed broke instantly and you exhaled sharply, unaware of the breath you had kept clutched in your chest. The silence in the room felt a thousand tons heavier than the atmosphere on stage, the few bills in your hand felt like a slap to the face; the feeling of the effort you had put into being stage-ready felt wasteful and sour. You wondered if this was going to be worth it, if you should keep putting all you had into pleasing a man who wanted you rob you blind and keep your livelihood wrapped in his hands. 

You were pulled out your thoughts by a group of dancers making their way back into the dressing room, some giving empathic glances.

‘’Welcome to Pete’s Place, babe. Hope you like pennies,’’ She said simply, a tight smile on her lips.

Another was re-applying her eyeliner when she spoke; ‘’Don’t let him see you cry. It’s like he smells it, like a shark.’’

She didn’t offer anything else; in this place, empathy seemed to be a luxury only a few could afford. They all continued their routines like the small conversation never happened, the sounds of brushes and small talk the only sound in the room. You stuffed the cash in your bag, shutting the locker with a frustrated slam before sucking in a sharp breath and heading back out into the club. 

A few hours later, after spending the rest of the night in laps and grinning sweetly at horrible men, you moved in front of your locker as you changed, movements mechanical as if all parts that were human had been stripped away and shoved inside a box. As you pulled on the clothes you had arrived in, you felt a cold knot forming in your stomach; the desperation that had dragged you through the club's doors was starting to form into a quiet rage.

As you stepped out of the club and into the night's cool air, the neon sign flicked overhead and the meager amount in your pocket laughed at you as you sulked back to the dingy hotel room. The click of the lock sounded like a gavel, finalizing your sentence of struggle. You slid down the door, the cold wood pressing against your spin as you melted into an exhausted puddle. You stayed there for a while, staring down at the carpet, breath coming out in ragged hitches as the adrenaline of the night wore off. 

You looked down at your shaking hands as you mulled over the contract, the debt, the sick smile on Pete’s face— his hands, his arms, his smell. You groaned and covered your face with your hands, hating how he continued to invade your thoughts despite the hatred that pooled in your guts. 

With the adrenaline long gone, it left behind the crushing weight of exhaustion. You let out a long, suffering sigh as you got to your feet. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that your first big night wasn’t just a hurdle to get over, but the beginning of a slow, wretched descent into Pete’s sordid world. 

The following weeks were a blur of exhaustion and frustration. Every night followed the same pattern: the blinding lights, the squeak of the pole, the hungry eyes;  the exhilarating rush of the dance, the red knees, bruises and blisters and the crushing disappointment at the end of the night when Pete handed you your pitiful earnings. Pete became increasingly bold with his touches, promises of bonuses were always tied to how much you were willing to tolerate his advances in the office, and having to deal with his monetary retaliations when you refused.

The heavy bass vibrated under your feet, tickling your toes through your high-platform shoes. Your hands clutched at the cold, silver pole as you delicately swirled yourself around. The past few weeks your skills had improved; although, not enough according to Pete; though you were dead sure that his thoughts were an excuse to pull you into his lap for impromptu lessons. 

You kept your gaze loose, swinging from patron to the girls sat in laps with glowing smiles and fingers twirling through their hair as the grasped dollar bills. Blue and purple hues danced over your body as your hips swayed the best they could in time to the beat as you prayed for the song to finally be over. 

The interest in you was dwindling; the allure of a shiny new girl was fading fast and you were no longer receiving tips just for being there. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you damn sure hoped it’d last long enough to pay your bill at the hotel. You had five days to come up with three hundred bucks, and by the measly few dollar bills in your pocket and the couple of fives on the floor; things weren’t looking good. 

You made your way into the dressing room after your set, finding girls in various stages of getting ready and touching up their hair and walked over to Rachel's chair. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” You asked, standing behind Rachel's chair.

“Yeah, anything, babe.” 

She set her brush down and turned back to face you.

“I know I need to get better on stage, but how did you get Pete to let you into the VIP section?”

“You have to pay, didn’t he tell you that?”

“Yeah, I know that, but he keeps wanting me—“

“Oh, yeah, you need to pay him. Treat him well, look after him…” She trailed off as you looked completely lost. “Head, Sugar. The man wants head. Just do it. You’re gonna be doing more than that in VIP.”

“I thought it was just more private—“

“Nooo. No, no, no,” She snickered, grinning brightly. “They want more than just a dance, which is why you’ve gotta pay Nick to get through the door because they have to work harder to keep you safe.” 

“I have to pay security?” You whined, throwing up your hands. ‘’Am I gonna have to start paying to breathe?’’

“Pay, tip, all the same. He’s really explained none of this to you?”

You shook your head as she gave an empathic smile before tapping your arm as she passed you to leave to go out the club floor. You stood for a moment, trying to find any other way to survive the next week that didn’t require sulking into Pete’s office and grovelling for another loan. You let out a pained groan when you realised you had no other choice.

You trudged into Pete’s office, heavy heels weighing down your steps as if trying to pull you back from your impending doom.

‘’Pete, I have a favour to ask,’’ You spoke sweetly as you stepped into his office.

‘’Shoot,’’ Pete replied, sorting through papers on his desk, brows knitting together as he discarded one after another, letting out huffed sighs. ‘’Quickly, now. Things to do,’’ Pete prompted sharply.

‘’I– I don’t have enough for rent– Well, the hotel bill–’’

‘’You’re still there?’’ Pete paused, eyeing you with a slight disgust. ‘’Why are you still there?’’

‘’Yeah, it’s cheap and no point wasting time finding somewhere else,’’ You explained, sighing and wringing your hands. ‘’I was wondering if you’d let me work in the VIP section, the girls said they make more money–’’

‘’Not happening,’’ He cut in sharply, pulling on his suit jacket.

‘’Why?’’ You asked, feeling already defeated and slightly offended.

‘’Because you refuse to do what the other girls do in order to work in VIP,’’ He snorted, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a familiar envelope. ‘’Gotta treat me like a VIP to get to the VIP’s, Sugar.’’ 

‘’I really need the money,’’ You pleaded. 

‘’Work harder,’’ Pete said bluntly. ‘’Learn how to actually dance, you’ve gotten better, but the shy, innocent, little baby out of place act isn’t gonna get you far, it doesn’t last long–’’

‘’Yeah, I know,’’ You muttered under your breath.

‘’What was that, now?’’ He questioned, making you shrink as if you were a child that had just been scolded and before you could say anything else, he waved a hand;  ‘’Doesn’t matter. Look, you’re no good to me if you end up on the street and get swiped and thrown into a van, so I guess I can loan you the money.’’

‘’Thank you,’’ You gushed, rushing over to him and placing your hand on his forearm. ‘’Thank you so much. I swear, I’ll work it off for free–’’

‘’I’ll just take a higher cut until you’re paid up. Not much good to me either if you don’t have the energy to stand on the stage and do whatever it is you do. And it means you can spend more time here working on your skill… Oh, do you need more lessons, sweetheart? I’m always available for practice, you know that, right?’’

‘’I just need to work on my confidence, but thanks for the offer, Pete,’’ You said earnestly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and taking the envelope. ‘’And thank you for the money. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’ 

‘’Oh, you’re not done. It’s barely 1 A.M.’’ Pete huffed out a short laugh, hands stuffed in his pockets.

‘’I’m really tired and I’m just not getting any attention,’’ You replied, exhausted and pouting to hopefully gain a little sympathy. 

‘’So work for it,’’ He commanded and guided you out of the office and departed with his usual tap to your ass.

You parted from him at the dressing room doorway, watching him as he disappeared into the club, the money feeling sickly heavy in your hand. You huffed as you sat in your hair, stuffing the cash into your bag and shoving it under your vanity.

‘’My advice,’’ Crocki said, matter-of-fact but sympathetic. ‘’Stop borrowing money from a man that already underpays you. There’s better things you can do.’’

‘’You can always find work on the side,’’ Alexa said, fiddling with a curl that wouldn’t sit just right.

‘’I thought we couldn’t go to any clubs. None of the restaurants or anything I can do during the day want to hire me. I mean, I get it, all I have are stripper outfits and a leather jacket,’’ You huffed as you threw down your makeup brush, smoothing out the edges of your eyeshadow with your finger. 

‘’Not talking about another club, not talking about waitressing,’’ Alexa laughed. ‘’The girls do home visits, parties, entertainment; others do more. You just gotta talk to Pete, he sets it all up.’’ 

‘’I don’t think I could do that, I can barely give a lap dance, and plus, I asked about VIP, he won’t let me unless I sleep with him.’’

‘’He ain’t bad in bed,’’ Rachael smirked, hand on the back of your chair as she popped her hip, her brow jumping teasingly.

‘’I sleep with him for free,'' Navy cut in, giggling as she joined Rachael, smoothing a finger over her lip gloss.

‘’I did not need to know that,’’ You groaned, a little laugh. ‘’Seriously, how am I supposed to be alone with these men?’’ 

‘’Because here you’re surrounded by people, you’re both watching and being watched. You might find it easier within the privacy of someone's home. You could make some serious money,’’ Alexa explained, standing and fluffing her hair.

‘’Come on, we better get back out there,’’ Crocki probed, shooing you up and out of your seat.

It was on a rainy Tuesday night that an opportunity presented itself in the form of a man who eyed you all night. You were finishing a slow, grinding set when the man dressed in a charcoal suit with a look of wealth and hunger in his eyes approached the edge of the stage as you were collecting the cash. He didn’t toss any himself, but he leaned in with a low, urgent plea:

‘’You’re breathtaking,’’ He breathed hotly. ‘’I have a private booth, if you want to join me. I can pay you for your time, more than whatever that boss of yours would give you.’’

You contemplated, knowing the rules were explicitly clear: No off the book dealings. Then you thought of the dwindling cash in your pocket, your overdrawn account and the money you already owed Pete. You knew it was risky, but you found yourself offering a different deal.

‘’Not here. Write down your address and I’ll come get it from you after I give a few dances,’’ You instructed quietly and then motioned for the man to leave. 

The man nodded frantically, excitement crossing his face and his gaze lingering on your body before he stepped away, blending into the crowd and up to the balcony booths. You navigated to the dressing room with a sharp focus, not paying any mind to the other dancers as you quickly stuffed the cash away and made your way back into the club and passed the time on a few laps before making your way up to the man. He slid his address in with a wad of twenties and you spent a song or two in his lap before rushing to change and leave.

You hailed a cab and met him back at his apartment.

With that single night, that simple exchange, began your secret hustle– right under Pete’s nose. 

The following weeks became a dangerous dance of their own. You honed your art of your side hustle. You began to keep a mental note of regulars that eyed you with the specific, desperate hunger; the ones who had more money than sense and a certain distaste for Pete’s heavy-handed management. With folded bills containing addresses and phone numbers, the whispers of something more and thick envelopes pressed into your palm at the end of your nights, your stash began to grow. 

You had to be careful how you spent your money, having excuses at the ready when you showed up with new outfits and shoes, passing it off as second-hand or cheap online purchases. For the first time in a long time, you felt a shred of agency; you were no longer having to beg, no longer having to be a victim of Pete’s scraps– you were creating a life of your own. However, the risk grew with every encounter, having to be wary about where you met them, how you kept in contact, keeping yourself hidden from them inside the club. 

The most dangerous part though, wasn’t the logistics; it was the change in your own demeanor. As the list grew, so did your confidence. The desperation that once made you easy to intimidate was quickly replaced and you started to look at Pete with a secret, mocking amusement and no longer with fear. 

Friday night was a blur of shimmering pale blue lace and the suffocating scent of cigars. Pete had suggested the outfit, claiming he just knew the attention it would attract and sadly, he was right. It drew in a specific breed of predatory men. You felt less like a dancer and more like a piece of sordid art that was subjected to lingering touches and hungry whispers. You spent time moving booth to booth, lap to lap, your movements fluid and hesitant, playing your usual role of the trembling innocent to practiced perfection while counting the seconds until the night was over.

As the night progressed, you made your way back downstairs, heading over to the bar to grab a drink of water when you caught the eye of possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen; the kind of man people wrote about, the type that you thought couldn’t possibly exist. 

The man was an absolute mountain of a human being.

He had to be an easy six-foot-nine, he towered ridiculously over the other men at the bar, his broad shoulders blocking out the purple lights behind him, casting a halo around him. His open flannel showed off his tight black shirt, stretched thin over his muscle. His face was set in a stony, grumpy expression until he noticed you were looking right back at him which made him break out in a grin as you stepped closer to him. You took in the thick beard, long hair and sucked in a sharp breath as a warmth spread over your stomach. 

You smiled shyly up at him and offered out your hand to him, and happily let yourself be guided into his space as he spoke in a low rumble which vibrated in your chest.

‘’You’re the new one,’’ He stated, wetting his lips as he pulled you closer.

The smell of expensive sandalwood and aged leather clung to him, making your head spin as he leaned down to hear you in the deafening noise of the club. 

‘’Hi,’’ You said breathlessly, ‘’I’m Sugar.’’

‘’Hi, Sugar,’’ He replied, voice gravelly and honeyed. ‘’I’m Ari.’’ 

[leftoverluck]

Being mentally ill sucksss like idk why I did that either

[puppiegracie]

[rusticfurnace]

dr mcsassy pants

[noah-wyles]

she got the ick

[stevesbabysittingservice]

“it’s too big it’s not gonna fit!” “steve hears that all the time and he goes in anyway, don’tcha steve?”

OUHHHHHHHHHHH

[wheezy-stucky]

It’s my birthday!

[gutsby]

To Wed, To Bed

Summary: The ‘bedding ceremony’ is a tradition as old as time. Frankly, you would rather die than have the consummation of your marriage put on full display.

Warnings: 18+. Coerced copulation (so dubcon, kinda). Arranged marriage. Loss of virginity. Period-typical sexism (🍅🍅) Age gap. Breeding kink. Creampie.

Note: I couldn’t decide whether I wanted them to fuck nasty in front of a crowd or not, so I wrote two endings—one with the bedding ceremony and one without. Read either, or both! 🤠

Another note: I also couldn’t decide whether I wanted this to be Marcus Acacius or Gladiator!Joel, so I left it up to y’all’s imagination. He’s simply called ‘your husband’ or ‘the General.’

Word count: 6.3k

Fear was fine.

Reluctance was even welcome.

But refusing a man in the marital bed was unacceptable.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, taking the silky white fabric of your nightgown between them. Seething.

“Make them leave.”

The order was simple enough, and still, your lady’s maid looked on as though you’d just told her a riddle. She shook her head, complexion sallow as it had ever been.

“They must stay,” she insisted.

Rare was there occasion for the woman to contradict your word, so you knew deep down there was truth to what she said. Rather than soothe, this only enraged you.

“Make him leave, then!” you cried. Flailing now.

He must be somewhere outside your bedchambers. You hadn’t heard his heavy footfalls grace the flagstone yet, but judging by the stir of voices outside, the increased commotion that always seemed to rise alongside his entrance, you could picture him there. Dressed head-to-toe in the wedding garb of a gladiator, tunic perfectly starched and unperturbed—and a sour look on his face.

‘You said shy, not recalcitrant.’ You imagined the words like ice on his tongue, addressing one of your uncles.

‘Apprehensive, more like it.’ Your uncle might flash a sheepish smile, not wanting to reveal to the new groom that you were, in fact, a headstrong girl. That it would be difficult, if not the result of something just shy of a small miracle, for anyone to be able to wrangle you out tonight.

You pictured a palpably queasier look on your mother’s face. She knew better than anyone else that you’d be hard-pressed to carry out anything it didn’t immediately please you to do. It was her good name and reputation on the line if you didn’t comply, and her husband’s status among the rest of the tribunii if this marriage, as he had arranged it, failed. Maybe she smiled at the General, too:

‘She must be eager to see you!’

“I’ll fucking kill him,” you declared aloud at length.

Another servant had started reaching for your arm, urging you to go, when you snatched the limb away and pointed with the other to the door. Then to the window.

“I’ll murder the old, ugly fuck, then I’ll throw myself off the balcony there. How would my mother like that?”

Your tone was getting desperate. The event drew closer.

And, try as you might to maintain some semblance of composure around the women who knew your soul like their own—how much you despised the whole concept of matrimony—you next felt as if you could do no less than to fall to your knees by the nearest one and plead.

“Just make them leave! Make them go, now, please.”

You sounded pathetic. Peering up, you found sympathy in the face above you, but then a firmness all the same.

“The General is—”

“—a pervert, surely, if he desires an audience for us,” You made a face, and, turning slightly to trail your gaze to the other women, “No man in his right mind wants the consummation of his marriage made a spectacle.”

“It is tradition—” one started, but you interrupted again.

“Then fuck tradition! Fuck marrying for the sake of appeasing the tribunii! Fuck the counsel, and my father, and my mother, and any other thick-skulled imbecile who believes a bedding ceremony necessary to prove my marriage valid. And fuck the General too—I dare say it would be in his best interest to keep our marital relations away from prying eyes, since the man is so old his prick probably no longer functions well enough to fuck at all!”

The room fell to silence in less than a second. Your eyes were soft, shifting back to the woman whose skirt you’d seized. You expected to find her gaze boring into yours, again, but instead, you found it trained someplace else.

Intently. And, presently, afraid.

You followed it, and your stomach dropped.

At the opposite end of the room, your husband was standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.

You stood quickly. You smoothed your dress, cleared your throat—wanting to hide behind the woman to your left or else beg her to drive a dagger through your throat and make it fast—but before you could open your mouth to speak, the man at the stone threshold did it for you.

“A moment?” He addressed only one of the servants, but the group followed suit as if he’d given a command to all.

They cleared your anteroom with dizzying alacrity, so swift that you scarcely had the chance to breathe a whisper of your morbid, violent request to a one.

In ten seconds, the room was bare to all but you and him. You clutched the hem of your dress and wobbled back.

Perhaps the man sought an apology from you. Perhaps a more mindful and cordial version of yourself would have felt obliged to give it, were your nerves not ablaze with a blinding rage and your stomach in knots with aversion.

“I will not have my maidenhead taken before a crowd,” you spat. And, lifting a finger that appeared to accuse, stumbling into the cushioned lectus behind you, went on, “You’re sick if you’d enjoy being seen doing that.”

The man at the threshold of the room raised a brow but said nothing. You watched his eyes rake over your form, but the path of his gaze was cool, slow, and indifferent. He uncrossed his arms and closed the door behind him.

You babbled on, just marginally unnerved by his silence, “I never— never wanted to be married in the first place.”

You paced three steps back, and the General took one. The distance you covered was roughly the same. Your knees began to shake, so, fearing the man might see it, you took a seat on the sofa that had almost tripped you. You folded your hands in your lap and kept a scowl on your lips as you eyed him drawing closer. He was slow.

And old.

You saw at least a half-dozen wrinkles on the side of either eye, pronounced striations of grey overtaking his smooth, dark hair, and a cheek visibly, conspicuously scarred. Pockmarked in about ten other places, his flesh had most likely been torn by the blade or butt of some sword decades ago. It made you wince to see it now. These observations and more you were able to make in just the few short moments it took for him to cross the room to make it to you—treading carefully, standing tall.

You looked up again and held firm. Feeling mean, too:

“I certainly would have picked a younger veteran of the Colosseum if the choice were mine and not my father’s.”

And, as if the remark hadn’t registered with him at all, the General kneeled. You tried not to flinch. Taking stock of his size, the sheer breadth of his chest as it lowered to you, you were caught off-guard, about to say something more, when, like before, the man’s voice broke in first.

“It works fine,” he said. His voice was low.

“Fine?”

Your eyes widened in confusion. The General continued.

“My prick. Old, to be sure, but works fine last I checked.”

Your cheeks warmed with only the second word, and you could see the edges of the man’s lips twitch in response.

“Good for you,” you retorted.

“I can prove it, too.”

Suddenly, a hand smoothed over your thigh, and you wanted to shriek. Instead, you jumped back, and with fingers clawing into the sofa, shoved his touch away.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you hissed, having just narrowly checked your instinct to scream. Instead feigning disgust, pretending like you were mortified, “You would enjoy showing off for all to see, I’d wager.”

The General shrugged. Carelessly, he re-planted his hand on your leg, and when you tensed and tried swatting him off, he straightened. Shifted by turns until he was able to sit beside you on the cushion and run a touch up your thigh. Clearly the man hadn’t taken your vitriol to heart in the slightest, or if he had, the blood coursing from the muscle was pumping so steadily elsewhere that he forgot to care at all. He brushed his thumb along the hem of your stola and exhaled a breath.

“It matters very little to me where I have you, dear.” Again, his voice was even and sweet, but the eyes that drank you in seemed the faintest bit eager now. Hungry.

As his touch drew in, you felt a flutter in your stomach, and rather than jump this time, you grabbed his wrist. While some strange, obscure warmth started to trickle in between your legs, your husband’s voice sounded again.

“If my bride could but…control herself,” he murmured, while his fingers slid easily, notwithstanding your grip. “Keep the kicking and screaming to a minimum, perhaps I should take her outside and let the lot of them watc—”

“NO!”

The General’s wrist was still pinched in your hand, and the path of his touch only just then brought to a halt. You shook your head, desperate, ‘Please don’t make me go, oh, please, please, please,’ and your skin was so hot, your gaze was so frightened as it leapt to meet his, you were half-certain he’d laugh. Or else ridicule you, cruelly.

Instead, your husband just blinked.

***Bedding Ceremony*** Scroll for alternate ending where they just fuck on the couch instead LOL 🙂‍↕️

“You’re a virgin, then, I take it?” he asked.

Your cheeks warmed with indignation.

“Of course I am! I—I just told you so.”

For a moment, the General had only to look you up and down, as though your maidenhood might indeed be visible through your skin. His look made you itch.

It was steeped in disbelief. Derision, too, maybe.

Then he took your hand.

Within the blink of an eye, you were pulled to your feet. You staggered off the lectus like some hapless little fawn and, with that movement alone, felt the heft and the strength of your husband in alarming comparison. He then began to lead the way out of your antechamber.

You dug your heels helplessly into the floor, fighting.

“I will not do it!” you wailed. “I—I will not. Will not!”

“Is our blushing bride done hiding for the night?”

Emperor Geta’s voice boomed down the hallway. Laughter followed, and your gut clenched at the sound.

Fortunately for you, the stone passage through which you entered now had muffled your last words, and no one heard what you said. The General led you in, and—

No.

No, no, no.

Before you sat a room full of men.

All men, and only men. At least a dozen of them.

Consuls, senators, foreign dignitaries in pairs, even the Praetorian Prefect sat with his stiff-backed posturing, like he was about to spectate some grandiose event—or else a lion devouring its victim in the grisliest venatio.

The one, lone comfort afforded to you in that moment was that none of your family were in attendance. You deduced they had probably been spared the indignity within the last five or so minutes, to be led outside and left to hear of the news when this was all said and done.

Fuck.

Fucking men.

Fucking privileged, priggish bastards.

“Perverts,” came the word between your teeth, quietly.

“On the bed, wife.”

The General’s words appeared to brook no argument. It was astonishing, really—just how suddenly the man’s demeanor and decision changed the instant that he came to learn you were a virgin. Again. Fucking M-E-N.

You didn’t have the strength in you to strike him upside the head, though you wished you did. You didn’t possess a fraction of the wherewithal it would require to repeat what you had said to the General just seconds ago to the audience before you now. And what good would it do? At most, your anger would only serve to amuse, if not outright arouse, your degenerate co-emperors.

You sat down on the bed.

When instructed, you lay down.

Time moved in a strange and unsettling way from that point forward—as fiery and hostile as you had been of late, that fight seemed to die with the introduction of this room of spectators. You despised it. It was like your body began to shrink in on itself, aware of the glaring dangers it might face if you were openly to oppose what the imperial court had mandated. You blinked once, and you were supine on the big, plush mattress. Above you, the General hovered and slowly adjusted his body into place.

You were both still clothed. The air was thick. Stagnant.

“That virgin cunt isn’t going to fuck itself, General.” Caracalla, undoubtedly. No one sounded so pathetic.

Your husband jerked his chin once.

A second later, a man appeared beside the bed. Though your lungs were busy tightening in your chest and your mind was racing a thousand miles a minute and your eyes, wide and frightened as they happened to be, couldn’t fix themselves anywhere but on the dwindling space between your body and the General’s, you could see in your periphery that this stranger was dressed in fine robes. He smelled of perfume and something earthy.

Must work in or around the arena, most likely.

“Macrinus,” your husband began, low. “If anyone should come within a gradus of the bed, I want you to kill them.”

Dissociated or not, you were still stunned to hear that.

And, even more surprisingly, Macrinus didn’t balk.

Without a moment’s hesitation: “Understood.”

For all the coarse talk and every bawdy, leering look you couldn’t bear to turn your face to now, your audience was just punctilious enough not to make any further appeals. There were rules to follow; tradition to remain in keeping with, as silly as most of the formalities may have seemed, and you endured each one with aplomb.

Inside, you wanted to throttle someone.

It was after all the oils had been sprinkled, sweet wines set to the side of the bed, incantations to Juno spoken, outermost layers of clothing shed, and the General’s lower half slotted between your legs, his body and yours separated by only the flimsiest of milk-white silk tunics, that anyone interposed again. Your breath hitched at it.

“Here.”

In a word, Emperor Geta made you look his way.

You tilted your head by instinct, knowing the consequences of disobeying your leader, and when you did, you got an eyeful. You saw the gallery of men all arranged in one long, neat row and their eyes glistening.

At the same time, a set of lips grazed your ear.

“To hell with them. Follow my lead.”

The General’s words were spoken in a whisper and then shortly supplanted by the clapping of Caracalla’s hands. Your heart leapt to your throat, not knowing what either man meant, but sensing that something odd was afoot.

While the ravenous and unabashed onlookers licked their lips and the man above you appeared to be readying himself, your pulse quickened. Your skull throbbed. Muscles clenched and unclenched, waiting to be taken in some way and made different. Anticipating pain and hoping that it wouldn’t be too intolerable for your present threshold, you took another breath and held it.

“Do it now, General. Break her in,” Geta ordered, ecstatic

To be a woman in these days was torture, nothing less.

So wholly bereft of agency, power, a say in your body.

He’d be entering it at any second; you couldn’t see him, as tradition required you both to be partly clothed for the ceremony, but the General had a firm grip on your hip and something strangled in his other fist. You could feel the heat radiating off that long, veiny, throbbing thing.

It was never supposed to happen like this.

Not with Geta, Caracalla, and all the rest of them watching you, mocking you, waiting for the moment he—

“Fuck!” you cried, voice shrill.

It was a sharp, sudden sound—a scream.

Your body seized with pain, and your gaze shot down. Your eyes widened with shock and confusion; at the same time, the General shunted his hips forward and groaned. With his free hand, he captured your chin.

He made you look him in the eye while his other hand went on pinching your thigh underneath your gown.

“So tight,” he grunted, gaze locked with yours.

He wasn’t inside you. Instead of forcing his cock in, your husband had simply thrust and let his length slide over your stomach, concealed under the material of your tunic. He pretended like he had pushed in, though.

Now holding your face, now slowly drawing back, he wore an odd, pained expression. You’d never seen a man look quite that way before and wondered if it was meant to indicate something good when you felt another pinch.

“Ow!” you yelped again.

“She can barely fit him,” Caracalla laughed, triumphant.

Your husband thrust forward again, and once more, you felt his fingers grip your thigh. This one was even harder.

You bared your teeth and cursed.

“What are you—” you started.

Suddenly, the General lowered his head beside yours. His lips were no more than an inch from your ear when he began to rock his hips rhythmically. Conscientiously.

He still wasn’t fucking you, but pretending like it anyway.

“Act as if you’re in pain. They want to see,” he murmured.

“I—I am,” you sputtered helplessly. “Why are you—”

“I won’t take your virginity here. I’ve never fucked a woman against her will, and I’m not starting now. But these men will kill us if we don’t heed their demands.”

Then he was lifting his head, fixing you with a grave look.

“Pretend,” he said, stilted, as he moved to cup your face.

He leaned in and kissed you after. He released your thigh as you tried to adjust: both to the quick, jerky strokes that sent the bed creaking underneath you every second, as well as his mouth. His cock continued to drag back and forth over your belly, warm and firm and leaking little droplets of fluid over your skin every now and then. You felt powerless to the movement. Simultaneously—and for reasons completely beyond your understanding—that feeling was accompanied by another strange sensation.

There was gratitude, surely.

He wasn’t the brute you first thought him.

But that thankful feeling didn’t cover everything, either—you sensed something different brewing inside yourself.

Pooling within your stomach, just below the surface of where the General’s length was sawing back and forth, again and again, grew a faint, nascent intrigue. A want.

A need, as he kissed you even deeper and used tongue.

“Sweet girl,” your husband panted in between breaths and the light smacking of your lips and teeth with his.

More laughter off to the side drowned it, shortly.

“Going soft on us, General?”

Geta taunted him. Caracalla concurred by letting out a maniacal cackle of his own, and one of the consuls—a younger man by the sound of his voice—cut in, too swift:

“I thought he’d stay hard a little longer than that.”

The General let their comments roll off his back. He kept kissing you, lifting a hand to smooth over your scalp and brush away whatever stray strands of hair might’ve fallen into your face—and for the first time, you felt safe. This husband of yours was old, without a doubt, and had probably killed more men than you could count on ten hands or more. His lips and his tongue betrayed him as a much gentler soul, though. The gesture alone of not allowing you to have your virginity taken in such a cruel way was one thing. The way he cradled your face to his was another. The soft rutting of his hips, how he grunted and sank himself into you, never too harsh, yet another.

It was asinine to take this for anything other than simple courtesy, you knew. Pitiable thing that you were, how else could he have treated you and kept his honor intact?

The General was a principled man, and he would not be debased; as such, he couldn’t fuck you as a means to appease his superiors. He was doing the right thing.

All the same, you felt a stir in your lower half that was anything but decent. The man kissed you, caressed every inch of your mouth with his tongue and rubbed himself repeatedly over your stomach, and it was like a fire trailed in its wake. Your body was hot; your lips were pleasantly preoccupied, and each time he thrust forward without going inside, it stoked a flame. Made you squirm

Pushed your hips up, just to meet his gentle movements.

Instead of gliding over your mound, now, your husband’s cock brushed directly through your heat. You’d never felt a thing like that before, or what he was even touching, but damn if it didn’t feel good. You whimpered softly into his mouth then and wound your arms around his neck.

“Do that again.”

It was a plea.

Beckoning.

Somewhere close by, there came more chatter from the sick, filthy men to your side, but you didn’t hear it. The head of the General’s cock was nudging that little sensitive space at the top of your slit and sending stars flying behind your eyelids. The thrusts stopped, and suddenly, you were the one rocking your hips against him, desperate for whatever friction you could get.

“Baby.” Your husband’s voice was guttural and low.

But he was just as overcome with need as you, tapping that spot, rolling the tip of his throbbing dick through your folds and smearing them all over with your arousal and his. Those movements were especially sloppy, though neither one of you seemed to care at all.

Again and again, little squelching noises of your bodies making contact at their most vulnerable, delicate centers filled the space and drowned out any other sounds that could have distracted you. Pleasure blossomed from where your parts connected, if only externally, and warmth coursed through that juncture. He kissed you.

Gritting his teeth, grunting, clearly trying not to take things further and just be gentle instead, he managed:

“We need to stop.”

Still, his precum was trickling between your folds.

You whimpered, “I—I’d like to keep going. Please.”

Nose pressed to his own and gaze trailing up, you spoke sweetly. You found the General halfway in a trance when you did; as if he had fallen under a spell, all while trying to fight his primal instincts, he was breathing raggedly.

Shoulders heaving and cock pulsing against your heat, the man kept holding you, kept groaning at the contact and watching you more closely than he’d done all night.

“What are you stopping for now? Fuck her,” someone snapped from that long row of onlookers, impatient.

The General’s hips didn’t budge an inch. He just gripped his length and dragged it through your wet, aching warmth and nodded when you whined. Cocked a brow.

“Yes,” you whispered to his wordless question. “Please.”

You’d never done this, or anything even remotely like it. You weren’t sure if it would hurt, you’d hate it and then be begging him to stop in the next ten seconds, body seizing with pain—but for some reason, you trusted him.

Glazed with lust and need as his expression may have been, your husband had shown you nothing but deference up until then. He caged you in protectively.

When the emperors vocalized their disdain and you could feel their gazes shooting daggers through your sides, the man only kissed you again. Angled himself. Pleasured you some more with just the tip of his cock circling your clit, until your hips were bucking up and you were whimpering, please, please, please. Something continued to tighten and grow in your stomach.

The longer he touched you there, the closer you got—to what, exactly, you weren’t entirely sure. You just knew you wanted more, and you needed it to be from him.

Another minute of this and both of you were shaking.

When he angled himself lower, you were barely aware.

A sidelong comment from a senator went completely unnoticed; it was probably snide and obscene, remarking on how fucking wet she must be or what a lovely little toy the General gets to play with whenever he pleases, but you were too engrossed in that first bona fide thrust.

It was a stretch to fit him in. A burn, followed by a grunt from somewhere deep within your husband’s throat as he bared his teeth and muttered, apologetically, ‘Fuck, I—it’s a lot. ‘M’sorry. You tell me to stop and I will, baby.’

You shook your head, too overwhelmed with feeling to bring a halt to anything then. Your walls sucked him in from root to tip and clenched helplessly against that intruding force. It made both of you let out a moan.

Then movement. The tiniest, shallowest of thrusts, but you loved the way your husband’s thick, pulsing length made room for them within you. It felt like your insides were hugging him, and in return, he was offering you pleasure in a way that you’d never gotten to experience.

The knot in your belly swelled bigger. Another soft, strangled gasp passed your lips right as the General started to work up a rhythm. Then his brows pinched.

His cock twitched, and he squeezed your side.

“Sorry, I’m—” he started, already wincing.

“—coming now, huh?” Geta laughed.

Coming.

More wet, sloppy thrusts.

More bliss coursing through your veins.

Maybe that was what this was—coming apart.

You wanted to give that to him, as well as feel it yourself. Your toes curled once, and your heart throbbed eagerly.

“C-Come for me,” you said, only partly understanding.

“Baby—” The General’s words broke off at length. Swallowing hard and shaking his head. “—that’s not—”

“Seems your wife wants to give you an heir, General.”

Those other voices were largely distorted and dim. Still, you could hear the grin in the strangers’s words, likely the Praetorian Prefect speaking to your husband now.

And nothing in the world could’ve tempted the General’s attention less—his focus was all on you as he fucked you.

Bed squeaking, thrusts rapidly gaining speed, and that feeling blossoming from the furthest recesses of your body and his to climb your throats and draw the most raw, primal sounds from your mouths, it was dizzying.

“If I…if I spill my seed inside you…” Words appeared to evade your husband as he lowered his mouth to pepper kisses around your lips, the gesture both feral and kind. “There’s a chance…you—you might…you know it, right?”

You knew the most rudimentary aspects of reproduction.

And it was foolish; less than an hour ago, you’d been terrified to so much as lay eyes on the man, and now…

“I wouldn’t mind,” you spoke, quiet. “Bearing your child.”

The words alone seemed to do more damage than anything your body had provoked to the present moment; as soon as you said them, your husband’s grip tightened on your side, and then a hand moved to cup your face. His lips parted on a groan. His length kept stretching your tight, throbbing hole over and over again, in a rhythm and at a pace that had tears all but brimming in your eyes. Your bodies collided once, twice, and more voices joined the chorus of noises surrounding the bed.

Once again, neither one of you took heed of them.

The General met your gaze right as your pleasure reached its zenith, and he pressed at your cheek.

“Mean it?”

“I do.”

The sound mirroring the vows you’d spoken mere hours ago now rang authentic and true. Before you could dwell too long on this, though, a warmth flooded your lower half. Inundated in bursts and spurts of a wet, sticky something, you were fucked and filled. Simultaneously, euphoria washed over your senses. Your spine arched off the bed, into him, and you let out a cry unlike anything you’d released in your life while ecstasy plunged deep.

How long it lasted was anyone’s guess. You felt the press of lips to yours in the next second, and everything melted away: the laughter, cheering, jeering, even Emperor Geta’s calls to make her scream, General, don’t hold anything back, all congealed into an indistinguishable mass of nothingness.

Your walls were still squeezing and fluttering around that thick, pulsing shaft, now drenched from base to tip in your essence and his, when your eyes opened again.

Your husband’s lids were heavy, and a smile was faint.

“What a wonderful way to start th—” Geta. Again.

You lost the words the second they took shape.

“Are you alright, my love?” the General whispered.

You smiled back when he began peppering his kisses.

And though the men present were all ecstatic, ovations swiftly growing into something just shy of an uproar, and your body ached with every inch and thick rope of cum stuffed inside, your heart swelled. Your expression shone.

Just as your husband started to remove himself from you and usher you into his arms, you moved with him.

Rather than let his cock slip out, you tilted your hips up.

You couldn’t believe how quickly it came, and then it did:

“Can—Can we do that again?”

***Alternate Ending*** w/o the Bedding Ceremony

“Okay.”

You couldn’t believe the sound yourself, so you repeated:

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he confirmed, and your body relaxed.

The heat was still there, but the muscles themselves less rigid. You eased beneath his touch, and, finally, seeing a smile creep onto the General’s face, grew softer still.

“So in here, instead? Is that what my bride prefers?”

Anything but fucking in front of people, please.

You almost snapped your neck with how hard you nodded. Pleased to see relief wash over your body, and perhaps the slightest bit amused to see you gripping his forearm, wedging him deeper between your legs, the smile that had graced the General’s lips stretched into a grin. Underneath him, your skin was practically aflame.

He was still as objectionable as he’d been before. Still conceited. Still wrinkled. Still old. But unlike before, at least, he wasn’t so wholly depraved as to be the kind of man to demand you strip down outside your chambers, spread your legs, and take him in front of a crowd. An outrageously low bar to meet, to be certain, but one that warmed your senses to him—physically and figuratively.

What came over you next surprised you both: feeling relieved and elated and as scorching hot as you’d ever been, you grabbed the General’s face and kissed him.

You didn’t want him to change his mind. You felt vaguely indebted to him, in whatever stupid, senseless way that was. You sensed his index brushing a spot between your legs that felt good, and caused the temperature of your body to spike another hundred degrees, it seemed. You were overcome with feeling. Maybe the tiniest bit of fear, as well, which you wanted to flush out of your system by using your body in a manner that you could choose now.

So, without another moment’s pause, you broke the kiss. You pulled away from your husband, then sized him up.

“You said you’d prove it worked, right?” you said, eyes on him as you tried to catch your breath, “So do it. Here.”

You’d spoken all of four dozen words to the man in the single night you’d known him, and none seemed to affect him as strongly as that: ‘Here.’ Together, your bodies sank back in the cushions behind you, and you felt a big, warm, protruding something settle inside your legs. You pushed your hips up, and the General groaned.

“And here I thought you were just being…shy this whole time,” he said, voice and lips strained but still smiling. He crawled over your torso so your lower half could be more securely pinned by his, bracketed his arms around your head, then lowered his face to start kissing your neck.

In spite of the short grey stubble surrounding them, his lips were like butter on your skin. You tilted your chin.

“I am,” you whimpered. Smirking a little.

“You are?”

“Yes sir.”

The General’s grip seemed to triple in force on hearing that. He squeezed your hip like a vice and started moving his own so his bulge was grinding sharply, repeatedly against that spot leaking heat through your clothes.

“My timid bride, I see,” the General teased, rutting as sloppily and as rough as a man in heat was wont to do, “Nearly dripping down my front, and she says she’s shy.”

As if to prove his point, your husband lifted the hem of your dress and brushed his knuckles against your barely-clothed folds. Your undergarments were thinner than you ever would have liked to have them, precisely for this reason: you were leaking underneath him. Bucking in his palm when he flipped his hand over and cupped your heat, before tearing the sheer fabric away altogether. Your nightgown rested comfortably at your hips, and you were left bare below the waist. From where he had you pinned, the General fixed his eyes on that spot, seeing your skin and his beginning to meld, and wouldn’t blink.

He brought his hand to your slit, about to trail the tip of one finger along the wet, shiny seam, when you took his wrist again. This time, when his eyes met yours, the latter was decided—and pleading for something else entirely.

You were both unclothed quicker than either one of you could think, or speak. You stayed there, on the sofa, too engrossed to move much further than that, and with hands that were desperate, trembling, fumbling for any bare modicum of contact they could get, you found yourself straddling the General’s lower half, his back pressed flat on the makeshift marital bed beneath him.

His cock lay stiff on his stomach—he was right, it worked—and the head of it was leaking something clear and warm. Both hands of his had found your waist, were trying to ease you gently toward the place he’d fill you whole, but you were far too impatient. You grabbed the base and moved, not thinking too long on what a man might think of a bride so eager. Don’t change your mind.

Please don’t make me change mine, either, you thought as you sank down on his length. You’d hardly wanted to enjoy this at the start of the night, didn’t like being proven wrong, but there it was: that delicious stretch, followed by a moan rumbling through the General’s chest that made your stomach flip again. He felt good.

Your husband filled you inch by inch and stuffed you full. He glided in, easily. Almost so steadily you thought the friction might not be too rough for him at all, but the second you tilted your hips back up, the man let out another sharp and guttural sound, and he squeezed you.

“So fucking— feels so good, love,” he said, voice hoarse. Hands constricting even tighter as you started to move, “Won’t last a fucking…minute in this sweet little— fuck.”

You glanced down and saw in his eyes he was thanking his lucky stars he hadn’t done this with you outside. With an audience surrounding you both, eyes trailing his every move, surely the General would have felt the most acute embarrassment from having blown his load so quickly. An obscene squelch sounded between you as you bucked again, and you felt a coil inside you tighten too.

Gradually, his thrusts were meeting your own. The pace was fast. His fingers seared crescents in your skin from how closely he held you, bouncing you onto his dick again and again and goading gently, ‘That’s it, keep going, good girl’ mixed with moans of his own and the sounds of your bodies. It never occurred to you that it might be best to curb those noises, but just when you felt the head of his cock graze your most sensitive spot and you tried to whine, your husband leaned in, tone soft:

“My shy little bride wants them to hear, doesn’t she?”

“Needs them to know who’s making her feel this good?”

“Gonna cum on this cock and scream nice and pretty?”

You would. You did. You squeezed your legs in the most pathetic, feeble attempt at staving off release, but the effort was fruitless. Your climax washed over your body with ease, whether it was prepared to feel it or not, and left you a febrile, reckless, moaning mess—and somewhere in the mix, you must’ve let out a shriek, because the sounds beneath you came out pleased. Buried deep inside your cunt, your husband released rope after rope of his cum, flooding your insides with the milky white substance while he groaned out your name.

The feeling was ephemeral and hot; eyes locked on each other, mouths agape in wide, fucked-out ‘O’s. Your legs were shaking. His body and yours were coated in sweat. It would’ve been nice to revel in the feeling of the General’s spend leaking out of your cunt, appreciate the warmth of this man you barely knew filling you up, but, at length, the silence wasn’t meant to last you for long.

Not when the old, grey, pussydrunk and smug gladiator wore a grin like that, anyway. Not when it teased you.

“Guess it’s time we told the attendan—”

“We are not—” you said, words emphatic as you pressed your finger to his chest, anticipating the rest of what the man had wanted to say, “—under any circumstances, giving anyone ‘proof’ of what we just did, understand?”

The General nodded that he did. Still grinning like a fool.

“Yeah, I reckon they’ll get plenty of proof soon enough.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Your cheeks warmed.

The man glanced down, looking smug as ever while he watched his cum start to ooze from you, down himself.

“I’d give it about…nine months.”

[marvelilovebucky]

“…if I didn’t see it that way then Bucky didn’t see it that way…”

- Sebastian Stan (talking about Steve’s ending)

[sebssoulmate]

if not prince charming, why prince charming shaped?

[masisssniss]

[superbassbuck]

p*rnstar — [camstar!bucky x virgin!reader]

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, porn, masturbation, fleshlight, sex toys mentioned, p in v sex, innocence kink, sex recording, coercion, blowjobs, dirty talk, degrading, fingering, virginity loss, stalking, size difference kink, very cringe usernames. word count: 9.7k a/n: first post for bwa's buckyverse collab! so happy to have created this lil group of bucky writers to come together and make a series of bucky fics for you guys. credit to @barnesonly for reader's and bucky's username. if you find them cringe, blame her. /j

synopsis: You’ve never had sex before, still untouched and completely inexperienced. But when you stumble across Bucky’s porn channel—you quickly become his number one fan. You’re always in his comments, always in his chats, and never expecting it to go anywhere beyond the screen. Luckily for Bucky, your social media is linked to your account, making it easy for him to find you.

You were completely mesmerized by the video playing on the screen. The image of a large and strong muscular figure rutted his hips up into the silicone, slick with his precum and lube—the poor toy looking like it was on the verge of tearing apart in his large hands. 

After stumbling across the account Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917, you were immediately hooked. 

He never showed his face, but you didn’t need to know what he looked like to be entranced. His grunts and moans were engraved in your mind like a song you knew by heart. You were enthralled by the sight of his broad, sweat-slicked back, every movement etched into your memory. The sheer length and size of him held you captive, hypnotized. You had memorized the rhythm of his patterns right before he came, you knew it like the back of your hand. 

His moans would rise slightly higher in pitch. His breathing would get heavier. He’d curse and grunt out, “fuck, fuck.” or “shit, fuck.” 

And then it happens. 

With one final thrust, he filled his toys to the brim with his cum, always thick and a creamy pearlescent white. 

You had one hand tucked in your panties, rubbing at your clit as you came just in time with him. You tossed your head back against the pillow, panting and sweating from the aftermath of your self-lovemaking. 

You withdrew your hand, catching your breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm faded. Moving lazily, you wiped your fingers clean before reaching for your phone. Just as always, you began typing out a comment—first in line the moment his new video drops. 

Pleasure_Ring: Great video as always! It made me feel really really good! I can’t wait to see the next!! 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Thanks, baby. I’m glad you enjoyed it. That one was for you.

A minute passed by and another notification popped up on the bottom right of your screen, but this time, it was a direct message.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I just read your comment. You’re always so supportive. I wish you were here. I’d be fucking you instead of this flimsy toy. 

Your face flushed after reading his message. He was always so quick to respond, and although he was pretty responsive to other commenters too, you couldn’t help but feel like his replies to you were always a bit more personal than the rest. 

Pleasure_Ring: I really wish I was there too! But I admit, I’m a little scared just thinking about it haha. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typing… 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Scared? How come? 

Pleasure_Ring: I’m a virgin. I’ve never had sex before. 

Most people would find it pathetic to be flirting through a porn site. Even more would say it’s worse to be tangled in a para-social attachment to one of the biggest stars online.

And sure, maybe they're right. You were hooked on the mysterious man with the ridiculous username. But this was your ritual, your private indulgence, the part of yourself you never let anyone else see. Besides, you knew it would never be more than flirtatious comments flashing across a screen. 

Men like him always had plenty of women waiting in their inbox.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: A virgin, huh? That’s cute. What’s a sweet little thing like you doing watching videos like mine?

Pleasure_Ring: Because yours are the only ones that actually satisfy me. Any woman would be lucky to spend even one night with you.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Oh, sweetheart… I don’t think you could handle a night with me.

Your heart thumps faster in your chest at his response. As much as you wished you could stay up and keep chatting, reality always kicked in. You had responsibilities, so conversations with him were usually cut off after midnight. 

Pleasure_Ring: I don’t think I could either… but I’d still like to try for you.

Pleasure_Ring: It’s getting late, and I’ve got a shift in a few hours. Have a great night, Bucky. And thank you for another wonderful video. <3

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: So soon, doll? I was just starting to enjoy our little chat.

You stared at the screen, tempted to type something back to keep the conversation going. Glancing at the clock, you let out a reluctant sigh. 

You logged off before you could second-guess yourself, because you knew that if you responded, you’d be up for hours. 

And when Bucky refreshed the page, impatiently waiting for a response, your username was already gray and your status was offline. 

Bucky laid back in his chair, finishing the last line of the description before hitting upload. He has never been great with captions—or usernames, for that matter… but lately, his descriptions weren’t just filler text to satisfy his fans. They were subtle messages, written only for you.

Need my pleasure ring to come help me out instead. Getting tired of using my hands and toys. Enjoy.

Once everything looked right, he clicked post. Same ritual, same time. Every three days.

The moment his upload went live, he sat up straight in his chair. The glow of the monitor lit his dark room, his eyes glued to the screen. Eleven minutes—that’s how long the video ran. By his calculations, you should already be online and commenting in twelve. 

Two minutes in, he refreshed. Another two more minutes, he refreshed again. Over and over, because he knew. He knew you’d be the first one there in his comment section without fail. 

You always were.

At this point, it’s been well past eleven minutes with zero notifications. In Bucky’s eyes, this was more than enough time for you to receive the notification, watch the video, and send a comment or a message like you usually do. 

So why the hell weren’t you doing it? 

He dedicated this video to you, goddammit. Actually—he dedicated all of his videos to you. But this one especially was planned, recorded, performed with you in mind. And yet, your account still showed offline.

He pumped himself for the first half of the video—his face nuzzled into the softness of his pillow. His groans and grunts were muffled as he fisted himself, his leaking tip grazing against the smooth fabric of his bed sheet, leaving a wet stain every time he grounded and bucked his hips. 

Then about halfway through, he reached for the clear silicone toy. He positioned the camera against the headboard, sitting up straight as he started fucking himself with the toy—the clear silicone squelching and spreading wider as he rutted into it like an animal. 

“Fuck, yes baby,” he groaned in the video. “S’fucking good, taking all this cock in your tight little virgin pussy.” He said. 

And God was that line especially meant for you. 

It was a damn good video—he was so fucking proud of himself. Which only made it harder for Bucky to understand why your account still showed offline.

With an annoyed sigh, he propped his elbow on the desk, chin resting in his palm, and refreshed one more time for good measure. When nothing changed, he clicked on your profile and began to lurk.

For all the attention you gave him, your account was practically a ghost. No videos. No profile picture. No caption. No name. You were only following one account—his. And you had one follower, too… also him.

Bucky never followed anyone else. 

He scrolled down a bit, and his eyes widened at what he saw on the screen. 

Your account was linked to your social media profiles—your Instagram and TikTok.

In order to create an account, you had to attach a phone number or email address. During sign-up, there was also the option to link your social media—tied to that same phone number or email—a small popup buried among the usual flood of terms, agreements, and permission requests that appeared in sequence.

So either you let it slip past you, your finger tapping carelessly just to get it out of the way.

Or… you wanted him to find you.

The cursor hovered over the link. Bucky sucked in a breath, clicking on your Instagram. When the screen finally loaded, his eyes immediately widened and his heart skipped a beat. Your profile was public. Your name was right at the top, and there you were in your profile picture—smiling, front and center.

Aside from his secret porn account, Bucky didn’t do social media. He couldn’t be bothered figuring out how it works, but he knew enough to recognize that Instagram was all about pictures and videos. And that was exactly what he needed.

Finally, he could see you.

His number one fan. His pleasure ring. 

He scrolled down, coming across a mix of photos. Selfies, your eyes bright and innocent with a sheepish smile. Food. Didn’t care. Landmarks. Didn't care. Pictures of family and friends—he only looked for you. 

There were beach shots, carefree and playful, your body posted in a skimpy bikini glowing in the sunlight. 

His breath caught in his throat. His pants grew tighter. He shifted in his seat, trying to adjust the growing pressure between his legs. He leaned closer as he looked through every picture, careful not to accidentally leave a like in his wake. 

“Damn, baby,” he muttered, staring at your pictures, unable to tear his eyes away. 

He scrolled down, saving every single image that displayed your face and your body—each one feeling like a treasure.

All the pictures of you were seemingly innocent. Even in your bikini shots, you weren’t trying to show off. You didn’t jut your hips out or pose provocatively. Your pictures weren’t screaming for attention. 

It was cute. 

But it just made him want more. Need more. He would’ve loved to see you bend over just a little bit. Maybe even press your arms together to accentuate your cleavage.

God. He would’ve loved to see that. 

His dick throbbed in his pants as he scrolled further down your Instagram. More selfies of you just meant more photos in his special folder. With one hand rubbing himself steadily and the other on the mouse, he hovered over your TikTok link next. 

Once your page loaded, he felt his heart drop in his stomach. 

There were only two videos, both of them being with your friends. It was some stupid trend you were doing—Bucky never understood the whole appeal of trends—but you were dancing to them, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest as he watched, captivated. 

Your dancing was… pretty bad to say the least. Actually, it was awful. 

But Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away because he got a full view of your body. Every movement of your body, even the clumsy dance steps, had him entranced. The rhythm was completely off, but it didn’t matter. It was the way you moved, the curve of your body in each frame. 

His cock was completely hard, poking and straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. He was palming himself for so long, his warm hand rubbing up and down against his throbbing clothed shaft—he didn’t even realize the precum leaking through his pants until his fingers grazed against it. 

“Shit,” he grunted. 

There was something about watching you—his once mysterious, loyal viewer and commenter—right here, in his monitor. Dancing. Your body on display, completely unaware, yet captivating in every move.

He grabbed the hem of his sweatpants and brought it down to his thighs, freeing his cock from the suffocating fabric. His hand encircled around his shaft, his grip tightening just slightly as he began pumping himself. He dragged his thumb over the wetness of his tip, smearing it over the head. 

Bucky let out a low groan, his breathing growing heavy as he fucked his hand to the sight of you. With the other hand, he kept switching through your photos, moving faster as his cock throbbed helplessly in his grip. 

He grunted and groaned, staring at his monitor with half-lidded eyes as he stroked himself. He stopped at another picture of you, a top down selfie with a low cut blouse. Your eyes—wide and innocent, batting up at the camera, the curve of your breast straining against the shirt. 

A low moan rumbled from his chest at the sight. His hands moved faster and eagerly against his cock, precum leaking down from the tip to his shaft as he pumped and worked his throbbing dick. 

“Fuck, baby. I want to cum all over that pretty face,” he breathed. “Gonna paint your face and tits with my seed—shit.” 

Everything was overwhelming his senses right now. Your pure and clueless eyes, the way your lips—soft and plump—curved up into a smile. 

Everything about you screamed ‘innocent.’ 

And the best part of it all, was that you were a fucking virgin. A helpless, clueless, little virgin. Perfectly ripe for the picking.

His cock throbbed hot and heavy in his hand, each pulse bringing him closer. He could hardly believe it—your social media, left wide open, public and linked straight to your account. Like an invitation. 

Like you wanted him to see.

His fist worked faster, the slick sounds of his own hand echoing in the dark room. He was right there, teetering at the edge, when another one of your videos caught his eye. A casual clip, nothing special—just you laughing with your friends, the camera panning across a storefront in the background.

His heart lurched in his chest. He knew that place.

He blinked hard, his other hand flying to the mouse as he replayed the clip, pausing on the sign. His pulse roared in his ears. That store was only a few streets away. Which meant…

You were here. In his town.

“Fuck—” 

The word ripped out of him as his body jerked. His cock erupted in his fist, hot streams spilling over his knuckles and thigh as he shook, riding the wave of release harder than he had in years. Harder than he had in any of his videos. The excitement, the discovery, the sudden nearness of you—it all came crashing into him, tearing his orgasm from the very pit of his stomach.

He slumped back against his chair, chest heaving, eyes still glued to the frozen frame of your smiling face. 

You weren’t just his number one fan anymore. Fuck, you were real. You were so close, and now, he knew exactly where to find you. 

He was still catching his breath when he switched tabs, his cock softening in his hand as he scrolled deeper through your pictures. Every shot held him captive. Was this how you felt when you watched his videos—entranced, unable to look away?

A few minutes had gone by when he heard a ping! sound from his other tab. He switched over, and there you were. Your account, blank as ever, no profile picture, no name, but now a message glowing at the bottom of the screen.

Pleasure_Ring: Loved your new video! It was amazing as always. I can’t believe your toy isn’t broken yet!

He felt his heart stutter in his chest. A needy grin curled at the corner of his lips. You were late to his video, but that’s okay. He had your videos and pictures to keep him at bay for now. His fingers darted across the keyboard, replying almost too quickly. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Glad you liked it, doll. Took you longer than usual to show up tonight.

His fingers hovered over the keys, debating if he wanted to send this next message or not.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Had me wondering if you forgot about me. 

You took longer than usual to respond, and even though he was coming down from his post-release haze, his heart was still pounding anxiously in his chest.

Pleasure_Ring is typing… 

Pleasure_Ring: I know! I’m sorry. I got distracted cooking dinner. 

Pleasure_Ring: But I could never forget about you, Bucky. 

His grip on the mouse tightened, and he felt his cock twitching again. God, he loved when you said—typed—his name. But the longer he stared at your words, the more restless he felt. He needed more. 

He needed you.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Dinner, huh? You had me worried there for a second. You’re usually the first one here. Couldn’t stand the thought of you forgetting me.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You know… I don’t even know your name. What should I call you, sweetheart?

He already knew it, of course. 

He could say it out loud, taste it on his tongue right now if he wanted. But he wanted you to give it to him. To hand it over willingly. 

He saw you typing, then stopping. Typing again, then stopping. The little dots taunted him, making his jaw clench. He hated this. He hated playing the waiting game—especially now that he knew you were just a few minutes away, living in the same town as him.

Pleasure_Ring: Do I really need to tell you my name? I kinda like being your little secret. <3

Pleasure_Ring: Besides… I think you like calling me doll, don’t you?

Bucky’s brow twitched in mild frustration, his cock throbbing in his lap again as his eyes traced your text over and over. You were a teasing little minx—taunting him, torturing him. He knew you were obsessed with him just as much as he was with you, so why the hell were you playing so damn hard to get?

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Come on, baby. Don’t be like that. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You touch yourself to my videos every night, and yet you can’t even share your name? Don’t make me beg for it. 

He dragged in a sharp breath as he waited for your reply, his hand lazily stroking his half-hard cock while he leaned back in his chair, tension swimming through every vein.

Pleasure_Ring: You’re so silly, Bucky. 

Pleasure_Ring: Why ruin the mystery? I kind of like it this way… just you and me, no names needed. <3 

His cock was rock-hard again, straining for a second round. He wrapped his fist around it as he split his screen in two—one tab open to a photo of you smiling sweetly, the other to your chat box on the site. His strokes were slow, shudders slipping past his lips as he teased the sensitive flesh. Every pulse in his palm matched the flick of his gaze between your face and your words.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You won’t give me your name, but I bet you’d spread your legs wide and let me fuck you like the needy little slut you really are.

He was playing a dangerous game with that message. It was too direct, maybe even a little mean. He might even risk scaring you away. 

But with your picture staring back at him, soft and innocent, how the hell was he supposed to hold back? 

Pleasure_Ring is typing… 

Pleasure_Ring: I would do anything you’d want me to if you were here. 

His heart stopped. His cock throbbed violently as the words sank in, repeating it in his mind like a prayer. A sweet little virgin like you, so naive, so unknowing, willing to let a man like him do anything to you?

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Oh, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have said that. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He stroked himself faster, pressure coiling hot at the base as he pumped his length with desperate need. Groans tore from his chest, hips jerking up into his fist as pleasure overtook him.

In his mind, it wasn’t just his hand—it was you. You on his bed, camera capturing every angle as you wrapped those innocent lips around his cock. You moaning, trembling, surrendering that precious virginity to a filthy porn star like him.

Pleasure_Ring: Maybe. But I really would do anything you’d ask me to.

And fuck, you lived in the same town as him. You actually lived in the same town as him. 

It would be so easy to find you. To claim you. To stuff your tight, untouched little holes full of him until you were stretched and dripping, used just like one of his toys.

The thought alone was enough to make him come a second time. With his head tilted back, a low growl-like moan escaped his throat. His hips stuttered wildly as his release tore through him in sharp waves of pleasure, hot seed spilling over his fist until his hand was a sticky, soiled mess.

He slumped back in his chair, breath ragged as he wiped himself clean with hurried, clumsy hands. His fingertips grazed the keyboard, already halfway through typing his next message. 

He couldn’t let the moment die, he didn’t want to lose you just yet. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typing… 

But then your text bubble popped up first.

Pleasure_Ring: It’s late, so I’ll be going to sleep now. I’m sorry our conversation got cut short. But thank you again for your video! I’m already looking forward to the next one! <3 Nighty night, Bucky!

And just like that, your status flickered gray. Offline. Gone.

His hand froze over the keys.

What? 

That’s it? 

You showed up online extremely late, give him a few teasing words that leave him aching, and just… log off? 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Come on, baby. You can’t leave like that. Aren’t you having fun? 

He knew you were offline, yet he sent the message anyway—clinging to the hope that maybe your status would flicker green and you’d answer him right away, being his number one fan and all. 

A minute passed. Then another. And another.

He sat there, staring at the empty chat box, his foot tapping impatiently against the wooden floor. When it finally sank in that you weren’t coming back, he closed the porn tab with a long and disappointing sigh. Dozens of comments waited for him on his latest video, begging for his attention—but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be bothered.

All he wanted was you. 

Your picture still glowed on his other monitor, your smile taunting him. He pulled his pants back on, leaning forward as his mind spun. You were so close—he could feel it. And with your account still open, still public, still inviting, he knew he wouldn’t stop.

He would find you.

And once he did, you would be his.

It had been three days since you last commented on his videos. Three days without your little messages, without your sweet words that fueled him through the long and lonely nights. 

Bucky was restless. 

He kept checking your account, refreshing the page, waiting for that familiar username that was dedicated to him to pop up in his notifications list again. But instead, you were busy elsewhere. 

Your Instagram was suddenly so active. Story after story, pictures of food, photos of crowded streets, little story clips of you laughing with friends. They were all innocent things, but to him, they were breadcrumbs. 

He looked closely at the background in your stories, taking screenshots and zooming in on shop signs and store logos. Most of these were ones he recognized. He compared timestamps, piecing together your routine slowly.

Each update you shared felt like you were inviting him in, pulling him closer without even realizing. 

And no—he wouldn’t call himself a stalker. Sure, he scrolled through all your socials, jerked off to your pictures, learned your full name, the area you lived in, who you spent time with. 

But that wasn’t stalking.

That was devotion. 

He was your number one fan. Just like you were his.

Your cart wobbled against the tiled floor as you turned into the produce aisle. Today was your weekly grocery restock. The store was busy, noisy, and packed with people trying to weave in and out of each other’s way. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and snapped a quick picture of the cotton candy grapes piled high in their cartons. 

They were your favorite, and this was the only grocery store near your area that carried them. 

Try these! They taste just like cotton candy! 

You added the caption and posted it to your story, sliding your phone back into your bag before moving on. A few minutes later, as you rounded the corner towards checkout, someone brushed past your shoulder.

You glanced up, and a man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice low, achingly familiar. “Didn’t see you there.” 

You smiled politely, brushing it off. “No worries.” 

You went back to your cart, but for some reason, your gaze lingered on him for just a second longer. There was something… familiar about the way he carried himself, about the way his words came out and how he looked.

You shook the thought off and pushed the cart forward, but you didn’t get very far when he stepped behind you, resting a gentle yet heavy hand on your shoulder. 

You glanced over and paused. The same man was staring at you, his eyes locked on yours with a look like that feels unsettling. You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“Uh… can I help you?”

His jaw tightened, his grip on your shoulder pressing just a little harder.

“...Pleasure ring?” 

Those words rang back in your ears like a loud bell. Your eyes went wide and you felt like your heart dropped in your stomach. Your gaze darted quickly around the aisle, checking to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. 

“I—I’m sorry? What did you just say?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

The longer you stare at this man, the realization hits you all at once. The thickness of his neck. The breadth of his shoulders. The sheer size of him, impossible to mistake. You’ve seen this frame before—night after night, on a glowing screen.

You leaned in slightly, whisper-yelling, “You’re Lord of The Rings nineteen-seventeen? You’re Bucky?” 

The ridiculous username felt even more absurd now that it left your lips.

He didn’t even look around or even seemed to care about his alter ego being mentioned outloud. All he cared about right now was having you, right in front of him. 

“...You haven’t been watching my videos,” Bucky said instead. His thumb brushed once across your shoulder, subtle but possessive. “Are you okay?”

The words should have sounded caring, but instead they struck you like an accusation. Your pulse quickened, panic rising up your throat. 

He was watching you that closely? 

He noticed? 

How did he even find you here? 

“I—uh—yeah, I’ve just been… busy,” you muttered. 

You knew you should step back and pull away from his touch. This man was stalking you. Yet, your body betrayed you. The deep rasp of his voice sent a warm sensation trickling down your spine, curling in the pit of your stomach. 

Creeped out or not, your body remembered him. It remembered his moans, his growls, the way he spoke dirty to the camera like he was speaking only to you. 

“I’ve missed you in my comments,” he continued, his hand moving from your shoulder to the ends of your hair, twirling it with his fingers. “I’ve missed our cute little chats… haven’t you?” 

You sucked in a breath. 

The loud chatter of customers and grocery carts dimmed into the background noise. You should pull away, God you should pull away—but your body swayed just slightly towards him instead. 

“Y-yeah,” your voice was soft and shaky. “I… I do too.” 

The moment the words left your mouth, your stomach curled with dread. Yet, your body didn’t match your fear. Your chest was rising and falling faster, your thighs pressing together instinctively. You hated the way a tiny spark of excitement flickered inside you when he stepped closer. 

Bucky’s mouth curled into a faint smirk, like he knows your own body is betraying you. He gave your strand of hair a gentle, teasing tug before letting it fall. 

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his eyes tracing every curve on your face, studying you, taking you in. 

You pressed your lips together, you stared back at him, captivated. He never showed his face in his videos—only his body, hands, and voice. You had always wondered what the man behind the camera looked like, and now here he was, inches away. He was unbelievably handsome. His gaze was intense. His voice was magnetic. You couldn’t look away, even if you tried.

“Are you nervous?” 

You blinked at him. “What?” 

A small chuckle escaped his lips, his hand lifted up to your cheek, cupping it softly and making your skin tingle. 

“You teased me in your texts,” he reminded you, his voice deep. “Told me you’d let me do anything to you if I was with you.” His thumb brushed your cheek softly, almost soothing. 

“How true does that still ring?” 

Your eyes darted nervously around the aisle. A few people passed by with carts, sparing you both brief, casual glances. To them, it probably looked like nothing more than a man grocery shopping with his girlfriend, caressing her cheek tenderly.

But you knew better.

“I…” your lip trembled nervously. “I-It’s still true…” 

His mouth curved into a slow, smug smile, as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you—how easily your knees wanted to give beneath you. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “My number one fan.”

You felt your stomach tighten. Every inch of your skin felt hot under his gaze. This was dangerous—you knew it. You were untouched, inexperienced, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice reached your ears, only made the ache between your legs grow heavier.

“How ‘bout we go back to your place,” he leaned in slightly, voice getting lower and dangerous, “and you do your grocery shopping later?” 

Your heart felt like it could burst out of your chest. You glanced down at your cart, the cotton candy grapes you’d been so excited to buy, and then back up at him. The way he held you, the way his eyes burned into yours, the very offer you’ve been secretly dreaming of despite your nerves…

It made the idea of staying here feel like hell. 

“Okay,” you breathed out. “Yeah, let’s… let’s go back to my place.” 

A small, approved hum escaped his lips. He pulled his hand away from your cheek and trailed his hand down to your bare arm, down to your hands—interlocking his fingers with yours. 

“Lead the way, princess.” 

This was wrong. So dangerously, undeniably wrong. But you had spent countless nights dreaming about this man, the pornstar with the ridiculous username, and now he was right here, holding your hand.

He led you out of the store with a smile on his face, already looking proud to have you by his side even though you guys just met. 

“I can’t wait to see your place, princess,” he murmured smoothly, stopping just outside the sliding doors. His gaze dropped down to you, quiet and expectant, waiting for you to take the lead.

“There are so many things I want to do to you.”

By the time you reached your front door, your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might break free from your chest. 

Your hands trembled so badly you could barely fit the key into the lock. Bucky stood behind you, his presence comforting yet demanding as he waited for you to open the door. 

The door finally opened, and you felt an insane wave of embarrassment as soon as he stepped inside. Your apartment wasn’t exactly ready for company. You had shoes littered near the door, laundry draped over the arm of the couch, your desk drowning in clutter.

He looked around and let out a low and amused hum. 

This was a terrible idea, inviting a stranger into your home. You’ve never done this before. But he’s not technically that much of a stranger if you two have been talking online for months now… right? 

“Show me your bedroom, sweetheart,” he said, his tone gentle but leaving no room for disobedience.

When he sensed your hesitation, his chin tilted subtly toward the hallway, like he already knew exactly where your bedroom was. That smug smile never left his lips.

“Go on.” 

You swallowed hard and turned toward the hallway, each step feeling heavy and anxious. You were nervous, extremely nervous. But the excitement of having a man in your home, this man you’d been secretly attracted to for months, sent a shiver of arousal down your spine.

You led him down the hallway, his footsteps heavy behind you. Pausing at your door, you glanced back over your shoulder. His smile widened, eyes glinting.

“You gettin’ shy, doll?” 

Your cheeks burned, and with a shaky exhale you pushed the door open.

Embarrassment hit instantly. The bed was undone, white sheets tangled in a mess, with clothes scattered lazily across the mattress. He stood in the doorway, his silence madly deafening while you stood there nervously with your hands clasped behind your back, waiting for him to say something.

Finally, he stepped forward, the corner of his mouth curving upward.

“I like your room, princess,” he said smoothly. He stepped up to the edge of your bed, his fingers dragging lightly across the wrinkles in your blanket.

“Is there where you watch my videos?” he asked. “Do you touch yourself right here, in this bed?” 

“I—I… do sometimes,” you confessed. You pointed your finger toward the desktop in the corner of the room. “Sometimes I watch… on my laptop.” 

His head turned to follow your finger, a smile tugging at his lips. He strode toward the desk, fingers grazing over the surface.

“Yeah? This is where you chat with me?” his fingertips trailed slowly across the top, pausing over the chair. “You sit here, spread those pretty legs on this chair, and put your fingers in that tiny little pussy of yours?”

You fiddled with your fingers, too flustered to meet his gaze. “Y-yes…”

He came back to you, steps steady and eyes locked on your face. When he reached you, he took one of your hands, gently prying it from the other, holding it in his much larger one. His palm stroked against yours, tender in contrast to his words. Then he lifted your hand slowly, pressing  a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes half-lidded and dark.

“How did you find me?” you asked softly. 

He exhaled, rubbing soft circles against your skin. “You stopped commenting on my videos. You stopped chatting with me. And I know it was only a few days…” his voice went softer, “…but doll, I missed you.”

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, your face hot and warm. The ache between your thighs pulsed with every word he spoke.

“I missed you so damn much. Couldn’t stop thinking about you…” he continued, pressing another kiss to your hand, then brushing your knuckles along the slight stubble of his jaw. “I couldn’t help it. I started looking through your account.”

You sucked in a breath, looking up at him as he continued.

“Your account was blank. No name. No picture. Nothing.” His voice dropped lower. “But your social media was linked, all public and left wide open.” His smile deepened, almost smug as he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours. 

“You wanted me to see them, didn’t you?”

His voice was so raspy and so hungry, it made your whole body shiver. You couldn’t trust your voice, especially not when you were so afraid it would crack and betray how timid, how inexperienced you really were. 

“I-I… didn’t know—”

“Oh, but you did,” he cut you off, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other cupping your cheek. “You wanted me to find you. I bet you hoped I’d click, hoped I’d follow the trail…” 

He spoke so confidently and so sure of himself—but the truth was something else entirely. You didn’t realize that your social media was tied to your account and you didn’t bother to check. You had only made that account to interact with Bucky’s videos only. 

You should have been afraid. The way he tracked you down, the way he admitted to stalking your socials—it should have terrified you.

But it didn’t.

It only made your body burn with excitement, your core clenching with a hunger that only he can satisfy. 

“You teasing little slut,” he murmured, his voice growing rough. “But you’re not a slut, are you? You’re a virgin—isn’t that right?” 

You nodded. “I-I am…” 

“And you’d still do anything for me? Anything at all?”

You paused for a moment. You knew exactly what he meant. He hadn’t followed you home for small talk. 

Your body screamed yes, aching for him, but your mind shook with hesitation. You've seen his videos. You knew how rough he could be. How brutal his thrusts looked, how the silicone toys bent and threatened to snap beneath his strength. The way his grip tightened until his muscles flexed and strained—it was terrifying, yet intoxicating. 

Could you really take him? You weren’t sure. 

But God, you wanted to try.

So you nodded.

An approved and low growl escaped his lips. He leaned closer, pausing right before your lips. 

“There are so many fucking things I want to do to you, princess,” he rasped. “First, I’m going to kiss you—then I’ll teach you how to really please a man. And after that…” his mouth curved into a wicked smile, “I’ll show you how a man properly pleases his woman. You understand?”

“O-okay.” 

His lips pressed against yours. 

It started off soft, patient, exploratory—until his hunger took over. The kiss deepened, his mouth grew reckless, his tongue desperate. His hands roamed greedily, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. He broke away only to tug at your clothes, then immediately slammed his lips back against yours like he couldn’t resist you. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned into your mouth. “You taste exactly like I imagined—maybe even better. Shit.” 

Bucky was getting harder by the second, but truthfully, he’d been aching since the moment he laid eyes on you in the store. But now, with you trembling in his arms, he finally had you. 

He caught your hand in his, guiding it down until your palm pressed against the thick bulge straining against his jeans, you shuddered at the contact. Your fingers started moving without you thinking, rubbing against him in small, and timid strokes.

He let out a low chuckle. “Look at you, baby. You want it so bad, don’t you?” 

Your breath hitched, and you could only nod, meek and shy. 

He moved your hand along his clothed length, forcing you to feel every ridge of him. His lip caught between his teeth as he let out a hiss of pleasure. He was so hard for you—so desperate—that he started to feel himself leaking just from the friction of your trembling palm.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, ripping your hand away from his crotch. 

You blinked up at him, startled and confused.

He reached in the back of his jean pocket, pulling out a small camcorder. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes were dark. 

“Baby,” he rasped, voice needy. “I want to record this. I want to see you undress for me… capture every second of it.” His fingers trembled as he flipped the device open, eyes half-lidded, fixated on you like a starving man.

“Bucky…”

“What do you say, baby?” he pressed, taking a slow step forward.

You bit your bottom lip, nerves tying your stomach in knots. You weren’t ready for this—not at all. But the thought of being behind Bucky’s lens, of being admired and captured the same way you had admired him through his videos, made your skin warm with anticipation. 

He grabbed your hand gently. “I won’t upload it,” he promised. “This one’s just for me—to keep, to look back on. Think you can give me that, doll?”

His words were soft yet strained with a lust and desire that he was desperately trying to hold back. The ache between your legs pulsed harder with every word, and deep down, you already knew you couldn’t say no.

“…Okay,” you whispered. “I want to be put on display for you, Bucky. I want to be yours.”

A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. “That’s my girl.”

He nodded toward the bed. “Stay there, at the edge. Watch me.”

You stood frozen, captivated, as he began to strip down. Shirt, jeans, everything—gone in moments, until his bare and large body stretched against your sheets and rested against the headboard. With one hand, he steadied the camcorder, and with the other, he reached for himself slowly.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, the red recording light blinking as the camera pointed straight at you. “I want every second of this. Give me a show, baby.”

Heat climbed your chest and neck as you began lifting your shirt, pulling it over your head. You glanced at him—and your knees nearly buckled. He was already stroking himself, precum glistening at the flushed tip, his chest heaving with each desperate pump.

“Good girl.” 

You pushed your pants down, stepping out of them until you stood in nothing but your bra and panties. Your hands fidgeted nervously at your sides—not knowing what to do with them next.

“D-do you… want me to keep going?”

A dark chuckle slipped from his lips, almost mocking. “Oh, baby. You’re fucking adorable, you know that?” his hand pumped slow and hard, his cock twitching under his touch. “Yes. Keep going. Take it all off, nice and slow for me…”

Your fingers trembled as they hooked around the strap of your bra, sliding it off your shoulders before unclasping it. The straps fell loose, and you let it slip from your hands. The cool air rushed against your bare chest, making your nipples pebble instantly. 

“Panties, baby,” he murmured, voice rough. “Get rid of ‘em.”

Slowly, you eased them down your legs, stepping out of them until you stood completely bare before him. Your arms instinctively folded in front of you, trying to hide yourself.

Bucky’s mouth curved into a smug grin. “Don’t you dare hide from me. You’re too pretty to cover up.”

Your arms dropped hesitantly at your sides, and his grin only widened.

“Good girl,” he rasped. He shifted against the headboard, spreading his legs wider, the thick length of his cock pulsing as his fist pumped it. “Now crawl to me, princess.”

“C-crawl..?” 

His eyes darkened, his hand tightening around himself. “That’s right. On your hands and knees. Crawl over here like the sweet little virgin you are.”

Your breath caught, and for a second you thought you wouldn’t be able to move at all. But his hungry stare made your body obey before your mind could catch up. You climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly, and lowered yourself onto your hands and knees. 

Slowly, you crawled toward him, the soft sheets brushing against your bare skin, your heart beating fast in your chest. 

Bucky let out a low and approving growl, the camcorder following your every move. 

“That’s it, baby… fuck—” he groaned. “You look so perfect like this. Like you were made to kneel for me.” 

You swallowed hard as you approached him, staring at his cock—thick and hard, flushed at the tip. Your lips parted as you let out a soft gasp—the sheer size of him made your throat go dry. 

“Have you ever had a dick in your mouth, baby?” he asked. 

You can only shake your head no. 

He let go of himself, his free hand sliding into your hair, guiding you closer to his lap. “Open that pretty mouth for me, doll,” he coaxed. “I want to be the first man you taste.” 

How could something that big possibly fit in your mouth? His grip kept you steady, urging you forward. 

“There you go,” he smirked, watching your nervous little breaths. “God, you’re trembling. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll teach you exactly how to do it. All you gotta do is listen to me.”

“Stick out that tongue—yeah, just like that. Such a good girl.” His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth before pressing down on your lower lip, opening you wider. “Mm, look at you. Never done this before, huh?”

You shook your head, embarrassed, but he only chuckled.

“Of course not. My innocent little fan, saving herself for me,” he guided you closer until the blunt tip of his cock brushed your tongue, smearing precum across it. The taste was strange, salty and thick, and you whimpered softly at the unfamiliar sensation.

His laugh was low and condescending, but not cruel. “That’s it, baby. Don’t pout so cutely like that… only makes it harder for me to hold back.”

He stroked your hair, petting you like you were some pet while his hips gave a subtle roll forward, testing you. 

“Just wrap those lips around me nice and slow. I want to see that sweet virgin mouth stuffed full of cock for the first time.”

Your lips closed timidly around him, sealing over the tip as your tongue flicked against it, tasting more of that salty, musky flavor. Your jaw ached instantly, but the way he groaned, deep and guttural, made you shiver with pride.

“There you go,” he praised, fingers tightening in your hair. “God, look at you. My perfect little virgin, already learning how to please me.”

You tried to sink further, taking more of him in, but the sheer thickness made your throat tighten. You gagged softly, tears threatening to well in your eyes, and pulled back with a desperate little gasp.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, thumb brushing your damp cheek. “That was good, baby. So fucking good. Just relax your jaw, take it slow. You’ve got such a tiny mouth—I didn’t expect you to take all of me your first try.”

His hand guided you down again, inch by inch, your lips stretching around him as drool began to slick your chin. He hissed through his teeth, head falling back against the headboard.

“That’s it… fuck, that’s it. God, you don’t even know how sweet you look right now, doll. Choking on my cock like you were made for it.”

You felt his cock pulse on your tongue, thick veins throbbing against the roof of your mouth. 

“Fuck—baby—” he growled, his breathing ragged as his cock twitched violently. “Gonna—shit—gonna cum down your throat—”

Suddenly, his hand yanked you back, pulling your mouth off him with a wet pop. You gasped, spit stringing between your lips and his swollen tip, confused and dazed.

“W-what…?”

“Not yet,” he panted, his hand flying to his cock and holding it still, trying to calm himself down. 

His chest heaved, his eyes glazed and hungry as he stared at your flushed, ruined face. “Not wasting my first load on your mouth, princess. I’ve been waiting too long for you.”

“Bucky…” 

He leaned forward, thumb smearing your spit across your swollen lips. “No… I’m gonna be the first man to cum inside this virgin cunt.”

He adjusted the camera in his hands, sitting up straighter. “Lay down,” he ordered, nodding toward the mattress. “Face down, ass up.”

His words were so filthy and vulgar—it made your face burn—but still, you obeyed. Lowering yourself onto shaky arms, you crawled forward and eased your chest against the mattress. Your cheek pressed into the sheets as you raised your ass for him, baring yourself under his gaze.

The arch felt awkward, your back straining from holding the position. But the low, hungry sound that escaped from his chest sent a shiver of pride racing through you. You pushed yourself even higher, desperate to please him.

“Look at you. My shy little virgin, already posing like a whore for me,” the sound of the camcorder’s little beep made your body tense—he was recording this, capturing you in such a vulnerable position.

The mattress dipped as he shuffled closer, his large palm running over the curve of your ass. You gasped, burying your face into the sheets in embarrassment.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, squeezing the soft flesh in his hand. “You nervous, baby?”

You nodded weakly, voice muffled against the pillow. “Y-Yeah…”

“Mmm, but you’re already being so sweet for me,” he rasped, his thumb gently pressing against your wet, slit folds. “Your pretty little cunt is weeping just for me, sweetheart.” 

You let out a soft gasp, the camcorder beeped again as he adjusted it to get a better view. His grin widened with hunger. 

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll take care of you. Gonna stretch this virgin pussy nice and slow… and make you put on the sweetest show for my camera.”

He teased your pussy, thumb rubbing over your entrance and his finger rubbing against your clit. You were already so wet—embarrassingly so.

“God, baby… you’re dripping,” he groaned, the camcorder beeping softly as he angled it lower. “All this for me?”

You whimpered into the sheets, trembling as he shifted his hand and pressed a finger, testing your tightness before slowly sinking inside. 

You gasped louder, your whole body jolting forward against the mattress even though it was just his finger. “B-Bucky!” 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning close. “Just my finger. Gotta test this tight little pussy before I give you more.”

He moved slowly, letting you adjust to his finger as you writhed against the sheets, your walls already fluttering helplessly around him. He slowly eased another finger inside, drawing out a desperate moan from you. 

“So tight,” he groaned so low, almost like he was talking to himself. “So fucking tight—baby. Can’t wait to put my cock inside you…” 

When he finally slipped his finger free, you sagged against the bed in relief—but then you felt him shifting behind you. The camcorder beeped again, and the feel of his heavy, thick cock pressed against your entrance—hot and throbbing.

You suddenly remembered how his toys would stretch helplessly around his thickness—literally on the verge of tearing. Your eyes widened. You weren’t sure if you could take him fully. 

“B-Bucky…” your stomach started twisting with nerves. “You’re too big… I don’t think I can—” 

“You can, baby,” he interrupted softly, steadying himself with a hand at your hip. He leaned close, his lips brushing your ear. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you.”

He pushed forward before you could say anything. The thick tip pushed past your virgin walls. You cried out at the burn, your hands gripping the sheets.

“I know, I know,” he soothed, though his voice shook with restraint. “I’m sorry, doll. I’m so big, I know—but you’re doing so fucking good for me.” 

The stretch hurt, but it also made a strange heat bloom low in your belly.

He kissed the back of your shoulder, keeping himself still while you trembled beneath him. “Breathe for me, princess. Let me in nice and slow… I promise—it’s gonna feel so good.”

Your fingers clawed at the sheets as you let out a high, broken moan.

“Shhh, that’s it, baby,” Bucky rasped, his voice thick with both lust and control. “My sweet little virgin… finally getting split open by a real cock.”

You shook your head against the mattress, gasping. “B-Bucky—it’s too big, I can’t—I can’t take it—”

He hushed you softly, his hand sliding from your hip to rub comforting circles against your trembling waist. 

“Yes you can, doll. You’re made for this—you’ve been watching my videos every night. Studying me. Practicing with your pretty little fingers and wishing it was me, isn’t that right?” His cock inched deeper, slow but relentless, his breath hitching at the unbearable tightness of you.

“That’s my girl,” he encouraged, pressing kisses along your bare shoulder. “Doing so good for me. Ruinin’ this sweet little virgin pussy nice and slow…” 

A sharp moan escaped you as he sank another inch inside, your body trembling around him.

“God… you’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he groaned, teeth grazing your shoulder as he adjusted the camera with one hand, angling it to capture the stretch of his cock sliding in and out of you. The red light blinked, recording every second of your first time.

“Such a sweet little thing,” he moaned, condescending but tender. “Crying on my cock like you don’t love it—but listen to yourself, baby. You’re moaning like a slut already!”

Another desperate cry left your lips, and he groaned low in his throat. You adjusted your hips slightly, moving your back a bit to try and get comfortable. The slight movement made his hard cock pulse and throb inside you uncontrollably—the sensation unbearable. 

“Oh, fuck—” he cursed, his breath catching. “Fuck. If you keep moving like that, doll… shit, I’m not gonna last.”

You shuffled your hips back, desperate for more, for him, even though the stretch burned.

“B-Bucky…” you gasped, your voice breaking into a moan. “You’re so big… too big… f-feels so good…”

That praise alone made him groan, his head dropping to your shoulder as his cock twitched inside your tight heat. His hand squeezed your waist, trying to stay in control, trying to savor it, but every little shuffle of your hips threatened to undo him completely.

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “You keep saying that—calling me big while you wiggle on my cock so cutely… I’m gonna lose it.”

You moaned again, arching your back to push into him, the words tumbling out between gasps. “Want you, Bucky… wanna take you all… please, you’re so big, fill me up, please…”

That was it.

A sharp growl ripped from his chest as he tossed the camcorder aside, the device landing forgotten on the sheets somewhere. Both his hands clamped down hard on your hips, holding you in place.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he gritted out, voice laced with hunger. “You asked for it.”

With one rough, needy thrust, he drove himself all the way inside, stuffing you full until his hips were flush against your ass. The sudden fullness made you cry out, your walls clamping down on him so tight it pulled another curse from his lips.

“Jesus Christ—this tight little virgin pussy’s gonna kill me,” he gasped, his fingers digging into your hips possessively. “You feel that, doll? That’s me—every fucking inch of me—buried inside you.”

Your cry broke into a helpless moan as he bottomed out, the stretch almost unbearable, but your body clung to him desperately. The way your cunt spasmed around his cock made Bucky curse low and vicious.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled against your ear, pulling back only to slam in again, harder. “Taking me so deep, squeezing the life outta me. My sweet little virgin, getting ruined on my cock.”

“Bucky—ah—s’too much—” you whimpered, though your hips still rocked back to meet him.

His laugh was dark, breathless. “Too much, huh? Then why’s this greedy little pussy dripping all over me? You’re lovin’ it, doll. You’re lovin’ how I’m stretchin’ you out.” 

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, every inch of you unraveling under his relentless pace. He held your hips so hard you knew he’d leave bruises, pounding into you like he wanted to brand himself inside your body.

“Good girl—fuck, you’re my good girl,” his hips moving rougher and sloppier. “Fuck. So much better than the videos, huh?” 

“Oh my god,” you cursed, your face pushed up against the pillow. “I… can’t—gonna… gonna cum—” your walls fluttered and clenched down on him so tightly as you let your release take over you. 

“Jesus—fuck, sweetheart—” he snarled, hips snapping erratically as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fuck, fuck! Shit… fuck.” His cock pulsed deep inside you, and with a final shuddering thrust he spilled into you, filling you full with hot, warm and thick seed. 

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged moans and his guttural curses, both of you trembling through the aftershocks.

Bucky slumped forward, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing the side of your damp and sweaty neck. “That’s it… that’s my girl. Took me so good.”

You were still trembling, your body sensitive and aching, when Bucky finally eased himself out of you with a slow, careful pull. You whined softly at the loss, burying your face into the sheets.

“Easy, doll,” he hushed, his voice husky but gentle. His big hands smoothed over your hips, down your thighs, rubbing away the tension he’d left behind. “You did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.”

You turned your head slightly, catching his smug little grin as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your damp temple.

“Messy bed, messy girl,” he teased lowly, though his tone held nothing but warmth. He brushed your hair back from your flushed face and tucked it gently behind your ear. “Knew you were my number one fan for a reason.”

Despite your exhaustion, a shy laugh escaped you, your chest fluttering at his words. 

“You’re… so full of yourself,” you mumbled weakly. “H-how did I do…?” 

“You did so fucking good, sweetheart. Shit, I remember when I was a virgin too, baby,” he chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “I was a whimpering, sensitive mess. But fuck, I had so much fun ruining you.” 

Your face flushed hot, nuzzling your nose in his chest out of embarrassment. 

He laughed softly, holding you tighter. “Get some rest, princess. We’ll go back for your groceries later.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh again, small and breathless, before your eyes fluttered shut, comforted by his large hands on your waist and the warmth of his body wrapped around yours.

Days passed, and Bucky kept his promise. The video never showed up online. 

He went back to posting his weekly content, but this time, there was something different. In one of his recent uploads, a faint audio clip played in the background as he stroked himself for the camera.

Your moans.

His grunts.

He never showed the footage on screen, but the audio was enough. Enough for you to recognize yourself, enough to leave you trembling in your chair, your fingers buried between your thighs. The thought of him getting off to your body, your sounds, over and over—it made you fall apart embarrassingly fast.

You slumped back in your chair now, thighs trembling, breath uneven as you dragged your hand away from your thighs. For a moment you just sat there, dazed, staring at the frozen video frame on your laptop.

Then a notification blinked in the corner of the screen. 

You clicked it.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Hey, doll. 

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typing…

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Can’t stop watching that little video we made. But I dropped the camera right before I got to stuff your pussy full of my cum.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: How about we try filming another one? 

[superbassbuck]

this is the camstar!bucky that’s jerking off to you btw

[memeuplift]

[spider-starry]

They’re the same picture.

[littlewhispersofpalia]

Hassian when you first meet him: "things are better enjoyed in solitude."

Hassian after you romance him: "Why were you away so long???? are you okay?? I'll miss you"

[chaoticnoisy]

first of all, good boys can do whatever they want, so jot that down