johnny’s just perverted enough that he def slips in a mobile-controlled vibrator in you before the two of you go out to meet his friends. he’s got the app in his phone, and is unforgiving when it comes to the settings. he ramps it up at the highest level when you reached your arm out to return price’s handshake, and you squeak, toppling down.
you tell them that it’s just a cramp, and nothing more. “sorry about that,” you say through gritted teeth.
john chuckles and says to not worry about it; says that maybe you need to sit down to catch your breath. you nod, thanking him softly, before ducking your head down to avoid their gazes because somehow you think they know your dirty secret.
that somehow they know that you’re plugged and leaking; that you’re desperate and itching for more because as much as the vibrator is too good, it’s not enough—
you avoid their gazes so you missed the way johnny passes his phone to simon; you missed the way john sits back, content to just watch for now, and the way kyle tips all of his whiskey into his mouth to wash away the burning excitement that’s filling him up.
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summary: small town life always felt suffocating, but nothing could prepare you for sheriff james buchanan barnes showing up at your door. everyone in town knows he owns it—owns you, too, if he decides to.
word count: 4,8k
WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. NON-CON, tread carefully, you have been warned! and just because I wrote it, doesn’t mean I agree with it or would like it to happen to anyone. this is a very sensitive topic and this fic is not for everyone. other warnings: smut, mean!bucky, abuse of power, curse words, dirty talk, degrading, humiliation, manipulation, praising, fingering, dacryphilia, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding.
A/N: my part of the bwa collab. huge thanks to everyone who supported me while i was writing… this. it honestly made me sick while working on it, and i had to take breaks every few sentences…so!!! i truly hope you all appreciate the devotion. big credit to @chateaubarnes who came up with the tile! x and I also wanna thank the entire bwa for creating such an amazing safe space. I am so glad I’ve met you guys 🤍 @wildflowersandvibranium @superbassbuck you are the best hosts ever and @firingstars thank you for making the masterlist and keeping us all organized 🫶 @iamthatonefangirl @umbreoni @houseofhyde @earthsmightiestbenders @flockoff-featherface @heldbybarnes @opheliabbarnes @blowingbarnes @its-in-the-woods @winterdecember18
The pan hissed as you stirred onions into the oil, the smell of garlic already clinging to the air. Evening light spilled in through the window, warm and tired, the kind of summer dusk where the cicadas outside sang louder than your radio. Small town quiet. Just you, a cheap glass of wine, and dinner.
Then three knocks came. Sharp and heavy.
You moved your feet to the door and your stomach sank even before you opened it.
Officer James Barnes stood on your porch, leaning on the frame like he owned it. The uniform clung tight across his chest, his badge glinting in the light, and the shadow of his cap cut across eyes that were already looking you over.
“Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawled, his gaze flicking past you into your kitchen. “Smells good.”
You tightened your grip on the door, pulse skipping. “Can I help you, Officer?”
He tilted his head, smirking. “Funny thing. Got a call about some noise comin’ from this place. Neighbors say you’ve been a little… disruptive.” His voice was lazy, thick with amusement.
You frowned. “I was just cooking dinner.”
“Mm.” He stepped closer, close enough that you had to step back or let him brush against you. “Guess I better check things out myself. Can’t ignore a complaint.”
He didn’t wait for permission. Just pushed past you, boots heavy against your floorboards, filling your little kitchen with the smell of smoke and whiskey.
“Nice place,” he said, slow, deliberate, as his eyes slid over the counter, the stove… and then back to you. “Shame if a girl like you ended up on the wrong side of the law.”
Your arms folded across your chest, though it didn’t do much to steady the nerves crawling up your spine. “What is that supposed to mean? I haven’t done anything.”
Bucky’s tongue pressed against his cheek as he gave a slow nod, like he was humoring you. His eyes didn’t leave yours, though, sharp under the brim of his cap.
“Sure,” he said finally, voice low and easy. “That’s what they all say.”
He drifted closer to the counter, his fingers brushing along the edge like he was inspecting it, like it was evidence. He picked up your glass of wine, swirled it once, then set it back down with a soft clink.
“You know how it works in a place like this, don’t you, sweetheart?” His smile was too wide, too knowing. “Doesn’t really matter if you’ve done somethin’. All it takes is me writing it down.”
Your throat tightened. “You can’t just—”
“Can’t? Darlin’, I’m the law here.” His lips curved slow and cruel, an expression that wasn’t a smile so much as a warning.
You froze. The word died in your throat, leaving only the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears.
For a moment, nothing happened. Just the weight of his eyes on you, heavy, deliberate. You couldn’t even tell if he was waiting for an answer or simply enjoying the way your nerves were unraveling.
And then the truth hit you.
It didn’t matter what you had or hadn’t done. In this town, his word was enough. Every shopkeeper tipped their hat when he walked by. Every neighbor lowered their voice when his cruiser rolled down the street. People looked away because it was easier. Because he owned this place, street by street, door by door.
Your little house wasn’t any different.
The smirk stayed on his face, as if he could hear the thoughts tumbling through your head. As if he already knew you were realizing just how small you were here—and how large his shadow really was.
He shifted his weight forward, one boot scraping against the tile as he took a slow, deliberate step closer.
Instinctively, you moved back, the counter biting into your spine as you tried to create even the smallest sliver of space. But there wasn’t much kitchen left to retreat into—he knew it, you knew it.
“That’s the problem with girls like you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, smoother, as if he were letting you in on some private joke. “You think you’ve got choices.”
Your palms pressed against the counter, fingers curling tight around the edge. His nearness smelled of leather and stale smoke, the metallic tang of his badge catching the light just inches from you.
“You keep tellin’ yourself you’re safe ‘cause you haven’t done nothin’ wrong.” He leaned just enough that the brim of his cap shadowed your face, forcing your eyes up to his. “But safe? Safe don’t exist here. Not unless I say so.”
The words slid through you, cold and certain, and for a heartbeat you hated yourself for noticing the way he didn’t even raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Every syllable felt like it was backed by the whole town—the quiet streets, the neighbors who wouldn’t meet your eyes, the sheriff’s cruiser parked like a sentinel.
And now, him.
He smirked again, slower this time, like he could feel your chest tighten against the press of his presence. “That’s right,” he whispered. “You’re startin’ to understand.”
Your heels bumped the cupboards, the last bit of retreat gone. He kept moving until his chest nearly brushed yours, until the air itself seemed to thicken with his closeness.
You turned your face away, desperate to focus on anything but the weight of his gaze but his hand came up fast, calloused fingers gripping your chin. The pressure wasn’t bruising, not yet, but it was unyielding as he forced your head back toward him.
“Mm-mm,” he drawled, his thumb pressing against the line of your jaw. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
Your breath caught, sharp and shallow, as his cruel smile deepened.
“See, I been watchin’ you a while now,” he said, slow and deliberate, every word dripping with the satisfaction of finally speaking it aloud. “Out on your porch with your laundry. Walkin’ through town with that little sway in your step. Those pretty dresses you like to wear—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
His eyes dragged down over you, lingering, devouring.
“You tempt a man without even tryin’,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “And you think that don’t come with consequences?”
Your throat worked as you tried to breathe, his grip on your chin making it impossible to look anywhere but into those sharp blue eyes.
“Well?” he coaxed, voice dipping lower, darker. “You gonna tell me you didn’t want my attention? Hm? After all the times you paraded yourself ‘round town in those little slutty dresses?”
The words burned, humiliating, but the worst part was the flicker of truth they struck inside you.
Well, yeah. Maybe you did have a little crush on him. Maybe you did straighten your posture when you saw his cruiser on Main Street. Maybe you did linger on your porch just a little longer, hoping he’d glance your way. He was handsome. Powerful. And when his eyes landed on you, it made your stomach flip in ways you couldn’t explain.
But this? His hand on your chin, his body caging you in, his voice dripping ownership…
You hadn’t asked for this.
Your lips parted, the confession tumbling out small, shaky. “I… I wanted you to notice me, but—”
He huffed, satisfaction flashing across his face like he’d just won something. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting your lips.
“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew you were temptin’ me on purpose. Little tease.”
His chest pressed flush to yours now, the counter digging into your back as if the kitchen itself were conspiring to trap you. You tried to shift sideways, but his body followed, closing every escape before you could even think of it.
And then you felt it—him—hard, thick, pressing against your hip through the stiff fabric of his uniform. Your breath caught, shame flooding hot in your veins.
He knew you felt it. That smug smirk deepened, his grip on your chin firming as he angled your face just so.
“Pretty girl,” he drawled, the words a mockery of tenderness. “You went and got me all worked up, didn’t you? Walkin’ ‘round, makin’ me think about what’s under that fabric.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, but his thumb brushed your jaw, forcing them open again.
“Don’t look away now,” he murmured, voice a low rasp. “Not after you begged for my eyes on you all this time. You wanted me to notice… and I did.”
His hips shifted, grinding just enough for you to feel the thick press of him again.
“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear. “You feel what you did to me?”
Your pulse thudded in your neck. You closed your eyes again for a quick moment, hoping this was just a cruel dream. Just a nightmare you’d wake up from soon.
It wasn’t.
He chuckled low, dark, the sound vibrating through his chest against yours. “Couldn’t take it anymore. You lookin’ so damn sweet, makin’ me hard every time I laid eyes on you.” His hand slid from your chin to your throat, his thumb resting just under your jaw.
“That’s why I’m here, pretty girl. Had to come all this way ‘cause I can’t take you teasin’ me any longer. You pushed me too far.”
His hand left your throat only to trail down, rough palm skimming the fabric of your dress before tugging it upward, inch by inch. The hem rose over your thighs, the cool air of the kitchen brushing bare skin where it shouldn’t.
You jerked, pressing back into the counter as if you could melt into it, but his body caged you in tight, unmovable. His other hand clamped down on your thigh, the weight of it hot and heavy, spreading you just enough that the threat was clear.
“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes drinking in every flicker of panic on your face. “Tryin’ to act innocent, but we both know better.” His fingers dug in, a bruising reminder of who held control.
“You’re gonna admit it,” he whispered, leaning close enough for his breath to drag hot across your cheek. “Gonna say you wanted me. That you’ve been beggin’ for this.”
The pressure of his hand on your thigh burned, creeping higher.
“Go on, pretty girl. Take the blame.” His smirk twisted cruel. “Tell me this is all your fault.”
“Please…” Your voice cracked, small and desperate. “Please, don’t—”
His grip on your thigh tightened, and suddenly his voice snapped sharp, cutting through the air like a whip.
“Say it!”
You flinched at the sound, tears springing hot to your eyes. They spilled before you could stop them, rolling down your cheeks as your chest heaved against his.
“Don’t make me drag it out of you,” he snarled, his face so close you could see the cold glint in his eyes beneath the brim of his cap. “I don’t want beggin’. I don’t want excuses, you hear me?”
You nodded frantically, tears blurring your vision, desperate for anything that would make him stop, make him ease up.
His expression softened into something sickeningly sweet, lips curling as though your fear pleased him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hand leaving your thigh just long enough to stroke over your hair, slow and patronizing.
The touch made your stomach twist, but you stayed frozen, too scared to move.
“Now,” he coaxed, voice low, almost tender, “tell me you wanted it. Tell me you’ve been wantin’ me to come here and take what’s mine.”
Your lips trembled, the words clogging in your throat. You didn’t want to say it—God, you didn’t—but his hand was still tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to remind you he could make it hurt. His body loomed over yours, every inch of him pressing in until you could hardly breathe.
“I…” the sound broke apart, but you forced it out, trembling. “I wanted it.”
The smirk returned, triumphant.
“There she is,” he whispered, thumb brushing your damp cheek as if wiping away tears he’d put there.
His hand slid lower again, dragging the hem of your dress higher until his fingers found the thin barrier of your panties. You jolted at the first press of his touch, a sharp flinch that made him chuckle against your ear.
“Shh…” His voice dripped with false comfort. His palm flattened, keeping you pinned in place. “Stay still for me. Be a good girl.”
You squirmed, legs trembling as his body caged you, leaving you nowhere to go. His fingers stroked slowly over the damp fabric, mocking in their unhurried insistence, and your breath caught in your throat.
“There we go,” he drawled, lips curling as his touch pressed firmer, deliberate. “So wet already…”
The words shattered something in you. The tears came harder, hot streaks down your face as you shook your head. “No—please, stop, I don’t want this, please—”
But he didn’t budge. If anything, his weight pressed you harder against the counter, the edge digging into your back.
“Shh,” he muttered, not even looking at your face now, his attention fixed on the way his fingers toyed with you.
They hooked under the elastic and shoved your panties aside, the cold air brushing where it shouldn’t.
You gasped, body jerking, but his hand was already there—touching your slick folds, sliding through your wetness like your pleas meant nothing.
“Goddamn—” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Listen to you beg… while your pretty pussy says somethin’ else entirely.”
His fingers moved in slow, deliberate strokes, sliding over your cunt with a sickening patience, never rushing, never relenting and each pass made your stomach twist tighter.
“There now…” his voice dipped softer, cooing like he was soothing a frightened animal. “That ain’t so bad, is it? Just me takin’ care of you.”
You sobbed, shaking your head, but he only hushed you while his other hand kept spreading you open.
“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he whispered, lips curling against your temple. “Nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll be gentle if you just stay still for me.”
Your body tensed, but his palm pressed firmer on your stomach, keeping you right where he wanted you, forcing you to take every languid touch as though it was inevitable.
His hand shifted higher, finding the swollen nub of your clit, and the touch made your whole body jolt. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your knees nearly giving under you.
Instinct betrayed you—you clutched at him, hands fisting into the stiff fabric of his uniform just to keep yourself upright.
Bucky chuckled low, smug and steady, his fingers circling that sensitive spot with obscene care. “Easy now…” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”
He acted like he was doing you some kind of favor, like this was protection instead of violation.
But inside, all you wanted was for him to stop. The shame was unbearable, heat flooding through you where his touch worked you over, your mind screaming against the pull of your own body. You clung tighter, not out of want, but out of desperation—because there was nowhere else to go.
And he knew it.
“See?” he cooed, voice soft, mocking. “Feels good when you stop fightin’ me.”
Your breath hitched, your whole body trembling as his fingers circled you with agonizing slowness. “Please… please, stop. I’ll do anything.”
For a moment he stilled, the heat of his hand heavy between your thighs. Then he gave a soft, mocking tsk, shaking his head like you were a child who still didn’t understand the rules.
“I know you will,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a slow, satisfied smirk. His thumb brushed one last time over your clit, gentle as a caress, but his words cut sharper than any cruelty. “That’s the way it’s gonna be, pretty girl. You’ll do anything I ask.”
And then—without warning—his hand shifted, two thick fingers driving inside you in one harsh thrust.
You cried out, the sudden stretch burning, your back arching as pain shot through you.
“Just like that,” he rasped, grinding his palm hard against your clit, his fingers buried deep. “You’ll take what I give you.”
You whimpered, clutching at his uniform in panic, but he only pressed closer.
“Not so innocent now, are you, pretty girl?”
You wanted to die. Wanted to melt into the floor, disappear into nothing where no one could see you, where no one could touch you again. Every nerve screamed, every instinct begged you to run, to fight, to do anything—but your body was frozen under his weight. You couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him, couldn’t even stop the sick heat pooling between your legs that betrayed the terror in your chest.
You wanted him dead. Wanted him gone. You hated him for making you feel like this, for making your body respond when all you wanted was to scream, to curl into yourself and vanish. And yet… even as the tears streamed down your cheeks, even as your sobs caught in your throat, even as your chest heaved with humiliation and fear, your body betrayed you.
It was like being trapped inside a stranger’s skin. Every shiver that wracked your limbs, every involuntary quiver at his touch, every gasp you couldn’t choke back made you hate yourself more. You weren’t safe. You weren’t strong. You weren’t even yourself anymore.
You were just so fucking scared.
His fingers pumped hard, curling inside you until your legs buckled. Every thrust sent a sharp ache twisting into a heat you hated, a sick pulse you couldn’t stop.
“Yeah,” he growled against your ear, his palm grinding down on your pussy with every movement. “Feel that? Your pussy’s takin’ me so good.”
You shook your head, sobs tearing out of your chest, but your hips twitched despite yourself, a helpless stutter forward into his hand.
“Look at you,” he mocked, voice thick with satisfaction. “Cryin’, beggin’ me to stop—and squeezin’ my fingers like you don’t ever wanna let go.”
“Please, Officer—” you gasped, but the word came out strangled, broken, your body betraying every plea.
“Shh, babygirl,” he cooed, thrusting his fingers deeper, faster. “Can’t lie to me. I can feel the truth right here.” His thumb pressed cruelly over your clit, circling hard until your knees nearly gave.
His pace slowed, then stopped, his fingers slipping wet and shining from your body. You sagged against the counter, chest heaving with your cries, relief flickering for only a second before you saw where his hand was going.
He held his fingers up between you, slick with your arousal, his eyes burning into yours.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low, commanding.
Your stomach dropped. You shook your head hard, turning your face away. “N-no, please—”
His hand caught your jaw in an iron grip, fingers digging into your cheeks as he forced your head back toward him. “Don’t make me say it twice,” he growled, shoving his soaked fingers against your lips.
You clenched your mouth shut, tears spilling faster as you twisted away, but he pressed harder, his grip unyielding.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he mocked, voice thick with cruelty. “You’re not too shy now, are you? Taste what you’ve been beggin’ me for.”
When you still resisted, his thumb pinched your nose, cutting off your breath until instinct made your lips part with a choked gasp—and he shoved his fingers inside, coating your tongue in your own slick.
“Atta girl,” he praised, watching your face contort in shame as his fingers moved against your tongue. Then he chuckled low, cruel. “That’s it. Suck ‘em clean for me.”
When you didn’t, he simply pushed deeper, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue until you gagged. His hand held your jaw tight, keeping you still while he fucked your mouth with his wet fingers.
“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking his hand in and out, slick smearing all over your lips. “Cryin’ so pretty for me while you taste yourself. You feel dirty? Hm?” His satisfaction grew as you whimpered around his hand. “Good. You should.”
Each thrust made your throat tighten, humiliation flooding you until your eyes squeezed shut, hot tears slipping past your lashes. You clawed weakly at his wrist, but he only shoved harder, filling your mouth until you had no choice but to swallow around the thickness of his fingers.
“That’s it,” he whispered, almost tender as he worked your mouth open wider. “Get used to it. This mouth’s mine now.”
You moaned around his fingers, drooling all over yourself as he pumped them roughly.
“So good, so obedient,” he rasped, fucking his fingers into your mouth one last time before yanking them free, spit and slick shining across your lips. You coughed, choking on the air you finally pulled in, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover.
His hand fisted in your hair, spinning you around with brutal ease. The edge of the counter dug into your hips before you could even catch yourself, his weight pressing into your back.
“Bend over,” he growled, shoving you down flat against the cold surface. One palm pinned the small of your back, holding you there like you were nothing but a ragdoll.
Your hands scrambled against the counter, trying to push up, but his grip only pressed harder, forcing your cheek down against the wood.
The sharp clink of metal filled the kitchen as he yanked his belt loose, the sound making your stomach drop. You tried to push yourself up again, but his hand shoved harder at the small of your back, pinning you flat.
“Stay down,” he muttered, voice rough with hunger.
Fabric rustled as he lifted your dress, dragging it up over your hips until the cool air of the kitchen hit your bare skin. You whimpered, face pressed to the counter, as he let out a low, approving hum.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his palm smoothing over the curve of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so perfect laid out for me like this.”
Your panties tugged tight for a moment, then slid down your thighs with a cruel, deliberate slowness. His fingers brushed the back of your leg as he peeled them away, leaving you exposed.
A zipper followed, the scrape loud in your ears, and then he was behind you—close, hot, heavy—lining himself up with no hesitation.
“Mm,” he murmured, pressing the blunt head of his cock against your slick folds. “Right where you belong.”
The tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, sliding just enough through the wetness he’d already pulled from you with his fingers.
“Shit,” he rasped, pressing closer, grinding the thick length against you. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby…”
A sob tore through your throat, your nails scraping helplessly at the counter. “Please, please, stop. I won’t tell anyone. I promise, just stop—”
But he only chuckled, the sound cruel and disbelieving. His hand spread wide over your lower back, keeping you pinned, while his hips rolled just enough to push at your entrance again.
“Who would you tell, huh?” he sneered, leaning over you, his breath was hot against your ear. “Whole town’s mine. Nothin’ to tell. Nothin’ to stop.”
His hips snapped forward without warning, his cock forcing into you in one brutal thrust. The sudden stretch ripped a scream from your throat, your whole body jerking against the counter as white-hot pain tore through you.
“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough with satisfaction as he bottomed out inside you. His grip on your waist tightened, bruising, holding you still. “Feels so good.”
You sobbed, the sting overwhelming, your walls clenching desperately around him. “Please, it hurts—”
But he didn’t stop. He pulled back only to slam into you again, setting a hard, punishing pace from the start. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, the air punched out of your lungs as he used your body without restraint.
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he growled against your ear, his cock driving deep over and over. “Cry for me. Beg all you want—still gonna fuck you just how I want.”
Your nails clawed at the wood, the sharp edge digging into your stomach as his hips smacked relentlessly against your ass, his grunts mixing with the sound of your breathless sobs.
He fucked into you hard, over and over, until your crying was nothing but broken gasps. And then—just when your body thought it couldn’t take any more—he slowed.
His thrusts dragged deep and deliberate now, his shaft stretching you to the hilt with every roll of his hips. Each one made your walls clamp helplessly around him, clenching so tight it drew a guttural groan from his chest.
“Goddamn,” he rasped, grinding in slow, heavy circles that made your stomach twist. His hand slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. “Feel how full you are? Hm? That’s me, baby. Every inch of me inside this pretty little cunt.”
You whimpered, shaking your head frantically and squirming but he only pulled your hair tighter, forcing your body back against his dick.
“Say it,” he ordered, voice low and sharp. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me how full I’ve got you.”
Tears streaked down your cheeks as the words caught in your throat, shame choking you. His hips snapped once, rough and deep, making you cry out.
“Say it,” he snarled, his lips brushing your ear. “Or I’ll make you scream it.” He growled, voice vibrating against your ear. “Tell me how it feels to be split open on my cock.”
Your walls fluttered around him helplessly. Your throat tightened, the shame unbearable—but the pain of his grip, the sheer force of his body, broke you down.
„I—” your voice cracked, the words stuck in your throat. He yanked your hair harder, hips snapping deep until you cried out.
“Fuck, I—” you finally let out, tears streaming down your face. “I feel— i feel s’full, I can’t—”
“Good girl,” he rasped, pounding harder now, his cock splitting you open again and again until your legs shook. His hand tangled tighter in your hair, dragging your head back against his chest so his lips brushed your ear. „Now say you’re mine.”
“N-no—” you gasped, clawing at the counter for something, anything to hold on to.
His hips snapped deep, his hand clamping hard around your throat this time, squeezing just enough to cut your breath. “You better or I’ll make it hurt.”
The pressure and the pain tangled together until the fight drained right out of you. Tears spilled hot down your cheeks as your voice broke.
“I’m yours!” you cried, choking on the words. “Please—please, I’m yours!”
He groaned low in your ear, the sound triumphant, his cock driving harder into you as if to claim you deeper.
“That’s right,” he whispered, “Mine. Always fuckin’ mine.”
His hand slid down between your thighs, finding your clit with cruel precision. You flinched at the touch, a strangled cry breaking free.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” he shushed you, circling hard as his cock drove deep. “Gonna make you come for me, pretty girl. Gonna make you fall apart on my cock.”
“No—” you pleaded, shaking your head, but your body betrayed you, clenching tighter around him with every drag of his fingers. The pressure coiled sharp and unbearable.
“Cry all you want. This pussy knows who it belongs to,” he rasped, thumb pressing relentless against your swollen clit.
Your sobs tangled with broken moans and whimpers as the tension snapped, your body shuddering violently. Heat flooded you, pulsing around him, the climax ripped from you against your will.
“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he growled, grinding deep inside you as your orgasm shook through your trembling body. „You’re fucking mine, baby. Cuming on my cock so prettily like a sweet girl you are.”
You collapsed against the counter, body limp, trembling from the orgasm still wracking through you. But he didn’t stop. His thrusts turned harsher, desperate now, his cock driving into your overstimulated walls with punishing force.
“Fuck—” he panted, his grip bruising your hips as he buried himself deeper, chasing his release. “So tight around me. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make sure you never forget how well I fucked you.”
“No, please—don’t—” your cries barely left your lips before his hips snapped forward one last time, his cock pulsing hot and thick inside you.
A guttural groan ripped from his chest as he spilled deep, holding you pinned down, forcing you to take every drop. His weight pressed heavy into your back, his breath ragged against your ear.
“Mm,” he sighed, satisfied, grinding slowly to push it all in deeper. “That’s it. All mine now.”
You sobbed weakly, face wet against the counter, his words echoing in your head as his seed seeped into you, sealing the humiliation.
Then he smirked against your skin, his hand stroking almost tenderly down your spine. “Good girl. Sheriff’s girl.”
Summary: Simon has always wanted something soft to call his. The problem is that he's always had issues with women. When he stumbles across a dark website that traffics people, he knows he should tell someone. But that thought goes out the window when he sees her.
Content Warning: non-con. Reader is a trafficking victim. Stockholm Syndrome. Simon is not a good man here.
Simon never claimed to be a moral man. He knows that he's fucked up. He knows that what he is doing is wrong. He is aware that if people knew about his more perverted desires, he'd be questioned to hell and back. He knows that if his new pretty lover escapes, he's going to prison. Maybe even under it.
He knows. He just doesn't care.
So when he pins the pretty young girl beneath him in their bed, he doesn't think about the consequences. He only thinks about how good her cunt feels around his cock. He likes the struggle that she puts up, the way she claws at him. She cries, wails that he's too big, to just let her go, she won't tell anyone. She doesn't know that her begging gets him off.
"Please, it hurts." She hiccups through a moan. Her eyes are glassy with tears, "You're hurting me." Her breath comes through gasps, and he only adds pressure to her throat.
"Shh," He shushes her and kisses the tears on her cheeks. They taste like salt, and under that, he can taste her blush and makeup. It's sweet that she got herself all done up for him. "Just a bit more lovie, you're okay."
He can tell that she doesn't believe him. Her kiss swollen lips wobble. Another orgasm she doesn't want but needs is crashing into her. She's screaming, voice turning hoarse. It feels good when she clings to him. The clutch of her cunt around him is euphoric. He's happy that he found her and bought her. Such a pretty thing like her was worth the trouble and the price.
She was soft and smaller than him. Her skin blemish and mark free, a blank canvas for him to cut and draw his love upon her. There are already dark bruises blooming on her chest and on various places where he's sunk his teeth into her. He watches as her eyes roll back into her skull, head flopping to the side. Her body is limp but he keeps going.
His own release is at the base of his spine. It slinks up and spreads throughout his body. His hips stuttering and a low groan escapes him. He keeps himself flushed tight up against her. He can feel his balls draw up and the release he's been looking for finally, finally, hits him.
His Lovie, his pretty young thing, lays naked against the bed. She's sweet like this, still like a statue in repose. Everything about her is lovely, and she's all his. He doesn't have much in this world, but he now has her.
He doesn't pull out right away. He enjoys the softness of her flesh. In the back of his mind, he knows that he is no better than the terrorists and traffickers that he's killed. But again, he doesn't care. He bought his Lovie fair and square. She belongs to him and him only.
Her eyes open, and she's staring at him. Brows drawn up in confusion before she sighed in resignation. "Please, I wanna go home." She whispers.
Simon only smiles and brushes his thumb against her lips.
Was anyone going to tell me that in the Marvel comics Shockwave kills almost all the Autobots and keeps Optimus alive so he can produce an army for him or was I just supposed to read it for myself.
Literally the only difference I did was make Optimus have a body, he is actually decapitated because the ability to imbue life is in his coding. Which is so on the nose as a metafor for the loss of bodily autonomy I feel like I am exploding.
Dennis is screaming. Dennis is wailing. Dennis is yelling with all the air his lungs can muster, all the strength his heart can bear, because he is in deep, disastrous peril and his only hope is that someone else might rescue him from it. PTMC’s abandoned eighth floor is only so big; there are only so many hiding places. He is a mouse lost in a maze, and a predator is hot on his tail, pursuing with a primal urgency and focus.
His heart leaps when he hears the distant sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps. A saviour, at last! His delight distracts him—he trips over a stray wire, falling spectacularly onto his front. There’s no time to get back onto his feet. He must crawl to safety. He must scrabble along the cold linoleum. He must—
A pair of hands grasp his hips, pinning them down, disabling his struggle. He kicks and he writhes and he reaches his hands back to scratch, but he’s no match for this hunter. “Help! Come quickly! Please!” Dennis screams to his saviour. They truly are his last hope. He feels that more than ever now, as his scrub pants are torn from his trembling body.
By the time he’s found, it’s too late. The saviours (a band of cleaners, as it turns out) blush and avert their eyes from the scene they have stumbled upon. “So sorry, Doctor Robby,” their leader says. “We didn’t realise this was a—mating situation.”
Dennis stares at them, feeling groggy and intoxicated. He’s incapable of any embarrassment concerning his nakedness or his knot-stuffed, cum-drenched hole. The new bite on his neck has erased his prior fear, reducing him to the full primal nature of his omega designation—a status he’d successfully hidden for almost a decade. Oh, well, he dreamily thinks. That’s all over. His alpha nuzzles at the bite, laps at the beads of blood, and continues to pump hot semen into his womb. Dennis sleepily supposes that there are worse mates than Dr. Robby.
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He's insane, he's delusional, he's thirty-something beefing with a teenager. I didn't say his name, but you thought of him. ;)
Sorry Jake fans, this is straight up incest NTR and Dave doesn't think very highly of him at all... Dirk just doesn't know yet how much he'll love his big brother's cock (and realistically won't know for a while, it's a slow process!)
And for Tumblr's sake: Dirk is 18 and as such is old enough that he can fully choose to not consent. :)
