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Warnings- Blood, murder, fainting, violence, sexual stuff, NSFW.
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The body hits the floor with a sickening finality.
For one endless second, the only sound inside the house is ragged breathing.
He remains on one knee beside the man he has just killed, his fist still wrapped around the blood-slick handle of the knife. Crimson stains his knuckles and drips steadily onto the warped wooden floor beneath him.
Then he looks up.
A few inches away from him, bathed in the pale blue light spilling through the lone uncovered window, stands Y/N.
She looks impossibly small against the darkness, frozen where she is, her wide eyes locked on him. The thin straps of her top rest flimsily against her shoulders, and her chest rises and falls with quick, uneven breaths as shock roots her to the spot.
He looks up at her eyes.
His expression is impossible to read, jaw set into hardness.
Slowly, he rises to his feet. She whimpers.
Every measured step he takes toward her echoes through the empty house.
Y/N instinctively backs away immediately. Her body is trembling like a jackhammer.
He stalks forward till the backs of her legs collide with the old wooden table, leaving her nowhere else to go.
He stops an inch from her.
A bloodstained hand wraps around her bare waist, pulling her into his hard chest. Marking her soft skin. Her pure, innocent skin.
He likes that thought.
Like a predator marking his prey.
Her eyes grow even wider. He didn't know eyes could be this huge.
The silence between them carries the weight of everything that almost happened.
He lowers his lips on hers, tentatively at first.
Then the hunger overpowers him.
"I told you you are too innocent for your own god, cub," he whispers between his attempts to devour her alive, his voice rough with exhaustion, desire and affection.
Behind them, the lifeless body on the floor is a grim reminder of how narrowly disaster was avoided.
Only half an hour earlier, the man now lying dead had cornered her inside the abandoned house, his hands closing around her untainted body, laughing pathetically at her attempts to fight back. He had bitten the soft skin on her chest, his attempt to mark her as his, his fingers inside her the worst pain she could imagine.
The mark still remains. He notes this with grim acknowledgement.
His fingers wrap in her soft curls, another clutching painfully hard on the skin of her waist. She has melted into his arms, nearly faint from the evening's excitement. The blue light paints one side of his face while the other disappears into shadow.
For the first time since arriving, the fury fades from his features, replaced by quiet concern.
"Are you hurt?"
Y/N slowly shakes her head. He kisses her again. Perhaps it's the frequent cut off of air supply, or perhaps the overall trauma, that her body finally shuts down and she collapses against him. Softly, just like everything else about her.
The knife slips from his hand and clatters onto the floor.
He picks her up in his arms, looking down admiringly at the contrast in the cupboard glass in front of him- the tiny body clad in white, against his blood-soaked black.
The distant hum of the city filters through broken windows and the night swallows the echoes of violence.
Tags | hint of unhealthy relationship, but he is in love with you so it is okay, codependency, spoiled!reader, park is lowkey psychotic, controlling behaviour, SMUT, bondage, dacryphilia, punishments, jealousy, ditzy!reader if u squint, readers hair can be pulled, ooc!park kinda but idc, mentions of pregnancy and kids
… intense. In the way all highly successful surgeons are. The few actual relationships he has tried to have that fizzled out the moment they learn the depth of his passion are a testament to that.
“Did you put a tracker on the new car you bought me?”
Park actually freezes mid sip of his morning coffee where you caught him after your early morning pilates that was conveniently held in the gym of his building, a sneaky way to make sure you stayed over.
Like a shark flipped upside down.
This might be it. He’s had this conversation before with numerous girlfriends and he’s steeled himself for the argument that is for sure going to follow.
“Yes, it’s for your –”
“Oh, thank God.”
Park tried not to show his confusion when you just sighed in relief, dropped your gym bag on the couch, and walked over to the island to give him a sweet kiss where he still tensely stood, ready for a fight that ... seems to not be coming. “I had it checked just for maintenance and the mechanic found the tracker. I thought some creep was stalking me.”
You say that as if the intensely dedicated man who tracks your every move clearly needs competition.
“Sorry, baby,” he mumbled into another kiss. Confused but pleasantly surprised at this development.
“No, it’s alright,” you answer calmly, feeding him one of the chopped fruits you had prepared for him last night. “It makes me feel safe that you’re watching me.”
He blinks, staring into your eyes. Trying to look for any inkling of the familiar aversion but found nothing but adoration instead.
“Yeah?”
“This saves me the trouble of texting you where I am all the time.” You nod, smiling. Leaning into another series of small kisses he was more than happy to shower your face. “Guess, I should thank you for that, hm?”
He grins, almost boyish except he's all man. “You got something in mind?”
You hum, biting your lips as you drag him in the direction of the couch. “A few.”
… jealous. Always has been. When he was a child, his bedroom was a sacred haven where everything in it was his and only his. Top it off with being the sole child of two affluent parents and he grew up with little to no reason to learn generosity.
As he grew older it naturally translated into relationships.
Park does try to keep a check on it, especially when it comes to you. Having already learned his lesson the hard way with his past relationships and using it as leverage to make sure he doesn't mess it up this time around.
He didn’t want to ruin your relationship by not getting a hold of his … temperament.
And he knew none of those young men after your affection could equal him in any level.
That is until he saw you talking so sweetly with Jack Abbot outside of the PTMC.
Jack Abbot wasn’t just some unaccomplished, bushy-tailed boy that couldn’t back his own words. He was skilled, rich, and a fucking hero who jumped from one warzone to another to save lives.
So, forgive him if he decides he’s had enough of playing nice and reestablish just who you're in a relationship with.
Now, here you were – covered only by the ropes he wrapped around your body, arms securely tied at your back, kneeling by his feet as he sits fuming on the expensive couch you insisted fit perfectly in his pad.
(It didn’t. But he thought if he was ever going to convince you to break your lease and live with him, he better start small.)
“What do you say, baby?”
He flicks the gag off your mouth, adjusting himself brazenly as the spit creates strings connected to the ball.
“I-I’m sorry, Bren. Jack was just – uuhm!”
He grits his teeth as he watches you squirm, letting the bullet he trapped in your folds and in each nipple by taping it into your skin vibrate to the highest intensity at the sound of another man’s name.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Bren!”
He let out a breath, meticulously running his eyes from every indentation the hemp rope pressed on your skin to the river your tears created on your face as you shuddered and wiggled on the floor in overstimulation.
Only when the telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm let itself be known did he quickly turn off the toy. Grinning maniacally at your cry of protest. The soft hiccups of his name almost made him pity you.
Almost.
“Come here.”
That perked you up almost instantly. Weakly pushing yourself up on your knees and looking at him expectantly. When he made no move to stand or at least ease up the rope that restricted your feet you knew exactly what he wanted from you.
You slowly shuffled on your knees, making sure you maintained eye contact lest he uses it as another reason to torture you even longer.
But as you reached his spread out limbs, your eyes couldn’t help but fall to the chub of his boxers. A comically loud gulp came out of your throat. Before you could feel embarrassed about it, a curled up finger pushed your chin up to his eyes.
“What do you say?”
Your mouth quivers. He’s being so mean.
“I-I’m sorry ,” you whisper, neck hurting at the angle he held your head in. “I just – he was just asking me for gift ideas. Since – since your birthday is next month. There was nothing else! I promise!”
When his face didn’t soften at your admission, despite betraying your pledge of secrecy with Abbot, you got desperate.
Large globs of tears now free-falling off the side of your face. “Please. I promise. There is nothing else. N-No one else. I love you. I love you, Bren. Only you. I’m yours. I’m – I’m … I’m sorry.”
He hums, seemingly satisfied and letting go of your chin to lean back casually on the chair.
“Say it again.”
You wavered in confusion. “W-What?”
He just cocks his head impatiently. Your heart jumps as you stammer, desperate not to disappoint him again. “There’s nothing else. No one else.”
You wrack your brain on the things you said not ten seconds ago but his heavy gaze sets your body alight and your brain off. Testing the waters you slowly moved closer and closer to him. Hopeful, when it didn’t meet any punishment and that more proximity could soften his frozen heart.
“I love you,” You press the soft declaration on the muscle of his thigh. “I love only you. No one else.”
You hesitate once your chin was resting comfortably on the top of his bulge, not so subtly running the tip of your nose on the length of it. Yet, his intense, unreadable gaze never faltered. You could only imagine this is how those poor souls who had the misfortune of working with your boyfriend feel every day.
“I’m yours," you press the promise on his navel.
A whisper. A reassurance. A vow.
It’s shameful how relieved you were when he patted your head. Eyes immediately tearing up in joy at the hint of affection.
You actually gasp in excitement when he pulls his cock out – hulking and even more angry from your perspective.
“Again.”
You nod, like an eager resident getting the surgical opportunity of a lifetime.
The musk of his skin goes straight to your head, pulling you into a space only he ever could as you run your mouth gently on the base of his cock. “There is no one else.”
It becomes more difficult the more of him you taste.
“I love you. Only you.” This time you risk it by licking from the base, preening at the precum you’ve been eyeing only to gasp when he pulls you just an inch away by your hair when you were about to reach the prize.
You can’t help at the desperate way your lips wobbled downward. Terrified that your eagerness had undone all your progress.
“And?” he demands, shaking your head gently as if jogging whatever brain cells were left in it.
“I’m sorry, Brendon," you practically sob out, eyes dewy and wide as you pleaded.
He lets your apology fester, eyes blown at the sight of your desperation.
It was sick – just how beautiful he finds you so desperate for him.
Him.
Not a little boy. Not even Jack Abbot.
You gasp in surprise when he finally lets you press your mouth on his tip. Throwing his head back as you eagerly suck his length.
“I forgive you, baby.”
… controlling. Not that he means to. Well, he does.
But it was his second nature.
He has never, in his life, been a follower. Always the group leader in all school projects, the captain of his football team, the president of his frat, and now he is the top Orthopedic Surgeon of the PTMC and formally being groomed to become the new Chief of Surgery.
So, it wasn’t exactly his lack of trust in your self-preservation that he decides to just … do everything for you. It was just who he is. How he shows he cares.
And you, love of his life, get to take the brunt of his affection.
“The surgery should be done by 7 at the latest and I’ll be picking you up at 8. I’ve booked you a full body massage and a facial at the spa you liked in Highland Park. Would you like to drive today?”
“Wuh?” you try to pull yourself awake as Brendon pulled on his scrubs, turning to you, still laying naked and boneless in his bed. How he managed to look presentable an hour after pounding you through his mattress and start making plans for the day, you could not comprehend.
“Would you like to drive to the Spa or should I arrange Ben to come pick you up?”
“I’ll drive. I should probably use that car you gave me,” you mutter, crawling to where he was sitting at the edge of the bed to put his shoes on so you can lay your head in his lap, burying your face in his fresh scrubs.
“Are you sure?” he hums, hands already petting your hair.
You nod, smiling cheekily. “I was planning to get a wax after, anyways.”
He chuckles softly at that. “Get your nails done too. Something blue to match your dress.”
You frown, “Which dress?”
He flicks his eyes and hanging off your side of the wardrobe is a beautifully soft dress in different shades of blue that was definitely not there last night.
“Oh my God.”
He doesn’t linger on it, doesn’t gloat. Simply carries you back to your side of the bed, tucking you back in.
“Text me when you go out for the day.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll reply when I can.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Oka – stoop!” you shriek when he presses a cold finger on your neck where you were the most ticklish. “I love you! I love you too!”
He smiles, the rare kind that softens his eyes. And with one last kiss goodbye he is closing the bedroom door.
“You look … well,” Garcia observes as he stands beside her on the sink. “Excited for the surgery? It’s not every day we get a case like this. The team wants to celebrate aft –”
Park takes his phone off of his pocket one last time to open the app for his cameras. “Can’t. Date night with the Mrs.”
Garcia falters at that. She knew Park wasn't single but never thought it was getting this serious. Still, she supposes Park wasn't the type of man to do anything halfway -- much less a relationship.
“Look at you. Never thought I’d see the Shark so domesticated.”
Live footage of his quiet penthouse pops up on his screen. The only light came from a dim lamp in the living room where you sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, drinking your coffee and watching the city wake up.
On cue, a message comes through his phone along with a selfie of you.
‘The princess has risen’
He smiles at your compliance. ‘See you tonight.’
Locking his phone he gives Garcia a brief look of acknowledgement, as he sheds out of the softness he reserves only for you.
“You know, you don’t actually get to call your girlfriend ‘The Mrs’.”
He chuckles, meticulously washing his hand as the rest of the team arrives to start the day.
“I can when I’ve already bought the ring.”
His secondary gawks, almost looking proud but also disbelieving. “You don’t even live together yet. That's quite a jump, don't you think?”
“Not really much point on moving in my bachelor’s pad,” he shrugs. The space never quite suited you anyway – not for his future wife and his future family.
He has it all planned out.
“It’s going to be a short engagement.”
… in love.
He tried to deny it – always thought himself too rational of a man to be capable of such deep, magnanimous, emotions. He’s a surgeon not a goddamn poet.
At first, you were just this energetic, eager, exquisite little thing that fell into his path. A reward whatever deity up above gave him for his dedication to excellence and his noble career. A beautiful woman he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with.
He tried to play the part – only showed you good sides of him. Took care of you till you needed and wanted for nothing. But as he fell deeper and deeper his mask slipped further and further.
Before he knew it, despite the great lengths he went to, you were the first person in his life who truly saw him for who he is.
Then, he was suddenly no longer defined by his accolades – the golden son of the Park’s, the pride of his alma mater, or the Shark of PTMC. It was both terrifying and freeing.
“Bren,” you whimper, frowning in your deep sleep when you can’t find him. He cracked a small smile when he saw you settle for burying your face in his pillow. The shiny diamond ring he had customized and fitted to your dainty fingers danced as it caught the moonlight from the window.
He could still hear your scream when he kneeled and presented to you the question that had been stuck in his throat for the past three months. Jumping and kissing him in happiness, exclaiming how beautiful the ring – your ring – was.
The perfect ring for his perfect girl.
Because when he thought you would run, you pulled the rug from under him and loved him instead.
And he plans to spend the rest of his life deserving your love.
“Breeen,” you’re whining now. Clearly, finding his pillow lacking as you blindly reached for him.
Before you get pulled from your sleep any further, he stands from the seat he had dragged so he could stare at you. Finding the adrenaline of tonight’s engagement still hadn’t been washed off of his blood causing sleep to evade him.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” he crawls back into your bed and presses his words in your temple. “Back to sleep.”
But it seems he was already too late as you fully opened your eyes and fluttered it woozily at him.
“What are you doing up?”
In acquiescence, he lets you drag him into the bed, caging your head inbetween his arms, as he lays his weight on top to ground you.
“Just … looking at you.” Not a creepy answer at all.
“That’s sweet, baby,” you take his strange but honest answer as a compliment. A demonstration to how perfect you were for him. “Not having second thoughts, are you? Cause I’m not giving it back.”
He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, nudging your jaw with his nose so he could pepper your neck with kisses. “Would marry you tomorrow if I could.”
You hummed at that, playing with the hair on his nape.
“Are you?” he asks, an unpleasant feeling of vulnerability threatening to turn into a void in his chest.
“Nope,” you shook your head firmly. The quiet moment you are sharing forcing you to vomit out the words that were too intimate to say in the daylight. “I don’t think I can live without you anymore, Bren.”
He smiles, “Guess I did a good job, then.”
“Guess so.”
Your gentle gaze hypnotizes him, the kiss you spare on his lips a nectar that pulls out the God’s honest truth he has pushed into the most tender part of his heart. And for all his bravado and accolades he could never string the right words to just how much the trajectory of his life depends on you loving him for the rest of it.
“We should tell our parents tomorrow.”
He lays his head on your chest, humming his quiet agreement. “I’ll pre-interview a few wedding planners and an assistant for you. Then you can take your pick from the ones I’ve approved.”
“Call your lawyer too. Make sure the prenup – I’m kidding! Stop!” You cackle as he presses his fingers on your sides.
“No prenups,” he pressed playful nips on your breast to show his displeasure.
“Good, cause I’ll rob you blind if you try to leave me.”
“The only way you are leaving me is when you die minutes ahead of me. And then, I'm telling our kids to mix our ashes and put us in the same urn."
“Romantic.”
As the silence stretches, his head runs a hundred miles per hour – receptions, catering, invites, seating arrangements, wedding gowns, two gold bands and a chain for him to hang it on during surgeries, and filing a month-long leave for your honeymoon.
Those things take time and for the first time in his life he feels reckless and impatient.
“You know,” he sits up, maneuvering the two of you together so he was leaning back on the headboard and you were straddling his lap. “Getting a marriage license in this city only takes 3 days.”
You squint your eyes at him, confused. So, he continues casually, pressing sweet kisses on your collarbone in a shameless effort to coax you. “And only two witnesses for a civil wedding. "
You raise an eyebrow, quietly asking if he is saying what you think he is saying.
"I’m pretty sure I can convince Robby to end his Sabbatical early and you can call one of your friends so we can book them a flight and hotel by tomorrow night.”
Finally, you caught his drift. “I mean, my parents will kill us but I think they’ll be too happy that I bagged a rich orthopedic surgeon who is somehow stupid enough not to want a prenup to care.”
A devious grin, one that lives up to his nickname in the hospital, stretches his face. “Mine won’t mind once they hear you’re carrying their grandkid.”
“Oh, that’s your brilliant plan, doctor?”
He couldn’t even bother looking guilty. “Have I ever told you my IQ is 145? My plans are bulletproof.”
A giggle escaped from your mouth, the two of you wrapped in each other’s embrace and laughter as a crazy, irresponsible, irrational plan slowly got pieced together in your heads.
“Alright then, get off me," pushing him away even as he grunts in protest. "I gotta get my laptop so we can apply for a marriage license.”
“Good, cause I’m scheduling you a trip to the doctors to remove your IUD," he announces smugly from the bed as you were about to reach the en-suite wardrobe where you keep your work-bag.
“Aren’t we just the most romantic people on earth?” You beam, and Park decides then that the poets have won this time.
I want my parents to send me to a slut boarding school without my knowledge. When I get there on the first day, I have to stand in a line while teachers take off our panties and shove vibrators inside us. I tell them no, but at this school, I don't get a say. I'm too scared to take it out. They pass the remotes to the boys randomly.
Throughout the day, my pussy buzzes and it slowly starts to make me wet. The boys trade remotes, so I end up being played with by multiple guys.
After lunch, the vibrators come out, and when I walk into my next class, the girl's desks all have some kind of dildo on them. One of the boys drags me over to one of the bigger dildos, and he and his buddies impale me on it, ignoring me when I tell them it's too big. Class starts, and I'm forced to cock warm this huge toy the entire time.
After classes, they take us to a room where we're all stripped and strapped down to tables. I tug at my bonds, but it doesn't help. The boy from earlier comes up, dick out. It's the same size as the toy from earlier. He was warming me up.
He doesn't wait and he isn't gentle. He slams his cock into me, laughing when I cry. He tells me what a good girl I am, how sluts like me belong on his cock, how good I feel. Finally, he cums, and he leaves. Other boys take turns with me for hours, but none of them fill me up like him.
Finally, they pull the girls off the tables. We wobble, but we're told we'll learn to take it. We're not allowed to put our clothes back on until tomorrow morning, and we're sent to dinner naked. The boy stops in the hall to grope my tits until I'm wet again, and then he shoves his fingers inside me. He doesn't let me cum though, telling me I have to wait until tomorrow for that.
just another morning
oct 26 ⋆ free use / aftercare
poly!marauders x reader
summary: a typical morning ever since you’ve given your adoring boyfriends free use of your body ♱ 1.8k
warnings: 18+ mdni, free use, somnophilia, spit as lube, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, creampie, cock warming, aftercare, fem!reader wears a dress, as twovials says everyone subs for remus
kinktober masterlist
note: i love this one 🫦
You’re roused by someone kneeling between your legs. His long cock, slick with his own spit, prods at your entrance. Slowly sinking into your warm and welcoming hole.
A low whine stirs in your throat, and you’re not quite awake enough yet to open your eyes. You’re disoriented, lost in a dream-drunk haze, making it ever so hard to make sense of the warm sensation between your legs. All you know is that it’s divine.
“Shh, darling,” he whispers, pressing sweet, soothing kisses to your lips. He stills his hips, allowing you a moment to adjust both to his size and the morning light.
“Rem,” you moan, recognizing him by the feeling of his lips on yours, and how deeply his cock spears you. Your voice is hoarse with sleep, which he finds adorable, his heart swelling with affection.
Your eyes flutter open, meeting Remus’s warm brown irises and even warmer smile. Messy strands of his mousy hair fall over his forehead as he leans over you, half concealing the faint crinkle at the corner of his eyes.
“G’morning,” he murmurs, beginning to slowly rock in and out of you. Heat rushes to your core, and you start to breathe in pants as the delicious grind of his hard cock against your gummy walls fully drags you out from your slumber.
Remus supports his weight with his forearm pressed into the mattress by your head, his hand lovingly cradling your face. His other arm snakes beneath you. With his palm flat against your lower back, he presses your naked body firmly into his. Your arms wrap around his middle, too, your nails lightly scratching at his skin.
Remus grunts, slowly picking up the pace of his thrusts. He drops his head to your shoulder to nip at your collarbone. Over his head, you see James watching from the bathroom doorway as he brushes his teeth. When his hazel eyes meet yours, he winks. Shortly after, he disappears into the bathroom to rinse his mouth.
Later, Remus finishes inside you as your walls clench around him, pulsing from your first—and definitely not your last—release of the day.
Remus cradles you against his chest, whispering sweet praise and inviting you to go back to sleep. But he’s woken you up now, and you can hear the shower running. The warm water calls to you, so you leave Remus with a chaste kiss on his lips.
“Jamie?” you murmur as you stumble into the steamy bathroom. He’s already on you by the time the first syllable slips past your lips, tugging you by the wrist under the spray of the shower with him.
“Hi, love,” he says, grinning. He hugs you tightly from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You lean your head back to look at him, and he plants a minty kiss on your lips. “Moony didn’t wake you too early, did he?”
“No, ‘m fine,” you sigh, content. The warm water feels wonderful on your skin, and so do James’s hands as they skate across it, tracing arbitrary patterns.
“I bet you are,” James hums teasingly. One of his hands slowly drifts south. You gasp as his fingers part your folds. Remus’s cum is still warm inside of you, and James groans as he spreads it around, his fingers brushing over your clit with every pass.
Whiny, helpless little noises slip past your lips as James teases you. You’re still sensitive from when Remus fucked you mere minutes ago, which James considers, but ultimately it only makes him want you more.
He spins you around to face him, and he walks you back until your skin comes into contact with the shower tiles. You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth because the smooth tiles are unexpectedly cold, but James quickly distracts you from it.
He hikes one of your legs around his hip and continues playing with your clit with his thumb.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, eyes raking over your bare body, mesmerized. Water droplets glisten on your skin as he watches the heavy rise and fall of your chest.
He guides his cock between your folds, circling the head around the sensitive bud before burying himself in your sweet pussy. You moan his name as he begins pounding into you, and you’re glad Remus had you first. Remus is long, but James is thicker, and having him first made it easier for your walls to accommodate James’s girth now, especially with how ruthless James is in his movements.
James has you in the shower until the water runs cold, your fingers have shriveled up like raisins, and the noises you make are nothing but whiny babbles. He has a hand pressed against your pelvis, and his thumb is rubbing tight circles on your clit. It’s already made you cum for him once, and he’s yet to stop. It’s a little overwhelming, enough to make your legs shake.
You bury your hands in his wet mop of hair as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking greedily. The combined sensations draw out another orgasm from you.
“Gonna fill you up, love,” he grunts, hips stuttering as he nears his own release.
A broken “please” falls from your lips, and with one final, powerful thrust, his hips stall, and you feel his warm release coat your inner walls.
“Fuck,” he groans, lifting his head to press a kiss to your temple. “So good.”
He helps you clean up under the water afterward. It’s slightly uncomfortable since it’s no longer warm, which is why he works quickly, but gently, so that he can wrap you in a fluffy towel and warm you back up with fast strokes of his hands over your goosebump riddled arms.
James continues to take care of you. Applying your morning skincare while you sit on the sink, styling your hair while shooting you occasional warm smiles in the mirror, and even dressing you. He picks out a flowy little dress for you to wear, and that’s it. Wearing short dresses around your home, with nothing underneath, is something you’ve grown accustomed to. It stirs up a certain warmth in your tummy, and your boys love it. Easy access, and all that.
“Beautiful,” James murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before leading you to the kitchen. He sits you down on one of the stools while he starts preparing breakfast for the four of you. Remus is in the kitchen too, brewing James’s coffee and putting a kettle on for himself.
You squeal when a pair of arms suddenly wrap around your waist. Sirius tucks his face into the crook of your neck, attacking you with kisses.
“Good morning, baby,” Sirius says, his voice muffled by your neck.
You giggle, the vibrations from his words against your skin tickling you.
Sirius lifts you from your stool, planting your feet flat on the ground next to it. His hands roam your body, running up and down your sides, massaging your shoulders a bit, sharply smacking your ass.
Your yelp prompts James to cast him a sideways glance. “Careful with her, Pads. She’s had quite the morning already.”
“Yeah. I heard,” Sirius smirks, and a heat to rushes to your cheeks. You’re sure overhearing Remus and James have their ways with you is what has Sirius so worked up—a little jealous, probably—as he pushes your dress up and over your hips. “Bend over for me, sweetheart,” he instructs, and you do as he says. Bracing yourself over the counter.
Remus keeps his eyes on you the entire time Sirius fucks you, casually sipping his morning tea as if he’s not rock hard in his trousers. You try your best to hold that eye contact, even with your cheek smooshed against the granite by Sirius’s hand in your hair.
Sirius angles his hips so that the thick head of his cock bumps into that sensitive, spongy spot with every thrust. Your legs shake violently, and if it weren’t for the counter and Sirius’s bruising hold on your hips, you’re not sure you’d still be standing.
An arm circles your waist. Sirius’s fingers dip between your folds, and you cry out in pleasure as he circles your clit.
“Gonna cum for me?” Sirius asks in that heady voice that makes you feel dizzy.
James is finished cooking breakfast by then. He passes by with plates of food, placing them on the wooden table in the corner of the room. On his way back, he stops at your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. When he straightens back out, Sirius grabs him by his shirt and tugs him into a sloppy kiss. James threads his fingers through Sirius’s dark hair, pulling on it sharply. Sirius promptly cums inside of you, and your orgasm follows shortly after.
James has a smug little smirk on his lips as he finishes setting the table, but Sirius is only focused on watching his cum leak down your thighs.
With two fingers, he collects the creamy liquid and stuffs it back in your poor, overused hole.
A broken whine parts your lips, and Remus, still watching, frowns. Sirius’s fingers brush across your oversensitive clit, and your whole body shudders violently.
Sirius chuckles, but Remus takes pity on you.
“Enough teasing her,” he says, putting down his mug.
“She’s still eager for it, the way she’s squeezing my fingers,” Sirius responds, pumping them inside you again.
Remus sighs. “Come here, lovely,” he says in a gentle command, opening his arms.
Sirius is quick to let you go, knowing it’s a command for him as much as it is for you. You melt into Remus’s embrace, his long arms enveloping you in his warmth.
Remus presses his lips to the crown of your head. “That true?” he murmurs. “Still want more after we’ve all fucked you?”
You hide your face in his chest, embarrassed. A low chuckle rumbles through him.
Remus guides you to the table to enjoy the delicious breakfast James made for everyone, and to sit you down on his cock, hard still from watching you take Sirius’s.
As you sit pretty on Remus’s length, your boys dote on you. Remus rubs any tension from your shoulders, peppering little kisses on the back of your neck as he does. Sirius whispers sweet nothings to you as he massages your scalp. The sensation is so delightful, you have to fight your eyes from rolling back so you can focus on the breakfast James feeds you. And the syrupy kisses he gives you between bites of pancake.
It’s pure bliss, and whether or not you’ve always been a morning person, you sure are now.
every reblog and comment means the world <3 i’d love to hear your thoughts
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WARNINGS- Angst and angst and some romance, this is nonsense I'm sorry. It was better in my head.
Pairing- Mob!Bucky x reader
The first time it happened, you thought you were dying.
Or about to die.
"What is this?", he demanded, looking suspiciously at the dish you made so lovingly.
You sighed softly.
"It's food, Bucky. I made it for you just like your mom used to," you said gently, sitting next to him at the table.
"James. I told you to call me James."
"Would you like to try it, James?" You couldn't help but be slightly amused by your husband, who acted more like a petulant child.
He hadn't replied, simply taking a bite before pushing away the whole plate.
"It's bland. Don't cook for me again," he said as he left the room without a single backward glance.
And you had felt this immense pain in your chest, making you wonder if this was a heart attack and if you were going to die.
It had been 2 months since you had been married off to James Buchanan Barnes. You grew up pretty rich. Daughters of mafia men usually did. It wasn't money that you lacked.
It was love.
So you had decided, in all your fantasies, that when you got married, your house would be filled with love and laughter and joy.
Too bad that fate had other plans, wasn't it?
Bucky, or James as he wanted you to call him, married you for a deal, and that was all it was to him. When the priest asked you to kiss, you looked up shyly, only to meet his cold hard eyes. The kiss had left you shivering.
But no worries, you could change him, you knew that. Right?
So you did everything a good wife would have done, or was supposed to do at least. You cooked for him, you dressed up for him, you went to all his parties even when you weren't in the mood to listen to shallow chatter at 2 AM in the morning...
Everyone told him how lucky he was to have you.
He didn't care.
You folded back the final piece of your lingerie before turning to Bucky's clothes. You still called him Bucky in your head. You found it so relaxing, drifting away in your thoughts while doing small tasks like this, you couldn't be bothered with the maids that kept waiting on you hand and foot.
You switched on the music on the stereo. Afternoon sunlight slanted in through the window. You swayed to the music, and you pretend it was Him, not his shirt, that you were dancing with. And as your hair swayed down your back and your skirt fluttered around your ankles, you felt so pretty and at peace.
You didn't see him tho, standing at the door, watching his wife.
So when he walked in and you suddenly turned and collided with his hard chest, he had to catch you before you fell backwards.
"Bucky!" You chided him, your hand on your heart. You looked up at him, and his eyes had an unusual expression. Almost as if... no, that was not possible.
"I-i mean James...", you whispered, intimidated by his size. He nodded briefly, before letting go of your waist. The skin where he touched you felt like it was on fire.
How could you explain to him what he made you feel?
"If you're done with whatever it is you're doing, you can leave," he said harshly.
Tears burned in your eyes as you hurriedly scampered out of the room.
That was the second time your heart felt like it was breaking.
.
.
.
You'd never known when to stop. You thought if you loved him enough, maybe one day he would love you back.
But unfortunately, Bucky was a stubborn man.
"Mrs Barnes! Welcome! You look beautiful!" Sam Wilson exclaimed when he saw you entering the party that he was hosting.
"Thank you Mr Wilson, and call me Y/N please," you smiled shyly up at him.
He laughed, offering you his arm as he walked you into the room.
"I'll call you anything you want me to, ma'am," he had claimed cheekily, feigning disappointment when you had playfully refused his arm.
"Where is Bucky tho? He came half an hour earlier before you did," he asked you.
You hadn't known what to say. Bucky had simply asked you to show up, and hadn't bothered to even arrive at the same time as you.
"I-I think he must be around here somewhere, " you had managed to stammer. This was embarrassing.
Only for you to later stumble into him, making him spill his drink onto himself.
He had laughed, pretending not to care in front of all the people. But at home, he had told you just exactly what he thought of you.
"Can't you even see where you're walking, Y/N? You disregard me, you flirt around with other men despite being married, and then you insult me by spilling wine on my dress!?" He had screamed, making you flinch hard.
"It wasn't intentional Bucky i-",
"SHUT UP! I'M NOT BUCKY TO YOU! YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO CALL ME THAT DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?" He screamed in your face, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you hard.
You couldn't say a word.
When he had finally let you go, you simply sank down against the wall and let the tears fall.
It was then when your heart felt like it was being torn apart into two.
There was no hope left. None at all. And you were tired. So tired. You had to let go.
You let go.
.
.
.
.
.
The next time you went to one of Bucky's parties, you heard all of them whispering. Talking about how Bucky's wife had lost so much weight, how she no longer looked like herself, how they were on the edge of divorce...
How you could no longer talk to him or look him in the eye.
You went home, choosing to sit in loneliness with yourself instead of being lonely among strangers.
You stumbled into the shower, turning it on as you slowly lay down on the floor, letting the water rush down your body, your hair, your face... you couldn't differentiate between your tears and the water, and it felt good. Better than getting your face all sticky like you did after crying yourself to sleep every single night.
When Bucky came home to the sound of water running, he didn't know he would find you like this.
"Y/N?" He half whispered, his face twisting in shock as he urgently kneeled next to you after turning off the shower. The water had turned freezing cold, and you lay there, your eyes closed, your lips beginning to turn blue. He shook your cheek gently, and when you didn't stir he started to panic.
"Y/n? Please wake up Y/n, what's happened? Talk to me!" He didn't realise when the panic in his voice converted to tears. If you were still conscious right now, you wouldn't miss the change in him.
He lifted you up in his arms, pressing your body flush to his chest even though it got him completely soaked through his shirt. He rushed you to the bed, gently placing you down before gathering towels snd drying you up.
The doctor came ten minutes later. You hadn't even stirred.
"She's slightly hypothermic, but she's going to be fine. Just keep her warm and make sure she doesn't slip deeper into it," Dr Banner told Bucky. He nodded, his eyebrows still scrunched up in anxiety as he turned to watch your sleeping face.
When you finally woke up, you found yourself pressed to his naked chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly and his face pressed against your hair.
He was whispering something over and over. It took you a minute to figure it out.
"I'm sorry Y/N, please wake up, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, " he whispered.
You slowly pulled away from him.
"Y/N? Are you awake? How are you feeling?" He asked you in a very concerned voice as he looked down at you, holding your cheek in his palm.
"Why do you care James?"
You didn't say it angrily. You said it softly, without malice, a genuine question. You knew he didn't give a damn, so why pretend now? You were so damn tired of everything, of running after him for so long. You didn't want to run anymore.
He stared at you for a moment.
"I - I know you have every right to be mad at me Y/n but please, give me a chance to explain please i-im so sorry", he begged, placing both palms on the sides of your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.
Your tears were wiped away with his thumbs instantly before you pushed him away and got out of the bed. The cold air hit your legs immediately, and you looked down, finding yourself in his favourite black shirt. He had changed your clothes then. You looked back at him. He looked so much like a young boy right now, with his vulnerable expression and messed-up hair.
You ran out of the room, your feet hitting the cold ground. you grabbed the coat hanging on the door before rushing out of the house. you didn't care if Bucky followed or not. you just needed to be alone right now. the sky was pouring, and the rain was bitterly cold. you really shouldn't have gone out but you weren't thinking straight. You had to get out. Get out of that stupid old mansion with its cold walls and its cold hearts. You'd make a new life for yourself. You'd have love and laughter and joy.
He caught up with you in a few moments, his arm gathering you around your waist and dragging you back against his body.
"James!" You struggled in his arms, his chest against your back. "Let me go!"
He pressed his face unto your neck, crushing you harder to his chest.
"I'm not letting you go anywhere. Ever". He whispered in your ear, kissing your earlobe softly.
"What can you say now, James? I tried to get you to talk for months, but all you gave me was hardcore silence," you said softly, making him wince.
"I was in love with you Bucky.
I'm not sure if I am anymore."
You gave up your struggle after a few more minutes, resting limply against his body. He gently turned you around to face him. You looked up at him, asking just one question.
"Why?"
He stared into your eyes for so long you almost decided he wasn't going to answer. When he finally spoke up, it was the last thing you expected him to say.
"Your father killer my ma."
Your face twisted before you broke down into full blown tears. He hugged you tightly to his chest.
"I'm so sorry,I didn't know how could he do this James?" You sobbed harder and harder into his shirt. He gently rubbed your back, making you sit down in his lap on edge of the bed.
" I was 7 when your dad called my ma to his house, because my dad hadn't paid him his dues. And he ..... he took it out on her.... in all the worst ways," his voice became a thin whisper by the end of the sentence. You couldn't even look at him.
"I swore revenge on him, and I married you. I was going to kill you in front of him, make him watch as a loved one died in front of his eyes', he continued, his hands gripping your waist so hard it was hurting you. But you couldn't interrupt him. Not now.
"But then I saw you, the first day when I came to your house, and you were there, so beautiful and so sad and so....innocent, and I realised I couldn't hurt an innocent bird who was herself trapped with the hunter."
You finally looked up at him, your face red as your tears continued.
"Why didn't you tell me Bucky?", you whispered, gently touching his cheek. "I would have left myself".
He looked down at you.
"I kept trying to keep you away. And you kept trying to get in. I wanted to give in so bad, to love you, to hold you, to kiss you, but if I gave in to your love, what would I have to keep the fire of revenge alive inside me? I needed to hate you, in order to truly remember what I have to do. And in doing that I forgot that I was hurting you, so much. "
His voice cracked at the end, and he buried his face in your chest. You pressed your tear-stained cheek against his hair, holding him to yourself.
"I love you, angel," he whispered. "I tried so hard not to, but it's impossible. Please forgive me, and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you", he looked up at you again.
You stared at him for a moment before softly kissing his forehead.
"I love you, Bucky."
He pressed his lips to yours in a deep, bruising kiss. the rain pattered down, making you shiver violently in his arms.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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