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gutsby · 4 months

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Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes

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ragingbookdragon · 3 months

Text

It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?

He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.

“No.”

“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”

“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”

“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”

Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”

“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.

It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”

Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”

Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.

“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”

He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.

“Quit that.”

“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”

“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”

“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”

“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”

“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”

“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”

“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”

Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”

Price simply watches him.

“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”

It's another long moment before Price speaks.

“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”

“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”

Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.

“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”

As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”

He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”

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lovebugism · 3 months

Note

“you were outside for one minute, how can you be dying of hypothermia?” with Steve and ditsy reader🥹

ty for requesting! — you walk in the freezing cold to ask steve if he would still love you if you were a worm (ditzy!fem!r, established relationship, 1.6k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Your arrival is marked, first, by an ignored knock.

Steve’s lazing on his couch, heavy with post-work exhaustion, with his resident schmuck slouched at his side. Robin acknowledges the tapping at his door before he does. “You gonna get that?” she mumbles, mostly uncaring and partly distracted by the TV.

Steve shrugs, unblinking. “It’s probably just a package or something.”

“Or maybe it’s your girlfriend,” she retorts, voice dripping with sarcasm as she turns to him with wide ocean eyes. “Remember her?”

Steve scoffs. “She said she wasn’t coming over today… Why do you think you’re here?”

Robin would punch him in the shoulder if she wasn’t so tired. “Asshole,” she mutters under her breath.

Another knock echoes down the foyer. This time, followed by a voice — muffled and achingly familiar. “Can somebody let me in before I die out here?”

Steve jumps off the couch without thinking, filled suddenly with newfound life and distant horror. He vaguely hears Robin mumble “told ya” as he rushes to the door.

He wrenches it open with an iron grip around the knob. He’s smacked in the face by the bitter breeze waiting on the other side. Snow falls from heavy clouds, swirling with freezing wind, and you’re standing out in the middle of it all.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Steve blurts. Not because he’s unhappy to see you, but because it’s basically a tundra outside, and you’ve got on the thinnest jacket he’s ever seen.

Your brows pinch as your face swirls something pitiful. Eyes wide and glassy, you blink snowflakes from your lashes. “Dying of hypothermia,” you murmur into your knit scarf, shrinking into your crossed arms.

Steve manages a small laugh. “Okay, you were outside for one minute. You’re not dying of anything— now get in here before you freeze.” He ushers you in with a warm hand pressed against the small of your back. “And I meant, what are you doing here? You said you were staying home ‘cause of the snow.

“I had a very important question to ask you,” you insist while he helps you peel off your jacket and scarf. Crystalline flakes fall from the fabric and onto the hardwood, melting almost instantly.

He hangs both on the rack for you. “You walked half a mile in the snow to ask me a question? Why didn’t you just call?”

“‘Cause it’s too important— I had to see you first.”

Your pout is childlike and firm. Steve concedes with a nod. “Okay. Well, uh— Robin’s here. Is that okay?”

You’re beaming almost instantly, forgetting about the boy entirely as you duck past him and down the entrance hall. You find Robin slumped on his sofa, still in her Family Video vest because unbuttoning it was too much work. Her bitten lips curl into a smile at the sight of you, the ball of sunshine Steve’s trying to tame.

“Are you guys having a sleepover?” you ask, all giddy at the thought.

She leans her elbows along the back of the couch and shrugs. “Well, we were. But since you’re here, I’m thinking we should just kick Stevie out.”

“Yeah. No. Not happening,” Steve deadpans as he appears behind you. He guides you towards the stairs with a warm arm around your shoulder. “C’mon— Let’s go.”

You pout. “Wait. Where are we going?”

“To get you some fresh clothes. I just got a load outta the dryer— Remember when you said you were freezing?”

“I’m past freezing, Stevie. I’m dying.” You groan and lean much of your body weight into the boy beside you. He laughs and carries it no problem.

“I’ll warm you up. You’ll be okay.”

He gets you into his bedroom and starts taking off your clothes. “At least take me out to dinner first,” you quip in a tiny voice as he pulls your sweater up and over your head. He scoffs and replaces it with a sweatshirt. Hissweatshirt. From the laundry basket full of fresh clothes he hasn’t folded yet. Then he sets you on the edge of his bed and tugs your jeans down your thighs, only to put a warm pair of baggy sweatpants over them again.

There’s something distinctly domestic, you think, about someone taking off your clothes only to put fresh ones on you again.

And then, even though he knows you’re perfectly fine, Steve cuddles with you under the sheets of his bed for a moment. He says it’s to help you warm up faster — “‘cause you were dying, remember?” But really, he’d just missed you. In a very simple, human way. And it feels good to hold you to his chest like this.

“Feel better?” he asks, filling the silence of his bedroom, chin bobbing against your head.

“I feel more alive now. If that’s what you’re asking,” you answer.

“Less than an icicle?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, you’re the cutest damn icicle I’ve ever seen—” He pulls just far enough way to see your face, smiling when he finds you grimacing at his dumb attempt at flirting. He plants a chaste kiss on your pouted mouth. A low smack fills the bedroom. You’re beaming all over again when he’s gone.

“What was your question again?”

Mouth still sparkling with longing, your face swirls with confusion. “Huh?”

“You said you came over to ask me something.”

“Oh, yeah!” you shout, wiggling out of his hold to face him more. You grow suddenly serious — as serious as a person like you can be, anyway. You talk wildly with your hands as you ramble. “Well, I was at the trailer earlier, and I was talking to Eddie, and I’m pretty sure he was high—”

“Figures,” Steve scoffs.

“—‘Cause outta nowhere he was like, ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm?’ And I was like, ‘Yeah. Obviously. I mean, I’d be sad about it and everything, but I’d still take you everywhere with me.’”

“He might be easier to tolerate that way,” he jokes, pink lips curled into a small smile.

You don’t seem to hear it.

“And then I thought— ‘Oh my god, what about Steve? Like, would he still wanna be my boyfriend if some evil witch turned me into a worm?’ And it really freaked me out, and Eddie was zero help, and then I got so sick about it that I had to come over here and ask you.”

You don’t take a single breath until you’ve vomited all the words out.

Steve — equal parts impressed and worried by you — nods slowly and with wide honey eyes. He calculates carefully what to say, lest the wrong thing spill from his mouth and send you spiraling all over again. “Okay… Well… For starts, yes, I would still love you.”

He swears you breathe a sigh of relief then.

“But like… Can I ask why you got turned into a worm?” he wonders with pinched brows.

“The optics don’t matter,” you insist girlishly.

“Right. Well. Can the evil witch-woman turn me into a worm, too? Or is that against the rules?”

Your doe eyes begin to sparkle, wide and full of hope. “You’d wanna be a worm with me?” you wonder in a tiny voice, distant with disbelief.

Steve scoffs. “Of course, I would. I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere without you.”

You knock the breath from his lungs when you lurch suddenly forward. Chest against chest, your arms wrench tight around his neck. He’s stunned for one moment, then hugging you back the very next. His wide palms rest warm along your spine. He manages a laugh despite being halfway strangled.

“I mean, think about it. I could spend the rest of my life hugging you like this if we were a couple of worms.”

“Well, you’re gonna do that anyway,” you quip, muffled into his neck.

Steve hums. “Touché.”

You pull away from him after a moment or more, serious all over again. There’s a firm furrow to the center of your brow and an unsmiling glint in your eye. “We have to set ground rules, though. Just in case.”

“Of course,” the boy concurs, fighting back a smile.

“If I get turned into a worm, and you couldn’t be one with me, what would you do?”

“Like… If I wake up and there’s just… A worm on your pillow?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, face pinching ‘cause he’s really thinking hard. “I’d be really sad.”

“But what would you do with me?”

“I’d get you a tank or something. Or, like, a little necklace to put you in— so I can carry you around everywhere.” He figures that’s the most perfect solution to this wildly unlikely situation, given the risk he couldn’t be there with you. Then your pout deepens, and he second guesses. “Is that okay?”

He can’t believe he’s entertaining this at all, really, but you’re worrying’s got him stressed about it, too.

“I want you to hold me in your hand,” you tell him, quiet and sincere.

Steve nods. “Deal.”

“…And hold me at eye level at all times.”

He laughs before he can stop it. “Sure.”

You start to smile, but don’t let yourself. “But how would you find me?”

“If you got turned into a worm?”

You nod, slow like a sheepish child. “How would you know which worm was me?”

“I’d find you,” he insists.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve scoffs with a shrug, mostly uncaring because the idea of finding you has never worried him before. There isn’t a world where the two of you aren’t together. Even in the infiniteness of time and all its parallel existences, Steve thinks you’ve found each other in every single one.

“I’d always find you. In every universe,” he assures, wearing a crooked smile on his lips when he boops the tip of your nose with his finger. “And out of every worm.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: bug turns one

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mooshywrites · 2 months

Note

May I request a short fic of Halsin and Tav discussing their kinks with Halsin admitting to having a breeding kink? Thanks, love :*!

Rutting Season

Fem!Reader x Halsin

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A/N~ ofc bb I’d love to <3

Word Count ~ 3.5K

Warnings ~ NSFW, MDNI, smut, breeding kink, slight size difference, established relationship, vaginal sex, fingering, creampie, outdoor sex

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“Do not tease me with such things my heart.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“I think you already know everything about me, my heart,” said with an exasperated smile.

You snorted and rolled your eyes, maneuvering to sit up on your elbows.

The sun washed across your back like a warm blanket, the grass rustling next to your picnic blanket in a comforting sort of song. It was a beautiful day today, one you were happy to spend with your Druid.

Even if he was refusing to be an interesting conversationalist.

“There has to be something about you that you haven’t told me,” you complained, giving Halsin a pleading stare.

“I’m quite sure there isn’t. I’ve told you everything. Even down to my favorite jam,” he chided.

You twisted to lay on your back, shutting your eyes against the glare of the day. Birds chirped in the distance, momentarily distracting you from your annoyance. A gentle breeze cooled you as you thought, wracking your brain for anything else you hadn’t asked Halsin.

An idea finally hit you, one eye popping open with a mischievous glint.

“Well, have you ever been in love, Halsin?” You inquired with a cheeky smile.

Halsin furrowed his eyebrows as if you had just asked the strangest thing one could utter.

“Aren’t I in love with you, little duck?” He prodded, ignoring your flurry of giggles.

“I suppose you’re right. Let’s see,” you shot back, settling in under his affectionate gaze.

He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on your forehead, chuckling along at your playful mood.

“I don’t think you could think of something you haven’t already asked me if you tried,” Halsin challenged, his voice soft against you.

With a halfhearted glare, you could feel the competitiveness start to rise in your bones. Was it a series conversation? No, absolutely not. The two of you had long since run out of questions for each other in this little game that you played. But for him to have the gall, the absolute nerve to challenge you?

Absolutely not.

There had to be something you didn’t know about the man.

“I know,” you started slowly, your smile already growing wide across your face. “What’s something unusual you like to do in bed?”

“Sometimes, if I’m especially tired, I’ll bring dinner to bed,” Halsin responded nonchalantly. “That wasn’t that impressive of a question, my heart.”

You stared up at him, your eyes wide. Surely, there was no way in hell he mistook your meaning.

Halsin just stared back, confusion etching across his features as he tried to understand what was wrong.

Finally, his cheeks flushed brilliantly, realization finally dawning on him.

“Oh you meant, as in,” he stuttered. “As lovers.”

You burst into a fit of laughter at Halsin's flustered realization, his embarrassment only serving to fuel your amusement. His cheeks remained flushed as he struggled to find the right words to explain himself, his typically composed demeanor crumbling under your relentless teasing.

After a moment of reveling in his discomfort, you finally composed yourself enough to speak.

“Oh Halsin, you truly are a light unlike any other,” you managed to say between giggles. "But I must admit, bringing dinner to bed is rather endearing in its own way."

Halsin let out a sheepish chuckle, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to regain some semblance of composure. “I suppose it's not quite what you were asking for,” he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes now that he had recovered from his initial embarrassment.

Your laughter gradually subsided, leaving behind a warm fondness as you gazed up at him. The sunlight danced across his features, highlighting the faded scars on his face.

“Is that still a question you want an answer to?” Halsin murmured, his gaze flitting away.

You shrugged, trying not to let the blush that was creeping into your face betray the nervousness you suddenly felt.

“I suppose so.”

Halsin sighed as if he was coming to terms with what he was about to say.

“I have a thing about breeding,” He said simply.

“A what?“ you snorted. “Is that not just regular ol’ sex?”

Halsin went quiet for a moment causing you to peek up at him, worried you might have offended him by laughing. He held your gaze, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s a little more than that,” he murmured. “It’s the idea of filling you with my seed. Watching you swell with my children.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot, unable to speak with how blunt Halsin was being. Or the way his jaw ever so slightly strained when he admitted his leanings.

A mischievous glimmer danced in Halsin’s eyes as he watched the array of emotions crossing your face. The vulnerability in his confession was a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. You felt a rush of heat spreading through you, a mix of embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite place. His words hung heavy in the air between you, stirring something deep within your chest.

A feeling that was quickly settling just below your stomach.

The silence stretched on, charged with words you didn’t quite know how to say. Finally, you found your voice, the words tumbling out almost without conscious thought.

“I’ve never… I’ve never done anything like that before,” you confessed.

Halsin’s smile softened, a tenderness in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat. “It’s alright,” he murmured, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “We don’t have to rush into anything you’re not comfortable with. I was just answering your question after all.”

You leaned into his hands, letting your eyes flutter shut. You weren’t quite sure you could handle the expression on his face with what you were about to say next.

“What if,” you whispered, your voice airy with the breathlessness the how conversation had rendered you . “What if it was something I wanted to try?”

You heard Halsin’s breath hitch slightly at your words and you couldn’t help but crack open an eye.

His own eyes were wide with surprise, searching your own for any sign of your usual joking manner. The air around you crackled with newfound anticipation.

His hand trembled slightly as he cupped your cheek, his touch gentle as if he were trying to hold something back.

“Do not tease me with such things, my heart,” Halsin whispered lowly.

“Who said I was teasing?” You retorted, your voice barely audible.

Halsin’s expression shifted, a blend of desire and uncertainty flickering across his features. His thumb traced along your jawline, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense stare. The air between you seemed to be laden with electricity, tension waiting to be snapped.

Without another word, Halsin closed the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet urgent kiss. It was if a dam had been unleashed, a flood of desire pouring into your touch. Your hands instinctively found their way to his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself into the kiss, your mind becoming less coherent the more you thought of his words.

’Filling you with my seed.’

You pulled back for a moment, breathless from the kiss.

“Is that something you want? To have children with me? Right now?” you questioned.

It was something the two of you had talked about before, but not at length. More of the casual discussions of the future and not set in stone plans.

A growl reverberated deep in Halsin’s chest, rumbling against you. “I would want nothing more, my heart.”

The intensity of his promise hung in the air, mingling with the lingering taste of his kiss on your lips. Your heart raced with a heady mix of lust and hesitance as you searched his eyes for any hint of doubt. But all you found was unwavering conviction, like it was something he had long since decided.

It didn’t take more than a split second for your conviction to match his own, your lips meeting his for another searing kiss.

Passion ignited between the two of you, the sound of the field drowning out in favor of the sound of Halsin’s breathing becoming heavier.

You couldn’t help the way your hips shifted against him, already seeking relief from the desire beginning to pool in your core. Halsin groaned in response, the sound cutting straight through your chest.

It suddenly felt like there was far too many layers between the two of you, your fingertips clawing at the hem of his shirt. You wanted nothing more than to feel his heated skin against your own, feel his calloused touch against you.

“Please,” you whimpered, your voice already tinged with a neediness that otherwise would have had you embarrassed.

But his confession, the thought of following through with his desires…

You needed him now.

Halsin’s eyes flared with lust at your shameless ask, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Demanding, aren’t we, little duck?” He whispered, his voice a shade darker than it was moments ago.

You could only manage a weak glare back, tugging expectantly on the edge of his clothes once more.

Halsin smiled back as he reached for the ties on his shirt, his movements slow and teasing. He undid each knot with calculated precision, revealing hints of his tanned chest beneath the fabric.

Your gaze locked with his as he slowly peeled the shirt off his chest, exposing the tawny brown hair that dusted his skin. You couldn’t help but trace the lines of his muscles with your eyes, taking in the hard lines of his abdomen.

“You really want this, my heart?” Halsin murmured, his voice a low, heated rumble.

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of him bare before you. The desire to touch him washed over you, all consuming.

Your fingertips found their way to his skin, tracing featherlight over scars and muscles. Halsin stayed perfectly still, watching you as you admired him. You put more pressure into your touch, your nails scraping ever so lightly against him.

His gaze darkened before fluttering shut, his breaths growing heavier as your hand continued to explore. He let out a low groan, his own hands finding yours and guiding them down to the waistband of his breeches.

You smirked, taking your time ignoring the growing bulge before you. Halsin may have been the one in charge through and through, but you quite enjoyed torturing him every once in a while. Idly, you traced the outline of the Druid’s length, refusing to acknowledge his annoyed growl.

Slowly, you cupped your hand around him, looking up to give him an innocent smile. As you gave a gentle squeeze, you couldn’t help but flit your eyes back to the hard member.

Was he bigger than normal?

You looked back up at Halsin, your eyes locked onto his as you began to stroke him gently, keeping your movements slow.

“You’re very hard,” you teased, watching the way his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.

“Careful.” He whispered, his voice a low growl. You couldn’t help but feel yourself growing more aroused at the tension in his tone. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Am I?” You asked, sliding your hand up and down his length, reveling in his growing impatience.

He was right, you were playing with fire. But it was a delicious, exhilarating fire that you couldn’t seem to resist. The need to watch him become undone. The need to see how much his admission really affected your time together.

With a final squeeze, you sat back. Your gaze met Halsin’s eyes with a smirk, seeing nothing but flaming desire mirrored back at you.

Gods above, he really seemed to want this.

You slowly pushed the sleeves of your dress down, letting the ties fall free as it fell to your waist. You sat for a moment, bare before him and feeling your body tremble with anticipation.

Halsin’s eyes raked over your body and he swallowed hard, clearly taking in every inch of you.

“Oak Father, preserve me, you’re more and more beautiful every time,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust.

You blushed slightly at his compliment, feeling a wave of shyness wash over you. Your hands came up to cover your chest and the soft curve of your stomach, your gaze dropping.

Halsin reached out, gently pulling your arms to the side. You heard him move forward before your breath caught in your chest, taken aback by the feeling of his lips brushing against your collarbone.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered again, planting another kiss an inch lower.

His touch was slow, tender, and filled with reverence. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, feel the composure he was truing to keep as his lips wandered across your chest. A shiver ran down your spine as his mouth continued its journey.

When he finally made it to the soft swell of your breast, he couldn’t seem to help nipping at the skin slightly. The feeling of his teeth against your skin caused a moan to tumble from your parted lips, unable to hide your growing desperation.

Halsin looked up at you, his eyes dark with hunger and anticipation. You could see the intensity in his gaze, the way that tiniest of sounds was pushing him further to a breaking point.

You arched your back, pressing your chest closer to the Druid’s mouth. He gave you a wry chuckle, finally taking your nipple between his lips in a gentle kiss.

His tongue flicked against the sensitive skin, sending a delicious shockwave through your body. You groaned, your hands falling to his hair, pulling him closer. Halsin hummed in response, his own eyes fluttering shut as he continued.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the feeling of his lips against you making it difficult to sit still.

You couldn’t help but moan, leaning back against the blanket with the Druid quickly following. His arms caged you under him, his torso settling between your legs as he switched his attention to your other breast. He was lost in the task, nipping and kissing like it was the last time he’d ever witness you.

Halsin’s hand glided up your side, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His fingers danced across your waist, finally tugging your dress the rest of the way down your legs.

You kicked them off easily, gasping as the cold air hit you. Halsin’s body quickly returned against you, masking the cold air with his feverishly hot skin. The fabric of his pants scratched against your thigh, earning another moan from you.

Your hips bucked forward, seeking more of that friction. Halsin groaned, moving forward to rest his forehead against your own. His expression was almost pained as his hand pinned your hips, like he was trying desperately to hold onto a thread of sanity.

“Please,” you begged yet again, your voice shaking with desperation.

Halsin inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening again. He finally opened his eyes, looking into yours with a searing look of lust.

“I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you like this.” he admitted, his voice rough. “But I can’t deny that I fear losing control.”

You smiled softly, warmed by his concerned. “I trust you, Halsin. I know you’d never hurt me.”

He hesitated for a moment longer, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. But then he leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours. The hand that pinned your lip let go, moving to undo the ties of Halsin’s pants.

In your lust clouded state, you didn’t even recognize the movements. That is, until Halsin’s hips shifted against you, his hardened cock slipping against your folds.

You gasped at the sensation, your breath hitching in your throat. You always had to adjust to him in the beginning, his impressive length being a lot for anyone to handle.

But impossibly, he seemed to be even more to handle today.

Halsin froze for a moment, his eyes searching your face knowingly. But then he leaned down again, his lips claiming yours in a deep affectionate kiss. His hand slid between your legs, his fingers brushing against the sensitive bud of nerves. Your hips bucked upwards, seeking more contact.

“Let me do this for you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice comforting. “Let me help you adjust, my heart.”

You nodded, too shot with lust to say anything coherent. Halsin pressed two fingers against your entrance, running teasing figure eights around where you most wanted him. Your hips shifted helplessly, trying to catch his calloused touch. Finally, they slid against your entrance slowly before sliding inside.

Your muscles clenched around him, earning a groan from the Druid. You whined in response, the little sound from his lips going straight to your cunt.

Halsin slid his fingers in and out of you slowly, gently stretching and preparing you for what was to come. Your hips strained against his hand, the friction leaving you panting and desperate for more.

You arched your back once more, wanting to feel more of him against you. Halsin’s eyes locked onto yours, his expression dark and intense. He moved his fingers faster, teasing the your sensitive nub with his thumb.

“Halsin,” you whimpered, your voice strained with need. “Please… I need you.”

The Druid, still looking deeply into your eyes, shifted his body and pushed his hips forward, the tip of his cock barely pressed your entrance. You whimpered breathlessly, looking up at your lover.

Halsin stayed still, looking into your eyes for some sort of confirmation. You let out an annoyed growl. You should’ve been happy he was being so courteous, but mostly, you just wanted him drilling you into the ground this instant.

`“For gods’ sake, Halsin,” you whined. “Breed me!”

Halsin’s entire demeanor changed as you watched his resolve snap suddenly, a growl ripping through his chest as he plunged forward, impaling you fully in one swift motion.

You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, the subtle sting of his girth mixing deliciously with your lust. He gave you no time to adjust as he began to move inside you, his gaze firmly stuck on yours.

“Silvanus above, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hips firmly thrusting into in a rhythm that had your thoughts clouded and hips jerking up to meet every thrust.

“Halsin,” you moaned helplessly, your hands gripping his upper arms.

Halsin complied with your wordless begs, his movements becoming more frantic, his fingers digging into your hips as he surged into you. His breath was ragged, low grunts escaping him as he continued to take you.

“I’m going to fill you, my heart,” He promised lowly, “Fill you with my seed.”

The weight of his words sent heat straight to your core, your entire being shifting as Halsin’s promise of breeding you sparked red hot desire. You felt yourself clench tighter around Halsin’s length, your nails digging into his arms.

Your legs wrapped around Halsin’s hips, locking him and trying desperately to pull him deeper into you.

His name was a plaintive wail on your tongue, your voice rising and falling with each thrust, each grunt, each cry echoing through the clearing. Your hips shook wildly against him, each movement in a desperate attempt to cling to him.

Halsin’s movements began to stutter, your own coil of desire tightening beyond belief in your stomach. You knew he was close, his breaths sharp and quick against your neck, and you felt your own body react in tandem.

“Fill me, Halsin.” You moaned in a stutter. “Breed me.”

Your walls tightened around him, beckoning him to fulfill his promise, to breed you and give you what you both so desperately craved. Your nails reached up to dig into the Druid’s back, leaving scratches that would heal with time. You felt his body tense, a feral growl reverberating in him.

Then, with a final shuddering thrust, Halsin filled you completely. His seed spilled deep within, coating your insides with his warm essence. Your walls tightened around him, milking ever last drop. He collapsed against you, his breath ragged and his heart pounding against yours.

You lay there for a moment, your bodies locked together, both utterly sated and completely spent. Halsin’s fingers brushed the hair from your forehead, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes.

“How I love you, my heart,” Halsin whispered, his voice tender with emotion.

You sighed closing your eyes as you basked in the afterglow, feeling him still inside of you. “I love you too.”

As his breathing began to slow, you both lay there, entwined in each other’s arms. The sun filtered through pillowy clouds, warming your bare skin in a warm kiss.

Halsin’s voice cut through the moment of tranquility, his voice lighter and teasing.

“I suppose it’s my turn to ask a question, then, little duck?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

#halsin #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate 3 halsin #halsin smut #halsin x reader #halsin x reader smut #halsin x tav #halsin x tav smut #halsin x you #halsin x you smut #halsin fanfiction #halsin fic #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 smut #baldurs gate 3 smut

1K notes · View notes

bigfatbimbo · 3 months

Note

hiiii so i might’ve been stalking your blog for the entire 3 hour car ride :33

can i pretty please request more aftercare fluff w/lucifer? i looove the way your write him!🫶🏻

have a good day/night‼️‼️

a/n — I meant to do this SO much earlier! Anyways i’m super sleepy right now and lowkey just want to write fluff so here’s this!

“Luci, you did so good. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” you coo down at Lucifer as he came down from his high.

It had been a particularly intense night, sex-wise, and it showed on the poor man’s face. He looked terribly spent and drenched in sweat.

His body was littered with love bites and bruises from you, adding to the pathetic image of him sprawled out on bed.

Your heart ached at the sight of him, “Aw, sweetie, did I go to hard on you?” You massage his cheek with your thumb, he leans into you.

“No it was— god, it was amazing. You were amazing,” He gazed up at you adoringly, “You are amazing.”

He looked at you with large doe eyes, “Can I help clean up, or anything?” He almost pleaded, desperate to help you.

Warm feelings of affection flooded your chest, “Lucifer,” you draw out, “Baby, you’ve already done so much for me. Give yourself a break, you look beat.”

Contrary to your point, Lucifer felt like he hadn’t done enough for you tonight. He almost felt guilty for receiving your love, especially if he didn’t think he reciprocated enough.

“Angel, please, I wanna help.” His eyes fell on you once again, gazing at you as if you put the stars in the sky.

He looked like a lost puppy, waiting for your command. You took pity on him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the sweetest, prettiest boy ever?” You spoke, words laced with sugar as you leaned down to plant kisses all over his cheeks.

He giggled dumbly, once again looking up at you and waiting for instructions on how to help.

“How about—“ you think, there wasn’t much you wanted him to do, especially in his state “—how about you sit here and look pretty while I run a bath?”

“My dear.” He warned, drawing out his words in a kinda of whine.

He didn’t look happy with this answer. As much as you wanted him to take it easy, he desperately wanted to help you clean up.

“Alright, I’ll go run a bath and you freshen up the area, how’s that sound?” you inquire, earning a much more approving expression.

With extra effort, you carefully helped him and yourself off the bed, planting a kiss on his forehead.

He was obviously in pain as he left to go get a washcloth and fresh sheets, but as he was so determined to be of service to you, you let it slide.

You ran the bathtub water to a good temperature and lit some candles around it. When the tub looked, smelled, and felt appealing enough, you called out for Lucifer.

“How’s it going it there, babe? ‘Tubs ready,” you dip your toe in the water before sinking in fully.

“Be there in a moment, my love,” He called back, voice half-gone and groggy.

When he finally shows up in the room, he looks absolutely exhausted. Although objectively cleaner, he looks miles more disheveled than he did before tidying up.

Once again, your heart fills with love towards the man. He was already tired, and still put forth effort to clean up, just so you had to do less work.

“Come here, sweetheart,” you coo at him, opening your arms and welcoming him in the bathtub.

All but reluctantly, he slinks towards you and practically falls into the water. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him close to your chest.

He sighs and rests his head on you, happily curling up into you in the warm water.

“Hm, what candles did you light?” he asks quietly.

“I think something vanilla-y. You like it?”

“The vanilla ones are my favorite. I think this is vanilla bean,” He hums softly into your chest. You rub his back your hand and use the other one to fish over the side off he bathtub.

There, you pulled out three oddly specific rubber ducks; a yodeler duck, a chef duck, and a duck that actually blows bubbles out of his snout. These three were Lucifer’s favorite.

He gave a small gasp when you pulled them out and set them into the water. You could see him regaining a little energy.

“You know, the yodeler one has an interesting back story,” he practically gloated, pulling the ducks close to his chest.

“Oh?” you question, “Well, please share, then. Don’t leave me on the edge of my seat.” You pull him closer to your chest as he holds the yodeling duck up in the air.

“Well, I actually got the materials in a different layer of hell. The craft supplies was good but the food was terrible there,” he rambled on lazily.

Increasingly drowsily, he explains its back story and how he got to work and little details like that. Every now and then he would look over his shoulder to see if you were still listening, or even cared.

To his surprise, you always were. He subconsciously snuggled further into you. Sleep crept into his words every time he spoke until it was undeniably time to get out.

You were exhausted yourself. You lazily got out of the bathtub and dried off, Lucifer following soon after.

As to both get comfortable in bed, you rest your head on his shoulder and realize he had brought the ducks with him.

“Can I— can I keep explaining?” He asked timidly, yawning afterwards.

You pull him close and wrap your arms around his stomach, “For as long as you’re awake, sweetie.”

He smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he was passed out. Just as suspected, in few short minutes of Lucifer’s rambling, you were both sound asleep.

a/n — okay I HAVE to get some Vox content out after this because I have been lacking so much. There are lots of requests so expect more of him soon.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel fluff #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader

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backwardsbread · 2 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Characters:

~Marriage proposals~

Warnings‼️: genderneutral!reader, established relationship, characterxreader, lots of fluff, Valentino existing, mentions of cannibals/cannibalism, possessive behavior, pet names used, mentions of divorce, some swearing.

A/N: How would the Hazbin hotel characters propose! I might do a vise versa, where reader proposes. But this one is the characters proposing to YOU. Enjoy~!

This is pretty long- I don’t know how to find word count, but if anyone wants more, drop a request :))

?Semi proofread?

Lucifer:

This man is a NERVOUS WRECK.

When he realizes he wants to marry you, he lowkey panics. Starts acting like you guys just now started dating.

He’s super anxious, trying to impress you, and prove that he’s good enough for you.

(Whether he’s trying to prove that to you, or himself, is up for debate.)

The two of you met on a whim. You didn’t really know it was the king of hell you were talking to when you first met.

How could this be the king?? He was so goofy. His playful demeanor immediately drew you in.

With even learning about how Lucifer was, it didn’t stop those fuzzy feelings towards him that bubbled in your chest.

It took him a long time to even get into a relationship with you, due to him being caught up in his past with Lillith.

But overtime, your affection is what gets him through the tough days.

He gets all flustered and embarrassed at your sweet gestures, trying to hide the fact that he’s realizing he wants you to always only be his.

As we know, he had a previous marriage and that commitment failed him before. He had a right to feel nervous of the subject that once bruised his soul.

But in his heart, he truly knows this is what he wants. He wants to spend his eternity with you if you allowed him to.

When the thought has finally settled, and he knows he’s ready to try marriage again, it doesn’t settle his nerves.

This has to be PERFECT-

He needs the perfect ring, the perfect setting, the perfect outfit. All of which he had easy access to, he is the king afterall.

Yet, nothing seems to be perfect enough. Nothing is enough, nothing he can think of matches how strong his feelings are for you.

Once he thinks he’s decided on what will be perfect, he ditches the idea to try and come up with something better.

He consults Charlie on this issue a lot. Including her in this is very important to him. He makes sure she’s comfortable with the idea of him being married to someone who wasn’t her mother.

Charlie is a bit put off by the idea, it’s strange to think about. She never thought of her father getting remarried, but the thought doesn’t necessary upset her. She’s more worried about history repeating itself.

Overall, she wants her father to be happy, and helps him prepare for the proposal in any way she can.

(Mostly moral support because this guy is in emotional turmoil over this.)

He’s in a constant inbetween of if this was the right thing to do. Was it too soon in your guys relationship? Was it too soon after his divorce? Would you even want to spend the rest of your damnation with the one who started it all?

With heavy encouragement and reassurance from Charlie, he finally has the guts to ask you the big question.

But….. when he takes you out on the date where he meant to propose…

He chickens out. (Or ducks out haha)

“It is quite beautiful tonight.. you know I love you, right?……. Good! Yeah-! U-Uh-.. oh my golly! Look at the time! How that darn old thing does fly-Haha! W-We should head home!- boy am I tired-!”

Rinse and repeat this process a handful of times.

You do start to get a bit skeptical of your partners behavior. You guys had been going on extremely fancy dates at least once a week.

And while you had no complaints on spending time with Lucifer, you did notice his strange behavior.

The way his mood would incline before your guys’ date, and then suddenly decline when it was over. Then having to take the rest of the week to heal his pride.

It was just a big rollercoaster of emotions. You were starting to worry you were the cause of his stress.

(I mean. Technically you were)

During one of his many attempts in asking you, he had already internally given up when he stumbled over his words in the middle of dinner.

Your date was coming to a close, and like clockwork, Lucifer’s chipper mood deteriorated.

His shoulders slumped, he was pouty, and dragging his feet on the way back to the castle.

Before the two of you can enter, you grab Lucifer’s hand, stopping him. He gives you a confused look, posture straightening to look at you.

You give him small pecks all over his face, in hopes to cheer him up from whatever was troubling him.

Your actions have the affect you were hoping for, as he laughs and steals your lips into his own, a wide smile on his face as he rests his hands on your waist.

His nerves seemed to dissipate as he felt an overwhelming sense of security and love for you.

His body was moving before his mind could keep up. The moment just felt right.

He pulls away from your shared embrace, reaching into his pocket, and getting down on one knee. He opens the ring box, revealing the glimmering jewelry within it.

You look at him in shock and he returns the same look, surprised at his own actions. Well there was no backing out of it now- (saY SOMETHING LUCIFER-)

It takes him a few seconds to recover from the shock and he’s tempted to just pretend to tie his shoe. But you knew his intentions and watched the nerves wrack their way up his body once again.

Before he can even speak, give a speech he had rehearsed probably a hundred times in front of his mirror, you say yes.

And the relief that washes over this man— the weight that lifted off his shoulders in that moment— felt amazing.

You bend down with him, smiling ear to ear and chuckling as you realized this is why he was so worked up the past couple months.

Tears fill Lucifer’s eyes as he slides the piece of jewelry onto your ring finger.

You kiss away the tears that slip down his face and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

His tattered heart feeling stitched back together that day.

Alastor:

We all know Alastor isn’t the biggest on romance.

He’s a true gentleman, of course, but public displays of affection and intimate relationships weren’t his cup of tea.

The two of you had know each other for years in the afterlife, yet it was only recently you had put a label on your relationship.

Falling for you was never part of his plan.

He first saw you as an prey, only a possible soul he could claim for his ongoing collection.

But your sickening sweetness unfortunately grew on him over time. He once wanted to take advantage of it, but he became too fond of you to corrupt it.

You moved from his prey to his acquaintance.

You lived in cannibal town where he would frequently visit.

You join the gossip sessions with him and Rosie, indulging in their banter. It starts by you just walking by and throwing a comment towards their conversation you were listening in to. Eventually you had your own designated seat at their table.

Rosie definitely saw the potential the connection you and Alastor had, so she subtly pushes the two of you to hang out more.

This leads to your relationship advancing from mere acquaintances to good friends. The transition quick due to Rosie’s persistence.

Anytime Alastor would visit cannibal town, he would make effort to pay you a visit. He just felt so drawn to your company.

His smile felt less strained, his body would relax, and he could do what he wanted while you served up some fresh pinkie fingers.

There would be occasions of Alastor realizing he’s dropped his guard around you, and he would be snippy and aggressive those days. In fear of going soft and losing his mojo.

The first time he did this scared you,

(I mean obviously, the mans body grows two-ten times in his demon form)

But after a talk with Rosie about it, you tried to be understanding. Instead of falling away or distant with Alastor after his little tantrums, you simply waited it out. When he was back to normal asking softly if he wanted to talk about it or move on.

It wasn’t clear to you when you guys really started being affectionate towards one another. It just kind of happened.

You knew Alastor to be a gentleman before formally meeting him. So him linking arms with you, kissing your knuckles, holding open doors was nothing new.

It seemed like everyone besides the two of you knew the true feelings you two had for each other before you guys did.

You were holding hands, seeing each other everyday, Alastor would give you his coat to borrow on colder days, etc. Just small sweet gestures the two of you would share.

It took an incredible amount of time for Alastor to come to terms with his feelings. He hadn’t done this before and had no control of what his heart wanted. It was scary.

Putting a label on what you guys had didn’t seem necessary. The two of you knew what you meant to each other in an unspoken agreement.

(Rosie did eventually pressure him to actually ask you out however. It was the gentleman’s thing to do)

(But enough backstory)

More often than not, Alastor found himself spending his nights with you. Not to leave until the morning or midday after.

The two of you practically lived together when the overlord wasn’t too busy with other matters.

We already went over how the two of you weren’t big on labels. It wasn’t until Rosie asked that Alastor had even thought about marriage.

“Sooo… when are you going to put a rock on your pretty thang’s finger?”

“Hm? I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“What?? You’re kidding right? That darling and you have been together ages! You wouldn’t want someone else swiping them away from you, right?”

“Hah! Never going to happen. Who in their right mind would try that?”

“…”

“You do know where we are, right?”

It had never occurred to the Radio demon before. You guys had made your relationship official of course. Anyone else who would try and court you and take you away from him would be simply insane.

But the thought wormed itself into his brain and flourished.

The thought of not knowing what you were doing 24/7. The thought of someone possibly stealing you away without his knowledge.

The thought of some undeserving sinner having their hands on what belonged to him.

It irked him.

After that conversation with Rosie, say goodbye to your privacy. You’re not going anywhere alone. He can’t risk someone even attempting to steal you away.

It was irritating how he was always tracking you, keeping a shadow with you at all times.

If someone even dared to hold open a door for you that wasn’t him or his shadow, he’d show up at your side in an instant.

It made you anxious and overall, you felt your partner didn’t trust you.

You did express these feelings to Alastor, but your words seemed to phase right through him. You had no idea what had gotten into him to make him (even more) protective.

You joined him in bed one night, as he was stilling up, enjoying a book with jazz music emitting from his aura.

You cuddle close to him, the feeling of fuzzy static that enveloped you a comforter for your slumber.

Before you can let yourself drift off to sleep, your partner closes his book with one hand, the loud thump making you jolt.

“Say darling, what do you think of marriage?”

The sudden ask has you dumbfounded, giving him a deer in headlights stare. (Hah-)

He had never even mentioned marriage before yet here he was now, smiling at you as he waited for your response.

You give honesty, telling him you never really thought of it yourself and you were surprised to hear the idea from him.

You did mention how the subject didn’t draw you away. You knew you loved Alastor with your entire soul. Your heart and soul were his without one of his binding contracts.

Once he hears your approval he snaps his fingers making one of his shadows appear, holding out his signature red coat to him. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, fishing out what he desired.

He pulled out a small box and handed it to you, his shadow dismissing itself from the scene.

You give him a confused look, before gently opening the box. Your eyes meeting the small band inside.

Oh- he was serious?????

You give him a puzzled look, while he just tilts his head at you, silently asking ‘too soon?’

Your eyes continue to track from the ring, to him, back to the ring, then back to him.

Your hesitation comes off as denial to Alastor, so he reaches out to take the box back. Before he can even lay a finger on it, you pull it to your chest protectively.

You give him a glare for even having the audacity to try and take this away from you. Your actions make him chuckle and hold his hands up defensively.

You slip the band onto your ring finger. Once it’s perfectly snug onto your digit, you pull your partner close to you, peppering his lips with small pecks. Scolding him in between your kisses for being so nonchalant.

He simply chuckles against your affections, telling you the ring will be a reminder you are always his.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Vox:

Vox is not one for settling down. No shot in hell.

Have you seen this man?? Holy hell take a chill pill.

A lot of Vox’s priorities lie with his work. He’s always pushing the boundaries of tech, eager to create something new and be on the face of it.

He never thought of dating. Being tied down to one person made him cringe. So the thought of marriage never even entered his system.

Then there was you of course. Messing up his plans.

How could he not fall for you? You were charming, beautiful, and down right too good for him.

(According to him.)

Your presence and the feelings you gave him made him feel threatened. He tried to put him a wall between the two of you, avoiding you at all costs.

But when he would look at his phone, seeing your icon pop up with messages to him. His fans would kick into gear, his cold heart ticking rapidly in his chest.

Yeah he had it BAD.

When you became a priority to him as well, it kind of threw a wrench in the balance of his schedule.

Yes he loves you but that fact scares him. He wasn’t exactly the safest demon to be around.

So he found it better that the two of you keep your relationship secret. Mostly spending early mornings and late nights with you.

It was difficult to manage. You wanted nothing more than to try hang out with your partner all day but he was always busy.

You would visit him at work, but on very rare occasion. You still owned your soul, which meant Valentino saw it as up for grabs, despite Vox’s warnings (threats) to not lay a finger on you.

As much as you enjoyed visiting your partner at work, you understood his reasonings for being uncomfortable with it.

Besides that, the chance of others seeing the two of you in public was way too high. You guys didn’t usually go on dates.

Your partner was more comfortable having you stay at home, having a double life without him. You lived with Vox, but outside of the time you two spent together, you had your own things going on.

Vox knew about it of course, he cares about you more than anything. He needs to know what’s going on at all times. And what you had going on outside of him was important to him.

He always has a screen pulled up in his monitor room while working. Just to see what you were up to.

The screen usually tracked a camera on you whenever you went out, it displayed your phone screen whenever it was in use, and showed your vitals on the bottom corner of the screen.

He didn’t trust the sinners that roamed these streets, rightfully so. Being able to track you gave him a source of comfort when he couldn’t always be around.

As mentioned before, going out on dates wasn’t really a thing. But Vox would usually clear up one day a month in his schedule. Just to spend the entire day with you.

(Of course he occasionally shuts down, checking how everything is going at V headquarters while he’s not around. Cant take this man entirely away from his work)

You’d spend those days cuddling, ordering in some takeout, and just catching up with each other. Getting in as much affection as you could.

The nights were soft and intimate. It was what you always looked forward to.

Vox had some things to do early morning on the day designated for the two of you. You did pout and complain to him, but he promised to be back as soon as he could.

Hours passed and you started to get a little bit peeved that your partner had yet to return home. Checking the time, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

You get dolled up, pack up a small container of snacks, and head to V’s headquarters.

Making your way through the crowd of demons and sinners. You head up the elevator, but it stops on Valentinos floor.

And with just your luck, the lustful demon is standing there, waiting to get on. When he sees your face, he grins wide and enters the elevator. Standing uncomfortably close.

He blows out his pink slut smoke into the small space, making you cringe and try to waft the stench away from you.

Valentino is touchy and that’s an understatement.

So when he bends down at your level, once again offering a job to you, your heart rate spikes.

Meanwhile, Vox is having a one sided argument with Velvette, the young overlord scolding him as she changed his outfit several times.

It wasn’t often Vox was used as a model for Velvette, but he had actually asked her ahead of time to design something special for you and him.

By ahead of time, he asked yesterday, not giving Velvette nearly enough time.

While he tuned out of his teammate reprimanding him, his watch buzzed, alerting him of your abnormal heart rate.

He gives a confused look, his screen going black for a second as he brought up his home security camera on his screen. When seeing you weren’t at the house, his eye twitched.

Where the hell did you go??

He was brought back, his face glitching in and out as he pulled out his phone, bringing up your location.

He saw how close you were and immediately thought the worst.

He zaps himself into the nearest camera, zipping through the electronics to find where you are.

Within a minute, he’s found you in the elevator, practically cornered by Valentino who was literally drooling on you.

The lights flicker in the elevator as it comes to a screeching halt. Cue your partner showing up with a crack of blue electricity, yanking Valentino away from you by the moth’s wing.

He puts himself in front of you, acting as a shield so you don’t have to be near Valentino’s poison.

“W̵̰̻͍̉̔̅̀̐͐͒͆̒̚ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ǎ̴̯̀͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ f̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓’r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕??”

(What the fuck do you think you’re doing??)

Vox’s voice glitched out, muted TV static layering his voice as the fans whirled in the back of his head. In a desperate attempt to cool him down.

Valentino doesn’t give much of a reaction, putting his hands up in feigned innocence.

“𝒟𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝑜𝓍𝓍𝒾𝑒! 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻-“

“You better watch your mouth.”

“𝒪𝒽𝒽, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑒𝓉. 𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝑔 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒.”

Valentino speaks with sickening sarcasm. You look between the two, incredibly confused. Vox looks like he’s about to explode.

The lights flicker back on, and the door opens, Vox demanding his business partner leave.

The moth scowls at the both of you, before putting one set of hands on his hips, the other set of arms crossing across his chest. In the most sassy way possibly leave the two of you behind.

Vox waits for the elevator door to close before he can breath again. He’s muttering angrily to himself, one hand on either side of his screen as he tries not to blue screen.

You put your hand over his, his cold hand giving you a subtle shock of electricity as you touched him. You give him a concerned gaze, silently asking if he was okay.

Vox looks at you, shoulders relaxing just looking into your comforting eyes. Little bolts of electricity shoot out from the side of his screen as he tries to calm himself, his fans working overtime.

You set down the bag of treats you were bringing for him to hold his hands in your own. You give him a bright smile, concern not leaving your eyes.

You reassure him that whatever he had planned isn’t ruined. You could just pretend you didn’t know! You didn’t want this little run in to ruin your guys’ day.

You ramble on as he just stares at you, almost blankly, his screen fading from blue to a baby pink as he listened to you.

As you’re apologizing for causing trouble, he puts a hand up to stop your little speech.

He reaches into his pant pocket, pulling out a small halo shaped piece of jewelry. He holds your left hand in his own as he gets down on one knee in front of you.

I mean.. you knew he had a surprise planned, but seeing his actions didn’t fail to shock you.

He gives a little speech to you, stuttering and glitching over his words as he tries to explain himself.

For being a perfectionist overlord, this was one hell of a show.

He’s a blushing glitching mess, cursing to himself when he couldn’t find the exact words he wanted to say.

You grab the sides of his screen, looking him in the eyes and forcing him to meet your gaze. You’re saying yes before he can embarrass himself anymore.

He looks a bit shocked by your response, he can’t believe you said yes after that display he just put on. Before he can get the ring on your finger, he blue screens from shock and embarrassment.

You kind of chuckle and sit down beside your partner while you wait for him to reboot. Not like you could go anywhere with the elevator being stuck with the two of you inside. You do gently take the piece of jewlry, sliding it onto your finger and admiring its design.

Cuddling into Vox’s arm, you can’t help but smile brightly at the decorative piece snug on your ring finger.

It was perfect.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #vox #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #vox x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader #alastor #the radio demon #lucifer morningstar #i swear I can write more characters #these are just my go too

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