lemoniceteee

[lemoniceteee]

thinking david corenswet is hot is the most embarrassing reputation ruining annoying thing I could have done tbh like ohhh my god really? tall big muscles dark hair and blue eyes kind man is hot? god fucking really. are you fucking stupid I hate myself. oh you think superman is hot? fucking superman? groundbreaking type shit going on here oh my god he’s tall should we tell everyone he’s tall and his jaw is nice wow she thinks the attractive man is attractive. you and everyone else. is pizza your favorite food too. fuck you. everyone look at her she thinks SUPERMAN is hot boundaries are really being pushed over here should we get her a medal because she thinks Mr Smile is easy on the eyes. “hear me out” and it’s a fucking marching band. should we call people magazine. vanilla. I DISGUST myself. summer blockbuster. I should be killed

[lemoniceteee]

inviolable

part I

Pairing: Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ben's your dad's best friend, his partner in crime, your godfather. You've harboured a secret crush on him for years, and maybe—just maybe—he's got some hidden feelings of his own that he's kept bottled up for too long.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben is his own goddamn warning, age gap, pining/mutual pining, forbidden romance, forbidden relationship, secret/hidden relationship, power imbalance, dubious morality, possessiveness, jealousy, smut (clitoral stimulation, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, dry humping, p in v, kissing, spitting), dirty talk, mild misogyny, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 7,741

A/N: I'm back. Christ, I'm on a proper mission with writing at the moment. Must be the insomnia. Thank god for it though, eh? Anyways... this is a little something that's been in my head for a long old time, it's based off a weird dream I had a couple months back (I was watching The Boys damn near constantly, like falling asleep with it on and everything, as well as reading a bunch of SB smut) and I just built on it, and it's kinda run away with me a lil bit. <3 Lot of the plot in this first instalment... plot is a term I use lightly. Because—what goddamn plot? Hope you guys like the little Sameo! (see what I did there? Cameo... but... Sam? No? Sorry.) So... this is part one. This one will definitely only have two parts... and knowing me, I'll have it finished by some time tomorrow night. So, yeah, while all the warnings listed above may not be evident here? They will be in the next part. S'gonna be a doozy. Until then? All the love.

Without further ado: INVIOLABLE

There are things in this world meant to remain untouched. Sacred things. Hallowed things. Bound by blood, by time, by unspoken law. To trespass against them is to court ruin—to lay hands upon the inviolable and feel the weight of the world shift beneath your feet.

Some doors are never meant to be opened. Some lines are never meant to be crossed. Some names are never meant to be spoken in the dark, breathless and trembling, as hands that should never touch find purchase in forbidden places.

But the thing about forbidden things? They don’t stay untouched forever.

You don’t remember when it started. Maybe it was always there, a quiet, undisturbed thing, like a seed buried deep beneath the soil, waiting for the right moment to break open.

Ben had been a constant for as long as you could remember. Your godfather. Your father’s best friend, his shadow, his second half in ways that made it impossible to imagine one without the other. There was no family barbecue, no holiday gathering, no Sunday spent in the backyard without him. He was always there, cigarette tucked behind his ear, beer in his hand, voice rough and low like gravel warmed by the summer sun.

And God, he had always been so handsome.

Even as a child, you’d thought so—before you even knew what handsome was supposed to mean. You just knew you liked looking at him, that your stomach flipped when he laughed, that you wanted him to notice you. And he always had.

Where your father had rolled his eyes at your endless energy, Ben had indulged you. When your dad had said no, Ben had smirked, crouched down, and let you climb onto his shoulders anyway, holding you steady as he walked around the yard like you belonged there, like he didn’t mind carrying your weight. He let you hang off his leg, dragging him down with your tiny hands locked around his knee, and he would walk anyway, his booted steps slow and exaggerated as he played along, dragging you through the grass while you shrieked with laughter.

And the gifts. The perfect gifts.

It had been your sixth birthday when he’d given you the lamb. A stupid little stuffed thing, soft and floppy-eared, but from the moment you’d unwrapped it, it had been yours. Clutched in your arms at bedtime, dragged through the house by one matted paw, tucked beneath your chin when you curled into your father’s lap.

"Lamby," you’d called it, with all the solemnity of a child bestowing a title upon something sacred. And it had stuck.

Your father’s friends had made it a joke—called you Lamby just to get a rise out of you, to tease you until you were red-faced and flustered. "Only Uncle Ben is allowed to call me that!" you would snap, every single time. And your father had only laughed, nudging Ben with a knowing grin, muttering something about his little admirer.

You hadn’t understood what that meant back then. You hadn’t known it was anything more than adoration.

But then puberty hit.

And the adoration didn’t go away. It just... shifted.

You told yourself it was still innocent. That it was normal to notice the way his arms looked in his rolled-up sleeves, the way he leaned against your father’s truck, the way his voice melted into you like whiskey and smoke. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything when you hated seeing other women near him. When he brought girlfriends to family parties, when they sat too close, when they ran their hands down his arm or pressed their lips to his cheek, it made your chest ache with something raw and unfamiliar.

He was yours.

Not in any way that made sense, but still. He was your Uncle Ben.

And then came the night after your eighteenth birthday.

You had been drunk. Slurring your words, tripping over the sidewalk, clutching your best friend’s arm as she tried—and failed—to keep you both upright. The thought of calling your father had been enough to send panic clawing up your throat, so you’d called the only other person you trusted.

He had picked up on the first ring.

And twenty minutes later, his truck had pulled up to the curb, headlights slashing through the dark, his expression set in something between relief and exasperation. He hadn’t lectured you. He hadn’t yelled. He had just sighed, tipped your chin up to look at him, and said, "This gonna become a regular thing, Lamby?"

And God, you had hated how warm that stupid nickname made you feel.

He had dropped your best friend off first, watching until she was safely inside, then pulled into your driveway and put the truck in park. He had glanced at you, eyes dark in the dim glow of the dashboard, fingers drumming against the wheel before he spoke.

"I can’t lie to your dad, you know."

"You won’t have to," you had promised, voice soft and a little too sincere.

And that had been enough for him. He had ruffled your hair, just like he always had, fingers threading through the strands before falling away. "Get inside, get some water, and go to sleep. No more stupid shit."

You had nodded, cheeks burning, throat tight. You had felt so young then, under the weight of his gaze. Too young. But you weren’t. And someday, he was going to realise that too.

Then came 4th of July weekend, the year you'd turned nineteen. 

The heat had been unbearable.

Thick and wet and heavy, clinging to your skin, making the air hum with something dense and slow-moving. The whole backyard had smelled like charcoal and cut grass, the acrid tinge of fireworks powder settling into the summer air as your dad and his friends—Ben included—set up the launch station.

You’d spent the whole day running back and forth between the house and the yard, fetching ice-cold beers, mixing up pitchers of iced tea and lemonade, your father muttering something about not letting his old ass friends drop dead from heatstroke. It should have been annoying, but you liked being useful, liked the way they all grumbled their appreciation, knocking back the drinks you handed them, sweat dripping from their temples.

And Ben? You’d liked it most when he reached for the glass.

The way his fingers had brushed yours, barely noticeable. The way he had tilted his head back, swallowing deep, Adam’s apple bobbing, before exhaling with a low groan. "Christ, Lamby. Think you saved my goddamn life."

You shouldn’t have felt it the way you did.

But you had.

And now, as the sun dipped low, casting everything in burning gold, you were perched on the picnic table, watching them finish the setup. Your legs bare, thighs sticky from the heat, the denim of your cutoffs riding too high—not that you were about to fix it. Your father was barking out orders, directing Ben and the others, but you could tell they were moving slower now, the heat catching up with them, exhaustion weighing down their steps.

Then Ben sighed, slapping his hands against his jeans. "Goin’ for a smoke," he muttered, and without much thought, he came to rest right beside you.

Not on the bench, but on the table itself. Perched, ankles crossed, the slight shift of the wood beneath his weight making you acutely aware of how close he was.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, that earthy scent of sweat and sun-baked skin mixed with the cigarette as he lit it, fingers cupping the flame from the breeze before shaking the lighter closed.

And then—he glanced at you.

Just for a second too long.

Just long enough for your heart to stutter, for something low in your stomach to twist itself into a tight, hot knot. He looked away too fast, like he caught himself before it could mean anything, and it made you feel a little sick with wanting.

So you grinned, cocked your head, and asked, "Can I try?"

His reaction was instantaneous. A sharp scoff, a low laugh, and then—"Fuckin’ behave yourself."

Your breath hitched.

You shouldn’t have felt it the way you did. But you did.

Something in his voice, in the rough scrape of it, made the air feel different. You weren’t sure if it was disapproval or something else, but either way—your face burned with the heat of it.

You tried to brush it off, tried to act like it didn’t matter, but as he took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the humid air, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he’d felt it too.

The fireworks had gone off like crackling constellations, splitting the night sky into pieces, blooming in colours that made your father’s face glow with the kind of pure, boyish joy that made your chest hurt. He had been beaming, beer sloshing in his hand as he threw an arm over one of his old friends, laughter bubbling from his chest.

The rest of them had been just as bad, slurring through old war stories, cheering every time another explosion thundered overhead.

You had slipped away at some point, away from the heat of bodies and the tang of sweat and liquor in the air. The mosquito lamp buzzed softly from the porch as you leaned against the railing, staring out into the yard, the scent of burning gunpowder still thick in the air.

Then—footsteps behind you.

Ben.

"Knew you’d be hiding somewhere," he muttered, already pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He perched on the railing, flicked his lighter open, and took a slow, deep drag. Then, without looking at you—without any warning at all—he pulled the cigarette from his lips and held it out.

"Just this once."

Your chest constricted.

For a second, you just stared at it—like maybe if you reached for it, you’d burn yourself on something else entirely. But he was watching now, eyes flicking sideways, and you didn’t want to look like a kid.

So you took it. Put it between your lips. Inhaled, tried not to cough.

Ben chuckled. "Look at you. Lil’ fuckin’ menace." Then—softer, lower, just for you: "Lamby."

That did something to you.

Something dangerous. Something hot and breathless and twisting, your whole body thrumming with something bright and stupid and electric.

Then, before you could even process it, he was holding out his beer. "C’mon. Might as well complete the set."

You took a sip, felt the cold bite of it trickle down your throat, the taste of smoke still lingering on your tongue. Ben watched, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before he tapped his nose with two fingers and winked.

"Don’t tell your dad."

And just like that—he stood, stretching, rolling his shoulders before heading back toward the others.

You sat there, reeling.

Preening.

Because it wasn’t much, was it? Just a cigarette, just a sip of beer, just a joke. Except it wasn’t. Because it had been just for you. Because you’d felt seen in a way that made something curl and bloom in your chest.

And later, when the house was quiet—when the night was settled, heavy, deep—you still weren’t asleep.

The guys had been too drunk to leave, sprawled across couches, filling up the guest rooms, your father snoring loud enough to shake the goddamn walls. But you were still awake, still buzzing, still aching with something you couldn’t name.

And then—footsteps. Soft. Slow. Passing by your room. You watched the shadow slip under your doorframe.

And then—pause.

Just for a second. Not long. Not even long enough to be real. But you felt it all the same. The moment passed. The shadow moved on. The footsteps faded.

And still—you sat there for the next hour, face buried in your pillow, biting back the giddy, breathless, shaking laughter in your chest. Because whether it had been him or not, it didn’t matter.

You wanted it to be.

And when your first date had come around, you had been so excited.

Not the kind of giddy, fluttery excitement that made you feel small—no, this was something deeper, something that made you feel light on your feet, steady in your chest. It had been a long time since someone had noticed you like that, since someone had looked at you and seen more than just the girl they grew up around, more than your father’s daughter.

And Sam had seen you.

A guy from a couple of towns over, nice enough, awkward but in a way that had made you laugh, spilling beer on you at the bowling alley before immediately scrambling for napkins, his face red as he apologised over and over. He had stayed with you the whole night, ditching his friends without hesitation, choosing instead to sit in a dimly lit booth while the two of you talked.

Not just talked—really talked.

Folklore. Mythology. The things that made your brain buzz, the subjects you had been considering studying in college, but never quite voiced aloud to anyone who might take it seriously.

But Sam had taken it seriously.

He had leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, asking real questions, pushing deeper, not just humouring you, but actually listening.

And when he had asked you out, when he had ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck, waiting for an answer—

You had squealed. You had said yes immediately, heart skipping, stomach twisting, exchanging numbers before parting ways, feeling like maybe—just maybe—you were stepping into something new.

So tonight, you had dressed for it.

Your prettiest sundress, soft and light, swaying when you moved. Sandals, simple but delicate. You had done your hair, your makeup, catching your reflection before heading downstairs, thinking—"I look… grown up. Pretty, even."

The thought had felt strange, thrilling, like shedding something old, stepping into something undiscovered.

And then—you walked into the living room.

Ben and your dad were lounging on the sofa, beer bottles in hand, eyes fixed on the baseball game you hadn’t even realised was on. The room smelled like cologne and sweat, hops and leather, the low murmur of the commentators filling the space.

You had barely glanced at them as you passed, already reaching for your bag, when you said, "Sam’s gonna be here soon to pick me up."

And that was when Ben spoke.

"Who the hell is Sam?"

His voice had been flat, clipped, like he was barely paying attention—but then your dad answered.

"Some guy who asked her on a date. Seems like a good kid. Bit of a square."

You had opened your mouth to protest, to defend Sam, to tell your dad that being a square wasn’t a bad thing, when you felt it—

Ben’s eyes on you.

A slow, sweeping once-over.

Your breath caught, the moment thickening, stretching, twisting into something you weren’t sure you were imagining.

Then he turned back to your dad, muttered, "She’s too young to be goin' on dates."

And your stomach dropped. Not because you were embarrassed—no, because of the way he’d said it.

The rough edge to it. The way his fingers tightened around his beer bottle, the way his jaw flexed, his shoulders tensing where he leaned into the couch. It wasn’t some offhand comment—it was something else.

Your dad had only laughed, smacking Ben’s arm, shaking his head. "She’s twenty now, man. C’mon."

Ben didn’t answer. Not at first. Just took a long sip of his beer, eyes flicking back toward the screen, but not really watching.

And that’s when your heart started pounding.

Because your father had been fine with it. He had laughed it off, joked about it, made peace with it weeks ago.

But Ben? Ben wasn’t fine.

Ben was annoyed.

And you didn’t want to play things up in your head, you didn’t, but he was coming across jealous.

And that—that made your chest feel too tight, too warm, something curling behind your ribs, something you shouldn’t want as badly as you did.

Because Ben had never looked at you like that before.

Sam had been sweet.

That was the only way to describe him. Sweet. Earnest. Polite in a way that most guys weren’t. He had kept his hands to himself all night, opened doors for you, paid for dinner even when you’d offered to split, and had spent most of the drive home talking excitedly about a new book he thought you might like, glancing over at you every so often like he couldn’t quite believe you were still sitting beside him.

And maybe that’s why you let him walk you to the door.

Because it had been nice. Because he had treated you like someone special, not just a pretty girl, but someone he actually wanted to know.

You had stood there on the porch, shifting slightly, fingers curling around the strap of your purse as he leaned in.

Not too fast. Not too forceful. Just slow, like he was making sure you had time to pull away if you wanted to. And maybe you would have let him kiss you. Maybe you would have closed the gap, felt something soft, something simple, something nice.

But you didn’t.

Because the second your lips almost met—

The door swung open.

And there stood Ben.

Big. Broad. Muscular as hell. Arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, eyes hard and cold and fixed—not on you, but on Sam.

"’Bout time you got home, Lamby."

Your stomach dropped. Not because of the nickname, but because of how he said it. Because it wasn’t warm. It wasn’t teasing.

It was territorial.

And Sam? He felt it too. You could tell by the way he shifted his weight, by the way he glanced at you, rubbing the back of his neck before stepping back, voice soft, awkward.

"I had a great time."

"Me too," you said, voice smaller than you meant it to be.

He hesitated, gave you a small smile, then turned, walking quickly toward his car, never once looking back.

You stood there, arms wrapping around yourself, watching the red glow of his taillights as he pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the road.

And then—you turned, crossed your arms tighter, and fixed Ben with a glare.

"What the hell was that?"

Ben didn’t answer right away.

He just… looked at you. Really looked. His eyes dragged over your bare legs, the hem of your dress, the soft slope of your throat, the lingering flushed heat of almost being kissed. His gaze swept slow, unhurried, deliberate, before finally settling on your face.

And his nostrils flared.

You shifted your weight to one leg, your jaw tightening, mirroring the way he stood, meeting him with a glare of your own.

And then—he scoffed.

"Get your ass inside," he muttered, stepping past you, brushing against your shoulder as he did, bigger than you, overwhelming in a way that made your stomach twist. "Before I tell your old man you were about to let some lanky fuckin’ two-pump chump feel you up on the doorstep like you’re easy or somethin’."

You bristled. Your whole body went rigid, something inside you snapping.

"If I didn’t know any better," you bit back, sharp, breathless, "I’d think you were jealous or something."

Not your wisest choice.

Because Ben went still. Not in a way that meant hesitation. Not in a way that meant denial. No—he stilled like a predator hearing its prey snap a twig.

Then—he moved.

Not fast. Not aggressive. Just deliberate. Slow. Unavoidable.

Stepping forward, backing you up against the frame of the doorway, dipping his head down just enough so his mouth was level with yours, so his voice coiled low and hot in the air between you.

"I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight," he murmured, so quiet, so rough, "but it sure as shit better not be that fuckin’ pussy’s fingers."

You gasped. Your body locked up, breath hitching, eyes going wide.

And Ben just smirked.

Like he liked that reaction. Like he had wanted it.

Then—he straightened. Stepped back like nothing had happened.

"Better get upstairs, get into your comfies," he muttered, voice gruff, unreadable. "Come watch the football with me ‘n your dad. Or I’ll take you over my fuckin’ knee for the backtalk."

Your breath shuddered. You nodded. Wordless. Weak. Then you turned, stepping inside, feeling the weight of his eyes on your back as you headed upstairs—

And you knew.

You knew that nothing about tonight had been normal. That something between you had shifted. Twisted. Changed.

You took your time.

Stripping out of your sundress, pulling on one of your dad’s old t-shirts—soft, worn, faded, the fabric thin from years of washes, hanging loose over your frame. Bare legs, bare feet against the cool wood floors as you splashed cold water over your face, washing away the night.

Washing away Ben’s words. Or at least, trying to.

But they sat heavy in your head. The way he had looked at you. The low scrape of his voice, the bite of it, the way your whole body had locked up at the filth that had dripped from his mouth.

"It sure as shit better not be that fuckin’ pussy’s fingers."

You shuddered, inhaled deep, let the cold burn of the water centre you before heading downstairs.

The game was still on when you walked back into the living room, your dad and Ben both where you had left them—sprawled out, half a beer deep, yelling at the screen like the players could actually hear them.

Ben saw you first.

His eyes flicked over you, quick, assessing, then—that nod. That slow, subtle nod to himself, like he was fucking appraising you. Like you were something to be measured, studied, cataloged.

You ignored the way it made your stomach twist.

Instead, your dad’s attention finally snapped toward you, and his brow furrowed.

"I been wonderin’ where the hell that shirt went," he muttered.

You just grinned, gave a smug little shrug, before nudging his leg with your bare foot, signaling for him to move over.

"Looks better on me, anyway."

Your dad snorted. "The hell it does." Then, before you could flop onto the couch, he smacked your foot away. "Grab a couple more beers before you park your ass."

You rolled your eyes, but did as you were told, gripping the hem of the t-shirt and curtseying, voice sickly sweet.

"Yes, sir."

Then you saluted him, just to really drive it home.

"Fuckin’ wiseass," he muttered.

Ben just chuckled, deep in his throat, like he was trying not to laugh.

You disappeared into the kitchen, grabbed three beers, popped the caps off, and pressed two of them against your chest as you sipped from the one in your free hand, the glass cold against your skin.

By the time you returned, the game had picked up speed, your dad too distracted to care when you plopped the bottles down on the coffee table and threw yourself onto the couch between them.

"Could have moved your lazy ass, y’know," you muttered.

Your dad just scoffed, didn’t look away from the screen.

But Ben?

Ben side-eyed you, slow and heavy, and when he spoke—you felt it.

"Keep up the cheek, Lamby, and I’ll take that beer off you."

Your fingers tightened around the bottle.

"Don’t know what the fuck you’re so cocky about," he muttered, tipping his own beer to his lips, voice just this side of gruff. "Stealin’ one of my beers like I gave you any kinda permission to."

Your stomach flipped. But you didn’t let it show. You just sighed, long-suffering, exaggerated as hell, before taking another slow, deliberate sip, the bubbles sharp against your tongue.

And then—you settled. Leaning back, letting yourself sink between them, wedged in the space you’d claimed a thousand times before.

Except this time, it was different. Because this time, you felt Ben. Felt the heat of him, so close, so solid, so unignorable. And it took everything in you not to shiver.

Because even if you were watching the game—

He was watching you.

The game rolled on, the low drone of the commentators mixing with the occasional grumble, scoff, or sharp curse from your dad or Ben. You sat nursing your beer, the bottle cold between your palms, the sharp bite of it against your tongue as you stared at the screen, more focused on the way the room shifted around you than on the game itself.

Your dad was getting tired. You could tell.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t—hiding yawns behind his bottle, stretching in that slow, lazy way that meant his body was giving up on the night before his mind was.

You, on the other hand, were stretching out more. Slow. Casual. Your bare feet crossed at the ankles, propped up on the coffee table, legs long and catching the glint of the TV, skin warm under the flickering glow.

And Ben noticed.

You felt it, even if he didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached for his cigarettes, shaking the pack once before holding it out toward your dad.

Your father just waved a lazy hand, shaking his head. "Not for me, but might as well light one up in here. Don’t drag your ass outside on my account."

Ben just nodded. Grunted. Then—he lit up, fingers steady, bringing the cigarette to his mouth, holding it between his lips as he inhaled, slow and deep.

The scent hit you instantly—smoke and something deeper, something heavy and masculine, something that made the air feel too thick.

Then your dad yawned—loud and unrestrained.

"Shit, I’m beat," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "You’ll gimme a ring tomorrow or somethin’, tell me how it ends?"

Ben just grunted again, smoke curling from his mouth as he nodded.

Your dad turned to you next. "Lock up after him when he heads out, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," you murmured, waving him off.

He just rolled his eyes before disappearing upstairs.

And then—it was just you and Ben.

You went to shift over, to slide into your father’s now-empty spot, but—

Ben clicked his tongue.

Your breath hitched.

Not because of the sound—but because he didn’t even look at you when he did it. Just sat there, lips still wrapped around his smoke, one arm swinging lazily over the back of the couch, his whole posture relaxed, commanding.

"Stay put."

So you did.

But the shift in weight, the pull of gravity, had you falling into his side—your shoulder brushing up against the heat of his broad chest, pressing up into the space right under his arm.

And that was when it hit you.

The smell of him.

The mix of soap, sweat, beer, and smoke, clinging to his skin, wrapping around you like a hand at the base of your neck. It made your head feel light, your skin too tight, your thighs press together just a little too much.

You took a sip of your beer, trying to steady yourself, trying to act normal.

And then—without really thinking, without really meaning to—you turned to him.

"Can I have a puff?"

He scoffed. Didn’t answer right away. But that was fine, because you were already reaching up, already plucking the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to your own before he could stop you.

And when you took a slow, deep drag, before reaching up and placing it right back between his lips—

The eye contact?

Was fucking unbearable.

The kind of slow, steady hold that made the air thick and stifling, the kind that felt like something physical pressing against your chest.

Your lips curled into a slow, shit-eating grin. And then—you exhaled. Blew the smoke right into his face.

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t react. Not at first.

Just let the smoke roll between you, let the weight of it settle as he stared right into you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark, unreadable.

And then—he smirked, slow and knowing, that cocky, heavy-lidded thing that made your breath hitch even though you refused to let it show.

"You’re fuckin’ trouble."

You just smiled, all sweetness and venom, voice syrupy smooth.

"Learned from the best."

His expression twitched—just a fraction. He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face, before finally pulling the cigarette from his lips. His fingers curled around it loosely, letting the smoke rise, twisting in slow tendrils toward the ceiling.

Then—his voice dropped.

"Nah."

His eyes dragged down over you, slow, tracking every inch. His gaze stopped at your thighs, where your dad’s old t-shirt had ridden up, baring just a little too much of your skin.

Then lower. Down your legs, down to your feet.

"I mean it," he murmured, voice gravel, something heavier lurking beneath it. "You are trouble."

Your mouth went a little dry. But you tilted your chin up anyway, feigning innocence.

"Oh yeah?"

He hummed, a slow, lazy sound, before shifting in his seat.

"Didn’t like the way you looked at me earlier."

That threw you. Your brow furrowed, beer bottle cooling between your palms.

"What?"

His jaw ticked. He flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, exhaling through his nose.

"After that little cocksucker left," he muttered, voice low, cutting, "you looked at me with a sharp little glare. Didn’t fuckin’ like it. Not one bit."

That made your lips twitch.

"Maybe that’s because you were acting like an overbearing ass."

The moment the words left your mouth—

His palm cracked against your bare thigh.

Not hard. Not painful. But sharp. Sudden. Enough to make you yelp. Your whole body jerked, legs snapping together, feet moving off the coffee table—

But before you could fully pull away—

Ben grabbed them. Big hands, rough hands, curling around your ankles as he shifted you in one easy movement, and the momentum sent you falling back against the arm of the couch, spine hitting the worn fabric, breath catching in your throat.

By the time you realised what had just happened—your feet were pinned in his lap. And he was staring at you. Sharp. Knowing. Unreadable.

Your stomach flipped. You squinted at him, eyes narrowing in accusation, your body already on edge, already tense. Because you knew. You knew exactly where this was going.

And Ben knew you knew.

His smirk shifted—turned into something smug as fucking sin. And then, he moved. His free hand dragged along the sole of your foot, fingers skimming, featherlight. A slow, deliberate touch.

Your whole body jolted.

"Ben—"

His fingers danced over your skin again, dragging across the arch of your foot—and you burst into laughter. Sharp, breathless, uncontrollable.

"Shove off, you big asshole—"

He only chuckled, voice gruff, satisfied.

"Better keep your fuckin’ voice down," he muttered, pinning your feet harder, his other hand relentless as he tickled along your soles, grinning as you squirmed. "Or your old man’s gonna come down and bust some heads."

You tried to snap your foot back, tried to twist away, but he was too strong, too big, too fucking relentless.

"Dad’s snoring like two bears having a fight up there—" you gasped between giggled curses, thrashing uselessly. "Not even a nuclear blast’d wake him right now—"

Ben let out a bark of laughter.

"Christ," he muttered, still grinning, his fingers raking over your skin again, making you kick and writhe. "You got a fuckin’ mouth on you."

You writhed in his grip, half-giggling, half-breathless, your muscles burning from the struggle as he pinned your feet down like it was nothing. Like you weighed nothing.

"Gonna fucking kill you," you gasped, still kicking uselessly, your ribs aching from the laughter that you hated, that you didn’t want to be enjoying as much as you were.

"Oh yeah?" Ben drawled, voice low, amused, unbothered as hell. "You ‘n what army, Lamby?"

Your frustration surged, and before you could think—before you could talk yourself out of it—

You got a leg free.

And with one smooth, defiant movement, you lifted your knee, stretched your leg out, and pressed your toes against his jaw, pushing his face away.

"This one," you muttered, breathless, still flushed from the tickling.

And for a second, everything stopped. Because Ben froze, his fingers locked around your ankle, catching it before you could pull away, holding it there.

And then—his gaze dragged down your leg. Slow. Deliberate. Lazy in the way that only meant he was taking his time.

You felt it.

Felt his touch, felt the way his fingers tightened, felt the way his eyes swept over your thigh, over your skin, the places where your dad’s old t-shirt had ridden up, the hem curled high from how you’d been squirming—

And then, he saw.

His stare landed on the place between your thighs, on the thin, soft fabric of your panties, barely visible from the angle you were sitting at.

And your entire body lit on fire. Your stomach plummeted, heat spreading up your spine, over your chest, over your face, until you felt like you were glowing under his gaze, burning under it.

And Ben sucked in a sharp breath.

One second. Two.

Then, suddenly, violently, he shoved your leg back down, his fingers gripping too tight for a beat too long before letting go.

He sat up straighter, bracing his elbows on his knees, reaching for his beer like it was the only thing in the room that made sense.

The bottle tipped against his lips. He took a long pull, his throat working, his jaw tight, his whole body stiff.

You just stared at him. Stared at the way his shoulders rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched against the glass, the way he muttered something too low to catch, barely audible under his breath.

And you wanted.

You wanted so fucking bad—

To crawl into his lap, to trace the sharp edge of his jaw, to tangle your fingers in his hair, pull, make him look at you the way you needed him to.

Because he looked so fucking good like this. Like a mountain of a man, big and broad and sturdy, something you wanted to climb, sink onto, plant your flag in.

Your fingers tightened around your own beer bottle.

You tipped it back, taking a long drink, letting the liquid burn its way down, grounding yourself, steadying yourself.

Then—without a word—you shifted, leaning forward to set the bottle on the table, before settling back into your new spot.

Your feet still in his lap.

Ben didn’t react. Didn’t flinch at the contact, didn’t shove you off. He just watched the game. And after a moment, his hand—big, warm, heavy—started rubbing absentmindedly over the arch of your foot.

The game had all but faded into background noise.

The occasional roar of the commentators, the distant sounds of the crowd—none of it mattered. Not when his hands were on you. Not when he had been absently kneading his thumbs into the arch of your foot for the last ten minutes, rolling slow circles into your skin, his grip firm, practiced, easy.

You could feel the rough heat of his callouses, the way they pressed just right, the way his fingers flexed, working the tension out of your muscles like it was second nature.

And he wasn’t even thinking about it.

That was the best part.

Ben was just sitting there, cigarette balanced between his lips, rubbing slow, absentminded strokes over your skin while he watched the game, like he hadn’t once stopped to consider how fucked this was.

So you smirked.

"Let me bum one."

His fingers paused. Then—a glare. Sharp, lazy, warning.

"Cut it with the fuckin’ lip."

But you weren’t done. You tilted your head, batting your lashes, voice turning syrupy-sweet.

"Oh, come on, Uncle Ben..."

That made his jaw clench.

"Let me bum one," you pressed, pouting, teasing, just to see how far you could push. "You know you wanna."

And then, just to twist the knife—

"Corrupt me a little bit."

That did it.

Ben sucked in a sharp breath, something dark flickering through his eyes, his whole shoulders locking up—

And then his cigarette fell. Right into his lap.

"Shit—!"

He jerked upright, cussing, ash scattering over his jeans, pushing your feet off his thighs, slapping at the embers, brushing at the fabric as he snatched up the cigarette and stubbed it out fast in the ashtray.

You should have felt bad. You didn’t. Because you saw it. The shape of him. The press of something thick and stiff against his thigh. And suddenly—your whole body went hot. Because you weren’t imagining it. He was affected.

You were getting to him.

Your stomach coiled tight with satisfaction, your pulse thudding at the base of your throat, and you barely even thought before you moved.

You sat up slow, shifting forward, reaching for the cigarette in the ashtray, fingers just about to brush it when—

Ben’s hand shot out. Grabbed your wrist. His grip was strong. Firm. Tight enough to hold you in place, but not tight enough to hurt.

And when you turned to look at him, his face was dark. His eyes were on fire.

"Fuckin' quit it," he muttered, voice rough, almost wrecked, something like threat and warning and desperate restraint all tangled together.

And then, just low enough that it sent heat licking down your spine—

"Or I’ll tan your fuckin’ ass and send you up to your bed snifflin’ and sobbin’ like you fuckin’ deserve."

Your breath hitched. The air between you thickened.

His fingers burned into your wrist, his body coiled tight, his chest rising and falling just a little too hard, a little too sharp.

And you? You should have backed down. You should have apologised, pulled away, let the moment die.

But instead—

You just tilted your head, blinked up at him with wide, mock-innocent eyes, voice so quiet it could have almost been sweet.

"Promise?"

Ben went still. Not stiff. Not tense. Just—still. Like a predator right before it pounced.

And you felt it—the moment he cracked. The moment you broke him.

Ben didn’t say anything. Not at first. He just sat back, spine sinking into the couch, exhaling slow and deep through his nose, his fingers still wrapped tight around your wrist.

Then—he shifted. His body sprawled wider, his legs spreading, one arm draping across the back of the sofa, his whole presence turning into something vast and unavoidable, taking up space like he was daring you to crawl into it.

And he patted his lap.

"C’mere."

Your breath stuttered. You should have hesitated. You should have played coy, drawn it out, but you didn’t. You scrambled. Too fast. Too eager. Hands bracing against his shoulders, knees pressing to the outside of his thighs, you climbed into his lap, straddling him, settling into the space he had made for you.

And fuck—he was warm. Solid. Unshakable beneath you. His hands landed on your bare thighs, big and hot, fingers spreading, gripping you just enough to make you feel held.

And then—his eyes lifted to yours.

"You," he murmured, voice low, steady, edged with something raw, "are workin’ my last fuckin’ nerve."

You grinned. Syrupy-sweet, saccharine, the kind of smile that could make a saint burn alive.

"I’m happy to work something else, if you want."

The slap came fast. Sharp. Sudden. His palm cracked against your thigh, just enough to make you jolt, your breath hitching, your fingers tightening where they had settled against his chest.

"Where the hell’s this fuckin’ attitude come from?" He muttered, jaw tight, eyes dark, heavy.

You shrugged, playing at innocence, eyes lidded, mouth curling.

"Dunno." Another shrug, slow, deliberate. "Probably frustration."

That made him squint. Accusing. Waiting. Expecting.

So you tilted your head, batting your lashes, voice dropping into something honey-thick and dangerous.

"I mean…" A pause. A breath. A glance down at his lips before dragging your eyes back up to his. "You ever thought about how hard it’s been for me?"

He didn’t blink.

"Enlighten me."

You leaned in just a fraction, your fingers smoothing over his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, the warmth of his skin even through his shirt.

"How I’ve had to spend the last few years," you murmured, voice soft, feigning confession, "watching you walk around with your tight shirts, and your big arms, and that beautiful fucking hair and beard that could give a saint bad thoughts."

Ben huffed. Lips parting, breath sharp, eyes dragging over your face like he was looking for something. Then—his fingers squeezed, pressing into your thighs, holding you just a little tighter.

"One to fuckin’ talk," he muttered.

Your stomach flipped.

"Oh yeah?"

Ben scoffed. And then—he let it out.

"Had to put up with you swayin’ around in those little cut-offs—"

His hands slid higher, fingers flexing just beneath the hem of your dad’s t-shirt, thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

"—watchin’ your ass eat ‘em up every time you walked away from me—"

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"—legs on fuckin’ show, flutterin’ those big eyes at me like you’re fixin’ to get fuckin’ stuffed."

Your whole body flushed with heat. You sucked in a breath, sharp, uneven, lips parting before your tongue darted out, wetting them.

And then—you mock-gasped. Eyes wide, voice soft, laced with something insidious.

"You’re my godfather," you whispered, tilting your head, watching him twitch at the words. "You’re having impure thoughts about me?"

Ben exhaled hard. His grip tightened—just for a second, just long enough to send a pulse between your thighs. Then he groaned. Long. Frustrated. Dropped his head back against the sofa, dragging a rough hand down his face, looking up at the ceiling like he was praying for salvation that wasn’t coming.

And then—his voice. Low. Wrecked. Raw.

"Christ on a cross."

A breath. A sigh.

"Don’t fuckin’ remind me. Your old man’d fuckin' kill me."

Ben’s voice was low, rough, edged with something like guilt—but not enough of it to stop him. His fingers flexed against your thighs, thumbs brushing higher, the pads of them teasing dangerously close to where you wanted him most.

"If he knew the kinda shit I’ve been thinkin’ about you since you turned eighteen—"

Your stomach flipped. Your breath caught, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your whole body going hot at the admission.

Since you turned eighteen. Since you’d beenlegal. Since the world had decided you were fair fucking game.

You gasped, mock-shocked, but real heat licking through your veins.

"What kinda stuff?"

Ben stilled. For a second, he just looked at you, his green eyes burning, pinning you in place. And then, low, quiet, wrecked—

"Stuff that makes me feel like a fuckin’ pervert."

Your stomach dropped. Your whole body tightened, throbbed, ached. And then you laughed. Low. Sweet. Dangerous.

"I’ll show you mine if you show me yours."

Ben grunted, his grip tightening on your thighs, squeezing, pressing.

You tilted your head, grinning down at him, teasing, watching the way his jaw flexed, the way his fingers itched to grab you harder.

"I’ve been thinking about you when I touch myself."

He groaned. His head tipped back, his whole chest rising and falling too fast, too sharp.

Your hands slid up his chest, nails scraping lightly over fabric, feeling the way his body locked up beneath you.

"I think about how your hands would feel between my legs," you whispered.

Another grunt. A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching, his grip bruising, branding.

Your breath shuddered, your body buzzing, your mind spinning with the filth of it all. But you weren’t done.

"I wonder if you’d let me sit on your face."

His whole body went rigid.

"Wonder if I’d feel that nice, clean beard between my thighs—"

Ben rutted up into you.

A sharp, unconscious thrust, his cock pressing up through denim and cotton, so fucking solid that you felt it pulse against you.

You gasped. Your fingers dug into his chest, your whole body throbbing.

But then—his head snapped back up. His eyes met yours again. Dark. Hungry. And then his lips curled.

"You wanna talk about confessions?"

You swallowed, hard.

"Few months back."

His hands slid lower.

"Stole a pair of your panties outta the bathroom."

Your heart stopped. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat, pulse hammering between your ribs.

"Pretty little pink ones," he murmured, low, knowing, like he was fucking testing you. "Little bows on the sides."

You gasped.

"I’ve been looking for those—!"

His smirk deepened. Then—he rolled his hips into you again. The pressure made you whimper, made your head drop forward, your forehead nearly brushing against his.

"You ain’t gettin’ ‘em back."

Your stomach coiled, tight and hot and pulsing.

"Been using ‘em."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, knuckles going white.

"At first, just sniffin’."

Your whole body burned.

"Then the scent went."

Your nails dug into him.

"So I started usin’ ‘em to jerk off."

A sound escaped you, something breathless, wrecked.

His smirk turned downright wicked.

"Not a trace of your scent left in ‘em now, Lamby."

He ground up into you harder, your panties soaked, pressed against the thick ridge of him through his jeans.

"They’re mine now."

You whimpered. Writhed. Because fuck. He was just as wrecked for you as you were for him. And now—neither of you could take it back.

You shouldn’t have said it. You knew it was cruel, knew it was the final fucking push, knew it was only going to break him more—

But you said it anyway.

"If I’d known that sooner," you purred, voice silky, sinful, designed to ruin him, "I would’ve left more out for you."

Ben groaned. Deep, guttural, wrecked, his fingers clamping tight around your thighs as he dragged you along his cock. Slow. Deliberate. Heavy. The ridge of him pressed up against your cunt through your soaked panties, denim rough, thick, a perfect contrast to the slick heat between your thighs.

"You’re a fuckin’ menace," he muttered, gritting his teeth, his hips shifting up just enough to make you gasp. "Been temptin’ me too much."

You gasped. Let your nails scratch over his chest, let your mouth part into a mock-pout, breathless, needy.

"That’s not fair."

Ben huffed, blinking hard, like he was trying not to look at your lips.

"What’s not fair?" he muttered, voice gruff, strained, thick with restraint.

"Knowing I’ve been batting my lashes at you—" you breathed, voice sickly sweet, ruined, eager, "and you’ve been stringing me along."

His fingers twitched.

"Not giving in."

His thighs tensed under yours.

"Not giving me what I deserve."

The slap came sharp. Not as hard as before, but closer. Higher. Right at the crease of your thigh, just barely missing where you wanted it most.

Your whole body jolted. Your breath hitched. Your nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to him.

And then—his voice.

"If I gave you what you deserved," he muttered, voice low, deep, dangerous, a fucking promise, "you wouldn’t be walkin’ right for a week."

A slow, agonising pause.

"And your dad’d know it was me."

Your stomach dropped. A full-body shiver ran down your spine, curling at the base, settling between your thighs. Your fingers twisted in his shirt. Your mouth parted, a small, helpless sound escaping before you could stop it.

And Ben?

Ben felt it. He heard it. And it made him fucking crazy.

"You scared my date off earlier," you gasped, voice small, teasing, ruined. "You owe me now."

Ben’s jaw clenched.

"Should at least make up for it," you whispered, barely any breath behind it, "by letting me touch your cock."

He cursed. Low. Filthy. His fingers dug into your thighs, a full-body shudder raking down his spine, his chest rising and falling like he was barely holding himself together.

Then—his eyes snapped to yours. Dark. Sharp. Unforgiving.

"You sure?"

The words came gritted, strained, wrecked.

You nodded. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t second guess. Just nodded. And that was it. That was the final straw.

Ben moved fast.

His hand shot up your thigh, rough and unhesitating, fingers hooking under your panties, yanking them to the side—

And then he was inside you. Two thick fingers, stretching you, filling you, sinking to the knuckle in one sharp, devastating push.

You gasped, body arching, your forehead nearly bumping into his.

Ben groaned. His other hand snapped up, tangled into your hair, gripping the back of your neck, pulling you down, down, down—

And then—

He kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Ruining. His mouth slotted over yours like it belonged there, like he had been starving for it, like he couldn’t fucking breathe without it.

His fingers plunged deep, curling, pressing up against the spot that made you quake, made you whimper right into his mouth.

"Keep your fuckin’ voice down," he muttered against your lips, licking into you, filthy, hot, deep.

You moaned, soft, helpless, rocking into his fingers, clenching down on them, your breath shuddering, uneven, wrecked.

"That’s it," he breathed, groaning, his teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging, biting.

His hand tightened at the back of your neck, holding you in place, keeping you locked against him.

"You’re a soaked little thing, huh?"

You whimpered.

He dragged his fingers deeper.

"All this for me?"

Another groan, another thrust of his fingers, sharper this time, rougher, working you open.

"Fuckin’ hell," he rasped, swallowing your moans, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, groaning as he sucked, wet and hot and desperate.

His tongue slid past your lips, licked into you, a full-bodied claim, filthy, unrelenting.

And you—

You couldn’t think.

You could only cling to him, whimper into his mouth, lose yourself in the feeling of his fingers inside you, wrecking you, coaxing you closer to something you’d never felt before.

@mostlymarvelgirl <3

[lemoniceteee]

MIGHT I ADD ‼️‼️‼️‼️

I hate when people write my whiney pathetic men as doms

[lemoniceteee]

I’m so sorry but Eddie Munson is so “home in three days. Don’t wash”

That son of a bitch wants to lick your armpits and your underboob after a long day. That man steals your dirty underwear and fucks you on your period–heavy days specifically (cus it helps your cramps but also he loves how sensitive and responsive you are).

He loves the shirts you wear to sleep for two weeks straight and throw on the floor or on the ‘clothes pile’ on your desk chair cus it smells exactly like you, no perfume or deodorant, just pure you, sleepy and sweaty. He probably makes you wear his shirts to sleep and wear them for weeks just so the smell sticks.

He also strikes me as the kind of guy who prefers you wearing comfortable underwear— cotton panties and a sports bra will get him GOING. Bonus if the panties are used and abused, i’m talking period and discharge bleach stains, he eats it UP (kinda literally, he’d fuck his fist with them in his mouth).

Dude loves seeing you all sweaty, hair stuck to your forehead and temples, clothes sticking uncomfortably, cus he will go in to kiss your cheek and instead drag his wet tongue agonisingly slow up your jaw, straight to your temple with a massive shit-eating grin on his face.

[lemoniceteee]

i have no shame and i will go on public record to say the omegaverse is so fucking hot. i would pay ridiculous amounts of money to experience the ecstasy that being knotted in when you’re in heat probably provides.

[lemoniceteee]

Dry humping on his stupid fat bulge would fix me probably

[lemoniceteee]

dead of the night — bucky barnes

bucky calls you, his loyal assistant, in the middle of the night, asking for your help. he’s got four assassins with him and they need a place to hide. you’re too in love with him to say no. SPOILER WARNING!! plot spoilers for thunderbolts

note: disclaimer guys I totally made some stuff up to make the scenario make sense lol hope u can forgive me

thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader, fluff, kissing, one bed trope kinda, 4k words

You wake to the shrill sound of your phone ringing. At first you think it’s your morning alarm, and wonder why it feels like you’ve only been asleep a few hours. It takes blinking yourself awake to realise it’s still dark out, the street outside your apartment dead quiet. Your phone continues to ring, piercing through the quiet of the night, the screen lit up and flooding the corner of your room in white. You groan. Who on earth is calling you in the middle of the night? 

You sit up dizzily and grab for your phone. You stare blankly at the bright white screen, blinking hard until your eyes adjust and you can see the name that pops up. 

Bucky Barnes. 

You blink at your phone. Your boss? Well, he’s not really your boss, but you are his assistant, and you’re not really sure whether you’re friends or something else entirely, so he might as well be. 

You hit the answer button. 

“Bucky?” You’ve long passed the stage of calling him Congressman Barnes. Besides, any ounce of professionalism left between the two of you has probably now turned to dust, given the ungodly hour of his call.

“Hey.” He sounds tired, his voice strained. “Hey, I’m so sorry, doll, I know it’s late.” 

No kidding. You ignore the fact that he’s called you doll, ‘cos if you think about it too long you’ll be here all night. ”What’s the matter?” You ask. “It’s one in the morning, Bucky.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent. I need your help.” 

His words make you sit up straighter. Bucky’s been, for lack of better words, distracted lately. On edge, like he’s been waiting for something to happen. He’s been continuously disappearing at important events, and he keeps taking mysterious calls in hushed tones. You hope this has got nothing to do with the call he got from Valentina’s assistant (Mel, you think her name is) last night. He only told you about it because he’d wanted you to cover for him today while he “took care of something,” in his own, ominous words. He’s been MIA all day and you haven’t heard from him until now.

Somehow, you think this has got everything to do with the call from Mel. 

“Are you okay?” You ask on instinct.

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off. “We, uh.. we just need somewhere to hole up for the night.” 

Your brain ticks. “Hold on, we?” 

You can almost hear him wince on the other end of the line. As if on cue, you pick up some muffled voices in the background. A man’s rough voice followed by a woman’s smoother one — and is that a Russian accent? What has he gotten himself into? 

“There's, uh, five of us,” Bucky says, like that makes it any better. 

There’s a long beat of silence. You sit in the dark, still half foggy with sleep, waiting for your brain to catch up with what he’s telling you. He … wants to bring strangers to your place? To what, hide? From who? You’re dumbfounded.

“I— what?” Is all you can manage. 

There’s another short silence, and then Bucky must realise how ridiculous he sounds, because he starts to backtrack. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “I shouldn’t have called, I’ll just—“ 

“No, wait,” you interrupt before you can stop yourself. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you find yourself wanting to help. You trust him, and know he’d never do anything to hurt you. Whoever these people are who’re with him must really need your help. And who else can he call, anyway? “It’s alright, I can help. Come over, okay? How far away are you?” 

Twenty minutes, as it turns out. You spend the time making your apartment and yourself look somewhat presentable, less for your visitors’ sake than your own, and because it’s Bucky.

Bucky, who’s been to your apartment three times now. Once when he got you flowers for your birthday. Another time when you’d mixed up your laptops, and accidentally come home from the office with his instead of yours in your work bag. (He’d come round to pick it up and you’d cleaned the whole place, even though he only stood in the doorway for five minutes.) And the most recent time, when you’d gotten too drunk at the bar after work, and Bucky had walked you home, deposited you in your bed, and locked the door behind him. You don’t remember most of it, but you do remember feeling so so in love with him it made you feel sick. Or maybe that was the whiskey. You doubt it. 

You’re tossing the trash from your takeout dinner in the bin, and trying not to think about how you felt that night, when there’s a knock on the door. Your phone dings on the counter, a text from Bucky. 

It’s me. 

You laugh to yourself. He can be so accidentally ominous sometimes. You cross the living room to the door and open it. 

Five people stand behind it, all in varying states of disarray. Bucky’s at the front, probably the least beat up looking, though his jacket seems to be torn in some places. Two women (girls? They don’t look very much older than you), one with a blunt blonde bob, and one brunette with pretty eyes, both looking a bit worse for wear. One very tall, older man in a red getup that makes him look like Santa Claus - it’s absurd, but somehow you feel even more absurd in your plaid pajama pants. And bringing up the rear is… John Walker? 

“Um, hi?” You say to the group at large. When Bucky said we, you didn’t expect John Walker, of all people, to show up. You try not to stare. “What can I do for you?” 

The blonde girl opens her mouth, looking amused, but Bucky beats her to it. “Funny,” he says bluntly. Then, softer, “Can we come in?” 

You share a look. Bucky has a very intense default gaze, but it seems to soften whenever he looks at you. And right now, he’s looking at you like I’m tired, I need help, just let us in please and I’ll explain. 

You step back with little objection. Something about the way he seems to say trust me with just one look — it gets you every time. If he was a serial killer, you’d surely be dead by now. 

“Alright,” you say. “Wipe your shoes, please.” 

Everyone files into your living room. It’s not a huge space but it’s enough. Walker closes the door behind them. No one sits down. 

“Who is this, again?” The brunette girl asks Bucky, breaking the silence. You assume she means you. 

“We work together. She’s my assistant,” Bucky explains, throwing you an apologetic, somewhat strained, look. “Y/N.” 

“Hello,” you say awkwardly. 

They all just stare at you. You know what they’re thinking. Why on earth would Bucky, former winter soldier, avenger, and now congressman, bring them to his assistant’s place in the middle of the night as if it was a safe house? You’re asking yourself the exact same thing. 

“Y/N, this is Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John.” Bucky names them off, pointing them out to you as he does. “They— I mean, we just need a place to stay until morning.”

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just go to yours?” Walker pipes up, addressing Bucky. You hate to agree, but you were just about to ask the same question. 

“Valentina’s watching my place,” Bucky explains. “She knows by now that I’ve got you guys with me, she’ll have her people on us in no time if we go to mine.” 

This only confuses you further. Valentina is … watching his house? This is not what you signed up for when you applied for a job as an assistant — it seems both you and Bucky are in over your heads. Though maybe you should’ve expected it, Bucky being a former Avenger and all.

The others seem to understand Bucky’s explanation far better than you do, and they all look to you expectantly. 

You look at the group of strangers, then at Bucky, then back at the strangers. They’re all standing there rather awkwardly. At their best, they’d probably be the toughest looking group you’ve ever seen, but right now they look dead beat, covered in bruises, dark bags under their eyes, and you suddenly feel very sorry for them.

“I— yeah, okay,” you say. They’re already in your living room, already know where you live, what’s it matter now? “You can stay for the night. Make yourselves at home, guys. There’s water in the fridge and the bathroom is down the hall to the left.” 

The brunette — Ava, Bucky called her — gives you a tight smile. “Thanks,” she says, and collapses on your sofa. 

The others follow suit, though Walker stays standing with his arms crossed. 

Pleasantries over, you grab Bucky’s arm and tug him down the hallway. He follows willingly, though you don’t give him much choice. You end up in your bedroom, where you corner him. 

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You whisper harshly.  “Who are those people? Why would Valentina be watching your place? And why is John Walker here?” 

You’re so busy bombarding him with questions that you don’t notice the way he’s holding his arm, not until you’ve finished speaking. Your eyes drop to his forearm. The fabric of his jacket has been slashed open, and there’s blood all over the sleeve. 

“Oh,” you say stupidly, then even more so, “Bucky, you’re bleeding.” 

Bucky grimaces. “I know, doll.” 

You grab his arm, forgoing politeness, and hold it up to your face. 

“It’s looks bad,” you say, forgetting you’re not supposed to care about him as much as you do.

You look up and find your face inches from his, his arm clutched between you. You suddenly feel very hot.

“Let’s, um,” you flounder for a few seconds, flustered not only by everything that’s happened in the last half hour but also his closeness, and the look on his face. “I have a first aid kit in the bathroom, I think. Come on.” 

You guide him out of your room and across the hallway into the bathroom. You forget to ask why he’s bought a hoard of what look like trained assassins into your home, and force him to sit on the lip of the bathtub, pushing him down by the shoulders. He scrapes hair out of his face with his metal arm and looks up at you where you’re rummaging through the cupboard above the sink. 

“Y/N, I’m—“ 

“Don’t say you’re fine,” you interrupt. He shuts his mouth and you go on, “Are any of your friends hurt?” 

Bucky pulls a face. “They’re not really my friends,” he says. “And no, none of them are hurt, they’re just tired.” 

You nod, accepting his answer for the meanwhile, even though it only opens up about a million more questions. A moment later you finally find what you’re looking for, a red and white first aid kit tucked away at the back of the cupboard, collecting dust.

You move to stand in front of Bucky, opening up the kit and setting it on the toilet lid. 

“Show me?” You stick your hand out for his wounded arm and he gives it to you with no objection. 

You hold his wrist and carefully push his sleeve up over the wound, revealing a harsh cut across the length of his forearm. On closer inspection, it’s not horribly deep, the blood only makes it look that way. 

Still, you frown. “How did you manage this?” You ask him. 

Bucky looks for a second like he’s reliving whatever happened to cause such an injury. He searches for the words, then, “I sort of flipped a truck?” he says. “Long story.” 

Flipped a truck? Whose truck? You raise your eyebrows at him but ultimately decide it's fruitless to keep asking questions, at least until he decides to explain what’s going on. 

“Right… I’m gonna clean it, okay?” You drop his arm to pull out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, unscrewing the lid and dabbing the liquid onto a cotton pad. “It might hurt.” 

Bucky looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m tough, doll.” 

You clean his wound as best you can. You only sort of know what you’re doing, a half remembered first aid course you took in college sitting at the back of your mind, but Bucky doesn’t protest. Actually, he doesn’t make a sound at all, just watches you with those dark eyes. It makes you nervous, like he’s looking right through you and reading all your inner thoughts. The worst part is, he’s always looking at you like this, like he can read your mind, to the point where you’re pretty sure he knows all your secrets. Like how you’re desperately in love with him and have no idea what to do about it. 

You continue your work, quiet. The silence is heavy, a sort of unspoken feeling floating between the two of you like a white hot star. You want to reach out and grab it, see if Bucky will follow, but you keep your mouth shut. 

You’re unraveling a roll of bandage to wrap his arm when you finally speak. “So, are you gonna tell me why you brought a bunch of assassins into my home In the dead of the night?” You laugh at your own joke, but the look on Bucky’s face stops you short. “They’re… they’re not assassins, are they?” 

Bucky purses his lips. “Well, you’re not very far off…” 

He launches into an explanation, finally. First, of what Valentina’s really been up to. Project Sentry — putting a gold ribbon and a promise of a better life on a special super serum, and testing it on the most vulnerable subjects she could find. Then, how she rushed to eliminate all proof of the project, including the four people in your living room (who turn out to actually be trained assassins, though Bucky promises none of them will hurt you), and Bob, one of the test subjects. 

Then he tells you about how he tracked Mel’s phone to a site in the middle of nowhere, where he found Yelena, Ava, John and Alexei in a “predicament,” and “saved their asses,” as he puts it. He spares you the details, but it's how he sliced his arm open, and why they’re now retreating to yours to regain their strength before going after Bob. Bob, who’s vulnerable but much stronger than he probably knows, and who Valentina now has in her clutches. 

By the time he’s done explaining, you’ve realised how much bigger this is than just you and Bucky. For days this has all been happening without your knowledge and Bucky has been dealing with it all. You’re not annoyed, you get why he didn’t tell you. Still, you wish he’d asked for your help earlier. 

“So, you’re going after Bob?” You ask, carefully tucking in the end of the bandage. You spent half of his explanation just staring at him, hardly believing what he was saying, and the other half wrapping his arm, trying to believe what he was saying, no matter how ludicrous it sounded. 

Bucky nods. “I guess so. He could be dangerous in Valentina’s hands, you know?” 

You nod back. “Yeah, I get it. Won’t it be dangerous, though? Going after him? 

You say it before you’ve thought about it. You realise right after that it makes you sound like you care far too much about the man sitting in front of you, who’s really just the guy you file documents for. You don’t owe him anything. 

Bucky smiles. “Don’t worry, doll. We’ve got four assassins on our side, five if you count me.” 

You frown. “You’re not an assassin.” 

You don’t care what he’s done in the past, you can’t see him as anything else but lovely. He’s brave, kind, and so thoughtful it aches. 

Still, Bucky shrugs. “Used to be.” 

You pack up the first aid kit and put it away. Bucky watches you, his gaze like a burning fire on the back of your head. When you’re done cleaning up, he stands up and crosses the room, meeting you by the sink. 

“Thank you,” he says, earnest though his voice is rough from exhaustion. “You make a good nurse.” 

For some odd reason, butterflies erupt in your gut at his words. You look up at him. He’s very close now, only a step or two away from being chest to chest. You manage a grin. 

“That’s me,” you say, faux casual. “Best nurse and assistant you’ve ever had, huh?” 

You might be imagining it, but you’re pretty sure Bucky’s eyes flicker to your lips. He’s distracted as he murmurs, “Uh huh.” 

A beat of silence, and then Bucky takes a step closer. Your chest burns. He raises his vibranium arm, and you watch as his silver fingers close around your forearm. You can’t feel it through your sweater, but you can imagine how smooth the metal would feel on your skin. 

“Bucky,” you whisper. 

“Mm,” he hums back. He’s definitely looking at your lips now, and moving closer by the second. “What, doll?” 

You blink rapidly. He’s so close now you can smell him, sweat and dust but underneath that something heady, a bergamot cologne you’ve smelled on him before. 

“I— what are you doing?” You whisper, starting to panic. 

Bucky looks at you, this intense look of yearning in his eyes, like he’s being pulled towards you and can’t stop, and you almost melt into the bathroom tiles. 

“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, so quiet it’d be impossible to hear him if he weren’t this close. “Can I?” 

You sort of guessed as much, but to hear the words coming from his mouth is something else entirely. You find yourself nodding. You don't know why. Well, actually, you know exactly why. You like him a lot, and you’ve imagined this moment a million times over in your head, though in your imaginations he certainly wasn’t bleeding out in your tiny bathroom.

“Okay,” you manage, heartbeat turning frantic. 

You see a flash of his smile before he’s pulling you gently forwards by the wrist and then kissing you. It’s chaste, gentle, but you can almost feel him holding back, his grip on your wrist tightening as he moves closer still, almost like he can’t help himself. The pressure of his kissing pushes you backwards a half inch — your back hits the edge of the sink and you don't care, you really don’t, because Bucky is kissing you and his thumb is rubbing a rough circle into your inner forearm, and his lips are so warm they leave yours buzzing.

Too soon, Bucky pulls away. 

You blink at him. He’s still agonisingly close to your face, and still looking at you like he wants to eat you. Your heart’s a riot, worse when he reaches up with his freshly bandaged arm and tucks a rogue piece of hair behind your ear. 

His hand lingers at your jaw. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused and rough, but he touches you like you’re made of starlight. “Is it okay that I did that?” 

You nod. “Yes,” you manage. Even to your own ears, you sound breathless as anything, but you’re so dizzy that there’s no space to be embarrassed about it. “I— yeah.” 

Bucky smiles, but it’s not smug. If anything, it’s achingly fond. “I’m sorry I called. I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I just … didn’t have anyone else I could call.” 

You shake your head. You won’t say it, but right now you’re infinitely glad he called. Even in the dead of the night. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky strokes your jaw with his thumb, slow and intentional. “No one will hurt you while I’m here, okay? And we’ll be out of here before you even wake up, I promise.” 

You nod around his hand. It’s hard to digest anything he’s saying while he’s touching you like this, and looking at you like that. You think you get the gist, though. 

“Okay,” you say. You desperately want to kiss him again, but you’re much too shy to ask. Before you can work up the guts, he’s moving away. 

“I think you should get back to bed,” he tugs his phone from his jacket pocket and checks the time. “It’s past two.” 

“Right,” you nod, not wanting to, but you’re too dizzy and too tired to protest. 

You and Bucky leave the bathroom together. You follow him still half in a daze, not understanding how he can be so nonchalant when you literally feel lightheaded as a direct result of the kiss. You suppose he’s just better at hiding it, or maybe you’re just very sick in love. 

You and Bucky step into the living room to find probably the most absurd scene to ever grace your living space. Yelena and Ava, both knocked out on the couch, Ava’s head on Yelena’s shoulder, drool falling from the blonde’s open mouth. Alexei sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, snoring like a bear. And Walker sitting at your kitchen table, bent in half with his forehead resting on his crossed arms, fast asleep.

Both you and Bucky seem to realise at the exact same time that there’s nowhere other than a much too small chunk of floor for him to sleep. You turn to each other. 

“Do you want to—?” You start. 

“I can sleep in the—“ he says at the same time. 

You both pause. 

“Sleep in the what?” You ask him, incredulous. 

Bucky grimaces. “The car?” He at least has the decency to look guilty as he says it. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re absurd. Come on, you can sleep in my room.” 

It’s ridiculous, you know, but the words leave your mouth before you think about it. The truth is, you’re both dead tired and you’ve got no other option. Besides, you don't see how this night could get any more ludicrous. What’s it matter if Bucky sleeps in your room? He’s just kissed you, hasn’t he? 

You start to pull him towards your bedroom, but he stays put. 

“Y/N—“ 

“You said you wouldn’t let any of them hurt me,” you say firmly. “How’re you gonna do that from the car?” 

Bucky opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. 

“I… don't know,” he mumbles lamely. Then, at your I told you so look, “Are you sure?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s too gentlemanly for his own good. “Yes, I’m sure. Come on.” 

You pull him towards your bedroom, much too tired now to be flustered about it. In the dark of your room, Bucky insists on sleeping on the floor. You let him, because he’s stubborn, and because you think if he were to sleep in your bed, no matter the distance you know he’d put between you, you’d be much too consumed with nervous energy to even shut your eyes, let alone sleep. 

It’s half past two when you finally crawl back into bed, Bucky lying on a stack of pillows on the floor at the foot of your bed. Though you can't see him, you feel his presence like a weight over your chest. 

You settle down on your pillows, already feeling the tug of sleep behind your eyes. Before you can fully succumb, Bucky speaks up. 

“Y/N?” He sounds just as tired as you, but you can't ignore the way he says your name like it's something special. 

“Yeah?” You hum back. 

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. You suppose he’s thanking you for everything from housing a bunch of strangers, to letting him kiss you. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

A pause in which you think about how to respond. Then, 

“With a pay raise?” You joke weakly. 

Bucky sighs loudly, but the smile in his voice is evident when he murmurs back, “Whatever you want, doll.” 

You grin to yourself. Now that’s something you can fall asleep to. 

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[lemoniceteee]

18+, MDNI cw: free use kink, light somnophilia

Been thinking about being free use with Eddie.

He suggests it during a long talk you got into kind of on accident—one of those meandering sorts of conversations that start out innocently enough and suddenly get all heavy out of nowhere.

Except Eddie doesn’t act like it’s that heavy at all; he just listens while you ramble off your thoughts trying to re-organize them. Smiles patiently and rubs his thumb in slow circles on your wrist.

All kind brown eyes and understanding words.

You tell him how hard it is sometimes for you to get turned on. Not because of him, never because of him, but because you get all tangled up in your head. Worrying if you’re doing this right, or doing that wrong; if you’re trying too hard, or thinking too much—which of course you always are.

All you wanted was to be in the moment with him, to let your brain switch off and just…fuck.

But you weren’t built like that. You had never been able to quiet those relentless thoughts of are you sure and but what if and how do you know?

It was…exhausting. It made you freeze, tense and uncertain. Ramming into an invisible wall.

“What if I took over?” he asks, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “What if I made the decisions, and all you had to do was take it?”

You just stare at him. Because that sounds great and you kind of can’t believe it’s even an option.

“Does that…I mean, is that…”

You shook your head, looking down at your wrist he’s still holding gently between you. He gives it a squeeze and brings his hand to your chin, tipping your face up to make you look him in the eye.

“I want to,” he says firmly. Decidedly. “I just need to know if you do.”

It sends a thrill down your spine, tickling all of the right spots in your brain as you nod eagerly.

You still go over some of the nitty gritty details. Stuff he picked up doing his own research, things he’s heard about from other people. It’s really not all that complicated when you get down to it:

Whenever he wants to fuck you…he will.

You won’t have to wonder if he wants to. Or if you want to. You won’t have to worry or make any of the decisions. All you’ll have to do is be.

You kind of figured it would be a lot of blow jobs. And honestly, you weren’t all that against it. They made you feel useful, in a roundabout way.

What you didn’t expect was to feel like a fucking feast he couldn’t wait to get his hands (or mouth) on. To feel like all he wanted every minute of the day was to have you over…and over…and over…

You could be standing at the sink, brushing your teeth in an oversized shirt with toothpaste foam in the corner of your mouth—not trying in the slightest to be sexy or enticing at all.

And yet you would feel him press up behind you, hard as a rock. He’d slip his hands underneath your shirt and palm your breasts eagerly, sucking tender spots into your neck.

Tugging your flowy shorts to the side to find you wet and waiting. You didn’t even realize how wet you were until he sheathed his cock inside you, rutting into your heat like an animal while you clutched the edges of the counter.

He took possession of you—no, not possession.

Ownership.

You were his. All his, to do with as he pleased, no matter what. He could take of you as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted. He could use you up, leave you in a spasming and mewling heap on the bed as tangled up as the sheets he’d fucked loose from the comers of the mattress.

If he woke up in the middle of the night and rolled over to see you’d kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed, exposing your thighs and your ass that’s hanging out of your sleep shorts…

He didn’t have to hold off, or wake you. He could slip two—no, three—fingers into your waiting heat that’s all nice and relaxed and ready for him. Back arching even in sleep, pushing your hips back to meet the deep, steady pumps of his fingers.

Slowly rousing to find him plastered to your side, panting and whining in his ear while he grinds the heel of his hand against your clit. You cum with a gasp and full body shudders, your thighs trying to snap closed to hold the pressure of his hand against your cunt as you ride it out.

It feels like it’s something far better than a dream, but much too good to be real.

[lemoniceteee]

Two heartbeats

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader Word Count: 4.9k

Description: You agree to help Reed test his new baby scanner for Sue, so he can collect some baseline data from a non–pregnant woman. But when the screen lights up with a tiny heartbeat, you realize you’ve got some crazy news to break to Johnny.

Tags/warnings: established relationship, mildly soft Reed, Johnny hovering, accidentally finding a pregnancy, panicking over it, comfort, Johnny finding out, fluff, funny and domestic moments <3

Note: all I can say is writing this was so entertaining and heartwarming, there’s just something about the idea of Johnny being a dad😭. Hope you enjoy! 🫶🏼

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The bright lab was mostly quiet, except for the soft humming sound coming from the machine next to you. You sat perched on the edge of a white, medical style platform that looked more intimidating than it probably was. Reed sat on a stool to your left, completely focused on adjusting the controls of his latest invention, a fancy scanner meant for prenatal imaging. You were there as his control subject, since he needed to "create a baseline from a non gestational female", his words. Sue's scan was scheduled for later, if everything worked as expected.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"Alright. The scanner is all set, I'm ready when you are," Reed announced, turning around halfway on his stool to look at you through his thick frame glasses. "Are you comfortable there?"

"I am, actually," you smiled, leaning until your back rested on the leather surface. Which was surprisingly soft, and slowly heating up under your skin. "It's ... warm."

A smile almost ghosted his mouth, but he turned back to the sphered monitor before it could fully form. “Sue tends to get cold in here. I believe adding this feature will make her more inclined to agree to my scans.”

You only gave him a knowing smile. Reed was… Reed, after all.

He wasn’t always able to express care with words, his sentences were more likely to contain statistics or hyper logical reasoning about even the tiniest of details no one noticed or cared about, but his actions spoke louder than words. It was all about the little accommodations, the quiet fixes, the way he noticed discomforts around the building before anyone voiced them. This time was no exception, he didn't think twice about adding a heating feature to the scanner’s seat when his wife had complained about the lab feeling like a freezer last time.

"I bet it's not warmer than me, though," a voice chimed in next to you, and you couldn't help but chuckle.

Ah, yes … Johnny.

Your ever loving boyfriend, who couldn’t stand being more than ten minutes away from you and insisted on being present for this “fake scan” so he could practice holding your hand for future real ones.

Because in his mind, you were in his future that way, not a single doubt about that.

The baby making. Especially, the baby making. The big surprise. The bun in the oven. The endless scans for ultrasound pictures he’d stick to the glass windows of your shared bedroom. The restless nights outweighed by the giggles from a little him ... a little you.

Not today, but maybe one day.

Definitely one day.

And in that hothead of his, he thought what better preparation than watching his brother in law micromanage Sue’s pregnancy through you? At least he could have a little fun with it.

So, naturally, Johnny invited himself to the session. Dragging an extra stool to the lab, sliding on your right side, elbows braced on the platform. His hand found yours as soon as you set your body down.

"You know I can warm you up anytime you want, babe," Johnny shrugged innocently, but his tone was playful as always.

You turned to him amused, a smile already on his face as he leaned definitely way too close to your face, and quickly stole a peck from your lips, earning a soft laugh from you.

Reed sighed next to you, wishing he'd asked you to try the machine in the early hours of the morning before Johnny even woke up. It was his fault after all, he should've known better than bringing it up in front on him. Now he'd have to make it work while you got distracted by ... your distraction.

You instantly noticed his demeanor shift, and gently slipped your hand from Johnny's grasp to lay it flat on the bed, blowing a kiss to him when he opened his mouth to complain. He instantly grinned in triumph, pretending to catch it and placed it over his heart. At least that would keep his hands to himself for a moment.

"All ready now, Reed," you said, offering him an apologetic smile, and he nodded.

"Okay, we're ready to begin. Please just stay still," Reed said, his eyes on the display as he pressed buttons, "and try to avoid any unnecessary movement, both of you," he turned slightly, looking over his glasses to glare at your hovering boyfriend.

Which was, unfortunately, a straight dare for Johnny to lean closer against the platform beside you, the corner of his mouth curving into a grin.

"You hear that babe? No unnecessary movement. Don't breathe, not even a little," he said in the most serious tone he could use. "... except if you wanna, you know, lean on me a little," he winked, then nudged your shoulder with his. “I wouldn’t mind.”

You tried not to smile this time when he wiggled his eyebrows, for the sake of the test and the remaining of Reed's sanity, which only made him grin wider.

"Johnny," Reed scolded without looking up, "I need her still, and I need quiet so I can concentrate."

"Hey, I'm just here to supervise," Johnny protested. "Make sure you're not poking her with anything weird."

If there was something Johnny loved almost as much as you and space, it was rage baiting his brother in law. And the worst part was, that no matter how incredibly intelligent Reed was, it seemed to work every single time.

"I'm not poking her with anything,” Reed snapped, sighing afterward. "Can you at least step back a little so I can–"

"Nuh-uh, not a chance in the world," Johnny interrupted. "I'm here for emotional support, you know, a dad being present –Ow. Babe!" you elbowed him lightly in the ribs, which made him gasp.

"First of all, you're not a father. This is purely for data gathering purposes," Reed objected without missing a beat, "and you're only here because you followed her in.”

"Yeah yeah, semantics, whatever," Johnny shrugged, raising a hand to dismiss him and turned to you. "Hey, you hungry, princess? I could get you something."

"I'm fine, Johnny," you shook your head, smiling at the gesture, then raising your hand to press a finger on his lips. "Now, shh."

You caught Reed rubbing the bridge of his nose, muttering something about how he should have asked literally any other woman in the planet who didn't have Johnny Storm joint at their hip.

"The sequence is starting now. I just need five minutes," he sighed for the fourth time in five minutes, and then pressed a few more buttons, his posture stiffening. "Please Johnny, just five, no more talking."

"Alright, alright. I can be quiet for five minutes," he raised his hands in surrender, finally leaning back.

It lasted five whole seconds.

"So," he began, leaning toward you again. "Tell me about the first time you saw me."

You sighed at the question Johnny liked to ask way at least once a week. You were happy to answer it every time, just not in front of his brother in law. So you put a hand on his chest to push him back a little, before Reed's patience snapped completely.

"Johnny, angel, you know what? Actually I am hungry," you said, playing with the fabric of his shirt. "I am craving some oranges."

"Oranges?" Johnny's whole demeanor shifted, still grinning, but now with that eagerness to please you sparkling in his eyes.

"Yes, fresh ones," you nodded, slightly biting your lip. "Pretty please?"

“You got it, fresh ones from the market," he grabbed your hand from his chest and placed a kiss on it, making you chuckle once again.

Why was he so annoyingly sweet?

Satisfied with your reaction, he got up from his stool, the little seat's wheels rolling back as he made his way to the elevator's doors. Not without turning around halfway, looking at you while pointing at Reed.

"Don't let him poke you with needles or draw blood from you. I will sue," then he winked at you, backing to the elevator. "Give me five minutes, ten tops."

And after some finger guns, the elevator doors slid closed, and he was gone. Leaving a very relieved Reed alone with his scan and you trying very hard not to laugh at the way he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath under water this whole time.

"Thank you," he said genuinely, turning back to his controls. You just hummed in acknowledgment.

You held your breath as the machine made a louder hum, a halo of pale blue light swept over you from head to toe.

"You can breathe normally," Reed said, noticing your stillness. "Just don't move anything else, please."

You let your gaze wander over the colorful room while the scanner did the work. There were gadgets on every counter, Sue's latest ultrasound printed and stuck on the corner of Reed's giant blackboard, a mug that said 'Fantastic dad' that Johnny told Ben to buy Reed as a joke but he wholeheartedly gave it to the man. You smiled at the memory. The thought of a baby being there in a just a months was amazing and terrifying at the same time.

And now that Johnny wasn't hovering anymore, and Reed's focus was solely on the screen in front of him, the quiet of the room allowed you to think about what Johnny said earlier.

'A dad being present'

There was a time where you thought something like that was impossible due to his altered DNA, but Sue and Reed had shown you the possibility was still there.

And the more you thought about it, the more it made you want to build that with Johnny. It wasn't a crazy idea, not at all, but it was something you'd projected into the far future.

Definitely one day.

"Huh," Reed's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his eyebrows furrowed as he leaned closer to the screen.

"Something wrong with the machine?" you asked, trying to not make a big fuss about it, it was a new equipment after all.

He didn't answer immediately. Just tapped his keyboard twice, then leaned even closer, eyes squinting and his whole expression sharpening. The scanner made another low pass over your midsection.

"Hmm," there it was, another weird monosyllable.

"That's a suspicious 'hmm'," you said, sitting up a bit straighter.

"Not suspicious at all," Reed said quickly. "Just interesting ... please lean back down, it's not done."

His fingers moved over the console again, adjusting settings. The scanner passed over you once more, slower this time, and you noticed a small, unconscious shift in his posture. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, blinked at the display, then adjusted the image like maybe the machine had made a mistake.

Again.

"Okay, you're being really weird now. Even for you, Reed" you half joked, hoping that would ease the sudden nerves invading your body.

"I just... wasn't expecting to see–" he paused, hesitating, glancing toward the door as if Johnny might burst in at any second.

"See what?" you pressed, fully panicking now.

The machine beeped softly with results for the third time, like it was confirming whatever he'd already noticed the first. Then Reed suddenly stood up from his stool and faltered slightly in his posture, folding his arms.

"There are certain... biological markers. In fact, they're very specific markers. I'd like to run the scan one more time to confirm."

"No. No more scans," you fully sat up now, suddenly understanding Sue's dread of those. "Just tell me, is there something wrong with me?"

Your tone actually made him jerk his head in your direction, shaking his head profusely.

"No," his voice was quiet but certain. Not comforting either, though. "No, absolutely not."

"Then what is it?"

Reed hesitated, eyes fixing back on the screen. "It's... actually the opposite," he said slowly. His voice wasn't that detached this time, it was still Reed, still cautious, but there was something... warmer underneath.

"Something right, then?"

"Quiet for a moment," he mumbled, pressing the console again. "I want to be sure."

So you stayed still, your heartbeat ringing a little faster in your ears. The scanner made one last pass over your body, beeping one last time with the same results apparently, because Reed stepped back, took a long breath, and blinked a few times like he was pulling himself back into the room with you.

He wasn't exactly expecting to be the first to find out about... that. Now how on earth was he supposed to break news like that? None of his infinite doctorates qualified him to do so.

Reed stalled for a few more seconds, before reaching to the sphere monitor and rotating it in your direction.

"Look at that," he said, pointing to the screen, his voice slightly softer than usual.

On the screen, a small flicker pulsed steadily in the center of a grainy blue and white colored image. You stared at it for a few seconds.

Was that? … No. No it couldn't be.

"...My heartbeat?" you chuckled weakly, because the alternative your head had suggested was just not possible.

Not right now. Definitely not right now.

Reed arched a brow, his gaze instantly softening. He knew how this part felt. The first moments of denial. The surreality of it. So he approached it as gentle as his capabilities allowed him to.

None of his education had prepared him for something like this, but you were family, even more so now, so he tried his best to use his heart this time instead of his brain. As absurd as that sounded to someone like him.

"It is a heartbeat, and technically, it's yours too. Or, well, more like a part of you."

You stared at it again. That flicker. The steady, insistent beat. You knew what it meant, of course you did, but the words got stuck in your throat and refused to come out.

"Look," Reed took off his glasses, pointing with the frames higher up in the torso scan. "Your heartbeat is here," and then pointed back lower, "and this one is smaller ... much smaller."

Reed studied your face as you kept quiet, something warm blooming in his chest despite his usually clinical nature.

Two 'fantastic babies' this year. Huh. He hadn't seen that coming. Couldn't have predicted it with equations in a million years.

"Okay," you said finally, too casually.

"Just okay?" Reed almost chuckled this time. "You do understand what I'm showing you, correct?"

"Yeah. I... yeah," you nodded slowly, letting out a deep breath. "I'm ..."

But you didn't say it. Couldn't. Because saying it out loud would make it real. And right now, you weren't ready for real. Not without Johnny by your side.

Right. Johnny.

Who wasn't there to hold your hand through it.

Oh my God. How were you gonna tell him?

He was, after all, your emotional support. But who was gonna be his when you were panicking? Oh my god. What if he panics too? Would he be ready? Would you be ready?

All of a sudden, that 'one day' wasn't so far away anymore.

You didn't even notice your breathing had gone shallow until Reed's voice caught your attention.

"Breathe," he said, not commanding, more like a reminder.

"I am breathing," you looked up at him, chest going up and down rapidly.

"Not enough," he replied. Then, in a move that was so unlike him, he reached for your hand. His palms were warm, not as warm as the ones you were used to, but it helped somehow. His hands pressing yours just enough to let you know he wasn't letting go unless you wanted him to.

"Follow me," he said. He took a slow inhale, visibly lifting his chest, and let it out in a slow exhale. "Again."

You tried your best. Inhale. Exhale. It died in your throat halfway out a few times. But he waited, patient as ever, until you tried again. And again. Until the fifth breath felt a little less jagged.

"It's normal to be scared," he said, when your breathing slowed down. "When Sue told me she was pregnant, I–I almost passed out. And that was after two years of planning for it."

Instantly realizing what he confessed, he cleared his throat, before looking at you more serious for a moment.

"Don't tell Johnny," he asked.

A shaky laugh escaped you, and it loosened something in your chest. You shook your head in reassurance. He nodded grateful.

"I know this is... a big pill to swallow. Terrifying, even. But it doesn't have to be faced alone."

Your eyes got glassy before you could stop them.

"We're all a family," Reed continued, repeating what was always said by the others, not much by him, if ever. "Which means your child will never have to go without place to feel like home, or without love. Not with all of us around."

A tear did fall from on your cheek this time, and you let go of his grip to wipe it before Johnny came back.

Oh, Johnny.

Just thinking about him being a father, a dad who is present, his blonde disheveled hair at midnight as he warms baby bottles with his own hands, a tiny bundle sleeping on his chest enjoying the impossible warmth irradiating from his skin. Him playing peek a boo with the funniest faces he can think of.

And for the first time since you saw that flicker on the screen, you believed, if only for a second, that maybe this wouldn't be the end of the world.

"I'm pregnant," you finally said it, the foreign words leaving your lips in a whisper.

Reed's eyes softened, the smallest smile forming in his mouth.

"You're pregnant," he echoed, just as quietly, like repeating it would help you both absorb the reality. He straightened a little, half turning to his machine. "I'd still like to make some more formal scans–"

"Reed."

"I know, I know. Sorry," he apologized, letting out a dry chuckle while shrugging, "but it's ... protocol."

"I'm telling you, Herbert, those oranges were not fresh. That guy was totally lying ... Yeah right? I know. Unbelievable."

Your head snapped at the sound of HERBIE's robotic beeps and Johnny's muffled voice echoing behind the elevator doors, as it arrived to the lab's floor.

"–and so I had to use my charm on the girl next to him, one smile and she went straight to get me the good ones ... I know Herbert, I know, but you have to do what you have to do."

The doors slid open in a ding, revealing a very excited Johnny walking in, toying with an orange from one hand to another as HERBIE trailed behind him holding something you couldn't see from your seat.

"Ah, there you are." Johnny smiled as soon as his eyes landed on you, "now, what did I miss?"

You looked at Reed for a brief second, at the verge of panicking again, but he mouthed a 'just breathe', gesturing with his hand a swift inhale. So you did that, as Johnny crossed the lab until he got to the stool he was previously sat in, with the little droid following him like a lost puppy.

"Got 'em! Did you miss me, babe?" he asked, plopping into his seat.

"I always do," you mumbled, absentmindedly reaching to the orange he was holding, to try to distract yourself with something. "Thank you, Johnny–"

Before you could reach, he yanked back his hand with a laugh. "Don't be silly, this one is for me. Here–"

He turned halfway to HERBIE behind him, and grabbed with his free hand something from the droid's hands, petting his metal head before turning back to offer it to you.

You lowered your eyes at the plate he was holding to you. Probably two oranges, sliced, and placed nicely around the dish. The citrus scent hit you and half scratched that itch you've been having about oranges lately, which ... made a lot of sense now.

"These are for you, bite sized. I'm gonna tell you now, got the best ones in the city," he leaned down to kiss your forehead, and added with a cocky grin, "go on, tell me I'm amazing."

He was. God, he was.

But it wasn’t the oranges what hit you the most, it was the way Johnny went about it. How you wouldn't need to feel scared, or not ready, when he was willing to take on even the smallest of requests with intention, just to put a smile on your face.

So you couldn't hold it together any longer, and lunged forward to wrap your arms around his neck, the plate of oranges falling from his hand to your lap, small slices scattering across the platform. You buried your head in his neck, not being able to hold the tears anymore. Johnny instinctively wrapped his arms around your body, a hand still holding his orange for dear life as he stared confused at Reed.

“Woah– what happened baby?” he asked softly, bringing his hand to stroke your hair as you cried into his chest. “What did you do, Richards?” His tone got weirdly serious now, even for Johnny.

“Me? N-nothing!” Reed blurted offended, which only made Johnny glare at him.

“Did Reed lecture you about moving during the scan? I told you, babe, you don’t have to listen to him when I’m not here.”

Reed’s mouth opened to protest, but chose to keep quiet. He glanced at you, still clinging to Johnny for dear life. He took a deep breath. He knew what this was like, so he just let Johnny continue until you chose to tell him.

“She was okay when I left, and now she’s crying in my arms –hey hey, it’s okay baby– so what could have possibly happened while I was gone?”

His tone to Reed was serious, but when he looked down at you it got incredibly softer. You sniffed a few times, pulling apart from him to wipe your eyes and give him a teary smile.

“I’m fine, Johnny, really,” you reassured, sniffing again, “It’s just … I don’t–“ you looked at Reed, nodding at him so he could help you a little.

Reed took off his glasses, and folded his hands behind his back in that way that meant ‘I’m about to say something big and I’m choosing my words carefully’. You just kept your gaze on Johnny.

“The scan revealed some … unexpected results.”

Well, so much for choosing your words carefully.

“Unexpected like… bad unexpected, or ‘hey, you have an extra kidney’ unexpected?” Johnny asked, squinting.

“Having an extra kidney would be bad unexpected too, Johnny,”

“We can always get it out and sell it,” he shrugged, rolling his eyes playfully to make you laugh, and when you inevitably did, relief washed over his face for a second.

Okay, it couldn’t be that bad if he was able to make you laugh after that breakdown. His heart could calm down a little now.

“Well, actually… neither,” Reed said.

His gaze shifted between the two of you before settling on the monitor that was still tilted in your direction. Johnny glanced at the screen, still expecting to see that third kidney. Instead, he tilted his head and his eyebrows pulled together.

“Huh,” he exhaled.

Funny, his first reaction was identical to Reed’s.

You watched him stare at the screen, and you could almost see the gears turning under all that blonde hair. Because Johnny Storm was a lot of things, loud, playful, endlessly distracting, but he was also sharp. And he wasn’t missing what was right in front of him.

Two heartbeats.

“Is uh– Is that what I think…?” his eyes flicked to you, you were already smiling, still glassy eyed holding the lump in your throat. “Oh my god.”

His mouth fell open a little, eyes darting between Reed, you and the small flicker on the screen for a few times, before it hit him all at once. He finally let go of the orange in his hand, the fruit hitting the floor in a few thuds.

Johnny’s face lit up like sunlight getting through grey clouds. Even HERBIE beeped in awe.

“OH MY GOD!!”

The grin that broke over his face made your heart flutter. He cupped your face in his warm hands before you could even wipe your eyes.

“Babe. Babe,” he chanted enthusiastically, his forehead pressed to yours, voice dropping to a breathless laugh. “We’re having a baby. Oh my god! We’re having a baby! … Herbert I’m gonna be a father!”

You let out a laugh that was half sob, half immense happiness, nodding against him.

He crashed his lips to yours, salty tears mixing in your lips as he kissed you softly, lips slightly pulling back from how wide you both were smiling.

In front of you, Reed stood with his arms crossed, the loveliest smile tugging at his mouth. For once, he didn’t interrupt, didn’t feel like adding facts or disclaimers. He simply turned back to the console and gave you both the moment.

That was, until Johnny pulled apart from you, realizing how you had just lit his whole world on fire and he was more than willing to stand in the middle of all of it.

“Okay,” Johnny said, still holding your face, “this is fine. This is more than fine. This is … this is amazing.”

“Johnny, I think we should–” you began, but he was already in motion, pacing next to you.

“First of all, we need to stock on food, for all the weird pregnancy cravings you’re gonna have. You want pickles dipped in ice cream? boom, Johnny delivers,” he gestured dramatically with his hands in the air.

Reed sighed, rubbing his temple while mumbling something about Johnny speaking in third person.

“Johnny–“

“And the baby’s room. We’ll paint it… okay, we don’t know boy or girl yet, but that’s fine, we’ll go with something neutral. Like… fire yellow … no, wait, that’s too on the nose. Sky blue? Maybe it could be space themed! … babe they can go to space with us one day, maybe Reed can make a baby space suit–“

“I am not sending your baby, or any baby for that matter, to space, Johnny,” Reed interrupted flatly, wishing you could go back to hugging and not this unprompted rambling.

“Johnny, angel, maybe we should–“

“Oh, and the clothes, babe the clothes! Little tiny onesies with flames on them. Reed, you have to make them in fireproof clothing, how else is it gonna be safe for me to hold them?”

“Johnny!” you leaned forward to put your hands on his chest and gently dragged him towards you. “Can we maybe process this before we start designing the nursery?”

He stopped mid ramble, eyes fixing on yours. And for the first time since Reed dropped the news, he hesitated. “You’re… okay with this? I mean, I’m over the moon, obviously, but… are you?”

You exhaled, reaching to fix a strand of his hair. “Johnny there’s nothing I want more in this life, than to have a family with you,” you reassured, meaning every single word, “but we didn’t even know about this ten minutes ago.”

Johnny’s smile softened. He grabbed your hand and lifted it to his lips, holding a kiss there for a moment.

“Okay. We’ll do this together, slowly, as a family,” he gave your hand a gentle kiss, and this time you were the one who jumped at his lips.

This time it was a bit rougher, clinging to him with fists clenched on his shirt, like putting all the overwhelming weight of it all into the kiss. Reed, who was still there, cleared his throat before you started making another baby right there and then. On his new scanner. That he built for his wife but now it would work for you too.

“You should both take some more proper tests to confirm everything is okay with your baby, before making more plans.”

“Yeah, yeah, Reed,” Johnny dismissed, already wrapping an arm around your waist to help you come down the platform, and guide you toward the door, but he halted midway. “Wait both? why me? I swear to god Richards, if you poke me–“

“No one is going to poke any of you here, Jonathan. Ever. I already told you, and it sure as hell won’t be me if it’s ever required,” Reed rolled his eyes, already relieved to see you both make your way to the elevator so he could work in peace.

He could only be happy for so long, before his mind inevitably went to overthink about how on earth you were all going to survive two super babies at the same time.

“Alright, we’ll do all that science stuff later. Right now…” He glanced down at you, his lovely grin back in full force. “I’m getting my girl an orange since she couldn’t have hers ... and maybe also ice cream. Just in case that pickle phase hits early.”

Even behind all the joking and amusement in his face, the glint in his eyes quietly told you he was looking at the most important thing in the whole universe. Those two heartbeats.

But no, it wasn’t just two heartbeats after all.

Because with Johnny by your side, it was three.

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

feedback is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading 🫶🏼

[lemoniceteee]

[lemoniceteee]

That man literally said “You know thats very silly!” In the middle of a fight with his girlfriend.

LET THE MAN SAY ‘GOLLY’ AND ‘GOSH’ WHEN HE FUCKS

Clark Kent would never curse. Stop putting that in the fanfictions

[lemoniceteee]

a place for you

pairing: dark!bucky barnes x female reader summary: his baby sister’s friend needs a way out of her homelife, and bucky is more than happy to assist her warnings and contents: 18+ ONLY, DUBCON, 70s au, intercrural sex, fingering, just the tip, creampie, bucky tampering with contraceptives, light dom/sub, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, sir kink, slight innocence kink, possessiveness, exhibitionism, decade-typical misogyny, best friend’s older brother trope, pet names, childhood nickname (chipmunk), reader’s parents suck as usual, thunderbolts cameos bc i can, implied criminal activity, idk he’s just a slimeball^-^ word count: ~8,800 author’s note: if i don’t write sleazy 70s bucky once a year i will die

! PLEASE READ AND HEED THE WARNINGS !

18+ only - do not repost - minors and ai dni - thank u

     it was barely ten o’clock on a saturday when familiar, delighted squeals made their way to her bedroom, squeezing through the cracks of her door to rouse her from her sleep. she was groggy and confused, sitting up in bed slightly to try and focus harder on the voices. her mother, clearly, but there was another that was tugging at the corners of her mind, just out of reach of her placing it. until something finally clicked, and she was hastily making her way to the bathroom to get herself presentable.

     “there she is!”

     “mrs. b!” she beamed, falling into the open arms in front of her, earning a playful grunt from mrs. barnes. “how long are you visiting?”

     from over her shoulder, her mother called out, “she moved back!”

     at the incredulous raise of her brows, winnifred laughed, guiding them both to the dining table where coffee was being set out. “well, with james gone, i figured it best to come back. be closer to jimmy and the girls and everything. i’m no spring chicken anymore.”

     “no, i’m afraid neither of us are,” her mother laughed.

     “wait,” she started, sitting beside their guest. “did margaret move back? i thought she was still overseas.”

     finishing her sip of coffee, winnifred shook her head. “no, she’s set to come home, too. running out of funds, i believe.” the two mothers shared a hum. “but what’s been new with you, chickadee? you’re all grown up now, i’m sure your daddy’s been having to beat the neighborhood boys off you with a stick.”

     “hardly,” she scoffed.

     “she’s leaving me, winnie,” her mother sighed, playing up her sorrowful pout.

     winnifred looked between the two. “what? since when?”

     groaning, she looked to her mother in annoyance before looking back at mrs. barnes. “i’m not- i’m moving out... well, i hope to, anyway. soon. just gotta get a job and save up first.”

     “would you listen to this?” her mother wailed, getting winnifred to laugh around her mug. “when we were her age, leaving the house before marriage was unheard of!”

     “times are changing, ma.”

     “don’t remind me.”

     enjoying the sight of the two of them bickering, winnifred decided to offer her own two cents. “you should stop by jimmy’s record place! i’m sure he could find a spot for you.”

     “and you’re encouraging her. i need a drink.”

     ignoring her mother, she focused in more on mrs. barnes. “really? i don’t know... it’s been a while since we last saw each other.”

     smiling knowingly, winnifred hummed, “he’ll remember you. i’m sure of it.”

     an address was scrawled onto the bottom of the shopping list her and her mother used every week, much to the latter’s displeasure. she ripped it from the full sheet before it could be discarded, tucking it away somewhere safe until she could find the time to slip away and make it out to the shop.

     which was pretty quiet once she stepped through the door, a little bell chiming overhead. a couple people were flipping through bins together, exchanging words here and there idly. her eyes drifted over to the checkout counter, a brunet hunched over a book laid out on the wooden surface.

     “excuse me,” she tried softly, not wanting to disrupt the atmosphere too much. his fingers glided over a line in his book before coming to a firm stop, gaze finally drifting up to her. “i was wondering if you were hiring.”

     “nope.”

     it was so blunt and uninterested, she was taken aback, watching as he simply found his place in his book and went back to reading it.

     “well, is the owner here? i used to-”

     “he’s not here.”

     she didn’t even get a fraction of attention with that response, still staring at the middle part slicing through his brown waves.

     well, that was that, she supposed, ready to turn tail and forget she’d even bothered wasting subway fair on making the trip. a door swinging open to her right stopped her, head turning toward it from the force it was opened with.

     “bob, i need you a minute.”

     distantly familiar eyes glanced her way, an eyebrow quirking.

     “bucky?” she tried.

     “who’s asking?”

     her name hung in the air a moment before those same familiar eyes went wide with realization, his pointed boots stepping out of the doorway so he could make his way over to her.

     “holy shit,” he marveled, “the colonel’s girl?”

     she nodded, teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek to hold in her annoyance at how he mentioned her father when it was her mother that had been closest to his family. but she knew she’d just be chided for taking it so personal, so she let it go.

     a hum rumbled up from his chest, gaze raking over her from head to toe and back again slowly. “look at you.”

     his leering had her glancing toward the cashier, bob, painfully aware of his presence still lingering. bucky must have caught her looking, chuckling as he stepped closer to her to sling an arm around her shoulders.

     “this girl’s dad used to run the block like he was still in the army,” he reminisced, “had all the boys scared shitless of him.”

     “oh, really?” bob asked, motioning between them. “you two know each other?”

     she could feel bucky’s gaze fixing back on her as she nodded, fighting the urge to look up at him.

     “bob, go help lena out in the back. i’ll take care of this.”

     despite who he was addressing, she could still feel his focus set on her, waiting eagerly for her to set hers back on him. as bob awkwardly shuffled out from behind the counter and disappeared through the door marked for employee use only, she had no choice but to give in to bucky’s stare. her hands fidgeted, adjusting her purse when his arm finally slid back off her shoulders.

     he leaned onto the counter with a grin. “how’ve you been, chipmunk?”

     her face soured into a cringe at the nickname. “no one’s called me that for quite a while...”

     “no?” bucky laughed, “seems like it still applies.” to make his point, he reached out and pinched at her cheek playfully, grin widening at the shock that filled her stare, her head bobbing as she swallowed.

     “um, speaking of applying,” she murmured, setting her shoulders to try and regain some composure. it’d been almost ten years, he wasn’t about to reel her back into the juvenile crush she’d long forgotten. “your mom said you might be able to give me a job.”

     “did she now?”

     “it’s okay if not, i can just keep looking.”

     bucky seemed to mull it over in his head for a moment, pursing his lips and letting his gaze drift up in some show of contemplation. glint in his eyes, he looked back to her quickly. “swing by tomorrow, same time. i’ll have bob show you the ropes.”

     “really?” she chirped, “th-thank you so much! i’ll be here tomorrow, same time!”

     the visions of an apartment all to herself started to swarm her brain so quickly, she lost herself in them, turning to head home and start on a savings plan. until a hand wrapped around her elbow.

     “what’s the rush?” bucky purred, gently tugging her back toward him. “haven’t seen you in years.”

     the low pitch to his voice had her heart stuttering behind her ribs. “oh, i just... i don’t know.” the laugh that bubbled up her throat was shaky, and she hoped he read it as awkward more than nervous.

     “you look good, doll. how long’s it been exactly, huh?”

     her stomach flipped hearing the endearment. “probably sin- since becca and i graduated.” there was no probably about it. that was exactly when they’d last seen each other. and she assumed from the way her voice caught in her throat that he could tell she knew that.

     “that long?” he whistled, brows furrowing. “jesus, where does the time go?”

     her pathetic shrug went unnoticed as he stood back to his full height, both hands raking through the sides of his hair to push it back. the movement took her back to sleepovers with his sister, staring across their dinner table at him in all his best-friend’s-gorgeous-older-brother glory. there were lines etched into his skin and he was scruffier than he’d been back then, but... he was still gorgeous.

     “she hasn’t mentioned you in a while.”

     “we haven’t really spoken all that much since she left for school...”

     bucky shook his head. “i prefer you over the crowd she fell in with at that place.” he could sense the sorrow she felt about losing her friend, not wanting to linger on it for too long. “and now you’re getting into the workforce. i’m ancient.”

     the way he tucked his chin down and looked at her from under his lashes, bottom lip jutting out into a pout, made her giggle, another cringe rippling through her at the sound. shaking her head, she gripped at her purse strap harder. “i’m a little late to the party.”

     “so why the sudden interest?” he pried, back to his boyish, conniving grin. “the colonel finally cutting you off, princess?”

     “y-yeah, right,” she scoffed, looking away from him to try and halt him calling her that looping in her mind. “they both want me to stay there forever. especially now that my brothers are all gone and it’s just me.”

     “empty nest,” he offered, “mine went through the same with becca before... well...”

     she allowed her gaze to drift back to him, teeth sinking into her bottom lip at the slight frown to his features. “i was sorry to hear about your dad. i always liked him.”

     bucky’s eyes found hers, a genuine smile tugging his frown away. “thanks, doll.” she smiled back. “so really, why’re you looking for work?”

     sighing, she popped her hip out, letting her stance go a little lax now that the initial nerves had mostly worked their way out of her. “i wanna move out. need money to move out.”

     “or a husband, no?” he cut in, “your folks alright with you being on your own?”

     she met his stare, brows going hard. “it’s not really up to them.”

     chuckling, bucky put his hands up in surrender. “you’re right, you’re right. i’m still catching up with the times... sisters have been teaching me a few things... but, you know, i’ve got a few girls working for me.”

     girls. her father always did the same thing. girls. like they were doomed to be juvenile forever.

     almost on cue, the door opened harshly, bell dinging much louder than when she’d walked in, and someone stormed past them toward the back room.

     “you’re late,” bucky bit without even looking their way.

     “so fire me.”

     she glanced over just before the door shut, watching the woman throw her middle finger to bucky’s back. his jaw ticked when she looked at him again, tight grin on his lips.

     “guess a spot might be opening up...”

     his laugh was genuine as he relaxed again. “no, ava just likes pushing my buttons. but don’t worry,” he cooed, “i’ll find a spot for you like i said.”

     she nodded, finally sensing an out to make her escape. “well, i guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

     “if i’m around.”

     with another nod, she turned and made for the door, bell chiming when she opened it.

     “chipmunk,” bucky called, getting her to stop in her tracks and look back at him. “wear something a little lighter, it gets warm in here.”

     “okay.”

~

     “well, i’m still not thrilled about you trying to leave, but i suppose this is best case scenario.”

     both her and her mother looked to her father for his reaction, watching as he chewed his food slowly, fork and knife still in his hands. eventually, he looked up at them and twisted his wrists as if to convey, ‘what do you want me to say?’

     “i know you wanna say something,” she huffed, “so just say it already.”

     “i never liked that kid.”

     at that, both women groaned. “oh, here we go,” her mother muttered.

     “what? he’s got no backbone. gets drafted, don’t even enlist, and then comes home after a few years.”

     “oh, yeah?” she droned, “is that why you didn’t like him when we were little, too?”

     to that, her father just gave a mumbled string of incoherent excuses, earning an eye roll.

     “look, you wanna make some money for... whatever it is you need it for-”

     “an apartment.”

     “whatever it is... i can find you some stuff to do around the office. you don’t need to be hanging around a bunch of drifters all day.”

     “‘drifters’?” she squealed, looking to her mother for some sort of backup. she got nothing. “what are you talking about?! it’s bucky, you’ve known him since he was, like, six.”

     “and i said i didn’t like the kid!”

     “the six year old?”

     “no, the- quit mouthing off!”

     the table went silent for a moment, nothing but the sounds of her father’s jaw clicking while he chewed and the scrape of his fork across his plate. she could feel it building on her tongue, the need to lash back out and fight against his overbearing need for control. the wildly idiotic accusations were just the icing on the cake.

     “didn’t say anything when your son got dishonorably discharged for-”

     “enough!” her father’s fist landed down on the table, making everything atop it rattle. “your brother’s got a lotta problems.”

     “yeah, i wonder why...”

     “what the hell’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

     she hated that she’d fallen for it, taken his bait, egged him on into the grown temper tantrum he was throwing. but it just gets to a point. huffing a sigh, she grumbled, “nothing.” hoping it would satisfy him into complacency. it didn’t.

     “you kids had it made in this house! you more than anyone!”

     another scoff left her, arms crossing over her chest as she accepted the incoming lashing. her father sneered at her, lip curling with the words ready to leave his tongue.

     “you know, i don’t say nothing when you go to those... marches with all those lunatics-”

     “‘lunatics’?!” she finally stood from her seat, staring her father down as his brows set further into a scowl. “you mean women wanting to be treated as equals?! because god forbid that happen! is that what this is really all about, then? because all i’m good for is knowing my place in the kitchen and having babies?!”

     “you forgot running that mouth of yours! you’re good at that, too!”

     the shout of her father’s name echoed in the room as it went silent again, her mother standing up to try and make her way to her daughter. it was pointless as she was already storming up the hallway to her room, door slamming into place harshly. her mattress squeaked as she fell onto it, face hitting her pillow before the first sob could rip up her throat.

     they continued into the night, burning her lungs raw and exhausting her body until the next thing she knew the sun was hitting against her eyelids and causing them to sting from the exertion of the night before. all over a job. a job...

     “shit!”

     she sprang up, heart pounding as she sought out her alarm clock and saw the time. if she really hurried, she could still make it just in time to not be late. even if she knew the boss, that didn’t mean she wanted to start off on the wrong foot. her hand was just about to tug a sweater out of her dresser drawer when she remembered what bucky had said. 

     ‘wear something a little lighter, it gets warm in here.’

     it hadn’t felt particularly hot in there for the few minutes she was inside, but then again, it was just a few minutes. so she took his advice and opted for a t-shirt. it was a little thicker than her other ones, but fitted, clinging to her tightly enough that she decided to bring a cardigan. just in case.

     the house was quiet when she left, and she didn’t care to think about where anyone was. she was still fuming from the night before and what her father had said. hopefully bucky paid well. she probably should have asked.

     bob greeted her when she walked in, catching her a little off guard given how short he’d been the day before. but she smiled at him and followed him around as he showed her a few things here and there, walked her into the back room where a small break area was set up. she hung up her sweater next to a worn leather jacket with pins on its collar that she recognized from marches. a smile broke out across her face. this was going to be perfect.

     “it’s usually just me and yelena during the day,” bob explained, fidgeting with his hands as he walked them back out onto the floor. “but, uh, there’s... some... business going on today. nothing you and i have to worry about, but it might be busier. more people coming in and out.”

     “okay.”

     the way he’d worded it had her furrowing her brows, but she thought maybe he was just more on the awkward side.

     he showed her where she could put her purse for the day, pushing aside his own little stash of candy and the book he’d been reading before walking her through running the register. it was fairly simple, and she wondered if that’s all the job would be. standing at the counter and waiting for someone to walk up. which didn’t seem all that likely when the few customers that actually walked in all lingered around the bins and left empty-handed.

     it was boring. bob had the right idea bringing a book with him.

     every time someone on the street looked like they were going to head in, she perked up, quickly deflating when they carried on their way.

     “is there something else i can do, maybe?” she finally asked, getting bob to look up at her from his reading.

     “uh, like what?”

     “i don’t know... organizing the records? taking inventory? sweeping up?”

     he looked almost guilty that he didn’t have anything to offer, just shrugging and pushing the hair from his eyes. “we don’t really handle any of that... it picks up a little later in the week.”

     so she nodded and continued to stare out the front windows.

     to make matters worse, it was freezing in there, and she felt silly next to bob in his corduroy pants and navy sweatshirt. she was about to excuse herself and retrieve her cardigan when the bell above the door finally chimed, and she whipped around to greet whoever had come in.

     before she could, the tall man was letting out a disruptive grunt, tugging a dolley full of boxes across the floor to the back room. a blonde woman was following after him, shouting in a language she couldn’t understand. they went back and forth with each other until disappearing behind the employees only door, leaving muffled arguing in their wake.

     “that’s yelena,” bob muttered, still staring down at his book. “and alexei. just stay out of their way for now.”

     he didn’t have to tell her twice. she shrunk in on herself, trying to remain unnoticed as the two of them left and came back with more boxes. after that, it was just the older man, alexei, stomping through the place as he went outside to use the payphone across the street to call someone. her eyes fell to the phone beside the register. odd. but she wasn’t really going to complain that he wasn’t standing a foot away from her to scream at someone down the line. the next time he came back in, he beelined for the back and was met with more shouts of annoyance.

     the bell chimed again, relief flooding her when bucky’s bright smile met her.

     “how can a place be so empty when your beautiful faces are ready to greet everyone?” he beamed, quickly turning his lips down into a pout to match the one he found on her face, arms crossing over his chest to mirror her. “what’s that for? bob already annoying you?”

     her face grew hot, arms tightening around her chest. bob let out a dry laugh behind her. “no, no,” she stammered, watching bucky’s eyes intently to make sure they didn’t stray from her face. “i’m just a little chilly, that’s all.”

     “really?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up before he reached out to touch the bare skin of her bicep. and his eyes drifted down. “i’m usually roasting all day. want me to see if i’ve got a jacket of mine back there?”

     when his gaze found hers again, there was the slightest flicker of mirth in it. his palm was still wrapped around her arm, warm and soothing where his thumb rubbed her skin softly. “i brought a sweater, but i left it in the back...”

     to make her point, a loud thud sounded from the back room, and bucky laughed. “you scared of those two?” she shook her head unconvincingly. “come on, i’ll protect you.”

     using his hold to tug her from behind the counter, he guided them into the back where she didn’t see anyone else. but a slab of concrete had been lifted up from the floor, pushed aside to reveal the top of a staircase.

     “i’m assuming this?” bucky asked, offering out her cardigan and stepping into her line of sight.

     her eyes shot up from where they’d been staring at the hidden room. “y-yeah, thank you.” she took it, trying to slide it onto her arms as quickly as she could before wrapping it tightly to her front. bucky’s gaze lingered on her chest.

     “don’t let them get to you,” he cooed, looking back up at her face. “alexei is just a big, dumb teddy bear, and lena is a lotta hot air.”

     all she could do was nod again, starting to feel self-conscious of how much she was doing it around him in place of words. christ, she couldn’t even handle talking with her friend’s older brother at her new job, how the hell was she going to move out on her own?

     “alright, what’s bothering you?”

     another pout formed on her face. “nothing...”

     “chipmunk,” he warned, nudging under her chin.

     with a sigh, she shrugged her shoulders before crossing her arms tighter. “my dad is an asshole.”

     bucky snorted. “you’re just figuring that out?”

     “no...” she knew that before she could even walk probably. “he’s not happy about me working. because he’s a chauvinist pig with the brain of a toddler.”

     a laugh echoed off the brick walls, bucky clutching his chest like his heart was going to give out from how funny he found what she’d said. she wasn’t laughing.

     “sorry,” he giggled, wiping a hand down his face to mime like he was wiping away his laughter. “you’re right, he is. i’m sorry, doll. what can i do to make you feel better?”

     she looked at him, eyes pleading as she begged, “promise me i’ll make decent money here. it seems really slow, and i need to save up so i can get out. promise me.”

     “i promise,” he breathed, taking hold of her shoulders before rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “don’t worry about business, alright? i’ll get you sorted and on your way to freedom.”

     her body went stiff as he pulled her into his chest, warm palm soothing over the top of her back.

     “you make this yourself?” he whispered, poking a finger into one of the holes of her cardigan and wiggling it against her spine. again, she nodded. bucky pulled back and grinned at her. “cute. get back to work.”

~

     it had been a couple weeks and as many paychecks since she started working. bucky had made good on his word, and she was overjoyed with the number on each stub.

     like every time there was a fight in her house, her parents just went about their lives like nothing happened, talking with her like it was business as usual without any sort of apology. only this time, she didn’t care. because she could see a way out in her future.

     the record store was still slow, not that it mattered to her once she saw her first check. but it left a lot of downtime to feel that pesky little crush welling back up inside her. bucky was just as boyish and charming as she remembered, full of quick wit and flirty quips. he’d lured her back in, getting her body to react on instinct to his presence.

     whenever he wasn’t hovering around the checkout counter finding any excuse to graze his fingers over her, he was just off to the side somewhere, gaze on her whenever she glanced his way. it was always heavy, focused on her almost like he wasn’t even aware he was staring. sometimes he would be rolling a toothpick around his mouth, other times he’d be flipping around a box cutter in his hand, clearly distracted from unloading whatever it was he was unloading.

     because for all the boxes that got hauled in every week, she never really saw any new records going out onto the floor. maybe because they weren’t selling enough... and maybe they weren’t selling enough because everything in the place was outdated...

     her first closing shift, she was left to brave the nonexistent storm on her own for the first time. bucky had decided she was more than capable of handling the counter by herself all day, and bob was more than overdo for a day off.

     flipping the sign in the front window around, bucky turned to her with a grin. “bob show you how to take down the sales?”

     she shook her head. “no. was he supposed to?”

     “probably. but i’m glad he didn’t.” he stepped around the counter, pressing into her space. “now i get to train you myself.”

     her lips quivered with the shiver that shook up her. she watched as he grabbed the calculator from beside the register and moved it over to the counter in front of her, grabbing the memo pad they kept track of every sale on. he squeezed in behind her, hand planting itself on her hip as he bent down to pull her purse out and place it on the stool beside them so he could retrieve the ledger beneath it. his hand stayed there as he dropped the book on the counter, front pressing to her back to look over her shoulder at the columns of numbers.

     “alright,” he breathed, taking the pen off from where it was clipped to the pages and handing it to her. his fingers then found the column furthest to the left. “you’ll go here and put the date.” waiting for her to do so, he looked down to her face, grinning when he found her lips ever so slightly parted. “good,” he cooed, “did you do any card or check sales?”

     “n-no.”

     “then put a line through this one... yeah, just like that.” his finger pressed down into the last box on the right. “total goes here, okay?” she nodded. “so go ahead and add up the sales for the day.”

     there was a slight tremble to her hand when she set the pen back down to begin punching in numbers on the calculator. it was noisy, drowning out the sound of her own heart beating in her ears as bucky began to stroke his hand back and forth across her hip.

     “put that here?” she squeaked, trying to clear her throat as nonchalantly as possible.

     “yeah, right there.” bucky once again pointed to the final box, letting his hand rest there while she wrote down the total for the day and their forearms and fingers brushed. “good... that’s it...”

     for a moment, he thought he had her. with the way she slumped against him slightly, head lolling to one side in invitation as his cheek pressed to hers. but then just as he turned his head, lips barely grazing her skin, she shivered violently and jumped back from his hold. her purse went flying as she bumped into the stool, contents scattering across the floor.

     “whoa, alright,” he surrendered, hands going up. “personal space. i got it.”

     chest heaving, she stared at him, trying to blink away the feel of his skin against hers. she stayed frozen as he bent down to begin picking up her things, finally snapping out of it to join him. when they stood, he righted the stool and placed everything back where it belonged, ledger snapped shut again.

     “here’s your copy of the key. in case you gotta lock up on your own.”

     she took it, holding in her whimper at their skin making contact again.

     “get home safe, doll.”

     it was like a fog had rolled into her mind. the entire way home was a blur. all she could think about was his touch, if it was real, if she’d imagined it. was he just toying with her? did he really mean to speak to her that way? have them a breath away from crossing a line that had been set decades ago?

     her face was hot to the touch as she stepped into her bedroom, fingers ghosting over where his scruff had scratched across her jaw. the bed squeaked under her as she sat, purse falling off her shoulder. it snapped her out of it, hands blindly feeling inside the bag for the little round compact she usually reached for at that hour. brows furrowing, she finally looked down to the contents she was rummaging through.

     a sinking feeling started creeping into her gut the longer she searched for it. “no,” she fretted, standing up and dumping the purse over so everything came spilling out onto her comforter. nothing. “no, no, no...”

     it must have fallen out when she knocked the stool over. which meant it was back at the record shop.

     she had no choice, she had to get it back and take its contents. the key bucky had just given her stared back at her from where it had fallen amidst the mess on the bed.

     easy. just go in, look for her pill compact, and get out.

     the storefront was dark, street equally so, when she stepped up to the door. glancing over her shoulder, she went back to fitting the key in the lock and getting inside. what she wasn’t expecting, though, was the faintest glow of light coming from under the door to the back, low voices reverberating quietly around the place. whatever, she’d just have to be quieter.

     she dropped to her hands and knees when she got behind the counter, feeling around the floor in parts the light from the street didn’t hit. all she touched was scratchy carpet, brows knitting in desperation as she bent further to reach under the counter. something crinkled, her fingers producing a wrapper to the candy bob was always snacking on.

     “come on,” she whispered harshly, giving it one more try. nothing. “fuck...”

     sighing, she stood up slowly, freezing at the barrel of a gun pointed right at her.

     “don’t scream,” the guy behind it bit, his dirty blond locks shielding his face from the light. “i’m really in no mood to be on cleanup tonight.”

     not sure what exactly she should do in response, she nodded shakily.

     “what’re you doing here?” when his question went unanswered, he cocked the gun, pushing it toward her. “huh?!”

     “n-nothing! i was- i just was...”

     “spit it out!”

     “you wanna quit pointing your fuckin’ gun at my cashier?”

     hesitantly, she let her eyes flick over to where bucky was making his way over from the back room before they shot to the man in front of her again. huffing, he lowered his gun, holstering it on his hip. when bucky’s hand found her shoulder, she collapsed into him, gripping at his velvet jacket.

     “i-i’m sorry,” she sputtered, “i left my- i forgot- i was... just looking-”

     “relax, sweetheart,” he whispered, rubbing his hands over her back.

     “how the hell was i supposed to know she was your new hire?”

     looking up to bucky, she watched as his gaze turned on the blond man. “maybe if you showed up for a day shift once in a while, you’d know, walker. go get yelena.”

     they were left alone as the other guy stormed off, bucky bringing his eyes to her.

     “what were you doing back here, doll?”

     she stepped back from him, sighing, “something... fell out of my purse before. i was coming back to look for it.”

     “what was it? i’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

     her teeth sunk into the inside of her cheek, gaze diverting from him. “i-it’s nothing. maybe i misplaced it somewhere else.”

     the two of them stood there in silence for a few moments, and it wasn’t until the back door swung open again that she caught sight of the scowl on his features. “yelena’s gonna get you home, okay?”

     she had hardly gotten a single nod out before he was turning to head back where he’d come from. her and yelena looked at each other before she stepped down from behind the counter and followed sheepishly after the blonde. she gave yelena her address, tucking her arms to herself tightly in the confines of the front seat.

     “i won’t say anything,” she tried, “i swear.”

     yelena glanced at her. “say anything about what?”

     silencing herself again, she turned to stare straight ahead, watching the tail lights in front of them swerve in and out of lanes as they grew closer to her home. neither spoke again until they were right out front, her hand on the edge of the car door ready to close it.

     “sleep tight.”

     she stared at yelena, eyebrows knitting despite the smile she tried to force.

~

     it was quiet in the store the next day. which wasn’t unusual. but the silence wasn’t just out on the sales floor, it was throughout the entire building. the back was empty, no one clocked in for the day except for her and bucky it seemed. they were set to close together again, and her hair was stood on end the moment she stepped foot inside the place.

     bucky had been cordial with her, greeting her when she dropped off her jacket in the back, but he was uncharacteristically stoic. no hanging around the counter, no staring at her, nothing. if he was worried about her sticking her nose into whatever was going on the night before, he was a fool. there wasn’t a chance she was touching that with a ten foot pole. all she had to do was keep her head down, keep saving, keep looking forward.

     the door to the back opened slowly, bucky sauntering out with a calm air about him that almost disturbed her more than if he’d still had a scowl on his face. she watched him approach her, their eyes locked before he stopped right in front of her and dropped something on the counter.

     a burning chill shot down her spine when she looked down, eyes going wide at the familiar plastic compact sitting beside her.

     “you know, some people are saying these things are poison.”

     his words just hung there for a moment, chill having frozen her in place.

     “i can’t believe the colonel even let you get on them to begin with.” and the look of guilt that fell across her face told him everything he needed to know. “he doesn’t know? oh, chipmunk... so that means... you’re going behind daddy’s back? that doesn’t sound like you.”

     like a pot of boiling water had been poured over her, she thawed out, tightness setting into her brows as she reached for her pills. bucky’s hand planted itself over hers once she gripped the compact.

     “ah, ah, ah,” he tutted, “not so fast.”

     it happened quickly, too quickly for her to react. he had pushed her against the counter, their hands still stacked atop her pill compact as he slid up behind her and brought his other to her thigh.

     “bucky...”

     his cheek pressed to hers again, stubble scratching at her skin. “is it true that missing even one day...” slowly, he slid his hand up as he spoke, pushing her skirt up so he could stall his fingers at the seam of her stockings. “makes them useless?” when she stayed silent, he gripped the cheap nylon and gave a firm tug, humming at the loud rip that echoed through the shop. “mm, i hope so.”

     in just a few seconds, he’d rendered her useless, helpless but to let his fingers slide under the cotton front of her panties. when one of them dipped between her and spurred him to push her skirt the rest of the way up her hips with a grunt, she couldn’t help the whimper that left her.

     “bu-bucky...”

     “come on, dollface,” he rasped, letting his lips drift over to her ear. “you’ve always wanted me.”

     what could she say? she had always wanted him. even then, as her brain throbbed with how wrong what he was doing was, she felt her stomach flipping almost giddily, sending waves of heat down to her center. her teeth sank into her bottom lip to stifle her moan when he began dragging what was left of her stockings down her ass.

     “what timing, huh? just when you’re trying to move out...” her panties followed, elastic waists of both pieces of clothing snug around her thighs. “god, it’s perfect.”

     confusion laced through her features, the start of a protest beginning to form on her tongue. the store was still open for christ’s sake, daylight still blanketed over the streets outside.

     “you always were so obedient,” he sighed, cupping her mound with his palm to push her back against him. he knew she felt him straining through his jeans from the stunted whine that she tried to stop short. “so eager to please... you still are. bet you’ll be such a good little wife.” from under his, he felt her hand tighten around her pill case, plastic groaning under the force. it made him chuckle softly. “i don’t mind your little feminist stuff either, you know? you can still have your job and go around without a bra.”

     to make his point, he slid his hand up her stomach to her breasts, taking one in his hold to squeeze it through her shirt. no padding, no wires, nothing to get in his way. that really had her fists balling up, hand that wasn’t trapped under his wrapping around his wrist to try and pry him off her.

     he indulged her, dropping his hold to softly take over and pin her wrist down to the counter, both hands now captured by his. her head hung in shame when he rolled his hips into hers, thighs instinctively clenching around nothing.

     “i used to love the way you looked at me. it took you a little bit, but you started looking at me like that again, didn’t you?” in the lull he left, she nodded, much to his delight. huffing a laugh, he kissed at the hook of her jaw, his own setting in annoyance. “your dad always thought i was a loser. too soft to hang out with his boys, huh? definitely too insignificant to look at his pride and joy.”

     her chest pinched with what she assumed was pity. bucky was right. it never mattered how much he excelled in school, or how hard he fell in line. it was never enough.

     “now i’ve got connections, money...” his grip on her tightened, as if in anticipation of his next words. “his precious baby girl bent over a counter for all the city to see. ready to pump her full of my kids.”

     “wait,” she finally croaked, fighting his hold. “please, bucky, it doesn’t have to- n-not like this, okay? i’m still...” her voice died, confession too much for her. his nose brushing along her neck too much for her.

     “oh, i see,” he marveled, letting out a chuckle right against her collar. “alright, sweetheart, not like this.”

     her sigh of relief only lasted a moment before he was letting go of her hand that wasn’t holding onto her pills to press his palm to her back, pushing her down onto the counter. nerves pricked under her skin, the first whimper falling from her lips melting into a quiet sob.

     bucky felt her back muscles straining beneath his hold, soothing his hand down her spine and replacing it with his chest to restrain her while he worked at his fly. “sh, doll, i told you not like that.” her hips jerked when his head brushed at the back of her thigh. “but like this...”

     she could hear him spitting into his palm over her shoulder, felt his arm snaking between them again to spread it over himself. and then he was between her thighs, right at their apex, just barely grazing her slit. enough to have her keening at the back of her throat, muscles seizing to try and find some relief.

     “that’s it,” he breathed, slotting his chin over her shoulder. “keep your legs pressed nice and tight for me... fuck, so good.”

     “bucky, we-” her eyes shot to the front windows, a small group slowing down as they looked at a poster hung beside the door. they moved on. his hand traced across her hip before settling on top of her mound again.

     “we what? hm?”

     mouth falling open, she felt another rush of warmth where his middle finger slid between her to start tracing circles around her clit. bucky hummed in satisfaction right at her ear, pressing his lips to her temple.

     “i’ll take care of you. don’t fight it.” the reaction to his words had her shaking in his arms, stomach clenching against his forearm. “there you go... can you do me a favor?”

     she nodded.

     “spread your legs just a little bit for me.” when she did, he pulled his middle finger away, earning a whine of protest. and then he sunk it further, adding his ring to slip inside her. “looks like someone’s having fun, huh?”

     “please...” her tights and panties were digging into her skin from the strain of spreading her legs, sting nothing compared to the heat in her core.

     “not like this, remember?”

     her plea hadn’t been for anything more than something. she hadn’t the slightest idea what she was begging for, and was nowhere near coherent enough to try and figure it out. so she let him invade her all the way up to his last knuckles, languid, shallow thrusts causing her to let a moan slip out.

     “that’s it. fuck, you’re gushing for me, dollface.”

     his tone was so full of awe, so pleased with her, she felt as more leaked out. it would have been enough to embarrass her nearly to death if not for the way he moaned against her cheek.

     “pull your shirt up.”

     on its own, her hand came up to do exactly as he asked, gripping at the hem of her top to pull it up her body until her chest was exposed. she was so exposed. tights ripped and shoved down around her thighs haphazardly with her panties, breasts brushing against the old wood of the counter with each of her heavy breaths.

     “you like doing as i say?”

     “yes,” she gasped, clenching around his fingers.

     “good.”

     with just a word, he had her trembling, grinning against her skin as he pulled his fingers out and wrapped them under his tip. it was almost too easy to slip himself between her lips, a single push forward coating him in her.

     “legs together.”

     she did so, panting from how hard her heart was thrumming behind her ribs. bucky kept his fingers under his head, making sure the pressure to her bud was steady and almost searing each time it caught on her. something wet pressed to her jaw, his breath fanning across her cheek as he ran his tongue up to her ear.

     “gimme your hand,” he heaved, voice hoarse and desperate. once she did as he asked, he guided her to take over, groaning into her skin at the feel of her soft fingers against him. his rough ones squeezed at her stomach, planting over her breast to thumb at her nipple. “i’ll fucking worship you, sweetheart. don’t you want that?”

     there was something to his voice that had her squeezing her eyes shut, head rolling to the side so he could dig his nose into the column of her throat. it was hungry, nearly slurred from lust.

     “don’t you want that?” he grated, sinking his teeth into her until she mewled pathetically.

     “yes.”

     and part of her did want that, but it was the weight of it all coming on so suddenly that had her eyes pricking with tears again. it wasn’t how she pictured it, wasn’t under the circumstances she imagined.

     “bucky, wait, i-”

     “stop,” he bit, standing up straight and taking his warmth with him.

     his hand left her breast, taking purchase of the back of her shirt instead. he fisted it, tugging until she lifted off the counter. with a grunt, he thrusted into her thighs harder, faster, pulling on her so her head crashed into his shoulder. her eyes were still shut, a tear caught in the corner of her lashes.

     “look,” he demanded, gripping under her chin. when her eyes opened, he turned her to the front windows, forcing her to watch as everyone outside walked by with no idea what was happening inside. “you like this.”

     “no, i...” her eyes fluttered.

     bucky laughed, “you’re still holding my cock.”

     a guttural groan left her when he shoved her back down onto the counter, his chest blanketing her once more. the clap of his hips against her rang in her ears, drowned out only by his ragged breaths in her ear again and her stunted moans with each drag of his cock against her clit.

     like a brand, his hand found her hip, pulling her as close as possible to meet each thrust. through his hold and her back pressed to his front, he could feel her begin to shake, watched as the tear finally fell off of her lashes and down her cheek.

     “look at you trembling,” he whispered, “gonna cum for me, chipmunk? c’mon, make a mess for me.”

     “a-ah! stop, stop, please...”

     “sh, doll, there you go.”

     she went rigid under him, knees buckling as her release hit her from the inside out, rushing beneath her skin hotly. bucky kissed at her temple, cooing words of encouragement to her almost condescendingly.

     “yeah... yeah, there’s my good girl. so wet... so wet for me.”

     the sounds of his cock dragging back and forth through her were proof enough, incessant friction to her swollen bud enough to have her letting out a sob as the pleasure turned to a burning ache.

     “i know, i know, sweetheart. it’s too much, huh?” he felt her nod against his lips, calming her with another kiss to the apple of her cheek. “but you’re taking it. you’re taking it so well, aren’t you? who’s my good girl?”

     her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, spit clinging to her throat when she tried to pant out, “i am...”

     “say it.”

     eyes fluttering again, she let the wave of embarrassment wash through her and out through her lungs with a shaky breath. “i-i’m your good girl.”

     “yeah, you are.” his smirk was audible. “who do you belong to?”

     “you.” it came out harsh, bitten off her tongue as she felt another orgasm rushing to the forefront of the dam inside her.

     “say it.”

     his gruff words had her bursting over, her jaw tight as her ears filled with the sound of her own heart hammering through her veins. “i belong to you, sir...”

     “‘sir’?” bucky beamed, letting out a breathy laugh. “oh, my god, i should’ve snatched you up a long time ago, doll.” with a glint in his eyes, he pulled her hand from the counter, the thud of her pill compact hitting the carpet muted beneath her almost pained whimpers as he brought his hips to a stop. taking her other from his cock, he pinned them both to her back. ��spread your legs a little for me again. that’s it, so good for me.”

     she felt him lean back slightly, unaware of his eyes raking over her swollen lips. then his tip was prodding at her again, a little too close to her entrance for her comfort. she jumped, trying to wriggle away from him, but his hold on her wrists was too secure.

     “no, no, hey,” he cooed, “sh, come ’ere. just stay still for me, okay, sweetheart? can you do that for me? can you be good for me one more time?”

     to her own horror, she nodded.

     “that’s it, just relax. i’m not gonna fuck you. not yet.”

     his laugh was timed perfectly to the poke of him at her entrance again, thick head pressing into her just enough to form a suction. and a horrible thought popped into her head. she wanted him to go against his own words and keep going. she wanted to push herself back onto him the longer he stayed true to his words.

     one hand tightening around her wrists, his other began pumping at his length, earning sweet little keens from her each time the force of his fist sent him ever so slightly deeper inside her.

     “tell me you’re mine,” he grated, “tell me you belong to me.”

     “i’m yours, bu- sir... i belong to you.”

     “fuck, yeah...” a moan ripped out of him, eyes blown wide to watch as his tip got sucked into her. it was just enough to have her seizing up, so tight he practically wheezed when his first rope of cum shot out into her. “th-that’s it, take it. fuck, sweetheart, drinking me all up.”

     her nails were piercing into her palms, fists clenched so tightly she had to actively force herself to relax them. bucky’s groans grew breathy until he finally went lax behind her, hand releasing hers to soothe over her back.

     “get up on this,” he instructed, pulling the stool over to her before slipping out of her and guiding her knees onto it. “mm,” he hummed, trailing off into a laugh as he bent down for a better look. “stay just like this a minute. wow.”

     there was a little crescent of milky white pooled right at the bottom of her entrance, his claim to her oozing out as she clenched around nothing. bucky’s brows furrowed as he brought his thumb to the small trickle, gently guiding it back up and inside her. the touch must have been soothing to some degree, her body melting into the counter as she sighed out.

     standing to his full height again, bucky stepped to the side, placing his hand on her cheek. “you did so well for me, sweet girl. still are. just gotta keep it inside you, alright?”

     she shivered under his touch, knees beginning to ache from the hard, wooden stool.

     a breathy laugh left bucky, almost disbelieving. “imagine it takes,” he grinned, still soothing his thumb along her cheek. “knocked up before i even fuck you... that’d be something, huh?”

     when she let out her next breath, she felt a warmth beginning to run down her legs. “bucky,” she whined.

     the comfort of his thumb was gone as he reached behind her to feel the trail of his cum running down her thigh. “aw, chipmunk, you were doing so well!” staring at her, he slid his fingers up to collect what he could, once more pushing it back into her. “i think we should close early today, what about you?”

     her eyes stung with fresh tears, reality of what had just happened settling over her like a blanket of nails.

     “why are you crying, dollface? aren’t you happy? this is what you wanted.” a full, wet sob shook her, prompting bucky to help her off the stool and into his arms. her clothes still disheveled, he rubbed at her back softly. “there, there... you’re just overwhelmed, hm? you’ll feel better once you’re settled into your new place.”

     “what ne- new place?” she hiccuped.

     “mine, sweetheart. where else?”

[lemoniceteee]

Breathe Onto Me

Pairing: The Void/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: The Void has an odd midnight ritual when it comes to sleeping in the same bed as you.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, A hint of angst, Reader and Bob/The Void/The Sentry are in an established relationship, Clingy Void, Void has sleep issues, Void is Touchy as hell and a little on the feral side, Void’s got the tendrils in this.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (guys…Please wrap it up), Cockwarming, Grinding, Breast/Nipple Play, Love bites, Sucking, Biting, Scratching, Spit/Drool, Begging, Praise Kink?, Finger Sucking, Kinda Dominant Reader

Author’s Note: Forgive me father for I have sinned…Someone needs to send me some holy water lol…I love writing for The Void OML. Who knew a shadow could be so hot. Anyways! Hope you enjoy <3

Word Count: 6,252

It was the smallest thing that woke you. A cool brush of lips at the side of your neck, tracing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, coming and going in small little waves.

At first, you thought you were dreaming it. But then it came again–slow careful, followed by the faintest scrape of teeth and the whisper of a sigh the chilled your heated flesh, seeping into you from his mouth.

You stirred slightly, and that was when you felt it–the weight of his arm slung over you, curling you against him as if he could shield you from something unseen. His hand was broad and heavy over your chest, fingers relaxed but curved possessively over your breast through the thin cotton of your shirt. He wasn’t squeezing or pinching like he sometimes did–he was just holding, like he was afraid to let go of you.

”Void…?” You murmured, voice thick with sleep. A low hum answered you, the cold skin of his nose nuzzling deep into the crook of your neck, almost like he was embarrassed to be caught mid-act. You could feel him breathing you in deeply, taking in the scent of your skin–smooth vanilla, warm cotton, the saltiness from the heat that radiated through you, and a natural sweetness that you exuded whenever he was cuddled up to you like this. He let out a little sigh before breathing you in again.

”You scared the heck out of me,” You whispered, rubbing your hand up and down the length of his forearm, feeling the silky smooth skin against your fingertips. You felt the wetness of his lips on your throat again, as a broken murmur slipped free from him.

”Didn’t mean to wake you…” He replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your pulse point, “…I was just trying to sleep.” He added. The softness of his tone–the quiet need in it–made your heart squeeze. Because this was the part of The Void that nobody else saw–he wasn’t the towering, floating, shadowing terror the rest of the team feared, he was the version that couldn’t rest unless he had you to hold onto.

On nights like these, when he was restless like this, you would sometimes wake in the morning to find an array of love bites scattered over your neck–evidence of his secret midnight ritual. He never said it outright, but you knew–this was how he soothed himself when the noises in his head got too loud, when he couldn’t get the images of others’ shame rooms out of his head.

The kisses, the touching, the way he clung to your warmth and tried to absorb it even though it never truly worked…It was all his way of making the darkness inside him bearable until sleep finally came for him. You were like a silencer to him, the one thing that could take the edge off, and he appreciated every last bit of what you gave him, even though it wasn’t ideal sometimes.

You shifted back against him a little, feeling the way his cold frame curved tighter around you as if even the smallest gap between you was unbearable to have. When you tilted your head, you caught a faint shimmer of the star-like flecks that crowded over his skin in the darkness, the perfect little spots that enamoured you when you first met him. The ones that you traced and kissed when he allowed you to–because they felt like they were on fire when your lips pressed against them. In the dead of night they looked like they sparked, but in those moments, under your eyes they were dimmed slightly. You reached up, and caressed the back of his neck, tangling your fingers into the softness of his shadowy hair, feeling the way it seemed to respond to you, wrapping around your hand, engulfing your fingers so you wouldn’t be able to pull away.

“Is it too loud tonight?” You asked softly. A low, almost pitiful sound hummed from deep in his chest as he pressed another kiss into the side of your neck.

”It’s worse than normal…” He admitted, his voice sounding far more fragile in that moment. His lips trailed lower, his mouth brushing over the fabric that covered your shoulder, teeth catching lightly on it, like he was tempted to bite through it and rip it off you–though he had learned his lesson from the last time he did that and he wasn’t willing to take a chance of you being mad at him again. He groaned quietly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Can you please take this off…” He sounded like he was half-begging, half-commanding, his breath coming a little quicker now, suddenly frustrated with the barrier between your bodies, “…I need more of you.” You nodded slowly, shifting just enough for his hair to release its hold on your fingers, the inky strands sliding away like liquid shadow. His arm slipped from your body, and you felt the faintest ripple of cold air rush in between you–which disappeared almost instantly as you sat up, the mattress dipping under your weight.

You didn’t move quickly. Instead, you hooked your fingers under the hem of your shirt, and began to lift it inch by inch. You could feel him watching–no, devouring every moment with his eyes–like each sliver of newly exposed skin was something he hadn’t seen before, even though that was far from the case…The Void knew your body like it was his own.

He let out a little groan, low and unrestrained, as his hand slid against your bare skin, the pads of his cold fingers following the ridges and valleys of scars left behind from missions that were long gone. His touch was so gentle but urgent all at the same time, tracing slow, circling paths up your spine as if each mark was a constellation he could map from memory.

By the time your shirt was free of your body and tossed somewhere off to the side, you could already feel him pulling you back toward him–arms cinching tight, chest pressing flush to your back like he needed to fuse himself to you.

His lips were on you before you had even taken a full breath, cold and greedy, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the curve of your shoulder, the line of your neck, anywhere his mouth could reach now that everything was available to him. He left multiple little wet marks, as he began to drool with each little sample of you he got. The sound he made when you tilted your head to give him more access was almost pitiful, a whimper tangled with a sigh.

”I love…Seeing your body like this.” He murmured against your skin, the words dragging as though they were being pulled from his chest, his tongue coming out to lick your collarbone, “I’m always–“ His voice faltered into another quiet groan, his body shifting behind you a little, “–Always afraid to wake you up so I could ask if you could take off your shirt…But when these little moments happen…When I get to see you completely like this…” He whispered shakily, his teeth grazing your collarbone and tightening his arms even more around you, “All I want to do is mark you, and taste you…And absorb you completely.” You felt the shiver run through him as he said it, the tension coiling in every inch of his frame. He sounded almost ashamed of how badly he wanted, yet he was unable to stop the words from spilling out of him. He had this kind of naked yearning that he never exposed to anyone else but you, and it just showed how much he trusted and needed you.

His hand slid up to your breast again, cupping gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, lazy circles making your breath hitch. You arched into him, drawing out a soft, needy sound from him, which went straight through you, vibrating into your bones.

”I want to give you everything you need, Void…” You whispered, your voice warm and steady against the swirl of his desperation.

And that was all it took for him to unravel further. His forehead pressed into the side of your neck with a quiet, broken groan, his lips moving against your skin in a messy array of kisses–sliding over your pulse, dragging along your jaw, catching and nipping before kissing the sting away.

”You already do…” He said raggedly, almost like it hurt to admit it, then added in a soft whine “But it still feels like I need more…And I can’t…I can’t take it.” His hips began to shift–slow at first, moving with a faint, involuntary rutting motion that betrayed just how badly he was holding himself back. You could feel him through the thin barrier of fabric your underwear provided, the cold press of him caressing the curve of your ass, the tension in every small roll of his hips when he grinded into you. A frustrated sigh escaped him, sharp and almost petulant, before his teeth grazed your shoulder in a fleeting bite that made your stomach clench.

The shadows stirred then.

At first it was a faint tickle–like silk dragging on your skin–but soon, the tendrils slid out from him, cool and fluid, curling over your bare stomach, slipping along your hips, ghosting over the insides of your thighs. Others traced your ribs, your collarbone, the back of your neck, moving with slow, deliberate curiosity in all the places his hands couldn’t reach at once. You moved back against him, pressing your ass into the cradle of his hips, trying to give him the relief he was evidently chasing. But it earned you a sharp, helpless whimper that sounded torn from his chest.

“Don’t–ah–don’t do that, very sensitive,” He warned, but his hands contradicted his words, one sliding down to your hip to hold you there, the other cupping your breast more firmly.

“You’re the one that’s pushing your erection against me, Void,” You teased softly, your voice curling into the dark. The words made him give a sharp, almost wounded sound in the back of his throat, his mouth still moving down the slope of your shoulder, dragging wet heat over the jut of the muscle there, then moving lower, his tongue slipping lazily up your spine as though he could drink the taste of your skin straight into himself. His hips pressed forward again, slow but loaded, that unintentional rutting stealing the air right out of your lungs.

“I…Can’t control that,” He murmured, voice vibrating against your back. The faint glow of his pupils dipped as though in shame, but his hips contradicted him again with another slow grind. “You’re all warm, and it’s like I can…Sense your arousal. And with you pressed up against me like this, it’s hard to hold myself back.” The tendrils around you shifted as though they’d heard every breath you took–pulsing now in rhythm with your heartbeat. It was like he could feel it through you, reading the quickening in your breath, the tightening in your muscles. You tilted your head slightly, giving him a sidelong smile he couldn’t possibly miss even in the dark.

“Do you want me to turn over and face you then,” You asked, “Since you don’t want me pressed against you?” The whimper he let out was quiet but raw, the kind that scraped along the edges of his restraint.

“Ma-Maybe that would be better,” He replied–though it sounded more like a plea than a decision. The shadows obeyed before his hands did, the tendrils coiling beneath you, sliding in a smooth ripple across your back and hips, helping to ease you onto your back. You moved through the cold embrace like you’d done this a hundred times–which you had–the sensation of them curling away from your skin only to reappear in new places leaving goosebumps trailing over your flesh.

When your head hit the pillow and your gaze met his, you caught the way his eyes–those white, glowing pupils–flicked down your body in a visible drop. They snagged on your breasts instantly. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep, almost ragged inhale before he let out a low, unrestrained whine.

“Oh…Jesus Christ,” He breathed, almost pained in the way he said it, “I think this is worse.” You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you.

“Why? You don’t like looking at my breasts?” His eyes lifted just enough to meet yours again, but that glow had gone hotter, sharper, almost liquid.

“Of course I like looking at your breasts,” he rasped, and the hunger in his tone could’ve been a physical weight pressing down on you. “It’s just…” He swallowed, jaw tightening as though the words were being dragged from somewhere deep. “Fuck, I really want you. I’m just…Trying to control myself…I’m feeling like I’m going to lose every semblance of restraint.” Your hand came up slowly, the pads of your fingers brushing the cool slope of his jaw before you cupped his cheek full. His outline was barely there in the dark–just the suggestion of Bob’s face in shadow, faint silver-white flecks scattered across him like some private night sky. You let your thumb trace lightly over the bridge of his nose, feeling the subtle shift in his form under your touch.

“Is there a point in restraining yourself when evidently I’m willing to do anything for you?” You murmured, your voice low but steady. His pupils vanished as his eyelids slid shut, his head leaning into your touch like it was the only thing he wanted, then a small sigh escaped him, thin and almost defeated.

“You’ve seen how I get when I let myself go,” He replied, and there was a flicker of something in it–not just a warning, but the ghost of shame and want tangled together. A quiet laugh left you, not mocking, but warm, curling around the edge of the tension in the room. You leaned in until your lips just brushed his, enough to let him feel your breath fanning over his mouth.

“Yeah,” You whispered, letting the admission hang between you, “You get all hot and whiny and needy…” You pressed your mouth to his then–a gentle kiss, a contrast to the way his whole form felt like it was coiled tight enough to snap. His lips were cold, but pliant under yours, and you could feel the faintest tremor ripple through him as if the contact had shaken something loose, then you pulled back, “And I love that,” You added. The tendrils tightened around you again–a slow, deliberate constriction that made you exhale sharply–before they continued to explore you, curling at your waist, teasing the sensitive dip of your hips, trailing in lazy, suggestive loops along the waistband of your underwear. One traced a feather-light path lower, a ghost of a touch that made your breath stutter. When his eyes opened again, that familiar glow returned, shimmering and molten with need.

“I’m sure you do…” He murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly before his voice dropped into something quieter, almost sulky. “You like when I embarrass myself.” He mumbled the last part, but you caught every syllable. Leaning in, you began to pepper soft, fluttering kisses across his shadowed face–his temple, his cheekbone, the faint slope where his jaw would be in the light. Each kiss made the starlit flecks on his skin shimmer and stir, as if your mouth was buzzing them to life.

“I don’t find it to be embarrassing,” You whispered to him. “Now c’mon…Let yourself go. Give into the temptation.” A quiet, nervous sound slipped from him, a moaned out sigh, as his hand lifted to settle against the side of your breast. The contrast between his cold fingers and the heat of your skin made you shiver. His fingertips dug in slightly, just enough to make you arch closer to him, and you felt the tremor in his grip.

“Fuck,” He groaned, the word breaking at the edges, “You’re hard to resist.”

His mouth found yours again before you could say anything back. This kiss was different than yours– intimate, deliberate, and impossibly sweet. The kind of kiss that made you feel like he was trying to memorize you from the inside out. His lips moved slowly against yours, coaxing, savoring, until the faint scrape of teeth caught your bottom lip in a careful nip.

The tendrils reacted in time with him–a shifting, sinuous movement that slid between your legs, curling under your thighs to part them with a gentle but insistent pressure. Cool shadows cushioned the back of your legs as he lowered himself closer, his form slotting between them until you could feel the cold presence of his erection pressed against the heat of your core through the thin barrier of your underwear.

His forehead rested against yours for a moment, breath uneven, and you could see every shimmering fleck across his shadowed skin pulse faintly, like stars caught in the moment before they collapsed into themselves. Your arms slid up and around his shoulders, pulling him closer until his weight and cold form pressed more fully into you. The tendrils tightened their hold around your thighs even more, caressing you as he dipped his head, mouth trailing heartless kisses down along the line of your jaw.

Each touch was lingering, his lips brushing, then parting to let his tongue slip out in slow, wet strokes against your skin. A needy little hum rumbled out of him when he reached the hollow beneath your ear, his teeth catching there in a fleeting nip before he soothed it with a kiss. You could feel his breath quicken against your throat, and you heard it hitch when your fingers tangled in his shadow-soft hair.

He moved lower, working his way down your neck with a messy combination of licking, sucking, and nipping, as if every patch of skin was something he’d been starving for. The stars scattered over his form seemed to shimmer brighter with each taste, each gasp, or soft moan you gave him. When he reached your collarbone, his cold mouth closed over it in a sucking kiss that left a slick mark, his hand tightening greedily on your breast. You arched into him, and his hips jerked in a helpless rut against your center, the hard press of his erection grinding into you through your underwear. The muffled groan that left him was almost pitiful, his restraint fraying thread by thread. His lips continued their descent until he kissed across the upper swell of your other breast, reaching its erect peak with ease. Then, with a sound that was more whimper than sigh, he wrapped his mouth around your nipple.

The pull was immediate–harder than you expected–but desperate, his tongue flicking and circling like he couldn’t get enough. He sucked deeply, his cold mouth clamping down as if he could draw your heat straight into himself, and groaned low in his throat when your fingers tightened in his hair.

His mouth was insatiable on you–sucking, lapping, his tongue swirling around the tight peak before sealing his lips over it again in another deep pull. Cold drool slicked your skin, running down the curve of your breast as if he was too focused on taking you in to bother swallowing. Every time you tugged lightly at his hair, a broken, needy sound vibrated from his throat and straight through your chest.

“God–” His voice cracked around the suction, his words muffled against you, “–your skin is so fucking soft…” He groaned again, wetter this time, and you felt the sharp rut of his hips into your core, each grind more shameless than the last. “I–ahh–can’t…Fuck, I can’t stop.” You arched into his mouth, your free hand sliding to cup the back of his neck, holding him there.

“Don’t stop, Void,” You breathed, coaxing him on, “Keep sucking…I know you love having them in your mouth.” He let out the filthiest whimper, his hips jolting against you, cock pressing harder into your clothed heat.

“I…Fuck…I do, I love it. I love your breasts, I love sucking on them…” His teeth grazed your nipples before his tongue soothed the spot in a frantic swirl, “–love how warm you are…You make me crazy.” A tendril shifted between you, curling low, slick and cold against your thigh before slipping under the edge of your underwear. With a slow, deliberate push, it moved the fabric aside, baring you completely to him. The sudden rush of cool air against your heat made you gasp, and his hips stuttered hard when the tip of him pressed directly against your bare core.

“Fuck…Oh fuck,” He gasped, mouth still working over your breast, sucking and drooling like he’d never get enough of you, “You’re so fucking wet…” His voice broke into another needy whine as he ground against you, the bare contact making him shudder. You tilted your hips up into him, dragging a moan from deep in his chest.

“You like that, hmm?” You purred, your breath warm against the crown of his silky hair. “You like rubbing your cock against my wet pussy with nothing in the way?” His mouth latched harder onto your nipple, sucking like he could pull the heat right out of you, his cold tongue circling greedily before he finally pulled off with a wet pop. A needy, wrecked moan tore out of him.

“Fucking love it,” He panted, voice cracking. His piercing white pupils were hazy with hunger and blown even wider than normal, brightening like two mini flashlights in the darkness. You smiled slowly, curling your fingers into his shadow-soft hair and giving it a firm, coaxing tug until his gaze tore from your breasts and lifted to meet your eyes.

“How about you feel it from the inside then?” You murmured, letting the challenge bleed into your tone. The sound he made was somewhere between a whimper and a groan, his shoulders trembling as if the words had gone straight through him.

“You sure?” His voice was paper-thin, fragile under the weight of his need.

“One hundred percent sure,” You replied steadily. He shuddered, lowering his forehead against your chest for just a beat before adjusting his hips. The tendrils still curled around your thighs spread you wider for him, and the blunt, icy tip of his cock slid forward, dragging deliberately through your folds. The contrast of his cold length against your heat made you suck in a sharp breath, and the sound that left him was nothing short of filthy–half a moan, half a groan, but all pure desperation.

“God–” he gasped, dragging through you again, slower this time, gathering the slickness there. “You’re always so fucking wet for me…” His voice broke as he lined himself up, every muscle in him coiled tight.

The first stretch made your breath catch, heat wrapping around that cold intrusion in a way that had you both gasping. His moan was ragged, torn right from his chest, his glowing eyes squeezing shut like the sensation was almost too much to take. He sank into you inch by inch, hips shaking against yours, until the base of him pressed flush to you and there was nowhere left to go.

“Ahhh–oh my god…” The words fell out in a shivery rush, and you could feel his tendrils tightening around you, holding you as if he was afraid you’d pull away. “You’re…You’re so tight…Fucking warming me up so well.” His forehead pressed deeper against your chest, his breath shaky and cold against your skin.

You didn’t give him a chance to move though. Because you wrapped your legs around his hips, and locked him in place, squeezing him to you so there wasn’t a fraction of space left between your bodies. His head snapped up, eyes blown wide and glowing, his voice breaking on a gasp.

“Y/N…What are you doing?” He tried to thrust, but your legs held him fast. “I need–” his tone pitched higher into a desperate whine, “I need to move.”

You brushed your lips against his jaw, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “I want to see if you can last like this…Until I allow you to start moving.” His whole body shuddered at that, the tendrils tightening almost painfully around your thighs, like they were fighting against you, with his hands gripping at your hips like he could pull himself deeper somehow so he could at least thrust just a little bit, even if it was just a fraction.

“Please–” The word cracked as he said it, his hips flexing in a tiny, helpless grind that didn’t get him anywhere. “You can’t–fuck, you can’t just–” Another groan, sharp and frustrated. “I’m not…I’m not gonna make it if you do this to me.” Your walls flexed around him in a deliberate, slow squeeze, and it was like you’d set off a chain reaction in his body. Void froze, his entire frame trembling against you as a strangled, high-pitched whine broke free from his throat. His hips twitched again instinctively, but your legs locked around him even tighter and kept him caged right where you wanted him.

“Ah–fuck…Y/N…” His voice cracked like the sound was being pulled from somewhere deep, raw. He tried to breathe through it, but it came out in short, shivery bursts against your chest. “Don’t…Don’t do that, I can’t–” Another squeeze from you cut him off with a guttural groan, his hands gripping at your hips like he was drowning now. You smoothed your palm over the back of his head, carding your fingers through the soft fall of shadowy hair, coaxing him closer until his cheek pressed to your breast.

“Just relax, Void…” You murmured, your voice low and soothing against the sharp edge of his desperation. “Don’t move yet…Just feel me around you…Okay?” He shuddered like you’d asked him to step off a cliff.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely there, almost breaking, “I’m…God–I’m going to cum in you if we stay like this too long…Please…Please let me move.” The last plea dragged out of him, thin and wrecked, like it hurt him to even admit it. Your other hand came up to push his hair back from his forehead, smoothing it down in slow strokes. You caught the faint shimmer of his star-flecks trembling under the touch.

”Not yet…” The sound he made in return was pitiful–a needy, wounded whimper that seemed to vibrate through his chest into yours. He tried to shift his hips, a slow roll meant to steal a fraction of friction, but your legs stayed tight, denying him again. His frustration poured out in a shivery hiss, his tendrils curling tight and restless before they melted back against your skin in surrender. Then, he ducked his head, mouth finding the peak of your breast again like a man falling on a lifeline. His lips closed over you in a deep, messy pull, tongue circling with frantic devotion. You clenched around him again, slow and deliberate, and he moaned into your skin so hard it vibrated through your chest.

“Fuck…Oh my god…” His voice was muffled against you, wet from the slick trail he’d already left. His hips flexed instinctively, but the cage of your legs kept him locked in place, every squeeze from you making his restraint unravel. He moved to your other breast, leaving a glistening smear of spit across your chest in his wake, mouth latching on with the same greedy pull.

“You’re gonna…Drive me insane,” he rasped between frantic sucks, voice hoarse. “You’re so fucking warm…So tight around me…I can’t think.” His teeth grazed lightly before his tongue smoothed over the spot in swirling, desperate strokes, his breath coming in ragged pants against your skin. His nails bit into the soft flesh of your hips, cold and sharp enough to make you gasp, and the noise he made in response was nothing short of pitiful—high, breathless, like the sound was torn out of him. His mouth worked frantically over your breast, nipping at the mound, then sucking like he could brand the shape of it into his mouth forever.

“Y/N…” He whined against your skin, his voice cracking around the syllables. “Please, please let me…Fuck…Let me move… I need you…I need to fuck you, it’s all I can think of.” He bit again, harder this time, his tongue smoothing over the sting like an apology before he groaned into the curve of you. You smiled, your fingers sliding into his shadowy hair and tugging his head back just enough to see the wrecked glow of his eyes.

“Mmm…Is that all you can think about, Void?” You teased, your voice low and hot, curling around every word. “How desperate you are to fuck me? How much you need to feel me milking you?”A trembling sound spilled out of him, his hips jerking helplessly against the prison of your legs.

“Yes–fuck, yes, that’s all I want. I want to fuck you until I can’t breathe…Want to feel you clench around me until I can’t stand it…Want to feel you soaking me…” He rasped, almost on the brink of tears, but then you let your legs loosen, just enough that he could feel the slack.

“Good boy…” You purred, letting the praise sink in. “It’s so hot when you fucking beg… Now you can fuck me.” The sound he made was filthy–a growl that was animalistic in a way–as he tore his mouth from your breast and kissed hard up your chest. His lips found your collarbone, teeth sinking into it with a bruising bite before he pulled back, breath shaking. Then his hips drew back and snapped forward in the first thrust, deep enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“Open your mouth,” He instructed, his voice breaking around the command. You obeyed without hesitation, and his cold fingers slipped between your lips. “Suck.” You wrapped your tongue around them, tasting his skin–the staticky flavour that made your mouth tingle. When he pulled his fingers free, they were soaked in your saliva, and he wasted no time sliding them down between you, circling your clit in slow, devastating circles.

Your back arched instinctively, your body bowing into him as his thrusts matched the merciless pace of his fingers. Each stroke drove into you with brutal precision, the pressure on your clit perfectly timed to the deep, filling rhythm that had heat coiling tight in your belly.

Your nails bit into his scalp as you tugged sharply on his shadow-soft hair, pulling his mouth up to your jaw. His teeth found the delicate skin there without hesitation, grazing first, then biting down just hard enough to make your breath hitch. His cold breath fanned over your ear, ragged and uneven, and the sound he made was halfway between a moan and a growl.

“God–You’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” He moaned, the words shivering apart with each slam of his hips, “I can feel every twitch…Every little pulse inside you…Fuck, it’s like you’re dragging the cum out of me already.” The desperation in his tone poured over you, seeping into your bones, and you couldn’t stop the way your legs twitched around him. The muscles in your thighs trembled with the effort of holding him close, of taking every rough, relentless thrust. The tendrils coiled tighter, almost shivering against your skin in sync with the quick, deep movements of his body.

“You like that?” You breathed, your voice threading heat through the dark. “You like fucking me like this…Making me so wet for you I can’t even think?”

“Yes, fuck yes, I love it,” He groaned against your skin, his hips slamming forward hard enough to rock you further up the mattress. “You’re so fucking perfect…Feel like you’re made for me…And I can’t stop, I don’t ever want to stop.” The way he said it–hoarse, worshipful, desperate–sent another shudder through you, your core tightening around him in warning. Your breathing quickened, each moan breaking apart as his pace stayed brutal, his fingers circling your clit in tight, unyielding strokes.

“I can feel it…I can feel you getting close,” He gasped, his voice cracking into a needy whine. “Come for me, baby…Let me feel you clench around me…Milk me until I can’t breathe.” Your nails scraped down his back, dragging hard enough to leave faint trails in his shadowed form, and the noise he made in response was filthy–sharp and aching. Your hips jerked up into him without control, the pleasure cresting so fast you could barely form the warning.

“Oh Void!” You whimpered, the words cutting into a cry as your orgasm ripped through you. Your body arched again, every muscle locking tight, your legs trembling violently against his hips. You felt yourself clutching around him in hot, rhythmic pulses, every squeeze dragging another desperate groan from his chest.

He didn’t stop–not for a second. If anything, your climax spurred him into something almost feral. His thrusts grew even rougher, deeper, chasing his own edge now, the wet sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the dark.

“Fuck…Oh fuck–I’m gonna–” His voice broke into a shameless, almost wounded sound, his hips snapping forward in two, three, four more hard thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt and spilled into you. His release came in deep, throbbing waves, each one accompanied by a sharp little twitch in his muscles.

He stayed inside you, grinding shallowly, pushing his cum deeper with each slow rock of his hips until it was spilling down over the base of him. The noise he let out then–half-groan, half-broken whimper–sounded almost shameful, like he hated how good it felt to lose himself completely.

His head dropped into the crook of your neck, cold lips pressing messily to your skin, and you felt the tremor still running through him. His muscles twitched under your hands, his form shivering as if he was trying to catch up to what had just happened.

“Fuck…” He said, muffled against you, still holding you like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go. His breathing was still ragged when the last few shudders worked through him, but his grip never loosened. He stayed buried inside you, chest pressed flush to yours like he was afraid that if he moved too far, you’d disappear. The tendrils slowly unraveled from the iron-tight hold they’d had on your thighs, but they didn’t retreat–no, they lingered, gliding in slow, languid passes over your skin. Cool, silken strands traced up the sides of your waist, along the curve of your hips, brushing the insides of your thighs as if memorizing you all over again.

His head lifted just enough for you to catch his mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. It was messy–your lips sliding against his from the combined heat and his own lingering tremor–but it was sweet too, deep in that way that said he wasn’t trying to take from you anymore, just to savor. His cold mouth softened against yours, his teeth grazing in fleeting nips before his tongue pushed forward in a lazy stroke, tasting you like he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, it was only far enough to brush his lips along your cheek, then down to your jaw, placing featherlight kisses there while his tendrils curled protectively around you. The faint glow of his eyes dimmed as the adrenaline bled out of him, and you could feel his body start to relax over yours, the last of that desperate tension melting away. You smoothed your fingers along the back of his neck, feeling the cool silk of his hair.

“That’ll definitely help you fall asleep now, hmm?” You teased softly, though the affection in your tone made it less of a jab and more of a gentle observation. The corner of his mouth twitched into something that might’ve been a smile, and the low sound he made was almost a laugh–soft, sheepish, tinged with the smallest note of satisfaction.

“Already dozing off as we speak,” He murmured, voice slurring faintly as if the pull of sleep had already wrapped its fingers around him.

One of his tendrils slid higher, curling loosely around your wrist before slipping up to brush over your knuckles, like he was making sure he could still feel you even as the heaviness of exhaustion tugged him under. His hips stayed pressed to yours, the connection unbroken, and the quiet hum in his chest felt almost like a purr as his breathing slowed, syncing with yours, finally slipping into the peacefulness of sleep.

[lemoniceteee]

Grocery Shopping [One-Shot]

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Reader

Summary: A chaotic family grocery trip turns into a heartwarming reminder that even a cereal box can't compete with the love and chaos of everyday life with Bucky and your three kids.

Word Count: 2.8k+

Content: Light romantic banter and kissing , Mild language , References to past violence/injury , Domestic chaos , Fluff-heavy family content

masterlist --

It's a regular Tuesday afternoon , with slightly-too-warm weather and a handwritten grocery list scribbled hastily with a pen that was dug out of your youngest elmo backpack. 

The poor list had already been crumpled and smoothed out again–three times since being in your back pocket. 

The goal was just a simple , normal grocery trip.

But with three Barnes’ kids under ten and their father who is currently on medical leave and home from any missions…“simple” , “calm” and especially “normal” didn’t really apply to anything in your life anymore. Including a quick trip to the store.

And you wouldn't change a thing about it.

Not when your youngest daughter , Lyla insisted on wearing blue sparkly butterfly wings over her captain america hoodie , your middle Sophie was trying to convince you that rainbow ice popsicles counted as healthy with the argument “they’re fruit-flavored , Mommy, that’s close” , and then there's your oldest son Jack who was currently hanging off the edge of the shopping cart pretending to be an astronaut pointing at the stars.

And their dad , your husband Bucky ; ex-assassin , semi-retired Avenger , proud dad—who was trying to push , said cart , while having a very serious conversation with you about why hes on his current “bed rest” – while also fielding a barrage of questions from the kids about chips ,  pets , and whether or not Iron Man’s suit had a bathroom in it.

“I’m just saying…” Bucky muttered under his breath , navigating around an endcap display of marshmallow fluff with his perfected military precision 

“...when the mission brief says ‘non-lethal,’ maybe don’t drop me into a pit of electrified sand and expect me not to punch someone in the face.”

You blinked up at him , glancing over from where you were comparing the prices of generic and name brand pasta sauce . “Wait. Electrified sand?”

“Yup.” Bucky popped the 'p' dramatically , keeping one hand securely on the cart and the other gently on your son's lower back , silently and instinctively redirecting him as he was about to body-slam a shelf of Gatorade. 

“I’m still finding it in my work boots. And my hair and the grooves in my arm.” He gestures his metal hand proving the point.

“Hmm.” You reached for the glass jar you decided on and dropped it into the cart gently. “So basically , just another Friday for you.”

He shot you a look that said so much and at the same time nothing said at all. “I had sand in places where sand should never be.”

“Daddy?,” your five-year-old daughter piped up loudly from the front of the cart , now cradling a watermelon like a baby, “what’s elec- ectrifcfry mean?”

“It’s a pain in my as-,” Bucky went to answer but you elbowed him lightly in his ribs.

“Don’t curse in front of her ” you said through a smile as he let out a huff from your hit.

 “Sweetie, it’s just another thing Daddy complains about ,  like his meetings…and the kitties fur on our clothes.”

“Why do people talk about sand?” she asked , tilting her head , big blue eyes filled with wonder , squishing the watermelon against Bucky. “Sand’s boring , I hate sand”

“See? She gets it,” Bucky said proudly , tugging the cart forward as your son ran ahead toward the cereal aisle.

You were about to bring up dinner plans or lack there of , when suddenly– a shout cut through the noise and chatter of the store-

“DADDY!”

Everyone in the entire grocery store turned and faced your family.

At the end of the cereal aisle , your eight-year-old was frozen like a statue , one finger dramatically pointing up at the shelf he couldn't quite reach.

“YOU’RE ON THE BOX!”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks , cart wheels screeching to a halt.

You turned toward the shelf seeing what the commotion was about.

A brightly orange colored cereal box , part of some promotional “Avengers Assemble Breakfast” series , with a cartoonish splash of stars and milk… and right there , front and center, was Bucky Barnes. Serious faced. Gleaming vibranium arm displayed. 

He groaned so loud , a woman down the aisle turned her head. You waved at her mouthing everything was okay.

“Oh no,” he grumbled , dragging a hand down his face. “Not again.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the laugh that threatened to pour out. “Babe,” you choked out between giggles, “you look so handsome! Like a stern grumpy blueberry.”

“It’s blue raspberry-flavored,” your son read off the box ,  after he crawled up the shelving grabbing it. “It’s got marshmallows shaped like thunderbolts and stars!”

“And Daddy’s face,” your daughter whispered , wide-eyed with awe. “He’s on a real box. That’s like , famous”

“I hate it so much,” Bucky grouched.

You took the cereal box from your son , holding it up for closer inspection. “Why does it look like you’re scolding the consumers?”

“It was a test photoshoot! I didn’t even know they were gonna use it for this! Val said maybe promotional video game type stuff , not this” he said , already reaching for a plain oatmeal box.

“Oh , come on , you’re adorable.” You flipped the box around. “Look—there’s a trivia section! ‘Which Avenger once punched an alien in space while falling from a helicarrier?’ Hmmm...That’s you , right?”

“Nope,” he deadpanned. “That was Steve. I was too busy being brainwashed.”

“Ah yes , good times,” you replied wincing slightly then easing , kissing his pouty lips and patting a hand on his chest.

Your kids were all now begging to get the cereal , climbing halfway up the shelves in excitement not wanting their usual anymore which included but not limited to–

”Loki Charms” , “Iron Bran” and your personal favorite “Cap’N Ameri-Crunch”.

All while Bucky looked like he was being slowly eaten alive by the attention and embarrassment.

“Please tell me they didn’t make another toy out of me,”

“Oh they definitely did,” you said cheerfully. “Remember that action figure our daughter bit the arm off”

“She bit me?,” Bucky questioned as the kids proceeded to load the cereal boxes into the cart like it was a national treasure.

You leaned closer , bumping your hip against his. “Maybe this..” You pointed to the boxes.. “ is all karma for making fun of me for crying at the dentist commercial last night.” 

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “It was literally about toothpaste.”

“It had a golden retriever reunion and a grandma! That’s uncalled for emotional warfare as I'm trying to do laundry in my own living room!”

Bucky smirked , finally breaking into a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“You married me.”

“Still questioning that decision every time you call me ‘Sarge’.”

You gasped , glancing at the kids to make sure they were still distracted by the cereal’s cartoon maze on the back of the box.

“You love when I call you that,” you whispered , narrowing your eyes teasingly.

He leaned in more. “Only when you say it like–”

“Gross!” your son suddenly yelled cutting him off , little nose wrinkled as he turned around. “You guys are doing that weird stare thing again!”

“Yeah,” your daughter added , “No more mushy faces. Get more snacks instead!”

You and Bucky exchanged a silent , knowing look—one full of amusement and a quiet kind of love that only parents of little chaos goblins shared.

“Fine,” you sighed , moving along through the aisles again. “But I’m picking the ice cream this time.”

“Only if I get veto power over all cereal boxes with my face on them,” Bucky added , pushing the cart following you.

You grinned , “No deal. In fact, I think I’m gonna buy two. One for the pantry , one for the mantle.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You already said that , sarge” The name again made him roll his eyes at you and ruffle Jack’s hair as you all continued..

You made it exactly thirty steps past the cereal aisle before the box started a war between your children.

“I’m holding it!” your daughter shrieked , clutching the orange square like it was made of gold and unicorn glitter.

“But I SAW IT FIRST,” your son growled , grabbing the other side of the box.

“I was the one who YELLED!”

“I pointed!”

Bucky sighed so deeply it echoed. “I’ve negotiated with terrorists,” he squatted down to eye level with both kids. “This is worse.” 

You were right behind him , your youngest on your hip watching with big eyes , as you casually tossed green apples and cheese sticks into the cart  , marking them off the list like you weren’t witnessing the cereal version of the Civil War in real-time.

“Okay, listen up,” Bucky put on his “dad tone” , his hands out like he was diffusing a bomb. “You—” he pointed to your son, “—can hold the cereal for five more aisles. Then your sister gets it until checkout. That fair?”

“No!” they both shouted at the same time.

Bucky blinked at his minis as they showcased the same stubbornness he had. “Okay. New plan then. If anyone cries or argues over it , the cereal goes to me.”

Your daughter gasped like he’d stolen air from her lungs.

“You already have a whole METAL ARM!”

Bucky stood there in confusion , brows crinkled as he stammered to find words. “Babydoll….w…what does that have anything to do with….cereal?”

You nearly lost it right there in the baking aisle.

Eventually , peace was restored. The cereal was balanced precariously on the handle of the cart—neutral territory. And your toddler, oblivious to all , was busy whispering to her stuffie.

By the time you made it to the checkout line , your cart was overflowing with snacks , juice boxes , frozen waffles , and enough Goldfish to feed a small preschool.

Bucky unloaded the cart while you herded your flock of sheep and handed out an emergency fruit strip to keep the kids from melting down right there on the grocery store floor.

“You okay?” he checked in , reaching across you for the carton of eggs.

You nodded , sliding a few items down the belt. “Yeah. You?” 

These little moments were what made you not just a couple or married but a team.. Always checking in where the other was at. 

He gave you a tired smile , his hair a little messy now , dark grey henley sleeves pushed up to his elbows , arm flexing as he moved a bag of flour. “I don’t know. It’s been a weird week.”

You looked at him. Really looked squinting a bit.

Who you were looking at wasn't the man on the cereal box. Not the guy who’d spent years clawing his way back from darkness. Just your husband. Your partner. Your best friend.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked gently ,  head counting your kids again in your head making sure everyone was calm and accounted for.

He shrugged. “Not now. Not here. I’m too busy thinking about how many security briefings I’ll get dragged into next week. And how we made it here and still forgot to grab the milk.”

You laughed and reached into the cart behind a tall bag of tortilla chips , holding up the gallon jug. “Got it covered , Barnes.”

He exhaled laughing, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably buy a different kind of cereal.”

“You’re never letting that go , are you?”

You both laughed as the cashier rang up your items. The kids were now half-asleep all managed to crowd together in the cart , curled against one another , tired from their own sugar-fueled and argumentative chaos.

⟢

As you loaded the bags into the trunk of your car, the sun was beginning to dip below the Brooklyn skyline , Bucky opened the back door and peeked inside. All three kids were passed out cold in their car seats , slumped over with open mouths and sticky fingers.

He closed the door softly and leaned back against the rear of the car beside you.

His voice low and steady. “I forgot how quiet the world can be,” 

You looked up at him, smiling. “They’ll be awake again in twenty minutes.”

“Don’t ruin it for me.”

You handed him the cereal box , which had somehow made it out unscathed.

He groaned , turning it over again looking at his face. “I look like a teacher or something like I’m about to give a lecture.”

You grinned. “I love it.”

“You would.”

“I love you. Even in cereal form.”

He smiled , soft and crooked. The kind of smile that only you and the kids got to see.

He reached over and laced your fingers together. “Let’s go home.”

⟢

The moment you stepped through the front door , the quiet spell of naps shattered.

“Shoes off!” you called out , toeing your own off onto the welcome mat. “Groceries to the kitchen , and no one touches the cereal box until we get the fridge packed!”

The older two groaned like you’d asked them to walk through fire.

Your toddler? She had already sprinted down the hallway—box clutched to her chest like it was her teddy bear.

“Lyla!” Bucky yelled after her , juggling grocery bags. “That is not a bedroom toy!”

“IS TOO,” came the tiny voice from her room.

You sighed , grabbing a bag of frozen carrots.  “I should’ve let her hold the broccoli instead.”

Bucky looked at you , deadpan. “She threw the broccoli at me.”

“Oh…Right.”

⟢

Between snack unpacking and bubble bath  bribery , bedtime happened in stages. 

Jack fell asleep mid-book with his face in Bucky’s shoulder. Sophie demanded two songs and a lullaby before finally flopping back dramatically , declaring she was "too tired to exist." 

But Lyla? Lyla was still standing in the hallway in her footed pajamas , clinging to the cereal box like it might disappear.

“I sleep with Daddy,” she said stubbornly stomping her little foot.

You crouched beside her , brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Baby , Daddy on the box doesn’t have fluff. He’s made of hard cardboard.”

“I love him,” she whispered , blue eyes huge and unwavering.

From the other end of the hallway , Bucky snorted.

“Please let her,” you whispered through a laugh. “She’s had a long day. And so have we.”

“Fine,” Bucky sighed , surrendering. “But if she wakes up chewing on the box we are going right back to Mr. Bear.”

Ten minutes later , Lyla was finally all tucked in. The cereal box was resting beside her like a sacred artifact , her tiny hand resting on Bucky’s cartoon image as she snored softly. 

You and Bucky stood in the doorway , arms folded , watching her sleep. “She’s got your stubbornness , they all do” , you whispered.

“And she has your inability to let things go.” 

You smirked. “We’re a dangerous combo.”

The both of you made it back to the kitchen silently , dimming the lights and stacking leftovers in the fridge. The house was still , rare and moonlit. You moved on autopilot running on only muscle memory , the kind of quiet dance you’d learned over years of late nights and exhausted routines. 

You handed Bucky a mug of tea , and he took it with a soft hum.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Then , he broke the silence, “I hate that box.”

You laughed , leaning your head against his shoulder as he leaned back against the counter.

“I know you do,” you murmured , running your hands through his hair as you talked.. “But she doesn’t. And for once, the world sees you as something good. Not a ghost , or a threat , or a news story”

He was quiet again after your words  , his free arm looping around your waist , holding you against him. “It's just weird., I spent most of my life trying not to disappear altogether and…now I’m on a shelf next to chocolate-covered marshmallows and cupcakes?.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re also perched up on our kid's pillow right now. That matters more.” 

His eyes softened. “You think I’ll ever get used to this?”

“Being loved?” You reached up and brushed your thumb along his stubbly jaw. “I hope not so i continue to show it to you and surprise you….but you’re allowed to be.”

He leaned in slowly connecting your lips , kissing you slow and steady , one hand pressed gently to the back of your head. It wasn’t heated or rushed. Just soft. Safe. Home.

When you pulled back , you whispered against his mouth, “I still think you look hot on that box.”

He groaned , dropping his forehead against yours. 

⟢

Later that night , you both crawled into bed , he reached over and turned out the lamp.

You flopped over rolling onto your side , facing him in the dark.

“Hey,” you hushed in the dark room , your voice half-sleep, “You know I’d still pick you , right? Metal arm , grumpy scowl ,  past and all?”

His hand found yours beneath the blanket , raising it and kissing right where your wedding ring lay. “Yeah,” he said softly. “And I’d pick you, even if you keep buying twenty-dollar oat milk , laughing at my photos and crying during dental commercials.”

You smiled in the dark. “Rude.”

“Its true.”

And with your fingers intertwined, the hum of the fridge down the hall , and the sound of your youngest snoring with her arms wrapped around a cardboard Bucky, the two of you drifted to a peaceful rest.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[lemoniceteee]

god fuck i want to grind on someone's bulge and leave the perfect little wet spot that turns them feral

[lemoniceteee]

Thinking ab bob asking you to sit on his face for the first time... <3

—🎲

warnings: 18+ smut, f!receiving oral, sub!bob, face sitting, cumming untouched

Bob isn’t the most adventurous in bed (unless you suggest something), but he does like to please, so this is something he’s wanted to try for a while. To have you suffocating him between your thighs, nose filled with your scent, mouth filled with your taste. And it doesn’t take much convincing from him to have you agreeing.

Who wouldn’t want a beautiful man worshipping them from beneath?

He's laying down on the bed exactly like you'd instructed him—flat on his back, golden brown hair spreading across the pillows, his arms tucked right by his sides. His chest rises and falls rapidly in anticipation.

You straddle his chest slowly, and his eyes widen like he's about to be blessed and destroyed in the same moment.

"Are you sure?" You ask, gripping his jaw to make him meet your eyes when he nods jerkily. You tsk softly. "Use your words, Bob."

"Please." His voice cracks. "I want it. I need it. Just... just use me, okay? I can handle it."

That's all the permission you need. You slide forward, taking your place on his face, and feel the moment his breath catches beneath you. He moans immediately, tongue already stuck out and flat. You grind down, head tilting back at the immediate gratification you receive from his eager licks. He loves the way you don't let him ease into it.

He practically whimpers under the pressure of your cunt. "Fuck, you're so wet," he mumbles against you, voice muffled and tinged with awe. "Don't stop. Just ride me. I'll be fine, I can take it. Don't need to breathe."

You almost laugh at how pathetic he sounds. Despite reassuring him earlier that if he wanted you to stop he just needed to tap your thigh three times, you're certain he'll keep going until he passes out if it really comes down to it.

You hold his face in place with both hands, fingers curled into the hair at the side. Your hips move in slow but deep motions, pressing your dripping pussy against his mouth. His tongue moves like he’s memorised exactly how to please you; his nose bumps against your clit just right as you grind your hole against him. When you pull back slightly to let him breathe, he gasps for air like he’s just been submerged underwater.

And then he smiles, chin slick and white teeth glinting.

"You taste amazing," he slurs, eyes twinkling like he’s drunk on just the taste of your sweet cunt. "I could die like this. Please, let me die like this."

You laugh breathily, sinking back down onto him.

This time, you don’t let up. Your thighs clench around his head, your rhythm gets rougher, wetter, needier. He groans beneath you like he’s in heaven, his own hips twitching upwards mindlessly as you use his face. It’s frantic, desperate. His tongue works harder, lips sealing around your clit to suckle on it, hands coming up to support your thighs. He kneads and grips at your flesh, eyes rolling back.

When you glance back, you catch sight of it—he’s leaking through his pants again. Cock untouched, rock hard, and completely ignored.

"You gonna cum from this?" You taunt, lips curled up into a cruel smile that makes him twitch in his pants. "That’s pathetic, Bob. This is really all it takes?"

He moans into you like those words are what send him over the edge.

His body stiffens, back arching up off the bed, and then he shudders. A long, broken gasp escapes him between your thighs as he releases into his boxers, completely untouched, soaking the fabric with warmth right through his sweatpants. He moans helplessly into your soaked heat as your own climax hits you.

"God, Bob, don’t stop. Just like that. Yeah, yeah—" Your voice breaks, thighs trembling around his face. "Oh."

You don’t stop right away, moaning with your head tipped back and your hands pulling on his hair. Rocking a little slower, dragging it out, keeping him whining senselessly beneath you as he laps up everything you have to offer. As far as you’re concerned, this is exactly where he belongs—underneath you, messy, ruined, and still desperate to serve.

Finally, you lift up just enough to see him.

His face is soaked, his eyes are glassy, lips red and swollen. His chest is heaving even more than when you started and boy, he looks gone. A blissed-out, panting god with cum in his pants and your taste still on his tongue.

"You didn’t even touch yourself," you chastise playfully.

"Didn’t need to," he rasps hoarsely, smiling up at you. "You touched me enough."

"Not where it mattered."

"Was still enough."

—

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[lemoniceteee]

Lost in the Threads of You

Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog

Summary: Eddie goes absolutely wild seeing you in his t-shirt during an unplanned sleepover. Warning: NSFW, Oral, some hand stuff, Desperate Eddie, Eddie cums in his pants.

You hadn't planned to sleep over at Eddie's.

You'd only been seeing each other for a few weeks, and you'd been over late watching movies with the intention of going home at the end of the night.

But, when Eddie walked you to your car, it wouldn't start.

You tried twice, but your stupid, ancient Corolla only sputtered weakly.

Eddie was still standing next to your car and popped the door open to shoot you an amused look.

"Car trouble, Sweetheart?"

You gave him a little, pink-cheeked, sheepish smile that melted his insides.

"You should spend the night!" He blurted, unable to stop himself.

You both knew full well that he could have driven you home in his van, or popped your hood and figured out what was wrong, but you didn't flinch.

"Yeah, okay."

"Really?" Eddie's eyes widened slightly, but a goofy smile tugged at his lips when you nodded.

He led you back inside, and almost dropped to his knees when you asked if you could take a shower. To think that you'd be naked, even on the other side of the bathroom door, had his brain flooding with erotic imagery.

You'd be naked in his shower where he got naked and showered, even if it wasn't at the same time.

He tripped over himself to offer you something to wear and stood in front of his messy closet showing you every single one of his t-shirts even after you'd told him to just pick one with a soft laugh.

Still, you'd sat there and watched the entire time until he finally settled on one of his Sabbath shirts. His favorite, but he didn't tell you that.

You gave him a soft peck on the cheek when you took it from him on your way to the bathroom and he stood there for a full minute like his brain had blue-screened.

It wasn't that you'd never kissed him before.

The two of you had done plenty of kissing, but still, every time, he found himself stunned that such a beautiful creature wanted to be so close to him. To look up at him with your big doe eyes and smile like he was the only one for you.

God, he hoped he was.

He was damn near in love with you. Completely obsessed and you hadn't gone any further than kissing yet.

He'd be content just kissing you forever.

Eventually, Eddie managed to snap himself out of his lovesick daze and started clearing all the stuff off his bed while desperately trying not to think about how naked you were across the hall.

You were quicker than he'd expected, emerging fifteen minutes later with damp hair and his mouth had immediately gone dry at the sight of you in his shirt.

Its hem rested about mid thigh, drawing his attention to your bare legs, which just sent the filth inside his head into overdrive. He couldn't tell weather or not you were wearing anything underneath, but the mere prospect of you standing there, only wearing his shirt had him at half mast, straining uncomfortably against the confines of the jeans he was still wearing for some reason.

You paused in the doorway, a little enamored by the look he was giving you.

Eddie always made you feel like you were the only girl in the world.

"Hi." You breathed, cheeks a little warm.

"Hi." He shot you a dazed smile and held his hand out to you like he was asking for a dance.

You took it and he immediately brought it to his lips and let them brush over your knuckles before pulling you into his chest gently.

You smelled like Irish spring and the Suave Shampoo he'd gotten at the dollar store, watered down far too many times, but still concentrated enough to leave a scent.

It had never smelled better.

"You look really pretty." Eddie muttered into the top of your head, "I'm glad you're here"

"Me too." You nuzzled into his chest with a happy sigh and a squeeze. "Are you gonna sleep in jeans?"

"You trying to get me naked, Sweetheart?" He chuckled, pulling back to smirk at your pink cheeks "Cause if you are, all you've gotta do is ask."

"At least level the playing field," You pouted teasingly "Take your pants off and we're square."

"On it." Eddie stumbled around trying to get out of his pants quicker than he should've while you sat on the edge of his bed, laughing.

When he finally got out of his pants, he crawled into bed and dragged you along with him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your bare legs tangled under the sheets, skin burning where it made contact. you'd never had so much bare skin touching and both of you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

"What have you got on under this, you little minx?" Eddie's lips brushed against your collarbone.

"Wouldn't you like to know," You'd meant to sound teasing, but it came out too breathy, needy, even.

"Oh, I would." He breathed, shakily, one hand splayed over your lower back while the other rested on your waist, playing with the worn fabric. "God, you don't even know how bad I would."

"Why don't you check?"

Eddie's hands twitched, like he wanted to, but he couldn't tell if you were fucking with him or not, so he pulled back, just enough to look at you.

"I mean, if you want to." your cheeks warmed and you spoke too fast, worried you'd crossed a line.

"Of course I want to." He muttered, ducking down so that his lips were just barely brushing up against yours as he spoke "All I've been able to think about since you walked in here wearing my shirt."

You shuddered.

"Do you know how crazy it makes me?" He kissed you softly "Seeing you in my clothes?"

Your breath hitched in your throat and your head lifted an inch off the pillow, chasing his lips.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Eddie sighed like he was hanging onto his last shred of willpower "did you know that? huh, Sweetheart?"

His fingertips traveled over the curve of your hip and he groaned.

If you were wearing panties, they were so thin that he couldn't feel the waistband through the shirt.

Still, he toyed with the hem before letting his warm hand creep up your thigh, eyes boring down into yours.

It felt like his brain short circuited for a moment when he was only met with skin.

His palm splayed over your bare hip, drawing a soft gasp and a look so full of want that he couldn't help but crash his lips onto yours and pull you flush against him.

Your lips slotted together and your hands immediately went to his hair, tugging at the roots gently while he took your breath away.

His hands gravitated to the swell of your ass and when he grabbed himself a handful. Those long fingers of his found themselves painfully close to the aching spot between your legs, sending you into a frenzy.

His rings were cold against your skin, but you could barely focus on anything other than his fingertips, which seemed to have clued in on why you were kissing him so desperately.

They crept lower, teasing, but not quite giving you what you wanted.

When the pad of one of this fingers brushed up against your folds and he felt the layer of slick gathering, you goth gasped.

"This all for me, Sweet Girl?" He ran a finger through your folds, pulling back just far enough to look at you with lust-filled awe.

You nodded with pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped between your teeth in a way that drove him wild.

"Fuuuuuck" He groaned, pulling you even closer "Killin' me here, honey."

"Can I-" Eddie all but whined, burying his face in your neck in an effort not to rut into your thigh "Can I taste you?"

There was something so desperate and carnal in his tone and you weren't sure you'd ever felt so powerful, while simultaneously trembling with anticipation.

It made you feel so wanted. Like he'd die if he couldn't taste you that very second, and you'd be lying if you were to say you didn't want it just as bad.

So, you nodded eagerly and went to pull your only layer off, but he stopped you as soon as he saw what you were doing.

"No!" He exclaimed a little louder than he'd meant to, hand wrapping around your wrist to pry it away from the hem if his shirt. "Leave it on."

You blinked at him, and cocked your head to the side like you didn't understand.

God, you were adorable.

"You look too good in it." He pecked you on the nose, his cheeks tinged pink. "Also not sure I can focus on anything if you get the girls out."

"The girls?" You huffed out an amused laugh, raising a brow.

"You know." His fingertips ghosted over your chest.

"You're such a dork." You brushed his hair out of his face, gazing into his eyes with pure affection.

"You like it." His lips curled into a half smirk.

"I do." You smiled fondly "I really, really do."

If he wasn't so turned on, Eddie might've melted into a puddle.

"This dork is about to rock your world." He shot you a cheeky grin before lowering himself in between your legs. "You ready, Sweetheart?"

You had about a half second after you'd started nodding before Eddie's head was nestled in between your thighs, which he'd expertly hiked over his broad shoulders, and a strangled moan fell from your lips at the feeling of his tongue liking a stripe up your slit, it's tip flicking over your clit.

Your hands weaved into his hair immediately, desperate for purchase while you writhed beneath him.

Fuck, he was good with that mouth of his.

"Taste so fucking good," He groaned right into your cunt, ravaging you like a man starved. "So fuck-"

Eddie sounded like he was experiencing just as much pleasure as you were, just from eating you out. He was grinding his hips into the mattress, by the time he was easing a finger into your drenched hole, and bucked into it in time with every thrust of his glistening digits.

It didn't take long at all for him to have you teetering the edge of bliss.

You were chanting his name like a prayer, tugging at his hair so hard that if you'd been conscious of it, you'd worry that you were hurting him, but if anything, it only spurred him on, doubling down on his efforts while recklessly rubbing up against the bed.

The cord deep inside your stomach went taut, and finally snapped.

You came so hard that your vision blurred and tears welled up in your eyes, completely overwhelmed by the sensation while Eddie continued to lap at your cunt eagerly, moaning and groaning into it.

You eventually had to pull him away by the hair, overly sensitive and panting.

He rested his cheek against the plush skin of your thigh, catching his breath while gazing up at you lovingly.

You looked gorgeous with your flushed cheeks and swollen lips, still wrapped up in his shirt and twitching as you came down from your high.

"You're way too good at that." You propped yourself up on your elbows and blew a strand of hair out of your face, grinning at your boyfriend. "You want me to do you?"

A low whine escaped the back of his throat at the eagerness in your eyes, but the wet spot in his boxers had his attention.

"No need." His cheeks warmed slightly.

You looked confused for a moment before your eyes widened in realization.

"Really?" You seemed more intrigued than teasing "Just from eating me out?"

"What can I say?" He shrugged tiredly, flashing you a dopey smile "You look too fucking good in that shirt, sweetheart. I didn't stand a chance."

"That's kind of really hot." You scratched his scalp lightly, earning you a happy little sigh.

"I'm gonna shower." He pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh "Do you want anything? Water? a snack?"

"I just wanna get all cuddled up." You smiled softly.

'I'll be quick." He promised, peeling himself out of bed so he could stumble across the hall "Don't fall asleep without me!"

"I won't!" You laughed, watching him till the door latched shut.

Oh man, you had it bad for this boy.

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