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bi-writes · 5 months ago

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anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1

Tradition is not something you are fond of.

It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.

That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.

To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.

Tradition.

Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”

Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.

“Tha’ it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.

“That’s it.”

Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.

“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.

“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”

Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.

Fuck. Keep it together.

“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”

The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.

“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?

Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.

Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.

She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.

Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.

“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”

“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”

Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.

“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”

Patronizing shit.

“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.

Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.

You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.

Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.

But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–

“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”

Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.

In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.

You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.

Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.

“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”

“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.

I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.

“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.

“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.

“What do you mean?”

“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”

“He can do that?”

“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.

Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.

If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.

Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.

Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.

When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.

It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.

He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.

You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.

“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.

Get your shit together.

When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.

You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.

Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.

“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”

Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.

“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”

Oh, that totally makes you feel better.

Prick.

He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.

You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.

It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.

Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.

Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.

She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.

Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.

Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.

In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.

Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?

Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.

If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.

To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.

Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.

You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.

“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.

He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–

Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.

“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”

You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.

Gross.

“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”

You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.

“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.

They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.

“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”

You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.

When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.

“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”

Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.

The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.

It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.

“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”

“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”

“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.

“A tool.”

“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”

“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.

The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.

“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”

“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”

John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.

“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”

“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”

She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.

“Bravo-7, sitrep.”

“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.

“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.

Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.

I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.

“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”

“Certainly is y’r fault.”

��You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”

Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.

“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”

“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”

“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”

Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”

Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”

“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”

Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.

Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.

“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”

“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”

“Just observation on target for now. Why?”

“Need 10 minutes.”

Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.

“What are you doing? Simon–”

“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”

There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.

“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”

“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.

“H-Heat? R-Right now?”

“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”

When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?

He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!

“W-What’s happening t-to me?”

“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”

Yes! Yes! Yes!

“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.

She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.

You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.

“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.

If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.

“Simon, I need it–I need it–”

“I know, love.”

Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–

“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”

“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”

You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.

It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”

“You’ll make it take.”

He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.

He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.

This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.

Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.

It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.

He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.

Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.

His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.

The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.

“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”

You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.

He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.

“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.

“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”

Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.

“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.

“Smells like ye had fun.”

“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”

When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 5 months ago

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Actually, I think this does link in with a wider conversation that I have been thinking for a while Tumblr maybe needs to hear.

There's a common meme on this site now that no one here has any reading comprehension skills. The best one is, of course, the original "No offense but reading comprehension on this site is piss poor/How dare you say we piss on the poor" post, which gave rise to the nickname "pissing-on-the-poor website". There's also the "I like pancakes/How dare you say waffles are terrible" one. Both of these are great, because they're silly jokey ways to show two closely related phenomena that are probably the commonest ways to fail a reading comprehension check.

The first is someone reading certain catchphrases or buzzwords in the post, and based on their own biases or prior experiences or whatever else, their brain simply fills in what it reckons the poster is saying on the topic. Instead of reading the rest of the sentence and digesting it, the reader then just uses their assumption as the interpretation, and reacts to that.

The second is closely related, because it also uses biases and prior experiences to to interpret the post, but rather than ignoring what the OP is actually saying, it instead performs a series of gymnastic leaps to construct a whole new assertion on the OP's behalf that simply isn't there.

There's also a third, of course; that one is people being so eager to feel smug and superior over someone they perceive as Bad that they wilfully assume the OP is stupid or being serious when they're actually joking. And if the reader hadn't been so blinded by their desire to get to look down on someone, they'd have seen the very obvious tells, sometimes even including sentences like "Obviously this is a joke." (I think we have all seen examples of these. Also, in a bid to avoid as many reading comprehension fails here as possible, this does not include misunderstandings borne entirely of neurodiverse struggles to parse intentions; but, neurodiverse people are just as likely as neurotypicals to have ego play a part in their misinterpretation of others, and that is what this point is about.)

And the thing is... actually, we are all capable of any of these. I imagine a sizable chunk of people reading until this point were probably thinking "Lol, yeah, people are so stupid," but na, nage, I'm not having that. Literally everyone does these sometimes. And it becomes a particular risk when the topic under discussion is something that might brush against an issue that is a pressure point for you, like a social justice talking point that you are forever having to argue with internet strangers about, for example. Your brain holds schemas! And sometimes it likes to pattern match things before it deigns to tell you about its findings! And that can hit you right in the emotions, which if they are strong enough, really can shut down all rational thought.

But. This brings me to the real point of the post.

Because the thing is, we have all saddled up and gone to war under these conditions, or at the very least been strongly tempted to. And a vital skill that literally everyone has to learn, sooner or later, is:

Before you hit 'reply', double check the post to make sure you fucking understood it.

And that does not mean "simply re-read, confirm your bias, carry on." It means, "Is it possible to read this post from the point of view of someone who doesn't intend it the way I've taken it? If I put myself in the shoes of an innocent, could they still have written these words? Is there another interpretation for these phrases?"

And you do have to do this step. You simply do have to. Because if your desire is to 'clap back' and call someone a gargling knobskin made of garbage, fuck me sideways but you must see that it is imperative that you check if they actually deserve that kind of treatment first. You cannot spend your time claiming that we must all choose to be kind and then not bother doing your due diligence before screaming a person's various and assorted bigotries at them. If you misread it, and they were innocent - you are the raging aggressive cunt in this situation.

It does not matter that you reacted from an emotional place of normally having to defend yourself either, by the way. Sure, that makes the quality of your human soul better than that of the average Redditor who just enjoys anonymously hurting people, I guess? But it's also irrelevant. If you messaged someone and called them a misogynist because you performed several mental somersaults and landed on your own sore spot when they meant no such thing, you are the attacker. You owe them an apology. And yeah, sure, you can explain your over-reaction as the product of your normal experiences if you like, but that is only an explanation, not an excuse. You are still the asshole here. You still need to apologise and mean it.

And you could have avoided it if you'd done that due diligence, as you should have. If you're going to take a swing, make sure it's the right target. This was once described to me as donkey people - they don't think, they just kick. This is admittedly a little unkind to donkeys, who always do their due diligence, but I feel it's an apt metaphor.

TL;DR: If you feel moved to angrily reply to something, first make sure you've interpreted it right. Don't be a donkey person. And if you ask for clarification, people are innocent until proven guilty. Ask nicely. If they are a bigot, you can then smelt them for parts.

#I reckon anyway #mileage may vary I suppose #but this has certainly made my life a lot happier to stop assuming everyone was attacking me #and to stop getting into pointless fights with no good or satisfying ending #this has been this week's Gospel According to Elanor

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savanir · 2 months ago

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A fight between Danny and Skulker within the ghost zone carried them to a section that Danny wasn't familiar with. It was near a floating island that was overgrown much like Skulker's that the two of them suddenly got ambushed by a third party.

The new ghost seemed more interested in fighting Skulker than Danny, and he didn't hesitate at all to pull out a green glowing serated knife and a matching gun. Their snarling and growling was like nothing Danny had heard before and the insults were also a lot more vicious than what Danny ever heard from Skulker.

It was clear to Danny that these two hated each other.

"Whatever!" Skulker twists mid aerial dodge into Danny's direction, "This isn't over whelp, I'll have your pelt next time!" Skulker shouts before promptly flying off.

The new ghost then approaches Danny, all the while sneering at Skulker's retreating form. Talking with the new guy is... uncomfortable, Danny has to carefully navigate the conversation because it seems like the slightest thing sets him off, aka the guy's masked eyes start glowing brighter and get this smokey effect, and the belt of bullet shells he's wearing over his shoulder catches fire.

But Danny learns that the ghost goes by Ravager and that he's the son of the greatest mercenary there is, was, will be (according to him of course).

Danny also learns that Ravager finds his close combat skills to be atrocious and offensive to look at, "your hand to hand is shit. No wonder you're dead," and the next thing he knows he gets dragged towards the floating chunk of land for an impromptu cqc lesson.

Ravager shows him various fighting skills at a cleared stretch of land nearby a half demolished building that looks like it might have been a T shaped tower at one point.

In fact the whole island has the look of a post apocalyptic city, overgrown ruins of buildings everywhere.

When Danny asks, Ravager tells him it suits him just fine like this and with a name like his Danny is inclined to believe him.

Ravager is disappointed that Danny is a hero and some parts of his personality remind him of his younger brother who he rather not think about at all, other parts of Danny remind him of Robin, who he really doesn't want to think about at all.

In the end though, curiosity gets the better of him and he asks Danny if he can take a look around, see if he can find a guy named Deathstroke (very reassuring name) and report back what he's doing nowadays.

Ravager is not happy with what Danny finds out for him.

"So there was this girl and she apparently also goes by Ravager so to be honest, I'm a little confused now"

"He Fucking replaced me!!?!" flames burst out around Ravager as he shoults.

Danny tries to placate, "... okay now, maybe it's more a passing on the torch kinda thing, keeping your memory alive or something?"

"Where is that portal you've talked about, I'm gonna fucking kill him," Yeah this guy is not listening.

"Now that seems like a rash and poorly thought out thing to do, maybe instead-"

But Ravager is done listening and instead he just yoinks Danny with him in his hunt for vengeance.

Meanwhile on the other side Rose is telling Dick and Jason about a spooky white haired meta kid that popped out of nowhere, asked her if she knew where Deathstroke is at and when she attacked him he deflected all her moves as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #grant wilson #ravager #Grant taught Danny a bunch of moves his dad taught him so now Danny is really great at disarming and incapacitating #cause he will go for the non lethal strats #meanwhile Rose recognizes that stance and way of fighting even if Danny uses his ice powers to manifest a knife #and uses ecto blasts instead of a gun #savwrites #ah fek I forgot the title

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flwrstqr · 3 months ago

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❪ 日语 ❫ 𓈒 ㅤ DREAMER, ENHYPEN AS YOUR HUSBAND ╰—— 𝓲. ⸝⸝𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝖽.

── 𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 ⸝⸝ 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽

‎ ‎ ✶ 𝐀𝐂𝐓‎ ‎𝐈 : husband!enhypen + fem!r 1OOOwc ⟡ fluff oneshots headcanons ࿁ you on your lady days for riki's part TT, skinship, petnames. && 【 VOGUE 】

다니 : since this won the poll,, i'll post this first (>//<) trust i'll post the other one tomorrow or some day over the weekends

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 heeseung never lets you sit anywhere but on his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck. “baby, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, lips grazing your skin. you giggle, hitting his arm in a teasing way. “hee, we’ve been married for years. aren’t you tired of flirting?” he pulls back, feigning offense. “never. in fact—” he tilts his head, eyes dark with mischief— “i think i’ve gotten better at it.” you roll your eyes, but he steals a kiss before you can retort, his lips melting into yours. “mm, still obsessed with me, huh?” you tease, and he smirks, tightening his hold. “hopelessly. my wife’s too gorgeous, what am i supposed to do?” you try to glare at him, but he only kisses your pout away, laughing as he pulls you closer.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 "jay, what the hell is this?" you gape at the endless shopping bags filling your living room, designer logos flashing at you like a personal boutique had exploded in your home. your husband grins, draping an arm around your waist. "happy two-week wedding anniversary, baby." you blink at him. "two weeks, jay. who even celebrates that?" he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. "me. because i love you. and i love spoiling my wife." you groan, burying your face in his chest as he chuckles. "you're insane." he tilts your chin up, eyes twinkling. "insanely in love with you." you roll your eyes, but your heart flutters when he kisses you like he’d marry you all over again if he could. "just say thank you, pretty girl," he whispers against your lips. sighing, you wrap your arms around his neck. "thank you, my crazy but handsome husband."

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 jake finds you curled up on the couch, your soft breaths filling the quiet room, the tv still playing faintly in the background. his heart melts instantly—his wife, waiting for him, only to fall asleep. he crouches beside you, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. "my pretty girl," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. he leans in, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead, careful not to wake you. you stir slightly, lips parting, but he soothes you with a gentle hand on your back. “shh, sleep, baby,” he whispers, then, without hesitation, he scoops you up in his arms effortlessly, holding you close to his chest. he chuckles under his breath, pressing another feather-light kiss to your temple. “always waiting for me,” he sighs, carrying you to bed.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 sunghoon hums, fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip as you both lie tangled in the sheets. “how about waffles, since we had it for breakfast?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple. you scoff, flicking his forehead. “hoon, that’s the ugliest name ever.” he chuckles, pulling you closer, his skin warm against yours. “fine, then you come up with one, genius.” you pause, thinking, and he watches you with that soft, lovestruck gaze. “hmm… i like soojin for a girl.” “soojin,” he repeats, testing it on his tongue. “pretty. what about a boy?” “maybe—” “no,” he interrupts, voice low, teasing. “i vote for waffles.” you groan, burying your face in his chest. “we’re never having kids.” he just laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “too late, sweetheart. i already imagined a little waffle park running around.”

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 “baby, you have a fever,” sunoo pouts, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead for the tenth time in the past minute. you groan, swatting him away, but he’s already tucking the blanket tighter around you. “stay still, i’ll get you some medicine.” before you can protest, he’s gone, returning moments later with a glass of water, a thermometer, and— “sunoo, why did you bring an entire first aid kit?” he huffs, ignoring you as he carefully pops a pill into your palm. “just in case! what if your fever suddenly skyrockets? or you faint? or—” “baby,” you mumble, tugging at his sleeve, “i think i’ll survive.” he softens instantly, cupping your cheek. “i just don’t like seeing you sick,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “so let me take care of you, okay?” you sigh, giving in.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 jungwon notices before you even say a word. at exactly three hours into the party, he glances at you, eyes flickering down to your heels, and like clockwork, you mumble, “my heels hurt…” without missing a beat, he’s already reaching for your hand, guiding you toward a quieter corner. “i knew it,” he murmurs, setting down his drink before crouching in front of you. “here, hold onto me.” you blink as he loosens the straps, slipping your heels off with gentle hands. “won, you didn’t have to—” “of course, i did,” he interrupts softly, pulling out a pair of flats from the bag he brought—because of course, he thought ahead. your heart swells as he looks up, grinning. “i always know what you need.” you shake your head, laughing, but as he presses a kiss to your lips, you realize—yeah, he really does.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 "babe, what size do i have to get?" riki’s panicked voice crackles through the phone, and you bite back a laugh, curled up in bed with a heating pad pressed to your stomach. "riki, it's not jeans, just get the ones i always use," you tease, hearing him groan dramatically on the other end. "yeah, but there's like—fifty kinds! wings, no wings, overnight, ultra-thin—why is this so complicated?" he whines, and you can practically picture him, standing in the aisle with a distressed look, glaring at the shelves. you giggle, and he huffs. "stop laughing at me, i'm suffering for you," he grumbles, but then softer, "do you need anything else? chocolate? a heating pad? tell me, baby, i got you." your heart melts, even as he keeps acting nonchalant. "just hurry back, riki." "i'm already running," he says, and you know he means it.

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thebarneschronicles · 4 months ago

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Closer To Home II

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: Somewhere between stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the careful way he protects your space, Bucky Barnes has quietly claimed a part of your heart. His brooding silence gives way to tender moments in the warmth of your apartment on a snowy night, where shared vulnerabilities reveal the man behind the soldier. Slowly, you navigate the spaces between his old-fashioned values and your modern perspective, learning each other one touch, one laugh, and one unspoken promise at a time. As trust deepens and emotions stir, the fragile connection you’ve built feels both delicate and undeniable—something neither of you is ready to let slip away.

Word Count: 12.4k

Closer To Home Masterlist

A/N: Took me long enough and 3 different tries, but here it is - part 2 of 'Closer to Home'. These babies have been my favourite to write and I truly hope you guys enjoy reading them. Let me know if there's anything else from their growing relationship you might want to see... I might have a few tricks up my sleeve as well. B xx

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your knock on the office door echoes in the quiet space, instantly drawing both Sam’s and Bucky’s heads toward you. Sam is leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s Bucky’s steel-blue gaze that settles on you, pinning you in place. His expression is guarded as always, though the faintest flicker of curiosity softens the edges.

Across the room, Bucky sits hunched over a stack of papers—your papers. They contain the latest intel on a Hydra facility buried somewhere in the European countryside. You know every word, every detail in those documents because you wrote them. You also know the information will keep him tethered to the desk for far longer than he deserves. A twist of guilt knots in your chest, but you push it down as you step inside.

“You guys hate me yet?” Your attempt at humor comes out tentative, your eyes flicking between Sam and Bucky.

“We might,” Sam quips, his shoulders rising and falling in a mock shrug.

“Will coffee make you hate me less?” You bite your bottom lip, stepping further into the room. In your hands, two mugs of freshly poured coffee send thin streams of steam curling upward. You extend them as if they’re offerings of penance.

Sam’s grin widens, but your focus is on Bucky.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but his lips twitch in amusement. You’ve come to recognize this look ever since that night at your apartment—the night everything shifted between you. He’s still Bucky: quiet, brooding, and wrapped in layers of steel, but you’ve managed to find a way through. A small, vulnerable crack he seems to leave open just for you.

“Wilson,” you say, stepping toward Sam and setting the mug down in front of him.

“Thanks, agent,” Sam teases, the title rolling off his tongue with exaggerated weight.

You shake your head but let out a soft laugh. Then, heart thumping just a little harder, you turn toward Bucky. His gaze hasn’t left you, and the air between you suddenly feels heavier.

Taking a steadying breath, you move closer and place the second mug on the table in front of him. You lean in slightly, cheeks warming under his steady gaze. “Mr. Barnes,” you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of teasing formality.

Bucky’s lips curve into a barely-there smile, but it reaches his eyes. “Thanks, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough like gravel, but there’s a warmth in it that makes your chest tighten.

Sam clears his throat dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk. “Mr. Barnes?” he teases, his tone dripping with mock offense. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

You roll your eyes but resist the urge to exchange a look with Bucky. Neither of you had told anyone what had happened between you—not even Sam, who seemed to live for knowing everyone’s business. Quite frankly, you weren’t even sure Bucky wanted to acknowledge it outside the safe confines of your apartment.

That apartment had become your sanctuary. The kisses, the quiet conversations that stretched long into the night, and the comforting weight of his hand on yours had transformed the last six weeks into something you couldn’t quite define but didn’t dare let go of.

He’d been at your place in some capacity every day since that night. At first, it was under the guise of walking you home. Then, he’d talked you into getting on the back of his bike, wrapping your arms around his waist as he drove you to your doorstep. From there, it grew into more.

He’d brought you coffee and bagels in the mornings, like the good Brooklyn boy he is, sometimes adding a slightly awkward compliment about how you "looked nice today". He’d introduced you to his favorite diner, ordering for you with an easy confidence that made your chest ache with affection. He even showed up one Sunday night with pizza, claiming it was your turn to suffer through a baseball game with him because he couldn’t sleep.

And when the nightmares were too much, and he’d knocked on your door at an ungodly hour, you’d let him in without hesitation. You’d made tea, or sat in comfortable silence, or talked until dawn. Whatever he needed.

It was good. It was comfortable.

It was fragile and new, yes, but it was special in a way you didn’t want to jeopardize. You’d let Bucky lead the way, trusting him to set the pace even when your insecurities gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

Sometimes it was hard not to second-guess yourself, though. The difference in your ages—or as Bucky had once awkwardly phrased it, “your … modern way of thinking”—lingered in the back of your mind. You worried over every good morning text you sent him after that first kiss, wondering if it felt too forward or too casual for someone from his time.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way his past and his present seemed to clash. Bucky was a man out of time, still anchored to the rules and habits ingrained in him from decades ago. You saw it in the way he always brought something with him—flowers, a bottle of wine, even a book he thought you might like. You felt it in the way his touches stayed respectful and measured, his hand resting on the small of your back or brushing lightly against yours but never lingering too long.

You admired it, even loved it in a way, but it left you unsure of how far you could go—what you could ask for without overstepping some invisible boundary he might not have fully explained.

Would he think you were too bold if you asked him to stay the night? Would he be scandalized if you finally tried to take things further after weeks of holding back?

The doubts circled in your mind, but you said nothing, afraid of shattering the delicate balance you had built together. Instead, you let the moment linger.

Your silence stretched too long, and Bucky remained still, seemingly content to let you stand there, which only made Sam groan dramatically. He let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “Alright, fine, ignore me. What’s this about?” He gestured to the coffee mugs.

“Just a peace offering,” you said with a casual shrug, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your nerves. You were hyper-aware of your position, standing close to Bucky’s chair, his knee lightly pressing into your thigh as he shifted. “...in the hopes you’ll give me a moment with Bucky?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as his voice boomed, filling the room. “Oh no. No, no, no.” He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I’m stuck here till all hours working on this Hydra mess, cyborg brain isn’t moving an inch.”

“But Sam—”

“Nope!” He cut you off, raising a hand as if to physically block the idea. “I’m not doing all this alone while you two sneak off for… whatever.” His grin turned mischievous, and his eyebrows waggled. “Unless you’re finally ready to spill whatever is going on between you two?”

You stiffened, and Bucky’s knee shifted ever so slightly against you. You couldn’t tell if the movement was meant to calm you or if it was his subtle way of tensing.

“Wilson.” Bucky’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the air like a blade.

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the warning tone. “Oh, come on. You’ve got this poor girl standing there looking all guilty, and you’re just sitting there like a statue. This is practically torture for me. Torture, Barnes.”

You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped your lips. “Sam, please,” you tried again, your voice pleading this time.

Sam looked between the two of you, his smirk softening just enough to make it clear he wasn’t entirely unreasonable. “Fine,” he relented with a dramatic sigh, pushing himself away from the desk. “You’ve got ten minutes. But if I’m still stuck here after that, Barnes, you owe me big time.”

“Noted,” Bucky replied evenly, though his tone held a hint of relief.

Sam grabbed his mug and sauntered toward the door, turning back just as he opened it. “Ten minutes. And no funny business.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Sam was already gone, leaving you alone with Bucky.

The silence that followed was heavier than you expected. You glanced down at him, and he looked up at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said finally, his voice low, almost hesitant. "You could've just said you need to talk to me."

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you. Just us two.”

That made him smile—just a little, but enough to make your heart flutter.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, lifting the mug and taking a slow sip.

You shifted on your feet, nerves bubbling in your chest. “Bucky…” you started, unsure how to approach the growing weight of what you wanted to say.

His gaze never left yours, and after a moment, he set the mug down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, his voice steady. “What is it?”

Your heart pounded as you considered your next words. “I just… I wanted to ask if…” You hesitated, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “If maybe you’d want to stay tonight? At my place?”

The words were out before you could second-guess them, and your stomach twisted as the silence stretched between you.

Bucky blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment, which sent you spiraling into a rambling mess. “It's supposed to be a snowstorm tonight, and I’ve stocked up on everything. I’ve got food, beer, and… I even bought that whisky you like.”

His lips twitched, just barely, but he started to shake his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

His words were soft, hesitant, and his flesh hand reached out instinctively, brushing against yours. Without thinking, you twisted your fingers into his, holding on.

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” you said quickly, the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I want you to. Come over, I mean. You never impose.” Your voice softened, your eyes searching his. “And it’d make me feel better knowing you’re somewhere warm instead of that cold, empty apartment of yours.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his steel-blue eyes scanning your face like he was trying to make sense of your words. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe, or caution. You both understood what an evening alone might lead to, yet neither of you was certain of how the other felt about it.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

His gaze lingered on you, and then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed. The faintest smile curved his lips as he nodded. “Alright,” he said, his voice as steady as the snowfall outside. “If you’re sure, then… yeah. I’ll come over.”

The relief that washed over you was immediate, and your grip on his hand tightened briefly before you let go, your fingers brushing against his in a lingering motion.

“Should we go?” you asked, your stomach doing flips as Bucky pushed up from his chair. He stood tall, his presence magnetic as he stepped into your space. His arm sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Before Sam comes back—”

“Time’s up, lovebirds,” Sam’s voice rings out from the doorway, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Your head snapped toward him, heat rising rapidly from your chest to your face as you caught Sam’s amused expression. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, one brow raised in playful judgment.

“It’s not—” you start quickly, your hand pressing against Bucky’s firm chest in an attempt to put some distance between you. But Bucky doesn’t budge; he’s an immovable wall, steady and unrelenting. His arm tightens slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Not what you think, Sam,” you say, your voice tinged with panic as the words rush out.

“Sure it’s not.” Sam’s grin widens, his eyebrow quirking higher. “Should I just ignore the fact that there’s an entire vibe happening here?”

You groan audibly, closing your eyes in mortification as you drop your forehead against Bucky’s chest. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing do little to ease your embarrassment, yet the circle of his arms feels undeniably safe, comfortable, and intimate in a way you hadn't experienced before.

“Wilson,” Bucky warns, his tone sharp and commanding. The sound rumbles through his chest, and you don’t need to look to know he’s glaring daggers at Sam.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Just saying, man. You two are about as subtle as a brick wall.”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you busy yourself with straightening the papers on the desk, refusing to meet Sam’s knowing gaze.

Bucky sighs, the sound low and exasperated, his fingers curling around your waist in a protective way, maybe even possessive. You can feel the tension in his body, the subtle shift as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“So,” Sam drawls, clearly enjoying every second of this, “are you telling me what’s going on, or should I just assume the worst?”

Your head jerks up, incredulous. “The worst?”

Sam crosses his arms, his smirk widening further. “Yeah. Like, I don’t know… that cyborg brain over there took advantage of this poor girl. That you swooped in here all broody and mysterious, and now she’s trapped under your metal arm spell or whatever.”

You can feel your face flush, your stomach twisting in discomfort. You groan loudly, throwing your head back in disbelief. Your fingers tighten in the fabric of Bucky’s jacket as you prepare a scathing retort, but before you can, Bucky beats you to it.

He huffs, a sharp sound that carries both frustration and amusement. His tone drips with sarcasm. “Yeah, that’s exactly it, Wilson. She’s helpless, clearly.”

Your patience snaps. “I am a consenting adult!” you shriek, the words coming out in a rush. The urge to throw the nearest stapler at Sam’s head is almost too much to contain, but you force yourself to stay composed. “Anything he’s done to me or with me was discussed and agreed upon. Not that he has… done anything, that is. We haven't, he--”

You immediately regret those last words, the heat in your cheeks flaring up even more as your stomach flips with embarrassment. You want to sink into the floor and disappear, but Sam’s grinning face makes it impossible to hide.

Bucky’s arm around your waist tightens slightly, as though sensing your discomfort. “Sam,” he says with a low growl, warning in his tone. “You can stop anytime.”

“Relax, man,” Sam replies with a wink. “I’m just messing with you. Though, seriously, you two need to quit acting like you're the only ones in the room.” He pats his stomach with exaggerated flair. “It’s a bit much, yeah?”

You groan again, but this time, it’s a mix of frustration and amusement. “We’re not doing anything!” you insist, hands held out defensively.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Sam says, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Just remember, I’m not as oblivious as you think.”

Bucky’s hand slips from your waist as he steps toward Sam, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “You need to go before I let her loose on you, Wilson.”

Sam laughs and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to… whatever you’re not doing. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He gives a dramatic wink before backing toward the door. “Remember—I know. I’ve seen the vibe.”

Once he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, you exhale, your shoulders finally relaxing. You turn to look at Bucky, who’s still watching you closely.

“I swear, if he says anything to anyone…” You trail off, the rest of your thoughts hanging in the air.

Bucky just shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “If he does, I’ll make sure he regrets it. I have a vibranium arm.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the tension melt away. “You really know how to make a girl feel protected,” you tease.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his eyes are soft. “Just doing my job.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your job?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s hand brushes your shoulder lightly, his voice lowering. “To make sure no one messes with you. Not even Wilson.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his tone, and you can’t help but smile. “Well, I appreciate it,” you say, your voice soft. “Really.”

Bucky just nods, his hand slipping into yours as he gives you a warm, steady smile. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back with more jokes.”

“Agreed,” you reply, the warmth of his hand in yours calming you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

–

The wind whipped outside the car, but inside, it was warm, the heater humming steadily, and the radio playing soft background music. Bucky’s hand was steady on the wheel, his presence somehow grounding you even as the world around you seemed to fade into the night. He’d convinced Sam to switch with him - his motorcycle for Sam’s car, and that was enough to shock you into silence for nearly the whole ride.

Even when you stopped at the fancy supermarket, it felt surreal. The aisles were empty, save for you two, which gave Bucky the freedom to drag you through the store with his hand tightly wrapped around yours. The shopping cart squeaked softly as it rolled, and you couldn’t help but notice how domestic it all felt—how comfortable.

“We don’t have to do this, Buck. I’ve got plenty of food for both of us,” you tried, watching him toss your favorite wine into the cart—how he knew that, you still had no idea—along with chocolate and even a bundle of flowers that had you laughing under your breath.

“Wrong,” he said with a grin, shaking his head as he held up two boxes of pasta. “We don’t know how long we could be stuck there. Could be days, weeks…” He paused, his eyes softening, then added with a teasing smile, “Gotta keep you fed and warm.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress your amusement, pointing to the noodles you liked best. He added four boxes, his expression never faltering as he gave you another quick look, one that sent your heart into a flutter.

The cart was full of the oddest assortment of essentials, and it was clear to you by now that Bucky wasn’t just picking things at random. Everything he grabbed seemed like something he knew you’d enjoy—or at least, he thought you would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he squeezed your hand, and you were sure he could hear it. “Buck,” you began, voice quiet but steady as you tugged him back toward you, pulling him into your space until his front was pressed against yours. The moment hung between you, thick with anticipation, and you took a breath, unsure but resolute. “I’m going to kiss you, and some people might see, so I need you to stop me if you’re not comfortable, okay?”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and his smile was shy but kind. He nodded, the slight tension in his shoulders easing as he stepped closer to you. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

With a nervous sigh, you rose on your tiptoes, tilting your head just enough to fit the shape of your mouth to his. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers gently curling into his hair as you leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, a soft exploration, but it deepened when you let your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself even closer.

The air around you seemed to disappear, the world becoming small, fading into the background as you buried your face into his shoulder, your chest pressed to his in a way that felt more intimate than anything you had known.

Bucky’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as his lips brushed against your hair, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

“I’m so bad at this,” he murmured, and the words had a weight to them that made your chest tighten.

“At what?” You frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your brows furrowed in concern.

“Dating,” he laughed softly, the sound a bit strained. “I used to be good at it. In the '40s… Steve used to hate me ‘cause I’d get all the girls, and he couldn’t even get someone to dance with him,” he added with a rueful grin, though he winced when you pinched his waist playfully.

“Hey,” you scolded lightly, “I don’t need to hear about other girls.”

His laugh softened, but his expression faltered just slightly, as if he regretted even bringing it up. “I know. I’m sorry. But now… now it’s like I’m Steve. I don’t know what to do, or how to… move forward.” His eyes darkened a little with uncertainty, something raw flickering beneath the surface.

You studied him, your heart aching with the vulnerability he was showing you, and for a moment, it was like everything else faded away. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this connection between the two of you.

You reached up to gently touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble there. “You were doing a pretty great job before you mentioned other girls,” you said, a teasing note in your voice, though you couldn’t quite stop the slight pout that formed at the corners of your mouth.

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he chuckled under his breath, clearly amused by your reaction. “Sorry.” His hands moved up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he tilted your head back slightly, forcing you to look up at him.

You were so close now, your breath mingling with his, the space between you charged with unspoken words.

“What I’m saying is…” His voice dropped, and you could hear the sincerity in every word. “Things are different now. You think and do things so differently nowadays. So, you might have to boss me around a bit.” He smiled, though there was a slight nervousness in the way his lips curled. “Tell me what you want, how fast or slow I should take things… I just wanna make you happy, doll.”

You blinked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. You could feel the sincerity in his touch, in the way his eyes locked onto yours, as if waiting for you to guide him, to tell him what you needed. The idea that he was willing to be led, to be patient with you in this way, made your chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft but sure, “I just want you to be you.” Your hand slid up to his chest, resting over his heart. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest… with me, with yourself.”

You could see the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as he took in your words. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and you felt your heart flutter at the way he looked at you—like you were everything.

“Honest, huh?” he muttered, a playful glint in his eye now. “Alright, doll. I can do that.”

His hands slid down to your waist, his grip firm but tender, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like every movement was an exploration, a promise that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. It was the kind of kiss that wrapped itself around your heart, making everything outside of this moment feel miles away.

Bucky’s lips hovered near yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his gaze soft but intense. “In the spirit of honesty…” you murmured, scratching lightly at the hair at the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the soft strands. “I really, really want you to take me home.”

His breath hitched for just a second before his brow quirked, and a playful glint flickered in his eyes. “Hungry?” He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at his lips as his nose brushed against yours.

You smirked, eyes glinting with mischief as you leaned in just enough to brush a teasing kiss across his lips. “Starving,” you whispered, the word hanging between you like a promise, an invitation, and Bucky’s grip on you tightened, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“Yeah?” His voice was low and thick, full of something you couldn’t quite place—teasing, but also a little desperate. His fingers dug into your waist, the touch possessive and tender at once. “God, you really are out for my virtue, aren’t you?” His smile was crooked, that playful smirk you adored, but there was a burn behind it that spoke to the heat building between you.

You laughed softly, the sound breathless as you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him even closer. “I might be…” you said shyly, your hands tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “But only if you’re okay with that. I mean it, Buck,” you continued, your voice soft but full of sincerity, “I just want you to be comfortable. And if taking things slow works for you, then I’m okay with that. But,” you added, your voice dropping an octave, the hint of something daring slipping in, “I’m ready for whatever you want to give me. Virtue and all.” You couldn’t suppress the playful, sultry edge that took over, but deep down, you meant every word.

Bucky’s gaze darkened at your words, the storm brewing in his eyes almost tangible as he stared at you. His breath caught, and something heavy settled low in your belly, your pulse racing as the air between you thickened. The bravado you’d carried, the playful energy you’d thrown his way, melted beneath the intensity of his stare, leaving you feeling like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t quite understand, yet couldn’t resist either. Just one look from him, and you were already lost.

Without warning, Bucky leaned in again, his lips crashing against yours with more urgency this time. His kiss was deep, demanding, but still careful—like he wanted to savor this moment, but couldn’t help the fire inside him. His hands slid lower, skimming the hem of your shirt, bunching it up as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your back. The heat between you intensified, your body responding to him with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little harder, hearts racing in sync. His voice was thick with desire, the playful smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was something else now—something deeper, something real. “Let’s get you home, doll.”

You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him down into one more kiss—a slow, lingering connection that sealed the words between you both. Whatever happened next, it was clear neither of you were backing down. Not now. Not when you’d both found something too good to let go.

–

The ride back to your place felt like something out of a dream—the snow gently falling, coating everything in a soft, white blanket as the streets remained eerily quiet, save for the hum of the car’s engine. The city seemed to have slowed down, as if giving you both the gift of time, allowing you to exist in a bubble, disconnected from the rest of the world. The soft glow of the streetlights cast long shadows on the empty sidewalks, making everything feel surreal, like it was just you and Bucky, in your own little universe.

Bucky carried the bags with ease, his muscles straining slightly under the weight, but he shot you a look when you reached for them, a silent command for you to stay put. You gave in with a small sigh, letting him lead the way up to your apartment. The silence of the evening was comforting, and the last thing you wanted was a nosy neighbor making an appearance to witness the soldier who had, over the past few weeks, seemed to become a fixture of your life. To your relief, the hallway was empty, and you made it to your door without interruption.

Inside, the atmosphere was cozy, the warmth of the apartment a stark contrast to the biting cold of the storm outside. You both settled into an easy rhythm, unpacking the groceries in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the soft thuds of the fridge and cabinet doors opening and closing.

“So,” Bucky asked casually, leaning against the counter as he looked out at the storm gathering beyond your window, “do you have a record player or something?” He turned to face you, a slight frown of curiosity crossing his features.

You paused, glancing over at the small Alexa device sitting innocently on your counter. “I have an Alexa,” you replied, giving a small nod towards it. “You know, it plays music and does other things.”

Bucky frowned, his brows furrowing as he scratched his chin. “What’s an Alexa?” His confusion was genuine, the years between him and modern technology starkly evident.

You chuckled, your lips curving into a smile at his bemused expression. “It’s a smart speaker,” you explained, walking over to the counter to give him a quick demonstration. “You can ask it to play music, set alarms, tell you the weather... all that stuff. It’s like having a little assistant, I guess.”

He blinked at it for a moment, eyes narrowing as if trying to understand the concept. “So… it listens to you? All the time?” he asked, his voice laced with an understandable wariness. The idea of technology that could constantly listen was something far removed from his 1940s mindset.

“Only when you ask it to,” you assured him with a soft laugh. “It’s not always listening. Just when you say ‘Alexa.’”

His frown deepened, but his curiosity was winning out. “Seems weird,” he muttered, as if processing this new information, then shook his head. “You kids and your gadgets.”

You smiled at his bemusement, the way his voice softened, betraying his playful frustration. "Well, if you want, we can ask her to play you something. Music from the '40s, maybe. Would be fitting for the snowstorm," you offered casually.

He stood in front of the Alexa as if it were an unfamiliar adversary—his posture straight, shoulders squared, eyes locked on it with the same intensity he used to assess a potential threat. It was endearing, even a little adorable, and it made something flutter in your chest.

"You just call her by her name–"

"It’s a she?" His expression shifted to surprise, and you couldn't help but laugh softly, moving to stand beside him, tucking yourself against his side.

"It is," you confirmed, smiling up at him. "You call her by her name and tell her what you want to hear."

Bucky eyed the device warily for a moment before taking a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something monumental. "Alexa," he started cautiously, the uncertainty in his tone making you grin. You watched as his posture tensed, like he was preparing for some kind of response. When the Alexa lit up, he glanced at you. You nodded, urging him on.

"Play ‘I’ll Be Seeing You,’” he said, the words coming out a little less sure but with more of the quiet confidence you adored.

The Alexa responded with a cheerful chime, followed by the soft crackle of an old jazz band filling the room, the familiar strains of “I’ll Be Seeing You” floating through the air. The song instantly enveloped the space, its soothing, nostalgic melody bringing a warmth that matched the coziness of your apartment.

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed almost immediately, and he let out a quiet, appreciative hum as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the music. You watched him, a little mesmerized by the way he seemed to let go, the weight of his past momentarily lifting with each note. It was as if the song had unlocked something deep within him—something soft and vulnerable—and you couldn’t help but smile.

He looked over at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost distant. "I used to hear this song everywhere," he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet nostalgia. "It was... everywhere during the war. The way it made people feel... like they were holding onto something, you know?"

You nodded, your heart aching with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “I get it. It’s a song full of memories.”

His eyes flickered to you then, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I didn't think... I'd hear it again like this," he admitted, a little stunned.

You shifted closer, your arm brushing his as you leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. “I think that’s the magic of music,” you said softly. “It makes things feel familiar, even when everything around you is different.”

His hand found yours, the warmth of his fingers sending a jolt of comfort through you as he intertwined them. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper. “You’re right.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the music wrapping around you both like a shared secret. The storm raged on outside, but inside, it felt like time had slowed. All that mattered was the here and now—the feeling of Bucky’s hand in yours, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet comfort of being in each other's presence.

"Want to dance?" you asked softly, the idea slipping out before you could fully process it. Your cheeks warmed slightly at the thought, but you couldn't help the way your heart picked up pace, the romance of the moment beckoning you.

Bucky blinked, looking down at you with an almost surprised expression before that familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

You grinned, looking up at him. “I did it this time, you can take the next one…Remember, you asked me to boss you around.”

His gaze softened, and after a beat, he stood up from where he had been leaning against the counter. His hand reached for yours, tugging you closer gently. “Alright, doll. Let’s see if I still know how to do this,” he said with a quiet chuckle, pulling you close.

You melted into his embrace, the two of you swaying slowly to the music. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you in the warmth of the room. There was no need for words as you moved together, the silence between you only deepening the connection. Every brush of his fingers, every shift of his body against yours, seemed to speak volumes. It wasn’t about the past, or what might come—it was about right now, about this moment, and about the way you both fit together so perfectly.

As the song faded into the next, Bucky’s lips found yours again, unhurried and deliberate, as if the world outside had slowed just for the two of you. His kiss was a mix of tenderness and restrained fervor, like he wanted to savor every second, every detail. The slow burn between you deepened, the heat simmering just beneath the surface as his hand found the small of your back, drawing you closer.

You melted into him, your arms looping around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair with a confidence that belied the nervous flutter in your chest. When you parted your lips, letting your tongue tease against his, the quiet gasp that escaped you was met by a low, rumbling sound from him that made your knees weak.

The tension grew, thick and heady, until he finally pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes searched yours, concern flickering as they trailed over the goosebumps on your arms. “Cold?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, as though the mere thought of your discomfort was unacceptable.

“The opposite, actually,” you managed, your voice quiet but steady, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky’s brow furrowed faintly, his gaze flicking to your chest, where your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of your ribcage. “I can hear your heart,” he murmured, the words almost apologetic, as though he didn’t mean to notice but couldn’t help himself. His flesh hand moved to your waist, loosening slightly as he stepped back. “Doll, what’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, the nerves clawing at you. Panic flared when he pulled away even a fraction, and before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out, gripping his dog tags and the front of his shirt to stop him.

“Don’t go,” you said, your voice firmer than you expected, though it still carried the edge of vulnerability.

His eyes softened immediately, concern giving way to patience as he stayed perfectly still. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you quietly. “But tell me what’s wrong.”

The warmth of his presence, the way he was so grounded, so attentive, gave you the courage to take a shaky breath and press forward. “You know… you know how we said we had to be honest with each other?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent reassurance that he was fully present, ready for whatever you had to say.

You took a steadying breath, trying to push past the nervous tightness in your chest. “I have to tell you, I–” You faltered, but the heat in your veins burned brighter, urging you to move forward. “I really, really… want you.”

You watched him swallow harshly, one hand abandoning your body to scratch against the stubble on his cheek and your hands loosened their grip on him.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” you added quickly, rushing to fill the silence, afraid of misinterpretation. “But… God, you’re really gonna make me say this, aren’t you?” You laughed nervously, the sound trembling under the weight of your vulnerability. “I want… I’d like to have sex. If that’s… something you’re interested in.”

The confession felt both freeing and terrifying, like stepping off the edge of a cliff and trusting the landing would be soft. Your heart thundered, your hands slowly releasing his shirt as if giving him space to process.

Bucky blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. He took a deep breath, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite place—somewhere between careful consideration and overwhelming tenderness.

“We shouldn’t rush this,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, each word carefully chosen, like he was afraid saying the wrong thing would fracture the trust between you.

His hand came up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, and the gentleness of the gesture made your chest ache in the best way. You nodded, already understanding what he wasn’t saying out loud: that he wasn’t rejecting you, that he would, if you asked, but there was no pressure.

Your heart, traitorous and loud, picked up speed again. His eyes flicked down to your chest, where the rapid thudding might as well have been a drum solo, and then back to your face, a slight frown knitting his brow.

“Your heart,” he muttered, almost like it was something he could scold into quieting down.

You huffed a laugh, grabbing his hand and kissing the center of his palm to redirect his attention. “Stop listening to it,” you whispered, your voice warm but teasing as you nipped lightly, teasingly, at the heel of his hand. “I’m nervous, okay?”

“There’s no reason to be,” he replied earnestly, his frown deepening as though he was genuinely baffled by the idea that he could make you nervous.

“Bucky, I just told you I want to have sex with you,” you said, your words tumbling out in a quick, exasperated laugh as heat rushed to your cheeks. “It’s a pretty big moment, you know? That doesn’t just roll off the tongue.”

That made him pause, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, though he fought to suppress it. “It sounded like it rolled out just fine to me,” he teased, his tone lighter now, the faintest hint of playfulness creeping into his voice.

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, smacking his shoulder lightly, though you couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “I mean it, though. This isn’t rushing—not for me. I want this. I want you.”

Bucky searched your eyes for a moment longer, as if trying to decipher some hidden truth, but there was nothing hidden. Only warmth, trust, and the quiet understanding that you were both on the same page.

“Okay,” he finally said, his voice low and steady.

Your stomach flipped, your pulse racing so wildly you half-wondered if you were on the verge of cardiac arrest. But before you could spiral any further, Bucky leaned in, his lips finding yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees buckle. There was something definitive about it and you practically melted into him.

Thank God for his arms wrapped firmly around your waist because you weren’t entirely sure your legs could hold you up. He smiled against your lips as he pulled back, a smug little quirk of his mouth that made your breath hitch.

“If your heart beats any faster, doll, I might think I need to call a doctor,” he teased, his voice low and rough with amusement.

You groaned, heat flushing your cheeks as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, though a reluctant laugh bubbled out of you. “Quit making fun of me and take me to bed..”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The walk to your bedroom was wordless, every step thick with tension that hung in the air like a live wire. His hand gripped yours, his vibranium fingers cool but steady against your clammy palm as you led him through the quiet space of your apartment.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound impossibly loud in the stillness, and the finality of it sent a twist of nerves through your stomach. You paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and turned to face him, your back pressed to the door.

Bucky stood there, his gaze locked on yours with a heat that made your skin prickle. It was the kind of look that felt like he was peeling back every layer of you, uncovering truths you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet. The air between you was charged, thick with unspoken tension, and you swore if neither of you broke the silence, you might actually combust.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” you asked softly, your voice barely cutting through the stillness of the room. Seeing him here, in your bedroom for the first time, surrounded by the intimate details of your life, made the moment feel weightier somehow.

This wasn’t just Bucky stepping into your space; it was him letting you into his. It hit you like a tidal wave—this wasn’t just about tonight. This was trust, raw and real, and it sent your thoughts spiraling. Was this his first time being with someone since the 1940s? Had he been with anyone before you, and if so, had it been because he wanted to or because he felt he had to? Was he doing this now because he truly wanted to, or was he trying to make you happy?

You couldn’t bear the idea of pushing him into something he wasn’t ready for. Bucky had endured enough of that in his lifetime, and the thought of being another source of pressure made your chest tighten.

“Buck,” you said again, your voice steady despite the knot of nerves coiling in your stomach. “You know we don’t have to do this, right? If you’re not ready, or you don’t want to…” You swallowed hard, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I’ll wait. As long as you need. No pressure.”

“Doll—” His voice was closer than you expected, and when you looked up, you realized he’d stepped into your space, the broad expanse of his chest now just inches away. His lips quirked into a soft, amused smile. “We joke about you stealing my virtue, but you’re really starting to make it sound like you think I’m some blushing virgin.”

Your cheeks burned as you stammered, “I know you’re no Steve Rogers!”

That drew a genuine laugh from him, low and warm, the sound reverberating through your chest. The corners of your lips tugged upward despite yourself, his laughter disarming you in the best way.

“He’d hate that, you know?” he said, shaking his head slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes softened by the affection in his voice.

You couldn’t help but lean into him, your body moving of its own accord as your lips brushed his in a tentative kiss. “I’m serious, though,” you murmured against him. “I just needed to make sure.”

Bucky’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a tender caress that made your heart stutter. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to,” he said, his voice low and steady, his gaze locked on yours.

“Good, that’s good,” you whispered, feeling the possessive press of his hand on your waist. Your voice dropped, trembling slightly as you asked, “Can I touch you now?”

His breath caught, and a low chuckle escaped him, the sound rumbling through your chest. “Go on, doll,” he said, his tone a mix of awe and hunger. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a maddeningly light kiss.

Your hand slid into his hair as you chassi his lips, your fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you tugged him closer. “Thank God,” you breathed, the words barely audible before your lips crashed into his.

This kiss was different—deeper, fiercer. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, a declaration, and he met it with a raw intensity that left you breathless. His body pressed you firmly against the door, his broad frame caging you in. His hands roamed over you, heat and cold mixing as his metal arm skimmed your side while his flesh hand gripped your waist.

The contrast made you shiver, your body arching into him instinctively. His thigh pressed between your legs, the pressure slow and deliberate, creating a friction that made your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth found your neck, his kisses trailing fire along your skin. He moved with a purposeful intensity, his lips and teeth teasing your sensitive flesh until you felt your entire body alight.

You couldn’t stop the soft, needy sounds spilling from your throat, each one seemingly spurring him on. Your hands gripped his shoulders desperately, like you were anchoring yourself to him.

When his hands gripped your hips, pulling you tighter against his thigh, your gasp turned into a sharp inhale, the delicious friction pushing you closer to the edge of reason. The strength in his touch, the heat radiating from his body—it was all too much and yet not enough. You shifted against him, seeking more, your body moving of its own accord.

Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel him, and your touch grazed the warm, firm muscles of his back. He froze for a moment, a quiet hitch in his breath that you barely caught over your own heartbeat. Then, in a deliberate move, he caught your wrists and guided your hands down his chest, sliding under the fabric of his henley and pressing them firmly to his abdomen.

Your fingers splayed against his skin, exploring every ridge and contour of muscle beneath your palms. The heat of his body seemed to burn through you, and with an urgency you couldn’t suppress, you tugged his shirt up and over his head.

You took a moment, your lips brushing down the side of his neck and shoulder to where vibranium met flesh, kissing the junction reverently. His hand slid into your hair, his grip firm but careful, as though he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or let you explore at your own pace.

Your lips followed the path down his torso, pressing kisses over his chest, across his abdomen, and lower still until you found yourself on your knees before him. His breath hitched audibly, the sound loud in the quiet intimacy of your room.

You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers fumbling slightly as you undid it, followed by the button and zipper of his jeans. The anticipation was electric, every movement deliberate yet tinged with a nervous excitement.

“Can you kick your shoes off for me?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

A soft laugh rumbled from him, low and indulgent, as he complied, toeing off his boots and kicking them aside. The quiet thuds they made against the floor only heightened the tension, your heart pounding as you pressed a kiss to his hip, just above the waistband of his jeans—a silent thank-you that made his fingers tighten on the back your hair.

You tugged his jeans down his legs, your hands brushing against his strong thighs as the fabric pooled at his feet. His fingers smoothed your hair, pulling only a bit to tilt your head back until your eyes met his. His gaze burned with a desire you felt in every fiber of your being.

“Come up here,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, igniting a fresh wave of heat through you. You glanced down his body, your gaze lingering shamelessly on the obvious outline beneath his pants. A teasing smile played on your lips as your fingers flirted with the waistband of his underwear.

His grip on your hair tightened in response, not painful but firm, and you let out a soft, protesting whine, surrendering as he pulled you back up. The motion was effortless for him, his strength a constant reminder of the power he held but never used without care. He gathered you against his chest, both hands slipping beneath your shirt to press against the bare skin of your back. His touch was searing, grounding you as his breath tickled your temple.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the clasp of your bra, the request making your stomach flip.

“You can do anything you want to me,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you anticipated. You swayed against him as he lifted your shirt halfway, exposing your stomach to the cool air. His lips were on you immediately, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the newly revealed skin, the contrast of heat and cold making you shiver.

“There’s a lot…” he began, his voice trailing off as his mouth moved lower, nuzzling and kissing the curve of your waist. Each touch felt worshipful, like he was committing every part of you to memory. He kissed up, his lips finding the edge of your bra, a faint smile ghosting over his face as he took in the delicate lace and mesh of your chosen set.

“Thank God for small mercies,” you thought, silently praising your past self for the decision.

Bucky seemed to share the sentiment, his nose brushing over the swell of your breasts as he let out a low, appreciative hum. “There’s a lot I want to do…” His voice was raspier now, tinged with a raw hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You can do it,” you urged, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation. When his hands finished pulling your shirt over your head, discarding it onto the growing pile of clothes, you finally gave in, letting your fingers brush against the front of his underwear, earning a grunt in response.

“Anything you want,” you repeated, your breath hitching as his lips trailed over the lace, closing around a hardened nipple. His hands roamed your back, steady and sure, and the fire in your veins threatened to consume you when he popped open the clasp, letting the garment fall down your shoulders before he pulled it away. “Careful what you promise,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. His words were playful, but his touch was anything but as he laved a tongue across the swell of your breasts, teeth dragging over the nubs eagerly.

By the time you were both on the bed, his underpants were the only thing separating you, and you were certain you had become an addict to the feeling of Bucky’s lips on your bare skin. He kissed you like he waited all his life to learn every curve, every sound, every texture and every taste, tongue dragging over every new inch of skin like he couldn’t decide whether he’d had enough or wanted more, just a bit more of certain parts of you.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire the strength of his body. The scars—each one a story of battles fought, of time passed—marked his skin like a map, telling tales of pain, survival, and resilience. You were pretty sure your need for him could rival his own - you couldn’t tire of watching the way he explored you, of looking and touching and tasting every line of muscle and stretch of smooth and scarred skin.

Bucky exhaled sharply when your fingers traced the jagged line where vibranium met flesh, his eyes closing for a moment. His flesh hand was warm around your thigh as he spread your legs to fit between them, while the cold of his other arm supported his weight above you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You whispered, emotion clogging your throat as you gently traced the scar on his shoulder. Tears threatened to well up, but you blinked them away, offering him a soft smile when you met his gaze. “I always thought you’d never even look at me. You’re so... I guess I’m lucky,” you added with a soft laugh, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on his scarred shoulder.

He froze for a moment, a look of quiet admiration crossing his features. “Lucky,” he murmured, his hand dragging up your leg, your stomach and your torso to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I’m the lucky one.”

You couldn’t find your words as the heat of his tongue found your ribcage, the skin beneath your belly button and the inside of your thigh. You were dripping, shaking from head to toe when his fingers abandoned your thigh to drag between your parted legs.

Bucky eyes followed the drag of his middle finger over your slit and you gulped loudly, breathing picking up right against his ear. He held his own as he stroked you, feeling you out, learning you, and he groaned when he dipped a digit in, feeling you flutter around his finger.

“That’s good,” he praised, taking a deep breath. “Really good, doll. Doing good for me. You’re so–“ wet. You were so wet you could hear yourself as he circled against your entrance and up, dragging over your clit in a teasing motion that made you dig your teeth into your bottom lip. Bucky’s focus was razor-sharp, every touch deliberate and careful, testing the waters before he fully dived in. The way his fingers teased your entrance—pressing just enough before gliding inside and pulling back out—drew a gasp from your lips, a sound that made his eyes darken. He gripped the headboard with his free hand, steadying himself, the gears of the vibranium shifting to adjust, and the sheer sight of him above you sent a fresh wave of heat through your body.

Your mind was a haze, swimming in the sensation of his rough fingers curling just so, finding every nerve that made you shiver and gasp. His movements were maddeningly precise—spreading you open, circling your clit in featherlight touches before plunging back inside. You couldn’t keep still, your hips moving instinctively to meet him, chasing the edge you were desperate to find.

“I can’t—” you gasped, your breath hitching as his thumb added pressure over your clit while his fingers pressed deeper, to the knuckle. You turned your face toward him, seeking his lips, but all you could manage was a stuttering breath that burned in your chest. “Fuck, Bucky, please don’t stop—”

His weight was grounding, but his hand between your thighs was all-consuming, working you open with the kind of slow, purposeful rhythm that made it impossible to think. When he added a third finger, the stretch was enough to make you cry out, your back arching off the mattress as his palm pressed against your most sensitive spot.

For a second, you thought you lost him—his gaze was transfixed on where his fingers disappeared in and out of you, his jaw slacking as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He licked his lips, and his chest heaved with shallow breaths, his pupils blown wide in a hungry gaze as his thumb brushed tighter slick circles against you.

And then it clicked. You saw it in the way his expression shifted—his eyes darkening further, his throat working as he swallowed hard. He was feeling it too: how warm and wet you were around his fingers, how tight you’d be when it was finally his cock stretching you instead.

“Fuck—” The word fell from his lips, rough and wrecked, his voice full of disbelief and want. He shifted slightly, the volume of his cock brushing against your thigh, hot and heavy even through the thin barrier of his boxers. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Bucky…” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you tugged him closer by the back of his neck. “Please, please, baby, don’t stop—it feels so good—”

The groan that tore from his throat was primal, vibrating against your lips as he kissed you, messy and desperate. The sound of your voice—of your need—only spurred him on. His fingers shifted angle, finding the spot inside you that made your vision blur, and the sharp moan that left your lips was loud enough to make you blush. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worried about your neighbors, but the thought was fleeting as his movements pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your lips, the words sending a jolt through you. His pace quickened, his palm grinding against you, and you clenched around his fingers, your body tightening as pleasure coiled low in your belly and you reached down to wrap a hand around his wrist. “Good girl, that’s it… you’re close, aren’t you?”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you tipped over the edge, the tension inside you snapping as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he groaned again, his forehead pressing to yours as he worked you through it, every stroke deliberate, savoring the way you fell apart beneath him.

Your head spun, a dizzying haze of pleasure still clinging to you like a second skin. Your body trembled, every nerve alight, as Bucky’s weight pressed into you, grounding you back to reality. His flesh hand—warm, calloused—dragged down your side, leaving a trail of sticky wetness in its wake. He squeezed your ass, his grip firm, possessive, and you shuddered, your breath hitching as his voice cut through the fog.

“Doll—” His voice was low, rough, and you blinked up at him, lips parted, chest heaving. His eyes were dark, hungry, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, demanding attention.

Your hands, still trembling, fumbled with the waistband of his underwear, eager to feel him, to touch him. He groaned and helped you push the fabric down, kneeling between your spread legs to rid himself of the last barrier between you. You sat up, your hands roaming over his torso, tracing the ridges of his muscles, your lips following the same path, leaving a scorching trail down his side.

You licked the crease of his hipbone, your tongue teasing, and your hand wrapped around his cock, feeling him twitch in your grip. He was big, bigger than you had estimated, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he was beautiful, a vein running down the underside of him that made you want to lean in and follow its path with your tongue. Pre-cum leaked from his tip and his breath hitched, shaky and uneven, as you stroked him once, twice, the fluid slicking your movements, your thumb pressing to the sensitive head and making him shudder in response.

“N-no, c’mon, doll—” Bucky’s voice was strained, his hips jerking involuntarily as you tightened your grip. “Don’t—”

“You just touched me,” you argued, your voice breathless, defiant. You looked up at him, your eyes locking, and he tipped your head back by your chin, his hands tangling in your hair. His kiss was desperate, hungry, his tongue claiming your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

The difference between his human hand and the vibranium one sent shivers down your spine, the contrast in their grip making you clench around nothing, your body craving him.

“I won’t last,” Bucky confessed, his voice rough. He bit your bottom lip, thensting making you gasp, before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “I won’t last if you keep going, and I’d really—” He paused, his teeth grazing your collarbone, his hands tightening in your hair. “...really like to get inside you.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you whimpered, your body arching toward him. “Do we need a condom? Do you have one?” you asked breathlessly, allowing him to push you back against the soft sheets. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he hovered above you, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

He hesitated, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he shook his head. “No,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against your bare shoulder. You could feel the weight of his frustration, and it made your heart ache just a little for him.

Gently, you traced your fingers along the back of his neck, offering comfort. “Didn’t really think we’d–” he began, but you interrupted him.

“I don’t have any either,” you admitted softly, turning your face to press a kiss to his cheekbone, then to the bridge of his nose, before finally capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “But I’m on the pill. Birth control,” you clarified, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze, even as both of you lay exposed to one another, unguarded and vulnerable. “And I wouldn’t mind… having you bare.”

“Sometimes I think you are trying to kill me,” Bucky breathed out, his voice thick with a mix of desire and exasperation. He pressed his pelvis between your legs, eliciting a soft whine from deep within you as you felt his length drag tantalizingly against your slick folds.

“I’m just trying to find a solution,” you argued playfully, rolling your hips against him, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure coursed through you. “Imagine how good it’d feel…”

He groaned softly, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t have to… I can already feel it,” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

“Please, Buck… stop teasing me,” you begged, the sound light and teasing, and it quickly melted into a moan as he pressed closer, his warmth enveloping you completely, his length gliding between your folds, the head of his cock bumping your sensitive clit. “Please… I just asked you to fuck me without a condom,” you shook your head at yourself, a hint of disbelief in your voice. “I’ve never done that.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, his intense gaze searching yours, admiration flashing across his features. “Really?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe the words himself. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, one that had lingered between you both since that first night: Do you really trust me that much?

The question wasn’t just in his words; it was in the way his fingers trembled against your skin, in the way he tried to pace the both of you, as if afraid to make a mistake and ruin everything between you. The vulnerability in his posture was unmistakable—this man, who had lived through so much, was now allowing himself to be here, with you, in this moment of pure intimacy, and he wanted to be sure you wouldn’t regret it.

You swallowed hard, the weight of it all settling over you like a heavy blanket. Your heart beat so loudly in your chest that it felt like it was echoing in the room. Your gaze softened, fingers brushing over the rough edges of his jaw, feeling the tension there.

“You know I trust you, Buck,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “Right?”

The space between you closed and with renewed urgency, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him to you, feeling the heat radiating from him. “Get in me,” you breathed, your voice a mix of determination and reassurance. “I want you in me.”

Bucky nodded, his breath quickening. You hadn’t quite finished this conversation - there was still so much you both needed to say - but you let your hand glide between your bodies, fingers gently wrapping around his cock to line him up to your entrance. You gave an encouraging and experimental roll of your hips, making both of you moan at the sensation, and he replaced your hand with his own, pressing forward until you could feel the pressure of him splitting you open.

“We’ll have to take it slow,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “I’m not sure how much I can– holy fuck.”

His cock slipped in, inch by inch, into your welcoming heat and your eyes couldn’t decide where to focus - on where you were connected, his length and girth stretching you little by little as he fucked in and pulled back just to press in deeper, or on his face. You saw seventeen different emotions rearrange his features, from awe, to torture, to delight and back to awe again as he watched himself sink in.

“Look at you,” Bucky breathed out, thumb reaching to circle your clit. “Taking me so well…” he praised, eyes fleeting up to yours. “Think you can spread your legs a little further for me, doll? Come on, just so I ca— fuck me, there it is, good girl,” he sounded delirious and you were pretty sure you’d too, if you could speak. He’d bottomed out inside of you, his eyes fluttering shut seconds later, the vein on his neck strained as he took in deep, steadying breaths.

The burn was maddening. You could feel every inch of his against your pulsing walls, the sensation of fullness now overwhelming to the point of tears. You felt him in your stomach, and you could hear the wetness of your heat when he shifted, letting out a guttural moan.

“J-James—“ you breathed out and he shuddered, pressing him hips tighter against yours, as if he could meld your bodies together even though there was nowhere else to go, no more of him to bury inside you. “Shit, you’re gonna split me open,” you gasped, a bewildered laugh slipping out of you.

You watched as he pulled himself together, eyes squeezing shut to try and focus and find his own voice again. “Does it hurt? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, pressing a kiss and then another to his lips and you nodded when his hips rolled involuntarily. “Yes, yes, please… that’s what I want,” you nodded eagerly.

There was no hesitation then, no careful restraint. Bucky Barnes, the man who so often kept himself in check, was utterly and completely unleashed. The realization sent a thrill racing through you, leaving you breathless, aching, and yearning for more.

His hips snapped and your head rolled back, hands tightening around his torso as he picked up a rhythm that had yours toes curling in no time. In and out, he stroked your walls, his free hand gripping your body possessively until you were sure he’d leave bruises, which only made you wetter and more desperate.

“You’re so deep,” you cried out when he pressed in to hilt and took a moment to breathe in, no space between your bodies. “I can feel you in my s-stomach.”

“Would get deeper if I could,” he’s a man possessed and when you look up at him, he looks as pussy drunk as he sounds. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, doll…”

“Oh my g—“ You choke, head falling back onto the pillow, eyes on the ceiling and lips parted around a shaky breath. “James—“

His reaction was instant, as if each letter of his name was a strand of the thread you tugged, unraveling him completely. He pressed his face to your neck then, snapping his hips with bruising force, making your breath stutter.

“Say it again,” he pleads, his voice a raw, desperate melody you wish you could capture—something to cling to in his absence. It resonates deep within you, tugging at the very core of your being, as if he’s not just claiming your body but binding your soul to his. “Please, doll…”

“James,” you offer willingly, rolling your hips to meet his. “I need you to cum, baby,” you beg, pressing your lips to his sweaty forehead. Your bodies are slick with it as well, your hand slipping down his broad back and you close your mouth around his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin on your tongue.

Bucky shakes his head then and he’s silent for a few moments, lost to the feeling of your slick walls. “You first,” he urges, pressing needy kisses down your neck and chest. “I wanna feel it… feel you cum around my cock.”

“Buck—-“

“It’s James,” he commands, pulling back enough so he can glide a hand between your bodies, his thumb pressing to your clit. “You’ll call me James when I’m inside you. You understand, doll?”

“Y-yes,” you nod and your face contorts with pleasure, a desperate gasp for air sounding between you as you try to fill your burning lungs.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, James."

His touch is sending you barreling down the edge and no matter how hard you try, there is no holding back. You feel it, white hot pleasure burning hotter and tighter low in your belly, your walls clenching around his member until you’re shaking and unable to meet his movements.

“I’m gonna c-cum—“ you warned, grateful for the way he’s pressing you down, grinding and adding more pressure to your clit. “Shit, J-James, baby, please!”

He never stops. Not until you’re shaking and he can feel you unraveling around him, your orgasm taking over with a violent force that takes you both by surprise. It makes you louder, your back arching off of the mattress and into his chest, your thighs snapping shut against his sides as you unravel.

“Shit!” Bucky gasps, dropping on top of you, pinning you down until you don’t know where he ends and you begin, your thighs shaking and toes curling.

Your sight is dotted with stars and you can barely speak to urge him on when he crosses the finish line, ecstasy taking over with no warning. His blue eyes roll back and you feel and hear him thrusting once, twice, three times, until his cock is twitching and pressed in to the hilt, his warm cum coating your walls. It oozes out of you in it's intensity and it makes you shiver at the primal feeling of ownership it sends through your body.“Shit, shit, I’m s-sorry—“

“I wanted it,” you confess, your arms and legs wrapping around him like a human cage. Not that it could hold him—one tug, one flick of his wrist, and you’d be undone. But he stays put, sinking into your embrace like he belongs there, his weight pressing into you, heavy and grounding. He’s your personal weighted blanket, if weighted blankets were also devastatingly handsome and extremely good in bed. Not that you could ever say that to him out loud.

The room is still buzzing with the aftermath—your mingled breaths, the faint hum of your heartbeats syncing. He presses soft, almost worshipful kisses wherever his lips can reach: your shoulder, your collarbone, that tender spot just below your jaw that makes you shiver.

The silence stretches, comfortable and lazy, until you finally break it. “What a mouth you’ve got on you, Mr. Barnes,” you tease, your nails tracing idle patterns along the muscled expanse of his back. “I had no idea.”

He snorts, the sound low and gravelly in your ear, getting more and more common the longer you spend time together. There’s a glint in his eye when he pulls back just enough to look at you. “What can I say?” he drawls. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” you retort, your grin matching his.

His hand moves lightning-quick, pinching your waist with pinpoint accuracy. You squeal, swatting at him, but he’s already laughing, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest, crinkles by his eyes making the blue sparkle brighter.

“Careful,” he warns playfully, his lips quirking up into a dangerous smile. “Keep that up, and I might have to show you a few tricks up my sleeve.”

You narrow your eyes, biting back a laugh. “Big talk for someone who’s currently trapped in my hold.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Trapped? Doll, you’ve got this all wrong… I’m exactly where I want to be.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fiction

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sweetinsaniiity · 21 days ago

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hiii i have a cnc/dubcon request for san ^^

imagine hard dom!san is about to enlist and his s/o knows how much she'll miss him so she gives him 24 hrs free use. the moment he hears this he can't fall asleep, waits til the clock strikes 12 and starts fucking her in her sleep until she wakes up. throughout the day he doesn't let her rest, making her cockwarm if he's too tired. when the 24hrs is almost up, san doesn't care but she notices, tries to reach for her phone to check the time but he just pins her arm down and fucks her even harder for another few hours

(maybe some cum play would be the cherry on top, san scooping it out to make room for more, then trying to push it back in with his fingers but it keeps gushing out so he fucks it back in, or maybe even making comments about how she'll still be dripping by the time he's discharged)

Admittedly, this was not the easiest thing to procure as this lies beyond my accustomed sphere - out my comfort zone, per se. Not the CNC part, but the free use. But alas, yours truly will always rise to the challenge. I'm hoping this was worth the wait.

Unaware and Unawake

genre/au: nonchalant!Sannie, borderline emotionally constipated but he does genuinely love you, established relationship, military au, not my usual thing tbh because this is a lot of filth rating/warning: PG-18+ so MDNI!!! CNC and dubcon (all completely and explicitly consensual) free use, somnophilia, multiple creampie, multiple orgasm, cockwarming (both pussy and mouth), dacryphilia, cum play, dom!San, creampie, no protection (do NOT do this!) word count: 9.7K words (got carried away with the plot)

He tried his very hardest to control the smallest tick on his facial muscles as he stared at your big, pretty doe eyes looking up at him with such uncertainty.

There was also deep sadness laced underneath all the storm that was brewing in them. San wanted nothing but to reassure you that the both of you were going to be okay, but that wasn’t within his rights because for obvious reasons, he can’t control the way you felt.

“Are you sure about this, San? Tell me,” you frowned deeper, processing the information that he just told you over what you thought would be an uneventful dinner one night.

San had just told you the biggest and most unexpected news he could possibly drop on you - that he was enlisting in the military this upcoming Monday. That was in three days.

“I mean, I’m not trying to change your mind, not at all,” you murmured. “I’m just curious about your thought process, that’s all.”

You watch him sigh ever so slightly, looking back down on his dinner plate, slicing away at the wonderful steak dinner you had prepared for him tonight.

“Are you?” San asked, continuing his slicing with a slow, deliberate motion. He didn’t look at you, didn’t shift and didn’t fidget. It was as if he just told you the current weather situation.

You didn’t take offense at his indifference - not at all. Choi San was just naturally calm, impassive, and stoic. Sometimes, it was mistaken by other people as standoffish and arrogant, but that’s just how your boyfriend was. He was a man of very few words.

Maybe there was something wrong with you. You found this attitude on him insatiably hot, especially the rare times he’d show his softer side to you and you only. He wasn’t particularly outright with his affection, but he would reach out to you every moment he could.

“I suppose,” you shrugged. “I just want to make sure you’ve thought about this well. It just seemed logical to ask, that's all.”

San put the steak in his mouth, meeting your gaze once more. His expression was unreadable - calm, detached, the way he always was. He chewed exaggeratedly, trying to hide the smirk threatening to break his stoicism.

Logical. It was how you were, it was how he was. It was what this relationship was solely built upon. It was like picking a gum flavour in a randomest, dinkiest petrol station situated in the corner of nowhere and not something that would take him away from you, from this - from everything.

But there was fondness in San’s eyes as he stared at you through his lashes. He never tells you enough how much he appreciates you.

You’ve never questioned the way his mind functioned, never second-guessed on supporting him through his decisions no matter how illogical they may sound. You were just there, and he knew that you’d still be there by his side through thick and thin.

Still, it didn’t mean it didn’t pain him to tell you that he was deciding to leave you for the time being and get his military enlistment out of the way. It wasn’t a one and done decision; it was something he’d stewed in and stressed about for weeks.

“I did,” he answered. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you and I could build our life together. I just want to get it over with.”

He casts a discreet gaze on the small drawer he’d put a gift he bought earlier in the day that reminded him of you. San was aware of how nonchalant he comes off, and he was trying his very best to show you that he loved you to the moon and back even though he doesn’t say it often.

He quickly averts his eyes before you notice. You were nothing but keen and observant, after all. Instead, he grabs the small folder that’s been set to his left. He slides it towards you casually like it was a takeout menu.

“Sign it,” he whispered, handing you a pen, purposefully not saying anything about the confused frown on your face.

You stared at San’s impassive face for a couple of seconds before tentatively opening the folder. Your brows automatically raise up to your hairline.

Legal paperwork. Temporary transfer of ownership of San’s business that he built from scratch before he even met you. Your lips quivered as the pen on your hand shook from the nerves, trying hard to concentrate on what the contract in front of you entailed. It was the least you could do.

San found success in starting his own property management company. It was his pride and joy. Every surface of the business he perfected over years, every drop of his blood, sweat and tears combined with all his burned out youth - it was all in there, wrapped up in black ink and legal terms.

And he was asking you to sign your name on it like he was asking to see what your handwriting looked like. Your fingers traced the edge of the paper.

“You trust me that much? San, this is big,” you bit your bottom lip, trying to mask how touched you were by the gesture.

He didn’t answer right away. San crossed his arms, watching your face get more and more emotional by the minute like he hadn’t just handed you the only thing he ever truly loved, besides yourself, of course.

He raised a playful brow, tilting his head - another rare show of how much he let himself loose in your presence. Truly, you had no idea how amazing you were to San. If only he knew how to express himself better.

“It’s either you, or I close the business for two years until I come back,” he finally said, voice low and sincere. “I know I don’t say it much, and I’m truly sorry, my love, but it never meant that I don’t mean it.”

You immediately shook your head at him, wagging the pen in front of his face for effect, too. San’s lips quirked up in the corners, barely anything to be considered a smile, making you giggle out loud. Music to his ears.

“I don’t need you to tell me,” you smiled sweetly at him. “I can feel it, San. I know you love me.”

The decision wasn’t lost on you. The pen dragged smoothly onto the paper, imprinting the utmost trust that San had placed on you. It was far better than love, if someone asked you. Trust was difficult to come by.

But then, you saw it. When San thought you weren’t paying enough attention to him, a real smile passed through his lips. He probably didn’t even notice it, himself. It was the type that brought out his gorgeous dimples that you loved poking to annoy him.

It made your heart skip a beat. Suddenly, a thought crosses your head. Instead of sliding the folder across the coffee table like a transaction, you stood up.

San looked confused, but you walked over to him, slow and steady, and placed it gently back in his hands, a small smirk painting your face. His eyes shifted to you, calm but alert. And just like that, the air between you two changed.

He took the folder, but didn’t move away. “You always were bossy,” he murmured, almost like it was an afterthought.

“Please. You love it.”

His brow twitched, maybe the hint of amusement, maybe something else. He hadn’t stepped back, and neither had you. Something in that expression brought something out of you, and you wanted to make the most out of it.

You placed your leg in between his, dangerously close to that area that ruled San’s head sometimes. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, desire clear in his haze.

It was a defense mechanism on your end. You didn’t want to think about how much you were going to miss San when he was gone, you had plenty of time for that when you’re alone, but the very thought of it was already getting to you. You wanted to be strong for the both of you. The last thing you wanted was for San to worry about you as well when he was away.

You didn’t want his body to be there, but his heart at home with you. He wasn’t going to change his mind. He had probably decided this weeks ago, long before he thought to mention it.

You curled your fingers on his shirt collar, dragging him towards you. The gesture darkened his eyes significantly. You bit your lip to stop your smile, and instead leaned down further, close enough that your breath ghosted warm against his skin, just below his ear.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours,” you whispered, voice low and velvet-smooth. “Free use. No questions asked. You can do whatever you want with me,” you bit his earlobe softly. San groaned, shivering. “And I mean, anything.”

You knew he was going to miss you, too. Maybe even more than you’ll miss him.

San’s jaw clenched so tight, you were slightly afraid that he was going to break in his teeth, his fingers tightened ever so slightly around the folder, the corners crinkled badly. You reckoned you needed to re-print the whole thing now.

You grinned widely, this rush of power suddenly surging through you making you giddy. He turned his head just enough that your lips nearly brushed.

“Dangerous thing to offer,” San said, voice a shade rougher now. His eyes met yours in a heated stare, the intensity of it almost making you falter. Almost.

You subconsciously clenched down there, scoffing at him. “I’m not scared of you.”

His eyes flicked over your face, pausing at your mouth. That almost-smile from earlier threatened to return, but didn’t. The tension was killing you, but you weren’t going to back down. You wanted to see how far San would take your offer, how far you could push him before he broke.

“Not yet, no,” he said, prying your fingers from his collar and pushing you gently away from him so he could stand up and tower over you and smirk cockily at you. Oh, that definitely made you clench harder. “But you should be.”

But that night as San lay on his back, arms folded under his head, staring at the ceiling like it might have the answers, he couldn’t sleep. Turns out, he was the one scared.

He’d tried to brush it off, told himself you were just teasing him and just trying to get a reaction, but your voice echoed in his head like you had whispered it into his bones.

You’ve got twenty-four hours.

And he did tell you that it was a very, very dangerous thing to offer. The possibilities were endless, but that wasn’t what he was worried about.

San meant it when he said that it was literally dangerous. He will break you, and the worst part was that he will have the time of his life seeing your eyes roll behind your head as he made you come over and over again, and even then, he wouldn’t stop.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see your sleeping form beside him. Your back, the curve of your shoulders rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm as you snoozed away, unaware of the nastiest, most sadistic thoughts slowly forming in San’s head.

Those thoughts sent blood rushing down south. With a deep breath, he carefully lowered his boxers, just enough for his aching, leaking cock to spring free from its confines. He hissed when cold air hit his skin, but it wasn’t enough to deter how hard and erect he was just by looking at your bare shoulders and neck.

Oh, how he’d love to mark your skin akin to a world map, only purplish in bruises instead of the multiple countries he’d take you after he was discharged.

Fine, he thought. He would use you like the whore you were. His right hand would be his only companion for months after he enlists, pretending it was your pussy instead.

San glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table, groaning and gritting his teeth in annoyance when the clock showed 11:45 P.M. You didn’t explicitly say when to start, but San knew better than to jump you immediately.

He smirked cruelly, you thought you were so slick, always thinking that you had him figured out, but he knew you like the back of his hand. You were definitely expecting him to immediately take your offer, but no, he was going to milk his time.

San grasped his cock, sighing in a quiet but sharp breath, biting his lips to keep his pleasured groans to himself so as not to wake you up. He was harder than he has ever been in his life, and ironically, he wasn’t even doing anything with you. His eyes raked at your sleeping figure, squeezing his weeping cock tighter in his hand.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long unless he paced himself, but he couldn’t help tugging his cock a bit back and forth, up and down, the sound of his fists slapping against his shaft turning him on more than ever.

He couldn’t believe it - he was literally jerking off next to you as he slept. He felt dirty, but the thought of it could almost make him bust. He used his palm to rub some of his precum as lube, but when that wasn’t enough, he positioned his hand in front of his mouth to spit on it.

But, he stopped at the last minute. He looked at the clock once again, rolling his eyes when he realized that three minutes had only passed.

He waited a bit to see if you were going to move, but no, you hadn’t. You were still sleeping, still peaceful. Carefully, he scooted beside you, his face hovering over you slightly until his fingers found your lips, delicately parting them so he could coat them with your saliva.

When that was said and done, he laid back down comfortably and closed his eyes, stroking his cock with your saliva as his lube. The filthiness of it made his cock twitch in his hand.

He was extremely turned on and he was so excited that he almost finished right there and then, but he didn’t waver as he continued to stoke away as he stared at your beautiful face. But he’d waited, kept himself patient and let the tension grow as he held breath.

The minutes couldn’t have rolled slower, but the moment the clock said 12:00 A.M., he didn’t hesitate.

He shifted forward, arm sliding around your waist, pulling you gently but firmly against him. You stirred with a soft inhale, and for a second, he froze. He thought you were waking up, maybe he was a little too excited, but you weren’t.

A short, sarcastic laughter of disbelief escapes him. San couldn’t believe it, but more so, towards himself. He realized he didn’t want you awake. You waking up would mean that the excitement would be gone.

You were still asleep, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen to you.

The thought of it actually put a slight damper on his erection. An evil smirk decorates his face as he resisted the urge to wrap his hand on your pretty neck. Despite that thought, he wouldn’t mind you waking up in the process of him defiling your body. It got him harder than he thought he already was.

It aroused him greatly. The thought of how forbidden this all was. However, he had explicit permission from you. Still, he wouldn’t want to hurt you.

San carefully pushed up the oversized shirt you liked wearing to sleep and admired your exposed body. He caught sight of your perky tits, they were just the right size for him and his hands. He didn’t hesitate further and caught your nipples between his fingers.

When all you did was let out a small, pitiful whimper in your sleep, it was when it fully hit him. You were really at his mercy. It intoxicated him, all this power.

He stroked his cock as he played with your nipples, pinching them a little harder than usual just to see if you were going to stir. This time he couldn’t help but furrow his brows, he didn’t realize you slept this heavily.

As he continued to knead the soft flesh of your breasts, his eyes suddenly went down on your parting lips, your light snores filling in his ears. The idea of his cock in your mouth as you snored started to arouse him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, hovering over you, careful not to crush you beneath him as he started to line up his cock onto your plush, inviting lips.

A surge of pleasure shoots up his spine at the sight. A desire for excitement at the thought of him doing something technically morally wrong gave him a sort of kick he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

He leaned down, giving your forehead a gentle, chaste kiss before he filthily inserted two of his fingers inside your mouth, exploring the wet cavern roughly, not even caring if you woke up at this point.

“Fuck,” San hissed as he slid his cock into your mouth. He withdrew, not wanting to choke you in your sleep, but he couldn’t help but chase that euphoric sensation and thrust back in ever so slightly so you wouldn’t be startled awake and, well, actually choke.

He worked his way down your body, his right hand mindlessly alternating between kneading and squeezing your tits while his left played with your dripping cunt, rubbing at your clit slowly and rhythmically.

Just when he thought that this couldn’t get any better, you started to make weak, suckling motions on his cock as if in sleep, you knew that you had to please San. You twitched a little when he jerked a bit and pressed on your clit a little too hard in surprise, but that didn’t rouse you or stop your sucking.

It was the most peaceful San had ever seen you, if it wasn’t for your mouth stuffed full of his cock. He barely had time to pull out and come on your chin and neck, his warmth spurting out in bursts of endless streams.

Sweat pooled on his temples. He smirked, what a sight you were - covered in his cum without even knowing. If his painting skills weren’t garbage, he would immortalize this on a canvas.

Unfortunately, he had to wipe all of it away before he covered you again with the blankets. He was spent for the night, so he went to the bathroom to douse himself in cold water before he went back and tried to sleep beside you.

But he couldn’t sleep, for the life of him. He cursed under his breath so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if God suddenly struck him with lightning. He pictured your face streaked with his cum once more, and it was enough for him to get aroused again.

He could feel his cock twitching and pulsing in his boxers again. He wondered how in the world he could feel so aroused when he had just orgasmed.

He tossed and turned, tried to erase the erotic image of you away from his head. San even started to picture dead animals and some random images of naked grannies in his head to will his erection to, hopefully, go away, but to no avail. He wanted you, and he wanted you so, so bad.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when he decided that he was going to have you, consequences be damned. This time, he was going to have you in the way that you deserved. He was going to put you in your place.

It was almost four in the morning when he parted your legs open. Usually, he took his time to finger you and get you nice and prepped for him, but he could barely wait to be inside your warm heat this time. San hugged you from behind, spooning you while he nudged the tip of his cock at your entrance, groaning when he slipped easily inside.

He went slow at first, still not wanting to hurt you, but gradually, he shifted and decided to fuck you while he was on top. He couldn’t take it anymore, he fully jammed himself deeper in you and fucked you fast and hard, his balls slapping lewdly against your ass.

You stirred under him, startled awake. At first, you were confused at the tingly, delicious feeling penetrating you, until you locked eyes with San who was just going at it on top of you. He smirked at you as he claimed your pussy, and the moan that you let out was loud enough to wake up every single person in the neighbourhood.

“Sannie, mmm, s-shit,” you stuttered, still stumbling over your words as you were still half-asleep,

San wrapped an arm around your lower back, effectively burying himself completely deeper, hitting that spot inside you that had you squealing in delight. “Don’t fight it, let me have you,” he kissed your jaw, his silent growls hitting your ears as he continued with his onslaught.

It was when you realized how sticky your mouth kind of felt. After a moment, arousal spread through you when you realized that you were tasting warm cum on your tongue. Had San already had his fill with you before you even woke up?

The thought had you wrapping your arms around San’s broad shoulders, scratching at his back in retaliation, though it didn’t diminish how much it turned you on that he took you without you knowing.

“Fuck, love, you feel so good,” San growled as he thrust in your cunt roughly without any mercy. He wouldn’t stop now that he could do whatever the hell he wanted with you.

You fluttered, squeezed, around him. “Damn, that feels good,” he grunted. He didn’t need to stay quiet any longer, he could curse and groan as loudly as he damn well pleased now that you were fully awake.

“Oh God, p-please,” you lifted your hips up the bed, placing your hands on San’s plump behind to get him deeper inside you.

San grinned, his growls sound more primal through his teeth. He had known you were perfect, so perfect for him, but this just completely solidified it. You were so responsive to him, gasping as your pussy took him.

It didn’t take long for him to burst, his hips drilling into you hardly one last time before his seed painted your tight hole white. He felt your nails scrape across his back, and through the haze of his orgasm, he could feel your orgasm peek through, albeit less strong than the usual ones he’d give you.

“Had fun?” You asked with a small giggle as San panted on top of you.

“No,” he smirked cockily, rolling his hips when you pouted. He groaned, his soft cock sliding out from the mess of cum he’d dumped into you. One of many today. “Not yet.”

You were starting to regret your decision. Well, not entirely, anyway. You should’ve known how shrewd and cunning San was, but you had severely underestimated him.

When you woke up a few hours later, San wasn’t on the bed with you anymore. That was fine because you knew he was most likely doing his daily morning jogs. If he had time, he’d usually get you coffee and croissants along the way, too.

Definitely a man of few words, but an absolutely consistent man of actions. But just in case he didn’t have time, you decided to make breakfast.

You were standing at the stove, in the process of oiling it and putting the heat on, when you heard the front door open, San’s familiar footsteps filling in the silence of the kitchen.

“Hey, love,” you murmured when you felt him behind you.

He hummed, not bothering to say a word, as he circled his hand up to your waist and pulled your face to his for a quick peck on the lips. You bit back a smile when he set down your coffee and croissants to the side.

You were expecting him to sit on the table to wait for you to finish, but he repositioned himself behind you, his warm breath hitting the back of your neck. You shivered at the contact, and it definitely wasn’t because of the morning breeze.

At first, he was tender. San nosed your jaw, his teeth light grazing the sensitive parts of your neck. You let out a breathy moan when he reached up and palmed your breasts through your shirt - well, it was technically his shirt - your nipples hardening against his teasing hands.

You tried to turn and kiss him again, but he held you tight, grinding his hips against your ass with his half-hard cock. It was when you felt him snap.

He grabbed your hips hard - hard enough to leave marks. “S-San,” you whined in pain when he pinched your nipples, squirming against his touch.

“Shut your mouth,” he grumbled, thoroughly turned on at the sight of you wearing his shirt, lifting it enough to grab a handful of your plump ass.

You had expected restraint. Maybe something slow, almost sweet. But no, that wasn't how he worked, not when the clock struck and the rules were finally gone by your own accord.

He wasn’t just taking what you offered it - he was owning it. You felt it in the way his grip tightened when you gasped and in the way his mouth found your throat like it had been waiting for permission to devour you.

And he was going to swallow you whole like it was the first war he intended to win before he even enlisted.

“San, slow down—oh!”

You choked out audibly when he didn’t hesitate to rip his shirt off of you in pieces. With a harsh tug, he turns you around, dragging you like a ragdoll towards his direction. “No, this twenty-four hours is mine,” he barked. “Come here.”

And he did something you were not expecting, not in a million years. You yelped when his arms swept across the table like a madman, the table and the whole house shaking as all the plates, mugs, and glassware you set on the table all crashed down the floor, the sharp edges of broken pieces scattering like shrapnel.

Your jaw dropped, startled. “San! What the hell—”

He spun you to face him, hands firm, eyes dark with something you hadn’t seen in him before - something that wasn’t just hunger, but need. It was nothing short of raw and wild.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said, voice low and tight, like it was dragged from somewhere deep.

His mouth was on yours before you could speak. He kissed the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, leaving a trail of heat as he pressed you back against the table, reckless and relentless.

“You broke everything,” you whispered against his lips, half-laughing, half-breathless.

“I’ll buy you the whole damn store when I get back.”

He was lifting you onto the edge of the counter, hands gripping your thighs, the sound of broken ceramic crackle as he moved. But he didn’t flinch, because to him, nothing mattered in that moment except you.

Not the mess. Not the noise. Not the goodbye waiting on the other side of the sunrise.

You didn’t need prepping, San was able to slip inside you once more with ease. He didn’t wait for you to adjust, he immediately started a rough pace that had the table underneath you shaking with the force of his thrust.

“Ah, yes,” he laughed sadistically as he fucked into you roughly. “This is what I want.”

You couldn’t do anything except open your mouth to let out the most wanton of moans and just take the delicious abuse of his cock hitting pleasurably inside of you. You moved your hands to try and grab the edges of the table, but San stopped you.

“No, no, no, my little slut,” he growled, slapping them off, making you whimper, the slight sting of it going straight down your fluttering pussy. “Hands and eyes on me.”

You rolled your eyes at the back of your head, mumbling something out loud that turned out to be gibberish. “What was that?” San snapped.

“H-Harder,” you whimpered, drool pooling at the sides of your mouth and flowing out down the table. San’s cock grew impossibly harder at how cock dumb you looked right now. “Harder, San, harder—”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he ploughed, harder at your command per curse.

He wasn’t going to last long and you knew it. His hands wrap around your neck, using it as momentum to push you deeper and deeper onto his throbbing erection, like his goal was to have your guts rearranged by the time he was done.

He stills, his warmth spilling inside of you once more. A growl resounds from the back of his throat as he slapped his hips two more times before he let go of your neck. “You okay?” San asked, tucking your hair behind your ears, his voice hoarse, cracking in the middle.

You pouted. “I didn’t come.”

He raised a brow, a ghost of a smirk threatening to break from his lips. “I know,” he chuckled darkly. “I’m gonna pull out, yeah? Put your legs up.”

You frowned, but moaned anyway when he pulled out, pushing your legs high up in the air. He leaned down, laughing smugly as he stared lewdly down there. You blushed in embarrassment, but didn’t say anything.

“Holy fucking shit, I came a lot,” he shook his head in amusement. “Shit, that’s a lot of cum.”

You were about to retort something ridiculous when he turned back to look at you, all amusement gone from his eyes. “I’m going to take a nap,” he mumbled with a hint of command in it. “You better not let any drop of this out. Not a single one.”

Your face turns even redder at how filthy his request was - how it turned you on to not be able to say no. “B-but how? I-I don’t know how to,” you sputtered out.

He shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Even after he carried you to the couch so you wouldn’t step on glass, and even after he had cleaned up and vacuumed all the mess, that smug smirk never left his lips.

You resorted to clenching your pussy so his sperm wouldn’t drip out of you. God, you thought. It was so filthy, so dirty, and something you never thought San would ever ask of you. But you loved every bit of it.

You went and did your daily routine, San’s cum still inside of your clenched cunt. It was difficult, sometimes you’d forget and you’d feel the sticky warmth begin to trail down, but before it oozed out, you would clench back again.

You decided to go to the bathroom to check - even the thought of this made you blush as if you and San hadn’t just fucked on the kitchen table - just to see the state of your pussy full of San’s cum when you were suddenly pulled into the bedroom where San was napping.

“S-San?” You yelped when his sharp eyes took in your form, his tongue darting out to lick his lips salaciously.

“Take your clothes off,” was all he said.

It was how you found yourself face down on the bed, your hips up in the air with your legs sprawled open for San to admire your glistening hole. He groaned, seeing all his cum still contained inside your inviting pussy.

“What a good girl,” he chuckled darkly, trying to contain his excitement at the prospect of you literally doing anything he wanted even if it’s just for today. “You deserve a reward.”

He slid a finger into your soaking, wet opening, pushing his trickling seed inside you. It produced an obscene, squelching sound that went straight to his aching cock. Without thinking, he dived in, his tongue automatically latching on your swollen clit as he teased your cunt with little swirls.

“W-What are you doing, San,” you squirmed, slightly alarmed, fisting the bed sheets so tight, your knuckles turned white.

It was completely fueled by passion on his end. He moved his head lower, running his tongue up and down your slit and flicked it back and forth over your clit. Pushing his tongue into you, his mouth was assaulted by the salty, slightly bitter, taste of his own cum. It was certainly a new experience for him, but nonetheless, it served to turn him on even more.

You had begun to relax, pushing your ass subconsciously on San’s face. He was more than happy to oblige, his rough hands gripping on your thighs as he ate you out with more urgency.

He dove two fingers back into you, all the while he alternated between sucking your clit and finger-fucking you. He moved faster, making you moan loudly. You were so loud, it spurred him on even more.

“Oh, G-God, San, San, San,” you screamed when he hit that particular spot deep inside of you with just his fingers.

But it was the vibrations of his laughter that had you exploding on his face. He felt your pussy pulsate on his fingers, and it was when he knew that you had come.

You kept trembling with every touch, and he wanted to gloat, but all that died down when he heard your sniffles. He quickly laid down beside you, your ass still in the air, and shushed you. “Too much?” San frowned.

You shook your head, your tears still falling. “Just overstimulated.”

“Good or bad?”

You laughed wetly. “Are you kidding me? That was amazing.”

You leaned in to kiss him, mewling when his lips felt sticky with his own release from eating you out. Without thinking, you grabbed onto his crotch, pleased to find that he was very much hard underneath your fingers.

It was all he needed to position himself behind you, his cock snug inside your wet heat once more. It was slow and easy this time - he didn’t want to overstimulate you further, but the truth was, the sight of you crying lit up a fire inside him that he didn’t know existed.

He rolled his hips roughly once just to see your reaction. Just as expected, more tears of overstimulation flew from your eyes. He felt his cock twitch, and before he knew it, he was ramming into you like an animal in heat.

“Look at me,” he demanded roughly, slapping your ass once to get your attention.

Your eyes were wet with tears, the mascara you were wearing running down your face. “Oh my fucking God,” San moaned, whined, ravaging you from behind so hard, your head had hit the headboard multiple times from the sheer force of his thrusts.

When he finished, you were expecting him to make you keep his cum inside you again for God-knows-how-long, but what you were not expecting was for him to go back down on you again before hovering over you.

“Open your mouth, love,” he coaxed, tapping your chin to get you to stay awake.

He tilted his head down, his tongue already out before you knew it.Your breath hitched when you saw the obscene trail of semen spill from his tongue before drops of it fell straight into your mouth.

God, it was so sloppy. He smirked, mouth still opened up. Every second stretched out, drawn out like he wanted you to feel everything.

When it was over, you swallowed, throat burning. He pulled back, eyes dark. “You okay?” San asked, voice rough.

You nodded, barely sentient, and his smile told you he knew exactly what he’d done.

You’d like to believe your relationship with San was ordinary. Not in a bad way, you did feel like every couple out there. You loved each other dearly, you fought ferociously, and throughout all of those, you stuck with each other despite your very obvious flaws.

But one thing you never thought you’d have to think about was how truly, utterly insatiable San was today.

“Sannie, ngh,” you whined pathetically, your cunt squeezing his cock weakly.

He groaned, sighing, as he wrapped his arms around you tightly from behind. “Get some rest,” he said tiredly, voice rough with the need to sleep.

After that sloppy session of him eating his cum and making you eat it in return, he fucked you twice some more, an hour apart from each other. They were both slow and lazy, but both mind blowing, nonetheless.

Needless to say, your body felt like it’s been run through with a pick up truck. You were exhausted.

And San was, too, but clearly, that wasn’t enough to deter him. You were lying peacefully on the bed, just browsing through your phone while San showered. When he came out, he laid down next to you, inserting himself back inside you, his cock hard but unmoving.

“B-But how?” You blurted out, wrapping the blanket around your naked body, ignoring how full you currently felt down there.

“By being a good cock sleeve and letting you cockwarm me,” San replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Maybe it was your body giving out on you from the strenuous activity of the continuous sex, or maybe it was how warm and safe you felt being in San’s arms, but by the grace of God, you were able to fall asleep, San’s cock still snug inside you while he, himself, snored away.

Luckily, he left you alone for a couple of hours. You woke up late in the afternoon when the sun was almost down, your entire body sore. You were saddened when you found that San wasn’t lying beside you - though if you were being completely honest, you just wanted to wake up stuffed full of cock.

“Dummy,” you giggled fondly, shaking your head as you read the note that he left on the nightstand, stating that he had ordered some food for you and left it in the kitchen.

You tried not to feel down as you got dressed and went down to eat. San had to leave to settle his company because when he enlists soon, the temporary ownership he was transferring to you was going to be a massive change, after all.

Luckily, you wouldn’t need too much time to adjust. You loved San so much that you took it upon yourself to learn the intricacies of his company, staying up late with him for so many nights to help him out even though you barely knew what you were doing.

He would never say it out loud, but the fondness in his eyes as he looked at you whenever he thought you weren’t looking told you enough. San was always more than happy to answer your every question.

But you knew why he was doing this. He had co-owners, seven of them, to be exact, who were his lifelong best friends. He could have chosen one of them to run the company while he was gone. They were more than competent and would be a more viable option than you’d ever be.

San didn’t give it to you because it made the most sense, he gave it to you because you made sense to him.

You closed your eyes, forgetting the kitchen that surrounded you and just focused on the sensation of San’s hands holding onto you, the ghost of his touch guarding your thoughts.

The thoughts he knew because he knew you like the back of his hands; he knew how your mind functioned and spiralled, especially if left alone for too long.

He hadn’t just trusted you with his empire, he was protecting you.

You could think clearer now that his cock wasn’t plugging your cunt and your mind. He didn’t want you to think too much, to slowly lose your sanity in his absence, to miss him too much while he was in the military, equally missing you. The biggest difference between you and him was that he knew how to set his emotions aside, you were only good at ignoring it.

He always pretended that he didn’t care, but he cared more than anyone you knew. Even when he rammed inside you roughly, you could see the emotions passing through his eyes. Fear. Love. Longing.

He didn’t need to say a lot of things, because you just knew. He thought you didn’t notice when he held onto you a little too tight, not willing to let you, and you understood - he was leaving, but he wasn’t letting go.

San was giving you a piece of himself to hold on to, because it was the only way he knew how to say those things he had a difficult time saying.

Don’t forget me. Stay busy. Stay whole. Be patient. Please wait.

You didn’t notice when the first tear slipped down your cheek, and then, you felt it - a thumb so gentle you barely felt it brush against your wettened cheeks.

San didn’t say anything, just kept wiping away the tears you didn’t know were still falling. His hand lingered at your cheek, his brow furrowed like your sadness physically pained him.

“H-Hey,” you tried to smile, but it ended up looking like a grimace. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just a little in my head. I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you are.”

He held your face a moment longer than necessary. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on your lips and you could physically feel the change in his demeanor.

And then he looked away. Just for a beat. Like he was trying to reel something back in before it slipped. You were still in his shirt. Still sitting there, legs bare, hair tousled, tears drying on your skin.

He was trying - God, he was trying - to hold the line. You reached out, fingers curling lightly around his wrist. “You okay?”

That was the breaking point, because you weren’t supposed to ask him that. Not now. Not when you were the one crying. Not when he was the one leaving.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and looked back at you, and this time the control wasn’t just slipping - it was gone.

“I’m not,” he said hoarsely. “Not when you look at me like that.”

The revelation had you reeling, and your lips parted. It caught his attention, but he didn’t move, and neither did you. Instead, you clutched his shirt tighter.

“You’re crying, you’re vulnerable. I should, fuck, I should walk away right now.” he murmured, almost like he was reminding himself. “But I can’t.”

And then he kissed you. And when he pulled back just enough to speak, he whispered, “I wanted to give you space, but fuck, I want you too much.”

Because you were his. Because he was yours. And because twenty-four hours would never be enough. But he wasn’t going to touch you, not this time. Plus, his dick was spent.

He smiled, pulling you up by the arm. “Come,” he said. “I have work to do in the office, would you like to accompany me?”

Whatever you choose, he’d accept. He could have had you again, could’ve drowned in you to forget both of your worries, but he can’t. He just wants you near, and maybe that meant even more to him.

It was how you found yourself curled against his arms as he typed on his laptop with one hand, his other arm wrapped around you possessively. You watched him for a while, curled under the blanket, the steady rhythm of his typing filling the room.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what almost happened. The way his resolve almost melted like you were the one in control of the situation. But you respected it when he pulled back. It was admirable really, you bet it was difficult.

You tried to focus on something else. Anything else. But the air between you hadn’t cleared - it had just thickened. You bit your lips, a sudden thought passing through your head as you stared at San’s side profile. God, you thought, can this man get any more attractive?

Apparently, San can sense it, too. The growing tension, just laying still in the silence that enveloped the two of you. He couldn’t help but stare at the way the blanket would slide off of your shoulders when you shifted to get comfortable, the way you stretched and it would push your perky tits up on his arm.

He went back to typing, but his posture shifted. Straighter. Stiffer. Like he was holding something back with both hands.

You splayed a hand over San’s belly, skimming your fingers lower to trace random, abstract patterns over his taut skin out of sheer boredom. San bit his lip, resisting the urge to groan under your touch, a static buzz running up the column of his spine.

You were about to lower your fingers to touch the waistband of his boxers when San’s hand stopped yours in a panic. “Don’t,” he manages to let out. “I’m really trying to hold out here, love, don’t fucking tempt me.”

You shrugged, not meaning to actually do what he thought he was doing. You moved your hand away sheepishly, but you did the worst thing you could ever possibly do at this moment - you looked up at him with the biggest doe eyes. Something in him just snapped.

Fuck it, he thought.

“S-San, I’m s-sorry,” you whined when he pulled your hair down with one hand while his other hand already began to work on his pants. You swallowed when he gripped his hard, leaking cock in his hand, stroking it. “Please, I’m so sore and tired—”

“Twenty-four hours, remember? You’ve got six more hours, tough it out,” San raised a brow. You whimpered when he gripped your hair harder. “Don’t worry,” he smirked. “I’m a little spent myself, however…”

Fuck, if his refusal to let you rest didn’t turn you on. You instantly felt your nether regions slick up with his words.

You sputtered when he began to lower your head, slapping the tip of his cock lewdly on your lips. “Open up,” he ordered.

You let the fat tip of his cock rest on the flat of your tongue, feeling your throat automatically open up for the intrusion like it knows that its only job right now was to take San all the way in until your throat couldn’t take him anymore. You couldn’t help but groan softly, the familiar feeling of San’s girth, the musky scent of him, and just about everything made your head spin.

San lets out a husky moan as he squeezes the base of his shaft, fondling his balls a little as you adjust to his length. “Stay right there, love, I like this right now,” he groaned.

You hummed as San went back to typing immediately while your mouth just warmed his cock just right as you laid down on the couch. In a peculiar way, it felt sensual and intimate. You let your eyes flutter, focusing on nothing but the feeling of San’s cock lodged in your throat - the heat and the taste of it, especially.

Cockwarming your boyfriend while he worked was definitely one of the things you never really expected because when San works, he’s pretty much locked into it until he deems it otherwise. But here you were, curled up and feeling very cozy on San’s lap with his balls kissing your chin.

You lost track of time, letting out a muffled groan once in a while when you’d feel San adjust himself and, therefore, humping his cock deeper in your voice box by accident. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d thank your lucky stars that he’d trained your gag reflex a long, long time ago.

San didn’t stop working, and with the warmth of his body, the repeated clacking of the keyboard, and his steady breathing, it wrapped you like a lullaby. Before long, you felt your eyes closing. It reminded you of last night when he woke you up with him fucking you.

What you would give to experience that type of pleasure again. There was something about relinquishing all control to him that turned you on so much.

But you didn’t have to wait long. You groaned, disoriented, limbs heavy, mind still caught in that quiet fog between dreaming and waking. You were about to sit up, but suddenly, you felt a stabbing zing of pleasure down there that sent stars in your vision. “San! Oh—”

San lifts your legs up, leaning close to press your lips together for a sweet, sinful kiss. You swallow a whine when he eases on top of you, burying himself completely up to the hilt.

“I can’t get enough of you, baby, what are you doing to me?” San moans out, his thrusts so agonizingly slow that you feel that familiar heat build up inside your lower belly. He tips his head into your neck. “Y/N,” he moans again, long and low.

“A-Ah, how long w-was I out?” You asked, your sleepy eyes gazing back at his lust-filled ones. “Fuck, that’s it, just like that,” you gasped, holding onto his arm for support. “I love you, San.”

“Love you too, baby,” he says, voice rough, smoothing a hand up and down your spine as he slowly fucks up into you. “Couple of hours. God, I’m gonna come.”

You try to rock back to meet each slow thrust, not wanting San to go faster so much as you want him deeper. “Please,” you whined.

He groans, spilling his seed deep into you for what you assumed was the last time for tonight. He puts all his weight onto you, careful not to crush you, heaving repeated breaths that he tried to catch before he gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

He pulls out, going down on you again, and for a second, you thought he was going to suck his own cum out again and give it to you. The very thought of it had you blushing madly up to your ears.

Imagine your surprise when you felt his fingers dig into you, instead. “W-What are you doing?”

He eyes you once, a small smirk painting his lips, groaning under his breath at the sight of his cum just pouring out of you. “I’m making room for more,” he flatly said, scooping his cum out of you with his fingers.

It had you whining and squeezing against his fingers at how filthy and erotic the act of it was. He clicks his tongue, though, because no matter what he did, your pussy just kept gushing everything out. “Fuck, love, looks like you’ve finally reached your limit,” he laughed.

“Funny,” you deadpanned, trying to pretend that it didn’t turn you on.

It was probably midnight by now, no, you were pretty sure it was past midnight now. You stretched your arm - just now realizing you were in bed - to try and grab your phone from the nightstand to check the time, but you gasped when your arms were grabbed roughly.

“San?” You tilted your head in confusion, but all that did was make him pin your arms down to your sides.

Your heart stilted in your chest. He didn’t say anything, but he had that animalistic look in his eyes. And then, it hits you. “San,” you gulped. “How long have you been fucking me in my sleep?”

He smirked, pinning your wrists with more added weight. “Does it matter?”

Now that you were thinking about it, your cunt felt abnormally sore. Your eyes fluttered shut when San thrusted sharply once into you in one go, fucking his cum back into with his cock.

And just when you thought it was impossible, San fucks you hard - he fucks you the hardest he’s ever fucked you in general. It had your shrill voice bouncing obnoxiously throughout the room along with the loud squelching of his previous cum.

“Take it, you whore, take my fucking cock,” he roared amidst your screams.

He gripped your hair in one hand and buried his face into your shoulder to muffle his noises. The tears and spit dampened his skin as you continued to take what he was giving you. He could feel his balls drawing up tight, all of his muscles coiling in preparation for the orgasm he knew was coming.

Your mind automatically went to your thoughts when you woke up today - the regret. You had definitely underestimated the way San took advantage of this deal you had going on, but that wasn’t what made you regret this.

Because you’d thought you had power when you made the offer. You’d thought it was your way of controlling the goodbye; of saying, fine. Take this. Remember me like this.

But he turned it inside out, and now, you were the one unraveling beneath him.

“God, I fucking love you,” he moaned out, marking your neck up with the abstract patterns of his lips. “You don’t know how much you mean to me.”

And worst of all, he enjoyed it. Not just the act. Not just your body. He enjoyed seeing you like this. Honest. Shaken. Open in a way you never let yourself be.

“I l-love—San, God, p-please,” you stuttered, your tongue lolling out pathetically from your mouth. The low, pleased hum in his throat when you tried to form words and failed spurred you on.

He was always so still, so unreadable until now. Now, he wasn’t stoic - he was focused. Just your body, your breath, and the way you whispered his name like it meant something, it was all he needed right now

And for the first time, he let himself show it - how much he wanted you. How badly he’d miss you. How he’d burn down everything else, piece by piece, just to make these hours count.

“Gonna fuck my cum into you so deep, love,” his breathing was laboured, his hips stuttering into a rhythm without any dynamics in them. “Maybe you’ll still be dripping with my cum by the time I get discharged.”

That imagery was what sent you over the edge. The very thought of it in the back of your head already had you getting hot and bothered for the next time you’d see each other again.

San's eyes rolled back in pleasure and he groaned loudly. He wished this could last forever, but he was genuinely spent now. What he wouldn't give to have you crying on his cock every day, giving you load after load of cum. The very thought made him tremble.

There were no more orgasms that you could give him, being spent from the entire day of just having his cock inside you, but you still fluttered weakly against his cock, squeezing and milking it for all its worth. It still felt so good on your end.

San didn’t move away nor did he let go. He wasn’t ready, and he also knew you weren’t ready either. You didn’t dare breathe or make a sound as you tried to level yourself back to your body. Not yet.

Not when his hands were on you like that. Not when he looked at you like this. Not when he touched you like you were the only thing he wasn’t willing to leave behind.

If tonight was all you had left, then you wanted to remember this.

Against your will, your tears fell. All this was a distraction from the reality that you were going to be without San for two years straight and now that it was over, it was hitting you all at once.

He held you tighter when he felt your body shake and tremble and maybe, that’s what did it for him too.

Then he finally spoke, low and unsteady. “I hate this.”

You lifted your head, just enough to see his face. His eyes were locked somewhere across the room, like he couldn’t bear to look at you while he said it.

“I hate knowing you’re gonna be here and I won’t be,” he continued. “I hate that this is the only option I have because I’d have to go to the military anyway, so I’d rather do it now.”

Your heart was already breaking open again, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as you stared at him. He quickly wipes your tears, alarmed. He gets it, he was never one to let his feelings out.

Something tugged at you from your chest, and you needed to come clean to him. “What if you change your mind?” You asked quietly, your voice smaller than you meant it to be. “What if two years from now, after being away, you realize you never loved me?”

San went deathly still and you almost took the question back, but you had to say it. It was what has been bothering you the entire time. He didn’t answer, he just looked at you, steady and quiet.

“What if you go away, and two years from now, you realize you don’t love me the same way?” The words tumbled out like you’d been holding them in for too long. “That maybe this was just comfort?”

He didn’t flinch, but his heart squeezed tight in his chest, hurt that you would feel that way. It was what made him realize that just because he gave you his business doesn’t equate to security even though he trusted you with everything he had.

He glanced at the drawer again where he stored the gift he had bought for you yesterday, the one that he’d been casting discreet glances at, the one that reminded him of you so, so much. He exhaled slowly, and without a word, he leaned over to open the drawer to finally take it out.

San pulls out a small box and your breath instantly catches. He turns back towards you, not meeting your eyes, and opens it gently with practiced calm, like he didn’t want to die with nervousness as his heart thudded against his ribs.

Your lips parted, but no words came.You stared at him, stunned, a fresh wave of tears welling up, but different. This time, it was with warmth.

The box sat there in his hand but with that quiet steadiness that you loved about him that he always carried with him, even when the world around him trembled.

“You want proof I won’t change my mind?” he said, voice low and steady. “This is it.”

You blinked, the sting of tears returning as your heart pressed harder against your ribs. You looked down at the ring. Then back at him.

He looked up at you, finally meeting your eyes. “I want to come back to you,” he said, the vulnerability in his eyes making your eyes sting with more tears. “I’ve been carrying this around for months. Never knew when was the right time. I guess there’s not really a perfect one.”

“You are my home, Y/N,” he smiled softly. "And I wouldn’t be leaving anything behind if I didn’t already decide that everything I want is right here.”

And suddenly, the fear inside you didn’t feel so loud anymore. You took the ring from his hand, sliding it onto your finger like it had always belonged there. You didn’t say yes - you didn’t have to.

His shoulders dropped the moment it was done. Not dramatically just a quiet, subtle release like he was breathing out for the first time in hours. Then, for once, his voice faltered. “Will you wait for me?” San asked, hesitant.

You leaned forward, touching your forehead to his. “Don’t ask me if I’ll wait for you like I’d ever do anything else.”

“I’ll come back to you,” he said. “No matter what happens. I swear to you, I’ll come back and marry you. I know I don’t say much, but I promise you that.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, because even though his voice was still calm, and his face didn’t show much, he was holding your hand like a man trying to memorize the feeling of home.

You wiped your face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Well, that was the least romantic proposal I’ve ever seen.”

His brow lifted. “You said yes. I gave you the business and a ring. What more do you want, fireworks?”

You smirked. “Maybe. A little.”

He groaned softly, pulling you into his chest. “I should’ve just eloped in silence.”

You grinned against him. “And miss all this romance?”

“Yes,” he rolled his eyes, not bothering to argue with you because that’s how much he loved you.

You laughed, and even though your chest still ached, even though goodbye was still coming. For now, you had this - San, a ring, and a future to look forward to.

Dividers by : @sweetmelodygraphics Like my work? Click here to view my previous story.

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