#like look at his face! The movement of his hair! gods | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perdidosbucky-yyo · 11 hours ago

Text

Amazing, incredible, fantastic, scrumdiddlyumptious!!!

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

We love a reader that can turn heads 😎😉

“You’re my date. It’s my right to touch you,” he sneered. He had no right. It didn't matter if he was an alpha and he was rich. The urge to slap him across his face was so strong your palm itched. “So, get the stick out of your ass.”

He deserved to get his nuts stomped on.

An intoxicating scent hit you out of nowhere, making you grip the bar as you inhaled. Plums, whiskey, sandalwood. The blended aromas had your mouth watering, and a whimper threatened to slip out. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Desire burned in your stomach. As quickly as the scent excited you, it seemed to wrap itself around you in a soothing embrace. How could a smell leave you hot and bothered and also feel like a hug?

The way I screamed like a little girl!!!! God that scent sounds fucking amazing

Fuck me, I would not be able to be cool lmao I would melt if he looked at me 😩 navy you writing queen!!

“Beautiful,”

“It is,”

“I was talking about you.”

Need I say more?

But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

Again... I just love your writing so much 😩 because you can learn so much in the details. He is so beautiful I can't

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

NO IM NOT OK, the way I would've jumped him right then and there

He parted his jacket so he could look you over. Unlike Shane leering at you earlier, Bucky seemed to take in the details of your design with a careful eye. “You made this? It’s stunning,” he said with pride that rivaled yours. You lost your breath when he ran the back of his finger along your torso, heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. “Like you.”

He is so sweet for actually looking at her dress and even feel pride 😭

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋✨🥺

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul.

He looked almost impressed with your answer. “I appreciate your honesty,” he praised, his thumb sweeping over your lips this time. “And it won't be enough. Once I get a taste of you, I won’t let you go.”

His response was chilling tbh, kinda made think some really feral thots 😂😬🙈🥵

I just love these subtle touches, they're so intimated and charged with tenderness and sexual tension 🙌🏼

The low growl Bucky emitted made the nearby guests move away, but you weren’t afraid. “Ignore it? I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I would've fucked you right out there on the balcony if that couple hadn't interrupted us,” he said, your body hot and needy at the thought of him fucking you while you looked out at the view. “I’m lucky finally finding you didn’t send me into a rut.”

Navy you're killing me

“You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

Sobbing. Into. My. Pillow.

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

My first thought was ooof first mistake buddy but then he made it better when he offered her a studio to create her dresses.

“Why not? I know you're meant to be mine and you know it, too.” He touched your collar again, your mating bond throbbing almost to the point of pain. “You won’t need to worry about money or a roof over your head because I’ll give it to you. And a space to design your own clothes and make your dream come true.”

I WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN STRONG ENOUGH TO STOP MYSELF FROM SAYING YES TO HIM RIGHT THEN AND THERE.

Like mark me up already 🫦

Bucky held your face in his hands, leaning in so close you felt his breath against your lips. His mouth barely grazed yours, carefully teasing you with the promise of what was to come. “Just because I what?” he rasped, and you swear you felt more slick stain your already ruined panties.

he's suave and strong and dominant send help

You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

I'm gonna need to take a few days to recover

The look on his face before he laughed made him look younger, the sound affectionate and happy. How many managed to make him laugh like that? “Does that mean you’re going to call me ‘Daddy’?”

Can't even express how much I love this part made me smile like an idiot, I want this old man to be happy and I want reader to be happy and I am so happy rn, I never knew you could get drunk on a fic🥴

Where Worlds Collide - Intro

Pairing: Silver Fox!Sugar Daddy!Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Female Reader

Summary: Your boss forces you to be eye candy for an alpha at a gala, but things take a turn for the better when you meet another alpha. Does it matter that you don't belong in his world?

Word Count: Over 9.2k

Warnings: Smut, v. fingering, possessive behavior, dirty talk, instant connection, A/B/O dynamics, talk of bonding, misogyny, unspecified age gap, insecurities, world building, choking (not our reader… yet), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I'm pretty proud of the intro to this world, lovelies! @whisperlullaby, @targaryenvampireslayer, @tavners, here it is! Ant thanks to @queenoftheworldisdead as well. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Soft music drifted from the ballroom as you stepped into the lavish venue. You’d never been to a gala before. Your family wasn’t wealthy enough to receive an invitation, nor did your last name carry any influence. The only reason you were there tonight was because of the alpha on your arm, all thanks to your boss’s insistence that you accompany him.

It was an evening of style, grace, and luxury, and you didn’t belong.

You held your breath as you walked deeper into the ballroom, the glittering chandeliers casting a refined glow over everything. A mix of alphas, betas, and omegas socialized and gossiped, their glamorous evening wear glittering under the lights. You had designed a few of the dresses and suits, but none of the people wearing them would recognize you. The alpha you worked for always took the credit. Complaining about it wouldn’t help. After all, you’d only sound like an ungrateful omega and hundreds of other omegas would beg to take your place.

You couldn’t wait for the day you quit.

Chet’s grip on your arm brought you back to the present. “Keep quiet and smile,” he ordered, a haughty expression on his face as he led you through the place. You didn't want to judge all men named Chet, but you had pegged him as a douchebag the second he went in for his fitting and he was proving you right. You couldn't even enjoy that he was objectively handsome since his personality made him less attractive.

“I am smiling,” you said. Wrinkling your nose at the overwhelming mix of scents and expensive colognes and perfumes, you did your best to make your smile look natural. The servers looked like they were doing the same as they served everyone. It was strange how a room so enormous could make someone feel so small.

“Then keep smiling,” Chet ordered through his grin. “What you do or don’t do is a reflection of me.”

“I know,” you muttered. Because it was all about him and you were just his omega arm candy. You really should’ve demanded overtime pay from your boss, but that conversation wouldn’t have ended well.

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

You did notice a few more men looking your way. A few women as well, not hiding that they were whispering about you. Trying to hide your vulnerability, you held yourself the way you thought a goddess would. You also held yourself with pride since the dress you wore was your own design. A sleeveless black dress with a middle slit, it was bold and alluring. The glitter throughout the fabric made you shine like stars in the night sky. The finishing touch was the matching collar, a tasteful way to protect you from any alpha who even thought about marking you.

Reaching up instinctively to run a hand over your collar, you felt your heart ache. Your inner omega wanted a mark, but the thought of being tied to someone was somewhat terrifying. You respected omegas who wanted to go the traditional route by staying home and being submissive, but you didn’t want to be submissive outside of the bedroom. You wanted a partner who would view you as an equal.

Your false confidence didn’t last long when Chet’s grip on you tightened, your body immediately going stiff. You’d have to take a long shower and dry clean your dress just to get rid of his scent. “Loosen up,” he ordered.

“Maybe I’d loosen up if you weren’t digging your fingers in,” you whispered.

A shiver rolled down your spine when you heard a low growl come from another alpha. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone looking directly at you. It probably had nothing to do with you because why would anyone care if an alpha was bossing you around?

Chet’s hold on you loosened nonetheless. “And just so we’re clear, you have no intention of sleeping with me?” he asked as an omega in a revealing dress sauntered by. Your date didn’t bother to hide how he was undressing her with his eyes.

“That’s right,” you said. You made it clear to your boss that sex wasn’t an option, and he was oddly on your side. Maybe he thought Chet could sway you if he tried hard enough. If he even thought of using some sort of alpha command on you, nothing would stop you from lashing out and making him sorry.

“Then you’ll have no problem finding your own ride home should I choose to leave with someone else,” he said.

“So, I can’t make you look bad, but you can leave with another omega?” you asked.

“You got it. You’re smarter than you look.” He tapped your nose with a condescending grin. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

The prick was pushing his luck. “Listen you-”

“Chet, my boy! Good to see you!” A man interrupted, uncaring that you were speaking.

“Shane,” Chet smiled. “Always a pleasure.”

The bulky alpha shamelessly looked you over, his scent almost making you choke on your next breath. “And who might this be?”

“Pretty, isn't she?” Chet cut in before you could answer, puffing his chest out. “Doesn't say much, but I’m not exactly interested in her conversational skills, am I?”

You bit your tongue when they chuckled. Be seen and not heard. It was insulting.

“Come join me, but leave the omega,” Shane said unapologetically, taking another look at your chest. What would happen if you threw a drink in his face? “As entertaining as she would be, we have business to discuss, and we don’t need the distraction.”

“Of course,” Chet smiled, turning you toward the bar as Shane walked away. “Since he doesn't want you around, why don't you take advantage of the free drinks until I get back?”

“I’m not-”

“And not that you’d have any extra cash to tip, but it’s taken care of,” he continues, your face hot at the assumption that you couldn't afford to tip the staff. “Just behave and try not to make a fool out of either of us, you got it? Wouldn’t want your boss to hear about it if you do.”

Biting back a retort, you freed yourself from his grip. There wasn’t enough liquor at this party to get you through the rest of this evening. “Don’t worry about me, alpha. Go have fun,” you said, your eyes burning as he walked away. A few heads turned your way when your scent soured. It wasn’t enough that you had to attend an event where you didn’t belong, but your date just had to rub salt in the open wound by reminding you of such. “Fucking asshole,” you muttered, making your way over to the bar to order a drink.

Plastering a smile back on your face when you got the bartender’s attention, you ordered a whiskey on the rocks. You wanted something that would go down smooth but leave a little burn. You also preferred opting to watch the bartender make a drink in front of you instead of grabbing a glass of already poured champagne. The drinks were likely fine, but better safe than sorry. And like hell would you accept a drink from your sorry excuse for a “date” if he offered you one. He was lucky you-

No… It couldn’t be your mate.

You caught a small movement out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped breathing when you found a pair of blue eyes fixed on you that belonged to a devilishly handsome man. He leaned against the wall, his wool-blend black suit fitting his thick body like second skin. Streaks of gray lined his luscious brown hair and peppered his beard, too. He looked like the kind of alpha who would have omegas kneeling at his feet, and it frightened you how badly you wanted to get on your hands and knees and crawl toward him.

His. Mine.

Lifting his tumbler to his lips, he kept his eyes on you as he sipped the expensive liquor. You wanted to look away but couldn't as the air crackled between you. He had you under some sort of trance you couldn't snap yourself out of. As frightening as it was to have a scent hit you so strongly, a feeling like this hit you square in the chest, the thought of him staring at another omega that way nearly made you hiss because you didn't want anyone else on the receiving end of those blue eyes.

He smirked like he read your mind and pushed himself off the wall. You did whimper out loud when you realized just how large he was. Dominant, assertive, yet there was something almost playful in his smirk when he finally broke his gaze. You greedily inhaled with the hope of catching more of his scent when he strode toward the nearby balcony, smooth and fluid as a server quickly took the empty tumbler from his hand. The men at the gala were all posturing, but no one could match the confidence of that alpha.

So how were people not surrounding him, begging for a scrap of attention? Was he untouchable among those who deemed themselves untouchable? He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man who chased after anyone. No, people went to him.

He wanted you to follow him, right?

Downing your drink in one gulp, your feet moved before you could stop yourself. “I don’t need this alpha,” you whispered, the words bitter in your mouth as you followed his path. If you were smart, you’d walk the other way and not look back. Yet the thought of never seeing him again made your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to examine.

Does he know?

Studies over the years showed that not every bound pair was the same. Some couples felt the bond instantaneously like a firework exploding. Others felt it like a small burn that slowly consumed them over time. For a few, the spark took a long time to ignite. You couldn't ignore this burn if you tried.

You welcomed the slight chill in the air as you stepped onto the large balcony. It was lit up with sparkling lights, yet it didn’t take away from the stars that shone in the sky above. The alpha who caught your eye stood by the railing, alone, like he was looking over a kingdom. You felt foolish for going out there to bother him.

Steeling yourself with false confidence again, you walked over to stand beside him. You weren’t close enough to touch him, wanting to leave him a respectable amount of space. You could always use the excuse that you just needed some fresh air if he asked what you were doing.

Stealing a glance at him, you didn’t want to believe that you had a true connection with this man, that he could be your mate. No way would an omega like you be his match. Would he even want an omega like you? One with dreams to do more, be more?

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice thick like honey and the whiskey you drank. Of course, his voice would be a powerful weapon. But he wasn’t scenting you, or trying to tear your collar off, or doing anything to indicate that he felt the sort of spark you had. Maybe that was for the best.

“It is,” you sighed, looking out at the view. You couldn’t deny the beauty and how much easier it was to breathe since you weren’t surrounded by the suffocating bodies and scents. “It really is something.”

“I was talking about you.”

You whipped your head toward him so quickly you nearly hurt your neck. The flare of heat in his eyes hypnotized you again, but this time you didn’t want him to draw you in. A man of his stature, his power, he could chew you up, spit you out, and leave you a shell of yourself. But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

You were in so much trouble.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“I don't think I’ve seen you at a gala before. I would've remembered you,” he stated. You weren't sure what to say to that. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky if you’d like.”

You blinked a few times. “You’re James Barnes,” you whispered, not having to belong in the inner circle to know who he was.

James Buchanan Barnes. One of the wealthiest alphas in the city, his family came from money and it was no secret that Bucky, as he liked to go by, wasn’t bound to anyone. People assumed that he didn't want to share his wealth with anyone beyond his charitable donations, or that he was either extremely picky in choosing a mate. And here he was talking to you. This was the man you thought could be your mate.

You were in way over your head.

“I am,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

It took a moment, but your name tumbled from your lips as you shifted toward him. He inhaled when a breeze rolled in and you hoped your scent got to him the way his scent got to you. The way his eyes darkened, it had. Your inner omega wanted to purr with delight.

Time stood still when he took your hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure,” he whispered, his lips brushing your knuckles. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward, but…”

“But what?”

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. Had Chet or another alpha done that, it would've been a different story. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

You whined before your inner hackles went up, making him pull his mouth away immediately. He at least had some level of respect and sensed the shift in your stance. “How many omegas have you said that and done that to?” you asked when you had no right to feel jealous.

He didn’t look put off by your question, and he didn’t let go of your hand either. “I’ve come across a few delectable scents before, but I don’t think I’ve ever described anyone as divine,” he answered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. An intense longing behind his eyes had your knees weak. “I haven’t smelled anyone like you.”

This alpha was telling the truth, but he wasn't a boy scout either. He knew how to fuck, you could tell, and he likely broke hearts without intending to. You didn’t want to be the next victim if a quick fuck was all he was looking for.

“I haven’t smelled anyone like you either,” you admitted, grudgingly pulling away. His heady scent made it hard to concentrate. And standing close to a man who wore a suit that cost more than half a year’s rent was another reminder that you were a girl playing dress up, nothing more. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here.”

Bucky stopped you from turning away, his grip on your arms tender so you wouldn’t feel threatened. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t belong here, and I don’t expect you to understand that,” you replied.

It was bad enough to let your guard down by following him out there, and you couldn’t let him seduce you more than he already had. You were lucky the very presence of him didn't trigger your heat. And how would your story end? He was a rich alpha, and you were a struggling omega. Was happiness really in the cards?

Your eyes widened when you heard the rumble in his chest, his scent producing a soothing aura that wrapped around you. Your lip trembled slightly as the rumble faded. Bucky could’ve let you walk away, yet he was comforting you. It made you want to cry.

“I may understand better than you think,” he whispered. Did he? Did he feel alone in that crowd of people there? “But help me understand why you feel that way.”

You rapidly blinked to keep the tears at bay. What was there for him to understand? “Okay,” you whispered back. The fact that he wanted you to talk to him meant something. “For starters, that crowd is kind of… well, awful from the short time I observed and interacted with them. They think they’re better than everyone else because they have so much, but they have no right to look down on others.”

The people in the gala simply flaunted what they had without a second thought. Being there made you appreciate your friends and their genuine interactions more. They worked hard for everything they had. They wouldn’t have anything against people born with a silver spoon in their mouths if they showed a little humility.

Bucky's chuckle surprised you. “Money doesn’t equal class, and believe me when I say they aren’t worth taking up any space in your beautiful mind,” he said, giving you a small smile. “To be honest, I came out here to get away from them because, save a select few, they're fucking assholes.”

You found yourself smiling, too. No wonder he has been standing by himself. “Is that the only reason?” you asked curiously, reaching up to touch his perfect hair simply because you could.

He looked at you, a mixture of lust and something soft. Standing like this you felt like a couple. “I may have wanted you to follow me, and I’m glad you did,” he said, his tone calm and casual as butterflies filled your stomach. “You’re the first person I’ve considered approaching in a long time, but you looked a bit upset when you went to the bar. I didn’t think bothering you would win me any favors.”

You exhaled. Was he the alpha who growled when Chet gripped you too tightly? “I…” you shivered when another breeze rolled in.

He shrugged his jacket the moment he spotted you shivered. “May I?” he offered.

You hesitated. Bucky had a powerful scent, and how would it look to Chet if you wore another alpha’s jacket? Chet wasn’t your alpha, but he could run his mouth and get you in trouble with your boss. It didn’t matter that you wanted to quit one day. Today wasn’t that day because you financially weren’t ready. That was the excuse you made up in your head.

But your inner omega wanted Bucky’s scent to surround you and you replied in a small voice, “Yes, please.”

Bucky carefully placed the warm jacket around your shoulders. “I know the crowd bothered you for good reason, but who specifically upset you and how can I fix it?”

“My date,” you answered. You didn't have it in you to lie to him. It also wasn't up to him to fix it.

Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your arms. It helped warm and relax you. “What’s his name?” he asked, his eyes landing on the collar around your neck. You wondered what he would do if your mating gland was exposed, and you had to push that thought away.

“His name is Chet and he’s discussing business with some alpha.” The change in his scent was subtle. He seemed too confident to be jealous, but he didn’t seem pleased either at the thought of you being with someone else. “They were extremely condescending, and I couldn’t exactly throw a drink in their faces or put them in their place since I’m just an omega.”

Bucky snarled quietly, his eyes blazing. “You’re not just an omega,” he said. He was upset on your behalf. Was he not like other older alphas who wanted omegas to be subservient? “Maybe I should have a chat with them.”

You purred before you could stop yourself. Bucky offering to stand up for you felt better than you wanted to admit. “You don't have to do that,” you said, running your fingers through his hair again. You wanted to soothe him the way he soothed you. “Besides, I’m not really on a date with Chet. He just wanted me to be eye candy for the night.”

Bucky almost snarled again, but raised an eyebrow instead. “And you agreed to that? I have the feeling you aren’t the arm candy type.”

You giggled. He was right about that. “Didn’t really have a choice thanks to my boss,” you told him.

“Your boss? What exactly do you do for work?” he asked carefully.

He asked a lot of questions, but you didn't mind since he seemed genuinely interested. Maybe he assumed you were an escort. “I'm a designer,” you answered, smiling to yourself. “At least, I want to be. I’m just an assistant at the moment.”

“Let me guess. Your boss is an alpha, makes you do the grunt work, and takes the credit?” he mused, humming when you solemnly nodded. “And he convinced you to come here tonight because Chet is a client?”

“Something like that. It was either that or I get fired,” you laughed bitterly. “And if he fired me I’d get blacklisted, then I’d have no job, no money at all, and I’d lose my tiny apartment and…”

His nose wrinkled when you trailed off. You were so embarrassed, and you couldn’t stop your scent from souring. Talking to one of the richest alphas ever about your problems wasn’t something you thought you’d experience tonight, but that soothing rumble and smell came out again to help you breathe easier.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he said with a touch of firmness so you knew he didn’t pity you. You could take a lot of things, but not pity.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said, smoothing out some of the fabric on your dress and not wanting to dwell on the topic. “I actually made this,” you told him. It was silly, but you specifically wanted to hear something nice from Bucky to make you feel better, which was bad. You shouldn’t want compliments from him or want him period.

Your mind raced, the heavy weight of his gaze pinning you in place. The longer you stood there, the more you wanted him. You had to snap out of it. “You’re dangerous,” you whispered, shaking your head as his hand fell away. “I should go inside.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching yours. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you replied honestly. Some of his actions were forward, but he wasn’t pushy. He was the sort of predator who probably gently played with his food before he sank his teeth in, yet you weren’t completely afraid of the bite. “Though I’m wondering why you don’t have a date tonight. Keeping your options open?”

Maybe he really did want to live the bachelor life.

The corner of his lip tugged when you narrowed your eyes. “I come to these things to make a short appearance. That’s all,” he explained. Even the wealthy had obligations. “Unlike some alphas my age, I’m not interested in having a date for the sole purpose of eye candy. And because most of the people here are fucking assholes, I don’t usually find anyone to take home.”

“So, you aren’t interested in taking me home?” you tried to tease. If he said no, you could lick your wounds later since you’d likely never see him again. If he said yes, you… Well, you didn’t know what you’d do.

He reached out and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close enough that you felt just how big he was. A shudder wracked your body, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you. “I’m very interested in taking you home,” he breathed.

You lifted your eyes to him, his desire matching yours. “I-”

A young giggling couple stumbled out to the balcony reeking of booze. They took a few steps forward and Bucky moved you out of the way before they could crash into you. The ferocious growl he let out made the laughter cease, but it had you purring like a bitch in heat. “Leave,” he ordered, keeping his arms tight around you. The underlying threat in that single word had the couple rushing back inside, but they had effectively ruined the moment.

“I think that alpha almost pissed his pants,” you teased to cut through the tension.

“He’s lucky he didn’t tumble over the railing,” he said, loosening his hold on you and taking in your expression. You felt naked under his stare. “You aren’t ready to leave with me just yet.”

“I’m still here with a ‘date’,” you reminded him to cover up any feelings or doubts in your mind.

Other than Bucky being wealthy, powerful, and smelling like a sinful kind of heaven, you didn’t fully know him. Something within you felt like you did, but going home with him for the night… What if you disappointed him? What if he decided he didn't want you?

He gave nothing away as he stared at you while you felt like your eyes told him everything. It wasn’t fair how in control he looked when you were close to spiraling. “Let’s go sit inside,” he suggested, finally cracking a smile when your face scrunched up. “No one will bother us, and I’d like to keep talking to you even if you don’t decide to leave with me.”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit with you for a few minutes,” you said, especially if he would keep others away from you.

His hand on your hip felt like it belonged there as he guided you back inside. The scents and mindless chatter didn’t bother you as much now, likely because all you could really smell and concentrate on was Bucky. Did his kisses taste like plums or whiskey? Both?

He brought to a corner near the bar, far enough away from the mingling crowd that you still felt a bit of privacy. You kept his jacket around you though the room was considerably warmer than it was outside, not quite ready to give it back to him. “Drink?” he asked, angling his chair so that his knees were touching yours. There was no table in front of you. Anyone looking would see how close you were.

“No, thanks,” you said. You already downed a glass of whiskey and your head was spinning thanks to him.

You felt his gaze on you for a full minute before he spoke again. “Your ‘date’ isn’t the reason you’re hesitating to leave,” he said, scratching along his beard. You bet it would feel wonderful between your thighs. “Is it me? Am I too old for you?”

You had to laugh. “You’re a gorgeous silver fox, so that isn’t the problem,” you said. Beneath the suit you knew he was in great shape, too.

He smiled a gorgeous smile, appreciating the compliment. “So it isn't my age. Do you think I won’t treat you well?”

“I know you’ll treat me well,” you answered, avoiding his gaze. You knew that in your core. “But I’m afraid of what happens in the morning.”

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Everything.

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul. “And it isn’t fair that you have that kind of power over me.”

It wasn’t a matter of if with him, but when. “You couldn't possibly want me for more than one night,” you said. He knew you were just a struggling designer’s assistant and didn’t run with this crowd. You lived in different worlds.

“I’m going to want you every night.” He tilted his head when you shifted in your seat. “You feel it, don't you?”

You feigned innocence when he held your gaze, your heart racing. God, he had felt it. Was it an explosion, a slow burn, or something else? “Feel what?”

Bucky smirked, not at all fooled. “That you’re my-”

“Don’t say it,” you begged. Speaking the word would make it real and it wasn't something he could take back. “Because if you don’t want that or me, we can just go our separate ways and ignore it.”

He hadn’t marked you, and you hadn’t claimed him either. You didn’t know what it would feel like to have his knot, so you couldn’t possibly miss it. And neither of you would have to depend on the other. You could walk away with as minimal damage as possible, and you’d find a way to remain whole. So would he.

You thought the same about your heat. “Bucky-”

“Our scents call to each other. We call to each other,” he said, placing his hand on your chest. How did your heart feel fuller from his touch? “Tell me you didn't feel a connection when you caught my scent and looked at me.”

“I felt something,” you admitted.

“And it compelled you enough to follow me outside, to open up to me,” he said. You couldn't deny that. “You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Scare you?” you asked. Having mates could be wonderful, but what if he wanted that pull with someone who wasn’t you?

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

You looked at him like he suddenly grew another head. “Quit my job and move in with you?”

“Yes. Your boss doesn't deserve to have you as an assistant, and you wouldn't have to pay rent if you stayed at my place.”

You didn’t attempt to laugh off his request since he was completely serious. “You realize that sounds insane, right?” you added. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary though. Some couples who took their time building their bond still moved in right away.

“Insane would’ve been marking you the moment I saw you and dragging you home the way some alphas do,” he said.

You bristled. “It’s too soon for you to mark me,” you said, even as your mating bond throbbed.

“Don’t worry. I won't mark you tonight,” he assured you. Hurt crept up for a split second before he ran a finger along your collar. You visibly trembled and realized that he did want to mark you. He just wasn’t doing so tonight out of respect for you. “But you can still be mine in every other way until that day comes.”

You opened your mouth to argue. He hadn’t marked you, but you still felt owned. “You really think people want you with an omega outside of your tax bracket?”

“You think I give a fuck what they think?” His handsome face twisted in a scowl as he looked around. “And if they even think about insulting you, I’ll ruin them. It’s that simple.”

“It isn’t that simple,” you said.

It sounded too good to be true, and nothing in this world was free. “I have my rent. If I break my lease-”

“I’ll pay what you owe.”

Your rent was probably pocket change to him. At least you didn’t have a roommate you’d have to worry about. It was always too risky to rely on someone else to help with bills and utilities. “And all that in exchange for what? Being your whore?”

He snarled, and you were delighted to hear that sound. “Trust me, doll, you may want me to fuck you like a whore, but I’ll treat you like a goddess. Like my equal,” he replied, his promise touching something deep inside you and drowning out most of your fear.

You just wished the remaining would fade away.

“I want us to be equals, but do you realize that you’d have all the power until I get my designs off the ground, right? I’d have to rely on your money, your roof over my head,” you said, swallowing the small lump in your throat. Did he realize what he was asking of you? To push aside the small amount of pride and independence you had? “I’ve done fine on my own and to have to depend on you is something else altogether.”

You hoped he at the very least realized how vulnerable you were right now by opening up more.

He looked vulnerable, too, as he moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to have to depend on me, but with me you wouldn't have to do this on your own. My finances don’t mean I have power. You’d have power, too,” he said. You wanted to believe you would. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in this entire city who could bring me to my knees. That’s power.”

You smiled a little. Could you really bring him to his knees? “As flattered as I am that you want to take care of me, do I have to decide tonight?” you asked. He was saying all the right things, and it was tempting, but there was so much to figure out beyond the living arrangements.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow if you’d like,” he said, looking around as you let out a breath. He had no doubt in his mind that you would spend the night. “Have you seen your date?”

You looked around, too, not at all worried when you spotted him. A complete contrast to how you felt at the beginning of the evening. “He’s…” You gestured to the bar where Chet was flirting with the loosely dressed omega from earlier and staring right down the front of her dress.

Bucky growled and swept his eyes over you, no doubt catching how you pressed your thighs together from the sound. A growl really shouldn't be that sexy. “Not a very faithful alpha, is he?”

“Well, he isn't my alpha, remember?” you pointed out. Someone like Chet would never be. “My boss only ‘suggested’ that I go with him tonight, and I made it clear I wasn't going to sleep with him.”

There was another hint of a growl before he smiled. “Wait right here. I’m just going to tell the young pup that you’re going home with me.”

You gripped his arm as he tried to stand. “Easy, old man. I didn't say I was going home with you,” you teased, knowing full well you were in fact leaving with him.

“Old man?” he smiled.

You shrugged. “You called me ‘doll’, which sounds like something an old man would say.”

“I think an old man is exactly what you need.” His eyes flashed with a deliciously dark promise that he was right and you’d enjoy every single inch of what he’d give you. “And you didn’t explicitly say you'd go with me, but we both know I’ve swayed you to go to my place.”

“You alphas are so cocky.” You refrained from rolling your eyes since he was right in this instance. “But maybe I should just stay here a bit longer and make you work for it since you want me so badly.”

He chuckled. “You’d rather stay here? Fine by me,” he said, leaning in close. “I’ll just slide my hand up your dress here and now and feel just how wet you are for me. I doubt anyone would notice if I made you come on my fingers. They’re too caught up in themselves.”

Your eyes closed when he touched your thigh. “You think I'm wet for you?”

“I know you are. I can smell it. Can practically taste it. You’ll let me taste you, won't you?” he purred, and you could only tremble as his hand moved higher, your legs parting to give him more access. “In fact, why don't I drag your ‘date’ over and let him watch while I lay you out and feast on your cunt? Show him what you'll never give him a taste of?”

You weren't sure if the pool of arousal was from the thought of Bucky eating you like a starved man, making that sad excuse for an alpha watch while he got you off, or both. You wondered what it would be like to taste yourself on his lips. “And why would you let him see what I look like when I come?”

He seemed to consider your question. “That’s a good point. He shouldn't see how you look when you come.” Bringing his hand to your face, your breath hitched when he caressed your cheek with such care. “But you’ll never have to hide that beautiful expression from me.”

“Hey!”

You pulled away from Bucky in time to see Chet storm over. “Shit,” you whispered when he furiously looked between you and Bucky. You were shocked smoke didn't come out of his ears.

“What the hell are you doing? I said enjoy the free booze, and do not embarrass me. You can't even follow a simple instruction,” he snapped. You refused to bare your neck when he showed his teeth. He wasn’t going to embarrass you either. “The only reason you can even step foot in this place is because of me. You fucking sl-”

Bucky was out of his seat before you could blink, his hand wrapped tight around Chet’s throat and cutting off the remainder of his insult. A few patrons gasped and stopped to watch as Chet clawed at Bucky's hand, but no one stepped in to help. The anger that poured off your alpha was enough to deter anyone from getting involved. And you were loving every second of it.

“She’s my mate,” Bucky said through his teeth, making Chet’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Biology may say you’re an alpha, but you’re nothing. And I’m tempted to crush your windpipe for insulting her.” He squeezed harder and smirked when Chet wheezed. “When her boss asks how the gala went, you’re going to sing her praises. If you don't, I’ll hunt you down and make sure you can never knot anyone ever again. And that’s just the start of what I'll do to you.”

It was almost humiliating how turned on you were by Bucky's dominant display. You thought you’d be an omega who wouldn’t want an alpha acting like, well, an alpha, yet his defense of you meant a lot. “Bucky.” You stood up and smiled when he looked at you, his anger shifting to something softer. “You can let him go.”

Chet fell to the ground and coughed once Bucky released him. Your alpha bared his teeth with a snarl and Chet showed his throat like an obedient dog. It was clear who the top alpha was.

“Apologize,” Bucky commanded. Not only did Chet cough out an apology while avoiding your gaze, a few others said “sorry” as well. That was how powerful this man was. And you wanted him more than anything.

“Thanks for the free booze, Chet. And don't worry about me getting a ride home. I think you should worry if that omega still wants you after your… performance,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s. “Have a great night.”

There was no need to fake your confidence as you and Bucky walked out together. It didn't matter at the moment what they thought of you. All you could think about was how Bucky defended you, and how he called you his mate. It was out in the open. He…

Oh, God.

“Thank you for defending me, but you do realize you just told everyone that I’m your mate, right?” you whispered. That gossip would spread before the night was over.

“Is that what I did?” he asked, smirking when you hissed and glared. “And you don’t need to thank me. He had it coming.”

The smirk was still on his handsome face as the valet brought his car around. What the hell were people going to say? He didn’t care what they thought and neither should you.

“Listen, Bucky, just because you…”

“You better get me off before we get to your place,” you said instead of finishing your original statement because you truthfully forgot all about it when his lips touched yours.

Your insides tinged with more heat and desire when he nipped your bottom lip. “You better say my name when I get you off.”

“Should I say Bucky or James?” you smirked.

“Bucky. Reserve the name James for when you’re upset or extremely serious,” he winked, thanking the valet before helping you into his vehicle. You had never been in a car this nice.

“And you won’t mark me tonight?” you asked once he got up, touching the back of your collar to make sure it was still secure.

“We still have a lot to figure out before I mark you,” he said, leaning over as you sighed in relief. “But before we go…”

His mouth landed on yours, both strong and soft as he took possession of yours. The entire gala could've gone up in flames and you wouldn't have noticed since all you felt was him. You tasted his hunger when his tongue plunged inside, and there was a hint of desperation, too. He was starving for you and you moaned, deepening the kiss to show that you were just as eager.

You panted when he broke the kiss. “Don’t make me regret trusting you,” you breathed, your eyes once again giving everything away.

His nose bumped yours affectionately as he dragged his lips to your forehead. You didn't expect such a fond gesture from him, and you had to bite your tongue so you wouldn't blurt out how nice a kiss to the forehead felt. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss against your skin.

Your heart felt full, and your inner omega wanted to shout with joy. “Take me home then.”

Bucky sped off a moment later, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. Your core ached as you looked at him, giving you a chance to once again take in his profile. The saying of aging like fine wine probably rang true for him. You imagined he was always good looking, but he was both rough and refined thanks to his age. People who said perfection didn’t exist clearly never saw him before.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

“I do, but you know that,” you answered, his jaw clenching when you pulled your dress up to reveal your legs. “And didn’t you promise to get me off before we got to your place?”

The sexual tension that had been building up spiked, and you sensed his need to claim you in some capacity was rising to the surface. “Give me your panties,” he ordered, giving you a sharp look. “Now.”

“You’re bossy,” you smiled, pushing your dress higher. He swore under his breath when you gripped your underwear and slid it off, your slick practically dripping from the flimsy fabric. No one ever got you that wet before. “But I kind of like it.”

He chuckled, licking his lips. “You like it because it’s me,” he pointed out, snatching the underwear out of your hand once it was within reach. You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

You trembled when he took his eyes off the road. Pulling your dress over your hips, you obediently spread your legs and let him get a good look at what would soon belong to him. “You like what you see?”

“Just wait until I tie you to my bed and get a real look before I fuck you. It’ll be a shame to wreck something so pretty, but you’ll thank me for it,” he replied, looking back at the road as he sped up. Oh, you’d thank him over and over. “Touch yourself, but don’t put your fingers inside.”

Bringing your hand between your legs, you gasped at how sensitive you were. It was like you were in heat, but fully aware of your surroundings. “Like this?” you asked, moving your fingers along your folds.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his gaze darting between you and the road. You hoped one day he’d fuck your throat while he drove. “Now give me your hand.”

You presented your glistening fingers to him, giving him the opportunity to grip your wrist and suck the wet digits into his mouth. You felt his mouth water from your taste, the groan of arousal in his throat making you shake. He didn’t stop until he licked your fingers clean. “You taste just as divine as you smell,” he said, releasing your hand and reaching over to cup your mound. “And I need more.”

“I need more, too,” you moaned, his palm rubbing your clit and building that ecstasy within you. He teased your dripping hole with another finger, but didn’t push inside yet. You arched your hips, trying to get him to breach you. “Please.”

“That’s a good girl saying please,” he praised, finally pushing a thick finger inside. You clenched around him so tight, your body wanting more. “Fuck, you’re tight. And wet. Made just for me. Imagine how good you’ll feel once you’re stretched around my cock.”

“Want your cock,” you moaned, opening your legs wider. “Want your big cock inside me.”

“Yeah, you do. You want my big, bare cock in your soaked cunt,” he said, pushing another finger in, your slick coating them. You didn’t let anyone fuck you bare before, but you’d let him. “You want my knot, too.”

You moaned, an image of you on your hands and knees flashing in your mind, Bucky’s strong hands pulling you back to meet every thrust until he locked your bodies in place. You could practically feel his teeth sinking into your neck to fully seal your fate. Or would he make love to you, linking your fingers together and kissing you with care as he tenderly pushed his knot in? It didn’t matter. He’d give you everything, and you wanted it all.

“Are you hard just thinking of fucking of me raw?” you moaned, the need to rip the top of your dress open to reveal your breasts strong. No… If your dress was going to get torn to shreds, he could do that himself. “Coming so deep inside me you’ll drip out of me days later?”

The next growl he let out was inhuman, his fingers curling until you cried out. “My good little omega has a dirty mouth on her,” he smirked.

“I do have a dirty mouth. You should fuck it sometime,” you smiled sweetly before your mouth fell open, his expert fingers fucking you deep. Talking dirty to him helped stamp down your emotions a bit, but they were threatening to surface the more he touched you. “Bucky.”

“That’s it. Say my name. Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded. Your back arched, gripping the leather seat until your hand ached. Your body certainly knew who owned you. “Tell me who’s going to take care of you.”

You bit your lip to hold back your whimper, your heart pounding out of control. No one took care of you. No one wanted to until tonight, and you hadn’t wanted that either.

He stopped moving his fingers, keeping perfectly still as you hissed in frustration. Was he really going to build you up and not let you finish? “Tell me,” he demanded again, gentler this time.

Your eyes burned, but you swallowed your pride. Again. “You, Bucky,” you whispered, trusting that he’d be an alpha of his word. “You'll take care of me.”

He cooed when you whimpered, slipping a third finger in and moving them again. “That’s my girl. My good omega. I know that wasn’t easy for you to say,” he praised, so proud of you. Part of you was proud of yourself, too. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes!” you cried out, desperately trying to ride his fingers as the pressure grew. You were so close. Just a little more…

“Then do it. Get that slick all over my hand and seat,” he said, pushing against your bundle of nerves once more as your body locked up. “And say. My. Name.”

Waves of pleasure rolled through you, colors blurring your vision as you cried his name. Your eyes rolled back as the squelching sound of your cunt filled the car, his fingers helping you ride it out. You were drowning, unable to breathe until you broke through the haze. You felt ruined already by his fingers. Oh, his cock was going to destroy you.

“Fuck, that’s it. Give it to me. That’s my good girl. Can’t wait to feel that all over my cock.”

He only removed his fingers when you whined and licked your essence away with a low moan. The beautiful bastard still looked so put together, and hadn’t swerved once while he drove. “Holy shit,” you exhaled, your walls still fluttering. The orgasm took the edge off while leaving you wanting more. “Did I… soak your hand?”

“You did,” he confirmed, your face hot. “Fuck, I’m going to need an entire weekend to eat your sweet cunt just to start,” he said, flashing you a smile. “And you make very pretty sounds when you come.”

You managed a smile as you slumped in the seat, your dress still bunched around your waist. “What do you sound like when you come?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’ll find out,” he promised.

You trembled again when he put his hand back on your thigh, your hand immediately covering his. You needed his touch to ground you, but didn’t want to say so. “I just realized something,” you said once you fully caught your breath.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“If you’re my mate but you haven’t marked me yet, and you plan to pay for… well, everything for me for the time being,” you said, a laugh bubbling up when you saw that your window was fogged up. You drew a little smiley face, making you laugh more before you glanced at him. “You’re kind of like my sugar daddy.”

“Don’t push it, old man,” you giggled. Though if anyone could sway you, it would be him. “Why don’t we just stick with ‘alpha’ for now?”

“That and Bucky,” he suggested, turning his hand so your palm rested against his. “I like hearing you say my name, doll,” he added in a whisper.

“I like saying your name, Bucky,” you said, your brows furrowing. “But who came up with that nickname?”

He chuckled again, your skin tingling when he lifted your hand to kiss it. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Yes, I do,” you said.

He stole a glance at you. Through the heavy scent of your orgasm, you detected joy seeping from him. It made you feel happy, too. “Okay,” he smiled, running his thumb along your hand. “I got the nickname a long time ago…”

You twisted more in your seat to face him as you listened, lost in his voice and smile. There was so much you had to learn about your alpha. His likes and dislikes. What he would be like before, during, and after his ruts. He had a lot to learn about you, too. You wouldn’t give up on your dream of becoming a designer, and accepting his help may not be such a bad thing.

And maybe accepting the fact that you had a mate to depend on wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.

So, what do we think so far? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#Carrot's fic recs

938 notes · View notes

jazzy96scorpio · 2 days ago

Text

Daddy's Girl

Description: You crave for a taste of danger. He's got a reputation for trouble. When you shared interest in age-gap kink that brings you together, your lust explodes in a night of raw passion. But your secret trysts in the back room of the video shop are just the beginning of a dangerous game.

Pairing: You / Clint - age gap (early 20's / late 40's)

Warnings ⚠️:Adult content, Contains strong sexual themes, daddy kink, age gap, rough sex, oral sex (fem. rec), unprotected sex, SMUT

It was late afternoon, it was your last hours of work in the Late Night Video shop. Dust motes dance in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the gloom, illuminating rows of DVDs and VHS tapes like forgotten relics. Boredom gnaws at you.

You rearrange the staff picks display for the tenth time, the plastic cases clicking softly in the silence. You’re so lost in thought you almost don't hear the bell above the door jingle.

Then he walks in.

Clint.

A man with a reputation. Whispers followed him like shadows – a troubled past, a tough guy exterior, a hint of danger lurking beneath the surface. You'd heard the stories, of course. Small-town gossip about his wilder days, his brushes with the law, the kind of things that made mothers clutch their pearls and daughters whisper with a mixture of fear and fascination. But you weren't like the other girls. You weren't afraid of a little danger. In fact, you were drawn to it. To him.

He’s wearing his usual leather jacket, the one that molds to his broad shoulders like it was made for him. His dark slicked brown hair back from his face, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw and the slight touch of grey at his temples. God damn, the man is older, but he’s so hot it makes your breath catch in your throat. He moves with a quiet confidence, a swagger that isn't arrogant, just… there.

"Hey," he says, his voice a low rumble, the California accent wrapping around the word like warm honey. It’s a sound you haven't heard in ages, a sound that always does something funny to your insides.

"Clint," you reply, trying to keep your voice even, casual. "Wow, haven't seen you in forever."

He gives you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, well, last time I saw you, you were still rocking pigtails and chasing after ice cream trucks."

You blush, heat prickling your cheeks. "Things change, I grow up." you mumble, gesturing around the shop. "Guess I work here now."

His eyebrows rise in surprise. "No kidding? What happened to old Mrs. Henderson?"

"Fired," you say bluntly. "Something about… 'creative accounting.'"

Clint chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Small town drama," he murmurs. He glances around the shop, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long before shifting away. "How's your dad?"

"He's good," you say. "Fine. You know, same old dad.." It feels strange talking about your dad with Clint. They used to be friends, close even, but something had happened between them, a rift you never fully understood.

"Good, good," he says. He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable in his brown eyes. "So, what are you looking for today?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation away from your dad.

"Something special," he replies, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I'll know it when I see it."

He starts to browse, moving slowly down the aisles, his eyes scanning the shelves. You watch him, your heart pounding in your chest.

The way he runs a hand through his wet hair, the way his leather jacket creaks with each movement, the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you… it’s all too much. You feel like you’re standing too close to a live wire, buzzing with an energy you can’t control.

A couple of minutes pass, the silence stretching taut between you and Clint as he browses the shelves. You can feel your pulse quickening, a rebellious streak surfacing within you. You want this man. Plain and simple. And you're not going to let years between you – stop you.

Taking a deep breath, you approach him. He’s stopped in front of a shelf, his fingers tracing the spine of a VHS tape. You peer over his shoulder. It’s an older tape, the cover featuring a couple with a significant age gap. Kink. Specifically, age gap kink porn. A smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.

"Good choice," you say, your voice a low murmur. "That's a good one."

He turns, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You've seen it?" he asks.

"Well," you reply, shrugging nonchalantly, "I need to know what I'm selling, right?"

A slow smile spreads across his face. "Right," he echoes, his gaze lingering on yours.

You lean closer, just a little, the scent of his leather jacket and something subtly spicy, maybe sandalwood, filling your nostrils. "So," you purr, your voice dropping to a near whisper, "do *you* like this kind of… thing?"

He meets your gaze, his eyes darkening slightly. "Let's just say," he replies, his voice a low rumble, "I appreciate a good story."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your eyes. "And what kind of story do you think this one tells?"

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through you. "One I find really…appealing," he admits, his eyes locking with yours.

"I agree," you say, a slow smile spreading across your face. "It's kind of my thing too."

He grins, the expression making him look younger, more mischievous. "Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm," you hum, turning and walking towards the cash register. He follows, the VHS tape clutched in his hand.

As you ring him up, he pulls out his wallet. "This one's on me," you say, meeting his gaze.

His smile widens. "I appreciate that," he says, a hint of something deeper in his voice.

He takes the tape and turns to leave, pausing at the door. He looks back at you, a lingering look that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, with a final, almost imperceptible nod, he steps out.

The next day, as you arrive for your shift, you spot him. Clint. He's strolling casually past the video shop, a familiar figure in his leather jacket. The air crackles with a subtle energy, a hum of anticipation. He greets you with a nod, his eyes lingering a little too long, a little too intensely.

"Hey, darling."

"Hey," you reply, trying to keep your voice casual, even though your heart is doing a little flutter-kick in your chest. "So," you venture, a playful glint in your eyes, "did you enjoy the tape?"

A slow smile spreads across his face. "I enjoyed it sweetheart," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Liked it a lot, actually."

"Told you it was a good one," you say, meeting his gaze. "Just like you." The words slip out, a bit bolder than you intended, but you don't really care.

He chuckles, his eyes raking over you, lingering on the short dress you’d strategically chosen for today. It’s a bit daring, you know, but you’re feeling daring.

His gaze makes you feel a little exposed, but in a good way. "Well," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "seems you really *do* have good taste." He winks, and that simple gesture sends a little jolt of electricity through you.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. "I'd like to buy you a coffee," he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive. "Thank you for the… recommendation."

"I'd like that," you reply, meeting his gaze. "But after work. We can…have some fun." You keep it casual, but the implication is there, simmering beneath the surface.

He grins, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "That's good, see you later" he says, his eyes burning into yours.

You turn and walk into the shop, your back tingling under his gaze. You can feel his eyes on you as you move, the heat of his attention a pleasant distraction. Inside, you can barely focus on your work, the thought of seeing him later a little buzz of excitement in the back of your mind. You catch your reflection in the security mirror – the short dress, the way your hair falls around your shoulders, the little smile playing on your lips. You know exactly what you're doing. And you can’t wait.

❤️‍🔥

Later, after your shift ends, you head to the small coffee and dining restaurant on the edge of town. It's a quiet place, perfect for a discreet rendezvous. As you pull into the parking lot, you see him. Clint.

He's already there, sitting in his car, one arm resting on the steeringwheel. He looks up as you approach, his eyes sweeping over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way your dress clings to your thighs.

As you approach you lean against his car, mirroring his relaxed posture, your eyes meeting his. His gaze travels over your face, then lower, lingering for a moment too long on your breasts. You don't mind. In fact, you relish it.

"So," he says, a playful smile on his lips, "about that coffee…"

He doesn't even try to hide his appreciation, his gaze hot and hungry.

"Like what you see?" you purr, a playful smile on your lips.

He grins, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "I do," he admits, his voice a low rumble. "Very much."

You feel a surge of desire, a longing that's both thrilling and terrifying. You want him. Here. Now. But you also know you need to play this right.

"Let's go inside," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can… discuss it further over coffee."

He pushes open the car door and steps out, his eyes still locked with yours. The air crackles between you, thick with unspoken desire.

He grins, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "Lead the way, darling," he replies, his voice laced with a promise that makes your heart pound.

He falls into step beside you as you head towards the restaurant, his hand brushing against your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

Inside, you find a secluded booth, the dim lighting casting an intimate glow. As you sip your coffee, the conversation flows easily, but the undercurrent of tension is undeniable. You flirt shamelessly, your words laced with double entendres and suggestive glances.

"You know," he says, his voice low and husky, "I've been thinking about you all day."

"Oh yeah?" you reply, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And what have you been thinking?"

He leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's just say I've been replaying some scenes in my head," he whispers, his eyes darkening. "Scenes that involve you, me, and maybe a few other…*toys*."

A gasp escapes you, a mixture of shock and excitement. "You're bold," you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly.

"Only for you, darling," he replies, his hand reaching out to trace a fingertip along your jawline. "Only for you."

You shiver under his touch, the heat of his gaze making you feel like you're melting. "And what kind of toys are we talking about?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirks. "The kind that make you scream," he whispers, his eyes burning into yours. "The kind that leave you begging for more."

"...I'd like to play with those toys," you whisper, your voice husky with desire.

He smiles, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. "I thought you might," he murmurs.

You lean closer, your breath ghosting against his ear. "I think we could have some fun back at the shop," you whisper, your voice laced with a dangerous promise. "I want you to fuck me so hard the whole street hears me."

His smile widens, a glint of pure lust in his eyes. He takes your hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Let's go," he says, his voice low and urgent.

He leads you out of the restaurant and back to his car. He opens the door for you, his eyes never leaving yours. You slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your skin. He gets in beside you, the air between you thick with anticipation.

He starts the car, "Ready?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

"More than ready," you reply, your heart pounding in your chest.

He drives quickly, the silence between you charged with unspoken desire. When you arrive at the video shop, the street is deserted, the only light coming from the moon hanging high in the sky. You fumble with the keys, your hands trembling slightly. He takes them from you, unlocks the door, and pushes it open.

You step inside and he follows you in, his eyes on your back as you lock the door behind you.

He turns you to face him, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing against your lips. He kisses you, a deep, hungry kiss that sends a wave of heat through you. He pulls you close, his body pressed against yours, and you can feel the hard length of him against your thigh. He wants you. You know it. And you want him just as badly.

His hand slides beneath your dress, his fingers tracing a burning path across your skin. You gasp, your breath catching in your throat. "God, you're so hot," he murmurs against your lips.

You pull back slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I have a surprise for you," you whisper.

You turn and walk towards the back of the shop, your hips swaying provocatively. You reach the shelves, and with a practiced movement, you open the secret passage, revealing a hidden room beyond.

He stares at you, a mixture of surprise and lust in his eyes. "What's this?" he asks, his voice husky.

"Our playground," you reply, taking his hand and leading him through the passage.

The room is small and dimly lit, the walls lined with shelves filled with… other kinds of entertainment. He closes the door behind you.

He kisses you again, a fierce, passionate kiss that leaves you breathless. He lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carries you to a sturdy table in the center of the room. He lays you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I've been waiting for this all day," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

"Me too," you breathe, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leans down and kisses you again, his tongue tracing the curve of your lips. His hand slides beneath your dress, his fingers finding their way between your legs. You gasp, a moan escaping your lips.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his voice rough with lust. "I can't wait to taste you."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes burning into yours. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice low and serious.

"Yes," you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. "More than sure."

He smiles, a slow, seductive smile that makes your breath catch in your throat. "Then let's get started," he says, his voice laced with a promise of pleasure.

He takes off your dress, his eyes never leaving your body. You help him with his jacket and shirt, the anticipation building with each button undone. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin, and kisses you, a slow, lingering kiss that ignites a fire within you.

He traces the kiss down your neck, his lips grazing your collarbone, then lower, his tongue flicking across your breasts. "God, you're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. He licks your nipples, sucking them gently, teasing them until they’re hard and aching. You moan, arching your back, offering yourself to him.

He moves lower, his fingers tracing the curve of your stomach, then dipping beneath the elastic of your panties. He rips them off, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of your exposed vulva.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with lust. "You're beautiful. So fucking beautiful." He rubs his fingers against your clit, teasing you, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

He leans closer, his tongue flicking against your clit, tasting you. You're so wet, dripping with desire. "Mmm, you taste so good," he groans. He grabs your thighs, pulling you closer, and starts to lick you more roughly, his tongue swirling inside you, exploring every inch of your swollen clit.

You moan, clutching his arms, your body trembling with pleasure. He then inserts a finger inside you, mimicking his tongue, pushing in and out as he continues to lick you.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispers, his voice rough and urgent. "Come for me. I want to taste it." He continues his assault, his fingers thrusting deeper inside you as his tongue dances across your clit. A loud moan escapes your lips as you come, your body convulsing with pleasure.

"There you go, good girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. He licks you one more time, savoring your taste. "So sweet," he breathes.

Blushing, you watch as he pulls back, his eyes still on you. He unbuckles his belt, the sound echoing in the small room, and pulls down his pants and boxers. His cock is huge, throbbing, the tip leaking with pre-cum.

"Fuck," you whisper, your eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension. "That's… huge. Will it even fit?"

He smiles, a slow, confident smile that makes your heart pound. "We'll make it fit, babygirl," he says, his voice a low rumble.

"Don't worry." He slaps his cock against your dripping vulva. "You haven't had a big one like this, have you?"

"Fuck no," you breathe, your eyes locked with his. "Please… I need you."

He guides his cock with his right hand, his left hand resting on your knee, as he tries to enter you. You’re so tight.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispers, his voice thick with lust. "Relax. Let me in…"

You moan and curse, a burning sensation spreading through you. "Fuck… you're so big," you gasp. "I can't…"

He whispers "Sshhh..just a little bit more.."

He thrusts, a hard, fast move that pushes him deep inside you. "There you go," he grunts, his voice rough. "You like that, don't you, you little slut?" He starts to move, slowly at first, then his thrusts become harder, deeper.

He leans down and kisses you, his huge hand cupping your jaw, squeezing your cheeks. "You're mine now, babygirl," he growls against your lips. "All mine. Gonna use you 'til you can't walk."

"Fuck yes," you moan, your body writhing beneath him. "Fuck me, Daddy. Use me hard."

He groans, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. He loves that. The way you call him Daddy, the way you surrender to him. It makes him feel powerful, in control.

He moves faster, harder, you are milking his cock with your juices. With every thrust, you feel closer to another orgasm. "Oh, fuck," you moan. "Yes… harder…"

He squeezes your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples. "Oh shit, babygirl," he groans. "You're better than any porn star. Come on, scream for me."

He begins to move faster, harder, his thrusts driving you wild. He pulls out slightly, then flips you over onto your stomach. "Now we're going to do this my way," he whispers in your ear, his voice rough and possessive. He’s rough, but you love it.

He enters you from behind with a hard thrust, pushing you down onto the table. He grips your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. You moan, so close to the edge. His cock fills you deeply, hitting that sweet spot, making you ache for more.

"Cum inside me," you whisper, your voice thick with lust. "I'm safe."

He laughs, a low, throaty sound. "Oh, I will fill you up, sweetheart," he promises. "I'm not leaving until you're all full of me and dripping."

He grabs your ass cheeks, thrusting harder, deeper. You feel your pussy squeezing him, and you come again, a loud, shuddering orgasm. You squirt, your juices dripping onto his cock and balls.

He groans as he comes, his hot cock filling you with his seed. He stays inside you for a moment, his cock twitching. He kisses your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "You were so good for me," he murmurs.

He pulls out, your juices mixing with his on his cock. He stuffs his cock back into his pants, his eyes still on you. He kisses you again, his tongue filling your mouth, tasting you one last time.

He brushes your face, fixing your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. He kisses you once more, a soft, lingering kiss. "I enjoyed that," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Sorry about your panties."

He helps you with your dress, his fingers brushing against your skin, igniting a fresh wave of desire. "I wish I could stay longer," he murmurs, "but I have to go."

He offers to drive you home. "Better not," you say. "My dad would kill you."

"I'll drop you off before your house," he says, his eyes meeting yours.

He drives you home, the silence between you comfortable, charged with the memory of what just transpired. As he pulls up a block from your house, he turns to you, his eyes searching yours. He reaches out, his hand brushing against your legs, sending a shiver down your spine.

He leans in and kisses you one last time, a slow, lingering kiss that tastes of promise.

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips. "We're gonna keep this our little secret, right?"

"Right," you whisper, kissing him back. "Goodbye, Daddy. See you tomorrow."

He smiles, a slow, seductive smile that makes your heart flutter. He starts the engine and pulls away, leaving you in the quiet darkness, the memory of his touch still burning on your skin.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Please like, reblog and comment ❣️

Tags: @lanaispunk @probablyreadinsmut @berryispunk

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #forbidden love #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedrohub #pedrostories #clint (freaky tales)#pedro pascal clint #Clint (Freaky tales) x reader #clint x reader #clint freaky tales x reader

196 notes · View notes

kxtsukixoxo · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii I hope you’re doing well and had a lovely Valentine’s Day 💕! I was wondering you could do Hitoshi shinsou with “don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better” and he’s a sweetie perchance? I just feel it in my heart that deep down he’s a sweet boy who wants love 🥹

authors note - happy late valentine’s day lovey!! <3 i’m sorry this took me so long, i’ve been experiencing serious burnout (ugh.)

no more prompts available!! :)

warnings - nsfw!

“so you’re telling me…he’s never made you cum before?” shinsou says, taking a prolonged swig from the bottle of smirnoff you two had been passing around. “he placed his pleasure over mine” you shrugged, as you took the bottle from

shinsous hand. by now, shinsou could definitely confirm the alcohol had full control over his body, and this was bad.

shinsou chuckled as he ruffled his hair with his hand, curiosity glinted in your eyes as you watched him attentively. “spit it out toshi”

shinsou turned to face you, eyes never leaving yours as he swirled his tongue around in his mouth, “got a deal for ya sweetheart” by now shinsou was facing the skyline in front of you, as his hands supported his weight upright behind his back, “spit it out” you took a sip from the bottle, as you watched the moonlight’s soft hue highlight the shadows of shinsou’s face, his lilac unkempt hair all over his face.

“let me eat you out.”

“but?”

shinsou chuckled, “nothing else”

“then what’s the point of the deal?” your eyebrow quirked up

“dunno, jus wanna make you cum i guess”

shinsou rolled over, supporting himself up with his elbows as he unbuckled your pants, you looked at him hesitantly “don’t worry baby, i’ll kiss it better hm?” and god, in that moment you could literally cum without him touching you. shinsou flips you over, now ontop of him as he slides down your shorts, “no underwear huh?” shinsou chuckles “right under my nose too” he huffs out, your chest heaves as breathing gets deeper and deeper, “sit on my face.”

“o-oh okay” fuck.

“you’re hovering.”

he’s not wrong. you are. you thought you had heard it all, but the act of sitting on someone’s face has clearly alluded your ears. you’re unsure. you don’t want to hurt him…suffocating the first man you lay with would have you begging the gods to open the ground and swallow you whole.

the soft glide of shinsou’s fingers across your thigh bring you out of your head. his hands are cold. they feel nice in contrast to your own skin, nerves lit on fire.

“i don’t want to hurt you”

“you won’t.”

“toshi-”

“do you trust me?”

he’s steadfast in his reassurance, his thumb has been rubbing circles in your hip while you both have been talking. does he do it all on purpose, or is he just this naturally desirable?

“you know I do, but-“

“good. sit.”

you still hesitate, and that’s when shinsou takes matters into his own hands. his hands stop their tracing, and instead grip your thighs, bringing you down himself.

whatever expectations you had are exceeded tenfold. shinsou eats you out like a man starved. your head spins with the way you can feel his tongue, exploring you and swiping over your clit. it has white hot pleasure shooting up your spine, and your thighs quiver ever so slightly, but shinsou’s firm grip keeps you in place. he’s confident in his movements, precise and sure in a way that makes you see stars.

he thinks he’s found the place where he would be content to meet his demise. you taste so good, and the pretty sounds you’re making have blood rushing straight to his cock. jon has always loved the sound of his name on your lips, whether it be small acknowledgments in passing by, or just mentions in mere conversation. but he’s found he much prefers hearing you moan it.

you’re almost embarrassed how quickly he has warmth building up in your belly, pressure building as he gives you the most pleasure you’ve ever had. he’s giving and giving and giving, and you find yourself selfishly taking all of it. he doesn’t slow down, keeping a steady rhythm that makes the cord in your stomach wind impossibly tighter.

“toshi-i-!”

you don’t get to finish your sentence, interrupted by the snap of the cord in your stomach that was previously tightening. pleasure overtakes your nerves, flooding your veins and momentarily removing your ability to speak, or think. shinsou’s tongue doesn’t stop fully, only slowing down to help you ride out your peak.

you catch your breath, feeling shinsou kiss the inside of your thighs as small aftershocks have you clenching around nothing. you find yourself seeking his touch, your hand running along the surface of your thigh to find his own. he reaches for you, trapping your own smaller hand beneath his own. it’s reassuring, grounding you back to the present after he brought you so far over the edge.

you move to get off, to let him get up and breathe but he doesn’t release his grip, keeping you in place. you hear him speak.

“only once?”

129 notes · View notes

lily-jaxk · 2 days ago

Text

MC Twin AU - CALEB'S Spitfire [3]

Caleb kisses like a god.

His hands wrap around your waist firmly as his lips slide against your own, his tongue forces itself into your mouth making you blush heavily but moan softly.

Holy shit this man was wonderful at kissing! Though you couldn't help but feel a flare of jealousy rise up at the thought of him kissing other people. So you ask him, and he laughs with pure amusement. "Don't worry spitfire. You're my first and only."

If someone asks if your heart had started to beat faster at his words, you would push them into traffic.

When your sister had found out about your relationship, she had sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I owe Zayne so much money now."

"You betted against me!??"

"Well duh. Caleb literally liked, no, adored you! The only person who couldn't see it was you!"

You stared at her with confusion, nervously fiddling with your hands. "But. . . . . Aren't you mad? I thought you liked Caleb?"

A gentle smile bloomed on your sister's face and she leaned against you body, placing her head on your shoulder. "Caleb is my best friend. Nothing more alright? I'm really happy for you two! But...."

You freeze. "But what...?"

"If he hurts you and makes you cry. Best friend or not I will push him into incoming traffic."

A startled laugh escapes your lips. "Are you stealing my threats?"

MC shrugged. "They work perfectly fine."

"Make your own threats! Only I can push people into traffic!"

"Nuh uh."

"Yah uh!"

As days went by and Caleb continued to shower you with affection, and MC continued to giggle and tease the two of you, your guards began to slowly break and crumble down. Ok, you weren't the MC, but he still liked you! That was. . . . .that was amazing!

Every now and then you couldn't help but break out into giggles at the reminder that Caleb liked you. Not her, but you.

She could keep the other men, you wanted your red flag boyfriend!

Though, it might not just be him that's a red flag. You might be one as well? Did that bother you? A bit yes, but Caleb seemed to enjoy it a lot.

It happened on a typical winter day, the cold air making you shiver as you walked side by side with Caleb, who finally got some time off to visit you. He quickly wrapped his arms around your shoulder and dragged you closer to his warm body, making you smile. "You cold spitfire?"

"I hate winter." You mumble, pouting when you felt his chuckle. "Stop laughing at me or I won't kiss you ever again!"

"Oh nooo, can you ever forgive me?" He places a kiss on your forehead, and your face grows hot. "Look, we're at the cafe now. Let's head in and get you something warm." He guides you towards Destiny Cafe (when you realized the name, you had begun to cackle like a madwoman. So Destiny Cafe existed here and wasn't just a game mechanic!) and pushed the door open, the warm air making you let out a sigh of relief. "Good yeah?"

"Hmmmmm..." You hum, allowing him to guide your body to a seat. He ruffles your hair and sits across you, placing his chin on his palm as he gazes at you with so much affection that your face heats up even more. "What? What's on my face?"

"Beauty." He murmurs, and you squeak. "Pure beauty-"

"Hi! Welcome to Destiny Cafe! May I take your order?"

The moment is ruined by a high perky voice, and you turn your gaze to stare at a young girl with a huge smile on her face. She stares and Caleb and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, fluttering her eyebrows at him. "I'll be your server today, my name is May. So, may I take your order?"

Caleb turns to meet your gaze. "What would you like spitfire?"

You meet May's annoyed gaze head on and a small satisfied smirk forms on your lips. "Just some hot chocolate, that's all."

"I'll have the same." Caleb looks at May making her bloom. "Of course! I'll be right back!" She smiles at him and walks away, and your eyes catch the way her hips swayed with her movement, making your eye twitch.

When she finally is gone from your sight, you turn your gaze to Caleb and get up, pushing him to the edge of the booth so you could sit next to him. You drag him down by the back of his head into a kiss, and bite down on his lip, smiling when a bit of blood hits your taste buds. You know you shouldn't be jealous, Caleb had said time and time again that he liked you. But. . . . but you couldn't just help yourself.

"S-Spitfire-"

You snap back to reality and push him away, your face red. "Oh my goodness I'm so sorry! Did I bite you too hard!? Holy shit I don't know what got over me!"

You watch as he uses his thumb to wipe away some of the blood away from his lips, a smile on his face. "It's fine it's fine! In fact, I enjoyed it very much."

. . . . . Was he a masochist or something!?

You shouldn't be surprised though, this was Caleb you were talking about. Still, you dart you gaze away and mumble out a "Sorry..."

A hand cups your cheeks, and Caleb lifts your head to stare at him. "I said it's fine spitfire, really!" He leans down to kiss you himself, and your cheeks heat up as one of his hands moves down to slip underneath your skirt. The only reason why the two of you part away is because you hear footsteps come towards your booth. Still, you make sure you place a small kiss on your neck, your lipstick leaving a stain very visible on his skin.

You watch as May glances at your flushed faces, and at the lipstick mark on Caleb's neck, and your heart thrums with pride at the small scowl that she wasn't quick enough to wipe away. "Here are your drinks, enjoy yourself!" She says, then rushes away.

As the two of you eventually leave the cafe, you notice that Caleb wasn't wearing his scarf anymore. "Aren't you cold Mr Pilot?" You question, raising a brow at him as you walk together hand in hand.

He gives you a smirk and point at the lipstick stain. "I want everyone to see this. To show who my girlfriend is."

Your face heats up again, and you jerk your head away. Still, a small smile forms on your lips at his words. Oh goodness, you weren't going to let this boy leave.

Even when he fakes his death and becomes Colonel, you would find him and keep him by your side.

Many. . . . Ok only a few months to be honest, pass by, and the infamous explosion happens. You move in with MC finally, mainly to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid, and mainly because even when you knew he was alive, you missed Caleb, and she was the only one who understood your pain.

You stared at your phone every day, hoping that he would send an impromptu text, a 'Hey spitfire! I'm alive! Come find me :D'

But nothing. Nothing pops up.

One day after work though, you stroll around the city in the dark, one headphone in your ear and your phone in your hand. A sudden notification freezes you, and after a few seconds of silence, you rush to follow it's instructions.

"Spitfire, five blocks ahead of you, there's a black car with the license plate 367 LKN. Get in, and when you arrive at the airport, I'll be there waiting for you. Don't be late.

Taglist! - @sleepydang @junrui @animecrazy76 @reni502

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace caleb #lnds #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #caleb #caleb lnds #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #caleb l&ds

104 notes · View notes

straows · 1 day ago

Text

𝘎𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰’𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘯𝘯𝘯𝘯.

𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳e 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬, 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴.

Hair long and pin straight, make up perfect and body was doing its JOB. Especially with the dress you had on. And I mean that skin type dress that ended just under your ass so it wasn’t hangin but your legs were OUT. Heels on and everything. You were looking fine as hell up in the club.

You were with your girls, celebrating your birthday. Which meant shots after shots after shots. You were a good bit past tipsy, the phase where you can’t walk straight really, had that crazy confidence but kind of knew what was going on.

Your body moved with the music, and you were bumping and grinding with the girls. And god bless them, because the way your friend was grabbing your hips as you grinded back on her was making you look GOOD.

However, it wasn’t until the song changed and the feeling of your friends hands being replaced by larger ones did you finally look behind you and over your shoulder.

And there he was, looking like a Greek god with how he was towering over you. Fresh undercut that defined his perfect white hair, blue eyes that peaked over black shaded glasses and a the sleaziest but sexiest grin that was stamped on his face.

“Want some company?” Oh his voice had your knees weak. He sounded like he was both teasing you and begging you. And you were all for it.

“You don’t needa ask me twice.” You grinned, and faced forward again, your smaller hands overlapped his before guiding them around your body.

Gojo’s grin only widened as his hands tightened on your hips before he began to move his body against yours in beat. His eyes following your every move, and specifically the curve and arch of your back as you bent down half way, hips still moving in tandem with the music.

“Shit, pretty. You’re definitely giving me a show,” Gojo groaned out a broken breath before inhaling sharply when you pressed harder against him. His nails tightening into the fat of your hips.

“You like?” You gave him a cheeky grin as you looked back at him over your shoulder. The confidence you had was one hundred perfect from all the shots you’d had. You’d no doubt be mortified in the morning. But that was tomorrow’s problem.

Gojo pulled you back up, one hand moving up hold your neck in a gentle but demanding grip. Tilting your face to the side so he could make eye contact with you. “What do you think, Angel?” He murmured against the soft skin of your shoulder. Biting down softly while guiding your body to the rhythm.

Usually, you’d be terrified someone was watching you two. However, everyone else was too busy being wasted and dancing with their friends.

All you did was tilt your head back against him with a soft sigh at the feeling. Your body melting back against his.

As the night went on, one thing led to another before you were drunkenly guiding an almost as drunk Gojo to your apartment.

Gojo watched you with hooded eyes, eyes following the movement of your shaky hands as you eagerly tried to open the door but only received struggle.

He snorted and finally took the keys from you and opened the door. Closing it behind him, he locked it and chucked the keys onto the counter.

One big step after another, it didn’t take long before he had you pinned against the kitchen table. Your butt was pressed up against the table, your hands rested on his forearms as he immediately dove into press a deep and rough kiss on your lips.

You two couldn’t keep your hands off one another. I mean it was desperate and fast kisses, some deep and some more rough than the rest. His hands were trying to tears off your clothes and you were fairing any better, nails already tearing his shirt down the middle.

But he, nor you cared. Especially not him when you pulled away from the kiss only to press open mouth kisses to his jaw, neck, chest and down to his v-line. Now on your knees, you pressed a few quick kisses to the bulge in his pants.

Your hands shook as they did when trying to get through the door, too excited for your own good. Fumbling with his fly, you finally were able to pull it down. You weren’t surprised when you saw he had no boxers. He seemed like the type. Not that you minded.

Because you licked from your palm to your fingers before wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. Giving the tip a kiss, before licking up the side of him.

“Fuck- don’t start t- teasing now,” His fingers wove into your hair, and gently guiding your mouth on his tip, before a shocked gasp pressed through his lips as you’d taken him half way into your mouth quicker than he’d expected.

Head tilted back, and his hands guiding your head. Pathetic moans and groans leaving his lips as a constant as he let his body move into the pleasure.

You dug your nails into his thighs as you let him guide your head deeper. Your throat burned and your jaw ached but the way he sounded your motivation. Motivation enough to hollow your cheeks and take him to the base, your nose pressed against the patch of hair at the base of his cock.

“𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬! 𝘞-𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵- 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰-𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯—,” Gojo felt his cock begin to throb and before he knew it he was feeling the muscles in his torso to tighten, his hands shaking slightly as he grew closer to his climax.

Sensing his near release, you merely pressed down in one swift move, and immediately thick ropes of his cum was shot down your throat.

“Shit- oh fuck…” Gojo groaned, his voice breaking as the pleasure shot through his body. Panting, his hands finally pulled away from your head, letting you pull off of him. “You did so good, pretty.” He ran his fingers through your hair, his eyes glued to your mouth.

“Yeah?” Rising from the ground, you stood between his knees, your eyelids heavy as you stared up at him.

“…don’t look at me like that,” he groaned, his cock slowly throbbing back to life. The more he stared at you the more his mind wandered, “Wanna sit on my face?” He asked bluntly.

“Mhm.” You nodded and grabbed his hand, guiding him to your bedroom.

Gojo lay in your bed, you tucked tight in his arms. He gently traced the natural dip of your back and your spine. So relaxed and content, the alcohol long having been worked out of his system.

He couldn’t help but wonder, how would you react when you realize he’s your ex-boyfriend’s best friend.

Lololol kinda wanna right a p2 but idkidk. Lmk if yall liked it 😔❤️

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #imagine #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo smut #smut

49 notes · View notes

anakinstwinklebunny · 5 hours ago

Note

hear me out---- pregnant reader with sam, and they're in his bed, literally just spending the whole night talking and softly/lazily making out, and sam rubbing her tummy and just being so happy 😭😭🥲🥹

PAIRING: sam monroe x pregnant!reader

FLUFF ❦

As you shifted on the bed, the old mattress creaked beneath your weight. Ignoring it, you simply curled up closer to Sam's warm body. Your boyfriend's room was currently in the middle of being a pure darkness, except for the soft dim glow of the street lamp that filtered through one of the windows, giving a light over the mess of tangled blankets and your bare skins.

His hand rested on your belly, fingers splayed out like he was trying to feel every tiny, little movement, every bigger or smaller sign of life. You weren’t even that far along yet, just enough to start showing, but Sam had this new quiet obsession, he'd not admit to, with touching your stomach. Like he still couldn’t believe there was a tiny little person in there - his kid - growing day by day before his eyes.

You smiled, bringing your hand up to trace your fingertips over the sharp curve of his jaw. “You’re staring.. again.”

Sam huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing idly over the soft skin of your belly. “Yeah, well… can you blame me?” voice all low and sleepy, like he was drifting in and out of consciousness, yet still stubbornly fighting sleep because he wanted to talk to you...or makeout..both things were considerable

“I mean, look at you,” he continued, lips curving against yours as he leaned in, pressing the softest, laziest kiss to your mouth. “Carrying my kid and still looking like the prettiest damn thing in the world. Kinda unfair if you ask me.”

Your fingers carded through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp as he hummed contentedly. “You’re so corny,” you teased quietly

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam’s lips found yours again, kisses slow like he had all the time in the world to just love you.

Then Sam pulled back slightly, nudging his nose against yours. “What do you think they’ll be like?” he murmured.

Your fingers played with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “Who?”

“Our kid, obviously.” hand pressing a little firmer against your lower belly. “You think they’ll look more like me or you?”

“I hope they get your eyes.”

Sam huffed. “I hope they get your smile.”

You thought for a second. “I really hope they don’t get your temper.”

Sam snorted, playfully biting at your lower lip before pulling away. “Hey, I’m a changed man.”

You gave him a look. “Sam.”

“…Okay, a man working on it.” He smirked before his face softened again. “But seriously. I just—” He exhaled, like he was trying to piece together the thoughts swirling, twirling and twisting in his head. “I just want them to have a good life, y’know? Not—” He paused, swallowing. “Not like mine was.”

You cupped his face, rubbing your thumb gently over the cheekbone. “They will, Sammy.” Your voice quiet, trying to avoid waking everyone up “They'll have us, our families..all the love you've learned about in that book your mom gave you"

Sam rolled his eyes before staring at you for a long moment. He ducked his head, pressing his face into the crock of your neck. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you as close as he could without also crushing you. “God, I love you,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy-deactivated20250 @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

#bunny's replies ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა #hayden christensen #sam monroe x you #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monre #sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe x female reader #christensen hayden #haydenchristensen #hayden christensen characters #life as a house

42 notes · View notes

teddiee · 1 day ago

Text

Into Each Life: Chapter 18

Summary:

For just a second, he let Steve hold him, let himself be wrapped up in something solid, something steady. Let the weight of another trusted Alpha’s touch press down, soothing the frayed edges of his instincts.

Steve pulled back just enough to search his face, hands gripping his arms like he needed proof Tony was real. “Where the hell did you go?” he demanded, voice sharp, laced with too much—too much worry, too much frustration, too much of everything Steve wasn’t saying.

Tony, because he was Tony, flashed a shit-eating grin. “Summer camp.”

Words: 11,620

Warnings/Explicit Content: a/b/o dynamics, scenting/marking, non-penetrative climax, accidental orgasm, overstimulation, possessive alpha bucky barnes, touch-starved tony stark, third-wheel steve rogers (lol), light dom/sub undertones, hickeys galore

“Do you intend to knock? Or are we simply admiring craftsmanship this evening?”

Tony scowls, shooting Jarvis a glare. “I—I’m just—Give me a second.”

“You’ve had several.”

“Jesus, J, let me have a moment, will you?”

Jarvis folds his hands neatly behind his back, ever the picture of composed patience. “Certainly. Would you like me to clear the rest of your evening for this, or should I reschedule your self-doubt for a more convenient time?”

Tony exhales sharply, dragging both hands through his hair. “God, you’re pushy.”

“And yet,” Jarvis says, infuriatingly calm, “here we are.”

Tony turns back to the door, pulse erratic, stomach a roiling mess of nerves. It’s just a door. A simple, scuffed, brown apartment door.

And yet, it somehow feels like he’s standing at the edge of a battlefield, waiting for the first shot to be fired.

It’s been thirteen days.

Thirteen days of pacing sterile hallways with an ID badge slapped on his chest like some kind of war criminal on probation. Thirteen days of conversations that only ever seemed to involve classified files, military jargon, or someone shoving yet another clipboard in his face. Thirteen days of cafeteria slop he wouldn’t feed to a dog.

Thirteen days since he’s seen Bucky Barnes.

When he’d finally been granted release, it had been Jarvis waiting for him, parked at some godforsaken SSR checkpoint in the middle of nowhere. Jarvis, who had stood beside the open car door, looking uncharacteristically tense, hands clasped so tightly they turned pale. Jarvis, who never pried, never pushed, but who had exhaled, just once, when Tony slid into the passenger seat; like the weight of an entire world had just lifted from his shoulders.

The drive back to Brooklyn had been quiet, the Packard cutting through rain-slicked streets as Tony fought to hold himself together. Jarvis had kept glancing at him, concern written into the stiff set of his shoulders, the faint crease between his brows. When they’d pulled up to the brownstone, Jarvis had offered to walk him up—something he’d never done before.

Tony hadn’t said no.

And now, here they were.

The silence stretches too long. Jarvis sighs, and then, with the measured efficiency of a man who has spent over a decade wrangling a Stark, he raises his hand—

And knocks.

Tony’s stomach plummets. He whips around on his heel and shoots his butler a frenzied look. “What the fuck, Jarvis?”

“You were taking too long.”

“Becuase I was building up to it!”

“Yes, at an absolutely glacial pace.” Jarvis straightens an invisible crease in his sleeve. “If you had your way, we’d be standing here until the next war.”

Tony’s retort dies in his throat as he hears movement inside.

The sound of shuffling footsteps. A dull thud—like something bumping into a piece of furniture. Then, a sharp curse, followed by hurried, uneven strides approaching the door.

Tony stops breathing.

The lock clicks. The door lurches open.

And then—

The world doesn’t tilt so much as it lurches—sharp, disorienting, like stepping onto solid ground only to find it’s turned to water beneath his feet.

Not in some grand, sweeping way. Not in a poetic, tragic, cinematic burst of fate.

No, it’s worse.

Because it’s quiet. Devastating in its simplicity.

The man in front of him looks… ruined.

Not just tired. Not just unkempt, but gutted, carved out, frayed down to something raw and aching.

His hair is a mess, flattened in some places, sticking up wildly in others, like he’s been shoving his hands through it over and over again. His undershirt—thin, soft with wear—is wrinkled beneath his open suspenders, his button-up shoved to his elbows, creased and disheveled like he’d rolled them up hours ago and never thought to fix them. His trousers sit low on his hips, a little looser than usual, like he’d forgotten to wear a belt, and his bare feet barely make a sound against the scuffed wooden floor.

But it’s his face that hits Tony the hardest.

The dark smudges under his eyes, deep and bruised-looking, like he hasn’t truly slept since Tony left. The tension in his jaw, the way his lips press together like he’s been holding something back, like he’s used to holding down on words too sharp to say aloud. But Tony knows him too well. He sees it in the flicker of his fingers at his sides, the almost imperceptible twitch of his shoulders, the way his breath stutters on the exhale.

And then—

His eyes widen.

His lips part, but no sound comes out. His breath catches, just for a moment, his entire body going taut with something unreadable as his gaze rakes over Tony’s face, scanning him like he doesn’t trust what he’s seeing. Like Tony might disappear if he blinks too long.

For half a heartbeat, he just stares.

Tony stares back.

And for a long, silent second, the world shrinks down to nothing but the space between them.

Then the scent hits.

Tony staggers.

The force of it is immediate, brutal, knocking into him like a sledgehammer to the ribs. It’s Bucky, Bucky, thick and warm and overwhelming—cedarwood and musk and something darker, richer, something that has always made Tony feel safe, wanted, home.

His body reacts before his mind catches up, his knees threatening to give out as heat floods through him, a desperate, aching instinct roaring to the surface.

His scent glands pulse like a heartbeat. His breath shudders out in a ragged, ruined sound.

Bucky moves.

One second, there’s space between them. The next, Tony is being pulled in, hit with the full force of Bucky’s body, hands gripping his shirt like he needs proof, like he needs to feel flesh and bone beneath his fingers to believe it’s real. The impact steals Tony’s breath, knocks it straight out of his lungs as Bucky clutches at him, arms coiling around his back, pressing their bodies together with something close to desperation.

Tony makes a sound—raw, unsteady, ripped from the very core of him—and fists his hands into Bucky’s shirt, white-knuckled, clutching back like letting go isn’t an option.

Bucky trembles.

“Jesus Christ.”

The Alpha's voice is wrecked, furious, breath hot against Tony’s temple. His whole body vibrates, his chest heaving with ragged, unsteady breaths. “Where the hell have you been?”

Tony can’t answer. Can’t find the words, can’t find anything but Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—his scent, his heat, the way his body wraps around Tony like he belongs there.

Bucky buries his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, breath shaky, arms like iron bands locking him in place. His hands won’t stop moving, won’t stop touching—searching, roaming, pressing into Tony’s ribs, his back, his shoulders, mapping out every inch like he’s afraid something will be missing.

“Fuck—” The curse is barely a breath, vibrating against Tony’s pulse. “You—Goddammit, Tony, you just—” His voice cracks, just for a second, and Tony feels it like a knife between his ribs.

Tony sags, lets himself fold into Bucky’s grip, every bit of tension bleeding out of him as he breathes in deep, lets the scent of his Alpha flood his senses, soothe the raw, aching wound in his chest. It’s overwhelming. It’s grounding.

Bucky exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against Tony’s, the grip in his hair tightening like he needs something solid to hold onto.

His voice, when he speaks again, is rough at the edges, frayed like a rope about to snap.

“Never—” Bucky swallows hard, fingers curling tight against Tony’s nape. “Never do that to me again.”

It’s not a plea. It’s an order.

Tony shivers, his breath catching, his whole body humming with the force of Alpha, Alpha, Alpha.

Bucky pulls back just enough to look at him, his pupils blown wide, gaze raking over Tony’s face like he’s committing it to memory. His fingers tighten in Tony’s shirt, knuckles going white.

"Two weeks."

Bucky's voice is wrecked, sandpaper-rough, something strained and shaking at the edges. His grip on Tony’s waist is iron-tight, fingers flexing like he’s afraid Tony’s going to vanish right out of his hands.

"Two fucking weeks," he rasps, and there’s something layered under the anger, something raw and exposed and running bone-deep. "And all I got was—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching, fingers fisting tighter in Tony’s shirt. "One letter. One." A sharp exhale, ragged, too fast. "No phone call. No address. Just—just words on a goddamn page."

Tony presses closer, the weight of Bucky’s body keeping him upright. His heart’s hammering hard enough to crack his ribs.

Bucky shakes his head, voice quieter now, like he’s still trying to decide whether he’s angry or just aching. "I didn’t know where you were, Tony." His hands shift, grip twitching against Tony’s waist. "Didn’t know if you were safe. If you were—" He stops, drags in a breath through his nose, exhales like it burns on the way out. His chest rises and falls too fast, too uneven.

Tony’s lungs seize. He’s talking before he even realizes it, words stumbling over each other in their rush to get out.

"I wanted to—" The admission bursts out of him, too quick, too frantic. "Bucky, I swear, I—" His breath stutters, voice cracking wide open, but he pushes forward anyway. "I couldn’t. I couldn’t. They wouldn’t let me, I didn’t even know where I was, technically, I—"

His hands are shaking. He clenches them tighter in Bucky’s undershirt, holding on for dear life.

"I promise you, Buck, I—I wanted to tell you, I wanted to tell you everything, I just—" His voice caves, shaky and weak and desperate, too desperate. "I couldn’t."

Bucky’s whole body is locked up, vibrating with something that’s not quite rage, not quite relief. He makes a low, fractured sound in the back of his throat, then suddenly—

Tony’s breath is stolen.

Bucky hauls him in, arms coiling tighter, his scent spiking with something thick, something weighty, something that slams into Tony’s nervous system like a freefall.

"Jesus, Tony," Bucky mutters, voice rasping against his neck, breath hot and unsteady. "I—" The words falter, break apart. His fingers dig into Tony’s waist like he’s trying to hold both of them together. His whole frame is trembling, broad chest pressed against Tony’s, muscles wound up so tight they might snap.

Then, barely a breath, barely a whisper—

"God, honey, you don’t even smell like you."

Tony doesn’t register it at first. His brain is full of white noise, his body full of Bucky, warmth and weight and sheer presence sinking into his bones.

Then Bucky makes a noise.

It’s quiet. A low, wounded thing.

Tony's stomach lurches.

Bucky pulls back, just enough to look at him, hands sliding over Tony’s collar, pressing into the pulse at his throat, his wrists, his jaw—searching. Searching for something that isn’t there.

"You don’t—" Bucky swallows hard, eyes flickering dark, stormy, sharp-edged and hollow all at once. His voice scrapes raw as he breathes, "They scrubbed me off you."

Tony’s breath stops dead in his throat.

The SSR. The bunker. Cold metal tables and clipped military efficiency. Antiseptic and starch and nothing else. No scent-marking. No warmth. No him.

He hadn’t even noticed.

Bucky had.

Bucky, who always buried his face in Tony’s neck when he came home, who always wrinkled his nose when Tony smelled too much like stale Institute hallways, who had once—just once—dragged his mouth over Tony’s mating gland and murmured mine like it meant something.

Tony tries to speak, but nothing comes out. His throat feels swollen shut, lungs strangled by something cold, something tight.

Bucky looks gutted.

"You smell like—like nothing," Bucky says, almost disbelieving, like it’s a physical impossibility. His fingers curl into Tony’s lapels, tugging him in, like sheer force of will might bring it back. "I don’t—God, I don’t like it, doll, I don’t—I can’t—" He breaks off, breath catching on something ugly.

And then he’s pressing in, pushing his face against Tony’s throat, drenching him in scent, like he can overwrite it, fix it, pull Tony back from whatever sterile void they dumped him in.

Tony shudders, his whole body locking up. His fingers dig into Bucky’s back, holding on, clutching tight. His voice comes out shaky, hoarse, barely above a whisper—

"‘M still yours."

Bucky makes another wrecked sound, part growl, part plea.

"Still yours, Buck. I swear it."

Bucky breaks.

His hands are frantic, desperate, dragging Tony closer, his lips pressing hot, fast kisses to his temple, his cheek, his jaw—anywhere he can reach. "Yeah, honey," he breathes between kisses, "yeah, you are. Mine."

Tony nods, shaking apart, curling into Bucky’s warmth like he can fuse them back together.

Bucky exhales, shaky, uneven, one hand sinking into Tony’s hair, the other still holding onto his waist like a lifeline. His scent floods the air—heavy, grounding, his.

They could stay like this forever. Wrapped around each other, fixing it. Undoing the space, undoing the ache, undoing whatever the SSR tried to take.

But then—

A quiet cough.

Tony stiffens, brain snapping back to reality in a painful whiplash as his head jerks up—

And there’s Jarvis. Standing a polite distance away, hands folded neatly behind his back, expression perfectly neutral save for the faintest flicker of long-suffering patience.

"Perhaps I should come in and make some coffee," Jarvis suggests dryly.

Bucky doesn’t react. Doesn’t even twitch. Just holds Tony tighter, nose still buried against his skin, like he’s pretending Jarvis doesn’t exist.

Tony, for his part, is actively considering melting through the floorboards.

But Bucky Barnes is still his mother’s son.

Which means Tony barely has time to register what’s happening before Bucky lifts his head just slightly, nodding once—respectful, quiet.

"Mister Jarvis."

Jarvis’s expression doesn’t flicker. Not a smirk, not a twitch, nothing. But something shifts behind his eyes, quick and subtle, before he steps forward with smooth, effortless grace.

"Mister Barnes," he returns, just as composed. "A pleasure, at last."

Tony actually stops breathing.

Bucky doesn’t let go. But his grip changes—less frantic, more assured, like his body has finally decided Tony is here, and real. His head tilts slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face. No challenge, no hesitation—just understanding. A long moment stretches out between them, quiet and unspoken.

Then, finally—Bucky exhales.

"Yeah," he says, steadier now, something looser in his shoulders. "Yeah, I think it is."

Jarvis doesn’t react right away. Just looks at Bucky, measuring, assessing.

Then, so quick Tony almost misses it, the barest flicker of something.

Approval, maybe.

Then—gone.

Jarvis clears his throat. "Shall I assume three cups?" he asks, already turning toward the kitchen, perfectly unfazed.

Bucky’s voice is still gravelly, still thick with something raw, but he answers without hesitation.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, please, that’d be great. Maybe four. Come on in.”

Jarvis steps inside with a measured grace, shutting the door behind him with a quiet, deliberate click that somehow feels like the final turn of a lock. The room shifts, smaller now, the heavy press of Bucky’s scent sinking into the space between them, curling around Tony’s skin like something with teeth.

Bucky’s attention snaps back to him instantly, like it never left. His hands resume their path, mapping him out, tracing over sharp cheekbones, brushing against the dark hollows under Tony’s eyes, pausing at the almost-healed cut on his lip. His frown deepens, something hard and lethal flickering in the space behind his eyes.

“I was going outta my mind,” he murmurs, voice tight, gravel-rough. His fingers drift lower, skimming Tony’s jaw, his temple. “Had no idea where you were. No one knew a damn thing. Couldn’t find a trace of you—not with your family, not with Stone. Nothin’, doll. Just—” He exhales sharply, like the words are too bitter to sit on his tongue. “Dead ends.”

Tony sways closer, grip tightening around the straps of Bucky’s suspenders, holding on like maybe, just maybe, if he clings hard enough, he can shove an apology into Bucky’s skin and make it stick. His own voice is quiet when it comes, strained and unsteady. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “God, Buck, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t let him pull back. If anything, he holds on tighter, his hands dragging over Tony’s skin like he’s still searching, like he’s cataloging every inch of him to make sure none of it’s missing. His palms frame Tony’s face, his thumb sweeping over the soft skin beneath his eyes, pressing against exhaustion like he can erase it.

“Where the hell were you?” he asks, voice dropping lower, rougher. “What happened?”

Tony’s throat tightens. He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come.

Because he can’t tell Bucky.

Not about SSR, not about Project Rebirth, not about Erskine or the chamber or the ice-cold weight of secrecy pressing into his ribs. Not about the way they locked him away in a concrete tomb while the world kept turning without him.

He signed the NDAs. He swore the silence.

But he can give Bucky this.

“I wasn’t with Tiberius,” he manages, meeting Bucky’s gaze even as his stomach churns with the half-truths he can’t untangle. “I swear, Buck. I wasn’t.”

Bucky exhales, sharp and rough, like he’s trying to shove the weight of the last two weeks out of his lungs. His fingers press a little harder, thumb sliding to the hinge of Tony’s jaw. His eyes flash, something unreadable simmering just beneath the surface.

“You sure?” he asks, voice quiet but edged with something razor-sharp. “You can—You can tell me.”

Tony nods, grip tightening around Bucky’s wrist, grounding himself in the heat of his skin. “Swear it.”

A beat. A long inhale.

Something shifts in Bucky’s shoulders—not much, but enough.

Tony licks his lips, pulse hammering under the weight of Bucky’s grip. “The contract’s void,” he whispers. “I’m not—he doesn’t own me anymore.”

Bucky’s expression darkens. His fingers flex like he wants to dig deeper, carve out every last answer Tony isn’t giving. Like he’s not content to let this mystery sit, to let it live in the quiet between them.

But whatever he sees in Tony’s face must be enough—because he doesn’t push.

Instead, he lets out a quiet sound, something deep and rough, curling his fingers around the back of Tony’s neck, his thumb dragging over his scent gland in slow, grounding strokes. His breath shudders out, long and uneven, like the last two weeks are finally catching up to him all at once.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs.

Then, with a quiet fierceness that settles deep in Tony’s ribs:

“You were never his.”

The coffee is scalding, strong, and mercifully grounding. Tony wraps his hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into his fingers as steam curls lazily into the air. The kitchen feels smaller than it should, crowded with the weight of too many bodies, the rich caffeinated scent cutting through the dense, lingering haze of Bucky’s pheromones hanging thick in the room.

Across the table, Steve squints between Bucky—who still hasn’t stopped touching Tony, one hand curled loosely over the back of his chair, thumb skimming slow, lazy strokes against his shoulder—and Jarvis, the very picture of unshaken dignity, sipping his coffee like this is just another Tuesday.

“You—” Steve starts, voice still rough with sleep. He blinks hard. “You have a butler.”

Tony takes a slow, pointed sip. “Incredible observation skills, Rogers.”

It had taken a considerable amount of effort to drag Steve out of bed. Bucky had muttered something along the lines of “dumb lug could sleep through an air raid” before stomping off to the bedroom, vanishing for all of ten seconds before a sharp thud and an indignant yelp signaled that Steve had been forcibly extracted from unconsciousness.

By the time he shuffled into the kitchen, his hair was an absolute disaster, his undershirt twisted like he’d fought a battle in his sleep and lost, and his face was wearing the kind of deep confusion only half-conscious men could muster. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, blinking slow, trying to process—

Then he saw Tony.

And Steve—Steve just froze.

Mid-step, mid-breath, mid-blink. Muscles locking up, jaw going slack, blue eyes widening as he took Tony in. His mouth opened like maybe he had words, but then his gaze dropped lower, scanning, flicking over every inch of him like he wasn’t sure if he was actually seeing him or if he was still dreaming.

Tony barely had time to process before Steve crossed the room in two quick strides and yanked him into a hug so tight it drove the air from his lungs.

His whole body locked up, instincts screaming at the abruptness, at the sheer force of being grabbed, of being enveloped—but Steve was Steve, scrawy limbs and all.

And Steve smelled like home—like linen and soap, like warm Brooklyn summers, like graphite and ink.

Tony exhaled, slow and unsteady, and let himself sink into it.

Tony, because he was Tony, flashed a shit-eating grin. “Summer camp.”

Steve scowled. “You’re an ass.”

Now, with a cup of coffee in hand and Steve looking marginally more awake, he was back to staring at Jarvis with the furrowed expression of someone struggling to process a deeply inconvenient reality. “No, seriously,” Steve says, dragging a hand through his hair. “You meant an actual butler? This whole time? Like—a real, breathing, limo-drivin' butler?”

Jarvis, to his credit, doesn’t even blink. He sets his cup down neatly, regarding Steve with the same mild patience he usually reserves for tax collectors and door-to-door salesmen. “Unless there has been some significant change to my employment status of which I am unaware—yes.”

Steve gapes at him. Then back at Tony. “Jesus. All this time, I thought you were jokin’.”

“I was,” Tony says, shifting in his chair. “But I had to keep up appearances. Put out a classified ad—‘Middle-aged Brit needed: must be balding and own at least three waistcoats. Bonus points for proficiency in disappointed sighs.’”

Jarvis takes another sip of coffee. “And yet, despite my exceptional qualifications, you insist on testing my patience daily.”

Tony gestures vaguely. “See? Best investment I ever made.”

Bucky makes a low, tired noise, something close to a laugh, but his hand never leaves Tony. Broad and warm, it remains at the nape of his neck, tracing slow, absent circles, his thumb occasionally wandering to brush against Tony’s scent gland. It’s subtle but deliberate—reassuring, anchoring, possessive in a way Tony doesn’t know how to process.

He should pull away.

Should crack a joke, should roll his eyes, should act like his whole body isn’t going liquid under the weight of Bucky’s touch, isn’t leaning into the slow, grounding press like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

He should.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales slowly, shaking his head, letting his shoulders relax under the weight of it. “Anyway,” he says, flicking a look at Steve. “Glad to see you managed to drag yourself out of hibernation.”

Steve grumbles something about "someone kicking up enough scent to wake half the Alphas in the damn borough,” but Tony isn’t listening anymore.

Because Bucky leans in.

Just slightly, just enough for the heat of him to flare against the side of Tony’s temple, just enough that the air shifts thick with something electric, something that makes Tony’s blood run slow and heavy. The hand at his nape doesn’t move, but Bucky inhales, close and quiet, scent flaring rich and deep as he presses the barest fraction closer.

Scenting.

Marking.

Tony feels it everywhere.

His pulse jumps, his breath hitches, his skin prickles like every nerve in his body has just gone on high alert.

Too much. Too fast.

His instincts don’t care.

His body soaks it in, curled into the warmth of an Alpha’s presence, into the wordless claiming Bucky is offering in slow, careful increments.

And Bucky—Bucky knows.

Of course, he does.

He can smell it. Can feel the way Tony’s breath has gone shallow, the way his fingers curl tighter around the ceramic of his cup, the way his scent softens, hazed into something instinctively receptive.

For half a second, Bucky’s grip flexes like he wants to push, like his own instincts are telling him to take, to hold, to keep.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath.

He tries to focus, tries to ground himself. He has an audience. Steve is still watching, brows knit together, sharp blue gaze flicking between the two of them, reading too much, catching on too fast. Even Jarvis, ever composed, pauses mid-sip, expression unreadable as his eyes flicker briefly between them.

Tony licks his lips, clears his throat, forces himself to speak. “Right, well,” he says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. He waves a hand vaguely. “Look, I can't give you guys any classified details, unfortunately. Signed, like, forty-five NDAs. So let’s just say I was on a thrilling War Department-sponsored getaway. Real five-star experience—concrete beds, round-the-clock babysitting, food that tasted like wet newspaper. Real top-tier operation.”

Bucky makes a low, unimpressed noise, and his thumb strokes another slow line against Tony’s scent gland, pressing just enough to make Tony shudder.

“Tony,” Bucky says disapprovingly.

Tony exhales sharply, forcing a grin. “That’s the best you’re getting. You want details, you can file a request with the U.S. government. I’m sure they’ll get back to you in—oh, never.”

Steve looks vaguely green. “You were locked up?”

Tony shrugs one shoulder, feeling loose, untethered. “They called it a security measure. I call it a colossal waste of taxpayer money.” His fingers tighten around the mug as his breath hitches, heat pooling behind his ribs, creeping up the back of his throat. “Point is, I’m here now, so—”

A slow, woozy sensation washes over Tony, dragging him deeper into the thick, smothering heat of it—his blood humming, his skin flushed, his head full of cotton. He grips the edge of the table, fingers pressing into the wood like it might anchor him, like it might stop the slow unraveling inside him.

Across from him, Steve flinches. It’s barely noticeable, just the faintest hitch in his breath, the way his hands flex on his mug, the crease between his brows pulling tighter. His gaze flicks to Bucky, then back to Tony, his posture shifting from confusion to something steadier, something careful.

"Hey," Steve says, voice dropping into something quiet, something measured. His scent stays forcibly neutral, locked down tight, but Tony can tell—he's holding it back on purpose. "You okay?"

Tony tries to nod, tries to play it off, but his movements are slow, delayed, like his brain and body are working on separate frequencies. His breath stutters. He feels hot, too hot, his skin buzzing with something restless and heavy. Somewhere to his right, a chair scrapes against the floor, the soft clink of a coffee cup being set down—Jarvis, moving with the same effortless grace he always does—but Tony barely registers it.

Because Bucky is touching him.

Still. Always.

His hand stays warm and steady at the back of Tony’s neck, thumb pressing slow, absent circles against his scent gland. And when he leans in, his scent flaring low and steady, Tony feels it everywhere—pressing into his ribs, curling into his lungs, settling deep beneath his skin like something meant to stay.

Bucky knows.

Tony can feel it in the shift of his body, in the way his hand flexes at his nape, just slightly, like he's making sure Tony stays exactly where he is. "Hey," Bucky murmurs, voice soft but firm. "Look at me, sweetheart."

Tony blinks up at him, sluggish and heavy-limbed, breath coming too short, too uneven.

Bucky’s expression has changed—still tight with frustration, still sharp around the edges, but softened now, concern threading through the hard lines of his face. “You’re dropping,” he says, low and certain, like it’s just a fact, like it’s something he’s already decided how to fix. “Breathe for me.”

Tony shudders. The command in Bucky’s voice—deep, even, grounding—sets something off in him, instinct curling tight in his stomach, winding low in his ribs. His breath catches, then stumbles out of him all at once, hitching in his chest. His scent shifts, thickening in the air, curling warmer, softer.

Beside him, Jarvis clears his throat, the sound pointed but not unkind. “I believe that’s my cue,” he says smoothly, already rising to his feet.

Tony blinks, tries to gather his scattered thoughts, tries to regain some sense of composure. He pushes up like he’s going to stand, his limbs still syrup-heavy. “I’ll walk you out.”

Jarvis doesn’t even dignify that with a response. He just exhales through his nose, then levels Tony with a look so profoundly unimpressed that Tony has to fight the ridiculous instinct to bare his teeth like a petulant child.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Jarvis says dryly, reaching for his waistcoat where he draped it earlier.

Tony scowls. “I can—”

“You cannot,” Jarvis cuts in, patient as ever, but leaving no room for argument. He straightens his lapels, sharp eyes flicking once to Bucky’s hand at the back of Tony’s neck before returning to his face. “You will sit here, finish your coffee, and try not to fall over while I make my exit.”

"Bossy," Tony mutters, but he doesn’t move. Mostly because—yeah, okay, Jarvis might have a point. His balance is shot, his biology strung out and pliant under the sheer weight of Bucky’s presence, and the thought of actually getting up, actually stepping away from the heat curling warm and steady around him, seems about as possible as sprouting wings and flying out the window.

But something about saying goodbye now, after all this, after everything, makes his chest go tight.

Jarvis must see it, because he softens, just a fraction. As he pulls on his coat, he says, casual as anything, “Do try and ring me, Anthony.”

Tony nods once, sharp and quick, not trusting himself to speak.

Because it’s always like this with Jarvis—always a little too much, always a little overwhelming. His brain gets scrambled, his throat gets tight, his instincts get tangled up in all the things he’s never been able to say out loud.

Jarvis, who’s been there for every scraped knee, every sleepless night, every wreck Tony’s ever made of himself. Jarvis, who is the reason Tony is still here. Still standing.

Or, well. Sitting.

Jarvis buttons his coat with quiet efficiency, then glances toward Steve. “Mister Rogers.”

Steve, who has been silent this whole time, jerks like he’s just remembered he exists. “Uh—yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, hands tightening around his mug. “See you ‘round, Mister Jarvis. Sir.”

Jarvis dips his head once, then looks to Bucky. The pause is brief, but weighted, something quiet and assessing passing between them.

Bucky meets the look without flinching. Holds it. And whatever Jarvis sees there must be enough, because he nods, just once, in something that might be acknowledgment.

“Good night, Mister Barnes,” Jarvis says.

Bucky inclines his head, his grip on Tony never wavering. “Sir.”

And then he’s gone, the door swinging open just long enough for a cool gust of Brooklyn night to sweep in and steal some of Tony’s warmth before it clicks shut behind him.

The room falls into silence.

Tony stays slumped against the table, breathing slow, trying to pull himself back together while his body keeps trying to melt under the weight of Bucky’s presence. He knows he needs to get a grip, knows he’s already toeing the edge of something his body might not be able to handle, but it’s fucking impossible to think when Bucky is right there, all scent and heat and solid, unmoving certainty pressing in on him from every angle.

And then there’s Steve.

Still sitting, still holding his coffee, still looking way too much like a man caught in the middle of something he wasn’t prepared to witness. His scent is locked down, his expression carefully neutral, but Tony catches it—the way his fingers tighten just slightly around the ceramic, the barely-there twitch in his jaw.

Guilt stabs through him, sharp and sudden, even as his body betrays him, curling deeper into the quiet, grounding weight of Bucky’s touch.

Bucky, for his part, doesn’t pull away. If anything, he shifts closer, his grip firm, his scent pressing heavier, thicker, more deliberate. The shift is small, subtle, but Tony feels it like a brand against his skin.

“You should go back to bed.”

The words drop like a stone, short and clipped, not quite a command but carrying enough weight to make Steve go still. Tony glances at Bucky, catching the way his grip tightens—just slightly—on the back of Tony’s chair.

Steve exhales sharply through his nose. “You serious?” He gestures vaguely in Bucky’s direction. “You just dragged me outta bed, Buck. Literally. My ass hit the floor.”

“And now I’m tellin’ you to go back.” Bucky’s voice is even, too even, but there’s an unmistakable shift beneath it, something in his scent cooling at the edges.

Tony knows the room is still thick with it—his own scent, his pheromones still lingering, still saturating the air. Knows, too, that Steve’s Alpha biology is reacting the only way it knows how. There’s no intent behind it, no challenge, no claim.

But Tony’s Alpha clearly isn’t interested in nuance.

Steve squares his shoulders, gaze narrowing just slightly, a flicker of frustration behind his sharp blue eyes. “Buck—”

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice drops low. Warning. “Bed.”

Steve’s jaw ticks, but after a beat, he exhales hard, tipping his head back like he’s asking the ceiling for patience. “Jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Great to have you back, Tony. Can’t say I missed this part, though.”

Tony grimaces.

Bucky doesn’t so much as blink.

There’s a beat of silence before Steve rolls his eyes, grabbing his coffee cup and downing what’s left of it in one go before setting it down a little too hard on the table. “Fine. Whatever. Try not to do anythin’ nasty while I’m still awake, I swear to God,” he mutters, already turning on his heel and trudging toward the bedroom.

Bucky huffs, shaking his head as Steve disappears down the hall. “Punk.”

Tony, still blinking slow and heavy, lets his head loll lazily to the side. “You know,” he murmurs, voice syrup-thick, “for someone who just forced an Omega to drop his scent all over your kitchen, you’re a real possessive bastard about it.”

Bucky’s gaze flicks down, sharp and steady, pupils just a little too dark. “You’re askin’ for trouble, sweetheart.”

Tony hums, fingers finding Bucky’s wrist where it rests against his chair, pressing just slightly into the scent gland there, his touch featherlight, teasing. “Yeah? What kinda trouble?”

Bucky exhales, slow and measured, before lifting a hand and tucking a loose curl behind Tony’s ear. His fingers trail down, dragging over the bare skin of Tony’s throat, pressing into the quick, unsteady pulse beneath his jaw.

Tony’s breath stutters.

Bucky leans in, his breath warm at Tony’s temple, voice low and rough. “The kind you can’t handle right now, baby.”

His thumb strokes over the gland at Tony’s neck, slow and deliberate, before he pulls back just enough to haul Tony up, guiding him out of the chair like he weighs nothing. “C’mon. Bed.”

Tony whines—soft, instinctual, helpless—when Bucky moves away, his body resisting the loss of heat, of touch, of Bucky. His mind knows they need to move, knows his body is all but useless, barely able to hold itself upright without Bucky propping him up. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the noise that escapes his throat—high and desperate, the kind of sound he’d never let slip if he were thinking clearly.

Bucky freezes.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is their breathing, the low hum of the radiator rattling against the wall. Then, slow and deliberate, Bucky shifts.

But instead of pulling away, he steps into Tony’s space, hands sliding around his waist, solid and sure. Tony barely has time to process before he’s being lifted, settled into Bucky’s lap, back into the chair, their bodies fitting together in a way that makes something deep in Tony’s chest go soft, go quiet. He clutches at Bucky’s shoulders as the world tilts.

And then—oh.

Bucky ducks down, breath hot against the crook of Tony’s neck, lips grazing the throbbing, aching pulse point just beneath his jaw. His scent is thick in the air, saturating every inch of space between them, every inch of Tony, seeping into his skin, his lungs, his bones. Tony feels it like a drug, like a fever breaking all at once, like a rope pulling taut between them, dragging him closer, closer, closer.

Bucky growls—a deep, low vibration that rolls through his chest and into Tony’s. “Goddamn knew you weren’t doin’ good,” he mutters against Tony’s skin, voice half a rasp, half a snarl. His fingers flex at Tony’s hips, possessive, grounding. “Knew somethin’ was wrong. You smell—” He inhales deeply. “You smell like you’ve been starvin’ for it, baby.”

Tony doesn’t get the chance to answer. Bucky latches onto his mating gland—his burning, aching, too-long-untouched mating gland—and sucks.

Tony breaks.

A high, sharp noise escapes him, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His entire body locks up, nerves firing, pleasure lancing down his spine so fast and hot it’s blinding.

Bucky devours the spot, mouth hot and wet, tongue soothing over tender, fevered skin before sinking his teeth in again—not enough to break skin, not yet, but hard enough to leave something dark, something that’ll linger for days. A mark. A brand. As close to a bond as he can get without taking Tony right here, right now, in the middle of the apartment kitchen.

And Tony—Tony can’t breathe, can’t think. The sensation is overwhelming, the raw nerve endings in his neck lighting up like electricity, sending wave after wave of heat and relief and completion rolling through him. It’s instinct, it’s biology, it’s everything he’s been denied for nearly two weeks finally slamming back into place all at once.

It’s too much.

It’s perfect.

His vision whites out at the edges. His pulse slams against his ribs, his stomach tenses, his thighs tremble. His body seizes under the weight of sensation, his back arching, his fingers clawing into Bucky’s shirt, his breath shattering in his chest—

And then he comes.

Untouched. Effortless. Helpless.

The orgasm crashes over him like a tidal wave, wracking his body with shuddering, helpless convulsions, his hips jerking forward into nothing, chasing friction that isn’t even needed. His muscles seize, his entire world narrowing to the hot, wet press of Bucky’s mouth still sucking bruises into his skin, to the fingers gripping him so tight, holding him together while he shatters.

His body is still shaking, still riding the aftershocks, when Bucky suddenly stills.

The shift in tension snaps Tony back just enough for awareness to creep in, for the high of his orgasm to melt into something hot and sticky between his legs. His breath stutters, his muscles tremble in the aftermath, and—

Oh. Oh.

The realization barely has time to settle before Bucky growls.

The sound is low, raw, rattling deep in his chest. Possessive in a way that has something inside Tony going soft and pliant. The hands on his hips tighten, fingers pressing in firm as Bucky noses along his jaw, inhaling deep, tongue flicking out to soothe the bruises already blooming on his skin. His own breath is ragged, coming in sharp, uneven pants, his body taut with restraint beneath Tony’s.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Bucky lifts his head.

Tony forces himself to meet his gaze—and nearly forgets how to breathe.

Bucky looks fractured. Absolutely feral. His pupils are blown wide, dark swallowing up the grey, his jaw locked so tight it ticks, his nostrils flaring as he scents the aftermath, as he processes what just happened.

Tony doesn’t even get a second to prepare before Bucky’s grip tightens, fingers digging in, voice thick with heat when he exhales, “Jesus Christ.”

His stomach flips, shame and thrill tangling into something electric.

Then—quieter, like he can’t quite believe it: “Did you just come from me scenting you?”

Tony swallows hard, throat tight, body still trembling in Bucky’s lap. His cheeks burn, the weight of it all crashing into him at once. He tries to think, to find words, to string together something remotely coherent, but he’s still dizzy, still stunned, still—

Bucky moves.

His hand cradles the back of Tony’s head, fingers threading into his curls, thumb sweeping over his temple in slow, steady strokes, grounding.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough with something close to awe. “Didn’t even touch you.”

Tony hums, eyes slipping shut for a beat before he forces them back open. His tongue feels thick, heavy, but he manages a slow, slurred, “Alpha.”

Bucky’s breath catches.

His grip tightens, just for a second, his entire body going rigid like Tony’s just grabbed him by the throat. His scent spikes, something raw and instinctual flashing across his face before he reels himself back in, his breathing hard and unsteady.

Tony feels weightless, drunk on it, tilting his head into Bucky’s palm with a quiet, pleased noise, his entire body thrumming.

Bucky exhales, rubbing slow, broad circles into Tony’s back. “Yeah, I know, baby,” he soothes, nosing against Tony’s temple. “You’re all messed up, huh? Poor thing.” His mouth presses warm against Tony’s hairline, then lower, trailing soft, absent kisses along the shell of his ear, the hinge of his jaw. “Did so good for me.”

Tony sags, boneless in Bucky’s lap, warmth seeping through every inch of him like he’s been drugged. And maybe he has, in a way. The pheromone onslaught, the relief, the sheer chemical rush of being back in Bucky’s space after so long—his entire body is responding like a starved animal finally being fed.

Bucky hums, pressing one last kiss to the fluttering pulse at his throat before shifting beneath him. “C’mon, killer,” he says, moving to stand, lifting Tony like he’s weightless. “Let’s get you to bed before you pass out on me.”

Tony grumbles, nuzzling into Bucky’s shoulder, weakly clutching at his shirt, but Bucky just huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says, tone warm, amused, as he starts toward the hallway. “Trust me, I’d keep you like this all night if I could, but we gotta get you outta these clothes before Stevie kills us both.”

Tony blinks, trying to focus through the fog. “Stevie?” he mumbles, voice rough, slow.

Bucky grins, pushing open his bedroom door. “Yeah, genius,” he says, kicking it shut behind them. “You know he’s gonna have my ass when he smells what you just did all over our kitchen chair.”

Tony groans, muffled against Bucky’s neck, too wrecked to care. “He’ll live,” he mutters, half-slurred.

Bucky chuckles, the sound deep and indulgent, and shifts his grip higher, settling his arms more securely beneath Tony’s thighs. “C’mon, gorgeous,” he murmurs, nosing against Tony’s temple. “Let me put you to bed.”

The room is dim, the only light coming from the cracked glow of a bedside lamp. It’s small, slightly cramped, but familiar—cedar dust, warmth, something distinctly Bucky clinging to the air. An anchor. A tether. Tony blinks at the shadows along the walls, the rumpled sheets on the narrow mattress, the battered dresser with a single framed photograph resting on top—two young boys in school uniforms, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning wide.

Bucky crosses to the bed in a few steps, lowering Tony down onto the sheets. Tony’s breath shudders at the loss of contact, but Bucky keeps a hand on him, palm steady over his shoulder.

“You with me?” Bucky asks, voice quiet as he brushes a thumb over Tony’s cheekbone. It’s soft, a little rough, but there’s something else there, something careful in a way that makes Tony’s chest ache.

Tony tries to nod, but the movement is clumsy. “Yeah,” he manages, blinking slow. “Just—” He exhales, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Just a little… floaty.” He lifts a hand, waving vaguely.

Bucky smiles—small, tired, something warm in it. “I bet.” He kneels by the bed, fingers deft as he tugs at the laces of Tony’s boots, one hand steady on his knee, keeping him still. “Gonna let me take care of you?”

Tony would normally crack a joke—about domestic Alphas or personal valets, maybe—but he’s too wiped out, the tension of the last two weeks leaving him feeling like a puppet with its strings cut. So he just murmurs a faint, half-hearted, “Yeah, okay,” and lets his eyes fall shut.

Bucky’s hands move with practiced ease, untying Tony’s boots, peeling off his socks. The faint thud as they hit the floor barely registers, his focus narrowing to the slow, methodical way Bucky tugs at the waistband of his slacks, careful, deliberate, like he’s handling something fragile.

Like he’s still trying to convince himself Tony’s really here.

When the last of his clothes are gone—save for the undershirt clinging to his skin and a clean pair of Bucky’s boxers—Tony feels warm hands slide up beneath the fabric. Rough fingers pressing into his ribs, his stomach, checking, mapping, searching for damage.

The touch isn’t intrusive. It’s instinct. A confirmation.

Tony doesn’t mean to make a sound, but something slips out anyway—a quiet, needy thing that he’d be embarrassed about if his body wasn’t still humming from the comedown. Bucky’s hands stutter just slightly, his gaze flicking up, jaw tight.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks, voice low, like he’s bracing himself for an answer he won’t like.

Tony swallows, shakes his head against the pillow. “No,” he breathes, forcing himself to form actual words. “It’s—good. You’re—great.”

It’s quiet. Honest. Not one of his usual throwaway lines, not something deflective or flippant, and the tension in Bucky’s shoulders eases just a fraction. He bows his head for a beat, collecting himself, then shifts up the bed so he can maneuver behind Tony, propping him up against his chest. The scent of him—woodsmoke, cedar, the faint tang of metal—washes over Tony in a wave, making his stomach flutter.

They settle back against the pillows, the mattress creaking under their combined weight. Outside, a car horn blares, muffled by the walls, and somewhere above them, the tenant in 5B stomps around like an elephant on parade. It’s so normal—so achingly normal—that Tony almost laughs.

Instead, he just burrows deeper into the warmth at his back, turning his face into the hollow of Bucky’s throat and breathing him in, chasing something solid in the haze of exhaustion.

Bucky’s hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading into his curls, thumb rubbing slow, absent circles behind his ear.

They stay like that for a long moment, just breathing. Letting the quiet wrap around them.

Then, eventually—soft, careful: “Did they—” Bucky hesitates, the words catching. “Did they hurt you? Wherever you were?”

Tony’s chest goes tight at the raw edge in his voice. At the way Bucky is holding onto him like he’s afraid to let go.

“No,” he says. Then—quieter, drier: “Not… not like that.”

A pause.

Howard’s backhand flashes through his mind, sharp and impersonal, just a punctuation mark in a lifetime of corrections. His mouth twists.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, at least.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. For a moment, he’s silent, gaze skittering over Tony’s face. Tony wonders if he can detect the ghost of Tony’s bruised cheekbone, the scab of his split lip, both thankfully healed ten days later.

Then, quietly, “You scared the hell outta me.”

Tony exhales, chest heavy, heart aching at the hurt carved into Bucky’s features. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice rough, guilt pressing in. “I didn’t mean—God, Buck, I never wanted—”

“Shh.”

Bucky cups his cheek, warm and steady, his thumb sweeping just under the shadow of exhaustion beneath Tony’s eye. “I know,” he murmurs, brushing away something invisible. “Not your fault.”

Tony just closes his eyes, leans into the warmth. Lets himself be held.

The radiator hums softly, filling the quiet between them. Somewhere down the hall, water pipes groan to life.

Then Bucky exhales, slow and shaking. “I tried lookin’ for you,” he admits, the words spilling out, raw and unfiltered. “Everywhere. Soon as you disappeared—Christ, Tony, I couldn’t sleep. Spent two weeks knocking on doors, askin’ around, turning over every damn rock.” His hand curls against Tony’s back, holding tight. “Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

Tony doesn’t breathe.

“I couldn’t even get within ten blocks of your family’s place in Manhattan,” Bucky continues, his voice tight. “Guards turned people away on sight. Tried callin’ Jarvis’s main line—tried callin’ the damn Institute, even. Nobody would tell me shit.”

Tony swallows against the lump forming in his throat. His stomach twists, shame curling around his ribs.

“And Stone,” Bucky mutters, something sharp in the way he says the name. “Went sniffin’ around Tiberius Stone, thinkin’ maybe that contract pulled you in. But it was like askin’ after a ghost. No address. No business records. No paper trail. Some people swore up and down they’d never even heard of him. Others clammed up the second I said his name.”

Tony grimaces.

Yeah. That tracks.

Bucky’s grip tightens, like he’s physically holding himself back. “Figured either he went underground or your old man pulled strings, but I—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Tony’s chest aches. He shifts, pressing in closer. “Buck…”

“You know that letter I sent you?” Bucky asks, voice quieter now, like he’s reluctant to say it. “The one after you wrote me?”

Tony nods.

“I rewrote it six times.” Bucky laughs, but it’s hollow, humorless. “Didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. If I should’ve said anything at all. If they’d hurt you for it. Just—” He drags a hand down his face, frustration bleeding through. “I couldn’t sit here twiddlin’ my thumbs while you were gone. Thought maybe if you saw how bad I needed to hear from you, you’d…” He trails off, swallows hard. “Well, guess they never even let you see those, huh?”

Tony’s throat is tight. He can barely get the words out.

“They gave it to me,” he murmurs. “Your letter. I—I still have it.”

Bucky stills. His breath catches, barely audible.

Then, in one fluid movement, he’s pulling Tony closer, cupping the back of his head, pressing him in tight.

“I thought…” Bucky exhales sharply. “I thought maybe that bastard had you. Or your father pulled some backroom deal to keep you under lock and key ‘til that contract was binding. I wasn’t even sure if you were still in New York.” His voice goes thick, rough. “They put your bonding announcement in the papers, did you know that? I showed it to anyone who’d look, demanding to know where you were. But all I got were shrugs. Blank stares.”

Tony wets his lips, pressing closer, letting himself be held. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words useless, but all he has. “I knew… I knew I’d come back. Just had to figure some things out first.”

Secure his freedom. Legally emancipate himself. Reverse engineer a technological meltdown.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Bucky’s fingertips stroke idly at the space below Tony’s collar, hooking under the edge of his undershirt. “I’d have torn the whole city apart, if I’d had any idea where to start.”

“Sounds like you already tore apart half the furniture in Brooklyn,” Tony says, lips tugging into something that isn’t quite a grin.

Bucky doesn’t deny it. Instead, he exhales, the sound heavy, like the last two weeks are pressing down on his chest. “Damn near lost my mind without you,” he admits, voice rough, worn through. “Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t—” He stops, breath quivering in a way that betrays how close he came to breaking. Then he laughs—humorless, quiet—shaking his head. “Me and Steve… we were crawling the walls, snappin’ at each other, almost threw punches a couple times. Stress’ll do that, I guess.” His fingers curl more firmly around Tony’s waist, like he needs the contact to stay steady. “If Jarvis hadn’t shown up when he did, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

Tony tucks closer, heartbeat thrumming unsteadily. The knowledge that Bucky was here, worrying, helpless—it digs a ragged edge into his heart. “Buck,” he whispers, covering Bucky’s free hand where it rests against his hip. “I’m really sorry.”

Bucky just shakes his head and presses a soft kiss to the slope of Tony’s shoulder. “None of that,” he mutters, voice cracking once, betraying the raw undercurrent of relief and fear. “You’re back, that’s what matters.”

Tony nods, throat tight, cheek brushing Bucky’s skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and bone-deep tired but resolute. “I’m home.”

They lapse into silence, the hush of the night pressing in, the distant hum of the city beneath them. Bucky’s fingers drift in slow, steady movements through Tony’s hair, his other arm a solid band around Tony’s waist, and Tony can feel the exhaustion trying to pull him under.

But something else lingers beneath it, something deeper, something hotter.

His skin feels tight, humming with something electric. He’s finally where he belongs—pressed against Bucky, in Bucky’s bed, wrapped in Bucky’s scent. But instead of lulling him into easy sleep, the combination of it all is making his blood run too thick, his breath too shallow, his body thrumming on some biological frequency he can’t shut off.

Bucky is wrapped around him like a furnace, his scent thick, enveloping, everything. Tony can barely think through it, through the sheer weight of Bucky, of being here, in his space, in his bed, where everything smells like him. Every inhale drags in cedar and smoke, sweat and musk, something uniquely Bucky, something that makes Tony’s instincts flare up with mindless, desperate want.

He should be calming down, coming down from the high of the reunion, settling into sleep—but he can’t. Because his body knows. Knows what’s pressed up against him, knows what Bucky’s doing, or rather, what he’s not doing.

Bucky’s hard.

And he’s ignoring it.

Tony doesn’t understand how he can. Not when the scent of arousal is seeping into the sheets, not when his cock is thick and hot against the small of Tony’s back, not when Tony’s still soaked himself, slick already dripping down the insides of his thighs just from being near him.

He lets out a soft, helpless whimper and pushes back, pressing his ass into Bucky’s lap, grinding against the heat of him in slow, frictionless rolls.

Bucky growls—low, warning, but also claiming, reverberating through Tony’s spine. His grip tightens, arm clamping around Tony’s waist, breath rasping against the back of Tony’s neck.

“Tony,” Bucky warns, voice dropping even deeper. “Don’t.”

Tony does it again.

He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against the thick, aching heat of Bucky’s cock, moaning softly at the feeling, the size of it, how perfect it feels slotted right up against him.

Bucky snarls, restraint fraying, hips jerking in response. Enough for Tony to feel that sharp twitch of his cock against fabric slicked in Tony’s own scent.

“Fuck—Tony—”

Tony whines, twisting, grabbing at Bucky’s wrist where it’s clenched around him, trying to force some kind of motion, some kind of touch. “Please,” he mumbles, pressing his face into the pillow, eyes fluttering. “Buck, please—”

Bucky curses under his breath. “Jesus,” he chokes out. His hand moves, sliding down, pushing past the waistband of Tony’s boxers—Bucky’s boxers—yanking the fabric down his thighs. “Alright, gorgeous. Alright. I got you.”

Tony whines when the cool air hits him, his thighs clenching, instinct making him try to close them up again—but Bucky doesn’t let him. Bucky’s hand is right there, smoothing over his hip, guiding him, spreading him open just enough. Just enough—

Tony barely has time to whimper before Bucky is pushing his thighs apart, spreading him open just enough, just—just—

And then Bucky’s cock is sliding between them, thick and hot and perfect, pressing snug against the soaked, dripping heat of Tony’s inner thighs.

Tony shudders, his back arching, his hands clutching at the sheets.

“Oh,” he gasps, his whole body tensing, overwhelmed by the sheer size of Bucky, by how easy it is for him to settle right there, to press himself into the slick mess between Tony’s legs. “Oh, fuck—”

Bucky groans behind him, low and rough, pressing his forehead to the back of Tony’s neck. “Christ, Tony, you’re so—” He swallows thickly, his hands flexing against Tony’s hips, holding him there. “You’re a mess, baby.”

Tony whimpers, shaking under him. “You—” His voice is wrecked, shredded. “You smell so fucking good, Buck, I—I need—”

“I know,” Bucky growls, voice rough and frayed. He shifts, pushing closer, his cock sliding between Tony’s slick thighs, drenched in the smell of him, the heat of him, them. “Jesus, honey, you’re drivin’ me crazy.”

Tony sobs, twisting beneath Bucky’s weight, trying to push back, to get closer, but Bucky just holds him in place. One arm hooks tight around Tony’s waist, fusing them chest-to-back, while the other slides up, his palm settling over Tony’s bruised, too-sensitive mating gland, holding him right where he wants him.

Tony keens at the contact, his entire body shaking, his slick making a filthy, wet sound as Bucky starts moving, slow and steady, dragging his cock between Tony’s thighs, grinding himself into the heat of him.

“Fuck—” Bucky groans, his grip tightening, his voice cracking at the edges. “That’s it, sweet thing. Just—just let me—”

Tony wails, thighs tensing, body arching. Bucky’s cock rubs perfect along the slick stretch of skin, against the spot where Tony needs him most. It’s too intense, too good, not enough.

Bucky shudders—his breath catches, hips jerking just enough to make Tony sob.

“Feel that?” he rasps, voice gravelly, unsteady. His lips brush Tony’s ear, his breath coming in ragged stutters. “See how good you’re makin’ me feel, doll?”

Tony nods, frantic, gasping, his mind gone fuzzy, drowning in all that heat.

Bucky’s hand strokes over his stomach, keeping him close, locking Tony against him. “You’re doin’ so good for me, baby,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to the nape of Tony’s neck—gentle and possessive all at once. “So good.”

Tony shakes, his breath hitching, his eyes rolling back. The sound of it, the smell of it, the heat of Bucky’s cock between his thighs—it’s too much and not enough, a vicious tease of friction and desperation all rolled into one.

Bucky groans, hips stuttering, grip going tighter. “Fuck, Tony,” he breathes, voice barely there, shaking on the edges. “I’m gonna—I can’t—”

And then—oh—

Bucky comes, thick and hot, splattering across Tony’s thighs. His scent flares, devouring the rest of the air in the room, his whole body seizing against Tony’s back as he rides out every tremor. His hand still covers Tony’s mating gland, pressing down, holding him in place while the charge in the air crackles and swirls, tangling with Tony’s own needy arousal.

He doesn’t even pause to recover.

Instead, Bucky’s hand trails down, moving slow and sure across Tony’s abdomen, over the tense muscles fluttering beneath sweat-damp skin. Lower—

Tony gasps, tensing up as Bucky’s fingers graze the slick mess pooled between his thighs, teasing, testing, just shy of pressing in. He whimpers, body jerking, but Bucky just hushes him, voice somewhere between soothing and something else, something molten.

“Shh, baby,” Bucky murmurs, tone warm, rough, still riding that wave of satisfaction with an undercurrent of something more. He leans in, mouth at Tony’s temple, lips brushing sweat-soaked curls. “I got you. Just relax.”

Relax.

As if Tony can, with every nerve in his body screaming for more, with his own skin crackling like it’s alive, with that aching need for Bucky eating him from the inside out.

But Bucky doesn’t leave him dangling in desperation.

His hand goes lower, fingers slipping through the wet heat slicking Tony’s thighs, pressing in just enough to have Tony’s breath catching, his thighs quivering, his teeth biting down on his lip until he tastes salt.

“Christ, Tony,” Bucky groans, his mouth brushing hot against Tony’s neck, his fingers exploring, teasing. “You’re soaked.”

Tony chokes out a whine, back arching, body thrumming, but Bucky just hushes him again, dropping a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. This time, it’s not enough to do anything but ramp him up, the touch maddening.

“Always so good for me,” Bucky says, voice going all syrupy, each word a gentle push sending goosebumps racing down Tony’s spine. “Always so sweet, so easy to touch.”

Tony sobs, his body locking up. “B-Bucky—” he gasps, voice cracking on a whimper. “Please—”

Bucky hums, indulgent, like he likes this, likes the way Tony begs, the way he unravels. He presses in a little deeper, dragging those fingers through the mess Tony’s made, spreading it around. Leaving his mark, staking his claim.

And finally—finally—he wraps a hand around Tony’s cock.

Tony whimpers, a high, desperate sound, his whole body jerking, pleasure blasting through him so suddenly it makes spots dance in his vision. He can’t stop his hips from rolling forward, chasing that touch.

“There we go,” Bucky croons, pleased, pressing a kiss to the back of Tony’s neck, the motion matched by a steady, deliberate stroke of his fist around Tony’s length. Slick and warm, firm and perfect. “That’s it, sweet boy. Let me make you feel good.”

Tony gasps, thighs clenching, breath splintering into sharp little sobs. It’s instant, immediate, no build. He was so close already, so strung out, that Bucky’s simple stroke is all it takes to shove him right to the brink.

Bucky keeps him there, stroking him through it, one arm still hooked around his mating gland, holding Tony tight in place, like there’s anywhere else he’d want to be.

“You look so pretty like this,” Bucky murmurs against his temple, voice going soft, affectionate in a way that makes Tony’s pulse pound harder. “All warm and messy in my arms. Mine.”

Tony sobs, pleasure spiking, electric and unbearable, his whole frame trembling under the onslaught.

“I know, baby,” Bucky breathes, words whispering along Tony’s neck as he trails kisses over his collarbone, over his shoulder, leaving him shaky and undone. “I know, it’s a lot. You’re doin’ so good for me.”

Tony’s hands claw at the sheets, breath hitching again as the coil in his belly tightens too fast, too sudden, too much.

Bucky knows. Of course he does.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice threaded with want, with command, with promise. “Come for me, baby. Let me have it.”

And for the second time that night, Tony breaks.

His orgasm slams into him like a freight train, ripping his breath out, shattering the last of his resistance. He spasms in Bucky’s arms, gasping, sobbing, moaning Bucky’s name as pleasure rips through him, coating Bucky’s fist and his own stomach, leaving him shaking and raw, head spinning.

Bucky hums, pleased, mouth on Tony’s throat, murmuring soft, sweet words as he strokes him through it, as he brings him down, grounding him, keeping him safe.

“That’s my boy,” Bucky says, voice going warm and something darker, pressing a lingering kiss to Tony’s jaw. “Always so good for me.”

Tony trembles in his arms, boneless and dazed, breath coming in stuttered pants. Finally, his instincts settle, hunger sated by Bucky’s touch, by Bucky’s presence, by the thick, possessive scent saturating the air between them.

Bucky doesn’t let him stay covered in the mess for long. Even in the hazy drift of post-orgasm, Tony registers the gentle way Bucky shifts, reaching over to the nightstand, returning with a cloth. The soft, dry sweep brushes over his stomach, then his thighs, wiping away the sticky evidence of what they just shared.

Tony hums, voice a low, vaguely protesting murmur. He should help. He should say something. But Bucky just hushes him again, dropping a kiss into Tony’s damp curls.

“I got you, love,” he murmurs. “Just rest.”

Tony sinks into the sensation, boneless and pliant under Bucky’s careful touch. He lingers longer than strictly necessary, wiping Tony down as if he can’t stand to break the connection, as if he needs to reassure himself—again and again—that Tony is here, safe, his.

Only when he’s finished does Bucky toss the cloth aside and drag the blanket over them both, tucking it around Tony’s body like he’s protecting something precious. Then, without so much as a pause, he hauls Tony in against his chest, arms wound tight around his waist, face nuzzling into the crook of Tony’s neck, breath warm and slow across his skin.

Tony exhales, letting out the last of whatever tension remains, his body humming with the sweet, sleepy weight of Bucky wrapped around him. He’s warm, he’s safe, he’s—

Drifting.

Right on the edge of unconsciousness, right on the cusp of sleep, except… not quite.

It takes him a few attempts, fluttering in and out of awareness, to notice something is off. It’s there in the tense line of Bucky’s shoulders, in the way his arms loop around Tony’s waist like a vice—too tight, too fierce, something barely contained humming beneath his skin.

At first, Tony chalks it up to leftover anxiety, the kind that won’t let you go even when you finally get everything you want. He knows that particular brand of restless too well: the remnants of worry, fear, relief, all braided together so tightly it’s impossible to tease them apart. Tony feels it, too, that weird echo in his bones telling him he’s still on the brink of something, that he can’t quite unclench his teeth.

But then Bucky twitches.

Not a casual, shift-in-place kind of movement. There’s an abrupt tension in his fingers where they press into Tony’s hip, a small, shuddering gasp against Tony’s neck. Like something inside him is winding too tight, like he can’t settle.

Tony forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative. He manages to press back, lifting his head a fraction, still numb with post-orgasm exhaustion. “Bucky?” he mumbles, voice rough, groggy. “What’re you—?”

Bucky shudders.

It’s a full-body thing, barely contained, like he’s fighting not to shake apart. His breath grows harsher, his chest expanding in slow, deliberate inhales, like he’s actively wrestling for control.

Tony frowns, blinking slow. “Y’okay?”

No immediate response. Just a tense flex of the hand at Tony’s hip, fingers curling in like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. His jaw tightens, and when he finally exhales, it’s too measured, too deliberate, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, voice lower than normal, frayed at the edges. “Just—” He cuts himself off, shifting on the mattress in a way that says he’s not okay, that he’s anything but settled. “I dunno. Can’t get comfortable.”

Tony hums, trying for something soothing, letting himself lean back into Bucky’s warmth. The weight of Bucky’s scent washes over him, heavy and enveloping. It should lull them both into a calmer headspace.

Except Bucky doesn’t calm.

He’s still rigid, still almost coiled like he’s ready to spring.

Tony lets his eyes slide shut again, pushing a slow breath out, intending to chase sleep. But the tension brimming off Bucky stays there, tapping at Tony’s subconscious, refusing to let him drift completely.

Another shift.

Another quiet flutter of Bucky’s fingers at Tony’s waist.

Another deep, controlled inhale, like he’s trying to center himself on Tony’s scent and failing.

Tony’s brow creases, his thoughts sluggish, snagging on the question of why Bucky can’t seem to relax. He shifts slightly, pressing back into the heat of Bucky’s body, letting out a sleepy noise. “You’re fidgetin’,” he murmurs. “Not tired?”

Bucky’s laugh comes out hollow. “Yeah, doll. I’m tired,” he says.

But he doesn’t sound tired.

Tony should probably push, should ask what’s wrong, but he’s drained, his instincts are purring, content for the moment, finally sated after too many weeks of starved desperation. And Bucky isn’t moving, isn’t bolting out of bed, isn’t leaving, so… Tony lets it slide.

For now.

He hums again, letting his body go fully slack, his breath evening out, his consciousness slipping down, down, down.

Bucky’s arms tighten around him, just slightly.

Tony barely registers it before sleep finally pulls him under.

#winteriron #bucky barnes #wip #tony stark #ao3 #steve rogers #alpha/beta/omega au #captain america #tony stark x bucky barnes #ao3fic

40 notes · View notes

freshl6ve · 9 hours ago

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒. 𝐒 | 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 & 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄¹⁰

⭑.ᐟ : 𝐀𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧, I was greeted by the early morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains, casting soft, warm light over the room. The memory of the night before came flooding back to me, the feel of Matt’s skin against mine, the sounds of pleasure filling the air. I turned my head, finding Matt lying on his stomach beside me, his arm under his pillow, his back bare as the sheet only covered his waist and down.

My head was throbbing as I slowly rose from the bed, each movement sending a wave of pain through my skull. I fought the ache as I made my way over to Matt’s closet, grabbing a baggy shirt and putting it on. The fabric fell loosely around my body, providing much-needed comfort. I then shuffled over to his dresser, grabbing a pair of his boxers and pulling them on.

With each step, the pain in my head grew more intense, but I powered through, shuffling out of Matt's bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen. My only goal was to find some water and something to ease the headache that was making my temples pulse. The cool wood under my feet provided some relief, and I silently prayed that there would be hangover medicine in one of the cabinets.

As I entered the kitchen, still rubbing tiredness from my eyes, I was taken aback to find someone already there, leaning against the counter and scrolling on their phone. “Oh, sorry,” I muttered, stepping carefully into the room. The person looked up from their phone, a warm smile on their face. “You must be Y/N,” they said, their tone light and curious.

I nodded, my head still throbbing, feeling a little bit awkward standing there in Matt's boxers and oversized shirt. The stranger gave me a once-over, no doubt noticing my disheveled appearance and choice of clothing. “Rough night?” they asked, their tone light and amused. I nodded in response.

Suddenly it clicked to me, “You must be Nick right?” I asked, my voice laced with surprise and confusion. Nick chuckled and nodded, his smile widening as he continued. “Yeah, I’m Matt’s and Chris’s older triplet,” he repeated, adding, “Matt had told me a lot about you.”

Nick took a step closer, still leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you after three years of hearing about you,” he repeated with a chuckle, his eyes flickering over my disheveled appearance once more. I cringed internally, feeling a rush of embarrassment at my current state. “Oh god, I am so sorry,” I apologized, my cheeks burning as I realized how unprofessional this must look.

“This is such an unprofessional way to meet me,” I tried to explain, running a hand through my messy hair, feeling a spike of anxiety. But Nick only laughed, waving off my apology with a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured me, his voice warm and easy-going. “I’m just happy to finally put a face to the name.”

Nick pushed himself away from the counter, gesturing for me to take a seat at the table. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a bottle of pain killers from the cupboard, setting them in front of me with a smile. “Here you go,” he said, “You probably need this.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, accepting the water and painkillers gratefully. My head throbbed with every move I made, and I just wanted the ache to go away. “I’m so sorry you had to meet me like this,” I repeated, feeling a mix of embarrassment and apology.

But Nick just chuckled again, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he took in my disheveled appearance. “Believe me,” he said, his tone light, “You look better than both my brothers do when they’re hungover.”

Nick took a seat across from me as I finished my water and the painkillers. We sat in silence for a moment. Just then, I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and a moment later, Chris appeared in the kitchen, a girl following closely behind him. They quickly walked through the living room and towards the front door.

Once Chris walked the girl out, he made his way back up the stairs and entered the kitchen. Grabbing a water from the fridge, Nick and I watched in silence. Nick couldn’t help but take a jab at his younger brother, asking, “Isn’t that the third one this week?” Chris shot him a glare, replying simply, “Shut up, Nick.” Before Nick could say anything more Chris walked over to the stairs, down to his room, and Nick called out after him, “Good morning to you too, sweetheart!”

Nick chuckled at his own comment, his eyes flickering back to me. “Ignore him,” he said, his tone easygoing. “He’s always grumpy in the mornings after one of his hook-ups, especially if they didn’t pleasure him right.”

I took a sip of my water, watching as Nick leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. “Don’t you get tired of seeing random girls in your house?” I asked, trying to hide my curiosity behind a casual tone.

Nick shrugged, a mix of frustration and resignation in his expression. “Yeah. Me and Matt can’t really do anything though, because he won’t listen,” he explained. “He just does what he wants.”

I nodded, understanding his predicament. Dealing with someone who always did what they wanted was never easy. “I see,” I replied, my voice soft. “It must be tough dealing with someone like that.”

Nick chuckled, shaking his head in mild exasperation. “Oh yeah, Chris is a real pain in the ass,” he agreed, but his tone was affectionate, his expression fond. “But I love him no matter how annoying he is. He’s my brother, y’know?”

I nodded again, a small smile curving my lips. I knew what he meant. No matter how aggravating a family member could be, the love was always there. “I get it,” I said. Sibling relationships can be complicated and frustrating, but at the end of the day, there’s always that unbreakable bond.

Nick leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, a curious glint in his eyes. “How about you?” he asked, his tone casual.

I blinked, surprised by the question. “How about me what?” I repeated, unsure where this conversation was going.

Nick chuckled, elaborating his question. “Do you have any siblings?” he asked.

I shook my head, a little pang of loneliness filling my chest. “No,” I replied, my voice soft. “I’m an only child.”

Nick’s expression softened, his usually playful demeanor replaced by something more understanding. “An only child, huh?” he mused, his tone gentle. “Must have been pretty lonely at times.”

“Yeah, really lonely,” I agreed, my voice quiet. My parents’ absence had always been a gaping hole in my life, leaving me feeling isolated and alone. “Even more lonely when both parents aren’t around anymore,” I added, my words tinged with sorrow.

Nick’s surprise was evident on his face, his eyebrows raising slightly. “What happened to them?” he repeated, his voice now softer, laced with concern. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“My mom abandoned me when I was little,” I stated, my tone matter-of-fact. “And my dad died due to cancer.” The words weighed heavily on my tongue, even more so as I looked at Nick’s sympathetic expression.

His eyes widened, a mixture of shock and sadness. “Oh wow,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must’ve been really rough.”

I waved off his sympathy, not wanting to dwell on the topic. “It’s fine,” I assured him, my voice calm and composed. “It’s not your fault.” I took a deep breath, preparing to continue. “I don’t really like talking about it, but you asked.” It was difficult speaking about my past, but there was something about Nick’s gentle demeanor that made it somewhat easier.

Nick quickly changed the subject, sensing my discomfort. “You know,” he said, a smile reappearing on his lips, “We should hang out sometime. You’re really interesting.” There was a hint of genuine fascination in his tone, as if he really did find me intriguing.

I could feel the tight knot in my chest loosen a little at his words, and a small, soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “I would love that,” I said, my voice gentle and sincere.

Just as the conversation fell silent, we heard someone walking up the stairs once more. Chris appeared, tossing an empty water bottle into the recycling bin before his gaze landed on me. I averted my eyes, feeling a slight tension between us.

Nick, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, broke the silence by questioning Chris. “Feeling better now, princess?” he teased, injecting some lightness into the air.

Chris rolled his eyes at Nick’s comment and checked the fridge for food, only to find it empty. He let out a sigh and leaned against the counter, his attention drawn to his phone. Nick shook his head, his voice firm. “I don’t wanna repeat myself about bringing girls into the house again, Chris.”

Chris responded coldly, not looking up from his phone. “Then don’t.” He continued to scroll through the food delivery app before asking, “I’m ordering food. What do you want?”

Nick’s voice took on a serious tone as he spoke to his brother. “I’m being serious, Chris,” he reiterated, his expression stern.

Chris shot back, a defiant edge to his voice. “If you don’t want any girls in this house, those rules should apply to Matt as well,” he emphasized, not backing down.

Nick furrowed his brow, genuinely confused. Matt wasn’t the type to bring girls around, so what was Chris insinuating? But I knew the answer. It was me.

Nick tried to understand his brother’s words, his confusion evident. “What are you implying?” he started, his voice trailing off as he tried to make sense of the situation.

Chris’s response was blunt, his tone sharp. “Well, it’s pretty obvious,” he retorted. Nick finally caught on, his expression hardening as he realized what Chris meant.

Nick finally seemed to catch on, understanding what Chris was getting at. “Y/N isn’t just a random girl,” he said, defending me. “She’s a friend of Matt’s, and a friend of Matt’s is a friend of mine,” he snapped, his words firm. “I don’t know what your deal is, but try taking your head out of your ass for once in your life.”

Chris’s cold glare lingered on me for a moment, his jaw clenching visibly. But there was a slight softening in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface.

Nick stood his ground, his voice firm. “I mean it,” he asserted. Chris responded with a nonchalant, “whatever,” his expression turning dismissive. He rolled his eyes and pushed away from the counter, his shoulders tense. “I’m going to go back down to my room,” he announced, before adding, “Text me your order or whatever” then he walked down the stairs and disappeared into his room.

Nick looked at me, the tension in his face dissolving into an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry about him,” he said, his voice gentle. “I don’t know what got into him.”

I shook my head, brushing off his apology. “It’s fine,” I assured him softly. “It’s not your fault.” I paused, a pang of guilt in my chest. “I’m probably the one to blame for him acting like that, to be honest.”

Nick’s confusion showed on his face as he listened to my explanation. “We had a thing going on a couple of months ago,” I confessed softly. “Well, I wouldn’t say thing…like…we kissed?”

My heart clenched in my chest as I continued, my voice quiet. “I don’t know what it was, but... I just didn’t wanna get hurt so I pushed him away. And ever since then I haven’t heard a word from him.” I paused, the weight of my actions weighing heavily on me. “I guess that explains the tension between us, I suppose.”

Nick’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and realization on his face. “So you already knew Chris?” he repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity.

I nodded, my expression becoming sheepish. “Yeah,” I affirmed softly.

Nick’s concerned expression melted into a small smile as he suggested, “You should head back to bed. I can tell you’re really tired.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of fatigue settling in my limbs. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I admitted. I stood up from the table, feeling the need to lie down again. “It was nice meeting you,” I said softly, a weary smile on my face. With that, I turned and made my way into the hallway, disappearing into Matt’s room.

I entered the room, finding Matt still in the same position I had left him earlier. His arms tucked under the pillow, his bare back exposed, leaving his defined shoulders and muscular arms on display and the blanket draped over his waist.

His breaths came slow and soft, his rising back in time with each measured inhale. His hair was tousled, a mess from the night before, yet there was an endearing softness to his appearance.

This was a normal occurrence for us. It was an unspoken agreement between us, a secret known only to ourselves.

We were friends with benefits, a relationship based purely on mutual pleasure and satisfaction, no strings attached. It was a simple arrangement, a way to fulfill needs without the complexities of commitment.

It was a mutual understanding between us. Matt wasn't ready for a relationship, and neither was I. We had both come to the agreement that if we ever needed pleasure, we could turn to each other. It was a simple arrangement, devoid of romantic feelings or expectations, just the fulfillment of a desire.

Matt’s eyes fluttered open, his mind slowly stirring out of sleep. He felt the weight of my presence against his back, my arm draped over him. He shifted slightly in the bed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

I spoke softly, my voice low and tender. “Good morning,” I murmured, my fingers tracing patterns on his bare skin.

Matt’s voice was groggy but warm as he replied, “Morning.”

I moved closer to him, snuggling my face into the crook of his neck, my fingers still tracing featherlight patterns on his back. I inhaled deeply, taking in his scent before whispering softly, “Did you sleep well?”

Matt hummed in response, signaling that he slept well. Then, he shifted his body, turning onto his back, facing me directly. His gaze met mine, his eyes still half closed with sleep, but there was a soft smile on his lips.

As Matt repositioned himself to face me, my eyes traced over his features. I propped myself up on one arm, my gaze fixated on him with a tender expression. I softly laid my hand on his chest, my touch lingering as my fingers found his chain. Almost absently, I began to fiddle with the chain, my fingers gently gliding over the familiar metal links.

Matt reached up lazily, his hand finding its way to my face. His fingertips gently brushed against my skin, moving a stray piece of hair out of my eyes. His touch was soft, his movements slow from the remnants of sleep.

Our lips met in a soft and tender kiss, a sweet moment shared between us. Just as the kiss deepened, a knock on the door jolted us apart, breaking the intimate bubble we were in.

Nick's voice carried through from the other side of the door. “Matt, can you go get breakfast? Chris ordered it but he's being a bitch and won't go get it.”

Matt let out a long sigh, reluctantly agreeing. “Yeah, I got it,” he muttered. We heard the sound of Nick’s footsteps fade away as he walked off.

I chuckled softly, my gaze dropping down to Matt. “You’re the best brother ever,” I teased gently.

Matt rolled his eyes playfully, his cheeks flushing slightly. He poked my side jokingly before replying, “Shut up.” But before I could playfully respond, he suddenly leaned up and pecked my lips once more, a slight smirk on his face.

With a smirk, I reminded him, “You’re still naked. Get dressed.” I climbed off the bed, my feet finding the ground.

Matt’s question came next, his voice groggy but amused. “Where are you going?”

I replied, “I left my purse in the car. I have makeup wipes and face wash in there, I need them.”

I walked out of Matt’s room and made my way through the hallway, heading downstairs and passing by Chris’s room. I entered the garage and walked over to the car, quickly opening the door and reaching for my purse. I rummaged through the bag, finding the makeup wipes and face wash I had just in case.

I closed the car door and started to walk towards the garage door, ready to head back into the house. Just as I was about to pass by Chris’s room, I was abruptly stopped by someone grabbing my wrist. I turned to look, discovering that it was Chris who was holding onto my wrist.

I was taken aback by his sudden action, confusion and surprise evident on my face. “What are you doing?” I managed to ask.

But Chris didn't answer, his grip still firm on my wrist as he pulled me into his room, closing the door behind us.

TAGS: @st6rify @jetaimevous @certifiedstarrr @slvtf0rchr1s @l3sbiancvnt @wh0remikasas @r0s3luvr @emely9274 @mimiluvzpicklez @courta13 @talia-unknown @ivysturnss @kissesfromkitty

A/N: posting this before i change the theme — v-day oneshots out today! also new title soon

── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃

#★┊[𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒.𝐒] .ᐟ 🦌₊˚⊹#₊ 𖦹﹕𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 & 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 ₊˚꒰🏁꒱‧#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x y/n #chris x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo series #freshl6ve #street racing au #street racing

38 notes · View notes