#steve/tony/bucky au

[six-of-snakes]

Wip Wednesday 10/16

alright well we're giving this a try. okay.

rules: send me an ask with the name of a wip, i write 3+ sentences and post a section. uh y'all can ask for two this week because im feeling nice (<- will regret this later haha)

Choices:

steve/tony/bucky au

kandreil ballet au

selkie kevin au

Steve/Tony/Bucky AU - Part 1

What gets Tony, in the end, is the sleeping. It's a hot summer night, and he's tired, so he tries to sleep, but simply closing his eyes sends him spiraling into fear and horror and the shuddering darkness of a portal closing around him. He stops trying after a minute, knowing that even if he manages to drift off, he'll be woken with another nightmare, and he doesn't think he can take another one right now. Doesn't want to risk what'll happen when he wakes up shaking and scared out of his mind and exhausted and desperate, so he doesn't. He wanders out to the roof, risking a t-shirt and jeans because it's three A. M. and nobody else should be awake (and he'll be damned if he doesn't miss dressing how he likes instead of how he needs to) and he sits on the edge, the bracelets for the Mark 31 pointedly left on the counter, and half a bottle of whiskey next to him. He takes swallows from the whiskey and stares out at the NYC skyline and tries to avoid thinking of how it looked ravaged by aliens. It doesn't work, but it's better than the stifling darkness of his bedroom, the darkness that reminds him of Afghanistan and a broken suit and those few moments in outer space. Even if he sees explosions every time he blinks, he can look at the lights and tell himself it isn't real. "Hey," someone says, and Tony nearly falls off the roof.

[lillyrob]

Actual footage of me patently waiting for my favorite author to upload😫😫😫

[literaryavenger]

You Were My Sunshine

Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.

Masterlist

“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.

You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.

“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.

“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.

“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.

“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”

Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.

You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.

Your life is an open book.

Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.

You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere. 

It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.

At least that’s how the team sees it. 

They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:

Don’t worry about it.

After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it. 

Everyone except Bucky.

It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.

Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.

That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.

He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane. 

He just needs you. to know.

So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.

He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.

You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ��Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.

You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.

Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.

He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.

Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.

He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.

Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.

It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?

But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.

So why do it in secret?

After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.

Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.

He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.

After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.

It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.

So why don’t the Avengers? 

You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.

You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.

He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.

He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”

You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.

“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.

A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.

Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.

You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.

“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”

Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.

“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.” 

Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.

“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.

That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.

He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.

Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.

But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.

And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”

He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.

“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.

It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

You are my sunshine

Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing. 

My only sunshine

Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.

Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.

You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.

You make me happy, when skies are gray 

You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little. 

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.

Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away

Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.

Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these. 

Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...

Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.

His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.

Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.

“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.

For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”

“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”

His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.

“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.

“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”

You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.

But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...

So you let him.

You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.

“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”

Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.

“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”

You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering. 

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

Drabble

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

The Baby Trappers AU Masterlist

Stories including some devious men with a breeding kink.

Wicked Games | Steve Rogers | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

So I | Bucky Barnes | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Crash and Burn | Tony Stark | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

No Sugar Tonight | Brock Rumlow | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Long Snake Moan | Loki | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Bittersweet Symphony | Thor | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

[ramp-it-up]

Sugar, Cubed

Photo found on Pinterest

Summary: I revisited Sugar and the boys from the Sugar is Sweet séries, and let me tell you. Bucky and Steve sure have grown up from their college days. They are no longer playing around. And they are coming for you. How do you choose? And do you have to?

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader; boss Tony Stark x reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. Read at your own risk. Roommate/Co-worker au, S MUT! Angst, little bit of slow burn. Main character injury, allusions to sex, sexual tension, indecent proposal, caught between two lovers trope, idiots in love, Tony being Tony, truth or dare, talk of voyeruism, possibility of group sex, eventual polyandry.

A/N: This is related to the Sugar is Sweet au, but can be read alone. This is part one, part two will be posted next week. I hope you like it. This is part of Falloween 2024.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

——

You met the two most hated men in your life while you were living together as recipients of the prestigious Stark STEM Fellowship at NYU.

There was an instant spark when you met James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers, best friends from childhood. They sarcastically named you Sugar because of your initial rudeness, but the nickname just stuck around after you warmed up to them.

In the Stark Fellows program, life was hard work and hard play. Soon it was down to just you, Bucky and Steve, and life was a dream with parties, booze, and almost anything you wanted, as long as you lent your minds to the work.

Tony Stark tolerated anything that would keep productivity high. He knew that all work and no play would make Bucky, Sugar and Steve dull scientists.

So he encouraged you three to play. And funded it too.

Steve and Bucky were so protective of you, their sweet Sugar. The sexual tension that came with living with them was heady stuff.

You basked in the glow of Bucky and Steve's attention, while observant of the lines of partners at their bedroom doors and the competitiveness between the football quarterback and lacrosse captain.

You swore that neither Bucky nor Steve would ever win you, no matter the plays they made. But they each had you sprung in different ways. And they were so damn competitive.

They both wanted your heart.

It was only a matter of time before you gave it to each of them.

You fell hard for Bucky first. And it was urgent and intense.

But after just a year together, Bucky accepted a position with Stark Labs in Bucharest for a term that stretched into two years as he completed grad school at Politehnica. It happened without warning. You were angry at his choice and trapped in New York by your own contract with Stark for graduate work. 

You and Bucky were over. And you were heartbroken.

Steve’s waiting arms were open, and it was effortless and freeing to realize that the golden boy was the one who truly loved you. And he’d always been there. Your heart healed. You thought.

According to social media, Bucky seemed to love his new location, extending his contract beyond the initial year-long contract to finish his degree. It seemed that all he did was work.

Not that you were stalking his IG or anything.

He didn’t communicate with you directly, and with Steve only intermittently. It was like he’d erased his best friend and his best girl from his life. 

It made sense, since his best girl was now his best friend’s girl.

Then, during his second year, Bucky's stay in Romania was cut short,  he came back to New York, although not in the way you imagined.

Bucky had been critically injured; losing a limb. Tony made sure he had the best care, flying with Bucky to Wakanda for experimental surgery and overseeing his recovery. 

You found out via a social media after Bucky was back in town, and not from Tony or anyone else.

You were livid.

You raged at Steve, who had lied to you that he had to go to London for two weeks for work when he was actually in Wakanda at Bucky’s bedside.

The betrayal ran deep.

You and Steve were done after that, although you continued to work side by side at the labs. You felt as if Tony was trying to drive you over the edge, having you work around the clock with your ex. But he didn’t care. He had some insane theory that the tension would yield better results.

Each day, you longed for the hour that you could go to your posh new quarters in Stark tower. Although it was lonely, at least your apartment was private, and you could unwind in peace. Your days were tense, but predictable.

Until they weren’t anymore.

——

One afternoon, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you stared into the monitor to watch the results from the latest compound analysis roll numbers across your workstation.

“Hey there, Sugar.”

You froze, looking up and out over Manhattan through the window above your station. You couldn’t believe it, but you saw a pale reflection of him in the mirrored glass.

You slowly turned around.

Bucky looked good, his pale complexion not all the result of the blue gray skies over the Hudson. His face had grown more angular, his hair was shorter, and his eyes seemed older, but outside, he was the same Bucky. 

You didn’t know what you were expecting. 

Bucky Barnes seemed whole, except his left hand, the “golden arm” that was the pride of Bobcat football, was now black and gold metal. 

Vibranium. 

You stared at it as it reached for you.

“So I don’t get a hug?” 

Your eyes moved to his face while Steve cleared his throat and reminded you that he was there. You tried to forget his existence most days, but Bucky walking into your lab had erased him from your mind completely. For a moment.

“Sugar–”

You cut him off.

“Fuck you, Grant.” 

You looked back at Bucky with tears in your eyes.

“And fuck you, James.”

Despite your epithets, you threw yourself into his arms, sobbing with emotion.

“How could you…?”

You whispered it into his suit coat, your fingers digging into the material at his back as you cried into his shoulder. Bucky held you tight against him, and he felt harder, more solid. 

You realized that under all of the anger and hurt, you were mainly just relieved that he was alive.

Over two years of anxiety and unprocessed feelings were coming out, and Bucky rocked you as your body heaved. Steve came up behind you and hugged you both.

For a minute you relished the feeling, being held by the only two men that you ever had feelings for. You felt safe. But then you remembered the secrets and the lies, and anger flooded you again. You twisted out of their grasp.

“Don’t get any ideas, assholes.”

You moved away from them and wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold.

“Do you know how worried I was? No one gave me any information. At all. I had to find out from social media. I felt like a fool, Bucky.”

You scowled at him.

“And you. You knew that, Cap. And you lied to my fucking face.”

You glared at Steve.

You looked from Steve to Bucky, who shared a guilty glance with each other. 

“That’s my fault, Sugar. I– I made Tony and Steve swear not to tell you.”

Your dark haired ex boyfriend looked at his shoes as he rubbed the back of his neck with his new hand. He held it up and looked at it and then at you.

“Didn’t know how you would feel about this.”

You ignored the uncertainty and hurt in his eyes.

"What do you want? A cookie? A pat on the head?  A tear? You are not going to make me feel sorry for you. Not when you let everyone else but me in on your secret."

You cocked your head and gazed curiously at the new appendage, then back at him.

“Bucky, I am stronger than you think. And I loved you.”

Both Steve and Bucky winced at the word ‘loved,’ but both for different reasons.

“I would have accepted you anyway you came. And I would have been by your side while you recovered. But you didn’t want that. But it looks as if you’re fine.” 

Steve sat back down at his workstation, resigned. You shook your head at him. If it wouldn’t have cost you a million dollars, which you didn’t have, you would have walked out of Stark Industries and moved across the world. But you had work to do.

“You’re interrupting our work here. You need to leave.”

You wanted him away from you like fire.

“That’s what I’m tryna tell you, Doll.” 

Bucky strolled over to the locker area and took off his coat, grabbing goggles and a lab coat.

“I’m reporting for duty. Tony assigned me back to the New York lab.”

—-

Tony leaned against the bar in his office, after he downed the drink that he’d offered you and that you’d refused. It was only 10:46 am. You were trying to hand in your resignation. Or at least ask for a transfer to a new location.

“And just where do you think you’re going to go, Sugar?”

You glared at your boss. Bolstered by anger, this was the least intimidated, and most angry, you’d ever been at him.

“Paris, maybe? Tokyo? Hell, even Des Moines. I’ll take anything. I need space.”

Tony shook his head. 

“I need you here. The productivity with Barnes back is about to be through the roof.”

You just stared at him incredulously.

“You’re not thinking with your brain. Your heart and what is pounding between your legs are in the way.” 

Your mouth dropped open.

“...But the tension between you Barnes and Rogers will make me a lot of money. I’ve studied you since your freshman year. I know what makes you tick, what motivates you to do your best work. And the numbers don’t lie. Being right in the middle of Bucky and Cap makes lots of money for Stark Industries.”

You stared out at the view of New Jersey, outraged.

“Besides. I have the exclusive contract over your mind, body, and soul for the next seven years. Might as well make the most of it.”

You sighed and took the drink Tony offered you this time.

—-

Bucky Barnes was the most infuriating man you’d ever met, second only to Steve Rogers.

Your brain was scrambled when you weren’t working, so you worked that much harder to stay in control. You hated when Tony was right.

Here you were, flanked by two gorgeous men whose work clothes only accentuated their powerful bodies. Bodies that you knew very well. Your tongue had traced every plane of each of them. Your hands explored their broad shoulders and taught, muscular frames. Your fists had clenched their throbbing cocks and you had accepted them inside you. 

No matter how mad you were at them, you couldn’t get them out of your mind.

Imagining Bucky crashing his lips to yours as he backed you up against a wall made your core throb. And dreaming about Steve’s hands around your thighs as he lifted you onto a lab table made your nipples tingle.

Working in between them in the lab was torture for your neglected body and soul. You were doomed to work in  between the two men who’d fucked you most thoroughly and recently.

You didn’t even want to think about your heart.

You ignored the lingering looks in their blue eyes, the way they gentled their voices when they spoke to you, and the way they tried to come in contact with you for no reason. The number of times fingers lingered over passed specimens, the way space became so tight that they had to squeeze behind you in the lab, and the uncomfortable number of times you ended up between them in the equipment closet made you lose your breath.

Steve and Bucky never pressed you for anything, and all you had to say was ‘excuse me,’ for them to move out of your way, but it was untenable. You would give neither of them the satisfaction of getting upset. You managed made it through work and home to your brand new vibrator every night after long days of fighting their pheromones in the lab.

After a week of forced proximity, you were experiencing the forced Stark Industries Happy Hour. As you waited for your drink at the bar, you thought it strange that Tony had never made them mandatory before Bucky came back. That was quite the coincidence.

You wanted to pace yourself with your drinking as you realized that you had to stay there for another couple of hours to get the bonus that came with attendance. The word ‘happy’ and the names Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers did not go together, so you participated in each round to numb the desire that was plaguing you. 

For someone so smart. You were so clueless sometimes.

—-

As you rode the elevator in Stark Tower to your apartment later that evening, it seemed as if the elevator was moving extra slowly. You didn’t know if it was the tequila affecting your senses, or an actual malfunction, so you asked FRIDAY for analytics, but for some reason, she said you didn’t have clearance for the answer.

You were mad and mute for a minute, trying to clear your head for the security code. It was then that one of your fellow passengers, who you were trying to ignore, broke the silence.

“Okay Sugar, truth, or dare?”

You looked at him as Steve watched you both. 

“I said, truth, or dare.”

“Truth is Bucky, we’re not kids anymore.”

“So you pick truth. You don’t get to pick the question, though.”

Bucky ignored your ire.

“Which one of our cocks is better, mine or Steve’s?”

Your eyes widened and you gasped as Steve interjected,

“Buck…”

“What, Punk? Remember she rated them before she experienced them. Did that hold out? Or did she tell you that you were the 9.9 too?”

Steve rolled his eyes and went back to watching the floor count, mouth set in a thin line. You had not, in fact, told Steve that he was the 9.9. 

“Stop being a little shit, James.” 

You were rocked, memories flooding back, dysregulating your nervous system even more.

“So you’re saying you won't answer the truth?”

You crossed your arms and legs as you leaned back against the elevator wall. You looked up at the floor indicator lights, trying to stop the emotions from getting to you.

“You can pass. Or you can take a dare, Sugar.”

You huffed, fighting the urge to just say pass. Some lingering adolescent urge refused to let you.

“This is so fucking ridiculous.”

You spoke it outwardly, but you were talking to yourself, to your riotous body, which was reacting to these two men in this enclosed space in the most alarming way.

Bucky was watching you intently, but Steve hadn’t turned around, just replied in that voice of his.

“Those are the rules, Sugar. You should probably answer the question or take the dare.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath when you realized what this was. You were dealing with male egos and competitiveness. And they wanted to know the answer, hear you talk about their cocks when for some reason the agave gods were making you horny.

You had to get out of there. 

“You’re not making stupid bets and putting notches in the bedposts any longer. Bucky, we were together, and then you left. I thought it was something that it was not. Then Steve and I got together. I loved you both and in return, you both played me. You both won.” 

Steve turned around and faced you as Bucky advanced closer. He licked his lips and you wanted, no you needed, to run.

“You think I didn’t love you, Sugar? Shit, I worshiped you.”

The sensation of Bucky’s firm body crowding you in bed, taking up the mattress, leg wedged between your thighs while he delivered hot kisses and a slow grind against your clit came out of nowhere. You missed it. You wanted it again. But you lifted your chin as you straightened your spine, determined to resist him.

“You left me.”

“Stark made me!”

Bucky’s blue eyes were wide with emotion.

“‘S’okay Buck. She doesn’t believe I loved her either. Even though I always have. And I caught her when you were gone.”

You looked up at Steve and saw the hurt, and you were preparing not to care, but the feeling of Steve naked against your back, his hands roaming all over you, whispering assurances and praise as he rocked inside and made you come apart in his grip almost made your knees buckle.

You had to move, so you pushed at the rock hard wall of them and they let you move them to get to the elevator controls.

“Why. Won’t. This. Thing. Move!?!?”

You pushed too many buttons at once as Steve and Bucky tried to stop you. The only thing that stopped was the slow progress of the elevator. The small room jolted to a halt, and you stumbled, right into Bucky and Steve’s arms as everything went dark.

“Well now, Sugar. You should have just taken the dare.”

Bucky’s sass enraged you and you cursed and batted their hands away from you as you reached for your purse to find your phone.

—-

A half an hour later, you were all sitting on the floor, Bucky’s jacket beneath you and Steve’s jacket around your arms because the climate control was off. There was no telling how long it would be before someone would find you.

There had been silence since you realized you had not cell phone signal and cursed for 3 minutes straight. You were more than sober now.

God, you wished you were drunk.

“Answer the question. Or take the dare, Sugar.”

This time it was Steve.

“Your fucking competitiveness is so annoying, you know that? Can you two accomplish anything on your own, just for your own pride? Or altruism? Or shits and giggles?”

You could feel their eyes on you in the dark. You fought against them in the darkness, or you were just fighting the darkness, because the lack of sight was enhancing your other senses, and lord you didn’t really want to feel those right now.

“Truth. Or Dare?”

Bucky’s velvet voice was undeterred. You shook your head at it.

“Fine. If it will get you to leave me alone. Dare.”

“I dare you to give up control.”

The response was immediate, as if he were waiting for you to say that.

You groaned, a sound that sounded to sensual, even to your own ears. You were going for annoyed.

“Bucky, it’s late. I’m tired. I’m stuck in an elevator with my two exes. This is a nightmare. And you’re daring me to give up a concept?”

He chuckled.

“Not the concept of control. I think you know exactly what I mean. Give me control. One long weekend. It will be just like when we were roommates. But without the endless teasing and blue balls. This time you give us both that we deserve.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Bucky?”

Your head turned toward Steve, whose voice was on edge.

“I get to watch. You and Sugar, Steve. And direct. And participate…and we find out who is the best…”

“Hold on…”

You could feel Steve shifting in his position on the floor.

“Are you talking about….? Watching me and Sugar… what–?”

“Really Bucky? Do you have a metal brain as well?”

You wanted to fight, but them touching you was out of the question. Bucky was pure chaos.

“If we do this, what would that accomplish?”

“The fuck are you entertaining this nonsense for, Steve? Who the fuck–”

Bucky interrupted your rant.

“Well, you’ve entertained both of us, Sugar, haven’t you? Teased us. Toyed with us. Played us against the other. Wore our clothes and nothing else, slept between us in our bed. Teased us with that body well before we could really do anything about it.”

You dropped your head in your hands, exhausted, as Bucky continued.

“And then, when you finally granted us between your legs, one by one, there was always this spector hanging over the bed, or the floor, or the counter, or the lawn that we fucked on, wasn’t there?”

Bucky paused and you heard the bitterness in his voice. 

“The other one of us was always in the closet or the bushes, or in your head, weren’t we?”

"Don't blame me for your twisted predilections, Bucky."

“What about your predilections, Sugar? You’ve played us against each other long enough. Don’t forget. We both know what gets you off.”

Bucky’s voice wrapped around you in the dark, and you wanted to climb on and ride it as your clit began to pulse. You cursed your body’s reaction to him.

“We know what gets you off hard. Steve told me everything. And it was the same as with me. Your fantasies, Sugar…”

Steve spoke up.

“Bucky, this is uncalled for…”.

"Stop being such a boy scout."

“We know you, Sugar. What we don’t know is who you like the best. We deserve to know.”

“Bucky…”

“It would give us all closure, Steve.”

“You’re crazy, Bucky.”

“Put up or shut up, Sugar.”

Suddenly the lights came back on and you scrambled to stand up as the elevator started again, this time moving at normal speed. You looked between one man who was flushed red and the other who had a smirk on his face.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, as you bolted out, you replied to Bucky.

“Why don’t you just fuck each other? That will kill two birds with one stone.”

——

Next part: Simple Sugar

Let me know if you like it! 😊

[pretty-bratty]

Every Mafia AU

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 1: Arrival

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Word Count: 3.4k Summary: After surviving three rounds of interviews, you have been invited for a full-day to tour and interview at the estate and headquarters that belong to the Winged Heritage Foundation.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: I started writing this story with the intention for it to be a long one-shot, but after it shot past 18k, I realized I would need to break it up into installments, so ... expect sort of a slow burn for the plot? Installments will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays.

Shout outs to @stargazingfangirl18, @witchywithwhiskey, @biteofcherry, and @vonalyn for helping me get my ideas sorted out for this trip!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You scroll through the note in your phone with questions to ask during a final interview as the car pulls off the interstate and starts down a country highway lined with trees.

At least you hope this is the final interview.

You had applied for a basic administrative assistant position with the Winged Heritage Foundation, but after your first interview you had been called by a recruitment officer and asked if you would consider a different position with the organization, one that hadn’t been posted publicly.

You still don’t know what the position is you’re being considered for, but after two more interviews, you had been notified that you were a finalist and invited to a full-day interview and tour of the Foundation’s headquarters – an estate outside of the city. They had even arranged for a professional car service to pick you up and take you there. The offices in the city, where your previous three interviews had taken place, evidently handles most of the business operations for the Foundation, and the estate is where the more focused work takes place.

You are naturally a bit nervous for a fourth - and full day - interview, but you feel you like your nerves are at a healthy level - present but not paralyzing, a small buzz that will keep you focused.

The car slows as it approaches a break in the trees, and your driver signals to turn. As you round the corner, your breath catches in your throat. A wrought-iron gate stretches across a wide driveway, its intricate scrollwork spelling out "Winged Heritage" in elegant script. The gate swings open silently as your car approaches, as if by magic.

The driveway stretches before you, a winding ribbon of pale gravel cutting through a verdant landscape that takes your breath away. Ancient oaks and maples line the drive, their branches reaching across to form a dappled canopy overhead. Bright morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground.

As you travel deeper into the estate, meticulously manicured gardens unfold on either side. Vibrant flower beds burst with color - deep purple irises, sunny yellow daffodils, and blood-red roses. The gardens give way to rolling lawns of emerald green, dotted with sculpted topiaries in fantastical shapes.

As the car rounds another bend, a shimmering pond comes into view. Its surface is like polished glass, reflecting the azure sky and fluffy white clouds above. A family of swans glide gracefully across the water, their long necks arched in elegant curves. At the far end of the pond, a delicate bridge of white marble spans the narrowest point, its railings gilded with gold.

The driveway begins to climb a gentle slope, and as you crest the hill, your jaw drops at the sight before you. A magnificent mansion rises from the landscape, its pale stone walls glowing warmly in the morning sunlight. The architecture is a stunning blend of classical elegance, with graceful arches and intricate stonework that seems to ripple and dance as you approach.

The central facade is a masterpiece of symmetry, with wide steps leading up to a grand entrance flanked by towering columns. Ivy climbs the walls in artful patterns, as if guided by an invisible hand to accentuate the building's most beautiful features.

The car follows the curve of the driveway as it sweeps up to the grand entrance before coming to a stop. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what lies ahead. The driver opens your door, and you step out onto the gravel, the crunch beneath your feet grounding you in the moment.

A figure emerges from the ornate double doors at the top of the steps, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize her instantly. Natasha Romanoff, the Chief Recruitment Officer, descends the stairs with astonishing grace. Her vibrant red hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo effect that seems almost otherworldly. She's dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that exudes both professionalism and an air of mystery. As your eyes meet hers, you're struck by the intensity of her gaze - piercing green eyes that seem to look right through you.

As she draws closer, you notice a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a mix of confidence and what you suspect to be mischief. Over the course of your brief interactions up to this point, she had been nothing but professional, but you could feel some alluring pull or energy that seemed to run deep beneath the surface of her controlled demeanor. She had been present in your second interview, conducted the third with one of her associates, and had been the one to schedule you for this.

"Welcome," Natasha says, her voice smooth as silk. "We're so pleased you could join us today." She extends her hand, and you shake it, noting the firmness of her grip.

"Thank you for having me," you reply, proud that your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "The estate is absolutely breathtaking."

Natasha's smile widens slightly. "It is, isn't it? We find that beauty inspires greatness. But come, let's not linger in the driveway. We have a full day and much to show you."

She gestures towards the entrance, and you fall into step beside her as you ascend the stone steps. The massive doors swing open silently, revealing a grand foyer that takes your breath away. The ceiling soars overhead, at least three stories, adorned with an intricate fresco depicting a beautiful sky, birds in flight, and towering trees, bringing the beauty of the grounds into this entry.

Natasha guides you through a doorway off to the side of the foyer, leading you into a small sitting room. The space is elegantly decorated with plush couches, rich mahogany furniture, and intricate paintings on the walls.

"Please, have a seat," Natasha gestures towards one of the couches as she takes a seat in an armchair across from you. You sink into the soft cushions, trying to take in everything at once - the opulence of the room, Natasha's presence, and her piercing gaze.

"First things first,” Natasha says, a professional smile on her face, “the nature of what goes on here is very sensitive and so I'll need you to sign this NDA before we continue." She hands you a stack of paperwork and a pen.

You quickly skim through the document before signing it, feeling slightly uneasy about signing something so quickly without fully understanding what the day ahead of you will entail. But your curiosity outweighs your hesitation and when Natasha takes back the signed document, she slides it into a briefcase by her side.

"Now that's out of the way," she says smoothly, "let me tell you more about our foundation."

She proceeds to give you an overview of the Winged Heritage Foundation – an overview of its history, mission, and values. It's all very intriguing and impressive - but although what she shares is engaging, outside of supporting initiatives identified as important to its founder and possibly something to do preservation of history or historical places and artifacts, you still feel you don’t have any clearer of an idea of what the Foundation’s actual purpose is. But since you have an entire day here, you don’t press the point now, assuming some part of the day will be dedicated to diving deeper into the work they do.

"But enough about us," Natasha says with another enigmatic smile. "Let's talk about what brought you here today."

She pulls out your resume from her briefcase and goes over your experience and qualifications with sharp attention to detail. She asks probing questions that make you feel like she's reading between the lines of your professional achievements.

"Impressive," she comments once she's finished going over your resume. "Your professional and personal character references also speak very highly of you."

Your brow furrows slightly. “Sorry,” you interject, “I don’t remember giving personal references?”

“No, you did not. But we do a lot of work on our end to vet candidates at this point for positions like this. Surely you understand.”

You nod slowly and train your face back into a smile. At least whatever homework they seem to have done on you came back with a positive result.

She leans forward slightly, and you can feel the intensity of her gaze. "We need someone who's truly suited for the responsibilities, but personnel fit is also incredibly important to us.”

“Of course,” you respond. “And what responsibilities exactly would you be looking for me to fulfill?”

Natasha presses her lips together and seems to scrutinize your face more closely. “You’re being considered for two opportunities. Until later in the day when I’ve made a determination on which I’ll recommend you for, I won’t be disclosing that information to you.”

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised at her directness, but you suppose her reason for withholding the information is logical.

“As the Chief Recruitment Officer, I’m very good at what I do, so I’ll know your future with us by the end of the day.”

Natasha rises from her chair with fluid grace. "Shall we begin the tour?" she asks, extending her hand to help you up. You take it, noting the surprising strength in her grip. “I'm eager to show you the wonders of our estate."

She seems to hold your hand longer than necessary, or maybe it’s just your nerves, maybe you looked unsteady standing up and she was only ensuring you were okay.

As you follow her out of the sitting room, you're once again struck by the grandeur of the foyer. Natasha notices your gaze lingering on the fresco above. "That was commissioned by our founder," she explains. "It's said to depict the view from the highest peak of a mountain range that no longer exists."

She leads you down a long corridor, its walls lined with portraits of distinguished-looking individuals. "Our benefactors and notable members throughout the years," Natasha explains. "Each one has contributed significantly to our mission."

The corridor opens into a vast library that takes your breath away. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch as far as the eye can see, filled with leather-bound tomes. The air is heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood. Sunlight streams through tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The library is a bibliophile's dream, with rolling ladders affixed to the shelves, gorgeous wooden tables for spreading out books for research, and cozy reading nooks tucked into alcoves.

As you walk between the towering shelves, you notice that some of the books look ancient, their spines cracked and faded with age, some even appear to be bound in unfamiliar materials. Others appear to be in pristine condition, despite clearly being very old.

"Our collection is quite extensive," Natasha says, running her fingers along the spines of nearby books. "We have texts dating back centuries, some of which are the only surviving copies in the world."

"How do you preserve them so well?" you ask, unable to hide your fascination.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "We have our ways. Mostly it’s all down to our librarian Jarvis.”

She leads you through a set of double wooden doors at the other side of the library. Once you exit, Natasha leads you through a series of grand hallways, each more breathtaking than the last. The walls are adorned with tapestries and paintings that seem to come alive as you pass, their subjects' eyes following your movement. You could swear you see a figure in one portrait shift slightly, but when you look back, it's perfectly still.

"This wing houses our main offices and research facilities," Natasha explains as you walk. "We have state-of-the-art equipment for analyzing artifacts and documents, as well as a world-class conservation lab."

You pass by rooms filled with people working diligently at computers, their screens displaying what look like ancient texts and complex diagrams. In one room, you glimpse a team carefully examining what appears to be an old manuscript under specialized lighting.

As you continue down the hallway, you notice a door that seems different from the others. It's made of dark, heavy wood and adorned with intricate carvings. Unlike the other doors which are open or have glass panels, this one is firmly shut.

Natasha catches you looking at it. "That area is off-limits, I'm afraid. Some of our more... sensitive projects require absolute secrecy."

You nod but can't help feeling a prickle of curiosity. What could be behind that door that requires such concealment?

Natasha guides you to an elevator at the end of the hall. As you step inside, you notice there are more floors than you would have expected from the outside view of the mansion.

"We have quite extensive facilities underground," Natasha explains as she presses a button for one of the lower levels. "It allows us to maintain the historical integrity of the mansion's exterior while having all the modern amenities we need for our work."

The elevator descends smoothly, and when the doors open, you find yourself in a sleek, modern space that contrasts sharply with the ornate decor above. The walls are a pristine white, and the floors are polished concrete. The lighting is bright but not harsh, giving the space a clean, almost clinical feel.

Natasha leads you down a corridor lined with glass-walled rooms. In one, you see people in lab coats hunched over microscopes. In another, a group is gathered around a large touch screen, manipulating 3D models of what look like ancient artifacts.

"This is our primary research facility," Natasha says, leading you down a wide corridor. "We have some of the most advanced technology in the world at our disposal here."

As you walk, you pass by rooms with glass walls, allowing you to see inside. In one, you spot what looks like a holographic projection of a complex molecule rotating in mid-air. In another, a team of scientists in white lab coats huddle around a table, examining something you can't quite make out.

You pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. The contrast between the classical architecture upstairs and this futuristic facility is striking. "This is incredible," you say, unable to keep the awe from your voice. "I had no idea the Foundation had such advanced capabilities."

Natasha's lips curl into a satisfied smile. "We pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of research and technology. It's essential for some of our work. We’re also one of the few science labs in the world that still is granted an affiliation with the nation of Wakanda."

As you continue down the corridor, you notice a few doors that aren't made of glass like the others. These are solid metal, with keycard readers and what look like biometric scanners next to them.

"What's behind those doors?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Natasha's expression doesn't change, but you sense a slight shift in her demeanor. "Those are our most sensitive research areas. Access is strictly limited to senior researchers and leadership."

As if orchestrated for this precise moment, the doors slide open, and two men emerge, engaged in a heated discussion. Or, rather, one of them is heated, and the other is shooting back casual, sarcastic comments.

Natasha clears her throat, “Gentlemen.”

They both stop.

“We have company,” she says, gesturing to you.

The two men turn to face you, and your jaw nearly drops as you instantly recognize them. Standing before you are none other than Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of the most famous figures in the world and certainly at the Foundation.

Tony Stark, looking every bit the billionaire genius he's known to be, is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that probably costs more than your current yearly salary. His goatee is perfectly trimmed, and his hair is styled with just the right amount of casual messiness. There's a faint blue glow visible beneath his shirt - the arc reactor that's become his trademark.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tony says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Tony Stark. But you probably knew that already."

As you shake his hand, you can't help but feel a bit starstruck. Tony Stark's grip is brief but firm and confident, his smile charming yet slightly calculating as he sizes you up.

"And this strapping specimen of American values is Steve Rogers," Tony adds, gesturing to the man beside him.

Steve, standing tall and broad-shouldered, offers you a warm smile that seems to light up the room. He's dressed more casually than Tony in khakis and a fitted blue shirt that barely contains his muscular frame. His handshake is strong but gentle, and his blue eyes radiate sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Steve says, his voice deep and reassuring. "I hope you're enjoying your tour of our facilities."

You manage to find your voice, introducing yourself. “The tour has been nothing but fascinating and impressive so far,” you affirm.

Tony's eyes gleam with interest. "Oh, you’re the one they’ve been wooing, eh? I was sent no less than five reminders this morning that I was to be on my best behavior,” he discloses with a wink.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and you have the suspicion Steve only barely restrains himself from doing so.

"Anyway, welcome to the Foundation," Tony says.

"Stark is supposed to be one of our most valuable researchers," Natasha explains.

"Eh, that’s why you send Steve down to get me back in line when I’m pursuing tangential projects."

This time Steve does roll his eyes.

You can't help but chuckle at the banter between Tony and Steve. Their dynamic is exactly as you'd imagined from what you've seen in the media - Tony's quick wit and sarcasm playing off Steve's more serious demeanor.

"So, what do you think of our little operation so far?" Tony asks, gesturing broadly at the surrounding facility. "Pretty impressive, right?"

Before you can answer, Natasha interjects smoothly. "I'm sure our guest is finding everything quite fascinating, but we should continue the tour. I'm sure you both have important work to get back to."

Tony raises an eyebrow at Natasha, a silent exchange seeming to pass between them. "Right, right. Important work. Can't keep the world waiting, can we?" He turns back to you with a grin. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around."

“You’ll at the very least be seeing me,” Steve says. “I believe I’m scheduled to join you for lunch.”

“And I’m not invited?” Tony protests, but he sports an unrepentant grin rather than any genuine offense.

Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder to steer him away, “You’re not the Executive Director of the Foundation, so, no.”

Tony shrugs out of his grip, “And remind me why that is?”

“‘All administrative, no science,’ as you aptly put it so many times when you remind me why you don’t want to listen to what I say.”

“Right,” Tony replies, but does fall into step with Steve heading down the corridor.

As they leave, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and bewilderment. Meeting two such prominent figures so casually during your interview process only adds to the surreal nature of this experience.

Natasha gently touches your elbow and guides you away from the metal doors and continues down the corridor. "My apologies for that interruption," she says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely displeased. "Mr. Stark has a tendency to... make an impression."

You nod, still processing the encounter. "It's no problem at all. I'm just surprised to see them here. I knew they were involved with the Foundation, but I didn't realize they were so hands-on."

Natasha's lips curl into a knowing smile. "The Winged Heritage Foundation values the direct involvement of all its key members. You'll find that everyone here, regardless of their public status or their position in our organization, contributes actively to our mission.”

She leads you through more state-of-the-art laboratories and research facilities, each more impressive than the last, before returning to the elevator to bring you surface-level again.

As the elevator ascends, you find your mind racing with questions. The encounter with Stark and Rogers, the glimpses of cutting-edge technology, and the air of mystery surrounding certain areas of the facility have only heightened your curiosity about the true nature of the Winged Heritage Foundation is, showing you so much, but not truly illuminating any answers.  

NEXT PART: LUNCH

Welcome to the Winged Heritage Foundation, lovelies. This is only the beginning... Where will this day take you? And what is going on here?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[winterspiderpurrs]

Okay but either nurse Peter or volunteer Peter at the hospital. He sees someone bringing flowers to one of the private rooms.

Him stopping the person and says" not allowed." The guy threatened him he got permission to bring flowers. He is adamant he needs to get his friend these flowers and plants.

They cause a big commotion. These guys in suits come out of the room to see what's going on.

And basicly said let the guy through they know him.

" Sure okay. But when the patient dies it's on you then"

" What?"

" Those flowers? They are toxic poison basicly. Gonna cause respiratory failure the whole plant is poisonious. "

The guy holding the flowers tries to say he didn't know, just thought they were nice.

Before the guys in suits can say anything Peter pipes up.

" Yeah? Then why are you wearing gloves when it's 90 degrees outside?"

Peter never found out what happened after the flowers got thrown away. Or who was supposed to receive them.

Until he comes home late one night to find a man on his couch.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

There Is No Coming Back From This (In Progress)

Summary: "Don't do this, Tony. Don't do whatever it is you're about to do. This isn't what she would want."

Tony whips around to his former friend. "You don't get to tell me what she would want - I'm her father. I need to protect her. I can - I can protect her from this."

Steve looks on with remorse, offering only a slight shake of his head. "It's her time, Tony. She's tired. She wants to rest."

"Don't give me that," Tony snaps, chucking the wrench in his hand. "I can fix this!"

"It's her time, Tony. And I hate that as much as you do, but there's some things you can't fix. There is no coming back from this."

Characters: Stark!Reader, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Chapter 1 - There Is No Coming Back From This Chapter 2 - The Beginning of The End Chapter 3 - An Old Friend Chapter 4 - An Apple From The Same Tree Chapter 5 - On The Road Again Chapter 6 - Caught You Chapter 7 - A Difference of Opinion Chapter 8 -???

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

[teddiee]

Into Each Life: Chapter 12

Summary:

“Tony,” Bucky says carefully.

Tony doesn’t answer immediately, too busy trying to breathe through the sudden, searing cramp in his lower abdomen. The sharp tang of his own scent—sweet and ripe—tickles his nose, and the realization hits him like a freight train.

“Oh, no,” Tony moans.

Words: 13,933

Explicit Content: 18+

The world outside the window is still wrapped in the deep indigo of pre-dawn when Tony wakes.

He stirs. His lashes flutter as he blinks blearily, his vision hazy from sleep. His mind is foggy—caught in the delicate space between sleep and wakefulness—but it takes two slow, orienting breaths to realize his cheek is pressed against the warm, golden plane of Bucky’s bare stomach.

Tony feels like he’s moving through molasses, his limbs sluggish and weighted. Even the simple act of opening his eyes feels like a monumental feat until the faint tick of the clock on the bedside table anchors him in the present.

5:54 a.m.

He takes a brief, necessary moment to acclimate to his surroundings.

A thin blanket is pushed low on his hips, his own chest bare and his skin warm. His scent lingers in the sheets, stronger in places where he and Bucky had tangled together during the night—reminders of the hours that passed in a blur of sweat, whispered promises, and Bucky’s soothing, hypnotizing drawl.

It’s like a thunderclap in his chest. The memory of it rushes in with a startling clarity that makes his breath hitch.

The hazy fragments of the night stitch themselves together—the way Bucky had touched him, the way his hands had soothed and coaxed and held.

Color floods Tony’s cheeks as he remembers how he’d melted into Bucky’s touch. How he had whimpered and begged in a way that felt both alien and horrifically inevitable.

The fragmented flashes of memory send his heart pounding.

The sound of his own voice, desperate and needy, crying out for Bucky; the feel of Bucky’s hands steadying his hips, guiding him through the waves of intensity; the rasp of Bucky’s voice murmuring in his ear, “You’re so good for me, Tony. So perfect.”

He cuts the traitorous thought off with a sharp inhale, clenching his teeth on his bottom lip to steady himself and suppress the strangled, muffled groan that rises in his chest.

So much for remaining calm, cool, and collected.

Tony barely suppresses a flinch as Bucky stirs beneath him. The Alpha’s hand slides up from his bare back, fingers curling into the mussed strands of Tony’s hair. The touch is slow, almost absent-minded, sending an involuntary shudder down Tony’s spine.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” Bucky murmurs, words rough with sleep. His eyes are still closed. When Tony blinks up at him, his lips quirk faintly like he’s caught Tony in the middle of something. “I can hear you from here.”

Tony freezes, his face burning hot, though he doesn’t know whether it’s from embarrassment or the warmth blooming low in his stomach.

“I’m not—” he starts, his voice cracking awkwardly—Christ—but Bucky cuts him off with a soft hum, his fingers working gently through Tony’s disheveled locks.

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky drawls, his tone teasing but warm, a quiet rumble that seems to settle right under Tony’s skin. His hand pauses to scratch lightly at Tony’s scalp, the lazy rhythm as soothing as it is disarming. “You always get that little crease right here—” His thumb grazes Tony’s forehead, just above his brow. “—when your brain’s spinnin’ too fast. Relax, sweetheart. Stop panicking. You don’t gotta figure it all out right now.”

“I’m not panicking,” Tony says stupidly, though Bucky's solid, delectable torso muffles his words. The resulting small puffs of air cause the Alpha’s abdominal muscles to jump and twitch beneath him.

Bucky doesn’t push, just keeps threading his fingers through Tony’s hair like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s not purposefully lulling Tony back into a soft, pliant headspace. “You don’t have to think so hard about last night, either,” he says after a beat, softer now, almost raspy. “We were good, weren’t we? You and me? That’s all that matters.”

Tony’s mind feels woolly, slow to piece itself together, and his body aches faintly in the way it always does at the tail end of his heat. He doesn’t answer, not right away, his chest tight with the weight of his chaotic, spiraling thoughts. He rests against the smooth expanse of Bucky’s bare skin, his cheek pressed close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of the Alpha’s breathing.

“Yeah, we were good,” Tony says quietly.

His voice is small and still raspy from sleep, but there’s a lingering edge to it that betrays his unease.

Even now, when Bucky’s hands are gentle and unhurried. Even now, when everything is quiet and safe, and the thought of what happened still twists his gut in a way he can’t quite shake off.

Bucky’s hand drifts from Tony’s hair, fingertips trailing lightly down his neck to rest at the base of his skull.

The contact is gentle, deliberate, like Bucky’s trying to coax him into something, though Tony’s sluggish brain hasn’t quite figured out what.

Either way, it’s grounding. Like always.

Tony sinks into the steady warmth of Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck, and he feels a jolt of tension dissipate as Bucky’s thumb starts to massage small circles there, just above his shoulder blades. He swallows down his moan.

Tony doesn’t know how long he stays there, pressed against Bucky’s body, but it feels like a small eternity. His heart is still racing, his body a live wire, and he’s hyper-aware of every shift of muscle beneath him.

But then Bucky’s hand slides up and down his back, broad and sure, his thumb brushing in soothing arcs along Tony’s spine.

“You know,” Bucky says, low and easy, “if you keep fidgetin’ like that, a fella’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Tony lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh, burying his face into Bucky’s toned stomach. “Don’t encourage me,” he mumbles.

“Encouragin’ you is my favorite thing,” Bucky counters smoothly. His fingers drift back to Tony’s neck, tracing idle patterns that somehow make Tony feel lightheaded and more flustered all at once.

Bucky’s still in his underwear. Tony is too, if the familiar touch of damp fabric clinging to his thighs is any indication. The thin white cotton of Bucky’s boxers does little to conceal his erection—not having softened once since dragging a heat-fueled Tony into his bedroom after supper last night.

Tony peers down at the tented fabric—erect, imposing, a small wet patch where the tip strains against cotton—and conspicuously squirms under the blanket. He licks his lips and rubs his own thighs together.

That warm, tight feeling still lingers. Unmistakable as it pulses low in his belly,

Sure, it’s noticeably muted compared to the inferno that had consumed him just days ago. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s on fire, and he’s not choking on the overwhelming sweetness of his own scent. This isn’t the all-consuming demand for an Alpha’s presence that had left him clinging to his bed sheets, dizzy and desperate.

But still, it’s heightened in a way that makes his breath hitch and his pulse stutter. There’s a new edge to his constant state of fluctuating arousal—something sharper, more focused.

It’s not just his heat. It’s heat and Bucky.

A spark in his veins that only exists after experiencing the press of strong hands against his hips. After shuddering under the low rasp of Bucky’s voice, coaxing his body through mind-blowing relief at an Alpha’s hands for the very first time.

Tony's chest hitches slightly, the flutter in his belly spreading outward, warmth pooling deep in his core. It’s a slow flare, but it’s there, building as Bucky’s fingers continue to work at the sensitive spot on the back of his neck, sending electricity down his spine.

He shifts slightly, trying to ease the ache blooming low in his stomach, and the friction sends a small, unbidden whine tumbling from his lips. He swallows hard, feeling his flush creep down his neck, his body betraying him in the most inconvenient fucking way possible.

He was just starting to find a sliver of calm, too, but his blood spikes and reacts to Bucky’s touch like it’s still in the crux of his heat. To his scent, thick and earthy in the air around them; to his voice, still rough with sleep as it curls into Tony’s ear; to the way his hands never stop their soothing rhythm, even though Tony knows he can feel the minute shift in pressure as Tony’s scent swells.

Bucky stiffens beneath him, the hand in Tony’s hair faltering for the briefest second before resuming its slow, soothing rhythm.

“Tony,” Bucky says carefully.

Tony doesn’t answer immediately, too busy trying to breathe through the sudden, searing cramp in his lower abdomen. The sharp tang of his own scent—sweet and ripe—tickles his nose, and the realization hits him like a freight train.

“Oh, no,” Tony moans.

Bucky hums low in his throat—a sound that might have been reassurance if it weren’t for the way his other hand comes to rest on Tony’s lower back, fingers flexing slightly. Like he’s grounding himself as much as Tony.

“You still feeling it?” Bucky asks gently. His own scent deepens. Cedar and smoke, rich and heady, curling around Tony like a protective cocoon.

Tony shakes his head against Bucky’s abdomen, his breath hitching as another wave of heat surges through him, leaving his skin flushed and damp. “It’s… manageable,” he grits through his teeth, though the way he squirms against Bucky betrays the truth.

Bucky lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “It’s got a funny way of sneakin’ back up on you.” His thumb on Tony’s spine moves in slow, grounding circles. “You’re okay, Tony. I’ve got you.”

The Alpha’s scent has sharpened, his body impossibly warm beneath Tony’s, and there’s a tension in his muscles now. Coiled and ready.

But he doesn’t move, doesn’t press, just keeps stroking Tony’s skin like he’s got all the time in the world.

“You with me?” Bucky asks quietly. The question is a low rumble, reverberating in his stomach and vibrating against Tony’s temple.

Tony nods jerkily, though he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

He’s with Bucky. He hasn’t stopped being with Bucky since last night, when he sobbed and spilled into the Alpha’s fist.

Historically, Tony has coaxed himself to a—frankly countless—number of orgasms.

Since presenting at sixteen, he’s undergone a handful of heats. Entirely alone, except for the company of his own hand. Enough to get the job done, maybe, but never enough to fully extinguish the flames licking at his veins. Never enough to dull the throbbing, empty ache between his legs. Never enough to satisfy his body’s biological urge to bask in Alpha pheromones and succumb.

So after years of unfulfilling self-gratification, Bucky’s hand on his dick felt almost synonymous with the closest thing Tony had ever experienced to a religious experience.

Warm. Tight. The Alpha’s scent glands occasionally brushing against the sensitive underside of delicate skin. Tony’s face pressed to his neck, gulping down lungfuls of a scent tailor-made to light up his nerve endings.

Bucky’s molten praises caressing his ear. His own stiff, clothed, pulsing erection pushing against the bare skin of Tony’s thigh.

It wasn’t sex, not fully. It wasn’t the stretch of a knot in his ass; it wasn’t a complete claiming where his body ached for it most. But it was enough.

Enough to convince his body that he was being cared for, that he was being guided through his hormonal frenzy by an Alpha.

You know. Finally.

Tony doesn’t remember much after the first orgasm. The immediate, toe-curling relief had been staggering—almost debilitating—and the quick surge of hormones that flooded his body had rendered him useless.

He can vaguely recall fragments of Bucky’s fingers gliding through his hair. Soft, soothing praise whispered against his temple. Gentle hands coaxing between his legs with a warm washcloth.

He remembers being poured into Bucky’s bed, drifting into a deep and immediate sleep. And Bucky joining him later—damp from his shower, strong arms pulling Tony back against his bare chest and curling around him. Nosing at his scent gland.

He was satisfied. Satiated. Blissful.

Until he wasn’t.

Until he awoke a few short hours later to a bedroom cloaked in darkness, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft silver streaks across the walls. Eyes flying open, lungs hitching sharply as the heat in his body clawed its way to the surface. Sharp and pulsing.

12:14 A.M.

Tony can’t stop the small, choked whimper that escapes his throat as he pushes himself up on his elbows. His skin is feverish, a sheen of sweat prickling along his brow, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He curls in on himself, trying to ride out the sudden wave of tremors coursing through his veins, but the ache—the need—is sharp. It gnaws at him from the inside out.

His skin feels too tight, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated as he rotates against Bucky’s chest. He moans—a strangled, needy sound that rushes out of his throat as he buries his face against the Alpha’s skin, desperate for the comfort of his scent.

“Tony?”

Bucky’s voice is low, thick with sleep, but instantly alert. His hand finds Tony’s neck, warm and steady, its weight grounding in a way that cuts through the worst of the haze.“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Tony quivers under the gentle press of Bucky’s palm, his throat too tight to answer. He tries to take a deep breath, but it breaks halfway through, trembling.

“’M fine,” he croaks.

Bucky huffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Pope.”

He slides closer. The mattress dips under his weight and a second hand joins the first, this one grabbing Tony’s hip. Bucky’s thumb brushes against his skin in soothing arcs, his touch careful, deliberate. He pulls Tony closer into his neck, coaxing the Omega to breathe in where Bucky’s scent bleeds strong.“You’re burnin’ up again.”

Tony nods jerkily, his eyes squeezing shut as he wills his body to calm down. “I—I don’t know why it’s worse now,” he mumbles. “It was getting better, wasn’t it? Thought it was over.”

Bucky laughs into his hair. “It’s just a spike. Bound to happen. Your body’s still sorting itself out. Doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

“I didn’t want t’wake you,” Tony slurs. Still, he clings tighter to Bucky. His hips shift instinctively, chasing relief he can’t name. Slick leaks into his clean underwear. “Hurts.”

That makes Bucky’s hand pause, his fingers pressing into Tony’s hip just firm enough to draw his attention. “Yeah,” he drawls, rich and warm, “because it’s such a chore, takin’ care of you.”

Tony doesn’t know what he needs. His dick throbs, and the pressure in his stomach coils tight. Clenching and unclenching.

But Bucky does.

“You’re okay,” Bucky coos. He shifts them, suddenly. Kicks the blanket off their legs. Pulls Tony up by his armpits until he’s seated between Bucky’s thighs, his back flush with Bucky’s chest. The Alpha leans against the headboard and spreads Tony’s knees with his own. Tony shudders, legs parting like water, arching into Bucky’s hold. “I’ve got you. Sweet boy, I’ve got you.”

Tony melts back against him, his head lolling onto Bucky’s shoulder. Every nerve in his body feels frayed, exposed, and he can’t help the way his hips shift, seeking relief from the ache that’s consuming him. Bucky’s cock is hard against his back, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and the Alpha hisses when Tony pushes against it. His hands drop to grip Tony’s waist, steadying him.

“Bucky,” he whines. His hands grip weakly at Bucky’s thighs, trying to hold onto something solid. “I— I don’t—” The words stick in his throat, his mind too foggy to string them together.

Bucky’s arm lifts to wrap securely around Tony’s shoulders, his chest warm and solid against Tony’s back. His other hand grazes the bare skin of Tony’s thigh.“You don’t have to know, sweetheart,” he says, raspy. “That’s what I’m here for. Let me do the thinkin’ for you.”

The scent of Bucky is everywhere now, heavy and potent, and Tony can’t breathe without it, can’t think past the burn building deep in his gut.

And then Bucky’s hand skims past his stomach and finally dips past the waistband of his briefs.

“God, Tony,” Bucky chokes, his voice thick with approval as he feels the wetness gathering at the inside of Tony’s thighs. His fingertips glide over the slickness, and Tony shakes, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through him at the light touch to such a sensitive spot.

Bucky’s breath hitches, and Tony can feel the low growl in his chest, the shift in his scent deepening. Pine and smoke fill the air, mingling with the sharp sweetness of Tony’s own, creating a heady, intoxicating blend. Bucky can’t help himself. “You’re so wet for me, baby. So fucking perfect.” His voice is rough, hungry, and when his strong, callused palm finally wraps around Tony’s leaking cock, Tony keens.

They both moan. Tony’s dick, now forty-eight hours past a comfortable soreness, is approaching painful after days of unfulfilling stimulation instigated by Tony’s own hand. Bucky’s touch burns hot, like a brand, and Tony exhales a hiss through his teeth.

Bucky’s movements falters immediately, feeling the tension coil tighter in Tony’s body.

“Tony…” His voice is low, rough with an edge of worry and something headier. His fingers spasm from their grip on Tony’s shoulder. Still, he doesn’t fully let go. Keeps his grip on Tony gentle but firm.“You’re sore, aren’t you?”

Tony’s own fingers tighten their grip on Bucky’s thighs, pulling himself closer as if trying to push through the discomfort. His mind is clouded, thoughts scattered, but the aching pull in his core is the only thing that keeps him tethered to the moment.

“Don’ stop," Tony’s voice breaks, a quiet, ragged whisper as he presses himself closer to Bucky. His hips thrust up of their own volition, seeking more, and Bucky’s grip tightens imperceptibly. He doesn’t care if it’s messy, doesn’t care if it’s too much—he needs it, needs him.“Please.”

The plea is raw and desperate, and it doesn’t even feel his own. It comes from a place deeper than logic, from the heart of the heat that scorches through his veins.

But Bucky’s fist—steady, grounding—tightens, just enough to make Tony feel every tiny nuance of touch.

Tony sags, collapsing back into Bucky’s embrace. The breath leaves his lungs in a whine.

“You sure, sweetheart? You don’t have to take more than you can handle.” His words are soft, almost reverent, but there’s something underneath it—something darker. Intoxicating.

“So sure,” Tony exhales. “Fuck, don’t stop. Bucky. Alpha.” His voice falters but then steadies, the desperation in it clear. “Don’t care. I can take it. Just—don’t stop.” The pleasure will outlive the pain, he’s certain. And he craves it. Craves Bucky’s touch like he’s drowning in it.

He shivers as Bucky shifts behind him. The Alpha’s hand moves again, his grip on Tony’s cock slow but sure, and Tony’s resounding moan is so loud that Bucky’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth. Gripping Tony’s jaw.

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’ll give you exactly what you need. But we don’t wanna wake Stevie, do we?” Bucky murmurs into his ear, pure gravel.

Tony freezes, eyes wide, his hot breath huffing against Bucky’s hand. His body stills for a moment, processing the words. And then, in the next breath, the sound of his desperation is muffled, but still there—caught in his throat, vibrating through Bucky’s palm. His eyes roll back into his head.

“Good boy,” Bucky praises roughly. “I’ll help you, baby. I’ll take away the ache. Just need you to keep it quiet, yeah? Just be good and take it.”

Tony’s breath hitches in response, a wail escaping his muffled lips before he can stop it. The pressure in his core flares again, sharper, more intense, and his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin as if trying to anchor himself.

“Fuck, Tony...” Bucky murmurs, his voice thick with a hunger that makes Tony’s fuzzy, syrupy head spin.

Tony’s always drippy during heats. He’s practically leaking into Bucky’s hand, aided by pre-cum and the slick pooling between his thighs, and the only sounds in the room are the wet, squelching noises of Bucky jacking Tony off and their combined belabored breathing.

Tony squirms. He moans. His hands shoot up to grip Bucky’s arm, back bowing, and Bucky has to wrap his ankles around Tony’s to keep the Omega’s hips anchored where he needs them.

Bucky starts babbling. The rise and fall of his chest echoes against Tony’s back. He can feel the Alpha’s strained breaths. The words tumble out of his mouth, seemingly unwittingly.

"You’re so fucking soaked, doll,” he husks. His words are low, dragged from somewhere deep in his chest as he feels the slickness on Tony’s skin. As Tony drips shamelessly into his lap. “All this for me? You can't even help it, can you?”

His thumb brushes over Tony’s cockhead, smearing pre-cum against Tony’s sensitive slit, and Tony sobs and bites down on the flesh of Bucky’s palm. “So fucking needy," Bucky continues, reverent, his lips brushing the side of Tony’s neck. Tasting his pulsing scent gland. ”Can’t even stand it, huh? Need your Alpha to fix you. I’m the only one who can, Tony. You know that, don’t you?”

Tony’s response is a low, strangled groan, stifled by Bucky’s hand, but it’s enough for Bucky. He feels the way Tony’s body arches, the way he shifts under him, dizzy and desperate for more.

“Look at you,” Bucky whispers. “You can’t even control yourself. Just a fucking mess for me, aren’t you? So perfect, so beautiful like this.”

There’s pain—pressure, oversensitivity, the sharp sting of contact against Tony’s delicate flesh. But the pleasure is blinding, and the combination of sensations has Tony writhing. Panting and pleading.

Bucky alternates pace and pressure, gauging all of Tony’s smallest, most subtle tells—the slightest hitch of his lungs, the barest flex of his fingers around Bucky’s forearm—to work his body like a finely tuned instrument.

He speeds his hand when Tony’s hips stutter, arching to chase the delectable heat pooling in his belly. He eases up when Tony’s pleasure bleeds into something sharp, something a little more pointed, subduing the Omega and bringing him back to that sweet spot that has him moaning unabashedly like a feral animal.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Tony warbles. He pumps his hips to meet Bucky’s thrusts, and when Bucky grinds his own cock against the small of Tony’s back, seeking friction, it pulls a shocked, helpless noise from his lungs.

Bucky chuckles darkly, rolling his hips in time with his hand. A crude imitation of Tony’s deepest, headiest desire.

“Sweetheart,” he croons. His pace quickens, hand stripping Tony’s cock with barely-restrained urgency. The obscene sound of wet skin echoes through the room. He lets out another laugh when Tony quakes, this one tinged with disbelief. Awe. “You can feel it, can’t you? How much I want you? How much I need you?”

Bucky’s breathing is becoming heavier, more labored, and Tony feels it like a pulse in the air, like the rhythm of a storm about to break. Each exhale from Bucky is a low, brutal sound that vibrates against Tony’s back, and he can feel the slight tremor in Bucky’s muscles as his hand strokes firmly over Tony’s weeping dick, as his arm tightens across Tony’s chest, fingers flexing against his mouth. Holding himself back, trying to give Tony exactly what he needs without breaking.

“I could—fuck—I could come like this. Just from this, you rockin’ in my lap like a goddamn dream. Whimperin’ and cryin’, lettin’ you Alpha know how good he makes you feel.”

Tony’s hands tear Bucky’s palm from his mouth. He sucks in a gasping breath, lungs burning.

“Please,” he begs. His voice cracks. He doesn’t care. “Please, please—want it. Oh—my, fu—Alpha.”

Bucky curses. His hand travels to Tony’s throat. Not gripping, but holding. Tony’s brain immediately goes a little woozy, a little lightheaded.

“But this ain’t about me,” Bucky grits. “I want you. I wanna be inside you more than I want my next breath. It’s all I think about. You’re mine, Tony. You fucking belong to me.”

The words are magic to Tony’s heat-fogged existence. His spine bows, ribs expanding. He feels like he’s floating.

With the hand to his throat, Bucky tilts Tony’s head back, just far enough to press a kiss to Tony’s temple. Tony moves like a puppet. Bucky lingers there for a moment, lips pressed to Tony’s damp skin.

A sweet, striking contrast to the filthy reactions he’s pulling from Tony’s body.

“B–Bucky,” Tony chokes. Sobs, really. “M’gonna, I’m so… ohhh. You’re—”

“Yours,” Bucky interrupts, his tone rough and sure. “Every piece of me, Tony. Yours. Come for me, doll.”

Tony’s body sings at the command, his submissive instincts surging in a way he so desperately works to suppress when he’s clear-headed. He comes so hard his scream breaks off halfway through it. He finds himself once again choking on Bucky’s palm.

“There you go, honey. That’s right, let it go. Let your Alpha have it.” Bucky can’t seem to shut up as he works Tony through the aftershocks, Tony trembling and shaking in his lap with the force of his release. It lasts forever, his thighs vibrating with released tension as he wets up his stomach with come, coating his dick and Bucky’s hand.

“Baby doll. Pretty Omega. Fuck. That’s it.” He strokes Tony through it until Tony is crying out from the overstimulation, squirming against his grip. It’s perfect, it’s endless—the release floods his veins like euphoria. His spine goes soft.

“C’mere”, Bucky breathes once Tony is left a limp, wheezing shell of an Omega. He pulls Tony back into his arms, tucking his head under his chin. He’s still hard underneath Tony, pulsing hot enough for Tony to feel between their thin layers of clothing. Tony whines, dropping his check to Bucky’s chest. Wet with his own spit. He shudders, and Bucky’s arms tighten.

“Feel better?” Bucky asks, and Tony—despite everything—snorts.

Bucky grins against the crown of his head. “There he is.”

“I think you killed me,” Tony says. He rubs at his nose, his limbs leaden.“I might be dead.” He can hardly move his tongue to form the words. The base of his spine thrums pleasantly. He’s pliant and sweaty in Bucky’s arms, overwhelmed with the aftershocks of his pleasure.

“You’ll live,” Bucky replies, lips twitching. “Now, shut up and let me hold you.”

As the fog of need clears, Tony sinks into something warmer. Something safer. With Bucky’s erection pressing into the small of his back, he slips back into unconsciousness, covered in his own spend.

3:46 A.M.

“Jesus Christ. It’s been over three days. I should be… ugh. Done.”

Bucky laughs, his body curved toward Tony’s. His chest is flushed down to his stomach, heated from the steady, blooming aroma of Tony’s growing arousal. Even in the dark, Tony can make out the size of his pupils. Glittering, blown.

“It’s not a race, doll. There’s no prize for getting to the finish line faster. You’re finally just gettin’ the attention you deserve. You know it; your body knows it.”

“Yeah, well, my dick knows it, too,” Tony grouses. “And I think if anyone touches it again, it might fall off.”

The tight, coiling feeling is back. Softer, less urgent than before, but no less persistent. Every flicker of warmth in Bucky’s gaze draws attention to the need pooling at his spine, every pull of desire amplified in ways that make Tony feel like he’s coming apart at the seams.

He fights through the fog. Tries to ground his syrupy, sluggish brain to the present.

“What do you need, baby?”

Tony rolls onto his back, swallowing thickly. He brings his palms to his eyes and exhales toward the ceiling.

“Dunno,” he admits. His voice sounds small, even to his own ears. Feeble. “Might just wait for this wave to pass.”

Something he used to do often, after his body had been wrecked by overstimulation. Now—familiar with the touch of Bucky’s hands on his body, familiar with an Alpha’s presence guiding him through his pleasure—it sounds like torture.

Bucky makes a low, thoughtful sound.

“Or,” he says,“we can get creative.”

Tony tenses. “I thought we weren’t… you said you weren’t going to—” he trails off, the unspoken ‘fuck me’ forming on the tip of his tongue.

Bucky’s lip twitch again, infuriating. Perfect. Tony wants to kiss him.

“There are plenty of things we can do,” Bucky says easily, “that don’t involve me getting my cock inside you, sweetheart.”

Tony’s feeling a little bratty. A little petulant—his skin is too warm, his body teetering somewhere on the confusing precipice of agitation, arousal, and exhaustion. His perpetual state of desire evokes a vulnerability that summons endless frustration, both physically and mentally. His dick aches, despite its constant persistence. It rubs against his underwear in a way that has him gritting his teeth.

And still, none of this negates the side effects of his lingering heat. It clouds his judgment, clinging stubbornly as Tony tosses and turns in the arms of his Alpha. In sheets that smell like his Alpha. As he inhales lungfuls of Bucky’s glorious, rich scent, as Bucky trails his hands along all of Tony’s most sensitive spots, fingers constantly sweeping across his glands, his neck, his hips.

Turns out he drops pretty easy, under the right circumstances.

Especially when he’s half-naked in his Alpha’s bed, dragging through his heat, listening to said Alpha drawl about fucking Tony on his cock.

Like clockwork, Tony’s brain goes a little soft. A little spacey. The fight zaps out of his bones.

The orgasms are nice. Perfect. The pleasure that Bucky so easily pulls out of his body is intense enough to instill immense amounts of humility inside a teenage boy overly familiar with jerking off. He’s starting to think there may never have been pleasure before Bucky—true pleasure, the kind that seeps into his bones and renders him useless. Needy. Complete.

It’s a type of relief he’s never been able to provide for himself, not truly. Not the way his body and his biology require.

But even this—coming with a hand on his cock (however perfect Bucky’s grip, no matter how unwaveringly devoted his attention to Tony’s body may be)—merely begins to scratch the itch of his repressed, earth-shattering craving to be knotted.

It’s easier to hunger for it, when he’s like this. Fucked out, soft and loose and pliant in the grip of his heat-addled submission. When his deep-seated fears and insecurities seem to be nothing more than mindless afterthoughts; memories of a past self.

Still on his back, still staring at the ceiling, his heart pounds against his ribs as he chews on his lip, suppressing the innate whine crawling up the tunnel of his throat.

He’s too busy knuckling at the corners of his eyes, caught in the undertow of sensation, to catch the Alpha’s expression. It shifts from something smug to something softer, like worship, and his scent morphs with it, washing over Tony like the tide.

Bucky’s hands roam with a practiced ease, pulling Tony’s hands from his face by his wrists and hovering over him like he was made to fit there. Slotting his thigh seamlessly between Tony’s legs. “Don’t hide from me. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?” he continues, quiet. He pushes Tony’s wrists up above his head, and Tony goes willingly. Easily. Fingers flexing in his Alpha’s grip.“The way you look at me when you’re all dazed like this... makes me wanna wreck you and put you back together a hundred times over. Make sure you never forget how good you can have it, now that you’re with me.”

Tony pushes out a rushed laugh. He feels manic.

With his free hand, Bucky tilts Tony’s head back slightly, just enough to press a firm kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “I’ve got you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’d move heaven and earth for you. Hell, I’d rip ‘em both apart if it’d make you feel even an ounce better.”

It’s nonsense. It’s indulgence. Ridiculous and perfect. The exact kind of absurd sweet-talking that sends Tony under, as quick as anything.

Bucky’s lips find Tony’s jaw again, lingering this time, the press of his mouth deliberate and firm.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t let the heat of the moment pull him out of his rhythm. His lips are slightly chapped, but warm, leaving a trail of kisses down the curve of Tony’s jawline. Each touch feels heavier than the last, sinking into Tony’s skin like a brand.

When Bucky kisses just beneath Tony’s ear, Tony shudders and gasps, his fingers clenching weakly at nothing. His wrists still pressed firmly into the mattress. “Right here,” Bucky murmurs. He tilts Tony’s head slightly, angling him so that he can press his mouth more firmly against the soft curve of Tony’s throat. Teasing the edge of his mating gland.“Can’t get enough of you, gorgeous. Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He kisses down the column of Tony’s throat, slow and savoring. His lips mold perfectly to each dip and curve, the slight scrape of his teeth dragging just enough to make Tony arch against him. Bucky hums low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of them as he presses a firmer kiss just above Tony’s collarbone, lingering there like he doesn’t want to leave.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, the words barely audible against Tony’s skin. He pulls back just far enough to cradle Tony’s cheek in his hand, tilting him up, their foreheads almost touching. “You feel it too, don’t you? How good this is?”

He doesn’t let Tony answer. He just kisses him again, this time on the mouth.

It’s slower than Tony expects, like Bucky’s savoring every second. He presses in close, coaxing Tony’s lips apart with gentle insistence, his tongue brushing softly against Tony’s lower lip. The kiss deepens naturally, their mouths sliding together with an ease that makes Tony’s head spin.

Tony feels a frantic, kinetic energy pulsing inside him. He whimpers and tries to deepen the kiss, trembling against the bed, but Bucky gentles it each time Tony’s urgency bleeds through. Unhurried and deliberate. Coaxing Tony into a dizzying, boneless headspace.

When Bucky pulls away, Tony’s vision feels spotty.

“Look at me.” Bucky’s hands move to frame Tony’s face, propping himself up on his elbows. Tony’s arms obediently stay stretched up by his ears. He blinks rapidly into focus. Bucky’s lips brush Tony’s temple, then his cheek, soft and grounding. The faint rasp of stubble catches on Tony’s overheated skin, the sensation somehow soothing. Bucky's voice, low and deliberate, breaks through the haze.

“Everything we do is supposed to feel good, Tony,” he says, the words careful but firm, like he’s staking a claim against some ghost of doubt. “That’s how it’s meant to be. If it doesn’t feel good, we stop. Doesn’t matter how close you are or what you think you’re supposed to do. Got it?”

Tony blinks sluggishly, the fog in his mind too thick to navigate. Bucky’s words swirl in his head, heavy and meaningful, familiar, but they don’t quite land.

He glances up at Bucky, his brow furrowed. “Was this… is this about Arnie?”

Bucky stills for a moment. His lips part and he exhales slowly, choosing his next words carefully.

“You don’t have to think about that right now, doll,” he says, his voice laced with a kind of tenderness that only makes Tony more confused. “Everything I’m doin’ is to make you feel nice. Nothing else matters. Not me, not anyone else—just you. So if it… hurts, if it feels like too much, you tell me. No one gets to tell you what’s normal except you.

Tony huffs, the sound more desperate than frustrated. “No, I—” He shakes his head, trying to find clarity in the haze of heat and exhaustion. “I remember… what he said. And you got mad?” His words tumble out in fragments, disjointed and uncertain, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle that’s missing half the pieces.

And then he tenses.

“Oh. He… he said I lied to him,” Tony whispers. “That I told him it wouldn’t hurt.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “He was upset,” he says carefully, tone measured. “And maybe he had a right to be, in his own way. But that doesn’t mean he was right to put that on you.”

Tony frowns, the weight of Arnie’s words pressing down on him again, mingling with the persistent heat thrumming in his veins. “But I did tell him that. And I knew—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I knew I was lying.”

Bucky’s hands spasm, the smallest movement, and Tony watches the Alpha’s chin raise, his lips brushing Tony’s hairline. “You weren’t, baby,” Bucky says gently, but there’s a firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument. “You told him what you thought was true. What you wanted to believe for him—and for yourself.”

His mind is still too clouded with need to form a coherent response, but Bucky doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Listen to me,” Bucky says, his voice low and unyielding, and Tony feels it vibrate through his chest. “It’s only ever supposed to feel good. Every damn time. No matter what. I know you’ve been through shit, Tony. I know you’ve got these scars inside of you,” Each word is clipped, each syllable dripping with intensity. “But that ain’t your fault. And I’m not gonna let you forget that this?” He pushes his own hard, straining cock against Tony’s hipbone. “It’s supposed to be good, sweet boy. So good—every damn moment of it. You hear me? If it doesn’t feel good, we’re doin’ it wrong.”

Tony stares up at him, a little wet around the eyes. Stunned and speechless.

“You don’t owe anyone anything. Not Arnie, not anyone. You deserve to feel good. To feel safe. And I will always take care of you, Tony. Always.” Bucky presses a kiss to the side of his head. “You trust me?”

Tony nods before he can stop himself. The haze is still there, dense and thick, but Bucky’s warmth cuts through it. His touch grounds him.

“Say it,” Bucky urges, his voice a little rougher now. “Tell me you trust me.”

“Yeah, always,” Tony finally whispers, his voice barely a breath. “Always, Buck. I trust you.”

Bucky’s entire demeanor shifts. The tension in his shoulders eases, and the edge in his voice softens, though a hint of raw vulnerability lurks behind it. He lets out a deep, rumbling breath, like a weight has been lifted, and he moves his hands gently over Tony’s body, brushing the stray strands of hair from his forehead.

“Good,” he says.“That’s all I needed to hear.” He kisses Tony’s nose. “Now that we’re on the same page,” he flashes Tony that same roguish smile, the one that always makes Tony’s heart skip in his chest. “I wanna try somethin’. I think you’ll like it.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of uncertainty roll through him. “What are you—” he starts, but the words die in his throat as he yelps, Bucky’s deft hands flipping him onto his stomach.

“Oof.”

Bucky presses his smile into Tony’s shoulder blade. He grazes his teeth along the skin when Tony shivers beneath him.

“Relax for me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” Tony grumbles into his pillow. His heart is beating in his throat.

Bucky’s hand slides over Tony’s back, tracing the curve of his spine with gentle fingers. Just like that, Tony sinks into the mattress.

“That’s it,” Bucky croons. “Still with me, doll?”

Tony, eyes half-lidded, nods, but the haze of arousal makes it hard for him to form any coherent thoughts. “Yeah, m’fine,” he mumbles, voice hoarse.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against the back of Tony’s neck before he leans in, kissing the back of Tony’s ear softly. “Say the word, and we stop. Got it?”

“Which word?”

“Go ahead, honey, crack all the jokes you want. I’ve got you pegged. Smart mouth and all.”

Tony is Tony, and he tries for a clever retort, but all that escapes is a high, shocked sound as Bucky tugs his briefs over the curve of his ass, down to his knees.

He can’t move, can’t speak as Bucky shifts behind him, fingers tracing up the inside of his thighs. Gliding through rivulets of slick.

“Still burning for me,” Bucky muses. “Even after I’ve made you come twice. You don’t know how much I love seeing you like this, darlin’. So needy. Trusting me to take care of you.” He nudges Tony’s hips up, urging a pillow between him and the mattress, and Tony moves easily. Boneless.

“I think about this a lot,” the Alpha continues. Easy, casual. As if he and Tony are discussing the weather. He palms the flesh of Tony’s ass, and Tony moans, scrubbing his forehead into the mattress below. His fingers fist the sheets on either side of his head. “Oh, darlin’. Have you ever touched yourself here?”

Tony nods, more than a bit desperate. His skin is flushed from his hairline to his toes.

“Uh, huh,” he admits. “In heat.”

Bucky makes a cooing, sympathetic sound behind him. His thumb presses into the give of his flesh, barely brushing along the rim of Tony’s wet, aching hole. Tony’s lungs collapse into his ribs. The whine he releases is loud, unhinged.

He truly, desperately hopes Steve Rogers is a heavy sleeper.

“Poor Omega. You touched yourself here this weekend, didn’t you? When you were all alone? Cryin’ for something bigger? Something to fill you up?”

Tony’s shocked laugh morphs into a choked hiccup. “Jesus, Buck.” He squirms against the Alpha’s touch. “Yeah. Yeah.”

He might die like this, he thinks.

“Did you think about me?”

Correction, he will die like this.

“Bucky,” he gasps. Color floods his cheeks. If he grips the sheets any harder in anticipation, he’ll tear them.

“Tell me, Tony.” Bucky’s voice has a sharper edge, now. Something darker, richer. “Did you think about me when you were fucking yourself with your fingers? When you were achin’ and wigglin’ to reach that soft spot inside you? Did you imagine it was me?” Bucky’s thumb hooks into the rim of his hole, and a gush of slick pours out. The Alpha’s scent blooms. “My fingers inside of you? My cock? My knot?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tony wails. He pushes his hips back to meet Bucky’s touch, desperate, but Bucky’s hand on his hip stills him. “Thought about you. Always—oh!—Always thinking ‘bout you.”

Bucky makes a low, pleased noise, leans over to kiss the dip of Tony’s spine, and then sinks his pointer finger inside Tony to the second knuckle.

Both boys curse.

Despite his nerves, Tony’s body is warm, willing. Pliant and softened by his heat. Bucky’s finger sinks into him like a stone in water, aided by the copious slick gushing out of his body.

“Baby doll. Jesus. So tight, so perfect.” Bucky sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. Tony can’t do anything but bite down on his pillow and take it.

Bucky works his finger into Tony slowly, praises spilling from his lips as Tony adjusts to the stretch of the unfamiliar digit. Longer and thicker than his own. Pushing into him at an unfamiliar, dizzying angle. Tony clenches around it greedily, his body adjusting so easily to the stretch that it craves.

It’s everything.

His resilient dick is rock hard against his stomach, grinding lazily into the mattress with each careful thrust of Bucky’s hand, but Tony doesn’t even register it. All of his focus, his entire existence is narrowed down to a fine point—to Bucky’s dexterous, practiced finger dragging in and out of him, his hole sucking in the intrusion greedily.

Tony can feel every nerve ending in his body. When Bucky’s finger finally pushes in all the way, nudging past the easy resistance of tight muscle up to the third knuckle, stars explode behind his eyelids.

“Ohhh,” Tony groans. “Oh my God. More. Alpha, More.”

Bucky laughs behind him, the sound tinged with disbelief. “How many have you had before, baby?”

The slow-moving cogs in Tony’s brain work to dissect Bucky’s question.

“Two,” Tony gasps. “Jus’ two.”

Bucky rewards him with a curl of his finger, and Tony’s back arches so much that Bucky has to use his own hips to hold Tony to the bed.

Tony can hear Bucky’s smug triumph. It pours into his scent.

“Two’s perfect. Two’s all we need.”

A second finger begins toying at his rim. Tony cries out in ecstasy.

“Easy. Easy. Just like that. Nice and relaxed for me, doll.”

Time becomes fluid, ebbing and flowing. Tony doesn’t know how long Bucky pumps a lone finger into him—unhurried, unrushed, letting the mewling Omega underneath him squirm and shake under the sensation as he continues to whisper filth into his mouth.

“I fucked my fist in the shower, thinking about this.” Bucky licks the sweat-dampened shell of Tony’s ear. “You were asleep, poor thing, all worn out from spilling all over my hand. I got myself off with you still on me, drippin’ all over my fingers. So fucking beautiful, sweetheart. I closed my eyes and pictured this—stretching out this poor, aching hole on my fingers. Making you come again, just from strokin’ inside you, all nice-like.”

Tony’s nodding frantically. He might be crying. He can’t tell if his face is wet from tears or drool.

“You’re better than a dream. So good for me like this, Tony. So sweet and perfect. You ready for another?”

“Please,” Tony begs. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Good boy,” Bucky husks, and then he’s biting into the skin at the crook of Tony’s shoulder the exact moment a second finger breaches Tony’s body. Tony jolts, and then lets out a keening wail.

“Fuck, Tony. You’re tight.”

He is, he knows it. But the stretch is wonderful; it’s exactly what he needs, exactly what he’s never able to give himself.

What his body is made for. Just for Bucky.

Desperate pleas spill from Tony’s lips—a warbled mixture of “Bucky” and “Alpha”—as Bucky works diligently to scissor his fingers inside of Tony as much as the tight space allows. Tony can only hear his breathing, can only feel the press of Bucky’s chest against his own sweat-slick back, but his Alpha sounds wrecked.

“Feelin’ good, honey?”

Tony makes an unintelligible noise, but thrusts his arm out beside him. Gives the Alpha a thumbs up.

Bucky barks out a laugh. Fond.

“Atta boy,” he praises. “Hang tight, doll.” He twists his wrist and thrusts deep. Crooks his fingers downward.

“Fuck!”

And then Bucky is cooing something about a sweet spot, assaulting it with the pads of his fingers with practiced aim and flawless pressure until Tony is writhing and sobbing and vibrating against the bed.

“Oh my god, Alpha, oh my god…”

“You sweet fucking thing, bet you didn’t even know how much you’d enjoy that.”

Tony is a man of science. He knows biology. He knows, in theory, about the existence of his prostate.

It doesn’t stop Tony from screaming out as Bucky fucks his fingers in and out, aiming for that soft spot each time and building Tony’s pleasure up to a speeding, frenzied crest.

He’s never been able to reach it himself. Has never known any pleasure as overwhelming that hasn’t derived from a hand on dick.

But this—Bucky’s fingers inside him, buried in the most intimate part of his body—he can’t help but preen. Revel. Succumb to the nature of his body, his designation. He ruts against the mattress and grinds subconsciously back into the force of Bucky’s fingers, making quiet “unh, unh, unh” sounds as the warm, indulgent feeling in his belly drags him further into that fuzzy headspace.

And Bucky gives it to him. The grip on his hip is ironclad as Bucky pumps his fingers with purpose, pulling choked-off, pathetic noises from Tony’s throat with each wet slide. And Bucky keeps cooing and murmuring sweet nonsense into the pheromone-rich air while he watches it all.

“Right there, right there. That’s it, that’s perfect. So good, so good for me. My gorgeous boy.”

Bucky tugs Tony’s hips upward and reaches underneath with his hand, presumably to assist in stroking Tony over the edge, but Tony whines and pulls away.

“Don’ need it,” he grits out. “Can—just like this.” He’s so, so close.

Bucky groans like he’s been shot. 

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. Just like this, baby. You’ll feel so much better when you come on your Alpha’s fingers. Come on, sweetheart, give it to me.”

And Tony is nothing if not obedient in heat. He listens to his Alpha.

A few more well-aimed thrusts and the whisper of a hand on the nape of his neck and he’s falling apart, coming untouched as the pressure in his gut snaps. Dick spitting white onto the sheets beneath him. Whimpering and mewling pathetically into the mattress, mouth gaping, tears spilling out of his eyes.

“Christ,” Bucky whispers, fucking him through it. His resolve sounds shaky. “Fucking hell, Tony.”

It just keeps going. Bucky rubs and rubs and rubs over that spot inside him that lights his nerve endings on fire, and Tony’s hole flutters greedily around his fingers, clenching like a vice. Luxuriating in the indulgence his body was made for. His orgasm drags out of him, come dribbling out the tip of his cockhead one last time as Bucky pushes his fingers in and presses.

Tony blacks out, after that.

6:11 A.M.

“What do you need?” Bucky asks, selfless and perfect. Dragging his hand through Tony’s curls.

Ready to provide again at the drop of a hat. Sounding genuinely pleased—God bless him—at the very notion, no less.

The echo of Bucky’s touch lingers everywhere. Tony glances up at his Alpha.

He’s leaning back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Entirely at odds with the visible tension thrumming through his body.

The hand not touching Tony rests on his thigh, clenched into a tight fist. Like he’s willing himself into control.

Tony’s gaze drifts lower again, back to the unmistakable strain in Bucky’s boxers, the sharp curve of arousal that makes Tony’s mouth go dry.

The Alpha hasn’t let Tony touch him once.

A new kind of yearning pulls at the thread in Tony’s stomach.

“Enough about me. What do you need?” Tony asks, his voice hoarse but tinged with something light. “You’re killing yourself over here, pal.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, but he shakes his head. “I’ll live,” he murmurs, his voice steady but noticeably rough around the edges.

Tony props himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, but will you? Because, uh—” He gestures vaguely toward Bucky’s lap, his tone turning shy. “You look like you’re one stiff breeze from a happy ending.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head again, but he doesn’t move.

Tony’s brow furrows. The teasing edge in his voice gives way to something quieter, a little more uncertain. “I can help. Why won’t you let me… you know, return the favor?” His cheeks blaze red at the thought.

Realistically, Tony wouldn’t even know where to start. He’s never seen Bucky’s cock, not unclothed, but he’s felt it. He’s pressed and moaned and writhed against it. He knows there’s a lot to work with—perhaps, even, close to double what Tony has to work with.

In length and girth.

He swallows thickly.

Bucky exhales slowly, his head tipping back against the headboard. “It’s not about that.”

Tony sits up fully now, the blanket pooling around his waist. He crosses his legs beneath him, momentarily forgetting his own roiling, turbulent need. “Okay. Then what’s it about?”

Bucky’s gaze flicks to him, his eyes flickering with something unidentifiable as he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Tony’s face. “It’s about you,” he says simply.

Tony’s stomach twists, the warmth from moments ago giving way to something colder, heavier.

“Me,” he echoes dully. “Yeah. Alright.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, his hand shifting to cup Tony’s cheek, his thumb stroking over the delicate, paper-thin skin beneath his eye. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist it into something it’s not.”

Tony huffs a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m not twisting anything, Eagle Scout. Just seems pretty clear you don’t want—”

“I want,” Bucky interrupts, his voice sharp enough to make Tony stop mid-sentence. “Jesus, Tony, I want so bad it hurts.”

Tony blinks, caught off guard by the rawness in Bucky’s voice.

Bucky lets out a slow breath, his arm lifting to prop behind his head. “But this isn’t about what I want. It’s about you. You’re still coming down from your heat, still raw, still figuring out how to let someone be here for you without feeling like you have to give something back.”

Tony’s lips part, but no words come out. He chokes on air.

Bucky’s gaze holds his, steady and unrelenting. “You’re not a transaction, sweetheart. You don’t have to earn this. You don’t have to earn me.”

Tony deflates.

“Stupid, noble Alphas,” he grouses, and before he can second-guess himself, he’s pushing the rest of the blanket away to clamor into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky lifts a brow but doesn’t say anything as Tony situates himself on top of him, ass pressing firmly into the intimidating splendor of his stubborn erection. Only separated by thin layers of flannel and cotton. He catches Tony easily, strong hands settling instinctively at his slim waist as if they were made to hold him.

“Tony, what are you—”

“Just… shut up for a second,” Tony says with no bite. He tucks himself into the Alpha’s chest, inhaling. Centering himself. He doesn’t say anything for several moments, just burrowing closer, his forehead resting against the curve of Bucky’s neck. The scent of him is stabilizing, and Tony lets himself get lost in it for a moment.

Bucky trails his fingers along his spine, patient.

“I know you just want me to feel good, baby,” Bucky whispers into the crown of his head, breaking the silence after a few short minutes. “And I do. I swear it. Helping you makes me feel good.”

Tony rolls his eyes and nips at Bucky’s collarbone. “You’re allowed to want an orgasm. It won’t traumatize me.”

“Honey, I have no clue what’s goin’ to traumatize you on any given day.”

“Fair.” Tony wiggles in his lap, prompting a hiss from Bucky. His fingers tighten around Tony’s waist. Tony grins, close-mouthed and sheepish. “I want to watch.”

Bucky freezes.

“Tony,” he says slowly. A warning.

“M’serious. Your steadfast virtue is duly noted. But I’ve come three times since getting dragged into your bedroom. If you try to get me off again, I might slip into a hormonally-induced coma.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky retorts. He’s smirking again. “You’re easy, honey. All I need to do is whisper a couple a’ sweet things at you and you’re putty in my hands. You’re forgettin’ that I can smell how much you need me. Bet I could get you over the edge again in two minutes, flat.”

Tony knows, albeit reluctantly, that this is likely true.

“Not the point,” he says diplomatically. He clears his throat.“As an Omega, I’m essentially biologically wired to want to please my Alpha. It’s basic science, actually.”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, that’s you alright. Textbook Omega.”

“I’m vulnerable right now. Super sensitive. If you deny me this, I might weep.”

Bucky tilts his head back, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re definitely something, ya brat.”

Tony grins, unabashed. “I prefer ‘resolute’. Emphasizes my convictions. S’much more flattering.”

“It’s not.” Bucky gives him a pointed look. “This is… a bad idea, Tony.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony says, swatting lightly at Bucky’s warm, olive-toned arm. “You’re acting like I’m gonna collect your sperm and sell it to the highest bidder. I just want to watch.”

Bucky snorts, his hands tightening on Tony’s waist. Composing himself. “You don’t see how this might be... unnecessary?” His voice lowers, his brow furrowing. “I don’t need this, Tony. You’ve already given me everything.”

Tony shrugs, all faux nonchalance. Inside, he’s buzzing. “We’re way past necessary, Buck. You laid siege to my prostate until I passed out. Watching is, like, a logical next step.”

Bucky’s jaw works, the conflict flickering in his eyes as he searches for the right words. “It’s not about whether I want it or not,” he finally says. “’Cause believe me doll, I do. God, I do. But this… chasing my own pleasure like that, when you’re still—” He cuts himself off, his throat bobbing. “It’s different for me. It’s… instinct. It’s raw. And I never want you to think that’s all I’m after.”

Tony’s teasing expression dissolves completely, but he doesn’t drop the subject. Instead, he leans forward, his nose nuzzling the hollow of Bucky’s throat. “I know that, Bucky,” he says quietly. “I do. But this? This isn’t about proving anything. It’s about… I dunno, being close to you. Letting me see you. Knowing I’m the one who makes you feel like that.”

His own honesty shocks him. He attributes it to pheromones and post-orgasmic glow. Making his tongue loose and aiding substantially in vocalizing his desires.

Bucky tips his head forward to rest against Tony’s shoulder. “You’re impossible, y’know that?”

“Impossible and curious,” Tony quips. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “Come on, Sergeant. Show me what you’re working with. Purely for science.”

Bucky groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. You win. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tony’s beam is wicked. “I’ll make it worth your while. Pose all pretty.” He twists gracefully out of Bucky’s lap and launches himself back onto the Alpha’s pillow, feeling entirely too pleased with himself. “And I promise to be very professional about this.”

Bucky huffs. “That’s one word for it.”

As the quiet moment stretches between them, Tony feels a tiny flicker of unease creep into his chest. He replays the conversation in his mind, wondering if he pushed too hard—if Bucky’s softening isn’t him giving in, but him giving up. The thought makes his stomach churn, a sudden pang of guilt knotting his insides.

“I—” Tony starts, bravado dissipating, the words tangling in his throat. He doesn’t even know what he’s about to say, just that he feels the sudden need to backpedal, to give Bucky an out, a way to say no.

But then Bucky is shifting, pushing up from his reclined position, and before Tony can blink, the Alpha is looming over him. The bed dips under his weight as Bucky settles his broad frame over Tony, bracketing him between solid arms. The heat of him is overwhelming, and Tony freezes beneath the intensity of his presence.

“Hey,” Bucky says, nudging Tony’s nose with his own. His steel grey eyes find Tony’s, and everything Tony sees in them makes his panic dissolve like mist under the sun. Bucky’s gaze isn’t strained or reluctant. It isn’t even hesitant.

It’s burning.

There’s a hunger there, deep and consuming, but tempered with the same steady warmth and vigilance the Alpha constantly radiates. There isn’t a single ounce of reluctance in the way Bucky looks at him, only need and affection so strong it almost steals Tony’s breath.

“Hey,” Tony says back. Barely a whisper.

Bucky’s breathing is heavy, shallow, but Tony can see the gleam in his pupils—the edge of something dangerous and beautiful.

He doesn’t have time to say anything, to question or analyze. Bucky’s mouth drops to his, deep and bruising and urgent, lacking the usual tenderness Tony’s come to expect. His lips press into Tony’s with the same force that radiates from every inch of him—muscles tense, chest heaving, the heat of his body engulfing Tony’s. It’s the kind of kiss that consumes, leaving no space for anything else in the world but the two of them.

Tony melts into it and moans.

His lungs spasm as Bucky's hand tangles in his hair, tugging him to the right angle, and Tony’s legs part instinctively. The bed creaks beneath them as Bucky shifts, the weight of him settling over Tony like a furnace.

“Open,” Bucky commands roughly, dragging his thumb across Tony’s bottom lip. He dives back in and Tony succumbs easily, shivering as he feels Bucky’s tongue plunge deep and take. He can’t fight the way his own body responds with an instinctive desperation that mirrors Bucky’s. Every touch feels like it’s been building for days, every movement between them drenched in the heavy, suffocating pressure of desire.

Through all of it, Bucky’s eyes—when they finally break away—glitter with something unspoken.

“Gonna touch myself, sweetheart,” Bucky says against Tony’s lips, voice ragged and raw. “Gonna show you what you do to me. How you make me feel, every damn minute of the day.”

Tony nods eagerly, chasing Bucky’s lips. Bright, cherry red and shiny with spit. Bucky pulls away, and he whines.

Bucky smiles, but it’s almost feral, a flash of teeth that sends a thrill coursing through Tony’s veins. “Desperate for it, huh?” His fingers run along Tony’s jawline, tracing the outline of his lips before brushing back through his hair to hold him still, a reminder of how easily he can take control. “To see your Alpha’s cock? His knot?”

If anyone knew just how desperate Tony was, they’d probably have him committed to the nearest mental institution.

“Tell me you want it, Tony,” Bucky breathes, pulling back just enough to look into Tony’s eyes. “Tell me you want this.”

Tony’s heart thunders in his chest, and it’s impossible to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, Buck. Yeah, God, I want it.”

Bucky groans. “Good.” He pulls back, sitting back on his heels. He’s painfully hard, a noticeable wet patch staining the fabric of his boxers where his cockhead strains. His hair falls into his eyes and his chest heaves, perfect expanses of smooth, sweetly tanned skin.

Tony’s never wanted anything more than he wants him.

He wets his lips. Drags his eyes to his Alpha’s crotch and clenches his thighs together.

And then waves a hand in the air for loose emphasis.

“Proceed,” he says, though it comes out like a wheeze.

Bucky gazes at him from under his eyelashes, the corners of his mouth twitching into a crooked smile. Tony’s favorite smile. He places his left hand on Tony’s knee, thumb caressing the skin, and dips the other hand into his boxers.

“This is what you do to me, Tony,” he rasps. He pushes the fabric past his hips, down to his knees, and Tony suddenly wishes the sunlight dipping through the window was softer. His eyes go wide, wide, his jaw dropping open to suck in a strong gasp.

He knew Bucky was going to be large. He’s felt it by now—straining through layers of fabric, mostly—but clearly imposing, nonetheless.

And it’s not like Tony has endless frames of reference. He’s seen his own dick, obviously—normal, average, if not a little on the smaller side due to his presentation. He hasn’t had time to be insecure about it, not with Bucky’s hands sending him to orbit every time he gets a decent grip on it.

He’s seen crude drawings in textbooks.

But Bucky’s cock is massive. Frames of reference be damned.

It curves against his stomach, shining at the tip, and when Bucky drags his fist down the length of it, the Alpha’s own long fingers hardly wrap around the circumference.

“Bucky,” he whispers, reverent. He squirms against the bed, and Bucky’s fingers tighten on his knee.

Be good.

Bucky doesn’t seem shocked by Tony’s stunned, awestruck gaze. Instead, his chin falls to his chest, hiding his smile. He gives himself another long, smooth stroke, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

Tony gapes. He wants to touch him. He wants to lick him.

Bucky’s cock is red. Angry from hours of neglect without release. Pre-cum gathers at the tip and Bucky swipes his thumb over the mess to ease the slide of his fist, shuddering at the sensation. His eyes, when they peer down at Tony, are black.

Tony lays immobile. Raptured.

Bucky lets go of Tony’s knee to press a thumb under Tony’s chin. Urging his mouth closed.

Something dark flashes across the Alpha’s weighted gaze, then. Something predatory.

His hand doesn’t drop. Instead, he cups Tony’s face near his jaw. Presses his thumb to Tony’s bottom lip until it gives.

The digit slips into his mouth. Bucky growls.

Tony knows they’re on the cusp of something dangerous. The air in the room, a mixture of their combined pheromones, suddenly feels electric. Charged.

“Before you, I hadn’t popped a knot since my last rut.” Bucky speaks in an octave Tony didn’t know he was capable of. A deep, throaty baritone. His fingers flex around himself as he increases the speed of his strokes, the tip of his cock leaking as it pushes past the ring of his fingers. Clear fluid gathers and spills down his knuckles.

Tony says nothing. Inhibited by the warm, salty pressure of Bucky’s thumb on his tongue.

“Then I met you. The most beautiful boy. Smelling—fuck—like a goddamn dream. I was done for, after that. I’ve popped a knot every time I’ve thought about you with my hand on my dick since.”

Tony’s own dick stirs in his underwear. He ignores it.

“Never knew I could do that before. Had only popped a knot when I—” The Alpha breaks off, hissing through his teeth as he squeezes around the base of his length. He tips his head up toward the ceiling, mouth parting in pleasure. Breaths ragged.

The implication is clear—Bucky had only been able to produce a knot during sex.

For whatever reason, this particular revelation doesn’t sour Tony’s snug and cozy headspace. Doesn’t pull him out of his rapt mesmerization.

His eyes widen, his breathing becoming shallow around Bucky’s thumb as Bucky groans and trembles, the Alpha’s lip tucking into his teeth as the skin of his flushed, leaking cock starts to swell at the base.

It’s obscene. Decadent. Bucky ignores the rapidly expanding knot, fingers gliding up and down the slick shaft as lewd noises fill the space between them. Bucky’s eyes snap to Tony’s, gaze ravenous, and Tony quakes when Bucky edges his thumb further into Tony’s mouth.

He doesn’t choke, but it’s a close thing. It takes superhuman levels of restraint to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head, Bucky’s thumb pressing heavily onto the back of his tongue. His hand gripping Tony’s jaw and keeping his mouth pried open.

If Tony drools a little, well. That’s between him and his salivary glands.

Bucky’s knot swells at the base, the size of a small fist, and the fleeting expression of panic that reveals itself in Tony’s expression (for the sake of his asshole, truly,) has Bucky smirking. He pulls his thumb out of Tony’s mouth, a line of spit dragging from Tony’s lip.

“You’re gonna break me in half,” Tony coughs out once his mouth is free.

Bucky laughs. Hoarse and rough. He wraps his fingers around the engorged flesh and moans, louder than Tony’s heard him so far, and the sound of it rattles something inside Tony’s bones.

“It’ll—oh—it’ll fit, doll. We’ll make it fit. You’ll take me so good, sweetheart. Fuck. I know it.”

And, well. Tony, with his mile-wide competitive streak, has certainly never shied away from a challenge.

So he nods, and whines, and sinks blissfully under the delicious weight of Bucky’s filthy assurances. “Want you to come,” he whispers, a little shy and still a little heat-stunned.

Bucky’s responding exhale is slow, controlled. His tongue darts out to wet his lip and his brow furrows. If Tony could move his limbs, he would smooth out the wrinkle with his thumb.

The Alpha leans down, his face so close that Tony can feel the heat of his breath. His knuckles drag across Tony’s belly as he drags his fist up and down. “Oh, you want me to come, huh?” His voice is a low, gravelly purr, and the sound sends a shiver down Tony’s spine. “Sweetheart, you gotta know—every time I come now, it’s for you. Always for you.”

Tony gulps. His face burns, but he doesn’t look away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“You have no idea, do you?” Bucky continues, his thumb circling the swollen knot, a strangled sound breaking from his throat. “This—God—this is yours, Tony. Everything I am, everything I got, it’s yours. You’re the only one who gets me like this.”

Tony’s lips part, but no sound comes out. He can only watch, utterly captivated as Bucky moves, deltoids flexing, dragging out his own pleasure like he’s savoring it.

The Alpha’s breath hitches, and he swears under his breath, his free hand bracing against the bed next to Tony’s head. “Christ, you’re so fucking pretty,” he rasps. “Just layin’ there, lookin’ at me like that. You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

Tony swallows hard, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Not my fault you’re a sucker for a pretty face,” he says shakily.

Bucky’s smirk widens, lazy and confident. The only sign of his dissolving composure is the flush on his cheeks, the steady increase of his breathing as he works his cock harder. Faster. “Pretty face, gorgeous everything else. I’ve told you, baby, you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Tony’s stomach does a weird little twist at the words. It’s a fluttery, almost nauseating feeling, and for a moment, he has to fight the urge to deflect with a quip. He’s saved from having to respond when Bucky’s moving again, sitting back, his fingers brushing against Tony’s thigh as he fucks his fist, slow and deliberate.

“God,” Bucky murmurs, his head tipping back just slightly, exposing the column of his throat. “You’re so good to me, you know that? Just sittin’ there, bein’ mine, lookin’ at me like you’re starvin’ for it. You make it so easy, Tony. So damn easy to lose my mind over you.”

The confession hits Tony like a lightning bolt, his breath catching in his throat as the raw, unfiltered emotion in Bucky’s voice wraps around him and holds him tight. There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s tone—something unspoken, something neither of them is quite ready to say.

Tony simply squirms, his hands finding their way to Bucky’s thighs, grounding himself in the solid warmth beneath his fingers.

“Alpha” he manages, begging a little, though his voice cracks on the word.

Bucky chuckles, low and warm. “Patience, doll. You’ll get your show. Can’t blame me for wantin’ to drag it out a little.” He bites his bottom lip, groaning as he picks up his pace, his hips jerking slightly in time with his hand.

The sight has Tony’s head spinning. Bucky, all broad shoulders and rippling muscles, flushed and wrecked in the best way. And all for him. The thought sends an electrifying shiver through him.

“You like watchin’ me, darlin’?” Bucky rasps, his voice thick with heat and amusement. His eyes, half-lidded but still sharp, find Tony’s. The intensity in them is magnetic, pulling Tony further into the spell of the moment.

Tony swallows hard. “Uh-huh.”

Bucky’s laugh is low and guttural. “Uh-huh,” he mimics, teasing. “Look at you, sweetheart. Always so eager for me. Even when you’re too wrecked to move.”

Tony nods faster. Eager, near-delirious.

Bucky must be able to see it, clear as day in his spellbound expression. His lips curve into a softer smile, and he lets out a shaky exhale. “That’s my boy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Tony. And then he’s leaning back. Basking fully in his own pleasure.

He’s… ethereal. Lean muscle and a shimmering sheen of sweat. Bathed in the soft morning sunlight, he resembles something carved by Michelangelo himself.

He shudders, his entire frame taut and trembling like a bowstring pulled to its limit. His hand moves faster now, more insistent, the slick sound of his strokes drowning out his ragged breathing. His pupils are blown wide, the stormy grey of his eyes swallowed by a darkness that burns with desire, and his flushed skin glistens.

“Fuck, Tony,” Bucky groans, his voice guttural and broken, every syllable drenched in raw need. His gaze remains locked on Tony’s as if he’s drawing every ounce of strength and urgency from the Omega sprawled beneath him. “You do this to me. Every—fuckin’—time.”

Tony’s breath punches out of his lungs, utterly transfixed. He can feel the heat rolling off Bucky in waves, each one igniting something deep and primal in his chest. Every flex of Bucky’s forearm, every roll of his hips, every hitch in his breath—it’s all for him. Because of him.

Bucky’s movements become erratic, his chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven rhythms. His head tilts back again, exposing the thick line of his throat, and Tony can see his pulse thrumming wildly beneath the skin. His jaw clenches as a sharp, savage moan tears free, and his entire body tenses, muscles locking in place like he’s bracing for impact.

And then it hits.

“Shit—Tony—”

Bucky’s hips jerk forward, his breath catching in a low, broken sound as the first thick pulse of his release hits his chin. His hand slows but doesn’t stop, purposefully avoiding his knot, dragging every ounce of sensation from his body as his chest heaves with the force of it. The flush on his skin deepens, spreading across his neck and up to his cheeks as he groans Tony’s name, reverent and wrecked.

Tony’s eyes widen as he takes it all in, his gaze flickering between the blissed-out expression on Bucky’s face and the way his muscles ripple with every aftershock. It’s mesmerizing, watching the Alpha unravel like this, so open and unguarded in a way that feels almost sacred.

Bucky’s free hand digs into Tony’s thigh, his grip bruising as he comes, and comes, and it goes on seemingly forever as copious amounts of release jet across his chest, his stomach, dripping down past his navel and pooling to his thighs. He rides it out, moaning Tony’s name like a prayer.

When his hand finally falls away after what feels like minutes, his body sags slightly as he catches his breath. His eyes flutter open, and the warmth in his gaze when it meets Tony’s is enough to send a fresh wave of heat pooling in Tony’s chest.

“Fuck, baby, look at that,” he slurs, glancing down at the mess he’s made of himself. “All for you.”

Tony doesn’t think, doesn’t pause, doesn’t wait for the haze of the moment to clear. Scorching, he just reaches out, his palms sliding up Bucky’s bare chest, the muscles still shuddering with aftershocks, and hooks his arms around the Alpha’s neck. With a tug that feels more instinct than thought, he pulls Bucky down.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and Bucky barely has time to brace himself before Tony’s lips are on his.

The kiss is messy, heated, and entirely uncoordinated. Tony can still taste the ragged breaths Bucky is fighting to catch, can still feel the lingering tremor in his Alpha’s frame as their mouths move together. It’s not perfect—Bucky is too unsteady, too drained—but there’s a raw, open tenderness in the way his lips slide against Tony’s, a kind of devotion that makes Tony feel like he’s being lit on fire from the inside out.

Bucky groans into it, low and throaty, his weight settling over Tony in a way that’s almost overwhelming. His chest presses against Tony’s, warm and sticky from the aftermath, but Tony doesn’t care. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, holding him there, deepening the kiss until it feels like the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Doll,” Bucky rasps, breaking away just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead dropping against Tony’s. His hands, broad and steady, cup Tony’s jaw, his thumbs brushing reverently over his cheekbones. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Pretty sure you’ve got it backwards, after that performance art.”

Bucky chuckles, a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through his whole body. His head dips, and he presses a softer kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth, lingering. There’s something unbearably gentle in the way his lips move there, as if he’s savoring every second, every inch of skin.

“You make me crazy,” Bucky murmurs, quieter now, as if the words aren’t meant to fill the space between them. His forehead presses against Tony’s, the bridge of his nose brushing Tony’s in a fleeting, tender gesture.

Tony swallows hard, his fingers threading through the damp strands of hair at Bucky’s nape, holding him close. The heat between them is still electric, still charged, but there’s something softer now, something that makes Tony’s chest ache. “Yeah,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I know.”

For a moment, they just stay like that—Bucky above him, Tony wrapped around him, the Alpha’s spend cooling between them as their breaths mingle in the heavy quiet of the room. It feels grounding, like the world has narrowed down to just this—just them. When Bucky finally tilts his head and kisses him again, slow and deep and consuming, it feels like a promise neither of them is quite ready to say out loud.

Bucky has to go to work.

It’s almost seven in the morning, and Tony would quite literally rather die than untangle himself from the Alpha.

Bucky shifts above him, his weight easing off slightly, and Tony tightens his arms around his neck in protest.

“Nope,” Tony says, muffled against the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re staying right here. Work’s canceled. World’s canceled. It’s you, me, and this bed until further notice.”

Bucky chuckles, his hand smoothing down Tony’s side in a slow, deliberate sweep. “Wish it worked like that, kid. Believe me, I do.”

“It does,” Tony argues, leaning back just enough to shoot Bucky a pointed look. “I’ve decided. Executive heat decision.”

“Is that right?” Bucky grins, his thumb tracing lazy circles against Tony’s hip. “Well, hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but my boss doesn’t exactly take orders from Omegas. Not even ones as cute as you.”

Tony groans, tucking his face back into the Alpha’s neck. “I’m devastatingly cute. I could charm a rock. Your boss wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Tony doesn’t need to return to school until Tuesday, officially, so it doesn’t require much arm-twisting from Bucky to convince him to remain in the apartment while he and Steve are gone.

Bucky sneaks out into the kitchen and returns with a warm washcloth, and Tony blushes profusely when the Alpha gently wipes them both clean.

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now, gorgeous.”

Tony’s body feels heavy in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant, like he’s been melted down and poured into the mattress. Every limb hums faintly, the echoes of his heat simmering just beneath the surface, but the overwhelming fire has cooled to something manageable. He feels warm, almost boneless, as if he’s finally surfacing from days spent at the mercy of his own biology.

The ache is still there—a dull, persistent reminder that his body’s instincts haven’t fully let go yet—but it’s bearable now. His muscles are tired, stretched in ways they haven’t been in a long time, but they feel used in the best way. Thorough. Satisfied.

His skin tingles faintly where Bucky’s hands had lingered—his jaw, his waist, his thighs—like the Alpha’s touch has left a permanent mark on him. Even now, with Bucky moving around the room, gathering his things, Tony feels the absence of his warmth like a chill he can’t quite shake.

He watches Bucky with half-lidded eyes, too lazy to move but too entranced to look away. The Alpha is dressed from the waist down now, but his shirtless torso gleams faintly in the early morning light. His movements are efficient but reluctant, his jaw tight as he sets a glass of water down on the nightstand. Tony can see it in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands linger over every task: Bucky doesn’t want to go.

The thought makes Tony’s chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with his heat.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bucky’s asks, rough with hesitation. He’s standing at the edge of the bed now, his cool-grey eyes scanning Tony like he might fall apart any second.

Tony snorts, letting his head loll to the side as he gives Bucky an easy smile. “I’m good, Buck. Seriously. Just tired. Go to work, contribute to society.”

The words are true—he is okay. The worst of it is over, and he’s coherent enough to take care of himself for a few hours. But there’s a part of him, buried deep, that wishes he wasn’t okay. That wishes he could use his lingering heat as an excuse to make Bucky stay, to keep him here just a little longer.

Tony doesn’t voice it, though. He knows Bucky would stay if he asked. Knows the Alpha would drop everything without hesitation to keep him company, to see him through every last second of this.

Still, when Bucky fusses—fills the glass after making Tony drink the whole thing, sets him up with a (third) pair of clean underwear—Tony doesn’t stop him. It’s sweet, in that achingly Bucky way, and Tony lets it happen because he likes it. Likes knowing that even when Bucky has to leave, he’s leaving a part of himself behind, a little piece of care that Tony can hold onto.

“You eat something while I’m gone, yeah? Kitchen is yours. Try not to set anything on fire.”

“Is that supposed t’be a joke about my cooking?”

Bucky lingers, his hands twitching like they don’t know where to go, and for a moment, Tony almost calls him back. Almost asks him to crawl into bed, to wrap his arms around him, to hold him just a little longer.

Instead, he reaches out, fingers brushing Bucky’s wrist as the Alpha turns to leave. “I’m fine, Buck,” he says, his voice gentler now. “I’ll go bother Steve until he has to leave. Go, I’ll be here when you get back.”

Bucky kisses him as he’s heading out the door. “Be good.”

“Sure. Always.”

Steve finds Tony shortly after that, sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in Bucky’s clothes and Bucky’s quilt.

Screwdriver in hand. Fixing the toaster.

[hford0311]

Swooning: A Stark Christmas Party

Wake up, Endgame/Infinity War Never Happened. Steve and Tony forgave each other.

Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader

You twirled your hair as you pretended to listened to Rhodey's most recent mission recap. "You know, you could at least look like you were interested," Tony whispered directly into your ear from behind the couch. You gasped, surprised by his appearance, "Jesus, Tony!" You snapped. "What? I thought you had super powers or something like that?" He teased, plopping besides you on the couch. You rolled your eyes. "Ah, yes, because my telekinesis can definitely predict and prevent me from being scared from someone whispering in my ear without a warning. What was I thinking?" Tony smirked, "Well, you definitely not thinking about Rhodes' story." "You got me there."

***

"Why...just tell me why again?" You asked Thor after a few drinks. "Everyone else did it at one point, now, it's your turn." He was of course referring to picking up his hammer. "Yeah, no, I'm good." You brushed it off. "Couldn't hurt to just try. You don't even have to use your hands, use your mind!" He was very enthusiastic trying to persuade you. "I'd rather..." your thought trailed away as you noticed Steve, Bucky, and Sam gather around the pool table. "Uh, Y/n?" Thor noticed your attention shift. "Another time." You responded and walked to the edge of the loft to get a better view of the game.

"I've seen that look before." Natasha mentioned to you. "Which is..." "You're telling yourself that you're not swooned, but you totally are." You rolled your eyes in response. "Don't roll your eyes, you know it's true." You huffed, "I don't think I've ever swooned." "Call it what you want, I just know that's what he'll probably call it. You swoon. You're a swoon-er." Her smirk grew more. "Natasha-" "Anyone can tell...besides you...and him." Her head tilted towards the man that she referred to, "Isn't it true, Tony?" She called to the man walking up the stairs. "Oh for sure...what are we talking about?" He responded, now joining your company again. "Y/l/n and Barnes." "Yeah, they purposefully avoid each other and it's not because of hatred." He smoothly replied. "We do not-" "God, the attitude tonight. Keep it up and you're not invited to my wedding." Tony cut you off. "Fine, what do I need to prove that I'm not avoiding him? Hmm?" You offered up. Nat and Tony shared a look. "Go help him win his game of pool. Start there." Tony answered. You scoffed, "I can do that from here...in my sleep." Nat made a face, "Start there...but in a six foot distance from him." You sighed and walked down to the trio of men in front of the pool table.

You leaned against one of the nearby beams. Humming along with whatever the current Christmas tune was playing, you would occasionally twist your wrist to make the ball sink into the hole without the other men notice.

What movement you didn't notice was the pair that made you get close and begin their true scheme. Just had to move a few decorations around. Nothing out of the ordinary....right? "You better pay up if this doesn't work." Nat threatened Tony as they lowered the mistletoe down the hook that just happened to be a few feet above from one of their persons of interest.

"Okay! This is rigged!" Sam exclaimed a few more pocketed balls from Bucky later. Steve tried to calm the man. "No, he seriously hasn't missed one over the last few-" "I know...I know." Steve tried to say more then Sam noticed you. "Oh! I get it now." A grin grew on his face. Steve and Bucky gave him a confused look. "Damnit, Sam!" Tony growled under his breath. "What? Afraid you'll lose?" Nat smirked at her chances of winnings.

"I didn't do anything," you defensively lied, "can't a girl just watch a poorly played game of pool?" Sam rolled his eyes, and Steve pulled him away from the situation. "I got my eyes on you." Sam somewhat-seriously joked. You sighed and took another sip of your drink. "Come on, Barnes, take the bait. Go to the pretty girl." Nat quietly encouraged from a distance.

Bucky gave you a small, shy smile. You exchanged the same. "Didn't happen to mess with my chances, did you?" His eyebrows quirked up. "Oh, no, definitely not," you shook your head with a bit of mischief in your eyes. Another sip. He hummed, not entirely believing you. "You're telling me your metal arm can't beat Sam Wilson in a game?" Bucky chuckled and was inches away from you. He leaned into your ear and whispered, "You realize we have two people spying on us?" You sighed and nodded, whispering back, "They think we're swooning and avoiding each other." You admitted. Another small smile grew across his face. "Well.... are we?" You looked down, heat raising to your cheeks. "Maybe," you shyly responded.

After a silent minute, Sam walked by, tapped Bucky's shoulder, pointed to up the mistletoe, and then rejoined Steve and their conversation that definitely didn't involve the two of you. The pair of you looked up at the plant then at each other. "Mistletoe's tradition of being kissed under hasn't changed right?" Bucky asked. You giggled and shook your head. He tilted your chin up and leaned in. A soft kiss. He pulled away, looking at you, "I don't think maybe was a strong enough answer." You wrapped your arms around his neck, Bucky's arms wrapped around your waist, bridging the few inch gap even more, and several more kisses came.

"That's one bet settled. Wanna make another one?" Natasha asked Tony. "Yeah, no." Tony denied. "Oh c'mon, this one brought two people together." Nat countered. "We'll leave it at that. I never want to walk in on something that I shouldn't have." Tony said while finding a new person to talk to.

"Are the spies still looking?" You whispered into his ear. "No. Their mission must be completed." He answered, his blue eyes starring into yours. "Good. I'm tired of the audience." His flesh hand slipped between yours. "I can think of many places where there isn't one." Bucky whispered with a smirk and started to guide you away from the party-goers.

[six-of-snakes]

steve/tony/bucky au pls?

Steve/Tony/Bucky AU - Part 6

"Stark," he says, and then he pauses, looking Tony over, "You're not okay." "I'm fine," Tony says. He yanks his sleeves down as he puts the machinery aside, "What do you need?" Steve looks at him with those damn gray-blue eyes, like he's trying to see into the depths of Tony's mind. "Not mentally," he says, "I know you aren't, and I know you're going to lie about it. I just meant - you're hurt." "I'm not," Tony snaps, and he shouldn't feel so afraid, but this has been his secret for so long, and he hates people knowing about his weaknesses. "Sir has already dealt with his injuries," JARVIS cuts in, and Tony glares up at the ceiling. "Mute," he snaps. JARVIS ignores him, the bastard. "I am simply keeping the Captain updated on the status of his team, sir." "Well, you can stop doing that," Tony retorts, "Mute." He figures it worked, because JARVIS doesn't say anything more. "So," Steve says, "You are injured." Tony glares at him. "It's been dealt with, Cap. What do you need?" Steve doesn't look convinced, but he gives Tony the rundown from their post-mission inventory: who needs new supplies, what tweaks would be helpful, what SHELD is asking for him, and on, and on, and on. Tony nods along and pulls up diagrams as Steve talks, and when he's done, he almost thinks he'd forgotten about it. Almost. The Steve says, "You know you have to report injuries on missions to SHIELD, right? And if you don't, I have to do it for you?" "I know," Tony says stiffly, "It wasn't- It was an accident in here." Steve doesn't look like he believes him, but he nods anyways. "Be more careful, then," he says, and then lets himself out. Tony hates him, but he owes him, now, and he doesn't like how that feels.

[cowboylikeyouu]

sometimes i have the urge to write an avengers actors AU that i don't take seriously at all, and just make a series of crack oneshots out of it where every installment is just one of those funny interview formats, like:

wanda & pietro maximoff answer the web's most searched questions

natasha romanoff & clint barton take the lie detector test

tony stark | chicken shop date

natasha romanoff | chicken shop date

steve rogers reads thirst tweets

steve rogers & bucky barnes test their friendship

cast of [movie they're all in together] test how well they know each other

bucky barnes & clint barton | actors on actors

tony stark & clint barton argue over the internet's biggest debates

wanda maximoff & natasha romanoff compare their imdb pages

bucky barney, sam wilson, & steve rogers play 'never have i ever'

bruce banner & natasha romanoff | actors on actors

tony stark & steve rogers | actors on actors

bucky barnes & clint barton: the puppy interview

etc.

etc.

and bc i'm annoying it would obviously evolve into a winterhawk fic somehow, but just like... sprinkled across different interviews. just imagine them being paired up for actors on actors and it's SO obvious that clint hasn't seen bucky's recent movie and bucky isn't offended but he finds it way too funny and then just starts getting everything wrong about clint & his movies on purpose to fuck with him, and everyone in the comments (bc obviously i would be writing out youtube comment sections) is arguing about whether they have chemistry or not (bucky & steve are besties and a part of the internet has been shipping them for years, so these people obv are winterhawk antis). and then (after a bunch of random interviews with some of the characters who already knew each other & worked on a movie together) all the avengers get casted in a movie together and THEN the press tour madness starts and they get to do all these fun group interviews & shit. tony & steve start hooking up and the internet somehow finds out so the road's clear for all the winterhawk girlies😼 idk a lot of flirting in interviews, a lot of side remarks from the rest of the cast, and bc i'm VERY annoying and it's all i need in life, it all would end with the clint & bucky puppy interview (they're already dating at that point and they kinda confirm it in that interview) and one of the puppies is lucky & clint obviously tries (& succeeds) to adopt him :3

[literaryavenger]

Obsessed

Summary: Your crush on Bucky may be getting out of control.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: Dramatic Reader. Language. Angst. Fluff. My poor attempts at being Funny.

Word Count: 1.4K I'm physically incapable of making anything short.

A/N: I wrote this in like 2 hours and I don't even know what this is, just... Yeah.

Masterlist

This is terrible.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone. It's just the most horrible, dreadful, awful thing that could’ve ever happen to yo-

“Would you stop staring at him for fuck's sakes!” Natasha's hissed words make your eyes snap to her and finally away from the metal armed Supersoldier lifting weights. Shirtless.

You don't know when Bucky stopped feeling self-conscious enough to allow him to workout in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, but it has become literal torture for you.

Needless to say, Bucky's current level of undress is making it impossible for you to concentrate on the stretching you're supposed to be doing before your sparring match with Natasha.

But your very thoughtful and not at all exasperated friend makes sure to keep your attention on her during the entirety of our match by thoroughly kicking your ass.

What a lovely best friend you have.

Anyways.

Your entire mood shifts with one not intentionally overheard conversation. Steve enters the gym and goes straight to Bucky, who was putting his weight set down.

“She’s here!” Is all the blonde says to his friend and your heart stops at the way Bucky’s face lights up with a smile, not needing any more information before following Steve out of the gym.

She’s here? Who the fuck is she? Does Bucky have a girlfriend? And most importantly, she’s here? In the Compound?

Natasha can almost see the gears turning in your brain as you make no attempts to move from the mat after she knocked you on your ass for the hundredth time today. You didn’t even seem to notice her hand offering you help to get up, your eyes still looking where Bucky was just a moment ago, staring at nothing in particular while your brain drowns in your overthinking.

Natasha sighs and decides to end the match here, kneeling down in front of you and placing her hands on your shoulders, shaking you gently to snap you out of it.

“Don’t overthink this.” She tells you when she’s sure she has your attention. “It’s probably just a friend visiting.” She tries to comfort you, but you both know that’s highly unlikely. 

Bucky has no other friends outside the team. He doesn’t know how to talk to civilians anymore after everything he’s been through, and gave up trying to after the hundredth time he saw fear in a person’s eyes just by recognizing him. So his friend circle now includes the team and the agents of SHIELD that are not intimidated by him. Point is, every friend he has already lives in the Compound.

So who the fuck is here just to see him? 

Natasha can see that this is a lost battle, your eyes barely concentrating on her as you start drowning in your mind again. All she can do when you’re like this is try to distract you and keep you out of your head. So she takes your hand and helps you up, leading the way to the common room to watch one of your beloved romcoms together, because that’s how much she loves you.

Big mistake.

“Y/N! Y/N!” The excited high-pitched voice came just seconds after you set foot in the common room. And that’s about the only warning you got before the excited 5-year-old jumped on you, your reflexes thankfully quick enough to catch her.

“Hi, Maguna!” You say while chuckling as the little girl hugs you. “You seem excited today. Did you get into the sugar cabinet again?”

Morgan giggles at your joke and shakes her hand before taking your face in her little hands and dramatically saying, “No! A princess came to visit uncle Bucky! A real princess.”

You frown, confused at what she’s talking about, before you look around the room and finally notice everyone else in it. Pepper and Tony are on the couch, looking at you lovingly as you interact with their daughter.

You love Morgan, she’s like a little sister. You never miss an opportunity to babysit her and you spend as much time with her as you can. She also loves you, out of all the Avengers you’re her favorite, much to everyone’s dismay. She calls them all ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, but you’re just Y/N. You’re her big sister, you don’t need a title. Which is why you're the only one other than Tony allowed to call her 'Maguna'.

Then you notice the other people in the room: Steve, Bucky and… Shuri. The fucking Princess of Wakanda, standing in the common room of the Avengers Compound and just smiling at you as you carry Morgan.

You’ve never met Shuri, but you know she played an important part in deprogramming the Winter Soldier out of Bucky, and you’re grateful to her for it. She’s important to Bucky, and you can’t believe you forgot Bucky has Wakandan friends.

You put Morgan down on the ground again and the little girl takes your hand and aggressively steers you towards where Steve, Bucky and Shuri are standing, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of a real life princess.

“Hi, I’m Shuri.” She offers you her hand when you get close enough and you shake it with your free hand while introducing yourself.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause and you’re about to say the first thing that pops into your head when Morgan thankfully saves you by pulling on your hand, making you look at her. She tells you to come close and, chuckling, you kneel beside her so she can whisper conspiratorially in your ear.

“She’s a princess and she’s really pretty, but I still like you better.” She whispers and you can’t help but laugh.

God, you love this little girl.

You smile brightly at her and launch a tickle attack, her adorable giggles filling the room as everyone looks at you two with warm smiles.

Your attention is solely on Morgan, until you unintentionally hear the whispered conversation between Shuri and Bucky.

“So, this is the girl, huh? She’s pretty.” Shuri says and your heart skips a beat. 

You glance at them as discreetly as you can while still tickling Morgan, only to find Bucky looking at someone behind you. You turn around less carefully and see Sharon just entered the room, and she's also looking at Bucky with a smirk. You quickly return your attention to Morgan, but your mind is going a thousand miles a minute.

Of course he’d like someone more like Sharon. She’s pretty, she’s talented, she’s a total badass and she’s not afraid to go after what she wants.

She’s not a mass of anxiety in the shape of a woman that overthinks everything and becomes a flustered mess every time she’s even near Bucky.

It’s time to admit it to yourself: Bucky just doesn’t see you like that and you need to move on. 

Natasha is right, your obsession with Bucky needs to end.

What you don’t see is Bucky almost glaring at Sharon because he knows damn well why she’s smirking. She came in just before Shuri whispered to Bucky, when he was very intent on looking at you with heart eyes as you played with Morgan.

Just before you looked at him, Bucky noticed Sharon and he had to hold in a groan at her because he knows that she’s never gonna let him live this down.

Both Sharon and Steve have tried really hard to convince Bucky that you like him back and he should make a move on you. But Bucky, being as stubborn as they come, never believes them.

He obviously makes you uncomfortable, you’re always stuttering when he’s around and you avoid eye contact whenever possible. He’s just glad that you can stand his presence enough for the two of you to work together when necessary and to hang out with the rest of the team without problems.

So he just enjoys looking at you from a distance. He loves watching you play with Morgan and his thoughts always run wild with images of you playing like that with kids that are yours and his.

But he knows that’s never going to happen. Why would you like a damaged, PTSD ridden soldier that can’t even make it through the night without waking up from a nightmare? No, that’s definitely not your type.

Bucky accepts the truth: He doesn’t deserve you and you don’t see him like that anyways. 

It doesn’t matter that Sam thinks he’s obsessed, that won’t stop him from looking at you whenever he’s lucky enough to get a glimpse of his little ray of sunshine.

Requested taglist: @vicmc624 @matchat3a @nerd-without-a-cause @sapphirebarnes @cjand10 @mostlymarvelgirl @julvrs @blackhawkfanatic @lillianacristina @armystay89 @imdoingbetternow @spookyparadisesheep @elizalexwil @aceofhearts25 @dontworryboutitsweetheartxx-blog @justab-eautifulmess @buggy14 @thedonswife13

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Bosses AU

The Devil Wears Armani | Tony Stark

1 💼 2 💼 3 💼 4 💼 5

Office Space | Nick Fowler & Jonathan Pine

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Monster, Inc. | Lloyd Hansen

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Code of Conduct | Steve Rogers

1 💼 2 💼 3 💼 4 💼 5

Backburner | Sam Wilson

1 💼 2 💼 3 💼 4 💼 5

Paradigm Shift | Bucky Barnes & Loki

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Unorthodox | Captain Syverson

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[ramp-it-up]

Sugar, Cubed II:

Simple Sugar

Summary: I revisited Sugar and the boys from the Sugar is Sweet séries, and let me tell you. Bucky and Steve sure have grown up from their college days. They are no longer playing around. And they are coming for you. You're forced to be roommates with Steve again. But you can establish boundaries. It'll be simple, right?

Word Count: 3K

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader; mention of Bucky Barnes x Reader; boss Tony Stark x reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Roommate/Co-worker au, S MUT! Angst, Tony is a shit boss, massive debt. forced proximity. Tattoo talk, Steve apologizes, accidental, then purposeful voyeurism, reference to porn and sex toys, masturbation, talk of impotence, raw p in v, rough sex, dirty talk, lots of cum, eventual polyandry. Basically, you are doomed. Porn with plot.

A/N: This is related to the Sugar is Sweet au, but can be read alone. This is part two to Sugar, Cubed. The next part is soon come! I hope you like it. This is part of Falloween 2024.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

——

After three days of calling in sick, you were summoned for a sit down with Mr. Stark. 

This was not a, ”have a drink while Black Sabbath plays and you admire Tony’s t-shirt as he rambles” type of chat. This was, a “let’s review the terms of your contract in the boardroom with suits” type of meeting.

Tony’s eyes admired you in your silk blouse and pencil skirt as you arrived, then watched you pointedly at you as you reviewed the numbers on the page.

Half a million for your bachelor’s and masters degree at NYU. Almost as much for housing. Not to mention the penalty for breaking your contract early. Even if you were paid a pretty penny and you had a ton of savings, you’d still be digging yourself out of a hole for the rest of your life if you quit.

Tony Stark owned your ass.

But you were on the verge of not caring.

“I know, you are over your current working situation, Sugar. But I still believe in you. I believe in the team of BuckySugarSteve.”

You gave him a confused look.

“Still trying to find a hashtag, look that doesn’t matter. It’s come to my attention that a certain plucky Bucky took things a little too far the other night. I’m sorry you had to deal with that on my watch.”

Tony looked sincere. But you eyed him warily.

“Thinking back on what you said last week, I now agree that you need a break. So I’m sending you to the Tokyo lab. But only for a limited time.”

“How long?”

Tony stood and turned his back on you, looking out over the Hudson.

“Depends on the progress made on the project there.” 

You stared at his back and his jet black hair and chewed your lip. You wanted out from the tension between the three of you. But there had to be a catch.

“What does the work entail?”

Tony turned back around with a smirk and explained the research and answered a few more questions from you. It seemed right in your skill set. Tony sat back down and crossed his ankle over his leg while he templed his fingers. He stared at you over the conference table.

“So what do you say Sugar?”

“I’m in.”

—--

You should have asked more questions.

Rage boiled inside you as you put up the partition on your business class seat and you typed away angrily on your phone. You shouldn’t have been surprised that your seatmate was Steve Rogers, but you were.

You just cursed as he greeted you and pulled out your phone as the flight attendant gave you the stink eye. Steve arrived just at the doors were closing. And there was no escape.

You wanted to throw your phone after you saw Tony’s response.

“I said you needed a break from Barnes, not Rogers. Suck it up and enjoy your time in Japan. Check out the expense account and your digs in Asakusa. You have to share, because space is at a premium in Tokyo, but you’ll survive.”

You didn’t bother to click the links that Tony sent. The living arrangements were sure to be top notch and the money was probably going to be great, but living with and working next to Steve was not what you were looking forward to. 

You popped a sleeping pill and tried to sleep most of the 14 hour flight. After managing to get some rest, you were not as rude to Steve when you had to put down your partition. Luckily, he didn’t try to speak to you and you deboarded the plane and got your luggage and to your driver without incident.

When you got to your place, you were impressed, but anxious. 

The place was modern and well placed within walking distance of the trains, but Tony was right. Your apartment in New York was twice the size of this place, and it was only you. 

You went to investigate the sleeping situation. There were two small bedrooms and they were right next to each other. Only one had an en-suite.

You were chewing your lip, deep in thought when Steve interrupted reverie. His voice was hoarse from half a day of not being used.

“It’s close quarters, but I will make it so you don’t even know I’m here.”

You turned around to see Steve standing in the doorway of the room you’d silently called dibs on.

He looked like a kid, in his rumpled t-shirt and hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. You almost felt something.

But not quite.

“Look, Sugar. I’m sorry. I really am. What happened in the elevator was… Bucky’s got a lot going on–”

He stopped once he noticed that you had stiffened up at Bucky’s name.

“Don’t make excuses for him. If you want to apologize, take responsibility for what you’ve done. Or not done. On. Your. Own.”

You sat on the ground and opened up your suitcase. Steve watched you as you started to unpack, thoughtful.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t punch him in the mouth to shut the jerk up.”

You just shook your head, refusing to smile, even though you thought about it.

“And I am so very sorry for lying to you. No matter what the reason. I should not have done that.”

You looked up at him and you could see Steve’s adam’s apple bob in his throat multiple times. His nervous tell. But you continued to look him in the eye.

“You were right to react the way you did. And you’re right to want to be as far away from u- me as you want to be. I’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to me and it was entirely my fault.”

You had to break eye contact then. You didn’t want to cave. You turned the sweater you were folding over and over in your hands. You could hear Steve take a deep breath.

“I just want–”

He cleared his throat again.

“Shit, I want a lot of things, Sugar, but I hope we can be cordial, friends even? We used to be friends. We're in a new city, a new country, a new continent. We can have a lot of fun together.”

You looked back up at him.

“Like we used to?”

“A lot has happened since ‘we used to,’ Steven.”

His shoulders slumped.

“Well, I will stay out of your way.”

He turned around to get out of your space and you felt a pang of some kind of emotion that you did not want to name.

“Hey.”

Steve stopped and turned around, his face guarded.

“I’ve been on a plane for an entire day, and I just want breakfast even though it’s 4pm here. I think I’m hangry. Let me think about it.” That smile. Oh, if you still had a heart, he might do something to it.

“I think I saw some eggs and American breakfast fixins in the fridge. I’ll make you an omelet.”

Steve knew you were a slut for breakfast. Among other things.

—--

After eating and chatting, you conceded that you did want a shopping partner; you planned to hit up all the thrift stores and you wanted someone to take day trips with on the weekend. You decided on a truce. It may have been food induced, but you thought that you could set good boundaries with Steve, so you lay down some ground rules.

Steve agreed to everything you said.

After trying to stay up as long as you could, you were ready to turn in for the night. You had a couple of days before you needed to report to the lab, so you and Steve decided to explore your neighborhood and maybe do some touristy things, since Tokyo Tower and the Asahi brewery were right outside your window.

And then it happened. 

You were minding your own business after your shower, in your thin cotton tank and sleep shorts, going to the kitchen to fill your water bottle. Suddenly, the hallway door opened and you ran into Steve coming out of the bathroom, naked except for a towel slung low on his waist and beads of water running down the planes of his extremely well made torso.

He almost ran into you.

“Oh, shit Sugar, I’m sorry….”

You’d stopped short and were staring at his left pectoral. There was new ink on the golden boy’s body. 

And you couldn’t believe it.

Among the beads of water diving down his body to disappear under the towel, because why wouldn’t they, there was a chemical formula. And you couldn’t believe which one it was.

“How long have you had that?”

You were staring, and your hand reached out to touch it, but you pulled back before you made contact. You looked up into his eyes and then back down at the tattoo because you didn’t want to drown in his eyes like you used to. 

But it seemed kind of inevitable now.

Sometime in the six months that you’d been broken up, Steve had gotten the compound for simple sugar tattooed on his body, (CH2O)x

“Sugar–”

“How long?”

You whispered it. And then dove into the blue depths of his eyes again.

“Two weeks after we broke up.”

His voice was impossibly deep, and threatened to reach places that you wanted to be unreachable. But you didn’t ask why.

“What was the thought process behind that decision, Steve?”

You didn’t ask why. But you needed to know the reason.

“Because it’s pretty simple, Sugar. You just wanted honesty. And if I had been honest, maybe we’d still be together. So I got this tattoo to remind myself that this is all I have left of the girl I loved the most. So maybe when I fall in love again, I won’t be such an idiot.”

“Wow.”

You reached out again and touched the tattoo. It had been right over his heart, without you knowing, for the better part of half a year.

Steve’s eyes stuttered closed and he drew in a sharp breath when you touched him.

“Sugar. You gotta know how…

You shook your head, blown away and rocked by what he said. Mostly the “when I fall in love again” part. You don’t know why that phrase echoed around your head.

“I’ve got to tell it all. Sugar, I thought in the back of my head that if you knew Bucky was hurt, that you’d go back to him.”

You closed your eyes, not wanting to sympathize with this grown ass man who lied to you so hard about someone you both loved, but you understood.

“So I lied, partly because he asked me to. But mostly because I was trying to keep you to myself.”

You sagged against the wall, still touching him, fingers grazing the mark that he’d made on his body for you. Steve followed you, not wanting the contact to end, and stood before you in the narrow hallway, naked except for a towel. He was closer than you’d allowed him to be in a while.

Finally, you looked up at him.

“You’re right, It is simple. I just wanted honesty. I wouldn’t have abandoned you for Bucky, Steve.”

Steve moved impossibly closer as his eyes flicked down your body. You remembered he had it memorized. Your chemistry was amazing. Not just the formula tattooed on his skin, but the draw of you to him, and him to you. You weren’t over that.

But you wanted to be.

One of Steve’s hands was on his towel, and the other was above your head. You were looking up at him and he down at you, and it was the perfect moment to kiss. But he didn’t make another move. You looked down and noticed that his towel had changed shape.

“Sugar…”

You looked him in the eyes again. It was all up to you.Your breathing was erratic and your panties were damp. Reaching up, you put your hands up on his pecs again. 

This time to push him back. 

“I think we need some rest.”

Steve backed up, toward his bedroom.

“Right. We need…”

Your need was mighty. But you weren’t giving in. You took a deep breath.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Sugar.”

—-

You breathed a sigh of relief at your narrow escape and went in the kitchen to drink water and cool down. You mindlessly scrolled your phone for a few minutes and decided that you were calm enough to go to sleep. You glanced at Steve’s door as you opened yours, and you just had to stop.

His door was cracked just enough so you could see Steve sprawled on his bed, towel still on, still tented, and he was scrolling on his phone. He looked delicious, from the tattoo on his pec to his tiny tan nipples to his amazing abs and the trail of hair pointing to the large cock that you had memorized, and which was standing at attention under his towel. 

He looked good enough to eat. And you had plenty of times. But those days were over.

You bit your lip as he rubbed his erection over the towel, and moved closer as he groaned a little bit.

Was he looking at porn?

You totally understood his frustration after what happened, and he was in the privacy of his own room, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. You felt guilty but you continued to watch him touch himself. 

And as you wanted to touch yourself.

You stared at his open door as suddenly, the towel came off, and he was naked, and stunningly aroused, his face pure lust.

Steve Roger’s cock was gorgeous. 

Your memories were nothing like the reality of him, thick and curved against his abs. He gripped the shaft, stroking it. Your hands found one of your nipples in the now-dark hallway, imagining kneeling for him.

You dreamed of his cock in your mouth and could practically feel yourself swirling tongue over his head and worshiping him as he told you what to do. The sensation him deep in your throat and letting him use it took over you.

You pinched your nipple tighter as he casually jerked himself off. You felt dirty, thinking how he’d feel knowing that you were watching him like this. 

Would he be mad?

Or…

Stifling a whimper, you slid a hand into your shorts, smearing your wetness over your clit to trace fast, tight circles there. You hadn’t had anyone but electronic lovers and plastic since you broke up with Steve. And here he was, giving you a show. 

You needed to see it. You wanted to see Steve cum, erupt, spill over his large, veiny hand, cream all over those abs. You moaned slightly as you imagined sucking it off those places.

His hand blurred on his shaft. Your clit hardened as you remembered his thick dick penetrating you, him fucking you well, calling you beautiful…

“Christ, Sugar, make me so hard. Take me so well. Cum with me Sweetheart…”

You were almost there and suddenly, Steve stopped. He got up, let go of his dick, walked to the light switch, give yon a look, and then plunged the room into darkness. 

Then he closed the door.

You practically jumped into your room, pacing, shocked and excited, thoughts in a jumble.

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your shorts.

It was a text from Steve.

“If you want more, just open my door. It’s unlocked. You can have anything you want. I want you. What do you want, Sugar?”

You are propelled into the hallway, to his door, hesitating only a moment. You’re just going to talk to him. Apologize. Tell him you would never do it again. 

You were in his room now and the Tokyo moon cast shadows over his sleek torso. He was covered by the comforter, but you knew he was still hard.

“I always loved you in just tank tops. Those nipples are just begging to be sucked.” 

His deep baritone made you launch yourself toward him. Steve caught you in his arms, both of you bouncing on the bed from the impact.

“What it’s gonna be, Sugar? What do you want?”

You are taking his hands and molding them to your breasts, throwing the covers off and straddling his thighs. You pulled your shorts and panties to the side so you could feel the slide and ridge of his cock catch on your clit as you slipped over him.

It felt electric.

“I want you Steve. Fuck it all. I want you.”

You’ve lost your mind. You’re creaming on his dick as his big, strong arms held you steady and you humped him like a mad woman. 

“Fuck, it’s been so fucking difficult being hard as a rock all day working next to you in the lab, you ignoring me, and then not being able to get it up for anyone else…”

You were irrationally angry.

“Mine.”

You grabbed Steve’s cock and moved your thighs, lifting up and pushing his fat head into your cunt. You glared at him as you slowly sunk down on him, his thick shaft slowly opening you up.

It hurt so good. 

Your head lolled back on your neck as Steve pulled your tank top down and started brutally sucking your nipples. 

“Fuck yeah, it’s yours. Fit me like a fucking glove.”

Steve held you down for a few seconds as he pushed up into you as if he was going to lock on on his cock, then he lifted you up by your waist and started pounding you from beneath.

He stared up at you in the moonlight and you could feel his cock jump inside you.

“Didn’t matter what I did, who it was. Couldn’t fuck anyone else. Had to come home and pull up pictures of you.”

Steve was moving you now, just like a fleshlight, thumb at your clit.

“I’m about to fucking bust, and you better fucking cum around my cock before I do. Been too godamn long, Sugar.”

You moaned erotically at the thought of Steve impotent with everyone else but you.

He groaned in response and squeezed your nipple brutally. You quaked with your orgasm and Steve erupted mid pump, his spend spurting out as he moved in and out of you. 

“Fuuuuu-uuuck!” 

You collapsed backward on the bed as Steve continued to pump, impossibly still hard even after he came. You reached down into the copious wetness and circled your clit, wanting to prolong the sensation, and Steve groaned/laughed as you convulsed around him again.

You were a tangle of limbs, fluid, sweat and wet cloth as you came down.

Steve pulled you up, you got out of his bed and walked back to your bedroom, turning on the shower.

As you climbed into your bed, Steve was already there, re-showered himself. You fell asleep in Asakusa, Tokyo, Japan, tracing his tattoo, and wondering if it really was that  simple, Sugar.

——

Did you like it? Let me know!

Next part soon. 😮‍💨