#you could probably see me pulse and twitch with need too! if youre watching

[wlw-cryptid]

does anyone want to maybe rub the head of their dick between my lips n tease against my hole so they can enjoy how my pussy drools all over it begging for more

[tiza0925]

Hello! I'm new to this but have you ever thought about any of your favorite characters while they're in the act and you look down at a certain part and they're so big on you that it scares you but they're pretty sure it could fit.I don't know if you could write something like that, sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

hellooo, absolutely love this prompt so much ty for this ♡

men that make it fit | 18+

warnings/tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, size difference, fingering, pet names, praise kink, squirting, raw sex, implied multiple orgasms, large cocks ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Big men who just cover your entire body with theirs when they’re on top of you. 

Guys who make you feel so small when you’re on their lap, their hands are so damn big that they can cover your entire waist, legs, and hands—practically engulfing you. 

Big men that just pin you to the mattress while making out with you, they’re so strong without needing to try, and you probably should feel scared by the difference in strengths but god—you feel so secure. 

And you know he’ll take care of you even if he can hurt you sometimes—never on purpose unless you want it—because of how massive he is. 

Guys who feel just a little bad when they hear you cry from them pushing their thick fingers inside you—stretching your poor cunt and making you leak all over his hand as he curls his fingers inside your plush walls, coaxing out a throbbing orgasm from you. 

“Such a sweet little thing for me,” You hear him murmur, watching as your face twists with pleasure, and he can see the slight worry in your eyes as he fucks you with his fingers. “My baby is taking me so well already.” 

But can you take his cock? 

Fuck—what if it’s too big? 

It must be—his fingers are already too much for you—his dick will be nearly impossible to fit inside you. 

“You think you can be good and take my cock?” You whine, feeling heady and muddy as he pins both of your hands above your head on the bed, while his other hand continues to twist and curl inside you, his thumb pressing and rubbing your swollen clit. “I want to feel my favourite pussy, sweetheart.” 

But you suck in a shaky breath, eyes wide and scared because you know you can’t fit all of him in, and he chuckles breathlessly as he kisses your lips so softly, making you melt against him. 

“Don’t be scared,” He kisses your cheek, then gives your trembling lower lip a gentle pull with his mouth, trying to get you relaxed as he strums his fingers through your sopping folds, his voice low and deceptively soothing. “I’ll be gentle with you, okay?” 

He always is—and that’s the thing. 

No matter how gentle he tries to be—he still ends up stretching you so wide that you think you might actually split in half, the sting of him inside you being too much that you cry sometimes.

He kisses you, and reassures you, hand running up and down your body to spread goosebumps all over your skin. 

Then he’s pushing his pants off to let his fat cock bounce free—it lands on your belly, all hot and heavy, and your breath hitches as electricity sparks through your body—and your heart rate doubles with every passing moment, just waiting for him to stuff you with his cock. 

“Relax for me,” He says while guiding his dick to slide between your plush pussy, letting your slick folds hug his length and coat them in juices as he rocks his hips—his cock head bumping against your clit every time his hips are flushed against yours. 

“You feel that, baby?” Your lashes flutter, your eyes half-lidded as he works you up, making your cunt pulse as he glides his heavy cock over it. “You’re gonna be so good and fit all of me, okay?” 

You gulp, but you still nod—because you want to be good for him. 

You want to feel him and make him feel good. 

And he watches you, focused, taking in every twitch of your features as he slowly pushes the head of his dick inside you—his eyes alight with heat when he sees the way your mouth pops open with a gasp, already feeling the intense stretch of him. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he shushes you, sliding his hands under your thighs to guide them around his waist, and you whine as you hook your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, sloppily kissing him as he waits for you to adjust. “You feel so tight already—fuck—”

He groans, his voice vibrating against you, and you begin to breathe heavily as he pushes his fat cock into you—making you feel every agonizing inch as your pussy struggles to swallow him whole. 

“I—“ Your sentence gets cut short as you choke, already feeling him in your lungs and he’s only halfway in, “I can’t—”

“You can,” One of his hands comes up to swipe a fallen tear on your cheek with his thumb, while his other hand pins you to the bed by the waist. “I know you can, baby, you always did before.”

Which is true—you always did but—

It’s just so fucking big—holy shit—

You bite your lip, and your eyes squeeze shut as you try your hardest to relax—your fluids being pushed out as he lodges his dick inside your warm, plush walls, causing a wet mess all over your thighs and bed. 

You hold him as if you’re clinging onto dear life—taking all of him as he kisses you through it—until his hips finally press against your ass, his cock so deep that your limbs grow numb and you swear you can orgasm already. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” He purrs, waiting a moment as your pussy throbs around him, feeling abused and soaked, and he smiles down at you so achingly soft. “Taking me all like a good girl for me.” 

Then he pulls back—

“Oh god—” And you keen when he rocks his hips forward, sliding his cock along your walls, and he sets a pace of fucking you—getting you wet and your eyes to roll back as he becomes greedy with your pussy. 

“Look, baby,” He grunts, thrusting his cock in and out, his length coming out slick and creamy from your arousal, and he grips your face—fingers squishing your cheeks—to make you look down. “Look how well you’re taking me.” 

Your vision is foggy, you’re barely able to comprehend anything except for the dick inside your sore cunt, and you blink blearily as you try to look at what he wants you to see and—

Fuck.

You watch the way his cock disappears into your pussy, his girth forcing its way into you—and you let out a shaky breath at the way you’re taking it all in. 

Just like he said you would. 

“Told you I’ll make it fit, sweetheart, I always do,” You hear him murmur, and you force yourself to relax into a ragged breath as your limps melt into the mattress beneath you.

You feel like you’re being split in half as he fucks you over and over, bringing you higher and higher until you’re cumming all over him—gushing out liquid as you squirt on his cock with a wet moan, his name on your tongue—

And he takes good care of you throughout it all. His aftercare overwhelms you with cuddles of love and affirmation.

He loves you too much, anyway.

End.

Bokuto, Oikawa, Ushijima, Atsumu, Suna, Gojo, Choso, Sakusa, Geto, Sukuna, Nanami, Akaza, Oda, Kuroo, Hinata, plus any of your fav characters ♡

Masterpost

[revelboo]

Better Open The Door Pt 9

Thundercracker x Reader

• If you think about it as a vacation from reality, it’s a bit easier. Of course, usually you aren’t very likely getting evicted from your apartment or making teams of people comb the woods for your body while on vacation. It may not have even come to that, but knowing your family, you doubt it. Stretched out on Thundercracker’s chassis alongside his canopy as he watches the screen upside down, you try not to unravel thinking about maybes. Playing nice for the big guy in the hopes that he will in fact get bored eventually.

• Servos resting on your back, he can feel the steady beat of your heart against him as he halfway pays attention to the movie. Probably thinking he’s not aware that every time it’s your turn to pick, it’s a sci-fi horror movie. Evil aliens. Is that what you think he is? Watching Xenomorphs picking off humans, isn’t exactly flattering if you are drawing some mental parallel between him and those things. “We could have been watching something warm and cozy,” he mutters and you look down at him. You’d made it abundantly clear that you didn’t appreciate the hallmark channel. Or the romance. So stubborn.

• Absolutely not. He’s bad enough on his own, but when he’s watching those lovey dovey dramas, he gets so much worse. He gets inspired. Like he thinks he’s a hero in one of those stories at odds with, but still trying to win over the heroine. Namely, you. And besides, he’s more tactile when he’s watching those movies, his servos wandering until you have to smack at him. Watching an alien egg hatch and the face hugger scurrying off to find a host, you tap a foot on him. “How do you guys reproduce anyway?”

• You do think he’s something like those monsters. Primus. “Not like that,” he growls, shuddering as the spidery thing latches onto a host and he drags his eyes away to scowl at you. Seeing your lips twitch as you try not to smile. Messing with him. Nudging you over with one servo so you’re against his neck, he pulls back the plating covering his spark. And you suck in a sharp breath. “We need a spark, but there’s different ways to get there.” Knows he shouldn’t be doing this, showing you this. His truest self, vulnerable and fragile. But staring up at you, limned in the glow of his spark, you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. He wants you to see him. All of him.

• That’s the hum you hear that lulls you to sleep. It feels strangely like trespassing. Like this isn’t meant for your eyes, but watching his spark pulse and shift, glowing softly is hypnotic. Making you want to reach for that warmth and safety. To fall into it and lose yourself there. It’s his servo against you that makes you realize you’re leaning out over his spark. And he’s staring at you with something between surprise and hunger. “I want you, but not until you want me, too.” And those words are like a bucket of icy water dumped on you, letting you push away from his spark and watching him hide that part of himself away. But it’s his words that snag at you. I want you.

Previous

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[writingwisterias]

If its possible could you write about how Vendetta Leon is knackered and wants some release after the team has won the day, he come home to the reader but even though th reader wants him bad, she denies him and makes him shower. (hes very stinky but doesn't realise) The reader then teases him while hes in the shower until he buckles and cant take it anymore, taking control of the reader and ramming her out of frustration ^~^ Thanky <3

Yes!...we all know Leon would smell the worst after a mission with the amount of sewage he runs around in. I rambled so have a one shot!

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Alcoholism, Multiple orgasms, Doggy style, Rough Sex, Frustration, Overstimulation, Choking, Bruising, Spanking, Cum eating,

He was so fed up with everything today. Training was tough after he skipped it for so long. The last mission he went on with Chris changed his outlook on life. The events made him realize the small beer belly he had obtained needed to go if he was going to survive anything again. His shirt was sticking to him in such an uncomfortable way and he was practically rushing out of the door to get changed. Leon didn't even make it out the Gym door when he was then called for a mission briefing, giving him no time to change or refresh. Begrudgingly he walked back towards the office room, spending the next few hours marinating in the sweaty fabric. He didn't care at this point, his thoughts were just so desperate to get home.

It was late by the time he got in, his duffle bag thumped to the floor as he entered. A huge sigh left his lips as he finally sagged on the dining room chair to take off his shoes. It was then that he saw you, cooking in the kitchen wearing only his shirt. He probably should have been more concerned with how fast his dick rose at the sight but now he had quit drinking he found his dick actually worked properly now. Your sex life has been revived, enjoying nothing more than feeling his cock buried deep inside you every night. He watched as you moved around the kitchen, it was almost perverted making the situation just that more exciting for him. You didn't hear him come in, your headphones were too loud, and he wondered what you were listening to as you swayed your hips like that. Your ass gets exposed ever so slightly each time you circled them showing off your little pink undies.

His hand rubbed up his length through his sweat pants, the grey fabric exposing the size of his erection in a way that would make your knees weak...if only you turned around though. Leon eventually caved, his feet moving towards your space. He felt you jolt in his arms as they circled you, his mop of hair brushing against your neck as he kissed it. You sighed into him, finally, he was home. You turned in his arms smiling at him as you removed your headphones. "Someone seems happy to see me" you joked, your fingers brushing against the bulge that pressed against you. Leon only hummed in response; his mouth returning to the pulse point on your neck, his teeth grazing and nibbling at it. It was only then the smell of him assaulted your nose.

Your nose crinkled up as you turned your head away. You giggled at his pout, of course, he was aware of how he smelt but he didn't think your body was outwardly rejecting him like this. His fingers grabbed at your waist holding you close to him, preventing your escape. "I don't smell that bad" he mumbled, resting his chin on top of your head. You tried to be polite understanding his still fragile state. Leon had come a long way in the past few months but he was still sensitive. Your fingers combed through the whisps of hair at the nape of his neck, scraping the scalp slightly causing a soft moan to escape his lips. "If you take a shower for me then I'll be open to whatever you want" you whispered in a sultry tone. You smiled as his cock twitched against your stomach, bringing his lips in for a kiss. You could feel his tension leave, whatever happened in his day you were now determined to make him forget. "Fine" he groaned, stepping away from you and making his way towards the bathroom.

What he didn't expect was for you to follow, he tried to sneak glances over his shoulders at your movements. Silently hoping for you to follow him into the bathroom and he would finally free his frustrations. However, you turned into the bedroom, humming to yourself as you complete whatever task you were doing.

The water did little to wash away his frustrations of the day, his back still felt tense, and his shoulders were still stiff aching with his growing muscles. Leon looked down at the swirling drain before groaning at the sight of his hard cock, twitching amongst the shower stream. He was so desperate to touch you, to find out where you had run off to. Leon didn't have to look very far, however. A gasp left his lips when your figure stood in the dim bathroom light. Your body was decorated in the most beautiful lace, the suit left nothing to the imagination as he saw every single part of you. Your nipples perked and ready for his attention, to suck on pathetically like he did almost every night. A low growl left his lips as you walked towards the shower screen, the fog on the glass blurred his view faster than he could wipe it away. You smiled at him, such a sweet innocent smile one he always adored; but your eyes told a different story. Your pupils were blown out wide with lust as they flicked towards his throbbing length, tracing the length of the veins that were so prominent. Leon wanted to cave and touch himself under the heat of your gaze, have you watched and seen what you neglected by making him shower. But with you in that lace bodysuit, standing there waiting for him to get out, it was much more tempting. "How's the shower?" You asked him casually as your fingers began tracing the length of your sides. You watched with a small smirk as his eyes lit up and followed them. "It's...it's good, almost...done" he panted. You could see his Pre-cum dribble out from his tip. The substance getting washed away as fast as it appeared -what a waste.

"Do you feel relaxed?" You asked him teasingly. That question caused him to scowl, drawing his attention away from you to his dick. He looked at it as it twitched in the shower stream deciding how to proceed. How could he relax when you looked like that? When your soft velvet walls were his new addiction. The sound of your footsteps drew his attention back to you, he watched as you walked away back to the bedroom he assumed. Your perfect ass begging him to follow you.

You heard him follow, the water dripping from him like he was some swamp monster as he followed you. He entered the bedroom to the sight of you bent over perfectly, your ass waving him hello. He growled as he approached, his frustrations finally snapping as he saw the crotchless area. Your entrance weeping and ready for him. You felt the pressure of his fingertips gripping at your hips alerting you to his presence as his knees pushed against your thighs spreading them further. Leon let out another groan as his tip pressed against your tight hole, gathering your arousal. Mixing it with his own like making some sort of sick potion. He couldn't ignore your pleas for more, not when you were always taking such good care of him. After all, you brought his deepest desires back.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to fuck you with his brain all fuzzy with alcohol, he barely remembered it. Leon supposed it was a good sign but deep down he knew it never felt like this. His tip entered first, the sensation causing his cock to twitch as he stretched you. He grinned at your fingers curling into the fabric as he bottomed out. Leon's thrusts were slow at first, enjoying seeing his length exit your walls covered in your arousal. His fingers grasped at the flesh of your ass the sting of his grip began making you whimper. "Naughty girl to tease me like that" He whispered in your ear, his body pressing your own into the mattress as he leaned over to talk. Your breath shook as his palm began to soothe the swell of your ass. "You know what naughty girls get right?" he teased. His hand was flat against your ass cheeks waiting for your reply. "Right?" his voice lowered in a warning. You nodded, another whimper leaving your lips. "Th-they get punished" you stuttered out, you could already feel the ghost of the sting from the last time he did this. The first slap is always the worst, the base of the pain. It was always the taster of his strength for the night.

You gasped as it hit, pain blossoming over your cheeks. You must have riled him up because he didn't even soothe the pain before landing another one. You could tell it wasn't going to last long with the way his hips jolted every time you squirmed away from the pain. Grunts left his lips as he soon gripped your hips. His pelvis slammed against the redness that spread across your ass bringing back the sting. Your moans were guttural as he was relentless. Leon hated being so rough with you, but today wasn't his day, and he wanted to finish it off on a high note. He was always vocal during sex but now his words were actually audible instead of the drunken rambling that left his lips. Each swear that he grunted out made you whimper, each nickname made your walls flutter around him. His hand wrapped around the front of your neck lifting your body so your back was against his chest. His cock brushed against your cervix at this angle. You could feel his chest heave with his breaths, his growls ghosting the shell of your ear.

His hands squeezed around your neck, making sure to avoid your windpipe. Your breath puffed out in small whimpers as your brain became fuzzy. He could feel your walls begin to milk him with your unexpected orgasm, your body collapsing against his as he continued to thrust himself into you. "So fucking good baby" he groaned. Your body fell against the bed again, drool spilling over the sheets. "Going to cum so deep" he whispered, "so deep"

You felt his warmth flood inside you, his load coating your walls as he buried himself. Your name fell from his lips as he chanted it like some form of prayer. "Such a greedy pussy, is she needy for more already?" he teased as he felt your walls clench around his soft cock. "Please.."You begged. You weren't even sure what you were begging for, your mind was blissed out but you could still feel the needy throb of your clit from the lack of attention he gave it. Leon chuckled as he pulled himself out of you. If you weren't so drunk on pleasure you would have cringed at how pathetic the whine that left your lips at the empty feeling. You spun around to face him, his hair dishevelled from the shower. Leon's eyes were blown out wide as he grinned at you, his gaze almost predatory. His abs highlighted with the fairy lights you instited decorated the bedroom. Leon stalked towards you, pressing your body against the bed again. You crawled up the sheets away from him and his body eventually towered over you.

You expected him to kiss you until his cock hardened again, but he had that hungry look in his eye. Leon lowered himself to your thighs, kissing down the inner side of them leaving small bite marks like a trail. His nose bumped against your clit as he lapped up the evidence of himself where he was spilling from you. Your eyes widened in shock, it wasn't the first time Leon had gone down on you. He's done it many times but not after he...

"What...what are you doing?" You whimper. Your fingers brushed through the strands of his hair, tugging him closer and he continued to lick and suck. Leon didn't respond but you felt his chuckle on your clit. The vibrations cause your grip to tighten. "It tastes unreal baby, both of us mixed like this"

He crawled above you again, his now hard cock filling you to the brim again as he distracted you with kisses you. You whimpered as his tongue swirled with yours, the taste of cum filling your own mouth. Your cock drunk brain was truly lost, too many senses overpowered by him as he began to thrust again. The round was shorter than the last and he felt his balls tighten almost immediately. You looked like a goddess underneath him. The lace hugs your frame, cupping your breasts perfectly making the bounce with each thrust. You moaned loudly as you felt him finish again, the familiar throb of his cock as it deposited his load again. Yours shattered through you shortly after as his fingers circled your clit. This time the both of you were satisfied, the day lost in the back of your minds as you stared at each other. Leon left briefly to get a damp cloth, cleaning you up gently making sure not to touch anything too sensitive. His arms pulled you close against him; holding you close as you appreciated the comfortable silence.

[solaiced]

CASE 6: SUKUNA RYOMEN LIKE TO MARK HIS BELONGINGS.

!content!: minor character death, blood, mentions of breeding/pregnancy (sorry yall i cant help myself), mentions of exhibition, and sukuna.

wc: 1,6k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

A blink and your servant is gone. Well, not gone, laying on the ground. Dead. He's dead. His head severed. He wasn't exactly special by all means, but that didn't mean Sukuna could kill him right in front of you. Staining your kimono with blood.

You look up at the King of Curses, having the guts to glare at him as he feigns ignorance and boredom.

"This is the sixth time, this week, you imbecile!" You complain. Only you could insult the most fearsome king of all time and get away with it.

He clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as if it was obvious, "He was too touchy. Have to remind the lower species of their place."

You narrow your eyes, grumbling. "You might as well pee around and on me like a dog to mark your territory, don't cha?"

His eyes light up, and you warn him, making an X with your arms, "Do NOT."

He kisses his teeth, rolling his eyes the way a petulant teenage would, after getting yelled at by their parents. He shrugs, wrapping his lower arms around your waist.

"I'll find a loophole to mark my belongings, don't you worry, woman."

And that's probably how he got you on your back, completely nude and at his mercy. You were bloodied from all his bites, all harsh enough to draw blood, but not enough to kill you. Your moaning could've been heard from the nearby village, from how loud you were being.

Sukuna smirks as you try to kick him away weakly, nesting between your legs to collect the sweet nectar coming out of your slit. Like an undeserving sinner tasting ambrosia for the first time ever.

His four eyes trained on you, watching your every reaction, twitches and sweat drops fall down your dewy skin. Your nipples perked up, hips lifting up like a woman possessed.

“Do you understand, now?” He asks, nursing the bite on your inner thigh, swirling his tongue on it to appease the pain but not heal it. Your blood tasted like the heaven he’ll never reach. But he wasn’t about to let you go, no.

“Hh-‘nderstan wha?” You manage, hands reaching for Sukuna’s pink hair and the sheets, anything to stabilize yourself.

Taking your hand, pitying you with a small pout, he chuckles, kissing your knuckles like the ungentlemanly monster that he is.

“That you’re mine, you don’t belong to anyone or anything else. I made you, I’ll keep you until I’m bored of you.” His cruel words stab into your heart, tears prickling your eyes.

“But don’t fret. We have all of eternity to spend together.” He smiles condescendingly sweet, leaning in to kiss you, only to deviate at the last moment and latch his mouth onto the bloody bite around your pulse.

Your screams renew, nails digging into Sukuna’s broad shoulders as you thrash around him. His hips pin yours down, crushing you under his weight.

“S’kuna…” You mewl, running your fingers through his, for once, soft hair. He hums in acknowledgement, wondering why you sounded so breathless.

“Crushin’ me.” You huff, looking away and exposing more skin to devour. Sukuna shifts, letting you breathe as his teeth dig into your soft skin, kissing the flesh after he’s done marking it.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to kill you, yet. You are to die with me. Never before.” It’s like a vow as his canines retract, kissing and licking away at the red liquid oozing out the little punctures he created.

He’s never going to admit it, but your blood brought him more comfort than needed, cocks pulsing between his thighs, warmth washing over him like a comfortable blanket.

Sukuna moans lowly, supporting himself with two arms on each side of your head. He breathes heavily, lust glazing his eyes over.

“I’m going to make sure everyone sees me when they see you.” He nuzzles your nose with his, scenting your face. He inhales your smell, angling your face towards him with his upper left hand.

“I’m gonna have to fucking breed you so that they get the idea, hm?” He threatens, eyes narrowed into glaring slits.

You shakily reach for him, mumbling incoherent words.

“Don’t, I’m yours.” You sniffle, the wounds stinging you.

“Does it hurt?” Sukuna asks gruffly, sliding a hand down your stomach to your hips. You nod.

“Wan’you to-to fuck me.” You stumble over your words as you wrap your legs around his hips, moaning when your cunt grazes his lower cock, twitching painfully.

“Really? Are you wet enough to take all of me?” He knew you weren’t, at least not yet, for both his cocks would absolutely destroy you for any other cock, if you’d been able to escape and live a life with another man.

And when you hold up one finger, he chuckles, amused at your underestimation.

“One day, I’ll ruin you. I’ll eat you to keep you with me forever.” He kisses you, biting your lip and pulling on it, pulling away to place hickeys down your throat. You moan weakly, shuddering.

“Fuck me, now.” You order, hand wrapped around his pink locks, unruly by your touch. Sukuna smiles deceivingly soft, wrapping a hand around his lower length and pushing it inside of you slowly, careful not to tear you more than intended.

You mewl, tears slipping out of your slit shaped eyes. You bring him closer, catching his lips and slotting yours between them, like a long forgotten puzzle finally coming together.

Your bodies join together, yours always reaching for his unconsciously, and his always bringing you closer, as per your requests.

He moans loudly when he bottoms out, pulling away roughly in embarrassment and blushing, hiding in the crook of your neck to bite more “ownership” marks into you.

Your nails scratch his back, leaving your own marks. You huff out a tired chuckle, happy you could at least return the favor.

“What the fuck are you laughing for.” Sukuna growls, face crimson red at the noises he let out.

“You’re mine, too. I marked you.” You wince when his tongue licks over one of your wounds, drawing blood once more. Your body was a bloody massacre. And that was all because of your husband.

Said husband’s hips jerking at your words, sweat dripping down his powerful muscles each time he twitched. Sukuna angles your hips to reach deeper, making you wail, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Calm down, I haven’t even let you ride me, yet.” That sentence made you open your eyes, happy he’s letting you on top for once. You slide your hands down to cover his upper cock, jerking it off while his lower one tasted heaven.

“You’ll let me?” You ask, out of breath because a few measly thrusts. He nods, licking the punctures he made on you.

“Right now? Hah!” He barks out an evil laugh. “Absolutely not. I want to cum.” Did he just… insinuate that you couldn’t make him cum alone?

Now that got you offended. Using the best of your left over strength, you flip him over, pelvises flush against each other. Sukuna’s eyes are wide, like he didn’t expect insulting you would have such a reaction.

“Watch me. Both cocks will be spent when I’m done with you.” Your hips cant up, dropping down and repeating the motion. He looks like he’s about to moan, but he’s holding back. You thumb his lower lip, pulling his face closer so that you can kiss him.

“Don’t. Keep riding me, and maybe I’ll consider cumming.” He sounds strained, but still smug, which you do not like at all. You grind your hips down and lift them up and down occasionally. Sukuna keeps a taut smirk, hips bucking up occasionally. You keep his upper cock close to your stomach, using a hand to jerk it whilst you bounced on his lap.

Sukuna suddenly grabbed your wrist, stopping your motions. You look up, legs trembling when they finally stop.

“What is…” You’re cut off by a growl, Sukuna’s eyes lifting to glare at you.

“Don’t. Move.” Only then do you realize that he was shaking. His hand was trembling as it held your arm, claws out.

A small laugh escapes you. He was about to cum, but he didn’t want to, not yet.

“Cum, my king. There is no reason for you to feel ashamed of cumming early.” You tease, kissing his cheek softly. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you clench oh-so-sweetly on him. He tries to shove you off, but you bring him with you, making him cage you in with all four of his arms.

“Let me pull out. Now.” Sukuna orders, hips stuttering. You wrap your legs around them, bringing them closer.

“No,” you hum, disobeying him was not a first, but he almost looks furious. “Also, you can totally pull out. You just don’t want to.”

His head drops to your breasts, biting around the flesh. You keen, trying to get him off.

“Don’t get all smart with me.” He thrusts in you, balls slapping your ass and coarse pink hair brushing against your clit.

Sukuna buries his head between your boobs, hips coming to a stop before you feel liquid filling you up, eyes squeezing shut.

One of his hands comes to worsen your condition, pinching your clit between his fingers as you let go and reach an unexpected orgasm, eyes crossing, back arching and moans loud enough for Uraume to wake up.

“Now,” Your king starts, sounding just as out of breath as you, “if I see another servant trying to touch you, I’ll fuck you in front of him and I’ll kill him if he gets hard, okay?” That wasn’t a question, you knew that much. But you didn’t dare respond, for fear he would stop kissing and licking your wounds.

[concretejunglefm]

i need to share w someone who will understand.

making sub!noah touch himself for you, and not just that—edging. being in the same room as that? 😮‍💨 long inked fingers teasing his

you could also have him send you proof when he’s on tour :3

- @somebodyels3

KELS WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME? also thank you because now i can't unthink this.

Pairing: sub!Noah Sebastian x dom f!reader.

CW: smut including masturbation, anal fingering (m receiving), mention of toy use, dirty talk, edging and orgasm denial.

Names: Good boy, Sweet boy, Puppy, Miss (reader), brief mommy mention from reader.

NSFW under the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

SWEET BOY: Please, Miss. I can't hold out any longer. Just let me stroke it, please?

A wicked grin spread across your features as you read over the text. The entire day had been spent sending Noah the most raunchy texts and voice notes you could while he was away on tour, purposely working him up, aware that he couldn't touch himself without your say or it resulting in a punishment. Of course, he could always touch himself and lie about that to you, but you had him trained enough to be the best good boy for you. You knew that his guilt of doing something like that wouldn't last too long and he'd break and confess, if only to embrace a punishment or seek one because you knew that he always wanted to be the best for you. Even in his bratty moods, he did.

YOU: Soon. You're such an eager puppy.

At the notification flashing up in response, you let out a giggle when it's a voice message of him groaning, audibly frustrated.

Pressing down on the microphone button, you tsk into the phone before your lips curl into a wider smirk with your words. "You want to be a good boy for me, don't you? You're so brave and strong trying to hold back for me. So tell me, sweet boy. Tell me how you're thinking about me late at night when you’re all alone—touching yourself to the thought of me."

Barely seconds pass before Noah responds with another voice note. "Mmm, yes, Miss. I...I want to be a good boy for you. Fuck. I think about you all the time. I can't stop wanting to touch myself when I think of you."

You respond with a single text.

YOU: Then show me.

Instead of waiting for him to respond, you FaceTime him, seeing his flustered face fill up your screen as he answers. "Are you going to touch yourself for me like a good boy?" You tilt your head and catch the way his voice chokes in his throat with the simple word of 'yes'.

"Good boy. Set me up so I can see you." You instruct him, and he follows, propping the phone up on the nearby nightstand, facing it towards the bed to capture everything.

You know that he only has the hotel room to himself for a short period of time. Whoever he was sharing with has probably gone for long enough, or he would've made some suggestion for you to call back and continue your game another time.

Although right now you can see it in the glazed-over look in his eye, he was completely yours and in the submissive headspace you love to push him into.

You softly coo praises at him, calling him all of the sweetest things while he undresses himself for you and when you finally catch sight of his hard cock in his grasp, you let out a gasp of your own.

"Oh my... have I done that to you?" Even though the camera you can see the way it twitches and pulses in his grasp, the tip is red and already leaking precum. He looks about ready to burst, and now you wish you were there to enjoy him properly.

"Take your hand away." You instruct him, and you catch the whine which causes you to click your tongue with a warning. You may be miles apart, but that won't prevent you from finding a suitable punishment to carry out on him. "I don't want you touching there. Not yet. You know where I want you to touch yourself, don't you, sweet boy?"

"h...here, Miss?" You watch the way his thighs spread wider as he leans back against the pillows stacked behind for him to lean against, and his hands begin to inch up along his thighs, his fingers teasingly exploring the space between them, stroking the space along his taint which you love to taunt him with using any number of toys when you're together.

"Yes... that's my good boy. You know just how mommy loves to touch you." Your own breath is picking up now, feeling the dull ache between your thighs growing, but you're too focused on watching to seek your own relief, not when you'll be able to use this to replay on later.

"Have you got—oh, you are a good puppy." You don't even need to remind him about the lube, seeing him use one hand to flick open the lid and squirt some, squeezing hard enough it causes a slight mess as it covers both his hole and fingers.

"Just gentle now. Nice and slow for me." You urge him on, hearing the way his sounds are becoming more choked with the slow teasing of his finger against his hole.

"Miss, please." You love listening to him beg like this when you're not there, like your own personal slutty puppy who's seeking your approval for him to touch and fuck himself. "I need you to touch me. I need you so desperately." You can hear it in his tone and it makes you shift, rubbing your thighs together. God, how you wish you were with him.

"Do you have your toy with you?"

"I do! I do!" He's so eager and ready, holding his toy up proudly, the small plug you bought for him as an experiment which became something of a beloved choice for him to use, especially when all he wanted was to be filled by you. "Can I please use it, Miss? Please? I need to feel you in me."

How can you deny him when he's like this? Begging and spreading himself for you. You watch how he works his fingers slowly inside, never pushing too deep without your instruction and you continue to give it to him, allowing for him to take the toy and watching with your own bated breath as his greedy hole swallows it. "You're such a greedy little puppy." You let out with your breath, listening to the sweet whines and moans he makes, pleading for more, needing more as his other hand ghosts along his cock before pulling away with every tongue lashing you give him about it.

"Is my puppy nice and full now?"

"Y-y…yes, Miss." He's struggling and he's so on edge that you're sure he will end up cumming over himself without any further assistance, a thought which is arguably hot, though right now you can't help but love the idea of making him suffer a little longer by denying him of what he really wants; an orgasm.

"Good boy. Now you're going to sleep like this, nice and full, and you're not allowed to cum tonight. I want you to call me back in the morning and show me how hard your cock is and what a mess you've made during the night because you're so needy." There's a sickly, saccharine tone in your voice as you taunt him, aware that he's already struggling, and you'll be surprised if he even makes it to morning before attempting to call you or failing altogether and giving you the guilt look he always has when he struggles to hold out. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss. I understand." You see the pout forming across his face, and you wish that you could come and kiss it away for him. Even if he is your submissive in this moment, you hate to see him in such a pouty state; it's one of the few things he can do which really pulls on your heartstrings, even in these moments.

"That's Mommy’s good boy." You say as you blow him a kiss before hanging up. 

When she hangs up, Noah's left whimpering, his hole squeezing tight around the plug while his cock twitches, left untouched and aching with the need to cum. From across the room, the voice of his fellow bandmate draws his attention as he smugly says. "You heard her. No cumming for you tonight." 

[katsc0ven]

Wicked Little Things

MDNI‼️

Chapter One: You Shouldn’t Be Here

It wasn’t the first time you had found yourself standing outside Agatha's house.

It should have been. You knew better.

Westview had rules—unspoken ones, the kind that kept things in their proper order. And whatever this was, whatever she was, it did not belong in the neat little world you were supposed to live in.

But here you were anyway.

The air was thick with the scent of rain, and the old wood of her front porch creaked beneath your hesitant steps. You could still turn around. Go home. Pretend you hadn’t walked all the way here under the cover of dusk and the pouring rain, pulse thrumming with something you refused to name.

Then the door swung open before you could knock.

“Well, well,” Agatha purred, leaning against the frame, a smirk playing on her lips. “What a naughty little thing you are.”

Your breath hitched.

She always did this—always made you feel like she knew something you didn’t, like she could see right through the careful walls you had built around yourself. It made your skin prickle, made your hands twitch with the urge to either run or stay exactly where you were.

You cleared your throat, forcing your expression into something neutral. “I needed to see you.”

She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. “And here I thought you weren’t allowed to talk to me.”

You flinched. Because, yeah. That part wasn’t wrong.

The people in your life—your family, your so-called friends—had made their stance on Agatha Harkness painfully clear. She was too old, too strange, too much. Whispers followed her everywhere, painting her as something wicked, something dangerous.

And yet, none of that stopped you from standing here now, watching the way candlelight flickered behind her, casting long shadows against the deep violet walls of her home.

Agatha arched a brow, waiting. “Well?”

Your stomach twisted. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t want to be here.

But you did.

You always did.

“Can I come in?”

For a long moment, Agatha just looked at you, like she was considering the weight of your words, the weight of you. Then, with a slow, knowing smile, she stepped aside.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she murmured. “But we both know—you won’t want to leave.”

And the worst part?

She was probably right.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in with her.

The air inside was warm—too warm, like the fire burning in the hearth had been waiting just for you. The scent of something earthy and sweet lingered, something that made your head feel just a little too light. Or maybe that was just her.

Agatha leaned against the door, arms crossed, but the smirk you expected never came. Instead, she studied you—quiet, searching, her sharp gaze trailing over the damp edges of your coat, the tension wound tight in your shoulders.

Her voice was softer than you anticipated. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

You exhaled, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

Agatha’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across her face before she pushed off the door. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a request, either.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you already knew how this would go—how she would stand too close, how she would touch you without thinking, and how you would let her.

Still, you stepped forward.

She reached up, fingertips barely grazing your temple as she brushed away a stray lock of hair. “You’re soaked,” she murmured, almost to herself. “And you’re shivering.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to lean into her touch. “Are you going to offer me something warm, or just scold me?”

Agatha huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no real amusement behind it. “Both, if you’re staying.” She turned toward the kitchen, already reaching for a bottle of wine. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You hesitated.

Because saying it out loud made it real.

Because saying it out loud meant she might actually want you too, and that was a whole other kind of dangerous.

Agatha glanced back, eyes steady, voice gentler than before. “Whatever it is, you know I won’t turn you away.”

She passed you the glass, fingers brushing yours in the exchange. The touch lingered, just for a moment, just long enough for something inside you to pull tight.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure you minded.

The warmth of the wine settled in your chest, but it wasn't what made your head feel light.

It was her.

The way she sat next to you, just close enough that you could feel the heat of her body. The way her fingers brushed against yours when she reached for her glass. The way she looked at you-like she knew exactly how long it had been since someone had touched you the way you ached to be touched.

She was too close.

She wasn't close enough.

Agatha exhaled, leaning back against the couch, watching you over the rim of her glass. "You're wound up."

You blinked. "What?"

She smirked, tilting her head like she was

She smirked, tilting her head like she was studying you. "You're all tense, sweetheart." A pause. "When's the last time someone took care of you?"

Authors note:

First chapter of WLT!! Sorry to leave ya'll hanging here at the end...don't worry more is coming:)

[adorehyyuka]

drooly beomie <3

smut mdni

warnings; sub!beomgyu duh, he's wearing a skirt and thigh highs, degradation, dacryphilia, feminization, pinching, face grabbing, grinding/dry humping, hair pulling, tiniest bit of nipple play, best friends to ??, readers gender or body isn't really described, dumb drooly beomgyu <3

he sat perched on top of your lap. his pink thigh high clad knees resting either side of your hips. tears welled in Beomgyu's eyes while his lips and chin wobbled, his sparkling irises staring into yours. You cooed, "awe, what's the matter sweetheart ? feeling frustrated ?"

he whined and let out a choked sob, you laughed at his trembling state and brought your hands down from his waist to caress the skin of his squishy thighs. "this 's embarrassing ! why're you being so mean"

"mean ? you're the whore who begged for this, who begged to be played with by his best friend, aren't you ?"

"n-no ! just wanted you to touch me, not tease me . . .".

"well what's the point in that ? it's boring unless I get to see what a mess you can be" he frowned at your words and attempted to grind his crotch against yours so he could gain some friction, which did not go down well as you promptly pinched his thigh with one hand and gripped his waist firmly with the other. he squealed and squirmed as you continued to pull at his thigh.

"you're such a slut, beomie. can't even sit still for five minutes without wanting something against your drippy little cock" said man sniffled again and bunched up his frilly skirt between his fists, fiddling and pulling to try and distract himself from the warmth of your hands.

" 'm not little ! just fucking touch me already !" he regretted raising his voice as soon as he saw your jaw clench. Beomgyu's eyes grew wide and he tried to splutter out an apology but before he could do so you grabbed his face and pulled it close to yours, mushing his cheeks together in the process. his eyes were puffy and red, his nose and cheeks the same hue as you proceeded to berate him.

"shut the fuck up. if you want me to touch you at all you'll be quiet and behave, otherwise I'll leave you here with blue balls, understand ?" he nodded and tried to ignore the flush of heat he felt when you glared at him, the shine of your lips when you spoke and the pulsing of his needy dick whenever you shifted underneath him.

"good"

unable to resist the temptation any longer you closed the gap between yourself and Beomgyu by pressing your lips to his. he reciprocated immediately, panting and licking into your mouth as soon as he was able to part your lips. and although your chest was flush against his, Beomgyu was somehow still trying to push closer to you, drool and tears were dripping off his chin and soiling his pretty outfit but you continued to let him smother you with himself anyway.

as much as you didn't want to admit it Beomgyu was starting to affect your composure. his constant whining and the way he was practically choking on your tongue —all by his own doing— was sending you reeling with pleasure as your stomach did somersaults.

"Beomie— shit. slow down, sweetheart." he whined in detest to your statement and began sucking the skin of your jawline into his mouth, making sure that it would bruise. he was leaving you breathless, which you could not have.

you gripped his hair like it was a kittens scruff and yanked so hard Beomgyu swore he saw stars, hips jolting upwards to try and feel something against him. "fuck you're so desperate. didn't I tell you to behave, hm ? what would your friends say if they saw you acting like such a depraved slut. you'd probably like it, you'd get off to your friends watching you fall apart ?"

"yes, fuck, please. need you so bad, wouldn't care if anyone saw me just need you to touch me." his hips were starting to twitch again, you could see him fighting the urge to hump you like a fucking dog. his eyes were just too pretty though, so glossy and cute you couldn't resist him.

"c'mon then, grind your pathetic little dick against me and make yourself cum."

the last piece of his self control fell away as soon as your finger tips grazed his perky nipples, his brain going haywire with pleasure so much so that you had to start moving his hips for him after a couple minutes. "oh —shit. thank y-youu, feels so good oh my god !"

tears, snot and drool were smeared all over his face now, hair glued to his cheeks and neck from sweat as well. every movement and every touch sent jolts of pleasure to his tummy. he could feel his orgasm building up at a humiliatingly fast pace, he blamed it on all your foreplay teasing."so pretty for me, beomie. so cute and dumb. look at you, your legs are shaking !"

this would be embarrassing if he wasn't so far gone. but instead all he found was satisfaction from your teasing. grunting, moaning and sobbing into your jugular he stuttered out ,

"cummingg, f-fuh. . fuck I'm coming !"

series mlist

tag list is open @cinnikoi @zzstar @mini-mews

[teddiee]

Into Each Life: Chapter 14

Summary:

Still, the words don't soothe Bucky. Instead, his expression darkens with a frustration that’s almost palpable. “But what good is that?” he growls, voice rough. “I can’t just… I can’t beat my chest and keep every Alpha away from you when I’m on the other side of the bridge every damn weekend, can I? I don’t have any real claim on you—no bond, no nothin’. Just empty talk.”

Tony’s mating gland pulses and his chest splinters in half.

“They’re not empty,” Tony insists, voice wobbling. “Not to me.” Words: 11,667

Explicit Content: 18+

Tony’s room smells like pheromones and woodfire and tension and pine, so his window is cracked open.

Because he loves the smell of Bucky, craves it, but it also clogs his nostrils and makes him dizzy and lowers his inhibitions. And he needs all the cognitive ability he can summon right now.

A warm breeze filters through the gap, carrying with it the faint tang of summer rain on hot pavement, but it does little to clear the atmosphere hanging between the room’s current inhabitants.

The dorm feels small, even smaller than usual, though it’s hard to say why.

Bucky’s presence has always filled the space effortlessly—the broad lines of his frame leaning casually against Tony’s dresser as he watches the Omega pack his overnight bag. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms streaked with faint smudges of grease from whatever side job he’d been working that day. His shirt is wrinkled, untucked, the collar slightly askew—like Tony had pushed him up against the wall and kissed him senseless.

Not the case, unfortunately.

Tony stands at his bed, half-focused as he attempts to fold clothes (never his strong suit) before giving up and shoving items fruitlessly into his overnight bag.

“Tony.”

Tony’s hands still over a piece of crumpled fabric in his grasp, his fingers twitching with the urge to smooth it out. He doesn’t bother—the shirt is wrinkled beyond redemption, and frankly, it matches the tangled web of his thoughts.

He scowls and crams it into the bag with little fanfare, ignoring how the corners bulge awkwardly.

He can feel Bucky’s gaze on him, warm and weighty. Tony doesn’t look up. He keeps his head down, yanking on an uneven zipper with fixed, single-minded determination.

“Baby.”

Tony gnaws the inside of his cheek as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Have you seen my socks? Not the pairs with holes. Fuck. I think I only have, like, two pairs left without holes.”

There’s a rustle of fabric, the faint creak of the floorboards, and then Bucky’s boots come into view, worn leather scuffed at the toes.

A bundle of fabric pushed into his palm. A caress of fingertips against the inside of his wrist. A press of lips to the crown of his head—so gentle Tony might have imagined it. “Here.”

Tony swallows. He traces the edge of the wool with his thumbnail until it snags. “How d’you know this isn’t a pair with holes?”

“All of your socks have holes. Just like every pair of underwear you own is too loose on your damn hips, and every uniform shirt has some sorta grease stain. Can you look at me?”

Tony shoves the sock bundle into a side pocket of his duffle and catches his trembling bottom lip with his teeth. His stomach twists as he zips the bag shut with a final, sharp tug and leans back on his heels, staring down at the uneven bulge of fabric inside. His fingers curl at his sides, twisting tight enough that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, he pretends he didn’t hear Bucky’s request.

He doesn’t want to turn around. He doesn’t want to see the expression that he can already smell on the Alpha—concern, threaded with patience—a kind of steady, unwavering care that could probably crack him right open.

Instead, he drops to his knees with an awkward shuffle and starts rifling through the chaos under his bed.

Papers crinkle, stray fountain pens roll out of sight, and the faint scrape of his fingertips against the linoleum floor is the only sound in the room. He grabs at the first few things his fingers brush against—an old notebook with dog-eared pages, a wrinkled uniform tie, and a sticky square of graph paper scrawled with half-finished equations. All of it gets shoved unceremoniously back into the abyss as he continues his search.

His hand finally closes around what he’s been looking for—or half of it, anyway. He pulls out his battered notebook—the correct one, this time—the edges smudged with graphite. He sets it beside him and dives back under, his fingers brushing over smooth leather before tugging free Vincent Eichler’s godforsaken textbook.

Tony sits back on his heels, clutching the book like it’s a talisman against whatever the hell he’s feeling right now. His eyes flick over the faded gold lettering on the spine, his thumb tracing the imprint absently. He doesn’t open it, he just presses the weight of it against his thighs and releases a quiet breath.

Until Bucky leans over and plucks it effortlessly from his hands.

“A bit of light weekend reading, then?”

Tony turns to him and scowls.

Bucky has a hip propped against Tony’s mattress, feet crossed at the ankles, and he’s thumbing through the pages of Tony’s (Howard’s) advanced thermonuclear physics textbook like it’s some dime-store pulp magazine.

“Funny enough, sweetheart, this doesn’t look like your Home Economics textbook—”

Tony feels his cheeks flame as he pushes himself up from the floor. “Give it back,” he snaps, though there’s no real venom in his voice—just frustration, tangled with something wobblier he refuses to name.

Bucky doesn’t budge. He holds the book slightly higher, just enough to keep it out of Tony’s reach as the Omega steps closer. “What, this?” he says innocently, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m just tryin’ to expand my horizons. You wouldn’t deprive me of an education, would you?”

Tony rolls his eyes, heat prickling along his skin as he lunges for the book. He almost snags it—almost—but Bucky shifts at the last second, lifting it even higher. The movement sends Tony stumbling into the solid warmth of Bucky’s chest with an undignified “oof.”

Before Tony can regain his balance, Bucky’s free arm comes down, wrapping firmly around his waist and pulling him in. The textbook falls forgotten to the floor behind them with a dull thud as Bucky cages him in, his arms strong and unyielding but careful in their hold.

“There he is,” Bucky murmurs, his voice low and warm. He rests his cheek lightly on top of Tony’s unruly mess of perpetual bedhead, his breath ghosting over the strands.

Tony stiffens automatically, his hands pressed against the solid plane of Bucky’s chest, but he doesn’t push away. Instead, he stands there, frozen in the moment, his pulse thrumming wildly against the press of Bucky’s embrace.

“Bucky,” Tony tries, but his voice cracks right down the middle of it.

Bucky’s arms tighten just slightly around Tony, a subtle shift that pulls him closer—not enough to trap him, never that, but enough to minimize the tremors that he didn’t even notice until now. Tony’s fingers twitch with the urge to push off, to create distance.

But he doesn’t. He stays, taut and hesitant, his breath shallow as he battles the instinct to fold into the embrace.

And then Bucky does it.

He dips his head slightly, his cheek brushing against Tony’s temple, and one hand slides up the Omega’s back. His fingers find the nape of Tony’s neck, calloused pads brushing lightly over the sensitive skin there in a slow, rhythmic motion before he smooths his hand over the expanse in a firm grip.

The effect is immediate.

Tony’s knees threaten to buckle, the tension bleeding out of him in an instant as his head tips forward against Bucky’s chest. His shoulders sag, the rigid set of his spine dissolving as he leans fully into the warmth surrounding him. A soft, shaky breath escapes his lips, and his fingers curl against the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, clutching it like a lifeline.

“Shh,” Bucky soothes, his voice a low murmur against Tony’s hair. His hand stays steady, fingers tracing gentle, grounding circles at the base of Tony’s neck. “It’s alright, sweet thing. I’ve got you.”

Tony buries his nose into Bucky’s chest and sucks in lungfuls of Bucky’s heady, blooming scent. It dulls the sharp edges of his frayed, chaotic thoughts and leaves a warm, tingling sensation behind that drips to the base of his spine.

Tony lets himself sink into that quieter, softer space for a moment—urged on by Bucky’s attentive petting as the knot in his chest finally starts to loosen. Bucky’s pheromones seep into his lungs and linger in his bloodstream, quieting the frayed static in his mind until all he can focus on is the steady thrum of the Alpha’s heart beneath his cheek.

They stay like that for a few minutes, or maybe hours, Tony’s face pressed into Bucky’s chest, letting the warm, heady scent work its magic, softening his sharp edges. His muscles unwind, one by one, as though Bucky’s arms around him have flipped some hidden switch, coaxing his body into a quiet, reluctant surrender.

“You can’t just…” Tony mumbles, his voice muffled against the soft linen of Bucky’s shirt. He huffs a breath, the words tangling in his throat, before finally managing, “You can’t jus’ pet me into submission every time I’m bein’ a jerk, you know.”

Bucky’s chest vibrates with a soft laugh, the sound reverberating through Tony’s entire body. “Seems to be working, though, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, one large hand sliding up to the nape of Tony’s neck, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin there in slow, deliberate circles.

Tony’s breath stutters, a helpless little shiver rippling down his spine. “Not fair,” he says weakly. His grip on Bucky’s shirt tightens briefly, as if to emphasize his point, before loosening again. “You’re cheating.”

“Not cheating,” Bucky counters, his tone teasing but soft, his hand never faltering in its soothing rhythm. “Just playin’ to my strengths. And, let’s be honest, love—you’re not exactly fightin’ me on it.”

Tony snorts faintly, the pet name firing off a synapse somewhere in his brain that fizzles out and dies before he can latch onto it with proper dexterity. “Because you’ve short-circuited my nervous system,” he mutters, tilting his head slightly to peer up at Bucky without fully pulling away. “You and your… stupid hands. And your stupid smell.”

Bucky grins, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to Tony’s unruly hair. “Stupid, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tony mutters, his voice still muffled, though now tinged with the faintest hint of a pout. “Stupidly effective.”

Bucky hums, his thumb brushing along the curve of Tony’s neck, eliciting another soft shiver. “You were dodging.”

Tony makes a disgruntled noise and buries his face back into Bucky’s chest, the warmth in his cheeks spreading down to his collarbones. “Just… don’t wanna go home this weekend.”

“Then don’t.”

Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Right, because that’ll go over well with Howard.” After a beat, he says, “Don’t answer the draft.”

Bucky snorts, exhaling a warm puff of air on top of Tony’s head. “Already tried that, once.”

“Seemed to work the first time.”

“Might’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for those pesky Axis Powers.”

“Semantics.”

Bucky goes to pull away, but Tony’s fingers tighten their hold on his shirt. The Alpha stills.

“Okay. Okay, Tony.” A kiss is dropped on his forehead, a long one. Tony pushes into it, greedily. Bucky’s lips twitch against Tony’s skin. “What do you need?”

Tony sighs. His breath feels warm in his lungs. Expansive. “You.”

Bucky’s scent swells and blooms, though Tony can’t be positive that it’s an intentional reaction. Either way, he drinks it in. Revels in it.

Because pretty soon, his weekend will undoubtedly smell like Howard’s familiar, sour dissatisfaction and—if Tony’s escalating feelings of dread are more than some gut hunch—Tiberius’s overbearing, suffocating pheromones.

Bucky’s lips linger against Tony’s forehead, the gentle pressure imprinting a warmth that slides down his cheeks and settles low in his belly. Tony keeps his face buried in the Alpha’s chest, his fingers twisted in the rumpled shirt. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing—clinging to a moment that feels too fleeting, or steeling himself for the next few days ahead—but he knows he’s not ready for the Alpha to let go.

“Tiberius is planning something,” Tony says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He inhales deeply, letting Bucky’s scent fill his lungs once more. It thrums through him like electricity, each breath crackling in the base of his spine. “He’s… manipulating my father. Or he’s trying to. He told Howard that he was the reason I went into heat. That we have some sort of rare, genetics-defying compatibility that sent my hormones haywire.”

For a moment, Bucky doesn’t say anything. His arms remain locked around Tony, holding him steady against the new weight of these revelations. Then, his fingers press a little more firmly into Tony’s back, a muted wave of tension rolling through his muscles as he exhales slowly.

It’s the only sign of the anger Tony knows is simmering right beneath the Alpha’s calm surface.

“That’s not true, though,” Bucky says, all careful and measured, like he’s trying to keep his voice steady. His free hand edges up to the back of Tony’s neck, brushing the hair there in slow, methodical circles. A claiming touch. “We both know it isn’t.”

“Course not,” Tony mutters, burying his face further against Bucky’s chest. He can’t bring himself to meet those steel-gray eyes that always see right through him. “He wasn’t anywhere near me when my heat started. You were.” The words stick in his throat, too vulnerable, but he forces them out. “But Tiberius is telling Howard otherwise.”

“What do you mean… Tony, was he there?” Bucky’s voice is low, clipped. His hand slides up Tony’s back, his fingers curling carefully around the nape of Tony’s neck, grounding him. “You never said… Christ, Tony, did he—did he do anything?”

Oops.

Tony presses his face deeper into Bucky’s chest, the linen of his shirt soft against his cheeks. He breathes in the Alpha’s scent, clinging to the reassurance it offers even though his heart hammers with a fresh wave of anxiety. “No,” he manages, voice muffled but resolute. “No. I mean… he tried. Kind of. He wanted to. But I got away, Buck. He didn’t… he couldn’t. I’m okay.”

Bucky exhales sharply, his hold going rigid for a moment before loosening again. His other hand finds Tony’s waist, fingers spreading wide against his side as though to confirm he’s whole and unhurt. Tony burrows into it selfishly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks quietly, the hurt barely suppressed beneath his attempt at calm. “After everything that happened at that damn gala—” Bucky cuts himself off with a curse. His fingers spasm on Tony’s waist. “This clearly isn’t just some creep circlin’ you dad, whisperin’ in his ear—”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Tony interrupts, a shaky laugh slipping through. It tastes bitter on his tongue. “You’ve got enough on your plate without me dumping—”

He stops himself short, realizing how stupid he sounds. Like this isn’t an argument they’ve already had a dozen times.

He feels Bucky’s fingers tense at the back of his neck, and a wave of guilt washes over him. Here he is, bracing for Bucky’s anger, and all he finds is concern, a quiet urgency in the way the Alpha keeps touching him like he’s making sure Tony’s still there.

“Tony,” Bucky says, voice soft and raw. “Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t.. decide what I can handle. If this Tiberius guy was there—if he even tried to lay a fucking finger on you in that state…” He trails off, his scent pulsing and cracking into something sharp and acidic, and Tony can practically feel his anger spike along with it.

“He tried,” Tony admits. “But I got out of there. Honest, Buck. I got out of there and I called you.”

Bucky’s arms don’t loosen right away; instead, his grip grows momentarily fierce, like he’s clutching at something that’s threatening to slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says at last, his voice terse and low, sending a tremor through Tony’s chest. “I said—I told you I wouldn’t let him touch you.”

Tony blinks, confusion flickering across his features. “What are you—you don’t have to apologize,” he says, scandalized, though it comes out as a strangled rasp since his breathing is still uneven.  “Jesus, Bucky, you haven’t done anything.”

Bucky’s jaw flexes, muscles bunching beneath the stubble lining it. “I promised,” he grits out, eyes stormy. “Hell, I’ve been making promises since day one. Telling you I’d protect you, that nobody’d lay a hand on you, that you were—” He exhales hard, like he’s trying to keep his temper from bursting free. “I said you were mine.”

Tony’s heart twists at the feeling of plummeting headfirst into uncharted territory. It hits Tony all over again just how helpless this situation is—how tied they both are to ugly forces so much bigger than them.

“Bucky,” he says slowly, placing a hand over the Alpha’s chest, feeling the frantic thump of his heartbeat beneath his palm. “You’ve never let me down. You couldn’t if you tried.”

He’s pretty sure he means that.

Still, the words don't soothe Bucky. Instead, his expression darkens with a frustration that’s almost palpable. “But what good is that?” he growls, voice rough. “I can’t just… I can’t beat my chest and keep every Alpha away from you when I’m on the other side of the bridge every damn weekend, can I? I don’t have any real claim on you—no bond, no nothin’. Just empty talk.”

Tony’s mating gland pulses and his chest splinters in half.

“They’re not empty,” Tony insists, voice wobbling. “Not to me.”

Neither of them move for a moment. Not until Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but Tony is already pulling away, his hands falling to fists at his side. “I don’t… I’ve never blamed you for any of this, Bucky. This was always the risk. I told you that.” He feels fragile. Like cracked glass.

Bucky’s eyes meet his, fierce and almost desperate. He cups Tony’s face in his palms. “Yeah, well, I blame me. I said I’d keep you safe from that asshole, and now here he is—right up in your life. In your heat. Lying to your father about some… fucking cosmic gene match. And I’m just standing here, holding you, telling you it’s gonna be okay, when I have no idea if I can make it okay.”

Tony swallows hard, words tangling in his throat as he tries to find something reassuring to say. He blinks away his frustration. “It’s not your fault. I told you—he didn’t do anything. I got away.”

“Barely,” Bucky snaps, then closes his eyes, forcing his voice to lower. “Sorry. I just—” He drops his forehead to Tony’s, like a reflex he can’t control. “I can’t stand thinking about him touching you, or cornering you again. About me not being there to stop him.”

They linger in the quiet, hearts beating out of sync. Tony feels the faint tremor in Bucky’s arms, a tension thrumming beneath his skin that never quite settles. Something like desperation flickers in Bucky’s gaze, but it’s gone as soon as Tony tries to focus on it.

A beat passes—just long enough for Tony to register Bucky’s lingering grip at his neck, the weight of his gaze—and then Bucky shifts with a graceful economy of motion. Before Tony can guess his intent, the Alpha pivots them both, guiding Tony backwards until his calves hit the edge of the bed and they tumble onto the rumpled mattress in a tangle of limbs, Tony’s half-zipped duffel sliding off with a dull thump. The mattress squeaks in protest, but neither of them pays it any mind.

The impact is gentle. Bucky rolls fluidly on top, bracketing Tony’s hips with his knees. There’s no real force behind it, just a quiet certainty that leaves Tony reeling. The scent of woodsmoke and pine swells, and Tony’s hands wind into the fabric at Bucky’s waist, gripping without conscious thought, as though he needs the contact to keep from drifting.

Bucky’s breath brushes warm against Tony’s cheek, and his thumb finds that spot at the base of Tony’s throat—a lazy arc that skims over sensitive skin, right where an Omega’s mating gland resides. The touch is deliberate, almost reverent, and Tony’s heart seizes at the implication.

His pulse thunders, a hectic rhythm that Bucky must feel beneath his thumb. His mouth goes dry as Bucky’s scent thickens the air.

At last, Bucky dips his head, pressing the lightest of kisses just beside that telltale spot. A breath of air shivers out of Tony’s lungs, and he tilts his chin up, instinct and longing overriding the flurry in his mind.

“You told me that we deserved to take our time,” Tony says, the words tumbling out in a breathy rush. “When y’asked me to go steady. The slow build, the courting. You were so insistent on it. On me not—on us not—rushing.” He flails his hand in the arm for lame emphasis.

Bucky’s jaw twitches. His thumb brushes over the gland again, and Tony’s hips buck involuntarily. The rush of slick that spills into his underwear isn’t the most appropriate reaction, given the conversation, but Bucky’s nostrils twitch in recognition.

“You deserve it,” the Alpha says quietly. “You deserved to be courted, to be taken on dates that didn’t end in me sneaking back to your dorm two seconds before curfew.” There’s a wry twist to his mouth, but the torment in his eyes is unmistakable. “I wanted you to know you’re worth that kind of time, that you’re not just some Omega who needs to be snatched up because the world’s going to pieces.”

Tony tries to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “Well,” he says, “in case you haven’t noticed, the world is kind of going to pieces. And Tiberius is accelerating his bullshit timetable, and your deployment could come any day now—”

Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly, frustration carving lines across his brow. “I know.”

They both lapse into silence, the weight of the unspoken question settling heavily between them. Tony can practically taste it, the unasked What do we do?

Then there’s the question he avoids thinking about, the desire that resides in the deepest, most hidden corners of his most reckless impulses:

Do we bond?

Tony looks away immediately, ashamed at his own internal monologue, and fixates on the rumpled bedspread. The clutter of notes and textbooks scattered across the floor.

The idea—that forbidden idea—hovers at the edge of his mind, sending a shiver of ugly, conflicting emotions through his chest—longing, doubt.

Fear.

Does he even want that with me?

He’s never even told Bucky he loves him. Not outright. Hell, they’ve only known each other a few months, and he’s not naive about how quickly feelings can change under pressure.

You can’t just ask him to bite you, selfish bastard. Tony reminds himself. You can’t ask him to seal his life to yours.

“You can’t blame yourself,” Tony says again, a slight waver creeping into his voice. “None of this is your fault. Tiberius… Howard… the war…” His throat tightens around the words, old insecurities threatening to bubble up. Because you’re stuck with me, and maybe you only want me to keep me safe… maybe you don’t even—

Bucky’s voice breaks the silence. “I wanted to give you time,” he says, a rasp in his throat. “That’s all I wanted. But… hell, time isn’t exactly on our side anymore, is it?”

Tony’s heart kicks up at the implication. He tries to control his reaction, but Bucky’s nose is pressed to his throat and he can no doubt smell the sudden spike in his pulse. “Are you—are you saying we should…?”

One of Bucky’s hands slips beneath Tony’s shoulder, fingers curling into the rumpled fabric of his uniform shirt, while the other travels to rest on Tony’s waist. With a slow, careful sweep, Bucky shifts their legs until they’re tangled, calves and ankles brushing in a familiar, intimate dance. The contact sparks a low, thrumming awareness in Tony’s nerves, and he finds himself clutching at Bucky’s back, trying to keep their bodies as close as possible.

“I’m not sayin’ anything, unless you want to hear it.” His gaze flicks to Tony’s face, earnest and just a bit haunted. “I don’t want you to feel cornered, not by me. Never by me. But—God, Tony, if Tiberius is sniffing around for a bond, or if Howard’s gonna push you into one…” He trails off, his chest heaving with a breath he can’t quite control. “I can’t stand the idea of him claiming you.”

A prickle of heat crawls up Tony’s spine. His cheeks burn, a mixture of embarrassment and something heavier, something that makes his gut twist. “You say that like—like we can just do it. Like I can just ask you to—” He swallows, cursing how his mouth goes dry.

Bite me, claim me, keep me.

He could fucking cry,

He doesn’t.

“I’d do it,” Bucky answers before Tony can finish, his voice surprisingly steady. Low with sincerity. “You know I would. If it’s what you wanted. If it’d keep you safe.”

If that’s what you wanted.

It stings like a slap.

Tony’s mind reels. He can’t help but recall the times Bucky’s lips have lingered at the curve of his neck, how gentle his touch has always been, how he never pressed for more than Tony was ready to give. He’d do it just to protect me, Tony realizes, a pang in his chest. Even if it’s not real—

Bucky’s always made him feel so secure, so wanted, but neither of them has said those words out loud yet. Tony doesn’t even know if his mouth is capable. They’ve barely had time to figure out the shape of them, to decide if they’re real or just adrenaline from stolen kisses and whispered promises in the dark.

“I don’t want you to do it just because you feel, y’know. Obligated,” Tony mumbles, though it’s like pulling teeth to force the words out of his throat. He wonders if his scent is betraying the agony that’s seeping into his bones. “I don’t want you to regret it later. To blame me when everything gets complicated.”

“Don’t,” Bucky says sharply.

Tony stills obediently.

“Don’t go thinking I’m only offering to bond you outta pity. I want you—God, you have no idea how much I want you.” Bucky’s grip shifts, his arm sliding snugly underneath Tony’s waist, fingers splaying across his lower back as though to prove his point. “This might be shitty timing, but it doesn’t change what’s real between us.”

The tension spirals between them again, and for a second, Tony wonders if Bucky’s about to say screw it and bite him on the spot. He almost wishes the Alpha would, just to tear off the bandage.

But Bucky’s cock would have to be inside Tony for that to work—his knot—and that’s an entirely separate conversation that Tony can’t even begin to try and unravel at the moment.

Bucky must sense Tony’s flicker of panic—or smell his blooming insecurity—because the Alpha deflates slightly.

“You deserve better than a forced bond,” Bucky says, voice steady despite the raging storm in his eyes. “We both do. But if it comes down to it—” He stops, seemingly swallowing every incandescent word that wants to come out. “I don’t care what Tiberius or Howard or the Army or any goddamn bureaucracy says. When it comes to you, I—” He hesitates, swallowing whatever words threaten to crack open.

Tony’s breath catches, heart thudding so loud he wonders if Bucky can hear it. He must, if the way the Alpha’s gaze darkens is any indication. Bucky’s hand slides further around Tony’s neck, tangling in the short hair at the back of his head, as though staking a claim. Tony closes his eyes, letting the storm of sensation swirl around him—Bucky’s heat pressing down on him, their legs intertwined, the firm press of broad palms keeping him close.

“I’m with you,” Bucky says, each syllable vibrating through Tony’s chest. “If that means we take the risk—look into the bond, or… or figure out another way, I’m in. I’m not messing around, Tony. This isn’t some desperate measure just to keep you out of Tiberius’s claws. It’s because I—” He falters again, expression taut with emotion he hasn’t named.

Tony’s cheeks flush, another rush of self-doubt warring with the flutter of something dangerously hopeful. “You’re sure?” he croaks.

Bucky’s only answer is a trembling breath and the press of his lips against Tony’s temple, gentle and resolute. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice resonating with quiet certainty. “I’m sure.”

They lie there, bodies entwined on the narrow bed, the fraught hush occasionally broken by their unsteady breathing. Tony’s eyes prick with unshed tears—because that’s who he is, lately, an Omega who cries at the drop of a fucking hat.

He blames hormones.

He swallows, pulling in a deep lungful of Bucky’s scent, letting it blur the edges of his uncertainties. They’ll have to talk about it more—they always do. Sort through the legalities, because Tony can’t recall a single scenario where a male Omega bonded to a partner of his own violition that wasn’t part of some pre-existing, binding familial contract.

The emotional fallout, inevitably. Tiberius’s looming threat.

But right now, this is real: Bucky’s body pressed against his, the Alpha’s hands on his skin, the slow drag of breath they share.

Bucky shifts his weight, and it’s an unintentional adjustment more than anything, but it presses Tony more firmly into the mattress, eliciting a soft moan from the Omega. His hips buck up into the weight above him.

He can’t help it—Bucky is still perched over Tony, and Tony can feel the heat radiating off the Alpha in waves, the damp warmth of his breath ghosting over Tony’s lips. His fingertips on Tony’s ribs.

“Sweetheart.” Bucky ghosts his lips over Tony’s throat, the curve of his jaw,, half a plea, half a promise. “C’mon, let me—”

Tony’s answer is immediate. He fists a hand in Bucky’s shirt, tugging him down until their mouths crash together, a sudden, urgent meeting of lips and teeth that sends sparks ricocheting through Tony’s veins. Bucky groans into it, raw and deep, and the sound resonates in Tony’s chest like a pulse of shared hunger.

One of Bucky’s hands braces against the bed near Tony’s head while the other roams up under Tony’s shirt, skimming over warm skin and muscle with sure, deliberate strokes. Tony arches his back at the contact, a tremor rolling up his spine. His own fingers curl into the thick hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, keeping him anchored in place, as though letting go might unravel him.

“Christ, Tony,” Bucky rasps between kisses, breath hitching when Tony’s hips shift to meet his. Tony’s face grows warmer—he’s suddenly too aware of how desperate he’s become, how the needy, responsive animal in him clamors for more contact, more friction. But for once, the clamor is matched by a surging confidence: Bucky wants this, wants him.

The Alpha’s mouth leaves Tony’s, skating across his jaw and down the column of his throat, nipping and kissing, making every nerve light up in response. Tony twists beneath him, a faint whine catching in his throat, and he can practically feel Bucky’s smile against his skin.

“You taste good, sweet boy,” Bucky murmurs, teeth scraping just shy of Tony’s mating gland. The delicate threat of it sends a pulse of liquid heat through Tony’s middle—fear and desire and something deeper twining together.

Tony’s nails dig into Bucky’s shoulder blades, and he moans, tipping his head back to give the Alpha more access. “Shut up,” he says, but there’s no heat in the words—only a breathless tremor.

Bucky chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating against Tony’s throat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His hand slides further up Tony’s shirt, fingers spanning the ridges of Tony’s ribs before edging around to press against the small of his back, lifting him closer. It’s a gesture of possession, hungry and protective simultaneously.

Tony’s next breath stutters out, and he kisses Bucky again—hard, demanding, open-mouthed. Their tongues clash with more confidence this time, a desperate, wet slide that makes Tony’s thoughts smear into a hazy blur of yes, yes, yes. The sheets rustle beneath them, Tony’s foot accidentally kicking a textbook off the bed. He doesn’t care—nothing else matters but the feel of Bucky’s body, the slick heat pooling in his belly, and the harsh rasp of his own lungs gasping for air.

Bucky shifts, one thigh wedging firmly between Tony’s legs, sending another bolt of sensation crackling through him. Tony clutches at Bucky’s waist, breath coming in ragged bursts as the Alpha’s lips find the curve of his ear.

Bucky groans—loud, primal, gorgeous—and then he’s changing the angle, hooking an arm under Tony’s waist and rolling them with one fluid motion, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight. Tony’s head spins as the world tilts, and suddenly he’s straddling Bucky’s hips, knees bracketing the Alpha’s sides.

It’s heady, the way Bucky’s hands find his waist, guiding him gently into the cradle of the Alpha’s body. Tony’s next breath comes out shaky, the friction making his nerves sing. Despite the flush staining his cheeks, he clings to the moment, wanting to milk every second of closeness before reality intrudes again.

“Tony,” Bucky rasps, his grip tightening. He slides one hand up Tony’s side, skimming the curve of his waist until it rests just beneath the Omega’s arm. The other remains on Tony’s hip, thumb stroking circles into the fabric of his shirt. “God, you’re gorgeous. Want you. Want your mouth.”

Tony stills. He can feel the press of Bucky beneath him—the throb of the Alpha’s cock in his lap, trapped between layers of fabric. Not an unfamiliar presence; if anything, a welcome one. He bears down—instinctual, mindless.

For a moment, he just sits there, straddling Bucky’s hips, completely motionless. The Alpha beneath him shifts, big hands sliding up Tony’s thighs in a slow, teasing motion. Each subtle squeeze and press of his fingers against Tony’s muscles sends sparks of anticipation zipping through Tony’s belly.

“Y’alright?” Bucky murmurs, his voice husky and distracted. His lips trail Tony’s jawline like he can’t bear to keep his mouth off Tony’s skin.

Tony nods, cheeks burning. “Yeah,” he breathes, swallowing the last shreds of hesitation. “Just… I want that, too.” And he does.

God, Tony wants to give. The suggestion of it thrums in his veins like a live wire, making him dizzy with the possibilities.

He tugs at the collar of Bucky’s shirt, letting the words hang in the charged air.

Bucky pulls back, his brow furrowing for a fraction of a second.

And then his expression clears. He groans—a gentle, strained noise.

“I didn’t realize,” he admits slowly. “I— If you don’t want to, we can—”

“I do,” Tony blurts, more forceful than he means, and then he softens, dropping a trembling kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “I do,” he repeats, quieter. “I just… I might not be very good at it.”

He feels more than sees the shiver that dances through Bucky’s frame. One of Bucky’s hands slips to the back of Tony’s neck, fingers sliding into his hair, almost too gentle in their hold. “Not possible.” Bucky’s voice is low, strained, like he’s reining himself in. “Are you sure, doll? I don’t ever want you to feel like—”

“I want it,” Tony cuts in softly, surprising himself with the steadiness of his tone. “Just… guide me.”

A smile ghosts over Bucky’s lips, something warm and soft and fleeting, and he exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Okay. Whatever you want, Tony,” he says, the words easy but laced with a desire that makes the Omega’s pulse pound. “I’m yours for the taking.”

There’s an unspoken agreement here, Tony knows. It hums in the air between them, pulsing in time with the heat that curls low in his belly.

This isn’t just about sex. It usually isn’t—Tony knows this, by now.

It isn’t just about the heady thrill of having Bucky sprawled beneath him, reassuring and confident as he feeds his cock into Tony’s mouth—as enticing as that idea is. It’s something deeper—something rooted in instinct and need, in the unspoken truths of their bond, incomplete as it may be.

Tony isn’t naive about his role in this. Not anymore, at least—not after finally surrendering to a few fevered nights tangled in the sheets with the Alpha beneath him, and riding out enough pheromone highs to sedate a small army.

He’s an Omega, sure, and it’s in his nature to want this, to crave the quiet assurances that come from knowing he’s pleasing an Alpha. His Alpha.

The act of giving himself over to Bucky’s need, of seeking out his pleasure and hearing the ragged sounds that spill from his throat—it soothes the restless anxiety clawing at Tony’s chest, every single time. His biology hums with satisfaction, the submission.

But this isn’t just about Tony.

It’s not just about the way Bucky’s scent surrounds him like a balm, cedar and smoke settling over his frayed edges like a blanket. It’s not just about the way his own innate, submissive instincts buzz with contentment at the press of Bucky’s hands on his skin, the grounding weight of the Alpha’s body against his.

No, this is just as much for Bucky as it is for Tony.

Because Bucky needs this, too. Tony can feel it in the tension thrumming through the Alpha’s muscles, in the way his hands cling to Tony’s hips like he’s afraid to let go. Bucky, who is about to let his Omega walk out the door for another long weekend, out of his sight and his reach.

Bucky, who knows that Tiberius—a dangerous prick with no respect for boundaries—is waiting, circling, looking for any excuse to stake a claim that isn’t his to make. Bucky, who has always been so careful, so deliberate in the way he touches Tony, in the way he worships him, suddenly has no time left for caution.

Bucky, whose dominance is as natural and inherent to his biology as Tony’s submission.

Tony’s breath shakes on the exhale, and he leans down to kiss Bucky again—slow, open-mouthed, drawing out the taste of him. Bucky meets him halfway, easily taking back control as his tongue slides over Tony’s with a languid pressure that makes Tony’s nerves sing. When he finally pulls back, Bucky’s gaze is dark with want, but he stays still, letting Tony set the pace.

“You’re gonna feel like a fuckin’ dream, sweetheart,” Bucky drawls in that voice that makes Tony’s blood sing, makes his vision feel a tad more smudged around the edges. Just what Tony needs. “No rush. Take your time. I’ll show you how I like it.”

Oh.

Tony nods stupidly.

Bucky shifts, his grip shifting from Tony’s neck to the hem of his own shirt. He tugs it up, exposing the hard planes of his stomach. It’s not a full strip, but enough that Tony can see a hint of tanned muscle, the dip of Bucky’s waist that makes him swallow thickly. Then Bucky rests his hand on Tony’s arm, giving the Omega a chance to change his mind.

Tony doesn’t. He can’t, really; doesn’t believe there’s actually a single force in this universe that could dislodge him from his current task.

He scoots further down, positioning himself between Bucky’s legs, mindful of the narrow bed. With each shift, Tony’s pulse spikes, that heady feeling of doing something for Bucky making his skin prick with anticipation. The mattress creaks under his knees, and he leans down, breath ghosting over Bucky’s navel. The Alpha’s skin jumps in anticipation.

Bucky sucks in a breath. “You don’t—”

Tony angles his face up, meeting the Alpha’s gaze. “Barnes, I swear to God,” he says. “I want to. Now, respectfully, shut up.” His determination immediately bleeds into something shyer, but he masks it by turning his attention back to the Alpha’s lower torso.

A flash of raw desire crosses Bucky’s features. He lets out a harsh exhale, all protest melting into a hot, shaky nod. One hand braces on the bed, the other threads gently in Tony’s hair.

Tony sighs, relaxing into the grip.

He knows he should be nervous, in theory. He knows that this is something that people do—he caught his classmate with the mailroom fella, after all.

And he is nervous. Kind of. He’s seen Bucky’s cock. If he’s able to fit even half of it into his mouth, he’ll be shocked.

But instead of pulling away, his mouth waters at the thought. His own scent swells, his arousal bleeding heavily into a room already thick with pheromones, and his Alpha’s pupils dilate.

Heart hammering, Tony dips his head, pressing a tentative kiss to the small expanse of bare skin just above the waistband of Bucky’s trousers. The Alpha’s muscles tense beneath his lips, and Tony hears the catch in Bucky’s breathing. It fuels him, a surge of confidence overshadowing embarrassment.

Carefully, Tony kisses lower, the flutter of Bucky’s abdominal muscles spurring him on. His mind buzzes with a thousand little worries—Am I doing this right? Is this too soon? Am I enough?—but Bucky’s low groan eases most of the doubts, reminding Tony that this is them, figuring it out together.

“Tony,” Bucky breathes, voice ragged, “That’s—yeah.”

His fingers slip more firmly into Tony’s hair, but the hold is gentle, not demanding. Tony can’t help the small smile that curves against Bucky’s skin. He slides his palms up the Alpha’s thighs, a flush burning through his entire body. With a slow, cautious tug, he works open the first button of Bucky’s trousers, then another, a tingle igniting every nerve in his arms.

The Alpha’s eyes flutter shut, a deep groan rattling his chest. Tony resumes unbuttoning, the sound of fabric sliding apart filling his ears like thunder. A mixture of nerves and excitement makes his hands shake, but Bucky’s low, encouraging noises keep him grounded.

Finally, the last button gives, revealing white cotton underneath. Tony stills for a moment, overwhelmed by the thought of actually going there—but Bucky’s soft groan of Tony’s name pushes him forward. He slides his fingers beneath the waistband of Bucky’s underwear, hooking it down just enough to free the Alpha’s length.

The sight of Bucky’s cock laid bare, his desire laid out so plainly, sends a spike of something hot and heady through Tony’s center. He lifts his gaze, seeking affirmation in Bucky’s face—sees only hunger and affection and a tremor of disbelief.

And, okay. Tony can do this.

He’s faced much more daunting endeavors.

What’s a penis in the mouth, after all, compared to his upcoming Omega Ethics final?

The Alpha is watching him, heavy-lidded but unrelentingly present; his lips parted in a quiet gasp as Tony’s fingers curl around him for the first time.

The weight in his hand is startling, the heat of it, the smooth skin under his touch. Tony swallows hard and his heart thunders in his chest, but Bucky doesn’t rush him. His grip on Tony’s hair tightens, infinitesimally, though he murmurs soft encouragements that make Tony’s stomach flip.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky drawls, voice like gravel and honey. “Nice and easy. Just feel me.”

Tony nods, swallowing thickly as he gets his bearings. He’s never done this before—never touched Bucky like this—but now that he’s here, it feels less like a task and more like something he’s meant to do. He tightens his grip experimentally, sliding his hand up and down Bucky’s length, and the deep, broken moan it pulls from the Alpha is enough to send a rush of heat straight to Tony’s core.

Bucky is huge and hot and thick in Tony’s palm. Pre-cum already beads from the tip, pearly white and viscous, and Tony’s sluggish brain works off muscle memory—Christ knows he’s certainly touched his own dick enough times to amount to something useful—to slide the pads of his fingers over the glistening head of Bucky’s cock. He gathers the moisture beading there and glides his palm back down, slicking his grip.

Bucky’s head tips back against the pillow, his throat exposed, and Tony can’t tear his eyes away from the way his chest rises and falls, the way his muscles tense and relax beneath Tony’s touch. The Alpha’s scent is everywhere now, heady and rich, wrapping around Tony like a cocoon. It’s intoxicating, and it makes him want to give more.

His lips part, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before he leans down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the tip of Bucky’s cock. The salty tang of him bursts across Tony’s tongue, unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and Bucky’s sharp inhale spurs him on. He licks a slow, cautious stripe along the underside, tasting and exploring, and the deep groan that rumbles through Bucky’s chest sends a shiver down Tony’s spine.

It’s not bad.

It’s kind of nice, actually. Like Bucky’s scent, intensified by a thousand.

“Fuck. Just like that,” Bucky murmurs, his fingers flexing gently in Tony’s hair. “God, Tony, baby, you’re so fuckin’—perfect.”

The praise warms Tony from the inside out. Turns his mind into a buoyant, soft space. He’s vaguely aware that his own boxers are so sticky that Bucky will probably have to peel them off his thighs later. It doesn’t matter.

He has no idea what he’s doing, if he’s being honest, and he’s aware that he might be completely floundering, but Tony has always been a quick learner. Someone driven by instinct and, when everything else has failed, by a crippling, debilitating urge to succeed.

So he lowers his mouth further, wrapping his lips around the head. He has to relax his jaw a little, working to adjust to the stretch, and the Alpha’s hips jerk slightly as if he’s fighting to stay still. Tony hollows his cheeks, taking in more of Bucky’s length with each bob of his head, his hand stroking the base in tandem.

“Slow,” Bucky commands, his voice gravelly and raw. “Go slow, baby. Don’t push yourself. Just—fuck, you feel so good.”

Tony nods as best he can, the motion making his lips brush against the underside of Bucky’s cock in a way that draws another ragged sound from the Alpha. He focuses on the rhythm, on the way Bucky’s body reacts to every movement. The weight of Bucky in his mouth feels more natural with each passing second, and the sounds spilling from the Alpha’s lips make every nerve in Tony’s body hum with satisfaction.

Time becomes slippery, ebbing and flowing without tether or anchor. Each shaky inhale, each strained exhale from above him, wraps Tony in a haze of submission that feels as warm and heady as the scent of pine and smoke thick in the room. His world narrows to the wet slide of Bucky’s cock on his tongue, the low, guttural noises spilling from the Alpha's throat, the way Bucky’s hand in his hair alternates between firm and gentle—a guiding pressure that never demands but holds him steady.

The room fades away. The open window, the piles of clothes scattered on the floor, the faint hum of Tony’s broken radiator—all of it dissolves into white noise, insignificant compared to the Alpha beneath him. Tony’s mind quiets, the constant whirlwind of thoughts and insecurities dimming to a low hum. His instincts take over, guiding his actions in a way that feels natural, instinctive.

He hardly notices how his body softens, how his shoulders relax and his breath slows, until Bucky’s hand slips to his cheek, thumb brushing in a soothing arc. Tony leans into the touch without thinking, a soft whine escaping his throat. It’s a sound he barely recognizes, long and drawn out, but he doesn’t care. The knot of tension in his chest loosens with every stroke of Bucky’s thumb, and the low, approving rumble from the Alpha above him makes his stomach bloom with something warm and heady.

Bucky’s thumb brushes over Tony’s cheek again, tracing the indent of Bucky’s cock in Tony’s mouth. “Look at me,” he says, voice hoarse. An order.

Tony flicks his eyes upward, meeting Bucky’s gaze. Bucky’s hands tug Tony’s hair until Tony is pulling off of Bucky’s cock, the Omega releasing something that sounds like a combination of a ragged breath and a desperate whine. A line of spit connects Tony’s bottom lip to the red, engorged head of Bucky’s cock. Tony wipes at his mouth.

Bucky bites out a curse. His grip strengthens around both sides of Tony’s face.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. Listen to me,” Bucky says, remarkably composed through the visible heaving of his chest. Tony blinks at him, trying to clear away the fog.

“Good boy. Pretty Omega,” Bucky murmurs, and Tony sighs. Bucky’s hand drops from Tony’s face to Tony’s own, the one still grasping Bucky’s cock, and he intertwines their fingers together. Tony swallows thickly as the Alpha drags their combined grip in a slow, downward motion.

“Feel that, honey?” Bucky rubs his thumb in a slow motion of Tony’s thumb as their joint grip settles at the base of his cock. Bucky increases the pressure of their grip, just barely, and hisses out a sigh. His hips buck into the sensation, and Tony suppresses a whimper.

“That’s my knot, baby doll. It’s gonna keep growin’—gonna swell up as your mouth keeps makin’ me feel real sweet.” Bucky’s Brooklyn accent, notably, thickens with arousal. Tony savors it every time.

And Tony feels it—the slow, deliberate press of Bucky’s fingers, the thick weight of his cock resting heavy in his palm, the growing knot pulsing just beneath their joined grip. It’s hypnotizing, the way Bucky lets him feel it, see it, dragging their hands down so Tony can press his fingers against the thickening swell at the base. Hot and solid and meant for him.

A shudder rolls through Tony so violently he whimpers, knees nearly buckling where he kneels between Bucky’s thighs. His body reacts before his brain can keep up—his mouth parting, instinct clawing up his spine, everything inside him yearning.

Bucky knows. Of course he does. He always does.

“S’right, sweetheart.” Bucky’s voice is low, thick and slurred with hunger, his Brooklyn drawl curling around the words like warm honey. His fingers tighten around Tony’s own, pushing their joined grip into another slow, torturous stroke, dragging Tony’s palm over the swollen base. His hips stutter up into their touch, barely restrained. “S’all for you. But you know that, don’t you?”

Tony nods so fast it makes him dizzy.

Bucky chuckles. Rough, indulgent, knowing. “Course you do.”

Tony barely has time to breathe before Bucky is guiding him back down, their fingers unraveling as his big, calloused hand slides to the back of Tony’s neck. Not pushing, not urging—just waiting, firm and steady, offering him control even as his body screams for more.

“That’s it, Tony,” Bucky breathes, trembling now, his cock so hard, so swollen in Tony’s grasp, the knot at the base pulsing, aching. "C’mon, darlin'. Open that pretty mouth for me.”

Tony goes eagerly, his body following instinct, his mind fogged with it, and then—

Then Bucky is pushing past his lips, and Tony is sinking down onto his cock like he was made for it.

And, hell, maybe he was.

The heat of it, the stretch of his jaw, the way Bucky’s cock slides over his tongue, thick and hot and pulsing—it makes Tony whimper, makes his fingers dig into Bucky’s thighs as he fights to breathe around it.

Bucky shudders.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he groans, his voice wrecked, his hand trembling as it strokes through Tony’s hair. His other hand drops to his own knot, squeezing the sensitive skin at the base of his cock. "Nice and slow. Yeah, yeah, that’s my good boy.”

Tony whines, his head going fuzzy, something deep inside him purring at the praise.

He wants more.

He needs more.

His thighs squeeze together as he takes Bucky deeper, his tongue pressing firm against the underside of the Alpha’s cock, feeling the heavy pulse of him, tasting the salt of his pre-come as it smears across his tongue.

"Goddamn, baby doll," Bucky gasps, his head falling back against the mattress, his fingers tightening just enough in Tony’s hair, not pushing, not forcing—just holding, just keeping Tony there, like he can’t stand to let him go.

Tony feels drunk on it.

Drunk on the weight of Bucky’s cock on his tongue, drunk on the deep, shattered moans spilling from the Alpha’s lips, drunk on the raw, aching need in Bucky’s voice when he growls—

"Fuck—gonna come, baby. Gonna fill that pretty little mouth, you ready for it?”

The words send a shockwave of heat through Tony’s body, his fingers digging into the firm muscle of Bucky’s thighs as he nods, frantic, his throat fluttering around the thick, pulsing weight of the Alpha’s cock.

Bucky’s hand tightens in his hair, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, his scent spiking thick, raw, and overwhelmingly Alpha. His hips twitch, struggling to hold back even as his body demands release.

Tony’s mouth stretches wider, his throat opening instinctively, taking him in deeper, deeper, until Bucky groans—a low, broken, wrecked sound that Tony wants to bottle and keep forever.

And then—

Bucky shakes apart.

His whole body goes tight, rigid, his fingers clenching, his head tilting back, muscles straining as a deep, guttural growl rips from his chest.

And Tony feels it.

The way Bucky’s cock throbs against his tongue, the sudden, hot spill of release, thick and endless, coating his mouth in Alpha, in want, in possession.

Bucky swears, voice cracked and wrecked beyond recognition, his hips jerking as he rides the aftershocks, lost in the heat of it, in the warm, wet clutch of Tony’s mouth, the willing submission of his Omega.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Bucky pants, his voice slurred, deep, wrecked. "Take it all—God, baby, that’s my good—oh, fuck—my good, pretty Omega—”

The praise unravels something inside Tony.

His own body trembles, the slick between his thighs pooling hot and insistent, his instincts purring, preening, thrumming with satisfaction. His fingers twitch where they grip at Bucky’s thighs, nails digging in just enough to ground himself as he swallows, moaning softly around the weight of Bucky on his tongue, taking, taking, taking.

But it’s too much.

Even as Tony tries to keep up, to take everything Bucky gives him, the Alpha is still pulsing, still spilling, his knot swollen and aching, his body trying to lock in, to claim—but with nowhere to go.

Bucky groans, his body shaking, his grip tightening just a fraction before he pulls Tony off with a slick, wet pop.

Tony gasps, dazed, wrecked, his lips red and swollen, a thin string of spit and come still connecting his mouth to Bucky’s flushed cock.

Above him, Bucky’s jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in deep, ragged shudders as he fists his own knot, working himself through the last, throbbing waves of his climax. His breath is harsh, unsteady, his free hand still stroking through Tony’s hair, still easing him down, grounding him.

Tony watches, transfixed, his eyes wide, heavy-lidded, utterly entranced as Bucky spills the rest of his release down his own cock, over his own fist, the Alpha groaning deep in his chest, like he’s been completely unraveled, completely undone.

It’s mesmerizing.

The sight of Bucky like this—loose-limbed and ruined, powerful and undone, shaking with the force of his own pleasure—makes something deep in Tony’s chest tighten, something hot and primal and raw.

Bucky’s grip on his hair finally loosens, and Tony sways, his body warm and pliant, floating somewhere between heady pleasure and mindless submission.

A big, warm hand cups his cheek, tilting his face up.

“That’s my good boy,” Bucky rasps, voice hoarse, affectionate, full of something thick and unspoken. “Took me so well, honey. Knew you would.”

Tony barely registers it at first—the way his body shakes, the way his breath stutters, the way his eyes burn, hot and full, the tears threatening to spill over. He swallows one last time around nothing, his throat aching, his lips slick and swollen, the taste of Bucky still thick on his tongue.

And then it hits him all at once.

A deep, overwhelming rush of emotion—too big to contain, too all-consuming to hold in. His body sags, his limbs boneless, his muscles exhausted, like something huge has just left him.

He barely notices the first tear when it falls.

But Bucky does.

Tony hears the shift of the mattress, feels strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him up, gathering him against broad, solid muscle, pressing him into warmth, into safety, into home.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bucky breathes, his voice low, soft, something deeply tender beneath the rough edges. His hands cup the sides of Tony’s damp, flushed face, wiping away the tears with slow, careful strokes. “S’okay, pretty. You’re alright.”

Tony shudders, a wrecked sob catching in his throat, his body trembling as he collapses into Bucky’s chest.

Bucky just holds him closer.

Like he knew this was coming. Like this was always going to happen.

Because of course it was.

Like Bucky had felt it the whole time—the way Tony’s body had surrendered, the way his instincts had overrun his thoughts, the way he’d given himself over so completely to the moment.

Tony is still panting, his breath shaky, uneven, his fingers clinging helplessly to Bucky’s shoulders. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying—just that he is, that his body has decided it needs to release something huge, something it’s been holding on to for too long.

And Bucky?

Bucky doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

Like this was the point.

To get Tony out of his own head, to pull him into the moment, to give him something too big to fight against, something that would let him let go completely.

And he did.

God, he did.

Tony feels raw, boneless, like he’s been peeled open, like something deep inside him has just been torn loose, leaving only this, only the weight of Bucky’s arms, the safety of his embrace, the slow, steady rub of his big hands up and down Tony’s back.

“B-Bucky—” Tony stammers, voice breaking, but he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

Bucky hushes him. Gently.

“Shh, I gotcha, Tony. Just breathe.”

Tony does, or tries to, still shuddering, his chest tight, his throat raw, his breath still coming in small, gasping little hiccups.

And Bucky just keeps holding him, keeps pressing him close, like he’s making sure Tony can feel him, feel the solid weight of him, feel the reassurance of his touch, the comfort of his scent.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, kissing the side of his head, his cheek, his temple, slow, gentle presses of his lips, so unbearably soft in contrast to how filthy things had just been.

Tony whimpers, nuzzling closer, letting himself be tucked under Bucky’s chin, his breath fanning over warm, sweat-dampened skin.

Bucky hums, the sound deep, comforting, his scent thick and grounding in the air around them.

His big hands are still moving, still stroking over Tony’s back, his sides, his waist, slow, soothing passes, his touch protective, claiming, worshiping.

Tony melts.

Completely, utterly, irrevocably melts into him.

Because he feels safe here.

Safe in the circle of Bucky’s arms, safe in the slow, steady drag of his hands, safe in the way Bucky is keeping him close, not letting him go, not letting him fall apart alone.

“You did so good for me, baby doll,” Bucky murmurs, raspy and indulgent, like he’s so fucking proud of Tony.

Which, if Tony didn’t currently possess the emotional depth of a turnip, would probably make him snort.

Instead, it almost makes him start crying again.

Bucky’s lips press another kiss into his hair, his arms tightening just a fraction, squeezing like he wants to absorb Tony into him completely.

And fuck, he’s never felt like this before.

Like he’s allowed to fall apart. Like someone will be there to hold him together when he does.

Like Bucky is going to hold him forever if that’s what he needs.

And maybe he will.

Maybe he is.

Tony’s breath finally starts to steady, his body softening completely, slumping in exhaustion.

Bucky feels it, too.

The moment Tony’s weight goes fully slack against him, he lets out a soft, pleased sound, something deep in his chest vibrating with satisfaction. His scent deepens, shifting into something warm, rich, protective, something that says mine, mine, mine, Omega, mine.

Tony shudders at the feel of it, whimpering quietly, and Bucky kisses his temple again, nuzzling close, murmuring against his skin—

“That’s it, baby. That’s my good boy.”

Tony doesn’t even fight it.

Doesn’t even try.

He just closes his eyes and lets himself be held.

For the first time in his entire fucking life—

Tony lets himself rest.

***

Once again, Tony's in a room that feels too small.

It isn’t, of course. The Stark estate is a sweeping mass of marble and excess, with gilded chandeliers and floor-to-ceiling drapes that stifle the air like a noose. But right now, in this moment, with Howard standing in front of him, his mother at his side, and Tiberius Stone lounging in the background like a conquering king awaiting his spoils, it might as well be a coffin.

And Tony is certainly close to suffocating.

Because he already knew what was coming. He’s known it for weeks, since the moment Tiberius first set his sights on him at the gala, since the whispers between his father and the Alpha grew too frequent, too low, too calculated.

Since the moment he called Bucky in the middle of the night, voice trembling with something too raw to name.

And yet, the actual moment—the sentence—strikes him like a hammer to the ribs.

“You are to be bonded to Tiberius, son. The contracts are being finalized, legalities drawn up. By next month, it will be official.”

White noise.

That’s all it is. A dull, static hum that drowns out Howard’s voice, that washes over the room like ocean waves swallowing a shipwreck. Tony stares ahead, eyes unfocused, his hands clenched so tightly at his sides that his nails bite into his palms. He’s distantly aware of the slight sting, but it barely registers past the roaring emptiness expanding in his chest.

Tiberius, smug as ever, leans back against the desk, arms folded across his chest. His scent fills the space, cloying and possessive. He isn’t even touching Tony, but it doesn’t matter. His presence alone is a chokehold.

“This arrangement is in your best interest,” Howard continues, ever the businessman, ever the Beta who sees the world in figures and contracts and negotiations. “Tiberius is an established Alpha—wealthy, successful, connected. Your… unique circumstances mean this was always going to be a delicate matter, but we’ve found a solution that benefits everyone.”

His voice holds no emotion. There’s no hesitation, no lingering doubt. He believes this is what’s best. That selling off his son like a high-priced auction item is just another profitable transaction.

Maria is silent.

She stands to the side, a statue carved from fine porcelain, hands clasped in front of her as if she’s in prayer. Her eyes—so like Tony’s—are blank, devoid of the fight he needs to see in them. Say something, he wants to beg. Do something. Mother, please—

But she does nothing.

Somehow, it’s worse than if she’d been openly complicit. The absence of protest is a blade straight to the gut, sharp and deliberate.

Tiberius watches him, his lips quirking in a smirk as he steps forward, the rich, musky scent of his pheromones curling around Tony like a noose. He’s not even masking his satisfaction, the sick pleasure in this forced submission.

“Don’t look so grim, dear.” His voice is a purr, saccharine and cruel. “I promise, I’ll take good care of you.”

The bile rises so quickly that Tony has to swallow hard against it. Don’t react. Don’t show weakness.

Tiberius takes another step forward, close enough that Tony can feel the warmth radiating off of him. His smirk deepens, and then—

He leans in.

The press of lips against his cheek is soft, deceptively gentle, but Tony feels it like a brand searing into his skin. The scent of smug satisfaction clings to it, a silent declaration: Mine.

No.

No.

A visceral jolt of revulsion shoots down his spine, every instinct screaming, pushing, fleeing. He recoils before he even realizes he’s moving, his breath catching sharp in his throat.

He can’t do this.

He can’t stay here. He can’t.

Howard calls his name, annoyed, but Tony is already moving. He knows he’ll suffer for this later, knows his father won’t let this defiance slide, but the thought barely registers. His feet carry him out the door, down the hall, through the dimly lit corridors of the estate. His lungs burn with every sharp inhale, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

***

By the time he reaches the servants’ quarters, Tony’s breath is coming in short, shallow bursts, his pulse a frantic staccato against his ribs. The dim light casts elongated shadows across the narrow hall, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of old books and polished wood.

Jarvis is already there, waiting. The butler’s expression is unreadable, but his hands are steady as he presses the telephone into Tony’s grip, a silent nod of understanding passing between them.

No questions, no hesitation. Just trust.

Not Bucky.

Not yet.

Tony’s fingers tremble as he dials. The number is burned into his brain—memorized in the split second the German had slipped the slip of paper into his hand months ago, voice low and urgent: Think about it. A private number, untraceable, rerouted through foreign relays before landing at its final destination. Not easily obtained, not easily discarded.

Tony had shoved it away back then. Buried it in his desk drawer beneath blueprints and half-finished schematics, ignored it out of fear—fear of Howard, fear of exposure, fear of stepping into something far larger than himself.

But fear isn’t an option anymore.

The line clicks open after three rings.

A voice, heavy with accent and sleep, gruff with either irritation or curiosity. “Das ist Erskine.”

Tony doesn’t hesitate. Words pour from him in a frantic tumble, raw and electric, a rush of numbers and calculations, equations strung together with the urgency of a detonator’s countdown. “The vita radiation chamber is unstable. Howard’s construct is inefficient—the coolant regulation is inconsistent, and the neutron flux is oscillating past safe thresholds.” His grip tightens on the receiver, nails digging into his palm. “The heat dispersion isn’t uniform across the chamber walls, which means the entire system is susceptible to radiation pockets. If you push the power past 70% saturation, the structural integrity won’t hold.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end. Then, a slow, measured inhale.

Tony barrels on. “You need to redesign the inductor alignment. The current blueprints rely on symmetrical coils, but that’s the problem. The discharge is exponential, not linear. The coil winding needs to shift inward by at least two degrees to stabilize the energy distribution. Otherwise, you’re looking at a cascading failure within the first five minutes of activation.”

More silence. Tony’s breath is ragged, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat. He can almost see Erskine, awake now, probably leaning forward, scribbling notes in the margins of whatever scientific journal he’d left on his desk.

Then, at last—

“Herr Stark,” Erskine murmurs, his voice edged with something Tony can’t quite place. Not skepticism. Not dismissal. “You are making quite the case for yourself.”

Tony swallows hard, every nerve in his body strung tight. “You need me,” he says, voice raw. “No one else can see it because they don’t understand the math—not like I do. Howard is too rigid, too focused on brute force mechanics. Anyone else? Chances are they would end up retrofitting outdated theories onto a process they don’t fully grasp.” He exhales sharply. “This chamber will fail without me.”

Another pause. Then, a thoughtful exhale. “You have my attention.”

Tony licks his lips, his mouth dry as dust. The words taste like steel on his tongue, bitter and sharp, but he forces them out. “I don’t want money. I don’t want a fancy lab or a title.” His voice wavers but doesn’t break. “I want out.”

Erskine doesn’t respond immediately, but Tony can hear the faint scratch of pen against paper, the subtle shift of weight as the scientist leans back in his chair. Calculating. Weighing.

“I see,” Erskine finally says, slow and deliberate. “Out from what, exactly?”

Tony’s throat tightens. He wasn’t ready to say it—not yet. Not now. But he doesn’t have a choice. If he hesitates, if he lets this slip away—

“Howard,” he forces out, barely above a whisper. “I need to be free of him.”

A beat. Then—

Erskine hums. “That is quite the proposition, Herr Stark.” A beat. “Tell me more.”

Tony exhales shakily, his entire body trembling as he clutches the phone tighter. This is it. His only chance.

And he won’t let it slip through his fingers.

[cutecatlov3r]

kinktober: chastity~ shoyo hinata

synopsis: corrupting your pure friend . you gotta teach him the basics of course, he doesn’t know much, what better way to show him where to start by teaching him how to masturbate first ?

warnings/tw: aged up! corruption, masturbation, cum play, handjob, and porn with a plot(?) BONUS [twt links !]

the character ai bot that I made in honor of this: here

not proofread // posted early bc ily !

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“e-eh?! woah uh wait! i uh! no don’t-!” he protested, watching how your hand was trailing his thigh. you were rubbing little circles on his thighs under the cover. you and him were friends, you have been for awhile. of course you knew that he was a major ‘no sex’ sort of person. he invited you for a movie and now here you were trying to make a move on him. why wouldn’t you? he’s fucking hot.

“you know I don’t do those things! im waiting until marriage,” he continued, shaky breaths. he could feel himself crumbling underneath your touch. his face was flushed a dark red color.

“oh cmon! don’t be such a prude… look at how cute your cock is. sprung up so quick… as soon as I put my hand here,” you gave him and innocent smile.

he gulped slightly, shaking his head slowly, sinking into the couch you both were on. he was anxious, breathing quickly. he shut his eyes, balling his palm into a fist to feel his purity ring.

“no… I’m waiting until marriage,” he blushed.

you bit your lip slightly, seeing him so flustered made you so goddamn turned on. you wanted those same fingers inside of you, oh how erotic it would be for him to finger fuck you with his cute little purity ring on.

“shoyo please,” you hummed, hand trailing a bit more up. his cock twitched slightly, he winced at the sensitivity. “I’ll make you feel so good~” you teased, palming his pulsing dick.

he looked at you with pleading eyes. his mind said it was a bad idea… but his dick just needs her. he’s never been the type to give into any temptation, he wouldn’t even watch porn. but now that you’re in front of him, boobs squished against his arm, hand on his thigh, it made him rethink.

“let me show you how it feels to feel so good…” you whisper in his ear. he let out another shaky breath, looking over at you. your eyes were so seductive, he was drawn to them.

“no…”

“please shoyooo~” your voice sang slightly, fingers teasing the waist band of his shorts

…

“show me…” he mumbled, looking away from her. it was way too embarrassing. he couldn’t even believe those words escaped his mouth. why did he feel so horny? why did he want to stick his dick inside of you. he wondered what it looked like, what it’d feel like… your gummy walls clinging onto his hard cock… the wetness… softness.

you smirk to yourself, grabbing his chin to face you. you wanted to see his cute little flushed face.

“how should I show you what to do? maybe you need to see what we’re gonna do soon huh? you ever watch porn?”

he blushed at your straightforward question, shaking his head ‘no’. you chuckle at his innocence. of course he hasn’t. you bet he probably hasn’t ever came from touching himself… he’s probably never even touched himself.

“ever… hmmmm touch yourself?” you asked in your cheerful voice.

once again he shook his head ‘no’. you looked at him, amused. so cute, so ready for you to corrupt his mind.

“such a bad idea…” he mumbled to himself. he couldn’t believe he agreed.

you pulled out your phone, going on Twitter, you scrolled through dozens of porn accounts searching for just the right video to show him. it would be his first time watching it so…

you click on this video.

you make him hold the phone, hand stroking his clothed, painfully hard cock. he watched, blushing, eyes staring on to the phone. the way the girl got fucked from behind… sucking on the guy’s dick afterward made his cock leak some precum. the girl was so eager for the man’s cum… maybe he wants that… but yet he still doesn’t know how.

as he watched, your hand rubbed his clothed cock up and down. you teased his leaking tip by putting just a finger on it. he whimpered slightly, still paying attention to the video.

“shoyo… let me see it” you giggle.

he looked at you with a small blush. why did you have to ask it like that? so embarrassing for him.

“okay…” he set the phone down, pulling down his shorts slowly. his hard dick hit his abdomen straight away, causing him to hiss at how sensitive he was.

his cock was pretty average, thick, a vein running on the left side, and slightly curved. not shaven, he never cared for those types of things because he didn’t think he’d ever be doing this sort of thing before marriage. his cock was almost tempting you with its pink flush on the tip to just hop on it and ride. he was embarrassed, looking at himself. the precum spilling out made him ashamed that he’s gotten this far with you.

you chuckled at his facial expression, grabbing your phone. you chose another video for him to watch.

ultimately you decided on this one.

you placed your phone back in one of his hands, guiding the other. his eyes were glued on to the phone, like an addict. the way he wasn’t giving the girl the time of day to catch her breath… he moved so fast, he bet that the guy’s cock was feeling so amazing.

you guided his hand to wrap around his own cock, pumping it. you couldn’t feel the soft flesh, giving him the opportunity to feel himself.

his breath was hitching, eyes off the phone. he felt weak. he didn’t mean to but his shaky hand dropped your phone on to the couch. the woman’s moans echoing off in the room.

he watched as you helped him rub himself. the way his thumb hit his tip here and there made him see stars. his back arched slightly when you started to move his hand faster.

you put a wad of spit on his twitching cock, making him moan. the spit spread over his dick and hand as he pumped, making him feel extra euphoria. he shut his eyes to chase his high.

he felt like he was gonna shoot something out soon. maybe it was that liquid that he sometimes saw when he woke up. he never understood why it happened but he never paid mind. he dug his nails into the couch, moaning and groaning.

“y/n… st-stop it’s too mu-“

“i stopped controlling your hand awhile ago,” you chuckle.

he looked down and saw that his own hand was pumping himself, shame throughout his body. but he didn’t want to pull away. he wanted to chase this high that was coming. he felt too alive, his hand was moving on its own, as if he had no control over it

you giggle to yourself, amused as you watched him masturbate. he was such a whiny and whimpering mess.

“god…! i can’t- im!” he whined, rubbing faster. as soon as he rubbed his dick faster, white splurges of his cum landed on to his stomach and a bit on the couch. he panted, looking at the white sticky substance.

you smile, grabbing his hand that had his cum. you licked it all clean, teasing his fingers as you shoved them down your throat.

his cock twitched at this action. the sensation of your saliva and tongue on his finger pads made him feel tingly.

your eyes were like a hungry lust demon… he was so fucked.

“we aren’t done yet shoyo,”

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[goldfades]

☕️ quinny baby

MY FAV MUNCH LMAO!!

my first smut LMAOOOOO, enjoy yall

nsfw after the cut yall, read at your discretion!!!!

you laid comfortably on the bed as quinn straddled you.

his hands roamed your body as you two made out, slowly. usually, quinn would've been faster but he wanted to truly feel you right now, he missed you so much. you two hadn't been with each other for three weeks and that meant three weeks of sexual frustration for the both of you.

that was probably the worst part of travel for both of you, not seeing or touching each other for weeks at a time ─ you both slightly relied on one another to relieve frustrations.

his mouth moved from your mouth down to your neck slowly. you let out a soft whimper, trying not to move too much. staying still was a hard task as he sucked on your pulse point, making goosebumps form all over your body.

"quinn," you moaned breathlessly. he'd barely touched you and you were already hot and bothered, it frustrated you.

"hmm?" he mumbled in response as he continued to suck on your neck, making sure to leave purple marks everywhere.

"need you," you could barely form words as your mind spun, your whole body already overstimulated from the little touch you were receiving.

"baby, let me take my time with you." quinn responded to your whimpers softly as a smile engulfed his face, he was clearly enjoying this. "haven't seen in you so long... let me taste you, hm?"

you responded with a soft moan as you nodded. he let you lean back on the bed as he took off his shirt. he then spread your legs slowly and laid in between them, you swore the sight itself would make you cum.

he took off your small shorts and threw them to the side as he begun kissing all over your thighs slowly, all while watching you closely. you tried your best to stay still as he begun sucking closer to your heat but you couldn't help but let out soft needy whispers as you watched.

your whole body was on fire as he continued sucking everywhere but where you needed him most, your patience was beginning to run low. "quinny, please. need you,"

"i know baby, just relax for me. it's okay." quinn mumbled in between your thighs. he finally planted a soft kiss right at the center of clothed pussy, which made your entire body twitch.

"fuck," you whined out pathetically as he planted another kiss. your underwear had been drenched already which definitely stroked quinn's ego as he smirked. he finally began rubbing your clothed pussy slowly, making you arch your back instinctively.

"you like that, pretty girl?"

you couldn't reply, he knew that. he just liked teasing you. you whimpered in response and he took that as a 'yes', he continued rubbing slowly until your body twitched again.

"quinn!" you moaned in frustration. "don't tease anymore, please. i can't,"

"oh poor baby," he mumbled in faux care. "you need me?"

you nodded quickly, tears already brimming your eyes at his slow pace, "need your tongue, please."

"hm, since you asked so nicely... okay." he finally pulled off your embarrassingly soaking underwear, throwing it off to the side before his tongue entered your pussy, quickly.

you were surprised at his sudden change in pace and let out a loud moan, your back arching once again at his actions. his tongue was fast as he gripped your thighs, pulling them closer to his face.

this was his favorite thing in the world, if he could stay in between your thighs all day, every day, he would. watching you twitch and whimper above him made everything else in the world disappear, anything that was stressing him out would simply leave his mind as he licked and sucked your pussy.

his whole face was covered in your arousal, which made his pants feel impossibly tighter. he began to move against the mattress to get any type of friction as he eat your pussy feverishly, watching you tremble above him.

"quinny!" you moaned out in ecstasy as you gripped the sheets beneath you, leaning your head back. you were close, you both knew that ─ you didn't even have to vocalize it.

he moved on to his hands and put in over yours warmly, he kept his pace with his tongue as he felt your legs begin to shake. he moved his other hand, and started toying with your clit to bring you closer to your climax.

finally, the knot in your stomach snapped and you screamed out in pleasure, gripping onto his hand to ground yourself. he slowly lifted his face from your heat ─ his entire face was covered in wetness and somehow, that turned you on even more.

you brought your hand to his cheek and gave him a sloppy, sweet kiss.

MY 100 FOLLOWER CELLY!

[i-think-i-did-it-again]

The Tour XVI

A/N: Another heavy Rook chapter!

Warnings: swearing

When you awake the next day, your body is stiff and your muscles sore. You figure that’s what you get for having sex in small spaces. Colson’s soft snores fill the room and you relish in the sound. Lightly brushing the hair back from his forehead, you stare at his soft features. The way his lips are slightly parted, the twitching of his eyes as he dreams. You run your finger down his sharp jawline, stubble resisting against your fingertip, the pulse point in his neck, the dip of his collarbone. You trace the outlines of the ink that litters his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat thumping against your palm. 

You could lie in this moment with him, fast asleep and nestled against you, forever but your bladder is making its presence known. You slip out of the bed and creep out his bedroom door. When you’re done in the bathroom, the memories of being in there the night before playing through your mind while you peed, you practically fall into a solid mass. You look up to see Rook’s bruised face angled down at you, his eyes watching you closely. Part of you wants to be mad at him but the gentle side of you just feels…guilty?

“Don’t look at me with those eyes,” Rook mumbles, averting his eyes from your face quickly.

“What eyes?” you ask, playing with your fingers awkwardly as you stand less than an inch from each other.

“Those pitiful eyes. I don’t need your guilt or your fucking pitty. You were right, I had my chance and I fucked it up and now I have to live with that but you don’t. I don’t want you to anyway.”

“I…I’m sorry. I just- I want things to be ok between us again and I’m so scared they won’t be. I don’t want to lose you but I don’t know how to fix it.”

You hadn’t realised you’d been crying until Rook reached out to swipe a fallen tear from your cheek. You wanted to hug him. You wanted to tell him that you’d do anything to make him feel better, fix his fractured friendship with Colson but you can’t. You’re too afraid he’ll ask you to not be with Colson and you just can’t do that.

“You’re not going to lose me. I just…I need time. I need to adjust to the thought of you and…Kells. I won’t stand in your way but I can’t just push everything down overnight. I’ll always be your best friend, that will never change. I just need to learn to accept that I’ll never be anything else.”

His works tear at your chest and for the first time since your date, you look at him in that way. Why didn’t you see a relationship with him? Would you have ended up falling in love with him if you’d given it a chance? No, probably not. You were so stuck in the idea of ‘love at first sight’ that anything less seemed like a waste. You’d ended a lot of relationships over that idea and you began to think it was never going to happen and then you met Colson. Suddenly it wasn’t just an idea, it was reality.

“I can give you time and if it’s easier, I’ll go onto the other bus for the rest of the tour so that you can have some space from me and you don’t have to…”

Your voice trails off. You were going to tell him that he wouldn’t have to watch you and Colson be together because you didn’t want to hurt him but somehow it seemed insulting. You also didn’t think you could be around Colson without touching him, kissing him, especially now that you’re ‘officially’ a couple.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Colson’s rough voice fills the space. 

Rook takes a visible step away from you. You want to tell him he doesn’t need to but you don’t. Colson steps beside you, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side. You can’t explain it but the gesture is uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. The way Rook’s eyes study the space where you nestle into Colson makes your stomach knot anxiously but the feeling of Colson’s warmth, the way his arm tightens a little, is the best feeling in the world.

Rook doesn’t say anything else after that. He just turns on his heels and stalks off to his bunk, pulling the curtain closed. You feel the guilt settle in your chest again, the weight of his sadness resting squarely on your shoulders. You can tell Colson feels it. The way your shoulders tense and you hunch your body protectively. He rubs circles on your hip bone, comforting you.

“He’ll come around, just give him time,” he whispers in your ear. You nod but somehow you can’t seem to convince yourself of that, no matter how hard you try.

********

The days begin to blend into one. You’ve made your regular check-ins with Francis and he’s happy with Colson’s improved mood at his PR obligations and his performances on stage. Your friendship with Rook still seems to have some life in it too. He doesn’t leave the room anymore when Colson and you enter it together laughing, hand in hand. He no longer flinches when Colson touches you, kisses you or tells you something sweet. Slowly, he begins talking to you normally again and he occasionally has a conversation with Colson that doesn’t have to do with the tour. Just general conversations, almost like they were before their fight.

“You’ll get back to where you were again,” Ashleigh told you with such confidence you almost believed her.

The rest of the group accepted Colson and you being together pretty easily. Sophie and Ashleigh were ecstatic for the both of you. Exclaiming that it was about damn time Colson ‘manned up’ and asked you out. Baze, Jus and Slim nuzzled your head and threatened Colson to not mess with you. Sam simply smiled at you and nodded at Colson in his quiet Sam way.

You lay in the bed of your hotel room in a city you didn’t recognise, listening to the sound of Colson’s deep breathing. You had both gone to bed hours ago and after making love and showering, you still lay there wide awake and your mind racing. You’d never been a patient person so the idea of Rook taking weeks or even months to start acting normally with you again was slowly killing you. You didn’t expect him to just wake up one day and be over it but he can’t hold what you did against you. Rook was the one that messed up not you and in your logical mind, you believed he had no right to be upset. You decided in that moment, enough was enough.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and slink to the door. You slip out and stalk down the hallway to Rook’s room. You bang on the door, not even sure if he’d hear you in his deep slumber. You wait a moment and the door opens revealing a shirtless Rook, rubbing sleep from his eyes and mumbling about the time. You push past him, anger building in your gut at an uncontrollable rate.

“You are such an asshole,” you scold him, pacing the messy floor of his hotel room. “You couldn’t man up and tell me how you felt all these years and then I finally find someone that makes me happy and you suddenly think you have a right to be jealous?”

“I know,” Rook agrees with you but your blood is pumping so loudly in your ears you barely register it and continue.

“I have been single for as long as you’ve known me! You’ve had so much time, so many opportunities! When your house flooded, you lived on my fucking sofa for a month for god’s sake. You didn’t think to mention one day over your lucky charms ‘Hey can you pass the OJ, oh and by the way, I think I’m in love with you’? Would that have been so hard for you to say?”

“Why does this bother you so much?” Rook stands in front of you abruptly stopping your pacing. His eyes are pleading with you but what they’re asking you have no idea.

“Because I thought you were my best friend. When I thought our friendship was growing, you were falling in love with me. Do you know how much of a betrayal that is?”

“How is that a betrayal?” Rook snorts and you see red.

“It changes everything Rook. How can you not see that? When I thought you were doing something nice for me because I was your friend, you were doing it because you wanted me to feel the same way you did. That was your hope wasn’t it? Get close to me, treat me right and hope one day I realise that this was more than friendship?”

Rook doesn’t say anything. He simply stares at you, mulling over everything you said. He sinks to the bed, the full weight of everything finally settling and his shoulders slump and he leans his elbows on his knees to stare at the floor. You don’t know what to do. Everything that had been festering in your brain has been said, you have nothing else but the feeling of relief you were expecting doesn’t come. It’s just replaced with a feeling of guilt. 

You know deep down that Rook never intended to hurt you and maybe he thought it wouldn’t take years for you to fall in love with him. Maybe he believed after a few months of spending endless hours together, you’d catch his stare and a fluttering feeling would expand in your chest. Maybe you’d brush your hand over his cheek, nestle closer to him and close the gap between your lips. 

Maybe that’s what he’d hoped for but the feeling never came. The touch never happened. You never kissed. You never saw him as any more than a friend because you were so focused on the fluttering when you saw Colson. The heat when he brushed up against you while you stood in his kitchen at 2am making a snack. The buzz when you caught him watching you in your bikini as you dived in his pool with Casie. You’d been so enthralled with Colson, you’d never noticed Rook watching you. Never saw his hugs, his hand holding as anything more than just an affectionate friend. You never questioned it because you wouldn’t have if he was a female friend. You didn’t want to make assumptions based on his gender and besides, he dated for crying out loud. He’d bought girlfriend’s along to plenty of events and catch ups. Hell, you’d even caught him having sex with one of them in Ashleigh’s guest room. It wasn’t fair and suddenly you realised, it wasn’t fair for either of you.

“How come you never told me?” you ask finally, sitting next to him on the bed. It was the question that had been the loudest in your mind.

“When you told me you didn’t really feel a spark with me, I respected it. I had kind of assumed after that first date that most of my feelings were lust more than genuine interest in a relationship,” Rook shrugs like it was obvious. “Then you joined the group and we were spending a lot of time together and the feelings didn’t lessen the more I got to know you, if anything they intensified but then…” his voice trails off and you know exactly what he was going to say.

“You introduced me to Colson,” you finish for him and he nods softly.

“I felt that spark, that electricity between the two of you the moment he shook your hand. The other day I said you’d never looked at me like you look at him, well it goes both ways. I’ve never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you. He was going to marry a woman that I’d never once seen could make his face light up the way you do. That was the moment I knew I was fucked.”

You can understand why Rook held back. In his mind, there was something between Colson and you just begging to be explored but you were just too closed off to it. You had such a low opinion of yourself that you couldn’t bring yourself to even let your mind wander for a moment. The first time you thought about Kells as more than a friend, you put a wall up and pushed him away. You made rules for yourself, you trained your body to not react to him. 

“How come you still didn’t say anything to me when Megan came along? He was with her for so long which meant no chance for him and I to get together.”

“I really did think about it for a few days but then I saw them together. They were always so…intense,” Rook chuckles and you can’t help but laugh in agreement. 

It was true that Megan made you so tense that you tried to limit your time spent with her as much as possible.

“I knew it wouldn’t last. I was just waiting for who would call it first. Gotta be honest, I was surprised it was her.”

“Why did that surprise you?” you look over at Rook in confusion.

She was always the leader in their relationship. The one who called the shots, made the plans and spoke for the both of them. The way in which she ended things was surprising but the fact that it was her ending it, didn’t surprise you in the least.

“He never stopped looking at you that way.”

Your cheeks heat and your heart flutters. You make a mental note to ask Colson about that. You wonder what held him back from pursuing something earlier but then you remember your walls and figure he probably thought you weren’t interested. How wrong he was.

“I don’t know if I have any right to ask this of you because your feelings are your feelings but…are you ever going to forgive me?” you ask Rook with a serious tone laced through your tone.

“That’s the funny thing about love, I already have,” he smiles at you and the guilt and the weight vanishes from your chest and you can see your Rook again. “And for what it’s worth, I am sorry for not being honest with you but I’ve decided, you could do worse,” and the shit eating grin that overtakes his face is so intoxicating that you have to join in.

[sysba]

cal x edith - ropes

...anyway. caledith smut era. i've posted (and deleted) this before but i have, expanded it a bunch lmao. promised @night-triumphantt this wld be here when she woke up so yeet.

3.2k words; 18+/E; warnings under the cut

(cw soft bondage, unprotected s/ex)

“Too tight?”

She hovers above him, studying Cal’s every move as she secures the bindings on his wrists, ready to stop at even the smallest twitch in his expression. He doesn’t flinch, though. Just shakes his head lightly, deep red eyes focused on her. She ties the last knot quickly enough.

Edith’s lips find his a second later; it’s tentative at first, a feather-like peck on the corner of his mouth (it’s enough to make him shudder). Then a real kiss follows, a proper one, intent yet still gentle. It doesn’t take much to coax his mouth open. Instead he docilely allows her to deepen the kiss, drinking her in as if parched yet unwilling to take more than he’s been offered. If it were up to him, if she ever wished to, he’d let her break his skin and flow through his veins.

She’s soft, too soft as she kisses him— Cal has seen her fangs, seen just how deep her teeth can sink into flesh till bloody, but her mouth is silk and honey and smooth as whiskey whenever she kisses him. Yielding; just like the steel of her eyes whenever they rest on him. The bluntness of it still catches him off guard after all this time.

Cal’s breath hitches once more when she nibbles on his bottom lip, soothing the sting with her tongue. It’s all too intense. Her weight on him as she straddles him, and… 

He pulls on the restraints almost experimentally; like he’s trying to gauge if they’ll hold. They do. The cotton bandages (the ones usually binding Edith’s hands during training) are now expertly wrapped around Cal’s wrists and then the headboard, keeping him in place. He could probably tear himself free, if he really tried. But he only gives another weak yank while Edith kisses him more, a strangled sound escaping him helplessly when he finds himself unable to hold her. 

“Does it hurt?” She pauses, leaning back to get a better look at him. There’s an edge to her tone that he misses as his eyes flutter close in focus, a feeble attempt at calming his panting. But he senses her waiting for an answer, and when words don’t come out he shakes his head. It really doesn’t hurt. 

“I need you to use your words, Cal.” 

He thinks she’s teasing him, at first, enjoying the effect she has on him. But then he sees her, and his heart lurches. Because she’s pleading with him, he realises. 

Edith watches him expectantly, frozen in place, tense as she readies herself to put a stop to all this. She half-expects him to ask her, but would he? Worry hisses and coils in her stomach, and then it vanishes in a single moment, replaced by kindled warmth as Cal flashes a reassuring smile at her.

“I’m alright. Just feeling a bit…”

“Out of control?” She finishes for him when he hesitates, and Cal swallows.

“Mmh.”

Edith lets out a shaky huff, halfway between a sigh and a chuckle. Her head dips to rest on him, lodged between his neck and shoulder (right where his tattoo coils elegantly across his skin, as if marking her place on a map), letting her lips brush against his pulse. It’s strong. Alive.

“Tell me about it,” she murmurs, and he wishes he could look at her and see the frenzy pooling in her eyes. The same frenzy that’s making her voice shake as she admits darkly, “‘m losing my fucking mind, here.”

He thinks he gets it, now, why she looked at him so desperately just now, like she was the one unable to move and not the other way around. ‘Out of control’, she said… He does feel quite helpless, tied up as he is. But giving up that control is the whole point, and Cal doesn’t find it in him to feel uneasy. Not when it’s Edith he has to trust; that’s always been rather easy, with his life or anything more.

No, out of the two of them the one struggling the most right now isn’t him. Edith is holding back for his sake, unwilling to ruin what’s most dear to her, Cal realises. Dear. Treasured. Delicate. Never would he think of those words to describe himself, except for when she holds him. Except for when she buries her fingers in his inky hair and kisses down his throat lightly, as she’s doing now. 

That’s what he thinks of as her tongue runs along his jugular, one hand reaching over to rub his tied wrists, and the other placed on his bare chest; right above his heart. And if he is all that she believes, if he is priceless and fragile, he’d let her break him over and over again, as long as it were her hands piecing him together.

But he wouldn’t know how to say all that.

“It’s okay,” he blurts out instead, voice ragged, “You can—” 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, choking back the words as she descends on him. At last. It’s her hand that finds him first, touching him in a way that has Cal’s thighs tense, his muscles spasming at the warmth of her palm that so easily seeps through the fabric of his clothes. She thinks herself cold, so why does her skin always burn like this?

“Tell me what you want.” 

An order. But if he could see her face now, he’d know she’s begging.

You. What else could he want? His head feels completely empty, yet buzzing all the same. It’s taking all of his focus not to grind into her touch, a frantic need for more clouding his thoughts. He thinks she asks a second time— he can’t be sure. The dizziness only fades when Edith grasps his chin and tilts it up so he meets her gaze. She’s smiling a bit. That helps.

“Kiss me?” He finally finds his voice again; it comes out as a question, though he’s not sure if he means it that way. She laughs, then. A real laugh, bright and airy, and a fond shake of her head before she takes pity on him and complies.

Everything that happens after, Cal can barely register. He doesn’t notice the button of his pants being undone, or the cool air on his skin; he doesn’t notice his own hips shifting restlessly, or his fingers gripping and pulling at the bindings whenever she grips him in a way that has his back arch beautifully, just like a bowstring. 

All he knows is the taste of her tongue (sugar and lemon), the torment of waiting for more. The wetness of the sickly sweet lube that’s so foreign it’s almost unpleasant, until Cal reminds himself whose hands are toying with him. 

Edith’s mouth muffles the low whine pulled from him as she strokes him, her grasp firm and blissful and inescapable. My darling, my baby, so perfect… A shameless string of coos washes over him as her head moves lower, each word making the tips of his ears burn hotter. And with every praise he feels her breath inch lower, her mouth leaving a trail of bruised prints in its wake. It feels maddening, maddeningly good. He can’t cover his face like this, Cal realises suddenly; and so does Edith, smiling as she drinks in the sight.

And what a sight he is, head thrown back against the pillows, silky strands of hair splayed around him like a halo, the curve of his throat completely exposed. His chest is flushed, rising and falling so breathlessly. From where she’s nuzzling his stomach, nipping at the flesh right below his navel, Edith watches his lips part in a silent gasp. It turns into a moan when she lowers her head again.

“I love you.” 

How much time has passed? Edith’s voice sounds rougher, almost as if scorched by his heat. The way she says those words so easily while slotted in between his legs, feasting on the most sensitive parts of him… Cal would want to hide if he weren’t so lost, fumbling to chase his high.

“Please,” he twitches under her, trying to keep still, to not bury himself deeper (not that she’d mind) and drown into her.

“Please what?”

The husked taunt almost makes him want to whimper, to cry for mercy. Maybe he will.

“Edith…”

“Anything you want,” she cuts him off before he can, and even in his haze he hears the want barely concealed in her tone. A want to claim that makes her breath taut. “Anything, everything, I’ll give it to you, so just tell me.”

Her voice is nearer, now. Cal’s eyelids flutter open, pure black pupils blown wide as he takes her in, sees the gentleness in her gaze as she leans in to kiss away the tears at the corners of his eyes. He barely hears himself answer, a slurred mumble of pleas that sounds a bit like “…inside you,” but it’s enough for Edith. He only knows she’s freed his hands when he rushes to pull her closer, the force of it startling him more than it does her.

There’s a certain decisiveness to his movements, to the wanton way he kneads the back of her thighs and then yanks down her hips so she’s flush against his hardness; no blank space or hesitation when he flips her onto her back and presses against her side. So driven when he lowers his mouth to her chest, the cold metallic taste of her piercings on his tongue, so selfish when he wordlessly taps her lips until she parts them to suck on his fingers… It’s a kind of selfishness he only shows when she pushes him past his limit, something she’s been doing more and more lately. 

When he slips a hand past the elastic of her briefs Edith doesn’t make a sound, but he feels her breathing grow more ragged as he easily pushes a finger inside her, and then two barely a minute after. It’s not usually this rushed, this sloppy —Cal has always liked to take his time with her— but she seems to understand his urgency, meeting it with her own. 

For one maddening moment Cal forgets where he is; the salt of Edith’s skin is a stray thought in the back of his mind as he chases something he can’t see, his blood ringing loud in his ears. Like always, she’s the one who brings him back.

Edith wears the same expression the whole time. From when she wraps a hand around his wrist to still his movements to when she hastily discards the rest of her clothes, she smiles. It’s wide and a bit crazed, a flash of white teeth and wet lips. She watches him twitch, desperate to hold her again. The colour of his irises is a thin, barely visible ring, pupils blown wide as he fixes her with a drunk stare. Still, he waits. 

It’s admirable, how he wills himself to be patient; she’s never had much patience to begin with. His chest, which has been heaving frantically ever since she released him, stops completely when she touches him. For just a moment, he’s breathless. And it makes her smile grow sharper. 

She doesn’t need to guide him to her, with the way he pounces on her almost instantly. He thinks he hears her laugh, though the sound is lost beneath the feeling of sinking into her. He does so slowly– or at least tries to. She feels him tremble with the effort of staying still, waiting for her to adjust, but the burning ache does nothing to hinder her when she digs her heels in the back of his legs.

“Move or I will,” is the threat grumbled against the shell of his ear, a roll of her hips to show she means it, and he lets out a sound that’s one part laugh and three parts moan.

He complies, ever the soldier. Fast and loose, painstakingly patient as he carves his way into her and her nails dig into his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take her long to grow restless, but Cal expects it; she never likes feeling caged. He leans back before she has to ask him, not pulling out as he lifts her, and when her weight falls on top of him again he buries so deep inside of her that they both hiss. She presses her lips to his brow and his lashes quiver. 

When she moves again she has none of his patience. She seems to have outlasted whatever tenderness has been colouring her actions so far, hooded eyes barely concealing the hunger in them. Cal turns to kiss her wrist where it rests at the side of his face, and the next time she captures his lips it’s even rougher than before, bruising; he doesn’t mind, he thinks to himself while he writhes beneath her. His hips meet hers with just as much abandon. Chasing the friction that has her clench tight around him, the heat of it so torturous and addicting he thinks he’ll come undone without a warning. 

She reaches it first– heavy breaths and muscles convulsing, a hand at the base of his throat to steady herself (a gentle grip). He can feel her pulse around him as he rocks into her, and knows he’ll soon follow; almost as if to agree, Edith’s hips stubbornly jerk above him. Taunting and imploring. Cal sits up in a fluid motion just in time to keep her upright as she falls against him, coming to a halt after a few urgent thrusts when he finally spills into her. 

They stay like that for a while, limp against one another, Edith on Cal’s lap and Cal panting against her collarbone. There’s a few more slurred words exchanged in whispers, sweet nothings and promises and stunned praises.

Only when the stickiness between them gets too uncomfortable to ignore do they force themselves to move, both wincing when Cal pulls out; they clean up quickly, barely enough just so they can lie back down.

***

It takes them minutes to come down from their high, heady heat subsiding into something quieter, something intimate. There’s still a faint thrum at the back of Cal’s mind as he lies on her chest, both of them still gleaming with sweat, but his mind feels clearer– less wonderstruck.

“Good?” Edith rakes her fingers through his long hair as asks. Her heart pounds steadily within her ribcage, the sound lulling Cal to peace. 

There’s a dull, pleasant ache spreading through him; it feels way better than ‘good’.

A quiet hum answers her, and he shifts in her arms to caress her cheek and press a kiss to her temple. 

The contented smile on his face wavers when she catches his hand to stop him; then disappears entirely when he sees her expression.

It confuses him at first, the anger in her eyes. He almost apologises out of reflex— for what, he’s yet to find out. And then he follows her gaze to his wrist, and it clicks. 

He understands, suddenly, that it’s not anger darkening her face. Fright, maybe. Guilt, definitely. Cal curses inwardly for not having noticed just how carefully she’s been holding his hand, staring at the reddened lines on his skin and rubbing gently at them as if to try and erase the soreness.

“That was too much,” is her only comment, more to herself than him. It sounds almost dejected. He sees her eyes dart from his hand to the rest of him, examining his state in silence. He knows what she sees without having to look down, if only from the way her jaw clenches.

“I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—

His torso, covered in marks from neck to belt, large lovebites blooming dark on his beige skin while the imprint of her teeth is barely starting to fade. There’s scratches on his arms, and more on his back that she can’t see but knows are there. She takes it all in, the criss-cross patterns of old pale scars already peppered on his body, and then the new swollen marks she dared to leave on him. 

Do they sting? She can’t help but wonder. Forgive me.

Cal says something. It takes her a moment to even realise he did, but he patiently waits for her to focus back and look at him before repeating it.

“It doesn’t hurt.” 

He gathers her in his arms, embracing her as tightly as he did earlier.  Dozens of kisses peppered from her jawline to her collarbone, unhurried. She sighs, a bit shakily. 

“You could never hurt me,” he whispers it softly into her hair, firmly enough that she has to believe it. She clings to him, gripping his shoulders.

What a liar. She could hurt him in so many ways, this beautiful man in her arms who can only ever smile at her so brightly; the problem is he’d let her. Probably smile even brighter as she did.

He senses the stillness in her, guesses the train of her thoughts, and it fills him with such sudden grief that he shudders. 

He doesn’t know, exactly, what possesses him to act next. But he grabs her hand and pushes it down between their bodies where it’s still slick, so she can feel him. Feel the growing hardness against her fingertips, searing and eager to be hers again. The oddly bold action, so at war with the bashfulness tinging Cal’s cheeks, seems to surprise her. But she simply waits. 

“It didn’t hurt.” It didn’t hurt, I liked it. Still can’t bring himself to say that last part aloud.

He says it with such conviction, yet heat rushes to his face. It makes for a lovely view that finally pulls a faint smile from Edith.

“Mmh. Then it’s fine,” she hums after a moment, placing a small kiss to the bridge of his nose, “‘Cause I’m still hungry.” 

He’s about to ask what she feels like and sprint to the kitchen, for just a moment. And then he catches her meaning and sees that grin of hers, that ravenous light in her eyes that tells him he’s the next meal— he can’t stop the rush of excitement that ripples through him at that, and she feels it in her palm before he pulls her flush against him.

She laughs at the impatient look he gives her.

“That’s a good puppy,” she teases, lips ghosting over his without touching them.

Cal, who seemed about to dive in to kiss her himself a second earlier, sobers a bit at that. 

“Don’t— don’t call me that.” Oh, he’s flustered. So much so that he can barely hide the way he trembles as he turns to the side, hiding his face from her for a moment. 

She doesn’t have it in her to be merciful, though; not when he’s just offered himself so enthusiastically… Her smile only grows wider. His throat bobs nervously as he stares back at her.

“Husband, then.” 

That does it. A weak groan of protest, and then he’s burying his face in the crook of her neck as if he plans to live there, strong arms locked in place around her waist. 

Another laugh shakes her at the ridiculousness of it, of him, and then it softens into something else. Happiness, and disbelief, at how they found such ease despite the world outside this small, bare room. She sighs against his hair, pressing a kiss against the crown of his head that sends pleased shivers down his spine and through his marrow.

“Mine,” she declares, and this time he doesn’t object to the choice of words. Revels in it, even.

Hers.

[faggotpussy]

Oh Jude, your most recent bathroom selfies have left my mouth watering, you're such a pretty puppy...

I'm ill with the desire to kiss, suck, grope and bite at your hot body... I want to kiss behind your ears, I want to lick your neck, I want to feel your pulse quickening under my tongue... I want to leave trails of hickeys and lip gloss marks on your back, I want to close my hands around your throat, your hips, I want to suck your nipples and kiss down your stomach, up and down the insides of your thighs, watch you get all hot and flustered... I want to run my hands along your pretty body, do you even know how bad I want to cover you with marks?

I want to have you straddling my thigh so I can watch you grow needy and restless with every kiss... I want to keep you there for a long time, feel my thigh get wet under you, watching you start to hump my leg absentmindedly because I'm making you feel so good you just need to rub yourself against me for some release when I'm being so mean and teasing you for such a long time... I want to hear you whine like the cute little puppy you are, whine for me to put my fingers or my strap in you, to put my mouth on your cock... I want to give you my fingers to suck on so you can only think about how empty your other holes feel while I keep kissing and biting your neck...

I'd probably decide I should get a turn on your cute mouth too, guide your head down by your hair and make you eat me out, you'd know exactly how wet kissing you makes me because I'd be pushing your head down and smearing it all over your face, calling you a good boy while you lick and suck... I don't think I'd keep you down there for too long, I couldn't keep my hands off long, just thinking of your poor little puppy holes getting no attention... I'd have you on your back, sucking hickeys into your thighs, trailing my fingers along your cunt, spreading the slick there around... I bet you'd be so eager that you could take two fingers right away... having someone else finger you feels so, so much better than fingering yourself, you know..... I'd love to hear you sigh with relief as I pump my fingers in and out, twisting my wrist, curling my fingers into the spots that make your cock twitch, enjoying playing with you slowly and thoroughly... I want to hear you say that it feels so good, I want to watch you throw your head back and hike your leg up when I hit the perfect angle, watch you get close...

And then I'd pull my fingers out of you, climb on top of you and go back to kissing and nibbling your chest and neck and ears... you'd pant and whine, and I'd soothe you by petting your hair, don't you want to be a good toy for me and let me use you how I please? Once you've settled a bit, I'll put my fingers back in, touch you slowly, let you get worked up again, just to edge you again and pull out when you've started to feel your orgasm building... I'd pin your arms down by the wrists and crawl up your body so I can sit on your face, give you something to do to take your mind off how bad you want to cum... maybe I'll reach back and play with your cock, rubbing it between my fingers, bring you to the edge again while your tongue's inside me just so I can take my hand away again.... maybe that'll make you more desperate to eat me out good and hard, thinking it'll earn you the right to orgasm, but I like to be fair, I'd lift my hips up and move away when I feel myself ready to cum, we're playing together after all...

Maybe next I'll put on a latex glove, slide two fingers in your ass, see if that makes you want to cum faster or slower than before... it'd be so, so tempting to let you cum while fingering your ass, I bet you'd feel so good, but I can't be done with you just yet, not when your pussy is leaking like that, clearly wanting more attention... I can't let you get off like that, before I've even gotten three fingers in you like I wanted...

Then I'd put in three, but I'd go slower at first, letting you get used to it, waiting until you're spreading your legs farther and bucking your hips up to let me know you're enjoying the stretch, cunt twitching and clenching around them... I'd kiss your pretty mouth again, whisper against it that you're being such a naughty puppy, so eager to be filled... I'd finger fuck you roughly, watch you rock your hips against my hand...

I like to think that I'd have trained you well enough by this point that you'd ask me, if you were allowed to cum yet... and well, if you ask so nicely, I'll let you, I'll angle my fingers towards that spot inside you, hit it fast and firm, play with your cock until you're arching your back off the bed, finally cumming hard on my fingers... I'd love to lick at your sensitive cunt there, taste you, clean up the mess you made with my tongue...

I get so many dirty fantasies about you when I see the pics you post... maybe next time you post something I really like, I'll tell you about the fantasy I have about making you piss yourself, hm?

-🧷

i’ve been keeping this in my inbox again, reading it over and over and touching myself to it,, i’m honored my photos could do that to you,, turn you on so much,, i’m wet thinking about you touching me so roughly, pulling me around and making me so desprate i could cry,, thinking about you overstimulating me when cleaning me up and gasping so softly,, i like your messages a lot, they always get me so desprate and needy,, i will keep posting pics in hopes you may bless me again with another fantasy,, thank you

[red-israfel]

Fake Date

Dorlene WIP | 683 words

By the end of practise, thoughts of her traitorous best friend had left her mind. She had completely forgotten the burning in her chest when she'd seen him sucking face with his boyfriend, too preoccupied with washing the sweat and dirt off her body. The intense training James had them doing leading up to the Slytherin match had helped clear her mind and provide a much-needed distraction.

It's not until she's walking back into the empty Gryffindor change rooms in no hurry to get to the hall for dinner, and Dorcas fucking Meadowes is standing fully dressed by the door waiting for her and says something so out of this realm that it comes back to smack her in the face. Marlene isn't entirely sure she didn't get a concussion during quidditch training.

"Lily convinced me to go along with your moronic Gryffindor plan. I told her yes, but I thought I should tell you to your face."

Marlene, ever eloquent, still standing in the middle of the quidditch girls locker rooms, simply responds, "Huh?"

Dorcas frowns at her like she's something disgusting caught on the bottom of her shiny black boots and clarifies, "As of right now, until the end of Black's party this weekend, we are officially dating."

Oh.

Oh.

It all clicks into place; puzzle pieces flipped and snapped into place, the border of her landscape jigsaw is complete. Lily running off after promising to fix it without sharing her method after making Marlene profusely promise to keep an open mind. Marlene had seen her sitting next to Regulus that evening in the library; Regulus, who is best friends with—

"No." She shakes her head in disbelief.

Lily was too smart to come up with such a stupid idea, and Dorcas was too uncaring to go along with it. Slytherins were self-serving; Dorcas got nothing out of this. She'd probably complain that, if anything, Marlene would taint her 'reputation.'

"What did Lily promise you?"

"We have a deal, and it's none of your business. Though I'm sure I could have argued for such advantages, you're no doubt thinking of right now." Dorcas' nose crinkled and her bottom lip twitched, so briefly she would have missed it if she blinked. Presently, she's forgotten how to blink. And breathe. And think.

"Fuck," she whispers, dragging the word out and groaning at the ceiling.

"So you don't want a date to Black's party?" Dorcas asks, more focused on her nails than Marlene's current meltdown.

"Yeah, a date. Not you!" Marlene flings her hands vaguely in the Slytherin's direction.

She slams open her locker, and Dorcas actually laughs at her. "I can see why the ladies avoid you; your charm is quite aggressive."

"Says the slimy snake." Marlene spits back.

"At least I don't have my friends convincing girls to fake-date me."

"Why would you need anyone to—'

Marlene wouldn't consider herself very observational off the quidditch field; it's not often that her awareness spreads further than her little Gryffindor bubble. But on the field, her eyes see everything. A good beater can read the people around them, both their team and the opposition. Spotting their tells is her job.

She watches the way Dorcas doesn't quite meet her eyes, staring just past her ear, not quite at her face. The tightening pull of her lips and the way her left forefinger taps one, two, three times every few seconds against her right hand pulse point. Marlene pieces her together and laughs.

"Don't." Dorcas grumbles.

"Merlin's balls!" Marlene laughs as she stalks up into Dorcas' personal space. "Why does the Dorcas Meadowes need a fake girlfriend?"

"It's a fake date."

"Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to." Marlene waves her off, poking a finger into her chest. "Don't change the subject."

"Shouldn't you get some clothes on," she says glancing down at the towel wrapped around Marlene's chest. "Or do you like walking around starkers like a toddler?"

"Why?" Marlene asks. "Flustered, Meadowes?"

"Over you, McKinnon?" Dorcas' gaze rakes over Marlene's body like a physical touch. "Not a chance."

Marlene smirks, leaning in and whispering right into the Slytherin's ear. "Liar."

[sga-owns-my-soul]

you know i got you

“Did you see that!?”

John’s giddiness was gone in an instant when he looked down and Rodney was still on the ground, blood slowly pooling around his head.

“No–”

Someone was calling for Doctor Beckett, but John wasn't paying attention. His entire body was shaking as he raced down the stairs. He was next to Rodney in an instant, his hands fluttering all over, unsure if he was allowed to touch, before grabbing the depleted personal shield.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Elizabeth shouted as she and Peter reached his side, Elizabeth checking Rodney’s pulse. John had been too scared to; too scared of what he wouldn’t find.

“I’m not getting a pulse, where the hell is Beckett?!”

“Major? What happened?” Peter asked, and John felt his stomach flip.

“It– it was a personal shield, we were testing it. He wanted– he told me he would be safe, that he wouldn’t get hurt.”

The medical team arrived suddenly, a whirlwind of commotion following them. John watched Carson, the world around him fading to a muted drum of his pounding heart as he waited for something to happen.

“I’m afraid he’s gone,” Carson said.

“No,” John said, his heart pounding harder. “He can’t be, he–”

“I’m sorry, Major. He’s dead.”

John awoke suddenly, drenched in sweat as his heart pounded away in his chest. He looked around the room in confusion. Hadn’t he just been in the gate room, with–

His hand was reaching for his radio before he realized it must have been a dream.

“McKay?”

No response.

John tried to tell himself it was fine. The glowing red numbers beside his bed read 02:58, which meant Rodney was probably just sleeping. It was perfectly normal to not answer your radio at three in the morning. Normal people weren’t awake and on the radio in the middle of the night.

But Rodney wasn’t normal.

John shoved his feet in his boots, grabbing a sweater and throwing it over as he made his way out of his room. He moved silently through the empty halls, a nervous energy building in him.

“It was just a dream, McKay is fine,” he muttered to himself, but he knew nothing would calm his nerves until he saw Rodney alive and well with his own two eyes.

It didn’t take long for John to reach Rodney’s quarters, his hand reaching out to ring the chime as soon as he was within arms reach of the door. He waited impatiently for the door to open, the knot in his chest growing with each passing second.

No response.

“Come on, McKay,” John whispered, his hand twitching to take the door console apart so he could hot wire the damn thing open himself when the door slid open.

“It is the middle of the night, what the hell could you possibly want?” Rodney snapped, sleepy eyed and cranky at the sudden wake up call. John let out a sigh of relief.

“Nothing, I just… needed to check on something.”

Rodney stared at John incredulously.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What did you need to check?”

If you were still alive.

“Oh, uhh…I just wanted to make sure you knew about our mission tomorrow–today, I guess.”

Rodney squinted.

“You woke me up at 3am to remind me about the mission I requested we go on?”

John felt his cheeks burn.

“Yup. And it looks like you remembered, so. Back to bed I go.”

“You are so full of shit, Sheppard. I know you think annoying me is fun, but I do actually require sleep to function, and last I checked the lives of everyone in this city depends on me functioning well, so if you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Right,” John said, turning to leave before deciding otherwise.

“Hey, McKay?”

“What?!”

“I’m glad that energy creature didn’t kill you.”

Rodney startled.

“Oh. Yes, well. Me too.”

John nodded. “G’night, McKay.”

Rodney raised a hand to wave. “Night, Sheppard.”

John smiled to himself as he walked back to his quarters. He felt calm enough to actually fall back asleep tonight, and who knew?

Maybe there wouldn’t even be another nightmare.

hey wanna think about something horrible

imagine if the shield stopped working right after john pushed rodney