𝑩𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑺 𝑫𝑶𝑵’𝑻 𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑻 You go back to the summer cabin with your lifelong best friend Bucky Barnes and the tension you’ve both ignored finally becomes impossible to deny. One charged night changes everything between you, no longer just best friends, but something irrevocably more.
alpha!bucky barnes x fem!omega!reader
word count : 17,9k
warnings 18+ : no use of y/n, childhood bestfriends to lovers, somnophilia, stealing intimate items for masturbation, bucky is a pervvv, dddne, guilt-ridden sexual acts, consuming bodily fluids without prior consent, unprotected sex, breeding, knotting, scenting, biting, pheromonal compulsion, heavy guilt and self-hatred while doing the wrong sexual acts, first heat/first rut happening (both late), a/b/o & possessive dynamics, fingering, virginity loss
author’s note : first of all I just wanna say the BIGGEST thank you for 2k followers like what??? that’s actually insane!!! please take this fic as a little gift from me to you <3 I’m beyond grateful for every single one of you. and second of all… since centuries of rut kinda blew up (which still feels unreal), I decided to cook up another a/b/o bucky fic 😩😩
Old Polaroids still live in the glove compartment of Bucky’s truck, faded edges, corners curling from years of being handled, the plastic sleeves cracked from too many openings and closings.
There’s one of you at eight, gap-toothed and grinning wide, perched on his skinny shoulders while he pretends to stagger under your “enormous” weight, both of you laughing so hard the photo is blurry.
Another from twelve: you braiding his too-long hair on the cabin porch steps, him scowling at the camera but letting you finish, the sun catching the brunette strands that always refused to stay tame.
A blurry one from sixteen: both of you asleep on the attic pull-out couch after a late-night movie marathon, your head tucked under his chin, his arm slung protectively around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. His mom took the picture quietly and slipped it into the stack later; neither of you ever mentioned it.
Everyone always said you were inseparable. Best friends. Practically siblings.
They never mentioned how his hand sometimes lingered a second too long when he helped you down from the dock, fingers brushing the back of your knee. They never mentioned how you’d catch yourself staring at the line of his jaw when he laughed, sharp, shadowed, the way it flexed when he was trying not to smile too big.
They never mentioned the quiet nights when the rest of the group had gone to bed and you’d stay up talking until the sky lightened, voices low, knees touching on the porch swing, the silence between sentences heavier than words.
Now you’re both twenty-two, back from sophomore year of college, still virgins, still waiting for that first presentation that everyone else got years ago.
Late bloomers, the doctors called it with clinical shrugs. Lucky, your mom called it with a wink, like it was a gift instead of a delay. You both just called it annoying. Friends had heats and ruts in high school, paired off, moved on. You and Bucky stayed the same, safe, platonic, untouched by the biology that rewrote everyone else’s lives. Sometimes you wondered if it was a mercy or a curse.
This summer the families are caravanning to the cabin like always, the annual week of lake swims, bonfires and board games. But Bucky texted you last week, casual as ever.
Bucky 9:56am
Hey. I’ll drive you up early. Beat the traffic, set up the attic real quick, snag the good couch spot before anyone else tries to steal it. Just you and me, no rush, no chaos. Sound good?
Everyone thought it was sweet. Typical Bucky, looking out for you.
You didn’t tell them how your stomach flipped when you read it.
The truck smells like motor oil, pine air freshener, and him, cedar, faint metal, something warm and smoky underneath that always made your head swim a little when you were close.
Windows down the whole way, old pop-punk blasting from speakers that crackle when the bass hits. You sing off-key on purpose just to make him laugh; he rolls his eyes but belts the chorus louder than you, voice rough from disuse but still carrying every note like muscle memory.
Halfway there the road narrows, trees thickening into proper forest, sunlight dappling the cracked windshield in shifting gold patterns. It’s sticky, end-of-June hot so the AC is useless and the windows stay wide open. You kick off your sneakers, prop bare feet on the dash. He pretends to hate it, mutters something about fingerprints but never actually tells you to move them. Never has.
The playlist loops to that one song from high school, the one you used to scream-sing in his bedroom until his mom banged on the wall and threatened to unplug the stereo. You grin, unbuckle and before he can finish saying “don’t-” you’re already leaning halfway out the passenger window.
Arms spread like wings, hair whipping wild in the wind, you arch your back into the rush like you’re flying. The loose cropped tank stretches tight across your chest, wind molding it to every curve. No bra, too hot and it’s just Bucky. The hem flips up with a sudden gust, flashing the smooth underside of your breast, the soft curve where skin meets ribcage, glowing in the sun.
“Jesus Christ!” Bucky’s voice cracks high, hand shooting out to fist the front of your denim shorts like you’re about to tumble onto the road. “You’re gonna fall out! Get back in here!”
You laugh, loud and free over the rush of air, swinging your head side to side. “Buck, it’s fine! Just drive! Feels amazing- come on, live a little!”
He can’t stop looking.
Knuckles white on the wheel, eyes flicking between the empty backroad and you: arched spine, wind-plastered tank, nipples pebbled from the breeze, that accidental strip of underboob. His throat works hard. Heat floods his face, then surges lower, cock twitching painfully against his zipper, sudden and insistent.
“Fuck- okay, okay, just- get in before I crash us both,” he stutters, voice pitching like he’s sixteen again. “You’re- Jesus, you’re killing me here.”
You duck back inside, cheeks flushed from wind and laughter, shirt falling back down but not before he steals one last glimpse. You flop against the seat, still grinning.
“What? It’s hot. You used to let me do that all the time when we were younger.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, shifting in his seat, trying to angle his hips away from view, “when you were eighteen and flat as a board.” He swallows hard. “Now you’re… you’re not.”
You blink at him, teasing edge softening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” He cranks the broken AC to full blast, praying the weak puff of cool air kills the throbbing erection before you notice.
You do notice, the fidgeting, the hand he keeps low on the wheel, the flush crawling up his neck to his ears.
“Buck?” Soft, teasing but gentle. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just- road’s bumpy.” He clears his throat twice. “Don’t do that again unless you want me to drive us into a tree.”
You laugh again, crank the music louder, oblivious. Or pretending to be.
He spends the next twenty minutes white-knuckling the wheel, thighs clenched, reciting engine specs and batting averages under his breath to will the hardness away. It only half works.
Every glance sideways shows the faint outline of your nipples through the thin tank, the way your shorts ride high on your thighs, skin still flushed from the wind. And something else, your scent on the breeze, sweet and warm, just starting to bloom like honeysuckle after rain. His own scent sharpens without him noticing, cedar turning darker, smokier, edged with something desperate and metallic.
The cabin appears at the end of the dirt road, quiet and empty, families still hours away. Pine needles crunch under the tires as he parks.
You hop out first, stretch tall, arms overhead. The cropped tank rides up again, another flash of underboob, innocent and devastating in the late-afternoon light. Bucky stays in the driver’s seat an extra minute, head dropped to the wheel, breathing hard through his mouth, willing his body to calm down.
He tells himself it’s nothing. Just the heat. Just old habits. Just the cabin pulling old memories to the surface.
But deep in his gut, something ancient and hungry stirs for the first time, low, insistent, like a door creaking open after years of being locked.
That night the attic room feels smaller than ever. Shared pull-out couch, same as always, same faded quilt, same creak when you shift.
You toss and turn, low-grade fever creeping under your skin, making the sheets feel too heavy, too rough. Bucky lies rigid beside you, pretending to sleep, pretending he doesn’t feel the air thickening between you, pretending he doesn’t catch the faint, sweet shift in your scent every time you roll closer.
Pretending he doesn’t already know what’s coming.
Because he does.
He’s felt it building for years, in stolen glances, in the way his pulse jumped when you hugged him goodbye before college, in the hoodie he never gave back because it still smelled like you. He’s ignored it, buried it, told himself it was nothing.
But tonight, lying inches from you in the dark, the lie feels thinner than the quilt between you.
And something inside him is finally starting to crack.
The morning sun filters through the pine trees outside the cabin windows, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floors.
You wake up tangled in the sheets of the pull-out couch, the attic room still dim and stuffy from last night’s humidity.
Bucky’s side of the bed is already empty, neatly made, like he couldn’t sleep either. That low, nagging warmth in your belly lingers, a dull ache that’s been building since the truck ride yesterday.
You blame it on the travel, the excitement, maybe even the greasy diner food you grabbed on the way up. Definitely not anything else. Not the way Bucky’s scent seemed to cling to the pillows, sharper than usual, making your skin feel too tight.
Downstairs, the cabin is alive with the familiar chaos of family vacation mornings. The coffee maker gurgles on the countrr, filling the air with the rich, bitter aroma of coffee. Bacon sizzles in a pan, popping and spitting grease while Bucky’s mom flips slices with a spatula, humming an old tune under her breath.
Your dad is at the table, newspaper spread wide, grumbling about the stock market even on break. Bucky’s sister, Becca, bounces in from the porch, her ponytail swinging, already in her swimsuit with a towel draped over her shoulders.
“It’s already pushing ninety out there,” Becca announces, grabbing a strip of bacon straight from the pan and dodging her mom’s swat. “Lake time before lunch? Come on, we can’t waste this weather!”
Your mom laughs from the sink, rinsing berries. “I’m in. Just slather on the sunscreen, last year you all burned like lobsters.”
Everyone murmurs agreement, the energy shifting to that easy, vacation buzz. Bucky’s dad claps his hands together. “Alright troops, suits on, towels ready. Let’s make it happen.”
You feel a flush creep up your neck at the thought of changing. It’s silly, you’ve all done this a hundred times but something feels different this year. Maybe it’s college making you more self-conscious, or the way Bucky avoided eye contact last night when you both climbed into the shared bed, muttering “night” like it was a chore. You slip into the downstairs bathroom while the others scatter, locking the door with a soft click.
The swimsuit is nothing fancy: a simple navy two-piece from last summer’s clearance rack. High-waisted bottoms that hug your hips comfortably, a triangle top that ties at the neck and back, leaving just enough skin exposed to feel breezy but not exposed.
You’ve worn it to pool parties with college friends, no big deal. But here? With the families? With Bucky? Your reflection in the foggy mirror stares back, cheeks already pink. You tug the strings tighter, adjust the fabric and throw on a loose cover-up before stepping out.
The porch creaks under your flip-flops as you head down to the water, towel slung over your shoulder. The lake sparkles under the high sun, a mirror of blue sky and surrounding pines.
Bucky’s already there, knee-deep in the shallows, fiddling with the dock ladder like it’s the most important task in the world. He’s in plain black trunks, fitted, riding low on his hips, the kind that show off the V of muscle from years of campus gym sessions. His back is to you at first, shoulders broad and tense, the faint scars from old accidents (or that one time he fell off the roof as a kid) catching the light.
He turns when he hears your footsteps on the gravel path. His gaze flicks over you, quick, almost dismissive then snaps away to the water. Then back. Slower this time, lingering on the hem of your cover-up where it brushes your thighs.
“Uh… looks good,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the other still gripping the ladder like a lifeline. His voice is rougher than usual, like he swallowed wrong. “I mean- the suit. It’s… new?”
You smile, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest, the way his eyes keep darting back. “Not new. Just haven’t worn it here before. You know, college pool parties and stuff.”
He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing. Doesn’t meet your eyes fully. “Right. Cool. Yeah, makes sense.”
The awkwardness hangs for a second, thick as the humid air, before Becca cannonballs off the dock with a whoop, splashing everyone and breaking the tension. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”
The group piles in with shouts and splashes, your parents wading slowly, Bucky’s dad doing an exaggerated belly flop that sends waves rippling. You and Bucky hang back at first, old habits dying hard. You slip off the cover-up, folding it neatly on a rock and wade in together. The water is shockingly cool against your heated skin, goosebumps prickling up your arms as it laps at your calves, then thighs, then waist.
It starts innocent enough, like every summer before. Bucky splashes you first, a light spray across your face. You retaliate with a full palm-skim, drenching his hair. He laughs, real and bright, grabbing your wrists to stop you. “Oh, it’s on now!”
You twist free, diving under to escape, and the playfight escalates: him dunking you under when you least expect it, you jumping on his back to pull him down.
At one point, you climb onto his shoulders for an improvised chicken fight against Becca and her boyfriend, your thighs clamped around his neck, his hands steadying your calves. He stumbles on purpose, sending you both toppling in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Underwater, bubbles swirl around you, his body brushing yours in the chaos, chest to your back, his arm looping around your waist to pull you up.
You surface gasping, sides hurting from laughing. “Truce?” you wheeze, treading water close to him, faces inches apart.
“Never,” he says but he’s grinning, that real, boyish smile you haven’t seen since high school, water dripping from his lashes. For a moment, it’s just you two, like kids again, the world narrowed to the lake and the sun on your skin.
But then you swim to the dock to climb out, needing a breather. Water streams off you in rivulets, the suit clinging like a second skin, dark fabric plastered transparent in places, nipples pebbled hard from the cold, every curve outlined unmistakably. You haul yourself up onto the warm wood, dripping puddles, and turn to call him over. “Come on, slowpoke! Race you to the cabin?”
Bucky’s still in the water. Staring.
Not subtle at all. Not even pretending anymore. His eyes trace a slow path: the line of your throat where water beads, down to your chest heaving from the swim, over the dip of your stomach, the way the wet bottoms hug your hips and thighs. His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Color creeps up his neck and he dives under fast, disappearing beneath the murky surface as if trying to drown whatever thought just crossed his mind.
You sit on the edge of the dock, legs dangling in the water, pretending you didn’t notice the heat in his gaze. But your skin prickles with awareness, a flush that’s not just from the sun blooming across your chest. What’s his deal? you think, kicking your feet lazily. It’s just a swimsuit. Just me.
He surfaces a minute later, hair slicked back dark and wet, breathing harder than the swim warrants. He shakes his head like a dog, sending droplets flying. “Sorry,” he calls over, voice strained. “Thought I saw a fish or something. Big one.”
You roll your eyes, smirking to hide the butterflies. “Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.”
The group starts drifting toward lunch, parents complaining about hunger, Becca towing her boyfriend by the hand. “Come on, you two! Food’s ready!”
You climb up from the dock, grab your towel from the rock and head up the shaded path to dry off. Behind a cluster of trees for a bit of privacy, you peel off the wet top and bottoms, modest enough with everyone else distracted. The air feels good on your bare skin for a second, cooling the persistent warmth in your core. You wrap the towel around yourself snugly and drape the suit over a flat rock in the sun to dry, bottoms folded neatly on top.
Bucky stays in the water longer than anyone, even after the others have toweled off and headed inside. When he finally emerges, he’s shivering despite the heat, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s holding himself together. Water washes down his torso, catching in the faint trail of hair below his navel. He walks past the rock where your suit dries without looking at it or at least, that’s what it seems. But you catch the twitch of his hand, the way his fingers flex as if debating.
You don’t think much of it then. You head inside for lunch, sandwiches and cold lemonade around the big oak table, everyone talking over each other about plans for the afternoon hike or board games if it rains. Bucky joins late, hair still damp, in fresh shorts and a t-shirt that clings a little too much. He sits across from you, quiet, picking at his food. His knee bounces under the table. When your eyes meet, he looks away fast, muttering something about needing more mustard.
Later that afternoon, the cabin quiets down. Parents napping on the porch swing, gentle snores mingling with the hum of cicadas. Becca and her boyfriend head off for a hike, backpacks slung low. You’re on the hammock out back, book open on your lap but not really reading, your mind keeps replaying the lake, Bucky’s stare, the accidental brushes underwater. That warmth in your belly flares again, insistent now, making you shift uncomfortably.
That’s when you hear it: the soft click of the downstairs bathroom door locking.
Inside, Bucky leans back against the sink, the cool porcelain a shock against his overheated skin. His heart slams so hard it echoes in his ears, a frantic drumbeat of shame and want.
Your bikini bottoms are balled tight in his fist, he’d snatched them from the rock when no one was looking, during the chaos of unpacking the cooler for lunch. His palm had brushed the damp fabric, and it was like electricity, heart in his throat the whole time, convinced someone would turn and see.
He shouldn’t do this.
He knows he shouldn’t.
He’s done bad things before, stolen your hoodie from the laundry in college, buried his face in it that night until the scent faded. A hair tie from your backpack once, twisted around his wrist like a talisman. But this? This is new territory. Filthier. Wronger.
But the fabric is still damp from the lake, still warm somehow from your body and there’s that faint trace of something new weaving through it, sweet, slick, almost honeyed. Your scent. Not the full bloom of heat yet but the first tentative leak, the prelude that’s been teasing him since the truck ride, since last night in the attic when he lay awake listening to your soft breaths.
With shaking hands, he brings the bottoms to his face. Presses them to his nose. Inhales deep, slow, like he can pull you into his lungs.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice cracking on the word. “Fuck, I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry.”
The smell crashes over him like a wave, your skin, fresh lake water, sunscreen and that warm, needy undertone that twists something deep in his gut. His cock throbs instantly, straining painfully against his shorts. He shoves them down just enough with his free hand, wraps his fist around himself, already leaking, already desperate.
He strokes fast, too fast, jerky and guilty, the damp fabric still pressed to his mouth like a gag. “I’m so fucked up,” he breathes against the cloth, words muffled and wrecked. “You’re right there… my best friend… and I’m doing this… smelling you like some creep. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…”
His hips jerk forward into his hand. He bites his lip hard to muffle the groan, tasting blood as he comes hard and sudden, spilling over his fist in hot, shameful pulses that leave him shaking. The bikini bottoms stay pressed to his face the whole time, soaking up the ragged sounds of his breathing, the quiet sob that slips out at the end.
When it’s over, he slumps against the wall, chest heaving, legs weak. Tears prick hot at the corners of his eyes, blurring the tile floor. What the hell is wrong with me? he thinks, staring at the fabric in his hand like it’s evidence. She’s outside reading, trusting me, and I’m… this.
He cleans himself up with wads of toilet paper, hands still trembling. Wipes the bottoms as best he can with a damp cloth from the sink, careful, almost reverent, then unlocks the door and slips quietly back into the house.
The laundry pile is right there in the narrow hallway off the kitchen, a big overflowing basket of beach towels, damp swimsuits, and everyone’s clothes from the day. No one’s around; the house is still quiet, just the low hum of the fridge and the distant sound of crickets outside. He glances over his shoulder once, heart hammering then tucks your bikini bottoms underneath a folded beach towel near the bottom of the pile. Careful. Stealthy. Like nothing ever happened.
But as he walks back outside, the clawing shame doesn’t fade. He can still taste the faint salt of lake water on his tongue. Still feel the phantom weight of your body against his in the water. Still hear his own broken apologies echoing in his head, meaningless now.
And somewhere under his skin, buried deep but stirring stronger, something darker is waking up, something primal that doesn’t care about sorry, about best friends, about right and wrong.
Something that just wants more. And it’s only the first full day at the cabin.
The cabin quiets after dinner in stages, the familiar rhythms of family winding down like a clock ticking toward silence. First the clatter of dishes being stacked in the sink, silverware clinking against plates, the occasional laugh as someone recounts a story from the lake that day.
Then the low murmur of parents saying goodnight on the porch, chairs scraping as they stand, voices fading into the night like echoes. Finally, the creak of floorboards as everyone drifts to their rooms, doors clicking shut one by one, leaving only the hum of crickets and the distant lap of the lake against the shore.
The wind from earlier has died down completely, leaving the air thick and still, heavy with the scent of pine sap and cooling earth. You climb the narrow attic stairs alone, each step feeling heavier than it should, the wood groaning under your weight like it’s protesting the climb.
Your skin feels wrong, too tight, too hot, like someone turned the thermostat up inside your body and forgot to tell you. Sweat beads at the small of your back, even though the night has cooled outside. The low ache from earlier has spread, subtle and unrelenting, low in your belly, between your thighs, a persistent throb that makes every brush of fabric against your skin unbearable, electric.
You tell yourself it’s just the heat of the day lingering, just exhaustion from swimming and laughing and pretending everything is normal. You’ve had off days before, cramps, fevers, the kind that come and go without explanation. This is nothing new. Nothing to worry about.
You change into an old tank top and soft sleep shorts, loose, familiar, the same ones you’ve worn in this room every summer since you could remember, faded from too many washes, the hem frayed from years of use.
The pull-out couch is already made up, sheets cool against your fevered skin when you slide in, but the relief is fleeting. You leave the small triangular window cracked, hoping the night air will help, a faint breeze whispering through the screen carrying the scent of water and woods. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes the ache sharper, like the coolness is mocking the fire building inside you.
You curl onto your side, knees drawn up, trying to breathe through it. Deep inhales, slow exhales. But each breath pulls in the faint trace of Bucky’s scent from the pillows, cedar and something metallic, lingering from last night. It makes your head swim, the throb between your legs pulse harder. You press your thighs together, bite your lip to stifle a whimper. Just sleep, you think. It’ll be gone in the morning.
Downstairs, Bucky lingers in the kitchen longer than necessary. He rinses the last coffee mug under the faucet, watching the water swirl down the drain like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Then he wipes the counter twice, once with a sponge, once with a dish towel, scrubbing at invisible spots until his arms ache. Anything to delay going up those stairs. Anything to avoid the attic, the shared bed, you.
He can smell it already, your scent drifting down the stairs like smoke signals, sweet and syrupy, blooming stronger with every passing minute.
It’s not the full force of heat yet, but it’s close. Close enough that his mouth waters involuntarily, his pulse hammers in his ears, his cock twitches traitorously in his sweatpants, half-hard just from the tease of it.
His own body betrays him too, the rut stirring low in his gut, a restless energy that makes his skin itch, his muscles tense like coiled springs. He grips the edge of the sink until his knuckles ache, staring at his reflection in the dark window above it.
Stay down here, he tells himself, voice a harsh whisper in his mind. Sleep on the couch. Pretend you’re drunk. Pretend you ate something bad. Pretend anything. But his feet move anyway, slow, deliberate, like they’re not listening to him anymore. Up the stairs. Past the creaky third step he’s known since he was ten. To the attic door.
He pauses with his hand on the knob, ear pressed to the wood. Your breathing is uneven inside, shallow pants, soft whimpers you’re trying to muffle into the pillow. He can hear them. Smell them. Feel them in his bones, like a hook pulling him forward.
He opens the door.
The room is dim, lit only by the moonlight slicing through the triangular window, casting long shadows across the slanted ceiling. You’re curled on your side, knees drawn up tight, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to hold the heat in or keep it from escaping completely. Your hair sticks to your damp forehead in dark strands. Your scent hits him full force now, rich, needy, unmistakable, wrapping around him like a vise.
You don’t look up right away, eyes squeezed shut against another wave of discomfort. “Buck?” Your voice is small, cracked, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah.” He closes the door behind him softly. Locks it without thinking, the click echoing too loud in the quiet. “Couldn’t sleep downstairs. Couch is lumpy.”
A weak laugh escapes you, more breath than sound. “Liar.”
He crosses the room in three steps, drops to sit on the edge of the mattress. The bed dips under his weight. You flinch at the sudden movement, then relax when you realize it’s him. Always him. His presence alone eases something in you, the ache dulls just a fraction, like his nearness is a balm.
“I can smell it,” he says quietly, no point in pretending anymore. “Your heat. It’s… starting.”
You swallow hard, finally opening your eyes to meet his. They’re dark in the low light, pupils blown wide. “I know. I thought- I thought maybe it was just a fever. But it’s not going away. It’s getting worse.”
He exhales through his nose, shaky and uneven. “Mine too.”
Your eyes snap wider, searching his face. “You’re-?”
“First rut.” He laughs once, bitter and self-conscious, running a hand through his hair. “Figures it would hit the same week. Same night. Same fucking attic. Like the universe has a sense of humor.”
Silence stretches between you, thick and electric, charged with everything unsaid over the years. The childhood friendship that never quite stayed innocent. The glances that lingered too long. The way you both always ended up here, in this room, pretending it was just tradition.
You shift slightly, wincing as the movement drags the sheet across your oversensitive skin, sending a fresh spark of need through you. “It hurts,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Not bad yet, just… constant. Like I’m burning from the inside out. Empty. I don’t know how to make it stop.”
He nods, throat working visibly. He knows exactly what you mean, his own body feels like a live wire, every nerve singing with want, every breath pulling more of your scent into his lungs until he’s dizzy with it, until his rut claws at him from the inside, demanding more.
“I… I can help,” he says, voice rough around the edges, like the words are being dragged out of him. “With the scent thing. If you want. It… calms it down. A little.”
You hesitate, brows furrowing. “Scent thing?”
He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushing darker even in the dim light. Awkwardness rolls off him in waves, stammering, avoiding your eyes.
“Yeah, uh… like, close contact. Nuzzling, or… licking the gland. Releases pheromones or something. Makes the heat less… frantic.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I, um, overheard Mom talking to Becca last year. When her boyfriend was here during her heat. She said if things got too much, they could try scenting first. You know, to take the edge off without… without going all the way. Said it’s safer, especially for first times.”
The memory flashes through his mind unbidden: him paused outside Becca’s door last summer, frozen when he heard his mom’s voice inside, calm, matter-of-fact, explaining the basics like it was no big deal. “Just scenting, honey. It helps without complicating things.” Becca had groaned in embarrassment; her boyfriend had mumbled something awkward. Bucky had backed away fast, face burning but the idea stuck. Lingered. Especially when he thought about you.
You blink at him, processing. The suggestion hangs there, awkward and intimate, making the air feel even thicker. “Oh. I… didn’t know that was a thing.” Your voice is small, but curious. The ache pulses again, sharper, and you shift uncomfortably. “Does it really help?”
He nods, still not meeting your eyes fully. “From what I’ve heard. Yeah. But only if you’re comfortable. I can… I can go back downstairs if-”
“No.” The word slips out fast, desperate. “Stay. Please. I trust you.”
He exhales, relief and tension mixing in his expression. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
He moves behind you slowly, careful not to startle, like you’re something fragile he might break. Slides under the sheet, spoons you from behind, chest pressing to your back, arm sliding around your waist, careful not to press too hard, not to let you feel how affected he already is. His nose finds the crook of your neck immediately, right over your scent gland. He inhales deep, greedy, a low rumble starting in his chest before he can stop it, instinctive, alpha-deep.
You sigh, body going liquid against him almost instantly. “That… that feels better already.”
He nuzzles closer, lips brushing skin tentatively. “Tell me if it’s too much. Or if I should stop.”
It isn’t too much. It’s exactly what you need.
He licks, slow, tentative at first, just the flat of his tongue over your gland, testing. You whimper, arching back into him without thinking, the sound pulling a groan from his throat.
He does it again, longer this time, wetter, tasting salt and sweetness and you. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flush. His hips press forward instinctively, the hard line of his cock nestling against your ass through thin layers of fabric.
You don’t pull away. If anything, you press back, a soft moan escaping.
His scent floods the room in response, dark cedar, gunmetal, smoke, sharp and possessive, mingling with yours in a heady mix that makes the air feel drugged. It wraps around you like a blanket, heavy and warm, soothing the fire in your veins. Your eyelids grow heavy almost instantly, the frantic edge of your heat dulling under the weight of his presence. Safe. So safe. Protected.
But it’s not one-sided.
Even as your body melts, your own instincts stir, deep and shy, curious and innocent. You turn your head slowly, nose brushing the side of his jaw, then his neck.
His scent gland is right there, warm and pulsing. You nuzzle it tentatively, awkward and unsure, just mirroring what he’s doing. Your tongue darts out, small, hesitant licks against his skin, tasting cedar and metal and him. It’s clumsy, inexperienced, your cheeks burning with embarrassment even as you do it.
You pull back a fraction, eyes wide and nervous. “Is… is that okay? I just- I thought… maybe it works both ways? Like… fairness?”
He nods frantically, eyes glassy, voice wrecked. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s- more than okay. God. Keep going. Please.”
You do, awkward, innocent little licks along his gland, mirroring his rhythm. Your tongue is shy, tentative but every pass makes him tremble harder, hips jerking against you in tiny, helpless rocks. His scent deepens in response, smokier, more desperate and yours answers, sweetening, blooming brighter.
“Feels… weird,” you mumble against his skin, voice small and embarrassed. “Good weird. But I don’t- I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Me neither,” he admits, voice cracking. “Never done this. Never even- never even kissed anyone. Just you. Always you.”
You both blush harder at the confession, two virgins fumbling through instinct, through need, through trust.
He keeps licking your gland, slow and careful. You keep licking his, awkward, innocent, both of you trembling, both of you making soft, embarrassed noises every time your tongues brush skin.
Your eyelids grow heavier. The frantic edge of your heat dulls under the weight of his presence, his scent, his careful touches. Safe. So safe. Protected.
“Buck…” you mumble, already slurring, the world softening at the edges.
“Mmm?” He presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck now, teeth grazing but not biting, each one sending little sparks through you. “You okay? Still good?”
“Feels… so good…” Your words trail off into a sigh. Breathing slows. Deepens.
He keeps going, slow, reverent drags of his tongue, soft purrs vibrating through his chest into your back, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. His hand splays wide over your stomach, thumb brushing just under the hem of your tank in soothing circles. Not groping. Just holding. Claiming in the gentlest way he knows how.
You sigh once more, soft, content, almost a purr of your own and slip under completely. Deep, scent-drunk sleep. The kind only an alpha’s presence can pull an omega into during a first heat.
Bucky freezes mid-lick, tongue still pressed to your skin.
He listens: your breathing even now, slow and peaceful. Completely out. Trusting. Vulnerable.
“Oh fuck,” he breathes, the words barely audible. Horror and hunger twist together in his gut, sharp as knives.
He should stop. Pull away. Go sleep on the floor downstairs. Lock himself in the bathroom. Anything to put distance between you.
Instead, his hips rock forward, small, helpless, instinctive. The friction through his sweatpants is torture. Perfect torture. His cock throbs, already leaking, the rut demanding more now that he’s this close, this immersed in your scent.
“Baby…” he whispers against your hair, voice wrecked. “Need more. Just a little more. Please…”
No answer. Of course not.
He whimpers, high, broken, needy, the sound pathetic even to his own ears. Presses his face harder into your neck, mouthing at your gland like he can drink the calm straight from your skin, like he can absorb the trust you gave him and somehow make this okay.
His hand slides lower, trembling, slips under the waistband of your shorts. Finds you soaked, swollen, clit throbbing even in sleep under his fingertips. He bites his own lip until it bleeds, copper tang grounding him for a second.
“Just gonna touch,” he tells your sleeping form, voice shaking with guilt and want. “Won’t wake you. Promise. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry…”
Fingers circle slow. Slick and careful, petting gently. Your hips twitch once, unconscious little rock and he groans low, wrecked, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“So wet for me,” he mumbles, words slurred against your skin. “Even when you’re dreaming. Fuck- you want it too, don’t you? Say yes. Please just- say yes even if you’re asleep-”
He grinds against you harder now, shallow thrusts through fabric, cock leaking steadily, making a mess of his sweatpants. His fingers speed up, just a little, rubbing tight circles over your clit while he ruts like a desperate teenager, hips snapping with less control.
The guilt is screaming in his head, louder than before. She’s asleep. She trusts you. You’re disgusting. Stop. Stopstopstop- Flashbacks hit him, stealing your hoodie in college, jerking off with it pressed to his face that night; the swimsuit bottoms from today, still damp in his memory; the way he’s always been like this, wanting you in secret, hating himself for it. Best friend. She’s your best friend. What kind of monster are you?
But his body doesn’t listen. The rut doesn’t care about guilt or friendship or years of restraint.
He comes with a choked sob, muffled against your neck, hot pulses soaking the front of his sweatpants, hips jerking hard against you in frantic, uneven thrusts. He shakes through it, whole body trembling, fingers still moving on you until he feels the tiny flutter of your body coming too, soft, dreamy, barely-there orgasm that leaves you sighing and nestling closer even in sleep, like your subconscious knows it’s him and wants more.
He pants against your hair, hot tears stinging his eyes now. Heart hammering like it’s trying to escape his chest.
Slowly, carefully he withdraws his hand. Wipes it on his ruined pants with a grimace. Pulls the blanket higher over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders like that can make up for what he’s done.
You don’t stir. Peaceful. Claimed.
He presses the softest kiss to the back of your neck, right over where he’s been licking for what feels like hours, the skin glistening faintly in the moonlight.
“Love you,” he whispers, voice cracked and raw. “So fucking much. I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. Somehow.”
He curls tighter around you. Still hard. Still aching, the rut not satisfied with just this. But calmer now, at least for the moment.
You sleep on, safe, claimed by scent, marked in the only way he’ll allow himself tonight.
Bucky’s chest heaves in the aftermath, each breath a ragged pull that does nothing to steady him, his heart slamming against his ribs like it's trying to escape the prison of his body. His sweatpants are ruined, sticky, cooling uncomfortably against his thighs but the rut doesn't care about discomfort.
It’s not done. Not even close. His cock twitches weakly, already stirring again, the alpha instinct roaring back to life with a vengeance that makes his hands shake. He can feel the knot forming at the base, swollen and insistent, even though he hasn’t pushed inside you yet. The thought alone sends a fresh wave of shame crashing over him, hot, choking, familiar.
He lies there for what feels like an eternity, arm still draped over your waist, fingers splayed possessively across your stomach. The warmth of your skin seeps through the thin tank, grounding him and torturing him in equal measure.
Get up, he thinks desperately, go splash water on your face, sleep on the goddamn floor downstairs. Lock yourself in the bathroom until morning.
But your scent curls around him like smoke from a dying fire, sweet and cloying, seeping into his pores until his mouth waters again, until his vision blurs at the edges. The alpha in him stirs, primal and unyielding, whispering that this is right, that you’re his to claim, to take, to mark in every way possible. The man in him, the virgin who’s never even kissed anyone properly, the one who’s been your best friend since scraped knees and shared secrets, screams back: She's asleep. She's vulnerable. She's your best fucking friend. This isn't you.
Memories flood him unbidden, adding layers to the torment: the first time he realized his feelings weren't just friendly, that summer you turned eighteen and wore that sundress to the bonfire, the fabric fluttering in the breeze; the way he’d excused himself early, locked in the bathroom downstairs, hand around his cock imagining it was you.
Or college last year, when you sent a selfie in a new outfit and he’d saved it, stared at it in the dark until he came with guilt choking him. Small thefts building to this, hoodies, hair ties, now swimsuits. How did I get here? he wonders, tears already pricking at his eyes. When did I become this?
His hand, still trembling from the first release, slides back down, like his body is on autopilot. Between your thighs again, where you’re even wetter now, your body betraying you in sleep, slick pooling from the earlier touches, from his scent blanketing you like a possessive shroud.
The heat is building in you too, he can feel it, the way your inner walls flutter faintly at his proximity, instinct responding to alpha even in dreams. He scoops, fingers dipping shallow at first, collecting the warm, sticky essence that coats you. They come away glistening in the dim light, strands of your arousal stretching between them like liquid silk, sweet and golden like honey.
He stares at his own hand, breath hitching sharp in his throat. The sight is hypnotic, proof of your need, even unconscious, and it breaks something in him. This is real, he thinks. Not a fantasy. Not stolen fabric. You.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking on the words as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, slow and clumsy, like he’s afraid to taste but can’t stop himself. The first taste is lightning, sweet, tangy, pure you, like warm honey on his tongue, exploding across his senses.
A broken whine rips from his throat, high and needy, echoing too loud in the quiet room, he clamps his free hand over his mouth to muffle it, eyes squeezing shut. But he doesn’t stop. He sucks them deeper, tongue swirling awkwardly, cheeks hollowing as he chases every trace, every drop. “F-Fuck- fuck, you taste like… like honey… so sweet… so good… how are you this perfect? Even asleep, you’re dripping for me… like… like you were made for this…”
His hips grind forward instinctively, clumsy and desperate, pressing the renewed hardness against your ass. The friction is messy, awkward, his sweatpants bunching, his movements jerky like he doesn’t know what he’s doing (because he doesn’t).
He pulls his fingers free with a wet pop, stares at them again, clean now, but the flavor lingers on his tongue, addictive and haunting. “I’m a monster,” he mutters, tears pricking hot at his eyes, blurring his vision. “Tasting you like this. Stealing it while you sleep. You have no idea- god, if you woke up now… saw me like this… you’d hate me…”
He dips again, deeper this time, fingers curling just inside, scooping more slick with a clumsy, fumbling motion that makes his own breath hitch. Your body clenches faintly around him, unconscious and soft, a tiny ripple that pulls a guttural, embarrassed groan from deep in his chest.
“S-See that? Even dreaming, you’re gripping me… pulling me in… like you know it’s me… like your body wants me to… to…” He shoves the fingers back into his mouth, sucking harder, sloppier now, the wet sounds obscene in the silence, echoing off the slanted walls. His free hand fists the sheet beside you, knuckles straining white, nails digging into the fabric like it can anchor him.
“Been perving on you for years… that red swimsuit summer- f-fuck, it rode up every time you moved… showed everything… jerked off in the shower thinking about peeling it off you… tasting you then… stole your bottoms today, you know that? Locked myself in the bathroom, buried my face in them like a dog in heat… came so hard I saw stars, whispering your name… and now- now I’m here, licking your slick off my fingers, rutting against you like I can’t control myself… because I can’t… I’m disgusting, baby… so sorry- love you-hate myself- can’t stop- been holding back forever, but the rut… it’s breaking me…”
Memories surface, adding depth to the spiral: the time in high school when you cried on his shoulder after a bad date, and he’d held you too tight, inhaling your scent until he was dizzy; the college care package you sent with a note that smelled like your perfume, and he’d kept it under his pillow for weeks. Small sins building to this avalanche. “You think I’m the good guy,” he chokes out around his fingers. “The best friend who protects you. But I’m not. I’m this. Always have been.”
His hips rut faster, grinding in earnest now, the earlier mess making everything slick and hot, friction building to a fever pitch that makes his vision tunnel.
Tears spill over, tracking down his cheeks as he licks his fingers clean one last time, savoring the taste like it’s his last meal, like tomorrow everything ends. “You’d hate me. Wake up and see the creep I’ve always been, the way I’ve watched you, wanted you. But f-fuck- fuck, I need you. Love you so much it’s killing me. That’s why, that’s why I’m like this. Need to be closer. Need to taste- need to have every part of you before you find out and leave.”
He comes again, sudden and shattering, hips slamming forward with a strangled, sobbing cry muffled into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin but not biting.
Hot pulses flood his pants anew, body convulsing in waves, every muscle locking tight as the release rips through him like wildfire. He shakes like he’s breaking apart, sobs wracking his frame, tears soaking into your hair and the pillow beneath.
When the aftershocks finally go, leaving him hollowed out and trembling, he slumps heavy against you, panting harsh and broken. The guilt crashes in full force now, unfiltered by the rut’s haze, ugly, clawing, leaving him raw and exposed.
“Oh god,” he sobs quietly, face buried in your hair, inhaling the clean shampoo scent mixed with your heat like it’s a lifeline. “What did I do? What the fuck did I just do? I’m sorry- I’m so sorry- how do I fix this?”
Carefully, oh so carefully, like handling something sacred and fragile, he shifts just enough to reach for the corner of the blanket. Dips it between your thighs, wiping you clean with gentle, trembling strokes, his touch feather-light, reverent. He smooths your shorts back into place with utmost care, tucks the sheet around you snugly to keep you warm, brushes damp strands of hair from your forehead with feather-light touches, lingering on your cheek like he can wipe away his sins. His tears fall freely now, silent and hot, dripping onto your shoulder, soaking into the fabric of your tank.
“I’m gonna tell you,” he whispers into your hair, voice thick and wrecked, nose pressed to the spot he scented earlier, the skin still warm and marked by his earlier licks.
“Tomorrow. First thing in the morning. Confess everything- the hoodie from college that I never gave back, the swimsuit bottoms I stole today and ruined with my come, the way I’ve wanted you forever, watched you in secret, loved you in ways I shouldn’t. This night. All of it- the touching, the tasting, the grinding like a desperate animal. Beg you to forgive me. Or hate me. Kick me out of your life forever. Whatever you need, I’ll take it. I can’t keep this secret anymore. Can’t keep hurting you like this, pretending I’m just your friend when I’m… this. Love you too much- too much to lie. Please… please don’t hate me. But if you do, I deserve it.”
He holds you closer, body curled protectively around yours, as if he can shield you from himself, from the truth waiting in the dawn. The rut simmers low still, a distant hum waiting to reignite with the morning light, but for now, exhaustion pulls at him like an undertow. Sleep creeps in against his will, tears drying stiff on his cheeks, his promises echoing in his mind like fragile vows.
The attic is a furnace of heat and scent, the air so thick it feels like breathing through honey. Bucky had tried to sleep, really tried. He’d even drifted off for a little while, exhaustion finally pulling him under after the first round of guilt and need burned itself out. But now he’s awake again, jolted back by the insistent, aching throb between his legs, cock hard and heavy against your ass, leaking steadily through the ruined fabric of his sweatpants. His cock is pulsing with every heartbeat, refusing to let him rest.
His arm is still locked around your waist, fingers splayed across your stomach like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, even in sleep. Every shallow breath you take drags more of your blooming heat into his lungs until he’s dizzy with it all over again. He shifts just slightly, trying to ease the pressure, but the movement only makes him groan low in his throat, hips rocking forward on instinct, pressing himself tighter against you.
He still feels like a monster.
But the rut doesn’t care about guilt. It only cares about claim.
His hand trembles as it slides down again, hooking the waistband of your sleep shorts with reverent care. He tugs them aside slowly, agonizingly slow so the fabric drags over your hips, cool air kissing newly bared skin. You don’t stir. Just sigh, soft and trusting, shifting closer like your body knows exactly who’s touching you even in sleep. The shorts catch briefly on the curve of your ass; he freezes, heart slamming, fumbles them lower until they’re bunched at your thighs.
He stares for a long moment, breath hitching at the sight of you: soft, bare, glistening in the moonlight from earlier touches and the steady leak of your heat. His mouth waters. His cock jerks against his stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, voice cracking as he lines himself up. The tip nudges your entrance, slick, hot, ready. He’s shaking so badly the head slips once, twice, smearing wetness along your folds. A broken whine tears from his throat, high, helpless, muffled against your shoulder. “I’m so sorry… I can’t stop… can’t-”
He presses forward, inch by torturous inch, slow and clumsy, fumbling like he’s never done this before (because he hasn’t). Your virgin pussy resists, tight, so impossibly tight, clenching instinctively against the intrusion, pushing back like it doesn’t know whether to let him in or keep him out. He gasps, hips stuttering, tears already welling up again.
“F-Fuck- baby, you’re so… so tight…” he whimpers, voice small and shaking, almost baby-like in its desperation. “I’m sorry… I’m trying to be gentle… I don’t wanna hurt you… you’re so warm… so fucking warm… feels like coming home… I’m disgusting… shouldn’t be doing this… shouldn’t be taking you while you sleep…”
He pauses, breathing hard against your neck, tears dripping onto your shoulder. His tip is barely inside, your walls fluttering and squeezing, resisting every tiny push. He sniffles, voice cracking even more.
“C’mon, sweet girl… it’s just me… you know me, baby… it’s Bucky… just Bucky… open up for me, honey… please… let me in… I’ll be so gentle… promise… you’re so tight… so perfect… like you were waiting for me…”
He rocks forward again, tiny, careful little movements, coaxing, pleading with your body like it’s a shy thing he’s trying to befriend. Your walls flutter, then slowly, sweetly, start to soften, parting just enough, letting him sink another inch. He whimpers, high and relieved.
“There you go… good girl… that’s it… just like that… you know me… you trust me… let Bucky in, baby… please…”
Another slow push, your pussy yields a little more, gripping him so tight he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Tears stream down his face now, mixing guilt and awe and overwhelming love.
“So good… so sweet… like honey… fuck, you’re letting me in… you’re so tight… so warm… feels like home… I’m sorry… I love you… love you so much…”
He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, buried to the hilt and nearly blacks out from the sensation. You’re molten around him, slick dripping down his balls, every tiny shift of your body gripping him like velvet. He stays still for a long moment, panting against your neck, trying to breathe through the overwhelming fullness, the guilt clawing at his chest like talons.
Then he moves.
Slow. Clumsy. Deep, dragging strokes that pull whimpers from his own throat with every pass. He’s whining, high, pathetic little sounds he can’t swallow back as he fucks into you with careful, fumbling thrusts, like he’s worshiping something holy and terrified of breaking it.
“Can’t stop,” he whispers, voice wrecked and whiny. “Can’t- fuck- can’t stop. You feel too good. Too right. I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry… been wanting this for years… watching you, stealing pieces of you… hoodie, swimsuit, now this… I’m disgusting… pervy little creep… but you’re mine… feel like mine…”
He angles his hips, awkward at first, fumbling, grinding deeper, the head of his cock dragging against that spot inside you that makes your body flutter even in sleep. A soft, unconscious moan slips from your lips. He freezes, terror and lust warring in his chest then groans when you clench around him again, instinctive and needy.
“See that?” he mumbles, voice cracking. “Even dreaming you’re pulling me in… like you want it… want me… fuck, I’m gonna knot you… gonna lock inside… fill you up… mark you as mine… I’m disgusting… shouldn’t… but I need- need it so bad…”
The knot begins to swell at the base, thickening with every clumsy thrust, catching at your entrance on the out-stroke, stretching you wider. He’s whining louder now, high, desperate little sounds he can’t swallow back, hips stuttering as the pressure builds to something unbearable.
“Gonna knot you,” he gasps against your ear, tears falling faster, soaking your hair and shoulder. “Gonna lock inside… fill you up… make you mine… I’m disgusting… shouldn’t… but I can’t stop… love you… love you so much it hurts… need you to be mine…”
One last deep, clumsy thrust.
The knot catches.
Swells.
Locks.
Hot, pulsing fullness stretching you open as it seals inside, tying you together. A broken sob rips from him, half relief, half shame as the first thick spurt of come floods you, wave after wave, so much it leaks out around where you’re stretched tight around him. His whole body convulses, hips jerking in tiny, helpless pulses as he empties inside you, tears streaming freely down his face.
And that’s when your eyes flutter open.
A soft, dazed sound slips from your lips, half moan, half sigh as awareness returns in hazy pieces: the overwhelming fullness deep inside, the heat of his body wrapped around yours, the rhythmic pulsing of his knot, the wet mess between your thighs, his tears on your skin, the broken way he’s clinging to you.
Your gaze finds his in the moonlight, wide, sleepy, pupils blown with lingering heat-drunk haze, no shock, just soft, instinct-led trust.
“Bucky…?”
He freezes, entire body locking up, knot throbbing helplessly inside you, tears still streaming down his face, voice shattered when he finally speaks.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, barely audible, shaking so hard the knot tugs inside you. “I’m so fucking sorry- I couldn’t- I shouldn’t have- please don’t hate me- please- I’m disgusting- I know I’m disgusting-”
Your breath hitches, but it’s not fear, it’s need. The heat is still thinking for you, instincts purring in your veins, making everything feel right, warm, necessary.
You reach back slowly, fingers finding the nape of his neck, pulling him closer with sleepy, trusting gentleness.
“Shhh,” you whisper, voice thick with sleep and honey-sweet heat. “It’s okay… feels so good… so full… Buck…”
He whimpers, fresh tears soaking your skin as he clings tighter.
You clench around the knot deliberately, slow and sweet, drawing a wrecked, whiny sound from deep in his chest.
“More…” you mumble sleepily, voice soft and slurred, pure instinct speaking. “Bucky… please… more… feels so warm… so right… don’t stop…”
He buries his face in your neck, shaking harder, sobbing quietly against your skin.
“Love you,” he whispers, over and over, voice raw and broken. “Love you… love you… thank you… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
You sigh and settle back against him, letting his knot hold you together, mumbling sleepily against his hair.
“More… Buck… please… feels so full… so good… keep going…”
He whimpers again, high, helpless, overwhelmed and rocks gently, tiny movements that make you both sigh in perfect harmony.
Finally crossing the line together, clumsy, guilty, innocent and so in love it hurts.
The knot keeps you locked together for what feels like an eternity, throbbing, pulsing, a steady heartbeat buried deep inside you that matches the frantic, unsteady rhythm of his against your back. The attic has grown still, the earlier frenzy burned down to embers. Outside, the lake laps softly at the shore, a distant, soothing metronome.
Inside, there’s only the quiet rasp of your breathing, the occasional creak of the old pull-out couch beneath your combined weight, and the faint rustle of sheets whenever one of you shifts. Moonlight has slid across the slanted ceiling, painting long silver stripes over the rumpled quilt and your tangled limbs, his arm banded low across your stomach, your legs entwined with his, bodies fitted together like pieces that have finally found their match.
Bucky’s face is still buried in the crook of your neck, nose pressed to the spot just over your scent gland, breathing you in like he’s afraid the scent will disappear if he stops. His tears dried long ago into faint salt tracks on your skin, but he hasn’t let go.
Not even an inch.
His breathing is ragged, uneven, aftershocks still rolling through him, guilt and awe warring in his chest like twin storms. He’s trembling harder now, not just from the bond or the knot, but from something deeper, something primal starting to uncoil inside him, raw and hungry, the alpha side he’s never let out before clawing its way up. It makes his fingers twitch against your skin, makes his hips give tiny, helpless rocks even though he’s trying so hard to stay still.
You’re both shaking a little: him from the raw vulnerability of what he’s done and the overwhelming relief that you haven’t pulled away; you from the lingering fullness, the slow, hazy return to reality after everything that just happened. You’re still so sweet, so pure, like warm honey in his arms, even after the mess, the tears, the guilt. Your scent is everywhere, soft, golden, comforting and it’s making that new, primal thing inside him growl quietly, wanting to claim, to keep, to never let go.
You clench around the knot once, instinctive, testing the connection and he whines, high and broken, hips jerking involuntarily, tugging the knot tighter inside you. His fingers dig into your hip, not hard, just desperate, like he’s afraid he’ll float away if he doesn’t hold on.
“F-Fuck- baby, don’t-” His voice cracks, raw and wrecked, still so awkward. “Don’t do that unless you want me to… to lose it again… I’m already- god, I’m barely holding on… I’ve never… never felt anything like this…”
You smile into the dark, small and sleepy, voice still thick with the afterglow, sweet like you always are. “Maybe I do.”
He exhales a shaky laugh against your throat, the sound half sob, half wonder, still so boyish, so unsure. “You’re gonna kill me. Swear to god, you’re gonna kill me and I’ll die happy… I’ve never… never even kissed anyone properly before tonight… and now… now I’m inside you… knotted… bonded… I don’t even know what I’m doing…”
Silence settles again, comfortable now, softer than anything that came before. His hand slides up your side in slow, reverent strokes, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, like he’s mapping territory he’s only dreamed of touching. He’s clumsy about it, fingers trembling, hesitating every few inches like he’s scared he’ll do it wrong but so gentle, so careful.
When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost hesitant, the words dragged from somewhere deep and carefully guarded.
“Do you remember… the summer we were seventeen?” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck as he talks, voice cracking a little. “You had that stupid crush on Jake from the lake house next door. Came crying to me because he kissed some girl at the bonfire instead of you.”
You huff a soft laugh, the sound vibrating through both of you where you’re joined. “I remember. I was so dramatic. Thought the world was ending. Sat on the dock sobbing into my hoodie sleeves like it was the apocalypse.”
“You were sitting there, knees up, tears everywhere. I sat next to you for hours. Didn’t say much. Just… let you lean on me.” His thumb brushes slow circles over your hip bone, grounding himself in the feel of you. “That was the first time I realized I wanted to be the one kissing you. Not Jake. Me. I hated myself for thinking it. You were crying over some idiot and I was imagining pulling you into my lap, wiping your tears, fixing everything with my mouth. Thought I was the worst friend alive for even picturing it.”
Your breath catches. “You never told me.”
“Couldn’t.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against your shoulder. “Every summer after that… every time you fell asleep on my shoulder during movie nights in the living room, every time you hugged me goodbye before you left for college… I’d go home and jerk off thinking about you. Your laugh. The way your hair smelled after swimming, chlorine and sunscreen and something sweet underneath. That red swimsuit you wore, the way it rode up every time you dove in. The way you looked at me sometimes, like maybe you felt it too, like maybe I wasn’t crazy. I’d come so hard I’d see stars, whispering your name into my pillow like a prayer, then hate myself for days. Thought I was ruining everything. Thought if you ever found out how much I wanted you, you’d never look at me the same.”
Tears prick your eyes now, hot and sudden. “Buck…”
“I was terrified,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper, cracking on the last word. “Terrified of ruining the friendship. You were the only person who ever really saw me, scraped knees, bad moods, nightmares after my dad yelled too loud, all of it and I couldn’t lose that. You were safe. You were home. So I buried it. Deep. Stole pieces of you instead, hoodies left on my floor after movie nights, hair ties from your bag, that swimsuit today. Kept them like secrets. Like proof you were mine even if you didn’t know it. Like proof I could have you in some small, fucked-up way without breaking everything.”
He presses a trembling kiss to your scent gland, soft, reverent, like he’s apologizing to it too. “I’m still terrified. Even now. Even with my knot inside you… with your slick on my tongue… with the bond humming between us. Scared you’ll wake up fully tomorrow and realize what a creep I’ve been. That you’ll see all the times I watched you too long, all the nights I came thinking about you while you slept in the next room, all the ways I’ve taken pieces of you without asking. Scared you’ll leave. And I wouldn’t even blame you.”
You turn your head just enough to brush your lips against his jaw, tasting salt from his dried tears. “I’m here,” you whisper, voice steady despite the emotion thickening your throat. “I’m not leaving. I’ve been scared too- scared of saying anything, scared of losing you if I did. But I’m here. I want this. I want you.”
He lets out a shaky breath, relief and longing mixing in his chest. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth and tracing your lips like he’s trying to remember them. He’s clumsy and hesitant, as if he’s afraid he might ruin the moment.
“Can I…?” His voice cracks, barely audible. “Can I bite you? Make it real? Make you mine forever? I need to feel the bond snap. Need to know it’s forever. If you’ll let me.”
Your heart stutters. The question hangs between you, heavy, sacred, irreversible. You feel the knot pulse inside you, feel his heartbeat against your back, feel the raw hope and fear in his voice.
You nod slowly, eyes locked on his in the moonlight, tears shimmering in your own.
“Yes.”
He inhales sharply, like the word punched the air out of him. His hand moves to the back of your neck, cradling you gently as he tilts your head to the side, fingers shaking, like he’s terrified of hurting you. His lips brush your scent gland, soft, reverent kisses first, then slow drags of his tongue, tasting the salt of your skin, the sweetness of your heat still clinging to you.
“I love you,” he whispers against the spot, voice trembling. “Always have. Always will. No matter what happens tomorrow. No matter what you decide. I love you.”
He hesitates, nose brushing your skin, breathing shaky. “Is… is it gonna hurt?” you ask softly, voice small and nervous, sweet like honey even in your uncertainty. “The bite…?”
He freezes, eyes wide, suddenly looking so young, so unsure. “I… I dunno, baby,” he admits, voice cracking. “I’ve never… never done this before. I don’t wanna hurt you. You’ll tell me if it does, okay? Promise you’ll tell me and I’ll stop. I swear.”
You nod, trusting, sweet. “Okay. I trust you.”
He exhales shakily, presses one more soft kiss to your gland, then bites.
Teeth sink in, sharp, claiming, but so careful it’s almost too light at first. He hesitates again, whimpering against your skin, then presses deeper, fumbling, a tiny sob escaping him as he finally sinks in properly. Pain flares bright and hot for a split second, then explodes into white-hot pleasure as the bond snaps fully into place, stronger this time, like a circuit completing, like a key turning all the way in a lock that’s always belonged to him. The world narrows to the point of contact, to the pulse of his knot inside you, to the way his come keeps filling you in slow, endless waves, to the electric hum of the bond blooming between you, threading through every nerve, every heartbeat.
You come again, soft, rolling, dreamy, clenching around his knot in fluttering pulses that milk him deeper, drawing another broken moan from his throat. Your vision whites out for a moment, pleasure crashing through you in gentle waves, every nerve singing with the new connection, the certainty of him. You feel him everywhere, his heartbeat, his fear, his love, his awe all of it pouring into you through the bond like warm sunlight.
He licks over the freshened mark, slow soothing laps, sealing it with his tongue, his scent, his everything. His hips rock in tiny, helpless movements, riding out the aftershocks with you, knot pulsing in time with your fluttering walls. He’s whimpering the whole time, soft, needy little sounds, still so cute, still so overwhelmed.
“Mine,” he whispers, voice wrecked and reverent, nose pressed to the bite, inhaling deeply like he can draw the bond itself into his lungs.
You reach back, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer until his forehead rests against yours.
“Yours,” you breathe, voice soft and sure, sweet like honey even now.
He exhales and curls tighter around you, knot still locked, heart hammering against your back in perfect sync with yours.
The attic is quiet again.
But the silence feels different now.
It feels like home.
The knot finally begins to deflate as the first pale light of dawn creeps through the triangular attic window, turning the room soft gray and gold. It’s slow, agonizingly slow, each pulse weaker than the last until the thick swell eases enough for Bucky to shift without tugging painfully. You both feel it at the same moment: the sudden, slick release of pressure, the warm gush of his come and your slick leaking out around where he’s still half-buried inside you.
You make a soft, surprised sound, half gasp, half sleepy giggle as the fullness recedes. Bucky freezes, breath catching in his throat like he’s afraid to break the spell, but then his face cracks into a shy, lopsided grin.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough from hours of whispering confessions and love, but now there’s a goofy lightness in it. “I’ve got you. Just… breathe, okay?”
He pulls out carefully, wincing when the last of the knot slips free with a wet, obscene sound that makes both of you flush bright red and immediately dissolve into muffled laughter. More come spills out immediately, hot and messy, soaking your thighs, the sheets, the space between you. The scent hits harder now, thick, unmistakable, a cloud of sex and bonding that fills the tiny attic room like smoke.
You both stare at the mess for a heartbeat, wide-eyed, frozen, then at each other.
“Shit,” you whisper, cheeks burning so hot you’re sure they’re glowing.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice small and cracking with embarrassed giggles. “Shit. That’s… that’s a lot. Like… wow. Did we… did we do that?”
Bucky moves first, sitting up on his knees like he’s trying to look responsible, reaching for the edge of the quilt to wipe between your thighs with gentle, hesitant swipes. His hands shake a little, careful not to press too hard on tender skin, but he keeps missing spots because he’s laughing too hard under his breath.
“Sorry if it’s- uh- cold. Or sticky. Or… everything,” he mumbles, cheeks flaming, ears bright red. “I’m trying to be… gentlemanly? I think?”
You bite your lip to keep from laughing harder, the absurdity of it all bubbling up like champagne. “It’s fine. You’re being very… thorough. Like a little nurse.”
He glances up, caught, then ducks his head again, ears practically glowing. “Just- don’t want you uncomfortable. You’re probably sore. I was… enthusiastic. Oh god, I said that out loud.”
You snort softly, legs parting shyly, watching his face, focused, reverent, still streaked with dried tears from the night before, hair a total disaster from your fingers. “That’s one word for it. You were… very thorough there too.”
He finishes cleaning you as best he can, then wipes himself down, cock still half-hard and glistening, thighs sticky, before tossing the soiled corner of the blanket aside with a dramatic grimace that makes you both giggle again. The sheets are a wreck, stained, rumpled, reeking of you both but he pulls the top quilt over the worst of it, buys you both a few more minutes of denial.
You sit up slowly, wincing at the soreness between your legs, the dull throb in your neck where the bite pulses like a second heartbeat. The fresh mark is raised, red, already scabbing at the edges, his claim, permanent now. Bucky’s eyes flick to it, then away, but this time there’s no guilt flash, just a soft dopey smile and a blush that spreads to his chest.
You reach out, fingers brushing his cheek. “Hey. Look at me.”
He leans into your touch like a man starved, eyes closing for a second, then opening again with that same silly, lovesick grin. “I did that,” he says, voice small and proud and a little awed. “I… I marked you. And you let me.”
“Yeah,” you say softly, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “And I wanted it.”
He giggles, high and nervous and so Bucky it makes your heart flip. “You did. You really did. I kept asking if you were sure and you just kept saying ‘yes, Bucky... please’ like… like I was gonna stop or something. I was so nervous I almost dropped you during it.”
You laugh, soft and happy, leaning forward to bump your forehead against his. “You didn’t drop me. You were perfect. Clumsy, but perfect.”
Downstairs, voices begin to drift up, parents stirring, coffee brewing, the clink of mugs, Becca’s laugh at something her boyfriend said. Normal morning sounds. Innocent sounds.
Your stomach does a happy little flip instead of dropping.
“They’re gonna smell it,” you whisper, but there’s no panic, just giddy excitement. “The whole house is gonna reek of- of us. Of sex. Of bonding. They’ll know. Oh god, they’ll know.”
Bucky’s grin turns mischievous, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. They will. And I’m weirdly okay with it? Like… I want them to know you’re mine now. Officially. No more hiding.”
He looks toward the stairs like they’re an adventure, then back at you, eyes dark, protective but so soft at the same time. “They don’t get to make this weird. Not today. Not when we’re this happy. You’re mine now. Officially. And I’m not letting anyone act like it’s something to tease about… unless it’s cute teasing. Then maybe.”
Before you can respond, he’s moving, scooping you up in one smooth (but slightly wobbly) motion, arms under your thighs and back, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You yelp softly, then dissolve into giggles, hands flying to his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
“Buck- what-”
“Shh.” He presses a quick, silly kiss to the tip of your nose, making you giggle harder. “I’m carrying you down. No arguments. You’re sore. And… I don’t want anyone getting too close to you right now. Not when you smell like me. Like us. Also I just… really like carrying you. It’s fun.”
The possessiveness in his voice is new, low but undercut with such goofy tenderness it makes your heart flip. You wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face against his shoulder as he carries you to the stairs, both of you giggling like idiots every time he almost trips on a step.
He’s careful, slow steps, avoiding the creaky third one out of habit but every movement jostles you just enough to remind you of the ache between your legs, the way he’s still leaking out of you a little, slick trailing down your inner thigh. You bury your face deeper, laughing against his neck.
“This is so embarrassing,” you whisper, but you’re grinning so wide it hurts.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he mutters, lips brushing your temple, voice full of that same lovesick wonder. “And I’m allowed to be a little clingy now. Bonded privileges. Also I’ve wanted to do this forever and now I can and it’s awesome.”
You snort against his neck. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he says proudly. “But I’m your ridiculous.”
When you reach the bottom, the kitchen is already alive.
Your mom at the stove, flipping pancakes. Bucky’s dad pouring coffee. Becca and her boyfriend at the table, mid-conversation about some dumb TikTok. All of them freeze the second you appear in the doorway, Bucky carrying you bridal-style, both of you in rumpled sleep clothes, hair wrecked, skin flushed, the air around you heavy with sex and fresh bonding.
The room goes dead silent.
Becca’s mug stops halfway to her mouth. Your mom’s spatula hovers over the pan. Bucky’s dad’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline so high they nearly disappear into his hair.
No one says a word.
They don’t have to. The scent is unmistakable, heat, rut, come, bond, all tangled together in a cloud that fills the kitchen like smoke. Everyone knows exactly what happened upstairs. Everyone knows you’re mated now.
But no one speaks. No teasing. No “so… how was it?” No sly grins. No congratulations shouted across the room.
They just… look away. Polite. Quiet. Letting the moment belong to you two, not turning it into cabin gossip or family ribbing. Becca suddenly becomes very interested in her coffee. Your mom flips a pancake with exaggerated focus. Bucky’s dad clears his throat once, then busies himself with the sugar bowl.
It’s a kindness, unspoken but clear: we see it. We know. We’re not ruining this.
Bucky’s grip tightens on you, but he’s grinning like an idiot, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling. He carries you past the table toward the back porch door, glaring over your shoulder at anyone whose gaze lingers even a second too long, but the glare is half-hearted because he’s too blissed-out and giggly to really mean it.
He shoulders the screen door open, steps out onto the porch with you still in his arms. The morning air is cool, lake mist curling over the water, birds calling softly from the pines. Sunlight glints off the ripples, turning everything golden and gentle.
He sets you down gently on the old wooden bench, kneeling in front of you immediately, hands on your knees, eyes level with yours.
The possessive fire dims. What’s left is raw, vulnerable Bucky, the boy who sat with you on the dock when you cried, the man who spent years terrified of this exact moment, the one who still can’t quite believe you’re letting him stay but now he’s glowing, eyes shining, smile so big it’s almost painful.
“I need to say it properly,” he starts, voice low and rough, but cracking with giggles every few words. “Not in whispers in the dark. Not while I’m inside you. Right here. Right now. In the daylight, where you can see my face and tell if I’m lying… or if I’m just a giant dork who can’t stop smiling.”
You reach for him, fingers brushing his cheek, thumb catching a lingering tear track but you’re smiling too, wide and silly and so happy it hurts.
“You already-”
“No.” He catches your hand, presses it to his lips, kissing each knuckle with exaggerated care, making you laugh. “I need you to hear it. I’m sorry. For everything. For stealing pieces of you for years, hoodies, hair ties, your swimsuit yesterday. For jerking off to the thought of you when I should’ve just told you how I felt. For crossing lines last night, even if you said it was okay. For being too scared to say I loved you sooner. For every time I watched you too long, wanted you too much, and hated myself for it. I was a coward. A creep. I don’t deserve this- don’t deserve you- but I’m begging anyway. Forgive me. Please. Or don’t. But know I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right if you let me. I’ll be better. I’ll be honest. I’ll be yours. Completely. No more hiding.”
Tears shimmer in his eyes again, but he’s still grinning, shaky, real, ridiculous. He’s shaking just a little like this is the scariest thing he’s ever done, even after last night, but he’s also so happy he can barely sit still.
You slide your hands into his hair, pull him forward until your foreheads touch, noses brushing in that silly, intimate way you used to do as kids when you were making up after a fight.
“I’ve wanted you too,” you whisper, voice thick with happy tears. “For years. Same summers, same movie nights, same goodbyes. I was scared too- scared of losing my best friend if I said anything. Scared you didn’t feel it back. Scared I’d ruin everything by admitting I thought about you when I was alone. That I’d touch myself thinking about your hands, your laugh, the way you always looked at me like I was the only person in the room. I wanted you too. Always.”
You kiss him pouring everything into it: forgiveness, love, certainty, a little silliness when your noses bump awkwardly and you both huff a laugh against each other’s mouths.
He melts against you, hands sliding to your waist, holding you like you might vanish. When you pull back, he’s smiling, small, shaky, real, eyes shining with pure, giddy joy.
“Mine?” he asks this time, voice soft and hopeful, like a kid asking for the last cookie.
“Yours,” you answer, tapping his nose with your finger. “Dork.”
He laughs, quiet, relieved, and so full of love it makes your chest ache and stands, pulling you up with him. Wraps an arm around your waist, tucks you against his side like you belong there (because you do).
Together, you step back inside, past the kitchen where everyone still pointedly doesn’t look, doesn’t speak, just lets you have this. Your mom suddenly remembers she needs more butter. Becca’s boyfriend becomes fascinated by his phone. Bucky’s dad clears his throat twice and busies himself with the sugar bowl again.
No one ruins the moment.
It’s yours.
And now everyone knows it, quietly, gently, without a word.
Bucky presses a kiss to your temple as you pass the table, voice low enough for only you to hear.
“Think we can sneak back upstairs for round two after breakfast?”
You elbow him lightly, grinning. “Behave. Or I’ll make you do dishes.”
He groans dramatically. “Cruel. You’re cruel to your mate.”
You laugh and lean into him.
The morning continues.
Normal.
Except it’s not.
It’s better.
It’s yours.
And you’re both so blissed-out, so giggly, so stupidly in love that nothing else matters.
One year later, the cabin looks exactly the same, same weathered pine siding kissed by a decade of sun and rain, same creaky porch steps that groan under every footfall, same triangular attic window catching the late-afternoon sun like a golden wink.
But everything feels different. The air tastes sweeter, the lake glitters brighter, the summer heat wraps around you softer now that it no longer carries the sharp edge of unspoken want. The bond between you and Bucky hums quietly beneath your skin like a song you both know by heart, steady, warm, always there.
You’re officially mated. The silver scar of his bite on your neck has faded to a delicate crescent that he still kisses every morning like it’s brand new, like he’s reminding himself you chose this, chose him.
You wear his old hoodies more often than not, and he wears your hair tie on his wrist like a wedding band he never takes off, faded blue elastic stretched thin from constant wear, a tiny, silly token that makes your heart flip every time you see it.
He’s changed in the best ways. His hair is longer now, dark waves falling just to his chin, curling slightly at the ends when it dries after the lake, framing his face in that effortlessly sexy way that makes your fingers itch to run through it.
The stubble he started growing last winter has settled into a full, neat beard, thick, dark, and perfectly trimmed, rough against your skin in all the right ways. And his body… god. He’s beefier, broader, more solid, shoulders wider from consistent gym time, arms thicker, chest and back carved with muscle that presses against you like he was built to hold you forever. He’s not just your Bucky anymore. He’s a man. Your man. And you’re completely obsessed.
This year the families caravanned up together again, cars loaded with coolers, beach towels, and the usual chaos of overlapping voices.
No one bats an eye when you and Bucky disappear for long “walks” that last hours, or when he scoops you up piggyback across the yard just because he can, your laughter trailing behind you both like music.
They’ve had a full year to get used to it: your mom still gets misty-eyed every time she catches sight of the bite mark and murmurs something about “finally,” Becca teases you mercilessly about “locking him down before he could escape,” and Bucky’s dad just grunts approvingly, hands him another beer, and says “good man” like it’s the highest praise.
The first full day, everyone heads to the lake like always, same routine, same laughter, same sun-warmed dock. You’re in the same black two-piece from last year, high-waisted bottoms, simple triangle top, except this time Bucky’s eyes don’t dart away in guilt. They linger, dark and hungry and proud, tracing every curve like he’s allowed to look now. Allowed to touch. Allowed to claim.
You dive in first, cutting through the cool water like you own it, the shock of it making you laugh when you surface. Bucky follows, powerful strokes closing the distance fast, hair slicked back dark and dripping, beard glistening with lake water. When you reach the dock, he’s already there, waiting, grinning, water dripping from his lashes and the ends of his hair.
“Race you to the buoy?” you challenge, splashing him lightly, droplets catching the sun like diamonds.
He doesn’t answer with words. Just lunges.
You squeal as he catches you around the waist underwater, spinning you until your back presses against the dock pilings. The wood is rough against your spine, but his hands are gentle, sliding up your sides, pinning your wrists above your head with one palm while the other cups your cheek, thumb brushing your bottom lip. His beard scrapes lightly against your skin when he leans in close, rough, delicious friction that makes you shiver.
“Cheater,” you breathe, laughing against his mouth.
“Winner,” he corrects, voice low and rough, then kisses you, deep, slow, breathless. Water laps around you both, cool against heated skin, but the kiss is fire. His tongue slides against yours, lazy and possessive in the way he’s perfected over the last year, like he’s reminding you that this is real now. You arch into him, legs wrapping around his waist, feeling him harden against you through his trunks, his body pressing you firmly to the wood.
He breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, voice husky, “Missed this view last year. You in this suit. Me not allowed to touch. Had to dive under the water like an idiot to hide how hard I was.”
You nip his bottom lip, grinning. “You’re allowed now.”
His eyes darken, pupils blown wide. “Good thing we’re underwater.”
He kisses you again, harder this time until you’re both gasping, clinging to the dock, the rest of the family too far away to notice (or pretending not to, because they’ve learned). When you finally surface for air, foreheads pressed together, he’s smiling, goofy, boyish, the same smile he gave you when you were kids racing to the buoy, but now it’s edged with something darker, hungrier.
You reach up, fingers threading through his wet hair, tugging lightly. “This hair is getting ridiculous,” you tease, voice breathy. “You look like a sexy pirate. And this beard…” You drag your fingertips along his jaw, feeling the rough scrape, scratching lightly through the thick scruff. “God, I love it. It’s so scratchy. I’m gonna have beard burn everywhere and I’m not even mad.”
He groans low in his throat, hips rocking against you once, helpless, leaning into your touch like a puppy getting pets, eyes fluttering shut, beard pressing harder into your palm as you scratch. “Fuck- keep doing that,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You’re killing me, honey.”
“I am,” you admit, grinning, scratching your nails gently through his beard again, watching him melt. “Makes you look like a man now. All beefy and grown-up. I’m obsessed. You’re so hot it’s unfair.”
His eyes flash and he leans in, beard rasping deliciously against your throat as he nips lightly. “Careful what you wish for. Keep scratching like that and we’re not making it back to the cabin.”
That night, the attic room feels different too.
No more pretending. No more guilt. Just you, him, and the quiet hum of the bond between you.
You’re already in bed when he climbs the stairs, same old pull-out couch, same faded quilt but this time you’re wearing nothing but his t-shirt, legs bare, hair loose over your shoulders. He stops in the doorway, just looking, eyes soft and awed like he still can’t believe this is real after a whole year.
You crook a finger, smiling. “Come here, baby.”
He obeys instantly, kicking the door shut, locking it, crawling over you with that slow, predatory grace he’s learned you love, longer hair falling forward, brushing your cheeks as he leans down. The kiss starts soft, then deepens as he settles between your thighs, already hard and ready against you.
“Missed this room,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick. “Missed you in it. Without the guilt. Without the fear.”
You slide your hands under his shirt, tracing scars and muscle, feeling the bond flare bright at every touch. “No fear tonight. No guilt. Just us.”
He groans softly when you tug the shirt off him, then helps you out of his. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. The bond sings as he flips you onto your stomach, his body caging you from behind. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your spine, beard scraping deliciously against your skin, making you arch and giggle.
“On your knees, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice rougher now, that primal edge creeping in. “Wanna see you like this.”
You obey, heart racing, thighs trembling, pushing up onto your knees, ass in the air. He groans low, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Fuck… look at you. So pretty for me.”
He slides in from behind, slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch, then deeper, harder, until he’s buried to the hilt. You moan into the pillow, fingers clutching the sheets. He starts thrusting, deep, steady, powerful, his bigger frame rocking you forward with each snap of his hips.
One hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to make you gasp. The other comes down, sharp, playful smack against your ass. You yelp, surprised, then moan, pushing back against him.
“Didn’t know you had it in you,” you breathe, voice shaky with pleasure.
He leans over you, beard scraping your shoulder, voice low and filthy in your ear. “Been holding back for years, baby. Now I don’t have to. You’re mine. Gonna fuck you like I’ve always wanted to.”
Another smack, lighter, teasing, then his hand soothes the sting, kneading the flesh. You’re dripping around him, clenching hard, and he growls, pace picking up, harder, deeper, hips snapping against your ass with filthy, wet sounds.
“God- yes- right there,” you whimper, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Harder, Bucky… please…”
He obeys, grunting, primal, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip so hard you’ll have marks tomorrow. His beard scrapes your neck as he leans down, biting lightly at your shoulder, not claiming, just possessive.
“Fuck- you take me so good,” he rasps. “So tight… so wet… all mine.”
You come first, shattering around him, crying out into the pillow, walls fluttering and milking him. He follows seconds later, deep, guttural groan, hips slamming forward one last time as he fills you, knot swelling, locking you together.
He collapses over you, careful not to crush you, both of you panting, sweaty, laughing breathlessly into the sheets.
After the knot eases, he rolls you both to the side, still buried inside, arms wrapped tight around you, nose buried in your hair.
He presses a kiss to the bite mark, gentle, reverent, then nuzzles lower, nosing at your collarbone, your chest, until his lips brush the edge of your breast.
You laugh softly, sleepy. “What are you doing?”
“Reclaiming every inch,” he murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “Gonna mark you everywhere eventually. Gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”
You roll your eyes, fond, fingers carding through his hair, then scratching lightly through his beard. He leans into it like a puppy, eyes fluttering shut, low rumble in his chest, beard pressing harder into your palm.
“God, I really love this beard,” you whisper, scratching again, watching him melt.
He groans, hips rocking lazily against you once. “Keep scratching like that and we’re not sleeping tonight.”
You grin, wicked. “Good. Because I want you again. And again. And again.”
He kisses you, then pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes shining with that same lovesick wonder.
“I love you,” he says softly.
“I love you too Buck,” you answer, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
He laughs, quiet, relieved and so full of love it makes your chest ache and curls tighter around you.
The attic is quiet again.
But this time, it’s full of giggles, teasing, and the promise of forever.
The kitchen is its usual beautiful chaos the morning after, pancakes sizzling on the pan, butter melting into golden pools, coffee brewing with that rich, comforting smell that always means home.
Becca and her boyfriend are already in full debate mode over the last blueberry muffin, forks poised like swords, while sunlight pours through the big windows, turning everything warm and golden. The faint scent of lake water still clings to the air from yesterday, mixing with syrup and bacon in the best way.
You and Bucky wander in hand-in-hand, both freshly showered but still glowing like you’ve been dipped in honey and sunlight. His hair is still damp, pushed back messily from his face, a few soft waves curling against his neck. The beard is dark and scruffy, framing that strong jaw perfectly, and his shoulders look even broader in the soft morning light, the plain t-shirt clinging just enough to show how much beefier he’s gotten. He looks like a man who’s been well-loved and is very pleased about it. You’re in one of his oversized hoodies, sleeves flopped over your hands, legs bare under sleep shorts, hair still a little tangled from his fingers last night.
The second you step through the doorway, the room doesn’t exactly go silent, it just… pauses. Like everyone collectively holds their breath for half a second, then decides to be extra nice about it.
Your mom glances up from the stove first. Her eyes flick between you two, land on the fresh bite mark peeking above the hoodie collar, and her whole face melts into the softest, knowing smile. She doesn’t say anything, just turns back to the pancakes with a tiny, satisfied hum and starts humming an old tune under her breath.
Bucky’s dad lowers his newspaper slowly, takes one look at the pair of you, Bucky’s arm already around your waist, your head tucked against his shoulder and grunts. “Took you long enough.”
Becca snorts so hard she nearly inhales her muffin. She coughs, eyes watering, then points her fork at you both with zero remorse. “Okay, first of all, loud. Like, loud loud. We all heard you last night. Thin attic floorboards, guys. Thin. Attic. Floorboards. I was trying to watch a movie and it sounded like someone was moving furniture up there. Repeatedly.”
Her boyfriend chokes on his coffee, trying (and failing) to hide a grin behind his mug. He coughs into his elbow, shoulders shaking.
Your face flames instantly. Bucky’s ears go bright red, but he doesn’t let go of your hand in fact, he squeezes it tighter, thumb rubbing soothing little circles over your knuckles like he’s trying to calm you both down at once.
Becca keeps going, merciless but playful. “I mean, we were all sitting there like ‘should we turn the volume up?’ and then it was just… ‘oh Bucky- yes Bucky- oh my god Bucky-’” She does an exaggerated, breathy impression that makes everyone groan in unison.
“Becca!” you squeak, burying your face in Bucky’s shoulder, mortified but already starting to giggle.
He’s laughing now, quiet, embarrassed but so happy he can’t help it. His free arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against his side like he’s shielding you (and maybe showing off a little). “We… uh… got carried away,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. His beard rasps against your temple when he leans down to whisper, “Sorry, honey. Guess we weren’t quiet. At all.”
You peek up at him, cheeks still burning, but you’re giggling too. “You were the loud one,” you whisper back, poking his chest. “All those growly noises. And the… the spanking. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
His eyes darken for half a second, before he catches himself and blushes harder. “You liked it,” he mutters, voice low enough that only you can hear. “Don’t lie.”
“I did,” you admit, scratching lightly through his beard again. He leans into it like a big puppy, eyes fluttering shut for a second, a soft, happy rumble vibrating through his chest.
Becca makes a gagging noise. “Gross. You’re both gross. And loud. And gross. But also… kinda cute? In a disgusting way.”
Your mom finally turns fully, spatula in hand, eyes twinkling with pure mischief. “So… when can we expect grandpups? I’m not getting any younger, you know. And after last night’s… enthusiastic performance… I’m thinking it won’t be long.”
Bucky chokes on air. You squeak and hide your face deeper in his hoodie.
“Mom!”
Bucky’s dad just chuckles, low and rumbling. “She’s right. Cabin’s been too quiet. Needs little feet running around again. Maybe a couple of ‘em, judging by all that racket.”
Becca leans forward, grinning wickedly, but her eyes are soft. “Yeah, Buck. You gonna put a pup or three in her this summer? Look at you, long hair, full beard, all beefed up. You’re basically built for it now. Dad material.”
She pauses, then her voice goes all dreamy and sincere. “I just want a little niece so bad. I’d braid her hair every morning. Tiny little French braids with ribbons. Teach her how to cannonball off the dock. Dress her up in all my old sundresses. Spoil her rotten. Please? I’d be the best aunt.”
Bucky’s ears are practically glowing. He clears his throat, arm tightening around you possessively, but there’s a tiny, shy smile tugging at his lips. “We’re… uh… we’re working on it,” he mumbles, then glances at your mom and Becca with a sheepish look. “Eventually. When we’re ready.”
Your mom laughs and turns back to the stove. “Take your time. But not too much time. I want to be able to chase them around the yard before my knees give out. And Becca’s right- she’d be the most ridiculous aunt. Already planning outfits.”
You bury your face in Bucky’s shoulder again, mortified but laughing so hard your stomach hurts. He presses a kiss to your temple, soft, lingering then whispers against your hair, voice full of that same goofy, lovesick wonder:
“We’ll get there, honey. When we’re ready.”
You nod against him, still giggling, fingers scratching lightly through his beard again. He leans into it like always, eyes half-closing, a happy little rumble vibrating through his chest.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “When we’re ready.”
Becca fake-gags again. “You two are disgusting. And cute. Mostly disgusting. But also… hurry up with the baby. I need to practice my braiding skills.”
Bucky just grins, wide, shameless, proud and pulls you even closer, beard rasping softly against your cheek as he nuzzles in.
The kitchen fills with chatter again, normal, loud, loving, full of teasing and warmth and the promise of more family, more noise, more little feet someday.
The attic is quiet now, the kind of soft, golden hush that only comes after a long summer day. Moonlight slants through the triangular window, painting silver stripes across the rumpled quilt and your tangled legs.
You’re sprawled across Bucky’s chest, cheek pressed to warm skin, listening to the steady thump of his heart under your ear. His hair fans out across the pillow like dark silk, still a little damp from the shower and his beard rasps gently against your fingertips as you trace lazy patterns along his jaw.
He’s got one thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand resting possessively on your hip, thumb rubbing slow, absent circles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt you’re wearing.
You shift a little, propping your chin on his sternum so you can look up at him. He’s already watching you, eyes soft and half-lidded, that quiet, lovesick smile tugging at his mouth.
Your cheeks warm. You bite your lip, suddenly shy.
“Hey,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “Um… what if… what if we started trying? Like… tonight?”
Bucky blinks. Once. Twice. His thumb freezes on your hip. His scent spikes, sharp, protective, hungry.
“Tonight?” he echoes, voice cracking just a little, low rumble vibrating through his chest. His eyes search yours, stunned. “You mean… pups? With me?”
You nod, cheeks burning hotter, but you don’t look away. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. About… us. A litter of little ones. Running around, maybe with your eyes…” You give a small, nervous laugh, fingers twisting in his hair. “I just… I want that with you. If you do.”
He stares at you for a long beat, something raw and stunned flickering across his face. Then his hand slides up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin so gently it makes your chest ache.
“Baby,” he breathes, voice rough with emotion. “You have no idea how much I want that. How long I’ve wanted it.”
You smile, shy but bright, and lean down to kiss him, soft at first, sweet. But when you pull back, something shifts. His pupils are blown, breathing uneven, and you can feel him starting to harden under you.
The shyness recedes, replaced by a slow, mischievous heat.
You trace a finger down his chest, over the ridges of his abs. “You know… if it happens, my body’s gonna change. A lot.” Your voice drops lower, teasing now. “These are gonna get so full. Heavy. And… leaky.”
Bucky’s breath hitches. His grip on your hip tightens.
“Jesus,” he mutters, flush creeping up his neck.
You press on, voice turning huskier. “Imagine it… me sitting in your lap, shirt off, letting you taste. Letting you wrap that beard around my nipple while I ride you slow. Milk dripping down while you’re still inside me, still trying to put a baby in me.”
His jaw drops. Eyes go wide, dark, stunned. “Fuck baby- you can’t just-” He swallows hard, voice cracking again. “You start all sweet and shy and then hit me with that?”
You giggle, the sound low and a little wicked now, and grind down once, feeling how hard he’s gotten. “Can’t help it. Thinking about you breeding me… getting me all swollen and full… it makes me so wet.”
He groans, deep and wrecked, hands flying to your hips to hold you still like he’s trying not to lose it. “You’re gonna kill me. Sweet one second, filthy the next. How am I supposed to survive you?”
You slide down his body slowly, dragging your tongue along the deep lines of his abs, tasting warm skin and faint salt, following the trail lower. When you reach the waistband of his sweats, you nuzzle the thick bulge there, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses over the fabric. You feel him twitch, hear the sharp inhale above you.
“Baby-” His voice is hoarse, hips jerking up just a fraction.
You hum against him, hot breath soaking through, then pull away completely.
Without a word, you roll onto your side, back to him, curling up like you’re ready to sleep. The t-shirt rides up just enough to bare the curve of your hip and the tops of your thighs, quiet invitation, quiet torture.
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
You can practically feel his eyes burning into your back, hear the ragged edge to his breathing.
A beat. Then the mattress dips. His chest presses flush to your spine, arm sliding around your waist, pulling you tight against him. His cock, rock-hard, settles hot against your ass through the sweats.
“You think you can say all that,” he growls low against your ear, beard scraping your neck, “get me this desperate… then just roll over like you’re going to sleep?”
You bite your lip to hide the smile, staying still.
His palm spreads over your stomach, like he’s already picturing it round with his child. “Not happening, sweetheart. You started this fire.”
He rocks forward once, slow, letting you feel every inch. Then his hand slips lower, fingers dipping under the hem of the t-shirt, sliding between your thighs. You’re soaked, have been since the first shy words left your mouth and he groans when he finds you bare and slick.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he mutters, voice wrecked. Two thick fingers circle your clit once, twice, then sink inside you slow and deep. You arch back against him with a soft whimper.
“Bucky-”
He curls them just right, thumb pressing your clit in lazy circles while his other hand tugs your thigh up and back, opening you for him. “Gonna fill you up tonight,” he rasps against your ear. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep until it takes. Until you’re carrying my kid.”
The words hit like a spark. You clench around his fingers, moaning softly.
He pulls his hand free just long enough to shove his sweats down, freeing his cock, thick, hot, already leaking at the tip. He notches himself at your entrance, rubbing the head through your folds, coating himself in you.
“Tell me you want it,” he breathes, voice trembling with restraint. “Tell me you want me to breed you, baby.”
You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. “I want it,” you whisper, voice shaking with need. “Want you inside me. Want you to come deep and stay there until I’m full. Please, Bucky.”
That’s all it takes.
He pushes in slow, inch by thick inch until he’s seated to the hilt. You both groan at the stretch, the perfect fit. He stills for a second, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breathing hard like he’s trying to hold himself together.
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first, long, deliberate strokes that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. His arm bands around your waist, holding you flush while his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing tight circles over your clit.
“Gonna keep you like this all night,” he murmurs, voice rough and reverent. “Gonna fuck you full. Gonna watch these get heavy for me. Gonna taste you when they start leaking.”
The filthy promise, combined with the deep grind of his hips, snaps something in you. You push back to meet every thrust, soft moans spilling out as the pleasure builds fast and bright.
He picks up the pace, hips snapping harder now, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the quiet attic. His beard rasps against your neck as he mouths at your scent gland, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“Come for me,” he growls low. “Come on my cock while I fill you up. Gonna give it to you- gonna breed you right now.”
The words tip you over. You clench hard around him, crying out his name as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat, pulsing, pulling him deeper. He follows seconds later with a broken groan, burying himself as far as he can and coming hard, hot pulses flooding you, hips stuttering like he can’t stop.
He stays buried deep, knot swelling inside you, one hand splayed protectively over your stomach. His lips brush your shoulder in lazy, sated kisses.
“Gonna stay like this a while,” he murmurs, voice soft now, wrecked and tender. “Gonna make sure it takes.”
You hum, content, threading your fingers with his over your belly. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not letting you go. Ever.”
The attic is quiet again.
But now it’s full, full of ragged breaths slowing to calm, full of the warm, sticky promise between your thighs, full of maybe, someday little feet on the porch.
warnings: none? just some violence and mentions of being hurt 1.3k words maybe fluff or angst? im not so sure
and yaa hope you like it!
The first time you and Bucky broke up, it wasn’t dramatic. No yelling. No throwing things. No storming off into the rain. It was worse. It was quiet.
You were both standing in the hangar after a mission in Madripoor that had gone sideways. No one died, but it had been close enough that your adrenaline was still buzzing and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He had almost taken a bullet for you. You had almost taken one for him. And instead of feeling relieved afterward, you just felt… tired. “I can’t keep doing this,” you said softly. Bucky’s face fell a little. “Doing what?” “Fighting the world and being terrified of losing you at the same time.”
He looked like you’d physically shoved him. “I’m terrified of losing you anyway,” he admitted. “I know,” you whispered. “That’s the problem.” Because loving each other on top of being Avengers? It felt like strapping another target to your backs.
So you ended it.
Not because you stopped loving him. But because you didn’t know how to love each other without drowning in it.
—
Fast forward a few months.
Tony decided the team needed “emotional recalibration.” Which meant everyone was in the common room at ten in the morning while he stood in front of a massive holographic screen that said:
TEAM DYNAMICS: WHY YOU’RE ALL A MESS
“Is this mandatory?” Sam asked, already slouched across the couch. “Yes,” Tony said. “Because some of you refuse to process your feelings like evolved humans.”
Your face appeared on screen.
Right next to Bucky’s.
You almost choked on air.
“Tony,” you warned. “Exhibit A,” he continued cheerfully. “When Barnes and y/l/n stopped dating, their coordinated strike success rate dropped twelve percent.” “Are you tracking our breakup statistically?” you demanded.
“Of course I am.”
Bucky rubbed his forehead. “That’s weird, Stark.” “It’s science.” Natasha, sitting on the arm of the couch, smirked. “Honestly, the tension has been exhausting. Please resolve it.” Wanda nodded. “It’s very loud in my head.”
You buried your face in your hands.
Thor raised his hand excitedly. “In Asgard, unresolved romantic tension is solved through honorable combat.” “Do not let him finish that thought,” Clint muttered from under a blanket. Steve cleared his throat gently. “You don’t have to get back together. But ignoring each other clearly isn’t working either.”
You finally looked at Bucky.
He was already looking at you.
And yeah. It still hurt a little.
Tony shut off the slideshow. “I’m just saying. You two fight better together. And I enjoy peace in my own living room.” “This is blackmail,” you said. “It’s encouragement.”
—
A couple weeks later, you were on a mission outside Berlin. A tech broker had stolen Stark drones and decided he was suddenly untouchable.
Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.
The team split up. Natasha and Clint took overwatch. Wanda and Vision handled surveillance. Thor stood somewhere dramatic. Steve coordinated.
And you?
You were paired with Bucky.
Of course you were.
“You good?” Steve asked quietly before deployment. “Yes,” you and Bucky both answered at the same time.
You glared at the floor.
The facility was dark and echoey, all metal corridors and flickering lights. You moved ahead carefully, keeping things professional. That lasted about four minutes. A security drone dropped from the ceiling out of nowhere.
“Left!” you snapped.
“On it!”
He blocked the shock blast with his metal arm while you jumped forward and ripped the power core out mid-air. The drone hit the floor in pieces.
You both froze. That had been… smooth. “Still got it,” he muttered. “Don’t get cocky.” But you were smiling. On the third level down, things got messy. Automated turrets. Narrow hallway. Nowhere to hide. “I’ll draw fire,” Bucky said immediately.
“No,” you said just as fast. “I’ll be fine.” “That’s not the point.” The air went tight. He used to just shove you out of danger and deal with it himself. That’s what had driven you crazy.
“You don’t get to make that call alone,” you added. He hesitated. Then he nodded. “Okay. Together.” That one word hit harder than it should’ve. He shielded high fire while you slid low, hands flying over exposed wiring at the base panel.
Bullets sparked off his metal arm.
One clipped your shoulder.
“Don’t you dare stop,” you muttered to yourself, finishing the override.
The turrets powered down.
Silence.
Bucky turned instantly. “You’re hit.”
“It’s barely anything.” He stepped closer, checking your shoulder carefully — not panicking, not trying to pick you up and carry you away like you were fragile. Just there. “You didn’t shove me,” you said quietly. “You told me not to.”
And somehow, that felt bigger than the mission.
Over comms, Thor’s voice boomed, “The criminal has surrendered after I informed him I would use him as decorative wall art.” “Great work, buddy,” Tony replied dryly.
—
Back at the Compound, Bruce was patching up your shoulder. “It’s superficial,” he reassured.”I know.” Across the room, Bucky was pretending to be very interested in a cabinet.
Natasha leaned next to him. “You’re hovering.”“I’m not.” “You absolutely are.” He didn’t deny it this time.
—
After Berlin, things shifted. Not all at once. Just… softer. You started training together again. Actually talking. Not just mission brief stuff, but real things. Once during midnight, you found him in the kitchen staring at the toaster.
“It has five settings,” he said in a perplexed tone.
“Tony says it’s a need, he likes his toast differently everyday”.
“That toaster has too much power.”
You laughed.
It felt easy.
He looked at you for a long moment. “I was scared,” he said quietly. “That loving you meant I’d mess it up. Or lose you. Or both.” “You almost did,” you said gently. “I know.”
You stepped closer.
“But we’re not the same as we were,” you added. “You don’t have to protect me from everything. And I don’t have to pretend I don’t need you.” He swallowed. “Are we trying again?” “Slow,” you said. “Slow,” he agreed. From the hallway, Sam yelled, “ARE YOU TWO BEING EMOTIONALLY HEALTHY?”
“GO AWAY!” you both shouted.
He cackled and kept walking.
—
Tony declared movie night “to celebrate conflict resolution.”
“You didn’t resolve it,” you told him.
“Semantics.”
You ended up on the couch. Bucky sat beside you. Not in an awkward way. Just… naturally.
“ So what movie?” Natasha asked from across the living room. Tony said “ Im between comedy and horror!” “Lets take a vote” I said. About 1/3 of us voted comedy, so horror it is!
Halfway through the movie — which Thor kept loudly critiquing on how it isn’t realistic, — Bucky’s hand slid into yours.
It was smooth, and fell naturally. You intertwined your fingers with his. Across the room, Natasha casually handed Sam twenty dollars. “Told you by Friday,” she said. Steve blinked. “Were you betting?” Clint raised a sleepy hand. “I had Wednesday.”
Tony looked insufferably pleased. “My presentation worked.” “It absolutely did not,” Bruce muttered. Wanda smiled softly at the two of you, eyes warm.
—
A few days later, during a press conference, a reporter asked, “Are there internal conflicts within the Avengers?”
You felt Bucky glance at you.
You squeezed his hand.
“We argue,” you said honestly. “We mess up. We learn. Then we save the world anyway.”
Bucky nodded. “We’re better when we actually trust each other.” Real. Afterward, Sam slung an arm over Bucky’s shoulder. “So this is official-official?”
You looked at Bucky.
He looked at you.
“Yeah,” you said.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
Eveyone cheered. Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled. Steve squeezed Bucky’s shoulder. Clint muttered, “Finally.” Later that night, you stood on the balcony together. “No breaking up mid-mission,” he said. “Absolutely not.” “No dramatic self-sacrifice?” “Only if pre-approved.”
He laughed softly and leaned his forehead against yours.
This time it wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t desperation.
It was choice.
You weren’t losing yourselves in each other. You were standing side by side. Inside, Tony was probably still arguing with the toaster.
But out here? It was quiet, and for once, so were the doubts. And honestly? Saving the world felt a lot easier when you weren’t fighting your own heart too.
my first fic on here, pretty bad but let me know if you want me to make more
✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
✦ Summary: To the world, Bucky Barnes is steel and shadow. To you, he’s soft, clingy, and impossibly protective, always listening, always knowing the second your voice slips into danger.
✦ Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Soft!Possessive!Bucky, Clingy!Bucky, Fluff with a dash of Angst
✦✦✦✦✦✦
Bucky Barnes was not a gentle man. The world knew him as steel and shadow, jaw set like he’d carved it out of stone, eyes that could cut through a room and leave people trembling. He had the kind of presence that bent silence around him, the kind of weight in his voice that made even the bravest agents think twice.
But with you, all of that melted.
You found out the first night he kissed you... really kissed you when that calloused metal hand everyone feared cupped your cheek as if it were porcelain. His lips were desperate but tender, his chest pressed against yours like he was trying to crawl into your very skin just to stay close enough. He pulled back and whispered your name like it was a prayer, like you were the only thing anchoring him here.
And from that moment on, you knew: Bucky wasn’t just protective. He was possessive.
Not in the cruel way, not the way people used to whisper about when his past still haunted him. No, this was different. It was the way he hovered without realizing it, the way his arm always found your waist when there were too many people around, the way his jaw ticked when someone else made you laugh too hard.
Tonight was no different.
You were sprawled on the compound couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling your phone and trying not to smile at some ridiculous TikTok Sam had sent. Across the room, Bucky sat in one of those massive armchairs, book propped lazily in his flesh hand. He hadn’t turned the page in twenty minutes.
“Buck,” you called softly, without even looking up.
“Mm?” His head lifted immediately, eyes locking on you. The book slid closed with a quiet thud.
“You’re staring again.”
“I don’t stare.”
You finally looked over, raising an eyebrow. He was already halfway leaning forward in his seat, all broody scowl and heavy breath like he’d been caught in the act.
“You absolutely stare,” you teased, putting your phone down. “You’ve been staring since Sam left the room. It’s like you’re trying to memorize my face.”
“I already memorized it,” he shot back without missing a beat, voice low and rough. “Still doesn’t mean I don’t wanna look.”
The heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You ducked your head, pretending to fuss with the blanket in your lap. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it,” he murmured, standing now, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. Except you knew better. He was all sharp lines and brooding edges to everyone else, but when his eyes found yours, you swore you saw the softest man alive.
He stopped in front of the couch, towering over you with that infuriating mix of menace and devotion, then sat down heavily beside you. His arm slid around your shoulders before you could protest, pulling you into his side like you belonged there.
Which, to him, you did.
“Better,” he mumbled against your hair, pressing a kiss there. “Much better.”
“You’re clingy tonight.”
“Clingy every night,” he corrected. “Don’t act surprised, doll.”
You laughed, tilting your head to look at him. “One of these days, people are gonna find out the big scary Winter Soldier is basically a giant cat that can’t stop cuddling.”
His metal fingers flexed against your arm, grip tightening just enough to make your heart skip. “They can think whatever they want. They don’t get to see this part of me. Only you do.”
The words sent a shiver down your spine.
“Bucky—”
“No,” he cut in, and his voice had that commanding edge now, the one that made you fall quiet every time. “Listen to me, doll. The world sees me one way. Let them. I don’t give a damn. But you?” His nose brushed yours, eyes burning into yours with something fierce and unshakable. “You’re mine. And I’m not gonna apologize for needing to keep you close.”
For a moment, all you could do was breathe. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming not suffocating, but consuming, like stepping into fire and finding it warm instead of burning.
Finally, you whispered, “I don’t want you to apologize.”
His lips curved, softening. “Good. ’Cause I wouldn’t anyway.”
And then he kissed you. Slow, deep, like he had nowhere else to be, nothing else to prove except that you belonged right here in his arms.
Hours later, you were still curled up with him, your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He traced idle patterns on your arm with his thumb, his breathing so calm you thought he might’ve drifted off.
But then your phone buzzed, startling you. You reached for it, but his grip tightened just slightly.
“Who’s that?” His voice was soft, but the undertone was there sharp, possessive.
You smiled faintly. “Probably Nat. She wanted to send me that soup recipe.”
He grunted, loosening his hold only enough for you to grab the phone, though his eyes tracked your every move.
Sure enough, it was Natasha, but it wasn’t a recipe. It was a group chat invite for a mission briefing tomorrow. You sighed, typing back quickly, already feeling Bucky’s body tense.
“Don’t make that face,” you murmured, setting the phone aside.
“I don’t like it.”
“You never like it.”
“Damn right I don’t.” His hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “Every time you go out there, I’m on edge until you’re back in my arms. Drives me insane.”
Your throat tightened. “Bucky, I’m trained. I can handle—”
“Don’t say it,” he snapped, not harsh, but desperate. “Don’t you dare tell me you can handle yourself. I know you can. That’s not the point.” He swallowed, pressing his forehead against yours. “The point is, I can’t handle you not being safe. You don’t get it, doll. One change in your voice, one crack, one breath wrong—” His grip trembled. “I’d know. And it’d kill me.”
You closed your eyes, heart squeezing at the raw honesty in his tone.
“You listen that closely?” you whispered.
“Every damn second,” he admitted. “Always.”
The next day came too soon.
You weren’t nervous not really. It was just a routine sweep with Natasha. In and out, minimal risk. At least, that’s how it was presented at briefing. But you didn’t miss the way Bucky had sat there in silence, arms crossed so tight across his chest that the leather of his jacket creaked, jaw ticking the entire time.
He didn’t argue, not in front of the others. But the second the room cleared, his hand was at your wrist, tugging you back.
“Not happening.”
You blinked. “What do you mean not happening?”
“I mean you’re not going.” His voice was steel, eyes hard, but you could feel the tremor in the hand holding yours.
“Bucky—”
“No.” He cut you off with that edge again, the one that shut down entire conversations. But not with you. You didn’t back down so easily.
“Buck, I’ve trained for this. It’s just recon. Nat will be with me. We’ll be back before you know it.”
His jaw clenched. For a long moment, he just stared at you, the storm in his eyes nearly unbearable. Then he dropped his voice, rough and broken in a way that shattered your chest.
“You don’t get it. I can’t lose you. I can’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Don’t ask me to sit here and wonder if today’s the day I hear your voice go quiet.”
Your throat tightened, but you reached for his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’re not going to lose me.”
He didn’t believe you. Not fully. But when your lips brushed his, soft and certain, he let out a shaky breath and nodded once, miserably.
“I’ll have my comms on the whole time,” you promised. “You’ll hear my voice. Every step.”
That was the only thing that got him to let go.
Hours later, you regretted it.
The mission was supposed to be clean. A quick sweep, a few files retrieved, nothing dramatic. But “supposed to” didn’t mean much in your world. The intel had been wrong.
You and Nat found yourselves cornered in a dim warehouse, three men blocking the exit. Not Hydra, just opportunists dangerous enough. Natasha was already engaging one, her movements sharp and precise. You had your weapon up, hands steady, but adrenaline licked at your spine.
And then your comm clicked.
“Doll?” Bucky’s voice, low, concerned. He’d been quiet most of the op, letting Nat run comms. But the second things shifted, he knew.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, firing one shot that clipped a man’s arm.
“Don’t lie to me.” His tone was lethal. Not to you never to you but to the world standing between you.
You ducked behind a crate, heart pounding. “Just a little company, that’s all.”
The silence on the line was more dangerous than shouting. Then “Where??"
“Bucky—”
“Where are you.” Each word was a growl, heavy with a rage you knew wasn’t aimed at you but at the men foolish enough to put you in this position.
“Warehouse six, near the docks—” you gasped as one of the men lunged, forcing you back, your comm catching the sharp inhale.
That was all he needed. “I’m coming.”
You didn’t even have time to respond before the line went dead.
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but with your pulse racing, it felt like an eternity. You managed to knock one man down, Nat taking another, but the last had you pinned against the wall, his hand at your throat, your weapon skittering across the floor.
And then—
The warehouse doors slammed open so hard they rattled on their hinges.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
Your attacker froze. You knew that voice, low and venomous, enough to stop blood cold.
Bucky stormed inside like a nightmare made flesh leather jacket, hair wild from the wind, eyes blazing with murder. The man barely had time to turn before Bucky was on him, metal hand wrapped around his throat, slamming him into the wall so hard the concrete cracked.
You gasped, stumbling forward, but Bucky was already between you and danger, his body shielding yours completely.
“You alright, doll?” he rasped, not looking back at you, his flesh hand reaching blindly until it found yours. He squeezed tight, grounding himself.
You swallowed, voice shaky. “Y-yeah. I’m okay.”
His grip on the man tightened, a low snarl ripping from his chest. “You hear that? She’s okay. Which means I don’t have to kill you. But I want to.”
The man choked, eyes wide with terror.
“Bucky,” you whispered, tugging on his hand. “Let it go. Please. For me.”
That was the only reason he did. With a final shove, the man crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. Bucky didn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he spun, cupping your face between both hands, eyes scanning you frantically.
“You’re hurt?”
“No—no, I’m fine, Buck, really—”
“Don’t lie.” His voice cracked, all the fury bleeding into desperation. “Your voice—God, doll, the second I heard it—I knew.”
Your lip trembled, and you pressed your forehead to his. “I knew you’d come.”
“Always.” His arms crushed you to his chest, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he loosened his hold. “Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter what I’m doing. One sound from you, doll, one wrong note in your voice, and I’ll be there. Always.”
You melted against him, feeling his heart hammer against yours, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the mission, not the enemies, not even Natasha’s knowing smirk as she dusted herself off in the corner.
It was just you and Bucky. His arms around you, his voice in your ear, his body trembling with the sheer force of how much he loved you.
“I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he whispered fiercely, kissing your temple again and again. “Never.”
And for the first time, you believed it. He didn’t let go of you the entire ride back.
Natasha drove, throwing you little sidelong glances in the rearview mirror like she knew exactly what was going through your head, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Bucky had you in his lap on the motorcycle seat, arms locked around you like steel bands, chin resting on your shoulder.
He wasn’t even pretending to play it cool. His breath was uneven against your neck, his grip trembling slightly every time you shifted. It wasn’t the cold. It was him holding himself back, barely.
When the compound finally came into view, you thought maybe he’d ease up. He didn’t. He carried you straight inside like you weighed nothing, ignoring every stare, every smirk, every muttered comment from the others in the common room.
“Bucky, I can walk—”
“Don’t care.” His voice was flat, but the way his hold tightened betrayed him. “Not putting you down. Not yet.”
You sighed softly, resting your head against his shoulder. There was no winning this one.
He took you straight to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. Only then did he set you down on the bed, but even then he didn’t let go, kneeling in front of you like a man starved, hands running over your arms, your waist, your face.
“Tell me again,” he rasped. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” you promised, touching his jaw, brushing your thumb along the scruff there. “See? No scratches. Not a bruise.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him sane. “I can’t do it, doll. I can’t sit here and pretend I’m fine when you’re out there, when I can’t—” His throat worked. “I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You won’t lose me, Bucky.”
But that didn’t ease him. He shook his head, hands gripping your thighs so tight you could feel the imprint. “I knew the second your voice changed. Do you understand? One second you were fine, and then—” His voice broke. “And then I heard it. Fear. I can’t hear that again. Not from you.”
Your heart clenched. He wasn’t just being dramatic. This was real. This was him, raw and terrified, baring the part of himself no one else got to see.
“Bucky, you’re too hard on yourself—”
“No.” His eyes snapped open, piercing, desperate. “No, doll. You don’t get it. I need to know you’re safe. It’s not just about protecting you—it’s about breathing. I don’t function if I think something could happen to you. You’re… you’re it for me. You’re everything.”
The words hit like a tidal wave, overwhelming in their intensity.
You swallowed, your own chest tightening. “You’re everything to me, too, Buck.”
He made a sound then not quite a sob, not quite a growl, somewhere in between. And then he was pulling you into his lap, arms locking around you so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe.
“You don’t go anywhere without me anymore,” he said against your hair, voice rough but steady. “I don’t care if it’s a damn grocery run, doll. You call me, I go with you. You want to step outside, you tell me. If I’m not there, I’ll be listening. Always listening. You got me?”
You knew you should argue. You knew he was being unreasonable. But the way he was holding you, the way his voice cracked, the way his lips pressed frantically against your temple, your cheek, your jaw—
“I got you,” you whispered.
His chest deflated on a long, shuddering sigh. “Good girl.”
You felt heat rush to your face, burying against his chest. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, kissing the crown of your head. “But I’m yours. And you’re mine. End of story.”
And he didn’t let go. Not for the rest of the night, not even when you drifted off against him. His arms stayed locked around you, his breath steady against your hair, like as long as he held you, the world couldn’t take you away.
Like he’d carved Natasha’s words into his bones "get a man who listens to your voice and knows when you’re in danger."
Except Bucky wasn’t just that man. He was more. He was the one who’d burn the whole damn world down just to keep that voice safe.
before someone comments, “you’re doing it right now”, it’s for an educational purpose.
it is so annoying to scroll through a tag and only see memes or corny people trying to be relatable about fanfiction. everything you’re saying is a regurgitated joke that someone has said years ago. if your post hasn’t made on someone’s feed, too fucking bad. no one cares that you love jason todd so much or how you hate how y/n acts the way she does.
same with x oc fics. because no one is interested in your lousy ass work about the most generic plot ever doesn’t mean you have to push your fic in everyone’s face in a tag that your fic doesn’t belong in. i promise you, someone is gonna look at it and like it.
the tag is “x reader”. so post “x reader” shit. this isn’t rocket science, people.
Summary : The threat of you going on a date with another man made Bucky realize that things between you and him were not so casual anymore.
Pairing : new avengers! Bucky Barnes x new avenger! reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Tower Fic! Friends to lovers / teammates to lovers. Jealous!Bucky. A hint of canon-typical violence. Crack and Fluff and a teeny bit of angst. Sex is heavily implied, cursing, Mention of food. Set after Thunderbolts* (let me know if I missed anything!)
Word count : 7.2k
Note : I genuinely tried to make this under 3k but unfortunately I am apparently incapable of making shorter stories. Enjoy!
You and Bucky started as nothing more than teammates.
Not even the flirty kind. You both were just good partners on the field.
You covered his blind spots, and he covered yours. You moved like you’d trained together for years even when you hadn’t. He trusted your calls in the field, and you trusted that if things went sideways, he’d be there.
It was easy.
This mission in particular ran long.
Val sent you both to an abandoned shipping yard at sundown, where rusted metal groaned overhead like the whole place might collapse in the blink of an eye.
You took high ground. He took point.
Two guards rounded the corner before you could signal.
You dropped from the container stack, sweeping one guard’s legs out. Before the second could shout, Bucky was there. His metal arm caught the guy mid-swing, disarming him with a brutal twist.
Your back hit him for half a second.
“You good?” he asked.
“Always,” you shot back, already moving again.
A gun cocked somewhere behind you, and before he could turn, you heard a crack of impact, followed by deathly silence.
“Clear,” he called.
You let out a deep breath through a grin. “Show-off.”
Bucky only chuckled.
The fight escalated quickly after that. There were more hostiles than expected, too many narrow walkways, and lots of unluckily bad angles. At one point, you slipped on loose gravel near the docks, just barely, but his hand caught your vest before you could fully lose balance.
His fingers stayed for half a second too long before letting go.
“Careful,” he murmured, close enough that you felt the word more than heard it.
You glanced back over your shoulder. “You worried about me, Barnes?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t like paperwork.”
You laughed under your breath.
By the time the last guy was down, adrenaline buzzed under your skin like static.
You and Bucky stood side by side, scanning the now-quiet yard. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, local authorities inbound.
You climbed up onto one of the shipping containers to wait for pickup. Bucky followed without a word.
It had become a habit after longer missions for the two of you. You would find the highest stable surface, sitting for a minute before extraction, letting the adrenaline drain somewhere that wasn’t inside your chest.
The metal of the shipping container was still cold through your pants when you sat down. Wind tugged at your hair as city lights shimmered off the water beyond the yard.
Bucky dropped down beside you with a thud, boots hanging over the edge.
You flexed your fingers, feeling the aftershock of combat buzzing in your bones. “Not bad,” you said to him.
“Hmm,” he tilted his head mildly. “Third guy on the east side almost had you.”
You turned your head slowly. “I had that.”
His shoulder bumped yours playfully. “You slipped.”
“I adjusted.”
“You slipped.”
You huffed, but you were smiling, slightly shifting your weight slightly more into his side. For half a second, you wondered if he’d shift away.
He didn’t.
Instead, you felt the subtle adjustment of his posture. He angled closer so you could lean more comfortably. His vibranium arm reached around, resting behind you on the container at first.
Then, slowly, it slid around your shoulders.
The metal felt warm against your upper arm. His other hand resting loosely against your bicep like he was making sure you wouldn’t tip backward.
“You sure you’re good?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you nodded faintly . “You?”
“Yeah.”
You let your head tip fully against his shoulder this time, and he let you.
The wind howled through the ruined shipping yard, but inside that small space between you, it was strangely calm. His chest rose and fell steady under your cheek, and you could feel the faint vibration of it when he exhaled.
After a long stretch of comfortable silence, he shifted his chin slightly so it rested lightly against the top of your head.
It felt natural.
Before either of you could think too much about it, Bucky cleared his throat. “Could use dinner after this.”
You smiled against his jacket. “Same,” you said. “I’m feeling sushi.”
His chest moved with a huff of amusement. “Yeah?”
You tilted your face just enough to glance up at him. “Yeah.”
He looked down at you. You could’ve sworn there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Me too,” he said.
The quinjet lights blinked in the distance, signaling arrival. You both stayed seated for another second longer than necessary.
Then you asked, still leaning into him, “After we debrief?”
His arm tightened just slightly around your shoulders. “After we debrief.”
—
Dinner wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
It was just food. It was just two teammates riding out the post-mission crash somewhere that didn’t smell like gunpowder or seawater. You told yourself that as you slid into the booth across from Bucky, as you peeled the paper cover from your chopsticks, as you ignored the way the candlelight caught in his eyes.
He was in dark jeans and a hoodie after changing out of tactical gear, hair was slightly damp from a quick shower.
He looked unfairly good, though he refused to acknowledge that.
A server brought sake without asking twice, nodding towards you with recognition.
“You get this often?” he asked, glancing at the bottle.
“After missions? Yeah.” You shrugged. “Feels like re-entering society slowly.”
See? It was just dinner.
Except it stopped feeling like “just” anything about fifteen minutes in.
You both started with edamame.
He reached out for the bowl in the middle, tearing through pieces of the green soybeans and stuffing them in his mouth, unbothered by the fact that you were staring.
“You know you can slow down,” you said, laughing as he flicked a pod into the discard bowl. “You’re gonna choke, Buck.”
“I am slowing down,” he insisted.
“Sure.”
You grinned as the food kept coming. Before long, rolls were stacked between you from spicy tuna to salmon avocado to chef’s special unagi that you insisted on trying. Conversation drifted easily after that.
He told you a story about trying to understand modern texting slang and accidentally responding “Affirmative.” to something Sam sent. You nearly cried laughing.
Then, you told him about baking one of your famous cookies for a date, who proceeded to spend twenty minutes explaining cryptocurrency while ridiculing your lack of knowledge on the subject.
He shook his head slowly. “You stayed?”
“I wanted pasta.”
“That’s fair.”
Somewhere along the line and the second round of sake, he leaned back in the booth, arm stretched along the top of the seat. He looked… relaxed.
He smiled, and it wasn’t the usual tight smile he wore around the watchtower. It looked real. Boyish, even. Perhaps it was a window to the man he used to be before… all this.
And you caught yourself staring. You took the sight of him in, studying the way his sleeves were pushed up. The faint crease near his eyes when he laughed. The warmth in his cheeks that only showed up when he forgot to hide it.
His eyes flicked up to catch yours.
Your stomach dipped. Neither of you looked away first, and somehow that felt like its own kind of confession.
You broke it by reaching for your sake.
By the time you were halfway through your third small ceramic cup, the world outside your booth feeling more distant than it did before.
You leaned back with a sigh, the buzz in your veins attributed to more than just alcohol.
“God,” you muttered, almost to yourself, “I wish the guys I go on dates with were more like you.”
He lifted his eyebrows. For once, he did not have anything to say.
“You know,” you waved your chopsticks vaguely in his direction. “Not red-pilled. Actually charming. Capable of human conversation without making it sound like a podcast monologue.” You smiled, teasing but honest. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re not bad to look at either.”
Oh.
That did it.
Bucky stilled, like he was recalculating a trajectory mid-flight. He didn’t laugh, nor did he deflect.
Then he said, calm as anything, he just shrugged. “Well… you could just go on dates with me.”
What?
You choked on your sake.
He reached across the table instinctively, human hand hovering near your wrist like he was debating whether or not you needed help or was just in shock.
“You good?” he asked, far too neutral.
You coughed once more, sputtered, and stared at him over the rim of your cup. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Right. Right.
And that was the moment the air changed. Because he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t flirting for sport. He… was offering.
There had always been something, had there?
You had a good partnership. And you were good friends.
And yes, if you were being honest, there was a tiny, dangerous sliver of a crush you’d both pretended didn’t exist.
Dating a teammate, though?
That was a line you never thought you’d cross.
Your brain sprinted through disaster scenarios: Messy fallout, tension in the field, Yelena’s relentless teasing for the rest of your natural life.
Bucky watched you think, but didn’t rush you.
After a moment, he gave a small shrug, almost self-conscious.
“We don’t have to make it a big thing,” he said. “Just… a couple dates. See if it works.”
See if it works.
The same pragmatism he had from the field was there now. He was not pushy, not desperate. He was only hopeful, though trying not to be.
You looked at him. At the man who trusted you with his back in a firefight. Who laughed at your dumb jokes. Who sat across from you like this mattered.
And maybe it already did.
What’s the harm? you thought.
You lifted your sake glass slowly.
“To seeing if this works,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “Casually.”
His lips curved up, almost relieved.
“Casually,” he echoed.
You clinked the cups together.
Neither of you had any idea you’d just ruined your own definitions of the word.
—
Dating Bucky Barnes was supposed to be experimental.
It was supposed to be low-stakes and casual. It was a “let’s not make this weird” situation.
No one ever warned you how ridiculously fun dating Bucky would be.
That first night after sushi, you walked side by side down the sidewalk like two teenagers who had accidentally checked the “yes” box on a crush note.
You glanced down at his hands swinging at his sides.
He noticed. “What are you looking at?”
“I don’t know what to do with them,” you shot back, a teeny bit defensive.
“With what?”
“My hands.”
He flexed his fingers defensively. “I know exactly what to do with my hands.”
“Do you?”
He looked at you then, squinting slightly, like you were a puzzle he wasn’t sure how to solve.
You smiled sweetly.
He exhaled through his nose, faintly flustered. And then, in one awkward, adorable motion, he reached over and hooked his pinky with yours.
Just the pinky.
You froze for half a second, and not because you didn’t like it. Because it was so unexpectedly gentle.
He didn’t look at you. Instead, he just kept walking like this was completely normal behavior for him.
You bit back a grin.
“Oh my god,” you whispered. “You’re nervous.”
“Hmmph.”
You laughed, and then decided to lace your fingers fully through his.
That was the moment it clicked into place.
His hand closed around yours immediately, a little tighter than necessary.
You both dissolved into giggles like teenagers.
“This is so stupid,” you said, slightly squeezing his hand. “But you’re doing great.”
“Shut up.”
But he didn’t let go.
You walked like that for blocks. Swinging your joined hands slightly. Teasing each other. Talking about nothing important. It felt exactly like being friends.
Only… closer.
When you reached your quarters in the tower, he just leaned his forehead against yours for a second, smiling like he couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Good night,” he laughed, slowly letting go.
“Good night, Buck.”
—
You didn’t tell the team. Not Yelena. Not Ava. Definitely not Alexei. And absolutely not John. If Bob didn't have his nose in a book, he would’ve figured it out in five seconds anyway.
But to be fair, it wasn’t about secrecy. It was more about preservation. If this experiment crashed and burned, you didn’t want the entire team dynamic shifting. You didn’t want briefings to get awkward. You didn’t want to risk how well everyone worked together.
So you kept it a secret. And it was kind of thrilling.
You somehow managed to keep it that way up until the next date a week later.
He asked you if you would like to take a ride around town on his bike.
“You know,” you said, eyeing the helmet he handed you, “this is very on brand for you.”
He smiled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Broody war veteran with a motorcycle?”
He leaned closer. “You getting on or not?”
You got on.
And when your arms wrapped around his waist, when your chest pressed against his back as the engine roared to life… yeah. Casual was officially hanging by a thread.
The city blurred past in streaks of gold and neon. You laughed into the wind when he accelerated slightly just to hear you squeal.
“You’re enjoying this too much!” you shouted.
“Maybe!”
He took you across town to a tiny ice cream place that looked like it hadn’t changed since the 70s.
You both ordered cones. He went vanilla.
“Of course you did,” you teased.
“It’s classic.”
“A bit boring.”
He took an exaggerated lick while maintaining eye contact. “You’re boring.”
You gasped playfully, knowing he didn’t really mean it . “Rude.”
Ten minutes later, you both were sitting on a bar chair, and you were still laughing at something he said when you noticed it.
“Hold on,” you said, leaning closer. “You’ve got a little vanilla on your mouth.”
He wiped at it instinctively.
“Left,” you said.
He wiped the wrong side.
“Other left.”
He frowned slightly, trying again, but still missed.
You rolled your eyes, smiling. “It’s still there.”
“Just tell me where—”
Before you could think better of it, you leaned in and kissed him.
It was quick. It was sweet. Most importantly, he tasted like vanilla.
For half a heartbeat, he went completely still.
Then you pulled back just enough to murmur, “Got it.”
He stared at you, processing for a second before the corner of his mouth curved slowly. “Smooth,” he said.
You bowed down slightly in a coy curtsy. “Thank you.”
He shook his head like he couldn’t believe the guts you had, then reached up and pulled you back in properly.
That kiss wasn’t quick.
It was long overdue and certain and a little bit hungry in a way that made your knees feel unreliable.
When you finally pulled back, you were both smiling like idiots.
—
For the next couple of weeks, you both kept insisting not to label anything.
Still, training days became suspiciously synchronized. If he was in the gym at 0600, you were too. If you were running drills in the hangar, he “happened” to need the same space. Sparring matches lasted longer than necessary. Now it was less about winning, more about testing how close you could get before it felt obvious.
“You’re distracted,” you’d tease, circling him.
Sometimes, after a little tease, he’d pin you to the ground. Sometimes you’d flip him onto the mat with a grin. Either way, you both always a second too long before standing.
“Good session,” he’d say, offering a hand like it was purely professional.
“Outside of training, it was the same story.
You grabbed late-night takeout after long briefings. Sat side by side in diners instead of across from each other because the booth was “more comfortable.” You back from the rooftop together because “it’s on the way.”
Once, he showed up with two coffees and shrugged. “They made an extra.”
“They?” you asked.
He didn’t answer.
You rode on the back of his bike more than strictly necessary. He’d claim he was just heading out for air. You’d claim you just felt like tagging along. Your arms would wrap around his waist automatically, your helmet knocking lightly against his shoulder when you laughed at something he said over the engine’s rumble.
Movie nights with the team became strategic. If the couch filled up, somehow there was always exactly enough room for you to squeeze in beside him. His arm would drape over the back of the cushions. Technically, it was not around you, technically. Your knee would rest against his thigh… accidentally, of course.
When Alexei pointed it out, you’d shrug.
“We’re just hanging out.”
“Yeah,” he’d echo.
Alexei dismissed it, grumbling about how he never understood western sensibilities.
But then, when you parted ways at night, there’d be that half-second pause before he gave you a small kiss and a quiet “see you tomorrow.”
Still, you hadn’t had sex yet.
Which was ridiculous.
You were both adults. You were casually dating. God knows you slept with people two dates in because you were lonely only to be ghosted the next day. On paper, you should’ve been intimate weeks ago.
And it wasn’t for lack of trying. You both had made out against walls, in elevators, in supply closets, even in the dark corner of the gym after hours when you were certain the rest of the team were on a different floor. You’ve had his wandering hands down your body, and been one second away from dragging him by the collar of his shirt to your bedroom, but privacy wasn’t always abundant in the tower.
Every time things almost escalated, someone walked down the hall. Or a call for a mission came through. Or you both got in your own heads about keeping it quiet as footsteps passed in the hallway. After all, you were living with John and Alexei, two other supersoldiers with supersoldier hearing.
So yeah, living in the tower was great for security. Terrible for privacy.
Besides, you and him were always busy with briefings, training, field work, recovery, and debriefs that ran long into the night. By the time you were alone, you were exhausted and just wanted some quality time. or paranoid someone could hear you breathe too loudly. Or that Ava would phase through. Or that Yelena would be hanging out in the vents again.
So you hadn’t.
But you really, really wanted to.
Tonight, though, a perfectly placed opportunity fell into your laps.
Val informed the entire team they were required at some high-profile charity gala.
You and Bucky exchanged a look across the table.
He cleared his throat first. “Actually… I’m not feeling great.”
You blinked innocently. “Yeah, me neither.”
Val’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced but uninterested. “Fine. Stay out of sight.”
The pretense was paper-thin between the two of you.
The team, however, suspected nothing. They were too busy arguing over tuxes and dresses and whether Alexei could be trusted near an open bar.
By the time they took off, the tower was quiet.
You stood in the common room, arms folded. “You look terribly ill,” you told Bucky solemnly.
He nodded gravely. “You do too.”
There was a beat of silence before you both dissolved into laughter.
You didn’t rush it at first. You ordered takeout. You changed into comfortable clothes. You put on a movie neither of you were paying attention to.
You curled up against him on the couch, legs tangled, his vibranium arm warm around your waist. Your fingers traced idle patterns over his chest. His thumb slid beneath the hem of your shirt without thinking.
“You think they bought it?” you murmured.
“Mm,” he said, distracted. “Doesn’t matter.”
You tilted your face up to kiss him as his human hand slid under the hem of your shirt. He was testing, like he still couldn’t quite believe the timing was finally right.
“No sudden noises,” you murmured against his mouth, “don’t wanna trigger any alarms.”
He huffed a small laugh. “I’ll try.”
The kisses deepened as weeks of restraint poured into them. Your fingers tugged at his shirt. He pulled you fully into his lap, like he’d been imagining you in this exact compromising position for a long time. Longer that he’d like to admit, even to you.
There was laughter at first as he looked around the common room. “Are we really doing this here?”
“Unless you want to reschedule it again,” you shot back.
His eyes darkened mischievously.
The movie kept playing to an empty room as clothes ended up somewhere between the couch cushions and the floor. There was a breathy gasp when you nearly knocked over the coffee table. A breathless “wait” that turned into “don’t stop.”
You didn’t rush. You couldn’t. The whole point was finally having the space to take your time. His hands were careful at first, then firmer when you encouraged him. You learned the rhythm of each other without words, adjusting instinctively the way you did in the field.
Except this time, the stakes were entirely different.
The couch creaked under you.
It happened there, tangled in blankets, breath shared, the world narrowed down to warmth and skin and the steady reassurance in his eyes every time he checked in on you. It wasn’t wild or reckless.
It was intentional. Even when he picked you up and bent you over the kitchen counter.
When it was over, you lay there for a minute, chests rising and falling in sync, the absurdity of fucking in the common room setting in.
“Well,” you said, managing to crawl back on the couch with his help. “That was worth calling out sick.”
He smiled against your temple. “Yeah.”
You both laid on there, sweaty, breathless, and very pleased with yourselves for a little longer, until you both realised at the exact same time.
“THE CAMERAS!”
You shot upright so quickly you nearly head-butted him.
Bucky swore under his breath, scrambling off the couch and looking around like the ceiling itself had betrayed him. “I knew we forgot something.”
You scrambled for clothes that were not remotely where you’d left them. He grabbed what might’ve been his shirt but turned out to be yours. You tried to stand and immediately had to steady yourself against the arm of the couch.
“Shower,” he said urgently.
“Shower? Why shower?!”
“Because we’re still—” he gestured vaguely at both of you, flushed and disheveled, “… sticky.”
Valid.
You both bolted for his bathroom, where he said, “Five minutes.”
“Sure.”
The shower was not efficient.
It was supposed to be. That was the goal. In, rinse off, out, get dressed, handle the digital disaster.
Instead, the second you were both under the spray, he laughed that unguarded laugh he only let out when he was completely relaxed, and you started laughing too.
“This is not funny,” you insisted, while absolutely grinning.
“It’s a little funny.”
You shoved his shoulder. He caught your wrist, pulled you closer for a quick, stolen kiss that almost derailed the entire “we need to move” plan.
“We’re in crisis mode,” you said against his mouth, though made no effort to pull away.
“Right. Crisis.”
It took real effort to actually finish rinsing off, dry off, and pull on clean clothes without getting distracted again. By the time you stepped into the hallway, you looked almost respectable.
The security room door slid shut behind you.
You moved straight to the main console, pulling up the archived feed for the common area.
“Okay,” you said, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Motion-triggered recording, timestamp around—”
“Let me,” Bucky interrupted confidently.
You blinked at him. “You know how to override this?”
He gave you a look.
You squinted your eyes as suspicions crept in. “Why do you know how to override this?”
He hesitated just long enough to be incriminating.
“Bucky.” You folded your hands on your chest.
He winced slightly. “It’s not what you think.”
“That is never reassuring.”
He leaned over the console, entering a series of precise commands. “Four months ago, Bob stole some of your cookies.”
You froze. “My triple-chocolate ones?”
“Yes.”
Your jaw dropped. “That’s where they went?”
“He panicked,” Bucky continued quickly. “He thought you’d be mad, and told me “she’d never be mad at you” so he asked me to scrub the footage.”
You stared at him. “I baked those from scratch.”
“Focus,” he said urgently as a security prompt blinked red on the screen. “We have bigger problems.”
You sputtered for another second before snapping back to the task at hand.
“Fine. But Bob is dead to me.”
“After we fix this.”
You both leaned over the console, shoulder to shoulder, navigating the layers of tower security. Dual retina scan authentication? Good thing two of you were here. Encryption bypass? Bucky knew how to deal with that. Archive access? He knew that, too. You handled the system permissions; he handled the deeper override protocols
“I cannot believe you never told me about the cookies,” you muttered while rerouting the backup cache.
“I’m sorry.”
The footage finally loaded.
There it was. The couch, the kitchen, everything. It showed the two of you earlier, very clearly not sick.
You lunged for the fast-forward button while Bucky was being a guy in the worst possible time, very clearly enjoying the incriminating footage.
“Delete it!” you hissed, not thinking twice.
“Working on it,” he snapped back to life.
He initiated the scrub protocol, wiping the primary recording, then the mirrored backup. You cleared the auto-save buffer and forced a manual integrity check to make sure nothing flagged the deletion.
Processing…
Processing…
Archive Purge Successful.
You both let out a breath out in perfect sync.
There’s no way this could go wrong, right?
—
The next couple of days felt… different.
It wasn’t dramatic, but rather subtle. Because finally, you and Bucky got better at sneaking around.
Not in a suspicious way, but more in the sense that you stopped acting like you were afraid of being caught breathing the same air. You started to calmly learn the rhythms of the tower, the patrol schedules, which hallways stayed empty longest after midnight, which stairwells had blind spots from the cameras. You learned how to move around each other naturally without it looking choreographed.
It was like as if there was a mutual unspoken agreement that maybe you didn’t need to assume disaster around every corner. You still kept things quiet. You still avoided obvious PDA.
So now, you’d started falling asleep in his room. Not always doing anything, sometimes just tangled up together, decompressing after brutal days. You liked the way his hand rested at the small of your back while you slept. He liked the way you always curled closer when he shifted.
It felt… safe.
Still, despite how well things were going between you and Bucky, Bob had noticed something.
He didn't notice you and Bucky, thankfully, but he had noticed you in an anxious, hyper-aware way of someone who constantly worried they’d done something wrong. And lately, he’d been convinced he had.
You haven’t been mean to him. You weren’t cold, exactly. But you were… different.
You were ever so slightly quieter around him, a little more distant. You were less quick to laugh at his jokes and more distracted when he spoke.
To anyone else, it might’ve gone unnoticed.
To Bob, it felt catastrophic.
So, seven days after the gala, he cornered Bucky in one of the quieter hallways outside the gym.
Bucky had just finished training, sweat-darkened shirt clinging to his back, hair still damp. He was halfway through pulling on his jacket when Bob appeared in his peripheral vision.
“Hey, Buck?” Bob asked hesitantly.
Bucky paused. “Yeah?”
Bob hovered for a second before asking, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”
Bucky blinked. “Tell who what?”
“I think she knows,” Bob frowned. “About the cookies.”
Oh.
Oh, no.
Bucky closed his eyes briefly and lied. “I don’t think she does”
Bob shook his head. “She’s been… a little distant with me. And I keep replaying the last few weeks in my head, trying to figure out what I might’ve done.” He paused, eyes unfocused in thought. “That was the only thing that stuck out.”
Bucky felt the familiar tug of guilt, scanning Bob’s face. “I don’t think she’s mad at you,” he said firmly, though he was unsure.
“I don’t know, man,” Bob sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “ This is exactly the kind of thing I overthink.”
“I’m going to do something about it,” he said. “I’ll think of a small reset and make it up to her. Y’know, clear the air.”
Before Bucky could ask what he meant, Bob was already walking away.
—
He knocked on your door the next day, when you weren't expecting anyone.
When you opened it, Bob stood there, hands folded neatly in front of him. He did not look nervous exactly, but rather thoughtful, like he’d spent a long time rehearsing what he was about to say.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah,” you replied, stepping aside. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said. “And… I’m not totally sure how to bring it up without sounding strange.”
You crossed your arms loosely. “Now I’m intrigued.”
He exhaled, then looked you in the eye. “I took your cookies.”
There it was.
For half a second, you just stared at him, debating whether to play dumb or admit that you knew.
His mouth twitched faintly. “I don’t know if you know, but I did it.”
You tilted your head, unsure of what to say.
“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. “I should’ve said something sooner. I panicked, then I kept overthinking it, and then it felt too late to bring up without making it awkward.”
“Bob,” you finally sighed, “it’s fine. I was a little annoyed, sure, but not enough to hate you.”
He visibly relaxed at that.
“Still,” he said. “I wanted to make it right.”
You blinked. “How?”
“I… set you up on a date tonight.”
Your brain stalled. “You what?”
He lifted one shoulder slightly. “There’s a barista at a café near the tower. His name’s Theo. He’s nice, and polite. Not weird at all. And I noticed you used to go on dates pretty regularly, but you haven’t in a while, and I thought maybe—”
“Bob,” you cut in gently. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “But I felt bad. And I wanted to do something good for you, instead of just apologizing and hoping you forgot.”
You stared at him, a thousand thoughts colliding at once.
Because yes, you had been a little irritated about the cookies. And yes, Bob absolutely did not need to set you up on a date to make up for it.
But how, exactly, were you supposed to refuse?
Sorry, Bob, I can’t go because I’ve been secretly dating Bucky Barnes for two months and we’re currently sneaking around the tower like teenagers?
Yeah. No.
So you hesitated.
And Bob mistook that silence for annoyance.
“If you don’t want to, you absolutely don’t have to,” he added quickly. “I can cancel it. I just thought—”
“No,” you said, a little too fast.
He paused.
You softened your tone. “I mean… thank you. Really. That was kind. And thoughtful. I’ll… think about it.”
“Okay.”
You offered a small smile. “But next time, just talk to me. I promise I don’t hold grudges over stolen baked goods.”
He huffed a laugh and nodded.
After he left, you shut the door and leaned your forehead against it.
“Great,” you murmured to yourself. “Just fantastic.”
—
You almost didn’t go.
You stood in front of your mirror for far longer than necessary, fingers idly tracing the hem of your dress as your thoughts tangled themselves into knots.
This was stupid.
You didn’t need to go on this date, but you didn’t need to refuse it either.
You and Bucky weren’t exclusive. You hadn’t defined anything beyond just trying to see where this goes.
But the idea of sitting across from someone else, laughing politely, pretending you were available in any real way, made your stomach churn.
You didn’t want Theo, or anyone else for that matter. You wanted Bucky.
But Bob had gone out of his way to do this one sweet thing for you after committing a minor infraction that made you ever so slightly irritated. And more importantly, Bob was observant. If you refused outright, he’d start wondering. Asking questions. Piecing things together.
And you and Bucky had agreed to keep this a secret, right?
So begrudgingly, you had to go, to throw Bob off your scent.
You picked a simple but flattering dress. You fixed your hair and applied just enough makeup to look awake and put together. You told yourself that you were just playing a part.
One date. One hour. Then you’d come home. Then you’d text Theo and say that the ‘chemistry just wasn’t there’ if he asked for a second date.
Simple.
On the way out, you passed through the common rooms. After doing a double take on the wreck in the kitchen, you stopped dead in the doorway.
Bucky Barnes, former assassin, elite tactician,and infamous human weapon— was standing in the middle of the kitchen in a black t-shirt dusted completely white with flour. There was flour in his hair. Flour on his boots. Flour smeared across one cheek like war paint. The counter looked like it had been hit by a powdered sugar explosion.
And he was… baking.
There was a mixing bowl in front of him, a wooden spoon in his hand, and an oven timer blinking accusingly in the background.
You blinked once. “What,” you asked slowly, “are you doing?”
He looked up, and his eyes widened.
“Oh shit,” he said automatically.
For a second, neither of you moved.
He glanced at the oven, then at the bow, then back at you, then back at the oven. His teeth flexed like he was calculating twelve different escape routes and none of them involved dignity.
“This was supposed to be a surprise,” he admitted begrudgingly to himself.
You raised your eyebrows.
He scrubbed his flour-covered human hand down his face, which only made things worse. “I, uh—” He gestured vaguely to the counter. “I felt bad.”
“About…?”
“The footage.” He wouldn’t quite meet your eyes.
You stared at him.
He shifted, awkward and defensive all at once. “I felt bad about helping to cover up a cookie theft,” he said gruffly. “Figured I could at least bake the replacement batch.”
Your heart did stupid little flip in your chest
“You’re making me triple-chocolate cookies,” you said softly.
“The first batch burned,” he admitted, nodding toward a dark tray on the stove that looked like it could double as roofing material. “I fucked up the timer.”
You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile too hard and failing miserably.
Oh my god.
How lucky were you, to have a friend like Bob— sweet, well-meaning Bob— who had set you up on a whole date to make up for stealing your cookies, while the man who you actually wanted was standing in your kitchen covered in flour because he felt guilty about helping erase security footage? He hadn’t even stolen the damn cookies.
“Bucky,” you breathed.
He finally looked at you properly, and then paused.
You realized, a second too late, that you weren’t in sweats.
His eyes traced the line of your shoulders to your collarbone. Down, then back up again.
“You look great,” he said.
“Thank you,” you replied, warmth creeping into your voice.
He cleared his throat. “Girls’ night with Yelena and Ava?” he asked, too casual.
You hesitated.
“Uh,” you said. “No.”
His metal hand froze against the counter.
“I’m going on a date.”
It was subtle at first, only noticeable by the way his posture changed. The way his shoulders drew back, not relaxed but braced for impact.
His face… fell.
“A date,” he repeated.
There was no fucking way.
The words weren’t said aloud, but his grip on the wooden spoon snapped it clean in half before he even realized he’d applied any pressure.
“Buck—” you started quickly. “It’s not—”
“A date,” he repeated, and this time it wasn’t confusion. It was disbelief. “You’re going on a date.”
You took a step further into the kitchen, heels clicking against tile. “It’s not like that.”
He let out a humorless breath, almost disappointed. “Right. Because when people say they’re going on a date, historically, that means something else.”
“Don’t,” you warned gently.
He set the broken spoon down on the counter with care. “Who is it?” he asked.
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is.”
You folded your arms, defensive despite yourself. “You and I never said we were exclusive.”
“So this is about labels?” he asked.
“No.” You exhaled hard. “It’s just… Bob.”
That made him blink.
“What?”
“He came to my room yesterday. And said he set me up with a barista he knows,” You ran a hand through your hair, already feeling the conversation spiraling.
That’s when everything clicked in Bucky’s head
“Oh,” he said flatly. “Bob told me the hallway. He thought you were mad about the cookies. He said he was going to ‘make it up to you.’”
You closed your eyes. “Oh my god.”
“I didn’t realize this was his solution,” Bucky added dryly.
The tension wavered, eased by the absurdity of it as you let out a strained laugh. “This is so stupid.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. Still he looked so… hurt. “But you’re going to go.”
“I…I didn’t know what else to do,” you admitted, words burst out before you could soften the blow. “Bob looked so relieved when I didn’t shut it down. And if I refuse now, he’ll think I’m still mad. Or he’ll start asking questions.”
“And what happens when this guy asks you out again?” Bucky sighed. “You just keep pretending?”
“It’s one date.”
“It’s not just a date.”
Of course not. Because to Bucky, it didn't feel harmless. What happens when this guy charms you off your feet? What happens when you like him more than you liked Bucky? What happens then?
And whatever jealousy had flared in him earlier, it didn’t disappear, but he now realised how misplaced it was. “You could just… not,” he said.
You met his eyes. “And say what?”
The kitchen felt smaller suddenly.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice lower now.
After a long bout of silence, the oven timer went off.
You jumped out of shock, and Bucky turned around immediately. He grabbed a towel, yanked the oven open, and pulled out the tray.
The rich and warm smell of chocolate filled the kitchen instantly as He stared down at the cookies.
They weren’t charcoal this time, but the edges were still darker than they should've been.
You didn’t move from where you stood.
He let out a breath through his nose. “Well,” he said helplessly, setting the tray down. “Let’s hope your date likes slightly burned triple-chocolate cookies.”
The word date sounded wrong in his mouth.
“Buck…”
He didn’t look at you.
He stood there for a second longer, shoulders tight, hands braced on the counter like he was holding himself in place.
The kitchen felt too small for everything sitting in it. And Bucky, unfairly soft-eyed, stood there like he’d just walked into a firefight without armor.
“All this,” he said, staring at the cookies, “because I helped Bob get away with petty theft.”
You didn’t tease him this time, smiling sadly.
He finally looked at you, and there was no bravado left. “I know I don’t have any right to ask you to stay.”
Your heart squeezed in your ribs.
“But when we started this,” he continued, voice steady but vulnerable. “I said we should just see if it works.”
You stepped closer, heels off, date forgotten. “It works,” you said, reaching out to his human hand and squeezing it.
“So don’t go,” he said. “And I’ll stop pretending any of this was ever casual. I was lying to myself anyway.”
And deep down, you were, too.
For a second, you just looked at him. Then you reached past him.
He blinked. “What are you…”
You grabbed a cookie straight off the tray.
“Careful,” he warned immediately. “It’s hot.”
You took a bite anyway.
It was absolutely hot, but not too hot. Molten chocolate flooded the roof of your mouth, but you powered through it with determination.
He stared at you in disbelief. “You’re going to burn your tongue.”
“It’s perfect,” you declared stubbornly.
“It’s still burnt.”
You examined the dark edge thoughtfully. “The char gives it character.”
He huffed. “That’s not how that works.”
You broke the cooled-down cookie in half and shoved a chunk into his mouth mid-argument.
“Mmff—” he protested, though still opened his mouth anyway.
“See?” you said smugly. “Good.”
He chewed, trying not to smile, and failing miserably.
“There’s —mm— chocolate on your lip,” he said through the food, before swallowing.
“So?”
Instead of answering, he reached down, and leaned in and kissed the smear of melted chocolate from your mouth, not giving a damn about who walked in the room or whether or not you’d ruin the team dynamics for everyone. You genuinely could not give less of a fuck.
Your fingers curled into his flour-covered shirt.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“How could I let you walk out that door?” he sighed.
You smiled up at him, heart impossibly full. “How could I go?”
And that was it.
He let out an almost disbelieving laugh and pulled you fully against him, flour and all. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest, breathing in chocolate and sugar and him.
He kissed you again, and this time it wasn’t chocolate-sweet or tentative. He was relieved and happy and a little bit giddy. His hands slid to your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter, flour puffing dramatically into the air like you’d triggered your own celebratory smoke bomb.
You laughed against his mouth as your fingers got tangled in his hair.
Just as his hands found their way to your hips again and you were very close to forgetting that the outside world even existed…
A voice cleared awkwardly behind you.
“Uh.”
You both pulled away and turned your heads.
Bob stood in the doorway. He blinked at the flour. At you on the counter. At Bucky standing between your knees.
“…I’ll tell Theo the date’s off?” he offered carefully.
You slid off the counter, attempting dignity and failing completely because there was chocolate on your chin and flour in Bucky’s hair.
“Yes,” you said quickly. “Please.”
Bob nodded. “Great. Good. That’s— yeah. That’s good.”
Bucky cleared his throat, trying and failing to look unbothered.
Bob looked between you and sighed in mild relief. “Honestly? This makes way more sense.”
what about reader who’s ovulating explaining to bucky that she gets suuuuperrrrr needy when she is… 😉😉😉
i love the idea of it being the beginning stages of their relationship as well...
--------
You stand in the doorway of Bucky’s room, picking at the hem of your sweatshirt like it might swallow you whole. You’d been hyping yourself up for this conversation for the last two hours, pacing the hallway like a ghost and telling yourself it would be fine.
But now you’re looking at him—sitting cross-legged on his bed, hair tied back, reading glasses perched on his nose—and panic licks up your throat.
“Doll?” he asks softly. “You okay?”
You inhale and immediately regret having lungs.
“Okay,” you blurt, “so before anything happens tonight, I should probably… I need to warn you about something.”
Bucky closes the book and gives you all of his attention. God. Why does he have to do that? Why does he have to look at you like you’re the only thing worth seeing?
“Is this about earlier?” he murmurs. “You seemed a little off.”
You shuffle inside, shutting the door behind you. “It’s not bad! Not like… dangerous or anything. I just—” You flinch at your own awkwardness. “I’m ovulating.”
Bucky blinks. Slowly. “Okay,” he says. “And?”
“And,” you whisper, mortified, “I get… really, really needy when I’m ovulating.”
He just stares. Not uncomfortable. Not amused. Just… blinking, processing.
You start talking faster. “But not normal needy. Like embarrassing needy. Like climbing-you-like-a-tree needy. And we’re still new, you know? It’s early, and I don’t wanna freak you out or make you think I expect anything or—”
“Sweetheart.”
Your mouth shuts.
Bucky stands, walks to you, and cups your jaw in his big warm palm. His thumb strokes your cheekbone, slow, grounding.
“You think that’s gonna scare me off?” he asks gently.
You swallow. “It scares most guys.”
“Well, I’m not most guys.”
His tone drops about an octave on the last word, and you feel it in your spine.
You try again. “I just, I don’t want you to think I’m too much.”
Bucky huffs a small laugh, then crowds you back against the door until your breath catches. His knee nudges your thighs apart like it’s instinct.
“Doll,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, “you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying not to jump you all week?”
Your brain fizzles.
“I didn’t want to go too fast,” he continues, voice low and honest. “Didn’t want you to feel pressured.” His metal hand settles on your hip, a slow curl of fingers. “But hearing you say you get needy? For me?”
You swear he groans.
“That doesn’t scare me,” he whispers. “That makes me want to take care of you.”
Your knees weaken instantly. “Bucky…”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see your face.
“I—I want you,” you whisper. “All the time right now. It’s driving me insane.”
The groan that rumbles out of him is obscene.
His hands slide under your thighs and lift you without effort. You gasp, arms flying around his shoulders, heat pulsing between your legs the second your core presses against his abdomen.
“Needy little thing,” he breathes, carrying you to the bed. “You’ve been suffering like this by yourself?”
“I didn’t want to scare you,” you say helplessly, grinding against him before you can stop yourself.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky sighs, settling you in his lap, “you’re not scaring me.” His nose brushes your jaw. “You’re killing me.”
Then he kisses you—hungry, slow, like he wants to taste every second you’ve ever lived. His hands grip your hips, guiding you into a slow grind that rips a whimper out of you.
“See?” he murmurs. “This is nothing. This is perfect.”
You shudder. “Buck… it’s worse than this.”
“Show me,” he whispers.
Your face burns. But your body decides for you. You rock against him hard, chasing friction, breath breaking into needy little gasps you usually keep locked down.
Bucky’s pupils blow wide.
“Oh,” he exhales. “Yeah. That’s—fuck, doll.”
He flips you beneath him, dragging your hips up with one strong arm while the other pushes your knees apart. He looks… reverent. Wild. Like you’ve awakened something he didn’t know he had.
“You’re supposed to tell me if you need something,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “You don’t ever hide this from me.”
“I didn’t want—” You gasp as his fingers skim your panties. “Didn’t want you to think I’m—”
“Too needy?” He smiles against your skin. “Sweetheart, you could crawl in my lap every hour for the next week and I’d still ask if you needed more.”
Your entire body trembles.
He slides your panties aside and groans deeply—so deeply it vibrates through you.
“Already wet for me?” he whispers, teasing your slick folds with a slow, maddening drag of his fingers. “Or is this just you ovulating?”
“Both,” you breathe.
His eyes darken. “Good.”
You barely have time to inhale before he’s kissing you again, hand sliding between your thighs, fingers circling exactly where you need him. It’s embarrassing how fast you fall apart, hips arching, breath shattering.
“That’s it,” Bucky whispers. “Let me take care of you. Let me give you what your body’s begging for.”
You whine—an actual whine—and he swallows it with another kiss.
And when he finally pushes inside you a few minutes later, slow and deep and unbearably careful, he groans into your neck like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this.
“Scare me off?” he pants, thrusting slow but impossibly deep. “Baby, I want you exactly like this. Want you needy. Want you desperate. Want you coming on my cock until you can’t even remember why you were nervous.”
Your back arches. Your nails dig into his shoulders.
“And doll?” he whispers, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips—
summary: your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break.
warnings: she/her pronouns for reader; set in college; best friends to lovers; best friend!bucky; whipped!bucky; protective!bucky; reader has hair; size difference; light angst; unrequited love (according to bucky); mutual pining; jealousy & slight possessiveness; swearing; fluff; he uses A LOT of pet names & basically behaves like a boyfriend?; smut; (soft)dom!bucky & sub!reader; praise kink; sex toys; guided masturbation; slight degradation; crying (bc reader feels too good 👅); pussy slapping; orgasm delay/control; edging; oral (f receiving); fingering; nipple play; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; messy & rough sex; squirting; creampie.
word count: 15.8k
a/n: helloo! today it's my birthday 🎈that's why this story is extremely self-indulgent, sorry 🥲 I think this is porn without plot? well, there’s a bit of plot I guess, lmao. I apologize but the smut part might be a little all over the place because l wrote it while studying for an exam and getting ready for a little trip (I’m not going to be very active for a while). I was too exhausted to write/edit something more plot-driven, so I hope you’ll enjoy this anyway 💛
Bucky is halfway through a problem set in the library, equations spread out in messy sheets all over the desk and coffee going cold at his elbow, when he checks the time on his phone and feels that familiar tug in his chest. He’s not even close to being tired, could easily grind through another two chapters, but his focus has thinned to a thread. So he closes his notebook a little too decisively and mutters something about calling it a night, about being exhausted.
Steve looks up slowly, deeply unimpressed. His eyes scream do you think I was born yesterday? but Bucky refuses to meet them. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and shoves his laptop into his backpack like he’s annoyed at the implication.
Steve’s mouth twitches knowingly. His friend's body has been betraying him for a while— knee bouncing incessantly, jaw tight, eyes landing back to his phone every few minutes.
Bucky has been pulling this move for years and usually Steve would drag it out by raising a brow, asking if he should send flowers already. Sometimes he’d start humming a wedding march under his breath until Bucky’s ears burn red and he threatens to blacklist him from future study sessions. But tonight, his friend just watches him for a second longer than necessary, taking in the barely concealed anticipation in the way Bucky adjusts his puffer jacket, then checks his phone twice in the span of two minutes, clearly hoping for a text.
Steve just nods once and Bucky perceives the mercy like a gift.
The walk back to the dorm is automatic at this point; his feet know the path too well, from the shortcut through the nearby park— technically closed at night but still accessible thanks to the worn patch in the bushes— to the way the lights flicker near the humanities building every fifteen seconds. And the exact amount of steps it takes to reach your floor.
The rhythm of his footsteps carries just enough weight that they draw a satisfying echo from the tile. Although Bucky thought about surprising you after not seeing each other for almost a week, he wants you to notice the noise. You hate unexpected knocks, always have. He remembers you mentioning it to him once, shrugging like it was no big deal, but he is too observant when it comes to you. Something simple like a knock rattling the silence never fails to make your shoulders tense up and your heartbeat accelerate, eyes widening just slightly. That’s why he ensures each footfall is firm, deliberate, loud enough for you to acknowledge a presence in the hallway but soft enough not to hurl your brain into panic.
When he finally reaches your door, Bucky lets his hand linger on the frame. He knows you’re inside from the quiet tapping of a keyboard and the occasional muttered curse over some paper you’re clearly taking too seriously.
The knock is gentle, barely there. “Open up, doll. Campus security’s doing a wellness check.”
“Bucky?” Your voice comes soft, but cautious. Once the door is opened, he takes a step forward and tugs you into a hug, your arms wrapping around him without thought.
“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, angel. Hi, my little overachiever.” He murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss there, then another to your temple.
Your surprised laugh is half-muffled by his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescue mission.” He promptly exclaims, pulling back just enough to study your tired features. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he looks into your eyes with a feigned frown. “I could feel you stressing from the library, baby. It was like a disturbance in the stratosphere."
You roll your eyes. “I’m not—”
He narrows his eyes, and you hesitate just for a second.
“... That stressed.” Your voice fades into a whisper.
“Hm-hm.” He leans down and presses a long kiss on your forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, doll.”
Bucky nudges the door shut behind him with his foot while guiding you backward into the room, as if he’s lived here with you his whole life. His backpack drops to the floor, forgotten, only for him to engulf you back in his arms.
“You’re freezing, doll.” He murmurs. “Why is your dorm always a sauna in the summer and an arctic tundra in winter?”
You giggle quietly, pulling back just enough to brush a little bit of snow off his shoulders. “It’s just particularly cold these days.”
“Just these days?” He scoffs. “It’s inhumane. I’m having a very serious conversation with your RA about this.”
You grab his sleeve reflexively. “Please don’t.”
He blinks down at you, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Why not?”
“Because she already scowls at me every time we pass in the hallway after you cornered her about the radiator in the bathroom.” You mumble. “I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It clanked in the middle of the night, and then you would jolt awake and never fall back asleep.” Bucky defends instantly.
“Still... She looks at me like I personally filed a lawsuit against her.” You argue weakly.
“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice before ignoring the pipe orchestra in your bathroom at three in the morning.”
“Bucky.” You reprimand him jokingly, squeezing his torso once.
“Shh.” He whispers, his gaze alert as it scans the room. He immediately spots your laptop and a pile of books and binders stacked like some kind of intellectual barricade on your bed. “You’re really going to bury yourself in all this tonight?”
“I have a paper due next week.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky doesn't miss the way your shoulders suddenly slump, as if resigned. “I… Just wanted to get a head start.”
He crouches in front of you after carelessly throwing his jacket on your desk chair, his hands blanketing yours perfectly. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
You peer at him through your eyelashes, noticing the exact moment his expression melts into something softer, something only you are allowed to witness. Cupping your face gently, his thumbs brush your cheeks with such tenderness you almost tear up. “When was the last time you took a break?”
You sigh. “Buck—”
“Not a ‘I-scrolled-on-my-phone-for-five-minutes’ break. I’m talking about a real one.”
You look away, suddenly feeling a scorching heat taking over your neck. You know how much he hates when you overwork yourself to the bone, and the thought of disappointing him of all people makes your stomach churn with shame.
Bucky exhales dramatically, pulling you back into his chest with a swift move that makes you yelp. “You’re working too hard, baby. Way too hard. You’re gonna burn yourself out if I don’t intervene.”
You are always three steps ahead, always prepared for some invisible emergency no one else has even considered yet. And not just on an academic level. He’s watched you fix things for others for years. You dig through your bag without looking and somehow produce exactly what is needed. Band-aids in three different sizes– yes, three. A little pouch of medicine: painkillers, allergy tablets, something for stomach aches because “campus food is unpredictable”. Extra pads tucked into the side pocket; two packs of tissues; hand sanitizer clipped to the zipper. A tiny sewing kit because one time someone’s button popped off and you decided that would never happen again. Mints. Lip gloss. Hair ties. Bobby pins. A small comb. A portable charger that’s always somehow fully charged. A granola bar “in case someone forgets to eat”. Bucky literally recoiled when some tomato sauce fell on Kate’s jeans last month and you were handing her a stain remover pen before she could even acknowledge the stain.
He’s seen you pull each of those things out at least once, along the relief on people’s faces when you quietly fix their problem before it becomes embarrassing. You never make a big deal out of it, always ready to reassure them with a smile.
You also remember everything, from birthdays to when your friends have their exams.
Natasha gets migraines when she’s stressed, so you make sure to always carry that specific brand of painkillers that works for her. You keep peppermint gum too, because you once read online it helps, and you don’t even like peppermint.
Steve forgets to eat when he’s buried in his art projects, so you text him reminders and shove protein bars into his hands without ceremony. You’ve memorized his deadlines better than he has, and you once stayed up proofreading his paper even though you had your own due the next morning.
Sam swears he never gets sick, yet you still bring extra throat lozenges when he starts losing his voice– the consequence of him being president of several clubs and giving one motivational speech after another.
Kate is very confident in herself, but she panics before every presentation. You sit in the front row each time, smiling and nodding at her like a proud mom. You never dwell on the mistakes or the stumbles; instead, you point out the strongest parts of her speech– the clever phrasing, the insights she came up with on the spot when the professor started asking questions, the arguments that actually landed. You always highlight the good things, the moments that matter, and she leaves the room feeling lighter, even when she doubts the quality of her work.
Wanda pretends she doesn’t get cold, but you pack an extra scarf in your bag anyway. You walk slower when she’s overwhelmed, checking in quietly, never pushing, just hovering gently in case she needs you.
Yelena acts all fearless, but you always suggest ordering something sweet at the end of a meal, because you know she won’t unless someone tags along.
Every preference. Every weakness. Every tiny crack people try to hide… You smooth them over without them even noticing. And you do it without expecting anything in return, like it’s nothing.
Your brain is constantly scanning, ready to cushion the fall before it happens. You’ve somehow made yourself responsible for the comfort of everyone around you, and Bucky loves how capable you are, how steady your presence is to the point everyone gravitates toward you without even realizing. You’re the calm center, the one people trust, the one who fixes things.
But sometimes… Sometimes it makes his chest hurt, because he sees the cost. You don’t sit down until everyone else has, nor you relax unless someone forces you to. You’re always the one refilling glasses before your own is empty, the one staying behind to stack chairs or wipe down tables even when it isn’t your responsibility. In study groups, you’re the last to pack up, double-checking that everyone understands the material before you even glance at your own notes. You answer texts at two in the morning because someone’s panicking about something, and somehow their anxiety becomes yours, sitting heavy in your chest until you’re sure they’re okay. If a friend is upset, you carry it with you for the rest of the day, replaying their words, wondering what else you could’ve said, what more you could’ve done. You have this way of absorbing other people’s burdens and slipping them into your own pockets as if they belong there.
And Bucky wants— selfishly, desperately— to be the one place where you don’t have to take care of anything.
With him, you don’t need your emergency kit.
With him, you don’t need to think ahead.
He carries the snacks; he argues with the professor; he deals with the guys who don’t stop staring. He drives, fixes, calls, confronts, handles. You are free to flop dramatically across his lap, and steal his fries. You can let your eyes squeeze in frustration and complain about your professors without trying to solve anything, or fall asleep mid-movie, because you know he’ll carry you to bed.
You trust him to handle the world so you don’t have to. He wants to take the weight off your shoulders so permanently that you forget it was ever there, because his affection does not sit politely in his chest. It bleeds. It calls for you. It moves through him like something alive and restless that needs to breath.
Bucky has loved you for so long that he can’t remember what it felt like before. He tries, sometimes, to pinpoint the exact moment it shifted from childhood attachment to a blade pressed under his ribs, not deep enough to kill him, but the wound pulses every time he breathes, as a reminder.
Maybe it was the day you grabbed his hand on the playground and refused to let go when another kid tried to tease him for the scar on his left arm, the one he got trying to prove he wasn’t scared of the ramp behind the old basketball court. Maybe it was during your first ever movie night in middle school, when he sat completely still for three hours after you fell asleep on his shoulder to not wake you up.
Or maybe it was gradual. Like erosion. Like water carving into stone until there’s no version of the rock that ever existed without the river running through it.
He only knows there’s never been an end.
Bucky often reflects on the fact that he’s the safest place you’ve ever known. You trust him in a way that is almost sacred. You curl into him without hesitation. You change in front of him without thinking twice. You press your cold hands under his shirt because you know he’ll yelp and then immediately tug you into his chest to warm you. Bucky finds himself more often than not lying in his own bed and thinking about this, about the way you trust him with your entire body, with your happiness, your quiet and your sadness. But not with your heart. At least, not in the way he wants.
You look at him like he’s home, like he’s already yours. Like there’s no risk of losing him– and he would never give you a reason to think otherwise. That’s the cruelest part. Bucky would stay even if you never loved him back. He’s been staying since he was fourteen and realized that the reason he wanted to punch that boy at the school dance wasn’t because the kid stepped on your shoes, but because he made you laugh too hard. He’s been staying since you cried over your first breakup and let him hold you as he tried to ignore the way his jaw clenched every time you said your ex’s name.
Taking care of you comes so easy to him, maybe too easy. Sam once told him it borders on ridiculousness. But you have no idea what it costs him. You sit in his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth by accident, giggling, looking away too fast to notice how he freezes for a second too long.
You have never kissed him on the lips, though.
Bucky thinks about that more than he should.
He’s prepared for everything: skipped meals that make you dizzy in the middle of a lecture; all-nighters where your eyes get glassy and you insist you’re “fine” as your fingers tremble around a pen; the way you grind yourself down for grades like your worth depends on them. He’s prepared to sit at the kitchen table while you bake and pretend not to want to smooth the wrinkle between your brows when you frown in concentration; or to kiss your lips after you feed him a dollop of custard, because you trust him enough to tell you if it sucks.
He’s also prepared for every guy who thinks your softness means easy access. For every hand that lingers too long and every flirtatious grin thrown your way.
He is not prepared for the possibility that one day, you might actually want one of them.
Bucky watched it happen more often than not. Smiling politely while some guy leans a little too close, and pretending he’s not tracking every movement, cataloging whether the guy’s hand drifts lower than it should.
He never interrupts. He simply waits. Because if you step back even half an inch, he’s already beside you. If your smile falters, he’s glaring at the idiot. If you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’s casually sliding an arm around your waist.
Possessive enough to send a message, but not enough to claim you.
And sometimes... It’s just unbearable.
You call him dramatic when he scowls, laughing as you remind him that you can handle yourself just fine. And he knows you can. He was the one who taught you self-defense in high school, for fuck’s sake. It's just that Bucky wants to be the only one who gets to see that soft little smile of yours when you’re on the brink of sleep, to hear your muttered curses when your fingers fumble through a tangle of yarn. Or watch you get genuinely angry over a dumb misunderstanding while reading one of those romance novels of yours that leave you sighing dreamily at the end.
The territorial edge of these thoughts leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the shame dissipates as soon as one of those guys smiles at you, making room for something ugly and hot that crawls through his chest and makes his jaw ache.
Bucky has imagined telling you.
It never gets far.
In his head, the words sound steady, confident.
But you’d blink, go quiet… Look guilty. And he would rather cut his own heart out than see you blame yourself for his own feelings.
So he keeps quiet, and pours his love into other things, like gently drying your hair after you shower, and giving you little forehead kisses– Bucky knows you adore those because you unconsciously shiver each time. But also calling you sweetheart and angel and doll, and all those other pet names Natasha deems ‘corny’ with a grimace. Like they don’t mean anything deeper. He touches you, constantly. Not because he’s careless, but because he’s greedy. The contact reassures him that you’re still here, that you’re still choosing to be by his side, even if it’s not in the way he yearns for.
From time to time, when you fall asleep in the crook of his neck, Bucky presses his mouth to your hair and breathes you in like it’s something he could survive on, his arms tightening around you just how you like. It’s become his favorite thing to do ever since you told him how safe and cocooned you feel in his embrace.
Because when you’re awake, you might see the way his breathing changes when your fingers trace absentminded patterns on his chest, or the way he shivers when you call him Jamie– you are the only one allowed to do that.
You might finally understand that every innocent kiss is just him restraining himself.
So Bucky lets himself slip only in the dark, when no one can see the awe twinkling in his eyes whenever you are around. He’s balancing on a thin line as it is; one wrong move and the entire “best friends” foundation cracks. And he swallows it all. The jealousy, the hunger, those three treacherous words that rise too close to the surface every time you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.
But loving you is perpetual. It hums under his skin when you let yourself melt into his hugs; it sits heavy in his stomach when your lips brush his forehead with a quick kiss before you run to class; it blooms sharp and hot every time someone asks for your number.
He wonders if he ruined himself by loving you that young, because no one else has ever fit right by his side. Yet, he would rather have you like this than risk losing you by asking for more. Even if sometimes it feels like his heart is stretched too tight in his chest. Even if when you look at him, tired and soft and wrapped in his comforter, he has to glance away and breathe through the urge to kiss you until you're both left wheezing. With Bucky, you just get to exist. And if this is the only role he ever gets to play in your life, he’ll take it.
He has always thought of himself as the equivalent of an oversized hoodie that’s been worn too long.
Comfortable, warm, easy to grab when you’re cold.
But not the thing you pick when you want to feel special.
Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. When he reaches the side of your neck, his lips linger just enough to receive a squirm in return and a giggle that softens his smile impossibly more, the most tender thing you’ve ever seen.
“Bucky.” You whisper, half-scolding, half-laughing.
“What?” He asks innocently. “I’m just appreciating my favorite person.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Good.” He hums, preening inside. “That’s the point, baby.”
Moving onto your bed, his hands tug you gently until you stumble back. “C’mere. Sit with me.” Lying down, he looks at you expectantly, blue eyes prettily begging you to follow him.
“James seriously, I have to finish—”
“Nope.” He grabs your wrists and pulls you forward so you’re kneeling right between his thighs. His hands settle on your hips like they’ve always belonged there, and you shiver, hoping he’ll blame it on the heating not working properly in the middle of winter. “You need to breathe, angel. And you breathe better when you’re not spiraling over footnotes. Look at you, you chewed on that pen like a stressed little squirrel.” He teases, guiding you until you’re reluctantly lying on your front. “You’re too precious to suffer like this. Not on my watch.”
You huff softly, but you don’t dare move away. The knowledge that you trust him to this extent, that you allow yourself to bend your strict study routines for him, floods him with a quiet, overwhelming happiness that makes his heart ache in the best way.
“You know,” Bucky starts softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You don’t have to be in charge with me.”
Your shoulders drop just a fraction, and he takes that in with a hint of a satisfied smile.
“I’ve got it, okay? I’ve got you.” He continues with a lower voice. You finally go completely slack in his hold, the curve of your body molding against his chest as your ear presses on his left pec.
And God, he would stay like this forever if you’d let him.
Bucky kisses the top of your head again, tracing a path with his lips that ends on the apple of your cheek. “See? There’s my girl.” He murmurs. “You’re adorable, angel. Did you know that? Ridiculously, impossibly adorable.”
“And you’re impossible.” You mumble, eyelids threatening to close under his soft attention.
“I know. I know, bunny.” He murmurs, pretending to pout. “I can’t help it. It’s a curse, really. You’re just… Irresistible when you let yourself go.”
“But you adore me.” He quickly adds.
You don’t answer that, yet he pretends to ignore the way his heart skips when you squeeze your arms once around his torso. A hand comes up to run up and down your back slowly. Protective. Possessive in the quietest way.
“If anyone bothered you today,” he mentions casually, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’d like names.”
You burst out laughing and Bucky tightens his hold just a little at that, a fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of his head as his ears are blessed with his favorite melody. “Calm down, stud. No one bothered me today.”
“Good.” His thumb brushes absent circles on your lower back. “Because I don’t feel like scowling at freshmen tonight.”
“You always scowl at freshmen.” You peek up at him, impossibly cute with your cheek smushed against his chest. The urge to kiss you is so strong he almost shortens the distance between you.
“They look at you.”
“They look at everyone.”
“Not like they look at you, baby.”
There’s a small silence after that, but Bucky fills it quickly.
“Anyway,” He glides over the topic, his voice suddenly too high to sound nonchalant, so he clears his throat. “You’re done for the next hour. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m a concerned citizen.”
You lift your head just enough to squint at him.
“Chronic overworking, severe lack of cuddling, and acute stubbornness are very serious conditions.” His fingers walk up your spine as he lists your “symptoms”.
You snort, letting your head fall back to its previous resting place. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm. Tragic, really.” Bucky shifts, scooting back against the headboard to settle against the myriad of pillows you accumulated throughout the years, tugging you with him. “Prescription says: cuddles, a movie, and you,” he pats his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “Right here.”
You laugh again, softer now that you have given up. “Alright, alright, Dr. Barnes.” You know he hates when you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway, sighing.
“Ha! Victory!” He whispers triumphantly.
You shake your head, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they lift just slightly when you reach for your laptop. Once you settle back down, you automatically curl into his side, like it’s muscle memory. It’s always been that simple between the two of you.
He shifts immediately to accommodate you, one arm sliding around your waist as the other tucks behind his head.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Bucky mentions casually, low like a secret you are only meant to know. “You always work so hard. You’re so good– too good.”
Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt, but you only nod, pressing closer. You’ve never known what to do with praise. It slides off you most of the time, makes you fidget, causes your eyes to drop to the floor like you’re being accused of something you don’t quite believe. And it’s not as if Bucky’s new at this— he’s been telling you how brilliant you are, how capable, how kind, and pretty since you were small enough to swing your legs off a playground bench. He’s never once missed a chance to compliment you.
Still, every time he does that, your shoulders go tight for a second before you remember it’s just him. Just Bucky. Not judging, not measuring, not expecting you to live up to the compliment. You never thank him with words, just burrow closer, like you’re doing now, hiding your face against his chest as if you can tuck the warmth of his words somewhere safe. They feel so fragile, so precious, and you are still learning how to hold them properly.
“What are we in the mood for, sweetheart, hm?” His words are gentle near your ear. “Something brainless? Something with explosions so I can complain about the physics and you can pretend to be impressed?”
You shift slightly, tucking your leg over his thigh. He adjusts immediately, never failing to make space for you, hand tightening just a little at your waist to keep you steady.
“Blanket?” A small shiver and a nod are enough for Bucky to lean sideways awkwardly, reaching for the fluffy lilac fabric lying on your second desk chair, nearly falling over in the process.
“Careful.” You snicker.
“I’m graceful.” Bucky insists, dragging the blanket back triumphantly. “Military precision.”
“You almost tripped over the air.”
“Well, the air started it.”
He drapes it over the both of you, smoothing it at your hip, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like it’s part of the ritual.
“There,” he hums. “Contained.”
His chin settles then on the top of your head. “So? If you don’t choose in the next minute, I’m putting on Interstellar again.”
You go rigid at that. “James.”
“What?” He quips, entirely unapologetic.
“You made me watch that at two in the morning.”
“It’s a masterpiece.”
“It’s almost three hours long.”
“It’s cinema.”
“You paused it every five minutes,” you accuse, lifting your head to glare back at him. “You had diagrams, Bucky. You pulled out a fucking notebook.”
He grins, completely unashamed. “You said you wanted something educational.”
“I did not say I wanted a physics lecture in my pajamas.”
“You loved it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I fell asleep during the wormhole explanation.”
He gasps softly. “How dare you!”
You burst out in an incredulous laugh. “You started calculating stuff on the back of a takeout receipt!”
At that point Bucky chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against your cheek when you drop your head back on his chest.
“You’re impossible.” You mutter, going back to scroll through movies you've already watched, and rated with your best friend. “I need something easy. My brain’s fried.”
“Easy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “So no space, no time paradoxes–”
“No academic lectures.” You add firmly.
“Fine, bunny.” He sighs. “But one day you’re going to sit through the docking scene without complaining.”
“You cried during the docking scene.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
With a clear of his throat, he squirms awkwardly under you. “It’s an incredible scene.”
After finally picking a mindless sitcom you’ve both seen a hundred times, he sets the laptop on his thigh, adjusting the angle so it doesn’t dig into you, then shifts again so you’re draped more comfortably over him, leaving his free hand to lie on his chest. You reach forward absently and lace your fingers with his, causing Bucky to go still for half a second, before his fingers squeeze yours back. He presses another kiss into your hair, hoping you won’t hear his heart do something embarrassing in his ribcage.
“Comfy, pretty girl?” He asks softly.
“Hm.” You sigh. “You’re warm.”
“Good. Means I’m doing my job.”
Huffing a quiet laugh at that, you just curl closer.
Bucky pretends to focus on the show, but really he’s more aware of the slow sound of your breathing. His thumb keeps stroking your side, tracing slow, absent circles that leave goosebumps behind, even with the soft fabric of your sweater separating him from your skin. Every so often he presses a kiss into your hairline, or your temple... Just wherever he can reach without jostling you too much.
When you shiver again, Bucky perks up.
“Still cold?”
“No.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “Liar.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You shivered.”
“I just—” You stop, realizing you have no explanation that you can give him.
You can feel his grin into his next words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs— soft and low— then catches your hand to press a quick peck on your knuckles.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “This is violence against your concerned citizen.”
Though the small crease in your eyebrows has finally smoothed out, your fingers keep twitching in his shirt, and your jaw ticks every few seconds like you’re biting back thoughts. The tightness in your shoulders is very much alive and burning under your skin, your breathing shaky at the edge each time you exhale. Bucky can't help but glance down at your leg shifting under the blanket every few seconds.
He lets it go on longer than he should.
His thumb traces the same slow path over your side, patient, grounding. Pressing his lips briefly to your forehead, he waits for you to melt into him the way you usually do. But instead, you sigh. It’s a little, quiet sound, but it carries too much weight.
“What is it?”
“Oh? Nothing, sorry.” Your reply is quick and rehearsed, and Bucky doesn’t like that one bit.
“Hey,” his arm squeezes your torso once. “None of that, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”
At that point you shift onto your back with a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…” You hesitate for what seems like an endless amount of time to Bucky, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth saying out loud. “I keep thinking about that paper. I should finish it by tomorrow, because we haven’t made any progress with that group project I told you about last week. I’ve sent four messages on the group chat to ask when we should meet and no one has read them.” A small, frustrated laugh bursts out of your chest. “I feel so dumb for chasing them, but at this point I’ll have to finish it by myself.”
His jaw tightens.
“You know that’s what they want you to do, right? They’re gonna take all the credits while you try to finish the entire presentation by yourself on top of your own assignments. You’re not supposed to carry all of that, baby. It’s not fair.” He frowns. “You've already got enough on your plate and you need to rest.”
“I know.” You groan, momentarily closing your eyes. “But I hate not having any control over it.” Words pick up speed as your eyes flit over the surface of your white ceiling turned orange by the warm lamp on your nightstand. “Everything’s half-finished and sitting there waiting for me, and I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to breathe.”
Bucky lets you vent at your own pace, because he knows better than to rush you. You try to sound calm, reasonable, like this is just another thing to manage, but he can feel the pressure running through your veins, the strain that causes your voice to shake at the end.
“I can help you.”
The words leave him before he can fully consider them.
You immediately turn your head to give him a reproachful look. “James.”
“What?”
“No.”
“Why–”
“You have your own stuff to do–”
Bucky shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
“You know I’d write all your papers if you’d let me, but you’re such a little spitfire, angel. You’ve got this ridiculous way of holding yourself to every rule, every detail... I love it, but damn, you’re stubborn as hell about doing things your own way.” A faint exhale of a laugh slips out the both of you despite the tension. “But I meant I can help you not think about it.”
You study him carefully, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Aren’t we already taking a break?”
That question sits between you, innocent, and Bucky swears the room is starting to spin.
His mind betrays him with an image so vivid it nearly steals the air from his lungs: you beneath him, pliant and hot, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouth soft against his, muffling your sweet little pants and moans. Just that morning Bucky woke up from the most wicked of dreams. It was of you, of your mouth, of your skin. He was touching and kissing you everywhere. His sheets were drenched in sweat and his underwear embarrassingly sticky when the sunrays split through the curtains to hit him with a brutal dose of reality. He tried jerking off in the shower, but the ache is always there, challenging him.
His eyes close briefly.
This is not the time.
But the truth is sitting at the back of his tongue, heavy and impatient.
“Maybe,” he starts slowly, choosing each word like the world might explode. “You just need something that forces your brain to focus on one thing.”
“Like what?”
His heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. He can't believe he's really going to say it.
“I just–” He swallows. “Have you ever thought about… I don’t know… Sex?”
It feels as if someone snatched the word from his throat and let it fall between the two of you, like a sturdy stone being violently thrown into a still lake.
You don’t react immediately, but you recoil a little, taken aback.
“I didn’t mean it like–” Bucky winces, suddenly aware of the very small distance between your bodies. So he stands up, cheeks flushed as your eyes follow him. “I mean, I did mean it, but not in a–” He exhales sharply. “God. That sounded worse.”
You blink at him, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing at the edge of the bed like he’s trying to outrun his own suggestion.
“I just meant,” he tries again, slower now. “Sometimes when your brain won’t shut up, you need something… Physical. Something that makes you focus on anything but your thoughts.” He gestures vaguely between you, not quite daring to point. “We’re– We’ve always been– I mean, there’s nothing we haven’t shared, so it doesn’t have to be weird. It could just be...”
You tilt your head. “What?”
“I…” His mouth opens and closes pathetically twice, the words dying in his throat as you adjust yourself, now sitting upright with your legs crossed. “It’d just be… Us.”
The room is plunged into a religious silence, broken solely by the low hum of the old fridge near the kitchenette and the faint sound of your labored breaths. It makes Bucky want to bury himself alive.
Your fingers keep fidgeting with the blanket.
“It’s been a long time.” You admit suddenly.
He stops abruptly in his quest of digging his own grave by walking up and down your room.
“What?”
You stubbornly stare at your hands, chin tucked down.
“Since... The last time I had sex.”
His stomach drops.
“How long?” Bucky croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant but he fails miserably as he almost chokes on his own saliva.
You hesitate for half a second, then mumble. “Since Chris.”
The name lands awkwardly between you, like a relic from another lifetime. Those five letters drag up memories Bucky thought he’d pushed down beneath the careful armor he’d worn around you for all these years. You wailing against his chest in his bedroom, the smug grin on Chris’ face every time he crossed you in the school hallways, and Bucky pretending he didn’t want to hunt that asshole down.
His throat suddenly goes very dry. “High school Chris?”
You nod, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
Bucky lets out a disbelieving breath. “That was... Years ago.”
You swallow. “I know.”
“You haven’t–” He can’t finish the sentence, but you understand.
You shake your head once, biting your bottom lip.
His brain struggles to process that. Bucky had convinced himself there had to be someone. Some random fling at one of the frat parties he couldn’t attend because of some last-minute visit to his family, or an assignment started too late. He spent nights lying awake waiting for your text reassuring him that you were home, safe and sound, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that of course you had allowed someone to touch you the way he wanted to.
But now this revelation feels like being shoved off a cliff, blindfolded in darkness.
“So,” you start softly, like you’re testing the word. “You believe… Sex would help.”
He swallows, nodding once. “It might.”
You glance at your best friend, then away again. “You’ve thought about it.”
It’s not a question.
Bucky huffs nervously. “I mean, I’m not blind.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His right hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”
There’s a moment of silence that makes Bucky wonder if being completely honest was the right choice.
“Recently?” You perk up.
He almost laughs at that. “Define recently.”
You try not to smile, and Bucky steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching a skittish wild animal.
“I’m not trying to make this weird.” He clarifies quickly. “I can go away, or– or we can pretend I never said anything and I’ll go back to being your emotional support distraction machine.”
Your head snaps up at that, a spark of hurt flashing in your eyes. “It’s not weird, and you’re not my emotional support distraction machine.” A frown settles on your features, and Bucky’s heart thuds at the adorable sight.
“I was joking, sweetheart.” He reassures you gently.
“I know, but I don’t like you calling yourself that. You know you are everything to me.”
“Yeah?” He strangles out, and you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.
“You are everything to me too.”
The air feels different now. Thicker. You glance at his mouth, just for a fleeting moment, yet his blue eyes– too bright, too earnest, like they’d strip you bare if you let yourself crack the slightest bit– catch that instantly.
“Are you suggesting we try?” You ask, almost daring him.
Bucky hesitates— not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to accept his absurd offer.
“Only if you want to.” His voice cracks. “I don’t– I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or something. We’re just–” He gestures between you helplessly. “We’re us.”
Your silence stretches just long enough for his chest to start caving in. Bucky examines your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, annoyance… Anything he can work with. But you give him nothing.
Just a clean slate of neutrality.
The shift inside himself is dreadful, hope morphing into humiliation. Of course he pushed too far. You’re stressed, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him and what does he decide to do? He suggests to have fucking sex with you.
Bucky takes a step back without meaning to, already bracing for the fallout. What would you do if he confessed right now? Telling you he’s loved you since scraped knees and shared headphones and walking you home because “it’s on my way anyway”. That every girl who approached him felt like a placeholder. That he’s swallowed the ache years ago, and locked the longing somewhere unreachable, so it would never hurt you.
“Forget I said anything,” he mutters, already stepping back from your bed. “That was out of line. You’re overwhelmed and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Even the pet name that has been lightning your eyes up since high school tastes bitter now.
She’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently. She’s figuring out if this will change things between you two. She’s wondering if she’s been leading you on without realizing it. She’s suspecting you’ve been trying to get in her pants all along.
Bucky moves another step back, running a hand over his face. “I–”
“James.”
He looks up immediately, and you’re suddenly watching him like you’re going to cry.
“I haven’t done this in years.” You repeat softly. “So if I’m bad at it–”
His stomach drops. “You won’t be.” He rushes out.
You observe him with a rueful smile, shoulders dropping as if suddenly freed from an unbearable weight. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He frowns, blushing violently at how certain he sounds.
Your sigh sounds like it's been living in your chest for years, and after you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together. “What happens now?”
His heart is pounding so hard it almost drowns out the show still playing in the background.
“Now,” he says carefully, stepping closer. “I ask if I can kiss you.”
You hold his gaze. “And then?”
“And then, if you say yes,” he continues, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to do it. Just once. And if you hate it, we pretend it never happened.”
You don’t hesitate, your body unconsciously leaning forward as he kneels in front of you.
“I won’t hate it.”
That confidence nearly unravels him.
“So… Can I?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, his hunger leaking out after holding it back for years.
At your tiny, shy nod, that carries more weight than anything he’s ever felt, his chest tightens, almost forgetting how to breathe. You are close enough to feel each other’s warmth, two best friends nervously hovering between what you’ve always been and what you’re about to become.
His hand lifts slowly, almost reverently, and cups the side of your face, his gaze focusing on the action. His thumb brushes along your jaw, gentle, before his eyes flutter close for a fraction of a second, enough to carve this moment in his soul. When he opens them, his breath hitches at what he sees: your pretty, trusting eyes fixed on him, openly giving him permission.
You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into the touch, and that tiny motion nearly stops his heart.
Bucky exhales softly and bravely leans in, lips brushing yours in a featherlike, tentative contact– a question posed in motion. It's the gentlest of kisses that is meant to taste the waters, to ask if you want this as much as he does. You respond immediately, pressing against him, and in that moment, a spark ignites in his chest.
Every sensation is magnified. The softness of your lips against his, your eyelashes brushing his cheek as you close your eyes, your quiet, pleased sigh… Each one sends shockwaves through him.
His other hand reaches your waist, tentative at first, just enough to anchor you against him. He doesn’t pull, allowing your body to find his to its own volition. The pressure is grounding, careful, and each subtle shift of your weight beneath his palm leaves him more certain, more addicted to the feeling of you.
Your hands slide to his chest, light at first, then press more firmly as if to claim the space that’s always been yours to take. His fingers twitch instinctively, tracing lines along your sides, feeling the curve of your ribcage, memorizing the rhythm of you in his arms. That’s when he deepens the kiss, careful not to overwhelm. Your lips part just a bit, yielding, allowing him to savor the sweetness, the trust, the closeness. And your hair is caught under his fingers as he tilts your head slightly to explore without breaking the fragile balance. The clean, floral scent of the body lotion you recently bought mixes with something inherently yours, filling his senses, grounding him while simultaneously setting his nerves ablaze. You make a high, almost imperceptible mewl that sends heat straight to his crotch, prompting Buck to lean into you just a little more, confirming that this– this closeness, this softness, this moment– is real.
Time stretches, the show hums unnoticed, the bed creaks faintly beneath the weight of you both, and your breathing mingles with his, shallow and intoxicating. Every tremor of yours is loaded with anticipation, your heart racing in tandem with his.
Finally, Bucky pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing.
“You’re incredible.” He whispers, voice raw and breathy, as if saying it louder would shatter this dream he never wants to wake up from. “Just… Gorgeous.”
Your smile is just short of shy as you press once more into him. He tilts his head, capturing the soft warmth of your lips again. Your sternums touch, and one of your hands grasps the hair on his nape, eliciting a low groan out of him. This time, Bucky kisses you as if he wants it to bruise, his mouth heavy against yours like he is trying so desperately to burn himself into you. You’re trembling in his tight hold, yes, but Bucky is barely holding together the pieces of a lifetime spent loving you in secret. His teeth graze your bottom lip in the middle of it all, leaving behind a surprisingly nice sting that makes you shiver. He wants to kiss you forever, even against the merciless ache in his lungs.
His hands finally gather the courage to move, like you belong to each other. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, slipping under the cotton of your oversized sweater to graze your bare skin, a moan shamelessly falling into your mouth.
“Bucky.” You whimper as his lips trace an unmapped path along your jaw.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He gently nibbles a sensitive spot just under your ear that you didn’t even know existed. You shiver again, feeling the curve of his grin against your bare throat. “What is it, doll? Talk to me.” He presses an open-mouthed, heated kiss on the crook of your collarbone, suckling until you squeak.
“I’m–” You gasp. “It’s hard.” You blurt out. “To... To come these days.” Your voice fades into a whisper. “Too much stress. I can’t focus.”
Bucky stills at your timid confession. He presses your foreheads together to quietly stare at you, all blown pupils and this dazed, adoring expression that makes your heartbeat jump. “That’s okay, angel.” He stops your anxious blabbering. “What do you usually do?”
“What?” You gape at him, not expecting that question.
“What do you do when you’re alone, baby girl?”
“I have… Toys.” Your cheeks feel so hot you start sweating.
“Show me.”
“You–You want to watch me while I… ?” You squeak, eyebrows shooting up.
His jaw clenches at the thought, cock already half-hard since your lips touched for the first time, before he nods. “Will you let me, darling?”
“But–”
Bucky calls your name, steady and serious. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course!” The way those words fall from your lips, offended that he would even hint you don’t trust him, elicits a boyish laugh out of him.
“Then let me help you.”
There’s a beat. A long, awful, charged beat.
“Okay.” You whisper.
“Yeah?” He perks up a little too enthusiastically.
“Yes, yes Bucky.” You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your amusement.
“Where are they?”
“Uhm, second drawer of the nightstand.”
Once the box is opened, Bucky's mouth goes completely dry, so much that it almost hurts to swallow.
His brain stops. Just… Fully refuses to work.
It’s ridiculous how fast heat climbs up his neck, spreads across his chest and then drops straight into his stomach.
A shockingly realistic dildo, a bullet vibrator, a suction vibrator connected to the curled end of a dildo, another dildo, and it vibrates too...
Pull yourself together, it’s just silicone for fuck’s sake.
But it’s yours.
And suddenly his mind, traitorous and vivid, supplies images he has spent years trying not to picture too clearly. You, laughing. You, stretching in one of his large hoodies. You, soft and sleepy in his arms. You, riding one of these fucking toys. You, spread on his bed with that thing stretching your pussy just enough to burn deliciously. You, moaning and whining and calling his name, begging to make it better with his–
And under the mortification, something else coils low in his crotch. Crude, shameful… Disrespectful.
“They’re just toys.” You mumble, promptly looking away. “Right?”
“Yes!” Bucky rushes out, hating the way you seem to make yourself a little smaller, as if ashamed. “Yes, sweetheart. I'm sorry. It’s just… I never knew you…” He trails off absentmindedly, exhaling harshly as his blue eyes trace your curves. His hands slide slowly to your waist, thumbs brushing small strokes over your hipbones as if he’s reacquainting himself with something he’s known forever but is allowed to touch differently now.
“Let me make you feel good. Can I?” Bucky murmurs, momentarily forgetting about the protagonists of his future dreams. He guides you back until he has you propped against your plush pillows by the headboard, their fuzziness and the soft plaid comforter under you easing your nerves.
You nod, certain but coyly.
Bucky then leans in carefully, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth first, gently.
“Does this feel good? Here?” Half-lidded eyes burn into yours, your breath catching in your throat at the tenderness, and you nod again, quickly.
He smiles against your skin and shifts slightly, lips brushing along your jaw. Slower, lingering.
“What about here, hm?”
You bite down on your lower lip, the smallest sound trying to escape your throat before you swallow it back. Another nod.
His hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb warm beneath your ear as he presses a kiss just under it. He feels the way your pulse jumps, feels the way your shoulders tense before melting again.
“Oh,” Bucky hums quietly. “Definitely here.”
Your fingers curl into his shirt as a reflex, grounding yourself and him both.
Moving lower, his lips set over the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, charting your skin like an astronomer tracing a constellation he’s spent a lifetime hoping to find.
“Here?”
You nod too fast this time, and Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, all twinkling eyes and clenched jaw.
“You don’t have to be so quiet,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your lip to free it from your teeth. “I wanna hear you.”
That only makes it worse.
You shake your head slightly, embarrassed, and he chuckles under his breath, so terribly fond.
“No?” He whispers, leaning back in. “You don’t want to let me hear your sweet sounds?”
He kisses your mouth this time, taking your chin between his fingers and making sure your tongues touch in a slow dance. And you don’t disappoint, rewarding him with the most precious of moans.
“Good job, sweetheart.” Your next breath is shaky, gaze avoiding his as Bucky reaches lower to brush his mouth on the sliver of belly exposed by the raised hem of your sweater.
Another nod, and Bucky smiles against your skin, teasing.
“Hm, still nodding at me?” There’s no bite to it. “Cute, but I know you can give me more.” Your hand slides then into his hair as a response, tugging lightly, yet Bucky almost breaks his composure. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to your stomach like he is the one being unraveled.
“You like that, huh?” He sighs, voice low. “Making me lose my mind over you?” The corners of your mouth lift mischievously, and Bucky has to grit his teeth to not smile at the adorable sight.
“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumbs slide along your hips, adjusting himself so he can go even lower. “I might just return the favor… In a way you won’t forget.”
Your breath hitches, and his lips return patient, learning you like a sacred treasure.
“Here?” His mouth lands on your hipbone, and you nod, pressing your lips together.
“And here?”
A kiss on your thigh that again gives him a nod in return.
“And what about here, angel?”
Your breath stutters, and this time you can’t stop the high whimper that slips free.
His lips... Kissing your clothed pussy.
Bucky stills for half a second to make sure he heard right, before a smug grin brightens his features.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”
Once he’s climbed back up, hands back at the curve of your waist, he squeezes the flesh, relishing in your startled squeak. “How often do you use them?” He glances between your cloudy eyes and your tantalizing lips as you cling to his broad shoulders.
“What?” You mumble dizzily, blinking as if waking up from a soft dream.
“The toys.”
“It–It depends if–” A gasp interrupts you as he starts mouthing down your jaw and neck. “If I’m in the mood– Bucky.” You sigh, tossing your head back when his fingers dig into your sides.
“Hm?” He barely acknowledges you.
“Tickles.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. His grip eases a little, stroking the skin as if to apologize. He goes back to your lips just in time to swallow your wanton whine. Meanwhile, his right hand grabs the box.
“What’s your favorite, sweetheart?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek that feels too pure compared to what you are about to do. Gulping, you sit more upright to examine your secret stash as he holds it between you two. Your lips purse in contemplation, and Bucky can’t resist leaning forward for another quick peck, his left hand gently splaying over your thigh to comfort you.
Your hand snatches the purple dildo that vibrates, your cheeks heating up as Bucky leans back over you with a satisfied smile lingering on his lips to kiss you with more love than hunger. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and when granted permission, he meets your tongue in an eager tangle.
“This okay?” He pants in your mouth, his fingers having traveled to the waistband of your sweats without you even noticing it. His lips have you so dizzy your brain has been turned to complete mush, so you can only nod, already tugging him back to you as he lowers your bottoms, tossing them somewhere on the floor. You whimper in protest when Bucky doesn’t move, taking a moment to examine your panties, something that you were entirely unprepared for.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time, baby?”
Oh.
You feel your eyes widen, jaw going sack as you notice exactly what he was referring to. Glancing away in embarrassment, your hands shoot up to cover your face. You knew you were aroused, but hearing your best friend declaring it so crudely just makes you want to hide under your sheets. Your core throbs just a little, hot and aching under the uncomfortable fabric and his intense attention. Your fingers part shyly just in time to see Bucky reach for your centre, flinching as two fingers start a slow rubbing motion with just enough pressure, and an occasional pinch of your bundle of nerves. Your slick seeps through and turns the cotton to a darker color, and Bucky groans as his digits get sticky with your arousal, his other hand undoing the belt and then unbuttoning his jeans for some room for his erection.
Your stomach churns as you bravely tuck your palms under your chin, finding him still staring at that stain. It’s really happening, you realize at once, particularly vulnerable now that your best friend looms between your spread thighs.
“Your shirt, can you…?” You croak out softly, and that’s when Bucky shoots his head up, clumsily going for the hem of his sweater. You wrap one hand around his neck to bring him back into a kiss as you let the other wrap around the dildo, slipping it between your legs. Still devouring your lips, his fingers focus now on your panties, holding them from both sides until an abrupt rip echoes in the silent bedroom.
You gasp, eyes snapping wide open just in time to see his hand carelessly toss your ruined underwear over his shoulders. Unbothered by the fact that he literally just tore the fabric in two, his whole body tenses at a faint click, followed by a low buzzing noise. The toy comes to life in your hand, tingling your palm, and you give the sensation a short moment of consideration before pressing the button again.
“Fuck.” He exhales harshly, his forehead falling on your shoulder to brace himself as he feels your body tense beneath his, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat when you press the tip of the toy firmly against your clit. “Can I–” He clears his throat, voice so rough you can hear restrain bleed through. “Can I look, princess?” He could bust right now, completely untouched, but your comfort comes first. Always.
“Ah– yes, yes please!” You shiver, eyes falling shut.
“So fucking pretty.” Swallowing back a growl, his hips shift impatiently. His palms land on your thighs, thumbs stroking the skin at a calming pace. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, dark eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features.
“Open your eyes, baby. C’mon.”
The reminder is gentle but you obey instantly, eager to show Bucky just how good you can be for him.
“That's it. Good girl.” That proud look takes over his face again, the praise eliciting a whimper out of you before you can stop it. Your urge to please him definitely goes beyond eating reminders and proper breaks between your study sessions.
It just feels so right.
Your hips jolt up unconsciously when you start grinding the toy against your clit after pressing the small button once to let it vibrate faster. Your free hand scrambles to grasp Bucky’s wrist to find some sort of comfort while you let yourself fall blindfolded into the pleasure.
“Bet that feels so good, right?”
Your eyes drift over him, half-lidded, drinking in the stubble darkening his jaw, the line of his nose, the sweep of his shoulders, each contour and shadow marking him as impossibly real. Scorching heat hums between you, and you feel it not just in your skin but deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it could tear you open. The subtle tension in his hands as they hold you, claim you, memorize you, are a wordless testament of the raw intensity that runs through his veins, leaving your body taut and starving for more. Every brush of his lips, every press of his palm, every quiet sigh that slips from him drives you closer to breaking, like stepping through your front door after the world has worn you down, and the pull in your chest finally bursts, and you can only surrender to its force.
“Bucky.” You call out to him absently, panting at the sensations traveling from your core and spreading through your veins like electricity.
“Say it again. My name.” His voice is commanding though you can see his throat bobbing shakily.
“Bucky.” You moan, raw and clear this time, even if your face feels like it just bursted in flames.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He notices the exact moment you register the words, a shiver shaking your body as your eyes close again in pure bliss.
You want to be his good girl. You want him to be proud of you. You want him.
Your pussy clenches and aches for release, the vibrations are cruel, causing your mind to go rogue and indulging in fantasies of Bucky ordering you to come rather than just watch it happen passively.
“Why don’t you take it off your clit for me and fuck that sweet pussy now?”
You twitch, aching desperately with the need to put the toy back, to force yourself over the edge against his order, yet your body complies without hesitation, sliding the dildo inside your soaking core.
This is what you need. To be full, to be fucked. The stretch feels perfect, almost as though it belongs inside you.
“Shit, look at you taking it so good.”
You draw the dildo back out again, relishing the drag, setting a slow and steady pace with your wrist as a wanton moan falls from your parted lips. “Oh Bucky.”
“Love when you say my name like that.” He grits out almost to himself, exhaling harshly. “Faster, baby, c’mon.”
You follow his order, thrusting harder, faster, your eyes rolling back as your pussy clenches tightly around the toy in its desperation.
“Good girl.”
You are a good girl. His good girl.
Just as you’re in the midst of exploring and pleasuring your own body, you experience the added sensation of Bucky’s hands– vast, warm, so familiar yet new as they explore your sides. They glide under your sweater, up and up, until your chest is exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.
“That’s it, baby. Keep that pretty hole stretched for me.” He encourages, his tongue licking his bottom lip as his gaze locks with your hazy eyes, before slowly leaning down.
His breath is hot on your skin, that’s the first thing your brain registers. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly kisses you, teasing his way down your body, leaving soft pecks that send shivers down your spine. His thumbs expertly brush your nipples, taking his time, indulging in every little moan and restrained gasp. Bucky plants two kisses on the swell of your breasts, then focuses on your already hard peaks. Both nipples receive the softest of nibbles and sweet suckles, the tip of his tongue playfully flicking them only to suck harder.
“Such pretty tits. Why were you hiding them from me, doll hm?” His eyes glance up, slyly grinning when his teeth bite down a little harder and your back jerks up.
“You’re drooling, baby. Can’t imagine what’ll happen when I split you on my fat cock.” The needy, desperate whine is out of your mouth the second the thought enters your mind. He licks his way up, from the side of your breast to your damp cheek, before firmly grabbing your jaw to spit on your tongue. “Swallow.”
Gasping, you quickly follow his instruction, a hint of humiliation swirling chaotically in your belly. “Beautiful.”
“Bucky please.”
His answers is instant, attentive. “Please what? Talk to me baby, what do you want?”
It takes you a few tries to let the words out, arousal and embarrassment making it difficult to string a proper sentence together. “I want– fuck– I want you.” You eventually stammer.
The deep groan rumbling in his ribcage goes straight to your core. “Good girl, sweetheart. I’m proud of you. Fuck that pretty pussy nice and hard for me and you’ll have me.”
You nod eagerly, whimpering as you pick up the pace, pushing the dildo as deep as you can, and it’s not long before you’re floating again, light like a fuzzy cloud of pink cotton candy. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, bare to his whims and exposed to his adoring eyes, but you really need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, to have his strong hands that until now have only handled you with care to ruin you to tears and hold you down as his cock carves its shape inside you.
Bucky coos, observing your reaction meticulously, your legs spreading impossibly wider as you let your head hit the headboard. “That's it. Does it feel good to fill that pussy for me?”
For him. He has such a filthy mouth and it spurs you on even more. Covered in a sheen of sweat, you manage to answer him through the fog in your brain. “So good.”
His grin is something dirtily mocking. “It's been a long time since anyone has fucked you like you deserve, and now my baby needs my cock to take care of her, isn’t that right sweet girl?”
Overwhelmed, something breaks inside of you and you’re unable to hold anything back. With a raw moan you almost sob in frustration. “Please. Bucky please fuck me, need it so bad!”
His shaky exhale gives his anticipation away. “I will, baby. I will.” His eyes lock on your trembling form, steady and safe, as you clench and ache and yearn. “Fucking hell, doll, you’re perfect.” His lips are again all over your face, your lust-glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter shut with desire. “My pretty girl, all mine.”
It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?”
Yes, yes! That’s what you need!
Nodding enthusiastically, you chase the climax that you’ve been greedily anticipating, only to realize it’s not going to happen like this. You love being stuffed and pounded, but having an orgasm just from it? It’s not something that comes easy to you. All at once, the pleasurable torture feels more like a cruel punishment, and you can’t help the dejected whimper that escapes your throat. You need more, but pleasing Bucky is necessary, something stronger than the urge to rub your clit.
“Bucky.” You wail, his voice is not enough anymore.
He gently soothes his palms along your thighs and the effect is immediate. You melt into the mattress, the warmth of his skin on yours settling your rapidly unravelling nerves. “What is it? I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me”
“I need– can I touch it, please?”
Bucky sits back on his heels with a playful smirk. “You can’t come if you don’t touch your pretty little clit, can you?”
“No.” You shake your head, a thrill of excitement racing under your hot skin. “I–I hit it sometimes too.” You reveal quietly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
His eyes widen, Adam's apple bobbing, and his whole body goes still, stripped of every shred of cockiness. “What?”
You quickly swat your hand against yourself, glancing up at him to find him frozen, staring at your bare pussy, wet and shiny. You repeat the action, squeaking. “Like this.”
His nostrils flare, tongue licking his lips like a wolf ready to sink his fangs into his coveted prey. “Sweet girl, you like getting your little pussy slapped?”
At your eager nod, your best friend swears every ounce of oxygen has vanished from the room.
“Then slap it for me, princess.”
Fiercely determined to show him and thankful for finally getting some stimulation on your clit, you swiftly pull the toy out just enough to bring your hand down with a sharp slap. The shock of the impact makes your body lurch, the sensation recoiling through your core as the wet sound resounds lewdly in his ears.
“Fuck!” Your pussy is so hot and tender with the amount of attention it has been receiving from both you and Bucky, but the slap is a welcome change in sensation, spurring you closer to that final edge. Sliding the dildo back inside, you feel delirious with lust.
“Again.”
You strike your flesh harder this time, gasping at the delicious sting. The friction on your clit brings you dangerously close to your climax as you keep alternating a few thrusts of the dildo to the little spanks. You’re not so sure you’d be able to wait for his permission to come if Bucky keeps ordering you to do it.
Humming thoughtfully, his cock hot and throbbing, still trapped in the confines of his wet underwear, Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a fraction of self-control before coming untouched just by witnessing the girl he yearned so long for losing herself to this debauchery.
“Maybe one day I’ll make you come just by slapping your pretty pussy.” Your reaction is immediate, hips twitching up and mouth forming a lovely circle around a loud whine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty, little girl.” His hand squish your cheeks together with a cocky smirk. “You want another one, doll?”
“Please.” Maybe if he let you, you could come from slapping your pussy now. The thought of orgasming from something so depraved renews that spark of embarrassment, only serving to drive you deeper into this maddening lust.
“So fucking polite.” He growls. “Again.”
Your body jerks violently as the pain ricochets through your whole being. It feels so overwhelmingly good, every nerve alive and sore, tortured by this endless, pulsing arousal.
Tears start running down your cheeks unprompted. “Bucky please! ’M so close.”
Nuzzling your jaw, he cups your face with such tenderness, appealing directly to that part of you that would do anything for him. “I know, princess. I know. One more thing and then I’ll let you come, okay?” You nod weakly, sniffling. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart.”
You sob then, so broken and sensitive you aren’t sure how much more you can take.
His velvety voice rumbles against your neck. “Take the dildo out and turn it off for me.”
“But–” Bucky wants to punch himself in the nose at the look of pure misery on your face.
“Do you trust me, darling?” Humming dejected, your hand trembles as you whine at the loss, your hole clenching around nothing.
“Good girl. Breathe with me.”
You pull in some deep breaths, his hand flattening yours against his chest to follow his lead. Of course he wouldn’t leave you like this, and trying to fight off the fog clouding your brain, you wonder if he’s going to fuck you finally.
“Show me the toy.”
You balk at his request, somehow more self-conscious about this than the fact that you’ve been masturbating in front of your best friend for God knows how long.
Hesitant, you lift the damp dildo, and Bucky leans forward to inspect it.
“It’s soaked with your sweet pussy juice, doll.”
A surge of arousal boils in your veins at his words, prompting you to cover your face with your free hand, but Bucky promptly catches your wrist, gently bringing it back to its previous place.
“No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. Take a look, you did so good for me.”
It’s not much of a surprise to you to find the dildo glistening, yet you bite your bottom lip out of mortification. The thing is, seeing the proof of your raging arousal standing proudly between you two shouldn’t make you leak so much.
Bucky smiles, before guiding you into an open-mouth kiss with a hand on your nape. “Look at you. You're so fucking gone, aren’t you?” He blabbers against your lips. “Beautiful… So, so beautiful. Wanna come for me, baby?”
As you nod enthusiastically, still completely spaced out, he nods along with you. “Yeah, I know you do. C’mon then, put that stupid toy to use.”
Turning the dildo back on, you notice that your wrist is a little sore, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to stop now.
“Oh my God.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head as you start rubbing the toy around your nub, the sensation taking you higher and higher as the room is soon being filled with your lewd sounds. At this point you’re far too close to what you’ve been craving to care about your neighbors.
Bucky diverts your attention before you can get carried away, still cupping your cheeks and hovering over your lips. “Don’t you dare come without my permission, baby girl. I want to know when you’re close, alright?”
While your initial thought is to complain about having to wait a little longer, you bite your tongue and decide to not challenge his patience. The thought of being so obedient for him is too tantalizing to resist, so you do your best to hold back as each vibration hurls you towards your imminent climax.
“Fuck! I’m so close– Bucky please make me come. I can't– fuck.”
“Let go, doll. C’mon, you have been such a good girl for me. Soak it for me, make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?”
The tight knot in your lower belly finally snaps, his words forcing you over the edge and into pure oblivion. Electricity courses through your veins and your poor, abused pussy throbs and clenches, your whole body shuddering uncontrollably. You are on your knees, at your pleasure’s mercy, from your trembling thighs to the noises shamelessly falling from your parted lips. You’re barely able to register Bucky talking you through it, with you every step of the way.
“There you go. You’re so fucking perfect. Fuck, I want to keep you. Please let me keep you, angel. Love you so damn much.”
You have never had such an intense orgasm in your entire life, its power taking the breath from your lungs and leaving you floundering for some kind of stability.
“Deep breaths, honey, c’mon.”
Feeling entirely too sensitive now, you quickly yank the vibrator away, throwing it somewhere on the bed. You try to focus on your breathing as your head flops back to look at the ceiling, utterly exhausted and still quivering from the leftover pleasure.
“That’s it, good girl.”
Without wasting a minute, Bucky is already kissing his way down your body, gently and attentively, as if trying to leave little pieces of himself along your skin. Until he stops between your legs, resting his head against your inner thigh, two fingers run from your clit down to your entrance. You flinch, body lighting up.
“Bucky–”
He softly parts your glistening folds with his thumbs, inviting your pussy to his hungry gaze.
“Haven’t finished with you yet, sweetheart. Look at this pretty mess.” He whispers directly into your pussy, his words sending shivers down your spine, his hot breath tickling your most intimate area. He lightly flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing you with delicate and precise touches that burn so deliciously.
You feel like your body is going to implode as his fingers slide back and forth between your lower lips, and without warning, he slips one inside, eliciting a strangled moan out of you. Almost immediately, he finds that spongy spot as he leans in to tease around your puffy lips with his teeth, grazing the meat until your hips twitch up with need. He thoroughly licks up the slickness from your inner thighs, savoring every drop of arousal from your previous release. Your body is slowly melting under his unhurried actions, until Bucky decides to attack your clit with his mouth and you flinch, feet digging into the bed as a yelp leaves your throat.
“Ah! Bucky!” You choke out, a hand coming to grasp his wrist while the other fists a handful of your bed sheets.
He knows you are especially sensitive, after all that relentless teasing and prolonged edging, but it only makes it better. “‘S okay, I've got you, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” With a mumble, he leaves a sweet kiss on your inner thigh, then slips another finger alongside the first one, making you cry out as he overstimulates your sweet spot.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.
Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily licking a long, slow strip from your clenching entrance all the way up to your pulsating clit, your natural scent making him dizzy as he literally buries his face in your core. His saliva drips down his chin when his lips eagerly suckle on your sensitive nub, coaxing out desperate moans from your quivering lips. His need to please you is insatiable, and you can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending jolts of pleasure through your spine. You are completely lost in this wild lust, so feverishly intense, that you are left trembling with pleasure, on the verge of transcending into another state of being. His actions are an overwhelming assault on your senses, your mind and body both spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensation of his fingers thrusting so precisely inside your poor walls.
Bucky cannot escape the pleasure, his addiction to your unique flavor driving him to new heights of bliss. His eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features, his hand imprinting its shape on the soft flesh of your thigh to stop himself from humping your bed like an animal, so close to his own release that he could come right there with a single touch of his cock.
At some point, he pulls away with a wet pop, groaning in delight at the intoxicating taste. “C’mon, make a stupid mess on my face, beautiful.” He growls, voice husky with urgent arousal. His mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking on it with a steady rhythm, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds as he eagerly consumes you, his soft groans adding to the melody of pleasure filling the bedroom.
His fingers curl up, massaging that sweet, sweet spot of yours, so lost in the euphoria of it all that his arms shake with pent-up desire, his actions leaving you both teetering on the edge of sublime release.
“I’m gonna– fuck , please don’t stop!” You cry out, fisting his hair and he grunts. He’s a fucking beast as he devours you whole.
“That’s it, doll, give it to me. Grind on my tongue, just use my mouth.”
You obey, literally humping his face, convulsing under a thin layer of sweat. “‘M gonna come.” You sob. “Jamie– fuck!” His tongue abuses the poor bundle of nerves while quickly pumping his fingers even as your walls clamp, your slick pouring into his eager mouth and down his chin, soaking his stubble. He loves when you go limp in his hold, your whole body quivering under his palms.
“Shh-shh, you're okay, pretty.” He slowly retracts his fingers while keeping his eyes locked on your face, still dragging his lower face between your puffy folds, rubbing you raw with his facial hair to gather every bit of your orgasm. He brings his fingers to his mouth once he sits back on his heels, making a show of licking them clean before he crawls forward to hover over you again, his bulge now impatiently pressing against the fabric for your attention.
“Holy shit.” You huff, on the brink of passing out.
“One more.” Bucky kisses you, like an apology for being so needy.
“What?” You squeak, still dazed yet blinking at him, more awake than ever.
“One more, baby.” He pleads, his hand soothing along your hips and waist as you faintly catch the rustling of fabric. “You were crying so prettily for my cock before, don’t you want it anymore?”
Before you can beg to give it to you, a weight settles on your soppy core, hot and solid, sliding between your folds. Your eyes shoot down as Bucky thrusts forward, the underside of his length grinding along your heat, coating him in your slick.
“Shit.” He grits out.
Gaping, your hand slowly reaches down to grasp him. He’s so thick and heavy in your palm, throbbing with desire as precum dribbles from the bulbous tip and over your knuckles.
“Yeah, touch me like that, baby.” He rasps out, panting. “You’re so sweet to me. Letting me play with your pussy until you’re dumb and drooling and all pretty and relaxed for me.” He wraps his fingers around yours on his girth, tightening and squeezing the base. “There we go.” He grunts, bending down until there isn’t a sliver of air between you both.
You mewl pathetically, garbling nonsense. He’s deliciously mean as he lovingly bullies your clit with his cock. Your raw nerves burn with every thrust, your juices spilling down your ass. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, sweet girl? Wanna be my pretty slut, baby? Spend every day being stuffed full of my cock? You won’t have to think about anything, just be nice and wet for me. I’ll put it in your mouth, and then get you on your hands and knees just to spank your pretty ass until you’re begging for me to fuck you.” He chuckles darkly as your eyes glaze over and your breaths go thin and shaky, every cell in your body buzzing as you cling to his forearms.
“You feel me on your pretty button, baby?” He grinds again. “Poor little clit must feel so sensitive. Is that why you’re crying?”
Above you, Bucky curses, mouth watering at the sight of the creamy mess you made on his cock, soaking the bed and his thighs as well.
“Are you going to let me inside, baby girl? Fill you up with my seed, and watch it leak out because it’s too much for you to keep inside?”
“Please, please, Bucky.” You beg, nails digging into his skin. “‘M ready, so ready for you.” A pulse of agony beats through you.
He shushes your blabbering softly, cupping your cheek. “Alright, pretty girl. I'm here, just a little more patience.” The reverence in his blue eyes pours into your heart, unraveling in a delicious storm. “Thank you for letting me have you like this. Thank you for giving me the honor.”
You’ve been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending lifetime. Every fiber of your being has ached for him, and now that you have him like this, warm and gentle and incredibly gorgeous, staring down at you with his blue eyes so full of fondness, you can’t ignore it anymore.
“I love you, Bucky.” You blurt out, tremblingly grabbing his face with both of your hands, bringing him down into another kiss– hard, and desperate, and filthy, your heart beating so fast you’re convinced it’s going to escape your chest anytime now.
With flushed cheeks, Bucky pants, tip of the nose brushing yours. “Sweetheart,” he soothes dotingly, an ache to his voice that creeps through the tenderness as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in reverently, brought to his knees by three simple words. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this. Of you. And now I’ve got you in my arms, and you’re mine– you are mine, right?”
“Wanna be yours, always have.” You whine, and with a broken groan, he caresses your hips, mapping out every inch of your body with his strong hands, kissing any part he can reach like this. He trails from your neck to your collarbones and then your breasts, capturing a nipple between his lips. Your arms hook over his shoulders to keep him close, softly moaning as he switches between your tits, his warm tongue taking care of both nubs thoroughly.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmurs, forcing himself to stay still as you adjust to his length teasing your entrance. “You’re gonna take it for me like a good girl, right?”
“Your good girl.”
That earns you a feral kiss that you break with a sharp cry when your hole starts stretching wide, welcoming the leaking tip with some resistance. Bucky initially distracts you with sweet pecks, but as he sinks into your warmth maintaining a clear head becomes tricky, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as a choked groan leaves his throat.
“So deep.” You squeal, thighs trembling around his hips as his base finally meets your core.
“I know.” Bucky kisses your cheek, shuddering. “I know, but you’re taking it so good. Jesus, look at you.” He swallows as his hips ease back slowly, until you can feel only the head inside. You squeak out a pathetic whimper, hands coming to cling onto his shoulders. Then he bottoms out again, quicker this time. You gasp, back arching.
“Fuck!” You almost scream, your insides feeling more sensitive than before.
Bucky finds a temporary steady pace, letting you melt beneath him, then shifts your legs back, until they almost touch your chest, and thrusts harder as soon as you respond with a sob of pleasure, the new angle sending your eyes back in your head.
“Oh shit! Bucky!” You reach around and dig your nails into his shoulders, toes curling.
He can’t take his eyes off you, drinking carefully in your little details as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut every time your pussy pulses with a new sensation. At some point his wet mouth is on your breasts again, flicking your nipple some more just to listen to your pathetic whimpers and feel you arch back into him. His hips are picking up their pace, slamming against that deep spot at an almost desperate speed. When his fingers momentarily leave your hip to pinch and rub your sensitive clit, your lips open in a silent scream as you clamp involuntarily around him.
“That’s it, baby, there you go.” He coos, bullying your nub some more before he traps you completely under him on the rocking bed. His pecs press against your bouncing breasts, your sensitive nipples rubbed raw.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” His tongue drags up your cheek, your bitter tears fueling his primal side as he stifles your wanton noises with his tongue, your lips and teeth clashing in a filthy kiss.
“Can feel you clench so hard, are you gonna squirt and make a stupid mess all over my cock?” His arms slide under your back, keeping you firmly against him with every rough thrust. “I’m gonna make a mess on your pussy and fill you up with all my love.”
The shameless sound of your flesh slapping against his is so loud but you can’t hear it, too dizzy and lost in the feeling of his dick hitting your sweet spot with a new kind of precision and his muscled arms keeping you safe and still for him to play with you.
“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” He growls, pounding into you earnestly, panting like a feral beast. “This is my pussy now. Gotta keep you marked up, show everyone that you're my girl– shit.” His voice breaks when you clench, choking him. “Wanna be mine forever, sweetheart?”
It’s too much– his fierce, insistent thrusts, his pubic hair stimulating your clit, the way he talks to you as if he’s losing his mind, just blabbering whatever pops into his head.
And you? You just take it. You take it and you scream his name, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. You whine and your toes curl with each thrust, your hips trying to rock back onto his, unsuccessfully. Until your climax unravels violently and you ascend to heaven. Your body erupts in flames, and you squirt as Bucky marvels with gritted teeth at the broken fountain making a mess of his lower abdomen and cock, still fucking you through it to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. He needs to ruin you for anyone else, the only thought in your mind each time your fingers plunge into your pussy being him and only him.
You shake uncontrollably in his hold, but he keeps you firmly locked on his cock, balls deep against your quivering, gushing hole.
He growls against your tear-stained cheek, every muscle contracting. “Gonna come, baby. Gonna come so fucking hard for you.” He repeats, his voice bordering on a snarl. “You are my girl now.” He pants, digging his fingers in the flesh of your ass. “Love fucking you, love watching you come, love you–”
Your vision is blurry, yet you don’t need it to know Bucky is completely surrounding you, from the heavy panting of his chest against yours to his damp skin sticking to your body. You decide to not acknowledge the creamy mess where you’re connected though, too embarrassed by what you have done. It’s intense, the way you’re so wet, warm and tight around him.
Bucky groans gutturally, harshly pressing his lips to yours, his face scrunched up tightly as he pins you down, not a sliver of space between you. “Fucking take it, fuck– take it, please–” His hot cum floods your ruined hole, spurting along your stretched walls to claim you fully. There’s so much that it spills out and down his pulsating length to his tense balls, joining your mess everywhere.
Bucky ends up collapsing against you, forearms firmly planted on the mattress to keep himself from completely crushing you, mindful of your well-being even as he feels like he is going to pass out after this powerful release, fueled by having restrained himself for who knows how long.
You’re still shaking in his hold, exhausted and sated, but definitely more alert now that you have both freed yourselves of years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration. He’s reluctant to let you go just yet– and you couldn’t be more grateful for that, your body feeling like it’s going to crumble after your last climax– so he opts to pepper the slope of your neck in lazy kisses, indulging in your soft mewl when he finally reaches your mouth. Bucky shifts just enough to brush a thumb over your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close and then back open, as though checking if he’s still there.
“Hey,” He clears his throat, voice still hoarse. “Are you okay?”
Your lips part, words sticking somewhere between your throat and the tips of your tongue. You try, but only a breathless hum escapes, and it’s enough. Bucky leans closer, resting his nose against yours, inhaling, grounding himself in the reality of you.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers more to himself, worry threading through his awe. “I just… I just want to know if you’re okay.”
You manage a weak nod, letting your fingers curl around his wrists. His eyes, wide and unguarded, observe you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to understand.
“You’re perfect,” he says finally, the words spilling urgently, reverently. “Every damn bit of you. You’re—” He swallows, shaking his head slightly, as if even language feels too clumsy for this. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”
A small, exhausted laugh catches in your throat, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him feel your trembling, the last threads of overstimulated energy slowly unraveling. He holds you tighter, hums a low, almost inaudible note against your hair, and for a long while, neither of you speaks.
When he cradles your face in his hands, Bucky looks more lucid. “We can talk after. But you need to know, doll, you are my whole world.” His forehead presses to yours, like he needs the contact to stay upright, as if pulling away means the gravity of the moment would swallow him whole.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice breaking at the edges. “How long I tried to hold this in. But I can’t anymore, not after tonight, not after having a taste of what it feels like to be completely and utterly yours.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw.
“I think I’ve loved you,” his breath hitches, because he can’t believe he’s finally saying it out loud for you to hear. No moans, no bed creaking to drown the words. Just the quiet stillness of the night, as if the moon itself is holding its breath with him. “Since I was too young to even understand what that meant.”
Your hand flattens against the rapid drum of his chest, perceiving every thrum, every irregular skip, every fierce, insistent beat that has somehow always belonged to you. For a moment it feels as if the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, trembling bubble. Your eyes glisten with tears you haven’t let fall, tiny, fragile sparks that catch the dim light like stars reflected in dark water, and your chest tightens with the ache of everything you’ve held in silence for so long. All the unspoken words between you, the years of stolen glances, quiet worry, and secret yearning suddenly all converge in this single moment. His shoulders shift, leaning ever so slightly toward you, and your fingers press more firmly, almost desperate, into the heat of his chest.
“Jamie,” your voice quivers. “It’s always been you.”
And when you glance up at him, so radiant and so inevitably his, Bucky finally looks at you without any restraint, staying like he always has, and always will.
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going on a date with bucky barnes and it all goes so nicely, so sweetly, so smoothly. you both had so much fun, chemistry and a good time. he's charming, witty and he keeps flirting and complimenting you at every chance he gets. he held your hand all night long, neither of you even noticed it, it just happened naturally, your cheeks hurt from how much you're smiling and both of your hearts are at ease.. that's until the date comes to an end, it's time to pay and you ask him if he wants to go 50/50.
that would be the first time he lets go of your hand that night, it's unintentional just happened out of pure shock. "50... what.." the confusion on his face, you'd think he's an alien seeing earth the first time.
"you know.. 50/50.. we'll split the bill between us"
"split the bill?" he asks and you just nod, he'd blink at you, "50/50.. splitting the bill.. what is this about, i asked you on a date"
now it's your turn to be the alien seeing earth for the first time, "we are on a date, bucky. this is a date"
"no, it's not a date."
"it is a date"
"you're asking me to split the bill, this is not a date"
"oh my god sam was right, you can be such a drama queen." you laugh, he just stares at you, blankly. "it might've been a while since the last time you went on a date so let me break it down for you.. these days, people who go on dates split the bill, they go 50/50" you shrug, "it's normal"
"it's normal? you've done it before?"
you nod, "every date i've been on has been 50/50 yeah"
bucky nearly flips the table. bucky who spent all of his three dollars in the 1940's trying to win a teddybear for a girl he had a crush on, bucky who used to save up most of his income in an old shoe box underneath his bed so he can take his girl to a nice diner, bucky who went to the florist to get you a bouquet of roses and didn't even ask for the price just handed his credit card because to him your smile is priceless, bucky is about to have a stroke.
"you've never been on a date" he says, face still blank.
"yes i have"
"no you haven't. this is your first date." he says, "i'm your first time." he smirks and you blush at the possible implication. "50/50.." he scoffs under his breath, "what else are you gonna tell me next? i should walk on the inside of the sidewalk? keep my jacket on when you're cold? sleep further from the door? not open doors for you? jesus sweetheart what has the world come to?"
you hide your smile, you love it when he rambles like that, he's so calm yet so offended all at once somehow, it's funny and endearing. "what's wrong with walking on the inside of the sidewalk?" you joke and he rolls his eyes making you laugh, "so.. no 50/50? are you sure?" you ask one last time, hands on your purse on your lap.
he keeps his eyes on you as he pays the bill, glaring playfully, gets up and pulls out your chair before putting his black leather jacket on your shoulders, "no doll," he offers you his hand which you quickly hold, intertwining your fingers with his, and opens the door with his metal hand, "no 50/50."
݈݇— pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader
݈݇— themes: Porn with Plot. Propositioning, Dating Life, Fingering, Breast/nipple play, Neck Kisses, Ear Nibbles, 69, Oral (M & F Receiving), Overstimulation, Cunnilingus, Cowgirl, Lazy doggie, creampie(use protection gdi), Bucky has a big package ;D, . No use of y/n.
݈݇— summary: You've gotten to know Bucky and you have an obvious connection. You get along, share interests, talk and flirt easily. You can tell he's attracted to you, but he is just too polite. And you don't want him to be polite, you want his hands all over you, doing things far from polite. . .so what's better than a little house tour?
Author's Note: Inspired by Sabrican Carpenter's song, House Tour ;). Part of the Valentines's Special.
The February air is sharp enough to bite, but you’re burning up on your brownstone’s front porch. The Third date happened to land on Valentine’s Day and Bucky Barnes is standing one step below you, hands in the pockets of his dark coat, that half-smile doing criminal things to your heartbeat.
You’ve been laughing about something stupid—some story he told about his friend Sam when they went on a road trip—and the laughter trails off into this thick, humming silence when his eyes find your lips and kept them there.
You feel his eyes everywhere…actually.
Then, you remember something he said casually and offhand during the first date: "These old brownstones are all connected, right? You probably hear everything that goes on next door because of all that shared brick." He had meant it innocuously—noise complaints, city life, thin walls. But you wouldn't mind letting the neighbors know his name.
And to be honest with yourself, you like him. God, you like him so much that you’re even waxed from head to toe, it's embarrassing.
You want more. You want him. Third base, fourth, all of it. Tonight. But he’s been a gentleman all evening: opening doors, guiding you with a light touch at your elbow, sharing his food with you but never pushing. And ugh, you want him to push because it just left you buzzing, unsure, heart hammering with hope and nerves.
He’s so controlled and so subtle that you're terrified you’re about to make a fool of yourself.
Your keys jingle too loud in your shaky hand. You turn to him, forcing a smile that feels wobbly. “So… Do you wanna come inside?” Your voice comes out softer than you planned, laced with meaning you hope he catches. “I could give you a house tour.”
Bucky’s eyes darken just a fraction. He tilts his head, considering you like he’s reading every filthy thought flashing in your head.
Then he shrugs, casual as anything. “Sure. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Your stomach flips so hard you almost giggle right there on the porch. You unlock the door faster than dignified, lead him inside, and try to remember how to breathe.
He follows, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off him, the ever present scent of his cologne—it smells so good your eyes almost rolled back when you first got a whiff of it.
The tour starts innocently enough. You flick on the lights, gesturing vaguely at the living room. “This is… the living room. Obviously.”
Your voice is too high, too fast. You’re rambling, heart pounding as you point out the couch, the bookshelf, the little fireplace you never use. He nods, hands in his pockets, but his eyes laser-focused on you.
Kitchen next. You wave at the island, the fridge, babbling about how you love cooking but rarely do. He steps closer as you talk, leaning against the counter with that effortless grace.
“Looks cozy,” he murmurs, eyes tracing over you instead of the room. His metal hand rests on the countertop, fingers drumming.
You swear the air is starting to thicken.
You’re giggling now, nervous energy spilling out as you lead him toward the stairs. “Upstairs is… the important stuff.” Your cheeks burn. Important stuff? God—you’re embarrassing yourself.
He chuckles softly behind you. “Lead the way.”
The stairs are narrow, old wood creaking under your feet. You start climbing, hyper-aware of him right behind you.
One step. Two. Then—oh god.
His flesh hand settles lightly on the small of your back. Guiding you. A bit possessive, but gentle. His thumb brushes the fabric of your dress, a slow circle that sends heat pooling low in your belly.
You nearly stumble, a breathless laugh escaping as your foot catches the next step. He steadies you instantly, his grip firming just enough to make your heart ship like crazy.
“Careful,” he says, voice dropping an octave. Closer now, his chest almost brushes your back. You can feel his breath on your neck as you reach the landing.
The hallway is short. Bathroom—quick wave. Guest room—barely a glance. And then… your bedroom door.
You push it open, stepping inside and turning to face him. The room is softly lit by the bedside lamp you left on, bed neatly made, fairy lights strung along the headboard twinkling faintly.
You gesture around, voice shaky with excitement. “And this… is the bedroom, it’s uhh simple and minimalistic… So yeah. That’s it. Tour’s over, I guess.”
You stand there in the soft glow of the fairy lights, the words hanging in the air like they've sucked all the oxygen from the room. Tour's over. God, what a stupid thing to say. Your pulse is thrumming so loud you swear he can hear it.
Bucky’s just leaning sideways against the doorframe, arms crossed loose over his chest. The dark coat pulls tight across his shoulders, and the lamplight catches on his eyes and are fixed on you, unblinking, like he's taking notes on every nervous twitch of your fingers, every shallow breath you take.
“Tour’s over,” he repeats, letting the words linger.
You shrug off your coat, draping it on the chair. The air feels cooler on your skin, but his gaze is hotter.
“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong.” he steps in slowly towards you, until you have to crane your neck to keep eye contact. His metal hand lifts, fingers cool as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering there.
“Because I’ve been real patient tonight,” he says quietly. “And I need to know—can I drop the gentleman act now?” His voice drops lower. “Because the things I want to do to you aren’t polite. And the way you’re looking at me right now?”
He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Makes me think you’d let me take off that pretty dress if I asked nicely.” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. “So… Can I?”
A nervous little giggle bubbles up, high and breathless. Your cheeks are burning; you can feel it. Another soft laugh escapes as you try to find words.
“You’re… you’re not reading it wrong,” you manage. Your eyes flick down to his mouth and back up, and god, you can’t stop smiling like an idiot.
You draw in a trembling breath, “And yes,” you add, the word tumbling out in a rush of air, “please drop the gentleman act. I—” Another tiny laugh, because you’re dizzy with him. “I really want you to take off the dress.”
“Turn around for me.” he murmurs, voice like gravel dipped in honey.
Your breath hitches, but you obey instantly, pivoting slowly on shaky legs until your back is to him. The air feels electric against your heated skin, every nerve ending alive under his gaze. You hear the soft rustle of his coat shifting as he steps in.
His knuckles start at the base of your neck, ghosting down the exposed line of your spine in a feather-light trail that makes you shiver hard. Goosebumps race over your skin; you arch without meaning to, chasing more. He traces lower, until his fingers find the tiny zipper pull of your dress.
Cool air kisses newly bared skin inch by inch, and when the zipper stops at the small of your back, his hands slide up to your shoulders. Pushing your sleeves down and letting the fabric whisper over your skin before gravity takes it the rest of the way.
The dress pools at your feet, leaving you in nothing but the matching lace set you’d chosen with nervous, hopeful anticipation.
You hear his sharp inhale behind you, feel the shift in his breathing.
“Jesus,” he mutters, “Look at you.” There’s a smirk in his voice when he adds, “You planned this, didn’t you?”
He presses his body flush against your back, the hard line of him against your ass makes your knees weaken; you sway back into him instinctively. His lips find the curve of your shoulder, open-mouthed kisses trailing inward towards your neck. Each press of his mouth sends shivers straight to your core.
Your head falls back against his chest, exposing your throat fully, and he takes the invitation. His mouth works higher, sucking gently at the sensitive spot below your ear, tongue flicking over the mark he leaves. One metal hand slides around your waist, cool fingers splaying possessively over your ribs before slipping beneath the lace of your bra cupping your breast fully, thumb circling your nipple until it peaks hard against the chill of his touch, then pinches a firm, perfect pressure that drags a whimper from your throat.
His flesh hand slides lower, palm searing hot against your skin as it dips above the lace of your panties. Fingers find your swollen, aching clit instantly and he starts circling it firmly through the soaked fabric, a relentless pressure that has a broken whimper tearing from your throat.
The lace is drenched, your arousal seeping through so completely that every stroke glides slick and perfect. Your back arches hard against his chest, bodies locked together—his erection rigid and straining, grinding against your ass through his jeans as he rolls his hips in time with his fingers.
“Fuck, do you hear yourself?” he moans against your neck, teeth scraping before he sucks another mark into your skin. His metal hand kneads your breast roughly, cool fingers pinching and rolling your nipple until it’s a tight, throbbing peak. “Whimpering already. You needed this badly, didn’t you?”
Your knees buckle as the pleasure spikes sharp and sudden. It’s been so damn long since anyone’s touched you like this, and Bucky is better than every fantasy you’ve ever had about those hands.
He doesn’t let you fall too. His metal arm bands tighter around your ribs, holding you pinned upright against him while his flesh fingers keep rubbing silky circles that shrink smaller and spin quicker against your hood. Violent shivers rack your frame, breathless pants turning into moans as you grind back hard against that thick fuck-stick.
He registers the fierce throb of your clit swelling under his fingertips and doesn't hesitate—his hand delves deeper, nudging the lace out of the way. A single thick finger glides along your slit, parting your soaked lips and slicking himself thoroughly as a rough groan rumbles against your ear.
“Goddamn, you’re sopping,” he rasps, voice filthy with hunger. “Soaked straight to hell. I know you can take two fingers no problem—probably clenching for ’em already.”
You can barely form anything beyond a frantic, needy whine as your hips jerk forward, grinding after his hand like you'll die without it. He lets out a rough, amused rumble right in your ear, then gently traps your earlobe with his teeth before laving it slowly with the flat of his tongue.
He gives you no time to brace—two fingers plunge deep at once, filling and stretching you with a lewd, sucking sound that drags a hard, reflexive clench from your core. His fingers bend the second they're fully inside, locating that tender bundle of nerves with startling precision and petting it firmly, again and again, in unhurried, knowing strokes.
You let out a long, helpless moan, your head drops back to his shoulder, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut in surrender as pure pleasure floods your nerves.
A sharp, high-pitched “Fuck!” spills from your lips in a trembling whine. Your hips start chasing every curl and thrust of his fingers while he speeds up, thumb grinding against your clit in perfect sync.
The entire world narrows to nothing: no thoughts, no walls, no air—only the thick, relentless glide of his fingers inside you, the cold metal hand kneading and pinching your breast into aching peaks, his heavy cock throbbing hot and insistent against your skin, and that molten coil in your belly winding tighter, hotter, until nothing else can exist.
Your own voice feels foreign. Fragile whimpers blooming into keening wails, breathy gasps snapping into outright sobs of pleasure as his fingers drive into you harder, faster, curling and putting pressure against that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.
It’s surreal that you’re the one making these noises, but fuck, you adore how they wreck him—his breath ragged against your neck, low growls vibrating through his chest, the way his cock twitches against your ass like every noise you make is pulling him apart too. He’s feasting on them, wringing more out of you with every thrust of his hand.
Pressure breaks suddenly and viciously; climax rips through you, starting deep and exploding outward, making you dizzy, vision whiting out. You flood his fingers and hands, slick pouring down your legs as stars burst and your clit throbs wildly.
Bucky groans rough and low, drinking in the sensation—the desperate flutter of your walls squeezing him, the warm gush coating his knuckles. He’s far from done; he can already feel the shape of the next climax building. His fingers stay buried, stroking that perfect place with slow, firm drags, prolonging every aftershock as he studies the way pleasure contorts your features.
Finally, the shudders ease, your body sagging heavy against him, breaths coming in harsh pants. Senses trickle back—the fairy lights twinkling faintly, the sticky mess between your legs, his arm still locked around you like steel.
He slows his fingers but doesn’t pull out, just holds them deep, letting you ride the aftershocks while his lips brush your temple.
“Can you stand?” he murmurs, voice rough with satisfaction.
You try to nod, but your legs feel like jelly. The “No” comes out airy, tangled between a dazed giggle and a trembling whimper.
Bucky scoops you up—metal arm under your knees, flesh one cradling your back. You cling to his shoulders as he turns, laying you gently but firmly in the center of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he follows.
He rises up on his knees, bracketing your hips with his thick thighs, towering over you.
Bucky pushes up onto his knees, straddling your hips with the heavy press of his thighs, his body casting you in shadow. He brings the fingers still glistening with your release to his mouth, sliding them past his lips and sucking them clean, slow and thorough, savoring every trace of you as he drags them free.
“Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever had,” he murmurs, voice rough with hunger. “Next one’s coming on my tongue, baby.”
He reaches behind his neck, fingers hooking the collar, and peels the shirt off in one smooth, effortless tug. Every slab of muscle in his chest and abs ripples under the motion—hard lines and ridges gleaming faintly in the dim light, scars tracing silver paths over taut skin like battle-carved art. Your throat tightens, mouth suddenly parched.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, fingers already reaching for the clasp of your bra, ready to strip the rest away.
“Leave it,” he orders, eyes raking over the lace like he’s already tearing it with his teeth. “You’re too goddamn sexy wearing it.”
Heat flares in your cheeks, but you drop your hands obediently, biting your lip.
Sitting up fully, you lean in close, tongue meeting the taut heat of his abs in a languid, flat lick that climbs the center line, tasting skin and salt while you trace the hard contours beneath. Your hands are already frantic—yanking at the belt, ripping the zipper down—jeans and boxers shoved aside in one impatient motion. His cock jumps out, stupidly thick and heavy, flushed red and straining like a club, jutting upward to kiss his stomach
Your throat works in a thick swallow, eyes blown wide. Holy fucking shit. It’s bigger than you’ve ever had, no contest. Fresh personal best. Yet the sheer size only makes your cunt clench and drip harder—you’re going to take it all, you want to stretch for it, plead for him to ruin you with it.
A rough, teasing laugh rumbles from his chest as he notices your stunned expression. “What’s with the face?” he drawls, smirking. “You really weren’t expecting me to be this worked up over you?”
Your gaze drifts up slowly, voice husky and unsteady. “No… it’s your size,” you manage, words bold but breathy. “But I-I can take it.”
Bucky’s gaze burns, smirk deepening into something predatory. “Yeah, you can,” and then adds, “And you’re gonna.”
He flips onto his back beside you, cock settling heavy and throbbing against his abs. One broad palm smacks his chest, then flicks upward in clear command.
“Get on top,” he rasps, voice dripping sin. “Plant that pretty pussy on my tongue. I want your taste flooding my mouth while those lips stretch around me.”
You lift one leg and swing it over, settling into a reverse straddle above his face, knees pressing deep into the mattress on either side of his head. The open-crotch lace makes access effortless—Bucky’s deft fingers trace the hidden side clasps, popping them free with a quiet snap that leaves you fully exposed. A fleeting rush of cool air kisses your drenched folds before his palms seize your hips and pull you firmly downward.
He slides a pillow under his head, positioning you so your pussy hovers barely an inch above his mouth—close enough that his hot breath teases your folds, making you shiver.
The view steals his air. Bucky turns rigid under you, utterly motionless except for the deep, guttural sound that tears from his throat. Up close like this, you’re everything—swollen lips glistening, thighs framing it all, ass curved and perfect. He stares like a starving man staring at a feast, cock twitching against his abs, not sure where to start because every inch looks too fucking good.
He reins it in with effort, starting slow only to steady himself—lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, tongue dragging up the sensitive skin, tasting you there first. His flesh hand slides up your spine, fingers rubbing firm circles across your lower back while the metal one keeps your hips steady.
You halt, eyes glued, mouth slightly open in the universal “wait, what the fuck” expression—staring like you just got handed the final boss of dicks.
Okay step one: dislocate jaw like a python eating a couch, because congratulations, you’ve unlocked the final difficulty setting. Would you like to enable ‘no gag reflex’ cheat code?
Leaning forward, you curl your fingers around the heavy shaft, guiding the flushed head to your parted lips. You begin with languid, flat-tongue strokes—slow drags from root to crown, mapping every raised vein, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the swollen tip before sliding down, letting him fill your mouth.
The second your mouth closes around him, he loses the last of his restraint. His lips reach your pussy, tongue licking broad, firm stripes up your folds, coating them in more wetness even though you’re already dripping. He teases the entrance with just the tip of his tongue, barely pushing in, then pulls back to lap at your lips again, greedy and thorough.
“You taste so fucking wonderful, baby,” he rasps against you, voice muffled and wrecked.
You don’t can’t answer—you just take him deeper, sucking harder, head starting to bob. Your fingers wrap around the base, stroking in time with your mouth, twisting lightly.
He plunges in again, tongue finding your clit and attacking it with precise, tireless flicks. Your body arches hard, hips snapping up involuntarily—he registers the hitch in your breath and doubles down, tongue pressing flat then flicking tight circles right where the pleasure spikes sharpest. You retaliate instantly, taking him further, lips gliding tight, fist stroking in fast counterpoint while the sloppy sounds of both mouths fill the air.
Your mouth and hand suddenly turn ferocious—he knows why: the way your thighs lock around him, the frantic little hitches in your breathing around his cock. It rockets him to the brink. Your free hand finds his balls, cupping and gently rolling them as you suck harder, fist pumping in tight, rapid strokes that match the pulse pounding through him.
He mirrors your frenzy: tongue whipping across your clit, then drawing it between his lips with a hard suck, head whipping side to side to grind the pressure deeper. His flesh hand clamps your thigh, fingers digging in, kneading roughly to spur you faster. Then he spears one thick finger straight into your heat, curling it instantly to stroke that sensitive inner wall.
Release rips you open—walls clamping down hard on his finger, waves of pleasure ripping through you as you moan loud and wrecked around him. Your thighs lock tight around his head, trembling, hips grinding down against his mouth and tongue as you come, gushing over his tongue.
He drinks them greedily, moaning into you, the vibration making you shake harder.
Your lips stay locked, sucking him deep and steady through the blinding rush of your own peak until his release hits like a shockwave seconds later, cock throbbing as he empties himself in heavy, pulsing ropes straight down your throat. Convulsions rack him, hips bucking wildly into your mouth; you hold fast, swallowing every spurt with ease, low, throaty moans vibrating down his length as you wring him empty.
He keeps licking through it, tongue relentless on your clit, drawing out every last shudder until you’re both gasping, spent, and still tangled together in the aftershocks.
You finally lift your head, lips swollen and slick, and with a shaky exhale you push up off him. Your thighs tremble as you swing your leg over, flipping around so you’re lying side by side, bodies still buzzing from the high. Your arm drapes heavy across his ribs, hand drifting downward in a lazy path until it finds him again, wrapping gently around the warm, semi-hard length that twitches faintly under your fingers.
You rest your head on his shoulder, cheek pressed to the solid muscle there, and murmur against his skin, “I have no words.”
Bucky’s face is shiny, glistening with your release from chin to cheekbones, strands of your wetness catching the fairy lights. He doesn’t wipe it away—likes the mess, likes wearing you like that. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, a low, satisfied rumble vibrating under your ear.
“Words are overrated anyway.”
He glances down at your hand, lazy strokes already coaxing him back to full hardness. The sight has him thickening fast, veins standing out as blood rushes back in. You feel it happen under your palm, the way he swells, twitches, grows impossibly harder in seconds.
“God, I can’t wait to sit on this dick. It’s so fucking hard again already.”
His eyes darken, pupils dilated. “Then get up here.”
You swing a leg over him, straddling his hips, facing him this time. The view just makes you want to go feral on this man—Bucky Barnes spread out beneath you, all corded muscle and scars and that hungry stare locked on your face. He’s too much like this, chest still heaving, lips parted, cock jutting up thick and flushed between you. You lick your lips because fuck—he’s so hot.
He reaches down, wrapping his flesh hand around the base, holding himself steady for you. From this angle he looks massive—girth stretching your view, length curving proud, the head already leaking as he drags it along your folds in one long, slow glide.
You both stop breathing. The slick heat of you coats him instantly, every ridge and vein sliding through your wetness, teasing your entrance without pushing in yet.
Time stretches thin while he keeps painting the length of himself with your slickness until he notches the thick head right at your opening. He adjusts the angle just slightly, hips tilting up, and then he’s sliding in.
The stretch burns sweet and sharp as you sink down inch by inch. You moan, biting your lip hard to keep from crying out too loud (you just remembered the walls aren’t sound proof), breath hitching with every new bit of him that fills you. Bucky watches, transfixed—eyes glued to where his cock disappears inside you, jaw clenched, breathing ragged and heavy through his nose.
When you’re finally fully seated, hips flush against his, you both groan in unison. Your pussy clenches hard around him involuntarily, trying to push out the impossible size even as it flutters and grips tighter, greedy for more.
“Fuck,” he rasps, hands flying to your hips, fingers digging in. “…I can’t last long if you’re squeezing me like that.”
You lean down, lips brushing his ear, voice wrecked with lust. “I don’t want you to last long. I just want to feel you cum inside me.”
Bucky lets out a rough, surprised chuckle, his head tips back against the pillow for a second, eyes glinting with dark amusement as he looks up at you.
“Jesus,” he drawls, that Brooklyn edge thicker now, pure flirt. “You really don’t—”
You grin, wicked and breathless, finally unclasping the bra off, “Shhhh.”
You lean forward, arching your back so your breasts hover right over his mouth—nipples already hard and aching from everything he’s done to you tonight. You feed them to him deliberately, one hand sliding into his hair to guide him while the other finds his chest, fingers circling his nipples, pinching and rolling them just hard enough to make his hips jerk up into you.
His mouth closes over one breast, hot and hungry—tongue swirling around the peak before he sucks hard, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks straight to your core. He switches to the other almost immediately, lavishing it with the same attention, groaning low against your skin like he’s starving for you.
You start to move slowly, sensuous rolls of your hips, grinding down in deep, fluid circles that make his cock drag against every sensitive spot inside you. The stretch is perfect now, the burn melted into pure, liquid heat.
Loud mewls spill from your throat, mingling with Bucky’s low, guttural moans every time you sink down fully and clench around him.
His hands roam—gripping your ass to help guide your rhythm, then sliding up your back, fingers splaying wide like he can’t decide where to hold you tighter.
He keeps feasting on your breasts, sucking and licking, switching back and forth so neither feels neglected, the wet sounds of his mouth mixing with the slick slide of your bodies.
You can feel him throbbing harder inside you with every grind, every squeeze—his control fraying thread by thread. His breaths come faster against your skin, but he doesn’t rush you. He just lets you ride him exactly how you want, feeding off every sound you make, every roll of your hips, every tug on his nipples that makes him growl your name. His hands flex on your hips like he’s fighting not to flip you himself.
“Can you…Can you fuck me from behind?”
His eyes flash dark and molten. A low, filthy chuckle rumbles out of him. “Of course. Anything you want.”
He flips you both—your back hits the mattress, then he guides you onto your stomach, strong hands careful but insistent. You feel the cool slide of a pillow being shoved under your hips, lifting you just enough to angle you perfectly for him. Your cheek presses into the sheets, breath already coming fast.
He surges forward without warning, driving the full thick length of himself inside you in one deep thrust.
The shock of it—so sudden, so complete—rips a sharp gasp from your throat. It was painless but rather an overwhelming stretch, a delicious burn that lights every nerve ending on fire. You’re so full it steals your breath, your body instinctively clenching around him.
Bucky lets out a small, choked gasp of his own at the tight grip of you, his fingers digging into your hips like anchors. You rock back against him instinctively, greedy for more, and he groans low, the sound vibrating through you.
Then he starts to move. Slow at first, achingly slow, pulling out until only the head remains before sliding back in, filling you completely. His hips settle flush against the backs of your thighs, fingers flexing and tightening as he holds himself deep for a second. The heat of him, the luxurious stretch, the way his cock drags against every sensitive wall—it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.
He withdraws again, slides back in, then again, finding a slow, sensual rhythm that has you melting into the mattress. You’ve never been taken like this before and it feels strange and filthy and so damn good. Every stroke caresses places inside you that spark white-hot pleasure, radiating out until your whole body hums with it.
He’s enjoying it too—you can tell by the way his breathing turns ragged, the low groans he can’t quite stifle, the way his control starts to slip. His hands slide up your back, splaying wide across your lower spine as his rhythm picks up, thrusts reaching deeper, finding new spots that make you whimper into the sheets.
He slows suddenly, holding himself buried to the hilt. You feel him lean forward, one hand gathering your hair, sliding it through his fingers before he pulls it gently aside. His lips find the soft spot beneath your ear.
“Do you want more?” he whispers, voice hoarse and thick with his own hunger.
“Yes,” you breathe, trembling. “Bucky, yes.”
He groans, the sound torn from his chest, and rears back. His grip returns to your hips and he thrusts again, harder this time. The pace builds fast: deeper, quicker, more urgent. Your inner muscles flutter and clench around him, spasming with every punishing stroke. Heat pools and liquefies between your legs as he drives into you relentlessly.
The bedsprings squeak under the force, the wooden frame groaning in protest. Skin slaps against skin, loud and obscene. His throaty groans mix with your breathy cries, feeding off each other, climbing higher. He’s panting now, losing the battle to stay quiet, every thrust wilder, more desperate.
“Oh fuck—I’m close…fuck, tell me you’re close.”
You’re teetering right on the edge, pleasure coiling so tight it hurts in the best way, “Yes—keep going, just like that.”
He slams into you and you can feel him swelling until he can’t hold back anymore. Desperate groans rip from his throat as he thrusts himself as deep as he can go and comes hard—thick, hot spurts flooding inside you. His hips jerk with every pulse, every squirt, groans tearing out of him ragged and raw as he empties himself completely, body shuddering above you.
You clench around him, milking every last drop, and the sensation of him filling you up tips you over too, pleasure crashing through you in blinding waves as you come with him, gasping his name into the sheets.
Bucky’s hands slam to the bed on either side of your head, forearms braced and trembling as the last violent aftershocks ripple through him. He drops his forehead to the center of your back, breath ragged and hot against your skin, every muscle in his arms and shoulders quivering with the intensity of it. He stays buried deep for long seconds, both of you shuddering together in the afterglow.
Finally, he exhales a shaky breath and presses a slow, tender kiss to the curve of your shoulder, a stark contrast to the way he just wrecked you. His cock softens just enough to slip free on its own, and you feel the warm rush of his thick cum leaking out of you immediately, sliding down your thighs in lazy trails. The sensation makes you shiver, a soft, satisfied whimper escaping your lips.
He collapses beside you with a low, exhausted groan, the mattress dipping deep under his weight. For a long moment there’s only the sound of both of you catching your breath, skin still flushed and slick, the room smelling like sex and him.
“Do you want more?” he mumbled against your shoulder playfully.
Your head snaps toward him so fast it’s almost comical, eyes wide, brows shooting up. Your whole body language screams excuse me?—mouth half-open, one hand already coming up like you’re about to swat him.
“Sir, I do but...” you say, voice cracking on a laugh that’s equal parts disbelief and delight, “Aren’t you tired?”
Bucky’s lips curve into that lazy, smug smirk, eyes still heavy-lidded but sparkling with mischief. He props himself up on one elbow, metal arm gleaming faintly in the fairy lights as he looks down at you like he’s won something.
“Not trying to brag,” he drawls, voice rough and wrecked in the sexiest way, “but… I don’t get tired.”
You stare at him for a beat—then burst out laughing, the sound bright and a little hysterical, because holy shit.
“Wow,” you manage, shaking your head, still giggling as you flop back against the pillows. “Just… wow.”
And in that moment it hits you like a freight train: you’ve hit the absolute jackpot. The level of sex drive this man has is downright diabolical—insatiable, relentless, perfectly matched to the greedy, filthy thing that lives inside you too. You’ve been starving for someone who could keep up, who wouldn’t tap out after one round, and here he is, already half-hard again just from looking at you, talking like he’s ready to go another three.
“Hey… tonight I kind of just want to cuddle with you. And… hopefully wake up and find you still here in the morning?”
Bucky’s arm wraps around you instantly, pulling you close as he looks down at you—eyes heavy-lidded, face still flushed and wrecked. He leans in and kisses you softly, slow and deep, nothing urgent anymore, just lingering warmth and affection.
“I'll stay, since you want me to stay.”
His flesh hand drifts down your back, he tugs the ruined panties off, ehich were still dangling uselessly from one thigh and tosses the whole set somewhere across the room. Then he’s pulling you flush against him, skin to skin, completely naked now. Your back to his chest, his arm slung possessively over your waist, metal fingers splayed across your stomach like he’s anchoring you there.
He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin in sleepy, absent kisses. His breathing slows almost immediately—deep, even, the kind of boneless exhaustion that hits a man hard after coming that intensely. Within minutes he’s out, heavy and warm behind you, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you too.
× × × ×
You wake slowly, the kind of lazy, golden morning haze where the world feels soft around the edges. Sunlight filters through the half-drawn curtains in thin, warm stripes across the bed, catching on the fairy lights that are still twinkling faintly even in daylight. Your body feels deliciously heavy—sore in the best places, marked in ways you’ll discover later with a private smile.
Bucky is still there.
He hasn’t moved an inch in the way you feared he might in the middle of the night. Instead, sometime in the quiet hours, you’ve shifted in your sleep. You’re no longer spooned; now you’re facing each other, legs tangled, his metal arm draped loosely over your hip, flesh hand resting warm against the small of your back. His face is close enough that you can count the faint freckles across his nose, see the way his dark lashes fan against his cheeks. He’s still deeply asleep—lips parted just a little, breathing slow and even, looking softer than you’ve ever seen him. Peaceful. Like he belongs right here.
Your heart does a stupid, happy flip.
You don’t move right away. You just watch him for a minute—memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair’s a mess from your fingers last night, the faint pink scratch marks you on his shoulders and chest.
Bucky’s left eye cracks open, just a sliver of blue peeking through thick lashes. He doesn’t startle or pretend to still be asleep. Instead, the corner of his mouth curves up instantly into that slow, sleepy, devastating smile that makes your pulse skip.
“Caught you staring,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and gravel. The eye opens fully now, then the other, and he’s looking at you like you’re the first thing he wants to see every morning for the rest of forever.
You feel your cheeks heat, but you don’t look away. “Can you blame me?”
His smile widens, soft and a little smug and shifts just enough to close the tiny gap between you.
“Morning,” he says quietly, thumb brushing the shell of your ear.
“Morning,” you whisper back, unable to stop the stupid-happy grin spreading across your face.
He exhales a soft laugh through his nose, the sound rumbling between you. “You look way too pleased with yourself.”
“I am,” you admit, tracing one of the scratch marks on his chest with your fingertip. “You stayed.”
“Yes, I did.” His gaze flicks down to your mouth, then back up. “How can I leave? You're so soft.”
You lean in first this time, pressing the softest kiss to his lips. He hums against you, deepening it just enough to make your toes curl under the sheets before pulling back with obvious reluctance.
“Get comfy,” he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep but laced with that lazy satisfaction that makes your stomach flutter. His lips brush your hairline in a barely-there kiss. “I wanna stay like this a little longer. Everything else can wait.”
SUMMARY: A heatwave in your city makes dealing with your hormones more difficult than usual. Getting locked in a lobby at work for an hour with an alpha makes it ten times worse. Thankfully, Seungcheol is there to help you - and maybe a little more.
WC: 18,512
AU: Omegaverse, Coworkers to Lovers
GENRE: Smut, A bit of Fluff, the barest hint of angst
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
TEASER WARNINGS: Mix of traditional and nontraditional Omegaverse dynamics in terms of heat cycles, social statuses, and body chemistry but this fic doesn’t really dip into it very heavily - including no knotting or any of the traditional lore. There are brief mentions of social discourse and discrimination across all three subgenders. Reader has some internal back and forth and moments of feeling embarrassed and frustrated with her body and hormonal fluctuations. Some internal stresses/anxieties on reader’s part about what comes after with Seungcheol. Seungcheol is a touch possessive in parts. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content including very gratutious smut, oral (f. and m. receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, a lot of spit/slick/fluids mentions, nipple play, vaginal fingering, lots of praise (use of good/good girl/baby often), not explicit dom/sub dynamics but more alpha/omega dynamics, no use of a condom as in - I just never wrote one in and they never talk about it tbh I just forgot lol - reader experiences some highs and lows through her heat emotionally… I think that’s mostly it. Please tell me if I forgot anything.
A/N: I don’t know how I ended up writing so much of this, but here we are. Reader’s struggles as an omega are inspired directly by my struggles with PCOS, especially living in a very hot climate and constantly having fluctuating hormones and just having to exist!!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it.
A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic for beta reading this - I love u thank u hehe.
MASTERLIST | ASK | NOW PLAYING: BAMBI BY BAEKHYUN
SWEAT TRICKLES DOWN THE BACK OF YOUR NECK AND THIGHS. Irritated, you wipe at the back of your neck for what feels like the hundredth time before pulling at the collar of your shirt, fanning it in hopes of cooling the rest of your body off. It’s unseasonably hot, a heat wave sweeping through the city and turning your office cubicle into a toaster oven.
The small fan on your desk whirs pitifully, barely offering any sort of respite. Adjusting in your seat does nothing but remind you how uncomfortable you are, the scratchy grain of the chair digging into the back of your sweating thighs, the underwire of your bra digging into your ribs, the heat rash forming where your underwear digs into the creases of your hips.
Unbearable.
A message pings on your computer and you open it, growling in irritation as you see a message from Wonwoo in the cubicle behind you.
Jeon Wonwoo: Ever heard of suppressants, diva?
You: IT’S FUCKING HOT IN HERE
You: Tell this company to BUY SOME FUCKING AIRCONDITIONERS
Jeon Wonwoo: Irritable… sweaty… irrational…
You grab the nearest pen and whip around in your chair, launching it at the back of his head. It hits with a satisfying thwack. He flinches, cursing as his hand flies up to rub the spot where you nailed him. Wonwoo turns in his seat, shooting you a dirty look over his shoulder.
You meet his glare with a stuck-out tongue and a very deliberate middle finger before turning back to your screen, face flushed, partially from the heat, partially from embarrassment.
He doesn’t get it. You know he’s just teasing, but it still stings. That old, familiar insecurity curls in your gut at his jest, no matter its innocence. Being an omega is hard enough. You’ve spent years unlearning shame, of trying to accept this part of yourself you never asked for. And you’ve gotten pretty far with that.
But then something as simple as a heatwave hits, the rise in temperature turning your body traitorous, unable to accommodate for a little bit of humid air and heat.
Of course, Wonwoo doesn’t understand - can’t conceptualize the level of difficulty it is to maintain a baseline for you. Betas don’t have to deal with this kind of hormonal chaos. Sure, they’ve got their own issues - media erasure, medical neglect, in general being left out - but it’s not the same. Not when your body actively works against you, not when your biology fights you.
You sigh. There’s no point in going down the rabbit hole and comparing omegas and betas. You’ve traveled that road since your subgender presented itself in your freshman year of college. Comparison is the thief of joy, but it’s also an endless torture device.
Your thighs rub together uncomfortably when you get up. You swipe your water bottle, unscrewing the cap as you duck out of your cubicle, head down and steps fast. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo is attuned to your scent more than others, having been one of your closest friends and cubicle-neighbor for the better part of five years. But still, you’re nervous about it, hand snaking up to touch the translucent patch on the side of your neck, meant to dampen the smell from your glands.
No one pays you much mind. You breathe a sigh of relief to find the break room empty. You make a beeline to the water cooler in the corner, sliding the water bottle under it and pressing the tap. As it fills, the air conditioning kicks on, the vent right above you.
Cool air hits the back of your neck. Your eyes flutter, a shiver of relief slithering through you. For a moment, you lose yourself, letting the cool wick away the sticky sweat, the first time you’ve felt a little relief all day. A small sound escapes your mouth, half whimper and half plea.
Someone clears their throat and you flinch, losing your grip on the water bottle. It crashes to the ground, water splashing up your legs but more importantly, all over the floor. You squeak in panic, diving to pick it up in an attempt to stop the outflow of water.
Hands dripping, you pivot on your heel, scanning for paper towels only to find them being offered. You blink in surprise, body going rigid as you become acutely aware of who is offering them.
Choi Seungcheol watches you with quiet concern, dark eyes steady behind his glasses. He keeps a respectful distance, arms extended with a roll of paper towels, waiting for you to take them. But you don’t move. Your pulse pounds in your neck as your gaze drops from his face to his hands, large and patient.
He has pretty hands, you think absently, staring a beat too long.
For a moment, all you can hear is the roar of blood in your ears. Then, he steps forward without a word, crouching down to wipe the water pooling around your feet. You jerk, startled, a sharp sound of protest escaping you as you drop down and snatch more paper towels from his hands. Apologies tumble out, disjointed and breathless, your thoughts scattered.
He doesn’t back away. Instead, he methodically dabs at the wet tile while trying to avoid soaking himself in the process. His proximity is overwhelming, his spicy scent nearly knocking you over. You grit your teeth and clench your jaw, irritated. He’s not supposed to affect you like this - never has before.
Seungcheol is always mild. Unassuming. He’s worked here as long as you have, one of the few alphas on your floor, and one of the most reserved. He keeps to his office, always dimly lit, always quiet. He greets you politely. Never lingers.
It surprised you when you first met him. Seungcheol looks like the type of alpha who is the opposite of quiet and shy. There’s a gravitas to him that you haven’t quite figured out and a body made to ruin. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a voice deep enough to rattle through your spine even on your best days.
Yet somehow, he’s never once made a pass on a single omega at work.
Which, he shouldn’t. You respect that about him, which feels ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to be flattered by the bare minimum of respect, shouldn’t need to be surprised when an alpha is able to be normal. To treat you like a human being.
You mumble a quiet thanks, focusing on the mess. It’s the only thing tethering you right now. It shouldn’t feel this intense, but the goddamn heat is getting to you. It’s baking you from the inside out, turning your cube walls suffocating. It makes you tired. Irritable. Prone to throwing pens at Wonwoo’s head.
“Thanks,” you mutter when you stand. You toss the soggy paper towels into the bin, avoiding his gaze. “Sorry again.”
“No need to apologize. I’m sorry I startled you.”
Seungcheol stands slowly. You don’t move, watching the way he wipes his damp hands across his slacks. You hate that you notice how the fabric pulls over his thighs. As soon as you have the thought, you avert your eyes, looking anywhere but him, afraid that he’ll see the embarrassment or the way your body reacts without your permission.
“It’s been a long week,” Seungcheol offers, voice soft. “You alright? I know Jeonghan had you working on that insane report.”
You swallow past the dry patch in your throat. “All good. Just tired. It’ll probably keep me here forever, but what can you do?”
“Mhmm. Don’t forget it’s Friday - cleaning locks the office and will trap you inside.”
“Sounds like you’re intimately familiar.”
His smile is soft, cheeks flushed. “Cannot confirm or deny.”
“I see.” You gesture to the watery floor. “Thank you, again. And sorry for being a bit clumsy.”
“No problem.”
You slide away from him, hoping that he can’t tell that you’re leaning, trying to avoid catching his scent again. He doesn’t seem to notice - or has the decency not to make it obvious - and you slip away from the break room, all but running to your cube.
Inside your little haven, you rip open one of your drawers, grabbing a pheromone damp nasal spray. You all but shove it up your cranium, putting it as far up your nasal passage as you can manage before squeezing and shooting a blast of medical grade dampener up your nose, inhaling sharply.
It helps a little, settling your nerves and erasing the lingering scent of Seungcheol. You breathe out a sigh, calm and collected. Carefully and quickly, you peel the suppressant patch off your neck and swap it for a new one. It tingles when you apply it, the microneedles that embed into the skin to deliver suppressant a cool sensation at first.
When you settle, you feel much better. It isn’t until you turn to start knocking out the rest of your report that you realize you never refilled your water bottle after dropping it, making you lean back on your desk and groan.
-
Working for Yoon Jeonghan comes with its challenges. He's incredibly sharp and a natural leader, but he tends to be a bit forgetful and brings a touch of chaos wherever he goes. Jeonghan is the reason you’d started working at this company, though, admiring that there was an omega in charge, defying the long-standing social norms that omegas could not lead.
It’s a silly stereotype, but you’ve been fighting stereotypes your entire life, unlearning your own and reminding yourself that there are still inherent biases to unlearn.
Like right now, when you're mentally cursing Jeonghan for tossing a last-minute report your way, even though he had multiple reminders in his inbox and just forgot he'd opened them. You only blame him a little. Work’s been nonstop, keeping him up at all hours, and if there’s one thing that truly makes Jeonghan unbearable, it’s sleep deprivation.
Jeonghan doesn’t have an assistant, but you’re the closest thing to it, one of the few people in the office he trusts to get things done. So when he’s on vacation and starts spamming your email that he dropped the ball, it’s on you to cover for him, like he’s done for you in the past.
The consequence of competency, he’d told you over the phone, the sound of the ocean in the background. I’m sorry, I owe you, please don’t quit.
You weren’t going to quit. Despite your irritation, you like working for Jeonghan, and despite the unbearable heat burning in your cubicle, you like being able to focus on pulling and building reports, inputting data into a spreadsheet and setting pivot tables and charts.
It makes you forget about the world for a little bit, including the oppressive office air and the way that the building’s air conditioner barely keeps up with the raging temperatures outside. Makes you forget about the incident in the breakroom, and about everything else, including the passage of time.
Above you, the lights go out. You flinch, looking up in surprise. Rubbing your eyes, you blink until your computer screen comes back into focus, looking at the time. You groan. It’s past seven, far later than you meant to stay at work. But you’re done with the report, dragging the attachment to your email to fire it off to Jeonghan with a less than happy emoji pasted in the body of the email.
Exhaustion weighs you down when you stand. Your joints pop and everything feels hot and itchy again, all of your irritations flooding back to pester you now that you’re not locked in on your work. You flip off the fan, lamp and computer at your desk. Immediately without air circulation, your cube is sweltering, the dress sticking to you, fabric itchy and clinging to your skin.
A sudden wave of dizziness makes the room tilt around you. You steady yourself with deep, measured breaths, trying to stay grounded. A spike in temperature is normal. You can deal with it. It’s manageable. Sure, the heat triggers a surge of estriolase, the hormone that kicks in during Stage 1 of an omega’s heat cycle. And sure, it leaves you flushed, restless, skin prickling with irritation, and-
“You’re still here?”
You shriek, whirling around, heart hammering as your hand flies to your chest in terror. Seungcheol takes a cautious step back into the hallway, hands lifted in surrender, quiet concern etched into his features. For a moment, the air between you is thick with silence, broken only by your uneven breathing, still reeling from the rush of epinephrine and cortisol.
Being an omega means constantly walking a tightrope of hormones. One shift sets off another, like dominoes toppling. Fear bumps into instinct, instinct stirs something deeper, until your body is a storm of tangled biochemistry.
Now, your body is caught in a storm of fear, annoyance, embarrassment and interest, each one fighting for dominance. You swallow thickly and lean off your desk, ignoring the way your body flashes between hot and cold, fear and something else.
“Just finished Jeonghan’s report.”
“Ah.”
Something passes his face. It’s unreadable, but he’s focused. Your skin prickles under the heavy weight of his stare, watching as his mouth tightens at the corner.
“You heading out?”
“Yeah.”
A beat passes. His gaze flickers briefly, so fast that you’re not sure you track the movement correctly, but you swear it drops to the patch on your neck, dampening your scent. His jaw flexes once before he offers you a tight smile, gesturing.
“Mind if I walk you out? It’s late.”
Your heart hammers. “Sure.”
You’ve walked out of work with Seungcheol before. He offers to walk anyone out when it’s after hours, even if he himself isn’t leaving yet. It has nothing to do with your subgender and everything to do with him being kind, a sort of stoic office guardian.
Grabbing the rest of your things, you follow Seungcheol in silence. The building is quiet, both of you the only people still around on a weekend. The lack of sound amplifies everything else: the sound of your own quickened breathing, the warmth pulsing under your skin, the spicy scent of Seungcheol as he steps onto the elevator, lingering at the threshold to hold the door open for you.
You murmur a thank you as you pass by him. You can’t help the shiver that snakes through you as you pass. You clench your fists, angry and willing yourself to calm down. This has never happened around Seungcheol, and you blame the fucking weather for the way your body overrides you now.
The forty five seconds spent in the elevator are borderline hell. Neither of you says anything. You’ve pressed yourself in the corner, trying to remain nonchalant, like your entire world isn’t spinning, like there isn’t a dull ache in the pit of your stomach, like there isn’t saliva pooling at the back of your tongue.
Seungcheol smells warm. Grounding. Something that lingers, sharp and clean with a bit of a bite. You breathe in, trying to figure it out. Perhaps bergamot and cardamom, spice touched by sweetness, a hint of earth.
The elevator dings and Seungcheol is halfway through the lobby before you realize it. You push off the elevator wall after him, steps stilted and uneven. It’s even hotter in the tiny lobby of your office building, making a bead of sweat trail down the back of your neck. You adjust your dress, licking your lips in an attempt to relieve the hot flash threatening you.
Seungcheol pushes on the glass doors at the front, but they don’t budge. Both of you stand and stare for a second before he curses low under his breath, voice like gravel. You ignore what your stomach does at the sound of it as he turns to look at you, expression wary.
“Remember what I said in the break room?” You definitely remember the break room, but not anything he said. “The cleaners come on Friday evenings and they lock the doors.”
“Oh.”
Seunghecol walks back to the elevator and swipes his badge at the scanner and presses the button. The metal doors do not open again, and the button doesn’t light up. He curses again, pinching the bridge of his nose right beneath his glasses.
“Badges don’t work after hours.”
“They don’t?”
“No. It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck here, unfortunately.” He adjusts the strap on his bag and pulls a cellphone from his pocket. “Thankfully I have security’s number saved for exactly that reason.”
Seungcheol’s words do little to bring you relief. He paces a few steps away from you, dialing a number on the phone. He holds the phone to his ear, waiting for security to pick up. His free hand is stuffed into the pocket of his slacks, thumb tapping idly. You stand a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to focus on the sterile, white glow of the lobby lights instead of the way your skin feels like it’s humming.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Seungcheol’s voice sounds loud, making you twitch. “Yes, I’m locked in the lobby again.” He glances at you. “I’m with another coworker as well. The badge isn’t working to get us back up. Can you come let us out?”
You barely register his words. A flush is working its way up from your stomach to your chest, your chest to your shoulders, shoulder to elbows. You feel it unfurl, the slow-burning petals of a flower blooming. The air feels thick and heavy, almost damp, and no amount of focused breathing seems to help with the pulse you feel throbbing in your neck.
Seungcheol’s voice momentarily pulls you from your daze. “They’re sending someone from central security. Might take about an hour, though. They were in the middle of a shift rotation.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “Alright.”
“Are you alright?” Seungcheol asks quietly, eyes fixated on you.
You open your mouth to say yes, but the word dies in your throat. Because you’re not. Not really. There’s a heat curling deep in your belly now, slow and insistent, and your clothes feel too tight, your skin too sensitive. You press your palm against the marble wall behind you, trying to ground yourself with the coolness of the stone.
“Yeah,” you manage, nodding and giving him a thumbs up.
You’re anything but. It hits you slowly, but when it does, it locks into place with terrifying clarity: the dizziness, the temperature spikes, the way everything around you sounds sharper, smells sharper, the bergamot and cardamom.
Your body is crawling toward Stage 1 of heat, triggered by the unbearable temperature spike across the city and the unbearable proximity of the alpha standing across the lobby from you.
You shift your weight, arms tightening around yourself, every nerve ending suddenly too aware of Seungcheol’s presence. He’s not even close, but you can feel him. Or maybe it’s just your scent receptors going haywire, both just as likely.
“You’re flushed,” he says after a moment, eyes not quite meeting yours now. “You sure you’re not getting sick?”
“No,” you say too quickly. “I don’t think it’s that.”
Seungcheol’s brows pull together, not believing you but not sure what to make of it. He shifts his weight, gaze scanning you, trying to figure you out. You refuse to meet his eyes, looking up at the lobby lights that are too bright, making you squint. But you can feel him watching you, his gaze intense.
“You look uncomfortable.” He shifts a little further from you. “I apologize if-”
“It’s not you!” You blurt, a little forceful. “It’s just hot in here. It’s… hard on me.”
When he doesn’t answer, you dare a look at him. Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, like he doesn’t believe you but won’t push it. He nods, leaning against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes track the way his biceps flex, the way his shirt compresses across his chest and your mouth goes dry.
He studies you carefully now, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in suspicion, but understanding. Something settles in his expression, the faintest flicker of recognition behind his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. He knows. He knows and the embarrassment is so overwhelming you nearly fold over and start crying.
Still, he doesn't call you out. Doesn’t voice what you’re sure he knows, what his instincts are telling him. Doesn’t corner you with it.
Instead, he says, “Tell me something you enjoy.”
“What?”
He watches you, eyes soft. “Anything. To pass time. I only know the basics about you. Tell me something you’re passionate about.”
Something you're passionate about? A million things run through your mind. You grab the first thing you can think of, a single subject that you’re well-versed in.
“There’s a theory that the Tyrannosaurus Rex didn’t roar.”
He looks confused. “The dinosaur?”
“Yes. Like you know in the movie how they… rahhh.” You imitate the noise, immediately wanting to smack yourself for the ridiculousness of it. He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. He nods and gestures for you to continue, dark eyes focused only on you. “So it’s a total myth. Scientists think they made way lower sounds, like… you know when crocodiles do that weird purr?”
“Crocodile purr?”
“Yeah you know when they…” You hunch your shoulders. “Do that weird water rumble thing.”
“I think I follow.”
You nod rapidly, grateful for the distraction even as your heart beats way too fast. “Yeah, like a subsonic hum. They think it was more intimidating that way. A sound that could vibrate through the chest cavity of its prey. Honestly, it’s kind of genius.”
He watches you with quiet amusement, one brow raised but not mocking. “I didn’t know you were into dinosaurs.”
“I was obsessed as a kid,” you admit, shrugging, eyes still fixed on the security panel like it’ll spark to life if you ignore it long enough. “Used to correct people all the time. I was that kid. I got in trouble once for lecturing my cousin while playing with dinosaurs because Stegosaurus and a T. rex never existed at the same time. They lived millions of years apart! And he was trying to tell me they were best friends.” You scoff. “As if.”
You hear a soft chuckle across the lobby and you look up to meet his face. Your pulse flutters again, reminding you why Seungcheol asked you to distract yourself in the first place.
As though he can sense where your thoughts are going, Seungcheol asks, “So are you one of those people who thinks the Jurassic Park raptors were too big?”
You huff, a flare of irritation licking through you. “Well yeah. They were too big, thank you for asking. Plus, Alan Grant pointed out in the first movie that they were the size of turkeys, and then they get to Isla Nublar and they’re fucking six feet tall! And they were supposed to have feathers!”
“Not very intimidating.”
“I mean, I feel like a giant bird of prey is pretty intimidating.”
Seungcheol grins and you feel another shiver threaten to pulse through you. His grin is beautiful, turning his face from intimidating to soft in seconds. “I’m never going to be able to take them seriously again, I think.”
“You’re welcome.”
It’s quiet again. The tension from earlier hasn’t disappeared, but something in the air feels different. Sweat fills the creases behind your knees, beads on the small of your back, gathers on your thighs. Your rambling had made you forget about it all for a moment, but now it’s back, the awareness of the way your body is crawling toward Stage 1 of your heat.
If security gets here soon, you’ll be okay. It’s the lightest phase of the cycle, manageable with some effort and focus. But it’s unpredictable. Sometimes it lingers, sometimes it crashes into the next stage without warning. And while your body usually keeps a steady three-month rhythm, outside stimuli can trigger an early onset.
Like being trapped in an overheated lobby with an alpha just a few yards away. One who’s quiet, watching, aware.
Still, it’s not unmanageable. You’ve handled worse. If you can get home in time, the meds waiting in your cabinet will ease you through the worst of it, keep you from slipping into second and third stage alone, unprepared.
If not…
No, you can’t think about that. If you stray too far to the second stage of your cycle before getting home, your options are limited and grim.
You don’t like any of them.
You shift your stance again, ankles crossing and uncrossing, arms hugging your waist like that might hold everything in place. But it’s not helping anymore. Your skin feels too tight, like it doesn’t fit right on your body. The heat is building now, no longer a low thrum, but a steady pulse radiating from your core, licking up your spine and sinking into your limbs. Your breaths come shorter, faster, and there’s a dull ache beginning in your lower belly, something deep and hormonal and utterly beyond your control.
“Hey,” Seungcheol says, causing you to look at him. His face is soft. Concerned. “You still with me?”
The way he says it, soft and gentle, makes things worse. Makes you want to whine and cross the lobby floor to him, to let him pull you in tight and tell you it’ll be okay. To comfort you. The desire is so bad that you realize you’re much farther into Stage 1 than you thought.
Panic starts to nip at your heels. You’re unsure what to do. There’s nothing on you besides your nasal spray and your patches to help you out, but those aren’t what you need. Your patches protect others from your scent and the nasal spray protects you from others - from Seungcheol.
You try to answer, but your voice catches in your throat, coming out thin and shaky. “I’m okay.”
“Are you in prodrome?” he asks quietly, voice pitched low and careful.
You flinch when he finally says it out loud, letting the acknowledgement ring in the lobby. You close your eyes for a moment, your silence an answer in itself.
Seungcheol sighs and pulls his phone back out of his pocket, dialing as he lifts it to his ear. “Yeah, I know. Look, you need to expedite. My colleague needs medical assistance and we’re still locked in the lobby. No… no.” Seungcheol glances at you. “She’s experiencing prodrome. Can you please expedite? Yes. Thank you.”
He hangs up and turns back to you, stepping slowly so he doesn’t overwhelm, arms loose at his sides in a show of calm. “They’re sending someone now. Shouldn’t be long.”
You nod, but your breathing is uneven, shallow now. You can feel the sweat dripping down your spine, the pressure behind your eyes. Everything smells too sharp, too thick. Especially him. Spice and warmth and safety. It’s awful.
Seungcheol stays where he is, a careful distance between you, but his voice is steady when he says, “Tell me what you need. What I can do to help.”
“I’m fine.”
“I mean it. If you need space, I’ll back off. If you need something cold, we’ll figure it out. Just don’t… don’t try to pretend this isn’t happening. Let me help you.”
The kindness in his voice cracks something in your chest. No judgment, no pressure, just him, steady and solid, offering help while your body betrays you one symptom at a time.
You swallow hard. “I just need to get out. I just need to make it home before it gets worse.”
Seungcheol nods, no hesitation. “Then we’ll get you home. I promise.”
Time moves like molasses. The silence between you thickens. You give up on standing, sitting on the cool tile floor. It only offers momentary respite until you’re panting again, struggling to maintain your grip on yourself.
It’s not working. Your entire body is pulsing, tingling, burning in waves that crest and fall without rhythm. Your skin itches with hypersensitivity, every shift of your clothes unbearable, your breath slow and ragged. It feels like you’re melting, burning up from the forge in your chest.
You can feel Seungcheol watching you from his assigned corner. He says nothing, keeping a respectful distance. You steal a glance at him through bleary eyes. He’s just leaning against the wall, hands clenched and jaw tight. He’s doing his best to appear calm, but you see signs of irritation. His throat works and your eyes linger on the way his Adam's apple bobs for too long. You think about sinking your teeth into his neck, tasting him-
His scent, normally warm and grounded, spikes. You sense the shift and it makes you squirm, pressing yourself further into the wall. You look away from him, hiding your face in your shoulder while you squeeze your eyes shut as another wave of cramping crashes into you.
Seungcheol’s irritation is sharp. Shame floods you, thick and fast. Of course he’s annoyed. Today has gone from bad to worse. He’s now stuck in a lobby with an omega in prodrome, a liability that he now has to be responsible for, and you’re barely holding it together, shaking like a live wire. You’re stuck, and he’s stuck with you, and-
The lobby doors beep and hiss open. You don’t even lift your head. Don’t even hear the first few words from the guards. You only feel cool night air and the sudden shift in pressure, making you keen and melt into the tile.
Seungcheol appears at your side, his scent fading from acrid to soothing.
“Hey,” he murmurs, crouching down to your level. It’s the closest he’s been to you all day. You feel the heat of him, the nearness overwhelming. “They’re here. We can go.”
You don’t move. The thought of moving suddenly seems like an insurmountable task. Your world is tilting, your ears ringing. Your limbs feel detached from your brain and your body is locked, curled in on itself. Heat prickles across your skin like static.
Worst of all, you’re starting to panic. Fear sets in, stabbing deep. You don’t know how to get up and take the train home. Don’t know how to get yourself up the stairs and into your apartment. To the cabinet to take a suppressant. To the fridge for water.
Seungcheol’s voice sharpens. “Hey. Look at me.”
It’s a command. You blink up at him, barely able to focus. Something flashes behind his eyes and he’s on the phone again. “Hi, I need emergency assistance for an omega. She’s in heat prodrome and she’s deteriorating fast. No, she’s conscious. She’s overheating, but having trouble standing and struggling to focus. I have no idea what to do.”
You barely hear the voice on the other end of the line, but Seungcheol does. His expression shifts, each word they say tightening his jaw.
“She’s a coworker - we were locked in a lobby at work but I can take her to an omega hospital.” You whimper and shake your head vehemently, whining. He softens. “They said they can give you a heat inhibitor on-site.”
“No,” you pant. “It hurts.”
He nods. “I can’t do that, she doesn’t want to go.” The operator says something else and he nods. His eyes tighten at the corners and he glances at you. “I can take you to a service clinic. They can assign you-”
“Home,” you plead. “I just need to get home. I can- I can deal with it.”
“I don’t know… do you have, um. Do you have an alpha you usually…?”
“No.”
Tears well up fast and hot, blurring your vision, sliding down your cheeks in silent streaks. Your whole body feels wrong, like you’ve been unraveled from the inside, trembling and raw.
“I just want to go home,” you whisper, folding in on yourself. “I have my meds. I can manage if I can just get home. Please.”
He repeats what you say into the phone. They say something and he shakes his head and hangs up, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Okay. Alright. We’re going to get you home, okay?”
He helps you to your feet slowly, carefully, arms braced around you like he’s afraid you’ll break. You lean into him, weak and unsteady, but there’s no judgment in his touch, just quiet strength and a protective kind of focus that makes your throat tighten all over again.
The lobby fades behind you. The night air hits your overheated skin like salvation. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word as he guides you into the passenger seat of his car, buckles you in, and throws his jacket over your lap for warmth. His hands are shaking as he starts the engine.
“Can you give me directions?”
You mumble them. You’re not even sure that he hears you. He has no idea the bomb he’s given you, tossing his jacket over you. Your fingers curl into it, greedy. Inhaling deeply, you feel yourself drift as he drives, the hum of the engine lulling you into a half-daze. The smell of Seungcheol is overwhelming, but comforting. Steady. No longer a threat, but something you want. Need.
It isn’t until Seungcheol’s hands are gently shaking you that you realize you’re at your apartment. You blink up at him, stars in your eyes. He looks down at you, glasses a little askew as he asks you a question. His words are garbled and you don’t understand, shaking your head in confusion as he gazes at you.
“Come on,” he sighs, unbuckling your seat for you. His chest brushes across you as he does, bergamot and cardamom hitting you so hard that it knocks the senses out of you. You’re near catatonic for a second until you feel his hands pressed against your forehead. “Fuck, you’re burning up. Can I carry you?”
You must nod, because he bends low and scoops you out of the car. You jostle against his chest as he carries you bridal style toward the stairs. His scent is mind numbing. Your face is too close to his neck and he doesn’t have a scent blocker on, pheromones doing insane damage to your self control as he climbs the stairs, you in his arms like you weigh absolutely nothing.
Gently, Seungcheol places you on your feet. He slides an arm around your waist, keeping you upright and pinned to him as he unlocks your door. You have no idea where he got your keys, must have fished them out of your purse at some point.
Seungcheol guides you into your dark apartment, helping you to the couch like you’re made of glass. You collapse onto it, dazed. He crouches, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. His eyes are devastatingly soft, touch featherlight.
“Let me call a doctor.”
“No.” Your voice is hoarse but immediate. “Please don’t. I can’t go to the hospital again. I don’t want to do this strapped to a bed, surrounded by strangers and white lights and IVs. I can’t.”
He exhales, hands flexing. “Okay. Okay. But—then what? Do you have anyone who can help you through it? Any alpha you-”
“No. I just do it alone with meds. They’re in my bathroom cabinet. If you could just get them, I can do this.”
“I don’t think meds are going to help.” His admission is soft. Regretful, almost. Like it pains him to tell you this.
You think he’s right, but you don’t know what else to do.
Seungcheol’s brows furrow. You watch the internal war play out on his face, concern and hesitance and something harder to name. His throat bobs as he swallows. “If… look, if there’s no one else. I can try to help.”
You suck in a sharp breath. “What?”
“I can try. Only if you want. Only if you need. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage, I just… I don’t want you to suffer. I know it’s not ideal, but I’m here. I don’t want to leave you like this.”
A fresh wave of tears hits you, shame curling hot in your chest.
“You don’t want to,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You’re just saying that because you feel bad. And I feel awful. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t want to put you in this position-”
“Hey.” His voice is firmer now, but not unkind. He shifts forward, his hands finding yours, wrapping them gently between his palms. Your skin tingles where he touches you, a fresh wave of heat licking through you. “Stop. Look at me.”
You do. Barely. His face is open and honest, his eyes warm. He’s so pretty like this, looking at you like you’re something he cares about - someone he cares about.
“I want to help you. Not because I pity you. Not because I feel obligated. Because I care about you. And you’re in pain. And I can do something about it.” He takes a breath, then adds, softer, “Even if that means the more intimate parts.”
Your face crumples, fresh humiliation rising, but he keeps holding your gaze, steady and calm.
“Only if you want to,” he says. “Only if you’re lucid and safe and sure. If you want me to sit on the other side of the apartment all night and just be here, I will. If you want to go to sleep and pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow, I’ll follow your lead.”
“I don’t want you on the other side of the apartment,” you admit. “I just feel embarrassed by what I need.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, especially for something out of your control. Your body isn’t your enemy.”
You press your lips together, fighting the emotions building in your chest, but it’s no use. A soft sob slips out before you can stop it, and Seungcheol is there in an instant, wrapping his arms around you with careful strength, cradling you against him like he’s anchoring you to the moment.
His scent hits you more fully now, warm and earthy beneath the sharp spice, like cinnamon bark and sun-warmed cedar. It fills your lungs and settles into the frantic edge of your nerves like balm, and it’s… comforting. Not invasive. Not overwhelming.
Just Seungcheol.
“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “Whatever you need, we go slow. I’ll follow your pace. You lead.”
“Even if it’s more than you expected?”
“Even then.”
Seungcheol helps you sit back, propped with cushions on the couch, still watching you like you might unravel again, but not because he doubts you. Because he cares. Because he’s listening to every breath you take like it matters.
“I’ll need… a few things,” you say, quietly. “If this really goes into the full cycle. I have suppressants, but they won’t help much unless I can get them in the next hour, and I don’t think I have that kind of time anymore.”
“Okay. Tell me what you need.”
You breathe in. “Water. A lot of it. Heat spikes dehydrate fast, and I’ll probably get a fever if we don’t keep me hydrated. Heats are a game of chess except sometimes the board blows up.”
“Funny. Got it.”
“And blankets,” you add quickly. “I’ll feel cold, even if I’m burning. Like weight and softness. Like nesting.”
“Like a bird… or dinosaur.”
You scowl at him and he grins, dimples appearing in his cheek. It makes you want to lean forward and bite him, to sink your teeth in and never let go.
“What else?” He asks.
“I’ll need food eventually. Simple things. Broths, carbs. My body’s going to want to burn through everything at once.”
“Easy.”
“And proximity.” You hesitate here, voice wavering. “I’ll need closeness. I haven’t had a heat partner before, but probably a lot of sex. It uh - comes in waves but it helps. Obviously. So there’s that.”
“I can do that.” There’s no hesitation. Just firm dedication. “It’s not a problem. What else?”
You look at him, something stirring in your chest, still unsure how to express the storm of emotions bubbling beneath your skin. “What have you done for your omegas in the past? During heat? This is sort of new to me.”
He pauses. “I haven’t. I’ve never spent a heat with an omega.”
“What?”
“I’ve never been with an omega at all, to be honest with you.” The gravity of his statement makes you panic. You start to sit up, protests bubbling to your lips but he hushes you, eases you back down. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t totally sure.”
“Why offer at all?”
“Because it’s you,” he says simply. “And I’d rather learn how to help you than let you suffer alone.”
A beat passes.
“Okay,” you whisper.
“Okay,” he echos. “Let’s get you settled.”
Seungcheol stands, giving you one more lingering gaze before he sets himself to the task of readying your apartment. He sends you to your room to change into a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt before he lets you settle on the couch, sweaty and shaking.
Seungcheol moves through your space like he’s been here before, like he knows where everything is even when he clearly doesn’t. He opens cabinets and drawers gently, always looking back at you as though he’s seeking permission. You nod each time, endeared by his hesitancy.
You don’t know what to make of his admission of never being with an omega before. In your experience, most alphas would loathe to admit that, finding something wrong with it. But Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, admitting it as a simple fact, neither good nor bad.
You like that about him, his self-assuredness.
When he finds your largest pot, Seungcheol fills it with water and sets it over the stove. He pulls out ingredients for simple foods: rice, pasta, anything with carbs like you’d said. He hums under his breath as he moves, a soft, low sound that vibrates in your bones.
It’s soothing. Almost domestic. But every second that stretches between you builds like static, his very presence buzzing along your awareness like an exposed wire.
Seungcheol brings you a cool glass of water and kneels to hand it to you, his fingers brushing yours when you reach out to take it. You try not to flinch at the bolt of electricity that jumps up your arm. His eyes linger on your face, reading you. Not pitying. Not worried. Just seeing.
“You’re doing okay?” He asks, but by his tone, he knows you are. You nod, but your throat is dry again, so you take a few gulps of water, nearly emptying the glass. He laughs and reaches for it when some spills over, running down your chin. “Careful.”
Something in his voice changes. The softness of it ripples down your spine and you look at him over the brim of your glass. His scent is warmer. Closer. Still under control, but pressing at the edges of your awareness like velvet, his alpha instincts responding to your body chemistry, the need of your hormones begging for him.
Seungcheol rises, keeping a respectful distance, and yet his gaze burns where it rests on you. He takes the glass from you, fingers brushing yours again before heading to the kitchen to refill it.
It makes you unravel, every part of you unspooling wildly as you watch him in your kitchen, the muscles under his shirt flexing. He rolls his sleeves as he turns the stove off before coming back your way, forearms bare, veins throbbing.
Arousal unravels inside of you. You feel the tip from Stage 1 to Stage 2, your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your hands shaking more. When Seungcheol offers the glass, you don’t take it. You stare at your hands, willing yourself to stop, willing yourself to stop wanting him. The fear of making him uncomfortable is so sudden, a wave crashing into you.
Seungcheol notices. He drops to his knees immediately, putting the glass of water on the coffee table. This time, he doesn’t hesitate when he touches you, putting his palm to your forehead, his other resting on top of your wrist, his thumb tracing back and forth soothingly.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is like velvet. “What happened?”
Your lips part, but no words come. You try again. Nothing. You don’t know how to shape the words, don’t know how to tell him that a second ago, you thought he was domestic and sweet, and now you’ve strayed into dangerous territory, thinking that you’d like nothing more for him to pin you down and fuck you until you can’t feel anything but him anymore.
You don’t need to tell him. Seungcheol inhales and you see the shift happen, a shiver rattling through him. He closes his eyes, inhaling again. A knowing, almost pained sound grumbles in the back of his throat and you squirm in response. He drops his hand from your head to your shoulder, fingers squeezing.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes snap open and he looks up at you, deadly serious. “Hey. No shame. Not with me. You told me to help, didn’t you? Let me do that.”
You nod, small and shaky. He lingers for a second longer, like he's giving you a chance to back out, then slowly rises, curling an arm around your back. You lean into him instinctively, your body already seeking contact, and he lifts you with ease.
Your bedroom isn’t far, but the walk feels endless, every footstep echoes with your racing pulse. You can feel his scent thickening around you, not overpowering, but present, comforting. It keeps you tethered, grounded. You cling to him in silence, your skin flushed hot, thighs pressing together in search of friction, your heart betraying you in its longing.
He places you gently on your bed, kneeling down beside you. For a long moment, he doesn’t touch you. He just watches, reading your every breath, every twitch of discomfort.
At first, you don’t do anything but stare at him. Seungcheol is so beautiful, with a plush mouth made for kissing, long eyelashes that frame gentle eyes, a dimple that appears each time he smiles. You’ve always noticed him, this quiet and soft alpha in your office. You’d never imagined you’d be here, looking up at him with want in your gut so strong that you can barely stand it.
Seungcheol senses it, because of course he does. He surges forward, catching your mouth in a gentle kiss. It’s slow and uncertain at first, hesitating to see if you pull away. You don’t pull away at all. Instead, you keen, a whine slipping between your mouths that makes him groan in response.
He deepens the kiss slowly, reverently. His lips are soft but sure, his hands careful as they frame your face. He tastes faintly of cherry chapstick, your omega running wild as you lean into him and lick into his mouth, eager to taste him.
“Is this what you want?” He asks, panting as he breaks the kiss. He’s leaning onto your bed now, pressing his nose against yours. You feel him pant against you, barely contained. You nod, unable to speak. “Even if this goes further?”
“Please.”
That one word seems to break him. He climbs up into your bed, hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. You let out a sound of appreciation as he settles, his mouth meeting yours again. This time, there’s heat in it. One hand roams you carefully while the other is planted by your head, keeping him looming over you. Every touch eases the ache and stokes the fire in equal measure.
You can’t get enough of him, running your hands over his stomach and around his waist, pulling at him, desperate. It feels like you’re burning up, both suffering and relieved at the same time as his tongue finds the warmth of your mouth, drinking you in.
His scent is rich and spicy, unmistakably alpha. It makes your omega instincts claw at you, urging you to submit, to bare your neck. You tilt your head, exposing the sensitive skin, and Seungcheol growls low, his lips brushing the pulse point before he nips gently, not enough to mark but enough to make you shudder. Your slick pools between your thighs, the air thick with your arousal, and he groans again, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent.
“Fuck,” he growls, burying his face in your neck. It might be the first time you’ve heard him curse. “The sounds you make… fuck.”
Seungcheol’s tongue darts out, sweeping against your scent gland. His head snaps up and he frowns, realizing there’s a scent blocker on your neck. His lip curls like he’s offended, and he gently peels the pad off your neck, soothing the sting as the adhesive tears off with his warm, wet tongue.
His tongue directly against your neck nearly makes you catatonic. Your eyes roll back, breath catching as he mouths at you before pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses up and down your neck.
“You smell so fucking good,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.
His hand slides down your body, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping as his fingers find your slick-soaked panties. He teases you, fingers circling slowly, pressing the fabric of your underwear into your messy cunt.
“Please,” you pant.
There’s that word again. It seems to make him malfunction, makes him bend to your will. He nods, peppering your collarbones with butterfly-light kisses as he pulls your underwear to the side. His fingers drag up and down your cunt and you squeeze your eyes shut. Your arms circle around his neck, clinging to him for dear life, hips canting as he leisurely circles your clit, applying subtle pressure.
“Feel okay?” He asks, breathing the words into your ear. His teeth nip at your ear playfully and you gasp, making him chuckle deep in his throat. “Do you want-”
“Please.”
He kisses your jaw. “Got it.”
Seungcheol presses a finger into your heat, wet and slow, aided by the arousal dripping from your entrance. The stretch is perfect, his fingers curling just right, and you gasp, hips bucking against his hand.
You whine, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt. He hums in response, pleased at your reaction. He slowly starts to pump his fingers, restricted by the waistband of your sweats. His thumb swirls against your clit and you hurtle toward an orgasm from the barest stimulation, already too worked up, too fucked out on him and his fingers and the hormones.
Your body sings under his touch, heat coiling tighter, your omega keening for more, for him, for everything. His lips find yours again, mouths clashing as he slips another finger in, working you open until you’re shaking in his grasp and coming around his fingers. You hear the wet smack of his hand against your pussy, the way his fingers squelch.
You don’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed by it. Instead, you’re floating in a fucked out haze, the world dulling. There’s just Seungcheol’s lazy tongue in your mouth and the smell of bergamot and cardamom. The weight of him on you feels safe, setting you in a trance.
Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you. You make a noise of protest but he hushes you with a gentle kiss. You feel a little more aware as the orgasm subsides, the ache you’d had a few moments ago dulled by the satisfaction. You know it’ll get worse and you’ll need more, but for now, you’re okay.
You open your mouth to give a shy thank you when you’re stopped, entranced by the way Seungcheol brings his fingers, shining with your cum, up to his mouth. Your lips part in shock as he pops them past his lips, sucking generously. He hums, eyelids fluttering shut as he licks them clean.
Never had you imagined that, imagined him like this. When he opens his eyes, his pupils are dilated. Starving. Feral.
“Taste so fucking good,” He murmurs, leaning down to give you a lingering kiss. You taste yourself on him, different but not unpleasant. “Can’t wait to taste you properly later.” That makes you whine and you reach for him, but he smiles and kisses your nose before standing up. You pout and he laughs. “Water. You need water.”
Seungcheol leaves your room but he leaves the door open just in case. You nuzzle into the bed, fisting the jacket he’d given you earlier as you nuzzle into it. You wish the bed smelled more like him. Right now it just smells like you, with bits of Seungcheol laced in.
You close your eyes, letting your body melt into the sheets, muscles pleasantly sore and mind hazy with velocetin, a neurochemical that heightens arousal and reduces pain perception during Stage 2 of an omega’s heat cycle. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the AC and the faint creak of the floorboards as Seungcheol moves through the house.
When he comes back, Seungcheol is holding a bottle of water in one hand and something else in the other. A bowl of mac and cheese. He brandishes both proudly before sitting on the bed next to you. You prop yourself up on the pillows, looking at him through your lashes.
"Figured you might need both,” he says.
You shake your head. “Just water.”
“You haven’t eaten dinner.”
“Don’t wanna.”
He levels a look at you. Switches tactics. “It would make me feel better if you did,” he urges gently. He puts the water on the nightstand, bowl of mac and cheese in his lap. He reaches out and brushes his fingers along your bottom lip. “Please.”
That word hangs in the air between you, both a pleasantry and a weapon. You feel the way he means it, the way it would make him feel better if you ate. You nod, sitting up with his careful assistance until you’re leaning against the headboard.
Seungcheol stabs some of the pasta and lifts his hand before pausing, realizing he was about to feed you. You both flush, averting his eyes and handing you the bowl awkwardly, you trying not to put it down and jump him at the thought of him wanting to care for you this way.
Instead, you bite into the mac and cheese. It’s a little salty, but it’s good. You eat the entire bowl in comfortable silence, Seungcheol holding out the bottle of water for you in exchange for your empty dish. You trade and you chug some of the water, letting it keep you cool.
“I guess I didn’t realize how much of an appetite I had,” you note, sagging into the pillows. You feel good. Far better than you ever have when dealing with your cycle alone.
He grins, cocky and unrepentant. “Guess I fixed that, huh?”
You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning too. “Shut up.”
“I could,” he says, climbing back into bed beside you, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you whine like that.”
You flush at the memory, at the way your body still responds to his voice alone. He notices, of course he does, and his smile softens. One hand finds your waist, tugging you closer until you're nestled against him again.
“Take a nap,” he murmurs, leaning back into the headboard. “You need rest.”
“What about you?”
He smiles softly. “I’m good right where I am.”
-
You wake to the sound of voices. For a moment, you're disoriented, wrapped in sheets that smell faintly like Seungcheol and sweat and a myriad of other scents familiar to you from years of heat cycles. It’s still dark in your room, only the glow of a neon sign outside slipping through your blinds a source of illumination.
You roll over instinctively, reaching for Seungcheol and you freeze. The spot where he was when you had fallen asleep is now vacant. Cold, like he hadn’t been there in the last hour.
Panic lances through your chest, so painful that it feels like a physical blow. You all but fall out of bed, heart hammering when you realize he left. He’s gone and you’re alone and you don’t know what to do, terror working its way up your throat.
Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe everything he said was just talk. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to silence the rush of doubt, of fear- until you hear it again. Voices. Voices that had woken you up in the first place, momentarily forgotten by a hormone-addled brain and sleep.
The door is shut to your room but you reach for it now, cracking it open. Dim light floods through the gap. All the lights in your apartment are off, but the single bulb over your stove is burning, a warm golden glow filtering down the hall.
Sticking your head out, you see Seungcheol standing at your door. It’s mostly closed, just enough for him to block the gap with whoever he’s talking to. His broad back is facing you and you cock your head, puzzled. You can see the tension rippling through him, the way his hackles rise and the rigid way he stands, like he’s barring entry to something important.
“Yeah, you’ve been really helpful,” Seungcheol growls. There’s a low, dangerous edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before. It sets the hairs on your arm standing.
“Relax, man.” You don’t recognize the voice on the other side of the door. It’s playful, distinctly male. “I brought you your shit, didn’t I? You’re acting like I came to steal her.”
Seungcheol bristles. “Out, Soonyoung.”
“Okay, okay,” Soonyoung - whoever that is - says. “Message received. You don’t have to piss on the doormat, Cheol.”
“I just might.”
You can’t help the small sound that escapes you, half laugh, half sigh of relief.
Seungcheol’s head whips around at the sound, eyes immediately softening when they land on you. “Hey,” he says, voice gentler now, but still tight with emotion. “You should be resting.”
You pad down the hallway toward him. Each step closer makes the fire inside of you return. You feel the throb come back, needing more, subtle but growing. “I thought you left.”
His entire expression changes, and he’s at your side in an instant. “No. No, baby,” he says, cupping your face with both hands. “I just went to the door. I called Soonyoung for some clothes and stuff. I wasn’t leaving. I wouldn’t leave you like that.”
Baby. He says it so naturally, so unconsciously, that you’re not even sure he realizes it slipped out. But it hits you like a warm wave, softening every edge of panic still clinging to your chest. Your knees wobble slightly, and he notices. His hands slide from your face to your waist, grounding you there, steady and sure. He pulls you closer, and you melt into him, breathing him in.
Not gone. Not alone. He’s right here with you, like he said he would.
“Sorry. I just panicked.”
“No, it’s my fault. I should have known you’d wake up.”
A throat clears behind him.
You both freeze, and then Seungcheol stiffens, the muscles under your hands tensing like a drawn bowstring. His eyes narrow behind his glasses as he turns his head, keeping you tight against him, chest to chest, like a shield. A low, warning growl rumbles from deep in his throat.
“Soonyoung was just leaving,” Seungcheol asserts.
“Soonyoung is leaving, but also says he hopes your cycle goes well!”
Carefully, you peek around Seungcheol to see Soonyoung in the doorway. He’s standing in the doorway with a duffel slung over his shoulder, unbothered and grinning. His dark hair is long around his ears, and his eyes curve into soft crescents when he smiles. He waves at you, the gesture so sincere it makes you falter, like he’s genuinely happy to see you, even though you’ve clearly never met.
“Nice to meet you!”
Another warning growl vibrates through Seungcheol’s chest. You feel it more than hear it.
Soonyoung just rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, relax.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender as he backs away. “Let me know if he starts brooding in corners or being unbearable. Happens when he doesn’t get enough attention.”
“Bye, Soonyoung,” Seungcheol grits out.
Soonyoung flashes one last wink and manages to pull the door shut just before Seungcheol fully turns to kill him. He exhales sharply and mutters something under his breath.
You look up at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “Territorial much?”
His ears flush instantly, color blooming down to his neck. He chews the inside of his cheek, gaze dropping. “I apologize,” he murmurs, stepping away. “I know I’ve overstepped and-”
“Don’t,” you interrupt, reaching to pull him back, hands curling into his sides. “I liked it.” His brows lift, uncertain. You offer a soft smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen that side of you before. You’re usually so calm. Quiet. Kind of unassuming. Not very…”
“Not very alpha.”
“Not in the way people expect. But that’s not a bad thing.” He studies you for a moment, searching your expression, and something in his shoulders loosens. “I like the way you are. And the possessiveness…”
You shiver and he grins, cockiness returning to you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
His hands slide back to your waist, gripping just a little firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have told me that. Now I’m not going to be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to. Please.”
Seungcheol forgets all about his bag by the door. He scoops you up in his arms, taking you back to your room. You let out a soft sound, something almost like a purr, keening under him, excitement and arousal flooding you overtime.
He notices, groaning when he catches the change in your body chemistry. He places you down on the bed gently, crawling over you, hand skimming up your t-shirt as he does. His fingers are warm and light, playful. You don’t want playful, though. You want greedy. Hungry.
The buzz of anticipation curls low in your belly, heat blooming under your skin like wildfire. You arch into him instinctively, hips twitching. “Don’t play with me,” you breathe, reaching up to fist the fabric at his sides. “Please.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Recognition, you think. Like he sees the hunger gnawing inside of you and he recognizes it as his own. You want it, want that fire in him. You want to dive in head first and never come up for air. You want him so bad it hurts, a physical pain manifesting between your legs as your thoughts drift away and your instinct takes over.
“Please,” is all you can whisper.
That’s all it takes. The control he’s been clinging to snaps like a thread pulled too tight. He crashes his mouth onto yours, swallowing your moan as his body presses down, heavy and solid, every inch of him demanding to be closer. His kiss is nothing like the ones before, this one is rough, consuming, all tongue and teeth and need. His hands slide up your sides, pushing the shirt higher, until the fabric is bunched at your ribs and he can finally touch bare skin.
His palms are searing, dragging up your waist to your ribs, brushing just beneath your breasts before he groans deep in his throat, your scent thick in the air now, laced with heat, need, you.
“You smell so fucking good,” he growls, mouth trailing hot, wet kisses down your throat. “It’s driving me insane.”
You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again, his hips pressing into yours, and you gasp at the hardness you feel through his pants. He’s still in his work clothes, though they’re wrinkled and sweaty and a mess. You tug at them desperately, whining, trying to get them off.
He growls again, low and possessive, and then he’s kissing you hard, his body rolling against yours in slow, grinding movements. His thigh slots between yours, pinning you in place, and the friction makes your back arch, chasing more.
“Tell me what you want,” he mutters against your mouth, one hand cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your bra, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “I’ll give you anything, baby. Anything.”
There’s that nickname again. Baby. It sounds sinful on his lips, like he’d do anything for you, like he would give anything for you. It makes you dizzy with gluttonous power and you pant, pulling him as close as you can get him, a button popping on his shirt.
“I want you. Now.”
Seungcheol’s eyes darken, pupils blown, and he pulls back just enough to kneel above you. His gaze rakes over you, flushed, trembling. He makes a sound, something pitiful, hands trembling slightly as his fingers work the buttons of his shirt.
He shrugs his shirt off, the fabric catching on broad shoulders before it falls, revealing hard planes of his chest, skin flushed with a thin sheen of sweat. His muscles flex when he moves, every line of him radiating strength. Your mouth waters, arousal pooling between your legs, screaming to touch him, to taste him.
He doesn’t rush, though. His fingers linger on his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness, the clink of metal loud in the charged silence. Your hips shift, impatient. He tuts at you, narrowing his eyes and you still immediately, falling into line, eager to please. His mouth twitches and he drops a hand to give your thigh a squeeze as if to say good job.
It makes you want to pass out.
Seungcheol slides his belt free, letting it drop, and when he unbuttons his pants, the sound of his zipper is tortuous. You want him immediately, you want him now, but he seems dead set on doing this at exactly his pace. So you let him, letting the ache peak inside of you, shivering at what you know he’s going to give you.
He carefully shoves his pants down, kicking them alongside his briefs in one fell swoop. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening with precum. Your core clenches at the sight, a fresh wave of slick dripping from you, and he groans, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent.
“God, you’re perfect,” he says, voice low. He peels your sweats down your legs, shaking his head as he goes, overwhelmed by the sheer need for him, to your body's reaction. “Fuck.”
He crawls back over you, hands skimming your sides, sliding up to peel your shirt off of you. The air is cold but Seungcheol’s touch is burning you up. He deftly removes your bra, tossing it somewhere behind him. He pauses, eyes locked on you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your breath catch. It’s like he can’t get enough of you, cannot fathom what’s in front of him.
Seungcheol shakes himself as if from a daze and then his mouth is on you, lips trailing fire down your throat, over your collarbone, until he reaches your breast. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling, and you moan, back arching to press closer.
His worship is meticulous, unhurried. He lavishes attention on your other breast, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, while his hand slides down, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You’re trembling, omega instincts in overdrive, and when his fingers finally find your slick-soaked folds, you cry out, hips bucking into his touch. He groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, and pulls back to look at you, eyes blazing.
“Yeah?” He asks, voice scratchy. “So wet for me.” His fingers tease, spreading your slick, circling your clit with maddening slowness. “All for me?”
“Yes. Yours.”
Hearing you say it makes something snap in him. His pupils dilate, fucked out and filled with an intensity you didn’t know was possible. He dips lower, kissing a path down your stomach, nipping at the soft skin above your hips. He settles between your thighs, spreading them wide, and the sight of him there, all broad shoulders, dark eyes, and lips parted, makes your core throb.
He doesn’t tease this time, reaching up with one hand to rip off his glasses and toss them to the corner of the mattress. He drops down and his mouth finds you, tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line through your folds, and you moan, loud and broken, as he tastes you. Relief floods through you. You feel yourself go boneless, the pain that was ebbing in you a moment ago dulling again as Seungheol leisurely tongues at you, groaning while he does.
Seungcheol is relentless, worshipful, every lick and suck a testament to his need to please you. His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, then harder, and you writhe, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard. He moans into you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and doubles down, tongue flicking with precision, lapping up every drop of slick. His fingers join in, two slipping inside you, curling against that perfect spot, and the stretch, the pressure, is overwhelming.
You gasp, hips grinding against his face, chasing the building heat in your stomach. He hums, pleased, and the sound pushes you closer to the edge. He’s messy, slick coating his chin, his lips. He doesn’t care. He seems drunk on it, one hand pressing your thighs to further open you up, pressing his face further into your cunt to drink you in.
His fingers thrust in time with his tongue, every curl and suck calculated to make you unravel. You shiver under him, your limbs unable to keep up, thighs twitching against his hand. It feels maddening, better than anything you’ve ever felt up until this point.
Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, dragging you under until you’re gasping for air. Your thighs clamp around his head and he lets you. He laps at your entrance as it drips, drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until you’re whimpering and overstimulated.
Even overstimulated, you want more. Need more.
Seungcheol pulls back, lips glistening, eyes wild. He pulls his fingers from you and crawls up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is filthy, desperate, and you moan into it, pulling him closer.
“Need you,” you gasp, hands roaming his back, feeling the muscles flex under your fingertips, your nails cramping. “Need you inside of me. Please.”
He nods, unable to respond. He lowers his waist and drops a hand down to peel your thighs open. You feel how wet and messy you are but you don’t care. Seungcheol seems to appreciate it, swearing when he looks between your bodies to fist his heavy cock and line himself up with your entrance.
The anticipation makes you tremble. He pushes in slowly, stretching you inch by inch, and you both groan, the sensation overwhelming. He’s big, filling you completely, and your walls flutter around him, slick easing the way.
“Fuck,” he grits out, dropping his forhead against yours. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”
Seungcheol fights to keep still, fights to let you adjust around him. You’re stretched tight, gripping him like a vice, your breathing hitched as you struggle yourself, near ready to come from just this alone.
You manage to hang on, tangling your fingers in the damp hair at the base of his neck. You need more - always more. You start rocking your hips, urging him deeper. It feels so good you see spots in your vision. He moans and thrusts hard on instinct, bottoming out.
The pace builds, his hips snapping, each thrust precise and deep, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. The pressure builds so fast you barely register it, chasing your high and whatever he’ll give you, your omega instincts screaming for it.
He can tell. He quickens his pace, trying to get you there faster. It does the trick, because you come around him without warning. You pulse around him and he slows down, grinding his hips against you, letting you gush around him until your shaking subsides.
Seungcheol is still rock hard, cock throbbing. Your forehead rests against his forearm, Seungcheol leaning over you, caging you in.
“Can you take more?” You nod but he shakes his head, nosing your temple. “You have to verbally tell me.”
“Can take more.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
He kisses your temple and picks his pace back up.
It’s slower, but more defined. Deep. Seungcheol’s stroke is slow and deliberate, one of his hands slipping under your thigh to hike it up around his waist. That makes you whine, high-pitched and he loves it, mouth catching yours, drinking in all the sounds you make.
You’re close again, the pleasure building faster now, amplified by the way he watches you, eyes never leaving your face, like he’s memorizing every gasp, every moan. His hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit, still swollen from his mouth, and he rubs tight, relentless circles.
“Want you to come again,” he murmurs, voice raw. There’s a bit of a command in his voice, laced with something you swear is devotion. “Wanna feel you, baby. Give it to me.”
His words and the relentless drive of his cock are too much. You whimper, nails digging into his back and he leans down, lips brushing against your neck. Not biting - that’s far too advanced for whatever this is - and his fingers press harder, circling faster.
The coil in your belly snaps and your second orgasm crashes through you, sharper and more intense. Your body locks around him, walls pulsing as you come again. He groans, low and guttural, pleased by the way you clench around him. But he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it.
You’re shaking and oversensitive, but he’s not done. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, keeping you tethered.
“So good for me,” he praises, kissing your sweaty forehead. “So fucking perfect. You did so good.”
The praise makes your omega sing, and you cling to him, breathless, as he chases his own release. His hips stutter, breaths growing ragged, and with a final, deep thrust, he comes, spilling inside of you. He groans, dropping his forehead against you, shaking in your arms as he comes down from his high.
Finally, he collapses over you, careful not to crush you. You stay like that, a pile of tangled limbs, panting. His lips find your neck, kissing softly, soothing spots he’d nipped.
“You okay?” He croaks, voice hoarse with disuse.
You’re only slightly coherent, somewhere stuck between a dreamlike space where your omega is satiated and reality. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Good.”
“I’m gonna grab water, okay? I’ll only be gone for a second. Just gonna get water and then we can sleep for a little.”
“Mhmm.”
Seungcheol is hesitant this time when he gets up, no doubt worried about what happened the last time you thought he left. This time, you’re too out of it to really register how long it takes him to get water. One moment he’s out the door and the next the bed is dipping under his weight as he cradles your head to feed you water.
It’s cool and you come back to life a little, opening your eyes as you gulp, greedy. He admonishes you to be careful not to choke, tilting the glass so that the water isn’t gushing into your mouth. When you drain the glass, he smiles and kisses you.
“Good,” he hums, happy. That makes you beam at him, thrilled that he’s pleased. “More?”
You shake your head. “Tired.”
“Okay. Let me change the sheets - don’t move. I’ll work around you, okay?”
Somehow, he manages to. With a careful series of rolling you to the side and lifting you to slide new sheets under you, Seungcheol executes an impressive sheet change without really bothering you. He disappears once more to throw the spent sheets in the wash.
Upon his return, you’re barely awake. You reach for him anyway, buried somewhere underneath piles of blankets that smell like him. Finally.
Seungcheol lets you pull him into bed, sliding across the mattress until you’re flush chest to chest, the beating of his heart against yours. He smells good. Content. Happy. Your eyes blink heavily as you breathe him in, all pain forgotten.
“Sleep,” he mumbles, just as tired. “I’m not going anywhere.”
-
When you wake up again, you’re not really sure what time it is. All you know is that there is orange light burning through your blinds, something like late afternoon. More important, there’s an ache between your legs and there’s sweat on the back of your neck, already restless from whatever dream had woken you up.
The room is quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breathing and Seungcheol’s steady exhales beside you. His arm is draped loosely over your waist. His scent is warm and spicy, grounding you. But beneath that cool calm his presence brings is a restless heat simmering, starting in your core and spreading to your limbs.
You try to ignore it, shutting your eyes and willing yourself back to sleep. It doesn’t go away, an ache growing in its place. A whine slips through your lips, despite your best efforts. The sound is small, but piercing through the stillness and before you can tamp down on it, Seungcheol is stirring, arm tightening briefly before he’s hooking a chin over your shoulder.
“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks, voice low and rough with sleep. “You okay?”
His fingers brush back and forth across your waist. It’s supposed to be soothing but it’s almost maddening.
“Feel hot. Need you.”
Seungcheol presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. You feel the curve of his smile. “I’ve got you.”
He moves slowly, peeling the sheets back. His hands are reverent, skimming your thighs and parting them as he settles between them. The air feels electric, every brush of his skin against yours sending sparks through you.
Like always, Seungcheol takes his time. His lips start at your knee, kissing softly, then trailing higher, nipping the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. You whimper, hips twitching, needy and desperate, and he hums, pleased.
“So needy,” he teases. You’re not embarrassed this time, knowing that with him, there’s nothing to be worried about.
He spreads your legs wider, exposing your warm, wet core. He bites his lower lip, teeth digging into the flesh as he groans, like he’s trying to fight himself on diving in and taking what he wants versus giving you what you need.
The first pass of Seungcheol’s tongue is slow and deliberate, a long, slow-soft drag through your folds that makes you gasp, hands fisting the sheets. He hums, the vibration making you twitch. His lips close gently around your clit, giving an experimental suck. You cry out and he grins, dragging his tongue to dip back down to your entrance for a taste.
Seungcheol is relentless, his mouth working you with a devotion that borders on obsession. His tongue traces every inch of you, slow and thorough, lapping up your slick like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He alternates between broad, languid strokes and precise flicks, learning your reactions, lingering where you tremble most. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you open, grounding you as you writhe, the slick coating his chin and lips only spurring him on.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling away for a second. He leans over your cunt and lets a string of spit and cum drip from his swollen mouth to your cunt before chasing it with his tongue. “I could stay here forever.”
He dives back in, tongue pressing into you, fucking you with slow, shallow thrusts of his mouth. Your moans are broken, and he takes it as encouragement, running his tongue in lazy circles, tasting all of you. Just as you start to near a soft high, his fingers join in, pressing in gently, making your vision blurry.
The first orgasm builds fast, your body already primed from the restless heat of your sleep. His fingers pump in time with his tongue, relentless, and when he sucks hard on your clit, you shatter. A cry tears from your throat, hips bucking against his face as slick gushes, your walls clenching around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, lapping through your tremors, drawing out every pulse until you’re shaking, oversensitive, whimpering his name.
“One more, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You can give me one more.”
You can. He knows it. You know it.
His mouth softens, less intense but no less thorough, kissing your folds gently before returning to your clit with slow, teasing licks. Your body protests, too sensitive, but the heat is already building again, coaxed by his worshipful attention. He’s patient, methodical, every movement calculated to keep you on the edge without overwhelming you. His fingers slide back in, slower this time, curling lazily, and you feel the stretch, the fullness.
Your second orgasm creeps up, slower but deeper, a steady wave that builds as he works you with unwavering focus. His tongue flicks faster, lips sealing around your clit, and when he hums, the vibration tips you over. You come with a sob, less sharp but more intense, your whole body trembling as pleasure rolls through you, slick coating his hand, his mouth. He laps at you softly, easing you through it, until you’re boneless, panting, your omega sated.
Seungcheol’s kisses turn languid, worshipping, cleaning up the mess he made, savouring every drop. Your hands loosen in the sheets and he finally pulls back, crawling back up to the bed, pressing scattered, wet kisses up your body as he does.
“Better?” He asks when he reaches your face, nose brushing against yours.
“Thank you.”
He smiles, dimples flashing, and settles beside you, pulling you into his chest. His scent surrounds you, grounding, and you feel the bond pulse, warm and steady.
“Rest a little. Then we’ll shower.”
-
The shower fills with steam and the scent of eucalyptus. Fog covers the shower door as hot water runs over you and Seungcheol. His broad frame stands behind you, hands gentle but firm as he massages shampoo into your hair, working slow circles into your scalp. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.
If only for a moment, it’s perfect. Almost too perfect, which makes your chest tighten with a quiet ache. This is just Seungcheol helping you through your heat, a temporary balm for a fire that will ultimately flare again.
You don’t know how you ever did this without him before. Don’t know how you’re going to manage to do it without him in the future. After just a day, Seungcheol has flipped your scope of the world upside down, changing your heat cycle entirely.
Typically, it’s days of foggy suffering with suppressants to numb you. It’s a listlessness that chases you for days until your hormones are right again, until you can feel the sun on your face and let it make you smile.
Now, you don’t know what it’s supposed to be.
You turn to face Seungcheol. Water is streaming down his chest, catching the sculpted lines of his front. Each droplet clings to him in a way you understand - you want to cling to him too.
Seungcheol is breathtaking, all strength and quiet care. It’s a wonder that someone so powerful can also be so gentle. He’s unlike anything you expected, and breaks the norms of what you thought having an alpha help you through your heat might be like.
You don’t fool yourself into thinking there’s anyone else like him. You already know that this is just him, just Seungcheol. It makes a flicker of fear come to life in your chest, wondering what will happen when your heat fades and the intimacy here dissolves like the water flowing down the drain.
You push the thought down. Gliding your hands over his chest, your fingers chase the droplets of water, feeling the steady pulse of his heart beneath your palm. It makes you ache with need again, an always there need for him coming back to life.
Heat cycles are like that. They’re made up of peaks and lows, moments where the need is so high it drives you insane followed by a near catatonic need to drift and sleep.
Now, you’re approaching another peak, pulse picking up, body thrumming.
Seungcheol senses the shift immediately. He’s attuned to you quickly, but you refuse to let yourself wonder what that means. He steps closer, hands pulling at your waist, dipping his head to brush his mouth against yours in an almost kiss.
His eyes darken with a mix of concern and something darker. “What’s that look?”
He steps closer, pressing you against the tiled wall, water pooling where your bodies meet. The warmth of him, the slickness of his skin, feels like a dream you’re terrified to wake from. You don’t answer, can’t. Your hands dip lower, tracing the hard ridge of his abdomen, and he tenses, breath catching.
“Baby,” he warns, voice rough. There’s no real protest there. Just a playful warning, edged with want.
The endearment hits you like a spark, igniting you. You can’t get enough of it when he calls you that, when he says it velvet-soft and purring, when he says it like you are his baby. His world. His omega.
You sink to your knees, tiles cold and wet beneath you. You look up at him through wet lashes, biting your lower lip, hesitant, wanting permission. His cock is already hard - has been the entire time you’ve been in the shower - and the sight pulls a whine from your throat. You want to taste him. Want to make him feel good.
“Please,” you ask, still unmoving, hands resting on your thighs.
The way he looks at you - everent, undone - makes you feel like you’re everything, even if part of you whispers that this is just your heat talking, just his alpha responding to your need.
Seungcheol nods. He places one hand to brace against the wall as you lean in to press soft kisses to the base of his shaft, lips brushing his warm skin. He groans, the sound deep and raw, and it sends a tremble of excitement through you.
Your tongue traces the underside of his cock, following a thick vein from base to tip. You swirl your tongue greedily around the crown of his cock, tasting the faint salt of him. It’s intoxicating, perfect, and you let yourself sink into it, humming pleasantly.
One of his hands comes down to rest on top of your head, not pulling, not pushing, just anchoring himself as you take him into your mouth. You go slow, savoring the weight of him. He’s big, stretching your mouth painfully to the limit, but you relax, breathing in through your nose.
“Shit,” he hisses. “Shit fuck. That mouth.”
The praise makes your omega preen. You hum again, the vibration making his hips twitch as you build a steady rhythm, head bobbing, tongue working the underside of his cock while your hand wraps around the base, stroking in sync.
Water rains down on you, making everything fluid. Your lips glide effortlessly around him, your grip on him firm, squeezing gently as your hand meets your mouth on the upstroke. His groans grow louder, more desperate, hips twitching but never taking control of your pace. His fingers tighten on your head, and yet he remains in control of himself, letting you take what you want.
“Fuuuck, just like that,” He pants, head tipping back. Water falls down his throat in rivulets. The sight of him, vulnerable and unraveling, makes your pussy throb, a wave of arousal running down your thighs and mixing with the water.
You take him in deeper until your nose brushes his pelvis, swallowing around him. He makes a broken sound, half growl, half moan, and his hips finally jerk. You welcome his shallow thrusts eagerly, moaning around him, encouraging him.
Seungcheol looks down, eyes locking with yours. His are fucked out and fazed, the raw edge to his gaze making your heart beat faster. You pull back a little, focusing on the tip, sucking hard, tongue swirling. Your hand pumps faster and his breathing turns ragged, muscles in his stomach twitching. You know he’s close and it makes you grin up at him, mouth full of spit and precum.
“Gonna - fuck - come,” he warns, voice strained.
You don’t pull away. You suck at him harder, desperate to give him this, to hold onto this perfect moment. With a guttural sound, he spills into your mouth. You swallow down every drop, lips sealed until he’s over sensitive and shying away from your mouth.
Easing back, you look up at him, your knees aching. He pulls you to your feet and to his lips, pressing you into a kiss that’s deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. He licks into you, uncaring as he pulls you close to his chest.
“So good,” he murmurs between kisses. “Such a sweet girl for me.”
You grin as he turns you around, walking you forward so that you're pressed against the warm tile of the shower wall. “My turn.”
-
Soft, neon light filters in from your window, washing your room in a smear of watercolor. You fidget in bed, body coming alive, arousal starting in gentle waves, building the more your body catches up. Seungcheol is already awake beside you, sensing your need. His warmth is a quiet anchor.
Seungcheol’s lips brush your neck, nuzzling and scenting, his gentle possessiveness soothing your omega. You let out a soft sigh, going pliant for him. He hums, pleased at your easy submission, tongue darting out to lick your neck playfully.
He’s tender, peppering your shoulder and neck with soft, wet kisses. Each one stokes the steady fire in your core and chest. The way he handles you is maddening, like you’re spun glass but he knows you can take whatever he gives you. Your omega preens and you shift closer, feeling the heat of him against you.
This is different from earlier. At this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done this. You’ve lost track of time and the days. There’s just this: Seungcheol’s hand sliding down to lift your leg up for him, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, weeping and wanting for him.
Then he slides in, slow and stretching you inch by inch, earning a dreamy exhale from your trembling lips. He grinds his hips against the curve of your ass, deep and languid, easing the ache between your legs. His strokes are measured and intimate, each one dragging against your walls, stoking the flames without rushing.
You moan, breathy, as your slick coats his cock, the wet sounds of your bodies obscene in the silence of the room. His hand slides up, cupping your chest, thumb brushing back and forth over your nipple until it pebbles under his rapt attention. You arch into his touch, whimpering.
“So good for me,” he murmurs against your neck. His voice is rough with sleep, just how you like it.
Seungcheol keeps the pace slow, hips rolling lazily. It builds a steady burn. His lips find the pulse point below your ear, sucking gently, not enough to make tender, but enough to make you shiver, cunt leaking down your thighs.
You reach back, fingers sliding in his hair to tug softly. He groans, low and raspy, the sound sending a fresh wave of arousal through you.
“Seungcheol,” you breathe, voice barely a whisper. “Cheol.”
He hums, pleased at the nickname. He grinds deeper, the friction perfect and overwhelming as the tip of his cock brushes against the soft spot inside of you, making you unwind.
Your eyes flutter open and you peer over your shoulder at him. The neon light catches the sweat on his skin, making him glow. You marvel at how beautiful he is, a powerful alpha, yours in this moment. Maybe not later, but you don’t think about that now, trembling as he brings you close to your orgasm like he’s done every time before.
His hand slips between your thighs, fingers seeking your clit, slick and swollen. He starts to circle the throbbing bud with agonizing slowness, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The sensation is devastating, punching the breath from your lungs. You rock your hips to meet his, desperate for your undoing, needing to come.
“Come on,” he urges, lips brushing your ear. He presses his fingers hard, circles them faster. Your breath catches and he feels it, deepening his thrusts, becoming more deliberate. “Come for me, baby.”
The words mixed with the intoxicating feeling of his cock makes you shatter, a soft cry spilling out of your lips as your pussy pulse around him, soaking him thoroughly. He groans, fucking you through it, slow and steady, drawing out the full length of your orgasm until you’re boneless and barely there.
But he’s not done. Seungcheol eases out carefully and shifts you onto your back. You blink, starry eyed and warm as you watch him slide down the bed and settle between your legs. Your thighs fall open at the sight of him and he groans, pleased at how you immediately know what he wants, ready to comply with your alpha.
No. Not your alpha. But he is right now and that’s all that matters.
Any fight on that subject vanishes as he kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs. His eyes are dark and burning when he looks up at you, pupils wide.
“Need to taste you,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.
Then, his mouth is one you, tongue dragging through your folds, lapping at the mess left over from your orgasm. It’s filthy, the way he moans into you, lips and chin glistening as he buries his face in your cunt. But it’s gentle, his tongue slow and worshipful, circling your clit.
It’s soothing, the way he moves, tongue tracing lazy patterns, circling your clit with no pressure, just presence. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there, grounding you further. Your fingers find his hair, threading loosely, not pulling, just holding, and he groans softly, the sound muffled against you. The ache in your core softens, not gone but eased, replaced by a warm, liquid comfort that spreads through your limbs.
Seungcheol mouths at you with no purpose other than to soothe and because he can. He doesn’t seem focused on getting you off, isn’t trying to overstimulate you. It builds a soft glow anyway, your breathing hitching as he keeps going, tongue dipping lower to taste your entrance, letting you drift toward the edge without pushing you toward it.
“Taste so good,” Seungcheol mumbles, mouth full of you.
This time, your orgasm comes like a tide, not crashing but rising, warm and steady. You whimper, hips shifting and he holds you steady, one hand sliding up to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze his hand tight, letting him keep you tethered as you come undone, throbbing softly. He drinks you in, tongue lapping and slow, easing you until you’re limp and sated, the ache finally gone.
Seungcheol pulls back, mouth glistening neon in the low light. His eyes are heavy with something that you can’t read. When he crawls back up, you realize he’s come untouched, spilling his own release while getting you off. It makes your chest tighten, instincts purring at the proof of his want, his devotion to you.
He slides in beside you, kissing your temple before pulling you close.
“Better?” He rumbles, already half asleep.
“Better.”
-
“You have to eat.”
You huff. “Don’t want.”
You’re curled up on the couch in one of his jackets, inhaling deeply. His scent makes you tired, limbs heavy. You tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them to make yourself small. The blanket over your shoulders is warm and smells like him, making you sink further into the cushions.
Across the room, Seungcheol watches with thinly veiled amusement. He holds a steaming bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other. You love him like this, hair fluffy and still damp from a shower, glasses pushed high on the bridge of his nose as he glares at you.
“You need to eat,” he repeats gently. It has to be the third or fourth time he’s said it, each time just as gentle as the last.
You grumble and turn away from him, hiding in your blankets. He sighs and pads over to you, dressed in nothing but sweatpants. Shirtless Seungcheol is a weapon in itself, but the way you smell him immediately, can tell he’s using pheromones against you, makes you growl at him. There’s no heat in it and he laughs.
“Yeah?” He teases. “Gonna growl at me?”
“I’m tired.”
“I know,” he coos, voice dropping into that low, soft register that always seems to settle you. “Your body is working hard. But you still need to eat something, baby. For me.”
“Meh.”
“I’ll feed you.”
That sparks your interest. You peek out from your blankets with one eye, peering at him. He smiles, dimples appearing when he sees he’s got you listening now. His scent wraps around you, luring you deeper into his spell.
“What if I say no?”
“Then I’ll start pouting. I don’t care if I’m an alpha, I’m good at pouting.”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. The image of him pouting is sweet. His smile grows, triumphant as he stands up to sit next to you on the couch. You sit up, squirming toward him.
“There she is,” he hums, happy. “Open up that pretty mouth for me.”
-
Blue light flickers from the TV while golden light of the afternoon sun washes the room, peeking through the blinds. You’re curled into Seungcheol’s side, his arm around your shoulders and your legs tangled together beneath the shared blanket. Jurassic Park plays quietly in the background because you asked for something familiar, something comforting.
Your heat is finally starting to fade, edging toward Stage 3. The decline leaves you exhausted, but the full haze of Stage 2 is lifting, leaving you with less thoughts of tangled bodies and tongues. You can feel it in the way your body no longer aches with desperation, clarity seeping in like a slow tide.
With the clarity comes unease. Because… Well, what now?
Neither of you have brought it up, the what happens next. Everything still feels good, but it also feels fragile, like you’re balancing in the quiet moment between inhale and exhale, waiting for the next breath to shatter whatever this little bubble you’re in.
Your fingers fidget lightly against his chest. He notices, as he always does, and his hand smooths down your arm in slow, comforting passes. You lean into him instinctively - you don’t know how you will ever unlearn this - basking in his warmth.
But your thoughts keep spinning.
You don’t know how to voice the big question, don’t know how to talk about it. Don’t know what the best approach is. So you pretend it isn’t there, staring at the TV screen with unseeing eyes, thoughts burning you from the inside out.
Seungcheol senses it anyway.
“What’s up?” He asks, lips pressed against the top of your head. His eyes are still on the screen, the movie reflected in the lense of his glasses.
“Did you know the stegosaurus had brains the size of walnuts?” You ask suddenly, eyes fixed. “Built like a bus with a very small brain. It was like two ounces.”
“Really?”
You nod, grateful he doesn’t question why you’re talking about dinosaurs again. “Yep. For years people thought they had a second brain somewhere near the anus.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m serious. There’s an enlarged area near their hips and early scientists thought it must have been for a second brain because they couldn’t believe something with so much mass could operate with such a small brain. Turns out it wasn’t an ass-brain.”
He huffs. “Ass-brain would have been cool.”
“Right? I always hated that people thought they were docile too. They literally have massive spiked tails as a built in morning star and could beat predators' asses. People need to put respect on them.”
“Hmm. Sounds like we’re talking about more than dinosaurs here.”
You go quiet. Your eyes flick toward the screen, but you’re not really seeing it. He’s not wrong. You chew your bottom lip, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket.
Of course it isn’t just about dinosaurs. You’ve always admired creatures like that, misunderstood, underestimated. Not flashy, not predators, not something people are afraid of on instinct, but fierce all the same. Stubborn. Ready to dig their heels in and fight if they had to.
Which is why you liked the stegosaur. You resonated with that. Maybe not the smartest or the strongest, but never easy to push over, always ready to bare teeth when push came to shove. It was why you liked working for Jeonghan, too, seeing a lot of that fight in him.
Which brings you back to thinking about work, and that tomorrow is a new work day, and your heat will most likely be fully complete. And you’ll have to go back to… normal?
You don’t know.
“Why are you so nervous?” Seungcheol asks, bringing you out of your reverie. You look at him, eyes wide. He gives you a soft smile. “What, think I didn’t notice?”
You hesitate. His face is open. Honest. He’s giving you no reason to hold back, no reason to hide from him. But what you have to say is scary.
You take a deep breath and think about the stegosaurus. “Because my heat is fading. And I know things felt intense and - to me - special. I just… what happens after?”
“What do you mean?”
Tears prick your eyes and you curse your hormones for making you emotional. “When my heat is over, what then? We go back to normal? I’m… I don’t know. Having a heat partner is new to me, and I’m not begging you to stay or make you feel bad, I just-”
“Hey,” he interrupts, catching your face in his hands. His eyes are round, gentle. “I’m going to be honest, nothing is changing for me when your heat is over.”
You blink in surprise. See nervousness flicker across his face when he says carefully, “I stayed because I wanted to help you. I - look, I was already a little soft for you. Now that I’m here, I like being with you, heat or no. Even when you’re talking about dinosaur ass-brains.”
That makes you laugh and his smile lights up the room. “Really?”
“Really, baby.”
His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a single salty tear. “Unless you don’t want-”
“I want,” you insist. “I want so much. I have never wanted this much in my life.”
“Then I’ll stay. I’m yours.”
“Even if I start talking about ass-brains?”
“Even then.”
The air in the room shifts, charged with something warm and unspoken. You move without thinking, surging forward and climbing into his lap where he sits on the couch. The soft fabric of his shirt brushes your thighs as you straddle him, your hands settling on his shoulders. He feels solid and warm beneath you.
Seungcheol’s hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your forehead rests against his, breathes mingling, and for a second, you just stay there. Savoring the intimacy. Savoring his scent, bergamot and cardamom.
“You’re sure?” You ask, voice small.
“Very sure.”
His hands slip upward, slow, under the hem of his hoodie. His fingers graze the sensitive skin of your waist, making you shiver as heat pools low between your legs. You lean in and kiss him softly, lips brushing, then pressing, slow and deliberate.
You deepen the kiss, unhurried. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, tasting you, opening you up. You shift, grinding down on him gently, feeling the hardening length of him through his sweats. He makes a sound, soft and low, and it buzzes through your mouth. You feel yourself grow wet against your underwear and he sucks in a sharp breath, catching it.
“Yeah?” He mumbles against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are fathomless but warm. His hands push the hoodie up and over your head, baring your chest to him. His eyes flicker and he curses. “You’re so perfect.”
You flush, shy under his gaze. His lips find your collarbone, kissing softly before drifting lower, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your breast. Your head falls back as the cool air hits you, your eyes closed.
He takes a nipple into his wanting mouth, tongue swirling, sucking gently. You gasp, hips rocking instinctively, grinding harder against him. The friction is delicious. He groans against your skin, sending sparks through you.
Seungcheol’s hands stay on your hips, encouraging your slow, rolling movements. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t push. It’s soft, the couch slightly creaking under the weight of you.
His mouth moves to the swell of your other break, lavishing it with the same care. His teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. You feel slick drip down your thighs, not as heavily as before, but still just as ready for him.
“Cheol,” you breath, voice shaky.
He hums, lips sealed around your nipple. The wet buzz of his mouth makes you grind on him faster, chasing the heat in your belly.
Seungcheol pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes glassy. “Love watching you like this. Love feeling you. Want you like this.”
He pulls back just enough to tug at his sweatpants, shoving them down his thighs, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening. You bite your lip, the sight making your core clench, and he catches the look, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth.
Carefully, he helps you kick your sweatpants off. You sit back in his lap, not bothering with your underwear. He pushes them to the side with a careful finger, his knuckle deliberately dragging over the wet heat of your pussy.
“Fuck. Wet.”
You nod as he grabs the base of his cock, helping you sit high on your knees. He rubs the rib through your messy folds, both of you moaning in unison before the head catches your entrance and sticks. You sink down, taking him slowly, the stretch punching the breath from your lungs.
His shirt stays on, bunched where you fist it against his chest. It is work, sitting on him fully. You feel him deep in your stomach, your breath turning ragged. You savor the fullness, hands tangled in his shirt.
Taking a deep breath, you start to move. His hands grip your hips, not controlling but encouraging, letting you set whatever pace you want. His cock drags against your walls, smooth and fluid. His lips find your chest, mouthing at a nipple, sucking gently.
Your nails dig into him through the fabric of his shirt, the wet heet of his mouth, the press of his cock, all of it driving you mad, sticky with sweat as you continue to use him however you want.
He lets you, content to suck and mouth at your chest all the while. The couch creaks faintly, a quiet underscore to the soft filth of it all, your slick coating him, dripping down to soak his sweatpants, the way his shirt clings to his sweat-damp chest.
Pleasure builds, slow and warm, a glow that starts in your core and spreads. You grind deeper, chasing it, and he groans, head tipping back, eyes half-lidded but never leaving you.
“How could I ever wanna leave this?” He asks. “How could I ever want anything but the perfect omega?”
The words, the way he says them, tip you over, and your orgasm comes soft but deep, a gentle pulse that has you trembling, walls clenching around him, a quiet moan spilling from your lips.
The way you tighten pushes him to the edge, and he groans, low and broken, thrusting up once, twice, before he comes, hot and thick inside you. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you close, and you collapse against him, panting, forehead pressed to his, the fabric of his shirt sticking to your skin.
“Mine,” he assures you, giving you a gentle kiss. “Ass-brain and all.”
“Please,” you laugh.
That single word makes him melt, makes him all soft at the edges. “Anything for you, baby.”
-
The office feels noticeably cooler when you return, the hum of the air conditioning a welcome sound after days away. Cold air brushes the back of your neck as you step off the elevator, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth on your skin, not from the building, but from Seungcheol following close behind you.
Seungcheol’s presence is unmistakable. And people notice.
Jeonghan is the first. He’s perched near Wonwoo’s cubicle, half-lounging on the edge when he glances up and spots you. His gaze flicks from you to Seungcheol, then back again. His eyes widen. A slow grin spreads across his face, and he immediately points a finger.
“You-”
“Not a word,” Seungcheol warns, voice low as he slides a steadying hand to the small of your back and gently guides you toward your desk. Your cheeks heat, teeth sinking into your cheek to suppress a laugh as Jeonghan starts bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“We’re just walking, Jeonghan,” you mumble, feeling anything but casual.
“You’re glowing!”
Wonwoo straightens in his chair, peering over his cubicle wall. His brow lifts as he spots Seungcheol casting a warning glance back at Jeonghan, lips curled into something between a snarl and a smirk.
“I knew it,” Jeonghan asserts, looking at you and nodding. “He’s always thought you were the cutest omega. Does he know you’re obsessed with dinosaurs yet?”
“Ugh, Jeonghan.”
“Yes,” Seungcheol confirms with a flat grin. “You remind me of a Stegosaur, Jeonghan. Very… you have similar brains.”
You snort before slapping your hand over your mouth in horror.
Jeonghan saints at him. “I don’t get it.”
Seungcheol ignores him, turning to you instead. He brushes his fingers against your arm, and his gaze softens instantly, all gruffness melted into something warm and fond. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
You nod, smiling despite yourself as he walks away calm. Sure. Unmistakably yours.
A little birthday project for our favorite rockstar and the cause of this blog. Inspired by the songs in his first solo album. Happy Birthday, Yuta Nakamoto. (even if you cannot read this)
characters: demon! incubus! Yuta x human! female! Y/N (feat, little devils! Yu and Uta)
word count: 16k words (I'm sorry)
genre: smut, fluff, angst
summary: He's a demon. She's a human. What makes her so special?
warnings: (please bare with me because this is too much) demon theme, hell, prisoner, chains, cage, adoption, mentions of gambling, mentions of killing, mentions of death, arson, self-exits, death, suicidal thoughts, blood, summoning a demon (kind of), description of demons, kissing a stranger, boob sucking, riding, penetrative sex, public sex, giant wings, vivid horny dreams, orgasm, mention of pill, crazy hallucinations, finger sucking, fingering, pussy eating, semi-public sex, standing sex, quickie, nightmares, mentioned blowjob, a little fat shaming, violence, suspected pregnancy, accident, drowning, stabbing
a/n: Since this is loosely based on the songs in the album, please know that I'm pushing some scenes and concepts. The whole fic might not as coherent as I wanted it to be. I'm sorry for the fast-paced plot. Also, the preface of the story is based on the manga titled Hana's Demons of Lust so please don't call me out on some similarities. I swear, I tried. I tried editing this before posting but as usual, there might be some errors. Please just let me know. Feedbacks are highly appreciated, please just comment anything. Thank you for reading this fic. 🥰
PROLOGUE: HOPE
Hell had always been hell.
A hot place full of agony. An evil place full of torment.
There’s certainly no joy without torment.
And Yuta had always despised the place.
It was a scorching hot place filled with ear-piercing screams of tortured souls. Evil souls that doesn’t need mercy.
Souls that had done the worst in mankind.
Like him.
A prisoner, chained and caged, in hell.
There’s really no hope for him.
Hell is such a bad place.
I. LAST SONG
Y/N had always had a very different life.
Even at a young age, she knew that she was adopted. Her adoptive mom would always tell her the story of how she and her husband had a hard time conceiving a child so they asked a psychic for advice. The woman just gave them an address and there was Y/N’s mother, giving birth on the floor, on her own. Growing up, she didn’t know whether to believe in that story. Isn’t it too coincidental? They could just tell her that her birth mother gave her up for adoption instead of concocting an absurd tale like this.
Yet, Y/N had always felt the love of her adoptive parents.
They shower her with guidance and love no daughter could ever imagine. They sent her to some of the prestigious schools, even spending lavish amounts of money just on her. Then it all drained down when the father of the house started getting addicted to gambling.
It was a hard transition in their life.
Instead of attending college abroad, Y/N had to work all these part-time jobs for both her parents who only keep on fighting non-stop. In the morning, she would work in a small coffee shop near their home. During lunch, she would serve tables at a diner. Then at night, she would work until midnight in a local gas station. She might get lucky if she got enough sleep rather than worrying about her father’s whereabouts and her mother’s repeatedly crying.
A lot of times she had thought about ending it all.
If only she died with her birth mother when she was a newborn, this wouldn’t even have happened.
Because obviously, the problem had been her all along.
The couple shouldn’t have spent so much on a stranger living in their home, they might have saved a lot of money to spend lavishly on their own.
Clearly, the problem is her appearing in their life.
Maybe it is truly better to end it all.
But the worst is yet to come.
She was heading to her last part-time job of the day when her phone rang with an unknown number. The second time it called, she answered with a confused hello before a male voice answered, “Are you Ms. Y/N Y/LN?” The girl only hummed in answer, “I’m from the Fire Department. We’re sorry but your house was set on fire.” The shock in her system almost deafened her. What? A fire? But the house was fine when she left that morning. “We’re also sorry, we cannot save your parents.”
It was all so unfair. She’s the one who wants to die. Why would they race her to it? Why would they even hug each other after setting their own house on fire? Her parents must be out of their minds.
They should have waited for her so they could end this misery together.
It was the longest week of her life. She had to hold a funeral ceremony for her parents alone. She had to look for a place to stay. She had to look for money to get by. Even if their property was charred from the fire and her parents died, she cannot receive any insurance since it was their doing in the first place. Since she was adopted, no one in her parents’ relatives wanted to take her in.
Maybe she’s really meant to be alone in life.
Y/N didn’t know how she reached this part of the forest. She was just looking for a place to put her parents’ ashes and maybe move on with her life. How? She still isn’t sure. She isn’t even sure if she wants to move on with her life. But as she walked closer to the dark path of tall trees, she felt her steps heavier.
She doesn’t want to live alone.
Maybe she should just die.
Here.
Where no one could see her.
As she looked around, seated on the dirt, she started thinking of ways to die in this place. This is dark and secluded. Surely, no one would dare to come here. She isn’t even sure why she was here in the first place. If she keeps walking, she’ll surely be lost.
Maybe she could die of hunger. She doesn’t know about the plants and trees around. Maybe she could eat something and wait for it to be poisonous for a quick death.
Or maybe she could die from being eaten by an animal. She wished there was a lion or a bear around that could just ravish her. She knew she didn't have to run, she didn’t even have the energy to do so. But all she could hear were cricket sounds.
Then it hit her, seeing a sharp stone nearby. If she wanted a quick death, she could just kill herself. Like her parents. She didn’t care if she’d be sent to hell because of this. Maybe it was a better place than here.
As she took the sharp stone, she grazed her finger earning a cut that amused her. Blood flowed out of the wound, dropping on the ground. How pathetic.
Before she could take the stone and cut herself once again, she felt the ground shaking. Is it an earthquake? A mountain of dirt started forming in front of her which made her move backward. What the hell is this? Black birds started flying and an ear-piercing screech could be heard. She covered her ear almost immediately but noticed a red light started coming out of the hole from the mountain of dirt.
Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise as a mist of something black started coming out from the source of the red light. A beast-like image started to form, making her rub her eyes in disbelief. Is she dreaming right now? Is this a hallucination? Eyes started forming on the ghoulish creature: bright, red eyes that scared the hell out of her. “A young maiden,” the image in front of her started saying in that deep voice. She wanted to run but her feet were stuck on the ground so she fell down in fright. “I’ll have my fill of you tonight.”
When she said that she wanted to be eaten by an animal, she meant an animal she could see in the zoo. An animal she’s familiar with. Not this scary-looking creature which seemed like an apparition. Maybe this is her real death. As the image started forming horns, she thought of what it might be. A demon. Maybe she’s already in hell.
A tear fell from her eyes as she stared at the ground. She’s alone and will soon be eaten by this scary yet strange unknown creature. Isn’t this what she wanted all along?
But as she felt her feet getting colder, she started thinking of a birthday party she’d have to attend. She hasn't bought a gift for her co-worker’s four-year-old child. And she insisted that Y/N would come because the kid was rather fond of her.
As the cold feeling crept up on her legs, she remembered a promise she made to one of the patrons in the coffee shop - that she’d always make his coffee. As it reached her waist, she started apologizing to her parents for being a bad daughter and wishing that they were still here with her.
She doesn’t want to die just yet. “Please,” she whispered, feeling half of her body already freezing cold. “I want to live.”
She remembered what her father would always tell her when she felt helpless in any situation, “I’m not alone. I’m not alone.” She kept on chanting.
“Lift your head.” It was a male voice. Closer than the voice from before. She doesn’t know why she was compelled to lift her head and come eye-to-eye with a young man. Big dark eyes stared at her. “Kiss me.”
What? Is he a pervert? She’s here dying in the hands of what seemed like a demon and he wants her to kiss him. “Hurry up so I can save you.”
Again, she didn’t know why she complied with his perverted request and just placed her lips on his. His hands held her cheeks as he slipped a tongue into her mouth, surprising her. Slowly, her body started feeling warm. Is it the kiss? What is happening to her body?
Y/N was breathless when the unknown man broke the kiss. He stood up and then faced the demon-looking creature. “You should be in jail, aren’t you?” The beast claimed making the young man snicker. Y/N was just confused about what was happening. Who is this man? Where did he come from? And why is her body feeling so hot as if running a fever?
In a swift motion, the human started swinging his arm, slicing the beast-like creature. There was gray smoke before another red light could be seen, illuminating the whole darkness. Y/N had to cover her eyes because of the intense light then heard a small thump beside her as the place darkened once again. The young man was lying on the ground, blood gushing on his shoulder. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed as she started panicking. “What should I do?” She should have listened to those first aid classes her dad would always ask her to go.
“Fuck me.” She froze. What? Did she hear him correctly? “Fuck me.”
There was urgency in his voice, as well as despair in his eyes. If he was a pervert, he could just push her on the ground and do what he wanted. Her body felt so hot, her insides tingling. Maybe she is the perverted one. Why is she horny? In the middle of the forest? Because of a man she just met? But he did save her life, right?
With a heavy breath, Y/N leaned in to place a kiss on his lips but his strong arms held her waist to pull her closer.
Just for this moment, she doesn’t want to feel so alone.
II. OFF THE MASK
It’s crazy. Somehow Yuta finds himself getting crazy.
And it isn't the good kind.
Her mouth was hot, saliva like a drug pulling him in. As her tongue wrestled with his, he could feel her warm fingertips against the cold skin inside his ripped sweater. Everywhere she touched felt so hot, burning. But maybe this was the desire he had missed all these years. Her lips trailed on his jaw, south to his neck. Her fingers started pulling his shirt, removing it from his body, exposing his naked torso in the open air. She kept on pressing butterfly kisses on his exposed skin, lightly sucking, earning purple marks on his skin.
He wanted to fuck her earlier, eager to regain some of his power back. But now, it feels like she needs him more than he needs her. Yuta removed her shirt and then her brassiere, throwing it to the ground. His mouth came in contact with her breasts, tongue licking her nipples which made the girl moan. Those sweet moans.
He missed this feeling. To be able to give a woman pleasure.
The girl kept on grinding her hips on his arousal. “Please, fuck me.”
And Yuta was weak.
Clothes were easily discarded on the ground. The woman’s pleas repeatedly echoed on the empty night. The sweet scent of her arousal made Yuta drunk in his own sense of arousal. “Please, I need you.” But he needs her more. She kept on riding him, her fingernails digging against his skin. A pleasurable pain. He was sure she wasn’t a virgin, evidence was the way she rolled her hips to push him deeper inside her. Yet Yuta can’t help but be too pleased with how her tight pussy could clench on his girth. His hands grabbed her breasts, rubbing her nipples earning loud mewls from her. His mouth would keep on kissing her lips and then suck the skin of her neck when he feels like she can’t breathe. She’s truly an addicting taste.
The taste of despair and hope. Yuta could easily taste those emotions in the girl in his arms. How long was it since he last felt this liberating feeling? Her melodious voice moaning for him to go deeper, her sweet scent that overwhelms his senses, her warm skin in contrast to the chilling cold, and the tight feeling of her pussy gripping his cock makes him crazy.
The moment Yuta smelled the sweet maiden’s blood, he knew something stirred inside him. Feeling her cumming for the third time, he realized what it was. She unleashed the lust demon inside him.
His inner incubus.
And an incubus needs sex, amazing sex, to regain their power. To regain their strength.
“Fuck me some more,” The girl kept on whispering in her pleasured state. Eyes almost rolling on the back of her head, lips agape. Yuta had to deliver. What kind of an incubus would he be if he left this girl wanting more? As he drilled his cock deeper into her, he started recalling the last time he had this feeling.
It’s been years. With that person.
All demons had their own sins. However, being the son of one of the greatest demons in hell, Yuta had already exhibited all sins presented to a demon even at a young age. Being an envious demon, his father was scared of the lengths his son could potentially go to. That and the fact that he made a mortal sin against humans earned him a place in the pits of hell.
For years, Yuta had been chained and caged in agony for a mistake he never wanted, he never meant to do.
A crazy demon. That was what he would hear when they talked about him. A criminal who made a grave mistake in the demon world.
And he already accepted his fate. Maybe this is just his purpose. Maybe this is what he was meant to do. Maybe this was his end.
He had lost all his hope. As well as his power.
Left in the pits of hell, bound by chains and caged.
Not until a sweet scent of blood woke him up.
Yuta kissed the maiden’s lips, tongue slipping past her mouth as he tasted all he could from her. Something about her is addicting. Invigorating.
After being locked in hell for years, Yuta didn’t know if he had the strength to fight a demon. Especially a flesh-eating one. They’re normally more powerful and with his diminishing skills, he knew he could not save this girl. Yet when her lips made contact with him, he felt recharged. More powerful.
She isn’t an ordinary girl, no doubt. If he wanted to survive the human world, he needed her. Yuta needs to recharge as much as he can.
The girl kept on panting, begging for his touch. The scent of her arousal didn’t leave his senses even if he had already felt her orgasm a few times. If possible, it only heightened. How far can this girl go? Because he could go on, even if the sun starts rising. Yet he had to remind himself that she was a mere human. He might just kill her. And with the special scent she possessed, she couldn’t bear doing that.
If he needs to survive in the human world, he’ll definitely need her.
He probably pushed her too hard that she’s now passed out on the ground. Yuta stared at the tip of his fingers. This is probably enough to sustain him for weeks. His huge black wings appeared making him smile. True, he’s a demon but he cannot just leave her alone in this place especially if she’s this special. Her scent could easily attract other demons and he cannot just risk that.
Yuta never believed in the entity opposite them. He was even startled when she announced a heavenly being’s name earlier but he decided to shrug it off. It’s not like he would disintegrate in the presence of that being. Gently placing her on the bed while she’s sleeping soundly, he might just believe that angels do exist. How can this measly human look so calm and beautiful?
This is crazy.
He had definitely gone crazy.
The man snapped his fingers as two winged figures started appearing on the foot of the bed. “Yu. Uta.” Yuta called. “I’ll leave her to the two of you. Protect her at all costs.”
“Yes, master.” The two younger devils saluted at the older one.
He held her cheeks, placing a soft kiss on her agape lips. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered, taking one last look at her. “Y/N.”
III. SAVE YOU
“You feel amazing, Y/N.” The toned man started whispering as he was balls deep inside her. She could feel his whole length deep inside her, earning repeated screams and moans from her. “Now, cum in my cock.” He didn’t need to say it twice as she let go.
Then there’s a knock on the door.
Y/N woke up, sweating hard at the intense dream she had. Her sheets were wet with her orgasm and sweat. That was all a dream? How intense. How vivid. Another knock made her annoyed as she stood up to answer the door.
It feels weird, all of a sudden.
What is this place? This isn’t the house where she lived with her parents. Not a friend’s house. It feels foreign. Is she even in the right place? Was it a one-night stand? There was an incessant knock on the door but she surveyed the whole living room of the house where she just woke up. There are pictures of her, as well as her parents. On one side of the room was a small table with two urns and fresh flowers. Is this her place?
The knock on the door continued and she opened it to see what the commotion was about. Two kids, a boy and a girl, were staring at her with their wide round eyes. “Took you so long to answer the door,” the younger girl in a pink hoodie claimed as she entered the door. The young boy in a gray hoodie handed her a brown paper bag.
Wait, who are these kids?
“Noona, you’ll be late for your job.” The male claimed as he sat on the couch and opened the television. “We’ll take care of your place. Go to your job.”
Y/N lightly glanced at the clock and saw that she only had an hour for work.
It feels bizarre. Her feet knew where to go but her eyes were so unfamiliar with the surroundings that she felt as if she was still dreaming. Wait, is she still in a dream? The girl had to try and pinch her arm but it hurt. This must be real. Yet, she feels so weird.
“I’m glad you’re back,” her co-worker from the coffee shop claimed. She placed her bag in the cabinet and then put on her apron before checking on what she should do. The usual customers came, as well as the old man who kept on ordering drinks from her. It was a peaceful shift not until the manager came to her and tapped her shoulder, “You’re doing well. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
The walk to her next job was a familiar one. Maybe it was the shock she had after the death of her parents that she felt weird earlier. Maybe she’s still unsure of the course of her life, that's why she’s feeling rather odd. Her co-worker from the diner had been excitedly telling her about the preparations for her daughter’s birthday party and Y/N just remembered that she doesn’t have any gift for her yet. “You should bring Yu and Uta to the party. I’m sure they would love the bubble show.” The other commented that confused her.
“Yu? Uta?”
The girl laughed as if she was joking. “Y/N, they’re the kids you usually bring here.” She cleared up and then stared at her worryingly. “Are you alright? Do you need to rest?”
She shook her head. This feels so bizarre. What the hell is happening to her?
“Maybe it’s the effect of the medicine you’re taking,” one of her co-workers from the gasoline station claimed as she shared the weird feeling creeping up on her since the early morning. “You’re still taking them right?” You blinked at that. Were you? “You need it, Y/N. That was such a traumatic event in your life.” She noted that made her nod. She doesn’t need to spell it out for her but somehow she understood it so well. “Do you want to talk to a psychiatrist I know?”
Y/N shook her head. That was the last thing on her mind - to think that she was crazy in the head.
The moment she came home, the television was still playing as the two kids slept on the couch. What are they still doing here? She lightly shook them to wake up but only the male opened his eyes, greeting her with a “Welcome home, noona”.
“What are you still doing here?” She asked, closing the television. Did they stay here the whole day? Is there food in her house? Have they eaten something? “Should I call your parents?”
The younger girl stirred in her sleep, hugging the boy. “Master is still on a trip, he won't come home just yet.” She whispered then snored. Master? What was that term? Are they slaves? What about their parents? Aren’t they worried for them?
Y/N had to give the boy a confused look, “Sorry noona.” He claimed with a toothed smile. She noticed how his teeth had little fangs on them. How adorable. “Can Uta and I stay here tonight? We won’t bother you, I promise.”
Uta? The young girl is Uta? So this young boy’s name is Yu? She cannot just leave them outside this late at night, right? She only nodded, telling them to just sleep in her room. Fortunately, she changed the sheets early that morning so the kids slept soundly on her bed. What are these two doing here? Why can’t she remember them? Is it really the medicine’s fault?
After drinking a pill, she decided to just sleep on the couch. But first, she had to check if she could make breakfast for the kids tomorrow. Although she could call child services on their parents, she doesn’t want to be the one accused of neglecting the kids. The fridge was fully stocked, which surprised her. She knew how to cook but she surely wouldn’t buy this much on grocery runs.
Is she only staying at Yu and Uta’s family house? And who are their parents?
It was pitch dark but Y/N could make up the silhouette of a man approaching her on the couch. The girl’s instinct is to shout and alert the neighbors that someone is in their home but her voice cannot come out of her lips. As the man approached, she could smell him. His muscular scent filled her nose, arousing all the system in Y/N’s body. The girl’s body felt hot as if lava started flowing in her veins instead of blood. Her nether regions felt wet. Tingly.
“Naughty, Y/N.” The man teased in his low erotic voice before leaning in close to whisper in her ear, “I can smell your arousal for me.”
“Please,” she moaned, hands reaching out for the man. “I need you.” From the darkness, she could see a smirk on his face before his hand cupped her clothed pussy and started rubbing her throbbing wetness. “Please.” One hand slipped inside her pajama pants to make contact with her clit, rubbing it with his thumb. The other hand pushed a thumb inside her mouth to prevent her from making a sound.
Y/N sucked his thumb as the man slipped his middle finger inside her core. A sound came out from her throat. “You don’t want to wake up the kids, right?” He whispered, removing his thumb from her mouth and replacing it with two fingers. Another finger slipped into her core, making her body squirm. She held the headrest of the couch, another hand clawing at the man’s arm playing with her pussy.
It feels good. So fucking good.
The man found the spot pushing her off the edge. Y/N’s toes started curling in pleasure, head lolling back that his fingers inside her mouth almost gagged her. The girl started wrapping both her hands on the man’s wrist with his fingers on her mouth. Her tongue lapped his two fingers, gently sucking. Yet, she doesn’t want anything to stop. She’s close to her orgasm. She wanted this man to give her that pleasure.
Y/N jerked her hips as if begging the man to push his fingers deeper inside her. She could feel him curling his fingers in her core, scissoring his fingers for intense pleasure. The wave of orgasm rippled against her skin, her body trembling at how intense it was.
Then she opened her eyes, panting loudly as sweat beads appeared on her forehead. What the hell? That was a dream? Why is she so horny lately? And what was that wet dream? Is she a teenager? Why is it so vivid? Why does it feel so real? And why is she so wet as if she did have an orgasm?
Because of a dream. Really?
Maybe she’s too sex-starved lately.
Y/N would always cook breakfast for the kids, even leaving lunch or small snacks for them. It had been days that the kids had become a part of her routine. She found out that they are twins but Yu, the younger boy, is the older one. A very cool kid who loves nothing but eating. Uta, the younger sister, was a very cheerful kid who hated being teased by her brother and kept on munching as if her life depended on it. They never speak anything about their family or if they go to school. They kept on playing all day, watching television, and just eating.
But one day, when she came home, with doughnuts for the kids, they were nowhere to be seen. Maybe their parents had taken them already. But they should have told her. Their parents should have thanked her for taking care of the kids.
The next day had been typical. Routinary. She just wanted to go home and rest her body. It’s been nights that she had dreamt of a man giving her intense pleasure and it’s been taking a huge toll on her. She’s tired yet she’s very aroused. She was so horny because of the dream that she feared she might just fuck the first man who will show her kindness tonight. A scary thought that made her shiver as she walked home. She should stop these thoughts. She’s walking alone for crying out loud.
A shiver ran up her spine. An eerie feeling came that someone was following her. Cautiously, she stopped to tie her shoelaces tighter. If he’s not following her, he could walk ahead of her. But the person stopped as well. He’s obviously following her. Shit, she does attract all these negative thoughts. From a closed shop window, she saw an image of a tall man but with red eyes and a long tongue slithering out of his lips.
What the hell was that?
It was a wrong turn. She didn’t know that the usual shortcut she walked to get home would be closed tonight. She was stuck in a dead end. Before she could turn back to the lighted street, a huge shadow approached her. Y/N had to walk backward to avoid the man turning her way. A smirk can be seen on his face, red eyes glaring at her. “You smell so good,” He licked his lips with his snake-like tongue. “You’ll probably taste as good.”
The man grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her flesh and creating half-moon cuts that seeped blood. “Even your blood smells so good.”
“No!” she shouted, squirming to get out of his hold. “Let me go. I’ll call the police.” A menacing laugh escaped his lips. “Please, don’t do this.” Tears started stinging her eyes in despair. No one is going to save her even if she screams, it’s so late in the night. And didn’t she just wish to be fucked earlier? Maybe this is her karma for thinking of those nasty things. “Please,” she whispered, tears springing from her eyes. “Save me.”
“Noona!” she heard someone call as she fell with a loud thud. From her tear-stained eyes, she saw Yu biting the man’s leg with his little fangs. Quickly, the man pulled his gray hoodie and threw the young kid on a nearby wall. Uta came, skin red in anger while shouting “Do not hurt my brother!” She scratched the man’s arms using her long nails but like her brother, she was immediately thrown to the ground.
A shadow appeared on the floor, lifting both the kids’ bodies. “So you were the minions?” The man asked, which made Y/N startled. Minions? And what is happening? “Where is your master? Did he abandon you, little devils?”
What? Y/N weakly stood up, her ankle hurting because of the sudden fall earlier. “Don’t hurt them.” She shouted but the two kids were just gasping for air as if they were being choked. Yet Y/N can only see their body wrapped in a shadow and floating.
The man’s red eyes stared back at her, “Let me indulge in your sweetness, human.” What the hell is happening?
Y/N tried to move back but her ankle hurt so much that she started limping. Her back could feel the wall before the man was kicked on the head from behind. She saw the shadow gone as the two kids fell down to the ground. At the speed that she could do with her sprained ankle, she walked to both of them asking them if they were alright. Both their eyes focused on the guy towering above the man who hurt them, stepping on the other’s crotch. “What is a lust demon doing here in the human world?” The man standing asked then stepped harder making the man lying on the floor grunting in pain.
“You’re also a lust demon…”
In a quick motion, the man standing leaned in to hold the lying man’s neck and carried him while choking him. “Do you really think we’re the same?” The man being choked started coughing, blood coming out of its mouth. “You hurt Yu and Uta.” He claimed, “And you have some guts thinking that you can have this girl,” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion at that statement. “She’s mine.” He growled before throwing the guy on the nearby wall.
What the hell is happening? Is this a dream? Is this a hallucination? It’s the medicine, isn’t it? Or worse, has she finally gone mad? The man swung his arm, slicing the other guy that red light started illuminating from his body.
Wait a minute, she had witnessed it before. At the forest. With the beast-looking shadow. But that was a dream.
Right?
The man turned around to face her and she blinked in fright. Both kids were behind him now, apologizing to him which startled her. Do the kids know him? Is he the master they were talking about? Then, Yu and Uta aren’t human? A hand was extended to her but she refused to take it. “What are you?” She asked in terror, voice shaking. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“After saving you, you’re begging me to not hurt you?”
“Master!” Yu shouted. “I could just erase her memory like the last time.” Erase what? Y/N stared at the young boy then at the older man standing next to him.
“No,” Y/N shouted, standing up abruptly which made her dizzy all of a sudden. “Do not touch me.” Uta stepped forward to approach her but she stopped her as well, “Even the two of you.” The young girl pouted. “What are you? What the hell are you?” She asked then covered her body with her arms, “Are you going to hurt me?” Tears fell from her eyes, “Please don’t.”
The man had a stoic look on his face before he spoke up, “Yu. Uta. You could go first.” The two kids bowed and then muttered in unison, “Yes, master.” Y/N regretted it the moment the only familiar faces were gone. But how? Where did they go? The man turned to her and she was momentarily stunned. Now that she was staring, he looked really handsome. Bright dark big eyes as if they were sparkling boba, fair skin, a high bridge nose, and red juicy lips. Why is he so attractive? Is he human?
He lent a hand, palm up, for her to take but she shook her head. “I saved your life twice, don’t you trust me enough?” So that time in the forest wasn’t a dream? And here he is, saving her once again? But why? All the questions on her mind were clouding her thoughts that she took his hand. If she wants answers, she should come to this person. He pulled her close, placing both her hands around his neck. “We’re going to fly. You’re not scared of heights, aren’t you?”
“What?” Huge dark wings appeared on his back as she scooped her in his arms. Y/N could feel the cold breeze before seeing the tops of the high-rise buildings. Was she tripping? She’s really in the air. They are flying. “Wait, wait. Don’t drop me.” She whispered in panic.
“It’s alright. It’s alright. I won’t let you fall.” he whispered in a calm voice. “You asked what I am and I’m just showing it to you.”
The girl wrapped her arms around his neck tight, eyes focused on the black wings moving across the wind. “Are you an angel?”
A hearty laugh escaped the man’s lips that startled Y/N. He’s truly handsome. She shouldn’t have doubted those religious folks when they stated that angels look very heavenly. “Quite the contrary.” He’s not an angel? But he saved her twice. Contrary? Then a demon?
“Why me?” She whispered just as a realization came. “Are you here to kill me and bring me to hell?”
The man’s feet landed on the balcony of her house, large wings disappearing almost immediately. He gently put her down, making sure that she could stand although her ankle was sprained very badly. “Because from now on, you’re mine.” Her eyes widened in surprise. She heard the same words earlier but it clearly didn’t mean anything earlier.
Right?
“I’ll save you, no matter if I live or die, Y/N.”
IV. BAD EUPHORIA
This shouldn’t happen.
Maybe Yuta had really become crazy. He should have learned from his past mistakes. This would only bring him back to the same place where he was before. Maybe it was better that he rot in person instead of this creeping feeling inside him.
“Your little sunglasses are so cute, Yu.” Y/N complimented, making the little devil smile coolly. The twins should know that showing your demon self to a human is illegal. But what does he know? He even flew her in the air. Besides, they are demons. Evil creatures. They're meant to break the rules. “These little pigtails are so adorable, Uta.” She squealed, making the younger girl giggle.
She should be scared of them. They could hurt her now that she knows a lot. Why did Yuta have to promise those things to her? He should have killed her the first time instead of keeping her even if she tasted so sweet. Even if she smelled so good. How pathetic of him.
“So these are your demon forms?” The twins nodded, flying around her with their little wings. “And you have specific powers?”
Yu nodded, “I can erase memories.”
“And I can heal anything.” Uta continued, sounding proud of herself. The girl glanced at the healed wound on her arm and then her ankle. “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
The girl had to scrunch her nose, nodding at the younger girl. Yuta squinted his eyes at that. What was that? Is she showing affection to the demons? How weird. And why are the twins liking her attention so much? He shouldn’t have left them with her. “And that man is your…” She squinted her eyes before continuing, “Father?”
Yuta glared at the younger boy who chuckled nervously. He shouldn’t have taken the twins in his care. But what could he do if this was the only thing he could do seeing two wide-eyed kids entering the demon world? Besides, Yu and Uta had been great entertainment and companions to him when he was still chained back there. Now that they have the taste of the human world, he probably cannot bring those two back to hell. Even he, an older demon, doesn’t want to return to that place.
“Mister,” she called, which made Yuta look at Y/N. “Are you planning to kick me out of your house?”
“And where would you go?” The girl shrugged, “Didn’t I tell you that I should always see you? The demons had shown a liking to your scent.” Y/N rolled her eyes which annoyed Yuta. He did explain earlier that the smell of her blood had awakened some demons from hell and now, they’re roaming the human world just to look for her. If she wanted to stay alive, he should keep a close eye on her. It was a simple concept yet she had a hard time grasping that fact. How stupid. Humans are so stupid.
“And master needs you to regain his power,” Uta claimed in a high-pitched voice that made Yuta surprised. Why would she say that? Yu stopped his sister and seeing the glare Yuta had given them, the two little devils disappeared. This is getting really annoying.
“You need me to regain your power?” Yuta stood up from his chair and then shook his head, walking to the fridge and taking a bottle of water. “Do you want me to do something to help you regain your power?” He had to grasp the bottle rather tightly.
Is she seriously asking that question?
Maybe Yu’s powers had evolved so much that she doesn’t remember what they did in the forest. Yuta smiled, he knew that kid would do wonders in the future. “Mister,” she called once again that made him hiss, “Should I do…” When he turned around to face her, she was standing behind him. Her scent is stronger now that she’s closer. Yuta could easily hold her by the waist and kiss her. “...something for you?” She asked in a soft voice, eyes staring at his lips.
This is fucking dangerous. He might just hurt her again and the twins aren’t here to erase her memory or heal her. Yuta leaned in, “I’m not interested in the well-behaved you, baby.” The girl puffed her cheeks, squinting her eyes at him.
“I’m not flirting with you, stupid.” Yuta chuckled as she stomped off inside the room, closing the door with a loud thud.
How cute.
Even if he was lying on the couch and she was sleeping in the room, with the door locked shut, Yuta could smell the scent of her arousal. It was way stronger than earlier that bothered him. If this continues on, another demon could smell her and this will be trouble once again. This was his fault. She did awaken something inside him but he didn't need to awaken her sexual desires.
He should have stopped that night in the forest.
Like the other nights, he approached her in her own wet dream. A mirage that only he can create. She was squirming in bed, panting hard while sweating. Her shirt was pushed up to reveal her breasts. A wet spot was visible on the material of her shorts.
Yuta clenched his fist tight. He cannot do this to her once again. And if this continues, he might just make the same mistake he made. He shook his head, he wouldn’t do it to her.
“Please,” she whispered, heavy breaths coming out of her agape lips. But he’s a demon and there are only some temptations that he can resist. Obviously one of them isn't her. Even if her eyes were closed, tears were streaming down her face. She might be in pain. And who is he to deny her the cure she needed? “Please, fuck me.”
He held her cheek. “Ssh, my angel.” He mumbled as if she could hear him. “I’ll make you feel real good, hmm?” Yuta didn’t waste time to pull down her shorts, revealing her sopping cunt. She smelled so divine, so erotic. He could feel his body getting energized just from smelling her. How perverted can he actually get? Truly, a lust demon.
He leaned down to give a quick kiss on her pubic bone, a moan escaping her lips. All his inhibitions are gone. The self-control he had been keeping to himself was gone when his lips came in contact with her clit. Her addicting taste in his lips only made him want her more. He slipped his tongue inside her core, the taste of her arousal making him dizzy in lust. Her body kept on moving so Yuta had to hold both her legs, parting them, to have easier access.
Y/N’s moans filled the room, echoing through the walls, which only heightened his want to pleasure this girl. By now, Yuta knows her pleasure spots. The exact spot in her core that makes her let go. With the tip of his tongue, he started hitting that spot earning muffled cries from her. She’s close, he could feel it. Yuta’s tongue kept on abusing her pussy, making sure that he could explore every inch of her.
And it was the most rewarding feeling when she released everything. Yuta made sure to lap everything that she could release, not missing a single drop of her sweetness.
The guy sat on the foot of the bed, just watching her calm sleeping face. She’s very beautiful. And Yuta knew that he couldn’t fall with these beautiful things. That would be his literal downfall for sure. Yet he had felt like he had become a possessive man, not wanting to share her with anyone. He should start putting scent blockers on her so a demon wouldn’t chase after her.
But putting scent blockers on her meant being a prisoner in her chains. A mistake he had made a long time ago and regretted big time.
He shouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
“They said bittersweet is life but it’s not that sweet, honestly it’s bitter.,” Yuta claimed, holding his cup of coffee. “Like this coffee.”
The girl rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Why can’t you just ask for cream and sugar like a normal person?” She asked, putting down the jar of cream and sugar above the table with a loud sound.
“Because master is not a normal person,” Yu claimed, drinking his chocolate milkshake.
Uta was munching on her waffles when she said in a mouth filled with food, “Shouldn’t we call him dad now?” The girl giggled, wiping the younger girl’s mouth. To avoid some questions, Y/N forced him to introduce himself as Yu and Uta’s dad. Surprisingly, her co-workers believed that lie. Yuta shook his head, humans truly are gullible. “Can I order some more waffles?”
Y/N smiled. “Of course, baby girl.” She claimed while rubbing the younger girl’s cheek. “Do you want anything else, Yu?” She asked softly as the younger boy asked for the same meal as his sister. “And you?” she faced Yuta with an uninterested look that annoyed him. Where is her happy caring tone? Why is she so cold when facing him?
“Nothing else.” She rolled her eyes before leaving to the counter where her co-workers were looking at her and then at him with wide smiles on their faces. Yuta didn’t know what they were talking about but she made a disgusted face while shaking her head after looking at him.
How adorable.
Maybe it was her time of the month. But Yuta shrugged it off, she wasn’t bleeding when he ate her out last night. Did it start today perhaps? But she clearly showed her distaste at him. Is that normal? A normal female reaction, perhaps?
Even at the diner, she kept on rolling her eyes at him while showing great gentleness to the two kids. Once again, she introduced him to her co-workers as the twins’ dad and he even earned an invite to a child’s birthday party. Yu and Uta both had a blast with their non-stop eating, making the older demon amused. They surely are gluttonous demons.
Y/N was just pacing around doing her job, making Yuta watch her every move. She would smile at every customer, making sure to give them her utmost service. Now he understood it when Yu reported that she’s hardworking. A male co-worker called for her and she obediently walked to where he was. He showed her a spoon with something white and the girl immediately parted her lips to taste what was on the spoon. She nodded, making the man smile warmly at her. He swiped a thumb on her bottom lip before licking the cream on his finger which made her giggle.
What the hell was that? Is she flirting with that co-worker? A boyfriend? But the twins never mentioned a male companion in their reports. Who the hell was that?
The girl was busy serving on the tables when a young kid wearing roller skates started zooming in the middle of the diner. He zoomed past Y/N who almost fell if not for Yuta holding her waist and pulling her to sit on his lap. “Are you alright?” He realized how near she was now that she was seated on his lap and it didn’t help that he was feeling something cold seeping on his shirt.
“Oh shit,” she cursed, standing up immediately and then wiping the dark liquid with a towel. She stopped when she felt his abdomen before staring at his face with a lot of surprise in her eyes. Y/N cleared her throat before heading south to wipe his leg. Slowly, Yuta could start smelling her sweet scent. She’s getting aroused. And maybe it was because she was too close that his senses were so stimulated, he wanted to reach out to her and fuck her mercilessly in this diner.
Her co-worker muttered an 'Oh My God' at the mess that happened as Y/N apologized. She was instructed to bring Yuta to the staff room since there was an extra change of clothes that he could wear, even volunteering to look after the twins as they finished their meal. She should have declined. Doesn’t she know that he and her inside a confined space is dangerous? And with his evil dirty thoughts and her emanating sweet scent, he could just lose himself.
Yuta was right. The staff room was located at a somehow secluded part of the diner and too small to stop his raging dirty thoughts. He quickly removed the shirt that was getting slowly drenched with the cola as the girl reached for the extra clothes on the upper cabinet. When she turned around, her eyes just widened while staring straight at his naked torso. The scent was now heightened along with her biting her bottom lip. With a heavy breath, she handed the shirt and then turned around, reaching down to look for drawers on the bottom layer. The simple action created a small contact between their bodies, making Yuta hiss.
“Y/N, you could just ask.” The girl turned to her in confusion. Yuta stepped forward and she stepped back, “I can smell your arousal.”
“What?” Her eyes widened in surprise which made Yuta smirk. She’s like a deer caught in headlights. “I’m not…”
Yuta moved another step forward that their bodies were almost touching. He grabbed her wrist, placing her hand on his torso. Her cold fingers trailed to his chest down to his abdomen. “You’re probably lacking excitement, right?” Her fingers moved to the waistband of his jeans then back to his abdomen. “Do you already know the ending, Y/N?” Yuta whispered in her ear. A heavy breath as he takes in her lovely aroused scent. He guided her hand to the front of his jeans, “A little teaser.”
The girl pulled him closer, placing her lips on his. It was an invigorating feeling, a sign that he should stop himself and just let go. “Mister…” she called in her erotic voice.
“Yuta,” he immediately corrected. “Call me Yuta.”
“Yuta.” The name came off as a whimper, a sexy moan that he wanted to repeat. “Yuta, please.”
He didn’t care if the name wasn’t his anymore, as long as it kept coming out of her lips. Yuta turned her around, pulling her waist closer to him as she hiked her skirt up. “Yes, baby. I only want my name coming out of your lips.”
“Yuta.” Fuck. This is bad. But why is he so elated? How could something this fucking good be considered bad? “Yuta,” Y/N called once again which made Yuta hiss.
This will surely be his downfall.
V. PRISONER
Y/N felt as if she had done something morally and ethically wrong.
Maybe she’s a criminal who deserves to be in jail. A prisoner.
She couldn’t even look at her co-workers the moment she left the staff room. She can’t even look at both Yu and Uta even if she knew that Yuta isn’t their father. Even looking at Yuta’s eyes was very difficult for her and it’s not like his cock didn’t keep ramming on her earlier.
His cold hand was grabbing her breast, pinching her nipples using his fingers. The other hand kept rubbing her clit as he kept thrusting into her from behind. His breathing was warm against her ear as she could hear him panting, gently moaning in his low voice. It was so hot.
All the horny nights were easily forgotten because of this quick sexual session. And with what she considers a stranger whom she just found out his name? How is she suddenly so reckless and rebellious?
Y/N started fixing her skirt but Yuta wrapped his arms around her from behind, fixing the buttons of her blouse. “Skip your gasoline gig,” he whispered, which made her confused. What? “I’m going to ask the twins to leave so we can continue this at home. I’ll wait for you.”
What the hell?
How could Y/N find a horny guy who gives amazing pleasure? As she was walking home, she started realizing why. He did claim that he’s a lust demon, an incubus. That means it was his sin, right? So he must be really a horny demon. But what else can he do during sex? Does he have an intense stamina that could kill her? Can he shapeshift? Maybe grow a tentacles or grow his cock bigger? She lightly giggled at the thought. Why is she getting excited all of a sudden? This is dangerous. She’s getting very wet at the thought.
Before she could put the key to the doorknob, the door opened. She expected Yu to greet her and Uta, being the cooler among the twins, would just be munching something while staring at the television. But to her surprise, Yuta opened the door without any clothes on. Immediately, she came in the door and closed it behind her. “Are you crazy?” She asked, “What if the neighbors see you?”
“I could smell you coming.”
He pulled the girl closer, letting her fingers trail on his broad shoulder. “And the kids?”
Yuta placed a wet kiss on her neck, “I sent them far away to do something.” The girl giggled which was replaced by a small squeal when the man scooped her up in his arms. “I hope you’re ready for me.” Y/N grinned. She’s more than ready for him.
He took his time kissing her lips, tongue slipping past her lips and into her mouth. Y/N could only moan at that. His tongue game was so amazing that she could easily imagine herself in an intense orgasm if he eats her out. His fingers slowly undo the button of her blouse, kissing the skin getting exposed. Losing her patience, she discarded her bra while he left supple kiss marks on her abdomen.
Yuta’s lips were quickly on her exposed breast, kissing the underside before sucking the nipple. His tongue played with the little nub as his fingers rubbed the other. Thread of curses and moans kept coming out of her lips. “Oh My God, Yuta.” She could feel him chuckling at that.
Y/N had to grab his hair, raising his head to look at her. “Please, put it inside me.” He gave her a smile. A warm smile that made her swoon. God, he is so attractive. She might just orgasm if she keeps staring at him.
Yuta pushed up her skirt and pulled down her underwear. Licking his lips at the sight of her wetness. He held his cock, lightly rubbing the tip on her pussy lips that made Y/N raise her hip. The guy’s chuckle can be heard before he pushes himself into her. The girl screamed, fingers digging into Yuta’s back at how big he was. Fuck, he’s filling her up. And when Yuta placed a pillow under her hips, she could see the outline of his cock on her abdomen.
It was a surreal feeling. It felt foreign yet familiar at the same time. Maybe Y/N is getting crazy. Too cock crazy. She had never had a cock this good. And she knew it would be hard to find another, specifically a human, who would fuck her up this good. His thrusts were hard, deep, and rhythmic at a pace that made her lose her mind. She can even feel his balls hitting her ass cheeks. Yuta is too good at this. It’s making her crazy.
She had never cummed that much in her life. Even her vivid dreams weren’t as good as the real thing. The sheets were wet because of her sweat and juice but she refused to move, her body feeling so sore from the intense sex she just received.
That was really amazing. He’s undoubtedly a lust demon.
But how real are demons? Isn’t that just something that the religious people made up to distinguish good from evil? And how evil could they be?
“Yuta,” she called while lying next to him in bed. Y/N knew that she shouldn’t be doing this pillow talk with him but they’re not even cuddling. It’s just pure lust between them, no strings attached. Yet she needed some answers. The man hummed, facing to look at her. She rolled on her stomach, “You said I’ll be in danger if I disappear from your sight because the demons will come for me, right?” The man nonchalantly nodded. “Is there any way to stop that?”
She could feel Yuta stiffen at that question. Did he not expect that? But that isn’t the normal conversation one has after intense sex. From his reaction, she gathered that there must be something that could stop this. “What is it?” she asked, gently rising from the bed to fully look at him. “Can I do something?”
“A contract.” She raised an eyebrow at that. What contract? “A binding contract between a demon and human.” Y/N sat up to signal that she was interested which made Yuta hiss in annoyance. “You should understand that the contract would chain us to each other. So no, Y/N.”
“What?” The girl asked in confusion. “But it was you who brought the contract up and it doesn’t seem that hard.”
Y/N rolled her eyes at his lack of response. “Besides, I’m not that possessive. Even if we’re chained to each other, I’ll still let you wander alone.” Yuta visibly stiffened at those words that confused her. Maybe it was a touchy subject for him. She should probably stop.
“I don’t trust your words,” Yuta whispered.
Y/N huffed at that. “I’m not a perfect person but I’m also not an evil person. Why don’t you believe me?” She revolted. “Why don’t you want to do the binding contract with me? Tell me what is wrong with me?”
Yuta had to roll over to face her body, parting her legs that confused her. “Nothing, Y/N,” he claimed before placing a soft kiss on her pussy lips. “But I won’t do it with you.”
The girl had to cover her mouth to prevent the scream coming out of her lips when he pushed a tongue between her moist pussy folds. The neighbors had already obviously heard her voice, they didn't need to know that they weren’t done with the sexual action yet. “Yuta,” she moaned. “Have you ever been in a contract with someone before?” He only answered with a flick of the tongue in her most sensitive spot.
“You’re a poison, Yuta. I shouldn’t have trusted you.” The female voice shouted, making the demon’s heart bleed. “For my last wish, let me go."
"Let me leave this world.”
He shouldn’t have trusted her words. He shouldn’t have believed that she wasn’t an evil person. What has she done to her?
A binding contract has its pros and cons. True, he can save the person he cares for. But a loose chain is still a chain. And chains tend to hurt in the long run. A terribly twisted love’s prison.
“Twins?” Yuta called, towering above two little cages to look for both Yu and Uta. It confused him that they weren't here. This is the only place they could go. A safe place for his little devils. Not too hot and not too cold for their comfort.
He had always thought that hell was always so burning hot, tormenting people who came here. Evil people. He had always stayed here all his life so he wouldn’t know the difference.
The only coldness in this scorching world was the cage he was locked in for years. The cuffs were stone cold against his skin, exhausting all his energy. As he brushed his fingers on the steel bars, he smiled to himself.
He remembered tiring himself the first few months. “I’m not a criminal!” he shouted. “Set me free!” A statement he knew wasn’t true. He is a criminal and he deserves to be in this prison, bound with chains. He is a dangerous man.
And he might be doing it again.
He started walking some more, spotting the two winged little devils with someone very familiar. He wished he would never bump into him again. Hell is a huge place for the two of them to see each other. But as he called for the twins’ attention, he turned to him as well. Uta called him ‘Dad’ while running to grab his arm in fright. It’s been years and the twins have grown up yet they exhibit the same terrifying expression when faced by him.
“Dad?” He repeated in his booming voice, looking in confusion at the man who only raised an eyebrow. Yu muttered an apology, pulling his sister behind Yuta. “You’re playing house in the human world? You should have known better.”
Yuta had to turn around, “Let’s go, kids.” He mumbled before stopping at what the old man said,
“Don’t kill another human again, Yuta.”
VI. GOODBYE
“Let me go!” Yuta kept shouting which made Y/N look at him in surprise. His eyes were closed shut, sweat beads forming on his eyebrows. Was he dreaming? “Let me go!”
The girl had to shake him aggressively to wake him up from his deep sleep. “Yuta, are you alright?” She asked once assured that he had regained consciousness. Y/N started wiping his forehead with the blanket to dry off his sweat. “You’re having a bad dream.”
But Y/N was startled when he pulled her closer, hugging her body. His breathing was harsh against her skin, tightly holding onto her with shaking fingers. He might be scared. But what was the dream about? Why does he keep shouting to let him go? The girl threaded her fingers on his hair, hushing him up. Her other hand rubbed his back in a calming manner.
She was relieved that he got calmer over the simple action.
But what is wrong with him?
Even in the morning, he was just quietly staring at the two kids who were huddled on the table while watching a caterpillar they got outside. “It looks ugly,” Uta claimed, which made the older girl laugh, handing them the small container filled with twigs and leaves where they could keep the caterpillar. “It looks like Yu’s horns.”
The older boy glared at his sister. “But when a caterpillar grows up, it will be a very pretty butterfly.” The older girl explained, picking up the caterpillar and placing it inside the container.
“Will it grow wings?” Y/N nodded at the younger girl. “Like our wings?”
Yu shook his head, “Different wings. Prettier than yours.” Uta pouted with a huff, making the older laugh at her cuteness. Her eyes gazed at Yuta who was just looking at them with a stoic face. Was he not amused at how cute Yu and Uta are? Or was it because of his dream earlier? Should she ask about it?
Since it was her day off and she needed to buy a gift for her co-worker’s daughter, she asked the three to come with her to the mall. She had gotten her pay the day before and could buy something for the three of them. Maybe a new sunglass for Yu, a pretty ribbon for Uta, and a tank top for Yuta. He had been wearing sleeved shirts lately and she was annoyed, she loved seeing his exposed arms around the house. Those thick arms that she loved to claw on. Y/N stared at his arms before gazing at his face. To her surprise, Yuta had been looking straight at her.
Oh shit. The arousal. He could smell her.
In the end, Y/N cannot force Yuta to come out and the kids promise the older man that they’ll behave in the mall. She was giggling to himself at how he looked like a dad scolding his kids. Yu and Uta are so hyperactive outside that she’s already tired the moment they step foot inside the mall. The two kept on buying different kinds of stuff: shirts, shoes, and dresses. Luckily, Yuta had given her a card to spend on the kids.
Where did he get all the money? But then Yu was the one who explained that Yuta was the son of a higher demon, like an heir in a human world. So when the three decided to stay in the human world, his assets in hell became assets in the human world. “So Yuta is rich?” She innocently asked.
“Super rich,” Uta claimed, biting on her fried chicken.
Y/N was astounded at that fact. He’s handsome and he’s rich? She cannot deny that he’s also hot and so great in bed. “Is he still single?” The question came out before she could even process it in her mind. That was so wrong to ask. But she’s so curious. Yu gave her a knowing smile but she shook her head, wanting to tell him that what he was thinking was wrong. But that would be so defensive of her.
“The first time we met Master Yuta, he was heartbroken from his first love.” Uta shared. Y/N’s ears perked up at that. First love? “He was caged by his father for killing that person.” She gasped in surprise. Maybe that’s why he was saying those words in his dream. But Yuta killed his first love?
Yu hissed at his sister for talking too much. “But master claims that it wasn’t his doing.” He shared calmly, “Killing a human is a grave sin in hell and the other demons believe that Master is the only one who could do it.”
That was heartbreaking. But Y/N doesn’t know Yuta enough to judge him. She saw him kill twice but those were all demons and he promised that he’d save her, even if he lived or died. Surely, Yuta cannot kill a human. Especially a person he once loved. “Yu, can you erase his memory of his first love?” The younger boy shook his head, claiming that he could not erase a demon’s memory.
Y/N nodded. If Yu or Uta cannot, then she should help him. But how could she do that? How could she stop the nightmares when he obviously can’t move on from his life in hell? How could one measly human help a somewhat higher demon? “Do you think I could do something to help him?”
Uta nodded but Yu glared at her. At her prodding, the younger girl answered. “Help him regain his powers so he can turn back time. That was his goal.”
“Regain his powers?” They did mention it before. “How can I help regain his powers?” The two kids shrugged, busy eating their meal. Should she ask Yuta instead? Is it a demon thing? “Then, how do the two of you regain your powers?”
“Eating,” they muttered in unison which made her smile. Obviously. Yuta calls them gluttonous demons so maybe that’s why. Should she cook for Yuta to regain his power?
Y/N had to cover her mouth at the sudden realization. Yuta is a lust demon. He cannot regain power just by a simple meal. He needed sex.
She shook her head to divert her attention as Uta looked at her in worry. “Then how did the two of you end up in the demon world?”
The girl dropped her fork and she wanted to quickly apologize for asking something so insensitive. “We both light our house on fire, killing us and our family.” That’s so familiar and tragic. “Master explained that we killed ourselves, that's why we’re in hell, a grave sin like his.” Yu continued.
Y/N held the top of Uta’s head. “I think the two of you are great kids.” She claimed then smiled at the younger girl. “If ever I get married and have kids, I hope they’re as lovely and clever as the two of you.” She continued, even staring at Yu who looked shy at what she was saying. “I bet your parents are very proud of the two of you.”
“Your parents are also proud of you, unnie,” Uta claimed, which confused her. “We met them in the demon world.”
“We’re home!” Uta shouted, bursting to the door and then showing off her pink glittery bow. Yu helped put down the paper bags on the couch as Y/N went straight to the kitchen while chuckling at the younger girl’s cute antics. Yu showed his new sunglasses making Yuta hiss. They spend all his money on these useless things? They’re such kids.
Yuta carefully glanced at the different paper bags full of fabric and accessories. “Did you say thank you to Y/N?” The two kids nodded while taking out toys from one paper bag. He shook his head, such kids. The guy had to bite his bottom lip, smelling a very familiar scent coming from the kitchen. What is she doing?
Y/N was standing by the stove as he wrapped his arms around her waist, “Smells good.”
“I’m heating the pasta we bought…”
“I meant you,” His hand that was resting on her stomach trailed to her breast, grabbing one boob from the material of her blouse. “Why are you so aroused? I can smell you.” He pulled her closer, kissing the side of her neck.
Small giggles came out of her lips, “I’m not the only aroused one.” She teased before rubbing her ass on his bulge. Yuta laughed at that action. Y/N turned around to face him after turning off the stove. “Do you want to try something new, Yuta?”
Something new? His eyebrow raised at that. The girl started tying her tail to a ponytail, licking her lips in the process. Yuta lightly chuckled when she started kneeling on the floor. A blowjob? Did someone replace Y/N in the store? What is happening to her? Her fingers were undoing the zipper of his pants when he claimed, “Right now? With the kids outside?”
The girl grinned. “Look at you being a dad,” she teased before gazing at him with lust-hooded eyes. “Daddy.”
“Yu! Uta!” Yuta shouted. “Could the two of you deliver a message?”
If Yuta thought hell was full of chaos, the demons should attend a kid’s birthday party. Kids were all running, high-pitched squeals and laugh echoed throughout the whole venue. It's utterly chaos.
All the moms were staring at him, whispering things to other moms. He doesn’t know what it was but he had been called a lot of distasteful names before so their words wouldn’t have to bother him. But when they started talking to Y/N, laughing with her while pointing at him, Yuta felt curious. It was like they were watching his every move and for them to not suspect something, he was attentive to the twins. They kept on running around, playing with the human kids as if they weren’t demons. They looked so fascinated at the clown’s magic tricks and when the bubble show came, they kept squealing in delight.
Yuta had to smile at that. At least they had the experience of being kids in the human world. “He’s so attractive,” he overheard one of the moms say to her husband. He remembered her as one of Y/N’s co-workers in the diner. Was she talking about him? “He takes care of his kids so well.” Wait, was he doing too much? “No wonder Y/N looks so happy lately.”
His gaze fell on the girl seated on the floor and taking pictures of the twins inside the huge bubble. “They already look like a small family.” Yuta smiled. That wasn’t a bad thought.
After the bubble show, came desserts. Yu was careful about eating too much but Uta kept on coming the second time to the cake table, even taking a huge piece. “You should stop, Uta.” Yuta reprimanded, making the young girl pout. “Your dress will pop off if you eat another bite.” Y/N had to take the discarded plate filled with cake and hand it to the younger girl who went running to her brother. “Y/N!”
“You cannot stop a girl from eating, Yuta.” She claimed, “Besides, Uta is still cute even if she eats too much.”
“She’s my daughter.” A gasp can be heard nearby from a mom overhearing their conversation.
The girl rolled her eyes at that. “I know. But that is my baby girl,” Yuta smirked. That’s her revolt? “You cannot tell my baby what she can’t or can eat.” She claimed before taking another slice of cake, “Even Yu.” She claimed before feeding him a piece of cake and walking away.
Yuta could only laugh in disbelief, wiping his lips to remove the icing. Are they playing bad cop, good cop now? Yeah, he’ll be the bad parent. He’s a demon, for crying out loud. That’s his nature. And obviously, that is exactly the reason why Yu and Uta like her so much. She's always the good parent. Spoiling them with everything.
The two of them as parents? Yuta timidly smiled at the thought before shaking his head. What the heck is this light, mushy feeling creeping into his body? “She makes you weak?” The mom eavesdropping on them asked that confused Yuta. “You shouldn’t let go of a girl that loves your children like that.” She had a knowing smile on her face as she stared at Y/N talking to the two kids while eating cake. “You should never let Y/N go.”
Yuta shouldn’t. Even if he had encountered these things before, he knew Y/N had shown him a very different feeling. He had always thought hell was the hottest place in existence but why does he feel warmer in her arms? And these mushy feelings? Why would his heart beat so much whenever he sees Y/N smile? She makes him weak and strong at the same time. It’s crazy.
Yuta might be crazy.
Has he finally moved on? Is this not a mistake if he pursued it further? Should he ask her once again to have a binding contract with her? Because right now, he’s sure that he would be willing and more than happy to be chained to her if it meant staying with her.
“Oh, the father of the birthday girl is here!” The clown claimed making all the kids look at the man coming into the party venue carrying a huge dollhouse.
The sound of broken plates echoed throughout the place but Yuta’s gaze didn’t leave the man who was now looking at him, as well as all the guests. Y/N was quick to stand up, looking at him with worry but the other man was quicker on his feet to land a punch on Yuta’s face. “You!” he shouted, face filled with rage. “I’m going to kill you, motherfucker!”
Yuta didn’t make a move and let the man take blows on his face. Anything to ease his anger. He could feel some people stopping the man repeatedly punching him and kids crying at how scary the scene was. Some mothers also gasped calling for Y/N’s name and from his bleeding eye, Yuta saw Y/N seated on top of the broken plates he had created.
Once again, Yuta reminded himself that this will be a huge mistake. He really shouldn’t pursue this much longer.
Yuta kept on hissing as Y/N put medicine on the cuts on his face. Since Uta cannot heal him, he let the older girl tend to his wounds. He cannot go to the hospital. He doesn’t really deserve it. The man should have killed him and he would easily let him.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.
He lightly glanced at Y/N’s palm, “Aren’t you hurt as well?”
She lightly glanced at the faint white lines across her palm. “Uta did her best to heal me and Yu had to erase everyone’s memory.” She shared in a soft voice, “They said they’ll go back to hell to rest for a while.” Yuta nodded. He could also do that. “Was he related to your first love?”
Yuta had to look her straight in the eye. How did she know that? “The twins told you?”
“I asked them. So please don’t be mad at them.” He hissed, closing his eyes at that. “Did you really kill her?” The way she said those words was so calculated, so quiet. As if she was scared. Of him? Of the fact that he killed someone? He wasn’t entirely sure.
“I did.” The shift in her eyes broke Yuta. “That was her final wish, to leave the world.”
She stared at him in confusion. How much did the twins tell her? “Final wish?”
“From the binding contract,” he started. “She was my human and I’m bound to her.” Even saying those words felt like thorns digging into Yuta’s heart. “I became too obsessed with her, too possessive, that she grew mad.”
“Her last wish was to end her life and I have to make it happen as her demon.”
Y/N’s eyes softened at that. Now that she heard it straight from Yuta, she realized that it wasn't all that bad. He had to do what he promised to do. Is this the reason why he was locked in hell? The grave sin he committed to the demon world?
He’s just a man who fell in love. That’s the risk someone has to take whenever they fall in love. Ain’t no joy, ain’t no torment.
His dark brown eyes bore through hers, making her hitch a breath. “And I’m almost making the same mistake the second time.”
Her eyes widened at those words. She was thinking the same thing as he was thinking right? “Then Yuta, let’s do the binding contract…”
“No, Y/N.”
It was a strong no. But Y/N isn’t even disheartened. She could always ask him again and maybe he could crack and say yes. There’s always a flaw in every contract and she just needed to look for it so she could help Yuta be free from the memory of his first love. So he wouldn’t have a chance to make the same mistake to her.
She stretched her arms seeing the two kids snoring on both sides of the bed. When she glanced at the far end, Yuta was nowhere in sight. The house sounds so quiet. Was he away? Maybe he came back to their world. It had been an exhausting feat for him, she completely understood why he would go out. Maybe she should cook for the kids and regain their powers. Maybe she should think of horny thoughts so Yuta could come back quickly.
As she stepped outside the room, she saw a piece of paper on top of the table. That’s odd. Yuta doesn’t leave notes when he’s going out. But as she read the letters scribbled on the paper, her tears fell from her eyes. She had to read the same sentences repeatedly for it to make sense.
I didn’t know I would feel this way again.
It’s because I love you that I say this,
Eternally, goodbye.
Yuta didn’t just go out. He already left.
VII. BUTTERFLY
It must be a dream.
A crazy dream.
She didn’t even know what reality was from a dream. As she stared at the cocoon inside the container, she wanted to believe that everything was real - that she met two adorable kids, Yu and Uta. Yet whenever she would share that fact with her co-workers, they would just make her crazy by claiming that they had never seen her with two kids before. Even at the party, she was alone and nothing scandalous happened.
Then, they might not be real.
It must be the medicine making her crazy like this. Should she stop taking it? Should she continue taking it? But as she tried to swallow one pill, she felt something kicking in her stomach.
It’s been days, turned into weeks that this strange phenomenon happened to her. Something kept on kicking inside her, giving sharp pain to her abdomen. Some of her female co-workers told her to get it checked but her male co-workers beg to differ. “You’ve been non-stop talking about twins and something is in your stomach,” they would narrate, “Maybe you’re pregnant, Y/N.”
That isn’t plausible. The female doctor asked her the last time she had some sexual activity and she just didn’t know what to say. Are all those vivid horny dreams real? Was that gorgeous demon named Yuta even real? She ruled out the idea of her being pregnant and suggested eating full healthy meals and to stop stressing herself out.
Maybe that was it. She can’t possibly be pregnant. That would be crazy.
But then, everything in her life had gone crazy.
Cold seasons meant Christmas was coming soon. She quit her gasoline station gig, mainly because of her co-worker's worried advice that she lives alone and being outside late at night would be very dangerous for her. On her days off, a friend from the said gasoline gig would always ask her to come out at Christmas fairs and just buy gifts and trinkets. Y/N would always pout, there was no one she could give gifts to except her co-workers who had everything they needed.
At one stall, her eyes focused on gray sunglasses with sparkling stones on the frame. Uta would really love that. On another stall selling ponytails, she saw a pastel pink that would look really good on Uta’s twin pigtails. Then there are different colored female tank tops that would look so sexy on Yuta’s body.
A small chuckle escaped her lips.
She’s indeed a crazy woman.
As she was walking around, she spotted a picture of a horned creature on one of the tents. Demons should look like that, right? Not cute, not lovable, not handsome. Maybe she had really gone mad thinking that she had met demons. The tent had different colored trinkets, fairy lights illuminated the outline of the small slit of an entrance. On the side says ‘Psychic’ which made her smile. Who would even believe in these things? The woman inside spotted her and welcomed her with a smile on her face. “How are you, Y/N?” The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. How did she know her name? “Were you living alright? Do you honestly think everything is just a dream?”
Maybe it was her strategy but how did she find out her name? She only gave the girl a warm smile as she sat down in front of her, “I should be careful with my words or they would come after me.” She started that confused her. What? The psychic, a middle-aged woman, started telling her about her life, That she was adopted after her birth mother died while giving birth to her. That she lived a mostly lavish life but gambling ended everything. Y/N’s mind was mind-blown. How does she know so much? “Your parents are great people, my dear child.”
“My parents?”
“I know you blame them for their death but it was inevitable. It doesn’t mean that they didn’t love you. They said goodbye because they love you so much.” The older woman smiled, “Even that man.”
It’s because I love you that I say this, eternally, goodbye.
The wonder was laced with confusion at her words. How did she know so much about her life? Is she being her crazy self again? “Be careful of wings, dear Y/N.” Wings? “This will bring you to those looking after you.”
Instead of clarity, she only got confusion. Why did she even enter that tent? Who the hell would even believe a so-called psychic who kept on spouting nonsense? Only a crazy person would.
And she’s a crazy person.
Some of her co-workers invited her for their family Christmas party but Y/N remained at home, watching television and eating leftover pizza. She kept on watching the little cocoon inside the container but it was a boring activity. Nothing much is happening.
Before the New Year came, a male co-worker asked her to hike a mountain with his friends. The sharp stinging pain in her abdomen doesn’t hinder her from walking to the slippery trail. She’s willing to forget everything about this change of the year. To move on with her life with the image of the sunrise.
She’ll start thinking of herself more.
Even in the dark, her sense of sight was heightened. The males in the group started setting up the tent and she was just standing by the edge, taking in the landscape in front of her. In just a few hours, the sunrise will come and everything will be illuminated with its beauty.
She’ll finally forget about them: Yu, Uta, and especially Yuta.
A small fluttering wing came into her sight. The little butterfly flew in front of her as if asking for her attention. Its wings had a shade of gray and pink, a lovely combination. Will that little cocoon in her home reveal a butterfly this pretty? She tried to reach for the small creature, eager to feel it on her fingertips. But she took a wrong step and felt a cold breeze.
She could only hear the collective sounds of her name being called and saw the butterfly fluttering its wings to land on her nose. She finally felt its wings.
Be careful of wings, dear Y/N. Wings? Butterflies have wings. Yu and Uta have wings. Yuta has wings. This will bring you back to those looking after you. Then this will be her death, isn’t it?
She felt the impact of the water behind her before the feeling of falling. Funny she was already falling from the cliff earlier yet she could only feel that sensation now that she was in the water. She knew how to swim and could easily make her way to the shore but she lost all will to survive. Isn’t this better? Isn’t this what she wanted all along?
Y/N closed her eyes letting the water engulf her.
A red light made her open her eyes. An image of two small creatures coming to her, swimming to reach her, blocking the red light. She doesn’t want to be saved now. Yet, when they reached her, she was startled that they were very familiar. Yu and Uta.
Uta was coughing, complaining that she had never swam that deep before. Y/N had to apologize before seeing herself lying on the rocky shore. That is her lifeless body, right? Then why is she watching over herself? “Am I dead?”
Yu shook his head. “You’re in the middle,” He explained which confused her. Middle? “You have two options: to remain living in the human world or go up.” Both Yu and Uta looked up as if stressing that option.
“Go up?” she asked. “Up where?”
“To heaven and be an angel,” Uta claimed. Was she allowed to say those words?
And her? An angel? Maybe these two are the crazy ones. “But I don’t deserve to go there and be an angel.”
“Dad thinks you are one.” Uta started before Yu continued, “He even calls you his angel.”
That sentence seemed to shut you down. You knew the dad they were talking about. But why? Really, an angel? Maybe Yuta was the crazy one.
The older twin showed his dark pitchfork, “If you take this, your soul will return to your body and you could keep continue living in the human world.” The younger twin revealed her bright pink pitchfork, “If you take Uta’s, you’ll go to heaven and be an angel.”
But none of the choices even enticed her. Going back to her life feels like hell and going to heaven means she won’t be seeing them again. She wanted to go where they were. Wanted to be where Yuta is. But how?
Then it hit her. Conversations about people in the demon world came to her like a wave. The way Yu and Uta were brought to hell. How her parents were in hell based on the twins. How Yuta was caged in that place all this time.
She had probably gone crazy.
In a desperate attempt, she took both pitchforks that startled the young devils. Quickly, she struck her lifeless body’s chest, digging the pitchforks so deep that blood started seeping into her drenched clothes. “I wish to be with Yuta in hell.”
Then everything went black.
Y/N opened her eyes in a blinding red light. It feels so hot that she’s almost sweating hard. And when she glanced at where she was lying, it was covered with something red. Rose petals. A bed of roses? Everything was red. Surely this wouldn’t be heaven. The closest that it could be would be a brothel. Then is she back to her own body? But why a brothel?
The wide doors opened, cold breeze started coming in that made her shiver. What the hell even is this place?
Then it struck her.
Hell.
A shadow of a tall man, in a long coat with huge dark wings, was walking to her. The smell of musk filled the air. “What the hell, Y/N?” he shouted, staring at her in fury.
She knew it before he could even speak but why is he hotter in hell? Is she really in hell right now? A smirk left her lips, “I think what you wanted to say was welcome to hell.” she claimed, staring straight at him. “And nice to see you again, Yuta.”
The man chuckled in disbelief, sitting beside her on the bed. Her instinct was to touch his feathered wings. They’re so soft and warm. “You’re crazy. Do you know that?”
She rolled her eyes at that. “I know. I know.” Then squinted her eyes at him, “You’ve been playing with my mind all these times. I’m not even surprised I’ll get crazy.”
Yuta smiled timidly. “You do realize you’re now stuck in hell with me, right?”
Y/N nodded. She realized that when he came to the door. But why? “How?” Yu and Uta just gave her two options. And killing herself doesn’t guarantee a spot in hell. How did she manage to come to this place?
“Because of your final wish.”
Final wish? That she stayed with Yuta in hell? But Y/N only heard that with the topic of the binding contract. “We’re not in a binding…”
“We are,” he claimed, surprising her. “I put a bead inside you so the demons wouldn’t smell you even if I’m away.” A bead? Unconsciously, she touched her abdomen. The kicking inside her. That was the bead. The stinging pain whenever she would talk to guys. That was the bead. The bead Yuta put inside her. A binding contract. His chain on her.
The girl squinted her eyes at him. Now it all makes sense. “Possessive freak.”
Yuta was just laughing, a hearty laugh that made her stare. She isn’t fazed by the fact that Yuta is here in front of her, she’s more astounded at the fact that he is real. That everything was real. “You’ll have to adjust well living here in hell, can you take it Y/N?” Glancing around, she could say that hell isn’t that bad. The demon world is even better than the human world. “You’re going to stay with me, can you do that Y/N?”
“And the twins?” Yuta had to groan, claiming that she liked them so much it was annoying. “Well, I do love them more than I love you.”
“You love me?” he raised an eyebrow.
Y/N laughed wholeheartedly, standing up from the bed. “I went to hell for you, stupid.” Before she could move away from him, Yuta had pulled her back into his arms. His wings wrapped around her. She knew hell was hot but the way his arms and his wings wrapped around her made her feel so warm. “Besides, hell smells so good.” The guy looked surprised, inquiring her what it was. “It smells musky, a manly man smell.” Yuta had a confused look on his face which made her giggle. “You’re emitting that scent now.” She leaned in to sniff his neck as his fingers dug on her waist. “It smells so good.”
The guy had to laugh at that. A musky scent? Right now? “Y/N,” he called which made her hum, “You haven't been here for a long time and I already knew what kind of a demon you are.” The girl gave him a puzzled look. “And I’m glad we’re the same kind of demon.” He licked his lips at the realization in her face. “Shall we start regaining our powers together?”
Before she could speak, Yuta had pushed her to bed making her squeak in delight.
EPILOGUE: DEPTH
Hell had always been hell.
A hot place full of agony. An evil place full of torment.
There’s no joy without torment. But there’s no torment without joy.
Yuta had never thought that the place he despised the most would be the place where he’d be the happiest.
All because of this human girl who chose to be with him.
Uta was the one who said that her ‘mom’ was in the receiving room with her parents. Yu even reported that they had a long talk with Y/N apologizing and thanking them a lot. He wished he was there to at least hold her hand and stop her from crying. But Yuta promised that he wouldn’t meddle in her affairs the same way she didn’t meddle in his.
Because of her egging and warm attitude, Yuta had a chance to talk to his father. He cleared his name, explaining that it wasn’t his fault that a human died. The greater demon apologized to him for the years he had made him a prisoner. He even warmed up to the twins, even calling them his grandkids and promising the two to give them more powers as their grandfather.
Yuta was just flabbergasted. Who’s playing house now?
He opened the huge doors of the receiving area, Y/N staring at him in surprise as she stood by the huge windows. “My angel,” he called making her parents giggle. They excused themselves to leave and when they closed the door, Yuta wrapped his arms on the girl’s waist. “I miss you, angel.”
“I told you not to call me that,” But Yuta only pouted. “Besides, it hasn’t been that long since we last saw each other.”
Yuta kissed her neck, “But I’m getting powerless.” She hissed at that. “I need to regain my strength.”
“Having a lust demon as a husband is so hard.”
“You’re a lust demon yourself.” he revolted. “We’ll be quick,” he started carrying her to the ledge of the window, parting her legs to move closer to her. “And I can smell that you also need this.”
Before he could lean in to kiss her, the doors opened with a loud thud. “Mommy!” Uta called. Yuta leaned his head on Y/N’s shoulder, hissing at the cockblocker. “I’m hungry.”
“You promised to cook a meal for us. We missed your burger patties.” Yu claimed as the older girl stood up, instructing the two to wait for her in the kitchen.
Yuta had a defeated look on his face. Should he ship those two little devils somewhere far away? Maybe he can have his wife on his own. “I’ll be quick,” she claimed, kissing Yuta’s cheeks. “When I get back I’ll prepare your most favorite meal.”
“And what is that?”
“Me, of course.”
His laugh echoed through the whole room making the girl giggle. “I hate to say this but you adapted in this place very well.” Y/N had to giggle, kissing his other cheek. The two kids called for her, shouting mommy which made Yuta laugh. “Hurry up and go to your kids. I’ll wait for you in our room, mommy.”
“Be naked for me, daddy.” She claimed with a wink.
“Sure thing, angel.”
“Don’t call me that!” she shouted from outside making Yuta laugh.
Maybe there’s still hope for him.
Hell wasn’t that bad, actually.
Hell is such a good place. Hell is such a great place.
synopsis: you accidentally hear them say they don't like you.
characters: kuroo, suna
warnings: this was written back in 2020 and i decided to repost it so yea, be warned ig, angst to fluff!
kuroo:
with a sigh, you tried mustering up all the confidence you can as you trudged towards the gym.
‘this is the day.’ you thought to yourself. you were finally going to confess to kuroo. after having numerous debates with your mind, you finally came to the decision to confess.
your heartbeat quickened at the numerous scenarios you were thinking, most of them being rejection.
the worst thing that can happen is rejection, right?
you couldn’t help but fall for kuroo, how could you not? he was funny, smart, and being handsome was a nice plus. you already knew that it would be hard to just tell him about your feelings, especially knowing that he probably only viewed you as a friend.
once you arrived by the gym, you took a deep breath before going in with a smile, waving to kenma who acknowledged you by looking up from his game.
“uh.. have you seen kuroo?” you sheepishly asked kenma who looked at you curiously before nodding to the locker room.
“hey, (y/n)?” kenma called out. “yeah?”
“goodluck.” your eyes widened as he gave you a small smile.
you sometimes hated how perceptive kenma is despite his nonchalant behavior. with a determined nod, you walked towards the locker room, hoping to see kuroo walk out from the door.
when you were at a near distance from the door, you hear a bunch of chatter. you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you perked your head when you heard your name come out from a voice you recognized as yaku’s.
“man, kuroo. you’re lucky! you have (y/n) crushing on you.” a smack was heard after, kuroo groaning in pain followed afterward.
your heartbeat quickened when you heard the captain laugh in response.
“come on, yakkun. (y/n) and i are just friends!” for now. “eh?! seriously? you don’t like her in that way?” you scoot a bit closer to the door, wanting to hear his answer before you take the leap.
“don’t be ridiculous, yakkun. we’re friends, and that’s it.” your heart dropped at his words.
you were so caught up in evaluating kuroo’s answer that you didn’t realize the door to the locker room opened. “oh, (y/n)? what’re you doing here?” the chatter in the locker room evidently stopped. you blinked, trying to keep tears at bay.
you looked up to kai who looked at you with a kind expression. “ah, our professor told me to give this to tet- kuroo-san.” you say, giving him a folder. “i have to go, please give this to him for me. thank you, kai!” you say before running off, passing by the freshmen who gave you a wave of excitement. you couldn’t find it in yourself to smile back as you ran from the gym.
once you were at a safe place, you let the tears fall free. you didn’t know why you were crying.
‘you didn’t even confess, for crying out loud! so why are you sad?’ you thought to yourself, laughing as you wiped your eyes.
you felt pathetic for ever thinking that kuroo would ever look at you that way. you were friends. he specified so clearly to one of his closest friends. that was all the confirmation you needed.
you knew you had to distance yourself on the following days. knowing that if you don’t you’ll fall even deeper and get hurt.
and you were tired of getting hurt.
“oi, chibi. why did the picture go to jail?” kuroo asked when the class was about to end. you took a while to answer him, you only answered when you felt him poke his pen by your cheek. “oi.” “i don’t know, kuroo. why?” kuroo could almost shiver at the tone you used, but he thinks it may just be a bad day. maybe his jokes could make it better? it always did.
“because it was framed.” not wanting to ignore him, but not wanting to indulge him either you give him a short laugh that can be mistaken as a breath.
“was it not funny?” “it was.”
kuroo was silent for a few seconds before asking you with a small nudge from his elbow.
“are you okay?” “mhm.” you realized that that answer was too curt, something that would possibly make him suspicious. and you didn’t want that.
“i just need to listen to this lesson, this is very confusing.” you follow up quickly, taking down notes just to not look suspicious.
“you know i could always tutor you, right?” kuroo said, a reassuring tone lacing his voice. you turn to give him a small nod and smile. “i know.” but i’d like to not be with you unless necessary. “thank you.”
kuroo furrowed his eyebrows, clearly he knew something was wrong. but before he could ask, the bell rang and you immediately went out of the room. not even giving kuroo his usual goodbye.
something was definitely wrong.
“(y/n’s) acting weird.” kuroo couldn’t help but mention when they were on the train home. “eh?” kenma kept clicking on his console, listening intently as his childhood friend rant on about you.
“and then suddenly they turned cold! i don’t remember doing anything to make them mad.” kuroo was frustrated to say the least, he knew that your friendship was going well, so of course he would be confused as to why you suddenly gave him the cold shoulder.
“i mean… did you reject them?” kenma asked, eyes still on his console. kuroo furrowed his eyebrows at his friend. “reject them? what?”
kenma paused the game and looked up to kuroo.
“so, they didn’t confess?” kuroo shook his head in response to kenma’s question. kenma sighed, “i think i know what’s going on.”
“well, don’t keep it to yourself, kenma. tell me.” kuroo urged.
“they heard you say you don’t like them.” kenma said, unpausing his game. “well, that’s only my thoughts. i wouldn’t know.”
now that kuroo thought about it, when he told yaku he only saw you as a friend, the door of the locker room opened to reveal you, who gave kai a document that was meant for him before running off.
kuroo should’ve known you’ve heard. because no matter how busy you were, you would always wish him good luck on his practices and give him a corny joke to keep him motivated.
“fuck.” kuroo muttered, placing his hands by his eyes and tilting his head back on the window of the train, groaning from frustration.
there was a small pause of silence, only the clicking of kenma’s console was heard before the underclassman spoke.
“what do you plan on doing now?”
“hey, we need to talk.” kuroo cornered you by the locker, you shut the metal door lightly before giving him an apology.
“i’m really needed for the next class.” at this point, you weren’t even trying to hide the sheer fact that you were avoiding him.
“we’re in the same class, and we both know the teacher wouldn’t show up until half the hour passes. try again, (y/n).”
“i just don’t want to talk to you.” you say straight up, not even trying to put a filter and kuroo felt his heart clench painfully at your tone.
“too bad. you don’t have a choice.” without a word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you away to a vacant classroom.
“why have you been avoiding me.” kuroo knows the answer to his question, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.
“i was busy, can i go now. please?” you say as curt as possible, not wanting to melt under his gaze. not wanting to break whatever resolve you have built up from the past few days you ignored him.
“i’m not buying it.” kuroo says, crossing his arms and eyeing you down. you knew that you wouldn’t be able to keep up the tough act if you stayed there.
“you’re so unfair, kuroo.” you couldn’t help but whisper. kuroo’s posture immediately straightened.
“i’m unfair?” kuroo asked with an amused grin on his face. “i don’t think i’m the one who ignored someone for days for no apparent reason.” you looked down at his words, knowing he has the upperhand. just why did you think you could escape him?
“i’m not the one who made someone think that they did something wrong.” you didn’t realize that he was getting closer, not until you saw his shoes in front of you and felt his hands on your chin, making you look up to him.
“i’m the one who was deprived of a confession from the person i like, don’t you think it’s unfair for me?” your eyes widened for a few milliseconds before you pushed him away.
“stop messing around, kuroo.” your voice cracked. “just let me move on. and i promise i’ll be back to normal.” you both know that was an empty promise. if kuroo didn’t corner you, then you would’ve completely tried to eradicate him from your life. but kuroo couldn’t have that.
now that he knew you liked him back, how could he let this chance go to waste.
“you think i’ll let you go when i finally have an opportunity to pursue you?” your throat went dry.
“kuroo... stop. you don’t need to pretend, i heard what you said to yaku. it’s fine, really.” at this point, you wanted to get out as soon as possible. you knew you were going to break down if this keeps on going.
“(y/n), please. believe me. i truly do like you back.” you felt tears prick your eyes. this was some sick joke kuroo was playing at.
kuroo panicked, seeing tears well up in your eyes before you blinked it away.
“but i-” “yes. i know that i said those words that day, but it was to shut yakkun up… and to hide my own feelings.” kuroo said the last part quietly. if he weren’t holding you, you probably wouldn’t have heard.
he lets go of your chin before sighing. “i’ve been in love with you for so long, i didn’t know how to deal with it so i kept denying it. i didn’t tell yaku the truth because i didn’t need him to make fun of me because i couldn’t get the person i wanted.” kuroo let it out, you were shocked.
he felt the same way?
“kuroo…?” “(y/n). i’m sorry, but i can’t let you go. especially now when i know i have a chance. so please.” unbeknownst to the both of you, your heartbeats were almost identical on how fast it paced.
“i...” you started. not knowing the right words to say.
“i think we should… take things slow.” you look at him, giving him the smallest of smiles you can muster. “if that’s okay with you?”
kuroo couldn’t find it in himself to suppress the wide smile that was plastered on his face. without another word, he pulled you to his chest. his laugh rang out the empty classroom.
“god. i didn’t want to confess this way… but here we are.” kuroo pulled away and laughed.
“don’t break my heart, kuroo.” you warned lightheartedly. he gave you a smile that was laced with all the adoration he felt for you before pecking raising your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.
“i wouldn’t dream of it.”
suna:
the whistle was blown, signaling the end of their practice. you smiled in encouragement to the members who looked like they’ve gone through hell and back. from the intensity of their training, you would probably believe so.
“nice work.” you say, handing atsumu his water bottle. the setter gave you a pat on the head before gesturing to suna who was wiping his sweat with a towel. “go talk to ‘yer loverboy.”
you rolled your eyes at his statement, but walked towards the middle blocker anyway.
“nice work out there, rin!” you smile, giving him the water bottle that you prepared. of course, it was your own water bottle with the liquid infused with citrus. you thought about putting it in his, but then again, the water bottles were identical and someone else might drink it.
“(y/n)~ why does suna get special treatment?” akagi whined. your eyes widened, not knowing that the libero was watching your interactions.
“i want manager-san’s special treatment too!” ginjima whined as well, your face heat up at the sudden attention before the coach blew the whistle once more.
“seems like break is over, be back later, (y/n).” suna stated, giving you back your water bottle and a quick pat on the head. your face heated up with the contact.
“yeah.” you were in a daze, staring at suna’s figure as he went back to court.
“‘yer staring, manager-san.” kita’s straightforward voice cut off your thoughts. “huh? what?”
a smirk formed on kita’s face. “be careful, (y/n). ‘yer not being as cautious as before.”
“what did you mean before? kita-san. i-” “liked our middle blocker since before you were our manager? i’m well aware.” if you and kita weren’t close, you would be scared on how he managed to catch on quickly with your stupid crush. “i’m right, aren’t i?”
“i sometimes hate you, kita.” a scoff was heard from the bicolored male. “sure you do.”
you and the captain went on with your banter. occasionally noting down some of the notable movements the team did in their practice.
when the whistle was blown, that was then you realized that you have forgotten to fill up the water bottles once more. with a quick bow, you ran outside to fill it up with refreshing cold water. once done, you struggled to carry the weight of several bottles at once.
“when do you plan on confessing to (y/n), suna?” you stopped in your tracks as you hear atsumu’s voice reverberate from the other side of the wall.
“what are you talking about?” suna retaliated, voice deadpanned as usual. “come on, suna. don’t think we don’t see the way (y/n) has heart eyes for you.” you almost dropped the water bottles in your hands. your heart beat quick, realizing that suna was well aware of your crush on him.
“so?” the same deadpanned voice answered. you felt saddened at the lack of emotion in his tone. “what do you plan to do if they tell you?”
you weren’t prepared for his answer, you didn’t want to know.
“i don’t know what you want me to say, i don’t like (y/n) that way.” fuck.
at this point, your throat felt clogged and tears were forming in your eyes. you always knew that you should have never let this small crush turn into something more, now you were here. feeling sad just because of your hopeless crush on the team’s middle blocker.
you didn’t realize that you dropped a water bottle, when you looked down, you saw lemon slices floating around the water. as if it were mocking you.
you sigh, picking it up. ‘one last time.’ you thought to yourself before entering the gym, pretending you didn’t just get your heart broken.
“no lemons this time?” suna asked as you gave him his water bottle. “didn’t find any.” you say as curt as possible before attending to the other members of the team to which the others found odd.
since when was he the first one you tended to? usually you always placed him as last so you could talk to him more. maybe you just forgot? did something happen?
either way, the team was in confusion with your sudden shift in attitude. especially suna, who has gotten used to your daily banter every training.
the middle blocker shrugged it off before taking a sip of the plain water. maybe you just weren’t in the mood today? who knows.
it wasn’t only today, but the next few days. suna began noticing how his interactions with you have drastically decreased, he never took notice of how much he actually craved your presence until you stopped giving him attention and began treating him like how you treat the twins.
well, there wasn’t anything wrong with the way you treated the twins, but he thought he was special. he knows he was special, maybe that’s why he thought that you might have possibly liked him back. but why did you suddenly drift away from him?
suna doesn’t remember anything that he could have possibly done for you to stray away from him.
“good work.” “are we okay?” suna suddenly asked you, who was giving out his water bottle as per usual. “of course.” you say before plopping the bottle on his hand and moving on to the next member.
“relationship problems?” osamu teased as he went beside suna, sipping on his own water bottle. “shut it, miya.”
the middle blocker hated this. he hated how all of a sudden you pretended as if the both of you were only club mates and nothing else.
but isn’t that what you were? you weren’t obligated to keep him company during breaks and talk about your guys’ days and plans. so why was he so bothered that you weren’t beside him?
suna had a thought, but he immediately crossed it off his mind because he knows it’s impossible.
suna likes you, and you moved away even before he could act on it.
“good wo-” “can we talk?” suna cut you off. you raised an eyebrow at him before trying to give him his water bottle.
“i’m not taking that.” he huffed, before continuing. “give the others theirs first then get back to me. just like before.” startled, you wordlessly nodded before giving the rest of the members their water bottles.
once you were done, you felt suna pull your wrist and dragged you outside. a knowing smirk invaded the twins’ faces as they saw the both of you leave.
“suna-” “what is your problem?” your eyes widened at the sharp tone that suna gave you.
“i have no idea what you mean.” “why have you been getting distant lately?” “i was busy, suna”
suna looked at you, knowing he isn’t buying a single word you say. he wanted to cringe at the way you called him by his last name, but he couldn’t afford to lose his composure.
“we both know that’s absolute bullshit, (y/n).” you narrowed your eyes at his response.
“why does it matter, suna?” you bit back, having been fed up with this conversation. “i just want to know what i did that made you act weird around me.”
you tense up, not knowing what to say next. you knew it was unfair to make suna feel as if he did something wrong, but you knew the more you acted upon your feelings, the more you won’t be able to move on. so with a deep breath you braced yourself for your next words.
“you did nothing, suna.” you gave him a small smile. “that is just me trying to move on. so please, give me some time.”
suna blinked. was that a confession? he couldn’t register it fast enough before he tightened his grip on your wrist.
“(y/n)... what do you mean?” “i don’t want to repeat myself, suna.” you say, gently trying to take your wrist from him.
“you like me back.” suna says, more to himself than to you. you gave him a look of disbelief. “don’t be ridiculous.”
“no, (y/n). you like me back.” a small smirk was plastered on his face, you felt your face heat up.
“i did.” you could barely see the way his smirk faltered. “did?”
you sigh, wanting to get this over with.
“i heard you say to the twins that you don’t like me in that way. and it made me realize that maybe i’ve been reading the signs wrong and you only like me as a friend.” you explain, effectively pulling away your wrist the moment he faltered in his grip.
“no hard feelings, suna. i just need time to move on, and since we’re here now. can you please tell me to move on? just so i can have the closure i need.” you say.
unbeknownst to you, suna only said that so the twins would leave him alone. he’s always liked you, even before you were their manager. and when you suddenly gave him special treatment, he felt as if you returned his feelings.
now that he knows you like him back, the twins be damned. he can’t let you go.
“be with me?” “did you not hear what i said? i said i’m trying to move o-” “no.”
suna said, taking a step closer to you. “i said i didn’t like you that way because i didn’t want the twins knowing and potentially ruining my chance with you because we both know they’d never shut up.” suna started.
“i didn’t confess because i didn’t want to assume that you liked me the way i liked you. but god, whenever you strut in the gym and give me your stupid hello kitty bottle filled with lemon water. i couldn’t help but assume.” you make a face. “my hello kitty bottle is not stupid, rin.”
suna smiled at the returned nickname. “and you didn’t assume. i really do like you back.”
“so...” suna trailed off. “so…?”
“do you want to go out with me, after training?” suna didn’t know where the courage came from, before he could shy away from his question. you gave him a smile, a small blush on your face.
“i.. i’d love to.”
“and will you bring back the lemon water. i miss the stupid hello kitty bottle.” he was hit by the arm as you pouted. “once again, my hello kitty bottle is not stupid, rin.”
as a professional boxer, yn is used to shaking off bruises. it helps that iwaizumi’s always been there to take care of her.
main masterlist
status: coming soon-ish
tags: iwaizumi x f!reader, childhood friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, mutual pining, misunderstanding
warnings: language, alcohol use, violence/blood, adult themes, angst, flawed characters, anger issues, grammatical mistakes probably, everyone probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings
genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, crack, little angst
synopsis: after yeonjun hears you referring to him as someone who's like a brother ...he tries his hardest to make you see him as a potential boyfriend.
or in which you're perplexed at all the movie hangouts your friend has been initiating.
warning: mature language, reader is assumed to be fem
notes: honestly, i always try to cut down the word count to make it more available for people who only read drabbles/blurbs but i just CANT. so here's another short oneshot T-T and as always, reblog to help the algorithm pick up on this :D
yeonjun was confused walking back home -- no, the whole day, he was disturbed. the reason for this was yesterday...when he went to get drinks for both you and him at a frat party.
the crowds were insanely hard to get through (and it didn't help that people kept on stopping him to 'catch up' or whatnot) so it took him more than fifty minutes to come back with the drinks he promised to get.
but it looked like it was too late because the people you were surrounding yourself with when yeonjun was there...disappeared. instead, you're bundled up, alone in a corner, with a guy he does not know. which was already weird because yeonjun knew everybody, and that was enough reason for him to hurry his ass up through sweaty frat drunks and make sure the unknown guy isn't some sleazeball.
that time he wasn't aware that he rolled his eyes but he did conciously plan to squeeze himself into the conversation...and technically cockblock.
but when he neared you...that's when his world shattered...on more dramatic terms. it was more like his confidence was shot down to the deepest depths of hell.
"oh, yeonjun? pfft, he's like a brother!"
even though it was almost barely audible due to the blasting music, 'brother' to his ears were magnified -- the word circling through his head.
brother. brother?!
and as a result of this baffling situation, he had backed himself in an opposing corner with your cup in his right and his cup in his left, way further than you now, thinking of where did it go wrong?
he's never had someone friend-zone him -- for heavensake, he's yeonjun, he's aware of how attractive he is. but brother-zone? that was even worse of an attack!
it doesn't matter that you said it -- come on, that's barely the case. it's the fact that someone was so unattracted to him that he was seen as a sibling.
sure, you and yeonjun were a sort of bunch that have been together since... forever, really. seriously, you were friends since elementary -- when you joined the school, fourth grade, mindlessly kicking rocks at recess he approached you like the social butterfly kid that he was, asking you if you wanted to come play with his friends.
once he took another sip of the red cup in his right hand, the fruity punch being way too overbearing (just how'd you like it), he furrowed his brows together.
he definitely doesn't see you as a sister.
he'd have to admit that when middle school hit and his puberty was acting up around ...the seventh grade? he was convinced that he would eventually marry you like the way his parents were. a brother wouldn't have felt that way about his sister! normally that is...
granted, he mostly blamed that on the first strikes of puberty because right after middle school, he moved on from the thought -- completely abandoning his pre-puberty dreams, but that was besides the point!
he was getting nauseous from the sweetness of his drink and the further he thought about the way you thought of him, he felt that he would ruin the party by vomiting on someone.
his night was officially ruined. absolutely, fundementally, literally ruined.
and thats how he found himself unfocused on everything around him the next day, finally making the decision to consult with his roommates about this frankly, very big conundrum.
"you can't just purposefully leave out important details? like, how am i supposed to diagnose you properly bro?" beomgyu asked as he spammed the keys on his controller.
"you're not diagnosing me--" yeonjun exhaled, wanting to to keep the banter to the minimum in respect to the issue he's facing. "literally what do you think we're doing right now?"
"i'm going to be completely honest and say ...i have no idea-- shit, what the fuck are you doing heeseung? jump! jump!" he yelled towards the big screen in front of him.
yeonjun groaned, turning his head to behind the couch. "soobin, it's not too late to help out your only friend!" he yelled out in hopes of it reaching the guy's bedroom.
and with no response, he turned back to watching the game beomgyu was playing. "god, you know how many times i gave that guy life changing advice on women?"
"and this is how he repays me?"
beomgyu nodded along to whatever yeonjun was mumbling about until the brunette magically connected dots and euphoric realization hit him. beomgyu almost scrambled around to completely face him this time, "hold on, hold on. yeonjun you lost me, are you having girl problems?"
to that, yeonjun rolled his eyes. "i wouldn't call it 'girl problems', that sounds like a problem soobin would have."
"uh-huh ...uh-huh. no, no yeah." beomgyu said nodding mindlessly to save the guy some face. "heeseung i'm logging off dude, yeonjuns got girl problems."
yeonjun just deadpanned to the back of the guys head, having no will to correct him.
he wanted to get the pending issue out of the way first.
it was more situated a few minutes later. instead of beomgyu sitting on the floor criss crossed, leaned on the couch yeonjun was sitting on, beomgyu was now sitting on the chair next to the couch, his elbows on his knees, brows deeply furrowed.
and not to forget yeonjun's pen and paper in hand.
"so... you're trying to get a girl to like you?"
"not like. i want her to see me as someone she would want as a boyfrie--" when he saw beomgyus brow raising up as to say 'whats the difference' he cleared his throat. "yea, basically."
"don't you know how to do that though?"
he shrugged, "it's different this time."
"how?"
"trust me, it's very different."
"okay but how?"
"you'd be the last person i'd ask for an interrogation beomgyu, that'd be a task for like... taehyun or something."
"i'm sorry that i need to understand my client first--"
"i am not your client" yeonjun said, rolling his eyes.
"what's going on here?", yeonjun turned his head to see soobin behind the kitchen island, scooping himself some icecream.
"dude, where were you when i needed you?", yeonjun asked.
"me and yj are holding a dating therapy session."
yeonjun turned his head to beomgyu, "again, it's not a therapy sessio--"
"you're getting dating advice from beomgyu?" soobin asked, his face scrunched up doubting if it really got this bad.
and back to soobin. "when you say it like that.."
"soobin can you please leave yeonjun alone? he's in a very vulnerable state right now"
then beomgyu again. "i'm seriously going to beat you up." he said, biting his bottom lip and raising his fist against his roommate. beomgyu immediately jumps dramatically, shielding himself with his arms up.
"see? he's getting violent!"
soobin finally plopped on the couch next to yeonjun with his cup of icecream. "explain it to me, maybe i can help you out."
"i'll save you the trouble, he's not explaining for whatever reason--"
"a girl said that i'm like a brother to her." yeonjun reluctantly mumbled.
a wave of silence hit the dorm, for a minute yeonjun thought they just didn't hear him and to be completely honest, he was about to thank the gods because he regretted saying anything the moment he did, but that thought was immediately shot down when both sides of his ears were being blasted by humiliating laughter.
soobin got up, patting yeonjun's shoulder as reassurance, still laughing. "yeah, good luck with that hyung."
"okay, it's not even that bad--"
"dude, not even cha eunwoo would survive the sibling zone." beomgyu said, a hard reality check for yeonjun. "though hyunbin might.." he mumbled to himself. yeonjun caught it though, but it didn't matter. yeonjun was no hyunbin.
"fuck." he breathed out, the utensils he was holding had lesser grip on them as he just stared into nothingness. beomgyu was right. he's forever stuck as a brother in your eyes.
but then a ring of his phone snaps him out of it.
when he checks the id, his ambition is restored almost immediately for whatever reason; it was you.
"yo why are you smiling?", beomgyu said trying to peep at yeonjun's phone, but yeonjun reflexes took over, and he immediately turned his phone off.
"beomgyu, don't you think i kind of resemble hyunbin?" he said with a head tilt and an overconfident smirk, talking like he just had an epiphany.
"the one from crash landing on you? uh no."
yeonjun jumped from the couch a new man, his pen and paper in one hand and his ringing phone on the other. he finally faced beomgyu as the man he was, choi motherfucking yeonjun. "i gotta answer this call...and also, if you ask anybody who my celebrity doppelganger is, everyone would proudly say its hyunbin dumbass."
then yeonjun left with a smile and a surge of new confidence overtaking his face as he spoke away on the phone with you, while beomgyu was left in the living room more than confused as he looked up the actor on his phone.
instead of finding the difference, beomgyus brain was tasking him into finding the similarities...which, there was one to yeonjun's credit.
black hair.
"when are the others coming?" you asked looking around the crowded floor as yeonjun was buying popcorn and drinks. "the movies about to start.." you mumbled, checking your phone for the hundredth time.
"oh, i guess its just me and you again." he said with the popcorn and bottle of coke finally in his arms.
"again? don't you think this is getting suspicious?" you said as you walked alongside yeonjun, not noticing the way yeonjun just gulped.
you stopped in your tracks, in turn yeonjun bumping into your back a little, a few popcorns dropping on the floor.
"hey...you don't think.." you furrowed your brows, in deep thought. this has been on your mind for a while now. "you don't think they're trying to set us up or something do you?"
after the third time your friends stood you and yeonjun up, you were starting to think they were pushing, what they called, the 'ynjun' agenda..but it was the first time you'd ever bring it up to yeonjun, so you just laughed it off -- scolding your friends will come on a later date.
"nevermind, lets go inside the movie theatre jun."
"ya' y/n, wait."
you turned around to an awkward standing yeonjun at first, but he immediately straightens up and clears his throat, with a smile you've grown so attached to -- the smile that reached his eyes. for something so simple, it made your heart beat a little quicker than normal.
"can you hold the coke for a sec? i'm trynna--i'm trynna do something."
you break into a light laugh, "um, okay." that snapped you out of it because you remember who he was again -- your platonic best friend.
you took the cola bottle off his right arm, expecting him to take his phone out of his pocket to check something.
but as you stared at your sneakers, checking if they're untied, you felt his hand on top of your head, which startled you.
you looked up to meet yeonjuns eyes, a brow raised.
before you could say anything, he ruffled the top of your hair gently, leaning towards you a bit, to shorten the height difference.
"y/n, let this be our first date." your platonic best friend's voice, so warm and gentle you thought you would only hear in dreams, said those words...to you.
"so you asked her out on a date but you don't even like her...? that doesn't make any sense." soobin said, sitting on the couch watching beomgyu hog up the tv screen, his use time running out.
"bros an asshole..but i feel like we knew that already-- fuck you heeseung. you fucking suck ass you need to get off my team." beomgyu yelled.
"okay, first of all, it's not that bad. she doesn't like me at all, plus the date was how we would usually hung out anyway."
soobin just shook his head -- being the only guy with a functioning moral compass amongst the people he called his friends was exhausting.
as soon as he was about to lecture yeonjun, the tv timer goes off -- and that makes his plan a fleeting thought.
"it's my turn now, throw me the remote."
"bro give me a second, let me finish this gam--"
"no! unplug your console." soobin yelled impatiently, he knew better than to let beomgyu go over the timer again.
beomgyu groaned, abandoning heeseung in the game and unplugging his console. when soobin got control of the tv and opened up netflix, beomgyu stood up to sit next to yeonjun -- who had gotten a notification from you.
"yj, who's the chick? you never told us."
"uh, you don't really know her." he mindlessly answered, focused on the messages from you.
[y/n, 9:16 pm] that serenade ..as cringe as it was..
[y/n, 9:16 pm] like lets be serious, there was NO reason for u to get on top of the cafeteria table lol
he hadn't yet told his roommates what he did this morning, thinking that he'd get a longer lecture by soobin.
but he had took inspiration from the movie you guys were watching the other night at the cinema. you talked his ear off about how romantic it was, how you would fall at the feet of dicaprio if he did the same to you..
he was no dicaprio, but he could try is what he thought. and though you forced him to get down half way through, he could still enjoy sharing the laughter, your laughter, that was ringing in his ear.
[yeonjun, 9:17 pm] as cringe as it was...? you're in love w me ;)
he typed it as a joke, a smile tugging on his lips waiting for your reaction to his teasing.
but beomgyu hovered over his phone out of boredom again, and out of instinct yeonjun threw his phone -- the three chois looking at the phone on the floor in shock.
"bro, why are you being so secretive? were you sexting?" beomgyu yelled, accusatory.
"can we collectively have some decency in this house, jesus fucking christ beomgyu." soobin muttered.
"shut up church boy, yeonjun's hiding something for sure."
"or maybe he just wanted some privacy dude?" soobin retaliated.
yeonjun jumped up pointing at soobin, "exactly! exactly! listen to soobin, you were invading my personal space. so not cool beomgyu."
"yeah, okay. you've never agreed with me with this much enthusiasm before. he's hiding something. quick, check his phone." to soobins order, beomgyu was prepared to run to the phone when he made eye contact with the owner -- but yeonjun was quick.
"good god, wait wait. what do you want beomgyu--fuck, if you wanted her name it's y/n alright? the chick's y/n!" yeonjun doesn't do well under pressure, at all.
"what are you talking about--" beomgyu's face morphed into shock with his mouth agape. "--oh my fucking god. yeonjun, y/n's the chick? the one who brother zoned you?" beomgyu yelled.
"yeah...?" he said hesitantly.
"i can't--i just can't. soobin knock some sense into him." beomgyu turned away dramatically, shaking his head.
"yeonjun--" soobin started.
"dude, y/n has been in love with you for like a decade!" beomgyu blurted out, turning to face yeonjun again, interrupting soobin.
"uh..no? guys, i literally told you that she said she sees me as a brother. i saw her telling some guy that at the frat party last week."
beomgyu walked towards yeonjun, grabbing both of his shoulders, shaking him, "she. didn't. brother. zone. you. you stupid fuck!"
"she's been saying that to people because its so obvious that every time she tries moving on, she still likes you." soobin added in.
yeonjun, with his brows furrowed, tore beomgyu's hands off his shoulder -- walking towards his phone.
and it felt like a million thoughts were racing around his head the three seconds it took for him to get his phone, like a storm, a big tornado clouding his mind. but the most heavy was...how long? a fucking decade? and he never noticed?
he found it hard to swallow, almost nervous...that it was true.
the two other chois were staring at him, exchanging glances.
and when he picked up his phone, it was like he feared.
his text was left on read.
yeonjun's roommates were right for once.
all the secret glances he'd catch, a smirk twitching on his face as he pretended not to see, all the times you'd practically asked him out -- he shot it all down subconsciously thinking it was nothing more than coincidences on top of coincidences.
"you know, i was thinking it was weird you freaked out so much about the brother thing. yunjin told you that right to your face like last month and you didn't say anything." beomgyu said as he let himself fall on the couch.
beomgyu was right, he didn't care when yunjin said it.
yeonjun looked at beomgyu, eyes confused. "so...what are you trying to say?"
"maybe you feel the same way...? god, do i have to spell it out for you every single time?" he said dramatically, groaning.
"okay yeonjun. drama's over, go do your walk of shame to your room." soobin said, getting comfortable on the chair again to watch the premier of his show.
"and reflect!" beomgyu shouted out as yeonjun went over to his room, obeying soobin with his phone tight in hand.
"what are we watchin?" beomgyu finally asked, soobin giving him a side eye in response.
"we? beomgyu, i'm not watching another show premier with you again."
"just because my commentary is too good doesn't mean you have to get all jealous--"
yeonjun bursts out of his room through the narrow hallway that lead to the main door, a coat hanging on his right arm as he hurriedly slipped on his sneakers.
it startled both of the guys on the couch, looking over at him with brows raised: what is yeonjun doing?
no one could get a word in, not even beomgyu, before he was totally out of sight.
only adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he shut the door behind him, putting his arms through his padded coat, and sprinting to the elevator -- frantically spamming the button to make him falsely hope the elevator would reach his floor any faster
it wasn't like he had to do something in the ten minutes his head thought he had left, no, it was the realization that had him acting in urgency he never thought he'd have for a girl. all of his stupidity dawning on him -- for fucksake, of course it mattered that you said he was like a brother, it was you.
and as he ran out the building -- his head felt dizzy, not because it was overwhelmed with thoughts, no, this time he only had a few but those were harder to manage his head.
did he ever give up on you in middle school?
did he ever move on from you in highschool?
did he really dump a dream, you -- the dream he had as a boy, with all the other dreams he never thought would happen?
when yeonjun was finally in front of your family house, the one you still chose to live in through your college experience, he moved to where'd he guess the window of your room was.
"y/n?" he shouted out with all the energy he could muster up. he had to bend over his knee to catch his breath, because he would shout your name again.
again, and again, and again.
blood rushed up to his cheeks, not because of the cold, because he was embarrassed -- what if you weren't even here?
he waited, staring up at the window which showed no sign of your room light being on.
but he wouldn't give up, he'd have to try something else.
yeonjun looked down at his feet, the absence of the sun being harder on his vision. there were no rocks, the only thing visible to his eyes were branch sticks which only made him hope that his aim was good enough to get your window a few times.
it wasn't.
when the last stick that he found hit a window that wasn't the one he was trying to aim at - he cursed under his breath, defeated. yeonjun concluded that this was a bigger fail than the fucking time he found out that he was flirting at a family--not a class, reunion.
he could just go back to his dorm and call you is what he thought as he exhaled, a fog escaping his lips into the cold, feeling even more of a loser.
"yeonjun?!" he turned around at the familiar voice calling out for him and his eyes widened, lighting up as they set on your face, finally out of the window, with your room light making it a little easier for him to see your features.
"y/n?" he shouted back, ecstatic.
"what are you doing out here?", you shouted the words slowly so he could pick it up. then add, "it's fucking cold!"
"i just wanted to know" he inhaled, the cold air burning his nostrils, "why you didn't answer my text!"
it was silent, yeonjuns lips agape waiting for a response.
"you're fucking insane!" you said laughs slipping between your words, yeonjun scoffs lightly, a wide smile on his face.
he put his hands up as walls to his mouth to echo his words louder, "for you!" he shouted out in response.
"shut the fuck up!" it was a distant yell, one you both assumed, as you met eye contact, was y/n's neighbors. and then you laughed again at the untimely part of it all.
when you turned away from the window, yeonjun found himself yearningly waiting for you to come back. hands that were in his pockets felt a vibration -- his phone.
he took it out just to see a notification from his, quite frankly, favorite person ever.
[y/n, 10:26 pm] lets talk on here lol
he looked up and saw you at the window again, with you waving your phone at him -- it earned a smile tugging once more, on the ends of his lips.
just how did he manage to ignore overwhelming feelings about you, of you, for the past decade?
[yeonjun, 10:27 pm] come down. i'm not gonna tell u this thru text
[y/n, 10:27 pm] why not?
[yeonjun, 10:27 pm] don't wanna
[y/n, 10:28 pm] youre asking me to get out of my cozy ass room just bcs u dont wanna??
"yeah! basically dumbass!" he shouted, startling your poor self out of your focus on your phone. you glared at him, yeonjun most likely missing it.
[y/n, 10:28 pm] STOP DONT DO THAT THOSE PSYCHOS ARE GOING TO CALL THE COPS ON ME
[yeonjun, 10:29 pm] ok then come down before i freeze my fingers off
when you slid your window closed, closing your curtains, he immediately turned to quickly run towards the front of your house. yeonjun leaned on the fence of your porch, smiling with thoughts of you clouding his mind, as he looked up at the moon.
it was all so cliché -- the type of scene his roommates would squeal over and one that he would roll his eyes to, but if he were to watch this part of his life, again and again -- the moment you opened the door, the moment you both exchanged looks that communicated 'we feel the same way don't we?', a short awkward laugh that was shared, the moment you hesitantly opened your mouth to say something -- and then, the final moment of his longing lips crashing onto yours, his cold hands warming up the moment he cupped your face, the repocracy from your side making him smile into the kiss, the euphoric realisation that he wasn't late, you didn't stop loving him yet, and when he cut the kiss short, both your lips barely apart, yeonjun whispered an i love you, and to it you smiled, pulling him into your house, to finish your kiss -- he would too, squeal over the scene, kicking his feet like a highschool girl.
ending a/n: YOU FINISHED IT YAY :D yeonjun was lowk an asshole for wanting to lead on mc at first for his own benefit, but hes such a cutie im sorry, its easy to forgive T-T let me know what you feel about this piece, it was so fun to write!!
Concerning the Twitter crash and burn, there's legit people encouraging others not to engage with creators trying to promote things so that Tumblr doesn't become commercialized, and I have to make something very clear:
A small creator who is encouraging people to interact with/share their stuff, trying to make their art/writing/etc known because they want a livable wage when they have NOWHERE ELSE they can turn to anymore and are trying to succeed in an internet that makes it near impossible for them is -never- gonna be the same thing as a celebrity shoving adds into your face to buy their newest clothing brand.
Don't encourage capitalism but do encourage the artists and writers that provide you most of their content for FREE and just want to pay bills like anyone else and already deal with being buried in the algorithm or having their art stolen and reposted.
We don't want adds or for this site to be monetized either, I assure you.
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