𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚

Mils║18║She/Her║+18 mdni!║

[milsisafairy]

mils ┊ 18 ┊ she/ her

even I don't know what I'm doing, so do not expect much⭑.ᐟ

Requests are open⋆⭒˚.⋆

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BYF!

-This blog may contain NSFW content, so do not interact if you're a minor!

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Marvel masterlist⚡︎ -Off the Clock (bucky barnes)

MHA masterlist⚡︎

[milsisafairy]

-You send MHA boys a drunk text-pre relationship

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smau materlist

mdni!

ft. izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou, keigo takami, shouta aizawa, dabi

content. fem!reader, suggestive content, grown-up characters, alcohol usage

a/n: it's been a while since i last wrote a smau... Hope you guys like it! Reaquest for smau are open btw!

[milsisafairy]

-You send MHA boys a drunk text-pre relationship

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

smau materlist

mdni!

ft. izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou, keigo takami, shouta aizawa, dabi

content. fem!reader, suggestive content, grown-up characters, alcohol usage

a/n: it's been a while since i last wrote a smau... Hope you guys like it! Reaquest for smau are open btw!

[milsisafairy]

Feral Instincts~

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hawks x fem!reader mdni

word count: 5k

summary/plot: Keigo has been avoiding you for days. When you show up at his door worried sick, you never expect to find him deep in a rut. Flushed, feral, and barely holding on.

warnings: smut, +18 content, mdni, porn with a little plot, oral f receiving, fingerin, unprotected p in v, a little breeding kink, hawks in rut, pet names, smacking, hair pulling

a/n: Damn, I haven’t written in forever. I’m kinda disappointed my man had so little screen time last season, so I miss him. Also, English isn’t my first language, so if there are any typos or grammatical mistakes that’s Grammarly’s fault. Requests are open!!

master list

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The night air was sharp, biting against Keigo’s skin, but it couldn't touch the heat building inside him. Usually, he was the guy who stayed cool under pressure, the one who kept his hands steady and his voice smooth.

But right now, his fingers were drumming a restless, nervous beat against his thighs, and his heart was hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break out.

He felt a flush creeping up his neck, hot and stubborn, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the long patrol you had. The city hummed around you two, a blur of neon lights and distant traffic, but Keigo couldn't focus on any of it. The noise of the street felt miles away. The only thing in his universe was you.

It was your perfume or maybe just you that was undoing him. It was a warm, familiar scent that seemed to fill the small space between you, tripping up his heartbeat and making his head spin. His mouth watered. His hands itched to reach out, to pull you close and bury his face in the curve of your neck until that scent was all he breathed.

Fuck.

He was in rut.

He knew it was coming for days. That restless, heavy tension that had been building in the pit of his stomach. It started with the sleepless nights and the way every sound seemed too loud, every touch too sharp.

By tonight, it had spiraled into a physical ache that pulsed through him every time you moved. And of course, he was stuck on a late shift with you. His best friend, his partner, the one person who was supposed to be off-limits.

But God, the restraint was killing him.

He could practically see it in his head: backing you against the cool brick of the ledge, feeling the weight of you against him, and finally losing himself in you until the rest of the world stopped existing. He wanted to feel you shake under his hands, to leave marks that would remind you of him for days. He wanted to hear his name on your breath, over and over.

Instead, he ground his teeth together and stared at the horizon, praying for the sun to come up or for his brain to just shut off.

“Keigo?” Your voice was soft, cutting right through his spiraling thoughts. “Are you even listening to me?”

He snapped back to reality, his pulse spiking. You were looking at him with that concerned, perceptive gaze that usually made him feel seen, but right now just made him feel exposed. The wind caught a stray lock of your hair, and his hands actually twitched with the urge to grab it and pull you close enough to taste the heat of your skin.

“Yeah,” he lied, forcing his lips into that easy, trademark smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You tilted your head, clearly unconvinced. That small movement brought you a fraction closer, and another wave of your scent hit him like a physical blow. He felt his pulse jump, his hands clenching at his sides as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The heat in his body was becoming unbearable. His cock twitched in his pants, already half-hard and throbbing with every heartbeat.

“Are you alright?” you pressed, stepping nearer. The gap between you shrank dangerously. “You’ve been zoning out all night. You're flushed... and you're acting so restless. You can't even stand still.”

“I’m good. Just a long week, dove. I’m exhausted.” He swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He wasn’t tired. He was starving.

You were too close. Close enough that he could see the reflection of the city lights in your eyes, close enough to see the way your lips parted slightly as you spoke. If he moved just an inch, he’d have his hands on you, and he knew if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

You didn’t back off. Instead, you leaned in, your expression softening with genuine worry. You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “Keigo, come on, talk to me. You've been so quiet lately. If something’s wrong, just let me help—”

That single touch was like a spark to a powder keg. A jolt of pure electricity shot through him, settling heavy and demanding in his gut. His self-control, already stretched to the limit, finally snapped.

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice coming out lower and rougher than he intended. "God, how many times do I have to say it?"

She flinched, but she didn't back down. "I’m just worried about you."

"I know you are. And that's the problem, it’s too much."

He jerked back, his heart racing. “I gotta go,” he rasped, turning away before he could do something he’d never be able to take back

“Keigo, wait!”

But he didn’t. He turned and bolted, putting as much distance between you as possible. He moved fast, disappearing into the shadows of the rooftop stairwell and out into the cool night air, trying to let the wind chill the fever in his blood. His chest was heaving, his body still screaming for the contact he’d just fled from.

He was losing this fight.

And deep down, a dark, dangerous part of him whispered that maybe he didn’t want to win it at all.

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Two painful days crawled by with no word from Keigo.

You tried not to let the silence eat at you, but the absence was loud. His manager had offered the usual polished corporate line "Hawks isn’t feeling well and will be taking a few days off to recover." but it felt hollow. Another hero had already stepped in to cover his shifts, yet the city felt emptier.

Keigo had gone dark before, sure. He was a busy man with a high-profile life, but he always texted. Even if it was just a blurry photo of his lunch or a lazy flirty text at 3:00 a.m., he never left you hanging. This radio silence was different. It was heavy.

The worry turned into a sharp, nagging guilt by the second morning. Had you pushed too far on the rooftop? You replayed the moment over and over. His flushed skin, the way his hands had trembled, the frantic look in his eyes right before he bolted. Had you accidentally crossed a line you didn't know existed?

By the time you finished your morning shift, you couldn't take it anymore. You stopped by that boutique wine shop he liked and grabbed a bottle of his favorite red. You went home, shed your hero costume, and pulled on a simple, soft sundress. You wanted to look like his friend, not his partner on the force.

Standing outside his door, your heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. You took a deep breath, clutching the bottle of wine, and knocked three times.

For a long minute, there was nothing. No footsteps, no voice. Then, the sound of a heavy lock sliding back.

The door creaked open only a few inches, held by the security chain. The air that drifted out from the apartment was stifling, thick, overly warm, and heavy with that same scent that had been radiating off him on the roof, only now it was darker, and more overwhelming.

Keigo’s face appeared in the gap, but he looked like a ghost of himself. He stood there in nothing but a loose white t-shirt that clung to the hard planes of his chest and a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants that should have been illegal.

His golden hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his eyes were bloodshot, the pupils so wide they nearly swallowed the gold of his irises. He looked beautifully, dangerously wrecked like he hadn’t slept in days and the exhaustion had only sharpened every angle of him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Keigo’s gaze dragged over you slowly, heavy and unfocused, lingering on the curve of your neck, the way the sundress brushed your thighs, the bottle of wine clutched in your hand like a fragile peace offering. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the doorframe until the wood creaked softly.

"I told them no visitors..." His voice came out rough, gravelly, like he’d been shouting into the void for hours. Or maybe growling. “What are you doing here, dove?”

"I was worried about you," you said, your voice barely holding steady. You held the wine bottle out like a peace offering, or maybe a shield. "Your manager mentioned you were sick, but…you’ve never gone this quiet on me before, Keigo. ”

Even at his worst, he was magnetic. It was a confusing, guilty rush, wanting him this badly when he was clearly struggling.

Keigo’s eyes fell to the wine, then slowly, painfully, tracked upward. lingering on the soft fabric of your sundress where it hugged your waist and brushed your thighs. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking hard beneath the flushed skin.

“Maybe… it’s not a great time,” his voice low and strained, like every word cost him something.

Your stomach did a slow, sickening roll. The rejection felt less like a word and more like a physical blow.

"Did I do something?" you asked, your voice cracking. You stepped into his space without thinking, and the smell of him hit you like a wave. It made your head swim. "If I messed up, Keigo, just tell me. I’ll fix it."

For a split second, his mask slipped. You saw the conflict behind his eyes. Then, his face turned to stone. He gripped the doorframe so hard his knuckles went white.

"Just go," he said. The words were flat, final, and they stung.

The hurt flared hot in your chest, instantly sharpening into a defensive anger. "You vanish for two days," you snapped, your voice rising. You could feel the hot prickle of tears behind your eyelids. "I come here worried sick. I brought your favorite wine because I thought… I don't know, I thought I was helping. And you’re just throwing it back in my face? Fine. If you want me gone so bad—"

You never finished the sentence.

Because in that exact moment, Keigo’s control finally shattered.

All he could think about was how devastatingly good you looked standing there in that sundress, cheeks flushed with anger and worry, your scent flooding his senses until it drowned out every rational thought.

With a low, guttural sound that was half-growl, half-groan, he surged forward. Strong hands seized your waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress as he yanked you against his chest. The bottle of wine nearly slipped from your grasp, forgotten between your bodies. Before you could even gasp, his mouth crashed down on yours. Hot, desperate, and starving.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was fire and need. His lips moved against yours with bruising intensity, tongue sweeping in to taste you like he’d been dying for it. One hand slid up your back, pressing you impossibly closer while the other stayed at your waist, possessive and firm.

He tasted like heat and desperation, like every filthy thought he’d been fighting.

You didn’t pull away.

The moment Keigo’s mouth claimed yours, something deep inside you ignited. Like you’d been waiting for this exact second your entire life without even realizing it.

A soft, surprised sound escaped your throat, quickly swallowed by the fierce way you kissed him back. Your free hand fisted in the front of his white t-shirt, tugging him closer as your lips parted under his, meeting every hungry stroke of his tongue with equal desperation. It felt like fire meeting gasoline, years of unspoken tension finally exploding between you.

Somehow, you both stumbled inside his penthouse, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that made your pulse thunder. Without breaking the kiss, you blindly reached out and set the bottle of wine on the small glass console table beside the entrance.

Keigo didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. With a low, needy growl that vibrated straight through your chest, he pressed your back against the nearest wall.

His mouth left your lips only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your skin before he sank them in just enough to make you gasp. Sharp little bites that sent sparks of pleasure. Pain started to race straight between your legs.

“Keigo…” you breathed, head tilting back to give him better access, your hands sliding up to tangle in his messy golden hair.

He groaned against your neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive spot just below your ear. The scent of him was overwhelming now, warm, musky, utterly intoxicating and it made your head spin with raw want.

Then, suddenly, he stopped.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, golden eyes blazing with barely contained fire. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving, lips swollen from the kiss. Sweat glistened on his brow, and the hard line of his arousal pressed unmistakably against your hip through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

“If I keep going,” he rasped, voice rough and dark with warning, “I’m going to ruin you, dove. ”

Your heart hammered wildly. Heat pooled low and heavy in your core, thighs clenching around the thigh still wedged between them. You didn’t want him to stop. You’d never wanted anything less.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice shaky but certain, your fingers tightening in his hair. “I want you to.”

Something feral flashed across his face.

He crashed his mouth back to yours with a groan that sounded almost pained, kissing you deeper, hungrier than before. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, ankles locking at the small of his back as he lifted you effortlessly, strong hands gripping your thighs. The sundress rode up dangerously high as he carried you through the luxurious penthouse, past sleek modern furniture and floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering city below.

He didn’t make it to the bedroom.

Instead, he lowered you onto the wide, expensive couch, the soft leather cool against your heated skin. Keigo followed immediately, settling his weight between your spread thighs, his body pressing you down into the cushions.

The kiss never slowed. Tongues tangling, teeth nipping, breaths mingling in hot, desperate pants. His hands roamed, one sliding up your thigh to squeeze the soft flesh, the other bracing beside your head as his wings arched high above you both, casting shadows in the dim light.

Every roll of his hips sent a delicious friction through the thin layers separating you, his hard cock grinding against your core in slow, teasing circles that made you whimper into his mouth.

He tasted like sin and desperation, like every filthy fantasy you’d never dared voice. Your fingers traced the hard muscles of his back through his shirt, then slipped beneath the hem to feel the burning skin underneath, nails lightly scraping along his spine.

Keigo shuddered at the contact, breaking the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he murmured, voice thick and wrecked. “So damn perfect under me. Been driving me crazy for days…”

He rocked against you again, slower this time, deliberate, letting you feel every inch of his need as his feathers brushed teasingly along your arms and sides. The tension coiled tighter and tighter between you, every touch, every breath, every whispered word pulling you both closer to the edge of something unstoppable.

Keigo’s hands moved with barely restrained hunger as he pushed himself up just enough to yank his white t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric hit the floor somewhere behind the couch, forgotten instantly.

Your breath caught at the sight of him. Golden skin stretched tight over lean, powerful muscle, the faint sheen of sweat making every ridge and plane of his chest and abdomen gleam. His wings flexed behind him, feathers rustling with anticipation.

He looked down at you like a man starved, golden eyes dark and burning.

“Undress for me, dove,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with that light dominance that sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. “Let me see you. All of you. I’ve waited so fucking long for this… “

“months of watching you smile at me, laugh at my stupid jokes, stand beside me on rooftops while I tried to pretend I didn’t want to rip that pretty little hero costume of yours apart.”

His words wrapped around you like warm velvet, making your thighs clench around his hips. You obeyed, fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the hem of your dress and slowly pulled it up and over your head, revealing the soft curves of your body to his hungry gaze. Keigo’s eyes darkened further, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest as he drank you in.

“Fuck… look at you,” he praised, voice thick with raw desire. “So beautiful. So damn perfect.”

He leaned down again, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the swell of your chest, tongue tracing the lace edge of your bra before he tugged it down with his teeth, exposing you completely. His mouth closed over one sensitive peak, sucking and flicking his tongue in slow, teasing circles while his hand kneaded the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers until you arched into him with a soft whimper. Every touch felt electric, every praise whispered against your skin making the ache between your legs throb hotter.

“Feel good, baby?”

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured against your breast, nipping gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “So responsive... So pretty when you tremble like this.”

His kisses trailed lower, slow and deliberate, lips brushing over your ribs, your stomach, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your panties. He hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

You did, and he slid the panties down your legs with agonizing slowness, tossing them aside. The cool air hit your slick, heated core, making you shiver, but the way Keigo looked at you chased away any hint of self-consciousness.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, voice dropping even lower as he settled between your spread thighs.

“You’re already so wet for me. Such a good girl, getting this soaked just from my mouth on you.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. He leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning deeply at your taste. The sound vibrated straight through you, making your hips jerk.

“Oh-fuck, Keigo—“ your breath hitched.

Keigo tightened his grip, holding you firmly in place as he began to devour you. Licking, sucking, circling your swollen clit with his tongue.

Every moan he let out was pure praise. “Taste so fucking good…”

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

Your breath hitched. Your back arched.

He worked you relentlessly, alternating between gentle sucks and firmer strokes, reading every twitch and gasp of your body like it was his favorite language. Two fingers slowly joined his tongue, sliding into your slick heat with a wet sound that should have embarrassed you but only made the pleasure sharper.

“Ohhh, fuck— So good, Keigo—“ You gasped.

You could barely think straight. His two fingers curled inside you with perfect precision, stroking that sensitive spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids.

“Such a good girl… taking my fingers so beautifully,” he growled, voice thick and rough, barely pulling back enough to speak.

Your thighs trembled around his head, hips trying to rock against his mouth even as his strong hands held you firmly in place.

“Oh, Keigo,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me,” sucking your clit harder, fingers pumping faster, deeper.

Oh, fuck, and when you came.

Your back arched sharply off the couch, a broken cry tearing from your lips as pleasure exploded through every inch of your body.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Keigo groaned.

Like the orgasm belonged to him.

He kept pressing soft kisses to your sensitive clit.

He looked up at you, lips glistening.

“Fuck… you’re gorgeous when you come,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful it hurts.”

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all day, handsome?”

“I would if you’d let me, dove,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed teasingly, “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “I think you should fuck me instead.”

His stomach flipped. With the biggest smirk on his lips, he pushed himself up, hands moving quickly to shove his grey sweatpants and boxers down his hips.

His cock sprang free, hard, thick, and flushed dark with need, the head already glistening with pre-cum. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you at the sight.

Keigo settled between your spread thighs once more, the heavy, heated length of him resting against your slick, sensitive folds.

He braced one hand beside your head, leaning down so his forehead nearly touched yours.

His free hand stroked along your thigh, thumb brushing teasingly close to where you still throbbed with aftershocks.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and strained, though the way his hips twitched told you how badly he was holding back. “Because once I’m inside you… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, dove.”

You reached up, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, voice breathy and needy. “Please, fuck me.”

That was all it took.

With a low, guttural groan, he pushed forward, sliding into you inch by thick inch.

His cock was—fuck. Thick. So fucking thick.

The stretch was delicious. Burning and perfect. You gasped sharply, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely.

“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he growled, forehead pressed to yours, wings trembling. “So wet and perfect around me.“

“Taking me so well… like you were made for this.”

He started to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he rocked into you. Pleasure sparked through your core with every stroke, your walls clenching around him greedily

“Keigo— Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” you breathed, voice breaking on a whimper when he hit that perfect spot inside you. “Deeper— please.”

He obliged, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the penthouse. His pace quickened, thrusts growing more insistent, more desperate.

“Look at you,” he praised roughly, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider. “So fucking beautiful taking my cock. You’re squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Gonna make me lose my mind.”

The words sent fresh heat flooding through you. You arched into him, moaning louder, your hands roaming over the flexing muscles of his back.

“Yes— just like that. Don’t stop—ah!”

Keigo’s control began to fray. His thrusts turned feral, harder and faster, the gentle hero you knew melting away as the passion took over.

“Been dreaming about this pussy for so long,” he snarled, voice dark and filthy. “Wanted to bury myself in you, fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”

“Keigo, fuck—yes,” you gasped. You loved how desperate he sounded, how possessive. “Fill me… please, I want it.”

He groaned loudly, pace turning punishing as he drove into you deeper, the couch creaking beneath you.

Suddenly, with a swift, powerful movement, Keigo pulled out and flipped you over onto your stomach. You let out a surprised yelp that quickly turned into a moan as he yanked your hips up, positioning you on your knees with your chest pressed to the cushions.

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to arch your back beautifully while his other palm came down in a sharp, stinging smack on your ass.

“Fuck, look at this perfect ass,” he growled. He rubbed the spot soothingly before smacking it again, harder this time. “So pretty when you’re bent over for me.”

He thrust back into you in one smooth, deep stroke, the new angle making you cry out as he hit even deeper. One hand stayed fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into you from behind.

“Take it, sweetheart,” he snarled, leaning over you so his chest pressed to your back, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Take every inch like the good girl you are.”

You moaned loudly, the mix of pleasure and the sharp edge of dominance making your head spin. “Keigo—fuck, yes… harder,” you gasped, pushing back against him desperately, your walls fluttering around his thick cock.

He let out a low, feral chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. “You want more? Greedy little thing.” His hand left your hip only to deliver another firm smack to your ass, then he gripped the soft flesh hard, spreading you wider as he pounded deeper.

“Gonna come again for me, dove? I want to feel this pretty cunt squeezing my cock while I fill you up.”

The words hit you like lightning. Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, every brutal thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you until the tension snapped.

“Oh— fuck!” you cried out, voice breaking as the second orgasm crashed over you.

Your thighs shook, fingers clawing at the leather cushions while broken moans spilled from your lips

Keigo groaned loudly, the feeling of you coming around him pushing him dangerously close to the edge. He didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace turned even more feral, hips snapping forward with animalistic force as he chased his own release.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarled, voice rough and possessive. “Milk my cock so good, baby bird. Such a perfect little hole for me.”

He released your hair only to wrap one strong arm around your waist, yanking your back flush against his chest so he could bite down on the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You feel that?” he growled against your skin, one hand sliding down to press firmly over your lower belly. “Gonna fill you up so deep. Gonna breed this womb until you’re swollen with me. You want that, don’t you? Want me to pump you full until it takes?”

“Yes—yes, please,” you whimpered, still riding the aftershocks, your voice wrecked and needy.

That seemed to snap the last thread of his control.

With a final, deep thrust and a broken groan that sounded almost pained, Keigo buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock pulsed hard as he came, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling deep into you, filling you exactly as he promised. He kept grinding slowly, pushing every last drop as far inside as he could.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he murmured, voice hoarse and satisfied.

With a deep, shuddering groan, he collapsed beside you on the couch, pulling you with him so you ended up half-draped across his chest. You could feel his heart hammering wildly against your cheek, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths as sweat cooled on both your skins.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the luxurious penthouse were your mingled panting and the distant hum of the city far below the windows.

Keigo’s hand slid up your back in slow, soothing strokes, his thumb brushing gently over your spine. His voice, when it finally came, was rough and low, stripped of the feral edge but still thick with emotion.

“…Shit,” he breathed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to lose control like that. ” He swallowed hard, “You okay, dove? I wasn’t too rough?”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, a small, breathless smile curving your lips despite the pleasant ache everywhere. “I’m more than okay,”

He let out a soft, relieved chuckle, the sound vibrating warmly through his chest. “Yeah? Because I’ve been fighting this instinct for days, trying not to drag you into it… and then you showed up at my door looking all soft and worried, I lost it the second I saw you.”

You laughed quietly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “So the ‘sick’ excuse was really just you hiding because you were horny?”

“Horny as hell and terrified I’d ruin you,” he admitted, his hand sliding down to rest possessively over your hip. “But fuck… after feeling you come around me like that? Twice? Hearing you beg me?” His voice dropped, a hint of that darker hunger flickering back for a moment. “I don’t think I can go back to pretending anymore.”

“Then don’t pretend.” Your voice softened, “I like this side of you.”

Keigo’s eyes warmed, the usual playful mask cracking to reveal something deeper, more genuine. He leaned in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips. “Stay with me tonight?”

You smiled against his mouth, heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “I wasn't planning to leave.”

[milsisafairy]

Feral Instincts~

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hawks x fem!reader mdni

word count: 5k

summary/plot: Keigo has been avoiding you for days. When you show up at his door worried sick, you never expect to find him deep in a rut. Flushed, feral, and barely holding on.

warnings: smut, +18 content, mdni, porn with a little plot, oral f receiving, fingerin, unprotected p in v, a little breeding kink, hawks in rut, pet names, smacking, hair pulling

a/n: Damn, I haven’t written in forever. I’m kinda disappointed my man had so little screen time last season, so I miss him. I’d like to see you comments<3 Also, English isn’t my first language, so if there are any typos or grammatical mistakes that’s Grammarly’s fault. Requests are open!!

master list

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The night air was sharp, biting against Keigo’s skin, but it couldn't touch the heat building inside him. Usually, he was the guy who stayed cool under pressure, the one who kept his hands steady and his voice smooth.

But right now, his fingers were drumming a restless, nervous beat against his thighs, and his heart was hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break out.

He felt a flush creeping up his neck, hot and stubborn, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the long patrol you had. The city hummed around you two, a blur of neon lights and distant traffic, but Keigo couldn't focus on any of it. The noise of the street felt miles away. The only thing in his universe was you.

It was your perfume or maybe just you that was undoing him. It was a warm, familiar scent that seemed to fill the small space between you, tripping up his heartbeat and making his head spin. His mouth watered. His hands itched to reach out, to pull you close and bury his face in the curve of your neck until that scent was all he breathed.

Fuck.

He was in rut.

He knew it was coming for days. That restless, heavy tension that had been building in the pit of his stomach. It started with the sleepless nights and the way every sound seemed too loud, every touch too sharp.

By tonight, it had spiraled into a physical ache that pulsed through him every time you moved. And of course, he was stuck on a late shift with you. His best friend, his partner, the one person who was supposed to be off-limits.

But God, the restraint was killing him.

He could practically see it in his head: backing you against the cool brick of the ledge, feeling the weight of you against him, and finally losing himself in you until the rest of the world stopped existing. He wanted to feel you shake under his hands, to leave marks that would remind you of him for days. He wanted to hear his name on your breath, over and over.

Instead, he ground his teeth together and stared at the horizon, praying for the sun to come up or for his brain to just shut off.

“Keigo?” Your voice was soft, cutting right through his spiraling thoughts. “Are you even listening to me?”

He snapped back to reality, his pulse spiking. You were looking at him with that concerned, perceptive gaze that usually made him feel seen, but right now just made him feel exposed. The wind caught a stray lock of your hair, and his hands actually twitched with the urge to grab it and pull you close enough to taste the heat of your skin.

“Yeah,” he lied, forcing his lips into that easy, trademark smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You tilted your head, clearly unconvinced. That small movement brought you a fraction closer, and another wave of your scent hit him like a physical blow. He felt his pulse jump, his hands clenching at his sides as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The heat in his body was becoming unbearable. His cock twitched in his pants, already half-hard and throbbing with every heartbeat.

“Are you alright?” you pressed, stepping nearer. The gap between you shrank dangerously. “You’ve been zoning out all night. You're flushed... and you're acting so restless. You can't even stand still.”

“I’m good. Just a long week, dove. I’m exhausted.” He swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He wasn’t tired. He was starving.

You were too close. Close enough that he could see the reflection of the city lights in your eyes, close enough to see the way your lips parted slightly as you spoke. If he moved just an inch, he’d have his hands on you, and he knew if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

You didn’t back off. Instead, you leaned in, your expression softening with genuine worry. You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “Keigo, come on, talk to me. You've been so quiet lately. If something’s wrong, just let me help—”

That single touch was like a spark to a powder keg. A jolt of pure electricity shot through him, settling heavy and demanding in his gut. His self-control, already stretched to the limit, finally snapped.

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice coming out lower and rougher than he intended. "God, how many times do I have to say it?"

She flinched, but she didn't back down. "I’m just worried about you."

"I know you are. And that's the problem, it’s too much."

He jerked back, his heart racing. “I gotta go,” he rasped, turning away before he could do something he’d never be able to take back

“Keigo, wait!”

But he didn’t. He turned and bolted, putting as much distance between you as possible. He moved fast, disappearing into the shadows of the rooftop stairwell and out into the cool night air, trying to let the wind chill the fever in his blood. His chest was heaving, his body still screaming for the contact he’d just fled from.

He was losing this fight.

And deep down, a dark, dangerous part of him whispered that maybe he didn’t want to win it at all.

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Two painful days crawled by with no word from Keigo.

You tried not to let the silence eat at you, but the absence was loud. His manager had offered the usual polished corporate line "Hawks isn’t feeling well and will be taking a few days off to recover." but it felt hollow. Another hero had already stepped in to cover his shifts, yet the city felt emptier.

Keigo had gone dark before, sure. He was a busy man with a high-profile life, but he always texted. Even if it was just a blurry photo of his lunch or a lazy flirty text at 3:00 a.m., he never left you hanging. This radio silence was different. It was heavy.

The worry turned into a sharp, nagging guilt by the second morning. Had you pushed too far on the rooftop? You replayed the moment over and over. His flushed skin, the way his hands had trembled, the frantic look in his eyes right before he bolted. Had you accidentally crossed a line you didn't know existed?

By the time you finished your morning shift, you couldn't take it anymore. You stopped by that boutique wine shop he liked and grabbed a bottle of his favorite red. You went home, shed your hero costume, and pulled on a simple, soft sundress. You wanted to look like his friend, not his partner on the force.

Standing outside his door, your heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. You took a deep breath, clutching the bottle of wine, and knocked three times.

For a long minute, there was nothing. No footsteps, no voice. Then, the sound of a heavy lock sliding back.

The door creaked open only a few inches, held by the security chain. The air that drifted out from the apartment was stifling, thick, overly warm, and heavy with that same scent that had been radiating off him on the roof, only now it was darker, and more overwhelming.

Keigo’s face appeared in the gap, but he looked like a ghost of himself. He stood there in nothing but a loose white t-shirt that clung to the hard planes of his chest and a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants that should have been illegal.

His golden hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his eyes were bloodshot, the pupils so wide they nearly swallowed the gold of his irises. He looked beautifully, dangerously wrecked like he hadn’t slept in days and the exhaustion had only sharpened every angle of him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Keigo’s gaze dragged over you slowly, heavy and unfocused, lingering on the curve of your neck, the way the sundress brushed your thighs, the bottle of wine clutched in your hand like a fragile peace offering. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the doorframe until the wood creaked softly.

"I told them no visitors..." His voice came out rough, gravelly, like he’d been shouting into the void for hours. Or maybe growling. “What are you doing here, dove?”

"I was worried about you," you said, your voice barely holding steady. You held the wine bottle out like a peace offering, or maybe a shield. "Your manager mentioned you were sick, but…you’ve never gone this quiet on me before, Keigo. ”

Even at his worst, he was magnetic. It was a confusing, guilty rush, wanting him this badly when he was clearly struggling.

Keigo’s eyes fell to the wine, then slowly, painfully, tracked upward. lingering on the soft fabric of your sundress where it hugged your waist and brushed your thighs. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking hard beneath the flushed skin.

“Maybe… it’s not a great time,” his voice low and strained, like every word cost him something.

Your stomach did a slow, sickening roll. The rejection felt less like a word and more like a physical blow.

"Did I do something?" you asked, your voice cracking. You stepped into his space without thinking, and the smell of him hit you like a wave. It made your head swim. "If I messed up, Keigo, just tell me. I’ll fix it."

For a split second, his mask slipped. You saw the conflict behind his eyes. Then, his face turned to stone. He gripped the doorframe so hard his knuckles went white.

"Just go," he said. The words were flat, final, and they stung.

The hurt flared hot in your chest, instantly sharpening into a defensive anger. "You vanish for two days," you snapped, your voice rising. You could feel the hot prickle of tears behind your eyelids. "I come here worried sick. I brought your favorite wine because I thought… I don't know, I thought I was helping. And you’re just throwing it back in my face? Fine. If you want me gone so bad—"

You never finished the sentence.

Because in that exact moment, Keigo’s control finally shattered.

All he could think about was how devastatingly good you looked standing there in that sundress, cheeks flushed with anger and worry, your scent flooding his senses until it drowned out every rational thought.

With a low, guttural sound that was half-growl, half-groan, he surged forward. Strong hands seized your waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress as he yanked you against his chest. The bottle of wine nearly slipped from your grasp, forgotten between your bodies. Before you could even gasp, his mouth crashed down on yours. Hot, desperate, and starving.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was fire and need. His lips moved against yours with bruising intensity, tongue sweeping in to taste you like he’d been dying for it. One hand slid up your back, pressing you impossibly closer while the other stayed at your waist, possessive and firm.

He tasted like heat and desperation, like every filthy thought he’d been fighting.

You didn’t pull away.

The moment Keigo’s mouth claimed yours, something deep inside you ignited. Like you’d been waiting for this exact second your entire life without even realizing it.

A soft, surprised sound escaped your throat, quickly swallowed by the fierce way you kissed him back. Your free hand fisted in the front of his white t-shirt, tugging him closer as your lips parted under his, meeting every hungry stroke of his tongue with equal desperation. It felt like fire meeting gasoline, years of unspoken tension finally exploding between you.

Somehow, you both stumbled inside his penthouse, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that made your pulse thunder. Without breaking the kiss, you blindly reached out and set the bottle of wine on the small glass console table beside the entrance.

Keigo didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. With a low, needy growl that vibrated straight through your chest, he pressed your back against the nearest wall.

His mouth left your lips only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your skin before he sank them in just enough to make you gasp. Sharp little bites that sent sparks of pleasure. Pain started to race straight between your legs.

“Keigo…” you breathed, head tilting back to give him better access, your hands sliding up to tangle in his messy golden hair.

He groaned against your neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive spot just below your ear. The scent of him was overwhelming now, warm, musky, utterly intoxicating and it made your head spin with raw want.

Then, suddenly, he stopped.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, golden eyes blazing with barely contained fire. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving, lips swollen from the kiss. Sweat glistened on his brow, and the hard line of his arousal pressed unmistakably against your hip through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

“If I keep going,” he rasped, voice rough and dark with warning, “I’m going to ruin you, dove. ”

Your heart hammered wildly. Heat pooled low and heavy in your core, thighs clenching around the thigh still wedged between them. You didn’t want him to stop. You’d never wanted anything less.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice shaky but certain, your fingers tightening in his hair. “I want you to.”

Something feral flashed across his face.

He crashed his mouth back to yours with a groan that sounded almost pained, kissing you deeper, hungrier than before. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, ankles locking at the small of his back as he lifted you effortlessly, strong hands gripping your thighs. The sundress rode up dangerously high as he carried you through the luxurious penthouse, past sleek modern furniture and floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering city below.

He didn’t make it to the bedroom.

Instead, he lowered you onto the wide, expensive couch, the soft leather cool against your heated skin. Keigo followed immediately, settling his weight between your spread thighs, his body pressing you down into the cushions.

The kiss never slowed. Tongues tangling, teeth nipping, breaths mingling in hot, desperate pants. His hands roamed, one sliding up your thigh to squeeze the soft flesh, the other bracing beside your head as his wings arched high above you both, casting shadows in the dim light.

Every roll of his hips sent a delicious friction through the thin layers separating you, his hard cock grinding against your core in slow, teasing circles that made you whimper into his mouth.

He tasted like sin and desperation, like every filthy fantasy you’d never dared voice. Your fingers traced the hard muscles of his back through his shirt, then slipped beneath the hem to feel the burning skin underneath, nails lightly scraping along his spine.

Keigo shuddered at the contact, breaking the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he murmured, voice thick and wrecked. “So damn perfect under me. Been driving me crazy for days…”

He rocked against you again, slower this time, deliberate, letting you feel every inch of his need as his feathers brushed teasingly along your arms and sides. The tension coiled tighter and tighter between you, every touch, every breath, every whispered word pulling you both closer to the edge of something unstoppable.

Keigo’s hands moved with barely restrained hunger as he pushed himself up just enough to yank his white t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric hit the floor somewhere behind the couch, forgotten instantly.

Your breath caught at the sight of him. Golden skin stretched tight over lean, powerful muscle, the faint sheen of sweat making every ridge and plane of his chest and abdomen gleam. His wings flexed behind him, feathers rustling with anticipation.

He looked down at you like a man starved, golden eyes dark and burning.

“Undress for me, dove,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with that light dominance that sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. “Let me see you. All of you. I’ve waited so fucking long for this… “

“months of watching you smile at me, laugh at my stupid jokes, stand beside me on rooftops while I tried to pretend I didn’t want to rip that pretty little hero costume of yours apart.”

His words wrapped around you like warm velvet, making your thighs clench around his hips. You obeyed, fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the hem of your dress and slowly pulled it up and over your head, revealing the soft curves of your body to his hungry gaze. Keigo’s eyes darkened further, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest as he drank you in.

“Fuck… look at you,” he praised, voice thick with raw desire. “So beautiful. So damn perfect.”

He leaned down again, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the swell of your chest, tongue tracing the lace edge of your bra before he tugged it down with his teeth, exposing you completely. His mouth closed over one sensitive peak, sucking and flicking his tongue in slow, teasing circles while his hand kneaded the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers until you arched into him with a soft whimper. Every touch felt electric, every praise whispered against your skin making the ache between your legs throb hotter.

“Feel good, baby?”

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured against your breast, nipping gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “So responsive... So pretty when you tremble like this.”

His kisses trailed lower, slow and deliberate, lips brushing over your ribs, your stomach, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your panties. He hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

You did, and he slid the panties down your legs with agonizing slowness, tossing them aside. The cool air hit your slick, heated core, making you shiver, but the way Keigo looked at you chased away any hint of self-consciousness.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, voice dropping even lower as he settled between your spread thighs.

“You’re already so wet for me. Such a good girl, getting this soaked just from my mouth on you.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. He leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning deeply at your taste. The sound vibrated straight through you, making your hips jerk.

“Oh-fuck, Keigo—“ your breath hitched.

Keigo tightened his grip, holding you firmly in place as he began to devour you. Licking, sucking, circling your swollen clit with his tongue.

Every moan he let out was pure praise. “Taste so fucking good…”

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

Your breath hitched. Your back arched.

He worked you relentlessly, alternating between gentle sucks and firmer strokes, reading every twitch and gasp of your body like it was his favorite language. Two fingers slowly joined his tongue, sliding into your slick heat with a wet sound that should have embarrassed you but only made the pleasure sharper.

“Ohhh, fuck— So good, Keigo—“ You gasped.

You could barely think straight. His two fingers curled inside you with perfect precision, stroking that sensitive spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids.

“Such a good girl… taking my fingers so beautifully,” he growled, voice thick and rough, barely pulling back enough to speak.

Your thighs trembled around his head, hips trying to rock against his mouth even as his strong hands held you firmly in place.

“Oh, Keigo,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me,” sucking your clit harder, fingers pumping faster, deeper.

Oh, fuck, and when you came.

Your back arched sharply off the couch, a broken cry tearing from your lips as pleasure exploded through every inch of your body.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Keigo groaned.

Like the orgasm belonged to him.

He kept pressing soft kisses to your sensitive clit.

He looked up at you, lips glistening.

“Fuck… you’re gorgeous when you come,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful it hurts.”

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all day, handsome?”

“I would if you’d let me, dove,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed teasingly, “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “I think you should fuck me instead.”

His stomach flipped. With the biggest smirk on his lips, he pushed himself up, hands moving quickly to shove his grey sweatpants and boxers down his hips.

His cock sprang free, hard, thick, and flushed dark with need, the head already glistening with pre-cum. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you at the sight.

Keigo settled between your spread thighs once more, the heavy, heated length of him resting against your slick, sensitive folds.

He braced one hand beside your head, leaning down so his forehead nearly touched yours.

His free hand stroked along your thigh, thumb brushing teasingly close to where you still throbbed with aftershocks.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and strained, though the way his hips twitched told you how badly he was holding back. “Because once I’m inside you… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, dove.”

You reached up, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, voice breathy and needy. “Please, fuck me.”

That was all it took.

With a low, guttural groan, he pushed forward, sliding into you inch by thick inch.

His cock was—fuck. Thick. So fucking thick.

The stretch was delicious. Burning and perfect. You gasped sharply, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely.

“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he growled, forehead pressed to yours, wings trembling. “So wet and perfect around me.“

“Taking me so well… like you were made for this.”

He started to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he rocked into you. Pleasure sparked through your core with every stroke, your walls clenching around him greedily

“Keigo— Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” you breathed, voice breaking on a whimper when he hit that perfect spot inside you. “Deeper— please.”

He obliged, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the penthouse. His pace quickened, thrusts growing more insistent, more desperate.

“Look at you,” he praised roughly, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider. “So fucking beautiful taking my cock. You’re squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Gonna make me lose my mind.”

The words sent fresh heat flooding through you. You arched into him, moaning louder, your hands roaming over the flexing muscles of his back.

“Yes— just like that. Don’t stop—ah!”

Keigo’s control began to fray. His thrusts turned feral, harder and faster, the gentle hero you knew melting away as the passion took over.

“Been dreaming about this pussy for so long,” he snarled, voice dark and filthy. “Wanted to bury myself in you, fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”

“Keigo, fuck—yes,” you gasped. You loved how desperate he sounded, how possessive. “Fill me… please, I want it.”

He groaned loudly, pace turning punishing as he drove into you deeper, the couch creaking beneath you.

Suddenly, with a swift, powerful movement, Keigo pulled out and flipped you over onto your stomach. You let out a surprised yelp that quickly turned into a moan as he yanked your hips up, positioning you on your knees with your chest pressed to the cushions.

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to arch your back beautifully while his other palm came down in a sharp, stinging smack on your ass.

“Fuck, look at this perfect ass,” he growled. He rubbed the spot soothingly before smacking it again, harder this time. “So pretty when you’re bent over for me.”

He thrust back into you in one smooth, deep stroke, the new angle making you cry out as he hit even deeper. One hand stayed fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into you from behind.

“Take it, sweetheart,” he snarled, leaning over you so his chest pressed to your back, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Take every inch like the good girl you are.”

You moaned loudly, the mix of pleasure and the sharp edge of dominance making your head spin. “Keigo—fuck, yes… harder,” you gasped, pushing back against him desperately, your walls fluttering around his thick cock.

He let out a low, feral chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. “You want more? Greedy little thing.” His hand left your hip only to deliver another firm smack to your ass, then he gripped the soft flesh hard, spreading you wider as he pounded deeper.

“Gonna come again for me, dove? I want to feel this pretty cunt squeezing my cock while I fill you up.”

The words hit you like lightning. Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, every brutal thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you until the tension snapped.

“Oh— fuck!” you cried out, voice breaking as the second orgasm crashed over you.

Your thighs shook, fingers clawing at the leather cushions while broken moans spilled from your lips

Keigo groaned loudly, the feeling of you coming around him pushing him dangerously close to the edge. He didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace turned even more feral, hips snapping forward with animalistic force as he chased his own release.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarled, voice rough and possessive. “Milk my cock so good, baby bird. Such a perfect little hole for me.”

He released your hair only to wrap one strong arm around your waist, yanking your back flush against his chest so he could bite down on the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You feel that?” he growled against your skin, one hand sliding down to press firmly over your lower belly. “Gonna fill you up so deep. Gonna breed this womb until you’re swollen with me. You want that, don’t you? Want me to pump you full until it takes?”

“Yes—yes, please,” you whimpered, still riding the aftershocks, your voice wrecked and needy.

That seemed to snap the last thread of his control.

With a final, deep thrust and a broken groan that sounded almost pained, Keigo buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock pulsed hard as he came, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling deep into you, filling you exactly as he promised. He kept grinding slowly, pushing every last drop as far inside as he could.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he murmured, voice hoarse and satisfied.

With a deep, shuddering groan, he collapsed beside you on the couch, pulling you with him so you ended up half-draped across his chest. You could feel his heart hammering wildly against your cheek, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths as sweat cooled on both your skins.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the luxurious penthouse were your mingled panting and the distant hum of the city far below the windows.

Keigo’s hand slid up your back in slow, soothing strokes, his thumb brushing gently over your spine. His voice, when it finally came, was rough and low, stripped of the feral edge but still thick with emotion.

“…Shit,” he breathed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to lose control like that. ” He swallowed hard, “You okay, dove? I wasn’t too rough?”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, a small, breathless smile curving your lips despite the pleasant ache everywhere. “I’m more than okay,”

He let out a soft, relieved chuckle, the sound vibrating warmly through his chest. “Yeah? Because I’ve been fighting this instinct for days, trying not to drag you into it… and then you showed up at my door looking all soft and worried, I lost it the second I saw you.”

You laughed quietly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “So the ‘sick’ excuse was really just you hiding because you were horny?”

“Horny as hell and terrified I’d ruin you,” he admitted, his hand sliding down to rest possessively over your hip. “But fuck… after feeling you come around me like that? Twice? Hearing you beg me?” His voice dropped, a hint of that darker hunger flickering back for a moment. “I don’t think I can go back to pretending anymore.”

“Then don’t pretend.” Your voice softened, “I like this side of you.”

Keigo’s eyes warmed, the usual playful mask cracking to reveal something deeper, more genuine. He leaned in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips. “Stay with me tonight?”

You smiled against his mouth, heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “I wasn't planning to leave.”

[milsisafairy]

[milsisafairy]

[milsisafairy]

Off the Clock

bucky barnes x reader mdni

word count: 3.8k

summary/plot: After a security issue during the Berlin mission, Bucky spirals on forced leave. Until a bar fight lands him in cuffs.

a/n: This fic's outline has been sitting in my notes for ages, and I finally decided to write it in the middle of the night. English isn't my first language, so if there are any typos or grammatical mistakes, it's gramrrly's fault. Also this is the first ever smut I publish. So comment if you want more! Hope you enjoy!

warnings/tags: smut, +18 content, mdni, porn with a little plot, unprotected p in v, fingering, jealous and protective bucky, kinda friends to lovers, steve makes an apperiance, fem!reader, use of y/n, steve having a crush on reader

my master list

After a critical security breach during a covert op in Berlin, SHIELD command placed Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes on mandatory paid leave for an indefinite period. The official reason: “protocol reevaluation and asset protection.” The unofficial one: they didn’t trust even their best agent with a compromised network until the leak was plugged. Bucky hated every second of it.

The fluorescent lights of the precinct buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry hornets. Bucky sat slumped in the metal chair, his left wrist cuffed to the table with a flimsy loop of steel that wouldn’t hold a toddler, let alone a super-soldier. The officer across from him. Some kid who couldn’t be older than twenty-five kept glancing at the vibranium arm. Bucky didn’t blame him. He’d been staring at the same arm for the last hour, flexing the fingers just to watch the kid flinch.

The door burst open.

You stormed in like a hurricane in high-heeled boots, your brown leather jacket swallowing your frame. Bucky knew who that belonged to. He would recognize that stupid star-stitched patch anywhere. Your hair was curled in loose waves, makeup sharp enough to cut glass, and the black mini dress beneath the jacket hugged you like it had been sewn on. You looked like you’d been pulled from a mission debrief straight into a nightclub.

“Jesus, Barnes,” you exhaled, skidding to a stop beside the table. “What the hell did you do?”

The officer stood up so fast his chair screeched. “Ma’am, this is—”

“SHIELD business,” You cut in, flashing your badge without looking at him. “I’ve got it from here.”

The kid hesitated, then scurried out like his ass was on fire.

Bucky leaned back, the cuffs clinking. “Hey, Y/L/N. Nice dress. Going to a funeral?”

“Yours, if you don’t start talking.” You crossed your arms, boot tapping against the linoleum. “Bar fight. Broken nose. Super-soldier strength on a civilian. Ring any bells?”

He shrugged, the movement pulling the cuff taut. “Guy had a face that needed rearranging.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re on leave, Buck. Paid leave. That means no rearranging faces. That means you’re supposed to be drinking tea and doing yoga or whatever civilians do.”

“Yoga’s for people who don’t have PTSD and a metal arm.”

You sighed, dragging the abandoned chair closer and sitting so your knees almost touched. Up close, he could smell your perfume, something sharp and citrusy, mixed with gunpowder that never quite left your skin. “What happened?”

“Got a little tipsy. Guy said something I didn’t like. End of story.”

Your gaze flicked over him, taking in the split knuckle on his right hand, the dried blood on his knuckles. “Your hand is bleeding.”

“Not my blood. I’m fine.”

“You’re cuffed to a table.”

“Technicality.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers brushed the cuff, testing the lock. “They’re charging you with assault. SHIELD’s burying it, but you’re lucky the guy’s not pressing for more. You could’ve killed him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You broke his nose in one punch. That’s not a love tap, Barnes.”

He looked away, jaw tight. The truth sat heavy on his tongue. The guy had seen you on the bar TV, some old mission footage looping on the news. Had leaned over to his buddy and said, loud enough for Bucky to hear, exactly what he’d do to you if he got you alone. Bucky’s vision had gone red. One punch. Maybe two. The guy had gone down like a sack of bricks.

You didn’t need to know that.

Instead, he smirked. “You look good. That dress new?”

You snorted. “Flattery’s not getting you out of this.”

“Worth a shot.” His gaze dropped to the jacket again. “Steve’s?”

Your fingers curled into the leather. “Borrowed.”

The door opened again before he could say anything. Steve Rogers filled the frame, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Paperwork’s done. We can go.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked between them. Steve just in his sweater, you in Steve’s jacket, both of you looking like you'd been interrupted mid-something. His stomach twisted.

“Date night, huh?” he asked, voice flat.

Your cheeks flushed. “A friendly after-mission dinner.”

Steve sighed.

“Friendly,” Bucky repeated. “Right.”

You stood, boots clicking. “Let’s get out of here.”

“As you wish.” The cuffs clicked open with Bucky’s one move. He rubbed his wrist out of habit, not because it hurt. Steve led the way out, your hand on Bucky’s elbow like she expected him to bolt.

Outside, the night air was sharp. Steve’s SUV idled at the curb. Bucky climbed into the back, you sliding into the passenger seat. Steve took the wheel. The drive was quiet at first, city lights streaking across the windows. Then Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Sorry about ruining your friendly dinner,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Was it Italian? You like Italian. Steve probably took you to that place in Brooklyn with the tiramisu—”

“Bucky.”

“—bet he ordered the wrong wine. He likes white, you like red…”

Steve’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “You done?”

“Almost.” Bucky leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Just saying. Friendly dinner. In a mini dress and with all this preparation. Realy friendly.”

Your tone was sharp if you wanted to make him shut. “You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy.”

“Same thing.”

The SUV pulled up outside Bucky’s building. A sleek high-rise in Manhattan, all glass and steel. The kind of place SHIELD paid for when they wanted their assets close but not too close. Steve killed the engine.

Bucky didn’t move to get out. He turned to you, voice dropping into that low, serious register that always made your spine straighten.

“Traumatic night, Y/L/N. Police station. Cuffs. The whole deal.” He tilted his head toward the building. “Come up. Keep me company. Make sure I don’t have nightmares about fluorescent lights.”

You blinked. Steve coughed into his fist.

“Bucky,” you started.

“Please.” The word was soft, but his eyes weren’t. They were locked on you, unreadable. “Just for an hour.”

You glanced at Steve, who was suddenly very interested in the steering wheel. “Fine.”

Bucky’s grin was slow, sharp. He gave a sharp smile to Steve. “Good night. Thank you for the ride.

Steve muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiot” as Bucky climbed out. 

You turned to him. “I’m sorry, the night didn’t go as you had planned. I’ll make it out to you, I promise.” You patted his shoulder with the warmest smile on your face. 

Steve smiled back at you, trying to play cool. “Night, Y/N. See you tomorrow.”

You said good night to him before you closed the SUV’s door.

The lobby doors loomed ahead, polished marble, concierge desk, the faint scent of money and leather. Bucky’s hand hovered at the small of your back, not quite touching.

“After you,

You stepped forward, boots echoing. The elevator dinged open, waiting.

——————————————————————————————————

The elevator dinged at the penthouse. Bucky’s floor, because of course SHIELD gave their best  Soldier the top-floor corner unit with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Hudson. The doors opened directly into the apartment: dark wood floors, minimalist furniture, a kitchen island big enough to land a Quinjet on. The city glittered beyond the glass like spilled diamonds.

You stepped out first, boots clicking. You shrugged off Steve’s jacket, tossing it over a barstool. The mini dress underneath caught the low light, black fabric clinging to your hips. Bucky’s gaze tracked the movement before he could stop himself.

“Drink?” he asked, already moving to the bar cart. Crystal decanters glinted, whiskey, scotch, something amber he probably stole from Tony’s stash.

“I’m not staying long enough for a drink.”

“One won’t kill you.” He poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass, then paused. “Unless you’re still pissed about the bar.”

“I’m pissed about everything.” You paced to the windows, arms crossed again. “You’re on leave, Buck. That means therapy, not bar fights. Not punching civilians because you’re bored.”

“I wasn’t bored.” He set the glass down untouched, leaning against the island. “Guy said something. I reacted.”

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating.”

Her head snapped around. “But it's worth breaking a guy’s nose?”

Bucky’s jaw worked. He picked up the glass, took a slow sip. The burn steadied him. “You were on the TV. Old footage from Prague. Guy made a comment. About you. In detail.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of detail?”

“The kind that ends with a broken nose.”

You exhaled through your nose, turning back to the window. “You can’t keep doing this. Protecting me from words. I’m not fragile.”

“Never said you were.” He moved closer, footsteps silent on the wood. “But I’m not gonna sit there while some drunk asshole—”

“Some drunk asshole who didn’t know I could put him through a wall with my pinky.” You spun to face him. “I don’t need you playing knight in tarnished armor, Barnes. I need you to get your shit together.”

He stopped a foot away, close enough to see the faint freckles across your nose, the smudge of eyeliner at the corner of your eye. “I’m trying.”

“You’re trying by getting arrested?”

“Worked, didn’t it? Got you up here.”

Your mouth opened, closed. “That’s not what this is about—”

“What is it about?” He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure it is. You’re here. I’m here. Steve’s not.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Look, it wasn’t a date.”

“Does Steve know that?”

“Of course he does.”

“Your favorite restaurant. Tiramisu. The jacket.” Bucky’s voice dropped. “Guy’s been mooning over you since Budapest. You really didn’t notice?”

“I thought—” You stopped, rubbing your forehead. “It was supposed to be friendly. A reward after a successful mission. Not… whatever he thought.”

Bucky’s grin was slow, sharp. “Poor Steve. Friend-zoned by Y/N Y/L/N..."

“Shut up.” You shoved his chest, but there was no heat in it. Your palm lingered against his shirt. “This isn’t funny.”

“Sure it is.” He grinned. “You in that dress. Steve thinking he’s got a shot. Me in cuffs because some idiot ran his mouth. It’s a sitcom.”

“It’s your life falling apart. Again.”

“Nah.” He tugged you closer, just enough that your boots bumped his. “Life’s falling into place. You’re here. I’m not in a cell. We’ve got whiskey and a view.”

You stared up at him, eyes searching. “You’re impossible.”

“Part of my charm.”

You pulled your wrist free, but didn’t step back. “You need help, Buck. Real help. Not flirting your way out of consequences.”

“Who says I’m flirting?”

You rolled your eyes, and he laughed. You were cute when you got annoyed.

Silence stretched, thick with city hum and the faint clink of ice in his glass. Your gaze flicked to the bar cart, then back to him.

“One drink,” you said finally. “Then I’m lecturing you until you cry or pass out.”

“Deal.” He poured you a glass. Same whiskey, two fingers. Handed it over. Your fingers brushed, and you didn’t pull away.

You took a sip, winced. “God, that’s awful.”

“Expensive awful.”

You set the glass down, leaning against the island opposite him. “Talk to me. For real. What’s going on in that head?”

Bucky rolled the glass between his palms. “Being a civilian sucks. No missions. No purpose. Just… waiting. And watching you go out there without me.”

Your brows lifted. “That’s what this is about?”

You sipped again, eyeing him over the rim. “You miss it. The field. The team.”

“I miss you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. You froze, glass halfway to your lips.

Bucky didn’t backtrack. “Not in a creepy way. Just… you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a bomb about to go off. Even when I am.”

You set the glass down carefully. “You’re not a bomb.”

“Tell that to the guy with the nose.”

“Bucky.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. Mostly. Just… hate sitting on the sidelines. Hate knowing you’re out there with Steve or Clint or whoever, and I’m not.”

You studied him for a long moment. Then you moved, slow, deliberate, until you were close enough that your knees brushed his. “You’re not sidelined. You’re healing. There’s a difference.”

“Feels like punishment.”

“It’s not.” Your hand found his forearm, fingers curling around the cool metal. “You’re allowed to get a rest, Buck. Even if it’s messy. It’ll be good for you.”

He looked down at your hand, then at your face. “You’re too good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making me feel like less of a screw-up.”

You smiled, small, real. “Someone has to.”

Bucky’s thumb brushed your knuckles, a ghost of a touch. “Stay.”

“I said one drink.”

“Stay anyway.”

——————————————————————————————————

The whiskey had gone down easier after the first glass. Yu kicked off your boots somewhere between the second pour and the third, curling your legs beneath you on the low leather sectional. The city lights painted shifting patterns across the ceiling, and the apartment felt less like a museum and more like a cocoon, warm, quiet, theirs for the night.

Bucky had ditched the jacket, sleeves of his black henley shoved to the elbows. The metal arm caught the low light every time he reached for the bottle. 

They talked about better things.

You told him about the safe house in Prague with the leaky ceiling and the stray cat that kept scratching Clint's stuff. He told you about the time Sam tried to teach him internet trends in the gym and nearly dislocated his shoulder. Laughter came easier, softer, the kind that didn’t need volume to fill the room.

Your head rested against the back of the couch, hair spilling over the leather. “You ever think we’ll get normal?” you asked, voice lazy with whiskey. “Like… farmers’ markets on Sundays. Dogs. A mortgage.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “I’d scare the dogs.”

“You’d name them after war criminals.”

“Fair.” He shifted closer, knee brushing yours. “But yeah. Sometimes. When it’s quiet like this.”

You turned her head, cheek against the cushion. “You’d hate normal.”

“Definitely. Can’t even stand a 3-month break.” His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered. “But I’d try it. For the right person.”

The air changed. Not sudden, just a slow tightening, like a string pulled taut. You felt it in her chest, in the way your pulse kicked under your skin. You blamed the whiskey. You blamed the late hour. You didn’t move away.

Bucky’s fingers found the ends of your hair, twirling a strand around his knuckle. “You’re warm,” he murmured.

“You’re not.”

“Metal arm. Comes with the territory.”

You smiled, small and sleepy. “I like it. Keeps me honest.”

His thumb brushed your jaw, just under your lip. “You’re always honest.”

“Not tonight.”

“No?”

You shook your head, slow. “Tonight I’m pretending I’m not thinking about how close you are.”

His eyes darkened. “And how close is that?”

“Too close,” you whispered. “But also not close enough.”

The phone on the coffee table buzzed.

You blinked, the spell fracturing. You reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Steve: Hey. Got home safe. Really enjoyed tonight—up until the jailbreak. Let’s do it again soon. Just us.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Bucky’s voice cut through the haze, low and sharp. “Don’t.”

You looked up. He hadn’t moved, but something in his face had gone cold. The easy humor was gone, replaced by something coiled and quiet.

“Don’t what?” you asked.

“Don’t answer him.” He leaned in, slow, deliberate. The space between you shrank to inches. “Not tonight.”

Your breath caught. “Buck—”

“My patience has a limit.” His metal hand settled on the couch beside your head, caging you in without touching. His flesh hand came up, fingers ghosting along your collarbone, tracing the neckline of your dress. “I’ve been patient all night. Watching you with his jacket. His smile. Knowing he thinks he’s got a chance.”

His voice dropped, rough. “He doesn’t.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“No,” he said, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you do.”

Their mouths were just a breath apart. His eyes were storm-blue, fixed on yours. Waiting.

“Tell me to stop,” he said. “Say the word, and I’ll back off. Go sleep it off. Let you text Rogers back and pretend this didn’t happen.”

Your hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t push. Didn’t pull.

You didn’t say a word.

Bucky’s nose brushed yours. “That’s what I thought.” And he closed the distance.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was a collision: mouths crashing, teeth clicking, the kind of kiss that had been building for months and finally snapped. Your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you arched up. Bucky’s metal arm braced against the back of the couch, the other sliding into your hair, fingers tangling in the curls like he’d been dreaming of it for years.

He tasted like whiskey and danger. You tasted like fire and the last thread of your restraint.

You broke first, gasping against his mouth. “Bedroom.”

Bucky didn’t ask if you were sure. He just moved.

He stood, pulling you with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, dress riding up your thighs. His hands, flesh and metal, gripped your ass, holding you against him as he walked. The city lights blurred past them, a streak of gold and red. You buried your face in his neck, teeth scraping the tendon there, and he growled, low, guttural, the sound vibrating through your chest.

The bedroom door slammed open with his shoulder. Moonlight spilled through the blinds, striping the bed in silver. He didn’t bother with lights. Didn’t need them. He dropped you onto the mattress, following you down, knees bracketing your hips.

Your hands were already under his shirt, nails raking over the scars and muscle. Bucky sat back on his heels, ripping the henley over his head in one motion. The metal arm caught the light, sleek and lethal. Your eyes dragged over him, chest, abs, the faint line of hair disappearing into his jeans. You bit her lip hard enough to bruise.

His hands moved to your waist. “Want to see all of you, doll.” He was looking at you like a hungry wolf.

You sat up, reaching for the zipper at your side. The dress peeled away like a second skin, black fabric pooling at your waist. No bra. Just skin and the glint of a tiny silver necklace caught between your breasts. Bucky’s breath hissed out.

“Jesus…” His mouth found your throat, open-mouthed kisses trailing fire down to your collarbone. You arched, fingers digging into his shoulders as he sucked a mark just above your breast. The metal hand slid up your thigh, cool against fevered skin, thumb brushing the edge of your lace panties.

Your head fell back. “Bucky—”

“Say it again.”

“Oh, Bucky.”

He rewarded you with a bite to the curve of your breast, soothing it with his tongue. You writhed, hips rolling against his, feeling exactly how much he wanted you. Hard. Straining against denim. You reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle.

“Slowdown, darling,” he murmured against your skin. “Been thinking about this too long to rush.”

“Then stop teasing.”

He chuckled, dark and filthy, and showed his fingers in your panties. One sharp tug. Lace tore like paper. You gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier, tongue stroking yours like he was mapping every inch.

His hand slid between your thighs, metal fingers cool and unyielding. You were slick, aching, and when he circled your clit with deliberate slowness, your back bowed off the bed.

“Fuck—”

“That’s the plan.”

“Bad joke B—“ but your words turned into moans as he slid one finger inside you. Then two. Curling. Stroking. His thumb kept pressure on your clit, relentless. Your hips chased his hand, thighs trembling.

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.

You forced your eyes open. His gaze was molten, fixed on your face like he was memorizing every flush, every gasp. The metal arm flexed as he worked you, the plates shifting with a soft whir. You clenched around his fingers, and he groaned.

“So fucking wet, baby. Is this for me or that stupid Rogers? ”

“For you,” you managed. “It was always for you.”

Something feral flashed across his face. “That’s what I thought.” He withdrew his hand, and you whimpered at the loss, until he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean while watching you. Your core throbbed.

“Bucky, please—”

He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down, kicking them aside with his boxers. He was gorgeous, thick, hard, the tip already slick. Your mouth went dry.

He crawled back over you, settling between your thighs. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, teasing.

“Tell me,” he said, voice strained. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want you,” you breathed. “Inside me. Please—”

He pushed in, slow, relentless, stretching you open inch by inch. You clawed at his back, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper. When he bottomed out, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged.

“God, you’re so tight, baby.”

“Mmm— Don’t stop…”

He didn’t.

He pulled back and thrust in again, harder. The bed creaked. Your nails scored down his spine. He set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, the slap of skin loud in the quiet room. You met him stroke for stroke, legs locked around his waist, taking him deeper.

His metal hand pinned your wrist above your head. The other slid under your hips, tilting you so he hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. You cried out, the sound raw.

“Right there—fuck—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He fucked you like he’d been starving for it, like every mission, every near-miss, every night he’d watched you walk away had led to this. You clenched around him, close, so close—

“Bucky, I’m—”

“Come for me, doll.”

You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you, back arching, toes curling, his name a broken chant on your lips. 

“Where do you want me, baby?” Bucky grunts in your ear, pulling at the lobe as you come from your high.

“Inside, please.”

That’s all Bucky needed to hear to spill inside of you. The warmth incredibly flooded you. 

The two of you collapsed, tangled and sweating, his weight a delicious anchor. He didn’t pull out. Just pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in.

After a minute or ten, you traced lazy circles on his back. Bucky lifted his upper body with support from his hands and looked at you. “Still going on that second date?” He murmured. 

"Maybe," you said sarcastically. "But I'd rather stay here and keep you company. Maybe you’ll stop punching people in bars.”

He huffed a laugh against your skin. “I can’t promise about that.” He pressed a soft kiss on your lips.

You smiled into the dark. “And you owe me new panties.”

“Deal.”

[milsisafairy]

Off the Clock

bucky barnes x reader mdni

word count: 3.8k

summary/plot: After a security issue during the Berlin mission, Bucky spirals on forced leave. Until a bar fight lands him in cuffs.

a/n: This fic's outline has been sitting in my notes for ages, and I finally decided to write it in the middle of the night. English isn't my first language, so if there are any typos or grammatical mistakes, it's gramrrly's fault. Also this is the first ever smut I publish. So comment if you want more! Hope you enjoy!

warnings/tags: smut, +18 content, mdni, porn with a little plot, unprotected p in v, fingering, jealous and protective bucky, kinda friends to lovers, steve makes an apperiance, fem!reader, use of y/n, steve having a crush on reader

my master list

After a critical security breach during a covert op in Berlin, SHIELD command placed Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes on mandatory paid leave for an indefinite period. The official reason: “protocol reevaluation and asset protection.” The unofficial one: they didn’t trust even their best agent with a compromised network until the leak was plugged. Bucky hated every second of it.

The fluorescent lights of the precinct buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry hornets. Bucky sat slumped in the metal chair, his left wrist cuffed to the table with a flimsy loop of steel that wouldn’t hold a toddler, let alone a super-soldier. The officer across from him. Some kid who couldn’t be older than twenty-five kept glancing at the vibranium arm. Bucky didn’t blame him. He’d been staring at the same arm for the last hour, flexing the fingers just to watch the kid flinch.

The door burst open.

You stormed in like a hurricane in high-heeled boots, your brown leather jacket swallowing your frame. Bucky knew who that belonged to. He would recognize that stupid star-stitched patch anywhere. Your hair was curled in loose waves, makeup sharp enough to cut glass, and the black mini dress beneath the jacket hugged you like it had been sewn on. You looked like you’d been pulled from a mission debrief straight into a nightclub.

“Jesus, Barnes,” you exhaled, skidding to a stop beside the table. “What the hell did you do?”

The officer stood up so fast his chair screeched. “Ma’am, this is—”

“SHIELD business,” You cut in, flashing your badge without looking at him. “I’ve got it from here.”

The kid hesitated, then scurried out like his ass was on fire.

Bucky leaned back, the cuffs clinking. “Hey, Y/L/N. Nice dress. Going to a funeral?”

“Yours, if you don’t start talking.” You crossed your arms, boot tapping against the linoleum. “Bar fight. Broken nose. Super-soldier strength on a civilian. Ring any bells?”

He shrugged, the movement pulling the cuff taut. “Guy had a face that needed rearranging.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re on leave, Buck. Paid leave. That means no rearranging faces. That means you’re supposed to be drinking tea and doing yoga or whatever civilians do.”

“Yoga’s for people who don’t have PTSD and a metal arm.”

You sighed, dragging the abandoned chair closer and sitting so your knees almost touched. Up close, he could smell your perfume, something sharp and citrusy, mixed with gunpowder that never quite left your skin. “What happened?”

“Got a little tipsy. Guy said something I didn’t like. End of story.”

Your gaze flicked over him, taking in the split knuckle on his right hand, the dried blood on his knuckles. “Your hand is bleeding.”

“Not my blood. I’m fine.”

“You’re cuffed to a table.”

“Technicality.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers brushed the cuff, testing the lock. “They’re charging you with assault. SHIELD’s burying it, but you’re lucky the guy’s not pressing for more. You could’ve killed him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You broke his nose in one punch. That’s not a love tap, Barnes.”

He looked away, jaw tight. The truth sat heavy on his tongue. The guy had seen you on the bar TV, some old mission footage looping on the news. Had leaned over to his buddy and said, loud enough for Bucky to hear, exactly what he’d do to you if he got you alone. Bucky’s vision had gone red. One punch. Maybe two. The guy had gone down like a sack of bricks.

You didn’t need to know that.

Instead, he smirked. “You look good. That dress new?”

You snorted. “Flattery’s not getting you out of this.”

“Worth a shot.” His gaze dropped to the jacket again. “Steve’s?”

Your fingers curled into the leather. “Borrowed.”

The door opened again before he could say anything. Steve Rogers filled the frame, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Paperwork’s done. We can go.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked between them. Steve just in his sweater, you in Steve’s jacket, both of you looking like you'd been interrupted mid-something. His stomach twisted.

“Date night, huh?” he asked, voice flat.

Your cheeks flushed. “A friendly after-mission dinner.”

Steve sighed.

“Friendly,” Bucky repeated. “Right.”

You stood, boots clicking. “Let’s get out of here.”

“As you wish.” The cuffs clicked open with Bucky’s one move. He rubbed his wrist out of habit, not because it hurt. Steve led the way out, your hand on Bucky’s elbow like she expected him to bolt.

Outside, the night air was sharp. Steve’s SUV idled at the curb. Bucky climbed into the back, you sliding into the passenger seat. Steve took the wheel. The drive was quiet at first, city lights streaking across the windows. Then Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Sorry about ruining your friendly dinner,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Was it Italian? You like Italian. Steve probably took you to that place in Brooklyn with the tiramisu—”

“Bucky.”

“—bet he ordered the wrong wine. He likes white, you like red…”

Steve’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “You done?”

“Almost.” Bucky leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Just saying. Friendly dinner. In a mini dress and with all this preparation. Realy friendly.”

Your tone was sharp if you wanted to make him shut. “You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy.”

“Same thing.”

The SUV pulled up outside Bucky’s building. A sleek high-rise in Manhattan, all glass and steel. The kind of place SHIELD paid for when they wanted their assets close but not too close. Steve killed the engine.

Bucky didn’t move to get out. He turned to you, voice dropping into that low, serious register that always made your spine straighten.

“Traumatic night, Y/L/N. Police station. Cuffs. The whole deal.” He tilted his head toward the building. “Come up. Keep me company. Make sure I don’t have nightmares about fluorescent lights.”

You blinked. Steve coughed into his fist.

“Bucky,” you started.

“Please.” The word was soft, but his eyes weren’t. They were locked on you, unreadable. “Just for an hour.”

You glanced at Steve, who was suddenly very interested in the steering wheel. “Fine.”

Bucky’s grin was slow, sharp. He gave a sharp smile to Steve. “Good night. Thank you for the ride.

Steve muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiot” as Bucky climbed out. 

You turned to him. “I’m sorry, the night didn’t go as you had planned. I’ll make it out to you, I promise.” You patted his shoulder with the warmest smile on your face. 

Steve smiled back at you, trying to play cool. “Night, Y/N. See you tomorrow.”

You said good night to him before you closed the SUV’s door.

The lobby doors loomed ahead, polished marble, concierge desk, the faint scent of money and leather. Bucky’s hand hovered at the small of your back, not quite touching.

“After you,

You stepped forward, boots echoing. The elevator dinged open, waiting.

——————————————————————————————————

The elevator dinged at the penthouse. Bucky’s floor, because of course SHIELD gave their best  Soldier the top-floor corner unit with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Hudson. The doors opened directly into the apartment: dark wood floors, minimalist furniture, a kitchen island big enough to land a Quinjet on. The city glittered beyond the glass like spilled diamonds.

You stepped out first, boots clicking. You shrugged off Steve’s jacket, tossing it over a barstool. The mini dress underneath caught the low light, black fabric clinging to your hips. Bucky’s gaze tracked the movement before he could stop himself.

“Drink?” he asked, already moving to the bar cart. Crystal decanters glinted, whiskey, scotch, something amber he probably stole from Tony’s stash.

“I’m not staying long enough for a drink.”

“One won’t kill you.” He poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass, then paused. “Unless you’re still pissed about the bar.”

“I’m pissed about everything.” You paced to the windows, arms crossed again. “You’re on leave, Buck. That means therapy, not bar fights. Not punching civilians because you’re bored.”

“I wasn’t bored.” He set the glass down untouched, leaning against the island. “Guy said something. I reacted.”

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating.”

Her head snapped around. “But it's worth breaking a guy’s nose?”

Bucky’s jaw worked. He picked up the glass, took a slow sip. The burn steadied him. “You were on the TV. Old footage from Prague. Guy made a comment. About you. In detail.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of detail?”

“The kind that ends with a broken nose.”

You exhaled through your nose, turning back to the window. “You can’t keep doing this. Protecting me from words. I’m not fragile.”

“Never said you were.” He moved closer, footsteps silent on the wood. “But I’m not gonna sit there while some drunk asshole—”

“Some drunk asshole who didn’t know I could put him through a wall with my pinky.” You spun to face him. “I don’t need you playing knight in tarnished armor, Barnes. I need you to get your shit together.”

He stopped a foot away, close enough to see the faint freckles across your nose, the smudge of eyeliner at the corner of your eye. “I’m trying.”

“You’re trying by getting arrested?”

“Worked, didn’t it? Got you up here.”

Your mouth opened, closed. “That’s not what this is about—”

“What is it about?” He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure it is. You’re here. I’m here. Steve’s not.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Look, it wasn’t a date.”

“Does Steve know that?”

“Of course he does.”

“Your favorite restaurant. Tiramisu. The jacket.” Bucky’s voice dropped. “Guy’s been mooning over you since Budapest. You really didn’t notice?”

“I thought—” You stopped, rubbing your forehead. “It was supposed to be friendly. A reward after a successful mission. Not… whatever he thought.”

Bucky’s grin was slow, sharp. “Poor Steve. Friend-zoned by Y/N Y/L/N..."

“Shut up.” You shoved his chest, but there was no heat in it. Your palm lingered against his shirt. “This isn’t funny.”

“Sure it is.” He grinned. “You in that dress. Steve thinking he’s got a shot. Me in cuffs because some idiot ran his mouth. It’s a sitcom.”

“It’s your life falling apart. Again.”

“Nah.” He tugged you closer, just enough that your boots bumped his. “Life’s falling into place. You’re here. I’m not in a cell. We’ve got whiskey and a view.”

You stared up at him, eyes searching. “You’re impossible.”

“Part of my charm.”

You pulled your wrist free, but didn’t step back. “You need help, Buck. Real help. Not flirting your way out of consequences.”

“Who says I’m flirting?”

You rolled your eyes, and he laughed. You were cute when you got annoyed.

Silence stretched, thick with city hum and the faint clink of ice in his glass. Your gaze flicked to the bar cart, then back to him.

“One drink,” you said finally. “Then I’m lecturing you until you cry or pass out.”

“Deal.” He poured you a glass. Same whiskey, two fingers. Handed it over. Your fingers brushed, and you didn’t pull away.

You took a sip, winced. “God, that’s awful.”

“Expensive awful.”

You set the glass down, leaning against the island opposite him. “Talk to me. For real. What’s going on in that head?”

Bucky rolled the glass between his palms. “Being a civilian sucks. No missions. No purpose. Just… waiting. And watching you go out there without me.”

Your brows lifted. “That’s what this is about?”

You sipped again, eyeing him over the rim. “You miss it. The field. The team.”

“I miss you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. You froze, glass halfway to your lips.

Bucky didn’t backtrack. “Not in a creepy way. Just… you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a bomb about to go off. Even when I am.”

You set the glass down carefully. “You’re not a bomb.”

“Tell that to the guy with the nose.”

“Bucky.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. Mostly. Just… hate sitting on the sidelines. Hate knowing you’re out there with Steve or Clint or whoever, and I’m not.”

You studied him for a long moment. Then you moved, slow, deliberate, until you were close enough that your knees brushed his. “You’re not sidelined. You’re healing. There’s a difference.”

“Feels like punishment.”

“It’s not.” Your hand found his forearm, fingers curling around the cool metal. “You’re allowed to get a rest, Buck. Even if it’s messy. It’ll be good for you.”

He looked down at your hand, then at your face. “You’re too good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making me feel like less of a screw-up.”

You smiled, small, real. “Someone has to.”

Bucky’s thumb brushed your knuckles, a ghost of a touch. “Stay.”

“I said one drink.”

“Stay anyway.”

——————————————————————————————————

The whiskey had gone down easier after the first glass. Yu kicked off your boots somewhere between the second pour and the third, curling your legs beneath you on the low leather sectional. The city lights painted shifting patterns across the ceiling, and the apartment felt less like a museum and more like a cocoon, warm, quiet, theirs for the night.

Bucky had ditched the jacket, sleeves of his black henley shoved to the elbows. The metal arm caught the low light every time he reached for the bottle. 

They talked about better things.

You told him about the safe house in Prague with the leaky ceiling and the stray cat that kept scratching Clint's stuff. He told you about the time Sam tried to teach him internet trends in the gym and nearly dislocated his shoulder. Laughter came easier, softer, the kind that didn’t need volume to fill the room.

Your head rested against the back of the couch, hair spilling over the leather. “You ever think we’ll get normal?” you asked, voice lazy with whiskey. “Like… farmers’ markets on Sundays. Dogs. A mortgage.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “I’d scare the dogs.”

“You’d name them after war criminals.”

“Fair.” He shifted closer, knee brushing yours. “But yeah. Sometimes. When it’s quiet like this.”

You turned her head, cheek against the cushion. “You’d hate normal.”

“Definitely. Can’t even stand a 3-month break.” His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered. “But I’d try it. For the right person.”

The air changed. Not sudden, just a slow tightening, like a string pulled taut. You felt it in her chest, in the way your pulse kicked under your skin. You blamed the whiskey. You blamed the late hour. You didn’t move away.

Bucky’s fingers found the ends of your hair, twirling a strand around his knuckle. “You’re warm,” he murmured.

“You’re not.”

“Metal arm. Comes with the territory.”

You smiled, small and sleepy. “I like it. Keeps me honest.”

His thumb brushed your jaw, just under your lip. “You’re always honest.”

“Not tonight.”

“No?”

You shook your head, slow. “Tonight I’m pretending I’m not thinking about how close you are.”

His eyes darkened. “And how close is that?”

“Too close,” you whispered. “But also not close enough.”

The phone on the coffee table buzzed.

You blinked, the spell fracturing. You reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Steve: Hey. Got home safe. Really enjoyed tonight—up until the jailbreak. Let’s do it again soon. Just us.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Bucky’s voice cut through the haze, low and sharp. “Don’t.”

You looked up. He hadn’t moved, but something in his face had gone cold. The easy humor was gone, replaced by something coiled and quiet.

“Don’t what?” you asked.

“Don’t answer him.” He leaned in, slow, deliberate. The space between you shrank to inches. “Not tonight.”

Your breath caught. “Buck—”

“My patience has a limit.” His metal hand settled on the couch beside your head, caging you in without touching. His flesh hand came up, fingers ghosting along your collarbone, tracing the neckline of your dress. “I’ve been patient all night. Watching you with his jacket. His smile. Knowing he thinks he’s got a chance.”

His voice dropped, rough. “He doesn’t.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“No,” he said, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you do.”

Their mouths were just a breath apart. His eyes were storm-blue, fixed on yours. Waiting.

“Tell me to stop,” he said. “Say the word, and I’ll back off. Go sleep it off. Let you text Rogers back and pretend this didn’t happen.”

Your hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t push. Didn’t pull.

You didn’t say a word.

Bucky’s nose brushed yours. “That’s what I thought.” And he closed the distance.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was a collision: mouths crashing, teeth clicking, the kind of kiss that had been building for months and finally snapped. Your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you arched up. Bucky’s metal arm braced against the back of the couch, the other sliding into your hair, fingers tangling in the curls like he’d been dreaming of it for years.

He tasted like whiskey and danger. You tasted like fire and the last thread of your restraint.

You broke first, gasping against his mouth. “Bedroom.”

Bucky didn’t ask if you were sure. He just moved.

He stood, pulling you with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, dress riding up your thighs. His hands, flesh and metal, gripped your ass, holding you against him as he walked. The city lights blurred past them, a streak of gold and red. You buried your face in his neck, teeth scraping the tendon there, and he growled, low, guttural, the sound vibrating through your chest.

The bedroom door slammed open with his shoulder. Moonlight spilled through the blinds, striping the bed in silver. He didn’t bother with lights. Didn’t need them. He dropped you onto the mattress, following you down, knees bracketing your hips.

Your hands were already under his shirt, nails raking over the scars and muscle. Bucky sat back on his heels, ripping the henley over his head in one motion. The metal arm caught the light, sleek and lethal. Your eyes dragged over him, chest, abs, the faint line of hair disappearing into his jeans. You bit her lip hard enough to bruise.

His hands moved to your waist. “Want to see all of you, doll.” He was looking at you like a hungry wolf.

You sat up, reaching for the zipper at your side. The dress peeled away like a second skin, black fabric pooling at your waist. No bra. Just skin and the glint of a tiny silver necklace caught between your breasts. Bucky’s breath hissed out.

“Jesus…” His mouth found your throat, open-mouthed kisses trailing fire down to your collarbone. You arched, fingers digging into his shoulders as he sucked a mark just above your breast. The metal hand slid up your thigh, cool against fevered skin, thumb brushing the edge of your lace panties.

Your head fell back. “Bucky—”

“Say it again.”

“Oh, Bucky.”

He rewarded you with a bite to the curve of your breast, soothing it with his tongue. You writhed, hips rolling against his, feeling exactly how much he wanted you. Hard. Straining against denim. You reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle.

“Slowdown, darling,” he murmured against your skin. “Been thinking about this too long to rush.”

“Then stop teasing.”

He chuckled, dark and filthy, and showed his fingers in your panties. One sharp tug. Lace tore like paper. You gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier, tongue stroking yours like he was mapping every inch.

His hand slid between your thighs, metal fingers cool and unyielding. You were slick, aching, and when he circled your clit with deliberate slowness, your back bowed off the bed.

“Fuck—”

“That’s the plan.”

“Bad joke B—“ but your words turned into moans as he slid one finger inside you. Then two. Curling. Stroking. His thumb kept pressure on your clit, relentless. Your hips chased his hand, thighs trembling.

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.

You forced your eyes open. His gaze was molten, fixed on your face like he was memorizing every flush, every gasp. The metal arm flexed as he worked you, the plates shifting with a soft whir. You clenched around his fingers, and he groaned.

“So fucking wet, baby. Is this for me or that stupid Rogers? ”

“For you,” you managed. “It was always for you.”

Something feral flashed across his face. “That’s what I thought.” He withdrew his hand, and you whimpered at the loss, until he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean while watching you. Your core throbbed.

“Bucky, please—”

He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down, kicking them aside with his boxers. He was gorgeous, thick, hard, the tip already slick. Your mouth went dry.

He crawled back over you, settling between your thighs. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, teasing.

“Tell me,” he said, voice strained. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want you,” you breathed. “Inside me. Please—”

He pushed in, slow, relentless, stretching you open inch by inch. You clawed at his back, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper. When he bottomed out, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged.

“God, you’re so tight, baby.”

“Mmm— Don’t stop…”

He didn’t.

He pulled back and thrust in again, harder. The bed creaked. Your nails scored down his spine. He set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, the slap of skin loud in the quiet room. You met him stroke for stroke, legs locked around his waist, taking him deeper.

His metal hand pinned your wrist above your head. The other slid under your hips, tilting you so he hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. You cried out, the sound raw.

“Right there—fuck—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He fucked you like he’d been starving for it, like every mission, every near-miss, every night he’d watched you walk away had led to this. You clenched around him, close, so close—

“Bucky, I’m—”

“Come for me, doll.”

You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you, back arching, toes curling, his name a broken chant on your lips. 

“Where do you want me, baby?” Bucky grunts in your ear, pulling at the lobe as you come from your high.

“Inside, please.”

That’s all Bucky needed to hear to spill inside of you. The warmth incredibly flooded you. 

The two of you collapsed, tangled and sweating, his weight a delicious anchor. He didn’t pull out. Just pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in.

After a minute or ten, you traced lazy circles on his back. Bucky lifted his upper body with support from his hands and looked at you. “Still going on that second date?” He murmured. 

"Maybe," you said sarcastically. "But I'd rather stay here and keep you company. Maybe you’ll stop punching people in bars.”

He huffed a laugh against your skin. “I can’t promise about that.” He pressed a soft kiss on your lips.

You smiled into the dark. “And you owe me new panties.”

“Deal.”

[milsisafairy]

Off the Clock

bucky barnes x reader mdni

word count: 3.8k

summary/plot: After a security issue during the Berlin mission, Bucky spirals on forced leave. Until a bar fight lands him in cuffs.

a/n: This fic's outline has been sitting in my notes for ages, and I finally decided to write it in the middle of the night. English isn't my first language, so if there are any typos or grammatical mistakes, it's gramrrly's fault. Also this is the first ever smut I publish. So comment if you want more! Hope you enjoy!

warnings/tags: smut, +18 content, mdni, porn with a little plot, unprotected p in v, fingering, jealous and protective bucky, kinda friends to lovers, steve makes an apperiance, fem!reader, use of y/n, steve having a crush on reader

my master list

After a critical security breach during a covert op in Berlin, SHIELD command placed Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes on mandatory paid leave for an indefinite period. The official reason: “protocol reevaluation and asset protection.” The unofficial one: they didn’t trust even their best agent with a compromised network until the leak was plugged. Bucky hated every second of it.

The fluorescent lights of the precinct buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry hornets. Bucky sat slumped in the metal chair, his left wrist cuffed to the table with a flimsy loop of steel that wouldn’t hold a toddler, let alone a super-soldier. The officer across from him. Some kid who couldn’t be older than twenty-five kept glancing at the vibranium arm. Bucky didn’t blame him. He’d been staring at the same arm for the last hour, flexing the fingers just to watch the kid flinch.

The door burst open.

You stormed in like a hurricane in high-heeled boots, your brown leather jacket swallowing your frame. Bucky knew who that belonged to. He would recognize that stupid star-stitched patch anywhere. Your hair was curled in loose waves, makeup sharp enough to cut glass, and the black mini dress beneath the jacket hugged you like it had been sewn on. You looked like you’d been pulled from a mission debrief straight into a nightclub.

“Jesus, Barnes,” you exhaled, skidding to a stop beside the table. “What the hell did you do?”

The officer stood up so fast his chair screeched. “Ma’am, this is—”

“SHIELD business,” You cut in, flashing your badge without looking at him. “I’ve got it from here.”

The kid hesitated, then scurried out like his ass was on fire.

Bucky leaned back, the cuffs clinking. “Hey, Y/L/N. Nice dress. Going to a funeral?”

“Yours, if you don’t start talking.” You crossed your arms, boot tapping against the linoleum. “Bar fight. Broken nose. Super-soldier strength on a civilian. Ring any bells?”

He shrugged, the movement pulling the cuff taut. “Guy had a face that needed rearranging.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re on leave, Buck. Paid leave. That means no rearranging faces. That means you’re supposed to be drinking tea and doing yoga or whatever civilians do.”

“Yoga’s for people who don’t have PTSD and a metal arm.”

You sighed, dragging the abandoned chair closer and sitting so your knees almost touched. Up close, he could smell your perfume, something sharp and citrusy, mixed with gunpowder that never quite left your skin. “What happened?”

“Got a little tipsy. Guy said something I didn’t like. End of story.”

Your gaze flicked over him, taking in the split knuckle on his right hand, the dried blood on his knuckles. “Your hand is bleeding.”

“Not my blood. I’m fine.”

“You’re cuffed to a table.”

“Technicality.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers brushed the cuff, testing the lock. “They’re charging you with assault. SHIELD’s burying it, but you’re lucky the guy’s not pressing for more. You could’ve killed him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You broke his nose in one punch. That’s not a love tap, Barnes.”

He looked away, jaw tight. The truth sat heavy on his tongue. The guy had seen you on the bar TV, some old mission footage looping on the news. Had leaned over to his buddy and said, loud enough for Bucky to hear, exactly what he’d do to you if he got you alone. Bucky’s vision had gone red. One punch. Maybe two. The guy had gone down like a sack of bricks.

You didn’t need to know that.

Instead, he smirked. “You look good. That dress new?”

You snorted. “Flattery’s not getting you out of this.”

“Worth a shot.” His gaze dropped to the jacket again. “Steve’s?”

Your fingers curled into the leather. “Borrowed.”

The door opened again before he could say anything. Steve Rogers filled the frame, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Paperwork’s done. We can go.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked between them. Steve just in his sweater, you in Steve’s jacket, both of you looking like you'd been interrupted mid-something. His stomach twisted.

“Date night, huh?” he asked, voice flat.

Your cheeks flushed. “A friendly after-mission dinner.”

Steve sighed.

“Friendly,” Bucky repeated. “Right.”

You stood, boots clicking. “Let’s get out of here.”

“As you wish.” The cuffs clicked open with Bucky’s one move. He rubbed his wrist out of habit, not because it hurt. Steve led the way out, your hand on Bucky’s elbow like she expected him to bolt.

Outside, the night air was sharp. Steve’s SUV idled at the curb. Bucky climbed into the back, you sliding into the passenger seat. Steve took the wheel. The drive was quiet at first, city lights streaking across the windows. Then Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Sorry about ruining your friendly dinner,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Was it Italian? You like Italian. Steve probably took you to that place in Brooklyn with the tiramisu—”

“Bucky.”

“—bet he ordered the wrong wine. He likes white, you like red…”

Steve’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “You done?”

“Almost.” Bucky leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Just saying. Friendly dinner. In a mini dress and with all this preparation. Realy friendly.”

Your tone was sharp if you wanted to make him shut. “You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy.”

“Same thing.”

The SUV pulled up outside Bucky’s building. A sleek high-rise in Manhattan, all glass and steel. The kind of place SHIELD paid for when they wanted their assets close but not too close. Steve killed the engine.

Bucky didn’t move to get out. He turned to you, voice dropping into that low, serious register that always made your spine straighten.

“Traumatic night, Y/L/N. Police station. Cuffs. The whole deal.” He tilted his head toward the building. “Come up. Keep me company. Make sure I don’t have nightmares about fluorescent lights.”

You blinked. Steve coughed into his fist.

“Bucky,” you started.

“Please.” The word was soft, but his eyes weren’t. They were locked on you, unreadable. “Just for an hour.”

You glanced at Steve, who was suddenly very interested in the steering wheel. “Fine.”

Bucky’s grin was slow, sharp. He gave a sharp smile to Steve. “Good night. Thank you for the ride.

Steve muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiot” as Bucky climbed out. 

You turned to him. “I’m sorry, the night didn’t go as you had planned. I’ll make it out to you, I promise.” You patted his shoulder with the warmest smile on your face. 

Steve smiled back at you, trying to play cool. “Night, Y/N. See you tomorrow.”

You said good night to him before you closed the SUV’s door.

The lobby doors loomed ahead, polished marble, concierge desk, the faint scent of money and leather. Bucky’s hand hovered at the small of your back, not quite touching.

“After you,

You stepped forward, boots echoing. The elevator dinged open, waiting.

——————————————————————————————————

The elevator dinged at the penthouse. Bucky’s floor, because of course SHIELD gave their best  Soldier the top-floor corner unit with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Hudson. The doors opened directly into the apartment: dark wood floors, minimalist furniture, a kitchen island big enough to land a Quinjet on. The city glittered beyond the glass like spilled diamonds.

You stepped out first, boots clicking. You shrugged off Steve’s jacket, tossing it over a barstool. The mini dress underneath caught the low light, black fabric clinging to your hips. Bucky’s gaze tracked the movement before he could stop himself.

“Drink?” he asked, already moving to the bar cart. Crystal decanters glinted, whiskey, scotch, something amber he probably stole from Tony’s stash.

“I’m not staying long enough for a drink.”

“One won’t kill you.” He poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass, then paused. “Unless you’re still pissed about the bar.”

“I’m pissed about everything.” You paced to the windows, arms crossed again. “You’re on leave, Buck. That means therapy, not bar fights. Not punching civilians because you’re bored.”

“I wasn’t bored.” He set the glass down untouched, leaning against the island. “Guy said something. I reacted.”

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating.”

Her head snapped around. “But it's worth breaking a guy’s nose?”

Bucky’s jaw worked. He picked up the glass, took a slow sip. The burn steadied him. “You were on the TV. Old footage from Prague. Guy made a comment. About you. In detail.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of detail?”

“The kind that ends with a broken nose.”

You exhaled through your nose, turning back to the window. “You can’t keep doing this. Protecting me from words. I’m not fragile.”

“Never said you were.” He moved closer, footsteps silent on the wood. “But I’m not gonna sit there while some drunk asshole—”

“Some drunk asshole who didn’t know I could put him through a wall with my pinky.” You spun to face him. “I don’t need you playing knight in tarnished armor, Barnes. I need you to get your shit together.”

He stopped a foot away, close enough to see the faint freckles across your nose, the smudge of eyeliner at the corner of your eye. “I’m trying.”

“You’re trying by getting arrested?”

“Worked, didn’t it? Got you up here.”

Your mouth opened, closed. “That’s not what this is about—”

“What is it about?” He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure it is. You’re here. I’m here. Steve’s not.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Look, it wasn’t a date.”

“Does Steve know that?”

“Of course he does.”

“Your favorite restaurant. Tiramisu. The jacket.” Bucky’s voice dropped. “Guy’s been mooning over you since Budapest. You really didn’t notice?”

“I thought—” You stopped, rubbing your forehead. “It was supposed to be friendly. A reward after a successful mission. Not… whatever he thought.”

Bucky’s grin was slow, sharp. “Poor Steve. Friend-zoned by Y/N Y/L/N..."

“Shut up.” You shoved his chest, but there was no heat in it. Your palm lingered against his shirt. “This isn’t funny.”

“Sure it is.” He grinned. “You in that dress. Steve thinking he’s got a shot. Me in cuffs because some idiot ran his mouth. It’s a sitcom.”

“It’s your life falling apart. Again.”

“Nah.” He tugged you closer, just enough that your boots bumped his. “Life’s falling into place. You’re here. I’m not in a cell. We’ve got whiskey and a view.”

You stared up at him, eyes searching. “You’re impossible.”

“Part of my charm.”

You pulled your wrist free, but didn’t step back. “You need help, Buck. Real help. Not flirting your way out of consequences.”

“Who says I’m flirting?”

You rolled your eyes, and he laughed. You were cute when you got annoyed.

Silence stretched, thick with city hum and the faint clink of ice in his glass. Your gaze flicked to the bar cart, then back to him.

“One drink,” you said finally. “Then I’m lecturing you until you cry or pass out.”

“Deal.” He poured you a glass. Same whiskey, two fingers. Handed it over. Your fingers brushed, and you didn’t pull away.

You took a sip, winced. “God, that’s awful.”

“Expensive awful.”

You set the glass down, leaning against the island opposite him. “Talk to me. For real. What’s going on in that head?”

Bucky rolled the glass between his palms. “Being a civilian sucks. No missions. No purpose. Just… waiting. And watching you go out there without me.”

Your brows lifted. “That’s what this is about?”

You sipped again, eyeing him over the rim. “You miss it. The field. The team.”

“I miss you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. You froze, glass halfway to your lips.

Bucky didn’t backtrack. “Not in a creepy way. Just… you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a bomb about to go off. Even when I am.”

You set the glass down carefully. “You’re not a bomb.”

“Tell that to the guy with the nose.”

“Bucky.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. Mostly. Just… hate sitting on the sidelines. Hate knowing you’re out there with Steve or Clint or whoever, and I’m not.”

You studied him for a long moment. Then you moved, slow, deliberate, until you were close enough that your knees brushed his. “You’re not sidelined. You’re healing. There’s a difference.”

“Feels like punishment.”

“It’s not.” Your hand found his forearm, fingers curling around the cool metal. “You’re allowed to get a rest, Buck. Even if it’s messy. It’ll be good for you.”

He looked down at your hand, then at your face. “You’re too good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making me feel like less of a screw-up.”

You smiled, small, real. “Someone has to.”

Bucky’s thumb brushed your knuckles, a ghost of a touch. “Stay.”

“I said one drink.”

“Stay anyway.”

——————————————————————————————————

The whiskey had gone down easier after the first glass. Yu kicked off your boots somewhere between the second pour and the third, curling your legs beneath you on the low leather sectional. The city lights painted shifting patterns across the ceiling, and the apartment felt less like a museum and more like a cocoon, warm, quiet, theirs for the night.

Bucky had ditched the jacket, sleeves of his black henley shoved to the elbows. The metal arm caught the low light every time he reached for the bottle. 

They talked about better things.

You told him about the safe house in Prague with the leaky ceiling and the stray cat that kept scratching Clint's stuff. He told you about the time Sam tried to teach him internet trends in the gym and nearly dislocated his shoulder. Laughter came easier, softer, the kind that didn’t need volume to fill the room.

Your head rested against the back of the couch, hair spilling over the leather. “You ever think we’ll get normal?” you asked, voice lazy with whiskey. “Like… farmers’ markets on Sundays. Dogs. A mortgage.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “I’d scare the dogs.”

“You’d name them after war criminals.”

“Fair.” He shifted closer, knee brushing yours. “But yeah. Sometimes. When it’s quiet like this.”

You turned her head, cheek against the cushion. “You’d hate normal.”

“Definitely. Can’t even stand a 3-month break.” His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered. “But I’d try it. For the right person.”

The air changed. Not sudden, just a slow tightening, like a string pulled taut. You felt it in her chest, in the way your pulse kicked under your skin. You blamed the whiskey. You blamed the late hour. You didn’t move away.

Bucky’s fingers found the ends of your hair, twirling a strand around his knuckle. “You’re warm,” he murmured.

“You’re not.”

“Metal arm. Comes with the territory.”

You smiled, small and sleepy. “I like it. Keeps me honest.”

His thumb brushed your jaw, just under your lip. “You’re always honest.”

“Not tonight.”

“No?”

You shook your head, slow. “Tonight I’m pretending I’m not thinking about how close you are.”

His eyes darkened. “And how close is that?”

“Too close,” you whispered. “But also not close enough.”

The phone on the coffee table buzzed.

You blinked, the spell fracturing. You reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Steve: Hey. Got home safe. Really enjoyed tonight—up until the jailbreak. Let’s do it again soon. Just us.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Bucky’s voice cut through the haze, low and sharp. “Don’t.”

You looked up. He hadn’t moved, but something in his face had gone cold. The easy humor was gone, replaced by something coiled and quiet.

“Don’t what?” you asked.

“Don’t answer him.” He leaned in, slow, deliberate. The space between you shrank to inches. “Not tonight.”

Your breath caught. “Buck—”

“My patience has a limit.” His metal hand settled on the couch beside your head, caging you in without touching. His flesh hand came up, fingers ghosting along your collarbone, tracing the neckline of your dress. “I’ve been patient all night. Watching you with his jacket. His smile. Knowing he thinks he’s got a chance.”

His voice dropped, rough. “He doesn’t.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“No,” he said, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you do.”

Their mouths were just a breath apart. His eyes were storm-blue, fixed on yours. Waiting.

“Tell me to stop,” he said. “Say the word, and I’ll back off. Go sleep it off. Let you text Rogers back and pretend this didn’t happen.”

Your hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t push. Didn’t pull.

You didn’t say a word.

Bucky’s nose brushed yours. “That’s what I thought.” And he closed the distance.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was a collision: mouths crashing, teeth clicking, the kind of kiss that had been building for months and finally snapped. Your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you arched up. Bucky’s metal arm braced against the back of the couch, the other sliding into your hair, fingers tangling in the curls like he’d been dreaming of it for years.

He tasted like whiskey and danger. You tasted like fire and the last thread of your restraint.

You broke first, gasping against his mouth. “Bedroom.”

Bucky didn’t ask if you were sure. He just moved.

He stood, pulling you with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, dress riding up your thighs. His hands, flesh and metal, gripped your ass, holding you against him as he walked. The city lights blurred past them, a streak of gold and red. You buried your face in his neck, teeth scraping the tendon there, and he growled, low, guttural, the sound vibrating through your chest.

The bedroom door slammed open with his shoulder. Moonlight spilled through the blinds, striping the bed in silver. He didn’t bother with lights. Didn’t need them. He dropped you onto the mattress, following you down, knees bracketing your hips.

Your hands were already under his shirt, nails raking over the scars and muscle. Bucky sat back on his heels, ripping the henley over his head in one motion. The metal arm caught the light, sleek and lethal. Your eyes dragged over him, chest, abs, the faint line of hair disappearing into his jeans. You bit her lip hard enough to bruise.

His hands moved to your waist. “Want to see all of you, doll.” He was looking at you like a hungry wolf.

You sat up, reaching for the zipper at your side. The dress peeled away like a second skin, black fabric pooling at your waist. No bra. Just skin and the glint of a tiny silver necklace caught between your breasts. Bucky’s breath hissed out.

“Jesus…” His mouth found your throat, open-mouthed kisses trailing fire down to your collarbone. You arched, fingers digging into his shoulders as he sucked a mark just above your breast. The metal hand slid up your thigh, cool against fevered skin, thumb brushing the edge of your lace panties.

Your head fell back. “Bucky—”

“Say it again.”

“Oh, Bucky.”

He rewarded you with a bite to the curve of your breast, soothing it with his tongue. You writhed, hips rolling against his, feeling exactly how much he wanted you. Hard. Straining against denim. You reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle.

“Slowdown, darling,” he murmured against your skin. “Been thinking about this too long to rush.”

“Then stop teasing.”

He chuckled, dark and filthy, and showed his fingers in your panties. One sharp tug. Lace tore like paper. You gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier, tongue stroking yours like he was mapping every inch.

His hand slid between your thighs, metal fingers cool and unyielding. You were slick, aching, and when he circled your clit with deliberate slowness, your back bowed off the bed.

“Fuck—”

“That’s the plan.”

“Bad joke B—“ but your words turned into moans as he slid one finger inside you. Then two. Curling. Stroking. His thumb kept pressure on your clit, relentless. Your hips chased his hand, thighs trembling.

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.

You forced your eyes open. His gaze was molten, fixed on your face like he was memorizing every flush, every gasp. The metal arm flexed as he worked you, the plates shifting with a soft whir. You clenched around his fingers, and he groaned.

“So fucking wet, baby. Is this for me or that stupid Rogers? ”

“For you,” you managed. “It was always for you.”

Something feral flashed across his face. “That’s what I thought.” He withdrew his hand, and you whimpered at the loss, until he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean while watching you. Your core throbbed.

“Bucky, please—”

He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down, kicking them aside with his boxers. He was gorgeous, thick, hard, the tip already slick. Your mouth went dry.

He crawled back over you, settling between your thighs. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, teasing.

“Tell me,” he said, voice strained. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want you,” you breathed. “Inside me. Please—”

He pushed in, slow, relentless, stretching you open inch by inch. You clawed at his back, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper. When he bottomed out, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged.

“God, you’re so tight, baby.”

“Mmm— Don’t stop…”

He didn’t.

He pulled back and thrust in again, harder. The bed creaked. Your nails scored down his spine. He set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, the slap of skin loud in the quiet room. You met him stroke for stroke, legs locked around his waist, taking him deeper.

His metal hand pinned your wrist above your head. The other slid under your hips, tilting you so he hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. You cried out, the sound raw.

“Right there—fuck—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He fucked you like he’d been starving for it, like every mission, every near-miss, every night he’d watched you walk away had led to this. You clenched around him, close, so close—

“Bucky, I’m—”

“Come for me, doll.”

You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you, back arching, toes curling, his name a broken chant on your lips. 

“Where do you want me, baby?” Bucky grunts in your ear, pulling at the lobe as you come from your high.

“Inside, please.”

That’s all Bucky needed to hear to spill inside of you. The warmth incredibly flooded you. 

The two of you collapsed, tangled and sweating, his weight a delicious anchor. He didn’t pull out. Just pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in.

After a minute or ten, you traced lazy circles on his back. Bucky lifted his upper body with support from his hands and looked at you. “Still going on that second date?” He murmured. 

"Maybe," you said sarcastically. "But I'd rather stay here and keep you company. Maybe you’ll stop punching people in bars.”

He huffed a laugh against your skin. “I can’t promise about that.” He pressed a soft kiss on your lips.

You smiled into the dark. “And you owe me new panties.”

“Deal.”

[roxyrockles]

keigo hold my hand

[milsisafairy]

-You ask for bicep pics from MHA boys smau

ft. izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou, keigo takami, shouta aizawa, dabi

content. fem!reader, suggestive content, grown-up characters

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[milsisafairy]

-You ask for bicep pics from MHA boys

smau materialist

ft. izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou, keigo takami, shouta aizawa, dabi

content. fem!reader, suggestive content, grown-up characters

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[milsisafairy]

Heyy, how are you?

Just to let you know but I think you forgot to put Dabi in your last post! Since he’s noted to be there but there’s so significant of him haha

Have a nice day <3

Oh I forgot to put him I’m sorry😭😭 here you go<3

first part

[milsisafairy]

-You accidentally sent MHA boys a naughty pic...

ft. izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou, neito monoma, keigo takami, shota aizawa, dabi

content. fem!reader, suggestive content, grown-up characters

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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[milsisafairy]

-You accidentally sent MHA boys a naughty pic...

ft. izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou, neito monoma, keigo takami, shota aizawa, dabi

content. fem!reader, suggestive content, grown-up characters

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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[milsisafairy]

Too Late For A Future With Us

Pairing:KiriBaku

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a/n: I wanted to try something new after the SMAUs. This is my first fic in English and it’s not my first language. So I apologize if I have any mistakes🙏 Also it’s my first time writing KiriBaku. I love them so much but someone had to feed the angst lovers.

Summary: On the eve of Kirishima’s departure overseas, the gang decides to share one last night together. As the evening winds down, it ends with Kirishima and Bakugou drinking alone at home. With the alcohol mixing with laughter, old memories and quiet sadness makes some hidden feelings finally surface. But it’s already too late for everything.

warnings: angst/hurt with no comfort, alcohol consumption

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⋆˙⟡ Preview ⟡ ˙ ⋆

The izakaya was loud with laughter and clinking glasses, but under it all sat the unspoken truth, Kirishima was leaving. Two years overseas. Two years away from the people he called family and from the one person he could never say goodbye to without breaking.

Bakugou had been quieter than usual all night, a storm bottled beneath sharp glares and half-smoked words. And when the party was over, when it was just the two of them in Kirishima’s half-packed apartment, the weight of all those years finally snapped.

“After all this time, you still think it’s about Deku?” Bakugou’s voice cracked, raw and hoarse. “Like I’ve ever looked at him the way I looked at you.”

Whiskey, silence, and the truth they’d both been running from filled the room. A confession years too late. A kiss too desperate to undo. And the crushing knowledge that sometimes love doesn’t arrive when it should. Only when it’s already too late.