cw: 18+ mdni!!, smut, lowkey implied reader is plus size, smoking, obsessive behavior, panty stealing, stalking, possessiveness, angst(?), teasing, marking, pet names, slight switch!dex, fingering, oral sex (receiving), brief handjob, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex, (rushed) aftercare, no use of y/n
a/n: i started writing this like a year ago after the first season of dd:ba specifically bc of this edit of dex but season 2 had us eating reallll good so i needed to run it back lmao. it’s been a while since i’ve posted anything so pls be kind! feedback is appreciated!!
Tuesday
The city that never sleeps seemed alive more than ever tonight. The sound of choppers flying overhead pass by Dex’s building, accompanied by the wailing of sirens scattered across the borough.
Dex sat in front of the large window in the living room. The soft glow of the TV is the only thing illuminating the room as Dex had remained glued to his post since the sun went down, just watching.
Watching you.
You sat on your fire escape, your phone held up to your ear in one hand while the other rolled the filter of the cigarette you were smoking between your fingers. You put the extinguished cigarette in the ashtray you had seated on the windowsill next to you and begin to reach for the pack for another, just to realize it’s empty. You curse to yourself, then climb through the window back into your apartment.
A smile creeps onto Dex’s face watching you grab a hoodie off your bedpost before jumping into a pair of sweatpants. You leave your apartment, and Dex loses sight of you momentarily.
In this time, Dex exits his own commandeered unit, but stays to the shadows once he’s out on the street, keeping out of your eyesight as you leave your building.
Dex waits until you enter the deli on the corner before he crosses the street and hoists himself up onto your fire escape with a practiced ease.
He finds the window to your apartment left wide open and climbs through it himself. Dex looks around your bedroom, seeing the familiar grey sheets hazardously thrown across the bed from when you overslept this morning, leaving it unmade. Carefully making his way around your room, he stops at your vanity, examining the new pictures you have stuck to the mirror alongside the old ones Dex has already seen before.
As he reaches for the closet doors, he stops in his tracks when a piece of blue fabric lying on the floor catches his eye. He bunches the soft lace-lined cotton material between his fingers as he brings it to his nose, deeply inhaling your scent. Dex clenches his jaw and balls up his fists even tighter, feeling the primal urges stirring deep within him.
He hears your voice from the other side of the front door, still talking on the phone as you shove your key into the lock. Dex stuffs your panties into his pocket before he leaves the same way he came in.
Thursday
Dex has been staring into the dark window of your apartment for an hour now.
With a few errands of his own to run earlier, Dex couldn’t follow you to work or even drop by your office building to watch you have lunch at your desk today. But having your work schedule memorized, he knows you should be home by now.
Your bedroom window was wide open yet again, and it beckoned Dex across the street like a siren’s song.
He ignores every rational thought that screams at him not to as he crosses the short distance from his side of the street to yours.
Climbing through your window, Dex’s eyes quickly adjust to the darkness of the room, looking around to see no one in sight. He instead finds a trail of clothes leading out of the room like breadcrumbs down the hallway, where he sees a sliver of light peaking through the bathroom door.
You are home.
Instead of turning around like he told himself he should’ve, Dex continues to follow the sound of the shower running, carefully making his way down the hall. Right outside the bathroom lies another pair of discarded panties. It’s nearly instinctual now for him to bend down and pick them up to add to his growing collection in his bedside drawer back at his apartment.
With the bathroom door left slightly ajar, Dex nudges it gently, further opening it for him to look inside.
You were obstructed behind the glass from the condensation clinging to the shower door, but he’s still able to make out the suds of soap cascading down your body as you bathe yourself. Standing under the stream of warm water, he can visibly see the tension dissipating from your shoulders. Your body wash clings to the humidity of the small space, enticing Dex further into the bathroom. His hands itch to touch you, wishing they were running all over you instead of your own.
Dex nearly reaches for the shower door handle when he hears the sound of your phone ringing from your bedroom, breaking him out of his trance.
He retreats back to your room to find your phone charging on your dresser, lit up with a call from your father. You must be speaking to him again. Dex watches the call go to voicemail before he picks up your phone and unlocks it. He smiles to himself. Of course, your passcode remains the same even after all this time.
After looking through your messages and finding nothing exciting among the threads with your coworkers, Dex swipes open your camera roll to see the recent food you’ve been eating, the bars you’ve been frequenting, and the friends you’ve been hanging out with.
“You could’ve used the door, you know.”
Too distracted catching himself up on your life, Dex didn’t hear the shower shut off. Nor did he hear your footsteps enter the room.
“You know where I usually leave the key,” you say.
This was an issue Dex kept having with you—he let his guard down.
Dex looks to see you illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. You’re only clad in a towel with your arms crossed over your chest, looking at him like he were a child caught with his hand in the candy jar. He feels the blood draining from his face and remains frozen in the shadows.
“I should go,” is all he says as he begins to back away toward the window.
“Why even come at all then?” You stop him before he can leave again.
A beat of silence passes before Dex admits, “I needed to.”
You reach over to flip on the light switch.
“Don’t.” Dex switches the lamp off before you could get a good look at his face. But you ignore his warning and turn the light back on.
Dex can’t tear his eyes away from yours as you approach, worried about what they might tell him once you see him up close. But all they hold is sorrow; the sight of the fully healed scar across his cheek breaks your heart all over again.
“Oh, Ben.” You caress his face gently, and he immediately leans into your touch.
Dex caves in, pulling you into his arms and locking you into a tight hug like someone would come and rip you away from him. “I needed to see you,” he mumbles into your hair.
“Seems like you’ve been seeing me just fine,” you say, nodding toward the open window that faces his apartment.
He opens his mouth to question how you could’ve known, but you beat him to it.
“After hearing about an inmate escaping from Rikers merely hours before an attempt is made on the mayor’s life by a sniper, it was pretty easy to figure out whose prying eyes have been watching from across the street.” You know him all too well—it kinda scares him. “I missed you, too,” you peck his lips.
One kiss was all it took for his entire resolve to break.
Dex flattens his hands against your spine to pull you in for a kiss again. Your lips meet in a hungry, needy clash of tongues, making your knees nearly buckle.
You only pull away when you feel your towel loosen around your body, threatening to unravel.
“Wanna let me get some clothes on?” you ask between giggles, attempting to pull away from Dex as you readjust.
“Why would I wanna do that?” he barely budges, firmly keeping you flush against his chest.
“I’m still very much naked under this.” you raise a brow.
“And you’re still wearing too much if you ask me,” he lowers his head to your neck, letting the faint scent of shea butter lingering on your skin flood his senses. But then Dex feels the uneven skitter of your pulse when he softly presses his lips to your jugular.
“What is it?” Dex asks, searching for an answer in your eyes. He can read you as well as his favorite book; there’s not much you could hide from him if you really tried.
“A lot can change in a year,” is all you say.
He certainly did.
Dex was fit before, but he’s practically doubled in size since. The thin material of his shirt stretches across his broad chest, the sleeves contouring his bulging biceps, while his sweatpants hang low on his hips, hugging his deliciously thick thighs.
“I can see,” Dex grins, sliding his hand down to your lower back, “You somehow got more beautiful,” he tells you, planting a kiss on your cheek.
You involuntarily roll your eyes, “you’re just saying that,” you mutter.
“Oh am I now?” Dex’s brows stitch together incredulously, “I kinda find that hard to believe when that new coworker of yours tries to find every excuse under the sun just to come and talk to you. He spends more time leaning in the doorway of your office than he does at his own desk.”
You laugh. How long has he been watching?
“Brian’s just a friend.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve seen how he looks at you. I mean, he was practically drooling when you came in yesterday wearing that baby blue dress.” It’s not like Dex could forget, even if he wanted to—it took everything in him not to put a bullet between Brian’s eyes as he walked to his car after clocking out.
“A lot can change in a year but what I feel about you hasn’t.” Dex says, “Unless it’s how you feel about me that’s changed,” you can visibly see the worry weighing on his shoulders.
“I wouldn’t have left the window open for you all these nights if it had,” you smile.
Dex kisses you again, but this time softer—slower. He gently cups your face, deepening the kiss as you crane your neck. Dex runs his tongue across your bottom lip, tasting the minty mouthwash you had rinsed with before you found him in your room.
Your hands travel up his chest, and it intimidates you a bit, feeling the difference in his size from the last time you saw him—felt him. Dex lowers himself to grab the back of your thighs and hoists you off the ground in one swift motion. You gasp into his mouth, feeling your feet leave the ground, and grab onto Dex’s shoulders. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, and you grab his face eagerly accepting.
Dex takes his time walking over to your bed like he wanted you to savor every moment just as he was.
He sits down at the edge of your bed with you straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. You only part from his lips to catch your breath. Dex chases after your lips, desperate for more, forgetting he needed to breathe himself. He opens his eyes to find you looking at him.
You run a hand through his hair, slightly tugging his head back. Dex’s low-lidded lashes flutter as he grips the soft plush on your thighs, trying to fight those primal urges yet again. He’s waited this long to have you in his arms again; he didn’t want to rush this moment with you.
“My beautiful, beautiful angel,” Dex mutters as he drags you by your thighs higher up on his lap, seating you right on top of the bulge tenting his pants.
He begins littering kisses across your chest, and you arch into his touch.
“Dex,” you sigh, carding your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.
“Yeah?” he lowly draws out.
“Touch me.”
“I am,” he laughs.
“Don’t be such fucking tease. Not now, been too long,” the second half of that sentence came out as a whine.
Dex slides his hand under your towel, carefully dragging his hand across the skin of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.
“Like this you mean?” he spreads your folds, softly petting your clit.
Dex slips two of his fingers inside of you, musing as he watches your face contort with pleasure. He languidly curled his fingers inside of you, moving at a slow come-hither motion as your hips begin to rock against his hand.
He croons, feeling your warm, wet walls open up for him. Dex keeps his eyes locked on you as you desperately grind against his hands, wishing he’d move his fingers. But Dex knows that’d be too easy. He knows your body too well; he could definitely make you cum with his hands tied behind his back.
“That’s it, pretty girl, get yourself off for me.” his arm flexes with each gentle stroke of his digits against your gummy walls.
“Dex, please,” You desperately whine as he pulls his fingers away just enough to stay gloved by your pussy but just missing that sweet spot inside of you.
He finally gave in to your pleas and sank his fingers the rest of the way until his middle and ring fingers were knuckle deep inside of you.
You buried your head into Dex’s shoulder as you gush onto his hand. Dex slowly pumps his fingers, hitting that soft spongy spot inside of you every time. You grab onto his arm, gently digging your nails into his skin as you feel yourself get closer to coming.
He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight, calculated circles, and you cling to Dex’s shoulders tighter. He flips you onto the bed, lying you down while keeping his fingers buried inside of you.
His eyes stay trained on your face as he hovers over you.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Dex whispers in your ear, “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum for me.” You feel him smile against your skin as your hips rise from the bed, chasing after that high. Your back arches and your thighs tremble. Your walls spasm around Dex’s fingers as they ferociously fuck you through your orgasm. The harmony of your whiny moans and obscene, slick squelching from between your legs filled Dex’s ears euphoniously. He basks in your beautiful sounds.
Your fingers wrapping around his wrist gets Dex to slow down before he slips his wet fingers out of your heat. Dex examines his glistening fingers as they catch the moonlight, coated with your arousal, before bringing them to his mouth and licking your juices clean off his hand.
“God, I’ve missed the taste of you,” he says before lowering his head to your neck, softly licking and nipping your skin between his teeth. Dex presses open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat as he inches a hand up your thigh, pushing your towel open further. His hand continues the rest of the way up your body, until the rest of the towel unravels.
Dex sits back on his haunches, taking in your bare figure laid out before him like a gift he just unwrapped, and runs a hand through his hair.
As Dex’s eyes slowly drink you in, you were suddenly hyper aware of how exposed you feel while he was still fully clothed. You attempt to re-cover yourself, but Dex stops you by pinning your arms to the mattress beside your head.
“Oh, darling, don’t go trying to hide from me now,” he darkly smiles. Dex begins to make his way down your body, alternating between soft kisses and love bites.
He releases your arms to let his hands roam all over you, groping and kneading every part of your body. His calloused hands cupped your breasts, humming in delight as he welcomed the weight of them in his hands.
Dex buries his face between the valley of your breasts, licking and sucking your skin to leave red splotches that would blossom into purple bruises. Dex was careful of where he placed them, making sure you’d just barely be able to hide them; only visible to those staring hard at your cleavage—like a certain coworker of yours.
He rolls his thumbs over your pearled nipples, tweaking them between his deft fingers. You yelp, nearly grinding your hips against his clothed thigh.
Dex settles between your legs, shouldering them wider apart to make room for his broad frame. He kisses each of your thighs, directing them over his shoulders. Without hesitation, he laps at your folds, tasting the remnants of your previous orgasm. Dex hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer to his face, burying his head deeper into your pussy. Your legs threaten to close around his head, the skin of your inner thighs scratching the stubble on his cheeks. But Dex’s arms barely budged, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Dex closed his eyes, losing himself in the taste of you on his tongue, gushing into his mouth like a never-ending fountain.
You could feel the growing wetness sticking to your thighs as Dex’s drool mixes with your slick, making a mess of the sheets below you. Dex brings his free hand between your legs, spreading your lips to tongue your labia.
His tongue weasels inside of you, and his nose bumps your clit, making you buck your hips against his mouth. Dex flattens one of his arms across your stomach, pinning you back to the bed. You tried to wriggle out of his hold, not because you wanted him to let go but to get him to exert more of his strength. You mewl, your head spinning as he keeps you locked in this position.
“Fuck, baby—you’re gonna make me cum again,” you moan. Your fingers comb through his hair, letting your nails gently scratch his scalp as you grip onto his dirty blonde locks.
Dex growls back in response, hungrily sucking on your clit. His tongue worked relentlessly, languidly swirling the bundle of nerves in his mouth. You cried out Dex’s name and roughly pulled on his hair, making him groan into your mound. The vibrations from his mouth send jolts of electricity up your spine, and your toes curl.
Your upper body flailed and jerked as your lower half was kept pressed against the mattress. Dex lapped up your cum, gladly drinking down your release until he felt the tense quiver of your thighs around his ears.
Dex sits up, and you look at him through your lashes, the lower half of his face wet with your juices. You watch as he licks his lips and wipes his mouth of your essence before he grabs the back of his shirt and tears it off over his head.
Your eyes run down the expanse of his chest to his defined abdomen, flexing with every slow breath he takes. You watch the muscles in his arms ripple under his skin as he begins to push his sweatpants down his hips.
Fuck me.
Dex looks up at you and laughs, “I’m getting there, sweetheart. Mind a little patience?”
Fuck, you said that out loud. No backing down now.
You slide off the bed and stand in front of him, “I’ve been patient enough, Poindexter, don’t you think?” You grab the waistband of his boxers and pull him close.
Dex brings his lips to yours, and your hands push his boxers down his thighs, freeing his dick from its confines. You take him into your hand, making him moan into your mouth. You run your thumb over the leaky slit, smearing his precum over his shaft. You twist and jerk your wrist as Dex throws his head back, giving you access to his neck. You lick a stripe up the side of his throat before tugging his earlobe between your teeth. You softly litter kisses across his neck before you return the favor and suck a bruise above his Adam’s apple.
“Fuck,” Dex sighs as he rocks his hips into your hand. He picks you up once again, guiding your legs around his waist. “I need to be inside of you,” Dex mutters against your neck, “need to feel you,” he says as he climbs onto your bed with you still clinging onto him like a sloth hanging on a tree branch. Dex sits with you in his lap, resting his cock between your wet folds. You reach between your bodies to take his cock into your hand again, rising out of his lap to guide his tip to your sopping core.
You bite your bottom lip as you feel the blunt head of his cock pushing into you. Dex roughly grunts, taking hold of your hips in both hands, trying to keep himself from slamming you down onto his lap in one go.
“Attagirl,” Dex deeply sighs, “just take it easy,” he soothingly rubs your back. His eyes fall to where your bodies connect, watching the way your pussy slowly sucks his cock the rest of the way in.
Your eyes screw shut as you drop your forehead to rest against his, feeling him fully sheathed inside of your warm cunt.
Dex wraps his arm around you, wanting to feel impossibly close to you. But even balls deep inside of you wasn’t enough for him—he wanted more. More of you.
“Holy shit, you fit around me just so perfectly,” his voice reverberates in your ear, “It’s like you were made for me.”
You hum in agreement, moving your legs from beneath you to flatten your feet on the bed and grab onto his neck.
“Just for you,” you tell him as you roll your hips.
Dex drops his hand to your lower back, letting you set the pace. You lean back, resting a hand on his thigh behind you to steady yourself as you rock your hips.
“That’s it, angel, take what you need," he rasps. "I'm all yours to use," he tells you. You moan at his words, throwing your head back with a lustful smile. You bring your lips back to Dex’s, and he swallows your sensual whimpers and cries.
You push him back onto the mattress, and his hands on your waist move south to cup your ass as Dex angles his hips up into yours. The tip of his cock easily finds your sweet spot, and you cling onto him once more. You let Dex take control, thrusting up into you at a faster—more desperate rhythm.
“Oh god, Ben, please,” you pant.
A deep growl rumbles in his chest. He slides his hands up your back, locking you into a bear hug as his thighs flex beneath you with every thrust of his hips. Your breathy whines and broken moans fill Dex’s ears while his cock repeatedly bullies your g-spot.
A smile spreads across Dex’s face as he watches you completely lose yourself on his cock. He pushes you back onto the bed, never slipping out of you as he fucks you into the mattress. He hooks an arm beneath your hips, spearing into you while using his other hand to press his thumb to your clit.
“God, you’re so wet. I can feel how close you are from the way you’re soaking me,” he says, reveling in the way your pussy pulses around him.
“M’so close…fill me up so good—feels so fucking good,” you slur.
A guttural moan rips from your throat, and your hips desperately buck into Dex’s. Your walls clamp around him as you cum. Dex nearly cums himself and quickly pulls out of you, making you whine from the sudden loss of contact.
He doesn’t leave you untouched for long, however, with his hand finding its way between your thighs once again, slipping his fingers back inside of you. You shoot upright and grab onto Dex’s arm, closing your legs around his hand.
“Dex, it’s too much please. I can’t-” tears pricked your eyes, feeling overstimulated.
“Oh but I know you can, darling. Need you to stay wet and ready for me.” Dex says like it takes much for you when it comes to him anyway.
Dex stands before you can process the emptiness his hand leaves you with. He wraps an arm around your middle, manhandling you onto your knees at the edge of the bed. Your head spins from having him toss you around like a ragdoll.
Dex brings his cock back to your slit, gently tapping your clit with his cockhead, and you fall back against his chest. Dex pushes inside of you, enrapturing you once again. He grunts deeply, letting his breath fan over your shoulder, feeling the way your warm, wet walls open up just for him. His lips press languid kisses up the back of your neck as he holds you there, not moving—just leaving his cock buried deep inside of you. You try to move your hips with his tip curving deliciously into your sweet spot, but Dex tightens his hold on you, restricting your movements.
“Just look at yourself,” he gently grabbed your face and directed your eyes to the mirror across from your bed by the window. The same mirror Dex would watch you stand in front of for half an hour, contemplating your outfits. Looking at your reflection, your lower stomach pools with arousal, seeing the scene before you. Dex slowly draws his hips back, just barely leaving his tip inside of you before filling you up again, making you shudder. “My precious angel, so needy, all fucked out. All just for me,” he says lowly in your ear.
Dex hugs your shoulders, and you feel his bicep nearly close around your neck every time his arm flexes as he thrusts into you. You weren’t worried he’d hurt you, though he was fully capable of doing so in this position. Your hands rest on his forearm, but you don’t stop him, and just roll your head back onto his shoulder.
“I’m so close, baby, please don’t stop,” you reach behind you, tangling your fingers in his hair, “Wanna cum again—wanna cum with you.”
His eyes were glued to your reflection in the mirror, intensely watching you as you fall apart. Dex’s arm around your waist pulls you back onto his cock, hitting that sweet spot inside you with such precision every time he bottoms out.
“Need me to fill you up?” he asks, and you slowly nod. “Gonna stuff you so full of my cum you’re gonna be dripping for days afterwards. Brian won’t have a doubt in his mind who you belong to then,” your velvety walls flutter around Dex, and he laughs. “Oh, you like the sound of that, huh? What a fucking tease you are.”
Dex’s hand reaches down to your puffy clit, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers. Your orgasm crashes into you like a freight train, and you see stars. Dex continues to pump his cock into you, his hips stuttering as he feels the damn begin to break inside of him. Dex sharply pounded into you, the skin of your ass roughly slapping against his lower stomach.
If Dex still wasn’t holding you, you would’ve fallen forward face first onto the mattress, your legs unable to hold you up as you cum for the fourth time tonight. Warm ropes of Dex’s cum coat your inner walls in white. You quietly chanted his name, your mind growing hazy, only able to think of the man wrapped around you. Dex leaves kisses on your shoulder as his dick begins to soften, and he slowly eases out of you.
Dex hooks an arm beneath your thighs, effortlessly scooping you up bridal style. You settle in his arms, circling your own around his neck as you kiss him.
“Ben-”
He interrupts you because he doesn’t need to hear you say it. “I know,” and he passionately kisses you.
Not wanting to let you go, Dex carries you out of your bedroom to the bathroom. He sits you on the bathroom counter, starting up the shower before opening the door to step inside. He holds his hand out for you, which you quickly accept, allowing him to pull you into the shower with him.
After your second shower of the night, you were finally able to dress yourself in one of Dex’s old Quantico shirts and now lay with your head on his chest.
The sounds of the city coming in through the window were drowned out by the sounds of Dex’s heartbeat in your ears. You feel him trace spiraling shapes on your skin with the tip of his fingers.
He breaks the comfortable silence to ask, “When did you start smoking again?”
“Few weeks after you were indicted. It’s a good distraction,” you answer, gently stroking the blonde hairs on his chest.
“It’s not good for you,” Dex says, but you can hear the hint of amusement in his tone.
You lift your head to look at him, “When has that stopped me?”
a/n: thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed <33 feedback is appreciated!!
Summary: Bucky was just too big and he was desperate for just one more
Warnings: Size kink, filthy talk, overstimulation, soft dom with a filthy mouth Bucky, praising and possession themes. Reader is AFAB.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
“God, look at you,” Bucky groaned, voice like gravel in your ear, deep and filthy. “Tryin’ so hard to take my cock, baby. So fuckin’ tight around me. So full.”
You whimpered, thighs trembling on either side of his hips. He was so deep, and it still wasn’t all of him. You could feel the heft of him inside you—stretching you open inch by devastating inch, your pussy clenching around the thick girth of him like you’d never get used to it.
“I can’t-” you could barely breathe, face flushed, mouth open as you clung to his shoulders. “Bucky, you’re too big–fuck—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, dark and soothing at once. “You are. Look at that greedy little pussy takin’ me, baby. So desperate for it.” His metal hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face down to focus on where his cock was splitting you open. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight I can barely fuckin’ move. Feels like you're suffocating my cock.”
He rocked his hips just enough to push in another inch and you gasped, your eyes rolling back as your nails dug into his skin. He was buried almost to the hilt now, only a breath away from bottoming out—and you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he purred, brushing his lips against your ear. “Almost there. Gonna split you open real slow so you feel every fuckin’ inch. You love it, don’t you? Love sittin’ on this cock like it’s made for you.” You moaned, the sound shameless and wrecked.
“Say it,” he rasped. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” you gasped. “Fuck, Bucky—it’s yours—always yours—”
“That’s my girl,” he hissed. “Keep sayin’ it. You want the rest? You want all of me?”
You nodded frantically, tears in your eyes from how good the pressure was. “Then take it.” His hands gripped your hips and slammed you down the last inch with a sharp snap of his hips that knocked the air from your lungs. “Oh fuck—” you cried, your whole body shuddering. “There it is,” he groaned, his head dropping back. “You feel that, baby? Feel me balls deep inside this pretty little cunt?”
You screamed, clenching around him hard enough to make him choke on a groan, and he laughed–dark, wrecked, breathless.
“Shit—you’re so fuckin’ tight. So wet. Drippin’ all over me. Fucking christ you're dripping down my thighs baby, so fucking messy for me. My sweet pussy’s just beggin’ to be used, huh?”
“Please,” you gasped, rutting against him, desperate for more friction, more anything.
“You beg so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured. “Alright, baby—hold on.”
He started moving. Slow, filthy thrusts that dragged every thick inch of him along your fluttering walls, his cock stretching you open again and again, hitting so deep you were seeing stars.
“Can feel you milkin’ me, fuck—your pussy knows who it belongs to,” he gritted, voice barely holding together. “You want me to fill you up, huh? Make you even more of a mess?”
“Yes-yes, Bucky-please–”
“That’s right,” he snarled, thrusts picking up, his cock pounding into you now, wet and obscene. “Gonna fuck you stupid on this cock, sweetheart. Gonna fill you so full you won’t be able to think about anything else. You won’t walk right for days. Just gonna lie there all fucked-out and dripping.”
The way he growled it in your ear had your orgasm ripping through you before you could even beg, your walls fluttering and clenching hard around him. You screamed his name, your body shuddering violently in his lap.“That’s it,” he grunted, thrusts stuttering as he chased his own high. “Fuck-gonna–ah-fuckin’ take it, baby–take all my cum–ah shit!”
He came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he groaned against your shoulder, holding you down on him while you both trembled and breathed through the aftershocks. You were still whimpering, hips twitching in his lap, overstimulated but buzzing, drunk on the stretch and the heat of him pulsing inside you.
Bucky kissed the side of your neck, lips tender now. “Still with me, sweetheart?” he whispered. You hummed softly in response. “That’s it. You did so good for me.” You nodded, dazed and boneless, slumping into him with a ruined little smile. “Fuck,” he murmured, holding you tight. “You really are made for me.”
You were limp in his lap, still full of him, dazed and slick and barely breathing right. Your thighs twitched around his hips. Your cheek rested on his chest, and Bucky stroked your back with one hand while the other cradled the back of your head, murmuring quiet praise like a balm.
“That’s it, baby. You were perfect. Took all of me like a good girl,” he whispered, lips brushing your temple. “So fuckin’ proud of you.” You mumbled something weak, dreamy, nearly nonverbal. All you could feel was the sticky heat between your legs, the slow softening of his cock inside you, the throb of being so full. You thought it was over. You thought you’d be wrapped in a blanket, cleaned up, and kissed to sleep.
But then Bucky shifted.
You blinked, weakly clinging to him as he lifted you in his arms. Easily. Effortlessly. Like you weighed nothing at all. “Bucky?” you asked, voice hoarse. He looked down at you with that dangerous little half-smile—the one that never meant anything innocent.
“You think I’m done with you, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low, syrupy, teasing. “Nah. You were so fuckin’ good for me, lettin’ me stretch you out like that. Gotta reward you, don’t I?”
“Bucky–” you whimpered, squirming in his arms. Your pussy was aching, soaked, overstimulated from the orgasm he’d just wrung out of you with his cock. “I–I don’t think I can-”
“Yeah, you can,” he said, kissing your cheek. “You’re gonna take everything I give you, baby. Gonna lie there like my sweet little meal and let me eat this pussy ‘til you’re cryin’.”
You shuddered.
He laid you down on the bed with so much care you almost forgot what he just said–until he dropped to his knees at the edge and dragged you down with firm hands, hooking your legs over his shoulders like he owned you.
“Look at this fuckin’ mess,” he groaned, spreading you open with his thumbs, staring at the creamy slick dripping from your spent cunt. “So wet. So fucked out. Still twitchin’ for me.”
“Bucky, I’m–sensitive-”
“Oh I know, baby.” He leaned in, breath warm on your soaked folds. “Gonna take it slow. Real nice and slow darlin'.”
And then his mouth was on you. Hot, soft licks that made you sob, back arching as your fingers scrambled for the sheets. He was relentless. Lapping up every drop of his cum spilling out of you, tongue curling right against your clit like he already knew exactly how to undo you all over again. “You taste like us,” he growled into your pussy. “So fuckin’ sweet. Gonna lick this pretty cunt ‘til you’re beggin’ me to stop.”
Your thighs clenched around his head; he just growled and shoved them apart again with a bruising grip. “Keep those legs open for me, baby. Lemme ruin you properly.”
You whimpered his name, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes as his tongue flicked and sucked and fucked you open like he was starving. Every pass of his tongue over your clit made your stomach twist, your hips jerk, your whole body try to crawl away from the pleasure. But he just grabbed you by the hips and dragged you right back onto his face. “Don’t run from me,” he murmured, voice muffled. “You wanted it, remember? Said you needed me. Said you wanted everything I could give ya. So be my good girl and take it babe. ”
Your second orgasm crashed down hard–almost too hard. You cried out, thighs shaking violently around his head, your fingers fisting the sheets as your body convulsed with it.
But he didn’t stop.
Not even when you sobbed his name. Not even when your legs kicked weakly. Not even when the tears slipped free. “Shhh,” he murmured, breath warm and teasing as he finally slowed his licks. “You’re okay. Just let it happen, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
Your voice was barely coherent through the wrecked gasps.
“Too much–Bucky–it’s too much-”
He kissed your inner thigh, tongue dragging softly up your folds like an apology and a promise all at once.
“I know, baby,” he said gently. “Just one more. One more for me... just-- just need one more baby please. ”
He looked up at you, eyes completely glazed over as he begged, then his mouth was back on you—merciless.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
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｡𖦹°‧ synopsis: you just want to enjoy one good night out with your friends, your boyfriend, and some dangerously good cocktails—but some guys never learned to take a hint. luckily for you, joaquin’s never been shy when it comes to reminding everyone that you’re completely and utterly spoken for
-> pairings: falcon!joaquin torres x fem!reader
-> disclaimers: fluff, cursing, post cap 4 and thunderbolts (but in my fic, we don’t suffer through a sambucky fallout), no use of y/n, established relationship, slightly suggestive, use of pet names (baby, love, etc), protective joaquin, flirting from unwanted parties, kate and yelena being annoyingly loving bffs, reader lowkey just wants to rip joaquin’s clothes off
-> word count: 4k
-> song rec: jealous by nick jonas
-> a/n: no thoughts, just danny ramirez in the karol g music video, dear god. that, and joaquin’s hands on your waist like they’re permanently branded there
Sam Wilson had outdone himself.
The rooftop venue was stylish and vibrant, perched high above Brooklyn with a view overlooking the New York skyline as the setting sun glowed a soft orange and pink. String lights hang overhead, casting a golden glow over the crowd and mixing with the soft rainbow of colors emitting from the DJ’s strobe lights beside his booth. Mellow beats spilled out into the early party, weaving through the laughter and chatter of the guests.
The bar, which is the “real main attraction” according to Yelena, is polished. Expert bartenders and mixologists reside behind the counter, crafting concoctions that are named after Sam himself and his close inner circle; “Captain’s Courage,” “Redwing’s Glide,” “The Winter Sour,” and the one you’ve been most excited to try, “Falcon’s Flight.”
Nearby, low velvet couches and cocktail tables form islands where heroes, intel, and allies lounge, swapping stories and drinks.
It was Wilson’s idea for an after-mission-party, to recognize the collective effort of merged teams in retrieving an important object overseas. While the party was originally for Avengers, inner operatives, and close friends or family, the guest list extended vastly to people who work behind the scenes and now mingle among Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.
It isn’t a gala or a press event, but a celebration—a rare night to unwind and have some fun after weeks of chaos and work.
Stepping through the glass doors to the rooftop and beneath an intriguingly big archway of balloons, you are engulfed by loud conversations and the hum of music.
At your sides, Yelena and Kate take in the sight with just as much surprise and wonder. Yelena’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Kate’s with disbelief.
“Fancy,” The blonde widow says, scanning the scenery. “I’m already planning on starting a fight near the DJ booth.”
“You gonna want me to break it up?” You mumble, unable to take your attention off of the elegant decorations and deliciously warm scent of drinks in fancy glasses.
“I want you to record it.” She says right back and you both snicker quietly. “Seriously though, don’t wander off far. I need you by me the whole night if I want to survive this thing.”
“Don’t listen to her. You should wander far,” Kate teasingly nudges you with her elbow and nods in the direction of the bar. “Especially wander towards him.”
Your gaze follows hers to the center of the room where Joaquin talks with Bob and Sam, that casual smile plastered on his face as he speaks.
He’s clad in black slacks and a loose white button up sleeve, save for the top few buttons that he’d purposefully left undone for some unknown reason (not that you were complaining). His curls are prominent on his head and a singular gold chain dangles from his neck. You snap your mouth shut at the sight, willing yourself not to drool. He looks incredible and you struggle to understand how he gets more and more handsome everyday.
“Don’t be shy now.” Kate says playfully.
“She is shy. Look, her face is getting warm.” Yelena jokes, raising her eyebrows with a smirk.
“It is not.” You snap.
“Yes, it very much is.”
“Shut up.” With a roll of your eyes, you turn towards your best friends. “How do I look?”
“You look good.” Kate nods confidently and Yelena hums in agreement. “Irresistible, even.”
“Thank you.” You breathe gently before twisting around in your black heels.
Straightening your shoulders, you adjust the straps to your black mini dress that cuts off mid thigh, revealing just enough leg to be considered scandalous. You inhale sharply because you find yourself suddenly nervous to greet your boyfriend even though you’d literally seen him merely hours ago at work. With as much self-encouragement as you can muster, you make your way to him through the crowd.
Joaquin’s gaze finds you immediately, pulling away from the conversation the second his eyes land on you. His smile widens on his cheeks, and he excuses himself from his friends to start off towards you.
“Mi amor,” He hums with a small tilt of his head as his eyes scan your outfit from top to bottom. “You look gorgeous.”
The feeling of his eyes on you—drinking you in like you’re a glass of wine—is enough to make your knees buckle beneath you. You never quite learned how to keep your composure around him. “Quin, you look so handsome.”
“It’s not too much?” He asks, placing his arms on your waist to tug you closer.
You shake your head with a small hum, hands gliding up the front of his shirt to fiddle with the unbuttoned buttons. “Not too much—too little.”
He makes a deep noise of satisfaction at your comment, a smirk curling up at his lips. “You like it?”
“Of course I like it.” Your hands slide up to his shoulders before gently wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him close.
With his lips now hovering against yours, he says, “Did it just for you.”
“Oh.” You tease. Then his lips connect with yours, pressing you into a singular kiss.
Whatever he’s been drinking tastes sweet in your mouth and you hum at the flavor. The kiss, though short, is passionate and you both figure you could stay forever that way. Though, as much as you want to, you can’t kiss in the middle of the crowd all night, so you pull away with a sweet smile.
He groans playfully at the lack of your lips on his.
“Later.” You say, adjusting the collar to his shirt.
“Can’t wait for later.” He mumbles with a sideways smile.
Joaquin always gets painfully soft around you, though he isn’t far from it normally. His clinginess seems to skyrocket whenever he’s in your proximity, needing to keep his hands on you no matter what the two of you are doing. You always joke that he’s like a puppy in that way because he’ll follow you around everywhere, if it means he won’t have to be without you.
“You gotta try,” You smile, gently running your hands through his hair to fix it. “Right now, we’re celebrating you.”
“And you.” He quickly corrects. “We couldn’t have finished the mission without you, baby.”
As Mission Intel Lead, you aren’t necessarily a hero like your friends and boyfriend are—shining under the spotlight and prying cameras of the press—but you’re extremely important in your own way. While everyone else’s boots are on the ground, you’re feeding them information through their earpieces, from tactical layouts to enemy movements. You’ve earned a reputation as the sharpest mind behind the scenes and there’s a chance that if a mission goes smoothly, it’s because you’re two steps ahead of everyone else the whole time.
“Says you, Mr. Falcon,” You smile, dropping your hand to his so you can give it a light squeeze. “I wanna try the drink Sam named after you.”
“Oh, you wanna drink me?” He raises his eyebrow. “Querida, say the word and we can leave right now.”
With a small eye roll and a gentle tilt of your head, you grin, “You wish.”
“I do,” He nods. “I really do wish.”
“Joaquin.” You laugh lightly and he does the same, watching your smile brighten.
The sound of footsteps grows louder in your direction and you both pull apart to watch Sam, looking as fancy as ever in a black and white tux, maneuver towards you with a knowing smile.
“Well, hello,” Sam smiles, tugging you into a side hug the moment he sees you. “Was wondering when you were gonna show up so lover-boy over here would stop looking over his shoulder for you.”
“Was not.” Joaquin sheepishly smiles, the apples on his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.
“You were too,” Sam points. “Which is why I hate to break this up, but we’ve got people asking about you, Falcon.”
“Right now?” He asks.
“No, tomorrow,” Sam sarcastically comments. “Yes right now, man.”
“Okay, okay,” Joaquin quickly turns back to you, his hand squeezing the side of your arm gently. “I’m gonna go take care of this, then I’ll find you. Or you find me. Either one works. You gonna be alright?”
You grin at his soft rambling, nothing out of the ordinary for him. You reach up, adjusting the chain on his neck so it sits flat. “Of course, my love. I’ve got Kate and Lena waiting for me.”
“Tell them I said hi.” He leans down to press a fast but sweet kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
You hum, reciprocating his smile before he and Sam take back off into the crowd. Just as you’re turning around to walk back to your friends, they beat you to it, joining you at your side.
“You two are disgusting.” Yelena says.
“Disgustingly adorable.” Kate corrects.
“No, pretty sure I just said disgusting,” Yelena jokes, her voice monotone.
You roll your eyes before grabbing onto both of their hands. “Come on, I need a drink.”
“I second that.” Kate perks up, letting her hand go limp as you drag her and Yelena off into the direction of the free bar.
The three of you do just that—huddled at the bar like self-appointed critics, spending your first hour of the party sampling every custom drink and pretending you have the credentials to back up your reviews.
“I wonder if Bucky actually had any say in what his drink tasted like,” you muse, happily sucking the last of your drink through the straw. “‘The Winter Sour’ is just…so sour.”
“I doubt it,” Yelena replies, swirling the remnants of her own drink. “I overheard him and Sam arguing about the name on the phone the other day. Bucky thought it was a personal attack.”
You and Kate both break into quiet laughter, muffled behind your cups.
“Okay,” you say, placing your empty glass down with conviction. “I know what we’re trying next.”
Kate clocks your determined stare at the drink menu and quickly downs the rest of her cocktail like a dare was issued. When the bartender glides over, you confidently order three “Falcon’s Flight” —no hesitation.
The drinks arrive moments later, a trio of vibrant ombré cocktails glowing like the same sunset just outside the windows. Shades of orange and pink swirl together beneath rims coated in glittering chili sugar, catching the light like something magical.
“Oh, this is good,” Kate murmurs with wide eyes, blinking through the surprise of the spice. “Like, dangerously good.”
Yelena takes a tentative sip and immediately grimaces. “Ugh. It’s too sweet.”
You just grin, cradling the glass. “Well, it is Joaquin’s,” you say, taking a much more enthusiastic sip.
Kate nods thoughtfully, glancing around at the other drinks on nearby trays—neutral tones of yellow, white, and pale gold. The others barely hold a candle to the pink hue glowing in your hands. “Explains the color choice.”
“I think it’s delicious.” You say with a shrug.
“That’s because you think he’s delicious.” Yelena teases, downing her drink anyway.
“Gross.” Kate mumbles.
“I do.” You say without shame.
You’re halfway through the sugary concoction when the empty space on your right grows occupied.
Landon. A tall blonde with blue eyes that have a habit of lingering in places they don’t belong. He works in the tech logistics division of the team, one of the behind the scenes brains who helps coordinate comms. He’s a smart guy, useful too, but he carries himself with far too much confidence for someone whose greatest heroic feat was troubleshooting encrypted routers.
You’ve run into him a few times—in the hallway, during briefings, on awkward elevator rides—but you never spoke to him directly. You did notice, though, the way his gaze focuses too long on the office secretaries as they pass or the way he watches you tie your hair up when it gets too hot. Tonight, he looks painfully aware of his own smug reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar.
“Ladies,” He says smoothly, sliding beside you with a drink in his hand and a smile that was clearly trying way too hard.
Kate offers him a polite nod, Yelena blinks once in response and you sip your drink slowly, hoping he’ll just greet you all and move on.
Wishful thinking.
Quickly and almost like it was first nature, he launches into some ridiculous joke that claims the three of you are “Earth’s Mightiest Threat,” which earns a pity-laugh from Kate and a blank stare from Yelena. Out of social habit, you give him a sympathetic smile but then you’re already looking past him to determine what drink you’re ordering next.
“You really pull that off,” he says, tone slick with something he drunkenly probably thought was charm. His eyes drag down your body in a slow, deliberate sweep that makes your skin crawl.
You shift uncomfortably, glancing between him and the other girls in the hope that maybe—maybe—he wasn’t talking to you. But then his gaze lands right back where it started: you.
“Me?” You ask, more out of sheer confusion than anything.
“Yeah,” he says and you immediately resist the urge to gag at the smell of alcohol wafting from his breath. “That dress looks good on you.”
You pause, the need to cringe coming naturally in his presence. Far too polite for your own good, you give him a nod that doesn’t even qualify as a thank-you.
“I know.” You reply, already turning your attention back to the bar and reaching for a napkin that you didn’t need.
Anyone in their right mind would have heard your snappy, hostile remark and automatically back off, understanding that you’re so clearly not interested. But, either it’s the drinks or simply a lack of social awareness, Landon is not catching the drift.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” He asks.
With a few blinks of disbelief at his utter determination, you sass, “We’re at a party with a lot of people so probably not.”
Your sarcastic comment went right in one of Landon’s ears and out the other. He smiles with a confidence that might've made you think he won the lottery. “Right,” He smacks his hand down on the table, standing with pride. “Catch you later, ladies.”
The moment he finally walks away, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “God, he was wasted.”
Yelena and Kate remain silent for a beat before the latter raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “Oh, he wanted you.”
“Told you, you look irresistible.” Kate adds.
“What?” You reply a little too quickly. “No, he was flirting with all of us.”
“Oh, come on,” Yelena scoffs. “He was not, his eyes were on you the whole time.”
“Ew, gross.” Your stomach twists in disgust.
“He’s always like that at parties,” Kate points. “No sense of awareness when it comes to flirting with girls, let alone ones in committed relationships.”
You nearly shudder at the lingering discomfort of his shameless flirting. “Whatever, he won’t come back.”
“Oh, believe me,” Kate arches her brow. “He’ll try.”
You let out a small scoff and shake your head, trying to brush off the feeling. In an effort to shift the energy, you joke, “He’s always so quiet in debriefings. That might’ve been the first time I’ve ever heard him speak.”
Your friends laugh too, Yelena bringing her drink up to her mouth for a sip. “I know right.”
“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” Kate chuckles.
The night carries on, warm and electric with the kind of celebratory buzz that made every second of that mission feel worth it.
You stand near the bar surrounded by your friends—Kate, Yelena, Sam, Bob, Bucky, and Joaquin—conversation flowing easily between the group, full of laughter, jabs, and the type of energy that only came after completing a mission together. Joaquin has his arm loosely wrapped around your waist while he chats with Bob, the casual touch a quiet but grounding reminder of his presence.
You’re mid-laugh, fully invested in whatever chaotic story Sam and Bucky are trading off telling, when the soft vibration of your phone buzzes from inside your purse. With a curious frown, you pull it out and glance at the screen—your smile falters slightly at the name lighting up the display.
“I’ve gotta take this,” You turn to Joaquin, holding it in front of him. “Work.”
He tilts his head, concern stretching across his features. “I can go with you.”
Quickly, you shake your head, not wanting your small phone call to take away from his celebration. “No, it’s fine, love. Just five minutes. I’ll be back, yeah?”
Without pressing, he nods and gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting you go, despite how much he ached to hold onto you longer.
You weave through the crowd, slipping out of some glass double doors and onto an empty balcony, where the music grows muffled and the night air chills your warm skin. You lean against the balcony ledge, answering the call with a hushed voice as you speak.
A few minutes pass of your boss speaking through the phone about something that could’ve easily been passed on through an email, and you’re wrapping up the conversation when you feel company—unwelcome but, unfortunately, familiar.
“Work calling?” A voice asks, just near your shoulder.
It wasn’t the second time Landon tried to make an advance towards you, again. He’d done so earlier when you and Kate stumbled off to the bathroom, the man opting to wait outside the door for you to come out. Only, you shot an “S.O.S” text to Yelena who distracted him to give you and Kate enough time to sneak back outside, in between heaps of giggles.
You tense, lowering the phone the moment your boss hangs up. “Yeah,” You blink at Landon, taking a small step away to increase the distance that he is so clearly trying to minimize. “Always seems to when I’m having fun.”
“I get that,” He nods, voice slightly more slurred than the last time he spoke to you. “Enjoying the party then?”
“Was.” You say quickly, hostility rolling off your tongue.
“I can keep you company.” He presses, shrugging his shoulders casually.
With a sharp inhale, you glance up at the night sky and hope it’ll give you the strength you need to not kick him in the ankles with your heel. “No thanks. I was just about to head inside anyways.”
“I’ll go with you.” He responds.
He is unbelievably relentless and somehow even more oblivious. Kate had been right; his persistence is quiet, but annoyingly steady. It’s not like you’re trying to entertain him or give him anything to work with either. You just hope he’d be socially aware enough to pick up on the vibe—or complete lack of one, to be correct.
“Landon,” you twist towards him with a shake of your head. “I have a boyfriend.”
And you’d think it would stop there.
Wrong.
“How come I haven’t seen him?” His shoulders drop, bottom lip pushing out from beneath his top one with a look that tells you he really just doesn’t care.
Despite the fact that you’d been with said boyfriend all night, the man in front of you was clearly too drunk to tell the difference between flirting and flat-out disinterest.
You open your mouth, preparing to curse him out, when soft footsteps sound from behind the two of you.
“You’re seeing him now.”
Joaquin.
His voice is calm but cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth it usually carries. You turn, relief washing over you like a wave as he stares down Landon. He looks different, not angry but protective as his eyes narrow and he walks towards you.
With ease, his hand instinctively settles on your waist, his thumb tracing gentle circles as if silently asking, ‘are you okay?’
You nod up at him, and his gaze shifts back to the blonde beside you.
“Oh, Torres,” Landon says, straightening his posture despite the tension radiating off him. “I didn’t realize you two were a thing.”
Joaquin practically scoffs.
Bullshit.
Everyone knows you two are together—he makes sure of that. Your boyfriend treats you like you’re every star in the galaxy wrapped into one, making it hard for him to stay grounded when he’s with you. He isn’t shy about showing it; loud in the best way, and more importantly, proud. There isn’t a single person in that entire building who doesn’t know he’s yours.
So he reads Landon’s lie right through his horribly fake white teeth.
“You need something, man?” Joaquin asks with a faux friendly tilt of his head, as his cheeks grow read with a jealous heat.
Landon blinks, pushing himself off of the balcony with pursed lips. “Just saying hi.”
Joaquin lets out a laugh—one obviously forced and sarcastic, but equally as hostile. “Yeah, you’re the third guy tonight who’s tried to corner her just so he could ‘say hi.’”
A warm flush spreads through your stomach at his words and the way his hand massages your hip protectively. You can’t take your eyes off him, studying the side of his face as his jaw clenches—whether consciously or not. His eyes aren’t dark, but they hold a sternness that warns the blonde while quietly reassuring you.
Landon, who seems to finally catch the hint, raises his hands in mock surrender and begins backing away. “Alright, alright, my bad. I’ll go.”
Joaquin nods once, slow and easy. “Right.”
Taking the hint, Landon retreats quickly, weaving through the crowd to put distance between himself and the two of you.
When he’s finally gone, you allow yourself a deep exhale as your shoulder muscles loosen. Joaquin turns towards you fully, his hand gently brushing your arm.
“You good?” He asks, eyebrows knitting in concern as he scans your face for any sign of discomfort.
You can’t help but smile up at him, the action coming instinctively. You don’t say anything, only nod your head as an answer. Your silence, accompanied by the way you stare up at him with sparkles in your pupils, makes him still.
He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk of suspicion as he side-eyes you. “What?”
“Nothin’.” You hum simply, reaching down to tangle your hands in his. “I was trying to get rid of him all night, y’know?”
Joaquin nearly grumbles at the mention of Landon. “I know. It’s not your fault, baby,” He spares a glance in the direction of the door where the other man has disappeared. “He should know better. They all should.”
You watch the way his scowl contorts into something similar to a frown.
“Is it not obvious that I’m your boyfriend?” He asks, his lips puffing out in a pout that makes you want to lean up and capture it between your own lips.
“Oh, believe me, they know,” You answer, reaching your hand up to run it gently through the curls on his head. “I just don’t think they care.”
He scoffs but his eyes are on you now, watching your face like he can’t be bothered looking anywhere else. “I’ll kick all of their asses.”
You hum out a noise of satisfaction, raising your eyebrows. “I’d like to watch that.”
“You would?”
“Mhm,” You smile. “You’re pretty hot when you’re jealous.”
His shoulders straighten, like your comment gave him an automatic confidence boost. “I am?”
You nod your head, fingers trailing down the sides of his face to brush over his soft skin gently. “You got all serious and scary. I never see you like that.”
“Cause I’ve got no reason to be,” He says, letting you run your fingers over his face like you’re just desperate to be that close. “Except for when weird guys flirt with my girl all night. I mean, I was right by you for half of them, that’s just ridiculous.”
A small giggle leaves your mouth, hands dropping to find his hands again. You twist one of the rings on his thumb, eyes blinking up at him with such admiration, you thinks you might explode.
Joaquin treats you with a kindness and devotion you once thought existed only in romance novels and movies. He worships the ground you walk on, and in moments like this, when every glance and touch is focused on your comfort and safety, you can’t help but feel like royalty.
“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, watching your gaze flicker across his face.
With a small shrug of your shoulders, you respond simply, “How lucky I am.”
“I see,” He nods, a playful smile stretching across his cheeks. He brings your hands up to his mouth, taking a moment to place a soft kiss on the back of each one. “I’d actually like to argue that I’m the lucky one. Clearly, every other guy thinks he’s got a shot, but I’m the only one who gets to hold you,”
A smirk curls up at your mouth, as you watch him plant kisses on your fingers like you’re a delicately crafted statue that he doesn’t want to risk damaging.
“I’m the only one who gets to kiss you,” His lips against your skin sends a vibration of goosebumps across your body. “To make love to you.”
Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach, his words igniting a heat that only Joaquin is capable of bringing to life. Your teeth find the corner of your inner cheek to chew on. “Quin,”
“Not much of a competition between me and them, right, mi amor?” His voice is sultry and flirtatious as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. He’s teasing you because he knows exactly what to say to make you squeeze your legs shut and leave you wanting more.
You’d take him right there if you weren’t publicly exposed thanks to the glass doors that revealed the two of you to the party like an open book. Instead, you squeeze his hand and tug him closer, chest lightly bumping against yours. “I’m yours.”
A hum leaves his mouth, his beautiful curls dropping over his forehead as he looks down at you. Completely enamored by the loving haze dancing across your eyes like smoke, he smiles, his arms finding their spot on your waist again. “Good.”
His fingers trail across your back, with a light touch that tells you he was doing it on purpose. It has your breath rattling in the back of your throat, burning with a thirst only he can quench.
“You wanna head back inside?” He asks, casually and composed.
You want to scold him for his blatantly obvious taunting. He knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it well. “You’re gonna get me all riled up and then ask if I wanna go back inside?”
Joaquin raises his eyebrow in an effort to pretend he hadn’t been whispering sweet nothings on purpose. “What do you mean?”
With a roll of your eyes, you nudge him on the arm. “You’re an asshole.”
He laughs, the sound warm as it bounces off of the balcony and through the chill air of the night. His smile nearly reaches his eyes, impossibly gorgeous in a way that makes you smile too. “I’m your asshole.”
“Ew.” You whine, but hold him close to you anyways. “Don’t say it like that.”
“How else am I supposed to say it?” He grins, head dipping to press a gentle kiss to the side of your cheek.
Your eyes flicker shut in satisfaction, just as his small path of kisses trails to your lips. When your mouths press against each other, you’re humming into the kiss, holding him there with a hand behind his neck.
The kiss is sweet—hungry—but sweet, how it always is with Joaquin. You kiss each other like it’s the first time you’ve ever done so. No matter how many moments your lips have met, they move in a unison that makes every shared exchange feel fresh and youthful.
You never get tired of it. It’s a pleasure that comes with a fervent beating of your heart and a bubbling of your stomach, like your insides are made out of the same sparkling champagne you’d long abandoned inside. Kissing him—being with him—makes you feel light on your feet, like you’re floating on Cloud 9.
“My girl.” He mumbles against your lips as the two of you slowly part.
“Always.” You say, leaning back to look at his face.
He licks his lips, playfulness glinting in his eyes. “You taste like sugar.”
You giggle as you grab his hand to begin tugging him back inside the party where all of your friends are waiting—Yelena, who you promised you wouldn’t abandon that night, likely more impatient than the rest.
“You’d know,” You respond. “I’ve been drinking ‘Falcon’s Flight’ all night.”
He lets you drag him, following behind like a puppy. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Summary: You broke up with Bucky months ago, but you can't stop calling him. He always picks up. He always comes to get you.
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: Some angst, exes to lovers, umm terrible men
a/n: Obviously inspired by the Hozier cover of Do I Wanna Know so maybe listen to that while you read (do it actually I'm commanding). Thank you for reading ily!! <3
Masterlist
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The sound of tires rounded out the weak remainder of sobs wracking your chest. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hands as rubber crackled against the heated asphalt, but the action was pointless. The dampness only returned, tracking stickiness from your cheeks to your neck.
The engine remained on as the car door opened and shut in quick succession. You kept your gaze downturned, catching the small rocks that probably got stuck in the soles of Bucky’s shoes as he crouched before you. The stairs you sat on whined in defiance as you shifted slightly, still too embarrassed to face him.
“What happened?” he softly asked.
A humorless laugh fell past your lips, tears salty on your tongue. “It’s so stupid.”
“‘S not stupid,” Bucky refuted. He took your chin between two of his fingers and searched the planes of your face, his lips pulling back in short grimaces as he went. “Not when you’re crying like that.”
You bit into your bottom lip as you faced him, tears continuing to fall even though the ache in your chest eased some. It shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have called Bucky.
The sun was escaping from the horizon behind him, casting an orange-hued blaze reflected in the tall grass beyond decaying gas pumps. It was windy and so hot that the wind didn’t matter, dirt flying up and twirling by his puffing exhaust.
“I shouldn’t have called,” you finally choked out, taking no action against the slide of his hand against your cheek. “You were busy. I know you were.”
Bucky only glided his fingers along your skin in gentle shapes, tutted, and tried to catch the tears that met his skin. “Never too busy for you.”
“This is crazy.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m the one who broke up with you.”
“Aware of that. Unfortunately.”
You let out a sort of disgruntled moan, mortification mingling with relief inside of you. You leaned into his palm and huffed a sigh, using the lone car traveling on the road as a distraction. With your hands in your lap, it was easy to pick at your cuticles and hide it, a habit Bucky had never gotten you to kick.
“Tell me what happened,” Bucky tried again. “How’d you get out here?”
The deteriorating gas station seemed to creak in response to his question, the old building minutes away from collapsing. You’d been surprised to find an older man actually working at the counter when you got dropped here. He’d let you use the phone, and, of course, you had Bucky’s number memorized. You’d had to hand the phone to the old man to get the coordinates of this place straight, and then Bucky had been on his way.
At the memory of everything that had happened before that phone call, your mouth puckered in a fruitless attempt to keep tears at bay. You brushed Bucky’s hand away in favor of pressing your face into your palms and tucking forward.
“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky urged, moving his touch to the back of your head. “Couldn’t be that bad.”
He spoke with a gentleness that you didn’t need—one that would only make you cry harder.
There was a long pause, and then, “Someone hurt you?”
You shot your head up at that, the several octaves his voice had lowered warning you of nothing good. “No,” you hurried. “No. Not… physically. Do you remember Josh?”
Bucky’s hand ran back over your hair and landed on the juncture of your neck. His jaw flexed, and his eyebrow jumped, obviously unimpressed. “Idiot with the bike? The one with the tiny shorts?”
Your lips curled softly despite yourself. “Yeah, that one.”
“How could I forget?” he smiled back, tucking his hands away from you and clasping them between his bent knees. You tried not to care about the loss.
“Right, well, we were supposed to go on a road trip. We were going to visit his parents. But… well, he got a text while we were driving, and…” You stared up at the cloudless sky, the sun beating down on your misery. “And he’s been cheating on me. For a few weeks, maybe longer. When I brought it up—started getting angry—he pulled over and just… told me to get out.”
“Bastard,” Bucky breathed out. “Leaving you here like this? I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t,” you chastised, wiping your tears once more, sounding congested and sad and over it all. “It doesn’t matter, really. It never matters.”
“S’that supposed to mean?”
Another sigh. You edged forward on the stairs, slotting both legs between his crouched ones, creating space where there hadn’t been. More dirt kicked up behind him, and the old man inside was screaming at the TV, banging plastic against old batteries, or something of the sort.
It hurt to look at him. His eyes were asking so many questions, so much concern etched into the blues, but you never had the answers. Never had the right ones.
“It was stupid to call you,” you reaffirmed, face inches from his.
“It wasn’t—”
“I always call you. It’s always you.”
Bucky wet his drying lips.
“And you always come,” you continued. “Do you remember when we broke up?”
His brows came together, his eyes never leaving yours. “Of course I do.”
“What’d I say?”
“That I can’t put you first. That I try, but I need to heal first.”
“Right,” you whispered, dirt whisking the word from the air. “Then—” you blinked as more tears coated your throat “—why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why does it never work?”
Bucky’s expression fractured. He brought a knee down and captured your face in his hands, metal and warm skin overwhelming your senses. His eyes flitted between both of yours, brows furrowed impossibly tight.
“I’m trying,” you stressed. “I’m trying to move on. To see other people. To give you space and time to heal. But it never works. I always—it always comes back to you.”
“I don’t want you to move on,” Bucky said, desperate hands conveying his words. “The day you walked out the door was the worst day of my life.”
You shot your gaze down in a plea for any of this to make sense. You had broken up for a reason, but right now, no reason seemed to take form.
“But—”
“But you were right,” he interrupted, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. He looked so earnest, brows raised and eyes slightly wider to catch your attention. “Okay? You were right. ‘Course, I knew that. My girl’s right about everything, but I didn’t want you to be right.”
Defeat made your muscles feel weak, deflating your shoulders and sending a new wave of uncomfortable sadness through you. Of course, you knew you were right. All those months ago, you had been so obviously right, but Bucky had fought so hard for you to be wrong. He never admitted to anything—until now.
He had come to terms with it, then.
You had dug your own grave.
“Then why can’t I stop loving you?” you cried, the sound so aching it sent a crack through Bucky’s chest. He shook his head, but the motion was lost behind your blurred vision. You were so tired of crying. “I want to move on. I’ve been trying to but—”
“Hey, baby, look at me, yeah?” Bucky hushed, repositioning his hands on your face if only to catch your attention. “I said you were right then. I needed the time. I needed to do right by you. I—I’ve been seeing people to help. I’ve been—making friends. The apartment’s got a bedframe now,” he added, tilting his head to offer you a smile. “I’ve been trying to be the man you need. I don’t want you to move on. Honestly, it’s been tearing my heart out to pick you up all these times.”
Your chin trembled, but tears began to dry on your face. Bucky didn’t say more, but he continued to wipe the wetness from your cheeks and chin and jaw, searching your expression as he went. He looked pained, stressed. His car continued to run behind him and you were vaguely aware that this gas station might not actually have gas.
“You got a bed frame?” you shakily asked. You grabbed his hands from your face, holding them in your lap instead.
“Yeah, baby,” Bucky breathed out, looking down at your joined hands.
“I didn’t know you even had a mattress.”
“Needed one for when I got you back.”
Your throat was dry, the wind a vicious attack against your quiet words. “Why haven’t you said anything?”
“I was just happy you were calling. I didn’t care if it was to get you from these—” He paused, looking down to the divots his shoes made in the dirt before finding you once more. “Baby, I would’ve picked you up from bad dates for the rest of my life if it meant you were talking to me. Don’t stop loving me. Don’t move on.”
An array of emotions were displayed on your face. You squeezed Bucky’s hands in your lap and leaned forward until your forehead was against his, eyes closing in contentment that didn’t match the scenario. A sign above you buzzed with low voltage electricity that would surely give out soon, the weak neon flickering in a violent sun.
“Give me a chance,” Bucky pleaded. “Let me show you.”
You fought the urge to laugh. “Bucky, I would have given you another chance months ago. You never asked.”
You stayed there for a few more minutes, calming your racing heart in the stifling heat. This felt like starting over, but it also felt like comfort and familiarity and home. Bucky didn’t move until you did, only prying himself away when you leaned back and sniffed, eyeing the car behind him with puffy eyes.
He looked upon you with a sickening adoration, cupping the side of your head as he placed a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”
You breathed out an okay as you stood and nodded your head, the motion dizzying with how much you had cried and how long you had sat on those splintering steps. He noticed—he always noticed, even when things weren’t great.
Bucky held your face in his hands once more, but it felt different now. He kept you at a distance and stared at your face as he instructed, “I’m gonna run in and get you a water. Wait in the car with the air on.”
“Hope you have cash,” you briefly smiled. “I don’t think he has a working cash register. Couldn’t buy water earlier.”
Bucky shook his head slightly, a rueful smile in return. “Give me Josh’s address.”
Summary - Bucky is the last person you’d want to piss off. He’s over you putting yourself in danger and defying direct orders, his orders. When you finally push him and the situation too far, he aims to remind you why he’s the one making calls.
Warnings :: 18+ Content (MINORS DNI!!) piv sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, dom!Bucky, established relationship, spanking, oral (fem receiving), hair pulling, creampie, slight angst if you squint, etc
Authors Note ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Hello pretties! Here’s a fic I poured lots of love and time into. I proofread it....enough.... but there may be an inconsistency or two. Don't clock me. Dig in and enjoy cutie 💋 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
°❀.ೃ࿔* ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ °❀.ೃ࿔*
He’s Over It.
He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you these past couple of weeks. Defying direct orders before, during, and after missions - making your own calls in high stress situations and potentially risking your cover, the list goes on.
The rest of the New Avengers tell him to lighten up. More specifically, “Come on old man, stop getting your boxer briefs in a twist” from Walker, and “the Winter Soldier needs to warm up. It’s summertime!” From Alexei, followed by a hearty guffaw that practically rattles the glass windows of the tower.
None of which are helping his mood.
He just doesn’t understand it. Why would you do any of that? Any of that reckless, spur-of-the-moment judgement call shit. Especially today. The team was tasked with taking down several rouge S.H.I.E.L.D operatives. They had been lying in wait for months after illegally gathering intel. They figured there’d be no one to stop them since the world “no longer had a superhero team.”
That was already causing Bucky stress.
No matter what the team did, they were never seen as good enough. Foes and citizens alike saw these members as non-threatening, making every mission, every public appearance, everyTHING so much harder.
So why did you do the same?
He knows you. Of course he knows you, you’re the woman he loves. The woman who would sacrifice herself for the tiniest of civilians, the mere sliver of sun on the horizon, fighting for just one better day in this world. You are sunshine in a bottle, the living embodiment of hope persevering in the potent, all-encompassing Black sea of injustice and evil this world has to offer. He has tasted it himself. Tasted it, been controlled by it, been lost to it, spiraling into what seemed like nothingness forever.
But you didn’t have to put yourself in the way of that every time. He could barely stand it once. His heart drops into the depths of hell at the thought of you hurt, let alone in harms way. It’s his worst fear. The fear that he’s not fast enough, not strong enough, not good enough to save you. It drives him mad. You drive him mad. And today, he’s more mad than most.
As the other members sauntered into their rooms and various parts of the tower, you’re nowhere to be found. There he sits on the couch, impatiently waiting for your arrival. The clock in his mind ticked and ticked, counting the mere seconds past check in that you were gone. You could be hurt, sick, or worse, de-
“Miss me, old man?” A voice called from the east entrance of the tower.
His gaze darted toward you, practically jumped out of his eye sockets toward you, to see your frame sauntering in the tower like nothing was wrong.
Like nothing was wrong.
A smug grin threatened and tugged at the sides of your mouth as you casually glided by him. You could feel his eyes burning a hole in your back as you took off your combat boots and grabbed a water off the tabletop bar. You might as well have been on fire from the way his gaze sent smoke towards the ceiling.
“Where the hell were you?” James said lowly, letting his anger spill out in his tone.
“I thought I saw one of those goons escaping the mission site, so I went after them.” You said nonchalantly.
“By yourself?” He said, his tone raising. “Y/N, what the fuck were you thinking? You had no idea what that rouge operative could’ve been capable of. What weapons they could’ve had. You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.” You voiced curtly, waving your hand as if flitting his worry away. “If he had escaped, who knows how many people in the local area could’ve been in danger. Hell, who knows how many people would be in danger period. I handled the threat. A thank you would be nice.”
You chugged your glass of water as you settled onto the couch across from him, finally allowing your eyes to meet his.
His look was cold and disapproving, eyes searching for any bit of remorse in you. His silent treatment spoke volumes, but you weren’t phased by the chiseled look of stone from your soldier.
“You have to stop treating me like I’m a fragile object, James. I’m more than capable of making my own calls.”
“Your calls could get you killed, Y/N.”
“And my lack of calls could get civilians killed.” You shot back. “If it’s me or them, I’m always going to choose me.”
“There are people who will make those calls if necessary. Something you’re recently fast to forget. That person is me for a reason.” He uttered. His words and syllables sharp, acting like daggers meant to break down the wall of arrogance you’ve put up toward him.
“Well maybe that person should be me. Seems like my judgement has been getting the job done as of late. You think you know better than me, James. Are you angry now because you’re realizing that’s not true?”
The room fell silent. You saw the rise and fall of his chest cease as his entire body went still. The silence that blossomed between you was thick, louder than bombs bursting in your eardrums. But you didn’t regret what you said. You weren’t the only individual with a bark, eardrum piercing and all.
The soldier pursed his lips together, depriving you of his thoughts. His gaze had turned from frustrated to calculated and restricted, like he was holding something by the singular thread it had left. Each piece of thread in his mind splitting rapidly with each deafeningly quiet moment.
You never had a problem with splitting threads, though. Did you?
“Speak, James.” You quipped, shattering the silence under your feet. “God gave you a voice for a reason.”
“God gave me a whole lot more than a fucking mouth, little girl.” He growled back, his voice suddenly growing louder. It bounced off the walls and into your brain. In a matter of seconds, he had gotten up off the couch, quickly stalking toward you and closing the gap. Only a strangled gasp left your throat as Bucky grabbed the back of your head and gently gripped a fistful of hair, pulling your head downwards so you’d be looking right at him.
You felt a jolt of excitement between your legs as he towered over you, that same cold expression now making you think of every damn thing you’ve ever done to piss him off. It excited you and pissed you off all at once, the way he could take control in an instant. It sent your heart racing, and that smirk tattooed on your face was washed away, melted onto the floor beneath his boots.
“God gave me the willpower to hold myself back when all I want to do is straighten that little ass out, wanna bend you over and fuck you so hard your only call is whether or not to apologize or take the fucking pounding I’m about to give you. You wanna make that call, little girl? Wanna decide how I discipline you first?” He blurted. Your words died in the back of your throat, thoughts spinning around in your head like a tornado.
“That’s what I thought.”
Bucky grabbed you and pulled you into an intoxicating, overwhelming kiss, before hoisting you over his shoulder. Your bottom lip still stung from the way he bit it, taking the taste of you from your mouth and into his before grabbing you like you were nothing. You barely had time to react as he stormed to his room with you.
“James, what do you fucking th-“
He slammed the door with his boot, using his free hand to lock it twice over. He then spun around, sat down on the edge of the bed, and maneuvered you off of his shoulder and bent you over his lap. Your breath was knocked out of you at the sudden realization of what position you were in, your ass propped up for him to do what he pleased.
He grabbed another fistful of hair with his human hand and raised your head up, positioning it so you could see yourself bent over in the mirror across from you.
“Curse at me one more fucking time, Y/N.” Is all he said to you, as the reflection of his blue eyes stared right into yours. Watching yourself in such a position had your heart fluttering, and your cunt starting to ache. “Do it. Talk to me like that again, like you have no fucking sense.”
The thinly veiled threat was dripping with stern poison, gripping your heart and squeezing, daring you to tempt the beast, daring you to prod him until he ruined you.
“I only cursed because it you-“
Bucky laid a loud smack across your ass with his metal hand, cutting off your sentence and sending it to die pitifully in your throat.
“I didn’t ask you to explain why you said it. I asked you to say it again.”
Well fuck you too, Bucky.
You bit your lip, feeling the sting of the spank radiating through you. As you debated a way out, a harder smack shattered the silence.
“James! Fuck!” You cried out, gripping the bottom of his pant leg for support. You tried biting your lip to stifle your moans, but his human hand reached down to pull your bottom lip out.
“God gave you a voice, doll.” He cooed. “Use it.”
Shit.
Another two smacks came down on your sore backside as you gripped at the carpet beneath you. Your brow was slick with sweat as he continued to palm your bosom, each spank teetering on the brink of torturously delicious and intoxicating.
You felt his metal hand slip under your stomach, feeling around until it found the belt to your tactical pants. He made quick work of the buckle, pulling your pants down enough to expose your red, round ass.
“Count with me, Y/N. For every rule you broke today.” He said, his first sentence in what felt like years. You bit your lip again to stifle a whine. You felt his metal hand raise off you, before coming back down on your bare hind. A cry left your lips as he squeezed your right cheek, adding salt to the burn.
“One.” He said. Smack. “Defying a direct order to retreat after we decided the mission was complete.”
You choked out a one, and braced yourself for the next.
The second one was like fire crawling against your skin, your soft behind burning at the sensation.
“Two.” He cooed again. Smack. “Upon assessing a previously missed threat, you went rouge instead of reporting the threat to the team.”
“Two! Fuck baby, please.”
“Three.” Smack. “Went into a potentially dangerous situation without a word, and arriving late for check in without communication of safety or reasoning.”
“Three!” You said, your voice’s pitch rising higher.
The vicious assault ceased as you panted, trying to catch your breath as the feeling burned stars in your vision.
You felt your pants slip down past your knees, and off your feet as Bucky slid them off. He then grabbed you from across his lap and placed you on top, so you were straddling his thighs. With his metal hand, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind your back. With the other, he unzipped your vested top, exposing your bare chest underneath. Manhandled with ease, your chest was burning with lust as Bucky discarded your clothes with no hesitation. After all, you were his. He’d do what he pleased with you.
James latched his hot mouth onto your right breast, earning a long moan from you as you squirmed in his lap. Your hands were held flush to your back, the feeling of his metal fingers tough against your skin. He bit your nipple and toyed with it with his tongue, leaving red marks across the supple surface. He used his human hand to roughly fondle the other, pinching your left nipple and rolling it between his fingers. You yelped in pleasure, the surprising feeling of his stubble on your chest sending shockwaves to your core. Each nibble and bite was another moan ripped from your throat, primal and guttural.
The material of his pants rubbing against your bare cunt had you high, begging for any friction he could offer. You cried and whimpered for him, begging him for more.
“Show me how wet you are.” He asserted, as his ocean eyes stayed fixed on your face and the way it was twisted in pleasure. You felt his human hand leave your breast and slide between you and his pant fabric, skillfully slipping inside your whimpering cunt with ease. He stretched you out so good, so fast. You threw your head back in excruciating pleasure as you felt your walls stretch and squeeze to accommodate him, to feel him, anything for him.
“So fucking wet off of disobeying me.” He said, scolding you. “Thought you were big and bad, is that right little girl? Thought you could handle it?”
“Fuck, I can handle it James, I can handle-“
Another smack was laid on your ass as Bucky gripped it, before sticking his fingers back in your dewy folds.
“Show me how much you fucking want it, then. Show me how much you want me to pound that pussy.”
You desperately ground your hips onto his fingers, your tits bouncing up and down as you tried to get yourself off. Anything to show him how much you wanted it, how much you needed it right now. In this moment. He had you pent up, wanting the release only he could give you. You rode his fingers like your life depended on it, but it just wasn’t enough. And he knew it.
He retracted his fingers from your heat, earning a disappointed moan from you before lifting you off him and onto the bed. You gazed up at him, breathing heavy as he stood up, spread your thighs with his hands, and lowered to his knees and settled in between. All while never taking his eyes off you.He knew eye contact made you weak.
“Wait, baby, I-“ you stuttered. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts, your heart practically leaping out of your chest at the thought of his tongue destroying you. You felt his ice cold eyes pouring into yours as he stuck two of his metal fingers inside you to the hilt, and took one long lick up your aching slit.
“James! Fuck baby! Please!” You moaned into the air as you fell back on the bed, grinding your cunt on his mouth. He ate you out like a man starved, tasting every inch you could offer him. He lapped at your walls greedily as his metal fingers teased and pounded for more, so much more. Your body twisted into an array of lust filled shapes as worked on you, laying waste to you with his tongue.
“Not gonna stop until I say so.” He muttered in between licking and suckling your clit. “Gonna take every fucking thing I give you.”
“James, please!” You cried, but to no avail. He continued his vicious rhythm of pumping his metal digits in and out, kissing your clit and lapping up your sweet juices. The combination was sending you close to the edge of unraveling all over him.
“You didn’t stop for a second to think about what you were doing.” He said coldly, continuing his assault on your puffy, dripping heat. “Don’t stop to think now, hon. Take it.”
“James please, I’m so c-close.” You choked out, feeling another electric jolt to your core as he spoke to you. The feeling of his fingers stroking that sensitive spot over and over was almost unbearable, fraying every last thread of restraint until you were about to snap. “Please let me cum.”
“Now you wanna follow orders, want the reward that comes with it.” He retorts back as you arch your back off the bed. “You’ll cum when I fucking say. And not a second before.” He detached his mouth and laid a smack on your cunt with his free hand, careful to continue pumping his metal fingers into you with the other. You let out a gasp as the shock radiates through you, before letting out a strangled moan as he reattached his mouth.
Your hands struggle against the restraints, unable to push his head away from your overstimulated cunt. His rhythm was swift, quick, and vicious. The feeling of his stubble grazing your lips as he nipped at your clit twice ovet had you crying into the air, so loud you’re sure the entire tower heard you. But you didn’t care, you couldn’t care. All you could do was grip the sheets and cry out again and again as Bucky finger-fucked you and devoured you, tongue tasting your dripping walls as his metal fingers devastated your weeping, trembling cunt. The sounds of his tongue lapping you up filled the room, clouding any and every thought you had.
“You wanna cum, little girl?” Bucky said when he felt your hips rising off the bed. You desperately tried to wrap your legs around his head, but he pushed them off. “You want to make a mess for me?”
“Yes! Yes please baby, please let me cum for you.” You pleaded, eyes screwed shut.
“Cum for me, then.” Bucky said lowly, taking a break from attacking your folds once again to rub your clit with his free hand. “You’re gonna obey that fucking order. You’re going to cum real hard for me, little girl. Right now. Give it to me.”
You arched your back into the bed and let out a loud, high pitched, desperate cry, squeezing your eyelids shut and practically spasming under him. But none of that could push off the super soldier, who draped his free arm across your hips to hold you down. You weren’t escaping any bit of pleasure he was giving you.
As you fell slack on the bed, spent and hazy, you didn’t notice the way Bucky rose from his knees and rounded the bed toward you. You felt the metal of his fingertips gently press against your mouth, and opened your eyes to see him above you, staring at you with the thirst of a man who hadn’t drank in days.
“Taste.” He said, pushing his metal fingers into your mouth. “Taste yourself.”
Drunk on lust and post-pounding bliss, you sucked on the cold metal of his digits, letting your pretty and glazed over eyes flutter at him. You made a show of it, showing the soldier how much you wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted it all. You were desperate. His blue eyes stared back at you, the growing ache in them practically spilling over like an unruly sea onto the beach. You could swim in his desire, his consuming lust for you.
“Look at you. Making a fucking show of this.” He says, as he uses the other hand to loosen his belt. “Couldn’t stop crying out when I was finger fucking that cunt. Now you’re begging for more.”
He pulled your ass, red and burning with spank marks from his hand, back to the edge of the bed. Using both hands, he pushed your knees to either side of you, spreading you wide open as much as you’d go. Your cunt, swollen and aching, was dripping onto the sheets beneath you. Barren for him and only him.
You gasped as the cold air of the room hit you in your most sensitive place, the butterflies in your stomach swirling as you felt Bucky’s ravenous eyes drink you in.
“You’re going to keep your legs on either side of you while I fuck you, do you understand me?” He groaned.
You whined pathetically in protest, needy and desperate for him, unhappy with the command.
He grabbed a fistful if your hair again, pulling you up gently so his lips were against your ears.
“If you don’t follow that fucking order, you aren’t cumming. I am not playing with you, little girl.”
You didn’t think he was playing with you, for the record.
Another whine of protest died in the back of your throat as he looked at you. You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out pleas and begs, only nodding in agreement.
“Yes sir.”
“So now it’s yes sir.” He cooed as he let go of your hair, letting your head fall back onto the bed. He grabbed his hard member and started rubbing the length against your folds, earning a needy moan from you. He dragged the tip along your dripping slit, up to your swollen clit, and back down to start all over again. Concentrating on keeping your legs spread wide, you wiggled your hips in his direction, desperate to feel more friction on your folds.
“Does my little girl finally want to follow orders? Want to respect what I say?”
“Yes! Please yes!” You cried, letting the desperation that’s been building up in your chest spill over. “I want it so bad, baby, please. Please give it to me. Please fuck me, cum inside me, anything, just anything James!”
A satisfied and wolfish smirk was painted on his face as he heard every word.
“There’s my girl.”
Bucky lined his member up with your entrance and mercilessly slammed into you, earning an overstimulated scream from your throat. You were already wet and open, but the feeling of him filling you up so much sent you into overload. He established a merciless pace instantly, sparing your poor cunt no mercy as he fucked into you.
“So fucking tight.” He groaned, gripping your thighs with his hands as he thrusted. You were gripping the sheets above your head for dear life, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin being the only thing in your head. Feeling the tip pound into your already abused sweet spot was enough to have you right on the edge, ready to gush all over him and have your juices dripping onto the floor. You felt like you could’ve squirted in that moment, your weeping cunt already so overstimulated and wet.
“Take my fucking dick, little girl. Take it like you wanted.” He choked out in between thrusts. “You gonna disobey me again? Huh? He said, bending down to loom over you.
“No baby, I promise. Please James, I’m so close, I’ll do whatever you fucking tell me.” You were slurring your speech now, only wanting your second orgasm to come crashing over you. You were chasing the release like an addict in search of their next high.
“So fucking sexy. So fucking wet. Pretty girl, my pretty girl.” James started slurring in your ear. “You drive me fucking crazy. With worry. With lust. You’re gonna kill me one day, doll. Can’t stop fucking thinking about you. God I can’t fucking hold it.”
You felt his metal hand slip above your head and snap the tactical rope tying your hands. Bucky then grabbed each wrist and laid kisses on the rope marks, looking into your beautiful eyes while he continued to fuck you. You wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling him into a passionate, intoxicating kiss, finally letting your pent up feelings spill out into him, and his into you. His lips find their way to your neck, sucking and biting flirtatious red marks into your skin.
“I can’t lose you, Y/N. I can’t fucking lose you.”
“You won’t, James.” You affirmed in between gasps and groans.
“God damnit.” Bucky moaned as he spiraled closer to his own release. “Gonna fucking cum, gonna make a mess of that little pussy. My pussy.”
“Fill me up, baby.” You cried, tightening your grip on his chocolate brown curls. “I’m all yours - give it to me, make a mess of me please.”
With several strangled grunts and the stuttering of his hips, Bucky fell headfirst into his own climax. He buried his face in your shoulder as you felt him shoot ropes inside you, only pulling out to then coat your entrance with more. Your cunt was painted in his white slick, and proud of it.
He collapsed beside you, and you both became a beautiful entanglement of sweaty limbs. The sweet sounds of your joint huffing and puffing filled the bedroom, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile at it. As you looked to the right of you, you saw those beautiful eyes once again locked on you.
“Don’t scare me like that, Y/N. Please.” Bucky said, in a concerned, small tone.
“James, I-“
Before you could finish that thought, he pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you.
“I make the calls I do so I can protect you,
y/n. I know you’re strong. You’re so fucking strong it scares me. So fucking brave it terrifies me.” He says with a kiss to your forehead.
“It terrifies me that I can’t protect you. And I know you’re capable of protecting yourself, and others. But you don’t have to do it alone. Allow us, allow me to be there. Please. I suffered alone enough. You don’t have to do the same.”
His soft, desperate words almost shattered your heart into pieces. You gazed back at him, his sincerity and fears pouring out of him and into you. You found yourself caressing his face with your hands, allowing him to nuzzle deep into your embrace as you felt his skin.
“James, I love you.” You started. “And I’m sorry. About everything. It’s just been hard watching you under so much stress. I know you’ve been working hard to make the right calls and protect this world we live in. As Bucky the congressman, Bucky the Avenger, hell, even as Bucky, member of the crystal valley Thunderbolts.”
You got a chuckle out of him with the last comment, making your heart swell with pride. That gorgeous, beautiful smile you love split across his face as he gazed at you.
“I just wanted to help that, you know? I wanted to handle it. I wanted to take care of it, take care of the things you may miss. But I went too far with that, I know.”
“But that’s why I love you, Y/N.” Bucky finally said, pulling your head back towards his chest. “It’s because of your care. The way you care so unconditionally. I’m so lucky to have you.”
As he said those words, you pulled him tighter to you. You never wanted to let go, and neither did he.
And you both wouldn’t. Not now, and not ever.
Credit to the lovely @cafekitsune for the dividers! °❀.ೃ࿔* title graphic made by me!
If you loved this fic, please like, reblog, or comment! I’d love to hear from you pretties °❀.ೃ࿔*
Summary: Bob's lost his hoodie and he has no clue where he left it, so he figures his next best option is to find you. What he didn't expect to see was you curled up on the couch wearing it.
Or: The one where Bob find's reader in his hoodie.
Masterlist
Warnings: Reader is wearing Bob's hoodie and it is described as being oversized. Bob calls reader pet names like baby. No description of reader. No use of Y/N.
Notes: I have been getting smacked with the most horrendous writers block recently as well as being super busy this entire week, so I apologize for all these being so short recently ❤️
Edited ✅
Bob walked through the tower halls as his brain scrambled for answers. He’d just finished his shower when he realized his favorite navy blue hoodie was nowhere to be found in his room, which is where he swore he left it.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he squinted down the hallway like his hoodie would magically appear. Maybe it got caught up in the laundry? Or maybe he left it in the living room last night after he had a movie night with you. He decided that the next best thing would be to ask you if you had seen it
You two had recently started dating, and you were absolutely his favorite person in this world.
You always complimented his hoodie saying that it smelt like him, and that it felt so soft when you’d curl up next to him. So he figured if anyone may know where this hoodie is, it’d be his girl.
He turned the corner into the tower’s living room to ask if you’d seen it, ruffling his damp hair as he walked. As he neared the open doorway, he called out “Hey, baby? Have you seen my-?
Only to stop dead in his tracks, because there you were. You were curled up in a blanket with your legs tucked beneath you on the couch. You were completely absorbed in your book as you leaned against the couch and your face contorted into a soft focused expression, one he adored getting to see on you.
But what really made him pause? You were wearing his hoodie. The exact one he was looking for. The sleeves were too long and bunched up on your arms so you could read your book freely. And the hood was bunched up behind your neck like you’d been cuddling into it.
Bob’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He thought that you’ve looked beautiful since the day he met you, and that’s only intensified since you’ve started dating.
But there’s something so special about this moment of seeing you wearing his clothes while you do something as simple as just reading a book. Bob knew one thing, and that’s that he wanted to see you in more of his clothes as soon as humanly possible.
He muttered a soft “God I'm lucky” to himself before walking closer to where you were sitting and cleared his throat lightly, a soft smile sitting on his face.
You startled a little as you looked up to see your boyfriends grinning face, heat quickly rushing to your face. “Hi.” you muttered out softly, a bit embarrassed at being caught wearing his hoodie. “I hope you don’t mind, it was really cold in here and it was just sitting on the edge of the couch.”
Bob smiled even wider as he shook his head, “I don’t mind at all. You look adorable in it, Baby.” he murmured his voice full of fondness as he walked over. “Wouldn’t mind getting to see you in more of these either.” he said softly tugging at the sleeve of the hoodie as he sat down next to you.
You ducked your head with a shy laugh hitting his arm quickly. “You’re so sappy sometimes.”
Bob chuckled before kissing the top of your head, one arm looping around your shoulders as he pulled you into his side. “Seriously baby, you can steal them anytime, I like seeing them on you.” You nudged him playfully but melted into his side, letting his arm tighten around you as you focused back on your book.
Bob exhaled softly, a smile still on his face as you read. He found his hoodie and fell even more in love with you, what more could he ask for out of a cold winter day?
𓏲ꪆpremise: After meeting the alluring woman who’s been leaving you exorbitant tips at your barista job, you soon agree to be financed by her. You’re a struggling grad student who needs the money. But it’s not long before the relationship starts to feel more than transactional and very real, very messy feelings get involved. Who says you can’t fall for your sugar mommy? Stranger things have happened
𓏲ꪆwarnings: eventual smut, slowburn, consensual power dynamics, Russian petnames, a Kate Bishop cameo, light angst, shower sex, temperature play, fingering (R & Yelena receiving), cunnilingus (R receiving)
𓏲ꪆwordcount: 10k
𓏲ꪆa/n: hello! soooo this has DEFINITELY taken first place as the longest fic i’ve ever written. but i’m not at all mad about this because the wordcount just tells you how inspired i was! but also because of the length, i didn’t exactly proofread, just kinda skimmed through and checked for spelling errors lmao. major shoutouts to @belovasecho because without her hyping me up, i’m sure it would’ve taken me another week to finish this haha. but it’s yours now, so enjoy this VERY long yelena belova oneshot! <3
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
The first time you notice her, it’s because of the tip.
You’re wiping down the counter at the tail end of a very long shift. Your shoulders ache to hell, and your feet are throbbing inside your worn-out, nonslip shoes. You look down at the tablet on the cashier counter and have to do a double-take. It’s still open to the tip screen, and there’s no way that what you’re seeing isn’t a glitch.
You lean closer for a better look anyway. Fifty dollars. On a five-dollar order of coffee.
Now, you’ve always felt an odd way about the tip screen. You didn’t like having to stand there like a jackass while a customer decided how much to tip you. Honestly, you wish your coffee shop hadn’t gone all tech-forward and had just stuck with the tried-and-true tip jar.
But now. Someone had deliberately overtipped you.
Your stomach twists in sudden discomfort. You’ve been a barista long enough to notice weird generosity when you see it, and this felt deliberate. The last time you’d gotten an oversized tip like this, it hadn’t been for nothing. It had been from an older man who asked if, in exchange for the tip he’d left you, you could come out to his car with him for a “private moment”. You’ve never given someone back their money so quickly in your entire life.
This didn’t feel like that, though. This was the third time this week that you’ve gotten a tip like this. And coincidentally, the third time this week that she had been here.
You look up, and the woman is still seated at the small table by the window. Her hair is short and bleach-blonde. Gorgeous earrings dangle from both ears. She’s dressed head to toe in white clothes that you’d never be able to keep that clean. She wears bold makeup—a smoky eye and a plum lip—that counterbalances the pristine nature of her clothing.
She’s scrolling through her phone with her right hand, unhurried, like she has nowhere else to be. Her left hand taps absentmindedly on the styrofoam cup in front of her, and you notice that her nails are the same plum shade as her lips. You have the sudden, startling thought that she probably smells divine.
The woman happens to glance up then, catching you staring. She lifts one brow, amused, and your cheeks burn scarlet as you look away first.
She essentially becomes a regular after that. So much so that you get to know her order very well (of course, it helps that she always orders the same thing) one medium latte macchiato, two creams, no sugar, and occasionally, a croissant. And of course, there’s always the exorbitant tip—thirty dollars here, fifty dollars there.
You tell yourself not to question it too hard. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. Plus, the extra money does help. Grad school doesn’t pay for itself. And neither does rent. Or textbooks. Plus, you’d been eyeing a new laptop since your current one was on its last leg (the bracket and parenthesis keys straight up didn’t work anymore, and half of the other keys didn’t work unless you jammed them down hard, which pretty much guaranteed that it took you twice as long to write class essays)
By the end of the third consecutive week of the enchanting woman coming in, the knot in your chest wouldn’t go away. So one afternoon, when the cafè is quieter, and you haven’t seen any foot traffic in the last half hour, you do something terrifying.
You walk over to her.
“Hey, excuse me,” you say when you approach her table, your voice much steadier than you feel. “Can I ask you something?”
She looks up at you slowly over the rim of her mug. Her hazel eyes are sharp and curious. “Of course.”
You certainly hadn’t been expecting the accent. It melts like honey in your veins and sends an unsolicited shiver down your spine before you can stop it.
You swallow. “You’ve…you’ve been the one leaving me those big tips, right?”
“Yes.” The blonde woman smiles. “Is this a problem?”
“No, no, I…I appreciate it, truly. It’s just—“ You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I just hope you don’t feel like you have to do that. Like you’re expected to. Trust me. A $1 tip for a $5 macchiato is more than okay.”
The woman’s smile widens. “So then…if one dollar is okay, then fifty dollars is…amazing. No?”
“W-well, yes, but…uh…” You feel yourself floundering, and it doesn’t help that this woman hasn’t taken her eyes off you once since you walked over. You’d always been a fan of brown eyes. But good god, all that hazel. You were seconds from drowning in it.
The woman gestures to the vacant chair across from her. “Sit.”
You blink. “I’m sorry?”
“Sit,” she repeats gently, nodding toward the chair. “Please.”
You glance around the cafè, then back at her. Your manager was in the back. And the only other customers were a cute elderly couple who were currently feeding each other soup, so what was the harm? Against your better judgment, you sit.
The woman folds her hands on the table, and you find yourself zeroing in on her gorgeous nails again. She’d gotten them done since the last time you saw them. Now, the plum shade has been replaced with a pretty emerald green that matched the turtleneck she wore, and also brought out the green tints in her eyes.
“Y/n, right?” The woman asks, her gaze flickering to your name tag.
“Yes, that’s right,” you nod. “And you are…”
“I’m Yelena,” the woman smiles. “Nice to finally meet you officially, y/n,”
“You too,” you smile, feeling something glow in your chest.
“Now, you’re curious about the tips, I assume?” Yelena goes on.
“A little, yeah,”
“Well,” Yelena searches your eyes. “I tip you like this because I want to. Not because I feel obligated.”
“But why?” You ask quietly. “Why do you want to?”
Yelena’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Because you work very hard, y/n. I’ve seen it. You’re tired, and you’re trying your best. And you remind me of myself, once.”
Your chest tightens. So. She really was doing this out of the kindness of her heart? No ulterior motive? No creepy favor expected?
“Actually,” Yelena goes on. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Your heart stutters. “Okay,”
“I could support you,” she says. “More directly.”
Your breath catches. Yelena must see the alarm in your eyes, because she hurries to clear things up. “This is not sexual. And it is not an ultimatum. You are free to say no. All I mean is that I could offer you financial stability. And help where you need it.” Her gaze softens then. “You deserve to breathe easy, y/n. All I ask is that you think about it. Okay?”
You study Yelena’s face every which way, hunting for even a hint of deception. But there is none. Nothing but sincerity in those deep eyes. Deep eyes that you knew you’d dream about tonight, whether you wanted to or not.
“Okay,” you breathe. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”
***
You thought about Yelena for days, just like you knew you would. And not just her offer either. You find yourself dwelling on her eyes and the way they stayed trained on you. Her intoxicating fragrance and the way it wrapped around you, and how you’d just wanted to breathe it in. And you definitely couldn’t get that Russian accent out of your head.
You tell your best friend Kate Bishop first. You’re sprawled out with her on the couch in her living room, textbooks abandoned, half-finished cans of Cola on the coffee table, fingers knotted in your hoodie sleeves.
“So,” you finish, staring up at the living room ceiling. “Am I so insane that I kinda wanna go for this?”
Kate snorts. “Well, I mean, I’m currently being financed by my mom, so who am I to judge?”
You laugh despite yourself. Then sigh. “She said it herself that it wasn’t an ultimatum. I can say no to her offer, and there’d be no hard feelings. She’d, I dunno, probably find some other girl even less well off than me to help instead.”
“Sounds like best case scenario to me,” Kate says. “A gorgeous woman who doesn’t expect anything in return, and just wants to provide some liquidity? I’ll take two,” Her gaze turns serious as she looks at you. “But, do you want to do it?”
You take your time answering, thinking of the stress of student loans, your meager paycheck every two weeks that, once you’ve paid all your bills, is barely enough to afford more than a week’s worth of TV dinners. And then you think of Yelena and her effortless confidence. The way her stare held you when you sat across from her in the cafè. The way she’d said, “You deserve to breathe easy,” and you have your answer.
You meet up with Yelena again the following week. You chose a day when you were completely free, no shift at the cafè and no classes. Yelena had offered to buy you brunch, and you’d had to practically tear apart your closet to find something suitable to wear to the quaint little bistro. You’d finally settled on a soft cardigan over a floral halter sundress.
Yelena is waiting for you outside the bistro. She’s dressed in a gorgeous teal pantsuit with chic sunglasses tucked on top of her head. Her makeup is nothing short of flawless, as always. As you approach her, you suddenly feel entirely out of place. Here you are, looking like you’re ready for a casual picnic, and she looks like she’s fashionably late to a business meeting.
“You look beautiful,” Yelena says once you’re close enough.
Your cheeks blush at the compliment. “Oh. Thank you. You are as well,”
Yelena smiles. “Shall we?” She gestures toward the door, and you nod. Then, she holds it open for you, allowing you to walk in first.
The inside of the bistro is cozy, yet refined. All polished wood floors and exposed stone pillars. Yelena speaks with the chipper hostess at the stand, and then the two of you are being led up a set of stairs to a nice booth tucked away in the corner.
“Do you like wine, y/n?” Yelena asks once the two of you are seated.
“I don’t really know,” you answer honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually had it.” And because the alcohol you were the most familiar with was booze, because it was Kate’s favorite, and you’d spent many a night at her place getting wasted on it.
“Would you like to try some today?” Yelena asks next. “They have a great selection here. Do you prefer sweet, tart, or somewhere in the middle?”
“Oh, uh…maybe in the middle?” You hated how flustered you felt already. You’ve never had a gorgeous woman offering to order you wine before.
But before long, Yelena is watching you as you try a sip from the wine of her choice. And you end up liking the taste a lot more than you thought you would. An hour later, you have a soft buzz, and you feel like you know so much more about Yelena.
“I um…” You clear your throat. “…I thought about…what you mentioned in the café,”
“You have?” Yelena sets her wineglass down carefully on the table. “And…what do you think?”
“I think…” You inhale, then exhale deeply. Your heart is in your throat. “…I think if it’s a serious offer, then I accept.”
Yelena’s smile widens. “I’m so glad to hear. And remember. None of this is set in stone. You can say no at any time, and this all ends the moment you want it to. But until you do…” she picks up her wineglass again and raises it in the air. “…I will help in any way I can.”
Your heart gives a jolt as you lift your own wineglass, clinking it against Yelena’s. “I…thank you, Yelena. This is all very kind of you.”
“Yes,” Yelena beams, holding your gaze as she takes a long sip of her wine. “And the first way I plan to support you is by ordering you the lava cake. It is delectable, trust me.”
You giggle. “Sounds delicious. I’m in.”
***
The allowance is overwhelming at first, of course it is. You’ve gone from pinching pennies to actually having more than you need for food and bills. At first, it’s all practical. Rent. Groceries. A new laptop when your old one finally shits out on you mid-semester.
And Yelena never announces these things; they just simply happen. Food is sent to your apartment when you tell Yelena that you haven’t had a chance to eat yet. Appointments are scheduled when you’re too busy to make them yourself. Once, when you’ve fallen sick, Yelena quietly puts you on her insurance and pays the bill without comment.
“No, Yelena,” you’d said when you found out, weak and sleepy from the medicine the doctor gave you. You were also sleeping over at Yelena’s townhouse that night, cocooned in the incredibly soft sheets in her guest bed. “You didn’t have to give me your insurance. I can’t ask that of you. I’m not—“
“Shhh, milaya,” Yelena whispers. “Don’t worry yourself with this. You’re sick. And you needed a check-up. Just focus on resting, okay?” It’s the first time Yelena’s used a pet name on you. And you’re not sure if the lightheadedness that you feel is from the medicine or the name. Or maybe a combination of both, but either way, it made you feel floaty.
You reach blindly for Yelena’s hand, which she doesn’t hesitate to give you. Her hand is warm as her fingers intertwine with yours.
“You really don’t mind doing this for me?” You ask her.
“I really don’t,” Yelena says earnestly.
You search Yelena’s eyes, even as yours begin to grow heavy. “God, you’re too good to be true,” you whisper. Then you yawn.
Yelena chuckles softly at your yawn. Then, she lifts your hand to her lips, kissing yours. “Get some sleep,” she whispers. And as if on cue, your eyes flutter shut.
Yelena watches your sleeping form for a long time, until the warmth blooms in her chest and her head starts to feel light. She stands from the bed as carefully as possible and walks to the door, thumbing out the light and closing the guest bedroom door behind her with a soft click.
Yelena doesn’t get much sleep that night. She tells herself that it’s because she just wants to listen out for you. For the sound of a coughing fit or you calling out for her in need of more supplies. But when the color of dawn just barely breaks through her windows, and she still hasn’t gotten much sleep, she knows that’s not the entire story.
When the sunlight begins to bleed through the curtains, and it’s glaringly obvious Yelena isn’t getting back to sleep, she slips from her bed and pads quietly down the upstairs hall until she stops in front of the guest room. She lays her palm flat against the wood, hesitating, and then she gives it a soft knock.
“Y/n?” She calls out softly.
There’s a rustle from inside, followed by your sleepy voice. “Yelena?”
“Yes, it’s me. May I come in?”
There’s another pause, and Yelena can’t help but imagine you fighting to keep your eyes open. That medicine she’d given you last night had been strong, after all. Then, “Yeah, of course.”
Yelena turns the knob slowly and opens the door. She finds you propped up against the pillows, your hair mussed and your cheeks warm with sleep. You’re wearing one of the oversized t-shirts she’d offered you the night before, the hem sliding dangerously high on your thighs. The sight makes something warm settle in her stomach, but she schools her features.
“How are you feeling?” She asks as she approaches the bed.
You shrug, smiling faintly. “A little better. Still kind of dizzy, but I slept really well in this bed.”
Yelena smiles as she lowers herself onto the bed. “I’m glad,” she says. Then, seemingly without thinking, she reaches out and places the back of her hand against your forehead, feeling for a temperature. Then, she moves that same hand to feel the right and left sides of your neck, too. You lean into her touch, closing your eyes.
“You are still very warm,” she says when she pulls her hand back, a wrinkle of concern forming between her brows. “Would you like a cold compress? I can also make you tea. Or soup. I know soup is not a very tasty breakfast, but…you are sick.”
You chuckle softly. “Well, I don’t have much of an appetite yet. But I’ll take the cold compress. And the tea,”
A smile teases Yelena’s lips, and she raises her hand again to cup your cheek, brushing a thumb beneath your eye. “Then, I am at your service,” she says.
Your breath stutters, but you place your hand over hers, returning her smile. For a moment, neither of you moves. Yelena’s hand remains where it is, and yours remains on top of hers. You also don’t drop her gaze, and she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to drop yours either. You think it’s your imagination when her eyes dart to your lips. You tell yourself it’s the fever playing tricks on you.
Finally, Yelena’s hand drops back to her lap. “I’ll let you rest,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while with your tea and compress,”
You nod, though you don’t look away from her. “Okay,”
Yelena stands, then hesitates. “And if there’s anything else you need, you know you can ask, right?”
“I know,” you say gently.
“Feel better, milaya,” Yelena replies softly, and then she leaves, shutting the door softly behind her.
You stare at the door long after she’s gone, your heart beating a little too fast, warmth curling low in your stomach that has nothing to do with the cough medicine.
***
It takes a few more days for you to shake the flu bug, but soon, you’re back in your own apartment. Your body feels much steadier with the fever long gone and the fog lifted, but your brain still has moments where it refuses to cooperate.
You’re currently sitting at your tiny kitchen table with your new laptop open in front of you, a mug of coffee cooling beside it. The cursor blinks patiently at the top of a half-written term paper. You rub your temples and sigh.
You should be grateful. You are grateful. The laptop alone is a miracle. Light, fast, and exactly what you mentioned needing offhand weeks ago. You hadn’t even been able to figure out which model you wanted or needed, but somehow, Yelena had gotten you exactly the right one.
You flex your fingers over the keyboard and try to focus. Post-war economic restructuring…
Your mind drifts again. To the way Yelena had taken care of you last week when you were sick. The way she fed you soup when you got your appetite back, blowing on each spoonful before feeding it to you. The warmth of her hand when she cupped your cheek. And that petname she’d given you that felt and sounded so natural. Milaya…
You shake your head and force your eyes back to the screen. As millions of soldiers returned home, the demand for military equipment became…blah, blah, blah.
“Focus,” you mutter to yourself.
You type a sentence. Then another. Then delete them both. Your apartment feels way too quiet with just you. You glance at your phone without thinking, and suddenly, a certain gorgeous Russian woman is at the front of your mind. You consider texting or calling her, but you don’t want to bug her. She’d already checked in with you once and sent you some money since today was your grocery errand day. But she also told you she had a couple of business meetings to attend to, and you didn’t want to throw her off her game.
After a few more nothing sentences that all get deleted, you lean back in your chair and stare up at the ceiling. The a/c unit hums softly above you. Somewhere outside, there’s the distant sound of a car honking and soft raindrops hitting pavement.
You tell yourself that you’re just adjusting. That it’s normal to feel a little unmoored after being taken care of so thoroughly. The fact that your thoughts keep circling back to Yelena has nothing to do with wanting.
Except…
Your gaze drifts back to your laptop. The screen had gone black due to lack of use, and your own tired face stares back at you from the dark screen.
She hasn’t asked for a single thing in return. And it’s been nearly two months since this arrangement started. It should feel too good to be true. It should feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it doesn’t feel like that at all. In fact, around Yelena, you’ve never felt safer.
Your phone buzzes suddenly on the table, making you jump. And then when you see that it’s Yelena, your heart gives an unwelcome flutter.
Yelena: Men were a mistake. Anyway, I hope your afternoon is going well, milaya. Have you gotten your groceries yet?
You chuckle at the message. You can only imagine what could’ve happened that prompted Yelena to open her text like that. Probably some know-it-all douche in a board meeting. You type out a response.
You: My afternoon is going okay, but I can’t seem to break the ice between me and this damn term paper though. I was gonna hit the store after I finished.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
Yelena: Do not let it stress you, milaya. If you are stumped, leave it and come back later. Eating is more important.
You huff a quiet laugh as you glance at your laptop again.
You: You’re right. I’ll take a break and go to the store, I promise.
Yelena: Good girl. I have another meeting. I will give you a call later once I no longer feel murderous intent toward my incompetent colleagues.
You set your phone back down, feeling your stomach already starting to do that annoying fluttery thing. Did Yelena just call you ‘good girl ’? You decide to push the thought out of your head. You also decide to keep your promise to her because your pantry and fridge are bare, and your stomach is empty.
You’ve only been back from the store for a total of ten minutes when Kate shows up unannounced. You’re not even sure why she even bothers knocking, because a moment later, you hear keys jangling (you’ve had keys to each other’s places since basically the beginning of time) and then the door opens, and your best friend comes bustling inside.
“I brought snacks!” Kate chirps, already headed toward your kitchen island with her arms full of bags.
You glance at the time on your phone. “Don’t you have an afternoon class?”
“Class got cancelled,” Kate explains as she sets the bags down. “And I know you don’t have classes on Tuesdays, so I decided to come bother you.”
“How noble of you,” you deadpan.
You watch as Kate grabs a box of pizza rolls out of one of the grocery bags and then crosses your kitchen to preheat the oven.
“You realize I just went shopping, right? I don’t need all this junk food,” you laugh as you peer into one of the bags to discover at least three different kinds of chips and a bag of golden Oreos.
“So then, you’ll just have extra to go around,” Kate navigates your kitchen with the grace of someone who’s been there a few dozen times (which she has), pulling a cooking tray out of one of the cabinets and placing it on the stove. She keeps glancing at you over her shoulder as she rips open the bag of pizza rolls.
“You good over there?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, glancing down at your phone, once again reading Yelena’s last text. Primarily, the part where she called you good girl.
“You just seem a little spacey,” Kate says. “Waiting for that woman to text you?”
You blush and hastily pocket your phone. “No, of course not. She’s working today. She’s busy,”
Kate studies you for a moment, and you absolutely don’t appreciate the smirk that’s so obviously playing on her lips right now.
“Are you two, like…hooking up?” She asks.
“What? No! God, Kate, you know it’s not like that!”
“Are you sure? I’m getting a down bad vibe from you right now,” Kate continues to tease.
Heat floods your cheeks. “No, you’re not. It’s not like that. We’re—all of this—“ you gesture vaguely between yourself and the empty space around you. “—all of this is platonic.”
Kate raises a brow. “All of it?”
You open your mouth to retort, but then your phone chimes in your pocket. Your heart leaps in your throat, and you turn away from Kate’s shit-eating grin as you lift your phone out to see a new text from Yelena.
Yelena: Will you be free tomorrow, milaya? I want to take you somewhere.
Your breath catches, and you stare at the screen until the words blur together. You hadn’t even noticed Kate creeping up behind you and peering at the text over your shoulder.
“All of it?” Kate repeats, raising a brow knowingly.
“Shut up.”
***
Yelena picks you up the next afternoon. You’re waiting for her outside your apartment building when you hear the low purr of her engine, and then watch her sleek black car pull up, looking completely out of place in the apartment building’s humble parking lot. She steps out of her car looking elegant as always—chic red-tinted glasses tucked into her hair, a maroon coat over her shoulders, and an even deeper shade of red on her lips that pulls back to reveal flawless teeth as she smiles at you.
In a word, she looks unfair. Her eyes flick over you in a way that makes your stomach dip. You’re not really sure why, seeing as you didn’t look half as dressy as Yelena, in your university’s hoodie and a pair of jeans.
“Hi,” you say softly.
“Hello, milaya,” Yelena’s smile turns fond. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah. Unless you think I should change?” You start to shrink beneath Yelena’s gaze, but she merely shakes her head.
“No, no, you look perfect. So cozy and cute.” She holds her hand out for you, and you take it, your much colder hand meeting the warmth of hers. “After you, beautiful,” she purrs as she opens the passenger door for you.
The boutique Yelena brings you to is softly lit and elegant. And simultaneously, the kind of place that you never would’ve set foot in otherwise. On the drive over, Yelena had filled you in on a gala she was planning on attending and asked you if you’d like to tag along. You don’t know what possessed you to agree to it without thinking because you had absolutely nothing to wear to a fancy gala. But that’s where Yelena came in clutch, suggesting this very boutique for a shopping spree.
Everything smells like expensive perfume, and you hover near the entrance, feeling like you could break something if you breathed a little too hard.
“Yelena,” you speak up after a while. “I know I said I’d come with you to the gala, but…you already do so much for me. And nothing in this store looks like it’s anywhere within spitting distance of my budget.”
“Well, I didn’t bring you here expecting you to pay for anything. This is something that I want to do for you,” Yelena squeezes your hand as she speaks.
“Are you sure? Because if it’s too much trouble, I’m sure there’s an old dress somewhere in the back of my closet that I can wear instead.”
She stops walking and turns to face you fully. “If that would make you more comfortable, then of course. This is not an obligation, detka. Just an invitation. If you don’t like it, then we can leave. But…” she suddenly gives you the most lethal puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. “…it would be a lie to say that I don’t want to at least see you try something on. Just one dress? Pretty please?”
You search Yelena’s eyes and, god damn it, there’s no way you could say no to that face. Even if you wanted to.
“…okay,” you say finally. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to try a couple of things on.”
Yelena’s eyes light up, and she claps her hands in excitement. Then, as if by magic, a friendly sales associate appears at her side, and Yelena murmurs something to her in a low voice. You catch fragments—evening attire, gala, simple yet striking. Then, the next half hour is a blur of pretty colors and fabrics.
You’ve gone through two dresses already, both beautiful, but not exactly something you’d like to spend an entire evening wearing. But the third dress you try on steals the air from your lungs. It’s a deep-blue satin maxi dress with a strapless neckline, long lace sleeves, and a slit in the left leg.
You barely recognize yourself in the mirror. You’ve never looked this regal before in your life, even if it is technically cosplay.
Your hands hover uselessly at your sides. After a couple of minutes, Yelena’s voice drifts in from outside the curtain. “Are you still okay in there?”
You open your mouth to answer, and nothing comes out. A beat passes, then another.
“Milaya?” She speaks again. “Are you okay?”
Your heart pounds. “Can you…come in, Yelena?”
“Of course. Are you okay? Is the dress…” The curtain draws back, Yelena steps inside, and her sentence trails off as she gets a look at you.
Her breath catches audibly as she pulls the curtain shut behind her, sealing you both in the small space. Her eyes sweep over you, and she mutters something under her breath in Russian.
Your heartbeat flutters wildly now, and you swallow hard. “Is…is this one okay?” You ask, gesturing vaguely to your reflection.
Yelena doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, almost as if she’s afraid to say it too loudly: “It’s perfect.”
Her gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror. “You’re perfect,”
A zing goes all the way down your spine. You turn to face her, and she steps closer without seeming to realize she’s doing it. Her hands lift, pause, then settle at your hips. Your skin warms with her touch.
You bring your own hands up on instinct, fingers curling around Yelena’s forearms. She’s solid yet soft beneath your touch. Real in a way that makes your head spin.
Yelena murmurs again in Russian, even lower this time, and you huff a shy, breathless laugh. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
Her eyes don’t leave yours. “I said you are a vision,” she translates softly. “You look like a dream.”
Your heart lifts clean out of your chest.
Your gaze drops to Yelena’s lips, just for a second, and when you look back up, her eyes have followed the same path. The space between you feels suddenly charged, electric. Yelena steps closer. Her perfume surrounds you. For one dangerous second, you think she might—
Yelena clears her throat abruptly and steps back, hands dropping from your waist as if she’s burned herself. “Anyway,” she says, a little too briskly. “If you like this dress, I will go pay for it now?”
You blink, disoriented, your pulse still racing. “Uh…yeah,” you breathe. “I…yeah. I like this one.”
Yelena nods once decisively and slips back through the curtain. You’re left alone in the dressing room again, staring at the space where Yelena was just standing. She’d left her fragrance behind, the floral scent still surrounding you. Your cheeks are flushed, and your heartbeat is erratic, and you’re left with these dangerous feelings you don’t know what to do with.
***
You weren’t sure what to expect for your first gala, but you were definitely more than a little overstimulated by the glitz and glamour that surrounded you. Just like in the boutique, you were afraid to do more than just simply stand stock-still out of fear of breaking or ruining something. But at least you looked the part in your dress.
You stay glued to Yelena’s side throughout the night, her hand warm and steady at the small of your back the entire time. She introduces you with reverence to everyone, making sure everyone knows your name and that you’re her plus-one for the night. Occasionally, she’ll squeeze your hand and give you that fond smile when you’re too shy to speak.
People smile at you. Compliment your dress. Ask about your degree when you mention you’re in grad school. One woman squeezes your arm and tells you how refreshing it is to see someone so grounded here. And throughout every interaction, Yelena watches you with a fondness in her eyes that makes you melt.
But then, there are also the strange looks you get. People who, even with your gorgeous dress on, seem to sniff out that you don’t really belong in a place like this. That there’s no way your salary matched theirs (which is true), and that they can’t seem to figure out what a gorgeous and wealthy woman like Yelena would be doing with a lowly grad student like yourself.
And you wish you could ignore those looks and whispers. You really, really wanted to. You even had a glass of champagne, hoping it would mellow you out. But the judgment still stung.
You excuse yourself from Yelena under the guise of having to go to the bathroom, when really, you just need some air. You stand in front of the mirror, gazing at your reflection, trying your best to steady your breathing. Then, you make the mistake of opening the clutch that Yelena had also bought you, forgetting that you’d left the receipt for the dress in there. Yelena had let you keep it, just in case you wanted to return anything.
It’s pure curiosity that makes you pluck out the receipt and read it. And you really, really wish you hadn’t. Your stomach drops. The price feels obscene. Almost an entire month’s rent, and more than you’ve ever spent on anything that wasn’t your tuition.
You drop the receipt, and it flutters back into the clutch. You straighten up, hugging your arms around yourself as you start to feel that familiar burn behind your eyes. You barely notice when the door to the ladies’ room opens and Yelena steps inside.
“I came to check on you,” she says, approaching you slowly like you’re an animal she doesn’t want to startle. “Is everything alright?”
You hesitate, the words sitting heavy in your chest. All you have to do is figure out what order they should go in. “I just…” You trail off, then force yourself to continue. “…I don’t think this feels right.”
Yelena tilts her head, brows furrowing. “What doesn’t feel right, milaya?”
You swallow. “This. Tonight. The gala. I don’t think I belong here. It…feels like I’m just here to be a pretty accessory for you to show off.”
Yelena looks horrified at the accusation. “No,” she says quickly, voice soft. “No, milaya, it’s not like that at all.” She takes a careful step closer. “You are so much more than a pretty accessory to me. I wanted you here with me tonight because I enjoy having you around. Because I would have more fun spending the night with you than trying to schmooze business associates that I really do not care one way or another about. I just…thought you might like getting swept up in it. Was I wrong?”
You shake your head, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “I just don’t know, Yelena. This…this has all just—“ your voice wobbles despite your efforts. “—it’s really starting to feel like a lot. I thought I could handle all the attention, all the money, but maybe I can’t.”
Now it’s Yelena’s turn to swallow hard. “Y/n—“
“You said I could say no at any time, right?” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, but with no less conviction. “Well…this is me saying no. I-I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, I really do. But I just don’t think I can do this anymore. This life isn’t for me.”
The look on Yelena’s face is devastating, and you wish you could go back in time to before you saw that expression, eat your words before you say them. But a part of you knows this needs to be said. Your feelings were getting too messy, and you needed to cut the cord.
Yelena searches your eyes, as if hoping you’ll take it back. And you know you will if you keep looking into those eyes, so you drop her gaze.
“Can I…” her voice is rough now, as if she’s on the brink of tears herself. “Can I at least take you home?”
You shake your head. “I think it’s best if I call a cab.”
Yelena nods. “Right. Of course.”
“I’m so sorry, Yelena.” You don’t trust yourself to look at her again, so you gather your things and walk out of the bathroom. Your heart is in your throat, and your expensive heels click noisily against the marble floor.
The cab ride home is a blur of city lights and silent tears. You press your forehead to the cool window and weep the whole way back to your apartment. Your chest aches with the weight of what you just walked away from, and the sad Sam Smith song playing on the radio absolutely does not help your case.
That night, you don’t even make it to your bedroom. You kick off your heels somewhere near the door and sink onto the couch, still in your evening attire. A part of you knows you should get up and change. To wipe off your makeup at the very least, since you know it’ll be bad for your skin if you leave it on. But you’re too sad to move.
Instead, you curl up on the couch in the dress that Yelena bought you, and fall into a shallow, exhausted sleep with your cheek pressed into a throw pillow.
***
The next few days pass you by in a depressing daze.
You don’t have work to distract you anymore. You quit the cafè shortly after Yelena began supporting you. Not because you wanted to stop working, but because it quietly became unnecessary, and your manager was an asshole anyway.
You told yourself that you’d look for something else, but that had been the week that you caught the flu, and there was no way you could go out for job interviews weak and sickly. And with the money Yelena had been giving you? What was the harm in going without a paycheck for a week or two? Of course, you’d absolutely have to look for a new job now, all things considered.
School becomes an afterthought, too. You’ve already emailed your professors a small, neat lie about having gotten sick again, that something must be going around. They all understand, because of course they are. And you spend most of your time on the couch, switching between staring at the ceiling and doomscrolling.
Your heart hopes that you’ll hear that familiar ping, and it’ll be Yelena texting you, reminding you to eat or asking you if you need anything. But you know that’s wishful thinking, especially when you’d essentially told her that you don’t want to see her anymore.
By the fourth day, you feel like you’re going crazy. And like an ex machina, that’s when Kate shows up. She lets herself into your place with her key, arms full of chocolates, romcom DVDs, and even a bottle of sparkling wine.
“Okay,” she announces once she’s inside. “Time to fix this.”
You don’t argue.
Later, you’re halfway through The Devil Wears Prada, half your body hidden under an emerald green throw blanket, when Kate speaks.
“So…you broke up with her, I guess?”
You sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. “We weren’t together, Kate. It wasn’t a breakup.”
“But you broke off your arrangement?” Kate presses.
You trace a finger around the rim of your wineglass. “…yeah,”
“Why?” Kate asks gently. “Didn’t you like spending time with her?”
You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. But…I dunno. It was easier when she was just helping me pay for textbooks. Replacing my laptop. Stuff I needed.” You swallow. “And then, she was letting me stay at her townhouse when I was sick and dropping three thousand dollars on a dress and a clutch, and heels for me, and taking me to a gala.”
Your mind betrays you then, flashing you back to that dressing room. The warmth of Yelena’s hands on your hips, the way she’d told you that you looked like a dream, the way you thought she was even maybe going to kiss you. Your stomach flutters traitorously.
Kate watches you closely. “Was it really the money that bothered you, though?”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
She takes a moment before answering. “Do you think that maybe it’s possible you caught feelings? And that freaked you out?” She tilts her head. “And maybe that’s why you pushed her away?” Kate reaches out to squeeze your shoulder. “I know how you get when you like a girl, y/n,” she adds gently.
You open your mouth to deny it, then stop. Your chest tightens. Yelena’s face crops up in your mind. Every smile, every laugh, every fond look. Her pride when she showed you off at the gala. And then—with a pang in your chest—her crestfallen expression when you called everything off.
“…maybe you’re right,” you admit quietly. “…I think I liked her. A lot.” You stare straight ahead at your laptop screen, watching Andy try to plead her case to Emily in the hospital room. “I didn’t want to be someone Yelena felt obligated to take care of, you know? Or someone she got bored with once the novelty wore off? I mean, all this started because I was some barista in a coffee shop who she saw as down on her luck…”
Kate nudges your knee. “Did she ever make you feel like that, though? Like she only saw you as a charity case?”
You shake your head immediately. “No, never. She always just…had my best interest in mind. She just wanted to take care of me. Even when I thought I had a handle on things, which I don’t think I ever really did.”
“Well,” Kate starts slowly. “Then I don’t think this split is what was good for you. Maybe Yelena was.”
Those words land like a rock in your chest. Maybe Yelena was. They continue to echo in your head for the remainder of the movie, your thoughts continuously circling back to Yelena. Yelena, Yelena, Yelena. Her voice, her hands, the way she looked at you like you were something precious. Treated you like you were something precious.
You had to see her again.
***
The next evening, Yelena is alone in her townhouse. The rain is coming down hard outside, which perfectly syncs up with the stormy way Yelena feels inside. She’s crafted at least five different text messages to you, typing them out, then chickening out and deleting them.
You clearly wanted your space. And though it hurt so much not to speak to you, to not get to check in and ask if you needed anything, Yelena had to respect your wishes.
“This is me saying no…I just don’t think I can do this anymore…”
Those words reverberate in Yelena’s head as she goes over every single exchange she’s had with you in the last two months. Had she come on too strong? Despite every time she told you that you could reject her help, had she pushed that boundary at some point?
It was safe to say Yelena was close to tearing her hair out from all the overanalyzing. She’d already gone through half a bottle of wine and wasn’t feeling any less high-strung yet.
That’s when she gets a knock at her door that makes her freeze.
After a beat, the knock comes again, hesitant, like whoever is behind the knock isn’t entirely sure they should be here.
Yelena sets her wineglass down slowly, heart already pounding. No one ever drops by unannounced. Everyone she knows texts first. Her mind betrays her immediately, supplying a name she’s told herself not to hope for. But when she opens the door, there you are. And Yelena’s breath catches before she can stop it.
You’re soaked to the skin from the rain. Your eyes flick up to meet hers, wide and uncertain, and something in Yelena’s chest cracks clean open.
For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks. It’s just the sound of the rain hammering against the townhouse’s foundation behind you.
“Hi,” you say softly, barely over the sound of the rain.
“Hi,” Yelena replies, just as quietly. “How’d you get here?”
“Uber,” you answer. You notice Yelena’s assessing look and add. “I forgot my umbrella. And you have a long driveway.”
This earns you a smile.
“Well, come in. Get out of the rain,” Yelena says.
“Thanks,” she ushers you inside, shutting the door behind you, and you sigh immediately as her central heating envelops you. You try not to dwell on the fact that you’re now dripping rainwater all over her expensive foyer floors.
“I-“ you stop, exhale, then try again. “I’m sorry for showing up like this. I know I said—“ your voice wobbles and you clear your throat. “I know I said I couldn’t do this anymore and I blew you off and—“
Yelena’s expression softens immediately. “Y/n,” she cuts you off gently. “You do not have to apologize for coming here. Or for what you told me at the gala. I realize that I may have come on too strong, so…I understand why you needed to flee. I think I probably would have too.”
“But I didn’t want to flee, that’s the thing. I was just…scared,” you say.
“Of me?” Yelena asks.
You shake your head. “Not of you. Of…how much all this meant to me. Of how easy it felt to fall into you and let you take care of me. And…I guess…” You fidget with your hands. Yelena watches you do it, wanting so desperately to reach out and still them, but she refrains. “…when I realized that the way I felt for you wasn’t platonic, it scared the shit out of me.”
Yelena smiles softly then. “That’s understandable. It can be scary, realizing that you have feelings for someone.”
You step closer, taking a deep breath to gather your courage. “I realized that the reason I ran is because…I wanted you. And…I didn’t know what to do about wanting you.”
You don’t drop her gaze. “Still want,” you breathe.
“Even now?” Yelena has been steadily moving closer throughout your conversation, and now you could feel her body heat where you were almost touching.
“Especially now,” you admit, your heart hammering.
Silence stretches between you. No more than five seconds, but it feels like five hours. And then, Yelena’s hands find your waist as yours drift to her shoulders. She’s the first one to close the gap.
Your lips meet in a fierce, aching kiss. It’s hungry and messy and urgent, tempered by weeks of restrained longing. Rain thrums against the windows behind you, but all you feel is the heat of Yelena, the steady press of her body against yours, and the ache that’s melting into something unbearably, wonderfully consuming.
Your damp clothes press against Yelena’s shirt, soaking through to her skin, but she doesn’t seem to care. Instead, she pulls you closer, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips as she wraps one of your thighs around her hip to hold you against her.
Her hands roam with purpose, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, grounding you even as your breath comes in ragged bursts.
Yelena tilts her head, catching your gasp in her mouth, and her tongue slips past your lips in a heated kiss that leaves you trembling. An electric current travels through you, one that has your fingers clutching at her shoulders, her arms, anywhere to anchor yourself to her.
You're already way too far gone by the time Yelena pulls back from the kiss. But only enough so that she can murmur against your lips, "You probably want to get out of these wet clothes. Am I correct to assume that?"
You breathe a laugh. "Yeah. Definitely a correct assumption." After all, you were shivering. Though that wasn't entirely due to your damp clothing, and both of you knew that.
"And would you like a hand with that?" Yelena adds, a teasing glint in her eyes. Your pulse spikes at the implication. "My shower is quite spacious," Yelena goes on with a sexy smirk as she lets you read her meaning. "Definitely big enough for two."
Every nerve in your body is alight, and when you give her a nod, Yelena takes your hand and leads you toward the stairs.
Yelena's ensuite bathroom alone could very well be the size of your entire apartment, featuring polished tile floors, large mirrors, a massive walk-in shower with rain-style showerheads, and a freestanding tub that looks like it could fit two people comfortably.
You venture further inside, barely breathing through your awe. Yelena steps behind you, brushing a damp strand off the back of your neck before kissing your nape. "Okay?" she asks. You nod.
You watch as Yelena steps up to her massive shower and turns on the water. It's not long before the space starts to steam up. She turns back to you, her hands gentle as she helps you shrug out of your clothes. Your chest rises and falls quickly as layer by layer is peeled away until you're bare.
Yelena drinks in the sight unapologetically. "You're gorgeous," she breathes. "You're so gorgeous,"
"I wanna see you too," you say, your hands going to the hem of Yelena's shirt. She raises her arms as you slide it over her head, cooperating as you undress her just as reverently as she undressed you. And finally, the two of you slip under the cascading water together.
Yelena's body presses against yours from behind, hands gliding over your wet, slick skin, and her lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Better?” she murmurs, her voice low in your ear.
“Yes…” You breathe, unable to form more words, letting the heat of her presence, the water, and the tension that’s been building for weeks wash over you.
The water streams around you both as Yelena gently guides you to face her. You blink, and her mouth is on yours again. And when she presses you against the shower wall, you groan into the kiss when the two of you are chest to chest.
She tilts her head, lips brushing along your neck, teasing, tasting, and sending another shiver through you. “You feel incredible,” she murmurs, voice husky, each word vibrating against your skin.
"So do you," you say, pressing back instinctively and wrapping your arms around Yelena's shoulders. Her hands slide lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.
Yelena pulls back from the kiss far before you're ready, causing you to whine and chase her lips. But it's not long before you notice the mischievous grin she's giving you as she reaches for the showerhead. Plucking the showerhead from its holder, Yelena uses it to let the warm water stream over your body. The water splashes over your skin, and you barely have time to react to that sensation before Yelena's mouth is on you again, trailing soft kisses along your neck, your collarbones, and your shoulders. Each one draws a pleasured sigh from you.
Your moans grow louder, breath coming in ragged bursts as the water runs down your chest, your stomach, following the line of your curves. Yelena's fingers press into your hips, guiding you closer, her body pressing against yours, every inch of her warmth igniting you from within.
She drags the showerhead lower, the water tracing over your thighs now, and you can't help but arch into her, letting your head fall back against the shower wall. Yelena's lips find the sensitive spot just behind your ear, and her teeth graze lightly everywhere her tongue teases.
“God, Yelena…” you breathe, voice quivering, hands clutching at her back, desperate to feel more, to hold onto her.
"I knew you'd be good for me, milaya," Yelena murmurs against your neck. "So perfect and responsive for me. Such a good girl."
God, there it was again. Good girl. Your stomach burns, heat coiling tighter in your gut.
"Call me that again," you say.
You feel Yelena smirk against your neck. "Call you what? My good girl?"
You shiver. "Yes, please,"
"You want me to call you my good, perfect girl?" Yelena's fingers slowly slot into you then, teasing your folds, and you practically cry out, your hands tightening against her shoulders.
"Fuck, yes!" you gasp.
"Yes, what? Yes, about me touching you, or yes about you being my perfect girl?" Yelena teases, and you can't even begin to put together a coherent answer, not with her fingers scissoring inside of you, her thumb teasing your clit, and your eyes rolling back without your say so.
"You'll have to use your words, krasivaya devushka, or else how will I know what you mean?" Yelena says, even as her thumb flicks unfairly right over your sweet spot.
"Yes, yes!" you cry out. "Yes to everything, Yelena. You feel so good. I can barely breathe,"
Yelena tilts the showerhead, letting the warm water cascade lower, until it hits right against your center. Your head falls back again, your breath hitching. Her hands grip your hips firmly, holding you in place as she leans in to press her mouth against your neck again. Every single sensation is beyond overwhelming, yet you still can't seem to get enough.
"Yelena..." you moan, your voice shaky. Your chest has begun to rise and fall so much faster. Your fingers clutch at Yelena's shoulders, then drift down her back, pulling her even closer.
Yelena's fingers curl inside you then, and you're done for. Heat and pleasure explode through you, leaving you practically screaming for her. Yelena holds you through it as you ride out every shiver and gasp. When your breathing finally starts to steady, she tilts your face toward hers, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.
Yelena returns the showerhead to its holder, her eyes never leaving yours. You reach out, fingertips tracing the smooth lines of her arms, feeling her warmth, her strength. She’s breathtaking, and the sight of her here, like this, makes your heart race.
“Can I touch you too?” you ask, voice soft but full of need.
Something in Yelena’s gaze darkens, a low hum of anticipation in her throat. “Of course,” she murmurs.
She presses one palm against the shower wall behind you, her body so close that every inch of her warmth presses against you. Your fingers slide down her stomach, brushing the curve of her hips before gingerly cupping her between the legs. Her breath hitches, and a low groan escapes her lips, vibrating against your shoulder. She leans closer, tilting her head to capture your lips again, and it's enough to throw you off your game, but you try your best to focus on bringing her the pleasure she deserves, too.
Her hands roam freely now, guiding, teasing, and holding, while your own explore with growing boldness, learning the feel of her, the weight of her, the response she elicits from just a touch. She rocks into your hand as you finger her, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. She’s so wet and warm for you, and you can’t think straight.
When Yelena finally comes against your hand, it’s with a low, ragged moan pressed into your neck. Her body trembles against yours, warm and slick from the water, and you instinctively hold her closer, pressing your lips to her temple, feeling every shudder, every pulse.
Her breath comes in uneven gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly, and she clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping her grounded. “Malyshka…” she murmurs, voice husky and raw, and the sound sends another thrill straight through you.
You can feel her body relaxing slowly against yours. Her hands linger on your waist, fingers lightly tracing circles as if committing the feel of you to memory.
For a few heartbeats, you both just stand there under the warm rain of the shower, bodies pressed together, catching your breath.
But soon, the two of you are stepping out of the shower, not even bothering with clothes, before collapsing into Yelena’s bed. All you’re aware of is Yelena: her mouth, her hands, the intoxicating fragrance that seems to surround her like a second skin. And when she disappears beneath the covers, teasing and worshipping you with a devotion that makes your toes curl and your chest ache, you’re taken to ecstasy all over again, melting into every flick of her tongue, every press of her fingers, every low, husky whisper of your name.
Later, when you’re both completely sated, the intensity fades into a comforting warmth. You lie on your side, head resting against Yelena's chest, the steady thrum of her heartbeat grounding you. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close, fingers gently tracing patterns on your back as if to reassure you that she’s still here, still yours.
“You okay?” she murmurs softly, lips brushing the top of your head.
You nod against her chest, letting out a contented sigh. “Yeah…better than okay,”
You let yourself bask in the comfortable silence with Yelena for a moment before asking, “Are you…really okay with all of this? With me? With...everything?”
“Milaya…look at me,” Yelena murmurs.
You lift your head, meeting her sincere gaze. “I want this. I want you. Not because of what I can give you, but because of who you are. You, entirely. You make me feel alive, and I don’t ever want that to stop.”
Your chest tightens, heart fluttering in a mix of relief and longing. “I…feel the same,” you admit. “I was scared before, but I'm not anymore. I trust you, Yelena. And I don't want to lose what we have.”
Yelena’s arms tighten around you, holding you as though she could shield you from the world. “You won’t,” she whispers, voice low and certain. “I’ll always be here, milaya. No expectations, no pressure—just us.”
You sigh contentedly, letting her words and her heartbeat lull you. “Just us,” you echo softly.
The two of you snuggle up together, tangled and warm, letting the quiet intimacy of the moment take the place of speaking. Outside, the rain continues to fall, but inside Yelena’s townhouse, there’s only the steady comfort of each other—hands entwined, hearts aligned, and the unspoken promise that this is just the beginning.
hii! it’s iluvloganhowlett i’m just on my other acc! could you do a logan fluff where logan has a soft spot for u and lit only u? like for a prompt, scott asks a question and logan answers with some “it’s none of your business” or is j flat out mean where as when you ask the same question minutes later he’s nicer and thorough with his answer.
and can u please make it logan x mutant!reader🥰🥰
Logan Howlett, underrated softie
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Logan Howlett x Reader
A/N: Hi @iluvloganhowlett!! I really appreciate your request and here it is! Enjoy, dear!!
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
Winters in upstate New York were exceptionally known for their extreme coldness.
Which of course was no shock that a particular mansion at Westchester County was at -3 degrees celcius, almost reaching at 4 in your keen opinion.
Just being inside made you want to wear a thick full body coat today, wrapped with your favorite scarf and gloves. But you felt silly about that idea, seeing how everyone else was just casually surviving the day with good long sleeved tops. How lucky of them.
Though it was only 8pm, you had the senseless idea of wrapping yourself in your blanket, trying to fall asleep in your bedroom, desparately hoping to sleep through the coldest day of the week.
After a few tosses and turns, feeling the icy breeze sneak into your body, you just knew there was no hope in dozing off. Not with this kind of weather!
You groaned in defeat, sitting up to curse to yourself why you had to feel so, so, so frigid of all days today.
Maybe some instant hot chocolate by the kitchen would help you soothe yourself into sleeping soon.
So you got up, wore an oversized sweater over your thick long sleeved top, placed on your fuzzy slippers, and made your way out of your room to the kitchen.
There were still students around the mansion, either reading books with each other, watching the television by the living room, or playing some board games while having hot beverages and snacks. Hmmm, the smell of hot chocolate from some of them just made you realize that hot chocolate is always a good idea.
Meanwhile over at the kitchen, just a few minutes before you had arrived, Storm was in one of the seats in front of the counter, having her decaffinated coffee, mixing some sugar and some milk with it. Yup, she was one of those who enjoyed the taste of cofffe, even at night, so she has it decaffinated so it won't affect her sleep later.
Scott grabbed a bowl and a box of Lucky Charms cereal from the cupboards and made his way to the fridge, which was being leaned on by Logan, who was having a round of beer.
Scott stood in front of Logan with a serious look on his face, expecting Logan to move. But Logan, who wanted to mess with the man, just stared back at him, flashing a mischievous look. "You should take a picture, it'll last longer."
"Move, asshole," Scott sneered, "I need milk."
Logan continued drinking from his beer, still eyeing scott with the same mischievous look on his face, ignoring his command.
"Oh, Scott, I still have some!" Storm interrupted, saving Scott from possibly wanting to strike Logan, based on his tight grip on his bowl, and now slightly wrinked cereal box.
"Dick," Scott muttered under his breath, moving through Logan, who felt like he won another round of Logan v Scott. That small win was now done being celebrated when you finally arrived into the kitchen.
"Hey guys," you greeted your colleagues, getting some 'heys' from Storm and a slightly disgruntled Scott.
"Hey, doll," Logan recited gently, earning a dear smile from you. He watched you look around the cupboards, noticing your mystified expression as you wandered around each cupboard and cabinets.
You then moved to the fridge, "Sorry, could I just check something inside?" you asked Logan softly with your fingers skimming over each other.
Scott looked up from his meal, watching Logan expose a smile on his mouth, gently moving aside as you opened the fridge, watching you hmph in disappointment.
Scott made his own quiet hmph to himself, seeing Logan's patience with you, to which Storm smiled coyly seeing sparks fly around the tough Wolverine.
"Didn't find what you were looking for, darl?"
"Yeah, I think the kids got the last instant hot chocolate powders for themselves," you frowned lightly in disappointment. "It's okay though," admitting in defeat. You were starting to make your way out, looking at the doorframe, "I think I'll just-"
"Hold on there, bub," Logan's instruction brought you to a halt. You turned around to see a now quiet Logan, whose eyes were looking into, what he thought, were puppy eyes. "Instant powders are for kids," he continued, his eyes quickly scanning around the room as if he was about to make use of the information around him.
"How about I make you some real hot chocolate, huh?"
While Scott and Storm turned to each other, exchanging unsure looks, you let out a small laugh in disbelief, which determined Logan to actually pull it off.
"You?"
You didn't want to sound mean about it, I mean, anyone can make hot chocolate. It wasn't rocket science, or some gourmet dish, but never in your wildest dreams did you think that Logan Howlett, the man who only went to the kitchen to bring out his secret stash of beer, would make you hot chocolate?
But the way you asked didn't matter to Logan, as he got whole milk, chocolate, whipped cream, and heavy cream from the fridge, walked to another counter for powdered sugar, and expresso powder, which he directly got a teaspoon of from Storm's side to which she didn't say anything about, since she herself, was inclined to watch Logan act as if he was someone else she didn't know.
Logan was now whisking together his ingredients in a saucepan that you helped get.
"How long should these be over the heat?" you tip-toed, wanting to see over Logan's shoulder's as he was perfectly centered in front of the saucepan.
"Till you see small bubbles appear around the edges," he replied, looking over at you tip-toe, which he wanted to melt at just seeing.
He then stirred in chopped chocolate, waiting for it to melt, and carefully placing the sauce to low heat, stating to you that 'it's needed for the chocolate to melt completely.'
His little moment of domestic fluff with you and him in the kitchen was put to a pause when a voice from somewhere behind him got his unfortunate attention.
"Since when did you have time to learn all this?," Scott teased, receiving a nudge from the elbow from Storm who shook her head.
"Shut the hell up, prick," Logan said, not even facing a smirking Scott.
Logan then served the drinks in two mugs for him and for you, of course topping them with lots of whipped cream. More than excited to try Logan's hot chocolate, you immediately took a careful sip, tasting the intense, rich, and absolute heaven which had to be the most decadent hot chocolate ever.
"Oh my god," you said, closing your eyes with satisfaction, "It feels like I'm in one of those Parisian cafes, drinking the best hot chocolate there."
It was as if every sip made you forget about how cold and freezing you were just earlier, and seeing you look so content with the drink made Logan want to beam, but of course realized Scott and Storm were, annoyingly still around.
"Glad you like it, Y/N," he thanked, seeing you turn to face him with a curious look on your face.
"I do want to ask..." you hung back the question, "When did you have time to learn how to perfect this? I know you didn't just learn this overnight."
It was a genuine question because despite living since the 1800s or so, it was not exactly like Logan had free time to cook around or whip up hot chocolate, right? This man went through a lot in his life, and would he really just use his spare time investing in something like.. hot chocolate?
Logan looked down, with a humble and small smile on his face.
"My mother..," he first started, "When I was young and while my dad was out, she would make hot chocolate on cold days, or even any day for that matter."
There was so much value you had, appreciating the little yet deeply personal story behind your now, favorite drink. You knew Logan was never an open book with anyone. It was more of a shut and locked up book with the key below the bottom of the ocean for no one to pick up.
But the way he had just been with you tonight so far, was like, he was giving you the key for you, and literally you only.
"So you rememberd her exact recipe?" you inquired more, with a sparkle that Logan saw in your eyes.
"Nah, not exactly," he said, slightly timid with a grin, " 'course I adapted to today's ingredients like instant whipped cream, but it's something like what she made before."
"Do you think you could make some for me again tomorrow?" You genuinely requested, which made Logan more or less, want to fold and do as you say in a heartbeat.
But of course, he wanted to slightly play it cool. "Don't see why not," nodding in agreement.
"Good, I'm gonna bring this with me back to my room now," you announced, "Thanks so much, Logan, good night!"
You then smiled at Scott and Storm, waving them goodbye as you walked away from them, leaving them to smirk like children at Logan.
"That was cute." Storm said, bringing Logan back to his usual, serious look.
"I'd love to try some tomorrow too, Logan," Scott tried to fake his genuine statement at the same time trying not to burst a laughter out of him.
Without any words this time, Logan, holding his mug of hot chocolate in hand, passed Scott with one claw out from his other hand, slicing his cereal box in half.
"Asshole!" Scott yelled, now trying to pick up the pieces of cereal as Logan walked out of the kitchen took a sip from his mug, indulding in the fact that,
A. he made another successful hot chocolate in his life
B. he gets to make it again for you tomorrow
C. he hopes to make it for you for as long as winter's still there.
