Sense8 never addressed the creepy homophobic voyeur girl fetishizing hernando and lito :/
I don't know why you thought this was a safe space to hate on Dani but it's not and you should put respect on my girl's name
Daniela is a voyeur, yes, but since Lito & Hernando know she's there when they have sex, the voyeurism is clearly consensual and therefore a non-issue. their kink is not your kink and that's okay.
I disregard every other word you used to describe her because none of them are accurate.
Daniela genuinely loves both Lito & Hernando and they genuinely love her back.
Did she make a mistake by taking intimate photos of them without their permission? Yes. And that's bad. But she tried her best to fix that mistake and she did it to her own detriment, let's not forget.
She put herself in ACTIVE danger to protect Lito's secret and was ready to condemn herself to a lifetime of abuse rather than let Lito be outed against his will.
Her "I love gay porn" when she first finds out isn't eloquent or particularly mature, but Dani as a character is supposed to be a little silly, a little immature, a little bit of an impulsive, fun-loving girl
She doesn't think a lot about consequences or implications, she's very much an in the moment kind of person
She had just found out her casual dating partner is actually in a committed relationship with another man and that dating partner was freaking out about it because he's not out yet and in her mind, "I love gay porn" was the way to reassure him
She might be impulsive and sometimes silly, but she has a good heart. She's coming at things from a good place even when she gets it wrong.
Hello, I was wondering if I could make a request for jeonghannie 😢😢, how would he react to seeing you breastfeed your baby in front of him? And idk, is that successful afterwards?
a/n. hi anon ! this is honestly such a good request and.. you'll see why hehe <33 happy reading!!
You knew this cry all too well already; your baby was hungry. It was always around the same time of the day (thankfully) and you sighed, sitting down on the shared couch to get comfortable, your husband Jeonghan following suit after. It was finally his day off, and he wanted nothing more than to spend it with the two he loved the most.
You understand Jeonghan had work and wasn't able to be at home as much to be with you and the baby so he could provide a comfortable lifestyle, but you missed moments like this.
As your baby continued to cry in your arms, you held him with one arm as your other reached to lift your shirt up, and Jeonghan couldn't help but stare. You adjusted your baby comfortably under your breast, and you sighed of relief as the cries came to a stop.
"You okay, darling?" Jeonghan whispers, his chin rested on top of your shoulder as he looked down at the scene in front of him. You nodded with a hum, resting your head on top of his, letting your back rest on the soft cushioning behind you.
After your baby was set quietly to bed for his afternoon nap, Jeonghan wasted no time in pulling you into your shared bedroom, his lips crashing into yours in absolute lust.
You moaned against his mouth as he pushed you backwards with one hand on the back of your head to soften the blow, "Mm, Hannie.."
"Can't believe I made you into a mommy of one.." Jeonghan whispered as you moved your face to leave trails of kisses on his neck as he spoke, "After seeing you breastfeeding our baby; mm, I wanna make you into a mother of two already~"
You subconsciously moaned at the thought, looking up to your husband with passion in your eyes, "Gonna fuck another baby in me, Hannie? Is this what this is?"
He mumbled a yes before pulling your body away from the wall, turning you around so that your front was there instead. His hand groped your ass, and pulling your shorts down shortly after. His fingers moved onto your cunt and he could feel your arousal through your panties already, "You like the idea, don't you?"
You moaned out as his fingers rubbed circles on your clit, "Fuck a baby into me, Daddy, please"
"Sure thing, baby," Jeonghan pulled his pajama pants down to his ankles, wasting no time in pulling his cock out immediately afterwards, "Legs apart for me,"
You obliged right away, gasping as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing against your soaked cunt, gathering it's arousal on his cock before pushing into your walls. A loud whine escapes your lips and Jeonghan is quick to put a hand on your mouth, "Don't wanna wake up the baby now, do we?"
"Mm-mm.." you moaned against his mouth, a hand moving backwards to grab onto your husband's thigh for stability.
Jeonghan thrusts his hips faster into your cunt as the thought of filling you up with his cum riled him up, the slight curve in his cock making it easy to hit your sensitive spot within you. One hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, another hand gripping your waist tightly as he rammed into you.
"I'm gonna fill you up so good baby," Jeonghan groans out, the stickiness of your arousal spread onto his thigh making a louder slapping noise as he moved back and forth, "Gonna make you a mommy of two- fuuuuck, I wanna hear you,"
His hand that was previously covering your mouth moves to grab the other side of your waist as he sped up the pace.
"You're s-so big daddy, shit, shit!" you plant your hand on the wall in front of you and the side of your face, "Cum in me, please, i'm so close.."
"Let go baby," Jeonghan moans out as he feels your high come closer, your walls constricting onto his cock even more, "Cum with me."
That's all it takes for you to let the tightness in your stomach go, and you can feel your husband's seed coat your insides as the two of you continue trembling under each other's touch. Jeonghan grabs your neck for you to face him, kissing your passionately.
"Mm," Jeonghan smirks when he pulls away, "Can't wait to meet baby number two."
pushing out two more logan oneshots before i start PYSKINKTOBER.
also, for my hunnibuns please don’t be afraid to submit a scenario in my inbox. i do not write for one piece currently. this is subject to change in the future. xmen fandom please submit any logan ideas, i need moreeee!
right now it's purple, but I know it's gonna change soon, i just know it 😂
13. What talents do you have?
hmm, i wouldn't say i have any in particular, but i'm alright at writing and im great with kids and babies?? haha i really don't know!
53. Favorite foreign food?
Indian food actually! i love biryani chicken and rice, chicken 65, samosa, butter chicken roti/naan, vindaloo and some more! my friend married an indian so i'm pretty familiar with the culture and food. ❤❤
63. Biggest Fear?
Honestly? the dark! I just get terrified. I really cannot go outside by myself in the dark. Anything and everything scares me if i were to be alone in the dark. plz dont ever leave me in a dark room or outside heh
100. Color of your room?
right now, it's like an off white, but i'm actually in the process of painting it and it's going to be a sage green.
side note - im really super excited for when i decorate it cause im gonna have fake vines and fairy lights and it's just going to look so magical halp!
1) adfjskal HOW DARE. 2) Sola/Nox verse- any specifics for Sola's reaction to Nox/Ardyn near the Crystal? And Ardyn/Regis/Co reactions to Sola's later death via KoL? (Am I reading right? She dies?) - Nani
*snrk* Okay, I’m assuming you’re referring to that Shadow snippet I posted earlier, which, yeah, that’s fair. XD (If it’s a different post, well, that’s probably still fair.)
Yes, Sola dies when she reaches too deep and meets the KoL. Hence Nox flipping his shit. However, Ardyn is a good and paranoid Uncle who ensured the Glaives have a supply of phoenix downs because he refuses to lose either of his niblings.
Sola’s reaction to Nox and Ardyn nearing the Crystal-
-Short version: Not. Happy.
-Long version: Also Not. Happy. and wanting to STAB someone for it. (Preferably Mors, but there’s the slight complication of him already being dead.)
-Slight twist to @secret-engima‘s original post on this, but this takes place before Ardyn is revealed as an LC, before Nox and Sola’s Coming of Age but after Nox and Sola join the Kingsglaive, so anywhere from 16-17.
-Sola’s honestly not keen on introducing Uncle Ardyn or her twin to the Crystal. Not for any logical reason, but she can feel how much Ardyn and Nox do not want to go near the thing. Tradition states that all LCs have to be introduced to the Crystal - usually around 5 years old, Sola remembers Noctis’ introduction - and Uncle Ardyn is allowed to watch as family.
-(How Papa hasn’t figured out Uncle Ardyn is his brother Sola doesn’t know, she figured it out in two seconds, but it’s Uncle’s secret to tell.)
-But yeah, Tradition requires an introduction. Sola feels Ardyn and Nox’s unease and thinks Tradition can go jump on Ifrit’s Pyre.
-Ardyn glows first from where he stands by Titus, and Sola has to take deep breaths and suppress her magic to a spark to keep her sheer rage from exploding like a Bomb. She’s seen Uncle’s medical file. She knows what Mors (not Grandfather, never Grandfather) did to him.
-But knowing is different from seeing, and Sola wishes she could resurrect Mors so she could inflict each and every one of Uncle’s scars on him before burning him alive.
-Then she realizes that Nox hasn’t stopped. That her little brother is also glowing, but not from any of his scars. Instead, it’s the odd patches of unblemished skin on his chest and back - over his heart - that glow a brighter blue than any of Uncle’s, brighter even than the brand stamped in pure magic.
-Sola goes dead white.
-She’s been a medic for months now, and trained with the glaive for almost a year before that. Sola knows intimately how potions, hi-elixirs, and phoenix downs work, she’s used them countless times. She makes the connection almost immediately.
-Her Little Brother. Died.
-Someone. Killed. Her Brother.
-Sola can’t breathe. Can’t think as words vanish in the hiss of fiery fury burning through her blood.
-Ghostly blades appear through Nox’s chest, and Sola doesn’t remember lunging forward alongside Uncle Ardyn. Doesn’t remember Uncle Ardyn scooping Nox into his arms and dragging Nox away from the Crystal until both their scars stop glowing.
-Sola doesn’t remember planting herself between them and the Crystal, magic flaring hot and bright and furious, curling her magic about Ardyn and Nox in a protective embrace. A snarl tearing from her throat, low and inhuman, reverberating throughout the horrified silence and dipping far below what anyone with purely human senses can hear, but can feel vibrating in their bones.
-(It sends shivers down their spines. It’s one thing to hear of the Draconian’s Rage. It’s an entirely different beast to see it. To feel the protective fury in Sola’s magic, turning the air golden as she tries to shield them from the Crystal’s magic with her own.)
-She remembers Nox’s explanation. Remembers the grief-betrayal-pain from Nox and the anger-hate-mineminemine from Uncle Ardyn.
-Neither of them will ever go near the Crystal again. Even if she has to smash it first.
As for people’s reactions to Sola’s death-
-Regis’s first reaction is Utter Fury. First his eldest son, and now his eldest child. Two of his children have died at the hands of their ancestors. It is only his waning health that keeps him from summoning the Kings of Yore and demanding answers.
-How. Dare. They.
-It’s later, after Sola recovers (after the magic depletion and the new not-scar so similar to Nox’s) that Regis sees the sheer power now at Sola’s fingertips. Sola was once the weakest in the family. Now only Nox outstrips her (and Ardyn, but Regis won’t know that for years yet).
-He has to sit down, pale and shaking and feeling like he wants to throw up, because he saw the recordings from that fight. Saw Sola’s magical explosion, saw Nox’s own explosion when Sola’s magic died.
-Sola blazed with the force of the sun. Nox easily outstripped her, a supernova made real on the battlefield.
-If his daughter died once to have the power she now wields, how many times has Nox died, to outclass her ten times over?
-Regis thinks of ghostly blades, and fears he knows the answer.
-Ardyn does not leave Sola’s beside the entire time she’s unconscious in the hospital. (Nox is in the same room, admitted for magical exhaustion but he’s at least awake.) One hand gripping her wrist to feel her pulse despite the medical equipment because he doesn’t quite dare stop suppressing his magic even if it would let him feel Fiercest Niece that much clearer-
-He’s furious. As much as Regis is but alongside his rage towards the Lucii - towards the Mystic, because Nox didn’t see the ghostly figure that struck Sola down but Nyx did - is anger towards himself.
-Once, people called him The Healer. (The Healer King, they’d whispered, even if Ardyn was only a Prince, even if Father and the Astrals had not yet decided who would take the throne.)
-Oh, what a healer he is now.
-Even so, Ardyn cannot be angry at Sola. He wants to be, when Sola knew the cost of reaching so far yet did so regardless, knowingly discarding her own life. But his niece is so much like him. A healer. An elder sibling. Ardyn remembers what it was like being both.
-He finds he cannot be angry at her when he would have done the same once upon a time.
-Cor/Clarus/Cid’s reactions are fairly similar. Pissed. Off.
-Cor destroys three training rooms before he calms down enough to function. That’s his godsdaughter. The little girl born four months premature, who everyone but Cor worried would die before she got the chance to live-
-He remembers the first time he held her, small enough to fit in one hand. Cor remembers his fierce whisper as he promised to protect her.
-Cor failed.
-Clarus has three children of his own. Is godsfather to Noctis. Is Sola’s uncle. He has no trouble imagining the pain Regis and Cor are feeling right now.
-Beyond that, he is Sola’s highest commanding officer, being in charge of all Lucian military branches. And Sola sacrificed her life to save hundreds of her fellow glaives.
-The soldier, the general, in Clarus approves. The father/godsfather/uncle waits until Sola’s awake and recovering to give Sola the fiercest dressing down he’s given to a soldier in over fifteen years.
-Cid hears about everything from Regis. He and Cindy drop everything to come to Insomnia to support Regis/Nox respectively, and Cid sees the footage of Sola and Nox’s Magical Explosions.
-The only reason Cid isn’t first in line to yell at Sola for her Dumb Stunt is because Noctis is there when Sola wakes and beats him to it. Not that it stops him from waiting until Sola’s recovered enough to leave the hospital and whacking her upside the head.
-Nox is bad enough, he doesn’t need Sola giving him heart attacks too!
Ooh, glaives meeting Abyssus! Does Sola take Abyssus with her to Little Galahd? What’s the media’s reaction to her giant cat?
Oh, the Glaives and Giant Death Cat! XD They don’t meet right away, since at first Sola is just training with the Glaives, but after she enlists properly, Abyssus decides that he’s not letting his Human wander off without him.
-Titus: He does not get paid enough for this. He knows about the princess’s giant pet of course, everyone’s known about the cat for over a year now ever since the media had its meltdown over it. Mind you, knowing about it and allowing it to join the Glaive alongside its mistress are two very different things. But Titus is also aware of the absolute hell-beast Sola’s cat can turn into when displeased, and Titus isn’t dumb enough to invite the same punishment Abyssus gave Cor the year prior. So long as Abyssus meets the training requirements and Sola takes responsibility for her cat’s life and actions, Titus Doesn’t Care. Let the cat be someone else’s Headache.
-Luche: Luche’s opinion of Abyssus is that the cat is a damn Headache. He doesn’t know how a regular cat got that big or that smart or capable of using magic, and he doesn’t want to. Abyssus makes Luche very wary, because unlike half the idiots cooing over how ‘cute’ the cat is, Luche is well aware that Abyssus isn’t human. As in, doesn’t have human body language, and doesn’t think like humans either, which makes Abyssus unpredicable. At best. Abyssus is as dangerous as a Coeurl without any of the warnings.
-Axis: Axis will never admit it to anyone, but he and Abyssus have the mother of all Rivalries. He’s supposed to be the stealth master dammit, and he refuses to lose to anyone in that department, even a cat! (And he would really, really like it if Abyssus would STOP sneaking up on him. One of these days he’s going to throw fire at Abyssus and he’s got no desire to die via claws or an enraged Sola.)
-Tredd: Tredd just KNOWS the cat has it out for him. Ever since they met Sola’s massive cat, Abyssus has been making Tredd’s life miserable. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Abyssus is taking exception to the beat downs he used to give Sola. (Which, there’s no way Abyssus can know about that, right? And besides, he and Sola are good now. Damn shortstack kicks his ass as much as he does hers nowdays. The cat has no reason to be holding a grudge.) Tredd makes a note to find out what Abyssus’ favorite food is regardless, because he’d like to get out of the doghouse now. (And if he swears the cat is fleecing him for food, only Sola seems to believe him, and the damn shortstack is too amused to tell the blasted cat to stop.)
-Sonitus: Sonitus can appreciate the sheer graceful lethality Abyssus possesses. However, he is concerned about Abyssus coming on missions. After all, the cat is something of an unknown in both teamwork capability and combat skills. Which makes him a liability. However, after Abyssus demonstrates a talent for warping and stealth on par with Nyx and Axis as well as a minor ability for Elemancy, Sonitus’ apprehensions are mostly abated. Then Sola asks him to help design armor for Abyssus (and a truly terrifying bladed tail tip) for Abyssus to wear on missions, and Sonitus is all on board for the Glaive’s non-human member.
-Pelna: Pelna LOVES cats. Unfortunately, his current residence doesn’t allow pets, nor is he home often enough to care for one, otherwise he’d have one. Or two. Or a dozen. (All of the strays in Little Galahd know Pelna by sight, scent, and sound at this point.) So Pelna is over the moon at meeting Abyssus, especially when Abyssus decides Pelna is his favorite human (after Sola, and Sola amusedly blames the way Pelna Spoils Abyssus Rotten). The day Abyssus flopped on Pelna and started purring up a storm was the day Pelna Died. The glaives all have pictures of Pelna half-hidden under Abyssus’ fur, grinning like a madman.
-Libertus: Lib looks from Nyx (wearing an expression of Sheer Delight) back to the Giant Death Cat (No Nyx, he doesn’t care that it’s not a Coeurl, it’s still a giant cat that can kill you) and Mourns. He can see exactly how this is going to turn out, and it is Doom. The ONLY upside Lib sees in this Disaster is that Abyssus is as violently protective of His Humans as Sola is of Hers, so at least Lib gains a part-time ally in his mission of Keep Nyx (and later Sola) Out Of Trouble. And well, Lib will admit that Abyssus IS cute. And soft. And cuddly.
-Crowe: Crowe is low key Miffed that a cat has a better understanding of magic than she does, despite both of them having about the same amount of experience actually using magic. Her irriation lasts all of an hour before she’s badgering both Sola and Abyssus about Abyssus’ magic abilities and ‘how in Ifrit’s Pyre do you do that and can he also do this, this, and that?’ Sola is just as curious as Crowe is, and Abyssus is willing to help out in exchange for pets and food, so Crowe considers it a win-win.
-Nyx: Nyx meets Abyssus, and it’s a match made in Chaos. Because this cat is just as if not more Warptastic than Nyx himself, and is a trained mount. The reckless thrill seeker in him immediately asks Sola and Abyssus if he can also train with Abyssus. (Shut up Lib, it’s an AWESOME IDEA.) Abyssus agrees after thoroughly inspecting Nyx (and maybe running a few warp courses against him) and promptly thereafter the two together become a common sight on the battlefield. Abyssus also teaches Nyx a few things about warping he’d never even thought of before, and Nyx gleefully takes to the new techniques to become even more warptastic.
I’m gonna stop here, mostly because I haven’t figured out what I’m gonna do in regards to your last two questions. Other than the short versions of yes Sola takes Abyssus to Little Galahd, and the Media has a Meltdown.
This is more of this silly little, ahem, fantasy I’ve gone and gotten myself tangled up in after this ask submitted to @ill-skillsgard hit me right in the kink. *Gasp* they were ROOMMATES? Nah, son. They were best friends. Part 1 by the lovely @ill-skillsgard and Part 2 by the lurky cave troll that is I are here. Part 3 is here.
Part 4 is below and it is smut. Smut. Smuuuuuuut. Smut smut smut smut smut. And like I said in a previous post, I tend to keep these writings to myself in my little dark corner. It’s been years since I’ve written anything on any kind of a public platform, let alone something that had me actively turning purple and squealing in a not so subtle manner while in a public place. Be kind to me. I’m fragile.
Also, believe me when I say I got at least two more parts of this swimming around in this little insatiable head of mine.
(Also also, please help me on Tumblr etiquette. I come in peace. But I’m clueless when it comes to this shit. Should I cut the post below? Is it too long? Is it rude? Am I rude? Wait, where are you going? My posts are showing up weird on mobile too, not as paragraph-y as they should be/are on the desktop version of this hell site. I dunno, friends.)
***
If you had been able to think clearly--if your head and your body weren’t drowning in waves of pleasure--you might have been able to determine that the reason behind how quickly you were reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess had less to do with the fact that Bill was hitting all of your spots so perfectly and more to do with the fact that it was Bill. It was comfort. Your level of comfort, of trust with the man so deliciously breaking you to pieces was unparalleled. It was Bill who had seen you at your worst. It was Bill who had hauled you over his shoulder one night at a club when you’d had a dangerous amount to drink, who carried you home like that while you Tarzan-yelled the whole time, who gently took your make up off and tucked you in bed, curling up behind you and staying awake to make sure you were alright. It was Bill who had carried you in his arms to his mom in the middle of the night, when you were visiting his home town and had come down with a high fever that wouldn’t break for too many days. It was Bill who had comforted you when your match on a double date turned out to be an immature asshole, dragging you on the Ferris wheel you were already terrified of and then purposely rocking the cart when it reached the top.
“Knock it the fuck off,” Bill had said at the time, in a tone of voice you had never heard him use before. It was almost feral.
“Come on, I’m just joking around,” the guy mocked, “Who the hell is terrified of heights these days anyway?”
“C’mere, tiger” Bill had said much more gently, reaching out to you. You remember how he moved carefully so as to not rock the cart anymore, how he had put a protective arm around your shoulder, tucked you into his chest, his hand coming up to cover your eyes. “Just keep your eyes closed, and listen to my voice. It’s just you and me, kid. Our feet are on solid ground, and it’s just you and me alright?”
And now it was Bill who was taking his sweet time, working you up until you couldn’t remember your own name. It was Bill who had his lips on your collarbone, leaving suckling kisses as he made his way down your chest. His hand reached out to cup you through your jeans, gentle pressure providing the delicious friction you craved. You whimpered. His mouth closed around a nipple, flicking it with his warm tongue as his palm pressed down harder into you. You wove your fingers into his hair and moaned, tilting your hips to rub back against his hand.
“Jesus, fuck,” you moaned, and he pressed down on your mound harder, his palm rubbing the seam into your clit.
Releasing your nipple with a pop, he gave it a languid lick before nipping and kissing his way to the other one. He took his time, circling it, gently nibbling around it before sucking it into his mouth as he ground his palm into you with more intent, moving his hand slowly back and forth. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding out of your chest. You were sure he could feel it through his lips.
He moaned, sending vibrations through you, before his hand moved up to the button on your jeans and his mouth moved away from your chest.
“You good?” he asked, his cheeks were flushed, his chest was heaving slightly, but his eyes were ablaze.
“Bill,” you moaned, your hands on either side of his face, trying to pull him back down. He let you drag him in for a kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperation as he flexed his hips into yours and moaned into the kiss. You licked at his upper lip when he pulled away and he nipped your chin, dragging his tongue from your jaw to your ear
“Say you’re good, sweetheart,” he whispered with no small amount of urgency, his hand tugging the waistband of your jeans.
“I’m--fuck,” a harder bite to your earlobe, “I’m good, Jesus fuck Bill I’m fucking good,” you groaned, deep and guttural, and gave his hair a light tug.
“That fucking smart mouth,” you couldn’t see it but you felt his grin at your ear, his fingers popping open the button of your jeans. A rush of cold air hit you as he quickly raised up on his haunches, tugging your pants off before crawling back up your body. He settled his face just under your breast, running his nose lightly along the underside and humming softly. You squirmed when he laid the barest whisper of a kiss there, continuing to the centre of your belly and moving downwards. He dipped his tongue into your navel, bringing his hands to your sides, unravelling the sheets from your clenched fists and intertwining your fingers with his. When he sucked below your belly button and licked right above the waistline of your underwear, you fidgeted.
“Bill,” it came out far more frail than you had intended, “Bill, you don’t have to, uh....”
Green eyes peered up at you, as he rested his chin where his mouth had been.
“But I want to,” he said. He ran the tip of his nose from the line of your underwear to your navel, inhaling deeply and moaning gently, “I really want to. If that’s okay?”
You tilted your head up and clenched your teeth, resisting the urge to buck your hips up into his face. You nodded, somewhat frantically, squeezing his hands tighter.
He leaned over and kissed your knuckle, easing the grip you had on one of his hands. He reached a long arm up, grabbed your chin, and tilted your face down to look at his. The sight of him, his face resting at your most intimate parts and his long body stretched out between your legs, was almost enough to have you combust right there.
“If that’s okay, tiger?” he repeated, running his thumb over your lips while he forced you to maintain eye contact.
You nodded. “It’s okay,” you whispered, “Please, Bill, it’s o--fuck.”
Your confirmation was interrupted when his head dipped down, rubbing his nose and lips firmly over your panties from your entrance to your clit as he took a deep breath in. His lips puckered around your bud through the material, sucking it gently as he moaned. Your hips bucked and he pulled his mouth away, dipping back down to lick a broad stripe up your covered slit.
“You're so wet for me,” he groaned, “and you smell so good,” he buried his nose into the fabric of your underwear and you cursed, your knuckles turning white as you moaned his name. He continued his torture, sucking at you and snaking his tongue out to lick at the material covering the place where you wanted to feel his mouth the most.
“I swear to God,” you gritted your teeth in impatience, “I swear to God Bill if I wanted to be more frustrated I would have just gone back to my last one night stand.” You felt his chuckle against you, his warm breath causing your hips to jut again.
“Easy, tiger,” unweaving his hands from yours, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your underwear as he pulled them down and slid them off your legs, “You know I’ll be true to my word. I’ll make you feel so good, sweetheart. Just relax.” More kisses peppered in a line under your navel as his hand stroked at your inner thigh, gently moving your legs apart.
He looped your knees over his shoulders as he settled between your legs, wove his hands back with yours, and tilting his head down he licked a broad, slow stripe up your slit with the flat of his tongue. Your back arched off the bed as a loud moan escaped you. You didn’t have time to recover as his tongue found you again, dragging slowly through your folds with intent but stopping before your clit. He moved down and kissed your opening, sucking lightly and letting his tongue lick into you languidly.
“Oh my god,” you moaned breathlessly and he hummed in agreement. He moved his mouth up, taking his time to suck gently at your folds but skipping over your clit again. Another long, slow lick with the full length of his tongue stopped just short again.
“Bill,” you whined. You arched your pelvis up but a large, warm hand rested on your stomach and gently pushed you back down. Another few licks into your opening as he groaned, and then his tongue dragged up through your soaked folds and slowly over your clit. Flicking it, he rested his lips over it and drew it into his mouth.
Your knee jerked, leg shooting straight out as he sucked at you gently. His light chuckle sent shockwaves through your core as his hand came to your thigh, massaging it gently to relax your leg again over his shoulder. You thrashed your head, jaw clenched as you whimpered, but he wouldn’t let up his ministrations. Reaching up he rested two fingers on your lips, offering you something to bite down on. You gladly opened your mouth and sucked on them, which had him moaning and instilling some added fervour into his own actions. He ran his tongue over your clit still enclosed in his plush lips, circling it as he felt you quiver beneath him.
“Fuck,” you moaned, “Bill, I’m gonna....shit....” your breathless incoherent babble sounded foreign even to your own ears, and the only thing you could register was the tight coil buried deep in your belly, that was about to snap. With your hips moving almost of their own accord, Bill released your clit with a lewd noise and upped the pressure of his tongue with every lick. So warm and so wet, he probed at your entrance before sucking as much of you as he could into his mouth. Moaning at your taste and your scent all around him, he held your hips down and sucked your clit back into his mouth, burying his face deep into your folds and flicking your bud in a rhythm that had the coil wound so tight within you finally snap.
With a deep, guttural groan that was almost a scream, you bit down on his fingers as your back arched off the bed so violently that you felt your spine pop. Your hips would have followed if it hadn’t been for Bill’s forearm pressing down on them, and his mouth stayed on you, softening the pressure as you rode out the hardest orgasm you had ever had. The aftershocks still jolting you, you collapsed on the bed in a sweaty, heaving mess, your eyes closed.
You felt a gentle kiss on your mound, he withdrew his fingers slowly from your mouth and shuffled a bit so he was back hovering over you. He waited patiently for you to come down from your high, rubbing gentle circles into the skin at your sides and pressing feather light kisses to your face. When you finally opened your eyes, he was staring at you with a lopsided smirk.
“Hi,” he said, softly.
“Hi,” you giggled.
“That was fucking beautiful.”
“That felt fucking beautiful,” you emphasized.
He smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I can’t wait to see that again.”
“What?” you asked, but soon got your answer as he ground his hips into yours, his prominent hardness evident through his jeans.
“One down, tiger,” he licked your neck, a solid stripe from the base all the way up to your ear, “Many, many more to go.”
oh my god 🫠 age gaps are gonna do it for me every time i fucking love silver fox daddies.. can we hear about how steve crying on that dick finally happens? 😩 do they have an audience at the kink club?
Their FIRST time with an audience? No. But I bet once they're established, Steve would commit actual war crimes to nurse on his silver fox Daddy's cock while Daddy catches up with his fellow Daddy/Dom friends
Anyways, this AU took over my brain which is sad for the like 5k of sugarbaby!Steve being kidnapped I have in my documents and the 2k of Omega Prince Steve trying to get an absolute stranger to fulfill his kinky fantasies .2 seconds after meeting him like the absolute freak he is, but here we are
I’m really very sorry for this, I don’t know what happened it just did.
I decided that Bucky is a doctor in this universe—mostly because fellow silver fox Dr Jack Abbott showed off his big muscly arms and titties in last week’s episode of The Pitt and that needs to be commemorated somehow—but I can’t decide if I want him to be an ER doctor like Dr Daddy Jack Abbott or something like a surgeon. Either way, for Future Reasons, he has to work in a hospital.
Also, he probably has an evil, gold-digging ex that said a lot of hateful things to him when he left, which is why Bucky can’t see that Steve is actually interested in him.
He’s a confident man in almost every other way, but that relationship did a number on him.
He doesn’t go to the club very often; he’s been a member long enough to know all the players and none of the available boys there want what he wants to give. He rules his domain at work with an iron fist, but when he goes home at the end of the day, he doesn’t want to be the same way with his boy. He wants to dote and coax and tease, he wants to be gentle and sweet.
He can be stern if he needs to, but mostly he just wants a boy to spoil. The boys at his club, they crave a stricter hand than he wants to give.
But he’ll pop in occasionally, just sit and watch and socialize, because even just being there feels better than being in his huge, empty house all alone.
And then one night, he walks into the club, and there’s an angel sitting at the bar, giggling contagiously with a group of other subs. He’s fucking breathtaking, tousled blonde hair and glimmering blue eyes, tantalizingly red lips that shine with gloss, a cherubic face and porcelain skin, wearing a little skirt that falls over his creamy thighs in the most distracting way.
Bucky falls instantly, embarrassingly in love with the boy.
“Close your mouth,” one of the other Daddies says, sidling up next to him, “you’ll catch flies.”
Bucky swallows roughly. “Who is that?”
“A friend of Etienne’s from school, apparently,” the Daddy says. “He’s joining our club. Used to go to one across town.”
Bucky thinks he knows the one. He’s gone a time or two, but this club was closer to home and the hospital, so it became his spot.
“God, he’s beautiful,” Bucky breathes, unable to look away.
The Daddy sighs mournfully. “Oh, to be twenty years younger.”
It pops the rosy haze that’s settled over Bucky. He remembers, very suddenly, who he is. Just how fucking old he is, and how young that boy is.
The boy looks painfully young, but a school friend of Etienne’s would probably put him in his early to mid-20s, which is still far, far too young for Bucky to be watching him with heat swirling low in his gut. But even more importantly, it means that perfect, angelic creature would never want a man like him—aged, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, his hair more silver than brown these days. He keeps himself as fit as he can, but there’s a comfortable soft layer of fat over his belly that he can’t get rid of anymore, no matter how hard he works out.
A boy like that—gorgeous enough to have his pick of any partner he wanted, with his whole life ahead of him—would never even look twice at him.
Etienne, because he is a brat, through and through, and has a sixth sense on how to cause as much turmoil for a Dom as possible—even one that isn’t his own—takes it upon himself to introduce his new friend to everyone at the club that night.
“And this,” he says, flouncing up to Bucky just an hour or two later, pulling his friend along behind him by the wrist, “is Daddy James. He hardly comes to the club anymore, because he doesn’t love us. Daddy James, this is my best friend, Steve.”
“No one calls me James, Etienne,” Bucky corrects, exasperated, even as he tries not to stare too long at the angel in front of him. At Steve. His angel’s name is Steve. “I don’t even know how you found out about that.”
“I have my ways.” Etienne preens. “But you should definitely go by Daddy James, it’s a very refined name and you are a refined Daddy. ‘Daddy Bucky’ is not refined.”
“I like it,” Steve pipes up, and oh, his voice is the sweetest thing Bucky’s ever heard. “It sounds playful.”
He’s even prettier up close, all rosy cheeks and long lashes, a slim little thing that only comes up to Bucky’s shoulder. God, how perfectly this boy would fit in his arms.
Steve looks up at Bucky, his blue eyes coy and sparkling with mischief, tilting his head and swaying oh-so-innocently as he asks, “Are you a playful Daddy?”
Bucky’s mouth goes dry. What he wouldn’t give to show this lithe, beautiful boy just how playful he can be.
“Ugh, no,” Etienne says, scrunching up his nose, before Bucky can even begin to figure out how to answer that question. “Doms are always boring, even the Daddies. They all have their stupid rules, none of them know how to have fun.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to let your Sir know you think that.”
Something sparks in Etienne’s eyes, like he’s gotten exactly what he wanted. Idly, Bucky wonders just how many comments he’s dropped tonight, hoping to earn himself a punishment. He wonders if that’s all this is, this little meet-and-greet of his, just a new way to amuse himself and rile up his Dom.
What a deviant little thing.
“Be sure you do that,” Etienne says primly, taking Steve’s wrist again. “C’mon, Stevie, there’s more people to meet.”
That night in the shower, despite his very best efforts not to, Bucky touches his aching, pulsing cock to thoughts of a beautiful, angelic boy he has no business wanting.
Fantasies of how the night could have gone differently if only that boy were his. Backing him into a dark corner of the club, trapping that lean, lithe body against a wall, shushing him, telling him they have to be very, very quiet, as he unzips his pants, taking his cock out and slipping it underneath that tiny, tiny little skirt.
That boy in the shower with him now, giving him that sweet smile before he drops to his knees and wraps those tantalizing lips around Bucky’s cock.
What it would be like to see that sweet, angelic face twisted in tormented pleasure, what it would look like crumpled and tearstained. What it sounds when he cries for his Daddy.
It’s those last thoughts that make him come in long, agonizing waves, fucking his fist with a desperation he hasn’t felt in years. That gorgeous face flushed red, tears of pleasure glistening in his blue eyes as he looks up at Bucky and sobs, “Daddy.”
He’s ashamed of himself afterward—ashamed to be lusting after a boy so young, so thoroughly out of his league and his reach—but it also doesn’t stop him from returning to the club more frequently.
He can’t seem to help it, no matter how hard he tries. He just seems to end up there, standing at the entrance, blinking and confused, wondering how he got there in the first place. And then, well—he’s already there, isn’t he? He might as well go in.
Through these frequent trips, he learns that Steve is a wonderfully coy, playful, flirty boy that thrills at having a Daddy’s attention. He loves to flirt with anyone, it seems, but when it’s a Daddy, he comes alive.
He seeks it out shamelessly, throwing himself among the socializing Daddies night after night to soak up their attention like a lamb offering himself up to a pack of wolves. He jokes and smiles and laughs and flirts with them all, which is why Bucky never takes it to heart when it’s his turn, no matter how hard or fast said heart pounds.
Despite his flirtations, to Bucky’s knowledge, he hasn’t played with any of them.
In fact, besides socialize, the most Bucky ever sees him do at the club is one very, very memorable occasion, near to the club’s closing time and far past the time Bucky should’ve gone home, but he kept telling himself just one more look. Just one more glimpse of the boy he can never have.
And then he sees them: a tangle of lithe limbs on the couch.
Etienne hovers over Steve, his trim waist cradled between soft, creamy thighs, their hips moving together in a slow, erotic grind as they exchange long, lazy kisses. Every time they pull back to take a breath, they grin at each other, giggling softly. Just two boys having fun, feeling good together, but they have the attention of everyone left in the club.
Bucky did not need to see this. He did not need to know what Steve looks like flushed with pleasure, what his lips look like after long, deep, wet kisses. And yet he here is, witnessing it, a reluctant but lecherous voyeur, his cock lengthening against his thigh. He can’t look away, no matter how much he knows he should.
Steve lifts his head from the couch, his delicate, pink tongue snaking out to coyly lick Etienne’s top lip. Bucky’s cock fucking pulses.
He turns on his heel, walking out before he does something stupid like kneel beside the couch and take that tongue for his own.
He comes that night to the image of a delicate pink tongue teasing the tip of his cock.
What Bucky doesn’t know is that Steve throws himself among the Daddies night after night just to be close to him. That yes, Steve might like attention—okay, he might really like attention, especially from a Daddy—but the only thing he’s doing while he’s smiling and laughing and flirting with the rest of them is trying to put himself in Bucky’s line of sight.
The rest of the Daddies catch on pretty quickly. Steve is a lot of things, but he isn’t subtle. While he’s smiling and laughing with them, he keeps sneaking little peeks at one man in particular. Every time he sees that man’s attention on him, his blush turns scarlet.
And when Bucky’s head is turned, his attention taken up by something else, oh, the hunger in that boy’s eyes. The way he chews on his lip, perusing Bucky’s body, undressing him with his eyes so blatantly that everyone witnessing it gets hot under the collar.
“Apparently,” one of the older Daddies mutters to another, early on, “we don’t need to be twenty years younger.”
The other Daddy snorts. “Should we tell him?” He asks, nodding at Bucky.
“No, let’s not spoil the surprise. That tenacious little thing is going to get what he wants, and Bucky deserves to be chased a little, after—”
The Daddy grimaces. “After,” he agrees, and they leave it at that.
The problem, they find, is that Bucky has no idea he’s being chased. No matter what Steve does, no matter how unsubtle he is. The flirting and compliments and little teasing touches, and still, Bucky doesn’t seem to realize that any of it is serious.
It doesn’t stop him from being a lovesick fool, though.
Steve’s an aspiring artist and has only just recently gotten up the nerve to start posting his works online. Etienne is the one to give out the link, since Steve is too shy to do it himself, but it still makes its way back to Bucky.
The next time they see Steve, he’s bouncing with excitement—he sold his first piece through his new website.
As they watch him gush, one of the Daddies clears his throat, leaning close to Bucky and muttering, “So if I went into your house right now, which room would it be in?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bucky says without ever taking his eyes off his angel, teeming with happiness.
“Yeah, I might believe you,” the Daddy replies, “except you have the look of a Daddy that just made his boy very, very happy. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you just made him your boy.”
“Will you just let me have this?”
It goes on for months. Bucky, panting desperately after the prettiest boy he’s ever seen and ashamed he can’t seem to stop, trying not to let it show and when that fails, at least making it clear that he knows he doesn’t stand a chance. And poor Steve, trying to figure out why nothing he does seems to work.
“Are you sure he likes guys?” He asks Etienne one night in their apartment, wanting his Daddy and feeling very whiny that he’s being denied.
“I’m very sure,” says Etienne, as patiently as he can for someone who’s had this conversation a dozen times already. “His last relationship was a guy.”
Steve looks down at himself critically. He isn’t ugly, he knows that. He’s a very respectable looking person, he just happens to be vertically challenged, a little skinny, and maybe a little too soft. Maybe a little too soft on purpose, because he likes the way it feels.
“Am I too femme?” He asks, frowning as he picks at the flowery pink satin shorts he has on. That would be a shame; he really likes his soft body and pretty clothes. “Does he like his boys more masculine? I don’t wanna be muscly and boring.”
There’s something so enticing about wearing small, delicate, feminine things. About feeling small and delicate in a big, strong Daddy’s arms. He shivers, unable to stop himself from wondering what it would feel like to feel so delicate and soft and little in Daddy Bucky’s arms.
A strong arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him out of that thought.
“Then don’t be,” Danny, their third roommate, says. “Don’t change yourself for some man. If he can’t see how amazing you are, that’s on him.”
Steve practically purrs at the touch, wriggling in Danny’s arms until he can press himself right up against Danny’s muscular chest.
“You think I’m amazing?” He asks breathlessly, rocking his hips a little.
Danny’s eyes sparkle. “Behave,” he says simply, reaching under Steve’s little shorts to pinch his bare ass, hard.
Steve lets out a squeal that makes Etienne laugh.
With a soft, pitiful whine, Steve flops against Danny’s chest, tucking himself underneath his chin. His reward for his obedience is a soft to kiss to the forehead and a hand in his hair.
It’s hard to explain his relationship with his roommates to other people. Etienne is the boy he met at freshman orientation in college, who looked so flamboyant and pretty that Steve had stars in his eyes the whole afternoon. They met Danny-the-upperclassman weeks later at a mixer and through a comedy of errors the likes of which only Etienne and Steve could achieve, eventually stumbled their way into the knowledge that Danny was in fact a Dom.
Etienne opened Steve’s eyes to the wonders of being a pretty, feminine boy, but Danny is the one to open both of their eyes to the world of kink. He took them under his wing rather than let them fumble through it themselves or accidentally find someone who might hurt them. Their kinks didn’t align, but they were attracted to each other, so he patiently explored each new thing they were curious about until both Etienne and Steve were armed with the knowledge of exactly what got them off.
They’ve had sex, the three of them together, many, many times and while they don’t really do that anymore—not unless Steve and Etienne are sleepy and horny and want to make out and rub off on each other—it’s impossible to lose the intimate knowledge they have of each other’s bodies.
It’s also hard when Steve really, really likes making out with his roommates, and they love him enough to indulge him. He had a very lonely childhood devoid of touch and now, he’s a hopelessly tactile creature. He doesn’t just want it, he craves it like a drug. He needs to be touched and cuddled and loved on, and thankfully, he’s found at least two people in this world who will give it to him without reservation.
“Oh, Daddy Bucky knows how amazing he is,” Etienne chimes in, once Steve is settled against Danny’s chest. “Steve could crush him beneath his dainty little heel and that man would say thank you. Steve could tell him to lick his boots and Daddy Bucky would do it, no hesitation, just for the chance to touch him.”
“He would not,” Steve says, blushing.
“He so would. The way he looks at you when you’re walking around the club violates public indecency laws, I’m sure of it.”
“If that was true, he’d show more interest, wouldn’t he? He’d flirt back. He’d touch me back when I touch him.” Steve whines softly. “I want him to touch me so bad.”
Danny watches him flop onto his back dramatically, his dark eyes glittering with amusement.
“Why do you want this guy so badly? Are there no other available Daddies at the new club?”
“Oh, there are plenty,” Etienne snorts. “And almost all of them would kill at the chance to take Steve into one of the playrooms. But our finicky little mister over there took one look at Daddy Bucky the night they met and decided that was the Daddy for him.”
“Ugh, you don’t understand,” Steve cries, sitting up. “Neither of you do. He’s like boy catnip. He’s so big and beefy and hairy all over and there’s all that silver in it and his belly is soft and his hands are so big, I wanna cry just thinking about it, and he has that whole buttoned-up Daddy thing going on that tells you he’s going to be so filthy in bed, and he has such a big dick, I just know it—”
“There is absolutely no way you can know that,” Danny interrupts, laughing.
“I so can,” Steve insists.
“Well,” Etienne adds at nearly the same time, “I have heard rumors…”
Steve whines again, knowing he’s being dramatic but unable to help it.
“I knew it. He has a big dick and I wanna play with it. Make him let me play with it.”
He adds this last part to Danny, pouting as he rubs their thighs together. When that doesn’t feel like enough, he helplessly rocks their hips together, leaning up to nibble at his jaw.
Danny looks down at him with that same fond amusement, like Steve is a favored pet doing something particularly cute.
“You are so horny tonight,” he comments.
Steve make another pitiful noise, nodding. “I want my Daddy, but he won’t play with me. I wanna sit on his massive dick and cry until I can’t come anymore.”
Okay, well, Daddy Bucky isn’t actually his Daddy and Steve knows he shouldn’t claim him that way. It’s just hard. Steve wants him so much he aches with it sometimes and somewhere along the way, he’s grown possessive even though he knows he shouldn’t be. He hates when other boys even look at him at the club anymore, and God, the way jealousy tears at his insides when they actually talk to him.
Daddy Bucky hasn’t ever played with a boy at the club, not as long as Steve’s been there, but he lives in fear of the day it will happen. Because it will happen one day, he knows it will. Daddy Bucky is a single man, after all, and so attractive it’s insane. He’s well within his rights to play with whoever he wants and however often he wants.
One day, some lucky boy will catch his eye and Daddy Bucky will take him into one of the playrooms—or, in Steve’s worse imaginings, home—and Steve will forever be left to wonder what that boy has that he doesn’t.
“You’re such a little freak,” Etienne taunts.
Steve glares. “Shut up, Etienne, I’ve seen the stuff you let Sir use on you!”
“Boys,” Danny chides calmly. “No kinkshaming.”
He touches Steve’s chin, turning his attention away from Etienne.
“Have you asked him to play with you?” He asks patiently, once Steve’s eyes are on him again.
Steve squirms, admitting in a small voice, “No. What if he doesn’t like assertive boys?”
Danny raises an imperious eyebrow.
“What if he does? What if he thinks you don’t want to play with him because you haven’t asked? What if your kinks don’t align? What if you’re actually completely sexually incompatible—”
Steve gasps, scandalized by the very notion. “Impossible.”
“—you won’t know anything until you actually talk to him,” Danny finishes, ignoring Steve’s interruption. “You have to actually talk, Steve, not just be cute and flirty and make eyes at him. Tell him what you want. You know better. I taught you better.”
“Don’t be logical, Danny!”
“Steve.”
“I know, okay?” Steve sighs softly. “It’s just—what if he says no? At least right now, I can dream. If I ask and it turns out I’m right and he’s not interested, then that’s it. Or worse, he’ll laugh with his friends that some stupid kid thought he ever stood a chance.”
Etienne snorts. “That is never gonna happen, trust me on that.”
Danny shakes his head, leaning down to kiss the bridge of his nose.
“You are so silly sometimes,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen you bring a whole room of men to their metaphorical knees and know you’re doing it. You know exactly how cute you are and yet the second you think you’re being rejected, you come up with the craziest scenarios.”
“Don’t laugh at me.” Steve pouts, wrapping his arms around Danny’s neck. “And don’t call me cute.”
“No?”
“No. I’m sad, Danny. Tell me I’m pretty and kiss me until I feel better.”
Whatever kind of doctor Bucky is, he’s in the ER one night—maybe for his shift, maybe he’s a surgeon called down for some sort of assistance—when he turns around and his heart drops.
Seconds before a nurse leaving a room pulls a privacy curtain closed, he catches a glimpse of a hunched figure with a lithe body and tousled blonde hair peeking out from underneath a beanie. It shouldn’t be enough for Bucky to know, but he does. Before he even registers the thought to move, he’s standing outside the curtain..
“Steve?” He asks softly.
On the other side, he hears a soft hitching breath, a sniffle.
“Da—um. B-Bucky?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
The sight on the other side of the curtain breaks his fucking heart.
Steve is a vibrant soul, glowing and full of life, always energetic, coy, playful. But not today. Today, he’s hunched and shivering, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He looks so small and lost, hunched on the hospital bed covered in a smattering of small scrapes and bruises.
“Oh,” Steve says meekly, a tear slipping down his cheek as he blinks. “Hi.”
“Christ,” Bucky breathes out.
He pulls a stool to the edge of the bed, sitting down hard. He has one rule for himself when it comes to the angel he can never have: never touch him. Touching him would lead to madness. He isn’t strong enough to stop Steve from touching him, but he can’t reciprocate because if he started, he knows he’d never be able to stop.
That rule means nothing now. He can’t see his little angel in pain—see that lost, hurt, vulnerable look in his eyes—and not touch him.
But—professionally. He can’t stop himself from touching, but he has to keep it professional. He has to at least try.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, scooting close. “Lemme take a look at you. What happened?”
He cups Steve’s face in his hands, turning his head from side to side to examine him. Slowly, he lets his hands move down, palpating gently and watching carefully for his reactions.
“Um.” He swallows, his throat working underneath Bucky’s fingers. He sniffles, trying to gather himself even as more tears fall. “I, um. I was—I was in the middle of the crosswalk and some…idiot wasn’t going to stop. They didn’t h-hit me, but I—I tripped getting out of the way. Y-You’re a doctor?”
Bucky smiles softly, his hands sliding down to Steve’s thin shoulders. He squeezes gently, allowing himself a single soft sweep of his thumb over Steve collarbone.
“I am,” he answers softly. He forces himself to move on; he can’t linger in any one place. Can’t focus too long on this beautiful, lithe body and what it feels like underneath his hands. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“Yes,” Steve whispers. He touches the side of his hair, behind and above the ear. “H-Here.”
Gently, Bucky removes his beanie. “Did you lose consciousness?”
“No,” Steve answers, obediently turning his head when he’s guided. “No passing out, no dizziness, no confusion. J-Just a headache.”
His breath hitches softly when Bucky’s hand cups his neck to tilt his head toward the light. Bucky swallows roughly, telling himself not to read into it. Of course his breath is unsteady—he’s been through a lot in the past couple of hours, overwhelmed, shaken up and crying. It has nothing to do with him.
Steve’s hair is dark and matted with dried blood, but not as much as Bucky would’ve expected from a head wound.
“Did you Google that,” Bucky asks, parting the hair to see his scalp, “or have they examined you already?”
“B-both.”
The wound is small, no stitches required. It’s already been cleaned, confirming that it has, indeed, already been looked at.
That should put his mind at ease, but it doesn’t. He needs to check for himself. Just to be sure.
Bucky turns Steve’s head back toward him, grabbing his pen light.
“I’m going to shine a light in your eyes. It’s going to be bright, but it’ll only be for a second.”
Steve allows it, obediently submitting to a second examination for no other reason than because Bucky wants to give it. As Bucky tucks the pen light back into his pocket, satisfied by his pupillary reaction, he has the distinct, tortuous pleasure of watching a lithe hand rub along the swell of his chest.
“You look really handsome in your white coat,” Steve says, his voice uncharacteristically meek. He sniffles softly. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this and I’m not even in the right frame of mind to enjoy it.”
Bucky catches his hand, flattening it against him.
“No flirting, you little minx,” he admonishes. “I’m trying to make sure you’re okay.”
“It’s not flirting, I’m giving you a compliment.” Steve tries to give him a playful little smile, but it’s tremulous at best. A few more tears slip down his cheeks. Watching them fall makes Bucky feel like he’s being stabbed. “Aren’t you going to give me one back? Tell me I look so pretty all bruised up and crying?”
It’s the tears that make him say it. Those fucking tears, and that vulnerable look in Steve’s eyes, shredding every ounce of his self-control.
“Sweetheart, I have no doubt you’d look fucking ethereal covered in the right kind of bruises with the right kind of tears, but not these.”
Bucky reaches up, unable to stop himself from gently wiping them away as he whispers, “These are enough to break a Daddy’s heart.”
Steve’s breath hitches. “Ethereal? You think I’d be….ethereal?”
I think you already are, Bucky thinks helplessly, but he can’t say that. He’s already said too much. The last thing he wants is to make Steve uncomfortable.
He clears his throat, pulling his hands away.
“Any Daddy would,” he says mechanically.
“Oh.”
Steve’s shoulders slump, his gaze now downcast. It’s the first time since Bucky walked in that Steve hasn’t looked at him and the loss leaves him feeling cold.
Bucky looks around the room, casting for something to say. Belatedly, he realizes that there’s nothing chaotic and colorful enough to suggest Etienne’s presence.
He frowns.
“How long have you been here?”
Steve shrugs, not looking up as he whispers, “Couple of hours. They did a bunch of tests, I’m just waiting on the results so I can go home.”
“Then where is Etienne?”
He sniffles, scrubbing away a few fresh tears.
“I didn’t call him,” he admits quietly.
“Why not?”
“It’s play night with his Sir. He likes to pamper himself beforehand. I just…didn’t want to interrupt.”
Bucky frowns. “This is the kind of thing he would want to be interrupted for. You were hurt. He’d want to be here for you.”
Another deceptively careless shrug, another agonizing minute of Steve avoiding his gaze.
“It’s just some scrapes and bruises. I…I should be able to handle that on my own, right?”
He’s trying so hard to act like what happened to him is no big deal, that it didn’t scare him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He hasn’t stopped crying the entire time Bucky’s been with him, and though he seems a little less lost, that air of fragility hasn’t yet dissipated. He’s shaken. Just some scrapes and bruises or not, he shouldn’t be alone.
Gently, Bucky touches his chin, lifting it back up. Relief floods him when Steve lets himself be guided, those blue eyes finally on him again. God, he looks so vulnerable. So hurt.
“It’s okay if you can’t,” Bucky whispers, caressing his chin. “You don’t have to do this on your own, you can—”
The privacy curtain is pulled back. Steve flinches at the sudden noise, hunching in on himself further.
The doctor on the other side pauses at the sight of Bucky, her sharp gaze taking in the scene with keen interest.
Bucky winces. Of all the doctors, it had to be her. Dr. Natalia Romanov misses nothing.
“Dr. Barnes,” she says, raising a thin, delicate brow. “I wasn’t aware your expertise was needed on this case.”
“It isn’t,” Bucky replies, sitting back. “I was just checking on a friend.”
“A friend,” Dr. Romanov repeats. She looks between them. “Right.”
Bucky clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”
He stands, but before he can move any further, Steve makes a loud, panicked noise, scrambling to grab his hand.
“No, don’t leave,” he begs. His gaze is pleading as he looks up at Bucky, fresh tears brewing. “Please don’t leave.”
Despite every part of him knowing it’s a bad idea, Bucky cups Steve’s face again.
“Give me your phone,” he murmurs, caressing his cheek. “I’ll call Etienne while you speak to Dr. Romanov. You’re in good hands, I promise.”
Steve sighs, rubbing his cheek against Bucky’s palm like a particularly needy kitten as he reluctantly reaches for his phone.
“You’ll come back?” He asks morosely.
“I’ll come back,” Bucky promises. “I have to return your phone, at least.”
He squeezes Steve’s cheek, giving it one last caress before he pulls away.
“I’ll be right back.”
Bucky is too busy ignoring Romanov’s intense gaze to notice the blue eyes that follow him out. In a small alcove away from the hustle and bustle, he calls Etienne. It is, perhaps, the bizarre and most frustrating phone call of his life.
Etienne reacts as expected at first—horrified at what happened, annoyed he wasn’t called, worried about his best friend. But the very moment Bucky mentions that Steve shouldn’t be left alone, there is a very long pause and then his tone…shifts.
“Oh,” he says haltingly. “Well, he can’t come back here.”
Bucky blinks, pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at it for a second. “Why the hell not?”
“Our apartment’s being fumigated.”
“The apartment you’re taking a bath in right now?”
Because he can very clearly hear the splash of water every time Etienne moves.
“Oh, right,” Etienne says, unrepentant. “What I meant to say is that a pipe burst right above his bedroom and his bed is tragically ruined. There’s nowhere for him to convalesce. Trust me, the couch should not be slept on.”
“What about your bed?”
“Forget about the beds,” Etienne sighs dramatically. “Aliens are attacking downtown right now! I can see the battle from my bathroom window. Traffic must be a nightmare, there’s just no way to get to him tonight.”
“Etienne.” Bucky pinches the bridge to his nose, a headache coming on the likes of which only Etienne could ever inspire. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, I thought it was obvious,” Etienne replies brightly. “He’s going home with you, Doctor Daddy. It’s just about how hard you fight it.”
“You don’t even know what time my shift ends, Etienne, he could be here for hours.”
“What time does your shift end?”
Reluctantly, Bucky admits, “Now.”
“Then it’s settled! Take our little gumdrop home with you, since you’re so very worried about him. You’re a doctor, after all, who could take better care of him than you?”
Bucky wants to. God, does he want to. He’d love nothing more than to wrap his little angel up in a warm blanket and cuddle with him all night long, to touch and kiss and coo soft praise until that air of fragility has dissipated. But he doesn’t have that right. He’ll never have that right.
“That would be inappropriate,” Bucky says, “and very ill-advised. And I don’t think he would like it. I think I made him uncomfortable earlier.”
A peal of laughter echoes through the phone. “In his pants, maybe.”
“Etienne.”
“Oh, boo.” He gives another long, dramatic sigh. “Well, if there’s no convincing you, I suppose I can see if Danny can leave work early and go get him. It can’t be me, you know, Steve and I just feed off each other. We’ll both be crying in no time. But Danny, he’ll wrap Steve up in those big strong arms of his and give him the TLC he needs if you won’t do it.”
Bucky twitches at the name. He saw it in Steve’s most recent calls, of course. Besides Etienne, this mysterious Danny is the person Steve calls the most.
He tells himself not to ask—that it’s just feeding right into Etienne’s hand—but he cannot hold the question in.
“Who’s Danny?”
“Our roommate,” Etienne answers sweetly. In a conspiratorial whisper, he adds, “And a Dom. Not a Daddy, sadly, so not quite the whole package for our gumdrop, but don’t you worry, Doctor Daddy, he knows just what Stevie likes. He’ll be able to take care of him just. right.”
For one terrible, gut-wrenching moment, Bucky imagines it. The muscular, attractive, appropriate young man that would walk into the hospital to get his little angel. Having to watch Steve throw himself in that man’s arms, search out comfort and reassurance from someone else and readily find it. Watching them leave and knowing that it’ll be that man taking care of his angel, that Steve will submit himself to that man’s care.
It shouldn’t matter. No matter what, Steve will never look twice at him. Will never want him the way Bucky hopelessly, desperately wants him.
But it does matter. It does.
Bucky lets out a long breath. “Why are you doing this, Etienne?”
“Believe it or not, I’m trying to help.” In this, at least, he sounds sincere. “I’ll admit, the jealousy angle was a gamble. You’re kind of a martyr about him, but you also haven’t had to watch him be with anyone else, so I rolled the dice. Did it work?”
Bucky doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. Because the truth is: it is working, but he’s trying hard not to let it. He has to be reasonable here. What good will come from this?
But his silence must be telling, because Etienne presses his advantage:
“What’ll be, Doctor Daddy? Time’s a’wasting. Do I send Danny in as the white knight for our little damsel in distress or are you gonna give in and do what we both know you want to do, anyway?”
“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what he needs.”
“Aw, what a good Daddy,” Etienne coos. “Luckily, that’s exactly what he needs. But if you’re so concerned, give him the phone. I’ll make sure.”
As Bucky walks back toward Steve’s room, he says, “The next time I see your Sir, I’m going to have a chat with him about your penchant for manipulation.”
“Promises, promises.”
The problem, Bucky finds, with giving Steve his phone back and then giving him privacy to talk to his best friend, is that it also gives Natalia the opportunity to corner him.
“Should I ask?”
“I would really rather you didn’t.”
Natalia hums, looking him over.
“For now,” she concedes. “Be careful, James. We don’t need another situation on our hands.”
With that, she walks away. He watches her go with a wince.
Situation. It’s what she likes to call his last relationship; the one that began the long, lonely dry spell he hasn’t been able to get himself out of. She never dignifies the man who’s responsible for it by saying his name.
A few minutes later, Steve peeks around the curtain. He doesn’t have to say anything. Bucky can tell just by the blush on his cheeks:
For the first time in a long time, he won’t be going home alone tonight.
