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samkerrworshipper · 1 year ago

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the monsters gone

part 3 of beautiful girl series -> part 1 -> part 2

leah williamson x reader, jordan nobbs x reader (wobbs as moms)

warnings: drug addiction, drug abuse, talks of illicit substances, depression, intrusive thoughts, would not advise for people in a bad mental headspace

You wanted her to leave, or you were desperate for a fix and well aware that it wasn’t going to happen until she was gone and you could retreat up to your room like normal.

You scratched at the incision on your forearm, it was hidden underneath your hoodie but you could feel it all the same, it made you feel guilty.

You’d never felt guilty for taking drugs, why would you? It was your choice, your body, your brain that you were fucking with. Yet for some reason, the little mark that you knew was sitting right on top of your vein was making you feel guilty. You didn’t want to admit it, but it felt oddly like the start of something, you weren’t sure what though, whatever it was though, it didn’t feel good.

When the door clicked open around 2 o’clock you felt far more at peace, watching your mom hobble through the door with Lia following her. Jordan stood up almost immediately and if the room hadn’t already been awkward then the awkwardness found a whole new definition as the two women looked at each other.

“Hey Jord, thanks for hanging around, you’re looking good.”

Your mom looked relieved to see Jordan, your ma on the other side looked slightly terrified as she eyed up the two women.

“It wasn’t an issue, you know I love spending time with my chick.”

Leah smiled, looking down at you on the couch, you buried your head in your phone, ignoring her gaze.

“Whether she admits it or not she likes seeing you as well.”

Your ma laughed awkwardly, it took everything in you to not burst out laughing at all of the tension between the two of them.

“Look I’ll be heading off, gotta me back in Birmingham for game review tonight but can we talk for a minute though Le?”

Your mom’s head cocked to the side, a look of curiosity evident on her face.

“Yeah sure, come with me.”

Lia watches them with the same look of curiosity as you, your eyes meeting as the trail back from the doorway to Leah’s office that they both step into.

“They’re talking about me.”

Lia doesn’t bother trying to ignore you or deny what you’re saying, she nodes her head.

“Probably, that’s what most parents do.”

It’s a absentminded answer, and for a second your aware that maybe Lia is in on whatever is happening, that she knows exactly what is going on behind the door. If anything important came from the phone call earlier you know Lia would be the first to know, she was like the third parent you never asked for nor wanted, but somehow ended up with.

“Ma thinks that Mom’s parenting is shit.”

Lia cocks her head, she’s harder to read then your moms, more calculated, more clean, less obviously emotional.

“She just disagrees with some of the things that your mother does, so do I. Nobody else is in her shoes though, she makes the decisions that are necessary and best for you.”

Lia sounds convinced of her words, even though you doubt them.

“Ma doesn’t think so.”

Lia bit down on her bottom lip, finishing with tucking her kit bag away so she could focus her attention on you.

“She worries about you.”

You did your best to suppress the eye roll, it didn’t work.

“She worries that mom is too nice and isn’t strict enough.”

Sometimes you thought that your mom compensated for the void between the two of you by letting you do whatever you wanted, other times you were reminded by your grandma that she’d told Leah she needed to go easy on you and that not everyone could be as perfect as Leah Williamson.

“Your mom knows what you need better than anybody else.”

The conversation paused, the two of you flinching at the sound of yelling from the other side of the door, you couldn’t make out what was being said, both of them were yelling though.

“Set the table for lunch for me, kiddo?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the door, you hadn’t hear your moms yell in a long time, it took you back to when they were breaking up, when they tried to act like they weren’t, when they saved the fighting and yelling for when you’d been tucked into bed and they’d thought you were asleep.

“Kiddo, table.”

You stood up from the couch, your eyes staying stuck to the door, even as you pulled cutlery from the drawer and laid it out with the placemats on the table. Eventually, the yelling ceased, and the room was over come with a silence like no other, only being broken by the door opening and your two moms walking out, both of them looking far more content considering that it had sounded like they were screaming at each other, not thirty seconds ago.

“Bubba, Jord is going to head off, if you want to say bye.”

Jordan’s arms opened up to you and as mad and confused as you were, you weren’t going to deny her. You walked around the table, leaning into her hug, wrapping your arms around her the same way she did for you, letting her hold on for a little bit longer.

“I’ll be back when I can chicky, I love you so much.”

You wanted to tell her she was lying, that they were all lying, they didn’t fucking love you, it was so fucking obvious. But for the sake of keeping the peace you didn’t.

“I love you too Ma.”

Jordan let go of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The same way she had when they’d adopted you when you were eight, the same way she had after your first game when you were 12, the same way she had when you were 14 and you’d been top of your form and given an award, the same way she had when she’d left for good when you were 16. It was the same kiss, yet everything about it was different, the meaning, the purpose, the intention, it was all different.

You watched as she walked out the door, the same as every time, you listened to the sound of her car starting and the sound of gravel underneath her tires as she pulled out and onto the road.

Once you were sure she was gone you turned around, sliding into a seat at the table, across from your mother, staring at her.

“What were you guys talking about?”

Leah looked at you, poker face as good as ever.

“Football, some other stuff.”

It was a obvious lie, both you and Lia knew it.

“You were talking about me, what about me?” Leah rolled her eyes at you.

“It was a conversation between your Ma and I, not for your ears.”

You didn’t bat an eye as Lia set lunch down in front of you, to fixated on your mother.

“You don’t yell over nothing, what were you talking about.”

Leah pushed her tongue out against her lips.

“Your ma had some concerns about you, that’s it, I told her she had nothing to worry about and that we were doing just fine.”

You knew that even if you didn’t want to admit it, Jordan probably had some valid points, your mom seemed unphased though.

“That’s it?”

Leah looked at you, and you could tell that she was holding something back.

“She told me that you’d told her you smoked weed last night and that you were vomiting this morning.”

You tried to keep your face from changing, keeping the confident exterior even if you were slightly scared on the inside.

“I got drunk, I had some fun, it was no biggy.”

Leah’s eyebrow rose in the trademark question.

“It’s a biggy to me because you told all you were doing was vaping and a little bit of drinking, you said you’d be honest with me and it’s clear you haven’t been.”

You hesitated for a second, the air thickening around you as suddenly the tension was between you and your mother.

“I was just having some fun mom, I didn’t do anything stupid, I was safe, just like you asked.”

Leah’s face shrivelled up as you used her words against her.

“You were out with friends I’ve never met, at a house on the opposite side of town that I’ve never been too, Jord said you looked like you’d been on a three day bender and I told her that I didn’t believe her but now you’re here admitting it.”

You reached into your pocket for your vape, desperate for something to take the edge of the conversation off, to make you feel calmer.

You pulled it out and Leah’s face immediately pointed inwards.

“How many times do I have to say no vape at the table?”

You frowned, shoving it back in your pocket.

“It was just a bit of weed mom, it’s what kids my age do.”

Leah shook her head.

“It wasn’t just a bit of weed, I’ve been smelling it on your clothes for weeks and trying to tell myself I was being delusional because you’d told me you were just on the vape, that you had no interest in drugs and yet you were lying to me, you have been for a while bubba and I don’t know how to feel about it to be honest. I thought we were closer than most parents and kids, I thought we had boundaries and that I was giving you enough space, and now I don’t know what to think.”

You pursed your lips, struggling to find words.

“And if you’re lying to me about weed then what else is there? What else is there you aren’t telling me because there has to be more. I let you drop football, I relaxed on the school because I know you were struggling but this doesn’t work if you aren’t honest with me.”

You really didn’t know what to say, your mind was in a million different places, the container underneath your bed, the joints on your windowsill hidden behind the curtains, the three vapes in your bedside table, the drug dealer numbers in your phone, what had happened last night, the meth track mark on your arm.

“Nothing, it was just some weed, I just wanted something to take the edge off, it was no big deal.”

Leah’s eyes closed for a second and you knew this was all about to get a lot harder.

“Except it was a big deal because you’ve been doing it behind my backs for weeks, I’ve tried to be understanding bubba, I have, I know it’s been tough for you with me and Jords breakup, you’ve had a really hard year, I let the vaping slide, I let your attendance drop at school, but drugs bub, it’s no joke.”

You took a deep breath.

“It’s just some weed, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Leah wants to say that if you’re this relaxed about being caught doing weed then she doesn’t want to know what else you’re hiding from her that would make you less relaxed, but she keeps it to herself, or for this moment at least.

“I want you to bring me whatever you have of it, I won’t have you smoking illicit and illegal substances underneath my roof.”

You figured there were worse things that could happen, she could find your stash, she could take your vape, she could ground you or make you go to school.

“Okay.”

Your mom nodded, happy she had at least won a small battle.

“After lunch.”

You nod again in agreeance, looking down at the caesar salad in front of you and stabbing your fork down onto it, picking up the different pieces of lettuce and chicken scattered throughout.

You make it through half the meal before you grab your bowl and pick it up, walking into the kitchen to do you washing up, your mom follows behind you, her bowl empty.

You take the dish from her, cleaning it out and stacking both of them in the dishwasher, knowing whats to come now.

You slow yourself down on the stairs giving her the time to follow behind you as she dragged her bad leg up every individual stair.

Leah had been putting in hours everyday for her rehab, it was her main focus, over everything else.

Eventually the two of you made it to the top of the stairs, and eventually to your bedroom door.

You hesitated before opening it, you couldn’t remember the last time Leah had been inside it, way before her acl, ever since she’d gotten injured she’d been avoiding the staircase.

You opened the door, hand pausing on the cold metal doorknob for a split second before pushing it open.

Your room was still freezing, you didn’t miss how your mother shivered from the breeze that hit her face immediately, coming straight from the open window.

“Jesus kiddo, you trying to replicate antarctica in here? You know I pay good money for heating, right?”

It’s a lighthearted joke, yet somehow it hurts for you, you don’t know how or why, you just know that it does.

“I like it cold.”

Leah looks at you, both brows furrowed inwards.

“Alright then polar bear.”

You try not to flinch away when her hand reaches up to ruffle your hair, it’s something she’s done to you since you were a kid, it feels wrong now though.

“Let’s just get this over and done with.”

You walk over to your windowsill, reaching behind the curtain and reaching for the bag of joints that you have stashed behind the material. Leah frowns as you walk back over to her, shoving the bag into her hands before she can even ask.

“This is all of them?”

She looks completely unconvinced, you probably would be too, most kids don’t give up their drugs willingly.

“Yes.”

Leah looks at you, eye to eye, like she’s trying to reach into your soul, or read your mind.

“Bubba, this is your chance, I’m giving you an opportunity to be straight with me, and whatever you tell me or give me I won’t be mad about. I might want to sit down and question your decisions, but I won’t be mad. Teenagers are stupid, they make mistakes, they try new things, I get it. Be honest with me bubba, please.”

You didn’t really know what Leah was insinuating, but it was clear that she knew there was a bigger picture here.

“That’s it mom.”

You had to tear your eyes away from her, you couldn’t handle the way that she was looking at you, the mix of disappointment, resentment and worry mixed into her blue irises.

“Bubba, don’t make me search your room, don’t make me have to ground you, don’t make me have to call Jord and get her to turn the car around to help me out.”

You brought your eyes back to Leah’s.

“That’s it mom, I don’t know what you want me to tell you, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

You were lying through your teeth and the fact you couldn’t look eye to eye with Leah would have been enough of a warning sign of that.

“Drugs bubba, that’s what I’m talking about, you’re lying straight to my fucking face right now, I don’t know what about or why but you are.”

You didn’t know what to say, you weren’t going to admit it, you couldn’t, but you needed to say something. Fuck, you were so fucked.

You tried to spin it in your head, tried to think about how you could make this work out. You were caught, you were done, this was bad.

Your eyes darted to below your bed, rookie fucking mistake.

Leah caught your line of sight, and you knew as soon as she did that it was all about to go to fucking shit, that you were done for.

“Lia.”

Your mom’s voice was urgent, a yell that had the swiss woman bounding up the stairs in a matter of seconds.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You were so fucking fucked.

You were frozen in your spot, your mom’s eyes looking at you like she’d just been stabbed in the heart.

“Bubba, you can get whatever you are hiding from me or I will get Lia to tear this whole room a part, I’m not fucking around.”

You felt torn down the middle, your brain couldn’t think, you felt the same sickness sink in from this morning, instead of it being withdrawals from drugs though it was the realisation that your whole life was about to be turned upside down.

You tried to think, tried to think about how you could spin this, make it a little bit better than it really was.

Lia looked more uncomfortable then possible, you wished a blackhole would randomly pop up and swallow all three of you.

Something hit you, it wasn’t a full resolution but it was better than what you currently had going for you.

You walked over to your bed, with unsteadier legs then last night when you were so drunk the world was spinning, crouching down when you got to the edge, feeling for the familiar container that held all of your deepest darkest secrets, or at least that’s how it felt.

It took you back to a time when you’d made Leah check under your bed everynight for the monsters under your bed, now though she was looking for the monsters in your head, the monsters that had turned her little perfect girl into whatever you were now.

Your hand eventually met the hard plastic, you pulled it out, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you stood up and sat down on the edge of your bed.

Leah took a couple steps closer to you, standing directly in front of you.

“Look, it’s not mine, I only did it twice, my friends bought it over, I swear.”

Half of it was true.

“Open the box, bubba.”

You felt your throat tighten, you felt like you were going to vomit, or pass out, or have a heart attack.

“Mom, I didn’t want to, I don’t even like it, I just did it because my friends were, I swear.”

It was also another half truth.

“Bubba, open the box.”

You bit down even harder on the inside of your cheek, reaching for the edge of the plastic box and opening it, revealing the two baggies of white powder inside of it.

Leah’s face fell, in a way that you’d never seen, you’d seen her disappointed before, this wasn’t it, it was something else entirely and you weren’t sure what.

“Bubba.”

Your mom was a overly emotional person, you couldn’t handle her crying right now though, you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t deal with her pretending she gave a shit when this was the first time in months that it felt like she cared, and it was all because of Jordan, not on her own volition.

“I swear mom, I swear, it’s not mine, I promise.”

It wasn’t a lie, it hadn’t started out as yours, you’re friends had left it behind after a weekend hangout and had never asked for it back, so it technically wasn’t yours, technically.

“Bubba, what is it?”

Leah reached for the box, picking up the two bags, the bags that you felt like held your whole life together.

“Cocaine, it’s just a little bit of coke, my friends were using it before parties, I didn’t like it, it made me feel dizzy and it hurt my head.”

The cocaine bit was a lie, but the fact you didn’t like cocaine wasn’t, it was the kind of stimulant which put you into over drive, the high lasted no where near as long and it made you feel like you weren’t making sense.

You were hoping she would believe the cocaine, inevitably, cocaine was a pissy drug. Leah would have been at thousands of parties were cocaine was handed around, hell, you were fairly certain your mother had taken plenty of it. Cocaine was less addictive, good cocaine was also stupidly expensive, the value of it was fucked. Meth was cheap but a thousand times more addictive, cocaine was a better like.

“Lia, get rid of it.”

Your mom handed the bag of joints over to Lia, as well as the bags of drugs, shoving them into her hands like they were burning her hands. “I don’t even know what to say to you bubba.”

Your mom looked genuinely at a loss for words, her eyes kept darting between your eyes and your hands, which were shaking in front of you.

“Mom, I promise, it was only a one time thing, really, I was just keeping it for my friends.”

As soon as the tears started spilling down Leah’s face you knew it was about to get bad.

She walked over to your desk, pulling the chair out from it and dragged it across the room until it was directly in front of you, your mother taking a seat.

Her hands came out to rest on your knees, they were shaking like yours, not as badly but still shaking, though for different reasons you assumed.

“You told me the weed was a one time thing, that was a lie. I don’t know what to believe anymore, you’ve put me in a impossible situation, bubba. On one hand, I want to believe you. I want to believe the kid I raised, on the other hand you haven’t given me reason to. You broke my trust, you lied to me, you broke the house rules. I don’t ask a lot of you, I let you get away with more than your ma would let you, and I was fine with it because you were showing me you were a good kid, but now I honestly don’t know what to think. You told me it was just the vapes, I thought you were using a little bit to much nicotine and now it turns out that you’re smoking pot and doing drugs. You’ve been hiding and lying and I just don’t get why. Why bubba? Tell me why.”

Big tears were dripping from your mothers eyes, big, wet, fat tears pooling in her icey blue eyes.

“I don’t know, okay? I’m sorry mom, I’m really sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, I didn’t mean it, it was just some fun, it was a one time thing, I promise.”

Leah pursed her lips, the same way you were, the sleeve of her shirt was pressed to her face, picking up the tears that were dripping down her jaw.

“I’m going to go and call your ma, this is a discussion we need to be having together, I need her here for this.”

Little did they know how bad it really was.

Leah stood up, you thought she would just leave, heading back down to make a call to your ma that would inevitably change your life, instead, she sat down next to you, her arms opening up.

You leaned into her side, letting her wrap both of her arms around you.

“I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing you could think of saying, the only thing that sounded right coming off the tip of your tongue.

“I love you so much my beautiful girl, we’ll figure this out, your ma and I, we’re all going to figure this out.”

Leah held onto you for a little bit longer, her arms tightening onto you like you were holding her down to earth, like she would float away if she didn’t.

Eventually she let go, her face was puffy and red, her sleeves were red and she sounded all sniffly.

“I’m going to go and phone Jord, we’re going to sort it all out, we’ll figure this out, okay? We’re both here for you, we both love you so much, you’re our little girl.”

You found it weird how easy it slipped off of her tongue, you wondered if she actually believed that she meant it, you wondered if when your mother said it that she meant it without really meaning it. There were words but there were no actions to support those words, just empty syllables and letters all formed together in a intricate lie.

You watched as Leah limped her way out of your room, her bad leg trailing behind her good one, rule number one of parenting a child you now know is drug addicted, never leave them alone in a room they can escape from when you’ve just confronted them.

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs x reader #jordan and leah #jordan nobbs #wobbs breakup #its painful #trauma dumping #tears were shed #woso imagine #woso angst #sammykworshipperfics #pain sweet pain #fluff is coming #maybe

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darksigns-exe · 3 months ago

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a comforting touch - noah sebastian x reader

warnings: none

word count: 658

masterlist | taglist sign-up

You can tell that Noah’s had a rough day as soon as he slips through the door of your shared apartment. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and the persistent furrow in his brow reveals everything you need to know.

You meet him by the door as he toes off his shoes.

“Long day?”

He nods, evidently not quite in the headspace for long conversations.

“Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

It’s always difficult to tell what he needs in moments like these, and sometimes you’re not even sure if Noah really knows himself.

He’s quiet for a moment longer, before he reaches out for your hand so very hesitantly. Seeing him so reluctant always makes your chest ache a little. You follow him without another question.

Noah leads you into your bedroom.

You know what he’s after.

In the months since you and Noah started going out, you had developed a few little routines. Especially for the days when one of you is feeling low. You’ve come to find that Noah likes to get as close as he can when he’s feeling low like this. Usually, you’ll end up in bed together with him practically wrapping himself around you.

Noah looks so timid while you draw the blackout curtains shut. He stands next to your shared bed, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him that it’s okay to get comfortable. You assume that he’s had to make a boatload of big decisions today, usually that’s what gets him to his point. Once you’ve checked the thermostat to make sure that the room is nice and cool, you come to stand in front of him again.

“You wanna get comfy with me, honey?” You ask softly, reach for his hand.

A nod later, you help him shed most of his clothes. And once you’ve stripped down to your own underwear you move to find a comfortable spot in your bed. Noah follows quickly, forming himself against your body. He buries his face against your chest and you feel him draw in a deep breath. Your fingers find their way into his hair, cradling him against you. Noah’s arms soon snake around your middle. His hold isn’t as tight as it sometimes is, but you can still tell that he needs the comfort of your warmth more than anything else.

You’re happy to hold him for as long as he needs it. Knowing that he trusts you so wholeheartedly that he lets you see him like this only makes you feel more sure of this. You haven’t been together for long, it hasn’t even been a whole year yet, but you’ve never felt more comfortable around another person. If you could you’d take every bad thought away from him, you’d carry every burden upon his shoulders if that would help. But you know that there are things you can’t do for him, all you can do is offer your comfort and support when he needs it.

You don’t know how long you hold him like this, trailing your fingers through his hair to soothe his wired up mind. Eventually, you feel him press a kiss to your sternum.

“Feeling better?” you ask softly.

Another kiss is pressed against your skin, “A little.”

You can’t quite see his face, but you can tell that he has that mischievous little look on his face again.

“Well, we gotta get that to a lot. We can order something to eat, and then you can beat my ass in Mario Kart again.”

“Good plan.” Noah hums, still barely detaching himself from you, “Can we stay here for a bit longer though?”

“Of course. Whatever you need, my love.”

Noah finally shifts back enough for him to be able to look at you, “I love you, you know that right?”

“I do.” you reply, pushing the mess of hair away from his forehead, “I love you too.”

taglist: @th4t-em0-k1d @malice-ov-mercy @fadingangelwisp @baddestomens @chey-h @theanarchymuse95 @sitkowski @deathblacksmoke @concretejunglefm

@xmads-omensx @saythatuwill @lacy1986 @somebodyels3 @ladyveronikawrites @ferduttini @circle-with-me @collapsedglasshouses

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months ago

Note

Could I request some platonic batboys comforting their bestie after the bestie has to break up with someone? Going through it rn </3

I got you! Fuck your ex partner if they were a dick to you, fuck them for breaking your heart and you will come out of this with a healed heart and a sense of self because you deserve everything and everything! I also added Bruce as a bonus.

Dick would have you come over to his house, saying that Hayley was ready to also help you heal pass this relationship, all the while putting the dog into your lap and encouraging you to cuddle the blue staffy because Hayley was there to provide extra comfort beside him.

Dick had been through relationships himself and would offer the most advice to you in your time of need the best out of all the boys, he understands how your feeling in the moment, as if your life was coming to an end but he would remind you that’s not the case and that you were just not use to being independent.

‘You might feel like you’re dying right now, but you won’t feel that for long.’ He says as he rests a hand on your shoulder. ‘you’ve just grown a custom to being with someone that being without them feels as though you can’t function but I’m here to tell you that you can. You were independent before and you’ll be independent again. So I wouldn’t fret about things that’ll soon become irrelevant.’ He adds as he presses you against his side, kissing your forehead like he always did when he needed to calm your racing mind.

‘Okay?’ He asks as he looks you in the eye, smiling. ‘We’ll take care of you won’t we Hayley?’ He then looks at his dog who had long fallen asleep on your lap, letting out a little snort as you both laughed at the cuteness of Hayley and the hilarity of the moment. Dick would make sure that you were getting out and would have you come on walks with him and Hayley, or just getting coffee together, anything he can do in order to help you realise that just because your relationship didn’t work out it didn’t mean that you have to give up being happy all tighter.

You can be happy on your own as you can be happy in a relationship, you’ve just gotta find the right people to be happy independent alongside with.

Jason would also solicit similar advice as Dick, seeing as he’s been in a few relationships himself, telling you that you might feel as though you’ve lost apart of yourself but in reality it was you hiding that part of yourself in fear of your true self being rejected.

‘Such isn’t what a relationship should be, you should see each other for your best and worst, not just one or the other and you should feel comfortable being yourself with them too.’ He says to you as he throws his arm over your shoulder as you both overlooked Gotham together becuase you couldn’t enjoy the stars with all the light pollution. ‘You’ll get back up on your feet sooner or later but for now eat your food before it goes cold.’ He then scolds as he gestures to the food he had made for you before dragging you to the rooftops for fresh air.

He wants the bash the idiots head in, but he knew you needed a shoulder to cry on right now and that’s what Jason will do, for you were in a vulnerable headspace and were prone to doing stupid stuff; and Jason felt it was his duty to make sure you took care of yourself properly and would do things that you didn’t or couldn’t do if the breakup hit your mental health hard.

Jason would make sure that you and your ex’s paths never cross as he acts as a blockade between you both, having much against the ex for being a uncaring bastard for hurting you while making sure your day went by undisturbed by anything or anyone. He’s looking out for you and most of your time is spent either in a bookstore or in his apartment, where you two would watch shitty reality television, before making predictions on who’ll get kicked out tomorrow nights episode.

Damian

‘Shall I end them for breaking your heart?’ He says as he puts a hand on your shoulder, obviously not use to being the one to comfort another, but with the help of Dick he hoped he was being at least somewhat comforting for you in your time of need.

You raise a hand to pat his hand on your shoulder, weakly chuckling at the seriousness of his tone, for while he might say it out of a need to bring you some assurance that he will be by your side. Damian wasn’t one to half ass his words and was most likely not joking about taking out your ex boyfriend for breaking your heart. ‘Thanks but no thanks dami.’

‘You’re better off without them. They were weak and couldn’t keep up with you, they were intimidated by your presence and how you easily prove yourself as a powerful individual who can look out for themselves and was scared of your power.’ Damian replies as he sits down next to you, setting aside his sword as he has Titus draped across your lap and Ace lounge next to your side, knowing how much you loved the dogs as much as he did.

And you know he’s not lying becuase Damian saw no point in lying to you, it’s ridiculous and serves no purpose whatsoever other then to guard another persons feelings, nope Damian says it as it is and needles to say he didn’t like your ex and now they’ve proved that feeling he had right by breaking your heart. While you said that he couldn’t kill him, Damian would oh most definitely stand outside their window menacingly without really trying.

However until he gets the opportunity to scare the shit out of your ex, he’s by your side with you throughout your healing journey as you realise that Damian wasn’t joking about you and your power. Your heart might break but it’s still beating and to Damian you alleys proven you were stronger then your ex ten times over. Hell you might even spar if you’ve got some anger to let out…Damian will use this as an excuse just to say;

‘Imagine their face and attack with everything you’ve got until there’s nothing left.’

Damian is an advocate for expressing how you fell in whatever form you can available to you, whether it’s through art, writing, music or otherwise just let it all out because how can you feel better when your repressing your emotions; thus hindering your own healing.

Tim has ice cream, your beloved fluffy blankets, your favourite show and or movie queued up on his computer with take out on the way the moment you had told him the news of your break up.

He doesn’t waste time and tells you to put on your most comfortable clothes because you were staying over the night to recover from a rather lacklustre relationship, away from someone who didn’t deserve you in the slightest, though this is very dependant on what relationship you had with your ex partner but the message remained the same with Tim: movie night with a side of gossip session where you shit talk about your ex partner and their glaring red flags now you were out of that mess.

Seriously by the end of the night you are no longer crying tears of sadness but tears of laughter every time Tim had something to say about your ex partner, easily roasting them into oblivion while your grasping at your stomach as it ached pleasantly, before joining in on the roasting yourself by giving him some insider information that his hacking skills could never give him.

Bruce ‘I’m rich’ Wayne who takes you out on shopping sprees to heal your heart by attempting to make a dent in his wallet.

After all what wouldn’t heal the heart faster than spending ridiculous amounts of money on comfort foods, items and clothing of various kinds.

Seriously this man will tell you to get the biggest, most expensive jellycat plushy the shop had, only to tell you to get like two more of similar sizes before gifting you his card and telling you to go nuts on what you want. That or he’d buy you it himself when he sees how hesitant you are with sending his money, quickly to pick up the things you side eye for too long or wince at the price tag of and buying it in bulk for you without hesitation.

He’s treating you to a expensive dinner afterwards with expensive drinks being brought to your table bottle by bottle along with good food, not that Bruce cared in the slightest as the night was far from over for the both of you, far from it as by the end of the night you would’ve completely forgotten about your ex when your rich friend spoils you rotten.

No friend of Bruce’s will cry over a broke loser, this man will remind you of your worth but in a less threading way like a certain son would, even if the encouragement was there in spirit.

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daddyslilchickenfingers2 · 1 year ago

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Kinktober (reuploaded)

Thigh Riding (Matt)

Request: None

Warnings: Sub Matt, short, besties to lovers, clingy/needy Matt, subspace, whining, begging, just overall super submissive Matt, kind of anxiety subspace

Y/n’s pov

These last two weeks I have been super busy with work, and Matt who’s used to having my attention 90% of the day, is feeling neglected. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’m letting him sit in my room with me during my meetings or playing with his hair while I’m on a phone call but that’s not enough. I’ve even started editing in Matt’s room so I could spend more time with him. Matt’s my best friend, he just so happens to be super clingy towards me, now that Chris has a girlfriend. He also suffers from severe anxiety so sometimes he falls into a subspace and gets super clingy like a toddler to their mother.

Marylou had told me that Matt’s been like that his whole life, his brain just scrambles. He needs to be told what to do and praised or else he gets really sad/anxious and starts to cry. Knowing this is why I try to spend as much time with him as possible when he’s in his subspace. Today was a bit different though, as Matt openly admitted to everyone this morning that he was feeling ‘submissive and horny’ without a warning. Chris and I laughed while Nick just sat there uncomfortably until they finished their breakfast and both brothers left for the day.

Matt was really needy today, constantly wanting my attention and following my every move. He said he was tired so I went up to his room with him to edit some pictures and thumbnails while he slept. That was short-lived though, as 5 minutes later, Matt was asking to sit on my lap. This was new, but nonetheless, I agreed, letting him sit on my lap while I worked until he got uncomfortable and shifted to one of my thighs. This position was a bit awkward considering he was only wearing boxers and a tshirt, I was wearing the same but I had shorts instead of boxers.

I moved my leg under him and Matt let out a loud gasp that I just ignored until he experimentally moved his hips forward. “Matt, what are you doing?” I questioned, he let out a whimper as he rolled his hips forward again. “C-Can you have sex with me?” he asked, I was shocked to say the least. It’s not that I didn’t want to have sex with Matt, because quite frankly I did. It’s that I’m busy and he’s not in the right headspace, I’m not going to take advantage of that now that he finally trusts me enough to be as vulnerable with me as he is to his mom and Chris.

I thought of a way to let him down gently so he wouldn’t cry, “I’m sorry Matty, I can’t. I’m really busy today, how about I leave for a little bit and you can jack off?” I said softly. I gauged his face for any signs of sadness but he was more so upset. He was still essentially grinding on my thigh in a way while whining because I said no. “Bu-But please?” he tried again, “Not today baby, I’m sorry” I said to him again, “Can I- Uh can I-“ he started.

“Can you what? You gotta use your words” “Can I ride your thigh? Please?” he begged, shoving his hand into his boxers and readjusting his cock. I figured there’s no harm in letting him use my thigh, as long as we’re both clothed, it should be fine. Sighing, I clicked save on my laptop and stood up, picking Matt up and putting him on his bed. He looked at me with wide eyes, “A-Am I in trouble?” he asked nervously, “No, I’d just rather sit on your bed, c’mon you can ride my thigh if you keep your clothes on” I explained.

He excitedly got back on my thigh, fixing his cock so the head was pressed right against my thigh, taking on a lot of his body weight as well so there was more pressure on it. He started moving his hips, whining at the new feeling he’d discovered. “Touch me?” he asked, I cupped his face and lightly stroked his jaw. “I’m sorry Matty, I can’t do that” I said softly causing Matt to loudly whine. “Just to help me move. Pleeeaase?” he dragged out.

I gave in, agreeing that I would hold onto his hips or waist to help him move faster. I could feel Matt’s dick rubbing on my thigh and not gonna lie, it turned me on. Matt had his hands on his thighs as he essentially humped my thigh, “Fuck! This feels so good! Wish you would touch me Y/n/n, so badly” he moaned out. “I know Matty, I’m sorry. You’re doing so well by yourself though” I praised him. He started to move faster, swiveling his hips a few times and moaning.

Matt must be really sensitive because he was already whimpering and acting like he was close. “Are you gonna cum Matt?” I asked seductively, “Y-Yes, s-so close, can I cum in my pants? Is that okay?” he inquired, breathlessly. “Go ahead baby” I said and Matt started moving faster. He moved his arms to my shoulders and hid his face in my neck, moaning at the pleasure. Matt’s hips sputtered and he moaned loudly in my ear as he came, a lot of his cum ended up leaking through his boxers and onto my thigh but I didn’t mind. I started rubbing Matt’s back while he came down from his high, panting in my ear and holding onto my shoulders tightly.

“Do you feel better now Matty?” I asked him softly, only getting a simple hum back before he pulled away from my neck. He looked so fucked out and I didn’t even do anything to him, Matt got off my thigh and instantly frowned, “I made a mess” he pouted. It really wasn’t even that bad, he just needed to change his boxers and I needed to wipe my leg off but to him, it seemed very important. “It’s okay, I can get us cleaned up baby” I smiled down at him, and to my surprise, Matt leaned down and started licking his own cum off my thigh, it was pretty hot.

“Wha-“ I started but Matt was already done, “Was I a good boy?” he asked with pleading eyes, “Yes Matty, you were very good” I praised, making him smile widely. He made his way off the bed and quickly changed his boxers as I walked back over to his desk, but he stopped me by hugging me from behind. I turned around to properly hug him and kiss the top of his head, “Thank you” he smiled happily “You’re welcome handsome” I smiled back. Matt pulled away from the hug and went over to his bed, “I’m going to take a nap now, can you still stay in here please?” he asked while getting under the covers. “Yes, I’ll stay. Goodnight Matty” I replied, “Goodnight” he mumbled back, already falling asleep while I went back to my editing.

Taglist: @angelic-sturniolos111 @biimpanicking @biplrbtch @chrisolivia4l @christinarowie332 @chr1sgirl4life @creamoncreamoncream2 @delimeats-000 @devthepoet @ermdontmindthisaccount @flowerxbunnie @fionaheartswomen @gilbertscurls @heartsforchrisandmatt @iheartchrissturniolo @ilovemattsturn @its-jennarose @justaslvttygirl @kvtie444 @lustfulslxt @luvysworld @meg-sturniolo @m6ttsturniolo @mangosrar @mangoposts @meerkatzthings @mattsnutsack @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @recklesssturniolo @solarsturniolo @soursturniolo @strniohoeee @strawberrysturniolo @sturniolocoded @sturniofilmd @sturniolohoe @sturniolopepsi @sturniolo0ntop @thecynthh

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©Daddyslilchickenfingers2 2024

Do not steal, use, or reupload my work

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo #smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplet smut #sturniolo triplets smut #sturniolo x reader #daddyslilchickenfingers

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angel-writes-here · 2 months ago

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Ruin The Friendship

Daesung x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: You accidently tell your best friend how you feel and as a result, you avoid him. But can he stop you from going home? Warnings: Slight angst with a fluffy happy ending. A/N: I took on this prompt for an anon that a friend of mine had and just isn't in the best headspace. I hope that's ok with who ever requested it. 💘

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Those three little words that could change everything.

I love you.

You hadn’t meant to say it; it was the heat of the moment. He was complaining about how this girl seemed so perfect and yet his heart was in pieces. It came flooding out of your mouth when the frustration became too much, because you knew you could treat him right. But when the words came out, his expression was unreadable and you fled the apartment before he could respond.

You hadn’t seen Daesung in days. No calls or text messages were exchanged, even though he tried reaching out to you. You couldn’t face him, it was too much. You decided it was time to go home, back to the US so life could, maybe, somehow resume as normal.

Daesung was shell shocked, he’d never gone more than a day at a time without hearing from you, without hearing your sweet infectious laughter or your stories about work or simply without your company. You guys were constantly in communication, but that didn’t matter. Not now.

“She really told you she loves you?” Jiyong and Seunghyun were sitting with him in his apartment.

“Yeah, and now she won’t even speak to me,” he sighs as Taeyang walks into the room with a drink in his hand.

“She’s probably just embarrassed, it’s no big deal.”

“It’s been a week. She never goes this long without talking to me,” his voice is laced with worry.

“I’ll try calling her,” Taeyang pulls out his phone.

“Wait, I don’t know what I’m going to say.” Daesung's face is one of worry and confusion. What does one say to a confession of love?

“Just tell her how you feel, hyung.” Seunghyun speaks up. Daesung sighs as the phone rings.

“Hey, y/n,” he says cheerfully and Daesung feels his stomach twist.

“Wait? Leaving? I thought you had at least another week left.”

“Will you at least tell me what happened?” There’s a pause in the conversation, Daesung finds himself holding his breath.

“Ok, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave,” he tries to reason with you.

“Y/n, he wants to see you.” Daesung nods his head like you can see him.

“I promise he does.” Taeyang sighs at your stubborn resolve.

“Look, just don’t leave yet, please. At least let me see you before you go.” Taeyang had been like an older brother to you, he was always kind enough to show you around, let you stay with him when you came to Korea until you found a small house to stay in, and his wife was like your best friend.

“Thank you, I’ll be over later.” He smiles into the phone before hanging up.

“You gotta tell her, tonight.”

“Tonight?” Daesung's voice moves up two octaves.

“Tonight, she’s leaving tomorrow.” Taeyang rises to his feet and claps his hands together. Daesung’s face twists in despair.

“It’s got to be perfect, romantic,” Daesung says as his mind races with what to do.

“I’ve got it,” Seunghyun shouts excitedly.

“Taeyang, you take her out for the day, the three of us will set up a romantic meal and Daesung will tell her then,” Jiyong smiles at his friends’ idea.

“That sounds perfect!”

Taeyang drags you all around town, claiming he just wants to spoil you and let you leave Korea feeling better despite the mishap with your words. He buys you a new outfit, lunch and even ice cream. He takes you to an arcade, where you kick his butt in Mario Kart and you almost forgot about why you wanted to leave.

Almost.

You arrive back at your place that night, giving him a hug to thank him for everything.

“Are you sure you have to leave, I know things feel awkward." You nod your head yes before he can continue.

“If I go home to America things can possibly resume as normal.”

He gives you a hug, trying to hide the giddy smile that’s on his face. He lets you walk inside the house and sends Daesung a message that you’re inside.

You start hearing soft music play from the small backyard and your heart starts to pound in your chest.

You slowly stalk your way to the glass door and gasp at the sight.

Candles are everywhere, rose petals and table set for two. You see Daesung standing behind the small round table. Your heart beat quickens even more than before. Despite your brain screaming at you to run, you shakily open the door and step out into the yard.

“What is this?” your voice is weak, a contrast to his bright strong smile.

“It’s for you,” he says simply. He walks over taking your hand and gently glides to the table.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re having dinner,” he says like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Jiyong rounds the corner of the yard with your favorite take out food. He doesn’t say a word, just places in on the table and walks away.

You eye Daesung curiously.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says as he distributes the food.

“No, it’s just that,” the looks he gives you causes you to stop speaking. It’s a look that you know means, “I can see right through you”. You sheepishly look down as he begins to eat.

“You want to tell me why?” He asks after a beat of silence.

“I think you know,” you say barely above a whisper, you take a small bite of your food, your nerves keeping you from feeling too hungry. He nods.

“You didn’t even give me chance to respond.” He informs you. You nod your head, still not meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t want you to,” you shrug.

“Why?”

“Because, it was an accident, it wasn’t something you were ever meant to know. I mean, Dae we’re best friends, we’re closer than most people and romantic feelings, they complicate things and I didn’t want to hear how I ruined the friendship and how things could never be the same between us.” You vomit it all out and he stares at you for a moment.

“You are right, things can’t be the same,” your face falls and you sigh, pushing your plate back.

“See? That’s what I mean.” You blink back tears of frustration before Daesung is up out of his chair, pulling your hand to join him. The fairy lights on the fence cast a warm glow on the back yard along with the candles.

You allow him to pull you up and he starts swaying with you to the soft music.

“Dae, I’m sorry, it was an accident,” your mind is racing, heart is clamoring, and your hands shaking slightly.

“For what?” his eyes are soft, filled with a gentleness that only seems to exude from him the more you talk.

“For saying anything. I don’t want things to change between us. You’re my best friend,” Before you can continue, his lips are on yours, soft and slow, savoring your taste.

Your eyes are widened in shock, before they slowly flutter closed and you feel his grip on your waist tighten. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you just a little closer.

“It’s a shame you don’t want things to change, because I do,” he says breathlessly once the two of you part. Your too shocked to say anything, face flushed with pink as you meet his gaze. A smirk appears on his face at your sudden shyness.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, y/n,” he whispers. Your eyes grow at his sudden confession.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Same as you, I guess. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I love you, y/n,” he says sentimentally. Your eyes brim with happy tears and you hug him close.

“I love you too, Dae.” Your smile is wide.

“So, you’ll stay for the rest of the week?” he asks once you pull away.

“On one condition.” He quirks his brow at you.

“You and me get to spend all your free time together,” you giggle and his smile is bright.

“Absolutely.” He grins before kissing you again, your arms wrapping around his neck playing the loose hair at the nape of his neck. Your stomach flips as the realization hits that everything is about to change for the two of you.

#kang daesung #daesung #daesung bigbang #daesung x reader #bigbang x reader #x reader #x y/n #x reader fluff #bigbang #d lite #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #daesung fanfic #daesung fanfiction #kpop angst #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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tweetybaird · 7 months ago

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He’s Just A Baby

Summary: KookQueen!Reader x Pogue!JJ Maybank + x DrugDealer!Rafe (he’s dating Barry and I will not take no for an answer, except you can’t rly tell in this fic cause i was too focused on JJ/Rafe). JJ has an argument with reader and runs off, he goes to Barry’s searching for drugs (nothin too crazy just some addy and weed) but is denied because you told Rafe and Barry not to give him anything, he has a breakdown and Rafe has to take over the role of Dom until you get there. You and JJ go home and have emotional make-up sec till he sleeps (pt. 2). Okai Bai

CW: Dom!Reader, Sub!JJ, Crybaby!JJ, Mommy Kink (just a little tho), not daddy KINK but there is usage of the word daddy- yknow?, i think it’s little space? idk if it rly is but he’s like DEEP into subspace if not (somebody educate me pls i searched for hours how to describe what happens in this fic and i found nothing), Rafe (unwarranted) doms JJ but it’s only to calm him down and nothing sexual happens, lemme know if i missed anything *OPTIONAL* IN PART 2 {Overstim, Riding, Dacryphilia, Slapping, Falling asleep during sex, the pogues are kinda assholes but only for a sec,}

(this is mostly rafe x jj x barry but i pinky promise part 2 has more x reader if y’all want that. oh also there’s no gold in this AU, Rafe is sober, and everybody gets along)

“I mean honestly JJ! What the fuck were you thinking?! It’s like you want us to break up!”

The words wouldn’t leave the boys mind, bouncing off the sides of his skull and repeating over and over, seeming louder each time. Tears were pouring down his face, though it was hard to tell with the rain soaking his body. JJ was running. Away from you. He never thought he’d run again, his dad was dead and he’d been living with you for two years now. Originally you’d lived in an apartment paid for by your parents, but since you’ve become CEO of their company (per their retirement), you’ve bought your own home. A quaint little house with a pier leading right to the beach. It was JJ’s sanctuary. You are his sanctuary.

He couldn’t even remember what he’d done at this point. All he knew is you were angry and he was scared. He could feel his mind fuzzing over, brain fighting to pull him into subspace to avoid the panic attack making itself known. But JJ ignored the call of the fuzzy headspace, his bare feet coming to a halt, right outside Barry’s home.

He stormed up to the door, banging on it with his fist. The tears were still pouring from his eyes, but he made no noise, and his body was ram rod straight, so that if you couldn’t see his tears, you’d have no idea he was crying. “What the fuck??” Barry snatched open his door, the loud knocking forcefully coming to a stop. Rafe stood behind the older man, arms crossed and a concerned look covering his features, “Jay?”

“Barry you gotta gimme somethin’ man,” JJ whimpered, pushing past the man and into the house, plopping down on the brand new couch - courtesy of Rafe. “Nuh uh, nope,” Barry denied him immediately, very fond of the life he still had. “Your old lady would murder me if I gave you anythin’, you gotta leave. Now”

JJ evaporated at the words, slumping into the couch, his headspace finally winning over. The blonde sobbed, pulling his knees up to his chest, arms holding them tight as he hid his face. “Mama’s gon’ be so mad at me!” His cries shook his whole body, trembling from the cold, anxiety of getting in trouble, and sobs that he couldn’t seem to stop. Rafe’s protective side kicked in immediately.

“Bear get me water please. Ice cold. And in one of those sippy cups we keep for your nieces,” Rafe softly ordered, sitting down on the couch next to JJ. The younger boy was now rocking himself back and forth, fingers intertwining in his hair and pulling on the strands. “Baby,” Rafe began, voice soft but loud enough that JJ could hear over his cries. “Can I touch you dewdrop? Hm? Just want a hug,” Rafe began, and when JJ didn’t respond, instead pulling harder, he continued, hesitant and quiet, “Can daddy hold his little boy for a minute?” That got the boys attention.

JJ’s cries stopped immediately, his entire body freezing. His arms slowly moved, knees slipping down, until finally, JJ showed his face. “Daddy?” It was barely a whisper, and if Rafe wasn’t looking right at the blonde, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. “Yeah, little dewdrop,” He began, slowly opening his arms so as not to startle the shaky boy before him. “Can daddy hold you? Might make you feel better?”

Barry walked quietly into the room, two cups in hand. One carried a sippy cup, filled with the ice water Rafe requested, and he sat it gently on the table. The other held a baby bottle, filled to the brim with what he called ‘baby sleeper’, Barry’s own concoction of warm milk, condensed milk, vanilla extract, and sugar (and a tiny sprinkle of melatonin, but only a little, he doesn’t want to drug his friends). The older man had created this when he realized just how many of his friends were submissive, some coming to him when they need to clear their head.

Both men are startled when JJ leaps forward, burying his face into Rafe’s chest as he climbs in his lap, straddling the Kooks thighs. JJ goes limp as soon as he gets comfortable, head pressed firm against Rafe’s left pec, arms hanging limply by his sides as he slumps against the larger man. “Dada,” he mumbles, smacking his lips as he begins to babble babyish nonsense.

“Yeah, dewy,” Rafe began, reaching out for the milk rather than the water when he sees the state JJ is in. “C’mere little one, daddy’s gotchu.” Rafe pulled the boy closer, laying back against the arm of the couch, laying JJ against his side and supporting his wobbly head with his arm. Barry stepped forward, “Hey little rapunzel,” he murmured, smiling softly when JJ giggled at the nickname. Barry handed Rafe the bottle, watching as the taller man pressed the nipple to JJ’s lips. The small boy watched Rafe closely, eyes tracking his every movement. Rafe was patient, simply rubbing the nipple of the bottle over JJ’s lips, waiting for the boy to notice it, milk spilling out a bit and lightly coating his lips. As soon as he realized what daddy was doin, JJ’s mouth popped open eagerly, the nipple slipping inside, the sweet taste of ‘baby sleeper’ instantly flooding his senses.

Barry stepped away once the boys were settled, pulling out his phone to call his close friend. She answered immediately. “Hey, Ma-“ The man began to speak, immediately being cut off. “Barry! Oh thank goodness, is he with you??! Please I can’t find JJ!” Barry lowered his voice, shushing her softly, “Yeah he’s here, Rafe’s got him down. You on the way?” Barry listened carefully, hearing your distressed sniffles and the way you took a deep breath, he could almost see you putting up your walls. “Yeah, just give me a couple hours please? Can you watch him? I just- I can’t do this right now I need a minute.” Barry assured the girl immediately, “No problem, Ma, take your time,” He mumbled, glancing over at the boys on his couch. “I’ve got him.”

Barry walked back over to the men, watching Rafe support JJ’s head with his bicep, the smaller boy’s body gone completely limp. The blonde stared wide-eyed up at Rafe, who was telling a fairytale, Rapunzel, from what Barry could tell. Every once in a while Rafe would have to stop, his pinky coming up to tap the young boy’s cheek and wipe the spilling milk off, reminding JJ to continue drinking instead of just letting it fill his mouth.

While JJ was distracted, Barry had grabbed some of his own pajama pants, quickly but quietly pulling JJ’s wet jeans off of his body and replacing them with the comfier item of clothing. Barry begrudgingly pulled JJ away from Rafe, just long enough to remove his sopping wet shirt, but the boy sobbed like it was pure torture. “Daddy! Wan’ baba. Daddy tell him no. Sto’ bear please! No more, wan’ daddy! S’op it, stop! Daddy!” The blonde only calmed when Rafe pulled him into his arms once more, chest now bare, having removed his own shirt in believing that skin-on-skin would benefit the smaller boy. “Sh, sh, sh. Enough of that now little one. Barry was only trying to help, you say thank you. Now c’mere, daddy’s gotchu. My little dewdrop, sweet dewy.” JJ went limp once more, head bobbing until Rafe propped it up against his bicep. The older man fought the urge to giggle as JJ stared up at him starry-eyed once more, completely in a daze. Rafe brought the bottle to JJ’s lips, rubbing the nipple over them once more to gain his attention, but the boy didn’t realize what he was meant to do until Rafe tapped the bottle against his lips gently, his mouth opening wide to take it.

Soon, JJ is fast asleep, the bottle is replaced with a baby blue pacifier, and the boy is moved to the bedroom. His eyes flutter and he whines for a bit after being laid on the bed, harshly sucking on the paci, kicking his legs out and flailing his arms in a mini tantrum, but after some tummy rubs from Rafe and words of mumbled praise by Barry, he relaxed once more. The men lay him on his side, Rafe taking the front and Barry the back. After a while of comfortable silence, they too fall asleep, all three of the men snoring softly.

#outer banks #obx #jj maybank #rafe cameron #barry obx #sub!jj #dom!reader #dom!rafe #soft!barry #subspace #daddy!rafe #little!jj

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alparlaboratories · 7 months ago

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Yuri Game Jam 2024 - Retrospective, thoughts and five recommendations.

As my favorite yearly pre-holidays tradition, the Yuri Game Jam has once again come and gone, giving us a staggering 110 games, comics, zines and pieces of writing to gnaw on for the remainder of the year. The timing is, as always, on point. A 2-month period where I’m given the task to make something is just what I need to keep the stress of the dying year at bay and avoid losing my mind, and I’m sure it’s the same for a lot of us.

And though the Yuri Game Jam has been going strong for nearly ten years and I’ve only been part of the last two, I’m amazed by how much it’s grown. Not just in the amount of entries, but in the scope and craft of the games themselves. I always strive to play every single entry from a jam I’m part of to the best of my ability, and though I haven’t gone back yet and played the submissions for the eight yuri jams I’ve missed (like with everything, I just gotta find the time) just comparing last year to this one gives me a lot of appreciation for the people who put so much work into it, especially those I recognized from 2023’s jam, whose craft has definitely evolved. And some others making their debut who absolutely blew my socks off with their entries. More on that soon.

Regardless, hi. My current online moniker is Inyssa; I’m an Argentinian creature who’s very new to the world of Original English Visual Novels, and someone new to VNs in general, but who’s fallen in love with the genre and wants to learn all about it. I’ve made two VNs so far (Don’t Die Digging and Blunt Soul Trauma) both for Yuri jams, though I still feel like I have a lot to learn, which is why I try to play as many OEVNs as possible, and also read/watch what inspired them.

I’m not in the habit of writing long pieces like this one, but I just had a lot of thoughts bouncing off after playing a good chunk of the entries for this year, and I had to get them out somehow. So here we are.

First off, a shoutout and big thanks to nadia nova and SabrinaTVBand, the organizers of the jam and two amazing creators in their own right.

So here’s my idea. I’ll give a small introduction to my thoughts on this year’s jam after this, and then I’ll recommend five (maybe a few more) recommendations from this jam for you to play. Except a top-5 would be, I fear, a little repetitive. I know what I like in terms of VNs, and if I just listed my five favorites there’d be a bunch of the same type of VN, which is not my intention. I want a little variety.

As such, I’ll list out five different types of games, five categories decided completely arbitrarily by me, and assign a ‘best game’ to each of them. Because while I went through these entries, there were times I saved the heavy ones for when I was in the right headspace, and some of the softer ones for when I needed a break. So hopefully there’ll be a little something here for everyone.

Yeah? Yeah.

Some barely-connected thoughts about this jam, and my impressions so far.

Again, I’m speaking as someone who’s only been here for the past two jams, so I’m not sure how much insight I can give here. It’s just my thoughts and my impressions.

What caught my attention the most about this year’s jam, what pleasantly surprised me, was the variety of submissions. And I don’t mean that in genre or themes. Though there is a very healthy mix of those, but it’s more the types of stories, the way they were told and crafted, the skill that went behind them, that was so nice to see. And not to say it wasn’t good last year. I was just as impressed in 2023, playing game after game the likes of which I didn’t know I could have access to before.

And it’s not until I had this year to compare it to, I think, that I noticed how much more diverse the jam has gotten. And less streamlined, more blurry in a good way when it comes to intent, craft and themes in a way that kind of feels like a genre’s growth into something like negative capability, though that’s maybe too much to speculate for someone so new to it.

To put it more plainly, looking back I see a lot of what seem like similar through-lines, similar family trees you could say in the way a good number of the games were made, in what they reminded me of. You could tell there were some convergent inspirations. Which is common when it comes to artists and writers who know each other, and who surely recommend other works to each other that they’re particular to. Vonnegut, Nabokov, Mishima, Joseph Heller, Dennis Cooper, Dostoevsky and a pinch and a dash of Mark L. Danielewski; those are a few of the authors I kept thinking back on in retrospect as I re-visited last year’s games. And while they are fantastic inspirations, there’s a lot of intersecting lines in between them. A cultural and geographical quirk/fascination for a type of individualistic apathy that’s to be expected in a mostly English-speaking jam, and certainly not something that made me enjoy it or those games any less, but a scope I’m very happy to see widen in 2024’s set of submissions.

It’s just nice to have variety, you know? Also a bigger pool of myth re-imaginings and re-tellings, which I’m so happy to see this year. One of my favorite parts of any game jam is to play/read something and then immediately go experience whatever it was inspired by, and that this year’s jam gave me that opportunity many more times shows its growth alone, in my opinion.

And now I’ll give some examples. Not all of the categories will be about what I wrote above; there’ll still be a good amount of that goodness reminiscent of last year that made me fall in love with the jam in the first place. But there’ll be more of it than last time for sure.

In any case, here’s my five recommendations (plus a couple more) of games to play from this jam, each with an accompanying song of my choosing, most/all from my own country. We make good music, what do you want me to say?

Without further ado:

5 - “Porque no hay tiempo de amargarse ni llorar por un pasar mejor (Because there's no time to cry and feel bitter about what might’ve been).”

(Or: Psychosexual capitalist hellscape games)

Accompanying song: Cartonero by Ataque 77

This is, I’m sure, what many know the Yuri Game Jam best for, its bread and butter. And for good reason. You go to your favorite neighborhood food joint for the sandwich that reminds you of home, and you go to this particular game jam for the sopping wet pathetic girlthings being ground into paste by the masticating gears of capitalism.

This year’s crop didn’t disappoint on that front. It was actually hell to decide a best for this category.

But ultimately, I think the spot has to go to Heatwave by deaddeaddeath.

Content warnings: Dehumanization, self-harm, blood and violence, religious and sexual abuse, and more. Carefully look over the CWs in the game page before playing.

As I said before, this was so, so difficult. I knew that Heatwave deserved a recommendation as soon as I played it; one of the first games I played from the jam, actually. And then I played so many more that were just as good in that regard. Games that could’ve just as easily taken this spot… but none who reached this level of excellence, if only by a hair’s width.

One of those games is EasyXShot, which could’ve been the one chosen had I written this list some other day. It really was that close (if this were a straight-up top five, EasyxShot would be up there) and it’s a game that deserves to be played as long as you read the CWs beforehand. It has an immaculate dynamic between its two main characters, which is all you need to build a story really, but this one goes above and beyond. Another is No Dogs Under Heaven, which isn’t as much about capitalism, but definitely about grinding and crushing. Though it’s unfinished as of the time of me writing this, it made someone like me who has zero religious trauma deeply, deeply uncomfortable in a way I look for in these types of games, and also deserves a recommendation.

Anyway, onto Heatwave.

Catgirl suffers in capitalist hellscape

…is the main tag for the game, and it’s accurate. Angel (it/its) is a young cat hybrid who is in a not thoroughly explained and dubiously-consensual relationship with an older woman who runs a bar, living upstairs and helping her with whatever it can, whether it be its body or its skills. Unfortunately, even this isn’t enough for Angel to earn a living, and her caretaker needs money to keep it at her side. Left with no other choices, Angel applies to be a guide for the Heatwave, an impossibly vast and physics-defying space in between spots in the world where a blisteringly hot suburban landscape stretches into infinity, sapping the will and sanity of all who enter without being able to navigate it, which Angel seems to have an aptitude for. What follows is one of the best visual novels I’ve ever played.

Above, I said that I appreciate games that spark in me the curiosity to go and experience what they were based on, and Heatwave did that twice for me. Once with Roadside Picnic, and once for Not I (although that one isn’t as tied to the game per se).

But beyond that, I picked Heatwave for this spot because I genuinely think every part of it just works.

Writing, first and foremost. The prose is raw and evocative, a gut punch through words for every one there is textually within the story, and it reads so beautifully on top of that. ‘...wait until its shrapnel thoughts caltrop picasso’, as another reviewer commented, is one hell of a descriptive phrase. It’s the kind of prose that makes the eyes stick to every word.

The sound design and the use of sound assets is perfect for the setting. The visuals and the way they’re programmed, the sharp, static-y cut-ins and the PC-98 reminiscent decorative boxes around the game and around the character portraits are beautiful, and so are the portraits themselves. The expressions, the little facial animations, everything makes me want to learn how to do it myself.

Not to mention Del and Angel’s relationship, which is like watching a train speed full-steam ahead onto a concrete wall, and being unable to do anything about it. Angel’s struggles, its quirks and triggers and everything else about it is so well-thought out, and it’s all integrated into the setting of the game itself, into the Heatwave in a way that tells a story on top of another story without words.

Heatwave is an incredible piece of art, and it’s what I hope to see every time I play one of these games.

4 - “Los viejos reyes vendrán con la tempestad (The old kings will come riding atop the storm).”

(Or: Re-imaginings of myths and folklore.)

Accompanying song: El Reino Olvidado by Rata Blanca.

I couldn’t be happier that we’re spoiled for choice here, difficult though it makes choosing a best one amongst all these games. Though it’s not specifically mythological stories I wanted more of. It’s more the subtle differences like fingerprints that you can sometimes see in works made by non primarily English-speaking teams or developers, even if I’m not sure all the ones mentioned here count for that. Still, part of the reason I’ve been toying with the idea of launching a Global South game jam is to bring a little more spotlight to these kinds of stories, and to have them for myself so I can experience them, of course.

There were four games vying for this spot. First there’s Lanú, who I almost made the winner mostly because it’s a promising demo with an ambiance and a setting that really appeals to me, also being a Spanish-speaker, and the fact it’s also available in that language is a huge bonus.

Second is Night on the Bayou, a hilarious and very competently-made game about a Lousiana deadwoman rising from her grave as all specters do at the same time of year, and going on a quest to marry to her beloved before her time is up and she has to go back to the bayou. The art and the sprites are gorgeous, and it was also this close to winning the spot.

Third is Prisoner of the Mist, a beautiful T4T re-imagining of a few Scottish and Gaelic myths with a lot of love and originality thrown in. Very moving, very gay. I’d definitely recommend trying it out if any of that appeals to you.

But yeah, in the end it is Larut that takes the cake.

Fuck, the art of this game is gorgeous.

And not just the spritework, though that’s flawless on its own, but the whole presentation of the game, almost like reading an illustrated book of an old myth, the kind I used to read as a kid to give myself nightmares. Not to say that the game falls squarely in the horror category. It leans more psychological on that front, and there’s a good deal of intrigue and godly politicking going on that makes you want to know more.

Larut is a re-telling of the Indonesian myth of Nyi Roro Kidul, the godly Queen of the Southern Sea, a figure as enigmatic as she is regally charming, and who sees fit to take a young woman under her fins after she’s lost everything at the hand of her abusive family, making her into her lady-in-waiting. Said woman, Kandita, becomes grateful and infatuated with Nyi Noro Kidul in equal measures, to worrying degrees.

To what extent is this within the queen’s expectations, however, is not clear.

Despite being a re-telling of an already existing myth, the care and meticulous detail that went into every aspect of this game is easily on par with the best of myth adaptations. As I said before, I could see this being sold as an illustrated book in a library and I wouldn’t bat an eye. It’s clear the developers, artists and writers were not only on the same page, but knew exactly what they were doing, exactly what they wanted to make from this myth.

And they succeeded with flying colors. Do yourself a favor and give it a try; it’s not every day you get the chance to learn about mythology in such a beautiful way.

3 - “Quiero besarla hasta sentir dolor (I want to kiss her until it hurts.)”

(Or: So, how ‘bout that yuri?)

Accompanying song: Enamorada by Miranda.

Picking the best yuri out of the whole of the biggest Yuri Game Jam so far is as much of a tall order as I imagined, but at least the other four categories were able to take some games to themselves, because otherwise this would be impossible.

In terms of queer relationships, character dynamics and just the vibes of the yuri, there’s going to be a lot of room for debate. I’m not judging any of these in terms of real-life relationships. Nor am I trying to find the coolest, most interesting character dynamic; you could say this is a spot for something softer, a break from the intensity and trauma of the other categories.

It’s about girls kissing, is what I’m trying to communicate.

But it is also about vibes, about what game I enjoyed the most while being mostly invested in the main couple, if that makes sense. If not, sorry. I just want to talk about this specific handful of stories. First come the honorable mentions, though:

Gap Moe Mob Boss is exactly what it says on the tin; a harsh, commanding dog-girl mob boss comes back from prison to find another gang trying to encroach in her territory, and she must balance her role as a mafioso with her desire to spend all her time in the café where her bunny-girl crush works. It’s sweet, it’s nice to play and it has more research into organized crime than you’d think. Then there’s The Delicate Hearts of Sincerely Affectionate Girls, a hand-drawn and colored comic about someone coming to terms with her identity and the way in which she sees love, different from those around her. It’s hard to find good non-traditional romance, and this one is very realistic and sweet on top of that, so give it a try. Finally there’s Mechanical Relations, straight from the creator of my favorite entry for this year’s Menhera game jam; a short, adorable RPG about a robot girl and her girlfriend crashing into a scrap planet and having sex while waiting to be rescued. Simple, but effective.

The spot, though, ultimately goes to Signal Strength because I think it deserves the spotlight.

This is a videotome game about a small group of lesbians who work at an agricultural research station and a radio communications center in some far-off moon away from Earth, with little to do every day except talk to each other online or riding tractors. Ming, who works at the former, is bored out of her mind. With little else to do, she comes up with the idea of filming a home-made children’s show for her little sibling, using what little resources she and her friends can gather and roping them into acting and filming roles, including her ex and radio operator, who is very awkward around her.

Signal Strength might be the shortest of the games mentioned for this category, but there’s just something about it. It’s a simple game, but everything feels on point. The videotome aspect and vibes of the whole thing are immaculate; it feels as though you’re watching it all through a cheap video camera, and the ambient rural sounds are very well picked and utilized.

Though it’s the setting and how the characters react to that made me fall in love with it. It really feels like watching a group of young queer people stuck in a rural area who have to come up with their own entertainment, and there’s something so charming about it. Not to mention that the main relationship of the game is as realistically painful as these things usually are, especially when everyone knows each other where you live.

Also I thought the ending was very cute and appropriate.

It really is a nice, bite-sized gem of yuri, and that’s exactly what I wanted for this category, so go play Signal Strength. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.

2 - “I don’t actually have lyrics for this one.”

(Or: The best executed concept/well put together game).

Accompanying song: Fine, a small break from Argentinian rock. Go listen to the opening song for the 90’s anime adaptation of B’t X, it fucks.

I wanted a category where I could talk about the games I thought worked well from front to end, the ones that had a concept and executed it perfectly or those that were really nicely crafted, though I’m not talking about production values.

Basically, the games where I didn’t have anything I would’ve personally fixed about it. The ones I looked at and thought ‘Yep, everything’s perfectly in place, what a tight narrative, it’s exactly what it needs to be’. Believe it or not, it’s hell to do that on purpose.

And how wonderful that there were enough of these that I had trouble deciding, but also how stressful. These are the honorable mentions.

I feel bad I couldn’t give the spot to Monstrous Deep Blue, so you should go play it. The concept is simple; what if a tokusatsu episode but with sad trans girls who are terrible at expressing their emotions and being honest with each other? And it’s so well-executed. The story is exactly as long and as well-written as any of the best tokusatsu eps. and the spritework is adorable, not to mention the characters themselves. It’s a good one.

Then there’s Meat Girl! I loved this one. A short RPG about a girl who goes to the forest in search of her girlfriend who vanished months ago, but whom she couldn’t search for before because she was too numb and depressed. And in the meantime, it seems, said girlfriend has made friends with an angel who seems to want something from her. Also meat. Also mycelium networks. It’s short but quite punchy, definitely give it a try.

Anyway, I think the most impressive game of this jam is Bridgewater Deepwood Access Radio.

I would kill for Zinnia Braxton.

But anyway, this was the latest entry out of any of the ones in this list, but as soon as I finished playing I knew it deserved a mention. Even though it’s just a demo, it’s the game I enjoyed playing/reading the most, and I was really impressed all throughout by the care and polish that went into every little detail, big or insignificant.

Bridgewater Deepwood Access Radio is about a pair of lesbian coworkers who do a late-night paranormal radio show together, taking calls and listening to people’s supposed paranormal stories, injecting their own thoughts and theories in between. Reb is the romantic out of the romantic/detective dichotomy, maybe not fully buying every story but doing her best to let people be heard, while Zinnia is very much on the opposite camp, a stubborn and sometimes rude skeptic that can barely wait for people to finish telling their stories before shooting ten different holes into them.

The dynamic is really well-written, first of all. Skeptic/believer is a classic for a reason, one of my favorites, and adding Reb and Zinnia’s wildly different personalities and the way they’re both obviously into each other yet only one seems aware is very entertaining to read. Also they’re funny. This game is really funny, which is something that’s hard to do on purpose.

Then there’s the framing of the story. Though six (or more) are planned for the full release, the demo counts with four callers, each one with their own paranormal story to tell, each written and illustrated by a different person, to give the whole thing a bigger ‘anthology’ feel. And it’s hard to overstate just how much that helps the concept.

Though there were four of them, I couldn’t pick a favorite out of the callers/stories told in the demo. Each is unsettling in a very different way. Each draws you in as much as it does Reb and Zinnia, until the latter has a harder and harder time denying something weird is going on. Not to mention the music and the illustrations that every separate artist/composer provide adds to its own tale wonderfully.

Then there’s the honestly beautiful UI work. You look at the girls as though from behind a producer booth, complete with a multitude of buttons and switches and little doodads you can stim with while you experience each of the stories, each one with their own distinct and satisfying click-y sound. And it’s not just the outline. Every visual and audio touch to the UI transitions, to the main menu, even to the transitions of the scenes themselves is so polished and satisfying to experience.

I can’t imagine how much work from so many different people must’ve gone into this. A real team effort. And after playing it, I had to give it a topping spot on this list just on that alone, even if there’s many more reasons why I think it deserves it.

Not the least of which being that out of all the unfinished games on this jam, this is the one I want to see continued the most. I remain on the edge of my seat.

1 - “Pero no detendrán la primavera (But you won’t stop Spring from coming.)”

(Or: A shield of love and a spear of pure spite against the onslaught of fascism)

(Or: “You can’t all be posting on twitter, some of you fuckers gotta help your community”)

Accompanying song: Primavera by La Mancha de Rolando.

This might be the least populated, least complicated of the five categories, but it’s the one that matters to me the most. And while there are a handful of games that could fit here if I stretched the definition a little, there’s only one I feel really deserves both the mention and the spot, and I want to jump straight into it because I have a lot to say here.

She Was Swallowed by the Sun is my favorite game of this year’s Yuri Game Jam. Which doesn’t surprise me, as the people who made it, Snek (writer), Blood Machine (artist) and CØL (music) are also responsible for another one of my favorites from last year’s jam, and I am obsessed with everything they make together.

Content Warnings: Bloody yet consensual sex scenes, state violence and sexual assault, unrelenting and suffocating fascism, gore, body horror and a lot more. Please read the game’s CWs written in the Main Menu and consider them before playing.

Previously I talked about how glad I was for the widening scope of this year’s crop of games in terms of themes and apparent inspirations, and while maybe running similar paths to some of those I mentioned, She Was Swallowed by the Sun veers in a completely different direction, in a good way. I’ll explain with a bit of a tangent before getting into the game proper:

Many of the transgressive fiction I’ve played on itch.io since developing an interest in OEVNs have done a very good job at depicting the realities of being queer, of being part of any minority while living under capitalism or fascism, probably far better than I could, and that’s part of what keeps me coming back to certain authors in the sphere. But there’s sometimes aspects of said games that fail to resonate with me fully. The… to put it unfairly, somewhat apathetic and individualistic view of one’s fate when living under these conditions does resonate, it’s true and raw and something I’m always happy to see, but there’s something about the flavor, the way it’s written that clashes with my own experiences having grown up where I have.

I guess it feels like it lacks some bite, compared to what I grew up reading? Which is no fault of the writing itself; not every story, not even this type, needs that kind of bite and I don’t want to imply that it makes those stories lesser in any way. I’m just describing the feeling of welcomed surprise that comes when you go to a restaurant in a foreign country and they make food exactly how you’re used to eating it back home.

To put it bluntly, and not to toot my own horn but more that of those who came before me, our works of the same genre tend to skew more hopeful and defiant than the Anglo/Euro/American literature I’ve been catching up on these past few years. I guess having been the first Latin-American country to put its CIA-backed dictators to trial, and to force the man responsible for the death and disappearance of over 30.000 of our most vulnerable to die cold and alone in a cell, shitting himself to death, does give you a bit of an ego when it comes to standing up fascism.

And right now, with those who would gladly follow in his footsteps, who would gladly throw our culture and history away and and gag on America’s cock currently in charge of our country, with our most vulnerable at risk again… Hopefully you can understand why I’d appreciate a game like She Was Swallowed by the Sun so much. A game about willing to put a bullet in your own head if it comes out the other end and goes into a fascist’s skull as well.

Anyway, enough about that. Watch Argentina 1985 if you wanna learn more, but now let’s get back to the game.

She Was Swallowed by the Sun stars One, a woman who was sent to prison for the supposed crime of trying to grow a Godseed, a dubious artifact that if fed by One’s body and the right amount of ‘shrines’ in specific locations, has the power to ‘call the sun’. To say more on that front would be spoilers. After spending a long time in prison, hiding the Godseed from the state within her own body, she returns to her old home where Anhedonia, her girlfriend and the one who’s been slipping her drugs that allowed her to halt the Godseed’s growth inside her, is waiting for her.

What follows is nearly 30k words of One and Anhedonia’s daily life as they continue their revolutionary work, using One’s body to feed the Godseed -which causes her indescribable pain- and putting in place all the necessary shrines for the day of reckoning, the only chance anyone might have to deal a fatal blow to the fascist state they live under.

And in the meantime, knowing full well that their deaths are swiftly approaching, One and Anhedonia live their lives. They cook stuff for each other, they go out on dates, they have bloody sex on multiple occasions and they hang out with their only friend now and then, being adorable gay dorks.

If that contrast sounds as interesting to you as it did to me, you might get why I love this game so much. Of course that balance can’t last forever. Of course things deteriorate. The Godseed continually feasts on One’s insides, sprouting eyes all over her that give her a near-divine cognizance that’s too much to bear, and the price she and Anhedonia have to pay in order to make it to the end is more than either of them can mentally or physically stand, and yet they do it anyway. To say more would, again, be spoilers, but the rounding third of the game is a series of scenes that feel like a knife is being twisted inside your gut continuously.

And yet One and Anhedonia never stop being cute, gay dorks in love with each other.

It’s not just the unfathomable acts of love they perform for each other, it’s not just the determination to die for their cause or the unfairness of it all. It’s the feeling that this is something that must have happened in the real world, multiple times.

She Was Swallowed by the Sun does not pull its punches. Its setting might have some fantastical elements, but the pain and oppressive hold of fascism are very real. And that, combined with the way the story itself is resolved, feels almost like a love story to those who have died maybe not for the righteous wish for a better tomorrow, but simply because they can’t live unless they push back.

The way self-sacrifice is shown in the game is refreshing. It’s often not a decision taken in the heat of the moment but a series of decisions taken deliberately over the course of months if not years. It’s sitting alongside the people you love and every day choosing to further a plan that you know will kill you, or them, or all of you, because you just have to. Those around you wouldn’t love you if you chose to do anything else.

And the way that is shown, brought to a boil and then a post-conflagration simmer deserves all the praise I can give. I love this shit. I love this game. If you can stomach the content warnings, I’d say give it a chance to make you love it too.

Closing thoughts

Hard to believe that a couple people working together to organize an event like this, plus all the support and encouragement from the other jammers in the Discord server, is all it takes to bring over a hundred yuri games into the world.

It boggles the mind to see a niche like this grow so much year after year, and it makes me very excited to see what 2025’s gonna bring on that front. Personally, I wouldn’t mind seeing some shonen yuri VNs. Nadia nova has done some good work there already, but there can always be more.

And again, big thanks to nadia and SabrinaTVBand for making this all possible and for moderating the community out of the goodness in their hearts. This jam means a lot to me, and a lot of people, and without it we wouldn’t have so many incredible games.

Until next year then, and do try to give these reccs a try. I’d bet you’re not gonna be disappointed.

#yuri game jam 2024 #visual novel #yuri #queer games #retrospective #larut #signal strength #heatwave #she was swallowed by the sun #bridgewater deepwood access radio

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d1s1ntegrated · 1 year ago

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hiii im back again !!!

can i request shiggy hcs for a reader who chronically bed rots (i was trying to find a better word for it instead of chronically but alas) but they basically just stay in bed watching whatever and sleeping (forgetting to eat is also a habit of mine when i do it ;-;)? thank u <33

OFC U CAN!!! i am also a chronic rotter. i know how it feels bb i got u!

bed rotting x shigaraki hcs

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

the first time tomura saw you bed rot, he thought you were sick.

"are you okay?? are you getting up?"

when you explained you just...couldn't...he nodded and crawled into bed next to you.

he and you both understand it's not the healthiest, but he's no stranger to a bad habit or two.

so when he learns that some days are just gonna be harder than others, he prepares like a mf

we're talking doomsday prepping.

he and a few other league members will go out and steal a bunch of shit: snacks, water bottles, etc

charges all the electronics and makes sure there are chargers nearby

gets nice clean pjs to lay in for you

regardless of whether its related to a chronic illness, mental shit, or not, he makes sure he learns what you need, if anything during that time.

because thats what he would want for himself :( thats what he needed. he understands it

helps you brush your hair out (he kinda sucks at it but hes doing his best okay)

sleeps next to you when you're sleeping, because gods know he needs it too

especially likes to watch shitty animated movies with you when you guts are awake

will send you memes/posts instead of showing them to you even though you're right. there.

you guys dont have to say anything to each other for hours on end, and you're still content just being there together.

plays dumb games on his phone

shows you him bullying villagers off his animal crossing island to get you to laugh

"i fucking hate barold hes so fucking ugly GET OFF MY FUCKING ISLAND YOU PLEB" (sorry barold lovers shiggy is NAWT a fan)

if you forget to eat, he will also forget, until you hear his stomach rumble and you both go "oh fuck"

adhd mode as fuck

gotta keep the big lights off for this

if you're the only one in that headspace, he'll do his best to just be there for you and make sure you take care of yourself

even if that means dragging you by a foot to brush your teeth or at least have a quick rinse in the shower

cause he knows if you dont, you'll feel bad for not

but he's very gentle and understanding always, because hes been there

and he will continue to be there regardless

all he cares about is that you're at least safe and healthy with him

cuddles and kisses you incessantly

just loves being next to you always, this just gives him an excuse to be clingy

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

okay this was really cute, also helped me channel some of my own personal guilt ab bed rotting ;-;

thank u for the request <3

shit like this gives me the motivation to not only keep writing, but to be kinder to myself, because thats what shig would want. i hope this has the same effect for you guys.

love u all, take care of urself <3

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #mha #bnha #my hero academia #mha shigaraki #shigaraki headcanons #tenko shimura #myhcs #shigaraki fluff #dust.hcs #dust.writing #dust.ask

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teddiee · 7 months ago

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Into Each Life: Chapter 12

Summary:

“Tony,” Bucky says carefully.

Tony doesn’t answer immediately, too busy trying to breathe through the sudden, searing cramp in his lower abdomen. The sharp tang of his own scent—sweet and ripe—tickles his nose, and the realization hits him like a freight train.

“Oh, no,” Tony moans.

Words: 13,933

Explicit Content: 18+

The world outside the window is still wrapped in the deep indigo of pre-dawn when Tony wakes.

He stirs. His lashes flutter as he blinks blearily, his vision hazy from sleep. His mind is foggy—caught in the delicate space between sleep and wakefulness—but it takes two slow, orienting breaths to realize his cheek is pressed against the warm, golden plane of Bucky’s bare stomach.

Tony feels like he’s moving through molasses, his limbs sluggish and weighted. Even the simple act of opening his eyes feels like a monumental feat until the faint tick of the clock on the bedside table anchors him in the present.

5:54 a.m.

He takes a brief, necessary moment to acclimate to his surroundings.

A thin blanket is pushed low on his hips, his own chest bare and his skin warm. His scent lingers in the sheets, stronger in places where he and Bucky had tangled together during the night—reminders of the hours that passed in a blur of sweat, whispered promises, and Bucky’s soothing, hypnotizing drawl.

It’s like a thunderclap in his chest. The memory of it rushes in with a startling clarity that makes his breath hitch.

The hazy fragments of the night stitch themselves together—the way Bucky had touched him, the way his hands had soothed and coaxed and held.

Color floods Tony’s cheeks as he remembers how he’d melted into Bucky’s touch. How he had whimpered and begged in a way that felt both alien and horrifically inevitable.

The fragmented flashes of memory send his heart pounding.

The sound of his own voice, desperate and needy, crying out for Bucky; the feel of Bucky’s hands steadying his hips, guiding him through the waves of intensity; the rasp of Bucky’s voice murmuring in his ear, “You’re so good for me, Tony. So perfect.”

He cuts the traitorous thought off with a sharp inhale, clenching his teeth on his bottom lip to steady himself and suppress the strangled, muffled groan that rises in his chest.

So much for remaining calm, cool, and collected.

Tony barely suppresses a flinch as Bucky stirs beneath him. The Alpha’s hand slides up from his bare back, fingers curling into the mussed strands of Tony’s hair. The touch is slow, almost absent-minded, sending an involuntary shudder down Tony’s spine.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” Bucky murmurs, words rough with sleep. His eyes are still closed. When Tony blinks up at him, his lips quirk faintly like he’s caught Tony in the middle of something. “I can hear you from here.”

Tony freezes, his face burning hot, though he doesn’t know whether it’s from embarrassment or the warmth blooming low in his stomach.

“I’m not—” he starts, his voice cracking awkwardly—Christ—but Bucky cuts him off with a soft hum, his fingers working gently through Tony’s disheveled locks.

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky drawls, his tone teasing but warm, a quiet rumble that seems to settle right under Tony’s skin. His hand pauses to scratch lightly at Tony’s scalp, the lazy rhythm as soothing as it is disarming. “You always get that little crease right here—” His thumb grazes Tony’s forehead, just above his brow. “—when your brain’s spinnin’ too fast. Relax, sweetheart. Stop panicking. You don’t gotta figure it all out right now.”

“I’m not panicking,” Tony says stupidly, though Bucky's solid, delectable torso muffles his words. The resulting small puffs of air cause the Alpha’s abdominal muscles to jump and twitch beneath him.

Bucky doesn’t push, just keeps threading his fingers through Tony’s hair like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s not purposefully lulling Tony back into a soft, pliant headspace. “You don’t have to think so hard about last night, either,” he says after a beat, softer now, almost raspy. “We were good, weren’t we? You and me? That’s all that matters.”

Tony’s mind feels woolly, slow to piece itself together, and his body aches faintly in the way it always does at the tail end of his heat. He doesn’t answer, not right away, his chest tight with the weight of his chaotic, spiraling thoughts. He rests against the smooth expanse of Bucky’s bare skin, his cheek pressed close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of the Alpha’s breathing.

“Yeah, we were good,” Tony says quietly.

His voice is small and still raspy from sleep, but there’s a lingering edge to it that betrays his unease.

Even now, when Bucky’s hands are gentle and unhurried. Even now, when everything is quiet and safe, and the thought of what happened still twists his gut in a way he can’t quite shake off.

Bucky’s hand drifts from Tony’s hair, fingertips trailing lightly down his neck to rest at the base of his skull.

The contact is gentle, deliberate, like Bucky’s trying to coax him into something, though Tony’s sluggish brain hasn’t quite figured out what.

Either way, it’s grounding. Like always.

Tony sinks into the steady warmth of Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck, and he feels a jolt of tension dissipate as Bucky’s thumb starts to massage small circles there, just above his shoulder blades. He swallows down his moan.

Tony doesn’t know how long he stays there, pressed against Bucky’s body, but it feels like a small eternity. His heart is still racing, his body a live wire, and he’s hyper-aware of every shift of muscle beneath him.

But then Bucky’s hand slides up and down his back, broad and sure, his thumb brushing in soothing arcs along Tony’s spine.

“You know,” Bucky says, low and easy, “if you keep fidgetin’ like that, a fella’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Tony lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh, burying his face into Bucky’s toned stomach. “Don’t encourage me,” he mumbles.

“Encouragin’ you is my favorite thing,” Bucky counters smoothly. His fingers drift back to Tony’s neck, tracing idle patterns that somehow make Tony feel lightheaded and more flustered all at once.

Bucky’s still in his underwear. Tony is too, if the familiar touch of damp fabric clinging to his thighs is any indication. The thin white cotton of Bucky’s boxers does little to conceal his erection—not having softened once since dragging a heat-fueled Tony into his bedroom after supper last night.

Tony peers down at the tented fabric—erect, imposing, a small wet patch where the tip strains against cotton—and conspicuously squirms under the blanket. He licks his lips and rubs his own thighs together.

That warm, tight feeling still lingers. Unmistakable as it pulses low in his belly,

Sure, it’s noticeably muted compared to the inferno that had consumed him just days ago. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s on fire, and he’s not choking on the overwhelming sweetness of his own scent. This isn’t the all-consuming demand for an Alpha’s presence that had left him clinging to his bed sheets, dizzy and desperate.

But still, it’s heightened in a way that makes his breath hitch and his pulse stutter. There’s a new edge to his constant state of fluctuating arousal—something sharper, more focused.

It’s not just his heat. It’s heat and Bucky.

A spark in his veins that only exists after experiencing the press of strong hands against his hips. After shuddering under the low rasp of Bucky’s voice, coaxing his body through mind-blowing relief at an Alpha’s hands for the very first time.

Tony's chest hitches slightly, the flutter in his belly spreading outward, warmth pooling deep in his core. It’s a slow flare, but it’s there, building as Bucky’s fingers continue to work at the sensitive spot on the back of his neck, sending electricity down his spine.

He shifts slightly, trying to ease the ache blooming low in his stomach, and the friction sends a small, unbidden whine tumbling from his lips. He swallows hard, feeling his flush creep down his neck, his body betraying him in the most inconvenient fucking way possible.

He was just starting to find a sliver of calm, too, but his blood spikes and reacts to Bucky’s touch like it’s still in the crux of his heat. To his scent, thick and earthy in the air around them; to his voice, still rough with sleep as it curls into Tony’s ear; to the way his hands never stop their soothing rhythm, even though Tony knows he can feel the minute shift in pressure as Tony’s scent swells.

Bucky stiffens beneath him, the hand in Tony’s hair faltering for the briefest second before resuming its slow, soothing rhythm.

“Tony,” Bucky says carefully.

“Oh, no,” Tony moans.

Bucky hums low in his throat—a sound that might have been reassurance if it weren’t for the way his other hand comes to rest on Tony’s lower back, fingers flexing slightly. Like he’s grounding himself as much as Tony.

“You still feeling it?” Bucky asks gently. His own scent deepens. Cedar and smoke, rich and heady, curling around Tony like a protective cocoon.

Tony shakes his head against Bucky’s abdomen, his breath hitching as another wave of heat surges through him, leaving his skin flushed and damp. “It’s… manageable,” he grits through his teeth, though the way he squirms against Bucky betrays the truth.

Bucky lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “It’s got a funny way of sneakin’ back up on you.” His thumb on Tony’s spine moves in slow, grounding circles. “You’re okay, Tony. I’ve got you.”

The Alpha’s scent has sharpened, his body impossibly warm beneath Tony’s, and there’s a tension in his muscles now. Coiled and ready.

But he doesn’t move, doesn’t press, just keeps stroking Tony’s skin like he’s got all the time in the world.

“You with me?” Bucky asks quietly. The question is a low rumble, reverberating in his stomach and vibrating against Tony’s temple.

Tony nods jerkily, though he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

He’s with Bucky. He hasn’t stopped being with Bucky since last night, when he sobbed and spilled into the Alpha’s fist.

Historically, Tony has coaxed himself to a—frankly countless—number of orgasms.

Since presenting at sixteen, he’s undergone a handful of heats. Entirely alone, except for the company of his own hand. Enough to get the job done, maybe, but never enough to fully extinguish the flames licking at his veins. Never enough to dull the throbbing, empty ache between his legs. Never enough to satisfy his body’s biological urge to bask in Alpha pheromones and succumb.

So after years of unfulfilling self-gratification, Bucky’s hand on his dick felt almost synonymous with the closest thing Tony had ever experienced to a religious experience.

Warm. Tight. The Alpha’s scent glands occasionally brushing against the sensitive underside of delicate skin. Tony’s face pressed to his neck, gulping down lungfuls of a scent tailor-made to light up his nerve endings.

Bucky’s molten praises caressing his ear. His own stiff, clothed, pulsing erection pushing against the bare skin of Tony’s thigh.

It wasn’t sex, not fully. It wasn’t the stretch of a knot in his ass; it wasn’t a complete claiming where his body ached for it most. But it was enough.

Enough to convince his body that he was being cared for, that he was being guided through his hormonal frenzy by an Alpha.

You know. Finally.

Tony doesn’t remember much after the first orgasm. The immediate, toe-curling relief had been staggering—almost debilitating—and the quick surge of hormones that flooded his body had rendered him useless.

He can vaguely recall fragments of Bucky’s fingers gliding through his hair. Soft, soothing praise whispered against his temple. Gentle hands coaxing between his legs with a warm washcloth.

He remembers being poured into Bucky’s bed, drifting into a deep and immediate sleep. And Bucky joining him later—damp from his shower, strong arms pulling Tony back against his bare chest and curling around him. Nosing at his scent gland.

He was satisfied. Satiated. Blissful.

Until he wasn’t.

Until he awoke a few short hours later to a bedroom cloaked in darkness, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft silver streaks across the walls. Eyes flying open, lungs hitching sharply as the heat in his body clawed its way to the surface. Sharp and pulsing.

12:14 A.M.

Tony can’t stop the small, choked whimper that escapes his throat as he pushes himself up on his elbows. His skin is feverish, a sheen of sweat prickling along his brow, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He curls in on himself, trying to ride out the sudden wave of tremors coursing through his veins, but the ache—the need—is sharp. It gnaws at him from the inside out.

His skin feels too tight, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated as he rotates against Bucky’s chest. He moans—a strangled, needy sound that rushes out of his throat as he buries his face against the Alpha’s skin, desperate for the comfort of his scent.

“Tony?”

Bucky’s voice is low, thick with sleep, but instantly alert. His hand finds Tony’s neck, warm and steady, its weight grounding in a way that cuts through the worst of the haze.“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Tony quivers under the gentle press of Bucky’s palm, his throat too tight to answer. He tries to take a deep breath, but it breaks halfway through, trembling.

“’M fine,” he croaks.

Bucky huffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Pope.”

He slides closer. The mattress dips under his weight and a second hand joins the first, this one grabbing Tony’s hip. Bucky’s thumb brushes against his skin in soothing arcs, his touch careful, deliberate. He pulls Tony closer into his neck, coaxing the Omega to breathe in where Bucky’s scent bleeds strong.“You’re burnin’ up again.”

Tony nods jerkily, his eyes squeezing shut as he wills his body to calm down. “I—I don’t know why it’s worse now,” he mumbles. “It was getting better, wasn’t it? Thought it was over.”

Bucky laughs into his hair. “It’s just a spike. Bound to happen. Your body’s still sorting itself out. Doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

“I didn’t want t’wake you,” Tony slurs. Still, he clings tighter to Bucky. His hips shift instinctively, chasing relief he can’t name. Slick leaks into his clean underwear. “Hurts.”

That makes Bucky’s hand pause, his fingers pressing into Tony’s hip just firm enough to draw his attention. “Yeah,” he drawls, rich and warm, “because it’s such a chore, takin’ care of you.”

Tony doesn’t know what he needs. His dick throbs, and the pressure in his stomach coils tight. Clenching and unclenching.

But Bucky does.

“You’re okay,” Bucky coos. He shifts them, suddenly. Kicks the blanket off their legs. Pulls Tony up by his armpits until he’s seated between Bucky’s thighs, his back flush with Bucky’s chest. The Alpha leans against the headboard and spreads Tony’s knees with his own. Tony shudders, legs parting like water, arching into Bucky’s hold. “I’ve got you. Sweet boy, I’ve got you.”

Tony melts back against him, his head lolling onto Bucky’s shoulder. Every nerve in his body feels frayed, exposed, and he can’t help the way his hips shift, seeking relief from the ache that’s consuming him. Bucky’s cock is hard against his back, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and the Alpha hisses when Tony pushes against it. His hands drop to grip Tony’s waist, steadying him.

“Bucky,” he whines. His hands grip weakly at Bucky’s thighs, trying to hold onto something solid. “I— I don’t—” The words stick in his throat, his mind too foggy to string them together.

Bucky’s arm lifts to wrap securely around Tony’s shoulders, his chest warm and solid against Tony’s back. His other hand grazes the bare skin of Tony’s thigh.“You don’t have to know, sweetheart,” he says, raspy. “That’s what I’m here for. Let me do the thinkin’ for you.”

The scent of Bucky is everywhere now, heavy and potent, and Tony can’t breathe without it, can’t think past the burn building deep in his gut.

And then Bucky’s hand skims past his stomach and finally dips past the waistband of his briefs.

“God, Tony,” Bucky chokes, his voice thick with approval as he feels the wetness gathering at the inside of Tony’s thighs. His fingertips glide over the slickness, and Tony shakes, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through him at the light touch to such a sensitive spot.

Bucky’s breath hitches, and Tony can feel the low growl in his chest, the shift in his scent deepening. Pine and smoke fill the air, mingling with the sharp sweetness of Tony’s own, creating a heady, intoxicating blend. Bucky can’t help himself. “You’re so wet for me, baby. So fucking perfect.” His voice is rough, hungry, and when his strong, callused palm finally wraps around Tony’s leaking cock, Tony keens.

They both moan. Tony’s dick, now forty-eight hours past a comfortable soreness, is approaching painful after days of unfulfilling stimulation instigated by Tony’s own hand. Bucky’s touch burns hot, like a brand, and Tony exhales a hiss through his teeth.

Bucky’s movements falters immediately, feeling the tension coil tighter in Tony’s body.

“Tony…” His voice is low, rough with an edge of worry and something headier. His fingers spasm from their grip on Tony’s shoulder. Still, he doesn’t fully let go. Keeps his grip on Tony gentle but firm.“You’re sore, aren’t you?”

Tony’s own fingers tighten their grip on Bucky’s thighs, pulling himself closer as if trying to push through the discomfort. His mind is clouded, thoughts scattered, but the aching pull in his core is the only thing that keeps him tethered to the moment.

“Don’ stop," Tony’s voice breaks, a quiet, ragged whisper as he presses himself closer to Bucky. His hips thrust up of their own volition, seeking more, and Bucky’s grip tightens imperceptibly. He doesn’t care if it’s messy, doesn’t care if it’s too much—he needs it, needs him.“Please.”

The plea is raw and desperate, and it doesn’t even feel his own. It comes from a place deeper than logic, from the heart of the heat that scorches through his veins.

But Bucky’s fist—steady, grounding—tightens, just enough to make Tony feel every tiny nuance of touch.

Tony sags, collapsing back into Bucky’s embrace. The breath leaves his lungs in a whine.

“You sure, sweetheart? You don’t have to take more than you can handle.” His words are soft, almost reverent, but there’s something underneath it—something darker. Intoxicating.

“So sure,” Tony exhales. “Fuck, don’t stop. Bucky. Alpha.” His voice falters but then steadies, the desperation in it clear. “Don’t care. I can take it. Just—don’t stop.” The pleasure will outlive the pain, he’s certain. And he craves it. Craves Bucky’s touch like he’s drowning in it.

He shivers as Bucky shifts behind him. The Alpha’s hand moves again, his grip on Tony’s cock slow but sure, and Tony’s resounding moan is so loud that Bucky’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth. Gripping Tony’s jaw.

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’ll give you exactly what you need. But we don’t wanna wake Stevie, do we?” Bucky murmurs into his ear, pure gravel.

Tony freezes, eyes wide, his hot breath huffing against Bucky’s hand. His body stills for a moment, processing the words. And then, in the next breath, the sound of his desperation is muffled, but still there—caught in his throat, vibrating through Bucky’s palm. His eyes roll back into his head.

“Good boy,” Bucky praises roughly. “I’ll help you, baby. I’ll take away the ache. Just need you to keep it quiet, yeah? Just be good and take it.”

Tony’s breath hitches in response, a wail escaping his muffled lips before he can stop it. The pressure in his core flares again, sharper, more intense, and his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin as if trying to anchor himself.

“Fuck, Tony...” Bucky murmurs, his voice thick with a hunger that makes Tony’s fuzzy, syrupy head spin.

Tony’s always drippy during heats. He’s practically leaking into Bucky’s hand, aided by pre-cum and the slick pooling between his thighs, and the only sounds in the room are the wet, squelching noises of Bucky jacking Tony off and their combined belabored breathing.

Tony squirms. He moans. His hands shoot up to grip Bucky’s arm, back bowing, and Bucky has to wrap his ankles around Tony’s to keep the Omega’s hips anchored where he needs them.

Bucky starts babbling. The rise and fall of his chest echoes against Tony’s back. He can feel the Alpha’s strained breaths. The words tumble out of his mouth, seemingly unwittingly.

"You’re so fucking soaked, doll,” he husks. His words are low, dragged from somewhere deep in his chest as he feels the slickness on Tony’s skin. As Tony drips shamelessly into his lap. “All this for me? You can't even help it, can you?”

His thumb brushes over Tony’s cockhead, smearing pre-cum against Tony’s sensitive slit, and Tony sobs and bites down on the flesh of Bucky’s palm. “So fucking needy," Bucky continues, reverent, his lips brushing the side of Tony’s neck. Tasting his pulsing scent gland. ”Can’t even stand it, huh? Need your Alpha to fix you. I’m the only one who can, Tony. You know that, don’t you?”

Tony’s response is a low, strangled groan, stifled by Bucky’s hand, but it’s enough for Bucky. He feels the way Tony’s body arches, the way he shifts under him, dizzy and desperate for more.

“Look at you,” Bucky whispers. “You can’t even control yourself. Just a fucking mess for me, aren’t you? So perfect, so beautiful like this.”

There’s pain—pressure, oversensitivity, the sharp sting of contact against Tony’s delicate flesh. But the pleasure is blinding, and the combination of sensations has Tony writhing. Panting and pleading.

Bucky alternates pace and pressure, gauging all of Tony’s smallest, most subtle tells—the slightest hitch of his lungs, the barest flex of his fingers around Bucky’s forearm—to work his body like a finely tuned instrument.

He speeds his hand when Tony’s hips stutter, arching to chase the delectable heat pooling in his belly. He eases up when Tony’s pleasure bleeds into something sharp, something a little more pointed, subduing the Omega and bringing him back to that sweet spot that has him moaning unabashedly like a feral animal.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Tony warbles. He pumps his hips to meet Bucky’s thrusts, and when Bucky grinds his own cock against the small of Tony’s back, seeking friction, it pulls a shocked, helpless noise from his lungs.

Bucky chuckles darkly, rolling his hips in time with his hand. A crude imitation of Tony’s deepest, headiest desire.

“Sweetheart,” he croons. His pace quickens, hand stripping Tony’s cock with barely-restrained urgency. The obscene sound of wet skin echoes through the room. He lets out another laugh when Tony quakes, this one tinged with disbelief. Awe. “You can feel it, can’t you? How much I want you? How much I need you?”

Bucky’s breathing is becoming heavier, more labored, and Tony feels it like a pulse in the air, like the rhythm of a storm about to break. Each exhale from Bucky is a low, brutal sound that vibrates against Tony’s back, and he can feel the slight tremor in Bucky’s muscles as his hand strokes firmly over Tony’s weeping dick, as his arm tightens across Tony’s chest, fingers flexing against his mouth. Holding himself back, trying to give Tony exactly what he needs without breaking.

“I could—fuck—I could come like this. Just from this, you rockin’ in my lap like a goddamn dream. Whimperin’ and cryin’, lettin’ you Alpha know how good he makes you feel.”

Tony’s hands tear Bucky’s palm from his mouth. He sucks in a gasping breath, lungs burning.

“Please,” he begs. His voice cracks. He doesn’t care. “Please, please—want it. Oh—my, fu—Alpha.”

Bucky curses. His hand travels to Tony’s throat. Not gripping, but holding. Tony’s brain immediately goes a little woozy, a little lightheaded.

“But this ain’t about me,” Bucky grits. “I want you. I wanna be inside you more than I want my next breath. It’s all I think about. You’re mine, Tony. You fucking belong to me.”

The words are magic to Tony’s heat-fogged existence. His spine bows, ribs expanding. He feels like he’s floating.

With the hand to his throat, Bucky tilts Tony’s head back, just far enough to press a kiss to Tony’s temple. Tony moves like a puppet. Bucky lingers there for a moment, lips pressed to Tony’s damp skin.

A sweet, striking contrast to the filthy reactions he’s pulling from Tony’s body.

“B��Bucky,” Tony chokes. Sobs, really. “M’gonna, I’m so… ohhh. You’re—”

“Yours,” Bucky interrupts, his tone rough and sure. “Every piece of me, Tony. Yours. Come for me, doll.”

Tony’s body sings at the command, his submissive instincts surging in a way he so desperately works to suppress when he’s clear-headed. He comes so hard his scream breaks off halfway through it. He finds himself once again choking on Bucky’s palm.

“There you go, honey. That’s right, let it go. Let your Alpha have it.” Bucky can’t seem to shut up as he works Tony through the aftershocks, Tony trembling and shaking in his lap with the force of his release. It lasts forever, his thighs vibrating with released tension as he wets up his stomach with come, coating his dick and Bucky’s hand.

“Baby doll. Pretty Omega. Fuck. That’s it.” He strokes Tony through it until Tony is crying out from the overstimulation, squirming against his grip. It’s perfect, it’s endless—the release floods his veins like euphoria. His spine goes soft.

“C’mere”, Bucky breathes once Tony is left a limp, wheezing shell of an Omega. He pulls Tony back into his arms, tucking his head under his chin. He’s still hard underneath Tony, pulsing hot enough for Tony to feel between their thin layers of clothing. Tony whines, dropping his check to Bucky’s chest. Wet with his own spit. He shudders, and Bucky’s arms tighten.

“Feel better?” Bucky asks, and Tony—despite everything—snorts.

Bucky grins against the crown of his head. “There he is.”

“I think you killed me,” Tony says. He rubs at his nose, his limbs leaden.“I might be dead.” He can hardly move his tongue to form the words. The base of his spine thrums pleasantly. He’s pliant and sweaty in Bucky’s arms, overwhelmed with the aftershocks of his pleasure.

“You’ll live,” Bucky replies, lips twitching. “Now, shut up and let me hold you.”

As the fog of need clears, Tony sinks into something warmer. Something safer. With Bucky’s erection pressing into the small of his back, he slips back into unconsciousness, covered in his own spend.

3:46 A.M.

“Jesus Christ. It’s been over three days. I should be… ugh. Done.”

Bucky laughs, his body curved toward Tony’s. His chest is flushed down to his stomach, heated from the steady, blooming aroma of Tony’s growing arousal. Even in the dark, Tony can make out the size of his pupils. Glittering, blown.

“It’s not a race, doll. There’s no prize for getting to the finish line faster. You’re finally just gettin’ the attention you deserve. You know it; your body knows it.”

“Yeah, well, my dick knows it, too,” Tony grouses. “And I think if anyone touches it again, it might fall off.”

The tight, coiling feeling is back. Softer, less urgent than before, but no less persistent. Every flicker of warmth in Bucky’s gaze draws attention to the need pooling at his spine, every pull of desire amplified in ways that make Tony feel like he’s coming apart at the seams.

He fights through the fog. Tries to ground his syrupy, sluggish brain to the present.

“What do you need, baby?”

Tony rolls onto his back, swallowing thickly. He brings his palms to his eyes and exhales toward the ceiling.

“Dunno,” he admits. His voice sounds small, even to his own ears. Feeble. “Might just wait for this wave to pass.”

Something he used to do often, after his body had been wrecked by overstimulation. Now—familiar with the touch of Bucky’s hands on his body, familiar with an Alpha’s presence guiding him through his pleasure—it sounds like torture.

Bucky makes a low, thoughtful sound.

“Or,” he says,“we can get creative.”

Tony tenses. “I thought we weren’t… you said you weren’t going to—” he trails off, the unspoken ‘fuck me’ forming on the tip of his tongue.

Bucky’s lip twitch again, infuriating. Perfect. Tony wants to kiss him.

“There are plenty of things we can do,” Bucky says easily, “that don’t involve me getting my cock inside you, sweetheart.”

Tony’s feeling a little bratty. A little petulant—his skin is too warm, his body teetering somewhere on the confusing precipice of agitation, arousal, and exhaustion. His perpetual state of desire evokes a vulnerability that summons endless frustration, both physically and mentally. His dick aches, despite its constant persistence. It rubs against his underwear in a way that has him gritting his teeth.

And still, none of this negates the side effects of his lingering heat. It clouds his judgment, clinging stubbornly as Tony tosses and turns in the arms of his Alpha. In sheets that smell like his Alpha. As he inhales lungfuls of Bucky’s glorious, rich scent, as Bucky trails his hands along all of Tony’s most sensitive spots, fingers constantly sweeping across his glands, his neck, his hips.

Turns out he drops pretty easy, under the right circumstances.

Especially when he’s half-naked in his Alpha’s bed, dragging through his heat, listening to said Alpha drawl about fucking Tony on his cock.

Like clockwork, Tony’s brain goes a little soft. A little spacey. The fight zaps out of his bones.

The orgasms are nice. Perfect. The pleasure that Bucky so easily pulls out of his body is intense enough to instill immense amounts of humility inside a teenage boy overly familiar with jerking off. He’s starting to think there may never have been pleasure before Bucky—true pleasure, the kind that seeps into his bones and renders him useless. Needy. Complete.

It’s a type of relief he’s never been able to provide for himself, not truly. Not the way his body and his biology require.

But even this—coming with a hand on his cock (however perfect Bucky’s grip, no matter how unwaveringly devoted his attention to Tony’s body may be)—merely begins to scratch the itch of his repressed, earth-shattering craving to be knotted.

It’s easier to hunger for it, when he’s like this. Fucked out, soft and loose and pliant in the grip of his heat-addled submission. When his deep-seated fears and insecurities seem to be nothing more than mindless afterthoughts; memories of a past self.

Still on his back, still staring at the ceiling, his heart pounds against his ribs as he chews on his lip, suppressing the innate whine crawling up the tunnel of his throat.

He’s too busy knuckling at the corners of his eyes, caught in the undertow of sensation, to catch the Alpha’s expression. It shifts from something smug to something softer, like worship, and his scent morphs with it, washing over Tony like the tide.

Bucky’s hands roam with a practiced ease, pulling Tony’s hands from his face by his wrists and hovering over him like he was made to fit there. Slotting his thigh seamlessly between Tony’s legs. “Don’t hide from me. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?” he continues, quiet. He pushes Tony’s wrists up above his head, and Tony goes willingly. Easily. Fingers flexing in his Alpha’s grip.“The way you look at me when you’re all dazed like this... makes me wanna wreck you and put you back together a hundred times over. Make sure you never forget how good you can have it, now that you’re with me.”

Tony pushes out a rushed laugh. He feels manic.

With his free hand, Bucky tilts Tony’s head back slightly, just enough to press a firm kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “I’ve got you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’d move heaven and earth for you. Hell, I’d rip ‘em both apart if it’d make you feel even an ounce better.”

It’s nonsense. It’s indulgence. Ridiculous and perfect. The exact kind of absurd sweet-talking that sends Tony under, as quick as anything.

Bucky’s lips find Tony’s jaw again, lingering this time, the press of his mouth deliberate and firm.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t let the heat of the moment pull him out of his rhythm. His lips are slightly chapped, but warm, leaving a trail of kisses down the curve of Tony’s jawline. Each touch feels heavier than the last, sinking into Tony’s skin like a brand.

When Bucky kisses just beneath Tony’s ear, Tony shudders and gasps, his fingers clenching weakly at nothing. His wrists still pressed firmly into the mattress. “Right here,” Bucky murmurs. He tilts Tony’s head slightly, angling him so that he can press his mouth more firmly against the soft curve of Tony’s throat. Teasing the edge of his mating gland.“Can’t get enough of you, gorgeous. Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He kisses down the column of Tony’s throat, slow and savoring. His lips mold perfectly to each dip and curve, the slight scrape of his teeth dragging just enough to make Tony arch against him. Bucky hums low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of them as he presses a firmer kiss just above Tony’s collarbone, lingering there like he doesn’t want to leave.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, the words barely audible against Tony’s skin. He pulls back just far enough to cradle Tony’s cheek in his hand, tilting him up, their foreheads almost touching. “You feel it too, don’t you? How good this is?”

He doesn’t let Tony answer. He just kisses him again, this time on the mouth.

It’s slower than Tony expects, like Bucky’s savoring every second. He presses in close, coaxing Tony’s lips apart with gentle insistence, his tongue brushing softly against Tony’s lower lip. The kiss deepens naturally, their mouths sliding together with an ease that makes Tony’s head spin.

Tony feels a frantic, kinetic energy pulsing inside him. He whimpers and tries to deepen the kiss, trembling against the bed, but Bucky gentles it each time Tony’s urgency bleeds through. Unhurried and deliberate. Coaxing Tony into a dizzying, boneless headspace.

When Bucky pulls away, Tony’s vision feels spotty.

“Look at me.” Bucky’s hands move to frame Tony’s face, propping himself up on his elbows. Tony’s arms obediently stay stretched up by his ears. He blinks rapidly into focus. Bucky’s lips brush Tony’s temple, then his cheek, soft and grounding. The faint rasp of stubble catches on Tony’s overheated skin, the sensation somehow soothing. Bucky's voice, low and deliberate, breaks through the haze.

“Everything we do is supposed to feel good, Tony,” he says, the words careful but firm, like he’s staking a claim against some ghost of doubt. “That’s how it’s meant to be. If it doesn’t feel good, we stop. Doesn’t matter how close you are or what you think you’re supposed to do. Got it?”

Tony blinks sluggishly, the fog in his mind too thick to navigate. Bucky’s words swirl in his head, heavy and meaningful, familiar, but they don’t quite land.

He glances up at Bucky, his brow furrowed. “Was this… is this about Arnie?”

Bucky stills for a moment. His lips part and he exhales slowly, choosing his next words carefully.

“You don’t have to think about that right now, doll,” he says, his voice laced with a kind of tenderness that only makes Tony more confused. “Everything I’m doin’ is to make you feel nice. Nothing else matters. Not me, not anyone else—just you. So if it… hurts, if it feels like too much, you tell me. No one gets to tell you what’s normal except you.

Tony huffs, the sound more desperate than frustrated. “No, I—” He shakes his head, trying to find clarity in the haze of heat and exhaustion. “I remember… what he said. And you got mad?” His words tumble out in fragments, disjointed and uncertain, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle that’s missing half the pieces.

And then he tenses.

“Oh. He… he said I lied to him,” Tony whispers. “That I told him it wouldn’t hurt.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “He was upset,” he says carefully, tone measured. “And maybe he had a right to be, in his own way. But that doesn’t mean he was right to put that on you.”

Tony frowns, the weight of Arnie’s words pressing down on him again, mingling with the persistent heat thrumming in his veins. “But I did tell him that. And I knew—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I knew I was lying.”

Bucky’s hands spasm, the smallest movement, and Tony watches the Alpha’s chin raise, his lips brushing Tony’s hairline. “You weren’t, baby,” Bucky says gently, but there’s a firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument. “You told him what you thought was true. What you wanted to believe for him—and for yourself.”

His mind is still too clouded with need to form a coherent response, but Bucky doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Listen to me,” Bucky says, his voice low and unyielding, and Tony feels it vibrate through his chest. “It’s only ever supposed to feel good. Every damn time. No matter what. I know you’ve been through shit, Tony. I know you’ve got these scars inside of you,” Each word is clipped, each syllable dripping with intensity. “But that ain’t your fault. And I’m not gonna let you forget that this?” He pushes his own hard, straining cock against Tony’s hipbone. “It’s supposed to be good, sweet boy. So good—every damn moment of it. You hear me? If it doesn’t feel good, we’re doin’ it wrong.”

Tony stares up at him, a little wet around the eyes. Stunned and speechless.

“You don’t owe anyone anything. Not Arnie, not anyone. You deserve to feel good. To feel safe. And I will always take care of you, Tony. Always.” Bucky presses a kiss to the side of his head. “You trust me?”

Tony nods before he can stop himself. The haze is still there, dense and thick, but Bucky’s warmth cuts through it. His touch grounds him.

“Say it,” Bucky urges, his voice a little rougher now. “Tell me you trust me.”

“Yeah, always,” Tony finally whispers, his voice barely a breath. “Always, Buck. I trust you.”

Bucky’s entire demeanor shifts. The tension in his shoulders eases, and the edge in his voice softens, though a hint of raw vulnerability lurks behind it. He lets out a deep, rumbling breath, like a weight has been lifted, and he moves his hands gently over Tony’s body, brushing the stray strands of hair from his forehead.

“Good,” he says.“That’s all I needed to hear.” He kisses Tony’s nose. “Now that we’re on the same page,” he flashes Tony that same roguish smile, the one that always makes Tony’s heart skip in his chest. “I wanna try somethin’. I think you’ll like it.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of uncertainty roll through him. “What are you—” he starts, but the words die in his throat as he yelps, Bucky’s deft hands flipping him onto his stomach.

“Oof.”

Bucky presses his smile into Tony’s shoulder blade. He grazes his teeth along the skin when Tony shivers beneath him.

“Relax for me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” Tony grumbles into his pillow. His heart is beating in his throat.

Bucky’s hand slides over Tony’s back, tracing the curve of his spine with gentle fingers. Just like that, Tony sinks into the mattress.

“That’s it,” Bucky croons. “Still with me, doll?”

Tony, eyes half-lidded, nods, but the haze of arousal makes it hard for him to form any coherent thoughts. “Yeah, m’fine,” he mumbles, voice hoarse.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against the back of Tony’s neck before he leans in, kissing the back of Tony’s ear softly. “Say the word, and we stop. Got it?”

“Which word?”

“Go ahead, honey, crack all the jokes you want. I’ve got you pegged. Smart mouth and all.”

Tony is Tony, and he tries for a clever retort, but all that escapes is a high, shocked sound as Bucky tugs his briefs over the curve of his ass, down to his knees.

He can’t move, can’t speak as Bucky shifts behind him, fingers tracing up the inside of his thighs. Gliding through rivulets of slick.

“Still burning for me,” Bucky muses. “Even after I’ve made you come twice. You don’t know how much I love seeing you like this, darlin’. So needy. Trusting me to take care of you.” He nudges Tony’s hips up, urging a pillow between him and the mattress, and Tony moves easily. Boneless.

“I think about this a lot,” the Alpha continues. Easy, casual. As if he and Tony are discussing the weather. He palms the flesh of Tony’s ass, and Tony moans, scrubbing his forehead into the mattress below. His fingers fist the sheets on either side of his head. “Oh, darlin’. Have you ever touched yourself here?”

Tony nods, more than a bit desperate. His skin is flushed from his hairline to his toes.

“Uh, huh,” he admits. “In heat.”

Bucky makes a cooing, sympathetic sound behind him. His thumb presses into the give of his flesh, barely brushing along the rim of Tony’s wet, aching hole. Tony’s lungs collapse into his ribs. The whine he releases is loud, unhinged.

He truly, desperately hopes Steve Rogers is a heavy sleeper.

“Poor Omega. You touched yourself here this weekend, didn’t you? When you were all alone? Cryin’ for something bigger? Something to fill you up?”

Tony’s shocked laugh morphs into a choked hiccup. “Jesus, Buck.” He squirms against the Alpha’s touch. “Yeah. Yeah.”

He might die like this, he thinks.

“Did you think about me?”

Correction, he will die like this.

“Bucky,” he gasps. Color floods his cheeks. If he grips the sheets any harder in anticipation, he’ll tear them.

“Tell me, Tony.” Bucky’s voice has a sharper edge, now. Something darker, richer. “Did you think about me when you were fucking yourself with your fingers? When you were achin’ and wigglin’ to reach that soft spot inside you? Did you imagine it was me?” Bucky’s thumb hooks into the rim of his hole, and a gush of slick pours out. The Alpha’s scent blooms. “My fingers inside of you? My cock? My knot?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tony wails. He pushes his hips back to meet Bucky’s touch, desperate, but Bucky’s hand on his hip stills him. “Thought about you. Always—oh!—Always thinking ‘bout you.”

Bucky makes a low, pleased noise, leans over to kiss the dip of Tony’s spine, and then sinks his pointer finger inside Tony to the second knuckle.

Both boys curse.

Despite his nerves, Tony’s body is warm, willing. Pliant and softened by his heat. Bucky’s finger sinks into him like a stone in water, aided by the copious slick gushing out of his body.

“Baby doll. Jesus. So tight, so perfect.” Bucky sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. Tony can’t do anything but bite down on his pillow and take it.

Bucky works his finger into Tony slowly, praises spilling from his lips as Tony adjusts to the stretch of the unfamiliar digit. Longer and thicker than his own. Pushing into him at an unfamiliar, dizzying angle. Tony clenches around it greedily, his body adjusting so easily to the stretch that it craves.

It’s everything.

His resilient dick is rock hard against his stomach, grinding lazily into the mattress with each careful thrust of Bucky’s hand, but Tony doesn’t even register it. All of his focus, his entire existence is narrowed down to a fine point—to Bucky’s dexterous, practiced finger dragging in and out of him, his hole sucking in the intrusion greedily.

Tony can feel every nerve ending in his body. When Bucky’s finger finally pushes in all the way, nudging past the easy resistance of tight muscle up to the third knuckle, stars explode behind his eyelids.

“Ohhh,” Tony groans. “Oh my God. More. Alpha, More.”

Bucky laughs behind him, the sound tinged with disbelief. “How many have you had before, baby?”

The slow-moving cogs in Tony’s brain work to dissect Bucky’s question.

“Two,” Tony gasps. “Jus’ two.”

Bucky rewards him with a curl of his finger, and Tony’s back arches so much that Bucky has to use his own hips to hold Tony to the bed.

Tony can hear Bucky’s smug triumph. It pours into his scent.

“Two’s perfect. Two’s all we need.”

A second finger begins toying at his rim. Tony cries out in ecstasy.

“Easy. Easy. Just like that. Nice and relaxed for me, doll.”

Time becomes fluid, ebbing and flowing. Tony doesn’t know how long Bucky pumps a lone finger into him—unhurried, unrushed, letting the mewling Omega underneath him squirm and shake under the sensation as he continues to whisper filth into his mouth.

“I fucked my fist in the shower, thinking about this.” Bucky licks the sweat-dampened shell of Tony’s ear. “You were asleep, poor thing, all worn out from spilling all over my hand. I got myself off with you still on me, drippin’ all over my fingers. So fucking beautiful, sweetheart. I closed my eyes and pictured this—stretching out this poor, aching hole on my fingers. Making you come again, just from strokin’ inside you, all nice-like.”

Tony’s nodding frantically. He might be crying. He can’t tell if his face is wet from tears or drool.

“You’re better than a dream. So good for me like this, Tony. So sweet and perfect. You ready for another?”

“Please,” Tony begs. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Good boy,” Bucky husks, and then he’s biting into the skin at the crook of Tony’s shoulder the exact moment a second finger breaches Tony’s body. Tony jolts, and then lets out a keening wail.

“Fuck, Tony. You’re tight.”

He is, he knows it. But the stretch is wonderful; it’s exactly what he needs, exactly what he’s never able to give himself.

What his body is made for. Just for Bucky.

Desperate pleas spill from Tony’s lips—a warbled mixture of “Bucky” and “Alpha”—as Bucky works diligently to scissor his fingers inside of Tony as much as the tight space allows. Tony can only hear his breathing, can only feel the press of Bucky’s chest against his own sweat-slick back, but his Alpha sounds wrecked.

“Feelin’ good, honey?”

Tony makes an unintelligible noise, but thrusts his arm out beside him. Gives the Alpha a thumbs up.

Bucky barks out a laugh. Fond.

“Atta boy,” he praises. “Hang tight, doll.” He twists his wrist and thrusts deep. Crooks his fingers downward.

“Fuck!”

And then Bucky is cooing something about a sweet spot, assaulting it with the pads of his fingers with practiced aim and flawless pressure until Tony is writhing and sobbing and vibrating against the bed.

“Oh my god, Alpha, oh my god…”

“You sweet fucking thing, bet you didn’t even know how much you’d enjoy that.”

Tony is a man of science. He knows biology. He knows, in theory, about the existence of his prostate.

It doesn’t stop Tony from screaming out as Bucky fucks his fingers in and out, aiming for that soft spot each time and building Tony’s pleasure up to a speeding, frenzied crest.

He’s never been able to reach it himself. Has never known any pleasure as overwhelming that hasn’t derived from a hand on dick.

But this—Bucky’s fingers inside him, buried in the most intimate part of his body—he can’t help but preen. Revel. Succumb to the nature of his body, his designation. He ruts against the mattress and grinds subconsciously back into the force of Bucky’s fingers, making quiet “unh, unh, unh” sounds as the warm, indulgent feeling in his belly drags him further into that fuzzy headspace.

And Bucky gives it to him. The grip on his hip is ironclad as Bucky pumps his fingers with purpose, pulling choked-off, pathetic noises from Tony’s throat with each wet slide. And Bucky keeps cooing and murmuring sweet nonsense into the pheromone-rich air while he watches it all.

“Right there, right there. That’s it, that’s perfect. So good, so good for me. My gorgeous boy.”

Bucky tugs Tony’s hips upward and reaches underneath with his hand, presumably to assist in stroking Tony over the edge, but Tony whines and pulls away.

“Don’ need it,” he grits out. “Can—just like this.” He’s so, so close.

Bucky groans like he’s been shot.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. Just like this, baby. You’ll feel so much better when you come on your Alpha’s fingers. Come on, sweetheart, give it to me.”

And Tony is nothing if not obedient in heat. He listens to his Alpha.

A few more well-aimed thrusts and the whisper of a hand on the nape of his neck and he’s falling apart, coming untouched as the pressure in his gut snaps. Dick spitting white onto the sheets beneath him. Whimpering and mewling pathetically into the mattress, mouth gaping, tears spilling out of his eyes.

“Christ,” Bucky whispers, fucking him through it. His resolve sounds shaky. “Fucking hell, Tony.”

It just keeps going. Bucky rubs and rubs and rubs over that spot inside him that lights his nerve endings on fire, and Tony’s hole flutters greedily around his fingers, clenching like a vice. Luxuriating in the indulgence his body was made for. His orgasm drags out of him, come dribbling out the tip of his cockhead one last time as Bucky pushes his fingers in and presses.

Tony blacks out, after that.

6:11 A.M.

“What do you need?” Bucky asks, selfless and perfect. Dragging his hand through Tony’s curls.

Ready to provide again at the drop of a hat. Sounding genuinely pleased—God bless him—at the very notion, no less.

The echo of Bucky’s touch lingers everywhere. Tony glances up at his Alpha.

He’s leaning back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Entirely at odds with the visible tension thrumming through his body.

The hand not touching Tony rests on his thigh, clenched into a tight fist. Like he’s willing himself into control.

Tony’s gaze drifts lower again, back to the unmistakable strain in Bucky’s boxers, the sharp curve of arousal that makes Tony’s mouth go dry.

The Alpha hasn’t let Tony touch him once.

A new kind of yearning pulls at the thread in Tony’s stomach.

“Enough about me. What do you need?” Tony asks, his voice hoarse but tinged with something light. “You’re killing yourself over here, pal.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, but he shakes his head. “I’ll live,” he murmurs, his voice steady but noticeably rough around the edges.

Tony props himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, but will you? Because, uh—” He gestures vaguely toward Bucky’s lap, his tone turning shy. “You look like you’re one stiff breeze from a happy ending.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head again, but he doesn’t move.

Tony’s brow furrows. The teasing edge in his voice gives way to something quieter, a little more uncertain. “I can help. Why won’t you let me… you know, return the favor?” His cheeks blaze red at the thought.

Realistically, Tony wouldn’t even know where to start. He’s never seen Bucky’s cock, not unclothed, but he’s felt it. He’s pressed and moaned and writhed against it. He knows there’s a lot to work with—perhaps, even, close to double what Tony has to work with.

In length and girth.

He swallows thickly.

Bucky exhales slowly, his head tipping back against the headboard. “It’s not about that.”

Tony sits up fully now, the blanket pooling around his waist. He crosses his legs beneath him, momentarily forgetting his own roiling, turbulent need. “Okay. Then what’s it about?”

Bucky’s gaze flicks to him, his eyes flickering with something unidentifiable as he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Tony’s face. “It’s about you,” he says simply.

Tony’s stomach twists, the warmth from moments ago giving way to something colder, heavier.

“Me,” he echoes dully. “Yeah. Alright.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, his hand shifting to cup Tony’s cheek, his thumb stroking over the delicate, paper-thin skin beneath his eye. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist it into something it’s not.”

Tony huffs a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m not twisting anything, Eagle Scout. Just seems pretty clear you don’t want—”

“I want,” Bucky interrupts, his voice sharp enough to make Tony stop mid-sentence. “Jesus, Tony, I want so bad it hurts.”

Tony blinks, caught off guard by the rawness in Bucky’s voice.

Bucky lets out a slow breath, his arm lifting to prop behind his head. “But this isn’t about what I want. It’s about you. You’re still coming down from your heat, still raw, still figuring out how to let someone be here for you without feeling like you have to give something back.”

Tony’s lips part, but no words come out. He chokes on air.

Bucky’s gaze holds his, steady and unrelenting. “You’re not a transaction, sweetheart. You don’t have to earn this. You don’t have to earn me.”

Tony deflates.

“Stupid, noble Alphas,” he grouses, and before he can second-guess himself, he’s pushing the rest of the blanket away to clamor into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky lifts a brow but doesn’t say anything as Tony situates himself on top of him, ass pressing firmly into the intimidating splendor of his stubborn erection. Only separated by thin layers of flannel and cotton. He catches Tony easily, strong hands settling instinctively at his slim waist as if they were made to hold him.

“Tony, what are you—”

“Just… shut up for a second,” Tony says with no bite. He tucks himself into the Alpha’s chest, inhaling. Centering himself. He doesn’t say anything for several moments, just burrowing closer, his forehead resting against the curve of Bucky’s neck. The scent of him is stabilizing, and Tony lets himself get lost in it for a moment.

Bucky trails his fingers along his spine, patient.

“I know you just want me to feel good, baby,” Bucky whispers into the crown of his head, breaking the silence after a few short minutes. “And I do. I swear it. Helping you makes me feel good.”

Tony rolls his eyes and nips at Bucky’s collarbone. “You’re allowed to want an orgasm. It won’t traumatize me.”

“Honey, I have no clue what’s goin’ to traumatize you on any given day.”

“Fair.” Tony wiggles in his lap, prompting a hiss from Bucky. His fingers tighten around Tony’s waist. Tony grins, close-mouthed and sheepish. “I want to watch.”

Bucky freezes.

“Tony,” he says slowly. A warning.

“M’serious. Your steadfast virtue is duly noted. But I’ve come three times since getting dragged into your bedroom. If you try to get me off again, I might slip into a hormonally-induced coma.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky retorts. He’s smirking again. “You’re easy, honey. All I need to do is whisper a couple a’ sweet things at you and you’re putty in my hands. You’re forgettin’ that I can smell how much you need me. Bet I could get you over the edge again in two minutes, flat.”

Tony knows, albeit reluctantly, that this is likely true.

“Not the point,” he says diplomatically. He clears his throat.“As an Omega, I’m essentially biologically wired to want to please my Alpha. It’s basic science, actually.”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, that’s you alright. Textbook Omega.”

“I’m vulnerable right now. Super sensitive. If you deny me this, I might weep.”

Bucky tilts his head back, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re definitely something, ya brat.”

Tony grins, unabashed. “I prefer ‘resolute’. Emphasizes my convictions. S’much more flattering.”

“It’s not.” Bucky gives him a pointed look. “This is… a bad idea, Tony.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony says, swatting lightly at Bucky’s warm, olive-toned arm. “You’re acting like I’m gonna collect your sperm and sell it to the highest bidder. I just want to watch.”

Bucky snorts, his hands tightening on Tony’s waist. Composing himself. “You don’t see how this might be... unnecessary?” His voice lowers, his brow furrowing. “I don’t need this, Tony. You’ve already given me everything.”

Tony shrugs, all faux nonchalance. Inside, he’s buzzing. “We’re way past necessary, Buck. You laid siege to my prostate until I passed out. Watching is, like, a logical next step.”

Bucky’s jaw works, the conflict flickering in his eyes as he searches for the right words. “It’s not about whether I want it or not,” he finally says. “’Cause believe me doll, I do. God, I do. But this… chasing my own pleasure like that, when you’re still—” He cuts himself off, his throat bobbing. “It’s different for me. It’s… instinct. It’s raw. And I never want you to think that’s all I’m after.”

Tony’s teasing expression dissolves completely, but he doesn’t drop the subject. Instead, he leans forward, his nose nuzzling the hollow of Bucky’s throat. “I know that, Bucky,” he says quietly. “I do. But this? This isn’t about proving anything. It’s about… I dunno, being close to you. Letting me see you. Knowing I’m the one who makes you feel like that.”

His own honesty shocks him. He attributes it to pheromones and post-orgasmic glow. Making his tongue loose and aiding substantially in vocalizing his desires.

Bucky tips his head forward to rest against Tony’s shoulder. “You’re impossible, y’know that?”

“Impossible and curious,” Tony quips. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “Come on, Sergeant. Show me what you’re working with. Purely for science.”

Bucky groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. You win. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tony’s beam is wicked. “I’ll make it worth your while. Pose all pretty.” He twists gracefully out of Bucky’s lap and launches himself back onto the Alpha’s pillow, feeling entirely too pleased with himself. “And I promise to be very professional about this.”

Bucky huffs. “That’s one word for it.”

As the quiet moment stretches between them, Tony feels a tiny flicker of unease creep into his chest. He replays the conversation in his mind, wondering if he pushed too hard—if Bucky’s softening isn’t him giving in, but him giving up. The thought makes his stomach churn, a sudden pang of guilt knotting his insides.

“I—” Tony starts, bravado dissipating, the words tangling in his throat. He doesn’t even know what he’s about to say, just that he feels the sudden need to backpedal, to give Bucky an out, a way to say no.

But then Bucky is shifting, pushing up from his reclined position, and before Tony can blink, the Alpha is looming over him. The bed dips under his weight as Bucky settles his broad frame over Tony, bracketing him between solid arms. The heat of him is overwhelming, and Tony freezes beneath the intensity of his presence.

“Hey,” Bucky says, nudging Tony’s nose with his own. His steel grey eyes find Tony’s, and everything Tony sees in them makes his panic dissolve like mist under the sun. Bucky’s gaze isn’t strained or reluctant. It isn’t even hesitant.

It’s burning.

There’s a hunger there, deep and consuming, but tempered with the same steady warmth and vigilance the Alpha constantly radiates. There isn’t a single ounce of reluctance in the way Bucky looks at him, only need and affection so strong it almost steals Tony’s breath.

“Hey,” Tony says back. Barely a whisper.

Bucky’s breathing is heavy, shallow, but Tony can see the gleam in his pupils—the edge of something dangerous and beautiful.

He doesn’t have time to say anything, to question or analyze. Bucky’s mouth drops to his, deep and bruising and urgent, lacking the usual tenderness Tony’s come to expect. His lips press into Tony’s with the same force that radiates from every inch of him—muscles tense, chest heaving, the heat of his body engulfing Tony’s. It’s the kind of kiss that consumes, leaving no space for anything else in the world but the two of them.

Tony melts into it and moans.

His lungs spasm as Bucky's hand tangles in his hair, tugging him to the right angle, and Tony’s legs part instinctively. The bed creaks beneath them as Bucky shifts, the weight of him settling over Tony like a furnace.

“Open,” Bucky commands roughly, dragging his thumb across Tony’s bottom lip. He dives back in and Tony succumbs easily, shivering as he feels Bucky’s tongue plunge deep and take. He can’t fight the way his own body responds with an instinctive desperation that mirrors Bucky’s. Every touch feels like it’s been building for days, every movement between them drenched in the heavy, suffocating pressure of desire.

Through all of it, Bucky’s eyes—when they finally break away—glitter with something unspoken.

“Gonna touch myself, sweetheart,” Bucky says against Tony’s lips, voice ragged and raw. “Gonna show you what you do to me. How you make me feel, every damn minute of the day.”

Tony nods eagerly, chasing Bucky’s lips. Bright, cherry red and shiny with spit. Bucky pulls away, and he whines.

Bucky smiles, but it’s almost feral, a flash of teeth that sends a thrill coursing through Tony’s veins. “Desperate for it, huh?” His fingers run along Tony’s jawline, tracing the outline of his lips before brushing back through his hair to hold him still, a reminder of how easily he can take control. “To see your Alpha’s cock? His knot?”

If anyone knew just how desperate Tony was, they’d probably have him committed to the nearest mental institution.

“Tell me you want it, Tony,” Bucky breathes, pulling back just enough to look into Tony’s eyes. “Tell me you want this.”

Tony’s heart thunders in his chest, and it’s impossible to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, Buck. Yeah, God, I want it.”

Bucky groans. “Good.” He pulls back, sitting back on his heels. He’s painfully hard, a noticeable wet patch staining the fabric of his boxers where his cockhead strains. His hair falls into his eyes and his chest heaves, perfect expanses of smooth, sweetly tanned skin.

Tony’s never wanted anything more than he wants him.

He wets his lips. Drags his eyes to his Alpha’s crotch and clenches his thighs together.

And then waves a hand in the air for loose emphasis.

“Proceed,” he says, though it comes out like a wheeze.

Bucky gazes at him from under his eyelashes, the corners of his mouth twitching into a crooked smile. Tony’s favorite smile. He places his left hand on Tony’s knee, thumb caressing the skin, and dips the other hand into his boxers.

“This is what you do to me, Tony,” he rasps. He pushes the fabric past his hips, down to his knees, and Tony suddenly wishes the sunlight dipping through the window was softer. His eyes go wide, wide, his jaw dropping open to suck in a strong gasp.

He knew Bucky was going to be large. He’s felt it by now—straining through layers of fabric, mostly—but clearly imposing, nonetheless.

And it’s not like Tony has endless frames of reference. He’s seen his own dick, obviously—normal, average, if not a little on the smaller side due to his presentation. He hasn’t had time to be insecure about it, not with Bucky’s hands sending him to orbit every time he gets a decent grip on it.

He’s seen crude drawings in textbooks.

But Bucky’s cock is massive. Frames of reference be damned.

It curves against his stomach, shining at the tip, and when Bucky drags his fist down the length of it, the Alpha’s own long fingers hardly wrap around the circumference.

“Bucky,” he whispers, reverent. He squirms against the bed, and Bucky’s fingers tighten on his knee.

Be good.

Bucky doesn’t seem shocked by Tony’s stunned, awestruck gaze. Instead, his chin falls to his chest, hiding his smile. He gives himself another long, smooth stroke, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

Tony gapes. He wants to touch him. He wants to lick him.

Bucky’s cock is red. Angry from hours of neglect without release. Pre-cum gathers at the tip and Bucky swipes his thumb over the mess to ease the slide of his fist, shuddering at the sensation. His eyes, when they peer down at Tony, are black.

Tony lays immobile. Raptured.

Bucky lets go of Tony’s knee to press a thumb under Tony’s chin. Urging his mouth closed.

Something dark flashes across the Alpha’s weighted gaze, then. Something predatory.

His hand doesn’t drop. Instead, he cups Tony’s face near his jaw. Presses his thumb to Tony’s bottom lip until it gives.

The digit slips into his mouth. Bucky growls.

Tony knows they’re on the cusp of something dangerous. The air in the room, a mixture of their combined pheromones, suddenly feels electric. Charged.

“Before you, I hadn’t popped a knot since my last rut.” Bucky speaks in an octave Tony didn’t know he was capable of. A deep, throaty baritone. His fingers flex around himself as he increases the speed of his strokes, the tip of his cock leaking as it pushes past the ring of his fingers. Clear fluid gathers and spills down his knuckles.

Tony says nothing. Inhibited by the warm, salty pressure of Bucky’s thumb on his tongue.

“Then I met you. The most beautiful boy. Smelling—fuck—like a goddamn dream. I was done for, after that. I’ve popped a knot every time I’ve thought about you with my hand on my dick since.”

Tony’s own dick stirs in his underwear. He ignores it.

“Never knew I could do that before. Had only popped a knot when I—” The Alpha breaks off, hissing through his teeth as he squeezes around the base of his length. He tips his head up toward the ceiling, mouth parting in pleasure. Breaths ragged.

The implication is clear—Bucky had only been able to produce a knot during sex.

For whatever reason, this particular revelation doesn’t sour Tony’s snug and cozy headspace. Doesn’t pull him out of his rapt mesmerization.

His eyes widen, his breathing becoming shallow around Bucky’s thumb as Bucky groans and trembles, the Alpha’s lip tucking into his teeth as the skin of his flushed, leaking cock starts to swell at the base.

It’s obscene. Decadent. Bucky ignores the rapidly expanding knot, fingers gliding up and down the slick shaft as lewd noises fill the space between them. Bucky’s eyes snap to Tony’s, gaze ravenous, and Tony quakes when Bucky edges his thumb further into Tony’s mouth.

He doesn’t choke, but it’s a close thing. It takes superhuman levels of restraint to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head, Bucky’s thumb pressing heavily onto the back of his tongue. His hand gripping Tony’s jaw and keeping his mouth pried open.

If Tony drools a little, well. That’s between him and his salivary glands.

Bucky’s knot swells at the base, the size of a small fist, and the fleeting expression of panic that reveals itself in Tony’s expression (for the sake of his asshole, truly,) has Bucky smirking. He pulls his thumb out of Tony’s mouth, a line of spit dragging from Tony’s lip.

“You’re gonna break me in half,” Tony coughs out once his mouth is free.

Bucky laughs. Hoarse and rough. He wraps his fingers around the engorged flesh and moans, louder than Tony’s heard him so far, and the sound of it rattles something inside Tony’s bones.

“It’ll—oh—it’ll fit, doll. We’ll make it fit. You’ll take me so good, sweetheart. Fuck. I know it.”

And, well. Tony, with his mile-wide competitive streak, has certainly never shied away from a challenge.

So he nods, and whines, and sinks blissfully under the delicious weight of Bucky’s filthy assurances. “Want you to come,” he whispers, a little shy and still a little heat-stunned.

Bucky’s responding exhale is slow, controlled. His tongue darts out to wet his lip and his brow furrows. If Tony could move his limbs, he would smooth out the wrinkle with his thumb.

The Alpha leans down, his face so close that Tony can feel the heat of his breath. His knuckles drag across Tony’s belly as he drags his fist up and down. “Oh, you want me to come, huh?” His voice is a low, gravelly purr, and the sound sends a shiver down Tony’s spine. “Sweetheart, you gotta know—every time I come now, it’s for you. Always for you.”

Tony gulps. His face burns, but he doesn’t look away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“You have no idea, do you?” Bucky continues, his thumb circling the swollen knot, a strangled sound breaking from his throat. “This—God—this is yours, Tony. Everything I am, everything I got, it’s yours. You’re the only one who gets me like this.”

Tony’s lips part, but no sound comes out. He can only watch, utterly captivated as Bucky moves, deltoids flexing, dragging out his own pleasure like he’s savoring it.

The Alpha’s breath hitches, and he swears under his breath, his free hand bracing against the bed next to Tony’s head. “Christ, you’re so fucking pretty,” he rasps. “Just layin’ there, lookin’ at me like that. You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

Tony swallows hard, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Not my fault you’re a sucker for a pretty face,” he says shakily.

Bucky’s smirk widens, lazy and confident. The only sign of his dissolving composure is the flush on his cheeks, the steady increase of his breathing as he works his cock harder. Faster. “Pretty face, gorgeous everything else. I’ve told you, baby, you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Tony’s stomach does a weird little twist at the words. It’s a fluttery, almost nauseating feeling, and for a moment, he has to fight the urge to deflect with a quip. He’s saved from having to respond when Bucky’s moving again, sitting back, his fingers brushing against Tony’s thigh as he fucks his fist, slow and deliberate.

“God,” Bucky murmurs, his head tipping back just slightly, exposing the column of his throat. “You’re so good to me, you know that? Just sittin’ there, bein’ mine, lookin’ at me like you’re starvin’ for it. You make it so easy, Tony. So damn easy to lose my mind over you.”

The confession hits Tony like a lightning bolt, his breath catching in his throat as the raw, unfiltered emotion in Bucky’s voice wraps around him and holds him tight. There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s tone—something unspoken, something neither of them is quite ready to say.

Tony simply squirms, his hands finding their way to Bucky’s thighs, grounding himself in the solid warmth beneath his fingers.

“Alpha” he manages, begging a little, though his voice cracks on the word.

Bucky chuckles, low and warm. “Patience, doll. You’ll get your show. Can’t blame me for wantin’ to drag it out a little.” He bites his bottom lip, groaning as he picks up his pace, his hips jerking slightly in time with his hand.

The sight has Tony’s head spinning. Bucky, all broad shoulders and rippling muscles, flushed and wrecked in the best way. And all for him. The thought sends an electrifying shiver through him.

“You like watchin’ me, darlin’?” Bucky rasps, his voice thick with heat and amusement. His eyes, half-lidded but still sharp, find Tony’s. The intensity in them is magnetic, pulling Tony further into the spell of the moment.

Tony swallows hard. “Uh-huh.”

Bucky’s laugh is low and guttural. “Uh-huh,” he mimics, teasing. “Look at you, sweetheart. Always so eager for me. Even when you’re too wrecked to move.”

Tony nods faster. Eager, near-delirious.

Bucky must be able to see it, clear as day in his spellbound expression. His lips curve into a softer smile, and he lets out a shaky exhale. “That’s my boy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Tony. And then he’s leaning back. Basking fully in his own pleasure.

He’s… ethereal. Lean muscle and a shimmering sheen of sweat. Bathed in the soft morning sunlight, he resembles something carved by Michelangelo himself.

He shudders, his entire frame taut and trembling like a bowstring pulled to its limit. His hand moves faster now, more insistent, the slick sound of his strokes drowning out his ragged breathing. His pupils are blown wide, the stormy grey of his eyes swallowed by a darkness that burns with desire, and his flushed skin glistens.

“Fuck, Tony,” Bucky groans, his voice guttural and broken, every syllable drenched in raw need. His gaze remains locked on Tony’s as if he’s drawing every ounce of strength and urgency from the Omega sprawled beneath him. “You do this to me. Every—fuckin’—time.”

Tony’s breath punches out of his lungs, utterly transfixed. He can feel the heat rolling off Bucky in waves, each one igniting something deep and primal in his chest. Every flex of Bucky’s forearm, every roll of his hips, every hitch in his breath—it’s all for him. Because of him.

Bucky’s movements become erratic, his chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven rhythms. His head tilts back again, exposing the thick line of his throat, and Tony can see his pulse thrumming wildly beneath the skin. His jaw clenches as a sharp, savage moan tears free, and his entire body tenses, muscles locking in place like he’s bracing for impact.

And then it hits.

“Shit—Tony—”

Bucky’s hips jerk forward, his breath catching in a low, broken sound as the first thick pulse of his release hits his chin. His hand slows but doesn’t stop, purposefully avoiding his knot, dragging every ounce of sensation from his body as his chest heaves with the force of it. The flush on his skin deepens, spreading across his neck and up to his cheeks as he groans Tony’s name, reverent and wrecked.

Tony’s eyes widen as he takes it all in, his gaze flickering between the blissed-out expression on Bucky’s face and the way his muscles ripple with every aftershock. It’s mesmerizing, watching the Alpha unravel like this, so open and unguarded in a way that feels almost sacred.

Bucky’s free hand digs into Tony’s thigh, his grip bruising as he comes, and comes, and it goes on seemingly forever as copious amounts of release jet across his chest, his stomach, dripping down past his navel and pooling to his thighs. He rides it out, moaning Tony’s name like a prayer.

When his hand finally falls away after what feels like minutes, his body sags slightly as he catches his breath. His eyes flutter open, and the warmth in his gaze when it meets Tony’s is enough to send a fresh wave of heat pooling in Tony’s chest.

“Fuck, baby, look at that,” he slurs, glancing down at the mess he’s made of himself. “All for you.”

Tony doesn’t think, doesn’t pause, doesn’t wait for the haze of the moment to clear. Scorching, he just reaches out, his palms sliding up Bucky’s bare chest, the muscles still shuddering with aftershocks, and hooks his arms around the Alpha’s neck. With a tug that feels more instinct than thought, he pulls Bucky down.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and Bucky barely has time to brace himself before Tony’s lips are on his.

The kiss is messy, heated, and entirely uncoordinated. Tony can still taste the ragged breaths Bucky is fighting to catch, can still feel the lingering tremor in his Alpha’s frame as their mouths move together. It’s not perfect—Bucky is too unsteady, too drained—but there’s a raw, open tenderness in the way his lips slide against Tony’s, a kind of devotion that makes Tony feel like he’s being lit on fire from the inside out.

Bucky groans into it, low and throaty, his weight settling over Tony in a way that’s almost overwhelming. His chest presses against Tony’s, warm and sticky from the aftermath, but Tony doesn’t care. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, holding him there, deepening the kiss until it feels like the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Doll,” Bucky rasps, breaking away just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead dropping against Tony’s. His hands, broad and steady, cup Tony’s jaw, his thumbs brushing reverently over his cheekbones. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Pretty sure you’ve got it backwards, after that performance art.”

Bucky chuckles, a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through his whole body. His head dips, and he presses a softer kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth, lingering. There’s something unbearably gentle in the way his lips move there, as if he’s savoring every second, every inch of skin.

“You make me crazy,” Bucky murmurs, quieter now, as if the words aren’t meant to fill the space between them. His forehead presses against Tony’s, the bridge of his nose brushing Tony’s in a fleeting, tender gesture.

Tony swallows hard, his fingers threading through the damp strands of hair at Bucky’s nape, holding him close. The heat between them is still electric, still charged, but there’s something softer now, something that makes Tony’s chest ache. “Yeah,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I know.”

For a moment, they just stay like that—Bucky above him, Tony wrapped around him, the Alpha’s spend cooling between them as their breaths mingle in the heavy quiet of the room. It feels grounding, like the world has narrowed down to just this—just them. When Bucky finally tilts his head and kisses him again, slow and deep and consuming, it feels like a promise neither of them is quite ready to say out loud.

Bucky has to go to work.

It’s almost seven in the morning, and Tony would quite literally rather die than untangle himself from the Alpha.

Bucky shifts above him, his weight easing off slightly, and Tony tightens his arms around his neck in protest.

“Nope,” Tony says, muffled against the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re staying right here. Work’s canceled. World’s canceled. It’s you, me, and this bed until further notice.”

Bucky chuckles, his hand smoothing down Tony’s side in a slow, deliberate sweep. “Wish it worked like that, kid. Believe me, I do.”

“It does,” Tony argues, leaning back just enough to shoot Bucky a pointed look. “I’ve decided. Executive heat decision.”

“Is that right?” Bucky grins, his thumb tracing lazy circles against Tony’s hip. “Well, hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but my boss doesn’t exactly take orders from Omegas. Not even ones as cute as you.”

Tony groans, tucking his face back into the Alpha’s neck. “I’m devastatingly cute. I could charm a rock. Your boss wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Tony doesn’t need to return to school until Tuesday, officially, so it doesn’t require much arm-twisting from Bucky to convince him to remain in the apartment while he and Steve are gone.

Bucky sneaks out into the kitchen and returns with a warm washcloth, and Tony blushes profusely when the Alpha gently wipes them both clean.

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now, gorgeous.”

Tony’s body feels heavy in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant, like he’s been melted down and poured into the mattress. Every limb hums faintly, the echoes of his heat simmering just beneath the surface, but the overwhelming fire has cooled to something manageable. He feels warm, almost boneless, as if he’s finally surfacing from days spent at the mercy of his own biology.

The ache is still there—a dull, persistent reminder that his body’s instincts haven’t fully let go yet—but it’s bearable now. His muscles are tired, stretched in ways they haven’t been in a long time, but they feel used in the best way. Thorough. Satisfied.

His skin tingles faintly where Bucky’s hands had lingered—his jaw, his waist, his thighs—like the Alpha’s touch has left a permanent mark on him. Even now, with Bucky moving around the room, gathering his things, Tony feels the absence of his warmth like a chill he can’t quite shake.

He watches Bucky with half-lidded eyes, too lazy to move but too entranced to look away. The Alpha is dressed from the waist down now, but his shirtless torso gleams faintly in the early morning light. His movements are efficient but reluctant, his jaw tight as he sets a glass of water down on the nightstand. Tony can see it in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands linger over every task: Bucky doesn’t want to go.

The thought makes Tony’s chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with his heat.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bucky’s asks, rough with hesitation. He’s standing at the edge of the bed now, his cool-grey eyes scanning Tony like he might fall apart any second.

Tony snorts, letting his head loll to the side as he gives Bucky an easy smile. “I’m good, Buck. Seriously. Just tired. Go to work, contribute to society.”

The words are true—he is okay. The worst of it is over, and he’s coherent enough to take care of himself for a few hours. But there’s a part of him, buried deep, that wishes he wasn’t okay. That wishes he could use his lingering heat as an excuse to make Bucky stay, to keep him here just a little longer.

Tony doesn’t voice it, though. He knows Bucky would stay if he asked. Knows the Alpha would drop everything without hesitation to keep him company, to see him through every last second of this.

Still, when Bucky fusses—fills the glass after making Tony drink the whole thing, sets him up with a (third) pair of clean underwear—Tony doesn’t stop him. It’s sweet, in that achingly Bucky way, and Tony lets it happen because he likes it. Likes knowing that even when Bucky has to leave, he’s leaving a part of himself behind, a little piece of care that Tony can hold onto.

“You eat something while I’m gone, yeah? Kitchen is yours. Try not to set anything on fire.”

“Is that supposed t’be a joke about my cooking?”

Bucky lingers, his hands twitching like they don’t know where to go, and for a moment, Tony almost calls him back. Almost asks him to crawl into bed, to wrap his arms around him, to hold him just a little longer.

Instead, he reaches out, fingers brushing Bucky’s wrist as the Alpha turns to leave. “I’m fine, Buck,” he says, his voice gentler now. “I’ll go bother Steve until he has to leave. Go, I’ll be here when you get back.”

Bucky kisses him as he’s heading out the door. “Be good.”

“Sure. Always.”

Steve finds Tony shortly after that, sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in Bucky’s clothes and Bucky’s quilt.

Screwdriver in hand. Fixing the toaster.

#winteriron #bucky barnes #tony stark #wip #steve rogers #alpha/beta/omega au #captain america #ao3 #ao3fic #tony stark x bucky barnes

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