#Flutter Training Institute | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soaps-mohawk · 9 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

What Could Have Been

Summary: You've reached the age you can be chosen. Little do you know your future has been planned out from the start.

Pairing: Philip Graves x reader

Word Count: 7, 358 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, a/b/o, Omegaverse, Alternate Universe, AU of an AU, suggestive content, mentioned predatory behaviors towards a minor, Philip Graves is a major creep, reader has a set age for plot (she is an adult), dubcon (pushing noncon at the end) but it's muddy water because a/b/o, kissing, touching, lingerie, panic, coercion, virginity and purity culture, fade to black because I couldn't write smut for this

A/N: I am...very sorry for this. Honestly I've been debating posting it but I wrote 7k words and I don't want that to go to waste. This is very...dark. A lot is implied but there's still some fairly disturbing content because of those things. The reader is 18 in this because of plot, but it still feels very...icky. Definitely recommend reading Chapter 34 before reading this to understand the context. Not necessary to read. Just an AU what if kind of bit for the story.

Also if you're finding this and you've never seen my stuff before, Hi! I highly recommend reading Cherry Red, Crimson Blood first before this for context otherwise some things might not make sense. I suppose it could be read as a stand alone but still, context is nice to have

What Ifs Masterlist | Directory

“You’ve been chosen.”

You had barely managed to get a bite in of breakfast when one of the staff members had pulled you away and led you to the director’s office. None of the omegas at FIOT particularly like him. He’s a small man, middle aged and balding. His scent is...not pleasant. Nutty with undertones of wet animals and whatever he ate for his meals that day. Every omega in the institute dreads being called to his office, being closed in with the offensive smell he permeates.

You would have been experiencing that same disgust had it not been for your shock at his words. “What?” You breathe, eyes wide.

“You’ve been chosen.” He repeats, folding his hands on his desk over a thin file.

“So soon?” You ask, forgetting all decorum and manners you’ve had drilled into your head for two years.

It’s your eighteenth birthday today. You just became old enough to be chosen a matter of hours ago.

“This pack is very eager to claim you as their omega.” He says. “One of their betas will be by tomorrow to interview you.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. While it’s shocking you were chosen so soon, this is what you had hoped for. Two years of training and drilling perfection into your head did pay off. You’ve hardly been on the available list more than a few hours and already there’s a pack interested in you. Something about it has a chill running down your spine, tickling at the base of your neck. You brush it off as shock at this all happening so soon.

“You may return to breakfast.” The director says, going back to his paperwork.

“Thank you, sir.” You say, exiting his office.

It doesn’t feel like your feet touch the floor as you walk back to the mess hall, your body floating as you make your way through the halls. If tomorrow goes well, this will be the last day you spend in this building, this prison you’ve been confined to. They’ll be here as early as they can be tomorrow, if they’re this eager to choose you.

The thought has something prickling in the back of your mind still.

Who are they? Who is this eager to choose you? The must have known about you before you even showed up in the registry as being available. You’ve heard rumors that institutes will supply information about omegas to packs for the right price under the table. Information on omegas that aren’t old enough to be chosen.

You wouldn’t be surprised if FIOT was one of those institutes. The packs that get their omegas here are packs that can pay a hefty price. There’s usually a waiting period while background checks are done and information has to be verified and packs have to interview with the director before omegas themselves can even be interviewed by the pack. You’ve seen it take weeks before.

Whoever the alpha of this pack is...they knew about you before you became available.

“What did the director want?” One of the omegas in your age group asks as you take your seat at the table again. Amanda. She cried for five days when she was brought in.

The others at the table lean in close, like you’re about to reveal some big secret.

“I’ve been chosen.” You tell them. The words almost seem like a foreign language on your tongue.

They all cheer happily, getting looks from the wardens around the mess hall.

“That’s amazing!” Chelsea says, wrapping her arms around you to squeeze you in a tight hug.

“So soon?” Amanda asks as the congratulations die down.

“Yeah.” You say. “They’re interviewing me tomorrow.”

They all share looks, and you know they’re thinking the same thing you are.

The rumors are true.

“Impressive, isn’t she?” The warden for your dorm group says, as if you’re not sitting there too. She’s responsible for overseeing the small group of eight omegas you’re a part of. She’s the most knowledgeable about the omegas under her watchful eyes, and it’s standard practice for the wardens to sit in on the interviews between the pack beta and the omega being chosen.

“Quite.” The beta says, looking over your thick file. Bryan, he’d introduced himself as. He’d shaken your hand, something you hadn’t been expecting. He acknowledged you as existing right away, something that doesn’t happen often in the stories you’ve heard about interviews, stories from omegas that had made it this far in the process, but were rejected in the end. “Excellent scores, quite extensive essays.” He says, flipping through the file. He’s not really looking at it. You can see his eyes just scanning the pages. He already knows. He came into the building with his answer.

Whoever his alpha is has already seen your file.

He closes the file, pushing it forward on the table. He’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes on you. Yours are lowered respectfully, no matter how badly you want to stare back at him.

“To be honest, my alpha already made his decision before I got here.” Bryan says, leaning his arms on the table. “Your profile was enough to convince him.”

“So, you’d like to move forward with the process?” Warden Jameson asks.

“Yes.” He says, nodding. “She’s going to be a perfect fit.”

You glance up at him, a warm smile on his face as he stares at you. It’s really happening. You really have been chosen.

The next hour is a flurry of paperwork and signatures. None from you, of course, but from the beta of your new pack. The paperwork would be sent to your new alpha to sign off on and to finalize the decision once you meet him. No one has ever been sent back after that point, yet you can’t help the nervous flutter in your stomach. What if they don’t like you after all? What if they made a hasty decision and regret it as soon as they meet you? What if you mess everything up?

You follow Bryan and the director towards the entrance to the building, something you haven’t seen since your tour after your arrival. It’s off limits to omegas, several locked doors standing between them and freedom.

Or more like to keep others out.

There’s someone at the front desk as you pass by, and you turn to look out of curiosity. It’s a middle aged woman with blonde hair, dressed in a business suit. “Kate Laswell, here for an appointment with Director Jones.”

You don’t get to hear anything else, ushered out into the world by the director. You’ve heard how giddy he gets about omegas leaving from staff, though you supposed that’s because it’s extra money in his pockets. The more omegas he can match and get out of FIOT, the more the government pays him.

“I’m looking forward to hearing how she’s settling in.” The director says to Bryan as he hands off your small bag of meager belongings.

“Of course.” Bryan says, setting it in the front seat of the car waiting out front. “My alpha will be in touch.”

“Good.” He shakes Bryan’s hand before turning to you. “Good luck. I expect the best from you.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say, dropping your gaze out of respect.

Bryan opens the car door for you and you slide in, smoothing out your skirt. You’re still in your uniform, and you won’t be able to change until you get to where you’re going. If they let you change. It’s important they remember where you came from, where you were taught the things you’re supposed to know, where you were trained to be the perfect omega. As if they could forget where they paid for you.

Bryan drives away from the institute, taking you away from the place that’s been your home for the last two years. It’s the first time you’ve been outside those walls since you were forced in, ripped away from your home the day after your presentation. You’ve thought about your family many times over the last two years. Where are they now? How are they doing? What have your siblings been up to? Have any of them presented as omegas too?

Maybe your new alpha will let you contact them again.

It’s wishful thinking. Most don’t. Not the kinds of alphas that buy from FIOT.

“Nervous?” Bryan asks, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

“Yes, sir.” You say, smoothing your hands over your skirt. You’re projecting your scent without even realizing it. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles. “I don’t blame you. I’d be nervous too. Don’t worry, though. You’re going to a good place.”

Despite his well meaning words, you can’t help but feel a bit of trepidation. Is it a good place? Or is it only a good place by beta’s standards? He can’t possibly know, he can’t possibly understand, unless there’s other omegas.

You’re almost excited by the thought of being around other omegas in a pack. Having that chance to have friends and bond with others like you who know. Those who understand.

You can’t help but stare as Bryan pulls into the parking garage of a very nice hotel. The cars in the parking garage are some of the most expensive you’ve ever seen. You’re not surprised, given the types of alphas that choose omegas from FIOT. Rich, important alphas looking for trophies to wave around.

Look at me, look at my perfect omega.

Bryan opens your door for you, helping you out of the car. He’s holding your bag in his hand, using the other to guide you towards the elevator. His hand is warm, even though your back is beginning to sweat a bit. You’re really nervous now, but you try to keep your scent under control.

Your new life is about to begin, the life of a claimed omega.

Unless they don’t like you.

You have to do everything in your power to make sure they do.

The elevator ride seems to take a lifetime as you go up to a high floor overlooking the city. You’ve never stayed in a hotel this nice before. You’ve never even been in a building with this many floors before.

Bryan leads you down the hall to a door, using the keycard to open it. He gives you a reassuring smile before pushing it open and guiding you through. It’s a suite, possibly the nicest hotel room you’ve ever seen. Bryan leads you to the small living area, the man you assume is your alpha seated on one of the couches. He’s sitting there casually, ankle crossed over his knee, his arm thrown over the back of the couch. There’s a grin on his face, your eyes widening as you stare at him.

“Phil?”

It comes out before you can stop it, all training and decorum leaving as you stare at him in shock. His smile widens, showing off perfect white teeth and dimples. He’s a bit older now than he had been back then, but it is him.

“Hi darlin’.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. “Been a while.”

Ten years or so. He was your dad’s best friend while he was stationed in Texas. He was at your house constantly, sitting around watching sports and standing in the backyard while your father barbequed. He was always friendly to you, always sitting just a little too close, always hovering. You hadn’t thought anything about it back then. You were too young to understand.

Now you do.

You drop your gaze as he approaches, trying to recover from your shock. You still have an impression to make, a role to fill. Calloused fingers cup your chin, lifting your face back up. You stare up into Phil’s bright blue eyes, just as friendly as you remember them being.

“None of that.” He says softly. “We’re familiar with each other, aren’t we?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, swallowing thickly.

A small smile tugs at his lips before he releases you. “Come on, make yourself comfortable.” He motions to the couches. “We've got a few things to discuss.”

Nerves twist in your stomach as you move to the couches, tucking your skirt under you before you sit. The couch is comfortable, your body sinking into the cushion. It's far more comfortable than the chairs and benches at the institute. He takes a seat right next to you, draping an arm across the back of the couch behind you.

His fingers curl under your chin again, turning your head so you're looking at him. Those bright blue eyes scan your face, taking in every detail.

“Those pictures didn't do you any justice.” He says. Your file is sitting on the table in front of you. “You've always been a pretty little thing.” His thumb traces your jaw, your stomach churning. “Look like your mom more than your dad. That's certainly not a bad thing.” He smirks.

He holds you there for a moment staring into your eyes. Something tickles in the back of your mind as he stares at you, something instinctual like a warning. He releases you, dropping his hand back onto his lap.

“It's good to see you again.” He says, the fingers of the hand behind you playing with the strands of your hair. “A lot has changed, hasn't it? I got old, you became an omega. I always knew you would. Your temperament wasn't right for an alpha. Always so calm and eager to please. You weren't rowdy like your brothers. Always such a sweet little thing.” His fingers trail over the back of one of your hands where it's draped in your lap. Your stomach clenches at his touch, something churning inside you, something you haven't felt since the last time you were around him. “You didn't deserve the way he treated you. It wasn't your fault for becoming what you are.”

He's talking about your father.

“How did you-”

“I was the one he called.” Phil says simply. “Raging and carrying on about his useless child presenting as an omega.” He shakes his head. “So I pulled some strings, promised some favors, and got you into FIOT immediately, with the stipulation that you would be mine as soon as you were old enough.” He grins. “Now here we are!”

You swallow thickly, staring at him. “It was you?”

He nods. “Had to make sure you'd be taken care of until I could come yet you myself. Now you’re here.” His arm wraps tighter around you, the hand that had been brushing yours dropping to wrap around your thigh. You stare up at him as he leans down slightly closer to you. He smells just like you remember. Woody with the rich scent of chocolate underneath. “I will take care of you.” He says, looking pointedly into your eyes. “You'll want for nothing and you'll be happy.”

Will you?

You break away first, your eyes dropping to stare at the hand that’s gripping your thigh, fingers indenting the skin through your tights. It feels like a threat, a silent reminder of the power dynamic between you, something he won’t say out loud. He’s an alpha, you’re only an omega. He has control over you, he can dictate your entire life now that you’ve been chosen by him. You belong to him, just as he’s wanted.

He’s been waiting longer than two years.

“You hungry?” He asks, his entire demeanor suddenly shifting.

You are hungry. You had left the institute just before lunch, and you had barely been able to eat breakfast because of the nerves. You nod, deciding telling the truth is better than to try to lie to him early on. “Yes, sir.”

He gives you a grin. “You don’t have to be so formal. You can call me Phil, just like old times.” He finally releases you, leaning forward to grab a tri-fold menu off the table. “Pick whatever you like.” He says, putting it in your hands. “I’ll be right back.”

He gets up from the couch and you watch him go before turning back to the menu. The prices make your stomach churn. Your family wasn’t necessarily poor, but with so many of you, you certainly weren’t taking very many vacations very often. Your family moved around so much there wasn’t much of a need to take vacations either.

You’re not even sure what to do, looking at the menu. What was acceptable? What if you ordered something too expensive. With a hotel room like this, you’re not sure you could order something too expensive. You’re not even quite sure what Phil does anymore. You remember overhearing a conversation he had with your dad about joining MARSOC before he disappeared from your lives. Is he still involved with the military? Did he leave and enter a new career field, one that allows him to stay in places like this?

You might never know. It’s not your job to know things like that.

You just need to know how to serve your alpha and take care of him, follow his orders and give him pups when he desires them. Be a good omega and do whatever it is he wants. Your wants don’t matter, only your alpha’s.

“Decide what you want?” Phil asks, appearing in front of you again.

You jump in surprise, having been so caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed him approaching. You’ll have to break that habit and fast. “Yes.” You say, even though you hadn’t even read through the menu in its entirety.

You try to stop your hands from shaking, picking out the first thing your eyes land on. You’re not even quite sure what it is or if you’ll like it. You needed an answer and you gave it to him. Just exactly what he wanted.

That is your job, after all.

Give him exactly what he wants.

The bed looks plush and comfortable, larger than you’ve slept on in a long time. The beds at FIOT weren’t too terribly uncomfortable, but you’ve gotten so used to sharing a room it seems strange to be sleeping on your own.

That’s not the only reason it feels strange.

“Are you not going to-”

Phil cuts you off before you can finish, not even needing to know what you were going to ask. “No. Not here.” He says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s for when we’re at home. Besides,” He smooths a hand over your hair. “You’ve had a long day.”

He stares down at you for a moment, and you almost think he’s changing his mind, deciding he can’t wait until you’re back in Texas. Instead he takes a step back, turning to the dresser your bag had been set on. There’s other shopping bags next to it, things you hadn't even noticed when you walked in.

You had been too focused on the bed.

“Bryan picked up some clothes.” He turns back to look at you, his hand trailing down your back. “As cute as the uniform is, I’d rather you be comfortable.”

You can see it in his eyes. He’s picturing you in it, and not standing before him. It makes your skin crawl.

“Get some sleep.” He says, moving his hand from your lower back. “We’ve got an early flight tomorrow. You need anything, I’m across the hall and Bryan’s next door.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thank you, Phil.”

He grins down at you, dimples indenting in his cheeks. “Of course, darlin’.”

You stare at the door for a minute after he closes it, holding your breath. You half expect him to come back in, change his mind and decide he’d rather do it here. He could barge in, force you down on the bed and you wouldn’t be able to do anything. You’re not supposed to do anything.

Good omegas do as they’re told. Good omegas don’t fight back.

You wish the door had a lock on it.

You jolt awake as you’re jostled in your seat. You let out a quiet sound, not quite sure where you even are, much less what’s going on.

“Just a bit of turbulence.” A voice says, pushing your head to rest against a shoulder again.

Right. You’re on a plane heading towards Dallas. You didn’t realize you fell asleep, your head resting on Phil’s shoulder. He smells like scent blockers, all three of you do. The plane is a cocktail of scents, the chemical burn of scent blocker mixed with the ugly mesh of too many scents in one confined space. Not everyone has the decency to use scent blockers while traveling. You’ve always hated planes for that reason.

You stretch your legs out as much as you can, your knee bumping the tray lightly. It had been lowered, you assume, at some point while you were asleep. Your book is sitting on it, the book you had been reading before you fell asleep. It’s the only one you own, a worn out copy you stole from FIOT’s library during your first week and never returned. The cover is faded and nearly falling off, the pages yellowed and stiff from how many times it’s been read over the last two years.

You’d had a brief discussion about it before you descended into silence, Phil promising you all the books your heart desires once you get to his home. Your home.

It’s your home now too. You’re no longer attached to your family, no longer attached to the institute. Phil is your world now, and you exist solely in his sphere. You’re dependent on him, and once the claim is made and the paperwork is filed, you will be his forever.

There won’t be any going back.

Phil will never change his mind.

The plane jostles again and you grip the arm resting on your leg out of instinct.

“Easy.” Phil shushes you, his lips brushing your forehead. His hand closes around yours, squeezing it gently. “Haven’t flown much, have you?”

“Twice.” You say, your fully awake brain realizing you’re still leaning against his shoulder, but you’re not sure you should move. He obviously likes it if he let it happen. Will he get mad if you try to move? Would he reprimand you on the plane, even if you are quite spaced out in first class?

He hums, resting his cheek on your head. “We’ll go on lots of flights together. I’ll take you all over the world.”

Would he take you to see your family again?

They were friends once. He has to at least know where they are and what they’re doing. Would he do that for you? Or is he going to keep you isolated as expected to prevent those bonds from forming again. Your only bonds should be with him and his pack. Not your old pack that you left behind for a reason.

You don’t know anything about his pack.

You know he has a beta, Bryan, his most trusted beta, from the looks of it. How many others are there? How many other alphas and betas? Is he head alpha, or is there someone else? You can’t imagine Phil not being in charge. He always seemed to take command of a room, even with other alphas. Even with your dad.

Are there other omegas in his pack? Or will you be alone, surrounded by alphas and betas?

Can you even ask him? Or is he saving that for later, when you’re at his home. Would he get annoyed if you asked? Would it ruin his plan that he obviously has laid out?

Your name being said brings you back to reality, your head tilting to look up at Phil. He’s staring down at you, his eyebrows raised.

“Welcome back.” He says, and for a second you wonder if you fell asleep again. “Lost in your head there, huh?”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah. My instructors said I have a lot of strengths, but my one fault is I think too much. Sometimes they’d say I’m sucking all the thoughts out of the room. Though, I think that was less of an insult towards me.”

Phil chuckles. “Got a lot of things going on in that head of yours. Just don’t let it get you too distracted. Hate for something to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead again as the plane begins its descent.

His words almost feel like a threat again, like a silent warning that something will happen if you don’t stop thinking so much. Will he try to fix that habit for you? Will he try to break you of that? Good omegas don’t have to think, they know and they act. An omega with too many thoughts is too independent. Alphas don’t like independent omegas. They want someone to listen and do as they're told, not question their orders.

You can’t help but sense the silent threat that radiates from him, the undertone of danger that has warning bells going off in your head. He’s been nice and polite and caring so far.

How long will that last once you’re in the privacy of his home?

It’s a nice neighborhood. Nicer than you’ve ever lived in, at least. The houses are big, the cars parked outside are nice, the lawns are pristine. It’s all very picturesque, it all feels very...manufactured.

Phil drives to the end of the cul de sac, pulling into the driveway of one of the two houses facing the rest of the street. There’s an American flag hung up on the porch rustling with the soft breeze. It’s warm outside, something you haven’t missed. It’s been years since you’ve lived in Texas, ten almost. You had been eight years old when your father received his next change of station orders and your family packed up and moved again.

That had just been shortly after Phil disappeared from your family’s lives.

Phil pulls into the garage, parking the SUV next to a rather expensive looking classic sports car. You stare at it for a moment, questioning just what Phil does and how much he makes from doing it. You’re not sure you want to know.

You fumble with the seatbelt as Bryan opens the door for you, blinking yourself out of your haze. He offers a hand and you let him help you out of the car to not seem rude. Phil gives you a small smile as you approach him.

He cups your chin, staring down at your face. “Jet lagged?” He asks, his thumb stroking your jaw before letting you go.

Jet lagged, confused, uncomfortable, unsure. All of the above.

“Yes.” You nod.

“Come on. I’ll give you a tour and then you can nap.” He says, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

He opens the door into the house, unlocked, you note. The inside is nice. Clean, pristine, staged looking. You’re not sure if anyone even lives in the house. You can’t help but wonder if Phil bought this house just for this moment.

“Cleaners come twice a week.” He says as he leads you around the first floor. “This whole space is yours, except for this room.” He says pointing out a door at the end of one hallway. “This is my office. Door’s always locked at all times. No one is allowed in besides me. You see anyone trying to get in, you tell me right away. Understood?”

You nod. The idea of what could be behind that door has a shiver running down your spine.

“Good girl.” He says, booping your nose. “Now, for the best part.”

He leads you upstairs, giving you a quick tour of guest bedrooms that don’t look like they’ve been touched, bathrooms far too clean to have ever been used. Why he needs so much space is beyond you.

No, you know why.

He leads you down to the end of a hallway, a door looming in front of you. You know what’s behind it. It’s what’s been clawing at you since the plane landed, since the drive from the airport, since you stepped foot in Phil’s home. Your home.

It’s nice inside. Clean, well organized. It looks like a stage in a movie. The bed is large, larger than necessary you think. The comforter is a deep navy with nothing but the necessary amount of pillows on it. There’s a chair in the corner that doesn’t look like it’s ever been sat in. A TV hangs on the wall across from the bed and a dresser sits between two doors on the far wall. The closet and bathroom you assume. It’s spacious, but not comforting.

That’s your job.

“Don’t worry, you can add your womanly touch to it later.” Phil says, stepping up behind you. You can’t hide the way your body tenses as his hands slide up your arms. His breath fans over your ear as he leans down, pressing his face against your neck. “We’re going to make good use of this room.” His lips brush your throat, tongue darting out to lick your scent gland. He hums appreciatively. “Sweeter than I remember, those strawberries.” His arms wrap around you, pinning your back against his chest. “We were made for each other.”

Your stomach clenches as his scent intensifies, blending with yours. You try not to panic as his lips drag up the side of your neck. There’s no stopping him. There’s no convincing him to wait.

He presses his nose into your hair, taking a deep breath in. “Get some rest.” He finally releases you. “I’ve got some things to take care of, and I don’t doubt the girls will want to take you shopping.”

“Girls?” You frown, turning to face him.

“The other pack omegas. They’re excited to finally meet you.”

Oh. You haven’t even thought about the pack or how big it is or its dynamics. Everything has happened so quickly, there’s been no time for discussions like that. You suppose you should have that conversation soon. Though, it’s been a long day already and he’s not wrong. You do need some rest.

‘A good night’s sleep is essential for omegas to do their jobs effectively. No alpha wants a whiny omega.’

He brushes his hand over your hair, giving you a soft smile. “Take a nap. You look like you need one.” He presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves, closing the door behind him. You stare at it for a long moment, half expecting him to change his mind, but you can hear him going down the stairs. You can hear everything in the silence of the house. It’s almost too quiet after the constant noise of the institute. There’s always someone talking, moving around, making noise. Even at night it was never truly quiet.

Now the silence is almost loud in your ears.

It won’t be silent forever.

You stare at the bed, half tempted to just curl up on the floor. He would be mad if you slept in one of the guest rooms. He’d know immediately. You’ll have to brave the bed. Better to do it now than when you have no choice.

“Look at you!” Hands squeeze your arms. There’s so many scents floating around you, yet it’s comforting. You’re among your own again. “Oh, you’re just a baby aren’t you?”

Natalie, her name is. You had been introduced in a flurry of excitement, and you had lost track of most of their names. Doesn’t matter, you’ll learn them all eventually.

Her alpha is Osmond, ‘Oz’ as he’d told you to call him, Phil’s second alpha. Not necessarily a large man, but highly intimidating nonetheless. You’d guess Natalie to be in her 30s, though you’ve never been good at guessing ages.

“How old are you, sweetie?” She asks, squeezing your arms again. She’s trying to comfort you in your obvious state of overwhelm.

“Eighteen.” You answer, staring up at her.

Something flashes across her face, but it disappears as quickly as it arrived. “You are a baby.” She wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, we’ve got a lot to cover and we’ve got some errands to run.”

There’s a lot of omegas. Phil had finally broken down the pack and its dynamics over a late lunch, even introducing you to a few members on your way to Oz’s house. You had your suspicions that Phil was pack alpha, and you were right. His presence, the kind of power he radiates. You’re going to be the head omega once Phil has claimed you. Natalie has been serving that position, as second alpha’s omega.

You’re not sure you want to take it from her.

They’re all older than you, if by only a couple of years. You do feel like a baby in their midst, so unprepared and unsure. It’s natural to feel that way, you were taught. There’s a shift, a change in dynamics, an adjustment period in the pack when a new omega is added.

Why couldn’t Phil have just been the family alpha type?

“Phil says you’ve known him for a while.” Anna, Marcus’ omega, says.

You nod. “He was friends with my dad when he was stationed in Fort Worth.”

“That was a while ago.” Jenny says.

“About ten years.” You say.

Silence falls in the room for a moment. It’s a tense silence, speaking volumes of their understanding and the realization of the situation. They won’t say anything. They can’t say anything.

“Well,” Natalie says, breaking the silence. “We’re glad you’re here. If you need anything at all, you’ve got us now.” She wraps her arms around you again. She reminds you a bit of your mother, perhaps if your mother hadn’t been constrained by the controlling nature of your father. “All omegas truly have is each other, right?”

The others agree with her, and you can’t deny it. What do omegas really have? Nothing their alphas don’t want them to have. Nothing parents, institutes, anyone in control don’t want them to have.

All we really have is each other.

“I mean it.” Natalie says. “Anything at all.”

They are excited to take you shopping, despite the heaviness of the conversation that had transpired. They spoil you, throwing bags and bags in the back of the SUV, brushing off any concerns about money. Anything you want or need, you get several of them. It’s overwhelming after never getting anything but the bare necessities and what the institute wants you to have.

Marcus, one of the higher ranking alphas in the pack, follows everyone around like a security detail. You had been concerned upon hearing only one alpha was accompanying you...until you saw Marcus for the first time. He’s big. Very big. Tall and bulky, he’s the perfect specimen of an alpha. Many young omegas’ dream alpha. Marcus is intimidating, letting off a dangerous air which causes most that pass your group to not even give you a second glance.

He escorts your small group around, offering up no question or complaint. You almost wish he was going to be your alpha, but then again, you know almost nothing about him. You don’t even really know that much about Phil. Most of the things you know are things you overheard from conversations he had with your father. But how trustworthy are those things, really? You hadn’t understood much until now. Now it all makes sense.

A lot of things make sense now.

Natalie stands with you on the sidewalk as Marcus and Bryan carry load after load of bags into Phil’s house. Your house. You’re scared for what’s coming tonight. Phil won’t wait. He won’t put things off, he won’t hold off until your first heat. He’ll want to make things official now, stake his claim as soon as possible. He’s waited ten years for this.

Natalie smiles softly down at you, a knowing look in her eyes. “Nervous?” She asks, picking up on your uneasy energy.

You nod, trying to stop the tears from pooling in your eyes. Good omegas serve their alphas, no matter what.

“I know what that’s like. I was scared shitless too.” She laughs quietly. “I think Oz was just as nervous too. Just relax and breathe. Phil will take care of you. That I can be confident about.” Her smile turns almost bittersweet. She knows. She understands. “You’ll be alright. I’ll come by tomorrow morning, okay?”

You nod, trying to suppress your nervousness. Natalie will understand, though you’re not so sure Phil will.

You look terrified as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You bathed an hour ago and yet you still can’t quite bring yourself to leave the bathroom. You smooth your hands over the silk hugging your skin for the thousandth time. You’re shocked you haven’t worn through the thin fabric yet with your sweaty palms.

Your eyes dart down to the sink, your stomach churning wildly as the bedroom door closes. Phil is back. You’ll have to leave the bathroom soon. You can’t spend the whole night behind the locked door.

You don’t doubt he’d break it down eventually.

Then he’ll be angry.

You let out a long breath, curling your hands into fists to stop them from shaking. You have to do this. This is your job, your duty as an omega. Serve your alpha and make him happy. Be a good omega and do what he says. Obedience is an omega’s purpose. This is always what was going to happen, be it with Phil or with a stranger. Perhaps there is a small comfort in the fact you know Phil. You’re familiar with him. Why would he wait ten years for you just to hurt you?

The little food you managed to eat churns uncomfortably in your stomach. Phil had treated you to dinner before he’d left again, giving you time to clean up and prepare yourself for tonight. For right now.

You spritz more scent-enhancing perfume on your skin before you let out a long breath. You try to fix your face, not look quite so terrified, but you’re not sure you can hold it as you unlock the door, turning the knob.

The light in the closet is on, the door half open. Phil must be in there, likely having to maneuver around bags. You’d unpacked some things and put them away, but you’d nearly had a breakdown when you reached the lingerie store bags. You’re wearing some of it now, the silk robe and little white number your fellow omegas had gotten you. Specifically for tonight, you think. You won’t be wearing it again.

The closet door opens fully, Phil standing there in nothing but his jeans. His eyes trail your body as you stand there awkwardly in the middle of the room. His teeth sink into his lip, his scent thickening. You’re trying to look anywhere but at him but you can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to his form. He’s just as tall and muscular as you remember, more lean than bulky like your father had been. His skin is pale, though you can’t imagine him spending much time lounging in the backyard by the pool. Under the awning at the grill with a beer in hand as he used to do, that you can picture.

“Look at you.” He says, turning off the light before stepping fully out of the closet. “All wrapped up like a present just for me.”

You feel like vomiting as he approaches you slowly. You feel like a rabbit trapped in the sights of a hungry wolf, too afraid to run, too afraid to fight back. You’re going to be devoured and there’s no stopping it.

You jump as his hand cups your face, your eyes darting up to his. There’s a soft look in them, an attempt at soothing your fear. There’s nothing he can do to make this easier, though, other than just get it over with.

It’ll get easier. That’s what Anna told you. Eventually your omega will be happy, content with a good alpha and a pack. It’s just an adjustment. That’s why it’s recommended to wait when adding a new omega. Get past the adjustment period before reaching this stage.

How do you stop an alpha that’s been waiting ten years?

Most alphas don’t wait anyway.

“Don’t be scared, darlin’.” He says, lips tilting up in a smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”

His fingers tug at the ties of the robe around your waist, your heart thudding in your chest. You’re shocked he can’t hear it. It’s pulsing in your ears, nearly blocking out all sound as he pulls the tie free, revealing your lacy lingerie underneath. He lets out a low whistle as he pushes the robe off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.

“Look. At. You.” He says, enunciating each word. His hands slide down your sides, brushing lace and smooth skin. “Can’t wait much longer.” He nearly groans, his gaze darkening. He steps up closer to you, your gaze locked on his. You can’t look down, you can’t stare at the tent in his jeans, you can’t stare at the bulge that’s brushing against your pelvis with every breath. “You ever done this before?” He asks.

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “N-No.”

“No?” He raises a brow. “Not even a kiss?”

You shake your head.

“Pure little thing, all for me.” He nearly growls, pushing his body fully against yours. His hand cups the side of your neck, something tingling in the back of your brain as his fingers brush the sensitive skin on the back of your neck.

You’re distracted from that tingle though as he kisses you, his lips rough against yours. You’re not sure what to do, but he doesn’t seem to care. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against him. Your stomach is churning, not entirely from nerves anymore as his scent completely takes over, clouding your mind. Despite your nerves and hesitation, your omega purrs appreciatively. He smells good, like alpha. It’s exactly what your omega wants, what she’s been craving.

“Fuck,” He groans against your lips, hands tugging at the lace covering your lower back. “So fucking sweet.” He bites at your lower lip, harder than you're expecting. You let out a quiet nose but that only seems to encourage him.

He pulls away from you, turning you towards the bed. Your palms fall against the mattress to catch yourself. The comforter has been pulled down, your hands falling against the sheets. White sheets.

Phil’s hands drag up your back until it reaches the top of the lace. He rips it easily, tearing it down the back before he pushes it off your shoulders. His hands run over your skin as he pushes the lace from your body, his back meeting your chest. His skin is warm against yours, his bulge pushing up against your ass at this angle.

“Sweet little omega.” He growls, pressing his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. “All for me. All mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, alpha.” You say, fingers curling into the sheet beneath your hands.

He hums appreciatively, nipping at the skin over your scent gland. You can’t help but begin to feel a stirring in your stomach. It feels good, despite everything. Your omega is growing complacent, the promise of what’s coming not nearly quite so frightening.

It gets easier.

Phil’s hands rest on your stomach, pushing your body tight against his. “Can’t wait for your next heat.” He groans, pushing his hips against your ass. “Gonna pump you full until it takes, give you a pup like you’ll be begging for. Keep you pumped full, just like your mama, huh. You’ll give me a big pack, won’t you?”

You’re glad he can’t see your face as he holds you there, your eyes glued to the white sheet in front of you. You desperately fight back the tears blurring your vision.

“Yes, alpha.”

To be notified about new chapters of CRCB, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

#call of duty #call of duty fic #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #alternate universe #au of an au #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha philip graves #omega reader

380 notes · View notes

skilliqcourse · 1 year ago

Text

Boost your app-making skills in Ahmedabad with SkillIQ's Flutter training. Learn cross-platform development and create awesome apps with our expert-led courses.

For more information:- https://www.skilliq.co.in/courses/flutter-training-in-ahmedabad/

#Flutter Course Training #Flutter Training Institute #Flutter Certification Course #Flutter Training in Ahmedabad

0 notes

violentrefugementor · 8 days ago

Text

Trusted as the Best Software Institute in Kochi for IT Courses

Build your dream IT career with Luminar Technolab, the best software institute in Kochi. Learn from industry experts through live projects, real-time training, and a placement-driven approach. Our programs are tailored to meet current market demands, helping students and job seekers become job-ready with confidence.

#software #python #flutter #ai #software training institute

0 notes

imaginesforfandom · 1 year ago

Text

A Wolverine's Heartache - Part II

Part I Part II

Logan/James Howlett x Reader

She/Her Pronouns

Summary: The Sentinel battle takes a turn for the worst causing Logan to lose someone dear to him.

Before the Sentinels descended upon them, there had been a quiet undercurrent of tension between Logan and Y/N, an unspoken dynamic that lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. The Xavier Institute, a haven for mutants, had become a place where emotions and connections were heightened, but not always openly acknowledged.

Logan and Y/N had shared moments of camaraderie, their friendship deepening over time. Yet, a subtle dance of longing and hesitation played out between them, unnoticed by others but felt in the quiet glances and stolen smiles. Each held a key to the other's heart, but the lock remained unturned.

In the tranquil moments before the storm, Y/N often found herself stealing glances at Logan, a flutter of uncertainty in her chest. She admired his strength, both physical and emotional, and valued the camaraderie they shared. Yet, there was an unspoken desire for something more, a connection that hovered in the uncharted territory between friendship and something deeper.

Logan, too, grappled with his own conflicting emotions. He had always been a lone wolf, accustomed to the solitude of his own thoughts. However, Y/N's presence had become a soothing balm to his restless soul. There were times when he caught himself staring at her, a vulnerability in his gaze that betrayed the unspoken depths of his feelings.

Their interactions were laced with a delicate balance, a dance around unexplored territories. A brush of hands during training, a shared moment of laughter by the fireplace – each encounter left an indelible mark on their hearts, pushing them closer to a truth neither was ready to confront.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The battle with the Sentinels unfolded in a crescendo of chaos and destruction. The ominous hum of their massive metal bodies echoed through the war-torn landscape as the mutants of the Xavier Institute rallied to fend off the relentless onslaught.

The sky crackled with energy as Storm unleashed her powers, attempting to create a barrier against the relentless advance of the towering machines. Colossus, his metallic form glinting in the harsh light, clashed with the Sentinels in a display of brute strength. Cyclops fired optic blasts with precision, desperately trying to hold the line.

Amidst the chaos, Logan moved like a feral blur, his adamantium claws slicing through the mechanical monstrosities with unmatched ferocity. The air was filled with the acrid scent of burning metal and the distant cries of mutants in peril.

Y/N fought valiantly alongside the team, her powers contributing to the defense, but the fear of being overshadowed by the more powerful mutants gnawed at her. In the midst of the mayhem, she kept glancing towards Logan, seeking reassurance, but his attention was consumed by the battle.

As the Sentinels closed in, a momentary distraction led to a tragic turn of events. Y/N found herself isolated for a brief second, and in that moment of vulnerability, a Sentinel seized the opportunity. A deafening scream pierced the air as Y/N was ensnared in its metallic grip.

Logan, several yards away, sensed the danger too late. His instincts kicked in, and he sprinted towards Y/N with an urgency that defied the chaos around him. With a primal roar, he lunged at the Sentinel, claws slashing through its armored exterior. The metallic giant released its grip, but the damage was done.

Time seemed to slow as Y/N crumpled to the ground, Logan catching her in his arms. The battle raged on, but in that harrowing moment, everything faded into the background. Logan's heart pounded as he held Y/N, the world collapsing around them as her life slipped away.

Logan's world shattered as he held Y/N's lifeless form in his arms. Time seemed to freeze, and the chaos of the battle faded into a distant murmur. The weight of grief pressed down on him like an unrelenting force, threatening to consume him whole.

In that agonizing moment, Logan's senses, normally keen and alert, dulled to the outside world. The smell of burning metal, the distant clashes of mutant powers, and the acrid taste of despair in the air became distant echoes. All that remained was the profound silence that accompanied Y/N's departure from the living.

Logan's heart, usually a steady rhythm amidst the storm, now pounded with a raw, aching intensity. His hands trembled as he cradled Y/N's lifeless body, unable to comprehend the reality of her absence. The world around him blurred, and tears – a rare expression of vulnerability – welled up in his eyes.

Regret and guilt gnawed at Logan's soul. If only he had been quicker, more vigilant. If only he had protected her better. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed the one person who had silently meant more to him than he had ever admitted.

A guttural, primal scream tore from Logan's throat, reverberating through the battlefield. It was a scream of anguish, of a grief so profound that it echoed the depths of his soul. In that moment, the Wolverine, known for his stoic demeanor and unyielding strength, crumbled under the weight of loss.

As Logan clung to Y/N's lifeless body, the reality of her absence sank in, leaving him stranded in a sea of sorrow. The battlefield continued to rage around him, but in his world, everything had come to a standstill. The connection he had shared with Y/N, the unspoken bond that had grown between them, was now a painful void that threatened to engulf him entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! this made my heart break :,( i just wanna give him a real big hug now

#logan howlett #james howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #james howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #james howlett x you #wolverine x you #logan howlett x y/n #james howlett x y/n #wolverine x y/n #logan howlett oneshot #james howlett oneshot #wolverine oneshot #logan howlett imagine #james howlett imagine #wolverine imagine

403 notes · View notes

soulofapatrick · 1 year ago

Text

Distractions - Jace Herondale x Female Reader

Summary: Jace comes back from a mission and well… you just can’t hold back anymore

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none really

Y/N’s POV

I tighten my grip on the training blade as Izzy and I circle each other in the main training room. The sound of wood meeting wood echoes off the glass walls, our movements precise and calculated. We’ve been at this for hours, Izzy trying to improve my combat skills as it’s my weakness in the field.

Izzy’s staff whistles through the air as she makes a sudden move towards me, aiming for my head. Instinct kicks in, and I duck just in time, the staff whizzing pasting me. Without hesitation, I roll to the side, narrowly avoiding another strike, and rise to my feet in one fluid motion. As Izzy turns to face me, I seize the opportunity to counterattack, With a swift movement, I bring the hilt of my wooden sword down on her back, the impact reverberating through my arm. Izzy grunts in surprise, but she recovers quickly, spinning around to face me with renewed determination.

We lock eyes, both of us back in fighting stances, ready to continue our sparring match. But before we can make another move, the doors to the Institute swing open, revealing Alec and Jace. They’re both sweaty and have splatters of probably not their blood on them, their gear clinking softly as they stride into the room.

My breath catches as I see Jace. His golden hair is tousled, a few strands clinging to his forehead with sweat. His eyes, piercing shades of blue and brown with his partial heterochromia, hold an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. Despite the grime and exhaustion of battle, there’s an undeniable magnetism about him that draws me in every time.

Before I can dwell on the way he makes me feel, my thoughts are cut short by the sudden sensation of my feeling being swept out from under me. Izzy’s staff connects with precision, sending me crashing to the ground with a thud. The impact knocks the wind out of me, leaving me momentarily stunned, a groan escaping my lips as I try to remember how to breathe.

Izzy’s laughter rings out, a melodic sound amidst the clatter of our training. She saunters over, her grin mischievous as she extends a hand towards me, “Looks like you need a breather, Y/N,” she says teasingly, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

I accept her hand gratefully, allowing her to pull me back to my feet. As I dust myself off, Izzy's expression softens, a knowing look in her eyes. "You should go find Jace," she says casually, though there's a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "I think that's enough training for today.”

A blush creeps onto my cheeks, betraying the truth behind Izzy's words. Of course, she knows about my crush on Jace. It's hard to keep anything from her, especially when we've been friends for so long.

I manage a sheepish smile, grateful for Izzy's understanding. "Thanks, Izzy," I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper. She just winks at me playfully before turning to leave the training room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As I gather my belongings, I can't shake the feeling of embarrassment that lingers in the air. But beneath it all, there's a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of seeing Jace again.

I gather my belongings, my mind still buzzing with the remnants of embarrassment and anticipation. With a determined breath, I head out of the training room and down the familiar corridors of the Institute. Each step feels weighted with both nerves and excitement as I make my way to Jace's room.

Finally arriving at his door, I raise a hand to knock, the sound echoing softly in the hallway. Before I can second-guess myself, I hear Jace's voice from inside, muffled but unmistakable. "Come in.”

Heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement, I push open the door and step inside Jace’s room. The familiar scent of sandalwood and leather greets me as I enter, enveloping me in a sense of comfort amidst the flutter of anticipation. As I step further into the room, my expectations are upended. Instead of finding Jace seated on his bed or leaning against the windowsill as I had imagined, he stands by his chest of drawers, his back to me as he rummages through its contents.

For a moment, I freeze in place, my breath catching in my throat as I take in the sight before me. The soft glow of sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm halo around Jace, illuminating every every line and curve of his form. His broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, the muscles of his back rippling under his sweat-shiny skin.

As if sensing me staring, Jace turns to face me, a crooked smile curving his plump lips. My eyes widen as I drink in the sight before me, hearing Jace speak but not being able to process the words he’s saying. The light plays across his defined abs, casting shadows that only serve to accentuate their contours. Each ripple of muscle seems chiseled with precision, a testament to his strength and agility as a Shadowhunter.

But it’s not just his upper body that commands my attention. My gaze drifting lower, tracing the lines of his abs and down to the tantalising glimpse of skin revealed by his low-hanging jeans. The beginnings of a dark trail of hair disappear beneath the waistband, teasing my imagination with promises of what lies beneath.

I feel my cheeks flush with heat as I struggle to find my voice or drag my eyes away from the mouthwatering view before me as he makes his way across the room, voice low and husky as he speaks, “Hey Y/N, need something?”

I clear my throat, forcing myself to look away from that happy trail to his face, “Uh, I just wanted to see how you were doing after the mission, you seemed a little bloodied up.” I manage to chose out, my voice coming out a little more breathless than intended.

Jace’s smile widens, and he takes a step closer, closing the distance between us, “I’m doing okay,” He replies, gaze never leaving mine, “But I’m glad you’re here.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire within me that I can’t seem to extinguish. Before I can even process what’s happening, Jace’s fingers trail gently down my left arm from my elbow, sending electric pulses coursing through my veins. My breath hitches as he takes ahold of my hand in his larger, more calloused ones.

Every touch sends a jolt of heat through me, leaving me feeling flustered and off balance. And when he uses his hold of my hand to pull me flush against him, I can’t help but let out a soft gasp of surprise. His right hand lands on the small of my back, his touch sending a wave of warmth flooding though me.

Our faces are mere inches apart now, the air thick with unspoken tension. I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin, sending my heart racing even faster. In this moment, there’s no room for doubt or hesitation, only the raw, unbridled desire that course through us both.

As if sensing the urgency in the air, Jace releases my hand to cup my cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. His thumb brushes gently over my bottom lip, a silent question in his eyes as he searches mine for any signs of hesitation. I meet his gaze, my own filled with a mixture of longing and anticipation. And then, without another word, he ducks down and presses his lips to mine in a kiss that steals the air form my lungs.

The kiss is gentle yet urgent, a silent declaration of all the emotions we’ve kept hidden for so long. I melt into him, hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscles under my hands.

Every touch, every sensation is magnified in this moment of pure connection. His lips taste of warmth and desire, a heady mix that leaves me dizzy with need. And as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, I can’t help but lose myself in the sensation of him.

His hands roam over my body, turning the embers of a fire into a full-blown blaze that threatens to consume both of us. With each touch, each caress, the intensity between us grows until it's almost unbearable. And as our kiss grows more fervent, more desperate, I feel Jace walk me backwards until my back hits the solid wall and he's crowding me, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating.

I feel myself drawing him even closer to me, the space between us vanishing until there's no room for anything else but us. His hands wander under my shirt, their touch searing against my bare skin. The sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through me, setting every nerve ending ablaze with desire.

A soft moan slips from my lips as his touch becomes more urgent, more possessive. His hands seem to know every inch of my body, mapping out every curve and contour with a precision that leaves me breathless. And as he presses his body against mine, I can feel the heat of him seeping into my skin, melding us together until we're no longer two separate entities but one.

In this moment, there's no past, no future, only the overwhelming intensity of our shared desire. And as Jace's lips find mine once more, I surrender completely to the flames of passion that engulf us both, knowing that with him, I've found something worth fighting for.

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

#Jace herondale #jace herondale #Jace herondale x reader #Jace herondale x you #Jace herondale x y/n #Jace herondale fluff #Jace herondale angst #Jace herondale smut #dominic sherwood #the mortal instruments #the mortal instruments one shots #Jace herondale one shots #Jace wayland #Jace wayland x reader #shadowhunters #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters preferences

307 notes · View notes

sexsylexi · 10 months ago

Text

A confession in the gardens

Scott summers x Reader

The day had been long, and you could feel it in every muscle of your body. Teaching at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters wasn’t for the faint of heart. Between managing a classroom full of mutant teenagers, guiding them through their abilities, and trying to maintain some semblance of order, you were exhausted. But it was the good kind of tired—the kind that came from knowing you’d done something meaningful.

The last bell of the day had rung, releasing the students from their lessons. Slowly, the sounds of the Institute shifted from the chaos of classes to the more subdued hum of free time. You found yourself lingering in the hallway, watching as the students dispersed in groups, some heading toward the common areas, others making their way to the gym or outside.

You took a deep breath, relishing the brief moment of peace. The scent of fresh-cut grass from the open windows mingled with the faint smell of chalk dust and old books, a comforting reminder of your day’s work. You were ready to head back to your room when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Scott Summers called out, his deep voice warm and clear. You turned to see him standing there, a small, boyish grin on his face. He was still wearing his instructor’s uniform, the dark blue fabric fitting snugly over his athletic frame. The ruby quartz glasses he always wore gleamed slightly under the hallway lights, masking the eyes beneath. “Got a minute?”

Your heart did a little flip in your chest. Scott Summers. The leader of the X-Men. The man with the burden of the world on his shoulders—and yet somehow, he had always managed to find a way to lighten your day, even if it was just with a quick smile or a thoughtful comment. You nodded, smiling back. “Of course. What’s up?”

Scott’s grin widened a little, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “I was thinking… it’s been a rough week. For both of us. What do you say we take a break? Go for a walk in the gardens?”

The idea sounded perfect. The gardens at the Xavier Institute were vast and beautiful, filled with lush greenery, colorful flowers, and winding paths that seemed to stretch on forever. They were a little sanctuary away from the hustle and bustle of mutant training and saving the world. You’d always loved spending time there, and the thought of being there with Scott made your heart race a little faster.

“That sounds… really nice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though you were sure Scott could hear the excitement. He had a knack for that—picking up on the things you tried to hide.

He smiled again, a bit softer this time, and nodded. “Great. Meet me out by the west gate in ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes,” you confirmed. Scott gave you a small, satisfied nod before turning and heading down the hall, his strides confident and purposeful.

You watched him disappear around the corner before letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You quickly made your way to your room, freshening up just a little—changing out of your work clothes into something more comfortable, something that felt a bit more… date-worthy? You weren’t entirely sure if this was a date, but you couldn’t help the flicker of hope in your chest. Maybe it was just two colleagues relaxing after a long day, or maybe, just maybe, it was something more.

---

Ten minutes later, you found yourself at the west gate of the garden, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting everything in a golden hue. The air was cool but not cold, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers. You felt a flutter of nerves as you waited, but before you could worry too much, Scott appeared.

He looked different somehow. Relaxed. His usually stern expression was softer, his posture less rigid. He smiled when he saw you, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world fell away. He walked over, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, feeling a smile spread across your face. “Ready.”

Scott led the way, opening the gate and letting you step through first. The garden was even more beautiful up close, the flowers in full bloom, the greenery vibrant and alive. You could hear the soft rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant chirping of birds settling down for the evening. It felt like stepping into another world, one far removed from the responsibilities and challenges of the day.

As you walked, Scott fell into step beside you, his arm occasionally brushing against yours. He seemed content to walk in silence for a moment, simply enjoying the peace of the garden. You, on the other hand, were acutely aware of every step, every breath, every tiny detail. The way the light caught his hair, the way his shoulders moved beneath his shirt, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the fragrance of the flowers.

“I’ve always loved it here,” Scott said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “The gardens. They’re one of the few places where I can actually relax, you know?”

You nodded, understanding completely. “I get it. It’s like… an oasis. Away from everything else.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, glancing over at you with that same boyish smile. “It’s easy to forget, sometimes, why we do what we do. But then I come here, and I see the students… I see you… and I remember.”

His words caught you off guard, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks. “Me?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. “What do you mean?”

Scott chuckled softly. “Yeah, you. You’re a reminder that this place, this school… it’s about more than just training and missions. It’s about people. Connections. Helping each other find our place in the world.”

You felt your heart swell at his words. There was something about the way Scott looked at you, even behind those ruby glasses, that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I think you do that more than you realize, Scott,” you said softly. “You’re always looking out for everyone. Sometimes… I wonder if you ever take time for yourself.”

Scott’s smile faltered a bit, and he looked down, as if considering your words. “I guess… I don’t always. But that’s what I’m trying to do now,” he said, his voice quiet but earnest. “I’m trying to take a moment for myself. For us.”

The way he said "us" sent a shiver down your spine. You felt a warmth spread through you, a mix of nerves and excitement. “I’m glad,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He led you down a path lined with tall, fragrant roses. The sun was dipping lower now, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. It felt almost surreal, like a scene from a dream. Scott paused by a small bench under a weeping willow, its branches hanging low and swaying gently in the breeze. “Want to sit?” he asked, motioning to the bench.

You nodded and sat down, feeling the cool stone beneath you. Scott sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat from his body, but not so close that it felt uncomfortable. There was a quiet moment, just the two of you sitting there, watching as the sun began to set.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Scott began, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “About… what I want. What I need. It’s easy to get caught up in everything here, to focus on the missions and the responsibilities. But I’ve realized… I don’t want to lose sight of the things that make life worth living.”

You turned to look at him, your heart beating faster. “What do you mean?” you asked gently.

Scott took a deep breath, and for a moment, you could see the weight of all the decisions he’d made, all the burdens he’d carried. “I mean… I don’t want to miss out on the good things. The small moments. The people who matter.” He turned to face you fully, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze, even through his glasses. “People like you, Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Scott, I…”

He reached out, his hand finding yours, his fingers warm and firm around yours. “I know we’ve both been through a lot. I know things aren’t always easy here. But I want you to know that… I care about you. A lot. More than I think I’ve let myself admit.”

You felt a rush of emotion, a mix of joy and relief and something else, something deeper. “I care about you too, Scott,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Scott’s smile was soft, genuine, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. “I’ve wanted to say something for a while now,” he continued. “But I wasn’t sure how… or if I should.."

Scott’s voice trailed off, and you could see the struggle in his expression—the weight of everything unsaid. It was as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to take the leap.

You felt a surge of bravery and squeezed his hand gently, giving him the encouragement he seemed to need. “Scott, you can say anything to me. I’m here. I’m listening.”

He took another deep breath, and this time when he spoke, there was a quiet determination in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if I should say something… because I wasn’t sure how you felt. I didn’t want to make things complicated for you, or for us here at the school. But… I think about you all the time, Y/N. I think about your smile, your laugh, the way you handle the students with so much patience and understanding. You make this place feel like home. You make me feel like… I’m not alone in all of this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, every word he spoke sending ripples of warmth through you. You’d always admired Scott—for his strength, his leadership, his dedication—but hearing him speak so openly, so vulnerably, was something else entirely. It made you feel closer to him than ever before, like you were seeing a side of him that few people ever got to see.

“Scott,” you began, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I’ve felt the same way. I didn’t know how to say it either, or if I even should… but I think about you all the time too. I look forward to seeing you every day, to those moments when it’s just the two of us. You make me feel… safe. You make me feel like I belong.”

Scott’s face softened, a look of pure relief washing over his features. “You do belong, Y/N,” he said quietly, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. “You’ve always belonged. I’ve just been too afraid to say it.”

You felt a smile spreading across your face, and before you knew it, you were laughing—a soft, joyous sound that seemed to fill the air around you. Scott joined in, his laughter low and warm, and suddenly all the tension seemed to melt away.

“I guess we’re both a little afraid, huh?” you teased, and Scott nodded, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess we are. But maybe… we don’t have to be anymore.”

He shifted closer on the bench, his knee brushing against yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The garden around you was quiet now, the sun almost completely set, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. The air was cool, but you felt nothing but warmth as Scott leaned in, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart hammering in your chest. Scott was so close now, his face just inches from yours. You could see the soft line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his breath mingled with yours in the cool evening air.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of hope and hesitation. “Is this… okay?”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “More than okay,” you whispered back.

And then, slowly, as if afraid to break the fragile moment between you, Scott closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, almost like he was testing the waters, but then you kissed him back, a little firmer, a little bolder, and he responded in kind.

The world seemed to fall away around you, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his hand felt against your cheek, the way his other hand tightened slightly around yours, holding you close. The kiss deepened, and you felt a surge of warmth, a rush of emotions you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding back.

When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless, a little dazed, but you couldn’t stop smiling. Scott rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin. “Wow,” he murmured, a small laugh escaping his lips. “That… was worth the wait.”

You laughed too, feeling light and happy in a way you hadn’t in a long time. “Yeah,” you agreed. “Definitely worth the wait.”

Scott’s smile widened, and he leaned back a little, still holding your hand. “So… what now?” he asked, a playful note in his voice.

You thought for a moment, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. “Well,” you began, “I think we start by taking things one step at a time. See where this goes. Enjoy the little moments… like this one.”

Scott nodded, a look of contentment on his face. “I like the sound of that,” he said. “One step at a time. No rush. Just… us.”

You felt a swell of happiness at his words. “Just us,” you repeated softly, savoring the way it felt to say it out loud.

The two of you sat there for a while longer, just talking, sharing stories, and laughing together. The sun had set completely now, and the first stars were beginning to appear in the sky. You felt a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling of rightness that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

After a while, Scott stood up, pulling you gently to your feet. “Come on,” he said with a grin. “Let’s keep walking. There’s a spot by the lake that has the best view of the stars.”

You smiled, feeling a thrill of excitement at the thought of spending more time with him. “Lead the way,” you replied.

Scott took your hand again, his fingers warm and strong around yours, and together you walked deeper into the garden, the path ahead of you lit by the soft glow of the moon. You didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful—excited, even—about the possibilities.

As you walked, Scott began to talk, telling you stories about his childhood, about the first time he’d come to the Xavier Institute, and about all the things he’d seen and done since then. You listened intently, hanging on every word, feeling closer to him with each passing moment. You shared your own stories, too, and he listened with that same quiet attentiveness, his thumb occasionally brushing against your hand in a gentle, reassuring gesture.

By the time you reached the lake, the sky was a canvas of stars, bright and glittering against the dark velvet of night. Scott led you to a small clearing by the water’s edge, where the grass was soft and the view was perfect.

“Wow,” you whispered, looking up at the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

Scott nodded, his gaze fixed on you rather than the stars. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “Beautiful.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks and looked away, smiling. “You’re not even looking at the stars,” you teased.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “Because I’d rather look at you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you turned to face him, feeling a rush of affection and something deeper, something that felt a lot like love.

“Scott,” you began, your voice soft but steady, “I’m really glad we did this.”

He smiled, his expression filled with warmth. “Me too, Y/N. Me too.”

#imagine #x reader #marvel #x men #scott summers #cyclops #scott summers x reader #scott summers x you

135 notes · View notes

argumentativantitheticaldream · 17 days ago

Text

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Warnings: fingering? i think thats it...? there's also an appauling lack of backstory so if that’s something you detest do not read this.

Description: When Bucky is ordered to turn in the Thunderbolts, he doesn’t expect to come face-to-face with his ex, a former Avenger who vanished after the Blip. She was the one person who saw him beyond the Winter Soldier, and now she stands in the way of his mission.

You could still feel it, the gaze that drove through you like two blue steel trains running through the tunnels of his cool blue steel eyes. The edges of the windshield were clouded with debris from the highway but he was unmistakable. When he pulled off his dark sunglasses, the light refracting off his hand, you knew it was him. You felt it, when his solid, cool hand brushed your bare waist before you were bound up in this warehouse. The ephemeral moment seemed to flood memories that were eternal into your mind and now you sat, bound up in a warehouse beside your newfound comrades.

You come to with a groan that echoes too eagerly off corrugated steel. It’s cold in the way a corpse is cold, there was a presence of something else. A kind of quiet malice. The metal against your skin isn’t just cold, it’s vindictive. It holds the chill like a grudge, like it’s been waiting all day just to press itself against your wrist and remind you who’s in charge. This isn’t the sharp, bright cold of winter mornings or frosted breath on a laughing face. No, this is the slow, creeping cold of deep cellars and unspoken secrets. The kind that seeps rather than strikes, lingers rather than lifts. You feel it trickling through your clothes, down your spine, spreading out in your bones like frost on old windowpanes.

The walls are a cruel, institutional grey, the sort that only sociopaths could find comforting. Overhead, a single naked bulb swings with melodrama, casting long, jittery shadows that play across your fellow faces.

The floor is concrete-stained, cracked, and unbothered by the presence of living things. Somewhere behind you, a vent wheezes like a sick dog, and each breath it exhales seems colder than the last, as if the room itself resents your body heat and is trying to evict it.

You shift, or at least attempt to, and the rope bites your wrists in protest. Your muscles whimper. Your breath ghosts in front of you, curling like a question you don't want answered.

And then he walks in, of course he does.

There’s always a door before a disaster, and this one swings open with just enough menace to suggest it was oiled for drama. The cold deepens the second he appears, as if even the room recognises him and tightens its grip. He steps inside like sin in boots, slow, deliberate, not a man in a hurry, because men in control never are.

Leather clings to him like it owes him something, stretched across his broad shoulders. The jacket’s worn at the edges, but not in a careless way—it’s the kind of wear that tells stories, none of them nice. Underneath, black shirt. Black jeans. Black boots. Black soul, probably.

Sunglasses. Indoors. You’d mock it if it wasn't so him. The lenses hide his eyes, but you know them too well. Behind that glass are the same dark eyes that once made you forget everything. His stubble is just the right amount of wrong, gritty, sharp, seductive in a way that’s best appreciated from a very safe distance.

He leans against the wall like he owns the architecture. The silence stretches, taut as wire, and then, finally, his mouth twitches into something that could be mistaken for a smirk if you hadn’t known that same mouth at its softest.

“Well,” he says, his voice like smoke. “You always did have a talent for ending up exactly where you shouldn't be.”

Your heart doesn’t flutter. It flinches

And in a way, you can’t decide what’s worse: the ropes around your wrists, or the very real possibility that a part of you still wants him.

➽──────────────❥

The fight with the Void was inelegant in the way breakups are, loud, misaligned, and pretending to be about something else entirely. Bucky had declared this collection of lost things and leftover soldiers the New Avengers, as if naming the mess would sanctify it.

You hadn’t agreed. Not really. But you came anyway with reluctance, stitched into a role you hadn’t auditioned for.

Every time you fought alongside him, it was a choreography of friction: clashing weapons, overlapping orders, the kind of unspoken that speaks too loud. There was always that thing in the air, resentment, or memory, or something more fragile and more ruinous than either. It made everything harder. Sharper. Slower.

A week later, the dust of battle had settled. The Tower, scraped clean and mostly empty, echoed in all the right places. You stayed there, not for comfort, but because it felt like a liminal space.

The press had moved on, and the others were scattered like confetti after the party. You wandered the halls , trying to remember what your own silence sounded like.

And that’s when you found him.

Not in a grand way. No swelling music. Just the quiet electricity of two people in a room, pretending they haven’t spent the last seven days avoiding each other’s names. The storm was over, but your chest still thundered.

Bucky's broad frame leaning against the granite kitchen countertop, his leather jacket slung over a nearby handle so you could see his vibranium arm. The quietly luminous silver, like moonlight trapped in metal had been replaced, the cold reminder of his past had been changed. The black is matte and brutal, the absence of shine feels intentional, a kind of beauty that doesn’t ask to be liked. He lookes weathered, the sporadic greys in his stubble and the frown lines he was sporting were a harsh reminder of the time you'd spent apart.

The kettle clicks off. You don’t move. Neither does he.

You’re both in the kitchen like a truce neither of you signed, existing around each other in a silence that feels shaped like memory. The compound is too small for this, too many walls and not enough escape routes.

He finally breaks first. Of course he does.

“You always made the worst tea.”

Bucky doesn’t look at you when he says it. Just leans against the counter, arms crossed, jaw set like he’s bracing for your voice.

“And you always drank it,” you say, pouring into chipped mugs anyway.

“I was being polite.”

“No, you were being in love.”

That makes him look. His eyes are the same, still slate and storm, still older than they should be.

He huffs something like a laugh, dry and reluctant. “You think that was love?”

He takes it without touching you. Always without touching. Even when that was all you wanted.

He sips. Winces. “Still bad.”

You smile like a blade.

That silences him, but only for a beat. “We were good at this before.”

“This?”

“The sparring. The tension. The bit where we pretend it’s not going to combust eventually.”

You lean against the opposite counter. There’s maybe five feet between you. Feels like five years.

“We weren’t pretending. We were avoiding.”

“Semantics.”

“No. Survival.”

He watches you now. Really watches. Like he’s cataloguing your softness; the curve of your mouth, the way your hands fidget. The pieces of you he gave up trying to hold.

“I never hated you,” he says, quieter now. “Even when I should have.”

You swallow. “That’s not the comfort you think it is.”

He nods. Sips again. Winces again. “Still not love, huh?”

“It was.” you say, sharper now. “But it was also—what? Secrets? Silences? Making each other small so the pieces fit better?”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

“No. You were hiding. There’s a difference.”

He exhales like he’s exorcising something. Maybe you. Maybe not.

“I missed you every day I pretended I didn’t,” he says. “That count for anything?”

You blink. Then:

“Depends what you’d do with it now.”

The air shifts. Thicker. He steps forward once, just once, and you don’t flinch. You don’t run. You don’t reach for him either.

Just breathe.

“I won’t ask for a do-over,” he says. “But if I’m here, and you’re here…”

“You’re here because you have to be,” you cut in. “Same as me.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be.”

God help you, it sounds honest.

You look at him and the ache is like something familiar now, something worn-in. Not quite pain. Not quite longing. Just you and him, and all the years that didn’t fix anything.

But you don’t go.

Behind you, silence. Then the soft clink of ceramic against tile as he sets the mug down. You can feel his eyes on your back.

Heavy. Familiar. Devastating.

He steps closer, slow. Barefoot, quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel watched, read, known.

You turn fully now. The air between you is charged, thick with static and unspoken things.

You say nothing. Neither does he.

But everything is loud.

The tap still dripping.

The buzz of the old fridge.

The sound of your own breath, shallow and careful.

And then he’s right in front of you. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that you can smell him: smoke, sleep, that same amber-soaked cologne that makes you furious for remembering.

“You’ve been avoiding me since you got back,” he says.

You lift your chin. “We’ve both been avoiding a lot of things.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. “Say it.”

You look at him and he’s still so much him it hurts. The older version, the weathered one. Fine lines and sun damage, a mouth you used to trust with your whole heart and two trembling hands.

“Say what?”

“That you still feel it.”

He’s gambling everything on that sentence, and you both know it.

You should laugh. Walk away. Dismiss it like something childish or selfish or too long dead. But your mouth is already moving:

“I never stopped.”

And there it is — the rupture.

He exhales like he’s been punched. A laugh caught in grief. Something in him folds. Or maybe opens. You’re not sure which is more dangerous.

“Come here,” he says. Not a command. A prayer.

You shake your head once. “You come here.”

He does.

Hands ghost your hips, tentative at first, as if asking permission without words. You don’t stop him. You don’t breathe.

His forehead rests against yours, and it’s like touching a live wire. Every memory is right there between you: the way you used to kiss like it was the only language you spoke, the screaming, the leaving, the unbearable beauty of almost.

“I ruined everything,” he whispers.q

“Yes,” you say. “And I let you.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

Not gentle and not sweet but slow, bruised with meaning. A kiss that tastes like apology and ash. You don’t pull away. You deepen it. Hands threading into his hair like muscle memory, like regret. Like you’ve spent years biting your tongue instead of begging for this. And for one full moment, the world stops being sharp.

Just heat. Breath. Mouths. Hands. Him.

Then you part - barely. Foreheads still together. Breath mixing. Your heart loud enough to count.

“Bucky-" Your voice almost stutters, his name feeling sour on your tongue.

You’re still close, still breathing him in, when he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. A small gesture, but it disarms you more than anything else tonight. His hand lingers there, at the curve of your jaw, thumb grazing lightly over your cheek like he’s trying to remember the shape of it. You let him. You watch him.

“I don’t know what this is,” you say, quieter now.

He just nods, eyes on you. “We don’t have to name it.”

There’s something sacred in the space between you. Charged. Hesitant. Reverent.

And then, slowly, carefully, he steps back. Just enough to offer his hand and you take it.

The hallway is dim, but warm, lit by the soft gold of a bulb you never replaced. It casts both of your shadows long and strange against the wood-panneled walls. The air between your palms is still buzzing, still thick with everything that hasn’t been said but doesn’t need to be.

Bucky walks in front of you, like he's aware he's leading.

The bedroom door is already half open. Like it knew this would happen. Like it’s been waiting.

He lets go of your hand but doesn’t move far. Just stands behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him at your back.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

Instead, you slip off your jacket, slowly, like you’re shedding a version of yourself that no longer fits. You place it over the chair in the corner. He watches every movement, like it matters. Like he’s terrified he might miss something.

He moves next, with a practised hunger. Pulling off his shirt, revealing the same worn body you used to trace in the dark. There are new scars. There is time carved into his skin.

When you turn to face him again, he’s looking at you like he used to like the world stopped spinning and forgot to start again.

You step forward, placing your hand flat against his chest. You feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath your palm.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get back here,” you say.

“We haven’t,” he replies, voice low. “This is something else.”

You nod. You agree. And you stay there like that — hand on chest, his hand over yours, the night folding gently around the two of you.

He kisses your forehead. Your nose. Your jaw. Each one slow, deliberate, like he’s rewriting the map of you. You tilt your head, offering him space, offering him trust.

When your mouths meet again, it’s slower than before. Deeper. Not a question now, but an answer.

He guides you back toward the bed, and you follows, wordlessly, reverently. Like this is something sacred. Like you are.

His cool palm brushes your thigh and with it your t-shirt, the one that slung over your frame. His touch was certain and reverent. His voice lowers a few octaves, becoming gravelly.

"My doll," He almost groans, his chest taut and rigid against your splayed out palms.

You could feel your breath catch, the tension so thick it felt like a hazy barrier between your bodies.

Bucky had never been gentle or slow, you knew that. His fingers dipped right into your panties, cool metal digits gently skimming the hem. Your breath catching in your throat was a soft, unspoken consent. His fingers hook the fabric and gently ease it off. Bucky smiles against your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path of kisses up your skin, his fingers gently dipping between your folds. A whine escapes your lips, your body melting back into the feeling you'd gotten so used to.

Bucky's control snaps at the sound of your desperate whine, pushing two metal digits into you eliciting a sudden moan from you.

"Oh... doll, you feel so good..." He practically growls against your flesh, his lips and tongue on your neck with an intensity that you'd never experienced before.

His fingers continue working inside of you, curling and brushing against each spot. Your soft noises only serving to push him further, his fingers pumping in and out of you with a relentless need to please you, his other hand gripping your hip so tight there'll be bruising in the morning.

His grip tightened when you jerked and shuddered, his pace only quickening as he continued kissing tour neck.

"You're close, aren't you?" He drawls, his thumb pushing against your clit.

You were disoriented, unable to form a coherent reply.

"Tell me. You're close." He urges, his teeth gently scraping your neck.

"Yes, mhm-" You whimper out, almost tipping over the edge."

He curls his fingers one more time and it pushes you over. A hot sensation twists in your lower stomach and your body shudders, overcome with a wave of pleasure. His fingers never still, working you through the orgasm. Your moans were loud enough to wake the dead, muffled into his sheets.

"Bucky!" You repeated, his fingers slowing as you came down from the high.

"Shhh... you're okay, beautiful" His fingers slip out of you and without a word he wraps his lips around his digits, cleaning them with one, slow, merciless lap.

After your come down he gently pulls you close, running his hand through your hair. His sweet nothings mumbled against your temple. You'd slipped into old routine faster than you'd left.

➽──────────────❥

a/n: okayy, this is my first ever Bucky fic so please be gentle. I'm adamant the ending was rushed so please forgive me but i wanted to get this out asap as it was a request, i really hope this sort of resembles what you meant... fingers crossed. any feedback would be appreciated and PLEASE keep giving requests, i have no inspiration. also i would be so happy making these freakier i just had to sus it out and just write one to start with. Anyways, love you all, mwah!

#listen to the song #while reading it #black and white #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #thunderbolts #writing #fanfic #spotify #leonard cohen

36 notes · View notes