lav

⟡

he’s late, but he’s always late.

and when he finally jogs up to you in front of the museum, hoodie half-zipped, camera bouncing against his chest and curls all windblown and ridiculous, you don’t say anything. you just raise your eyebrows. one hand on your hip. the other clutching your iced coffee like a weapon.

“before you say anything,” he pants, holding up a peace offering—a squished museum map that he probably crumpled in his back pocket three days ago—“i brought a coupon.”

you squint. “we’re both under twenty-five. it’s free.”

“okay,” he shrugs, “but it felt boyfriend-coded.”

you smile despite yourself.

he insists on doing the entire sculpture garden first.

you try to be patient, really. but peter’s in full nerd mode—taking photos from four different angles, crouching next to marble torsos like he’s interrogating them, saying things like “wow, look at the muscle tension here, that’s insane,” and “i just think it’s cool that this guy has better calves than me and he’s from like 300 B.C.”

you mostly just watch him.

you could look at the art. you’re trying to look at the art.

but your dork of a boyfriend is wearing a too-big tan jacket over his hoodie, his fingers smudged with sunscreen he clearly didn’t rub in all the way, and he keeps pushing his glasses up with the back of his wrist while talking about how hot it must’ve been in ancient greece.

and honestly?

it’s way more interesting.

⟡

inside, it gets worse.

every time you try to walk more than ten feet into a gallery, peter finds something else to comment on. or take a photo of. or pose next to like a chaotic tour guide who got fired for being too enthusiastic.

“okay, wait,” he says, catching your sleeve gently as you pass a huge oil painting of some saint bleeding dramatically into a bowl. “hold on. babe, you have to see this.”

“i’m looking at it,” you say, dry.

“no, like—look,” he points with his chin, adjusting his camera strap. “look at his hands. that’s crazy detail.”

you glance at him.

his expression is serious.

his cheeks a little pink, because he gets excited like a toddler.

he turns to you and grins.

“i wanna draw you like that.”

“bleeding into a bowl?”

“posed dramatically.”

you snort. “you’re so annoying.”

he bumps his shoulder into yours. “you love it.”

you don’t answer, but you reach for his hand anyway.

⟡ 

in the impressionist gallery, he tries to act normal.

you sit beside him on one of the little benches in front of a blurry monet, shoulder to shoulder, knees touching.

he’s bouncing his leg.

you glance at him.

he glances at you.

and then he breaks.

“so, like,” he says, very seriously, “are we gonna talk about how sexy these brushstrokes are, or—?”

you slap his thigh gently.

he bites a grin into the side of his hand.

“i’m serious,” he says. “this is very sensual.”

“you are literally the worst person here.”

“the second worst,” he nods. “the guy who took that selfie in front of the crucifixion has me beat.”

you’re trying not to laugh.

he notices. you feel him shift closer.

then, after a moment—

“you looked really pretty earlier. by the statue. with the light hitting your face like that.”

your breath catches a little.

he’s already pretending to examine the monet again.

you lean in, voice low.

“you gonna send me those pictures later?”

his ears go pink.

“i mean,” he shrugs, “if you want…”

you nudge his knee with yours.

“i always want.”

and then—just for a second—he turns his head, kisses your cheek, and lets his lips linger.

it’s quiet. safe. soft enough to settle in your bones.

⟡

when you stand up to move on, he tugs at your sleeve again.

“wait. one more.”

you glance down.

his camera’s already out, lens pointed toward you. he doesn’t even let you fix your hair.

click.

“perfect,” he murmurs.

and when you look at him again—

he’s not smiling like before.

he’s looking at you like a painting.

like you’re worth being framed.

like he still can’t believe you’re his.

⟡

you don’t even make it five feet outside before peter’s pulling his camera out again.

“babe,” you warn.

he’s already lifting the viewfinder. “no no no, wait—stand there, don’t move.”

you groan. “peter.”

“the light is literally insane right now, just let me—hold on—”

you’re halfway through rolling your eyes when the shutter clicks.

click. click click.

“gorgeous,” he says under his breath.

you blink.

he’s not talking about the sky.

you cross your arms. “what if I hate being your muse.”

he drops the camera a little, steps closer.

his voice goes quieter.

“what if I’m not giving you a choice?”

you stare at him.

his curls are all messed up from running his hands through them. there’s a tiny sunscreen smudge still near his temple. his thumb’s twitching over the shutter button like he wants to take one more.

your lips twitch. 

“you’re really pushing it, parker.”

“am I?” he says, eyes flicking to your mouth.

he’s wearing that look—the one that says I know you’re mad but I LOVE getting on your nerves!

and unfortunately, it’s true.

you take two steps toward him and pluck the camera from around his neck, letting it fall gently to your own chest.

then you kiss him.

just enough to get the smug off his face.

his breath catches.

his hands come up to your waist instantly, pulling you closer like you’re gonna disappear.

you smile against his mouth.

he sighs into the kiss, deep and soft and already a little needy.

“mm—thought you were mad at me,” he mumbles against your lip.

“shut up.”

you press your mouth to his again. slower this time.

you can feel the tension leave his shoulders. can feel the way his fingers flex at your sides, like he wants to touch more, but he’s still being good.

you’re in public. people are passing behind you.

and he doesn’t care.

⟡

you pull back after a few long seconds, breath uneven.

he’s blinking at you, dazed.

then—

“shit.”

you look down just in time to see his camera slipping off your neck.

you lunge. Peter lunges faster.

he catches it right before it hits the edge of the stone fountain.

you both freeze.

his mouth is open. your hands are still on his hoodie. a couple kids laugh behind you.

“…oops,” you murmur.

he glares at you, clutching the camera like it’s his firstborn.

“I just told you the light was perfect.”

you kiss his cheek. “you’ll live.”

“you almost dropped my soul in the fountain.”

“I almost dropped your camera, dramatic ass.”

“same thing.”

you laugh.

and when he’s not looking, you snap a photo of him.

crooked smile, ears flushed, camera strap clutched in his fist.

you tuck the camera back against your chest and say:

“I’m keeping that one.”

he narrows his eyes.

“that’s fine,” he mutters. “I already have a hundred of you in my drafts, so.”

you pause.

“…you what?”

he grabs your hand like he didn’t just say that.

“let’s go see the baroque room,” he says way too fast.

“peter.”

“you love religious trauma.”

“peter.”

“I’m buying you a keychain.”

⟡

he doesn’t stop taking pictures for the rest of the afternoon.

but you let him.

because you’ve never seen anyone look at you the way he does when his camera’s in his hands—

like he’s documenting something rare.

something holy.

something he can’t believe he gets to keep.

⟡

you sit on the grass just below the museum hill, the skyline glittering behind you, and peter’s picnic bag spread open like a survival kit for a couple lost in whole foods.

you eye the contents.

“…peter.”

he looks up from where he’s unfolding a floral blanket (may’s, obviously, it still smells like her detergent).

“hm?”

you hold up a single pre-sliced cucumber and a ziploc bag of… hot cheetos.

“what is this meal.”

he blinks. then shrugs. “balance.”

“you brought half a pack of turkey, one string cheese, four clementines and three drinks, but no bread?”

“okay,” he says, unbothered, “first of all, i panicked at the bodega. second of all, i love you.”

you raise a brow. “so you’re using affection as a distraction tactic now.”

he opens the bottle of apple juice and takes a long sip.

“yeah. and it’s working.”

⟡

you end up sitting between his legs, leaning back into his chest while he feeds you a medley of unfortunate snack combinations and random museum trivia.

he's warm behind you. hoodie soft. voice quiet against your ear.

“this hill’s my favorite part,” he murmurs after a while. “i used to come up here alone in high school and pretend i wasn’t stressed out of my mind.”

you tilt your head, looking at him sideways.

“and now you bring me.”

he meets your gaze. smile slow.

“yeah. figured if i was gonna spiral again, i’d rather do it with someone hot in my lap.”

you snort and elbow him lightly.

he laughs and holds you tighter.

you talk about everything and nothing.

you lean forward to reach the bag of chips and he whines until you lean back again.

you brush stray petals off the blanket while he hums some dumb jingle under his breath.

you eat a clementine in perfect silence, and he just watches you.

you glance over, peel dangling from your fingers.

“what.”

he blinks. “nothing.”

you narrow your eyes. “why are you looking at me like that.”

“i like your mouth.”

you choke a little. “peter.”

he sips more juice like he’s innocent.

you toss a chip at his head. he catches it in his mouth. grins like a fiend.

“still got it.”

you lunge for the bottle and take a sip.

he wipes your chin lazily with his thumb, then licks the pad of it without thinking.

your pulse stutters.

you look at him.

he looks at you.

“what,” he says again, too soft this time.

you shake your head.

“i like your mouth, too.”

⟡

five minutes later, you’re lying flat on your back and he’s on his side beside you, drawing little shapes on your stomach through your shirt.

you close your eyes. the sun’s warm on your eyelids.

“this is nice,” you say.

“mhm.”

“don’t feed the ducks, though.”

“babe, the ducks are five yards away.”

“i’m just saying. if you feed them hot cheetos, you’re gonna get cancelled.”

he laughs. and you smile.

because his laugh sounds better than the city does.

and his hand’s still on your stomach, and the grass is soft, and you’re so full of juice and snacks and him that it’s hard to breathe.

⟡

the museum gift shop is a war zone.

there’s a hundred people inside and only three aisles wide enough for one person at a time. children are screaming over art-themed plushies. someone knocks over a display of pocket-sized monet calendars. peter disappears within ten seconds of entering.

you find him by the postcards, spinning the rack like a contestant on wheel of fortune.

“okay,” he says, pulling one with a dramatic renaissance martyr bleeding into a cherub’s arms, “this one’s obviously for you.”

you take it, unimpressed.

“are you saying I’m dramatic?”

“I’m saying you’re a divine tragedy, baby.”

you roll your eyes, but keep the postcard anyway.

a few minutes later, he finds you holding a tiny notebook shaped like a bust.

“do you think this is funny?” you ask.

“I think if you don’t buy it I’ll cry.”

“you cried at the museum fountain.”

“you almost dropped my camera into the museum fountain.”

“you’re deflecting.”

he kisses your cheek quickly.

you put the notebook in the basket.

he smiles like you’ve forgiven him for every crime he hasn’t committed yet.

he keeps wandering away and then coming back to show you something else.

“okay but this water bottle says ‘hydrate and create’ and that’s a pretty solid life motto.”

“should we start collecting these little magnetic portrait frames? like, for our future fridge?”

you pause at that one.

he doesn’t notice.

you do.

you watch the way he handles the fridge magnet, carefully turning it over in his fingers, brows drawn, tongue poking out just slightly between his lips.

like he means it.

like it’s not a joke. like he wants your life to include a fridge. and magnets. and you.

“hey,” you say, suddenly soft.

he glances up.

you hold up a tiny enamel pin shaped like a camera.

“this is so you.”

he blinks. “what?”

“you should get it. it’s dorky. and it’s exactly your vibe.”

he stares at it in your hand.

then at you.

you reach forward and pin it to his hoodie without waiting.

he doesn’t breathe the whole time.

“perfect,” you say, smoothing it out.

and when you look back at him—

he’s already looking at you.

like you just kissed him. like you just said I love you out loud. like you just told him yes.

⟡

you’re halfway to the register when you glance over your shoulder and grin.

“hey, should we steal something?”

peter immediately drops the tote bag.

“what?”

“like, just a sticker. to feel alive.”

“I literally have superpowers and you wanna get your adrenaline rush from a $3 sticker?”

“don’t kink shame me, peter.”

“I—"

“you’re already an outlaw,” you say, waving the postcard, “let’s complete the arc.”

he stares at you for three full seconds.

then reaches for your hand.

“fine. but if we get caught, I’m telling them you seduced me.”

“they’ll believe you.”

“you are wearing those boots.”

⟡

you do not steal anything.

peter does buy you the little magnetic portrait frame though.

and he doesn’t stop looking at his new pin the whole subway ride home.

⟡

the subway ride home is too long.

‘’peter’s legs are too long. your skirt is too short. the plastic seats are way too hard. and yet—none of that matters. because he’s warm. and he smells like sunscreen and spearmint gum and the apple juice you shared under the sun. and you’re sitting in his lap.

his camera bag is squished under your thigh. one of his hands is wrapped around your waist and the other is barely holding onto the rail above your heads. you can feel his heartbeat in his palm.

you lean into his chest with a sigh.

“tired already?” he murmurs.

“you’re exhausting.”

“thank you.”

he kisses the top of your head.

you play with his hair idly.

he lets you.

head tilted back against the subway wall, lashes fluttering, mouth parted. he looks young like this. soft and flush-cheeked. worn out in the way boys only get when they feel safe.

you twist a little strand between your fingers.

“I love your hair like this.”

he hums.

“messy?”

“a hot, messy nerd.”

he chuckles under his breath.

“you like me for my brain.”

“I like your brain and… yep.”

his hand tightens on your hip.

“…noted.”

⟡

he taps your thigh lightly and nods toward the next stop.

“we gotta change lines here.”

“ugh.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“no you won’t.”

“no I won’t.”

you stand slowly, stretching. your legs feel like jelly.

he slaps your ass gently as you step off him.

“hey!”

“accident.”

“that’s not—!”

“momentum,” he grins.

“you’re so annoying.”

“you’re in love with me.”

you glare. he sticks his tongue out.

⟡

by the time you’re back on the bus, his legs are bouncing again.

you’re still tucked next to him, shoulder pressed to his chest.

he’s staring out the window, fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie.

you glance up.

“what?”

“what time is dinner at May’s?”

you blink. “you invited me.”

“yeah but I forgot to ask her what time.”

“peter.”

he pulls out his phone and starts texting furiously.

you lean your head on his shoulder. watch his fingers fly.

“are we late?”

“maybe.”

“is she gonna kill us?”

“probably.”

“…oh. okay.”

he smiles.

his cheek presses against your hair. and you feel it again—that ache in your ribs. the good kind. the I love this boy so much it’s stupid kind.

you make it to May’s ten minutes late.

peter’s shirt is wrinkled. your lipstick is smudged. his pin is still clinging to the edge of his hoodie like a badge of honor.

may opens the door and looks at you both with the flat, unimpressed expression of someone who’s known peter since birth.

“you’re late.”

“traffic,” Peter lies.

“you took the subway.”

no response.

may rolls her eyes.

but when she hugs you, she squeezes you extra tight.

⟡

may’s kitchen smells like rosemary and caramelized onions and the softest, warmest kind of love.

peter sniffs dramatically.

“is that—” “meatloaf,” May says, already tired.

“meatloaf again?” he cries. “may. my body is a temple.”

“your body is 80% junk.”

you giggle and slide onto a chair at the kitchen table.

peter dramatically collapses into the one beside you, resting his head on your shoulder like he’s just been through war.

“you’re so brave.”

may sets the dish down.

it’s good.

of course it is. it’s may’s meatloaf. theres something sweet in the sauce and you’d honestly eat ten slabs of it if you didn’t have someone’s thigh pressed to yours under the table.

peter is a menace.

his socked foot finds yours.

you side-eye him.

he’s chewing with exaggerated innocence. blinking at you like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

“peter,” you hiss.

“what?” he says, mouth full. “I didn’t do anything.”

you nudge him hard with your elbow. he gasps, clutching his ribs.

“may,” he groans. “she hit me.”

“she’s allowed,” May says.

⟡

you help clear the table.

Peter tries to carry too many plates at once. may tells him not to drop anything. he drops a fork. blames gravity.

you rinse. he dries.

he keeps bumping your hip. you keep elbowing his side.

your fingers brush at the counter’s edge. his knuckles are warm.

he murmurs—

“thank you for coming.”

you glance up. he’s close.

soft-eyed. flushed cheeked. little bits of sun still tucked under his collarbones.

“I like seeing you here,” he says.

you smile.

may disappears to her room.

peter practically drags you down the hall.

“I just wanna show you something.”

“your penis?”

“ok, two things.”

his room is the same as always. cluttered. cozy. full of scraps of old tech and socks that don’t match and one too many textbooks shoved under the bed.

he tosses his hoodie into a chair. flops face-down onto his bed with a groan.

you climb in after him.

he rolls over and pulls you onto his chest like you’re the most natural thing in the world.

⟡

his fingers find your spine. trace lazy lines.

your nose nudges his jaw. he sighs into your hair.

“you’re warm,” he mumbles.

“you’re heavy.”

“you love me.”

you kiss the spot under his ear.

“I do.”

he squeezes your waist. buries his face in your neck.

you tangle your legs with his. his toes wiggle against your ankle.

his voice is barely a whisper.

“I don’t want this day to end.”

⟡

his room’s dark now.

just the bedside lamp on. the kind of golden glow that makes your skin look soft and warm and kissable.

he’s looking at you like you’re lit from the inside out.

“what?” you whisper.

“nothing,” he says. “just. you.”

you’re lying beside him, head on his pillow. he’s curled toward you, one arm tucked under his head, the other tracing your waist.

his fingers keep dipping under your shirt.

warm palm, light scratch of fingernails. a little higher each time.

you press your cheek to his shoulder.

“you always smell like that.”

he smiles.

“like what?”

“clean laundry and metal and… like a boy who runs too hot.”

he turns his head. nose brushing yours. breath warm.

“I smell like you now.”

⟡

his lips find your cheek. your jaw. the corner of your mouth.

you roll closer. your legs tangle. he slips his thigh between yours.

his kiss is gentle, then a little less.

you sigh into it. his hand slides up, under your shirt, across the curve of your back.

your hips shift.

you both breathe through it.

his lips ghost yours again.

“can I—” “mmhm,” you hum.

his hand finds the underside of your thigh. your shirt rides up.

his knee nudges yours apart just a little. not enough. too much.

your hand slides up his chest. over his ribs.

he shivers.

“you okay?” you whisper.

he nods.

“just—just nervous. I always get nervous when I really, really like someone.”

your heart aches.

you kiss him, soft.

“me too.”

he pulls back to look at you.

his pupils are blown wide. his lashes are fluttering. he looks—

god, he looks gone.

“you’re so pretty,” he says, breathless.

you smile against his neck.

“you’re such a dork.”

his hand cups your waist. anchors you. your knee hitches over his hip.

“still like me?” he whispers.

⟡

you’re not even naked yet.

your shirt’s still half on. your bra too. his hoodie’s long gone but his jeans are just unbuttoned, not even off, and your skirt’s bunched around your waist like it’s scared to go.

you’re both breathless. flushed. his forehead rests against yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

his hips rock into yours slow.

grinding.

it’s barely anything. just pressure and the slow ache of almost.

his voice is all breath when he says—

“don’t look at me like that.”

your brows furrow.

“like what?”

he kisses you. shaky. your lips part for him without thinking.

when he pulls back, his voice cracks.

“like you mean it.”

⟡

his hands are everywhere.

your ribs, your back, the curve of your stomach. he treats you like you’re art. like he’s worried he’ll mess you up by holding too tight.

you grab his hand. press his palm to your chest.

“I want you to mean it.”

he stares at you like he can’t breathe.

“I do,” he whispers.

“then look at me.”

he does.

oh he does.

his eyes don’t leave yours after he kisses you again.

he keeps whispering your name.

his mouth on your cheek, your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone.

you squirm underneath him, soft whines in your throat, your bodies grinding harder now. your panties soaked. his cock twitching, pressed against you through his briefs.

he groans when you roll your hips up.

“god—”

“I want you,” you whisper.

“I want you so bad I feel sick.”

he chokes on a laugh. kisses your chin, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

“you have me.”

he slides down. kisses your stomach. whispers your name again like a prayer.

his hands curl under your thighs.

“can I?”

you nod.

his thumbs hook under your panties.

he’s slow. reverent. like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

when he gets them down your legs and tosses them aside, he just—

stares.

he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee.

“fuck,” he whispers.

“I’m gonna die.”

⟡

he’s between your thighs now.

kneeling at the edge of the bed like he’s about to pray.

his hands are shaking. not nervous—overwhelmed. like he’s not sure if this is real. if you’re real. if you’ll disappear if he touches too hard.

“is this okay?” he asks, voice barely there.

“yes,” you breathe. “yes, peter. please.”

he kisses the inside of your knee again. your thigh. your hip.

his hair tickles your skin.

his hands spread your legs like you’re delicate—but not fragile.he can’t stop staring.

“you’re so pretty,” he whispers. “every part of you. I didn’t know— I didn’t know I could want someone this much.”

you nod, breath hitching.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you whisper.

he swallows hard.

then he lowers his mouth to you.

it’s—

soft at first.

a slow kiss to your clit. a gasp against it.

he whimpers.

like the taste of you hurts.

his hands slide under your thighs, pulling you closer, anchoring you. your hips jerk and he moans—like you just did something to him.

“peter—”

he shakes his head, mouth still on you, eyes wide.

you see it in them.

the awe. the desperation. the little bit of ruin.

his tongue flattens. licks a stripe.

then he sucks—gentle, wet, noisy.

your breath shudders.

he watches your face. watches every twitch and flutter and gasp like it’s the only thing that matters.

his eyes start to water.

“you okay?” you pant.

he nods against you. clutches your hips tighter.

“just— I’m okay. I just—” “you feel like everything.”

you try to sit up. to reach for him.

but he moans again and sucks harder.

you fall back, thighs twitching, hands gripping his hair.

“oh my god—”

you’re panting now.

he’s whining.

you feel his mouth tremble.

like maybe he’s crying just a little.

but he doesn’t stop.

he doesn’t stop.

⟡

after, 

you climb into his lap slow.

your thighs still sticky from his mouth, from your slick, from the heat of it all. his hands find your hips instantly—like they were made for it. like you were made for this.

he’s so hard it’s almost painful. cock flushed, thick, twitching where it rests against his stomach.

“do you have—?” you whisper.

he nods fast. fumbles for the drawer. his fingers tremble so bad he nearly drops the foil.

“you okay?”

“yeah— yeah,” he breathes. “just— I want this to be good. for you.”

you kiss him soft.

“it already is.”

you roll the condom down him with shaking hands.

he gasps when you touch him—like just your fingers make him weak.

you brace yourself with your hands on his chest and lower down slow.

he’s thick.

you sink onto him inch by inch, his cock stretching you open, and the second you’re seated fully, both of you still—just breathing.

his head falls back.

“fuck,” he whispers.

“you feel— you feel so—”

he can’t finish.

you press your forehead to his.

you move slow.

the tiniest rock of your hips makes him whimper.

he grips your waist like he’ll fall apart without it.

his eyes flicker open. his voice is soft.

“you love me?”

you nod.

“I love you.”

“say it again.”

“I love you, peter.”

“again.”

“I love you.”

“again—please—”

you’re grinding harder now.

“I love you.”

his breath shatters.

“I love you too,” he gasps. “I love you. I love you. I—fuck—don’t stop saying it—”

⟡

you’re bouncing now. soft and sloppy. your bodies soaked and trembling and desperate.

his arms wrap around your back.

his head presses to your chest.

“don’t leave,” he whispers.

“never,” you breathe.

“I won’t ever let you go.”

“good.”

your moans mix together.

you clench around him.

his cock twitches.

and he—

“baby— baby, I’m—”

you kiss him as he comes.

he sobs when he does.

you hold him until the trembling stops.

⟡

it’s hot under the covers.

his chest is flushed and sticky, arms wrapped around your waist, nose buried in your hair. you can still feel him twitching inside the condom, can still taste his shaky moans on your tongue.

you’re both so out of breath. so warm. so stupidly, incredibly in love.

“you okay?” he whispers.

“mhm,” you breathe. “my thighs are sore.”

he grins, lazy and smug, kissing the swell of your shoulder.

“good sore or bad sore?”

“shut up.”

⟡

you’re not supposed to be here.

may thinks you were both sleeping on the couch. you were. until peter pulled you into his room with that pouty little please like he couldn’t sleep without you. (he can’t.)

now you’re buried under a blanket in his childhood bed, still panting, trying to keep your voice down like it wasn’t the creak of his old bedframe that probably gave you away already.

“do you think she heard?”

“yes,” you whisper.

“god—”

“you were so loud, peter—”

“me?! you were—”

“shhh!”

he clamps his hand over your mouth, wide-eyed, grinning.

“you’re gonna get us caught,” he whispers.

⟡

you sneak to the kitchen an hour later.

you’re in his hoodie, in underwear. he’s in boxers and socks, looking ridiculous with bed hair and bite marks down his neck.

you both raid the fridge like kids. leftover meatloaf. cold pizza. oreos. he feeds you one like you’re royalty.

“you think she’s gonna be mad?”

“i think we should run away.”

“you and me?”

“mmhm. far away. a loft with bad plumbing and big windows.”

“ooh. sexy.”

“and a cat.”

“you’re allergic.”

“i’ll suffer.”

you eat sitting on the floor.

you, between his legs, leaning back against his chest. his arms wrap around your middle, soft fingertips tracing lazy lines across your tummy.

“you ever think about the future?” he mumbles.

you hum.

“sometimes.”

“like… moving in? waking up next to each other? cooking together? real adult shit.”

“you’d eat all the cereal.”

“you’d never do the dishes.”

you smack his chest lightly.

“you’d never do the laundry!”

he huffs, once more.

you look up at him. he’s already looking at you.

“i want it to be you,” he says softly. “all of it.”

your heart aches in that perfect, full kind of way.

“me too.”

⟡

you fall asleep in his arms, in again that night. to the sound of rain. to the softness of his breath. to the rhythm of your heartbeat against his.

quiet. loved. home.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

⟡ made by @flxttershyz , please do not copy or repost without consent!!⟡

taglist: @seraphibunni @nolita-fairytale ^^

so sorry for disappearing for like for ever i got like triple whammey(ed?) by life these past weeks but i havent forgot u guys trust

you know how ellie can be. you know how stubborn she is. so you make her wait hours, almost the whole day until you knock on her door.

she answers almost immediately and steps back so you can come in. you almost feel bad for her cause she looks so guilty, but you remember her earlier actions.

“hey” ellie says avoiding eye contact with you and staring straight at the ground.

you ignore her and take off your jacket and shoes and sit on her bed, ushering her to come here. she hesitantly follows, sinks down on the bed next to you and apologizes start spilling out of her pretty lips.

you shut her up with your lips, kissing her so softly while she hesitates, then kisses you with so much need and passion, it’s like she’s trying to make it all up to you with one kiss.

you notice the need in her kiss. her pulling of your bottom lip, and you begin straddling her hips. pushing her further on the bed and once her back hits the headboard she whimpers. you pull away from the kiss; a string of saliva connecting you together.

“i want you to listen to me okay, can you listen?” you ask the girl under you, watching her pupils get bigger and her chest heave once she realizes where this is going.

she nods and shakily puts her hands on your hips to which you grab ahold of both of them and pin them beside her head. “i want you to get your strap for me and then lay back down like this, can you do that for me?” you whisper while kissing her jaw and neck, hearing her breaths get heavier and heavier.

ellie shakily blurts out a ‘yes’ and once you get off her she’s immediately digging around her drawers for her strap.

“and take everything off except this” you say pulling her grey wife beater back and letting it fling back onto her skin. ellie pathetically nods, following your every command. quickly taking everything off in front you and putting her strap on and laying back down on the bed just like you told her to.

you smile at her obedience, taking everything except your bra off and straddling her again. positioning her cock so you sit right on top of it. “your being so good ellie you wanna touch me?” you ask her, purely because you can see her hands fidgeting around, fingers barely grazing your thighs. ellie looks up at you, her big eyes telling you the answer to your question, but oh poor ellie. right when you nod, giving her permission, you grab ahold of her wrists and handcuff them to the headboard.

ellie eyes widen and she fights with the cuffs, pulling on them with furrowed eyebrows while you laugh at her attempts.

“babe…please…” ellie whines with her raspy voice, looking back up at you with those big needy eyes again.

“this is what you get for storming off on me, baby you thought i could forget about that and just accept all your apologies?”

ellie furrows her eyebrows and fights the handcuffs once again “b-but you know i have to touch you…you know i- i love having my hands all over you”

you ignore her pleads and lift up her tank top just enough so her abs and v-line are visible and you run your hands up and down them, caressing her waist in the process. “love having my fun with you like this, you know that?” you say tilting your head slightly and running your hands up to her toy with her nipples through her shirt.

ellie immediately squirms and bucks her hips up causing you to grind down on her strap. “you’re so needy” you whisper to her and lift her tank top up to kiss her tits and suck.

“mmm p-please i’m so sorry let me touch you please! i’ve been waiting all day” ellie rambles on already out of breath.

you feel a tinge of guilt cause, she has been waiting all day but nontheless you continue teasing her. pulling away and lifting your hips up, “i’m so wet for you ellie i bet you wanna taste it huh?”

ellie quickly nods, her tongue darts out to lick her lips as she eyes your soaked pussy.

“words” you command and leave a light slap to her cheek.

“y-yes please…i’ll do anything” ellie breaths out.

you smile and crawl on top of ellie, positioning right on top of her lips as you hold on top the headboard and sink down. before you know it ellie’s tongue is all over your pussy, messily sucking and slurping. flicking and licking all around you.

“oh f-fuck ellieee” you moan out and intertwine you and ellie’s hands together as she keeps pulling on her handcuffs, desperate to hold your hips and plant you straight down on her face.

ellie thrusts her tongue inside of you and tongue fucks you so relentlessly. poor ellie really needed to taste you. your hips jolt as her nose rubs against your clit. you look down at her squeezed eyelids and feel the vibrations of her moans deep inside you.

“just like that baby you’re so good to me” you breathlessly moan out and when you feel one harsh thrust of her tongue, combined with her nose hitting the right spot; you feel your orgasm hit you and without warning you start cumming all over her tongue.

you squeeze ellie’s hand and tug on her hair which causing her to let out another moan inside of you and to her disappointment you lift your hips up and watch as strings of cum land on ellie’s lips and chin. the whole lower half of her face glistening with your cum and wetness and she’s just loving it. you can tell by that pussydrunk, toothy smile she gives you with her eyes, low and half lidded.

“you’re such a pussy slut” you tease as you straddle her hips again and right before she comments you plop yourself down to sit right on top of her strap which causes ellie’s hips to jerk up and a moan to slip out.

“you liked that?” you ask and do it again, the base of her strap bumping her clit just right.

“ohhh mhm please keep-“ the sound of your moan and another slam back down cuts her off as her eyes roll back, watching you bounce of her strap.

“mhmpt fuck ellie you’re so deep” you whimper out bouncing yourself up and down. the sound of your pussy gushing all over her fills the room. one hand holds onto ellie’s abs for leverage, nails digging into them. your other hand pulls and tugs on the back of ellie’s hair making her mouth fall agape.

ellie’s groans and whimpers grow louder, but you hear her still fighting with the handcuffs. the metal jingling distracting you from the pleasure so you grab ahold of her jaw, “stop it or i’ll make sure you don’t cum”

ellies eyes widen and she shakes her head frantically, “no no please please i wanna cum please i just wanna-“

you follow ellie’s eyes and see she’s staring dead at your tits, which are bouncing everytime you thrust yourself down on her strap. you take off your bra and arch your back into ellie’s mouth as she latches onto your tits and starts sucking on them like her life depended on it.

you moan and wrap your arms around her. completely engulfed in the pleasure of ellie’s mouth and now her hips jerking up making her strap go deeper into every time you slam back down.

“m’close” ellie whimpers into your tits, and with one thrust back up into you, her head falls back and you watch her cum while fucking herself into you as deep as she can. seconds later you hips stutter and lose rhythm so you lift your hips up letting ellie take control, thrusting in and out of you through your orgasm. you moan and grip her shoulders, leaving nail scratch marks all over it and once your high fades away you slump back down ontop of ellie. your pussy still throbbing gently around the strap you have yet taken out of you.

ellie whines and tugs on the handcuffs, seemingly to remind you to take them off. and you giggle, pry yourself off her, reaching for the keys and unlocking the cuffs.

ellie groans and holds her wrist as you sigh and massage the soreness out of her other wrist and kiss it. “m’sorry ellie their so red, are you okay?” you ask her with worry in your tone.

ellie nods and pull you in for a slow sloppy kiss. when you both pull away only cause you’re out of breath, she sleepily smiles at you, “been wanting to do that the whole time.”

you kiss her cheek and look down at where her strap is still inside you. “i’m gonna get up okay?” you say and hold onto her shoulders, sighing at the empty feeling you get and helping her take off the strap. hiding your smile when you see the mess she made of herself but shaking that thought off and laying back down on her chest.

her arms wrap around you and before she falls asleep she asks, “do you forgive me?”

you furrow your eyebrows and look up at her, “for what?” you ask puzzled.

ellie scoffs, “babe, our argument?”

“ohhhhh i forgot about that, yeah i forgive you”

“how did you forget you practically just tortured me cause of it” ellie jokes.

you gasp and hit her arm, “no i did not! you liked it and i know that cause you literally came all over the b-“

you’re shushed by ellie’s hand over your mouth and a kiss to your forehead. god you really love this silly girl <333

your boyfriend exhales as he leans back a bit, smirking, “oh yeah?” 

one of his hands leaves your waist to push back his unruly hair, then swiftly flexes his bicep exaggeratingly, “i don’t blame you,” he shrugs, “i had a hunch you had a thing goin’ on for-”

you’re quick to shut him up, attacking his sweet lips with yours. 

your hand falls to his firm bicep and he’s laughing into your sudden kiss, instantly melting against you. his hand resumes his place on your hip, curling it around your side, and pushing you further into him.

“y/n,”

peter holds himself up by his elbows as you push your weight down further onto him. 

“baby,”

he couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, let alone near him. all his worries of getting caught are thrown out the window when a deep groan rumbles from his throat.

he’s like putty in your hands, his head and limbs going numb at your touch.

and while it was difficult to deny the way your heart races at moments like this with peter, you couldn’t help but feel at such ease around him. when something you know is intrinsically wrong but feels so right, you were tired of peter being your guilty pleasure. 

you know the disapproving thoughts your father would muster up had you and your boyfriend publicly announced your official relationship. 

however, there were often many things you’d fail to notice. like how he’d mutter under his breath of the amount of money he could bet that a certain webhead would set off the security system yet again as sipped his midnight coffee. or when he would prepare a breakfast dish for you to take to your room, one that he knew would be too much for you to finish and unintentionally feed your boyfriend as well. 

sometimes you wonder if this boy was worth risking everything for.

but with peter softly panting against you, all doubts leave your mind and there isn’t anywhere else you’d rather be but with him.

“what was that, petey?”

he’s swift in flipping you over, pushing you against the silky mattress.

“shut up,” he whispers as he tenderly attaches your lips once more. 

as he moves down your body, he isn’t shy with his wandering hands when he caresses your breasts over your shirt, pushing the cloth higher and kissing down your stomach, heat rapidly growing at your core. 

you’re flushed with excitement and when you take a look at the boy below, you can tell he is too.

finally, he rests his hands just above the waistband of your shorts, fingers gently stroking the skin below your navel. 

“i’m thinking… that you really enjoy our sneaking around,” his curls obstruct your view from his sultry eyes. your fingers weave their way through his locks, his strong gaze on you has your beaming red, and you’re desperate for him to do anything, 

“maybe, almost as much as me?” he’s teasing you, the roles are reversed and now you’re the one begging him.

he’s painfully slow in stripping you of your loose shorts, leaving your bottom half in just your panties.

your eyes close in bliss as you tilt your head back when peter kisses the inner of your thighs and he grunts at the sudden pull of his hair. his fingers are grasping onto your underwear torturously pulling the garment down when-

“hey honey, have you seen my-”

sad to say, peter’s spidey sense wasn’t quick enough to mask the obscene sight that your poor father had walked in on.

“jesus fuck!”

peter scrambles away from you handing you a pillow to save you some decency. 

and tony’s back on the other side of the closed door, clearly horrified at the very scene, “are you fucking kidding me!?”

“it’s not what it looks like mr. stark! s-sorry!” you stare at peter with a displeased look, rolling your eyes at both your dad’s and boyfriend’s reactions. 

his eyes are frantic when he looks to you for help, “i-i wasn’t doing anything i swear! i was just, checking out a-uh… a mole?” 

you give him an offended face, “a mole? seriously, pete?”

“i don’t know!”

while the two of you bicker, natasha is there waiting on the other side, an aggravated expression painted on her face.

tony clicks his tongue when he meets her outside, “well, that certainly wasn’t how i was expecting to find them, but…” 

“yea, whatever,” nat scoffs. rolling her eyes, she shoves a twenty dollar bill to his chest, too annoyed with the fact that she just lost a stupid bet to the billionaire.

You let out a small yawn, Bucky’s warmth too comfortable. His body shook with a light chuckle.

“Tired already? It’s only nine.” He teased, pulling you tighter against him.

“I can’t help it, you’re so comfy.” You mumbled, snuggling deeper into him.

He chuckled again, lowering his arm from your shoulders to your side, gently grabbing the flesh to pull you closer. His fingers digging into your sides had you letting out a gasp, tensing in his hold. Bucky noticed and furrowed his brows, eyes wide in concern.

“You okay baby? What was that?” He asked with genuine worry.

You relaxed back into his hold, trying to steer the conversation away. You waved him off.

“Nothing, just getting comfortable.” You tried to convince him.

Bucky stared at you for a couple more moments, until a grin started to form on his face. He repeated his previous action, softly gripping your side— his theory being confirmed when you gasped and tensed again.

“Doll… are you ticklish?” He asked, grinning at crimson flushing your cheeks.

You scoffed, shaking your head in ridiculousness.

“No— I was just getting comfortable.” You argued.

“Then why’d you jump?” He pushed, loving the way you were getting all flustered.

“You caught me off guard that’s all.” You tried to convince him, but knew it was a pathetic try.

He hummed in agreement, letting you think for just a second that he believed you. You huffed out in small celebration, relaxing back into his arms. The room went back to a comfy silence, almost ready to drift off— until you felt his hand grip your side again.

You yelped, jumping in his hold. You whipped your face to his, not surprised to find a mischievous grin.

“Bucky…” You warned.

He chuckled again, keeping a firm grip of you, trapping you in his hold.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.” He observed, watching you squirm under his stare.

“Yeah well, this is why I didn’t want you to know.” You tried to sound annoyed, but your chest was warm with joy.

“You make it sound like I’m gonna torture you.” He says sarcastically.

You attempt to escape his arms, blushing profusely under his stare. To no avail, he is much stronger than you, and if he wanted to keep you held in his arms. There was no way to escape it— not that you really wanted to.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal.” You tried to brush off nonchalantly.

You weren’t sure what came over you, but the thought passed through you. Before you knew it— you were poking Bucky’s side. Your eyes widened, a huge grin forming on your face when you witnessed him jump.

His eyes darkened, his jaw tensing in challenge. Before you could process what was happening— Bucky dug his hands into your sides, wiggling his fingers into your flesh.

You gasped, laughing uncontrollably at his attack. You tried to pry and push his hands away, but your attempts were weak. Your whole body was buzzing, pleasure morphing into a dull agony.

“Bucky please! I can’t— Please I can’t!” You pleaded, breathing heavy from the laughter.

Bucky ignored your begging for him to stop, instead he slipped his flesh and metal hand under your shirt— and started to tickle your skin directly. You gasped, and whined at his deeper attack.

“Okay! You win, you win! Bucky please!” You whined.

He chuckled in triumph, maneuvering himself where he was falling backwards against the couch— lying down and pulling you on top of him. He quit his torture on your sides, wrapping his arms around you. You felt as if you were coming down from a high, breathing heavily on top his chest.

You could feel his heart beating in rhythm with yours, the thumping against each others chests. Calmed enough down, you glanced up into his eyes. His orbs sparkled with contentment, his gaze loving and warm.

The slight shift of your body had you realizing the position you were in— impossibly close. You circled your hips just barely over his crotch, the slightest friction pulling a gasp from him. His arms tightened around you.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish doll.” He warned.

You bit your lip, circling your hips again— this time harder against him. His hands fisted into the back of your shirt, his breath heavily fanning your face. You tilted your head, pouting innocently.

“What? I’m just trying to get comfortable.” You teasingly hinted from earlier.

Bucky’s eyes darkened at your teasing, licking his lips in hunger. His member beginning to strain between your bodies. Aching for more friction, he bucked his hips up, earning a gasp from you.

Your teasing demeanor disappeared, your throbbing core desperate for more. You sat up, stayed straddled on him— grinding down hard. The friction of his outlined member on your clothed clit was delicious.

He watched you whimper with shaky breaths, attempting to chase your release.

“Getting comfortable huh?” He breathed out.

You needed more, your hunger insatiable. His voice was dark, husky— sending shivers through your body. Your nipples aching, pushing through your shirt.

He bit his lip, sneaking his hands under the front hem of your shirt. Caressing your soft skin up until he got to your breasts. You grabbed both his wrist desperately, placing his hands on your mounds. He chuckled darkly at your neediness, rubbing his thumb over your swollen bud.

You instinctively leaned into his touch, whimpering at the sensation, the feeling shooting straight to your core.

“You like that baby?” He purred, circling his thumb around your nipple.

You nodded, leaning your head back, chest pushing into his hands. He flicked your bud, making you whine.

“Words baby.” He demanded lowly, swiping his thumb back over the raised flesh.

“Mhm yes… feels good.” You moaned out, hips instinctively grinding over his.

He removed his hands, quickly removing your shirt, leaving your chest bare to him. He leaned up, his metal arm keeping you on his lap. He licked his lips, lowering himself to your chest. He captured your nipple with his lips, his tongue circling around before swiping across the flushed tip. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation, nearly falling apart from just the feeling of his mouth of your chest.

“Oh Buck— feels s’good.” You keened.

He switched to the other one, giving your nipple an open mouthed kiss, swirling his tongue around— before he gently grazed his teeth over the bud. You whined loudly, pushing your chest further into his face.

You cradled the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his thick locks. Occasionally you’d give a slight tug of his hair, the sensation of his mouth sometimes too much to handle. Plus, you knew how much he loved having his hair pulled.

You started grinding harder, faster against him. The sensation of his mouth on your tits added with the friction of his clothed member to your clit had you dizzy. Your whimpers were growing needier.

“Fuck doll,” He moaned out, his straining member aching for more, “Hold on.”

He slid you off his lap, quickly removing his pants and boxers. He sat back into position, his cock painfully hard— springing up to his stomach. Your mouth watered at the sight of his flushed tip, his slit leaking precum.

“C’mere baby.” He patted his lap.

You held his gaze, shimming your shorts and panties off and climbing back on his lap— straddling him. He reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you down onto him. You both sighed at the feeling of each other, completely bare and warm.

He snuck his metal arm in between your bodies, running his fingers through your wet folds. You whined from the coolness meeting with your hot flesh.

“You’re so wet… All from just getting comfortable?” He teased, grazing his metal digits over your clit— making you jump and gasp.

You tried to respond but couldn’t voice the words, instead letting out a breathy moan— grinding yourself on his fingers.

He gathered some wetness and brought it to your clit, rubbing slow circles around the bud.

“Let me take care of you baby.” He breathed out, his breath fanning your neck.

“I’m all yours James.” You moaned out, looping your arms around his neck— faces close and your noses touching.

Hearing you say his real name had him groaning, the way it sounded rolling off your tongue— needy. He instinctively bucked his hips up into his hand— into you.

He removed his metal hand from you, causing you to whine in starvation. He chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose.

“I know baby,” He cooed, bucking his hips up again, letting the tip of his member bump through your folds, “You’re so whiny.”

You rubbed yourself against him, covering his cock with your juices. You were just finding a comfortable rhythm before you were lifted up slightly by him. He ran the head of his cock through your folds a couple times before lining up with your entrance. You were buzzing with desire, immediately sinking down on his cock, letting him fill you to the brim.

“Fuck James.” You moaned out, fingernails digging into his shoulders— only making him groan with desire.

This certainly wasn’t the first time you and Bucky were having sex, but he never failed to make you feel so full. He was able to hit spots that you didn’t even know existed.

“You feel s’good baby.” He breathed out, staying still despite the difficulty, letting you adjust.

You started to lift yourself, until his tip was almost out— then you were lowering yourself down again. You started repeating the motion, hands gripping his shoulders harshly.

He practically growled at the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock. The slight pain of your nails digging into his flesh only adding to the pleasure. He bucked his hips up into you, matching your rhythm. A particular hard thrust from him had your vision spotty, his tip grazing your sensitive spot.

You slowed your hips, body jolting from the sensation. He was watching your face scrunch with pleasure, his heavy breathing hitting your cheeks. He thrusted again into the same spot, his tip meeting the bumpy flesh. You whimpered as your back arched, pulling him tight to your chest.

“Oh James… R- right there.” You barely whined out, breathless from the feeling, your vision hazy.

He smirked, pulling you flush against him as he thrusted up into you at a rough pace. You were thankful that he had a firm grip on you because the sensation was becoming too much for you to stay upright.

The familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach had you snapping from the haze, your breaths heavier as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge.

He heard your breathing change, and quickly lowered himself to your chest again. Licking and sucking on your bud while his cock was hitting your spot repeatedly.

The feeling had your eyes rolling back, your arms going slack around his neck— the only thing keeping you upright was his strong arms holding you tight to his chest.

“C’mon baby, let go.” He purred out, before latching hip lips back around your bud.

You whimpered from the stimulation. He grazed his teeth lightly over your nipple and with a final deep thrust into you, the coil snapped.

You cried out, vision going black as your body twitched. Bucky moaned, his own eyes rolling back at the feeling of your fluttering walls massaging his member— milking him to his own release. He held onto you tight, letting his forehead rest against yours, your breaths mixing as you both came down from your highs.

You were coming back down to earth, your hearing and vision coming back gradually. You let out a breathy moan, the feeling of his twitching member inside you wondrous.

Cracking your eyes open, you found Bucky gazing at you with hooded eyes— his orbs sparkling with tenderness. You smiled with flushed cheeks, giving him a weak and lazy kiss. You felt his arms tighten around your lower back, the two of you just molding together.

“I love you so much baby.” He whispered against your lips.

“I love you James.” You gave his lips one last peck.

You snuggled up into him, burying your face into his neck as your eyes started drooping shut from exhaustion. He smiled to himself, leaning back into a comfortable position on the couch, gently rubbing your back.

The forgotten show played as a soft ambience in the background as the two of you fell asleep in each others embrace. All while his member was still buried deep inside you.

A/N: i don’t write smut that often so pls tell me what you think 🥴

Last updated: May 17 2023

Part 1: Not Givin It Up Again

Part 2: It's Not Living (If It's Not With You)

Part 3: It's You And I, Tonight

Part 4: Love It If We Made It

Part 5: Thinking This Through

Extras:

Headcanon: PDA

Headcanon: Bucky takes care of you on your period

again, if you would like more parts feel free to send me requests/ideas!

If you would like to be tagged in future chapters/my other works please lmk &lt;3

Series tags: @peaches1958 @prettylittlepluviophile @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @enchantedbarnes @writerwrites @beefybuckrrito @thatblackravenclaw @cloudyfeelin @broco8 @searchf0rtheskyline @ducky2104 @emmabarnes

general tags: @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @emi11ie @paulasocean @silverfire475 @lovingchoices14 @nekoannie-chan @late-to-the-party-81 @chibijusstuff @midnightramyeoncravings @wickidlady @buckyb-stan @adoreyouusugar

Warnings: mentions of a past toxic relationship, reader is insecure, feelings (because it’s me), Bucky being the sweetest man possible (yes, he’s a warning), established healthy relationship, a tiny bit of possessive!Bucky (in a healthy way), SMUT, exhibitionism, fingering, talks about birth control, unprotected sex, cum kink (sort of), possessive sex (you have to squint), praise, p in v, let me know if I forgot something.

A/N: I was daydreaming about this yesterday and I just had to write, if you like it please let me know. Also I changed my username ‘cause I didn’t like the old one that much.

+18 ONLY, MINORS DNI

I do not consent to have my fics copied, posted or translated to any other site/app/account other than my own tumblr or ao3 accounts.

You clutch your jacket tightly, your knuckles turning white as you secure the denim fabric around you — a nervous habit you've developed over time. You had intended to change before Bucky arrived, but he showed up earlier than expected, leaving you no time, so you just took the first jacked you saw and covered yourself. Insecurities flood your mind as you open the door for him. He gives you a tight hug that communicates how much he missed you, but instead of embracing him back, you just clutch your jacket harder. A shield, of sorts.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Are you cold?" Bucky asks, concern etched on his face as he gently rubs your hips with his leather covered thumbs.

"I'm not sure about this dress," you admit, avoiding his gaze.

"Why? Don't you like how you look? Let me see it," he suggests, releasing his grip on you, giving you space to remove your jacket.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you summon the courage to reveal yourself. It’s a pretty dress, used to be one of your favorites, actually, but you retired it after it caused your ex to almost hit you for “wearing something so revealing”. Today, as you were searching for an outfit and found it hidden at the bottom of your wardrobe, you couldn’t help but choose it, as you felt an overwhelming sense of freedom after trying it on. Now, though, you’re not so sure anymore.

You feel the cold air touching your bare arms and brace yourself for the harsh words, echoes of your past relationship lingering inside your brain. But Bucky remains silent, intensifying your anxiety. It has only been a few months since you started dating the supersoldier, and while you've seen no signs of violence from him, you're still guarded, prepared if the moment comes. Bucky is a gentleman, but so was your ex at the beginning.

"I can change if you want," you quickly offer, seeking to appease any potential displeasure.

"Why would I want you to change?" Something in his voice prompts you to open your eyes. Rather than the disappointment you were expecting, there’s some kind of amazement and even lust as he looks at you up and down. Not a single trace of anger.

The gentleness of his question gives you enough courage to ask, “don’t you think I look like a slut?”

Bucky's eyes shoot up to meet yours, a little shocked, but upon noticing the fear in them his face softens with understanding, and he steps closer, enfolding you in his arms. “Darlin’, you look like a fucking Goddess.” He gently kisses your forehead. “Absolutely stunning.”

Bucky knows about your past relationship and the emotional scars it left behind. When he met you, you were a mess. He thought that an ex-assassin would be the last person you’d choose to date after everything, but apparently he did something right, and the moment you accepted him in your life he vowed to himself he’d do anything to show you what a genuine, nurturing love feels like.

"Are you sure? You're not... mad? I mean, that other men will look at me.” you ask hesitantly.

"Why would I be mad?" Bucky responds, his voice filled with sincerity. Despite the heartbreak upon seeing you so scared, he manages a tiny smirk. "They can look; only I get to touch."

You remain uncertain. Your previous boyfriend, when he was in a good mood, had also claimed not to care when you dressed like this — until another guy so much as glanced your way.

Sensing your hesitation, Bucky leads you to your bedroom, positioning you in front of the mirror and standing behind you. As you gaze at your reflection, he notices the sparkle in your eyes and the joy that emanates from within. You like how you look in the dress, and that realization instantly makes it Bucky's favorite.

His leather-clad hands gently trail along your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Do you feel beautiful?" he asks, admiring your form as much as you do.

You answer, blushing and avoiding his eyes, "Yes."

"And do you feel comfortable?" he inquires further.

You hesitate, your thoughts momentarily scattered. Then, you consider his words and the scenario he paints.

"I... Well..." you trail off, contemplating the tiny sparkle of confidence starting to bloom inside your chest.

"Forget about me for a moment. Imagine you're single, going out with your girlfriends. Do you feel comfortable then?" Bucky prompts.

You ponder his question, allowing yourself to envision the scenario. After a brief moment, you respond, "Yes, I do.”

Bucky raises his hand, cupping your cheek and tilting your head until your eyes meet in the mirror. A proud smile graces his lips.

"Then that's the outfit you're wearing tonight," he declares, his voice filled with certainty and adoration.

You smile timidly at him, not really sure how to deal with this… respect, coming from a boyfriend. His hand starts to travel down through your stomach.

“When the other dudes look at you, and they will…” Bucky lowers his mouth to the shell of your ear and whispers, “I’ll make sure to show them that you’re mine, alright?”

His words cut straight to your core, and you involuntarily press your ass against him, feeling his already hard length. You gasp. He whispers your name.

“Keep doing this and we’re not gonna leave this bedroom tonight.” He murmurs with a deep tone.

“Would it be so bad?” You fake pout, grinding against him again, on purpose this time.

“Well, I really want to show you off in that outfit, so…” He says, but can’t help himself from lowering his hands to the hem of your dress, leaving goosebumps along the way.

“Bucky…” You sigh when he starts giving lingering kisses along the curve of your neck and the bottom of your earlobe.

“But I suppose we have some time before our lateness becomes socially unacceptable, right?” He whispers, sneaking two fingers under the fabric, millimeters away from where you need his touch the most.

“How much?” You ask, watching as Bucky frees his flesh hand from the glove to let you know what’s about to happen.

“Enough,” he says, dragging one finger along your clothed cunt, and moaning at your drenched panties. “Already, baby?”

You only hum in response. He uses his other hand to pull down your panties and lightly tap on your hip, signaling you to step off of them. You obey. Returning his fingers to where they were before, he drags them along your lips, collecting your wetness, and starts the slow circles on your clit. Mustering that confidence Bucky just unburied from a locked place inside your brain, you cover his hand with yours and guide him to your entrance.

“No teasing,” you plead.

Bucky chuckles. “What a greedy woman you are.”

He circles your entrance for a few moments before slowly inserting two digits all the way up, your wet walls making it easy for him. You moan, relieved, and rest the back of your head on his shoulder.

“That enough to make you roll your eyes, darlin’?”

You try rolling your hips, but Bucky quickly encircles your waist with his metal arm, firming his grip so you remain still.

“Please, Bucky…”

“Oh, baby, you know I can’t resist when you beg,” he kisses and bites your shoulder, then curls his fingers inside of you, his knuckles rubbing on that delicious spot inside your hole as he presses his clothed cock against your ass again, “and look at this dress, see what you do to me?”

You feel a twitch in your stomach when Bucky starts stimulating your clit with his thumb, along with the in-and-out movement of his fingers.

“Open those beautiful eyes for me, would ya’?” He asks softly. “See how pretty you get when you beg like that.”

You silently thank the universe that he’s firmly holding you, because his words make your knees almost give in. Panting, you comply with his request, fixing your gaze in the spot where he’s fingering you under your dress. Just like everything else about you, he notices the direction of your eyes.

“You wanna see it, baby? Wanna watch while I fuck you with my fingers?” He asks carefully, amusement lacing his deep voice.

You whimper, imagining the sight, and nod frantically.

“Go ahead, dirty girl.” He encourages.

Satisfied with the permission, you lift one of your legs and place your foot at the bottom of your bed, granting you two full access to the view. You both watch Bucky’s motions in awe, the wetness that covers his fingers reflecting the dim light of the room, silent except for the squishy noises his fingers make as he fucks them into your pussy. The sight almost makes Bucky drop down to his knees to worship you like the Goddess he honestly thinks you are. Actually,  if he didn’t know you’re only standing because of his arm around you, he’d probably do just that.

“Like what you see?” He whispers in your year.

You moan in approval, trying to move your hips, but Bucky’s grip is strong, and he smirks.

“Magic word?”

“Faster.” You demand suddenly.

That’s not quite the word Bucky was expecting, but he’s too stunned by your behavior to care. You two had sex before — as soon as you gave him indication that you wanted it, because how could he resist you? —, but it was always so… loving. I mean, Bucky really wants to show you how tender real love can be, but he’s absolutely relishing this newfound confident side of yours. Never had he imagined you could be so filthy, and he really wants to beat the shit out of your ex for making you think that you have to hide it. Also, as he had already imagined it would, your slight dominance leaves him at your mercy, and he moans as he pleases you, fastening his movements.

That familiar knot starts to build up in your belly, and you try hard not to roll your eyes, not wanting to miss a single moment of the view.

“Bucky…” you call, finding it harder and harder to breathe. “I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, baby. Let go for me.” He whispers next to your ear, satisfied to feel your tight walls clenching his fingers. “You’re such a good girl. So fucking beautiful in this dress.”

With the fog of pleasure taking over your brain as the words hit your ears, you moan loudly and let the overwhelming feeling consume you. Bucky can’t quite keep himself from grinding against your ass as you drench his fingers with your sweet nectar, whimpering while he fingers you all the way through your orgasm. He watches, grunting in pleasure, as you fight your eyelids from closing, until you can’t control yourself anymore, going limp into his arms and rolling your eyes with relief.

Coming down from the high, you look at him through the mirror, smiling sheepishly as you watch him raise the two fingers he just used to make you come and suck them hungrily, licking until there’s no trace of your orgasm anymore. Finding it hard to decide if he should compose himself and drag both your horny asses to the bar or toss you in bed and keep your legs spread open for him to eat out as he pleases until the morning lights, an idea pops into his head.

“You’re on birth control, right?” He asks. He never fucked you bare before, so he never had to ask, but, well… There's a first time for everything, right?

“I am, why?” You ask, still a little dizzy.

He smirks, then gets you by the waist and tosses you in bed unceremoniously, making you gasp in surprise and then giggle.

“Bucky, we have to go.” You remind him, but give no indication that you’ll get up.

You watch as your boyfriend determinedly undresses himself, unashamedly staring at his built up body. The muscles from his abdomen tightens as he bends down to get rid of his jeans, and you lick your lips seeing his long length being freed, already hard with need.

“Sam’s got time. He can wait.” He answers, using his knees to spread your thighs apart as he positions himself right where he belongs: between them.

You make a motion to undress yourself, but when Bucky realizes what you’re doing, he stops you.

“Keep the dress.” He says, and you lay back.

You feel the coldness of Bucky’s dog tags touch the skin of your chest as he towers over you, using his metal hand to support himself and the flesh one to cup your cheek and caress it with his thumb. His expression turns into a soft one.

“When those guys out there look at you dressed like this…” he teases your over sensitive entrance with his tip, the sensation almost too overwhelming. Almost. “They’ll desire you, baby, and they’ll have no clue that you’re walking around with my cum dripping from this pretty pussy.”

With one swift motion, he enters you, unable to contain the pornographic moan that leaves his lips. You gasp in surprise, both from the lack of a condom and from the fact that Bucky never filled you up so abruptly like this. You’re not complaining, though, as you feel his bare skin stretching your soft walls.

“You like that, baby?” He asks when you raise your hands to his short hair and pull it. “Everyone will see you in this beautiful dress and they won’t even imagine that I just fucked the shit out of you in it.”

Bucky slowly – so slowly – takes his cock out of your hole, leaving just the tip, and sharply enters you again, earning an almost scream from your lips.

“Want them to know…” you manage to say hoarsely “Want them to know I’m yours.”

Your words hit Bucky in an instinctive place of his brain, awakening all those raw feelings of protection and possessiveness inside his subconscious, and he almost finishes then and there. He thrusts into you vigorously once again before answering.

“Oh, they will,” if you had the mind to pay attention, you'd notice his voice just got impossibly lower, “we’ll show them, alright? You and me.”

Bucky loses the ability to make coherent sentences as he feels your walls clenching around him, a sign that you’re already getting close again. Without hesitation, he fastens his movements, losing himself in the feeling of your soft interior.

His thrusts are harsh, but still caring in a way, since you know he’s not doing it to hurt you, but to please you. He kisses you passionately, holding your face and licking the inside of your mouth, because if he's being honest with himself, if you keep almost screaming his name like you were, he might as well not last as long as he needs to make you come again.

You wrap your legs around his waist, the new angle making you feel him even deeper inside your cunt, and he almost loses it when he feels you dragging your heels along his lower back.

With one hand, you scratch his back hard enough to feel his warm blood staining your fingers, growing desperate with the tight knot that’s once again forming inside you. Bucky kisses and bites and licks your neck, not giving a damn about the pain — enjoying it, even. Your other hand goes straight to your clit and you start treating yourself with just the right amount of pressure and speed. The action, of course, doesn’t go unnoticed by Bucky, and he grunts in approval.

The headboard slams into the wall as Bucky feels his movements start to become a little sloppy. “Gonna come.” He says, panting “Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna make you all mine.”

A jolt of electricity travels down your spine, getting you closer and closer to the edge, and you buckle your hips up in excitement.

“Let go, Bucky.” You command, making him roll his eyes. “Fill me up, make me yours.”

“Need you to come first, darlin’. Need to feel you co- Ah” Bucky’s request is interrupted by the loud moan you let out when you finally snap, no longer able to control your second orgasm of the day. He follows you not a long time after, as you can feel his hot seed painting your walls white, and he drops his forehead to your shoulder.

You don’t even have a chance to catch your breath when you feel his thick fingers once again entering your overstimulated pussy. You whimper, holding his wrist.

“Just a little bit, sweetheart,” he coos, “gotta make sure it stays inside.”

You whimper again, but let him do his thing, hearing the squishy noises his fingers make as they shove every drop of his seed all the way up before it slips away. Then he proceeds to get up, put on his clothes and retrieve your panties from the floor.

“Can you lift your legs for me, doll?” He asks, and you obey. “That’s my good girl.”

Bucky slides the piece of lingerie up your legs, until they’re back to their place — securing his cum inside of you — and helps you get up, holding your hips until he’s sure you can still walk.

Just as you were going to comment on the plans you two have, you hear Bucky’s phone ringing from his pocket.

“Hi, Sam.” He answers, staring at you. “We’re on our way. We had a little bit of a… situation.” A playful smirk adorns his lips as he says that. “No, I didn’t make her up, Sam. She’s real, we’re just a little late.”

You chuckle. When Bucky invited you to meet his friend — Bucky calls him a colleague, but you can see by the look on his eyes that he cares about him like a dear friend — Sam Wilson (yes, the Captain America), he warned you Sam would probably question if you’re real, since he can’t believe the “bionic staring machine” could be so charming as to find a girl for himself.

Said staring machine hangs up the phone and gives you a peck on the lips.

“Ready?”

He guides you to the door after you secure him you can walk by yourself, opening it for you like the gentleman he is. However, before you can get out, he stops you.

You look at him questioningly.