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sonofadeanwinchester · 3 years

Text

11pm

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Actress!You

Synopsis: You haven't heard from Sebastian since your night together, but you think of him often. What happens when you're reunited for an interview on Jimmy Kimmel and he tries to apologize for his radio silence?

Warnings: 18+. Mature. Smut. Quickie. Unprotected Sex. Minors, DNI!

A/N: I've been pretty unmotivated recently and have so many fics in the works, but figured I'd have a go at doing a slightly more story-based sequel to 3am! It's a little longer than I had intended. Let me know what you think! Gif is not mine, but if you know the creator let me know so I can credit them!

CHAPTER ONE: 3am

It had been weeks since you and Seb had shared your night together. You hadn’t seen him since; the day after had been a whirlwind, with Seb needing to fly back to New York that morning and you heading to LA with Chris later in the afternoon so you could begin pre-production on your next movie. The memory of your night together lingered on your mind – the thought of his hands running along your sweat-filmed body came to you in the middle of meetings when your mind should be elsewhere, the memory of his lips lingering on yours with the faint taste of champagne still evident filled your mind in the middle of filming a scene causing to you forget your lines and ruin the shot, the whispers of his fingers trailing over you back as he slid off your dress came to you each night when you went to bed, enough to slip your hands under the waistband of your shorts and relive the pleasure. It wasn’t the same though, not by yourself. It was his hands that you longed for, despite only ever having felt them on you once before. It was his eyes, the pupils blown so wide that you could almost not see the crystal blue of his irises, that you saw when you fell over the edge, each night more extreme than the last. But it wasn’t enough.

***

“Good morning,” Seb whispered gently into your ear as you came back to consciousness. Your body was exhausted, limp and aching from the night before, but you were too happy to care. He ghosted a kiss over the bare skin of your shoulder and your eyes inadvertently flickered open, meeting his own.

“Good morning,” you chuckled in reply. He reached forward, moving to plant a gentle kiss on your lips but after the first contact you pulled away. “Morning breath.”

He laughed, throwing his head back against the pillow, his hair seeming darker than normal against the white sheets in the morning light.

“Alright, go brush your teeth then and I’ll order us some breakfast and a coffee?” Your eyes widened at the thought of a coffee – it was exactly what you needed to wake yourself up and prepare yourself for the flight to LA that afternoon. “Go, go, go! I want to kiss those lips again, please.”

You laughed, sliding away from the arms that had been wrapped around you all night, slipping out from under the covers, missing his warmth already. Once you were inside the bathroom you made quick work of brushing your teeth and hopped in the shower, cleaning yourself up from the night before, closing your eyes as you ran your hands over your wet body, pretending that they were his.

You heard a knock at the hotel room door followed by muffled voices, but you assumed that it was simply your room service. With a smile you thought about sitting in bed to eat your breakfast, tucked under Seb’s arm as you drank your coffee; the perfect start to your day.

When you finally turned off the stream of hot water and dried yourself off, wrapping yourself in a warm, cozy towel, you left the bathroom, you wandered back into the hotel room, the thought of croissants almost as sweet as Sebastian’s lips had been flooding your mind. But the hotel was empty, with only the rustled sheets on the bed and a pair of leather shoes placed carefully by the door to suggest that he had been there at all.

You glanced around the room with a frown, grabbing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from your suitcase and pulling them on quickly with a decision to go and find him already forming in your mind. It was then, just as you were sliding your feet into the hotel issued slippers that your phone pinged on the side table, and you reached over to read the message.

Seb: Hey, sorry I disappeared. Shauna came to get me – running late for my flight. I’ll come find you before I go.

You waited, sitting on the edge of the bed, nibbling on the edge of the bagel that Seb had ordered for you, sipping the coffee to wash it down. On the tray beside the food was a small pill and a note in Seb’s handwriting that read, ‘Asked the front desk to bring this for you. Didn’t want to take the risk – S’. You swallowed the pill with a gulp of bitter coffee, and waited. But he never came, and before you knew it you had wasted away your morning staring at the wall waiting for someone who clearly wasn’t coming and you were late for your own flight.

It was at that moment that it occurred to you that perhaps the night before hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to you. Maybe he’d just wanted some fun, and you had been the only one there. But for you it was so much more than that – it had felt like the start of something magical, something that was going to take you to greater heights than you had ever experienced before. Clearly you had been wrong.

***

It was nearing two months since you had seen Seb when you got the call from your publicist that you were scheduled for an interview on Jimmy Kimmel to do promo for ‘Civil War’. Katie, your publicist, had informed you that you wouldn’t be alone on the show, being joined by Chris, Mackie, Paul, and Sebastian. Your stomach jolted at the news that Sebastian would be there, and you had felt a strange sense of nerve course through your body at the thought, something that was a completely foreign feeling to you when it came to Sebastian. You had known him for years, it seemed silly to be so nervous to see him again, but things were different now, and you couldn’t be certain that after months of radio silence he even wanted to see you. There had to have been a reason that he’d disappeared that morning without saying goodbye, that the kisses he had promised you had gone unfulfilled.

You brushed down your dress as you entered through the stage door of the studio where they filmed Jimmy’s show, smiling and waving slightly at the photographers and fans hanging around outside in the brisk evening chill to catch even just a glimpse of one of the Marvel stars.

Once inside Katie hurried you down endless corridors, through various doors, passing by members of staff and crew alike as they frantically tried to prepare for the show, until finally you found yourself outside of your dressing room. A little laminated card pressed onto the front of the door read your name, and Katie bustled you inside without a second thought. You were suddenly left alone in the dressing room. You looked around. You could see a basket of snacks on the table for you and you made your way over, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a sip in an attempt to calm your nerves, checking your lipstick in the mirror afterwards to make sure that the bottle hadn’t smudged it.

There was a gentle knock at the door and you sighed, assuming it was Katie with yet another question or command that you had to follow for the show. When you opened the door just a crack however, it wasn’t Katie’s face that you were met with. Instead you found yourself staring into those icy-blue eyes that you thought you had known so well. Your lips parted slightly in shock, and Seb must have been able to see the surprise on your face because he gently maneuvered you inside the room and closed the door behind him.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, turning around to face you, running a hand through his dark locks that you had once gripped so tightly that you had been surprised you didn’t pull out a handful. “Can we talk, please?”

“What is there to talk about?” You asked quietly, turning away from him, not wanting him to see the pain that you were certain was clearly etched onto your face, visible even through the thick layer of make-up that Katie had insisted you wear for the cameras. “You ghosted me. I think the rest is pretty obvious.”

Despite not looking at him, you could sense his body tense at your words.

“Y/N, I didn’t…” he began, but he trailed off. You risked a glance at his reflection in the mirror and saw that he was running a through his hair again, a nervous trait that you had caught onto right at the beginning of your friendship. He was looking down at his feet, his eyes nervous darting from one foot to the other as he tried to think of the perfect string of words to solidify his explanation. “I didn’t want to ignore you, I just got so busy and before I knew it so much time had passed and it felt wrong to call you then. I’m glad to see you though, I wanted to apologize.”

His hand trailed to the back of his neck, rubbing at the dip where his head connected to his neck slightly as he looked up at you awkwardly, likely knowing that it wasn’t enough for forgiveness. You turned to face him again, taking in his cringed expression. He looked handsome, as he always did – he wore a dark suit with a white shirt and blue tie. Despite having finished filming his hair was still longer, something that you quite liked. Your mind drifted back momentarily to the memory of your fingers tangled in that hair as he threw you to the very brink of pleasure, making you feel things that you had never felt before.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away; now wasn’t the time to get carried away.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Seb,” you said quietly, shrugging slightly as you folded your arms across your chest in an attempt to steady yourself and give you the push of confidence that you needed to not fall to your knees before him. “You really hurt me, you know?”

He nodded slowly, looking down at the ground guiltily. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

It was almost a whisper, and you felt your heart skip a beat, pumping so loudly that you were certain he could hear it. “How can I know that?”

Seb glanced up, his eyes catching yours and for just a second it felt like everything around you melted away; you could see the regret in his eyes, see the pain and the guilt that he was feeling right there, so blatant, interweaving with the blue and grey seas in his irises. You knew that you had forgiven him already – all it took was that one look and you knew that you were his until the end of time, even if he didn’t feel the same way. You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop yourself from falling for him. You had fought it for so many years, but now all you wanted to do was let that feeling consume you, to drown in the blue of his eyes forever, allow him to fill your lungs and pull you down. That was all you wanted.

“5 minute call!” Katie’s voice shouted from the other side of the door and Seb pulled his eyes away from yours, almost unwillingly. You took that as your cue, preparing yourself to leave. Seb caught your wrist gently in his hand, pulling you back from the door.

“Can we not leave it like this, please?” He asked. It seemed almost like a beg, like he was willing for you to pull him into an embrace and tell him that everything was OK, that you could forgive him. But you couldn’t let yourself, not matter how much you wanted to – you felt like you couldn’t trust him. You had given him everything, made him your whole world for that night, and he had left you alone and broken. Even those nights in your room, thinking of no one but him alone, were not enough.

You slipped your wrist from his gentle grip, and left the room, not looking back.

***

You stood squashed in the small ‘elevator’, Mackie standing just in front of you beside Seb, and Paul by your side. You could sense how tense Seb’s body was, could see it in the way that he was carrying his shoulders, and you wondered for a moment if it was simply the nerves of a live show, or if it was because of your conversation earlier. Either one would make sense, but you knew that you needed to focus; you didn’t have time to think or worry about Seb and whether or not you had hurt him.

“Should we bring out the guys?” Jimmy asked enthusiastically.

“Let’s do it!” You heard Chris’ voice.

“Alright, let’s do it!” Jimmy’s voice boomed. “Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Y/N Y/L/N, and Paul Rudd. Come on out guys!”

A moment later the door before you opened and you were met with bright lights glaring down at you, cameras pointed in your direction from every angle, and a packed audience watching your every move, their applause and cheers louder now that the door was open. You took a deep breath and plastered on your best smile, following the others out onto the stage, giving Jimmy a little hug before moving to sit down. Anthony and Paul immediately took a seat on the sofa beside Chris leaving you to sit behind on the wooden chair beside Seb. Chris leaned over the back of the sofa, planting a soft kiss on your cheek with a grin, shaking Seb’s hand as you sat down and the applause began to die out, the loud music that the band had played for your entrance coming to an end.

“Look at this, wow,” Jimmy said with a smile whilst you made yourself comfortable. The chair was too tall for you and you cross your right leg over the other, balancing your left foot on the back of the sofa to steady yourself, beaming across at Jimmy. “So much heroism here, so many great…are you guys like – and I know the answer is probably going to be yes you did hang out together, but was it all business or did you become a real…well Paul this was your first introduction, you guys have each been in a couple of the Captain America movies, two and three. Did they accept you as part of the team?”

“Well, they accepted me. They’re all very nice,” Paul began to answer. “You guys were great. I felt a little though like, you know, almost like they were a fraternity and I was like flounder in Animal House, like Stephen first coming up and saying, you know, you guys playing card?”

“And that’s why we were going to trade him for Scarlett Johansson,” Seb laughed, and Anthony agreed with a nod of his head.

“Oh, was Y/N not enough for you Sebastian?” Jimmy laughed and Seb leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a laugh. His arm snaked its way around your shoulder and you almost fell into his touch, but stopped yourself. You had to remember that you were on live TV, and that you were mad at him, two reasons not to fall for him again.

“Ah, Y/N’s great. You know what, I’m glad she was on our team,” he laughed. Chris nodded firmly, looking over his shoulder to shoot me a winning smile. “I’d pick her over Scarlett any day.”

“Paul on the other hand is on the trading block,” Anthony laughed loudly, causing the audience to chuckle.

“Right, you weren’t able to work that one out?” Jimmy asked, and Anthony shook his head, letting out a rough ‘nah’ in response. You realized that Seb’s arm was still wrapped around your shoulder, and you shrugged ever-so-slightly, subtle enough that it wouldn’t be caught on camera but enough that Seb knew you wanted him to move. Reluctantly, with a glance in your direction, he removed his arm, bringing it to rest over the back of your chair instead – it wasn’t ideal, but it was better.

The interview continued, and you found yourself lost in the questions, answering nearly as quickly as Mackie usually did, making the most of your time there so that you didn’t have to think about Seb. Every so often, when you made a joke you would catch Seb laughing with you, his eyes trained on you as you spoke, and each time it became harder to ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the thought of his eyes on you. Jimmy did his outro ready for the commercial break, and you knew that you had ten minutes to fill before you were back on air and able to ignore him again, with Katie having explained beforehand that the second half of your interview would air after the break and a small pre-recorded segment for the show.

The others began to chat away with Jimmy once the cameras were off, but Seb didn’t join in, instead turning to you, checking first to make sure that his microphone had been temporarily switched off.

“Y/N, please,” he said quietly, not wanting to others to hear what he was saying. His eyes were wide and sorrowful, like a puppy-dog who had been caught chewing its owner’s shoe. His mouth was turned downwards in a frown, his eyebrows knitted together. “I’m sorry, OK? I really am. I can’t apologize enough. That night, it was everything that I wanted. I know I hurt you, and if I could go back and change that, tell myself not to be such a dick, then I would do it in an instant. I can’t deal with the fact that you hate me.”

Your eyebrows raised as you looked at him in surprise. How could he think that? You were mad at him, granted, although you knew that even though you wouldn’t say it you had already forgiven him, but hate him? You could never.

“I don’t hate you.” Your voice was low, lower even than his, desperate to keep this conversation private despite your public location. “That’s the problem, Seb. I could never hate you, that’s why it hurt.”

Seb’s eyes flashed for a moment, and you swore you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. He stood up suddenly, reaching for your hand.

“We’ll be right back,” he turned to Jimmy. “Y/N’s not feeling so well so I’m going to take her to find some water. We’ll be back before the break is over, I promise.”

Sebastian tugged your arm and led you down a quiet corridor. He stopped outside a door, looking from left to right to make sure that the coast was clear, before pulling you inside the small closet.

Within seconds he had you pressed up against the closed door, reaching down to turn the lock so that you weren’t disturbed. He peered down at you, his view roaming your face, lingering on your neck, your lips, before he connected his to them once more. You moaned as you tasted his familiar flavor, this time lacking the champagne but replaced by the peppermint from the gum that he was chewing. He smiled against you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him, nibbling on the tender skin of your bottom lip.

“We’ve only got a few minutes,” he whispered against your mouth. “We have to be quick, OK?”

And quick you were, allowing him to reach down and slip your panties off in one fluid motion as you unbuckled his belt, allowing him freedom from the restraints of his trousers. He groaned as the air hit his length, burying his head in your neck as he pressed little kisses around your collarbone. Within only a second he wrapped his hands around your thighs and hoisted you into the air, delving inside you as you bit back a cry of his name. He hissed at the sensation, biting down on your skin in pleasure, something that caused tingles to float across your chest, heightening your own pleasure.

“Seb, move, please,” you whispered, hot and carefree, not caring that once again you were unprotected or that you had to be back on live TV in such a short amount of time. All you wanted was to feel him, every inch of him, moving in tandem with your own body. You wanted him to feel every ounce of pleasure that he was instilling in you, every thrust of his hips as he began to shift causing your eyes to roll back, your nails gripping tightly to the material of his suit jacket.

It felt like the first time all over again, the passion, attraction, and lust blending perfectly to create an endless stream of moans that escaped from your puckered lips, swollen from his kisses. There was no build up this time, and he started quick and rough, allowing you to wriggle in his grasp to meet his thrusts, hard and fast, hitting the spot that made your mind cloud over every single time. He grunted and gasped in your ear, the only sound that you could focus on.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so good for me,” he whispered, and you felt that familiar coil in your lower stomach tighten. “I promise I’ve got you, darlin’. I promise I’m never letting you go again.”

Each word was punctuated with a thrust, a hit of your spot, and a moan escaping from your parted mouth. He lifted a hand as you grew louder, covering your mouth gently so that no one would hear you, and you allowed yourself to bite down on his finger, not enough to cause him pain, but enough to keep you grounded and stop you from seemingly floating away on the pleasure that you were experiencing.

It only took a few more thrusts and whispers of praises tickling along your neck for you to succumb to the sensation, your legs shaking as your orgasm washed over you, reaching from the tips of your toes to your fogged mind. You swore your vision blurred, and you almost saw stars as you clenched around him, pushing him to the extreme as well as he moaned your name, finishing inside you.

You stayed like that for a moment, both of you simply catching your breath, his face rested in the crook of your neck, your chin perched firmed on the top of his head, running your fingers through his long hair. You knew you had to go back, that the segment before you was likely coming to an end and your publicists would be looking for you everywhere, but you didn’t want to move, enjoying the feeling of him limp against your body, worn out and sweaty, his breath bringing goosebumps across your smooth skin.

But you did move eventually as he unwrapped himself from your grip, moving backwards and fixing his trousers, handing you back your panties which you slid on quickly. There was no time for you to clean yourself up before heading back out, and when he reached his hand out to you, you took it, watching him plant a kiss on your knuckles before leading you back to the set.

You were content, and so it seemed was he. Content with each other, content that this was the start of something, content that you were his and he was yours, and content that when the interview was finished you would be heading home together. With that, you were satisfied.

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sonofadeanwinchester · 3 years

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she goes 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙢 | Bucky Barnes

Inspiration: [BOOM (Feat. DPR IAN) — DPR LIVE] Category: 18+/smut Warning: alcohol, oral sex (f recieving), wall sex (against a bookcase actually but whatever), no protection but yes pills, creampie 4.6k words; Perhaps you were looking way too intensely, but his eyes land on you from across the room, locking you down with his stare and your breath just escapes you. Like he’s physically pulled the air out of your lungs. The way he smirks and tilts his head a fraction to the side doesn’t help. Not at all.

“Behave yourself.” Your father fixes you with a kind but firm look, forcing you up from your phone. He lets out a sigh when you roll your eyes a bit.

“Right, because I’ve always listened to you before. This entire problem of me ‘behaving’ can be solved by just leaving me back home. You know, where I can study for my exam in a week’s time? Final one for the year? Super important? Ring any bells?” You don’t even try to hide the snark in your voice, temper already on its edge from the layers of make-up applied on your face and the slightly too-tight dress over your body. And to drive your frustrations in further, your nails clack against the plastic screen of your phone slightly harder than before, trying to finish the text—more like a paragraph of rant now—to send to your friend. You need to vent.

“Sweetie, please.”

“Ugh. Fine. But I want ice cream later and I’m not going to talk to anyone other than just greetings.” He smiles at your compromise, promising the night won’t be that bad and it’ll wrap up in three to four hours, like you don’t have better things to do in that time.

He gives you a reprimanding glare when you arrive and head towards the front doors of a fucking mansion, telling you to stop dragging your heels against the cobblestone pathway and wipe the bored look from your face. A slight squeeze on the shoulder is his reply when you give him your most fake-sincerest, sickly-sweet smile packed with as much caustic bitterness you can manage. The only thing you’re looking forward to is getting out of the cold weather and into the hopefully warm building. Also getting shitfaced on expensive alcohol and stuffing complimentary snacks into your stomach.

There’s a mingling or whatever they call it going on in the main room that you’re guided into, all unfamiliar faces talking to each other with flutes of champagne in their hands, exchanging pleasantries. A few turns when you walk in behind your father, kissing him on his cheeks and petting him on his back, hellos and how are you’s thrown around. Then, of course, they ‘notice’ you and half demand an introduction, clammy hands coming to grab yours and you barely resist the urge to slap them away. Just make your smile more strained but still polite. You might despise them but you love your dad. They can probably see the insincerity and how uncomfortable you are but do it anyway, just because they can. So fucking annoying.

A few chats and you’re out, hiding in a corner with a flute nursed in your hand, the other on your phone. It doesn’t deter some from coming up to you but talking to your friend about how you’re one step away from sticking your heel into some asshole’s ear always makes things better.

How is it?

Boring So boring I hate it here

That’s the cost of being part of shady businesses

Ugh I didn’t ask to be born into this

I know, babe Hang in there Good news is that when the exam might be pushed back a little bit

For real? Finally something goes my way

Yeah, something about the dean getting caught up in things Scheduling problems? Don’t know It’s not reliable so don’t get too excited

Wow you really popped my bubble like that The terrible night somehow gets worse

Hey now You’re in a room full of rich guys No one catch your fancy to ogle for the night? Even for a distraction?

No All way out of my age range Or gross

Oh boo Nothing else cheering you up?

Champagne Really good champagne How much do you think I need to drink to pass out and forget this night

Not advisable, babe Don’t even try

Fuck I hate it here When you regularly drink so much it’s a chore getting drunk now-

You reap what you sow

You can’t even reply to that because he’s correct, as he is all the time. Instead, you finish off the remaining drops of the champagne and scan the floor for a waiter to pluck another glass off of—or maybe even a whole bottle if your dad’s not looking—but your line of sight freezes on a newcomer, tall and dark and handsome.

He’s young, which is the first surprise. The entire room is filled with men all over fifty in the least, excluding the waiters who can barely manage to look at you. Some are wizened and their hair is flecked with grey that they couldn’t mask with hair dyes, fingers knobbly, stretched out stomachs and backs bent if you look closely. But the new guy. He looks like he can be a model, take on the cover of Vogue on his first photoshoot and probably make it sell out in record time. Back straight, bright blue eyes, five o’clock shadow, soft-looking brown hair coiffed back, widest shoulders you’ve ever seen and that’s including every guard who’s ever worked for your family. The suit fits him perfectly, maybe half a size small at how his shirt buttons strain every time he breathes or laughs, and fuck he looks delicious. A whole meal walking and you’ve never realised how good your sight is before this moment.

Perhaps you’re looking way too intensely, but his eyes land on you from across the room, locking you down with his stare and your breath just escapes you. Like he’s physically pulled the air out of your lungs. The way he smirks and tilts his head a fraction to the side doesn’t help. Not at all.

Trying to play it off as cool as you can, you flag down a waitress and restock on the alcohol, basically chugging it down to cool the rising heat from your stomach and chest. Maybe the alcohol is the one causing it, but if you keep drinking then you’ll get a wicked hangover, hate yourself in the morning, and move on. Hopefully not even remember that you got caught sneaking glances—read: staring—at the Hot Guy. The burning doesn’t stop so you turn back to Jamie.

Kill me I’m so fucking embarassed

Well that’s not the greatest opener I’m sure everything is fine Wait did you throw up on someone’s shoes Because if so, yeah, you’re fucked

NO I’m not drunk yet I sure hope I will be by the end of this though

Not supporting alcoholism What’s wrong then

This new guy came in Super hot Built like a god I think he’s like 100% muscle

Did you punch him?

NO Listen!

My bad, go on

I was checking him out and he caught me

Ooft That’s not that bad

He SMIRKED at me Like Eye contact Then he smirked Like he knew I was going to check him out

Well you did, didn’t you?

Shut up don’t remind me Fuck when can my dad drag my corpse away from this massive fucking house

Never Because you’re not dying here Where is he now?

You peek up from the screen with the greatest timing in the world, just in time to see him walk up to you with a drink in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket. Half swaggering his way up to you. On any other guy it would look lame and tacky but he somehow makes it cocky and natural and hot as fuck, and it should be illegal how that makes you react—thighs clenching together imperceptively under the dress, warmth radiating in your lower stomach and the tell-tale signs of your sex becoming wet. But can you honestly not react this way when he looks like that?

Oh fuck he’s coming towards me Welp I’m going to die from embarrassment See you in the afterlife I’ll save a seat for you

Kind of don’t want it Hey, either you get shitfaced or you get fucked by the stranger You’d like any of the endings

That’s true You’re so smart Jamie the next Einstein

You would have noticed this by now if you were clear headed Drink water and don’t have irresponsible sex

Still on the pills

Good Have fun getting dick Will be here for updates and comfort if it fails tragically Bye babe

Bye

Your message delivers and the phone clicks off just in time as Hot Guy sits down beside you, twirling the glass in his hand. You pretend to notice him—thank god or anything up there that you’re good at acting when it matters—and give him a polite smile, one that he reciprocates.

“James. Everyone calls me Bucky, though. You?”

“[Name]. Bucky?” He shrugs, taking a sip from his glass. There’s something boyish about him, especially now you can pin a name to his face and even more so because Bucky is such an odd nickname, so juvenile for a person who looks like he can take on every single person in the room without breaking a sweat. Might even be able to do it with one arm behind his back, just yawning his way through knocking down everyone.

“You don’t look like you like it here.” He leans in, voice low and dragging itself along the skin of your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. This guy is seriously ticking all the sex fantasy boxes with such ease.

Second surprise is how good he smells. It’s half suffocating in the lounge, not only because of how much you don’t want to be here but also because of everyone’s heavy and overused cologne mixing together, creating a bomb of confusing smells which is not at all pleasant. His, on the other hand, is light, somehow homey and recognisable, carving its way up your nose and taking residence in your memory. It smells like him, probably because he’s the one wearing it but the meaning is more along the lines of ‘only he is suitable for this scent, it’s like it was concocted just for his use’. You barely pull your head out from admiring his scent of all things in time to respond within an acceptable amount of time.

“It’s stuffy here. Too many people in such a small room.” He chuckles and nods, taking another drink. The clanking of ice provides you with something to ground your mind here and not make a complete idiot out of yourself. “Come on, then. We have a bit of time until the meeting. How does sneaking out of here sound like?” A mischievous grin blooms on your face and that’s enough of an answer for him. Bucky finishes his drink off and gets onto his feet, hand reaching out to pull you up. He makes sure you’re steady on your feet but doesn’t pull back, thumb caressing over the back of your hand. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he kisses your knuckle, his lips barely touching, and fuck that should be cringy and overused and ancient but your traitorous heart lurches and pounds faster, louder at the act. And from the way he grins at you, mouth still so close to your skin so that you feel every exhale, he can hear it over the chatters.

He drags you to a staircase away from the room, up against the walls to hide in the shadows and places a finger against his lips to tell you to shush, most likely due to your heels clacking against the wooden floor. To be fair, you’re not the one who chose this one. It might be the alcohol talking—it most definitely is—but this situation hilarious; a two grown adults sneaking around in the dark corners of the house, head poking out to see if there’s anyone nearby and trying to smother each other’s giggles with sharp hisses of shhhh but failing miserably. Maybe he’s kind of tipsy as well.

He stops in front of a thick and intricately designed door, clicking the lock open as you drag your fingers into the grooves and admire them. Inside is a study room looking place, two walls lined from floor to ceiling with packed bookshelves and a wooden desk right in front of the window. The room is drenched in a warm golden hue from the lights and it’s like you’ve been taken to another place entirely, away from the politics of the criminal world and into a safe room that’s been adored for years. Your mouth parts as you walk around the room, fingers trailing along the book spines and muttering their names under your breath. You only notice Bucky’s still here when you catch sight of him in your peripherals. He seems to be enjoying the view.

“Have to say the house is nice. Mahogany furniture, good lighting. Rugs are a bit weird though.”

“I’ll make sure to pass the message along to the boss.” Boss. Of course he’s part of the mafia, he’s wearing a suit that looks like it goes above a couple thousand dollars easily, a shiny gold watch on his wrist and tattoos peeking out from underneath his shirt collar. (Kinda hot— fuck.) What else could he be? The alcohol hasn’t made you drunk yet but it made you a couple of degrees slower than you should be. Jamie was right when he said you shouldn’t drink too much. A groan escapes you before you even notice and one of his brows—perfectly styled, how is this man real—rises up at the noise. “Something wrong?”

“Not wrong,” you reply, hopping onto the desk and letting your legs dangle, palms flat against the surface. Very sturdy desk, the horny part of your mind chimes in. You beat it back with a stick and breathe in deeply, trying to calm yourself. He leans onto one of the bookshelves opposite of you, thick arms crossed across his chest and basically radiating sex vibes. “Don’t really like associating myself with you guys.”

“Us guys?” There’s a tinge of incredulity in his voice, a scoff like he can’t believe you would reduce him to such a label. You shrug in response, swinging your legs and smoothing out the dress. “Don’t like the business?”

“Not really, you guys aren’t the nicest bunch.”

“I’m not nice?” The voice is way too close and you snap your head up to come face to face with him—how the fuck did he get over here without a sound—with his palms splayed out on either side of you, head tilted to the side like before. He’s pouting, something that shouldn’t look that good on an adult, much less him, looking up at you with those perfect blue eyes of his and you sober up instantly, mind going into hyperdrive at what’s about to come. If you’re going to fuck this man, you’re going to do it with a clear mind, remember every bit of it. Instant metabolism of alcohol is surely achievable, right?

“Um, not really. No offence.” He drags his lips up along your jawline, nibbling on your earlobe and your heart spikes without a hesitation, warmth blooming everywhere. Okay, now you’re definitely wet.

“How about we forget that then? I’ll just be James tonight, just little ol’ me. Can you associate with me then?” He whispers into your ear, hand sliding onto your thighs and caressing the skin underneath the dress. His voice somehow gets deeper, half-crooning with promises of everything you want. A voice in the back of your head warns you of something that you can’t hear because his eyes are enchanting, seeing through you and you’ve made plenty of bad choices in the past but this really doesn’t look like it’s going to be one of those. Even looks like it’s going to be one of the best ones you ever make.

“Depends on how well you fuck me, doesn’t it?” You whisper back and he immediately latches his lips onto yours, gripping you by the back of your neck with a gentle firmness and god it feels nice. Tongue hot and thick and trying to pull your consciousness away, hand sliding up underneath the dress to come rest on your hips, stroking the jutted-out bone of your pelvis. He disappears, the clinking of his belt buckle replacing the sound of your moans.

“Ah. Stop right there.” You place one foot onto his chest, pushing him back and lower to the ground. On his knees, right between your legs, fingers gripped tightly around your ankles and basically digging into your bones, leaving their imprint there. Something flickers in his eyes, something primal and barely restrained. “Be a good boy for me?”

He lets out a groan, head leaning back with his eyes fluttering shut. Then he’s right back, leaving bruises on your thighs and trailing up to your sex, mouthing against the soaked spot on your panties, nudging your clit through the fabric with his nose.

“Don’t rip it.” You warn, because you can see the thought running through his mind, see the twitch in his finger as they inched closer to the band. He scrunches his nose in response, like a goddamned child, then pulls away just long enough to tug the offending lingerie off, throwing it over his shoulder and reattaches his lips. His tongue delves into your folds, tasting the sweet saltiness and lathering your walls with his spit even though it’s pointless because you’re soaked, juice spilling out more than ever before but he keeps at it, licking and drinking you up like he’s a man starved and you’re the finest ambrosia.

He moves up to your clit, chin glimmering in the light, sucking the nub and making you shriek at how good he is, how effortlessly he’s pulling the control and strength from your grasp. The light dims momentarily and your heart feels about two sizes too big for your chest, pulsing against the fat on your chest and trying to break out of its cage. Your hand slips off the edge of the desk, sending your upper body down back onto the hard surface, the pain forgotten immediately because fuck, you’ve never had a better head than this.

You pull up the end of the dress up to your hips with trembling fingers, locking your legs around his back. He glances up at you, still nursing the sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling strings of curses and moans. He taps on the side of your knee, calling your attention through the deliriousness. When you meet his stare, the edges of his eyes crinkle with a wolfish grin as he thrusts two fingers in, deliciously thick and stretching you out way too much.

“Fuckin’ asshole, ah—” Your hands find purchase in his hair, messing up the coiff as you grind against his fingers, forcing them to go deeper, to chase the high that’s right in front of you.

“You’re going to be glad I’m doing this later, darlin’. Tryna help you here.” He twists and coils his fingers, mapping out your insides—the soft and spongy parts, the spots that make you keen and cry out—knowing where to press and torture like he’s done this a thousand times before. Your back arches with a gasp and all of a sudden your legs lock around his head, trembling at the rush of euphoria and the heat of a thousand suns burning below your skin. It’s like your mind is thrown up into the stratosphere then slammed back into the ground in a flash, knocking you half unconscious in the best way possible.

There’s not a wisp of energy left anywhere in your body when you subside from your climax, thighs left on his shoulders and head placed on the table. The most you can do is try to keep your eyes open and hope your body cools down.

“'I'm not done with you yet.” A startled yelp rips out of you as he heaves you up into his arms, gripping the swell of your ass and slamming you against the bookshelf, mouth back on yours. It’s tangy and weird and you never did this before—kiss someone after they’ve eaten you out so thoroughly and so well—but holy shit, if he doesn’t make it hot. His cock slides in but snags every centimetre and he was right. You’re so glad he stretched you out first otherwise you would have been crying and pushing him away every time he tried to thrust in. It still burns and you’re still raw from the orgasm just a minute ago, but it’s just enough for you to withstand the initial pain and sink into the following pleasure.

Whimpers and begs of please, please move are drowned out by his deep growl, one of his hands coming to slam onto the frame next to your head, gripping it so hard you swear you hear the wood cracking under his palm. The thought of him using that on you—wrapping his hand around your neck and squeezing, cutting the blood and oxygen off until you teeter on the edge—makes your pussy tighten around him, gasps heaving out. He lets an appreciative but strained chuckle.

You’re a mess. Straps of your dress halfway down your arms, the back of it stained with your slick, hair ruined beyond recognition and even without looking at a mirror, you can tell that the rose pink lipstick forced onto you is smudged all over. Some of it even got on him; you can see the subtle tinge if you concentrate whenever he detaches himself from you to take in gulps of air. But he’s still wearing his suit, the tie and the jacket and all, probably sweating under there because you can see beads of it trailing down his temple, and it’s unfair. You’re wrecked and dishevelled but he could walk right out after zipping himself up and no one would know he was fucking your brains out.

Vindictiveness gets the better of you. Being on unequal footings is never something you liked or tolerated, and just because he’s the best lay you’ll ever have doesn’t mean he gets a free pass. It’s tricky, what with your fingers being all trembly and your body being thrown off-balance with every snap of his waist, but you make do and untangle the knot of his tie, chucking it wherever and ripping his shirt, making the buttons fall with small clinks, barely perceptible beyond the rhythmic thudding of your body against the bookshelf.

Oh, you were right. He’s just pure muscle, his biceps the size of your thighs and flexing every time he lifts you up to drop you back down, pecs and sides and arms decorated with black ink and you have no idea why it’s so hot. Just scraping your nails against the design makes your world spin and oh shit, is this a new kink? Because you can definitely get behind that right now with him scrambling your insides up. His mouth skims across your collarbone, the junction from your neck to your shoulder, leaving blossoms of heat from the suckled skin. You bite marks onto unmarred sections of his skin, making it splotchy with red all over. That is, until he drives so deep that you lose control of your body.

“Ah! Mh, fuck— so good, you’re so good, James. Harder, pretty please—”

Maybe you’re too loud, maybe your voice is travelling out of the cracks in the door and alerting the people downstairs—your dad, his partners, their wives, poor teenagers who are trying to work part-time—of how well Bucky is screwing you into oblivion, but you can’t hear it over the lewd squelching of your fluids every time he snaps his hips up and connects the head of his cock against that perfect patch of sensitive skin to turn your vision black and white. The cries and writhing tell him exactly where he found.

“God, you’re so fucking tight, you’re choking me, doll.” Hands firmly on your thighs, he rams himself to that spot over and over, like it’s his sole reason for living, watching your eyes roll back, tongue sticking out, limbs twitching at the assault of ecstasy. There’s nothing in your brain anymore, no comprehensible thoughts or anything minutely similar, just his name, just James spilling off of your lips as if it’s a spell that’s going to push you off the precipice.

“‘m close, so close— cum in me, on the pill—” Those three words, sighed out urgently like you crave it, crave him, makes him snap and bury himself in you to the absolute hilt, your pelvis over his and you flex around him, leaning into the climax and milking him dry, sucking him in. He’s gone, squirting ropes of his seed deep inside, holding you there and forcing you to feel how much you’re getting filled up, how full he can make you.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking hot baby, so perfect.” He groans into your neck, bumping his nose into your jaw and placing butterfly kisses there. Barely touching you but even that feels like too much right now.

It’s like that for a while; you’re stuck in his arms, trembling and fluttering against him, attempting to get your breath back.

He slips out eventually and globs of cum follow, sliding out and down along the insides of your thighs. He watches the milky liquid travel against the soft cushiness of your thighs and groans, knocking his forehead to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth. From the pressure of his hands against your waist, you can guess he’s getting ready to go again. As much as you would love for a round two or round three or whatever, the overstimulation is making your sight fuzzy and one more of this sex might put you out of commission for good. He whines—fucking whines—when you push him back, pouting and all, but tucks himself back into his pants. Then looks at the floor, at the white buttons strewn all over the place, and sends a glare that he doesn’t mean your way. You can only shrug with your tongue stuck out.

“Oops. Find it in your heart to forgive me?” He shakes his head with a chuckle, helping you clean yourself up, combing your hair into a semi-presentable state. Everything about you screams I just had sex when you check your appearance on your phone, but it’ll have to do. Hopefully no one will pay attention to you when you step out, occupied in their meeting or something.

“Wait, don’t you have to be part of that meeting? I think it started already.” It’s quiet outside, the voices all gone and so is the laughter. Not even glasses clinking together.

“Nah, darlin’. It doesn’t start unless I’m there. And I think they can wait just a bit more.” Bucky’s brushing his hair back when you look over at him, opening the door, his body uncovered without a care in the world. “C’mon, doll. Let’s get you home. Need you safe if I’m ever going to see you again.” His hand is reaching out for you.

He’s still dripping out from your core, the trails hidden underneath the dress. This entire thing was in serious violation of your no fucking mafia dudes rule, the one you’ve had ever since you turned legal, the one promise that you haven’t ever broken.

But he’s right there, he’s right there, hands open with palm up, one brow quirked up to ask are you coming?, fluffy and unkempt hair with puffed out lips because you were being brutal. He’s cute and hot and might just be worth making an exception. Just once. Just for him.

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