#Prompt table Word Count

[shokocide]

LAW OF ATTRACTION - GOJO SATORU

summary. Newton said the smaller the distance, the stronger the pull. Gojo Satoru thinks that explains the way he feels when you’re close.

word count. 18.2k (i need help)

content. mdni, fem!reader, college au, nerd! gojo, simp gojo supremacy, fluff, banter, tensionnnn, pet names, he's so down bad it's actually pathetic, teasing, smut, male mast., oral (male + fem rec), cum eating, face sitting, p in v, mating press, slight hair pulling, praise, swearing, light dumbification (just a lil), tit play, overstim, creampie, aftercare, pillow talk

author's note. fashionably late (?) to the trend BUT HERE WE ARE

Gojo Satoru is already arguing with the professor.

The classroom smells like coffee and too-new textbooks, the kind of sterile atmosphere that clings to the first week of university. Half the students aren’t even paying attention yet, still easing into the rhythm of things. But not him.

Gojo stands tall near the front, hands in the pockets of his pressed slacks, sweater vest and button-up perfectly in place, thick-rimmed glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose. His snowy hair is perfectly messy, his posture relaxed—almost bored.

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, voice smooth and annoyingly self-assured, “you can’t talk about general relativity without at least addressing gravitational time dilation. Not if you want to keep your credibility.”

There’s a beat of silence. Someone in the back stifles a laugh.

The professor straightens her notes. “We’ll get there, Gojo.”

“Sure,” he says, unbothered, but there’s a glint in his cerulean eyes. “But isn’t it a little irresponsible to feed undergrads simplified versions of reality? We’re not children.”

“You’re barely adults,” the professor mutters under her breath.

And just when it seems like he’s winding up for another volley—another casually devastating critique that’ll make the professor’s eye twitch—the door opens with a quiet creak.

“Sorry I’m late.”

The room stills.

You step inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunlight catching in your hair like some perfectly staged movie scene. You aren’t frazzled or apologetic—just calm, composed, like this is your class and everyone else is simply borrowing space in it.

Gojo turns. And forgets how to speak.

He doesn’t recognize you even though he’s memorized everyone’s faces during the orientation. But yours is unfamiliar. Distractingly so. And in that moment, standing half-turned at the front of the classroom, he is completely, totally, undeniably wrecked. His mouth parts slightly. No sound comes out.

The professor clears her throat. “Try to be on time next class.”

You nod easily. “Of course. Won’t happen again.”

Gojo’s eyes follow you as you make your way to an empty seat—his row. The one he claimed early on for optimal note-taking and strategic interruption placement. And of course, because the universe clearly enjoys watching him suffer, you pick the seat right beside his.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t sit. Just watches as you settle in beside him and flip open your notebook like nothing’s happened. Like you didn’t just reset the laws of gravity around his universe.

“Gojo?” the professor prompts from the front.

He startles. “Huh? Oh—yeah. I mean, yes. Sorry.”

Silence stretches as the lecture resumes. Gojo Satoru’s foot bounces beneath the desk. His fingers twitch like they want to scribble something but forgot how pens work.

He chances a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You’re taking notes, completely unfazed. Like you haven’t just walked into his orbit and thrown everything off-axis.

-

It’s quiet in the library. The kind of quiet that almost feels sacred, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper or the soft click of a keyboard. You’re tucked away at a corner table, head down, headphones in, completely immersed in your reading.

Gojo spots you the moment he steps in. He hadn’t meant to come here—physics homework was the last thing on his mind today—but the second he saw you seated, that changed. Suddenly, he’s very interested in gravitational lensing and quantum field theories.

He chooses the table diagonally across from yours. Not directly opposite—that would be too obvious. But just close enough that he can sneak glances without it being weird. Probably.

He flips open a textbook. Doesn’t read a single word. Just peeks at you over the top of the page like a little nerdy menace in disguise. Every time you adjust your hair or furrow your brows or smile faintly at something you read, it’s like he’s been hit in the chest. Repeatedly.

Then you look up.

He freezes. Straightens up. Pretends to be deeply fascinated by a diagram of a particle collider. You blink. Tilt your head a little. Then—you pull your headphones out. “Gojo Satoru, right?”

He almost drops his pen. “Uh—yeah. That’s me.”

“You’ve been staring at page fifteen for like… twenty minutes.”

He blinks. Looks down at his book. Flips it to page thirty-seven. “Right. Yeah. That’s, uh—intentional.”

You smile. “Sure it is.”

He wants to melt into the carpet.

You go back to your notes, sliding your headphones on again like it’s nothing. But that smile doesn’t leave your face. And Gojo’s certain he’ll be thinking about it for the rest of the week.

-

You're sitting under the tree near the physics building, nose buried in your laptop, headphones on, pretending you don’t feel someone staring at you. You do. Of course you do.

You glance up. He’s there.

Gojo, the cocky know-it-all from class. Still in that damned sweater vest, hair all floofy like he just rolled out of a nap and somehow made it fashion. He’s holding a coffee cup with one hand and awkwardly adjusting his glasses with the other, pretending like he just happened to pass by. He absolutely did not.

You blink. He panics.

“Oh. Uh—hey,” he says, and it comes out a little too loud, a little too fast, like his vocal cords staged a mutiny the second your eyes met.

You slide your headphones down. “Hi.”

There’s a long pause. He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, eyes flicking everywhere but your face now. “You, uh… You always sit here?”

You raise an eyebrow. “During this exact 30-minute window between classes? Yeah. Kinda my thing.”

“Oh,” he says, and laughs—nervously. “Coolcoolcool. I just—uh. I just thought you looked like someone who enjoys differential equations under tree shade.”

You squint. “You’re making fun of me.”

“What? No! I—I do that too. All the time. Big tree guy. Huge… leaf enjoyer.”

There’s a beat of silence. You bite back a laugh. “You good?”

“I was,” he mumbles, almost to himself, then louder: “Yeah! I’m totally—so good. Amazing, even.”

You give him a look. He clears his throat and tries again. “Listen, I didn’t get your name earlier, and that’s kind of a crime in several countries, probably. So…”

You pause, then finally tell him.

He repeats it under his breath like a prayer. “Pretty.”

You tilt your head at him, teasing. “So… was there a reason you were looking at me in class? Or is staring at people just part of your regular schedule?”

He flinches. Like, visibly. Adjusts his glasses again even though they’re already perfectly in place. “Staring is a strong word.”

“You choked on air.”

He groans, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “Okay—yeah, that… may have happened. But in my defense, I didn’t know I was capable of being that flustered until you walked in.”

Your eyebrows lift. “You were flustered?”

“Fatally,” he replies without missing a beat. “It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire academic career. And I once accidentally called a professor ‘dad’ in front of the entire cohort, so.”

You snort. “No you didn’t.”

“Unfortunately, I did. That man never looked at me the same again.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. There’s something kind of charming about the contrast—how sharp and smug he is in the lecture hall, then how weirdly dorky he gets the second he talks to you.

Gojo notices the smile. He lights up. “That’s a win, right?” he grins. “That counts as a win?”

You roll your eyes. “Barely.”

“Still counts,” he sings, rocking back on his heels. “You like coffee?”

You blink. “That’s random.”

“I just thought—maybe next time I bring one, I could bring you one too. You know. If we’re both going to be professionally loitering under this tree during our thirty-minute window.”

You pretend to think about it. “What kind?”

“Whatever kind makes you smile again.”

You pause. Okay. That was smooth.

You look away, just for a second, to hide the grin threatening to take over your whole face.

“You’re annoying,” you mutter.

He beams. “You’re not the first to say that.”

You part ways not long after, the building just a few steps ahead, and Gojo’s still standing where you left him—hands in his pockets, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, hair gleaming like spun silver in the sunlight.

You steal one last glance as you walk away, and—yep. He’s still watching you.

Still smiling like he knows something you don’t.

And just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you hear his voice call after you: “By the way, if you keep looking at me like that, I will ask for your number next time!”

You don’t turn around. You can’t. Your cheeks are already on fire.

But he laughs, bright and victorious, and you know he saw the way you tripped on the curb a second later. Cocky bastard.

And yet… you’re smiling the whole walk to class.

-

You’re seated a few rows back this time. Thought it might help with the whole not staring directly at Gojo Satoru like he invented astrophysics problem.

It doesn’t.

Not when he’s in his usual seat up front, one leg crossed over the other, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he’s here to work. Glasses low on his nose. A pen between his fingers that he keeps spinning—casually, like it’s no big deal he’s also kind of stupidly good at everything.

The professor drones on at the front of the room, explaining quantum field theory, but you’re only half-listening.

Because Gojo raises his hand. Again.

“Actually, that’s not entirely accurate,” he says, voice way too smooth for a know-it-all. “If you factor in the renormalization group flow, the outcome shifts entirely. I can show you if you want.”

She blinks. “I… well. That’s a fair point, Gojo.”

He grins, leans back like he didn’t just out-nerd a tenured physicist, and then—then—he looks at you. Like he knows you’re watching.

And you are. You so are.

Gojo tilts his head slightly, mouth curling into that infuriating little smirk as he mouths: Impressed yet?

You look away instantly.

You are. You’re very impressed. Unfortunately. But you’re not gonna let him know that. Not yet.

So instead, you raise your hand. And when the professor calls on you, you challenge his answer.

Gojo looks like you just proposed.

-

Class ends and students start filing out, a low murmur of backpacks zipping and chairs scraping filling the air. You’re casually packing up your things, pretending not to notice the way someone is lingering by the door.

He should’ve left already. But no—he’s leaning against the wall like it’s a conscious choice, not that he’s waiting for you or anything. Totally not that.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head out. You don’t even get five steps into the hallway before you hear—

“So…”

You turn.

Gojo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, lips parted like he’s still catching his breath. His glasses are a little crooked. Probably because he’s been running that hand through his hair again. He straightens up when you face him.

“That was… impressive,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, really impressive.”

You smile. “Thanks. You were good too, by the way.”

He blinks. “Good? I—good? That’s it?”

“Yup.” You start walking. “Try harder next time.”

There’s a pause. And then he jogs up beside you, looking equal parts offended and delighted. “Oh, okay. So that’s how it is?” he teases, grinning. “You’re one of those girls.”

“What girls?”

“The ones who enjoy crushing the academic dreams of sweet, helpless nerds like me.”

You give him a look. “Helpless?”

“Devastatingly,” he says, deadpan.

You snort. “You literally made a PhD cry last week.”

“She recovered.”

“You sent her a fruit basket.”

“See? I care.”

You try to hold back your laughter but fail miserably, and he lights up like you just handed him the Nobel Prize.

You turn the corner toward the next building, Satoru trailing beside you like a very tall, mildly wounded puppy.

He’s oddly quiet—hands still shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking your way every few seconds like he’s waiting for a verdict. It's kind of adorable.

You stop walking. “Come on,” you say, already veering toward the campus café. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Satoru blinks. Twice. “L-like… like a date?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Woah there. Hold your horses, bud. I’m doing it so maybe you’ll stop moping around.”

He gasps—actually gasps—hands flying to his chest in mock offense. “I am not moping!”

“You literally sighed ten times during that walk.”

“I was brooding. It’s different.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You pouted when I said you were just ‘good’ in class.”

“I’m a sensitive soul!”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But charming,” he says quickly, catching up to walk beside you again, shoulder bumping yours. “Undeniably charming.”

You hum, lips twitching. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He grins, all pearly teeth and pretty-boy smugness, practically floating now. And just as you're about to step into the café, you hear him mutter something behind you, half to himself—

“I’m so gonna make you fall in love with me.”

You turn slightly. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” he chirps, already holding the door open for you like a gentleman. “Ladies first!”

-

He watches you from the tiny round table by the window, chin propped in his hand, glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. You’re standing at the counter, reading over the menu with a furrow between your brows like you’re solving quantum equations instead of choosing between oat milk or soy.

He could watch you forever. Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little creepy—but in that dumb, enamored kind of way where even the way you tap your fingers against the counter makes his heart do this weird flip.

You step up, voice soft but certain when you order. Vanilla latte, extra shot, light foam.

He files it away instantly. Vanilla. Extra shot. Light foam. He’s going to remember that forever. He could write a thesis on it.

Your name is called, and he watches the way your eyes crinkle a little when you thank the barista. When you turn around, drinks in hand, and start walking back toward him, he panics—because suddenly he’s hyper-aware of how dumb he must look just staring.

He quickly looks down at his phone screen, pretending to scroll through something important. It’s literally just his calculator app open from earlier. Nothing’s calculated. 

You slide his drink toward him when you sit. He doesn’t even care what it is. You could’ve handed him gasoline and he would’ve sipped it happily.

“Thanks,” he says casually—way too casually for someone whose brain short-circuited the moment you looked at him.

And then you take a sip of yours, and he blurts it out without thinking:

“You’re sweet.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He clears his throat. “The drink, I mean. It’s sweet.”

Smooth. So smooth.

You squint at him suspiciously. He hides behind his cup and takes a sip.

You're mid-sip of your latte when he says it—completely out of nowhere, eyes locked on you like he's trying to memorize your entire existence.

"You're kinda pretty when you’re annoyed, y’know?"

You almost choke. "What?"

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm, grinning like he just cracked the code to the universe. “Just an observation. Purely academic.”

"You’re impossible," you mutter, eyes darting away—and he sees it, the blush creeping up your neck.

And that’s it. That’s his victory.

He leans back in his chair, smug as hell. “You're blushing.”

"I'm not."

“Oh no, don’t worry. I think it’s cute,” he says, like it’s a fact in a textbook.

You throw a sugar packet at him. He dodges with a laugh.

"You trying to kill me? And here I thought this was a date."

You give him a look. “It’s not a date.”

He shrugs, grabbing your drink and stealing a sip like it is. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You snatch your cup back, but it’s too late—he’s already smacked his lips like a wine critic.

“Are you always this annoying?” you ask, sipping your drink now.

He shrugs. “Only when I like someone.”

You freeze for half a second. And he sees that too.

Your voice is careful, teasing but cautious. “So you like me now?”

He hums, looking away dramatically, as if he’s pondering some great cosmic truth. “I don’t know… Maybe. You’re cute when you’re flustered. And when you’re mean to me. And when you roll your eyes. And—”

“Okay, stop.”

“Nope. You gave me coffee. I’m powered up now. Can’t shut me up.”

You groan, slumping in your seat with the most dramatic expression you can manage.

He grins wide, and that smug sparkle in his eyes softens, just a bit. “But seriously,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like talking to you.”

And that shuts you up for a beat.

You meet his eyes again, and this time, there’s no teasing, no cocky grin—just sincerity, wrapped in dorky charm. “…I like talking to you too,” you admit, soft.

And just like that, he lights up all over again.

-

You both exit the café, coffees in hand, the air warmer than before but still crisp. The sun’s out, and so is Gojo’s smile—until you stop at the sidewalk and glance down at your phone.

“Shit,” you mutter. “I’ve got class right now.”

His face drops instantly. “Wait—already? But I haven’t even finished annoying you yet.”

You laugh, nudging his arm with your elbow. “You’ve done plenty in the last thirty minutes, trust me.”

He exhales dramatically, shoulders sagging as he pouts. “This is tragic. A real loss for humanity.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“But I miss you already,” he says. “Who’s gonna listen to my unfiltered genius now?”

You raise a brow, backing away slowly. “I’m sure you’ll find a new victim. See you, Gojo.”

“Wait—wait, when do I see you again?” he calls after you, half-joking, half-not.

You shoot him a smile over your shoulder. “You’ll live.”

And as you disappear into the crowd, he just stands there for a moment, lips pressed together, watching you go.

“…No I won’t.”

-

You don’t think much of it when Gojo catches up to you outside the lecture hall again. He’s chatty as usual, teasing you about your keychain, dramatically proclaiming how he almost tripped over a squirrel on the way here, all while walking a half-step closer than necessary. Same old Gojo stuff.

You head toward your usual seat, a few rows back from the front—just enough distance to not get called on every two minutes. You’re used to watching him breeze right past, to the very first row, like he’s the poster boy for "overachiever of the year."

So when you slide into your seat and Gojo casually takes the one right next to you, backpack dropping with a thud at his feet, you do a double take.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

He only shrugs, flashing that annoyingly pretty smile. “Just felt like switching it up today.”

You’re not the only one caught off guard. A few students glance over and someone even nudges their friend like this is newsworthy.

Because Gojo Satoru doesn’t switch it up. He’s the guy who color codes his notes and brings a backup calculator. But now he’s here, sitting so close that his knee bumps yours beneath the table and stays there.

You try to focus when class begins—but it's hard when he's right there beside you, radiating warmth. Every now and then, his fingers graze your thigh beneath the desk—casual, like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

You don’t look at him. But you know he’s grinning. And just when you're starting to think this can’t get more distracting—

“Before we end today,” the professor says, “I’m assigning a group project. Pairs, selected at random.”

Your stomach sinks. You glance at Gojo, who’s already turned toward the front again, fingers drumming lightly on the desk. Like he knows.

You hear names being rattled off. A list of partnerships. Then—

“And lastly, Gojo Satoru and…” A pause. “You.”

Silence. You blink. Gojo leans back with a loud, satisfied sigh and stretches his arms behind his head.

“Oh no,” you mutter, already dreading what’s coming.

“Oh yes,” he says, grinning so wide it should be illegal.

-

You step out of the lecture hall with Gojo hot on your heels, practically bouncing with excitement. He’s still beaming about the professor’s decision like he just won the lottery.

“This is fate,” he says, catching up to walk beside you. “We’re gonna be the best pair in that class. I mean, you’ve got the brains and the beauty, and I’ve got the everything else.”

You snort. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” He adjusts the strap of his backpack with dramatic flair. “This is the beginning of a legendary academic alliance.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “So, when do we start this legendary alliance of yours?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Thought you’d never ask. I was thinking… we could cash in that coffee date you promised me. Use the time to plan out our project. Very responsible. Very scholarly.”

You shoot him a look. “It’s not a date.”

“Sure,” he says easily, eyes twinkling. “A purely educational rendezvous at a cozy café where we might happen to sit close enough to accidentally brush knees again.”

You groan. “Fine. But we’re actually working on the project this time.”

“No promises,” he grins.

And you hate how you laugh at that.

-

You’re tucked into the booth of a café, a half-empty cup of coffee sitting forgotten as you scribble into your notebook. Across from you, Gojo’s talking a mile a minute—bouncing between theories, concepts, and potential outlines for your project with the kind of ease that only someone dangerously smart could pull off.

And the worst part? Every word out of his mouth actually makes sense.

You glance up at him, brows lifting slightly. “Okay, that last one? That’s actually… really solid.”

He beams. “Right? I knew you’d see the brilliance.”

You shake your head with a small laugh. “I hate to say it, but I’m impressed.”

Gojo leans forward, resting his chin on his hand with a smug grin. “Careful now. Compliments like that might go to my head.”

You ignore him, scribbling something down beside his last idea. The two of you work like that for a while—you writing, him throwing ideas around and occasionally sipping from his drink. And before you know it, you’ve got the skeleton of a full project mapped out.

He stretches his arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough to be distracting. “Whew. Honestly? I didn’t expect to get this much done.”

You close your notebook, tapping your pen against the table. “We could start putting together the first draft later this week.”

Gojo nods. “Yeah, sure. We could work at my place or someth—”

You cut him off, tone light. “You could come to mine.”

He freezes. Blinks. “Y-your place?”

You smile sweetly. “Mhm.”

He stares at you, cheeks tinged pink behind his glasses. “I—yeah. Yeah, totally. Your place. Great idea. Love that. Very efficient. Extremely platonic and professional.”

You laugh. “You’re cute when you malfunction.”

“I don’t malfunction,” he mumbles.

You don’t believe that for a second.

He’s trying so hard to play it cool, but his brain short-circuited the moment you suggested your place. His legs bounce under the table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt like it’ll ground him somehow.

You lean back in your seat, arms crossed as you observe him with a smug little smile. “You alright there, genius?”

Satoru clears his throat, adjusting his glasses even though they’re not crooked. “Me? Totally fine. Just recalibrating. You know, like… spatially. Mentally.”

You blink at him. “Uh-huh.”

He runs a hand through his snowy hair, the tips poking out in every direction like even they are flustered. “I just wasn’t expecting that, is all.”

“You weren’t expecting me to suggest we work on the project?”

“No—I mean, yes—but at your place?” He lifts his hands, palms up like he’s holding the concept of your apartment in the air. “Do you even realize what that implies?”

You tilt your head. “That I trust you to not snoop through my things?”

He looks offended. “I would never snoop. I am a gentleman.”

“Okay, gentleman,” you say, standing and grabbing your bag. “Then bring snacks when you come over.”

That shuts him up real quick. He stares up at you, blinking as you sling your bag over your shoulder and give him one last little smirk. “Oh,” you add casually, “and maybe wear those glasses again.”

His jaw drops.

You don’t wait to see his reaction. You just turn and walk off with the smuggest little sway to your step, leaving Gojo sitting there—completely malfunctioning, heart doing gymnastics in his chest.

He presses a hand over it, eyes wide. “Oh god.”

-

[gojo]: hey. hey hey hey

[gojo]: when u said ur place… u meant like. like ur apartment right

[gojo]: like ur home. with walls. and couches. and stuff

[you]: i am aware of what my apartment contains, yes.

[gojo]: just checking 😇

[gojo]: do i need to bring a textbook? or will u be tutoring me using sheer intimidation alone

[you]: i thought i was the one taking notes last time?

[gojo]: yeah but you intimidated me into being smart. that’s powerful

[gojo]: anyway what’s ur address 👀

[you]: [sends location]

[you]: and bring snacks like i said. i’m not letting you in if you show up empty handed

[gojo]: what kind of snacks

[you]: surprise me

[gojo]: …

[gojo]: you have NO idea what you’ve just done

[you]: satoru it’s literally just snacks

[gojo]: and now i’m overthinking EVERYTHING. chips? chocolate? do i bring a charcuterie board???

[gojo]: i need you to know i’m taking this Very Seriously.

[you]: i’m sure you are.

[gojo]: 😤 just u wait. i’ll be the best study buddy you’ve ever had. 

[you]: is this your way of flirting or are you always like this

[gojo]: …yes

-

You open the door and there he is—standing on your doorstep. His arms are full: a tote bag slung over his shoulder, a drink carrier in one hand, and a plastic bag filled with snacks in the other.

“You said surprise you,” he announces, stepping in. “So I brought everything. Chips. Cookies. Gummy worms. Protein bars, because balance. And boba. I panicked.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You brought a buffet.”

“I wanted to impress you,” he says, dead serious, slipping his shoes off at the door.

You stifle a laugh and step aside. “Come on in.”

Your place is cozy, warm lighting humming softly. Gojo’s eyes flit around like he’s taking mental notes of every detail—your throw pillows, your bookshelf, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air. You pretend not to notice how he seems ten times quieter than usual.

“Sit,” you say, motioning to the couch. 

He plops down next to you, thigh brushing yours, and pulls out his notes. “So. I was thinking we model the phase shift in the magnetic field using—wait—wait, are you actually listening or just staring at my mouth?”

You blink at him. “I was listening. You just talk a lot.”

He leans in, smirking. “But you were also staring.”

You swat his arm. “Focus.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles, hiding a very pleased grin.

As you two dive into the project, it’s surprisingly productive. He’s brilliant—he rattles off concepts with such ease that you’re genuinely impressed. You ask questions. He answers. You scribble notes while he paces your living room barefoot, gesturing wildly as he explains advanced equations like they’re children’s bedtime stories. He’s in his element. And kind of hot, too, in a completely nerdy, passionate way.

“You’re really smart,” you say eventually, mid-note-taking.

He freezes. Turns to you slowly. “Say that again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I said you’re smart—”

“No no,” he says, dropping onto the couch beside you again. “Say it slower. Maybe into my ear this time.”

You laugh, shoving him gently. “God, you’re impossible.”

“And yet you invited me over.” His voice drops just slightly, eyes glittering behind those thick-rimmed glasses. “Kinda makes me think you like having me around.”

Your heart skips. “Maybe I do.”

He stares for a moment—really stares—and then gives you the softest smile. “Then I guess I’m not leaving until we finish the whole project. Top marks, remember?”

“Top marks,” you echo.

When your hands brush reaching for the same pen, you both freeze.

You recover first, pulling your hand back slightly. “You can have it,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual.

Gojo, stubborn as ever, immediately shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You can have it.”

“No, seriously, take it.”

“I insist.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“You like when I’m annoying,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes and shove the pen towards him. “Just take it before I stab you with it.”

There's a beat of silence where you both just stare at each other—awkward, heated, too aware of how close you’re sitting. You can feel the air shift between you, something lingering and soft.

Gojo clears his throat loudly, leaning back against the couch with exaggerated nonchalance. “Uh—snack break?” he says, voice a little too high-pitched to be smooth.

You bite back a smile, grateful for the out. “Yeah. Snack break.”

He springs up like he’s been given a second life, muttering something under his breath about chips and cookies while you try very hard not to laugh.

Gojo rummages through your cabinets like he lives there, narrating dramatically under his breath. "Let's see... we have some chips, half a granola bar... oh-ho, instant ramen! A true feast fit for a queen."

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with an amused smile. "You're so dramatic."

He whirls around, holding the ramen packet in one hand like it’s a sacred artifact. "Dramatic? No, no, this is culinary excellence, sweetheart."

You snort, covering your laugh with the back of your hand. "You're about to microwave that."

"Precisely." He winks at you. "Modern problems require modern solutions."

You roll your eyes but grab a cup, filling it with water and handing it to him. Your fingers brush when he takes it, and maybe you’re imagining it, but he seems to pause for half a second longer than necessary, fingers brushing yours again on purpose.

"I'll make you the best cup ramen of your life," he declares proudly, tossing it into the microwave and punching in the time.

"Bold of you to assume I have low standards," you tease.

He leans an elbow on the counter, cocking his head at you with a lazy, smug grin. "Again. You invited me over. I'd say your standards are excellent."

Your cheeks flame immediately. "Shut up."

He just laughs, tossing his messy hair out of his eyes, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room.

The microwave dings and Gojo gasps. "It's time."

He pulls the ramen out like it’s a precious treasure, dramatically blowing on it before holding it out to you.

"Milady," he says in a terrible fake accent, "your meal."

You’re laughing too hard to even be annoyed. You take the cup from him, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

-

You both make your way to the couch after the world's most gourmet snack break (according to Gojo), slumping down with your legs tucked under you while he scrolls endlessly through your streaming options.

"Pick something," you say, poking his thigh with your toe.

"But it's so hard," he whines dramatically. "What if I pick something that doesn't match our vibe?" He flashes you a sly, boyish smile, the kind that makes your heart lurch even when you don't want it to.

You roll your eyes, tossing a throw pillow at him. "Just pick something, drama queen."

He catches the pillow effortlessly, still grinning, and finally settles on some random romcom—probably because he thinks it'll impress you with how emotionally available he is. Not even five minutes in, he does the whole exaggerated stretch and casual arm drop behind you. Textbook.

You give him a look. "Subtle."

He just beams, smug and utterly unbothered. "Thanks. Been practicing."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath, but you don't move away. Instead, you let the warmth of his arm hovering behind you linger there, like a secret.

You both slowly ease into a lazy sort of comfort, shoulders brushing every so often, knees bumping when one of you shifts. He’s fidgety, though—tapping his fingers against the cushion, sneaking glances at you when he thinks you won't notice.

You notice. You just pretend not to.

Time blurs, the movie forgotten as conversation picks up again. Dumb stuff. Stories about professors, weird classmates, Gojo ranting about a physics experiment gone wrong because "the equipment was stupid, not me," and you laughing so hard your stomach hurts. At some point you realize how late it’s gotten.

You glance at your phone. "Shit, it’s almost midnight."

Gojo pouts dramatically. "Nooo, don’t kick me out."

"You have class at eight tomorrow," you remind him, stretching your arms above your head. "Don’t you dare blame me when you fall asleep in class."

He sighs, long and exaggerated, standing up anyway. "Fine. But just so you know, leaving is painful for me. Agony, even."

You snort, pushing yourself off the couch. "You'll live, Satoru."

He lingers by the door, bouncing on his heels like he wants to say something. And then he blurts, all in one breath: "Do you wanna go on a date with me?"

You blink, caught off guard. "A coffee date?"

"No, no!" He waves his hands frantically. "Like—a real date. A good one. A fancy one. With food and everything!"

His voice goes a little desperate toward the end, as if you're seconds from rejecting him.

You cross your arms, fighting back a laugh. "Are you begging, Gojo?"

"Yes," he says instantly, with zero shame.

You tap your chin, pretending to think it over just to mess with him. He looks genuinely tortured, hands clutched in front of him like he's praying.

Finally, you shrug. "Alright. You can take me out."

The way his whole face lights up could rival the sun. "YES—YES, OH MY GOD—okay, okay, I won’t screw this up, swear on my honor—"

You laugh, pushing him lightly toward the door. "Text me the details, Romeo."

He’s still beaming when he stumbles out, waving giddily.

You shake your head, grinning to yourself as you shut the door behind him.

-

You stand in front of the mirror, arms crossed, glaring at the mountain of clothes on your bed.

It’s ridiculous. It's Gojo Satoru, for god’s sake—the same man who wears sweater vests unironically—so why are you panicking about what to wear?

You pick up a red dress, stare at it, and toss it aside. Too much.

A simple blouse and jeans? Too casual.

You want to look good. Scratch that—you want to make his brain short-circuit when he sees you.

Finally, after what feels like hours of spiraling, you settle on a black off-shoulder dress that hugs your figure flatteringly. It’s something that feels like you—simple but pretty, enough to make your heart skip when you catch your reflection.

Right as you’re fixing the final touches, your phone buzzes.

[gojo 💙]: here <3

[gojo 💙]: try not to fall in love with me too fast ok

You snort under your breath. Too late, you think, heart thudding faster than you’d ever admit.

You grab your bag and head outside, spotting him. 

You almost don't recognize him at first.

Gone are the thick-rimmed glasses and the nerdy sweater vest he usually sports in class. Tonight, Gojo Satoru is dressed in a simple white button-up—sleeves rolled up to his forearms—and black dress pants that cling just right to his lean frame. His snowy hair is still messy, like he ran his hands through it a million times, but somehow, it works. He looks effortlessly good. Stupidly good.

And when he spots you, he nearly trips over his own feet.

"Hey," you greet, a little breathless from how unfairly good he looks.

"Hey," he says back, voice cracking halfway through. He coughs, fumbling to form literal words, cheeks flushed. "You, uh—you look—wow."

You laugh softly as he practically skips toward you, offering you his arm with an exaggerated flourish. "Shall we, m'lady?"

You roll your eyes but take his arm anyway, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of his shirt.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, cocky and sweet all at once: "Just so you know, I'm totally gonna brag about this to my future grandkids."

You elbow him lightly in the side, and he laughs, the happiest sound you've heard all day.

You laugh softly, letting go of him to get into the car, and he stands there for a second like he’s been shot.

When he finally gets himself together and slides into the driver’s seat, he sneaks a look at you. "You’re—" he starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t believe his own luck. "Perfect," he finishes under his breath.

You pretend not to hear it, hiding your smile as he pulls out onto the road—one hand casually on the wheel, the other fiddling nervously with his collar.

Neither of you says much at first. The radio hums softly between you.

But every few seconds, you catch him sneaking glances your way, grinning like this is already the best date ever.

-

You recognize the place immediately.

It’s a beautiful rooftop restaurant—one you’d mentioned wanting to try in passing, months ago, when a friend posted about it on social media. You hadn’t even realized he was listening.

The fact that he remembered makes your heart swell.

Satoru pulls into the valet line, hands slightly fidgety on the steering wheel. He throws a quick, nervous glance at you, like he’s scared you won’t like it.

"You, uh, mentioned it once," he says, almost shyly. "Thought it'd be better than, y'know... coffee again."

Your chest tightens in the softest, sweetest way. You open your mouth, ready to tease him, but the look on his face—the earnest hope in his eyes—makes you stop. You just smile instead.

"It’s perfect," you say quietly.

And the way he beams after that? God, you almost have to look away. Too much.

He practically leaps out of the car the second it's parked, sprinting around to your side to open the door for you. Except—he miscalculates the timing and almost slams it into his own shin.

"Ow—shit—" he mutters under his breath, recovering quickly and yanking it open like nothing happened. He straightens up, all suave-like, grinning down at you.

"Milady," he says dramatically, offering you his hand.

You roll your eyes but take it anyway, letting him help you out of the car. His hand is warm—so much bigger than yours—and he doesn’t let go right away. In fact, he keeps holding it as you walk toward the entrance, fingers intertwined like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And you don’t pull away. If anything, you squeeze a little tighter.

Inside, the restaurant is even more beautiful than you imagined—glittering fairy lights, soft music, a gentle breeze whispering across the rooftop.

Gojo glances down at you, smiling like you personally hung the stars. "Ready for the best date of your life?" he teases, but there’s a nervous edge to it—like your opinion actually, genuinely matters to him.

You bite your lip to hold back a grin.

"Lead the way, Romeo."

And he does. Hand in hand, heart thundering, wearing the dopiest smile imaginable.

Dinner with Gojo is…effortless.

For once, he isn’t tripping over his words or cracking half a dozen stupid jokes just to fill the silence. He’s confident—naturally confident—in a way that makes your heart stutter. It’s like all the nervous energy he usually carries around you has melted away tonight, leaving behind nothing but the real Satoru.

He leans back in his chair, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled up to his elbows, flashing the veins in his forearms as he lifts his wine glass to his lips.

There’s a lazy smirk playing on his mouth as he listens to you talk, bright blue eyes never straying from your face.

"You’re staring," you tease after a moment, pretending to inspect the menu like you’re not burning under his gaze.

"Yeah," he says simply, not even bothering to deny it. "You’re beautiful. I’m allowed to stare."

You nearly choke on your water.

Recovering quickly, you raise a brow. "Smooth," you deadpan, setting your glass down.

He chuckles lowly, the sound curling around your spine like smoke. "Only because it’s true," he says, and the sheer casualty of it has your cheeks heating up.

And the worst part? You can’t even pretend you’re unaffected—because he sees it. The way your lips twitch, the way your eyes flicker away for just a second.

"So," you say quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation, "when you’re not busy terrorizing professors and making girls swoon, what do you do for fun, Gojo?"

He hums, pretending to think about it, tapping his fork against his lip.

"Hmm...think about you mostly," he says airily.

You whip your napkin at him across the table, and he lets out a bark of laughter, catching it midair like a reflex.

The two of you fall into easy conversation after that—bantering, laughing, throwing subtle (and not-so-subtle) jabs at each other. It feels so natural that you almost forget this is your first real date.

There’s a moment—between courses, when you’re both picking at the remains of dessert—that you catch him just looking at you again. No teasing. No smirk. Just watching. Soft, and a little awed.

You shift slightly, suddenly aware of the intimacy stretching between you. "What?" you murmur.

He blinks, as if waking up. Shakes his head, smiling faintly.

"Nothing," he says, voice a little rough. "You’re just—really fucking gorgeous."

It’s so sincere that you don’t even know what to say back. You just look at him, feeling your chest tighten in that dangerous, dangerous way again.

-

The drive back is quiet—not uncomfortable. Just…full.

Full of things unsaid, full of that warmth that’s been simmering between you both all night.

Gojo parks in front of your place, turning off the engine, but neither of you make a move to get out right away. You just sit there, the hum of the night wrapping around you, the silence speaking louder than words ever could.

He turns in his seat slightly, arm draped over the steering wheel, looking at you with that soft, lopsided smile he reserves only for you now.

"I had a really good time," he says quietly, like it’s a secret meant only for you.

You smile back, feeling something sweet and dangerous unfurl in your chest. "Me too," you murmur, fingers twisting slightly in your lap.

The moment stretches—comfortable, a little electric—and you know you should say goodnight. You should.

So you finally reach for the door handle, pulling it open—And then, without thinking, you turn back.

Leaning in quick, before you can psych yourself out, you press a soft kiss to his cheek.

It’s light, barely a brush, but Gojo freezes like you’ve just electrocuted him.

You don’t wait for his reaction. Your face burning, you practically stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you with a muttered, "Goodnight!"

Through the window, you catch a glimpse of him: Wide-eyed, stunned, a hand lifted dazedly to his cheek like he can't believe what just happened.

And then he laughs—a breathless, giddy sound that you swear you can hear even as you rush up the steps to your door, heart hammering like crazy.

Inside the car, Satoru slumps back against the seat, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. "God," he mutters to himself, still touching the spot where you kissed him, "I’m so fucked."

-

You’re lying in bed when your phone buzzes in your hand. Heart still racing from that impulsive kiss you planted on his cheek, you scramble to pick it up, thumbs fumbling.

[gojo 💙]: next time, you’re not getting away with just a kiss on the cheek.

You nearly drop your phone.

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach flips. Your face burns. And even though you want to play it cool, you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. You bite your lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before finally typing back:

[you]: is that a threat, satoru?

The reply comes almost instantly, like he was waiting for you:

[gojo 💙]: no baby, that’s a promise.

You stare at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs. 

Baby. God, you’re so done for.

And like he hasn’t already made you melt enough tonight, he sends another message:

[gojo 💙]: get some sleep, pretty 

You bury your face into your pillow with a squeal, kicking your feet into the mattress. You type back quickly before you lose your nerve:

[you]: goodnight, satoru. try not to miss me too much.

And a few seconds later:

[gojo 💙]: too late.

[you]: careful, satoru. you're sounding real desperate rn.

You barely have time to smirk before he hits you with:

[gojo 💙]: desperate?

[gojo 💙]: for you? always.

And like he knows you’re losing it, he sends one more:

[gojo 💙]: sleep tight, gorgeous.

[gojo 💙]: dream of me.

[gojo 💙]: i'll definitely be dreaming of you. (and if i wake up hard, it's your fault btw)

You scream into your pillow.

Your hands tremble as you type your final text:

[you]: sweet dreams, toru <3

[you]: maybe next time you won’t have to just dream ;)

And the moment you send it, you shut your phone off and toss it across the bed because there’s absolutely no way you’re surviving if he replies. (He does. Five seconds later.)

[gojo 💙]: fucking hell.

-

Satoru’s still staring at your last text. Eyes wide. Mouth parted.

maybe next time you won’t have to just dream

He drops his phone onto the bed with a dull thud, dragging both hands down his face.

"Goddammit," he breathes, tipping his head back against the headboard.

You’re gonna kill him. You’re actually gonna kill him.

He sits there for a good minute, struggling to breathe normally, heart hammering against his ribs, cock already half-hard just from that one text. (Just from a text. He's so far gone it's not even funny.)

"Pull it together, Gojo," he mutters, raking a hand through his messy hair.

But the moment he squeezes his eyes shut, it’s you he sees—smiling up at him all coy, leaning in close, whispering things in that pretty voice you have, like you knew exactly what kind of mess you were leaving him in.

You did. You knew exactly what you were doing.

He groans, thunking his head back harder against the headboard, biting down a low, frustrated sound as your words loop endlessly in his brain.

You��re driving him insane.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he shoves his sleep shorts down just enough and wraps a hand around his cock, cursing under his breath when he realizes how hard he already is.

It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong—you haven’t even properly kissed yet. But god, you're just so, so perfect. So effortlessly beautiful. 

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, his hand moving slowly, pretending it’s you instead—your hand wrapped around him, your body pressed close, your breath ghosting over his ear as you whisper all the filthy things he can barely even let himself imagine.

"Fuck," he hisses through his teeth, hips bucking up into his fist, desperate for more.

He can’t help it.

You’re in his head. You’re under his skin. And he’s not even sure he wants to be saved.

His thighs tense, muscles flexing as he fists himself harder, chasing that high like a man starved. The sound of his breath—harsh and broken—fills the room. Your name nearly falls from his lips like a prayer.

And when he finally comes, it’s with a soft, bitten-off moan, warmth spilling over his knuckles. 

His mind blanks for a long, dizzy second—nothing but the feeling of you filling every corner of him.

He collapses back against the pillows, breathless. Staring at the ceiling like he’s just been fucking wrecked. Sweaty. Panting. His hand sticky and his soul halfway out of his body.

He drags a hand down his face again, groaning. "...I'm so fucking screwed," Satoru mutters to himself, glaring uselessly at the ceiling like it’s personally responsible for his downfall.

-

The sunlight’s barely filtering through his blinds when Satoru stirs awake, messy hair flattened against his forehead, phone slipping from his chest with a quiet thunk onto the mattress.

Groaning, he blindly pats around for it, eyes still crusted shut from sleep.

When he finally blinks them open, he sees the last thing he remembers: your text. The text that ruined his entire night.

He slaps a hand over his face and drags it down slowly, mumbling, “I’m going to hell.”

But because he’s an idiot—an idiot in love—he still unlocks his phone, thumbs hovering nervously over the screen.

He needs to text you. Needs to act normal. Needs to pretend he didn’t almost cry last night over how fucking good it felt imagining you touching him.

He taps out a message, agonizing over every word:

[you]: good morning :) hope you slept well!

He stares at it for a second longer, wondering if he sounds too eager, then panics and deletes the smiley. Then retypes it. Then deletes it again.

Then sends it without the emoji because God forbid he looks like he’s about to propose or something.

He tosses his phone down and flops back against his pillows, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the answers to his sins.

Not even ten seconds pass before his phone buzzes. Heart slamming against his ribs, he fumbles to read it:

[sweetheart 💖]: you too, toru. sweet dreams? ;)

He physically chokes. Coughs. Slaps his own chest like he’s trying to restart his heart.

“Sweet dreams—?” he sputters aloud, horrified, voice cracking. “SWEET—?”

The images from last night flash vividly in his mind: your lips, your breathy giggles, your hands sneaking lower—

He shoves his face into a pillow and screams.

When he finally peeks out, shame swirling in his gut, he types back with trembling hands:

[you]: sweetest dreams ever. totally normal. nothing weird about them at all.

And then he turns his phone face-down. Because he cannot. He cannot see what you’re going to reply.

He’s so down bad it's physically painful.

-

You stare at your phone, biting your lip to hold back a grin. 

Totally normal. Nothing weird about them at all.

Sure, Satoru. Sure.

You kick your feet a little under your blanket, giddy, heart thumping like crazy. You know exactly what you’re doing. You know exactly what you’re doing to him.

And you’re not done yet. You let him stew in his own panic for a few minutes—just to watch him suffer—before tapping out a reply:

[you]: sounds like someone’s overcompensating… ;)

You hit send and immediately burst into laughter, flopping back into your pillows. You can practically imagine him screaming into his hands right now, scrambling to figure out what to say without incriminating himself even more.

And because you’re a menace, you follow it up:

[you]: it’s okay, toru. you can dream about me whenever you want <3

There. You’ve officially ruined his whole morning.

You toss your phone aside and stretch, feeling like you just hit a home run. But then your phone buzzes again—multiple times—and you grab it, giggling.

First, from Satoru:

[toru 💙]: you’re evil. pure evil. i’m never sleeping again.

And then another, right after:

[toru 💙]: coffee today? my treat. i need to see your evil little face or i’m going to combust.

You roll over onto your stomach, kicking your legs up behind you, cheeks aching from smiling so hard.

Maybe you are evil. But god, it’s so fun when he’s this easy to tease.

You tap out your reply, heart light:

[you]: only if you promise not to die before you get here.

-

It doesn’t even take ten minutes before there’s a knock at your door. You blink in surprise—you hadn’t even changed yet.

Another knock, this time a little quicker, a little eager.

You pad over and crack the door open—and there he is.

Satoru, all messy hair, rumpled shirt, soft smile. Holding two coffees in his hands.

And looking at you like you hung the moon.

"Hi," he says, almost shyly. "Brought you a coffee."

You blink at him.

He fidgets, rocking on his heels. "I, uh... thought maybe we could, y'know, hang out a little. If you’re not busy."

Your heart melts a little at how hopeful he sounds.

"You’re impossible," you tease, swinging the door wider.

"And you're stuck with me," he chirps, stepping inside like he belongs there.

You take one of the coffees from him, fingers brushing, and he beams like you’ve just given him the greatest honor.

"Thanks," you say, smiling into your cup. "Even though you didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he says simply, plopping onto your couch with zero hesitation. (And he leaves way too little space for you, thigh already brushing yours.)

You sit down beside him, your shoulders bumping. He hums under his breath, swinging his legs a little like a kid who’s gotten his favorite candy.

For a minute, it’s just the two of you, sipping coffee, the silence warm and comfortable.

And then, out of nowhere, he leans his head dramatically onto your shoulder.

You freeze for a second, heart skipping.

He sighs—loudly—against you. "You’re not gonna kick me out, right?"

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow. "Not if you behave."

"That’s asking for a lot," he grins, tilting his head up to look at you. His smile’s a little mischievous, a little boyish.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your blush behind your coffee cup.

And because he’s shameless—and he knows he’s winning—he adds, voice low and teasing: "Maybe if you give me another goodbye kiss?"

You almost spill your coffee.

He sees it—the way your fingers fumble, the way your face flushes—and smirks.

"C'mon," he teases, nudging your knee with his. "Wasn't that bad of an idea, was it?"

You narrow your eyes at him, trying—failing—to fight your smile. "You," you say, poking his chest, "are way too full of yourself."

"And yet..." Satoru leans in, slow, eyes locked on yours. His voice drops to a whisper. "...you're not moving away."

Your breath catches. Because he's right—you’re not. If anything, you're leaning in too.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room feels too quiet, too charged. You can hear his breathing, slow and steady, can feel the heat radiating off of him.

Satoru’s gaze drops to your mouth—and lingers there. "Can I?" he murmurs, so soft you almost don’t catch it.

Your heart thuds loud in your chest. You nod.

That’s all he needs.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the gap, giving you every chance to pull away—but you don’t. You tilt your chin up, meeting him halfway.

When his lips finally brush yours, it’s gentle—barely a kiss, more like a breath, a promise.

You sigh against him, and that tiny sound seems to undo him. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, just enough to taste you. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin so tenderly it makes your chest ache.

You kiss him back, slow and sweet, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

It drags out—neither of you in any rush, savoring every second.

He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he stops. And you kiss him like you’ve been waiting forever for this moment.

When you finally, reluctantly, pull apart, you're both breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot. "So..." he whispers, voice a little hoarse. "Can I stay a little longer?"

You pretend to think about it, biting your lip to hide your smile. "Maybe," you tease. "If you behave."

He groans, flopping dramatically onto your couch again, tugging you down with him so you land half-on top of him, laughing.

"Not a chance," he says happily.

You're warm against him, tucked into his side, your head resting on his shoulder like you belonged there. And for a moment, Satoru feels like the luckiest man alive.

Until his brain—traitorous, evil, rotten—reminds him.

Reminds him of how he spent last night fucking his fist like a deranged lunatic, thinking about you. Reminds him that you have no idea just how far gone he already is.

A quiet, horrified voice in his head: I'm a monster.

His throat goes dry.His hands twitch awkwardly where they rest on your waist, unsure if he should even be touching you like this—until you shift, just slightly, peeking up at him with this sleepy little smile.

And just like that, every coherent thought leaves him. All that's left is you.

"You're comfy," you mumble against him, snuggling closer.

Satoru lets out a weak, broken little laugh, hiding his burning face against your hair.

If you only knew. If you only knew what you did to him.

He doesn't know how long he sits there with you tucked into him, drinking in your warmth. He could stay like this forever, he thinks. Hell, he wants to.

But then his phone buzzes.

He barely registers it, ignoring it at first. Until it buzzes again. And again.

He groans, reluctant, fishing it out of his pocket while you shift sleepily against him. The screen flashes: a reminder for his evening tutoring session he totally, utterly forgot about. He slumps.

"Something wrong?" you ask, voice soft, blinking up at him.

"I gotta go," he mutters like he's being forced into exile.

You bite back a smile, stretching lazily. "Duty calls?"

"Yeah." He pouts, actually pouts. "Stupid duty."

You laugh under your breath, and it's so unfair how easily you knock the air out of his lungs without even trying.

He stands reluctantly, dragging his feet like a kid leaving recess early.

"Hey," you call out. "Aren’t you forgetting something?"

He turns around and blinks at you, confusion flickering across his face—but then you smile. Soft. Warm. Something just for him.

You step close, tiptoe a little to reach him. And Satoru swears, swears, his heart stumbles in his chest when you press a gentle kiss to his lips.

It's feather-light. Barely there. Sweet enough to make his knees almost buckle.

And when you pull back, a cheeky glint in your eye, he's just standing there. Frozen. Speechless. The stupidest grin pulling at his mouth.

"See you later, ’Toru," you say lightly, nudging him toward the door.

And all he can manage—voice cracking slightly, heart hammering out of his chest—is a dazed "Y-Yeah. Later."

You shut the door behind him with a little wave, and he stands there for a good ten seconds before he finally remembers how to move.

-

Class feels different today.

You’re hyper-aware of everything.

The way Satoru brushes his knee against yours under the table, all casual-like. The way his pinky keeps nudging yours on the desk until finally, finally, you relent and let your fingers curl around his. The way he keeps sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye—and every time you catch him, he just smiles, like he’s getting away with something.

It’s infuriating. It’s adorable. It’s Satoru.

You pretend to focus on the lecture. Really, you do. But it’s hard when you can feel the warmth of his hand ghosting over your thigh under the table, a barely-there touch that sends your heart skittering against your ribs.

By the time the professor starts wrapping up class, you’re halfway to combusting.

"Don’t forget," she says, tapping the whiteboard, "project updates are due next week."

You scribble the deadline in your notes, but Satoru’s already turning toward you, practically bouncing in his seat.

"Hey," he says, voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. "How about we work on it at my place today?"

You blink, startled. "Your place?"

He grins, bright and boyish. "Yeah! First time for everything, right?"

The way he says it—light, teasing, almost a little shy—makes something flutter wildly in your chest.

"It’ll be chill," he continues. "We can grab some snacks, order takeout, maybe actually get stuff done this time—"

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. "Are you actually suggesting a productive study session or trying to lure me into a trap?"

He gasps, hand clutching dramatically at his chest. "Me? Lure you? I’m offended." Then he drops the act, leaning in close, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. "But if you happen to end up in my lap or something, y’know... destiny."

You shove him lightly, cheeks warming. "God, you’re insufferable."

"Face it—you love this," he says, nudging your shoulder with his. 

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your head. Still...you find yourself smiling.

"Fine," you say, packing up your stuff. "But we’re actually working this time."

He pumps a fist in victory. "Yes! Bring that sexy brain of yours, princess. We’re gonna kill this project."

You throw a crumpled sticky note at him. He catches it midair, flashing a grin that practically glows.

-

You’re home, lounging on your bed, phone in hand.

The texting starts innocent enough.

[you]: what should I bring?

[toru 💙]: just that pretty little self of yours

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile.

[you]: be serious

[toru 💙]: i am. i’m dead serious. maybe a notebook too though lol

You roll your eyes, thumbs hovering over your screen. Before you can type anything else, another message pops up:

[toru 💙]: also… try not to look too pretty

[toru 💙]: kinda hard to focus when you’re around

You blink at the screen, heart skipping a beat. The sudden boldness makes you squirm a little under your covers.

Before you can even react, a third text follows:

[toru 💙]: here’s my address

A pinned location pops up. Followed by—

[toru 💙]: hurry over please

You stare at the messages, warmth blooming in your chest (and spreading lower, if you were honest).

You should probably be nervous. You should definitely be more cautious.

But all you do is grin, toss your phone onto the bed, and start getting ready.

-

You barely knock once before the door swings open.

And there he is.

Black tank top clinging to his chest, basketball shorts slung so low it should be illegal. Lean muscles on full display. Sleep-mussed white hair falling over his forehead.

You actually forget how to breathe. Your brain just... shuts down.

Satoru’s mouth twitches into a knowing smirk. He leans lazily against the doorframe, crossing his arms — muscles flexing, because of course they do — and tips his head at you.

“Well, well," he drawls, amusement dripping from every word. "Didn’t think you’d be that easy to stun."

You blink — once, twice — scrambling to find your voice. "I’m not stunned," you blurt out, way too fast to be convincing.

"Mhm," he hums, that smug little grin widening. "Sure. You just like standing on people's porches looking like you forgot your own name?"

You shove past him with a flustered scoff, cheeks burning. But you can feel his eyes trailing after you, slow and satisfied, as he shuts the door behind you.

"You didn’t tell me the dress code was..." you flounder, gesturing vaguely at his entire existence, "thirst trap casual."

"Aw, you think I’m a thirst trap?" he coos, stepping dangerously close — close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly.

"I think you’re an asshole," you snap — except your voice comes out all breathy, completely ruining the effect.

Satoru chuckles — a low, rich sound that vibrates all the way through you. "You can be honest, y'know. It's just us here." He leans down, dropping his voice into a whisper, "You like what you see."

You make a strangled noise in your throat and whirl around, pretending to inspect the living room like it's the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. "Where’s your project stuff?" you demand, heart thundering against your ribs.

"Wow," he says behind you, tone all fake-hurt. "Use me for my brain and ditch me for my abs. Brutal."

"You have a brain?" you retort, finally finding a shred of composure.

He laughs again — easy, bright — and brushes past you, the barest graze of his arm against yours sending your nerves into a frenzy.

"Come on, nerd," he calls over his shoulder, tossing a wink at you that almost knocks you off your feet. "Project’s not gonna finish itself."

You huff, yanking your notebook out of your bag to try and hide the stupid, giddy smile pulling at your lips.

You’re just barely settled on the couch, notebook balanced on your lap, when Satoru stretches — arms over his head, tank top riding up dangerously — and says, “Actually... we’ll have more space in my room."

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat. "Your room?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He flashes a wide, shit-eating grin. "Yeah. Bigger desk. Better lighting."

You narrow your eyes, pretending to be skeptical. "Oh? Already trying to get me in bed?"

Satoru stops dead in his tracks — but only for half a second. Then he tosses a look over his shoulder, cocky and wicked. "Don’t give me ideas," he says, voice low and playful.

Your cheeks burn so hot you’re surprised you don’t spontaneously combust. But you’re stubborn — so you just huff and follow him anyway, ignoring the smug little chuckle he lets out as he leads you down the hall. And then you step into his room — and freeze.

Because it’s... it’s not what you expect. Sure, it’s a little messy — loose clothes on a chair, half-done laundry — but what really grabs your attention is the shelf. More specifically: the shelf packed with colorful little figures. Posters. Framed prints. All of it instantly recognizable.

"...Is that—" you start, pointing.

"Digimon," Satoru says immediately, like he's bracing himself for judgment.

You stare. You blink. And then — you laugh. Loud, bright, uncontrollable.

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I knew it. I knew you were gonna make fun of me."

You grin at him, unrepentant. "You? Cool, confident, six-foot-whatever Gojo Satoru... secret Digimon stan? Oh, this is gold."

"It’s not secret," he grumbles, crossing his arms like a petulant kid. "Digimon’s fucking awesome. Better than Pokémon. Better story arcs, deeper characters—"

"You sound so defensive," you giggle, stepping closer to inspect a particularly adorable stuffed Agumon perched on his bed.

He steps up beside you, bumping your shoulder lightly with his and picks up the plushie to toss it somewhere else. "You're lucky you're cute," he mutters, mock-threatening, "or I’d kick you out right now."

You bite back a smile, feeling that fluttery, giddy warmth bloom in your chest again. Because for all his teasing, all his cocky bravado — there’s something painfully endearing about how unapologetically himself he is. No hiding. No shame. Just... Satoru.

"You’re such a nerd," you say fondly.

Satoru smirks, eyes glinting mischievously. "Yeah? Still think I’m a thirst trap though?"

You sputter, flustered all over again — and he cackles, so pleased with himself it’s criminal.

God. You are so screwed.

You perch awkwardly on the edge of his bed, notebook in your lap again, pretending you’re not hyper-aware of how huge his bed is, how close he is, how the mattress dips slightly under his weight when he flops down next to you.

"Alright," he says, stretching lazily, flashing a sliver of toned stomach again. "Serious time. Project planning. Let's go."

You nod, throat a little dry. "Serious," you echo, flipping open the notebook. "No distractions."

"None whatsoever," he agrees solemnly.

You start brainstorming, scribbling notes in the margins, muttering ideas under your breath. For a few minutes, everything’s fine. Normal. Until you feel it — the slight brush of his knee against yours. At first, you think it’s an accident. You shift slightly to the side.

But then it happens again. And again.

And then — Satoru leans closer, peering over your shoulder, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand rests casually on the bed behind you, fingers curling ever so slightly around the edge of your shirt.

You pretend to ignore it. Pretend so hard it almost works.

But then he hums low in his throat — a thoughtful, lazy little sound — and lets his hand slide up, fingers brushing lightly against your lower back, and your entire body tenses.

"'Toru..." you murmur, trying for stern, but it comes out way too breathy. You don’t even look at him — you can’t — because you already know what you’ll find: those blue eyes, lazy and half-lidded, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Focus," you manage, tapping the notebook for emphasis.

He leans in, so close his nose almost brushes your temple, and murmurs in a voice so low it makes your stomach flip:

"You make it hard to."

His hand is bold now — fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over the dip of your waist, so gentle it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. Your breath stutters in your throat. You feel your heart hammer against your ribs.

You finally — finally — dare a glance at him.

And he’s looking at you like he’s starving.

For you.

The tension is a physical thing now, heavy and thick in the air between you. You swear you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

"...You're unbelievable," you whisper, the notebook slipping from your fingers.

His smirk deepens, shameless. "You like it."

God help you — you do.

You scramble, trying desperately to recover your sanity, to remember why you’re even here in the first place. The project. The project, dammit.

You slap your palm over the notebook, pushing it toward him. "W-We should really— really focus," you stammer, voice wobbling embarrassingly.

He just grins, slow and easy, that grin that makes you forget your own name.

"I am focused," he says, voice dropping into that low, teasing rasp. "Focused on you."

And before you can react, he shifts — the bed dipping under his weight as he gently crowds into your space.

Your breath catches.

He cages you in with a hand planted firm beside your hip, his other hand curling loosely around your wrist like he’s giving you the option to pull away — like he’s daring you to.

You don’t. You can’t.

You’re frozen, wide-eyed, heart thudding like crazy.

His forehead presses lightly to yours, and you feel the whisper of his breath against your lips.

"You drive me crazy, y'know that?" he murmurs, voice impossibly soft. Every word vibrates through you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure — but no sound comes out. You’re too busy trying not to melt.

And then he moves. Sudden but gentle, he presses you down against the mattress, his body hovering above yours, careful not to crush you.

Your hands instinctively fly up to his chest — oh, God his chest — and you feel the steady pound of his heartbeat under your palms.

He’s close now, so close you can see every detail of his face — the slight pink flush on his cheeks, the playful crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his pupils are blown wide with something between affection and hunger.

"You’re so cute when you're flustered," he teases, and you want to hate him for it, you really do.

But you don’t. You can't.

Instead, you fist your hands in the soft fabric of his shirt and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will your racing pulse back to normal.

He chuckles, low and smug. Then — so lightly you almost think you imagined it — he brushes his nose along the side of your jaw, breathing you in.

"You’re killing me," he whispers.

You whimper — actual, real, humiliating whimper — and he grins.

But he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

He just stays there, letting the tension thicken, letting you squirm, savoring it.

It’s agony. It’s perfect.

You feel it — the exact moment his lips almost touch yours.

It’s a whisper of a moment, barely-there, the ghost of contact that makes your whole body tense up in anticipation.

He’s so close. So close you can taste the heat radiating off him, the sweet, addictive scent of his cologne, the lazy tilt of his grin as he leans in—

And that’s when you snap out of it.

At the very last second, you slip a hand between your bodies, planting your palm firmly against his chest to stop him.

His eyes fly open, confused, slightly wild.

You smile — sweet, smug — up at him.

"Uh-uh," you say, your voice still a little breathless but steady enough to make him narrow his eyes suspiciously. "Project first."

The sheer betrayal on his face.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he groans, dropping his forehead dramatically onto your shoulder like you just mortally wounded him. "I was so close, baby, c'mon—"

You cackle. Gojo finds it beautiful.

He lifts his head, leveling you with the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen. "You're evil," he accuses.

You just wiggle your eyebrows at him, smirking. "Should've thought about that before trying to seduce me in broad daylight, Gojo."

He collapses beside you with a dramatic huff, flopping back against the bed like his soul has been snatched from his body.

"It’s almost 7. Unbelievable," he mutters. "This is harassment. I should sue."

You reach over, patting his chest twice, condescending and sweet. "There, there."

He turns his head, glaring at you — but the slight twitch of his lips gives him away.

"You owe me later," he says, pointing a finger at you like a solemn oath.

You hum, pretending to think it over, before shooting him a wicked little grin. "We'll see if you're good."

His groan is loud enough to rattle the bed.

You're absolutely thriving.

You’re trying so hard to focus. You really are. Project notes scattered across the bed, laptop open, a half-written paragraph blinking at you like it's taunting your lack of progress.

And then—

"Break time!" Satoru declares, already tugging you off the bed by your wrist before you can even protest.

You stumble after him, laughing breathlessly. "Satoru, we barely got anything done!"

"Exactly why we need a break," he grins, dragging you toward the kitchen like a man on a mission. "You’ll thank me later."

You roll your eyes but let him haul you along, too curious (and maybe a little too charmed) to resist.

He lets go of your hand once you reach the kitchen and dramatically cracks his knuckles, looking far too proud of himself.

"Watch and learn, sweetheart," he says, shooting you a wink. "You're in the presence of greatness."

You snort, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. "Oh yeah? You gonna burn the house down, master chef?"

He gasps — actually gasps — clutching his chest like you mortally wounded him. "You wound me."

You just laugh, watching as he rummages through the fridge with entirely too much flair, pulling out random ingredients and setting them on the counter.

"You're literally just making instant ramen," you point out dryly, but there's a smile tugging at your lips.

"Gourmet instant ramen," he corrects, wagging a finger at you. "With egg. And scallions. And a lil’ bit of love."

He tosses you another wink and you lose it, doubling over in silent laughter.

You lean back against the counter, arms folded, trying — and failing — to look unimpressed as he hums to himself, clattering pots around. He’s in a black tank top and low-hanging shorts, muscles flexing casually with every movement, hair messy from dragging his hands through it.

And it’s... distracting. Way too distracting.

Especially when he starts cracking an egg one-handed like a cocky asshole.

"Show-off," you mutter under your breath.

"Don’t act like you’re not impressed," he sing-songs, peeking at you from under snowy lashes, smug as hell.

You flip him off lazily. He just grins wider.

The kitchen fills with the scent of broth and spices, steam curling in the air. He moves with this effortless, chaotic sort of confidence — a little reckless, a little messy — but somehow everything comes together perfectly.

When he turns to you again, ramen bowl in hand, he looks so goddamn pleased with himself you want to laugh.

"See?" he says, stepping closer. "I'm basically husband material."

You tilt your head, raising a brow. "You make instant noodles and think you deserve a ring?"

"Handmade. Special edition. Enhanced with love." He winks, holding up the bowl like an offering. "You should be honored."

And even though you roll your eyes, you can't help the smile tugging at your lips — can't help the way your stomach flips stupidly as he steps even closer, towering over you with that lazy, confident grin.

-

You set the now-empty bowl down on the counter, nudging him with your elbow. "Since you whipped up such a gourmet meal, I guess the least I can do is the dishes."

Satoru leans back against the counter, grinning so wide it's almost embarrassing. "You spoil me."

You roll your eyes but start gathering up the dishes anyway, rinsing them under the tap. The warm water and simple task are oddly comforting, your movements easy, natural.

And from behind you, you can feel it — his gaze, warm and heavy, drinking you in like he's memorizing this moment.

Before you can even finish rinsing the second bowl, you feel him — long arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back into him, chest pressed against your back.

You huff a soft laugh, not bothering to fight it. "Needy much?"

He just hums, nose nudging into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin. "You smell good," he mumbles, voice low and content.

"Why, thank you," you say, but it’s half a smile.

"I could get used to this," he murmurs, squeezing you a little tighter.

You finish up the dishes like that — his arms around you, his weight solid and comforting at your back, his soft little praises murmured into your ear in between.

"You're pretty," he says at one point, completely unprompted. "So pretty I don't know how I'm supposed to concentrate when you're around."

You duck your head, smiling to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn.

When you finally dry your hands and turn around to face him, he's already looking down at you with stars in his eyes, a little breathless like he can't believe you're real.

You loop your arms around his neck without thinking, tugging him a little closer, and he leans into it easily, lazily, like he's been waiting for this exact moment. "Can I kiss you yet?" he asks, grinning like an idiot, voice all hopeful and teasing.

You laugh, soft and fond, brushing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Sure, loverboy."

And he doesn't waste a second — swooping down to finally, finally claim your lips in a kiss that's sweet and warm and a little clumsy with excitement, like he just can’t hold it in anymore.

The moment your lips meet, it’s like something clicks into place.

At first, it’s a gentle brush of mouths, shy and smiling. He kisses you once, then twice, like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. But then you tilt your head just a little, arms tightening around his neck, and he groans — a low, helpless sound that rumbles against your chest.

And just like that, the kiss deepens.

His hands, which had been resting innocently at your waist, slide down — gripping your hips with a little more urgency, pulling you flush against him. You gasp softly into his mouth, and he takes full advantage, slotting his mouth over yours in a way that leaves your knees just barely holding you up. You feel it when his fingers flex, pressing you closer, when his body shudders lightly against yours.

God, he’s starving for you. You can feel it in the way he kisses — slow but hungry, like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

When he pulls back for just a breath, his forehead presses to yours, and his voice is ragged, wrecked. "You’re gonna kill me," he whispers, before diving back in, more desperate this time.

You whimper into his mouth without meaning to, clutching at the front of his shirt, feeling the heat of him seeping into your palms.

Satoru groans again, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin.

It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s slow — simmering — like he’s savoring every second, like he wants this moment to stretch on forever.

And it’s only when his teeth gently tug at your bottom lip — when your breathing turns shallow and desperate against each other — that you finally, finally break away.

Both of you stand there for a second, breathing hard, faces flushed.

You feel dizzy. He looks completely wrecked.

You’re both breathless when you pull apart, foreheads resting together, lips tingling.

Satoru’s hands are still on your waist, holding you close like he’s not ready to let go. You can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours — shallow, like he’s trying to calm himself down.

He gives a short, breathy laugh. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smile, dazed. “Pretty sure that’s mutual.”

There’s a beat of silence — heavy with everything unsaid — before he leans in again.

Hungrier. Rougher. Like he’s been holding back all night and can’t anymore. His mouth moves over yours with unfiltered need, hands pulling you closer like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You make a soft noise into his mouth, and it only spurs him on. The way he kisses you — it’s not perfect. It’s messy and fast and desperate, teeth catching on your lower lip, hands gripping tight like he’s scared you’ll slip away.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his tank top, pulling him even closer until you’re practically wrapped around him.

He breaks the kiss just barely, lips brushing yours as he breathes out, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You shake your head. “It’s not. I—” You swallow. “I want this. You.”

His expression softens for a split second before that heat comes rushing back. His mouth is back on yours, slower this time but no less intense — like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

When his hand slips under your shirt and settles on the small of your back, warm and firm, you shiver.

He kisses you like he means it. Like he feels it.

And when you finally pull back again, breathless and flushed, he just smiles — eyes glassy, voice low.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s kissing you again.

No warning, no hesitation — just the searing press of his mouth against yours like he’s starving for it. Like he needs more. And you give in without thinking, letting him pull you closer until there’s not a sliver of space left between your bodies.

His hands are on your waist, fingers tightening like he’s trying to anchor himself. And when your hands slide up his chest, over those broad shoulders, he groans into your mouth — low and wrecked.

It’s dizzying, the way he kisses you. Every time you think he’ll stop, he comes back for more — messier, deeper, rougher. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, slow and hot and reverent.

And then suddenly, he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

His voice is breathless, raw. “Hold on.”

Before you can ask what he means, he lifts you — effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You let out a startled gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you through the apartment. Your heart’s hammering so hard you’re sure he can feel it.

He’s grinning now, cocky and breathless all at once. “I warned you I’m husband material.”

“Shut up,” you mutter against his neck, flustered beyond reason.

But there’s no hiding the way your legs tighten around his waist.

He nudges his bedroom door open with his foot, stepping inside, and the second you’re both in, he sets you down gently. And just like that, he’s on you again — kissing you like he’s waited his whole life for this.

His mouth is still on yours when he shifts forward, slowly pressing you back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You stumble slightly, gripping his arms for balance—and the second your weight tips back, he goes with you.

The two of you collapse onto the mattress in a tangled mess of limbs and breathless laughter, but he’s quick to recover. Quick to pin you there beneath him, hands braced on either side of your head, his hips snug between your thighs.

He looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

And then that glint returns—dangerous and wicked and so unlike the stammering nerd you met on day one.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes, voice low and rough in your ear.

You shiver.

His lips find the side of your neck again, and this time they don’t linger—they devour. Hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your back arch, that pull quiet, helpless sounds from your throat. His hands wander too, slow at first, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, every line and dip he can find.

You reach for him, needing more—but he grabs your wrists, pins them gently above your head with one hand.

“Nuh-uh,” he smirks. “I’m in charge now.”

You’re just about to sass him when he dips down again, this time trailing kisses down your collarbone. Then lower. He peppers slow, aching kisses across your chest, teasing the hem of your top with his free hand.

And then he sits up, straddling your hips, eyes practically burning.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You nod.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I jacked off to the thought of you the other night.”

Your breath catches—your whole body burns.

“After that text you sent,” he goes on, voice like velvet laced with sin. “You have no idea what you did to me. I read it once and couldn’t stop imagining it. You—whispering in my ear like that, all sweet and smug and filthy.”

He moves again, kisses dragging hot and slow down the slope of your neck, and then your chest, until he’s tugging your shirt up and over your head.

“I was in bed,” he murmurs. “One hand on my phone. The other…” He lets the implication hang, but his hand slips down your thigh, then up again, teasing, until your breath comes in sharp gasps.

“I was thinking about you,” he says. “About your voice. About what you’d look like straddling me, telling me what you wanted while I fucked up into you so slow.”

Your hips buck at that—and god, the smirk that pulls at his lips should be illegal.

He starts undressing you slowly, worshipping, like every piece he reveals is a treasure.  “I need you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. His voice is hoarse, eyes searching yours like he needs you to understand. 

The kiss that follows is devastating—open-mouthed and hungry, a collision of breath and teeth and need. You’re clawing at his clothes like they personally offended you, yanking at the hem of his shirt with fumbling fingers and a frustrated groan.

“Off,” you hiss against his lips.

He laughs, breathless, tugging it over his head and tossing it aside, revealing smooth skin and defined muscle, the dip of his waist disappearing into those loose shorts you suddenly despise.

You push at them with impatient hands, and he grins—cocky, flushed, wrecked and loving every second of it. “Desperate, huh?” he teases, voice still husky from the kiss.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, dragging your nails down his sides. “You’re not exactly subtle, loverboy.”

He’s all hands again then—roaming your body, trailing heat in their wake as he presses you down into the bed, lips never far from your skin. Every motion is frantic and reverent all at once, like he’s starving but determined to savor every inch of you.

You push at his chest gently, and he lets you, eyebrows raised in surprise as his back hits the mattress.

“Oh?” he breathes, propping himself up on his elbows. “Taking control now?”

“Didn’t you say I killed you the other night?” you murmur, crawling between his legs with a sly smile. “Figured I should finish the job.”

His eyes darken immediately—heat blooming in them so fast it’s dizzying. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You do—because the second your hands slide up his thighs, he’s already sucking in a breath, already biting back a groan. His abs tense under your touch, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes, gaze glazed over with anticipation.

“You been thinking about this, ’Toru?” you ask softly, dragging your nails lightly along the waistband of his shorts.

He swallows thickly. “Every night.”

And when you finally tug his waistband down, your breath catches.

He's thick, long and heavy, flushed a pretty pink at the tip, and already straining toward you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. Your mouth parts without thinking. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he lets out a shaky, nervous laugh. Your hands wrap around him and his hips instinctively buck upwards.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he mutters, voice gravelly.

He’s already gone—chest rising and falling in short, sharp breaths. His hands clutch the sheets when you lean in, letting your tongue flick across the swollen head, tasting him. 

“Oh fuck—”

You take your time. You don’t give him all of it, not yet. You swirl your tongue around the tip, teasing the slit until he hisses between clenched teeth. He jolts when you lick a slow stripe along the underside, right at the base where it’s most sensitive, your fingers cradling him, gentle and thorough.

He groans—loud and raw—and you feel his hands fist the sheets tighter.

“You’re killing me,” he pants, head tipping back, voice nearly wrecked.

And still, you don’t rush. You bob your head slowly, steadily, sinking down deeper with each pass until his abs tighten and he moans—loud, desperate. You feel him twitch on your tongue, hear the soft, breathy curse that falls from his lips as you wrap your hand around him and roll your wrist just right. You squeeze his balls and he nearly sobs.

You glance up through your lashes, and the sight of him—head tossed back, jaw clenched, face flushed, his entire body shaking with restraint—is seared into your memory.

You don’t take your eyes off him, not even as you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper. He’s so close—you can feel it in the way his thighs tense, the way his breath stutters, the broken sound he makes when you moan around him.

“Fuck—baby, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You want it. Want to see him fall apart. And he does, with a choked groan that rips out of his chest as he spills into your mouth, hot and thick. His hand flies to your hair, not to pull you away—but to keep you there, his hips giving the slightest jerk as he rides it out. You swallow it all only pulling off when he starts to twitch. And when you finally draw back, lips slick and chin damp, he looks completely undone. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, dazed. 

You just smile sweetly and wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

He’s still catching his breath when you go to pull back fully, smug and satisfied. “Mm-hm,” he hums, voice rough and curling with mischief. His hand catches your wrist, firm but gentle. “My turn, sweetheart.”

You blink. “Oh?”

Before you can tease him back, he moves—effortlessly. One arm wraps around your waist, the other plants on the bed, and in a single fluid motion he’s pulling you up, flipping you like you weigh nothing and settling you inches away from his face. You squeak—actually squeak—as your knees plant on either side of his head.

“Satoru—”

“Shh.” He grins, that ridiculous confident smirk plastered across his flushed face. “Sit, baby. Be good for me.”

He gives your ass a squeeze, encouraging, eyes gleaming up at you. You hesitate for half a second and he adds, voice dipped low and sinfully sweet,

“You got to have your fun.”

Then he pulls you down.

His mouth is on you immediately—hot and unrelenting. Tongue flicking, lips sealing around your clit as he groans like you taste better than anything he’s ever had. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh, holding you there like he’s starving and you’re the feast. And when your hips twitch, instinctively trying to lift off—he drags you right back down.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled and vibrating through your core, “I said sit.”

You’re braced against the headboard now, knees shaking, thighs clenched tight around his head as you grind down—slow at first, then faster, chasing that high with ragged breath and trembling limbs.

He’s not just letting you. He’s encouraging it.

Big hands grope your ass, fingers digging in, guiding you against his mouth like he wants you to lose it. His tongue moves with practiced precision, sucking and flicking, drawing soft whimpers and broken gasps from your lips as your body arches.

You glance down again and the sight nearly finishes you—his eyes half-lidded and dazed, cheeks flushed, hair a total mess from how many times you’ve tugged on it.

He looks wrecked. But he’s moaning like he’s in heaven. Like this is exactly where he wants to be.

And then he says it—muffled, half-choked, voice thick with lust and absolutely feral. “So fucking sweet.”

You grind harder, hips rolling, and he groans into you.

He doesn’t care if he can’t breathe. Doesn’t care if he’s dizzy. Doesn’t care if you’re seconds from suffocating him. He’s already decided this is how he wants to go out.

Buried between your thighs, mouth full of you, hands holding you down like you’re sacred.

And when you finally break—back arching, eyes fluttering shut, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes through you—he doesn’t stop. Not for a second.

He rides it out with you, tongue still moving, swallowing every sound you make.

When he finally lets go you collapse beside him, completely spent, your body still trembling in the aftermath. Your cheek presses into the pillow, breath catching in your throat as you try to come back to yourself. Satoru shifts next to you, propping himself up on one elbow. He brushes your hair back gently, eyes soft, and asks quietly,

“You okay?”

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah. Just—holy shit.”

He huffs a small laugh and leans down to kiss your shoulder, warm and unhurried. “Good.”

You feel him watching you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you’re really alright. You stretch out, boneless and warm, assuming this is the part where you both wind down.

But then his hand slides down your back.

You feel him shift behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder, his expression’s changed. Still gentle—but focused. Hungrier.

“You done?” he asks softly, voice right at your ear now.

You blink. “I… thought we were.”

He smiles, and it’s a little crooked, a little smug—but not cocky. Just him.

“Not even close.”

Before you can respond, his hands are on your hips, guiding you forward. You let him, moving onto your knees again, bracing your hands against the headboard as the mattress shifts beneath you. He settles behind you slowly, fingers trailing up your sides. The air changes—more intimate now, more intense.

“You okay like this?” he murmurs.

You nod.

“Good.” He kisses the back of your neck. “Hold on to something.”

He settles behind you again, one hand steady on your hip, the other guiding himself down. You feel the slow drag of him through your folds—warm, thick, and deliberate. You suck in a breath, hips twitching slightly. But he doesn’t press in. Just rocks forward enough to slide himself through you again. And again.

Your fingers curl tighter around the headboard. “…Satoru,” you breathe.

“Mhm?” His voice is low, calm. Way too calm for what he’s doing.

You try to push back into him, but he keeps you where he wants you—just a firm, gentle grip at your hip keeping you still.

He’s quiet for a moment. You glance over your shoulder and catch the look on his face: focused, a little tense, clearly feeling it—but taking his time anyway.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you mutter.

A breath of a laugh leaves him. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Your forehead drops forward. “’Toru…”

He groans softly—just a little, like he’s trying not to—but doesn’t stop. Just drags himself over you again, slower now. “God, you feel good,” he mutters. “I just… give me a second.”

You shift again, needy and frustrated, and he finally stills behind you, tip resting right where you want him. You both freeze.

“…You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, exhaling hard. “Please.”

There’s a beat. And then he leans forward, lips brushing your shoulder, voice quiet and serious against your skin. “Yeah. I got you. Just spread ‘em a bit for me… yeah, that’s it.”

He eases in with that first, deep stroke—slow enough to feel every inch of him push through your walls. The stretch burns just a little, but the heat in your core blooms even hotter. He’s thick, heavy, and you feel every vein drag along your inner walls, textured and pulsing, making your whole body clench around him without thinking.

Behind you, Satoru groans—low and raw, like it’s dragging out of his chest. “God… you feel unreal,” he mutters, breath shaky.

He holds still once he’s fully inside, his hips pressed against the swell of your ass, his hand flexing on your waist like he’s trying not to move too fast. His cock twitches inside you and you gasp at how full you feel—your body stretched and throbbing around him, nerves lighting up from the inside out.

“Okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of your shoulder.

You nod, voice barely there. “Yeah. Just—fuck, Satoru.”

He pulls out slow, almost all the way, and you feel every ridge of him drag against your soaked walls. Then he sinks back in with a soft grunt, and you swear you feel him throb again—your body squeezing around him on instinct.

The pace he sets is slow but deep, grinding into you just right, the friction steady and maddening. Your thighs are trembling already, your hands gripping the headboard like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Every time he pushes in, his cock presses against that spongy spot deep inside you, and every time he pulls out, it’s this slow, deliberate scrape that leaves you gasping. There’s no space left between you—just wet heat and tension, pressure building with every stroke.

And then—his hand moves. Slides down from your waist, slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit with no hesitation. The first pass is light, almost teasing.

You jolt. “Satoru—!”

“I got you,” he says quietly, like a promise. His thumb circles you, slow and tight, while his other hand braces your hip steady against him. And all the while, he keeps fucking into you—deeper now, rhythm starting to slip, strokes a little rougher, his breath coming harder against your skin.

“You feel so good around me,” he murmurs, thumb pressing down just a little harder. “So warm. So tight. You keep squeezing me like that, baby—fuck.”

Your whole body is shaking now, moaning helplessly as his fingers keep working your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. Every stroke is slick, deep, devastating. You can hear the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you, the soft slap of skin, his strained breathing—your own whimpers growing louder with every thrust.

The pressure builds sharp and fast, your body locking up as your orgasm crashes toward you—

And Satoru’s still going. Still thumbing your clit, still grinding his cock into you like he can’t get enough.

Your body tightens around him without warning, breath catching as the pleasure crests—sharp, blinding, unstoppable. You cry out, head dropping as your orgasm rips through you, muscles clenching so hard around his cock that it knocks the air out of both of you.

“Oh my—fuck, that’s it—” Satoru groans, stuttering inside you as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.

You’re still shaking, coming down from the high, when he slows—lets you ride it out, then carefully pulls out, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. You barely have time to blink before he’s flipping you onto your back like you weigh nothing.

He spreads your thighs open, throws your legs over his shoulders, and lines himself up again with a low, strained breath. His eyes meet yours—still soft, but blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. There’s nothing teasing left in him now.

He doesn’t ask this time. Doesn’t wait. He thrusts back in hard—deep—and keeps going.

No more slow buildup. No more holding back. Just relentless, steady drive—his hips snapping into yours over and over, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.

You gasp, fingers flying to his forearms as he leans over you, caging you in. His pace is brutal now, almost punishing, but it never stops feeling good—the angle perfect, the pressure hitting deep with every stroke.

“Satoru—” you sob, voice cracking.

He groans through gritted teeth, muscles tense, hips moving like he’s possessed. “You’re so—fucking—tight.”

You can barely think. Your legs tremble over his shoulders, body arching with every thrust, your orgasm still making aftershocks ripple through you.

He reaches down between you again, hand slipping to your clit like it’s second nature—his thumb moving in tight, fast circles that make your back arch off the bed. “You gonna give me another one?” he pants, voice rough and shaking. “Come on, sweetheart—I know you can.”

You don’t even answer. You can’t. The pressure’s already building again—too fast, too much, your body barely holding on as he keeps fucking into you like he’s been waiting for this all night.

You feel him twitch inside you, hear his breathing hitch—but he still doesn’t come. He’s chasing you again, driving into you like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

You don’t know how he keeps going like this. His pace is ruthless, hips pistoning into you like he’s been starving for it—but it’s the focus that kills you. He’s watching every twitch in your body, every gasp, every time your walls flutter around him like he’s memorizing it.

Then he shifts—leans in until your knees are almost pinned to your chest, folding you in half under him. The new angle makes you cry out, his cock hitting impossibly deep, your body arching beneath the weight of him. “You feel that?” he breathes, voice rough and close to a growl now. “So deep inside you, baby. Just like this.”

And then—his mouth is on your chest. You gasp when he takes your nipple between his lips, tongue circling, sucking slow and steady while his hips never stop. The hot pull of his mouth makes your toes curl, especially when his free hand moves to palm your other breast—thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, fingers squeezing just enough to make you whimper.

It’s too much. You’re overstimulated—his cock still driving into you, thumb still tight and unrelenting on your clit, his mouth sucking, teasing, biting gently down before soothing with his tongue.

Pleasure spikes sharp and fast, and it’s not building—it’s crashing. Your entire body locks up as the heat inside you explodes again, white-hot and shattering, a sob wrenching out of your throat. “Fuck—Satoru—!” Your cunt clenches tight around him, waves of pleasure ripping through you, and he feels it. You feel him falter, his rhythm breaking as he groans like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him.

“Shit—fuck—fuck, I’m—,” he doesn’t even finish the sentence before he’s coming too, hips jerking as he spills inside you with a choked moan. You can feel him pulsing deep inside, every twitch of his cock matching the aftershocks still tearing through you.

He holds you tight through it, arms wrapped around your back, forehead pressed to your shoulder as you both shake through the comedown—nothing but breathless curses filling the room.

You don’t even realize your eyes have fluttered shut until you feel him shift, just a gentle repositioning of his weight as he carefully pulls out—slow, like he doesn’t want to hurt you. You wince, breath catching at the sting, and immediately his voice is there, low and warm in your ear. “Hey, you with me?”

You nod faintly, your body boneless, brain melted, heart still pounding. He kisses your shoulder—once, twice—and gently lowers your legs from where they’re still draped over him, massaging your thighs like he knows they’re trembling.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back, yeah? Don’t move.”

You can’t even laugh at that. He gets up anyway, grabbing the closest towel and heading to the bathroom, still totally naked, completely unbothered. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror across the room—hair a mess, chest flushed, thighs shaking—and you groan, flopping back against the sheets.

By the time he returns, you’re still half out of it, and he just smiles, fond and lazy as he nudges your legs apart again. “Easy,” he whispers, wiping you down gently, taking his time like you’re made of glass now. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good.”

You sigh as he finishes, and the second he’s done, he tosses the towel and climbs back into bed with you—pulling you against his chest, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s anchoring himself. You melt into him, cheek pressed against his collarbone and he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

A pause. Then—“You’re unreal, you know that?” he murmurs. “I mean, I already knew, but—Jesus.”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I made you come so hard you forgot your own name.”

“Sweetheart,” he says solemnly, “Don’t be mean.”

You laugh—tired, soft—and he smiles at the sound.

Then quieter: “You’re incredible.” He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead.

You bury your face in his chest, heart warm and too full. “Stop being sweet,” you mumble.

“Never.” He grins.

You don’t say anything for a while. Just breathe—slow and steady—as his hand runs gently along your back, grounding you. The room’s quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city outside the window, and the faint rustle of sheets as you both settle into the aftermath. He shifts just enough to pull the blanket higher over the two of you, tucking you in without saying a word.

Your eyes are heavy, but you blink them open to look at him. He’s already watching you—messy hair, flushed cheeks, the ghost of a smile on his lips like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“What?” you murmur, voice rough with sleep.

He shrugs a little, eyes soft. “Nothing. Just… you’re kinda perfect, y’know?”

You snort under your breath, too tired to fight it. “Don’t start.”

He chuckles, nose brushing your hair as he tucks you in closer. “I won’t. Promise.”

There’s a pause, just the two of you breathing in sync, his thumb stroking slow circles into your hip. “Stay here tonight,” he whispers.

“But ’Toru… we have class tomorrow.”

He groans dramatically into your skin. “Let’s bunk.”

You snort. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s the right answer every time.” He lifts his head enough to look at you, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes still heavy-lidded but shamelessly clingy. “C’mon. It’s late. Just stay.”

You hesitate, even though you’re already leaning toward yes. He catches that and nudges his knee between yours, coaxing you closer.

“I’ll set an alarm,” he adds. “You can wear one of my shirts. I’ll even make you coffee in the morning.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think I had to.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already settling in again, your cheek resting over his heartbeat. “Fine,” you murmur. “But if we oversleep, I’m blaming you.”

He hums, content. “That’s fair.”

So you stay like that—comfortable and a little too in love to care about anything. And with Satoru’s arms around you—his breath steady against your skin, his presence anchoring you—you drift off. No words needed. Just safe. Just held.

Perfect.

author's note. whoever started the nerdjo agenda, i owe you my firstborn child

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hope you can do this-

WE TOTALLY NEED t141 with a wife reader doing that one TikTok trend about standing naked in front of them, like they could be watching a rugby game and reader comes into the room with nothing but a towel on, drops the towel, completely flashes them and then leaves 😂

(you can do gender neutral if you don't want to do a female reader 💕)

HA! OKAY! I know this trend! I've seen videos of it before. Love, love, love this idea, anon. I could have gone real smutty, but I controlled myself (shocking, I know) and only went a bit cheeky (lol) with it. I hope you have a good laugh or smile while reading. Enjoy!!

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, non-descriptive nudity, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, shenanigans, swearing, implied sexual content

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

The documents are sprawled out across the dining room table. John has been pouring over them for hours, considering every bit of information, determining importance.

In his peripheral, you float about, a moving shadow that appears and disappears as you roam the house. John would like to spend time with you, to bask in your presence, but it’s not to be. This is far too important to merely set aside.

For a time, you disappear, then your shadow emerges again. John expects you to continue on, but you linger, and it draws his attention up and away from the documents.

You stand before him in nothing but a fluffy white towel. Your skin, that of what he can see, is slightly wet as if you’ve just emerged from the shower.

“Love?” he prompts.

You don’t speak. You simply drop the towel.

All thoughts of the upcoming mission leave John’s head. In its place is your nakedness and the rushing of blood to his dick as it hardens.

As words form on his tongue, you abruptly turn, giving him a full view of your bare ass.

Fuck it, John thinks as he pushes back his chair.

The mission can fucking wait.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s tongue sticks out from between his teeth. It’s just a sliver of pink—a hint of the concentration brewing in his gaze.

“Come on,” he mutters, clicking the buttons on the controller. “Come on.”

He’s off. Away from work. Enjoying the comforts of home.

You appear from the right, directly between the television and the couch. Johnny notices but says nothing. When you don’t move away, he glances over. You’re in nothing but a fluffy, white towel.

“Coming to join me, love?” he asks with a wink.

As a reply, you smirk, and then drop the towel you’re wearing. It pools at your feet.

Johnny’s gaze completely shifts in your direction. He stares…and stares, the video game forgotten. You’re completely naked, looking goddamn delicious. All the blood in his brain promptly rushes to between his legs, building an aching need that grows by the second.

And you’re…walking away? No. You should be sitting in his lap right now. You should be on his dick.

“Oi!” he shouts, standing abruptly, the controller clattering to the floor.

You glance over your shoulder, and Johnny melts under that look. Desire hangs heavy, and Johnny decides right then that the game can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle leans against the kitchen counter, his gaze distant as Price chatters away in his ear. They’ve been on the phone for five minutes—a new record for Price who thinks cellphones are evil incarnate—and the man won’t shut up.

“No,” says Kyle, keeping his tone neutral. “I hear you. It’s a fucking mess that one.”

You appear from around the corner in nothing but a towel. Kyle smirks in your general direction, extending one arm toward you with the intent to draw you close to him. But you do not approach. You remain completely out of reach.

Frowning, Kyle pushes off from the counter. The words begin to form on his lips and then promptly disappear when you abruptly drop the towel.

His mouth hangs open, breath stolen, with gaze fixated on all that nakedness.

Price is still talking—still jabbering.

Kyle hears none of it. Price’s voice becomes a low buzz as all of Kyle’s attention goes from his head to his dick.

“Captain,” he manages to gasp out as you dart away down the hall. “Captain. I have to go.”

Kyle doesn’t wait for Price’s affirmative. He ends the call, legs already moving to follow you.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon lifts the hammer, intent on striking the nail to push it further into the wall.

Just as he brings his arm down, a shadow appears in his peripheral. Within him is a tug—an insistent urge to look and seek out the source of the movement.

And Simon does.

Shifting his head just enough for the shadow to become solid, Simon’s gaze falls upon the one person he loves most in this world. It’s only seconds that pass, but his brain registers everything about your figure in an instant. It’s your exposed skin, then the towel wrapped around your body, to you opening it up to reveal the nakedness underneath, only for you to drop the towel where it pools on the floor.

The hammer comes crashing down, but Simon doesn’t notice that the trajectory has shifted. Not until it falls, and misses the nail, coming down on his hand.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he growls, staring down at his now throbbing thumb.

Simon glances up, ready to tell you off, but you’re already walking away, bare ass on full display.

You naught thing. Distracting him on purpose.

Simon sets down the hammer, following, intent on teaching you a lesson.

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 2.6k

a/n: ehhhh just a random idea. not too proud of it. listening to cinnamon girl prompted me to write this. ive never written or read anything angsty. its not great, just my first attempt. lemme know your thoughts! would you wanna read more?

I

The hallway stretched before you, dim and silent except for the muffled creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something sharper, gun oil, maybe. You exhaled slowly, your breath barely disturbing the stillness.

And then you heard it.

A laugh, bright and effortless, ringing through the house.

You froze.

You didn’t need to follow the sound. You didn’t need to see her draped over Sylus’s arm, her fingers curled around a wine glass, her lips parted in amusement. You knew. You had always known.

Sylus had loved her long before he’d known you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another, one where they were bound by something deeper than reason. You had sensed it the moment you first saw them together, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

And you? You had been careful.

You never let your hands tremble when you handed him reports. Never let your voice waver when he stood too close, his presence like a storm pressing against your skin. You were smarter than that. You had to be.

The file in your hand suddenly felt heavy. You set it down on the side table, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. 

A few steps farther, and there he was. Mephisto, perched on his stand like a sentinel, his feathers catching the faint glow of the hallway sconces. Sylus’s ever-watchful spy. 

Your fingers closed around the bird’s body before you could second-guess yourself. Cold metal bit into your palm as you twisted its neck, pressing the hidden switch beneath its wing. A faint click, and the red light in its eyes flickered out.

No more watching. No more recording.

You didn’t walk to your room so much as you drifted there. The corner by the window looking welcoming, the floorboards smooth beneath your knees where you had sat so many nights before. You didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just waited, as if some foolish part of you still expected.

But no. Of course he didn’t come.

Why would he? You were just an asset. A tool. And tools don’t warrant concern when they go quiet. They’re replaced.

The realization settled over you like a weight.

You stood. Your bag was already half-packed from some forgotten mission, duffel shoved beneath the bed, dust clinging to its straps. You yanked it free, tossing in the essentials: cash, a knife, the forged papers you’d been smart enough to prepare months ago. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t tiptoe past his study, didn’t glance toward the wing where her laughter still curled through the air like smoke.

He wouldn’t notice you were gone.

***

Two years. 

Two years since you'd walked out of that gilded prison with nothing but a half-packed duffel bag and the clothes on your back. Your plan had been absolute in its simplicity: vanish from the N109 Zone completely. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world, someplace so remote and inaccessible that not even Sylus with his vast resources would think to look.

But you were never naive enough to believe it would be that easy.

In the silent hours before dawn, when the city outside your new apartment windows hummed ever so softly, the truth would wrap around your throat like cold fingers. If Sylus ever truly wanted to find you, he would. No amount of running, carefully constructing false identities, calculating distance would stop him. 

The realization should have terrified you. Instead, it settled into your bones like an old scar, familiar, aching, but no longer sharp. So you did the only thing you could: you became invisible. Not by hiding, but by thriving in the last place anyone would expect to find you.

EVER Group. Those gleaming letters embossed on every lab door, every piece of correspondence, every business card that now bore your name. Eternity Vanquishes Evolution Restraint. A name as pretentious as it was accurate. They didn't recruit through job postings or career fairs. They hunted. For minds like yours. Sharp, adaptable, willing to dance on the edge of ethics if it meant progress. 

And when they'd found you six months after your disappearance, when they'd slid that first offer across the table with promises of resources beyond imagination and challenges worthy of your mind, you'd said yes without hesitation.

Your new title, Human Augmentation Engineer, rolled off the tongue with clinical precision. The work suited you in ways you hadn't anticipated. Your days were spent in sterile white labs where the air smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant, your fingers dancing across holographic displays as you designed biomechanical enhancements that pushed the boundaries of human limitation. 

Cardiac regeneration systems that could theoretically keep a heart beating forever. Neural interfaces that blurred the line between human thought and machine precision. 

The ethical implications would have kept a lesser person awake at night. For you, it was just another equation to solve.

The irony wasn't lost on you. EVER was, by any reasonable standard, monstrous. Their research ventured into territories that would terrify most people. Resurrection protocols, memory extraction, experiments that could theoretically stop death. And yet, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you were happy.

Mornings began with the quiet ritual of coffee brewed exactly how you liked it, black with a single sugar, sipped while reviewing data from your latest prototypes. Your colleagues greeted you by name, their respect earned through competence rather than fear. Meetings were lively debates rather than tense performances, your ideas were met with genuine interest rather than dismissal. There was a birthday celebration for you, a real one, with terrible store-bought cake and off-key singing.

Your apartment, small but yours, became a sanctuary. The couch was worn in just the right places, the kitchen stocked with foods you actually enjoyed rather than what was expected. Evenings were spent curled up with research journals or trashy novels, the city lights painting shifting patterns across your walls.

No more straining to hear footsteps in the hallway. No more rehearsing conversations in your head, measuring every word before it left your lips. No more choking on the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

You thought about him, of course.

It was impossible not to.

Sometimes when you passed a certain shade of crimson in a shop window, his colour, your breath would catch just for a moment. The scent of expensive bourbon would still make you turn your head. And on rare nights, when sleep eluded you, you'd find yourself wondering. Did he still keep that ridiculous collection of antique pistols? Had he replaced you immediately, or had he waited out of pride, if not sentiment? Was she still there?

But the thoughts came less frequently now. When they did surface, you’d forget about them after a moment or two. Did it hurt? You weren't sure. More importantly, you didn't care enough to find out. This life, this messy, complicated, gloriously ordinary life, was yours by choice. Every late night at the lab, every terrible office party, every quiet evening alone was a decision you'd made for yourself.

And you didn't regret a single second of it.

The past was a closed door.

***

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of waking up expecting to see you in the study, bent over reports with that familiar furrow between your brows. Two years of catching himself turning to make some dry remark, only to remember that there was no one there to hear it. 

He had to admit. You'd outsmarted him.

The realization still tasted like broken glass.

Sylus sat in his office, the glow of a dying fire casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smelled of leather and gun oil, of expensive bourbon left untouched in its crystal decanter. His fingers traced the edge of a file, your file. The one he kept locked in the bottom drawer despite having memorized every word.

Page 37 showed your favorite café, the one with the terrible coffee you pretended to enjoy because the owner reminded you of your grandfather. Page 89 mentioned your habit of humming off-key when working late. Page 203 contained the little notes he’d leave for you around the house. He knew you loved his handwriting. He’d known the moment you asked him to write down everything he needed done instead of telling you. 

He snapped the folder shut.

Mephisto had been his masterpiece. Programmed to follow you silently if you ever left unannounced, to watch over you when he couldn't. A safeguard. A gift, in his own twisted way. But you'd known. Of course you'd known. The way you'd manually shut the bird down with the sole purpose of running away from him, haunted him more than any ghost ever could.

He'd searched every corner of the N109 Zone. Burned through favors, called in debts, even risked venturing into rival territories himself. Nothing. No whispers in the underground, no sightings in the usual haunts. Just empty leads and dead ends piling up like corpses.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

He'd been a fool.

All those carefully calculated moves, every strategic play, and he'd still managed to lose the only piece that ever truly mattered. Standing too close under the guise of examining your work. Leaning down just to catch your scent, ink, gunpowder and something faintly floral. Asking you to move in like some lovesick idiot instead of just saying it.

What kind of boss invites a mere employee to live with him?

The answer burned in his chest.

One who couldn't admit he'd rather die than watch you walk out that door.

His fingers found the scar along his collarbone. Four precise lines from when you'd stitched him up after a job gone awry. You'd been furious he'd gotten shot, even after seeing him heal himself, you still insisted on medical care. Your hands steady but your voice trembling as you told him exactly how stupid he'd been. That was the moment, if he was honest with himself. When he'd known.

Then, a knock came at 2:17 AM.

He didn't bother looking up. "If this is another dead end, don’t bother coming in."

The door creaked open, revealing two familiar silhouettes, tall, lean, their features obscured by those masks they never removed. Even in the dim light, he could tell them apart instantly.

Neither spoke.

Sylus set his glass down with deliberate precision. "Well?"

They exchanged glances, Luke's mask tilting just slightly left, Kieran's right hand twitching toward his hip holster. A full three seconds of silence.

The decanter shattered against the wall behind them.

"Where is she?"

Kieran didn't flinch at the spray of glass. "EVER Group's Bioengineering Division. Senior augmentation specialist." His voice was flat, but the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger.

A long silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock.

The name hit like a bullet. The irony was almost poetic. His brilliant, cautious girl hiding in the belly of the beast itself. His laughter cut through the silence, sharp and humorless. "Of course she is."

Luke’s gaze shifted from Sylus to his brother. Then, all of a sudden he blurted out, "She's happy."

Sylus' cufflink caught the light as he reached for his pistol case.

“Get the car.”

***

The alarm screamed at 5:00 AM.

Your hand slapped over it before the third shrill could shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For three breaths, you lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling where dawn’s first light painted watercolor streaks through the stained-glass window. The sheets smelled of lavender detergent. Real lavender, not the synthetic crap they pumped through EVER’s ventilation systems.

The shower scalded just shy of painful, steam curling around the bullet scar on your left hip. You scrubbed with a lemon-scented soap, the odour sharp enough to cut through the chemical fog that clung to your skin after long days in the lab. 

The mirror fogged over, but not before you caught sight of the woman staring back. Nearly unrecognizable from the ghost who fled N109 Zone. Your hair was now cropped into a sharp bob, your cheekbones pronounced from actually remembering to eat. Only your hands remained the same. Steady, scarred, capable of both delicacy and breaking a man’s wrist in three places.

You dressed methodically. Black tailored slacks with the hidden knife slit in the right seam, a white blouse buttoned to the collarbones, a lab coat starched stiff as a corpse’s shroud. The ridiculous 3-inch Louboutins Luke stole for your birthday pinched near the pinky toe, but you wore them anyway. The coffee brewed strong enough to dissolve spoons, poured into the chipped World’s Okayest Engineer mug Kieran gifted after your first successful mission.

The elevator to Sublevel 7 smelled like antiseptic and ozone. You balanced the coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, scrolling through today’s schedule when Dr. Cho’s voice interrupted.

“Dr. (reader)!”

He clutched a sealed dossier to his chest like it contained nuclear codes, sweat beading along his receding hairline under the fluorescent lights. “You are reassigned,” he blurted. “Effective immediately.”

The coffee turned to acid in your throat.

Conference Room B smelled like, well, cool, clean air.

Twenty-seven faces stared back as Cho announced Project HDS-7213, EVER’s first live-subject augmentation trial. Your promotion to Lead Biomedical Engineer. The way his voice hitched on live sent a tremor down your spine.

“Congratulations,” Mara whispered, nudging a thicker dossier across the table. “You earned this.”

The file weighed more than it should’ve. Page 1: Subject M-7. Male. 28 years old. Page 3: Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Page 9: Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your thumb left a smudge on the surveillance photo, a blurred figure in black attire. “Why bother with a photo?” Mara commented.

“Mara,” you murmured, tapping the Evol classification. “We never worked with anyone above Class IV.”

Her knee pressed against yours under the table. “Remember those Tesla-looking monstrosities they brought in last week? Turns out they are portable suppression fields.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. I guess.”

Frowning, you turned your gaze back to the file. Your mission was clear cut. Suppress the subject’s Evol to null and transfer it to another subject. You gulped. Wouldn’t that kill him? What had you gotten yourself into?

The walk to Lab 7 took exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds. You counted each step, each sip of now-cold coffee, each erratic heartbeat as clearance doors hissed open before you. The file revealed another horror. Subject resisted standard sedation (they switched to a veterinary elephant tranquilizer).

The final door required retinal scan and voiceprint.

“Dr. (reader), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged with a sound like bones breaking.

Lab 7 was colder than the morgue.

Your heels clicked against frosted glass flooring as you approached the observation window. The suppression field hummed at a frequency that made your teeth ache. Coffee sloshed over the rim of your mug as your hands betrayed you.

On the other side of the glass was a man. Not just a subject.

Chained in a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device, his bare torso marked with fresh burns where the electrodes bit into flesh. Blood crusted along his split lip. Silver hair matted with sweat and something darker near the temple. His head lolled forward, chin nearly touching chest, but you could see the rise and fall of ragged breathing.

Then, as if sensing your presence he looked up.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours through the glass. Not the dull gaze of a sedated prisoner. Not the wild glare of a feral test subject.

Your mug shattered on the lab floor.

Because the man strapped to that chair, the man whose file now trembled in your hands, was Sylus.

[amoressb]

───── MY BIGGEST FAN 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ you missed him, so why not go to his groups fansign to get his autograph…and him ｡｡ ɪᴅᴏʟ ʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

FLUFF & wc. 1490 + / kissing , skinship , petnames ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

the venue buzzed with the soft thunder of excited fans, murmuring anticipation and rustling albums clutched tightly to chests. the fansign had just begun, and riki was seated in the center of the table with his members, his body present but his mind drifting.

he was polite as always, playful when prompted, but something about today felt heavier. the kind of heavy that came from being weeks apart from you. every tour stop, every rehearsal, every sleep deprived night had been softened only by your voice through a phone screen, your little texts full of love, your late night videos reminding him to eat and sleep.

but it still wasn’t you.

riki tried to shake it off as he scribbled messages on photobooks and smiled through soft fan interactions. his fingers twirled the pen absentmindedly and he barely noticed the way staff was subtly guiding the next fan toward him.

until he looked up and the air was knocked clean out of his lungs.

there you were. no hoodie. no mask. no disguise. just you—his beautiful girl. smiling, radiant, beautiful, and very much real. you stood there like a dream, an album in your hand and the most mischievous look on your face.

“hi riki,” you said sweetly, as if you weren’t flipping his entire world upside down.

his eyes went wide. for a second, he froze completely, mouth slightly parted. he almost stood up out of instinct, chest surging with the need to touch you, pull you in, confirm you weren’t a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and too many energy drinks.

but staff, cameras, and fans. he forced himself to sit still. barely. “i—what—” his words fumbled out in a whisper. “you’re here?”

you placed the album down gently in front of him, your eyes sparkling. “what, not gonna sign for your biggest fan?” he blinked at the photobook, then slowly back up at you. “this is so evil.”

“don’t worry, i brought a pen,” you teased, tapping your fingers on the table. “autograph, please. make it special.”

riki tried to act cool, but his hands trembled slightly as he opened the album. the page you picked already had one of his pictures staring back at him. his sleepy post concert smile, the one you always said was your favorite.

he swallowed hard, willing his hands to move normally as he signed his name. underneath it, he scribbled a small, hidden message in tiny handwriting only you would understand : i’ve been going crazy without you.

then, as discreetly as he could manage, he slid his hand across the table. his fingers grazed yours and you didn’t hesitate. you interlaced your hands beneath the cover of the album, warm and familiar and home.

riki exhaled softly, the relief palpable in his shoulders. “i thought you were in L.A. until next week,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours.

“changed my flight,” you whispered back. “surprise.”

“best surprise of my life,” he murmured, squeezing your hand.

jake was the first to notice and from two seats down, he let out a very obvious, very exaggerated cough followed by a knowing smirk. riki didn’t even care. he was too busy trying to hold it together while every instinct in his body screamed to get up and hold you properly.

but you gave his hand one final squeeze before gently pulling back, eyes warm and full of unspoken promise. “see you backstage?”

“don’t run. i’m coming straight for you.” you winked, took the signed album, and stepped away. suddenly, the world was colorless without you standing in front of him.

the rest of the fansign was torture.

he powered through somehow, offering smiles and laughter like his heart hadn’t just nearly burst. but every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward the back exit, counting down the seconds until he could bolt.

and finally, finally, it ended.

the moment the cameras cut and the last fan waved goodbye, riki was up. he didn’t wait for staff instructions or even say goodbye to his members. he moved through the backstage corridors like a man on a mission, heart hammering, eyes scanning every corner.

then he turned into the hallway behind the dressing rooms and there you were. waiting against the wall, your fingers nervously twisting at the hem of your shirt, until you saw him.

“baby—”

he didn’t say a word. he closed the space in three long strides and wrapped his arms around you so tightly you gasped. he pressed his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like oxygen, like something he hadn’t had in too long.

“i missed you,” you whispered.

“never, ever leave me that long again,” he said into your neck. “that was the absolute worst.”

you chuckled, arms winding around him. “you’re so dramatic.”

he leaned back, hands cupping your cheeks. “i’m not. you were right there and i couldn’t even kiss you.”

your eyes softened, “you can now.”

that’s all it took before he kissed you. softly at first, then deeper, slower, like he was trying to make up for every second you two had been apart. one hand cradled the back of your head, the other still wrapped tight around your waist.

when he finally pulled away, he rested your foreheads together, noses brushing as his thumbs caressed your cheeks.

“you’re not going back to L.A. tomorrow, right?” he asked, breath still warm against your lips.

“i have five days here,” you whispered, your hands sliding up his back and curling at the nape of his neck.

“then cancel everything. i’m keeping you,” he said, dead serious.

you laughed softly, but it was the kind that came from deep in your chest. the kind that said i missed you just as much. “what would you even do with me for five days straight?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint flashing through them. “are you asking me to give you a full itinerary?”

“ki—”

“okay, okay,” he smirked, hands trailing down to your waist, pulling you a little closer. “first, i’m gonna spend the rest of tonight with you in my arms. no distractions. no stage lights. no rushing to the next schedule. just us.”

you smiled up at him, your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck. “then what?”

“then tomorrow, i’m taking you to every spot i wanted to show you while i was on tour here. that one cafe i kept texting you about? the one with the strawberry croissants?”

“you’ve been thinking about strawberry croissants this whole time?”

“no,” he said, voice dropping a little lower, “i’ve been thinking about you trying them and getting powdered sugar on your lips so i can have an excuse to kiss it off.”

you blushed and he laughed gently, dipping his head down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

he pulled back just enough to look at you fully, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every part all over again. “you’re really here,” he said again, almost to himself, “i still can’t believe it.”

“i wanted to see you,” you said softly. “you’ve looked so tired on camera lately.” he smiled, the kind of smile that only came when he was completely, fully at ease. “i’ve been tired. missing you is exhausting.”

you tilted your head. “you’re such a drama queen.” he leaned in again, brushing his lips over yours with a light laugh. “only for you.”

you two stood like that for a moment, just the two of you, wrapped up in each other in the quiet hallway where no one else could see. no stylists, no managers, no fans. just you and riki. his arms around you, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and the buzz of the outside world finally quiet for the first time in weeks.

then he whispered, lips brushing your hair, “come back with me to the dorm. the others will scream, but i need you to be with me tonight. i just…want to fall asleep next to you.”

your voice was soft, “are you sure?”

he nodded, eyes glassy with how much he missed you. “i don’t care who sees anymore. i just want you. i want to hold your hand outside a fansign. i want you in my bed, stealing my blankets and kicking me in your sleep.”

“you miss me kicking you?” you teased.

“i’d let you drop kick me if it meant waking up with you next to me.” that earned him a laugh so bright and familiar, it made his chest ache in the best way. he took your hand again, kissed the back of it, and looked into your eyes. “come with me?”

you nodded and just like that, you left together, his fingers laced with yours, hearts finally full again. he made it through the photos, the smiles, the empty days of pretending.

now he had what he really needed. you, in his arms, for real, and he wasn’t letting go.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva @heekolazz @soona-huh

[moonlightwritingf1]

Prove Me Wrong | LN4

࣪ ִֶָ☾. summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N and Lando have always hated each other—forced into the same social circle, their rivalry fueled by clashing personalities and constant bickering. But when a heated debate about men and female pleasure turns into a challenge, neither of them backs down. What starts as an argument quickly spirals into something far more dangerous, and before she knows it, Lando is proving her wrong in the filthiest way possible.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

࣪ ִֶָ☾. word count ━━━━━━━ 7k

࣪ ִֶָ☾. warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, edging, teasing, spanking

Based on this request.

Part 2.

The room hummed with low chatter and the clink of half-empty glasses as the evening wore on. It was late, and the group gathered in Max and Pietra’s cozy London flat had grown comfortably loose-limbed from hours of wine and laughter. Y/N, leaning back on the sofa, watched with a slight smile as Max and Pietra snuggled up on the couch across from her, whispering conspiratorial little things to each other. On her left, a few of Pietra’s friends were debating some trivial pop-culture moment—something about a celebrity’s latest scandal.

Meanwhile, across the coffee table, Lando lounged in an armchair, having just returned from the kitchen with another beer. His gaze slid toward Y/N, and she felt a familiar spark of irritation before she deliberately looked away. They might have been forced into the same social circle due to Max and Pietra, but she and Lando never passed up an opportunity to clash. He was an adrenaline-chasing Formula 1 star, living for speed and bright lights; she was a quiet professional with a nine-to-five, living comfortably in London. Their personalities repelled each other like misaligned magnets.

Eventually, the conversation drifted into flirtations and confessions—someone playfully mentioned the difference between men’s and women’s libidos, and soon half the room was alive with cheeky teasing. Pietra, always unfiltered once a little alcohol coursed through her veins, giggled and asked if anyone had advice for “improving bedroom enthusiasm.” That was enough of a spark to prompt a wave of anecdotes, jokes, and half-serious stories.

Lando snorted. “Oh, come on, we’re all adults here, right? Are we really giving each other sex tips?” he teased, draping an arm across the back of his chair and shooting a grin at Max. Max just laughed and rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t until Y/N felt a sharp elbow from one of Pietra’s friends that she realized they were all looking to her for an opinion—some last word on the subject. She suddenly found herself the center of attention, but she was neither flustered nor shy in that moment. Possibly thanks to the wine, she felt her usual nerves loosen.

“You know what?” she said, sitting forward and catching everyone’s eye. “I think most men don’t really care about female pleasure. Maybe it’s unintentional, but in my experience, they’re just…satisfied when they’re done and forget about their partner. Not all men,” she added quickly, shrugging. “But it sure feels that way most of the time.”

That simple remark seemed to light a fuse. A chorus of opinions erupted—some people agreed vigorously, others jumped in to defend themselves or their partners. But Lando’s eyebrow rose in particular. He set down his beer bottle with a soft clink against the table.

“Really?” he said slowly, his tone half disbelieving, half challenging. “So you’ve just…never found a man who cares? That’s a bold assumption for about half the population.”

Y/N’s expression hardened. She felt the annoyance rising up, fueled by a hidden tension that always sparked around him. “It’s not an assumption,” she retorted, chin lifting. “It's a personal experience. I never said it’s a hundred percent true for every man on the planet, but don’t pretend it doesn’t happen. A lot.”

A flash of something like irritation—or was it amusement?—crossed Lando’s face. His grin was tight, less playful than usual. “So that’s it, huh?” he remarked. “One or two guys drop the ball, and you write off all men?” He shook his head. “That’s just lazy.”

Across the small living room, Pietra and Max exchanged wary glances. They knew it was usually best to let Y/N and Lando hash out their disagreements on their own—but everyone else around them had gone noticeably quiet. The tension in the air was suddenly thick and electric.

Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not writing anyone off,” she countered, her voice low but unwavering. “I’m just stating a fact from my perspective. It’s been bad enough times that I no longer expect anything else.”

They locked eyes for a moment, and it felt like a silent battle of wills: he refused to look away, and she refused to back down. Then someone changed the subject, and the conversation took a slight turn. But there was no mistaking the fire in their words.

Later that night, when the others had begun to drift off to separate rooms or hail taxis home, Y/N slipped away from the group, heading to the little balcony that overlooked the quiet London streets. She needed a moment to breathe. The evening air was cool, and the wine had warmed her cheeks uncomfortably, leaving her with a restless feeling in her chest.

She didn’t realize Lando had followed her until she heard the sliding door open. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his silhouette slip onto the balcony. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, effectively shutting out the noise from inside.

She sighed. “What do you want, Lando?”

He set his beer aside on the small balcony table. “We’re obviously not each other’s favorite people,” he began, leaning against the railing. “But that comment you made—about men not caring? It’s nagging at me.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Why do you care what I think? Unless it bruises your ego?” she said pointedly.

“It’s not my ego,” he shot back. “I just—look, you can’t throw a statement like that around and not expect someone to disagree. I don’t care about your personal experiences. But it’s pretty…narrow-minded to assume that you know how all men operate.”

She turned to face him fully. Her voice was sharp. “I’m not talking about all men. And it’s not narrow-minded to notice patterns. My experiences are real and valid.”

He took a measured breath, exhaling in frustration. “I never said they weren’t. I’m just saying, maybe you’ve been with the wrong guys.” His eyes flicked over her face, searching. “You and I don’t get along, sure. But your assumption that men are selfish in bed—I can’t let that slide.”

Something in his tone—low, determined—sent a shiver through her. She was keenly aware of the space between them, which felt suddenly charged. “Why?” she asked, crossing her arms protectively. “You want to prove me wrong or something?”

His gaze flickered downward, then back up to her eyes. “Maybe I do,” he said quietly, almost a murmur, but there was unmistakable steel in his words.

She felt her pulse kick up. Part of her wanted to argue, to snap at him for his arrogance. The other part was startled by a heat that coiled in her lower belly, spurred by the air of challenge in his stance. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, though her voice sounded unsteady, even to her own ears.

He took a step closer, enough that she caught the clean scent of his cologne mixed with the faint bitterness of beer. “Maybe,” he acknowledged, “but you keep telling me you’re not just generalizing. That it’s a real pattern. How about letting someone show you otherwise?”

She blinked, her throat tight. “You think you’re that someone?”

He didn’t step back. “I know I’m that someone.”

There it was: confidence hovering on the edge of cockiness, and the friction between them flared. She wanted to deny him just to see that smirk wiped off his face. But a spark of defiance coursed through her, and it was intimately bound with desire. She hated him—his smugness, his brashness. Yet the way he looked at her left her trembling in a way she couldn’t ignore.

Her response slipped out before she could stop herself: “Prove it.”

–

No one else was awake to notice the two of them slipping out of Max and Pietra’s flat. Y/N and Lando didn’t bother with lengthy goodbyes—both of them, though they’d never admit it aloud, wanted to keep this a secret from their friends for as long as possible.

Lando had insisted they go somewhere private, his voice low and insistent. “You won’t be able to keep quiet, and I don’t want Max and Pietra to know what’s going on,” he’d said, his tone leaving no room for argument. She’d rolled her eyes, but deep down, she couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through her at the thought.

Because what he wanted from her, and what she was half-daring him to deliver, simply wasn’t going to be quiet.

The next thing she knew, they were in a taxi headed to her apartment, the silence between them heavy with unspoken tension.

They hailed a late-night cab in tense silence, barely looking at each other though the air between them bristled with anticipation. The moment they reached her building, they were out of the taxi and up the stairs without a word, their hearts pounding in unison. Y/N fumbled with her keys, and it felt like an eternity before the lock finally turned. The instant the door swung open, Lando pressed his palm against it to shove it closed behind them.

Inside the small entrance hall, the hush was broken by the sound of their ragged breaths. She stood there, watching him, her nerves blazing with adrenaline. The light overhead was dim, and her senses seemed hyper-focused on the way his chest rose and fell. When he moved toward her, she braced for that first touch as though it might knock the wind out of her.

“I’m giving you one chance,” he said, his voice low, threaded with challenge. “If you’ve changed your mind, say it now.”

Her lips twitched, torn between a retort and a refusal to speak. Instead, she shook her head—a small, certain motion. He closed the space between them in a single step, and the moment his hand cupped her face, a bolt of electricity shot through her. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down for a kiss that started off almost gentle, but quickly dissolved into something filled with need and frustration. They might hate each other in the daylight, but right now, that hatred was fueling a different kind of fire.

They stumbled blindly into the living area, leaving a trail of shoes and jackets behind. At one point, Y/N’s back thumped against a side table, rattling the lamp that sat on it, but she barely noticed. Every nerve in her body zeroed in on Lando’s hands roaming over her—down her waist, up beneath her blouse, across her shoulders. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily.

“I don’t want anyone hearing you tonight,” he warned, his breath hitching as he spoke. “Not your neighbors, definitely not our friends.”

Her laugh was breathless, almost taunting. “Then you’d better keep me quiet.”

His eyes flashed with a challenge. “I don’t think so,” he murmured. “I want to hear every sound.”

Somehow, they made it to her bedroom without toppling the furniture. She was the one to flick on the faint bedside lamp; he was the one who slammed the door shut. He looked around at the scattered books, a half-finished glass of water on the nightstand—signs of her normal, everyday life. And here he was, about to disrupt that normalcy for good.

“You can tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice taut with control as he moved in to press her against the edge of the bed.

She met his eyes, her own gaze fevered. Every bit of logic and caution had evaporated the moment they’d brushed their lips in that hallway. “Don’t stop,” she answered, barely more than a whisper.

It was all the invitation he needed. They crashed onto the bed with unrestrained urgency. The softness of the mattress contrasted sharply with the sharpened edge of their mutual hostility. She could taste the remnants of wine on his lips, feel the solid warmth of his body pinning hers. He held her by the wrists at one point, his grip firm but not painful, as if silently reminding her who was in control.

“Told you not every man’s the same,” he muttered, his words a provocative taunt.

She wriggled her wrists free, her own anger igniting. “Shut up,” she hissed, pulling him down again for a fiercer kiss that stoked the embers in her belly. Each movement felt charged: the scrape of his stubble against her neck, the damp press of his lips over her collarbone, the ragged exhalations that mingled in the space between them.

Her mind spun, memories of every argument they’d ever had swirling with the intoxicating reality of his touch. He was surprisingly focused, and though she despised his smugness, she couldn’t deny the jolt of raw pleasure coursing through her. She gripped his arms, nails digging in as a low moan escaped her throat.

“Say it again,” he demanded in a low murmur, his breath hot on her ear. “Say you don’t want me to stop.”

She should have hated giving him the satisfaction, but the words poured out of her like a confession. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He laughed, the sound as dark as it was triumphant. “Good.”

The room was quiet except for the sound of their ragged breaths, the tension between them so thick it felt like it could be cut with a knife. Lando’s hands were already moving, his fingers deftly working the buttons of Y/N’s blouse. She didn’t stop him, didn’t even try to, her body betraying her as she arched into his touch. The fabric fell away, leaving her in just her bra, the cool air of the room brushing against her heated skin.

His gaze dropped, lingering on her chest for a moment before he moved in, his lips finding the curve of her neck. She gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her jawline, down to her collarbone. Each touch was deliberate, teasing, as if he was savoring every inch of her.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice shaky, but he didn’t respond, too focused on his task. His hands moved to the clasp of her bra, and in one swift motion, it was gone, leaving her completely exposed to him. His eyes darkened as he took her in, his hands roaming over her bare skin, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but there was no mistaking the hunger in his tone. He leaned down, his lips capturing one of her nipples, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. She let out a moan, her fingers tangling in his hair as he continued to tease her, his teeth grazing against her skin just enough to make her gasp.

He didn’t stop there, his lips moving down her body, leaving a trail of kisses along her stomach, his hands working to rid her of her jeans and underwear. She kicked them off eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation as he positioned himself between her legs. His hands slid up her thighs, his touch feather-light, and she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin.

“Lando,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t answer, his lips brushing against her inner thighs, teasing her until she was squirming beneath him. She could feel the wetness between her legs, her body aching for more, but he was taking his time, savoring every moment.

Finally, he moved in, his breath warm against her most sensitive skin. Without warning, his tongue darted out, flicking against her clit in a precise, teasing stroke that made her gasp sharply, her back arching off the bed. Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, but he didn’t falter. He kept his rhythm slow and deliberate, alternating between soft, lingering licks and sharp, focused flicks that sent jolts of pleasure rippling through her. His hands gripped her hips firmly, pinning her in place as she writhed beneath him, her moans growing louder with each passing second.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with need, but he didn’t respond, his mouth too occupied to speak. His tongue circled her clit, the pressure building with every pass, until she was trembling, her legs shaking uncontrollably. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he pulled back, leaving her gasping for air, only to sink lower, his tongue sliding deep inside her. She cried out, her body jerking at the sudden intrusion, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He didn’t let up, his tongue thrusting in and out of her rhythmically, while his lips found her clit again, sucking gently at first, then harder, pulling every ounce of sensation from her. She was panting now, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts, her hips bucking against his face as she tried to chase the pleasure he was giving her. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking, but he only smirked against her skin, his fingers replacing his mouth as he slid two inside her, curling them just the way she needed.

Her body tensed, her thighs clamping around his head as he continued to tease her clit with his tongue, his fingers moving in steady, relentless strokes. The coil inside her tightened, the pressure building to an unbearable peak. She could feel it coming, that wave of raw, consuming pleasure, and she clawed at the sheets, her entire body trembling with anticipation.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper, but it was all he needed to push her over the edge. With a final, deliberate stroke of his tongue, she shattered, her moans filling the room as her orgasm crashed over her in dizzying waves. Her body convulsed, her hips jerking uncontrollably as he worked her through it, his mouth and fingers driving her higher and higher until she was utterly spent, collapsing back onto the bed in a trembling heap.

He didn’t stop until she was completely boneless, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Only then did he pull back, his smug grin visible even in the dim light of the room. He looked up at her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Still think men don’t care about your pleasure?” he asked, his voice teasing, but there was a hint of something else in his tone—something that made her stomach twist.

She didn’t answer, her mind still foggy from the intensity of her orgasm, but he didn’t seem to mind, moving up her body until he was hovering over her, his eyes locked on hers.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he said, his voice low, and she could feel the heat of his body against hers, his erection pressing against her thigh.

She swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked up at him, the smirk on his lips sending a shiver down her spine.

She watched, her breath hitching, as Lando stood up long enough to peel off his shirt, revealing the lean, muscular planes of his chest. His jeans followed, sliding down his hips along with his boxers, leaving him as bare as she was. Her gaze locked onto him, her mouth going dry as she took in every inch of his body. His chest rose and fell with each breath, muscles taut and defined, glistening faintly under the dim light. Her eyes trailed lower, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his arousal strained against him, thick and hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. She swallowed hard, her mouth watering at the sight, a surge of heat pooling between her thighs. 

He was perfect. Every line, every curve of his body seemed designed to drive her wild. She felt an almost primal urge to touch him, to taste him, to feel him inside her. Her fingers twitched with the need to reach out, but she held back, her breath hitching as she took him in, every detail etched into her mind. 

Lando’s smirk deepened as he caught her staring, his eyes dark with lust. “Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. She didn’t trust herself to speak, her body trembling with anticipation as she nodded weakly, her cheeks flushing with desire. The sight of him, so hard and already leaking for her, was almost too much to bear. She wanted him—needed him—and the intensity of that need left her breathless.

Without a word, he was back on top of her, his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that was as demanding as it was intoxicating. His hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly as he positioned himself between her legs, the heat of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the weight of him, the urgency in his movements, and it sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through her.

“Prove it,” she challenged again, her voice trembling but defiant, her eyes locked on his. His smirk was wicked, his breath hot against her lips. “Gladly,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. But before he could claim her mouth once more, she reached over to her bedside table, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a condom.

She pressed it into his hand, her gaze never leaving his. “Put it on,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the heat coursing through her veins. Lando’s eyes flickered, a mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face, but he didn’t argue. With a slow, deliberate movement, he tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom on, his hands steady despite the tension in the room.

The air between them crackled with anticipation as he leaned back over her, his body hovering inches above hers. “Better?” he teased, his voice laced with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn’t respond with words, instead pulling him down into a searing kiss that silenced any further conversation. The tension between them was palpable, a mix of hatred and desire that burned hotter with every passing second. His body pressed against hers, the weight of him igniting a fiery need deep within her. She could feel the thickness of him, hard and ready, and her breath hitched as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Still think men don’t care?” he muttered against her lips, his voice dripping with challenge and something far more primal.

She didn’t answer. He paused, his body still hovering over hers, his cock pressing against her entrance but not giving her what she craved. Y/N’s breath hitched, her hips instinctively trying to push closer, but he held her still, his hands firm on her waist. “C’mon,” he taunted, his voice low and rough, dragging his fingers along her skin in a way that made her shiver. “Say please. Let’s see if you can manage to be polite for once.”

Her jaw tightened, her pride warring with the desperate need coursing through her. She hated him—hated how he could reduce her to this, trembling and aching beneath him. But the ache in her core was too much to ignore. “…Please,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her inner thighs. “That wasn’t very convincing.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “Try again. Let me hear it like you mean it.”

“Please,” she repeated, her voice louder this time, laced with frustration and need. Her hips bucked involuntarily, but he held her still, his grip unyielding.

“Almost there,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “But I think you can do better than that.”

She groaned, her nails digging into the sheets as she glared at him. “Please, Lando. Just…fuck me.”

His grin widened, dark and triumphant. “That’s better.” Finally, he pushed into her, his cock filling her in one slow, deliberate stroke. The sensation was overwhelming, the way he stretched her, the heat of him pressing against her walls. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as he buried himself fully inside her.

For her, the feeling was like fire and electricity, her body alight with every inch of him. She could feel the throbbing ache of her own need, the wetness that soaked her inner walls, the way her muscles clenched around him, desperate to keep him close. Every thrust sent jolts of pleasure through her, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he moved.

For him, her pussy was a tight, wet fist, gripping him with an intensity that made his head spin. The heat of her, the way her walls fluttered and clenched around him, was almost too much to bear. He could feel every pulse, every quiver of her body as he fucked her, and it drove him wild.

“You feel that?” he growled, his lips brushing against her ear as he thrust into her, slow and deep. “That’s me making you forget every other man you’ve ever had.” His voice was low, rough, and filled with a smugness that made her burn with both anger and desire. “You can hate me all you want, but your body doesn’t.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into his back as he continued to fuck her, each stroke deliberate and unhurried. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t letting her escape the intensity of it. Every inch of him pressed against her, stretching her, filling her, until she was trembling with the need for more.

Just as she felt the coil in her belly tighten, her body hoovering on the edge, he pulled out abruptly, leaving her gasping and empty. Her hips bucked instinctively, trying to chase the sensation, but he held her still, his smirk infuriating. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’m not done with you.”

He positioned himself at her entrance again, pressing against her but not pushing in. She could feel the heat of him, the thickness that teased her, and it was maddening. Her breath caught, her fingers clutching at his arms as she tried to pull him closer. “You look so pretty like this,” he teased, watching the way her body reacted to him, how her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. “Begging for it. So desperate.”

“Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling, her body trembling. “Please…”

Finally, he pushed into her again, this time achingly slow, inch by inch, making her feel every stretch, every bit of him filling her. She gasped, her back arching as he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. “That’s it,” he whispered, his hand gripping her jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Don’t look away. I want you to see who’s making you feel this good.”

His pace was relentless, his thrusts hard and deep, each one driving her closer to the edge. Her moans filled the room, and every time she let out a sound, he kissed her, his lips capturing hers in messy, desperate kisses that swallowed every gasp, every whimper.

“This what you wanted?” he muttered against her lips, his voice low and teasing. “You begged for it, remember?” His hands moved to her wrists, pinning them down beside her head as he fucked her harder, his body pressing her into the mattress. “Look at you. So fucking pretty when you take me like this.”

When she whimpered from how deep he already was, he just lifted her thighs higher, pushing her knees toward her chest. The new angle made her cry out, her body jerking as he sank even deeper inside her. “Yeah?” he grinned, his thrusts growing more intense. “I thought so.”

Her body tensed, the coil in her belly snapping as she came, her pussy clenching around him in waves of pleasure. For her, it was like being consumed by fire, her entire body shaking as the orgasm ripped through her.

The sensation was overwhelming, her pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, each one sending jolts of electricity through her. It was as if her entire being was consumed by a white-hot heat, the pleasure radiating from her core and spreading through her limbs, leaving her trembling in its wake.

For Lando, the feeling was intoxicating. Her pussy contracted around his cock in a series of tight, gripping waves, each one pulling a groan from deep within him. The heat of her was almost too much, her inner walls fluttering and pulsing against him in a way that made his head spin. It was as if she was milking him, drawing every ounce of sensation from his throbbing length, and it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from spilling right then and there.

She could feel the thickness of his cock, the way it filled her completely, pressing against every sensitive spot inside her. The sensation was both delicious and overwhelming, the friction sending shivers of pleasure through her body. Her nails dug into his back, her hips bucking against him as she rode out the waves of her orgasm, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck,” Lando groaned, his voice rough with need. “You feel so good.” His hips snapped forward, driving himself deeper into her, the sensation sending another wave of pleasure through her already sensitive body. “That’s it, beautiful. Let me feel you.”

She whimpered, her body still trembling from the intensity of her climax, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he began to move again, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one dragging against her overstimulated walls. The sensation was unbearable in the best way, the pleasure building once more as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm.

“You’re not done yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “I’m not done with you, baby.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, the combination of his voice and his cock inside her driving her wild. She could feel every inch of him, the way his length pressed against her sensitive spots, the way his thickness stretched her in the most delicious way. Her body was still trembling, her pussy still fluttering around him, but he didn’t let up, his pace steady and relentless.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Please…”

He smirked, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss that swallowed her moans. “Please what?” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and teasing. “Tell me what you want.”

She didn’t answer with words, instead pulling him closer, her body arching into his as she surrendered to the pleasure he was giving her. Her pussy clenched around him, her body trembling as another wave of pleasure began to build, the sensation overwhelming as he continued to fuck her with slow, deliberate thrusts.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Let me feel you.”

She could feel the tension building again, her body hoovering on the edge of another climax, but he didn’t let her fall. Instead, he pulled back slightly, his cock still buried deep inside her, the sensation leaving her gasping. “Not yet,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Let’s see how much you can take."

Her body trembled, the need for release again almost unbearable, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she leaned into him, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was as desperate as it was passionate. The air between them crackled with tension, the combination of hatred and desire fueling the fire between them. She hated him, but in that moment, she needed him just as much.

And with that, he didn’t give her a moment to recover. One second, she was sprawled on her back, breathless and trembling, the next he was gripping her hips and flipping her onto her stomach with a force that left her gasping. The move was sudden, commanding, and she barely had time to register what was happening before he was pressing her down into the mattress, his weight pinning her in place. Her face buried into the sheets, she felt the heat of his body hovering over her, his presence overwhelming as he positioned himself between her legs once more.

She could hear the faint rustle of the condom as he adjusted, and then, without warning, he was inside her again, his cock sliding deep into her pussy with a single, forceful thrust. She cried out, her fingers clawing at the sheets as he began to move, his pace relentless from the start. His hands gripped her hips tightly, pulling her back into him with every thrust, forcing her to take him exactly how he wanted. Her body rocked against the bed, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the room, mingling with her muffled moans.

One of his hands left her hip, and before she could react, it came down hard on her ass with a sharp spank. The sound echoed in the room, followed by a gasp torn from her lips. Her body jerked, her pussy clenching around him involuntarily, and he let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying her reaction. He did it again, and again, each smack leaving a faint sting that only heightened the pleasure coursing through her. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her body trembling as he continued to fuck her, his hand alternating between gripping her hip and spanking her until her ass was flushed and tingling.

“You like that?” he growled, his voice rough and thick with lust. She could only whimper in response, her body too overwhelmed to form words. His hand snaked up her back, pressing her down further as he leaned over her, his chest now flush against her back. The heat of him was searing, the firmness of his chest pressing into her spine sending shivers down her body. His weight pinned her in the most delicious way, making her feel small, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy.

One of his hands moved to her wrists, pinning them above her head, while the other tangled in her hair, his fingers gripping the roots firmly. He tugged gently, tilting her head back, and she let out a low moan, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through her. His lips brushed against her ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “You’re taking me so well, Y/N. So fucking good for me. Your pussy feels incredible, so tight, so wet. You were made for this.”

His words sent a wave of warmth flooding through her, her body trembling as he continued to praise her. She loved it—loved the way his voice rasped in her ear, the way his words made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him in that moment. His grip on her hair tightened, sending another thrill through her, the mix of pleasure and pain making her even more desperate for him.

He kissed her cheek, open-mouthed and messy, his lips trailing down to her neck as he continued to fuck her with deep, punishing strokes. His hips snapped forward, each thrust driving his cock deep into her, the angle hitting her in ways that made her see stars. She could feel every inch of him, the way his length stretched her, the way his thickness filled her completely. Her pussy clenched around him, her body writhing beneath him as she tried to get even closer, to take him even deeper.

The way his chest pressed against her back was intoxicating—solid, unyielding, and grounding. It made her feel small and safe in a way that only heightened the intensity of what he was doing to her. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath hitched every time her pussy fluttered around him. The combination of his weight, his warmth, and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts was overwhelming, and she could feel herself teetering on the edge once more.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice breaking with need. “Cum for me, Y/N. Let me feel you.”

His words pushed her over the edge. Her body tensed, her back arching as her orgasm crashed over her, waves of pleasure rippling through her with an intensity that left her gasping. Her pussy clenched around him, milking his cock as she shuddered beneath him, her moans muffled by the sheets.

And then he was there with her. With a guttural groan, his hips stuttered, and he came hard, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled the condom with his release. His body trembled against hers, his grip on her wrists and hair tightening as he rode out his climax, his breath hot against her neck.

For a moment, they stayed like that, both of them breathless and spent, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Slowly, he released her wrists and hair, his fingers brushing against her scalp as he let go. He kissed her shoulder softly, almost tenderly. Then with a groan, Lando pulled out of her, the sudden emptiness making her shudder. He sat back on his heels, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he quickly removed the condom. His fingers were steady despite the lingering haze of pleasure, tying it off with practiced efficiency to ensure nothing spilled. He tossed it into the nearby bin before collapsing beside her on the bed, his body sinking into the mattress with a heavy sigh.

The air between them was thick with the remnants of their shared intensity, the faint scent of sweat and sex lingering. He didn’t speak, instead lying there with his eyes closed, his breathing gradually slowing as he caught his breath. She stayed quiet too, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her mind too clouded to process much beyond the weight of him beside her and the warmth of his body close to hers.

For a moment, it was as if time had stopped, the world outside their little bubble fading into insignificance. The only sound was the soft rhythm of their breathing, a quiet reminder of what had just transpired between them. Hate or desire—whatever it was that bound them together—felt far less important now, replaced by a strange, unspoken closeness neither of them would admit to.

But as the silence stretched on, Y/N couldn’t help but glance over at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his chest rose and fell in a steady, calming rhythm. She didn’t know what to say—what could she say?—so she stayed quiet, her body still trembling faintly as she tried to make sense of it all.

Lando, for his part, seemed content to let the silence linger, his eyes still closed, a faint smirk playing on his lips as though he could sense her staring. But he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge the tension that still hung in the air between them. He simply lay there, breathing, his presence a quiet reminder of the line they’d just crossed—and the inevitable fallout that would follow.

She turned her head to look at him again, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. He met her gaze, his smirk soft now, less teasing. “Still think men don’t care?” he asked, his voice low and rough, but there was a hint of something else in his tone—something that made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t ready to examine.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

She tried to shift on the bed, but her body protested instantly. Her thighs were sore, her pussy still throbbing from the intensity of it all, overstimulated and sensitive. She winced slightly, and Lando noticed. Without a word, he pushed himself up, his movements fluid despite the exhaustion etched into his features. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water. He handed it to her, his smirk faint but still present as she took it, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment.

Once she’d finished drinking, he set the glass aside and tugged at the sheets, pulling them up over her. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he adjusted the covers around her, making sure she was comfortable. She didn’t thank him, and he didn’t expect her to. But when he slid back onto the bed beside her, he didn’t leave her entirely. Instead, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer until her back was pressed against his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin, his touch light but deliberate.

“Don’t think this means anything,” he muttered, his voice low and rough against the back of her neck. “I still hate you.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. The warmth of his body was comforting, even if she’d never admit it. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, his heartbeat a quiet rhythm that seemed to sync with hers. For a moment, she let herself relax into him, her body still humming with the lingering pleasure of what they’d just done.

But then, just when she thought it was over, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “You still think you hate me?” he whispered, his voice husky and filled with dark amusement. She could feel his smirk against her skin, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “I think you need another reminder.”

Her breath hitched, her body betraying her as she pressed back against him instinctively. She hated how easily he could unravel her, how his words could send heat pooling between her thighs again. She didn’t respond, but he didn’t need her to. He already knew the effect he had on her.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled up in the sheets, their bodies still buzzing with the aftermath of their shared intensity. Eventually, he tilted his head down, his lips grazing hers in a kiss that was equal parts smug and tender. “You were so desperate for me,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice barely above a whisper. “Bet you won’t ever forget this.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The truth was written in the way her body still trembled against his, in the way her breath stuttered at his touch. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She wouldn’t forget this—not for a long time.

[solarstranger]

a/n. based on the prompt "i want to go home to my wife” courtesy of @/creativepromptsforwriting (very bkg-coded, i know.) (0.7k)

it’s probably by the tenth sigh of the night—not that anyone’s counting—that poor kaminari finally snaps.

“seriously, dude?”

bakugou, who’s seated across from him with kirishima and sero adjacent to the both of them, only lazily raises an eyebrow in question.

at that, the electric hero pouts. “at least try to pretend you’re having fun.”

a few feet ahead of them—the men collectively chose to be seated at the back of the small dive bar despite kaminari’s protests—the stand-up comedian currently doing a set cracks another joke. an undercurrent of laughter flows across the room, but none of the four contribute to that.

“sorry, denki,” sero starts, a not-so-apologetic expression plastered on his face. “i’m with bakugou on this one.”

the slim, ebony-haired man glances at the stage, “the jokes aren’t landing for me either.”

“aww, come on, you guys!” kirishima, the ever-unfailing saint that he is, pipes up with a borderline overcompensating grin. “let’s just stay for a while longer for denki, alright?”

sero shrugs in response, but turns in his seat toward the stage anyway. bakugou, on the other hand, only grumbles before reaching for his phone in his right pocket.

thumbing his password under the table, his fingers click on the messages app, then to his number one favorite contact.

for a second, he debates whether or not to shoot you a text. you were so excited to finally get started on that anime you’ve been meaning to watch, that you almost seemed like you didn’t care that he was leaving you home for the night to hang out with the guys.

biting on his lip, he absentmindedly goes through your last exchange before finally deciding fuck it.

while typing out a well-crafted message, his eyes dart between his screen to his friends then back down again, trying to seem inconspicuous.

the last thing he needs is for the bored tape hero to tease him with that annoying ass shit-eating grin of his.

reading through it one last time, bakugou finally presses the send button.

much to his delight, it doesn’t even take you a minute to reply.

(8:43 PM) baby 🧡: heey! i’m still watching—am on episode 5 now. hbu? aren’t you busy with the boys?

the smile he wasn’t aware he’s been sporting immediately drops when he’s reminded of the predicament he’s in. peering back up at the front, he has to fight the groan that threatens to bubble from his mouth when another performer goes up.

oh, well. at least you’re texting him right now.

he quickly types out his response.

(8:45 PM) me: Busy being fucking tortured. This is the worst night ever.

“yo, bro, who got you smiling like that?”

bakugou whips to glare at the culprit, who’s now wearing the very same shit-eating grin he’s just been thinking about avoiding a few moments ago.

pocketing his phone, bakugou snarls at the man. “shut the fuck up. all that doom-scrolling is rotting your fucking brain.”

“i think you getting the reference says something about you, too, bakubro,” kirishima offers from beside him.

bakugou shoots the redhead a menacing scowl, which the unbreakable hero accepts in stride.

“are you guys even listening?” comes kaminari’s whine.

“sorry, denks,” sero replies, before turning to regard the rest of the group. “i thought we agreed to stop doing these guys’ night outs? none of us are as good at planning get-togethers as mina.”

at that slightest bit of opening, bakugou takes the opportunity and moves to stand up, grabbing his wallet and car keys before inserting them in his back pocket, surprising the three men.

before any of them can say a single word, though, bakugou tries to shrug nonchalantly, muttering his simple explanation.

“what was that?” came sero’s teasing tone.

“i want to go home to my wife, idiot,” bakugou barks before he can stop himself.

at that, kaminari finally throws his hands up in defeat.

kirishima only shrugs himself, “that clicks.”

while the menace snickers. “simp.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don't do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[tranquilreign]

seven | oneshot | 18+

- © tranquilreign - all rights reserved | DO NOT STEAL, TAKE, or COPY any of MY WORK without MY PERMISSION.

🗒 details

pairing; jungkook/reader genre: 18+ f!boyjk! college au! rivals to lovers(?) warnings: swearing, sexual-fucking-tension, teasing, jimin likes to join in on the teasing (slightly), porn with little plot (?), sexual themes, nudity, oral (m&f receiving), a lot of teasing, fingering, praise kink, creampie, protected sex (reader is on contraception), jealous kookie, needy kookie, deep throating, orgasm denial, slightly possessive kookie, nipple play, dirty talk, voyeurism, public sexish(?), hickies, overstimulation, mirror sex, just a lot of sex word count: 14.5k permanent taglist: @someoneelse0109

🖋 synopsis

seven (n.) seh·vehn a group or unit of seven people or things

seven days a week, seven locations, plenty of positions. when you lose a bet to infamous playboy jeon jungkook, you can't help but feel as if you lost on purpose.

🖇links

jungkook masterlist main masterlist request | request rules prompt list

Saturday.

Music blasted from the house speakers, so loud that the liquids in the discarded cups and bottles rippled in time with the bass. It was the end of the college year, meaning you had to celebrate by drinking away the weekend.

Groups of friends hussled together, the confined space almost claustrophobic. Several people had abandoned the party early, pulling someone up the stairs by the hand, obviously to have some privacy.

Jungkook sat at one of the tables, a smug look plastered over his face as he dealt another round of cards. His friends sat around him, nudging each other and muttering amongst themselves.

You sat across from Jungkook, lightly tapping your nails against the wood. Your other arm was casually slung over the back of Namjoon's chair. Letting out a sigh of impatience, you let your head roll back, exposing your neck to the infamous fuckboy.

He watched you closely, subconsciously licking his lips as he stared at the sweat that glistened against your skin.

"Sometime today, Kook," you teased.

You looked back at him, staring at him with such an intensity that he swallowed out of mild nervousness. You didn't like Jungkook, but you didn't hate him either. He was a fuckboy, and a charming one at that.

He knew exactly what to say and how to act to get any girl to want him. It infuriated you, him having a new girl every night. The thought of him being buried between another girl's legs made you jealous beyond belief.

Not that you would ever admit that to him. You knew he would flirt with other girls to get your attention, always stealing glances to ensure you were watching. But two could play at that game. From then on, whenever one of his friends would speak to you, you made sure to be extra friendly, your touch lingering a little too long on their arms or chest when they made you laugh.

They had taken notice of your antics, finding it amusing that you could bite back. Jungkook's best friend, Jimin, had decided to play along. He would lean against the wall that your back was pressed against, and move down to speak in your ear. Your eyes would stay on Jungkook, watching his jaw clench and usually soft and playful eyes turn into a glare.

"Have some patience, Y/n," Jungkook replied, dealing out the final card and setting the deck face down onto the table.

You stood out of your chair, leaning over to him. He watched you hungrily, eyeing your cleavage. You subtly pushed your breasts closer together, smirking, when Jungkook reacted. You took his bucket hat from him, giggling flirtatiously when you placed it on your head and sat back down.

Jungkook didn't utter a word as he watched your breasts bounce lightly. He tried not to palm himself in his jeans, feeling the discomfort increase.

"Just get on with it. I'm getting bored," you taunted, side eyeing Jimin, who sat on your left.

He tried his best to stifle his laughs, watching the scene unfold. He loved nothing more than watching Jungkook lose himself with you. He knew Jungkook loved making you jealous, but nothing was more fun than contributing to making him jealous.

"Alright, alright," Jungkook breathed.

The game started with Jungkook as the dealer. You looked at your cards: two of diamonds and an ace of spades. Jungkook slowly worked around the circle, and people either stayed or went bust when they asked for another card.

"Right, your turn, Y/n."

"Hit," you spoke.

Jungkook flipped a card down onto the table. Six of diamonds. You nodded, indicating another hit. Jungkook flipped another card. Three of clubs. You sat and thought, looking at everyone else's hands. Not many high cards had been flipped, increasing your chances of a loss.

"Sometime today, Y/n," Jungkook mocked.

You smiled sarcastically at him, asking him for one more hit. You bit your lip, watching as Jungkook flipped the final card for you. Queen of hearts.

"Fuck," you whined, throwing your cards onto the table. "I'm bust."

Jungkook grinned, tutting at you tauntingly. Your tongue darted across your upper lip, suppressing the urge to insult him.

"I just think you cheat. Every game we've played, I've either been bust or you've had a higher number than me by one," you huffed, rolling your eyes.

Jungkook laughed.

"I'm afraid Blackjack is a game of chance, love. Maybe you're just unlucky," he teased, piling all the cards back into the deck.

"I'm not this unlucky."

Jungkook ran his hand through his hair and leaned back in his seat. He shuffled the cards casually, locking eyes with you.

"I'll tell you what. I'll let you shuffle and deal," he suggested, sliding the cards over to you. "And we'll make a bet."

The idea intrigued you. Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the table, your chin on your interlocked hands. You thought for a moment, then shrugged and grabbed the cards.

"Fine. If I win," you began, shuffling the cards skillfully in your hands, "you can't sleep with anyone for a month."

Jungkook grinned. He liked where you had gone with this bet. He let his thoughts wander, wondering what the best reward would be for him if he won. His eyes landed on Jimin, who casually put his arm over your chair and leaned close to whisper in your ear. His gaze hardened at his friend's closeness, which you had noticed.

"If I win, I get to have you all to myself next week."

His friends let out cheers in unison, while your stomach flipped. You hadn't expected him to be so bold, especially in front of his friends. You shifted in your seat, feeling your underwear dampen at his words.

"Fine."

You dealt the cards between the two of you. You glanced at your cards, checking they didn't add up to twenty-one while Jungkook looked at his.

"Hit," he spoke, voice breathy.

You flipped over the first card, revealing a 5 of clubs. He asked for another hit, and you obeyed, flipping over the next card. He grinned.

"Stay."

He placed his cards down onto the table, revealing twenty-one. You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh in disbelief. How was this man so damn lucky?

You had a nine of spades and a three of hearts, which was not a good start. The first card you flipped had you cursing under your breath. Throwing your hand onto the table, you let your head fall against the back of the chair.

"Bust."

Jungkook and his friends cheered and laughed, looking at the king of spaces on the table with your two other cards.

"Looks like you're gonna be all mine next week, love," Jungkook teased, eyeing you lustfully.

Your nerves got the better of you, and you avoided eye contact with the man who smirked at you. Your heart raced at his words, your chest rising and falling quickly.

Jungkook stood up and squeezed past his friends, so he stood next to you. He hooked his forefinger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Jungkook suppressed a groan when you looked at him. He fought with every ounce of his being not to take you right there on the table.

"I'll see you Monday, love. I'm really looking forward to it."

Sunday.

You had awoken with a pounding headache, groaning as you sat up. The rays from the morning sun shone through the partially closed blinds, making you screw your eyes shut to try and block the light.

"Morning," a familiar voice hummed next to you.

Hoseok sat beside you, holding some ibuprofen and a glass of water. You had ended up at Hoseok's house, which he shared with Namjoon and Yoongi.

"Thanks," you rasped, taking the medicine from Hoseok's palm.

You threw your head back, letting the pill fall into your mouth. Then, you took a gulp of water, letting it wash down with ease.

"You remember what happened last night?" Hoseok asked.

"Unfortunately, yes, I do," you sighed.

You let your head fall into your hands, recalling the previous night. You had lost the bet with Jungkook, meaning that tomorrow, you were all his. You sat, crossing your fingers, silently praying he would forget.

Ping.

"Of course," you groaned.

You knew who it was before you even checked your phone. Jungkook's message popped up on your screen, making you want to hide away under the covers of Hoseok's bed.

Make sure you're at mine by 11:00 pm. Our bet won't start til tomorrow, but I want you here before then. You'll be all mine from the second it hits midnight.

"Hoseok," you whined. "Please get me out of this."

"No can do. You made that bet when you were tipsy. And you had been teasing that boy all night. You did this to yourself," Hoseok replied.

He stood up and left, leaving you to your own thoughts. You fell back onto he bed, groaning in frustration. Why did you have to tease him so much? The idea of this bet wouldn't have even crossed your mind if you weren't shamelessly flirting with him and his best friend.

Huffing, you pulled yourself out of bed, tugging on your joggers, which Hoseok probably took off for you last night, and slumped down the stairs.

"Morning, Y/n," Namjoon greeted with a grin.

"Don't, I know what you're gonna say," you replied, holding your hand up to him. "I fucked up."

"I wouldn't say that," Yoongi mumbled from the chair behind you. "More so that Jungkook's gonna fuck you up-"

"Oh my god, stop!" you cried out, burying your face in your hands.

The two boys laughed as Hoseok entered, carrying a plate of bacon, eggs and toast. He put the plate on the table as you moved to sit down.

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Namjoon asked. "I mean, ever since the start of college, you've both been trying to get each other worked up or jealous."

"That's different, though! It's harmless flirting," you defended, picking up your fork and playing with the scrambled eggs.

"Yeah, because Jungkook looking like he's gonna rail you against the wall all the time is harmless flirting," Yoongi replied.

He moved up from the chair to stand beside you, leaning against the island table on his forearms.

"Just admit it, you both like each other."

"We don't like each other," you snapped, glaring at the man. "He's a fuckboy, liking someone isn't in his brain chemistry."

"I'm just saying, people who don't like each other don't get jealous when they aren't getting attention," Yoongi finished, shrugging.

You smacked him on the shoulder gently, scolding him for his words. He only grinned, pushing himself off the table and moving into the living room.

"You might be overthinking this as well," Namjoon added.

You snorted.

"Joon, it's Jungkook. Of course he's going to try and fuck me," you replied.

"Are you against that?"

You were silent, unknowing of what to say. You had no idea why you were suddenly against this bet. The thought of it last night excited you, so why did it leave you feeling self-conscious?

"See. You're just overthinking," Namjoon stated.

With that, he walked away, leaving you alone. You thought over the different scenarios that could play out. Not knowing how this would go down made you even more nervous, but all you could do now was wait.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Evening had come around much sooner than you would have liked. You packed a travel bag, filled with all the essentials, and realised that if Jungkook wanted this, you would give it to him and make this an unforgettable week for both of you.

Standing before his apartment door, you inhaled deeply, feeling your nerves slowly return. Gently, you knocked, looking at your phone to appear nonchalant. The door swung open to reveal Jungkook—except he stood in nothing but a towel.

"Hey-" you paused when you looked up from your phone.

All casualness had disappeared as your eyes wandered shamelessly over his body. Water dripped from his hair into his muscular chest, and the muscles in his arms tensed slightly as he adjusted the towel hanging loosely around his waist. He couldn't help but grin as your eyes roamed his body.

"Bang on eleven," he teased. "Eager are we?"

You scoffed.

"You wish."

You gently pushed past him, careful not to accidentally touch him as you did so. He watched you closely, noticing how your breathing had picked up when you entered.

You couldn't help but gasp in awe at his home. It was beautiful, stylised in a modern aesthetic, and surprisingly tidy. The black furniture contrasted elegantly with the living room's white walls, with hints of colour being found in the accessories.

"You actually have good taste," you sighed.

"And what do you mean by that?" he asked, suspiciously close to your ear.

You jerked away at his sudden closeness, stepping away to ensure space between you.

"I just mean, I pictured you to seem more... basic, I guess," you responded. "So where am I sleeping then?"

"With me, of course."

Your head fell back as you let out a loud, overdramatic laugh. Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to finish. You looked back at him, your smile faltering when you realised he was serious.

"Oh hell, no," you protested. "Nu-uh. You said-"

"I said-" Jungkook interrupted you, "that I would fully have you to myself as of next week. But there is only one bedroom, and I'd be damned if I'm letting you sleep on the couch."

"Then you sleep on the couch!" you countered.

"No, it's my bed."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes!" you cried out, growing frustrated.

"Either way, if you sleep on the couch or in the bed, I'll be by your side," Jungkook explained.

Your heart fluttered at his words. He sounded sincere, almost as if he wanted to be close to you. To feel your skin on his.

"Fine," you grumbled. "But no funny business."

"At least until midnight," he grinned cheekily.

Monday.

Surprisingly enough, Jungkook hadn't tried anything, even after it hit midnight. You stood in the kitchen, humming quietly as you cooked breakfast. You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous. You never expected this to happen between you and Jungkook, let alone it happening because of a stupid bet.

Jungkook had awoken not long after you, hair still a mess, as he walked into the kitchen in his boxers. He stood behind you, looking over your shoulder as you cooked.

"Smells good," he hummed, his breath fanning your neck.

You shivered at his raspy voice. He couldn't help but grin, walking over to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Your stomach flipped, and you felt yourself becoming wet. You hated how he had such an effect on you despite doing so little. You frowned, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine.

As if a switch inside you flipped, you decided to suppress the nerves and fight back.

You ever so slightly pushed the waistband of your joggers down, revealing your emerald green underwear. You pulled at the sides, bringing them up over your hips to make it more visible.

Jungkook had walked back through as you were plating the food. His eyes immediately fell to your hips, inhaling sharply when he noticed your underwear. He felt his mouth go dry, his cock twitching in his boxers.

Fuck it.

He moved towards you, grabbing your hips and spinning you around to look at him. You were shocked by the sudden action, having no time to react when he pulled you in by the nape of your neck, kissing you.

He was rough, forcing open your mouth by gripping your cheeks with his hand. His tongue past your lips, entangling with your own. You moaned against his kiss, the sound almost sending him into a frenzy.

He pulled your body up against him, letting you feel his bulge poking your stomach. You ran your hand down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his boxers. He hissed when you gently tugged the fabric and let it go, it slapping softly against his skin.

"Keep teasing me, and I'll show you what it's like," Jungkook warned.

You smirked into the kiss, continuing your ministrations while your other hand tangled in his hair, tugging occasionally. He grunted at your movements, his patience thinning. The final tug of his hair sent him over the edge. He pulled away, moving to shove the plates of food onto the floor with a crash.

"Jungkook," you scolded.

He didn't listen, spinning and bending you over the kitchen counter. You gasped, feeling his hands on your waist, massaging your sides. He bent over you, his bare chest flush against your back.

"I warned you not to tease me. But you decided to act like a brat," he spoke lowly. He straightened back up, staring at the waistband of your joggers. He hesitated.

"If you're going to fuck me, do it," you challenged.

That's all he needed to hear. Your joggers were at your ankles, your thong and ass on full display. He let out a groan, grabbing the flesh and kneading it.

"God, you're so fucking hot," he breathed, gently spanking you, watching as you ass recoiled against his touch. "I'll have you begging for mercy by the time I'm done with you."

He knelt down, now level with your clothed heat. He breathed heavily, the cool air making you shiver as it hit against your soaked underwear. He chuckled at your reaction and leaned in, licking a slow strip up your clothed entrance.

The feeling of his warm tongue and the fabric of your underwear had an involuntary moan escape your lips. You jerked forward slightly at the sensation, not expecting it to feel so good. His hands moved back to your hips, pulling you back with a tug and keeping you in place.

Another moan echoed throughout the kitchen as he repeated his action, this time, his nose gently brushing against your clit before his tongue touched you.

"Fucking hell, Koo~" you moaned in bliss.

The use of the new nickname had him palming himself in his boxers, and the strain of release became too much. Letting go of one of your hips, he pulled his boxers down slightly allowing his cock sit against his stomach comfortably.

He moved his full attention back onto you, running his hands over your hips and grabbed the band on your underwear. You wiggled your ass, silently giving him permission to continue. Jungkook pulled your underwear off in one swift motion, letting it pool at your ankles with your joggers.

He couldn't help but groan at the sight of you, your wetness glistening against the light. Jungkook moved his hands to the back of your thighs, rubbing them and accidentally letting his thumb brush over your clit. You gasp at his touch, subconsciously pushing back into him. He stopped your actions.

"This is what you get when you disobey me," he breathed.

You whined at his words, but were too prideful to beg. He hummed, smirking as you squirmed in defiance. He brought his fingers up to your entrance, running his fore and middle finger between your folds, glazing them in your essence.

"Koo~ please," you cried, entirely giving up on what little dignity you had left.

"Since you asked so nicely."

A high-pitched moan ripped from your throat as Jungkook eased his fingers into you, almost pulling back out fully, then pushing back in further.

Your head fell against the counter, your legs shaking at his teasing movements. He grinned at how easily you melted into him, his fingers now entirely inside you. He gently curled his fingers, hitting against your sweet spot.

"Oh- oh my god," you breathed, your hand moving instinctively to the edge of the countertop and grabbing the edge.

"You're being obedient for me now? Being such a good girl," Jungkook whispered, seduction lacing his voice.

You let out a hum, nodding in response. Jungkook changed his tactic, thrusting his fingers into you at a steady pace. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the new feeling, and your walls tightened around him.

He chuckled at your body's natural reaction, deciding he'd reward you for your obedience. He leaned forward attaching his lips to your clit and sucking gently.

The combined feeling of his mouth and fingers had you seeing stars, instantly having you reach your high. A string of moans left your lips, your body trembling as Jungkook helped you ride out your orgasm. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, making you whimper at the sensitivity between your legs.

"You look so good like this, baby," he exhaled.

Jungkook was pressed back up against you, cock resting between your ass cheeks. His breaths grew uneven as he began to grind into you.

"For fuck sake Koo, just fuck me," you pleaded, your hips bucking back into him when he'd grind into you.

"I'll need to-"

"I'm on contraception," you interrupted. "And fuck me properly, no more of these teasing shit," you paused. "Please."

Jungkook could have came right there at your words. He wasted no time taking his cock and positioning it at your entrance, soaking his tip in your arousal. You both moaned in unison, each feeling the pleasure.

He pushed in slowly, letting out a grunt as he felt you tighten around him again. Your moans mixed in with his as he stretched you, only stopping when he was fully inside. He leaned over you, the feeling of him pulling out of you slightly leaving you breathless.

"Are you ready, baby? Because once I start, I won't stop until I'm satisfied."

"God Koo~ yes, so ready for you," you cried, pushing back into him.

He straightened, grabbing your hips and, without any hesitation, thrusted back into you. You pulled your t-shirt up, stuffing it into your mouth to suppress your moans, the pleasure euphoric.

"Fuck, you feel so fucking good," Jungkook grunted, his head falling back from the pleasure.

His hand moved to your hair, pulling your head up. Your t-shirt fell out of your mouth, and you let out continuous moans. He laughed breathily, the sounds you made making him go feral.

"Let me hear you, baby," he grunted, his thrusts becoming rougher. "You're being such a good girl. Taking me so well."

"Yes, fuck Koo~" you whimpered. "Your good girl."

Jungkook almost came from your words. He had never thought you would be so submissive for him. He untangled his hand from your hair and moved it past your waist and between your legs.

"Come for me," he whispered.

His fingers rhythmically rubbed your clit in circular motions as he slightly slowed his pace. The combined feeling of him stretching your walls along with him stimulating your clit sent you over the edge. A long, breathy moan left you as your body shook again.

Jungkook didn't stop, though, leaving you a whimpering mess when the sensitivity became too much for you. You moved your arms behind you to push him away, but he held them behind your back with one hand.

"Just a little longer, baby," he breathed. "Be good for me a little longer."

Despite your sensitivity, you didn't actually want him to stop. The feeling of him in you was unbelievable. Pure bliss, you had never felt so complete or fulfilled by anyone. His grip on your arms and waist kept you in place as he trusted a few more times before reaching his high.

"Fuck Koo~" you whined, feeling him fill you with his come.

Jungkook grunted as he slowed his pace, riding out his orgasm. He exhaled, finally stopping his thrusts. Slowly, he pulled out, groaning as he watched his semen drip out of your soaked cunt.

"God, you're perfect," he breathed. "If I could, I'd bend you back over that counter."

You laughed, slowly, standing up straight, your mixed orgasms running down your leg. You wobbled slightly. Jungkook noticed, moving to grab your waist and keep you steady.

"I'll help you to the bathroom, baby. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll clean up in here," he spoke softly, looking at the broken plates and food scattered over the floor.

Putting his cock back into his boxers, he then scooped you into his arms without hesitation, carrying you to the bathroom. He sat you down on the toilet, gently tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear.

"Thank you."

"Once you're finished in the shower, I'll also get cleaned up. I just don't want you stepping on any ceramic shards."

He left momentarily, leaving you by yourself.. With your desire now subsiding, you finally realised that you had sex with Jeon Jungkook. You buried your face in your hands, wanting to scream with joy.

You turned on the shower, thinking that six more days of this would be pure bliss.

Tuesday.

Today was different. You were awoken by your phone ringing, its sharp notes making Jungkook grunt in annoyance.

"Sorry," you mumbled, groggy.

You leaned over to the bedside table, sluggishly grabbing hold of it. You answered without looking at the caller, putting it to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey Y/n."

Jimin.

"Oh hey," you replied, perking it up a little.

Jungkook lifted his head, listening closely to the person on the other end. When he realised it was Jimin, he scoffed, threw the bed sheets off himself, and grabbed a pair of grey joggers. Without saying a word, he walked out of the bedroom.

You watched him leave, confused by his behaviour. Shrugging it off, you focused your attention back on Jimin.

"I just wanted to check up on you and see how it's going with Kook."

"It's uh-it's great," you replied sheepishly.

Jimin chuckled at your embarrassed tone. Jungkook returned, his glare hardening when he saw you still on the phone. He walked over, snatching the device from your hand.

"Hey!" you called.

"Sorry Jimin, she's gonna have to call you back," he snapped before handing up.

"Kook, what the fuck was that for!" you asked angrily.

He huffed, tossing your phone onto the bed, grabbing you by your ankle, and pulling you to the edge. You squeaked at the sudden pull, falling quiet when you locked eyes with him. He was jealous.

"You're mine, got it?"

You couldn't help but smile at him. Silently, you moved onto your knees, ass resting on your heels and slowly ran your hand up his bare chest. He melted slightly into your touch, a quiet sigh leaving his lips.

"If I weren't yours, would I be here?" you asked innocently.

He hummed at your question, not trusting himself to speak. You moved up from your heels, wrapping your arm around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him.

Jungkook smirked into the kiss, trying to take control of the situation when you pulled away. You shook your head, moving to stand up and spinning him around so he faced away from the bed. You pushed him gently, making him sit down.

You sank back down to your knees, spreading his legs further apart with your hands. He watched you eagerly, silently consenting to your movements.

Jungkook was hard, an outline of his bulge straining against his trousers. You palmed him through the fabric, making him throw his head back, letting out a quiet moan.

Slowly and teasingly, you pulled his trousers and boxers down, revealing his length. Wrapping your hand around his dick, you ran your finger over his tip. He shivered at the pleasure, locking eyes with you as you did so.

You smiled teasingly, pulling away and seductively licking the tip of your thumb. Jungkook couldn't take his eyes off you, finding you alluring to watch. You grabbed his cock again, running your now wet thumb over his head.

The new feeling had him leaning back on his hands, groaning. You flirtatiously tilted your head.

"You like that, Koo?~" you teased, applying a little more pressure as you swiped over his tip again.

"Fuck yes, baby," he spoke breathlessly.

You hummed, noticing pre-cum leaking from his cock. Taking the opportunity, you moved forward and wrapped your lips around him.

Jungkook instinctively grabbed the sheets on his bed, the feeling of your tongue swirling around his cock sending him into a state of euphoria.

All the jealousy he felt for Jimin was out the window. You were here with him, not Jimin, significantly boosting his ego. He fought the urge to thrust up into your throat, not knowing if it was something you would enjoy.

Like he had done to you yesterday, you slowly took in more of him with every bob of your head. You coated his cock in your saliva, making everytime you went back down on him easier.

He watched as you slowly worked your way down him, eyes widening in surprise, impressed by how well you were taking him. Relaxing your throat, and with one final push, you had taken him down to his base.

"Ah, fuck," he moaned, running his hand through your hair.

When you could no longer hold your breath, you pulled back, a gagging sound following. You gasped, your hand moving up and down his length to keep pleasuring him.

"Taking my cock so well," he cooed, moving his hand from your hair to your chin, wiping away saliva that ran down.

"I'm not done yet, baby," you whispered.

You moved back, and instead of deep throating him again, you bobbed your head at a steady pace, hollowing your cheeks as you did so. He groaned, slowly losing himself to the pleasure. He bucked his hips upwards, taking you a little by surprise.

"Shit, sorry baby," he stammered. "You just feel so fucking good."

You hummed, sending vibrations through him. He shook, feeling his orgasm getting close. You listened to him stutter, trying to speak. Knowing he was close, you suddenly pulled back, making him whine at the loss of pleasure.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked, pouting at you.

"You don't want to fuck me?" you asked, feigning innocence.

Those words alone gave him all the strength he needed. Jungkook grabbed you by the waist and stood, turning you and pushed you down onto the bed. He discarded his trousers and boxers entirely, climbing on top of you.

You lay underneath him, which gave him plenty of time to examine you thoroughly. He slowly ran his hand up your naked thigh, stopping just before he reached your underwear. You let out a slight whine when he stopped.

He continued shortly after, but instead of touching you where you wanted him most, he moved up, his hand snaking under your white t-shirt and in between your breasts.

"You think teasing me funny, baby?" you taunted.

"You weren't complaining when I was doing it," you pouted.

Ping.

The sound made you both look at your phone. Jimin's name could be read on the screen. Jungkook's jealousy rose again at his friend's name, and you watched his expression change. You bit your lip, unsure of what would come.

Jungkook lost all chivalry, tearing your t-shirt off from the neck. You yelped as your breasts bounced from the movement, nipples hardening from the cool air. Your breathing increased as he stared, eyes hardened in jealousy.

You watched as he lowered himself to your right breast, his hand snaking up to the other, grasping it firmly. He let his finger run lightly over your nipple while his lips attached to the other one.

You arched your back as the sensation of pleasure travelled through your body at his actions. He flicked and sucked at your nipple, occasionally biting gently, while his fingers worked on the other one.

"Holy shit. Kook."

"You have no idea how crazy you drove me when Jimin would flirt with you. You're mine, got that? And if I have to fuck that into you for you to understand, I will," he growled against your skin.

He switched to your other breast, blowing cold air against your nipple, then encasing his lips around it.

"I'm only yours," you replied, tangling your fingers through his hair.

Good.

He pulled back, staring at your reddened breasts. He grinned, moving to your underwear and pulling them off. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when he saw how wet you were.

Jungkook moved back up so he hovered over you, his cock pressed against your entrance. He looked at you, to which you nodded, and he pushed in.

"Fuck," you whispered, wrapping your legs around him and pushing him all the way.

He lowered himself, moaning softly into your ear at the familiar feeling of you around him. Jungkook grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed and effortlessly lifted your ass, placing the pillow underneath you.

Resting you back down onto the pillow, the new angle had you whimpering at how deep he was. He buried his face into your neck, breathing softly. You caressed his hair, letting your fingers glide down to trace small patterns into his muscular back.

He slowly pulled out and eased back into you, the feeling of him stretching you out, leaving you in a state of pure bliss. He grunted, feeling himself losing his composure at how good you felt.

"Baby, you feel so good," he mumbled, his breathing restless.

"Kook. Please," you begged, your back arching uncontrollably.

He aggressively kissed your neck, biting ever so slightly. He straightened and grabbed you by the hips. You both paused, looking at each other for a moment, then he proceeded to move you in rhythm with his thrusts.

You wailed, grabbing hold of Jungkook's forearms as some type of support for the pleasure you were feeling. He panted, watching as his cock slipped in and out of you with ease.

You both groaned in unison. Jungkook's thrusts slowed, but they became rougher as he did so. You were seeing stars, mouth agape from the pleasure as he hit you deeper than he had before.

He traced one of his hands up your body, to your breasts, massaging them. His fingers ran over your sensitive nipple, and then pinched, the pain and pleasure a perfect combination.

The steady pace Jungkook kept had you coming undone quickly, turning your face into the duvet cover to muffle your noises. Jungkook stared in awe at how beautiful you looked underneath him. Your skin had begun to glisten with sweat, your hair messily covering your eyes, and your soft hands gripped his forearms for support.

Jungkook suddenly lost his pace as he came, moving to lean on top of you as he orgasmed. His head rested against your breast, both of you panting loudly in the silence of the room.

"Fuck, Y/n," Jungkook whispered between breaths.

"What's wrong?" you asked, wondering if you had done something.

"Nothing, baby, you are just amazing. Your head is just... wow."

You chuckled slightly, both lying in a tangled mess, silently enjoying one another's company.

Wednesday.

Jungkook had decided that he had to join you in the shower. No matter how much you protested or insisted you shower separately, he was adamant that you be together.

At this point, you had both grown comfortable around being naked in front of one another, often sleeping together nude, with him spooning you. So you were both unbothered if one of you suddenly wandered around the house naked.

That was precisely what you were doing, trying to locate a towel. You covered your chest with your hands and wandered around the apartment.

"Kook!" you yelled, frustrated.

Jungkook was by your side in seconds, completely ignoring the fact that you were naked. He let his hands rest on your upper arms, looking at you with concern.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked softly.

"Baby?" you asked. "You only call me baby when we're fucking."

Jungkook stammered over his words, heat rising in his cheeks in embarrassment. He awkwardly removed his hands from you, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Force of habit?" he replied, though it sounded more like a question.

"It's fine, Kook. I kind of like it, actually," you teased, gently tapping him on the nose with your finger. "The real issue is, I can't find a fucking towel."

Jungkook's eyes finally wandered over your body, subconsciously licking his lips and suppressing a smirk. You huffed, glaring at him and his lack of help.

"I'll go get us some. Just get in the shower, and I'll join you shortly."

"Okay."

You left the living room and wandered into the bathroom. You had turned on the shower earlier to let it heat up when you had noticed the missing towels. You moved your hand under the running water, humming in satisfaction at the perfect temperature.

You stepped in, sighing at the water hitting your skin. Turning to face the showerhead, you ensured the water soaked your body entirely. The feeling of the water hitting against your breasts made you shiver.

You let your hands roam your body, breath hitching when your fingers lightly brushed your sensitive bud. You continued the ministrations, a quiet moan emitting from you as you did.

Leaning forward, your head rested against the shower glass, eyes closed, drowning in the pleasure. Your other hand traced down your body and between your legs. Gathering some of your wetness on your fingers, you moved up to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves gently.

Being so enveloped in your pleasure, you hadn't realised Jungkook had walked in. He stood silently, listening to your melodic moans. The shower glass had steamed up, but he could clearly see your silhouette. His mouth fell open when he watched you turn around to slide down the wall.

Not sparing a second thought, he quietly removed his clothes, discarding them in the laundry basket. He grabbed hold of his cock, pumping himself a few times as he watched you.

"Fuck, Kook-" you muttered absentmindedly, catching him off guard.

You were unaware he was outside the shower door, but your mind wandered to him as you played with yourself, wishing he were making you feel this good.

Your fingers now dipped inside you, while your thumb continued you rub your clit in circular motions. Back now arched, you let out a breathy moan, it echoing throughout the bathroom.

A string of quiet moans left you as your orgasm approached. Jungkook continued to jerk himself off, his tip now leaking with pre-cum. Your body jolted as your orgasm washed over you, the feeling causing your legs to shake in pleasure.

The sound of the shower door opening startled you, and you instinctively pulled your shaky legs up to your chest to cover yourself. Jungkook stepped into the shower, looking at you hungrily.

"Kook-" you began.

Jungkook cut you off, kneeling down to your level and pulling you into a heated kiss. You melted into him, expecting him to slip his tongue into your mouth. But he didn't. He continued to kiss you, passion burning inside both of you.

"Stand up," he breathed when he pulled away.

Jungkook helped you up, so you stood in front of him. The water was hitting against his back, little sprays of water dampening his hair. His hand snaked under your left leg, pulling it up. Naturally, you wrapped it around his waist, fully feeling his length against your heat.

Your head fell against his shoulder at the feeling, your desire for him increasing. He removed his hand from your leg, taking hold of his cock and angling it in front of your entrance.

"Please, want you so bad," you pleaded, kissing softly against his skin.

You bit down on him as he pushed into you, the feeling of him inside you, being too good. His head fell back in bliss, having you around him seemed to get better everytime he fucked you.

Now in you entirely, he slowly thrusted, the position slightly restricting his movements. But that didn't matter to you. Jungkook simply being inside you was all you needed.

On the other hand, Jungkook was growing frustrated with the lack of movement. He cursed under his breath, moving your arms around his neck. You were confused, but still complied.

He wasted no time hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting you up with ease. You slid up and down on his cock as he moved, trying to suppress your mewls. He wrapped your other leg around his waist and moved so your back was pressed against the wall.

"Such a good girl, baby. Thinking about me while you touch yourself. That's exactly how it should be. Only me that you think about," Jungkook grunted, beginning to thrust into you.

Your cheeks flushed at his words. He had heard you call out his name when you touched yourself. He chuckled at your expression.

"Don't be embarrassed, baby, it just means I got my message across yesterday," he panted.

You tightened your grip around his neck, pulling your body flush with his. Jungkook took that opportunity to step away from the wall and bend his legs slightly, reducing the weight on your arms and legs.

Grabbing your waist, he slid you up and down on his cock, the lewd sound of smacking reverberating throughout the room. You let out cries of pleasure at how deep he was hitting inside of you, brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust.

"Such a-" he grunted as he pulled you back onto him, "good fucking girl."

"Fuck, Kook. I'm close," you whimpered, your second orgasm pooling in your stomach. "Please make me come. Wanna come on your cock."

Jungkook's thrusts - somehow - become rougher, pounding into you with such strength that you milk his length within a few thrusts. Your nails dug into his back as you came, making him hiss. Jungkook's hands wrapped under your thighs again, and he gently pulled out, whining at the emptiness.

"I'm not done with you yet, baby," he grinned. "Think you can handle more?"

"God, yes, please."

Jungkook manoeuvred you, pressing you up against the glass, your breasts flattening. He gently moved your legs apart and pushed himself back into you. You whined, slightly sensitive from your previous orgasms.

"You've had your fun. Now I'm going to fuck you until I come. And I don't care how many time you come on my cock for me to do that," Jungkook spoke, voice low.

"Yes, please, use me as you please."

Jungkook thrusted into you, his speed and rhythm having you come undone almost immediately, the sensitivity from before returning. Your hands were flat against the glass, the condensation of the shower disappearing under your touch.

"Feel, so fucking good. Like your pussy was made for me," Jungkook growled, not showing any sign of slowing his thrusts.

"Only yours, Koo," you cried out, feeling another orgasm wash over you.

It wasn't until your fifth orgasm that Jungkook began to lose his pace, the constant feeling of your walls tightening around him bringing him close.

"Come with me, baby," Jungkook panted, his hand moving between your legs to gently pinch and rub your sensitive clit.

Your hips bucked at the sensitivity, and you pushed back into him suddenly. You screamed his name as you came one final time, body shaking violently at the pleasure and overstimulation. With one final thrust, Jungkook came, grabbing your hips to keep you still.

He leaned over your back, pulling out of you entirely. You whimpered, and your legs gave out from underneath you. Jungkook quickly caught you, wrapping his arms around your waist protectively as you both sank onto the floor.

"I've got you," he soothed. "I've got you."

You panted, feeling yourself throb between your legs. Your legs were closed tight, and Jungkook watched, growing slightly worried as your body continued to tremble.

"Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

You chuckled weakly.

"No, baby. You didn't," you exhaled. "Just really-" you twitched, "really sensitive."

Jungkook smiled at your words, rocking you back and forward slightly, which surprisingly put you at ease.

"Take as long as you need, baby. And when you're ready, we can shower properly."

"At this rate, with how long we've been here, we won't have any hot water left," you joked, making Jungkook laugh.

Thursday.

One thing you had discovered about Jungkook was that he was loaded. You were astonished to learn that he had his own home gym. There was no doubt that he worked out. You could hardly stop yourself from staring at how he filled out his t-shirts, or how his veins were visible when lifting something heavy.

You only found out about his home gym when Jungkook, in gym attire, made his way in the opposite direction of the front door.

"Is the front door not that way?" you asked, pointing behind you.

"Yes?" Jungkook replied, confused. "Why are you asking?"

"Didn't you say you were going to the gym?"

"I did, and I am. I have a home gym."

You were shocked initially. He led you down the hallway to the door at the end and opened it. You were surprised at how spacious it was, with mirrors and gym equipment neatly arranged, looking like a public gym.

"Fucking hell, are you secretly a billionaire or something?" you asked in disbelief.

"My dad's a CEO," he explained. "If you ever want to use the equipment, you can."

"I wouldn't know where to begin," you replied, sheepishly.

Jungkook held his hand out to you, which you gladly took, and pulled you further into the room. You reached the other end of the room where the weight racks stood. Next to them was a pull-up bar, which Jungkook stood under.

"Come here," he instructed.

He placed his hands around your waist and gently pulled you in front of him, back against his chest. He let out a little giggle as he stepped back a little bit, bringing you with him so you were directly underneath the bar.

"I'm gonna lift you, okay, baby? And I want you to grab hold of the bar," Jungkook explained.

He bent down slight, wrapping his arms around your thighs, face pressed against you ass. You blushed at his position and the fact that he expected you to suddenly be able to do a pull-up.

"Kookie, I don't know if I can even do a pull-up," you mumbled shyly.

Jungkook's heart melted at the nickname, and how cute you were when you were shy. He gave you a reassuring squeeze before lifting you up. You quickly grabbed the bar, allowing him to let you go.

"Jesus," you cursed, feeling gravity wanting to pull you down to the ground.

Jungkook moved in front of you and wrapped his hands around your ankles. You stared at him, struggling to maintain your grip on the bar.

"It's alright, baby, I've got you," he smiled. "I'll be right here to help. And if you need to let go, just say."

Jungkook assisted you in doing five pull-ups. Assisting as in he held most of your weight as you pulled yourself up. You giggled at how easy it was, knowing Jungkook was doing all the work. He let you go, and you dropped back down onto the floor.

"See, you're a natural," he teased.

You laughed, placing your hand on his arm. Jungkook's face flushed as you leaned against him, heart racing at your closeness.

"Do you want to help me work out now? Since I was so nice in helping you?" Jungkook suggested with a grin.

"Sure!" you beamed, excited to see his routine.

It was the worst decision you had ever made. Not because Jungkook made you do anything complicated. But because you couldn't stop staring.

Jungkook had discarded his shirt the moment his workout session started. He would constantly ask you for resistance bands or lighter weights. You would hum in response, staying exactly where you were, just... staring. Jungkook chuckled.

"Baby."

"Yeah?" you asked, thoughtlessly.

He exhaled, stood up, and walked over to you. You swallowed thickly, staring at his chest directly in front of you. Sweat glistened against his skin, slowly running down the grooves of his muscles. Your breathing picked up, your underwear beginning to dampen as inappropriate thoughts clouded your mind. Jungkook forced you to look up at him by placing his forefinger under your chin and tilting your head upwards.

"If you want me, you need only ask," he teased, mischief dancing in his eyes.

You flushed at his words, averting your gaze, though it was hard when every wall in the room was covered in mirrors. It was Jungkook, shirtless, in all his glory, everywhere you looked.

"Get down on one of the mats in front of the mirrors," Jungkook demanded, voice low.

You shuddered at his voice, but obeyed, shuffling over to one of the mats and sitting cross-legged facing the mirror. Jungkook watched you, biting his lip at how your hips swayed in your joggers. He quickly followed after you, kneeling down behind you.

Jungkook's gaze was intense as he watched you in the mirror. He lowered himself to your neck, still watching and attached his lips to your skin. He smirked as he kissed your neck, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

"Kook," you moaned, moving your hand to tangle in his hair.

"Gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, show you how fucking beautiful you are getting wrecked by me."

Your stomach flipped at his words, his dirty talk turning you on more than you already were. His kisses continued, slowly travelling down to your shoulder. You jolted when he found your sweet spot, your grip in his hair tightening.

Jungkook took the opportunity to suck and bite at your sensitive spot, only pulling away when he was satisfied with his work. You raised your head, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Jungkook stared at you, eyes dark and waiting for your reaction.

You gently touched the now bruised skin on your shoulder, tracing the outline. Jungkook's hand snaked up your arm, interlocking his fingers with yours. Planting a quick kiss against your jaw, he gently pushed you forward, your ass now pressed up against his crotch.

You involuntarily moaned when you could feel his bulge poking against you, excitement building up in your core. Subconsciously, you arched your back, pushing further into him. The action had him groan, holding your hips steady as he slowly grinded into you.

"Patience, baby," he chuckled, kneading your hips gently.

You whined, burying your face into the mat in frustration. Jungkook leaned forward slightly, tracing his fingers along your stomach teasingly.

"Kook, please don't tease," you whispered. "Want you so bad."

Jungkook's hand travelled further down, moving underneath your cargo trousers and underwear. His middle finger slid between your folds, gathering some of your slick.

"So wet for me, and I've barely touched you," Jungkook teased.

He moved back up to your clit, grazing it lightly, making you jolt at his touch. He laughed through his nose at your sensitivity, gently stimulating your bundle of nerves.

"So good for me," he breathed, kneading the flesh of your butt in his other hand.

He gently smacked your ass, the added action having lewd nosies fall from your lips. His pace slowly increased, but was still gentle, watching you in the mirror as you cried, fingers trying to grab the mat for support.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" he encouraged "Gonna be a good girl and come on my fingers?"

"Yes, Koo, wanna come for you," you moaned, feeling your high approaching.

"Come for me."

As if on command, you reached your orgasm, jolting away from him when the sensitivity became too much. Body twitching, you fell forward, lying flat on your stomach. The knot you felt slowly dispersed as your body began to relax.

Jungkook didn't wait for you, moving to pull down your trousers and underwear, revealing your glistening heat. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. He had discarded his trousers and boxers as you were attempting to recover, his cock sliding between your wet folds.

The feeling of his tip brushing against your clit had your whining at the sensitivity. Jungkook grinned, moving forward slightly, watching your reflection in the mirror.

He ran his hand underneath your baggy top, massaging your breasts over your bra, another added sensation making you moan. You had began to move along his cock, without realising, the sudden movement making Jungkook grunt and gently bite down on your shoulder.

He moved his free hand to his cock, guiding his tip to your entrance and slowly pushed in. It was a feeling you wished you could experience every second of the day. The stretching of your walls had your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy.

"Look at yourself, baby. See how beautiful you look coming undone because of me," Jungkook whispered, nipping at your earlobe.

He gently moved your face to look at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks flushed at your reflections, watching as his cock slid in and out of you with ease. The way your chest rose and fell with his movements, how the hand massaging your breast had moved past your bra and was now teasing your nipple.

"Kook," you whined in bliss.

Your eyes fell on him, and his gaze was dark, staring at you with lust-filled eyes. Your breath hitched, the combination of his gaze and how good he was making you feel forced you to look away, suddenly shy at how exposed you felt.

"No," Jungkook breathed. "Look at yourself."

Obeying his command, you looked back, watching Jungkook thrust into you. You felt so dirty watching, but you couldn't take your eyes off the way he thrusted into you. Jungkook smirked, noticing where your gaze was.

"You like watching me fuck you, baby?" he panted. "Well, how about I give you a better angle?"

In a moment, you were in a new position. Jungkook lay on the floor, you sitting above him, still facing the mirror. Your cheeks burned at how exposed you suddenly felt.

Jungkook bent his knees slightly, instructing you to place your feet on his thighs. He wasted no time sliding back into you, fucking you with ease. The new position had him going deeper with every thrust, his hands on your waist to keep you steady while yours were flat on the floor.

"Better baby?" Jungkook asked. "Get to see me fucking you properly, like the good girl you are."

You mewled, the sight before you having that familiar feeling bubbling inside you. Your walls clenched around him, slightly, and Jungkook knew you were close. With his orgasm closing in as well, he pushed into you with more force, the feeling almost winding you.

"Come with me, baby. I know you're close," Jungkook encouraged as he reached his limit.

He continued to thrust, ignoring the oversensitivity he was feeling, to help you reach your high. You cried out his name as your orgasm washed over you, and he immediately stopped, too sensitive to continue thrusting.

You sat down on him entirely, his cock sliding back into you, making you both hiss at how delicate you both felt. Leaning forward, you panted, body slightly spasming from the bliss you were in.

"You okay, baby?" he asked soothingly, rubbing his hand up and down your side comfortingly.

"Yes, Kook," you replied. "I just didn't think, watching us fucking in a mirror would be so... hot."

Jungkook chuckled, grabbing a discarded towel and holding it underneath you. You pulled off of him, the towel catching most of your mixed orgasms. Jungkook loved to watch his come drip out of you. It was as if he had claimed you entirely. You, and you alone, were his. No one else could have you.

"I think we need a shower," you said softly, holding the towel between your legs. I don't want to ruin your mats."

Jungkook stood up, scooping you in his arms and walked out of the gym. He brought you into the bathroom, sat you on the toilet seat, and then turned the shower on.

"Well, my workout didn't go exactly as planned," he confessed. "But I do love a bit of cardio."

You both laughed, gently taking hold of his hand, waiting for the shower to heat up.

Friday.

You hadn't even left the bedroom when Jungkook started following you, wanting to be between your legs. You informed him that Jimin had texted you about a party happening the following day at Namjoon's. Needless to say, Jungkook didn't like Jimin's name in your mouth.

"You always sound so beautiful," he hummed, the vibration of his voice sending thrills through you.

You were sitting on the stairs, originally on your way to brush your teeth, when Jungkook had suddenly spun you around and forced you to sit.

Your protests were cut short when he was already nestled between your legs, shoving your underwear to the side and diving in like he hadn't drunk anything for weeks.

"Kook."

"Yes, baby?" he asked, he asked between kisses.

His lips wrapped around your clit, letting his tongue brush over it. You sighed, body melting into his touch. You felt him smirk against your skin. He flattened his tongue against you, his touch making you shiver.

He continued to lick and suck, sometimes pushing his tongue past your folds, your back arching in pleasure. Jungkook pulled away suddenly, making you pout at the loss of contact.

"Koo~" you whined.

"Can't you mess up the floorboards, can we?" Jungkook teased.

You scoffed, feigning offence. His smile faltered as you stood and walked up the stairs. It returned quickly, however, when you looked over your shoulder, eyeing him seductively.

"You coming or not?"

Jungkook ran up the stairs, two steps at a time and scooped you into his arms when you were both at the top. Both of you laughed as he spun you around. He stopped briefly, still holding you in his arms as you laughed.

He couldn't help but stare at you, smiling softly. Your slightly tousled hair from being spun around, and you leaning into him, had his heart fluttering.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly when you noticed his dazed expression.

"Huh? Oh yes," Jungkook responded, quickly putting you down.

You stumbled slightly when your feet touched the floor, quickly grabbing Jungkook's forearm for stability. He instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist.

You pulled away from you, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, beckoning him with your other hand. Desire clouded Jungkook's eyes, a grin sliding onto his face. He caught up to you quickly, tugging your hand off his t-shirt and facing you away from him.

Jungkook guided you forward until you were pressed against the glass window at the end of the hallway. His hands roamed your body, grabbing and groping whatever he could.

"Since I couldn't finish what I started on the stairs. Let me do that here," he offered, voice thick with lust.

You nodded, pushing your ass against his crotch making him groan. He moved quickly, pulling your underwear down to your mid-thigh. Removing himself of his clothes he let his cock sit against your ass, grinding against you slightly.

"Kook," you moaned, growing impatient.

Jungkook only chuckled, teasing your soaked entrance with the tip of his cock. He gently pushed in, but pulled out when he was only halfway in. You huffed, jerking back so when he next pushed in, he was all the way inside you.

"F-uck, Y/n!" Jungkook gasped.

"If you're not going to do it I will," you fired back, cocky grin evident.

You moved at a steady pace, the feeling of you moving instead of him had Jungkook in a state of euphoria. He gripped your waist tightly, but didn't take over. He just threw his head back at the pleasure you were giving him.

"Am I taking you well, baby?" you asked teasingly, slightly mocking him for all the times he praised you.

"Jesus, yeah. Taking me so fucking well," Jungkook replied.

He looked down, watching as your ass bounced up and down on him, the recoil alone having him moan in pleasure. He couldn't help but watch as you moved, moans falling from your lips as you rode him.

"You-" he panted, "you keep this up, I'll come."

You abruptly stopped, making him pout. You slowly pulled him out of you and turned to look at him. Your eyes were innocent, but your smirk said otherwise.

"Then I guess we'll have to leave this for later?" you taunted.

You ran your hands slowly up his chest and around the nape of his neck, the feeling making him shiver in delight. Pulling him down, you interlocked your lips into a passionate and heated kiss. Your tongue traced along his bottom lip, and you nibbled at it gently, making him moan. You pulled away, smiling at him sweetly.

"Now I really need to brush my teeth," you finished, walking away.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Jungkook had tried to have his way with you multiple times that day, but you'd stop him every time he began to get a bit too handsy. It didn't help that you had decided to wear a black lace lingerie body suit around the house. And black was a colour he most particularly enjoyed seeing on you.

Jungkook sat at the dining table in the early evening, scrolling thoughtlessly through his phone. You had walked into the room, then entered the kitchen. Jungkook had to do a double-take when he saw you.

You still wore the same bodysuit you had all day, except this time, the crotch was missing from the one piece, leaving your heat on full display for him to see. Another thing that didn't help was that you were now wearing thigh-high boots, perfectly squishing your thighs.

"You want something for dinner?" you asked nonchalantly.

Jungkook didn't answer, instead watching as you bent over, looking in one of the cabinets for a wok. His tongue darted across his lower lip, fighting the urge to take you right there.

"Kook?"

A reply didn't come. Instead, Jungkook's arms snaked around your waist and pulled you away from the kitchen counter. He wasted no time sitting you up on the dining table, mildly surprising you.

"I only want you. Only need you," Jungkook breathed, his words profoundly affecting you.

Jungkook spread your legs, and dove in, flattening his tongue against your clit. Mewls escaped you as he lapped at your juices, not seeming to get enough of you.

He had barely started before he was pulled away, pulling you off the table. In no time, you were bent over, legs spread wide apart, and he had pushed into you.

"Fuck- Jungkook," you cried out.

"You think it's funny, teasing me like this? Huh?" Jungkook growled, thrusting into you with such power that it left you breathless. "Looking so fucking hot, I can barely control myself."

His hands tightened around your waist, tighter than usual, and it was almost uncomfortable. You moaned with every thrust, each time he reentered you, it was deeper, harder, faster.

"Come on, baby. You were so mouthy earlier, where's all that confidence gone?" he taunted.

You frowned at his words, knowing he was challenging you. Placing both hands on the table, you pushed yourself up slightly and moved back into him when he pushed forward into you. He grunted, clearly feeling that you were working against him.

"I don't need to be mouthy to be confident," you snapped back.

His movements slowly ceased as yours increased. The feeling of you moving on him was pure bliss, something that Jungkook didn't know could feel as good as this. He gently slapped your ass a few times, the sound echoing quietly in the room.

"Come for me, baby," you instructed. "You wanted to come in me so badly earlier, go on."

As if on command, Jungkook orgasmed, grabbing your hips to slow your movements as he did. He leaned forward, his chest pressed against your back. Slowly pulling out of you, Jungkook straightened and went to the kitchen to grab you a tea towel.

"Did you come too?" he asked.

"Not this time," you responded casually.

You noticed Jungkook pout, moving over and hugging you from behind.

"I guess I'll need to fix that."

"Kook, you just fucked me," you laughed.

"Yeah, but I can't have you not feeling good," he said, tracing his hand over your upper arm. "Besides, you always seem to enjoy my tongue."

You rolled your eyes, but smiled at his words.

"No."

You turned, walking away into the bathroom to go clean up.

"Oh, come on, please!" Jungkook whined as he followed behind you.

Saturday.

"Are you almost done?! I really need to pee," Jungkook pleaded, banging on the bathroom door.

"Almost!" you called back.

Jungkook had decided that trying to have sex at every given opportunity this morning was a good idea. Now you were rushing your make-up and were already an hour late for the party. Finishing up the last little bits of your eyeliner, you spun around and unlocked the door.

"Oh my god, move!" Jungkook squeaked, already unzipping his jeans before he was even at the toilet.

"Calm down, Kook," you laughed, exiting the bathroom.

You wandered into the bedroom, admiring your appearance in the full-length mirror. You weren't overdressed, wearing a simple black dress that dropped at the mid-thigh. It hugged your figure, accentuating all your curves perfectly.

Jungkook had stepped into the room while you were putting on your heels. His eyes wandered over your body in admiration. How the dress looked on you was breathtaking. Heat began to rise in his cheeks, turning red at the inappropriate thoughts that now clouded his mind.

"You going to survive in heels all night, baby?" he asked, trying to push the images of you underneath him aside.

You jumped slightly at his voice, not having heard him enter the bedroom. You spun around, looking him in the eyes innocently.

"Probably not," you mumbled in response. "But heels are the only thing that looks good with this dress."

Jungkook chuckled and moved over to you. He knelt on the floor, taking your hand and planting soft kisses against your knuckles. The action made you blush.

"You look beautiful in anything," he complimented. "I'll pack your trainers, okay? And if your heels hurt too much, you can swap."

"Okay," you replied shyly.

"I'll also pack you a change of clothes, in case you get cold, okay? I have a feeling people will be staying over anyway, and we'll probably be amongst those people."

You nodded, and Jungkook smiled, gently slapping your thigh and standing up. You sat, slightly embarrassed at his gentle touch. It was different from usual, almost as if you were a couple.

You quickly shook the thought from your head, finding the idea of Jungkook, the well-known playboy from college, and you being in a relationship. You had to stifle your laugh to stop yourself from looking like a mad person just suddenly laughing.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You arrived with Jungkook at the party a few hours after it had started, and surprisingly, the place wasn't wrecked. Upon entering, you immediately tripped over someone's foot, barely catching yourself.

"Here, follow me," Jungkook whispered in your ear.

He slid his hand into yours, something that Jungkook was one hundred per cent against when it came to having a situationship with someone. No public affection. The action took you by surprise, but you followed behind slowly.

Jungkook could feel when you were falling behind, stopping every now and then to wait for you to catch up. You greeted people as you walked past, finally entering the kitchen where you and Jungkook's friends sat.

"Guys! You finally made it!" Taehyung stood up from his chair to hug his friend.

Jungkook's hand slipped from yours, something that left you feeling empty. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab his shirt for comfort. But you refrained.

"Too much fucking I'd say," Yoongi teased, eyeing you knowingly.

You flushed at his words, stuttering, trying to explain yourself. Jungkook stood, watching you grow more embarrassed as you stammered.

"Cards, anyone?" Jungkook suggested, pulling the attention away from you.

The boys nodded eagerly, waiting for the two of you to sit. Noticing you weren't moving, Jungkook slid his hand back into yours, that warm feeling returning, and guided you to sit beside him.

Jimin watched, grinning at your flushed expression. He glanced at Jungkook, and Jungkook was already looking back at him, a glare evident. Jimin tilted his head tauntingly, eyebrows raised.

You winced as Jungkook's grip tightened subconsciously. Your sudden noise worried the boy, who looked at your hands and noticed his hand wrapping tightly around yours.

"Fuck, sorry baby," he mumbled, kissing your hand gently.

The action had everyone at the table staring, Hoseok absentmindedly shuffling the cards as he watched. Your heart raced, giving Jungkook's hand a reassuring squeeze as if to say it was okay.

Jungkook's heart ached when you winced. He didn't mean to hurt you, but his friend was testing his patience. Jungkook didn't let go of your hand, holding it and lovingly tracing his thumb across your skin.

"You dealing or what?" Jungkook asked, looking amongst his friends.

"I-uh, yeah," Hoseok stuttered, quickly dealing out the cards.

"I'll just watch," you claimed, pushing the card back to Hoseok.

He shrugged, putting the card at the bottom of the deck and moving on to Jungkook.

"You scared you'll lose again?" he teased, leaning in closer to you.

You only hummed in response, slightly nudging him and smiling. He chuckled, and you both looked at his cards eagerly.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

As the night passed, the group slowly got more drunk, and you were practically hanging off Jungkook's arm, still not letting go of each other's hands. You were giggling, clearly tipsy, and whispering in Jungkook's ear as he continued to play.

"Whoa, there," Jungkook spoke, discarding his cards and catching you as you slid off the stool.

"I wanna dance," you slurred, tugging his hand.

Before Jungkook could even answer, a voice sounded from behind him.

"I'll dance with you."

You beamed, sliding your hand out of Jungkook's and into Jimin's. You guided him onto the dance floor, leaving Jungkook, who had clenched his fists.

"So I assume you and Kook are together now?" Jimin asked, taking your hands in his, as you danced.

"Oh, no," you replied casually, taking Jimin by surprise. "I don't think he'll ever see me as something more than a fuck buddy now."

"Please tell me you're joking, Y/n. Look at Jungkook right now. He wants to tear off my fucking head cos we're dancing."

Looking over Jimin's shoulder, you could see Jungkook's dark gaze, eyes filled with hatred. You gulped, only realising how jealous he had become of you and Jimin.

"Then maybe we should stop," you suggested.

"Believe it or not, I agree. Jungkook has become rather... protective of you. The only reason he hasn't killed me yet is because I'm his best friend."

You laughed, slapping him slightly on the chest. Jimin chuckled, stepping away from you, and pulling out the wackiest, most embarrassing dance moves he could. You howled in laughter, the sound reaching Jungkook's ears.

His eyes softened, watching as you bent over, your hands on your thighs, trying to stop your laughter. He realised just how close you and Jimin were as friends there, and it put him at ease. Jungkook had grown worried that Jimin had also developed feelings for you, and the dreaded feeling of him having to choose between you and his best friend made his heart ache.

You continued to laugh, tears welling at how funny you found the situation. Suddenly, you jerked forward, shock plastered over your face. Jimin had stopped, too, now glaring at someone behind you. Quickly, you straightened and turned to see a man behind you grinning. He had smacked you ass.

"Don't fucking touch me," you snarled.

"Maybe don't dress like you're asking for it," the man laughed.

You didn't waste a moment to raise your hand and slap him across the cheek. The whole room went silent at the loud slap.

"You fucking bitch!" the man yelled, making a move to grab you.

It happened so fast. Jimin had pulled you behind him, shielding you from the man. But what shocked you the most was that Jungkook had sprinted towards the man and had thrown himself at him, handing a powerful punch straight to his jaw.

The man stumbled back, holding his jaw as he cried out in pain. Jungkook didn't wait, landing another punch to the man's gut. He toppled over, allowing Jungkook to climb on top of him and land blow after blow.

You panicked, pushing Jimin aside and making a grab for Jungkook. He shrugged you off, continuing his brutal assault on the man.

"Jungkook!" you screamed.

Finally, he stopped, looking back at you with anger-filled eyes. Though they second, they fell on you, they softened. He stood, shaking, then left without uttering a word.

"I'll call an ambulance, go get Kook," Jimin instructed.

You didn't hesitate, running as fast as you could in your heels, after Jungkook. You ran out the door, looking everywhere to see where he might be.

"Jungkook!" you called, taking a few more steps to get a better look.

You had noticed him walking ahead of you, towards a park bench. You continued to call out to him, attempting to run across the road. On the third call of his name, Jungkook sighed, turning around to look at you.

"What?" he asked bluntly, his tone taking you aback.

"Kook," you breathed. "Are you alright?"

You glanced down at his hand, noticed his knuckles were bloody and beginning to bruise. He pulled away when you went to hold his hand, making you flinch.

"Just fuck off, Y/n."

"Excuse me?" you asked, tone dropping. "Don't talk to me like that."

Jungkook ignored you, turning around to leave when you stopped him. You moved to step in front of him, and he glared at you.

"Move."

"No," you challenged. "Why are you so fucking angry!"

"It doesn't concern you," Jungkook spat.

"I think it does, considering you just beat someone up!"

"He touched your ass! What the fuck was I supposed to do!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Maybe not beat someone half to death!" you yelled back.

"Right, next time I'll just sit by and watch it happen," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"You know that's not what I mean! You've been angry since Jimin and I went to the dance floor! Why?"

You already knew why. Jimin showing you just how jealous Jungkook was, confirmed wishes.

"I've told you it doesn't concern you," Jungkook snapped, tone laced with venom.

You had went off on a tangent, yelling and poking his chest as you continued to dig into him. His patience was growing thin, his emotions were getting the better of him, and he was struggling to hold back.

"Shut up," he whispered, but it was not loud enough to hear over your scolding.

He repeated it until the last of his patience disappeared.

"Shut up!"

You fell silent, shocked by his sudden outburst. Your chests were heaving in anger as you stared at one another, waiting for the other to back down.

"You don't understand," you mumbled to Jungkook.

Your soft tone caught him off guard, and his breathing eased with your words.

"Do you know how hard watching you flirt with all those girls was? Kissing them at parties, fucking hell even fingering them in front of everyone. It made my blood boil," you sighed, averting your gaze.

Jungkook remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

"I wanted nothing more than to be one of those girls. To kiss you, touch you, feel you. When we made the bet last weekend, I had hoped to lose, just to know what it felt like."

"I-"

"But I see now that it was clearly a mistake. Because throughout this week, I've completely fallen in love with you. It was always in the back of my mind, but being with you brought it to light," you replied, sobs escaping your lips.

Jungkook stood, watching you tremble as your emotions spilt out of you. He was in shock, not realising that you had been hiding this for as long as he had. Jungkook gently caressed your cheek, the feeling making you flinch. You looked up at him, eyes glassy.

"It was never a mistake," he breathed.

He leaned in, planting a gentle kiss upon your lips. You melted into him, your hands snaking around the back of his neck as you pulled him deeper into you. Jungkook pulled away quickly, leaving you feeling empty.

"I love you, Y/n. Since we first met, I've been so unbelievably in love with you that I only wanted your attention. I made that bet, hoping you would lose, so I could show you just how amazing you are, how beautiful and perfect you are to me."

"Kook," you sighed.

You pulled him back down, kissing him. It was soft, gentle, but soon became rough. Jungkook's hands snaked around your waist and pulled you in as close as possible. You moaned against his lips, giving him enough time to slide his tongue into your mouth.

Passion burned between you both as you began to grab at one another, wanting to undress the other. You pulled away suddenly, panting.

"Maybe we should find somewhere a little less... open," you suggested.

Jungkook looked around, trying to find somewhere to take you. Gently, he tugged you behind him, pulling you in front of a wall, hidden by bushes and trees.

"Better?" he asked.

You nodded. With the confirmation, Jungkook dropped to his knees, pushing your dress over your hips. He groaned as he placed his hands over your smooth skin, tracing small circles as they glided up to your underwear.

"Please, Kook. Want you so bad," you breathed. "No teasing this time. Please."

"Anything for you, baby," Jungkook replied.

Just as Jungkook went to pull down his trousers, a sound could be heard in the distance, making you both freeze.

"Y/n! Jungkook! Where are you guys? Everyone's gone home now, so you can stay the night if you want," Hoseok's voice rang.

"For fuck sake, we can't catch a break," Jungkook chuckled, making you giggle.

"We can continue this tomorrow, Kook. We probably need the sleep anyway," you explained, tugging your dress back down. "And besides, I could use a day off from being fucked raw for the past five days."

Jungkook pouted, but followed behind, fingers interlaced with yours.

Sunday.

You both had left early the next day, thanking Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi for letting you stay.

"Whoa, hold up there," Namjoon called.

You both turned around, looking at your friends. The entire group had stayed the night and were now watching you both intently.

"Is there something you want to tell us?" Taehyung asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"We didn't have sex in the bed if that's what you guys are worried about," you spoke, waving them off casually.

"That's not what we're on about," Seokjin replied. "And it's not about Jungkook beating up that guy last night either, or his very obvious jealousy of you and Jimin's friendship."

Both you and Jungkook turned red at Seokjin's words. The group laughed.

"Please just tell us you're finally together," Jimin pleaded, resting against the countertop.

"Well, what do you think?" Jungkook grinned as he held up your interlocked hands.

The group cheered, jumping up and down excitedly and hugging one another.

"About fucking time," Yoongi laughed. "God, we were beginning to think you'd both be dead before you got together."

"Yeah watching you both get jealous was really beginning to piss me off," Namjoon spoke, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. We're together now, that's all that matters," Jungkook laughed.

"We are?" you asked.

The group and Jungkook looked at you in shock, but you smiled, indicating you were joking. Jungkook scowled at you playfully, lifted you over his shoulder, and walked out the door.

"Hey!" you called, laughing. "Bye guys! See you next time!"

You watched your friends waving goodbye, some punching the air in victory, while others fist-bumped and hugged.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

As soon as you both entered Jungkook's apartment, you slumped onto the couch in the living room, sighing in relief at being home. You looked to your right, staring lovingly at Jungkook. His eyes were closed, and his hair fell slightly over his eyebrows.

His chest rose and fell slowly, tiredness falling over him. You hummed, moving over and snuggling into his side. Feeling you move, he automatically wrapped his arm around you.

"Hi, baby," he whispered.

"Hi, Kook," you replied, relishing the moment.

You lightly traced his hand with your fingers. Jungkook lightly hummed a tune under his breath, enjoying your gentle touch.

"You know," you began, your fingers moving from his hand onto his chest. "We still need to make up for last night."

Jungkook's eyes pinged open, and you looked at you knowingly. You laughed, lightly pushing him when he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" he asked.

You didn't say anything; instead, you decided to show him. Throwing your leg over him, you straddled his waist and slowly began to grind against him. He let out a breathy moan, and his head fell back. You tugged at his t-shirt gently, indicating you wanted it off.

Jungkook complied, quickly removing his top and discarding it on the floor. He fiddled with the buttons on your shirt, letting out a huff when he couldn't unbutton them. You laughed, taking his hands and removing them from your shirt.

You quickly pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest, making Jungkook smirk. His hands moved to your breasts, and you flinched at his cold touch but immediately melted into him when he lightly flicked your nipple.

"Kook," you breathed, arching your back and moving closer to him.

"What do you want, baby?" Jungkook asked teasingly.

"You, please. Want you, all of you," you begged.

Jungkook smiled, leaning in and attaching his lips to your bud. A gasp fell from your lips at the sudden temperature change. His warm tongue enveloped your nipple, changing the amount of pressure he applied.

His other hand was occupied with your other breast, pinching and brushing over your nipple, adding a new sensation with each movement.

"God, you are so beautiful. My perfect girl," he spoke between kisses, pulling you closer to him, as if you'd suddenly disappear.

"Only yours, Kookie," you sighed out.

Jungkook pulled away, sliding his hand to your cheek and pulling you into a soft, delicate kiss. You kissed him back, both of you smiling when you accidentally bumped noses.

You moved, standing up and pulling your trousers and underwear off. Jungkook eyed you hungrily, staring at your legs and their smooth appearance. He had realised your fingers were wrapped around the belt loops of his jeans, gently tugging, asking him to lift his backside off the couch.

"Sorry," Jungkook laughed, lifting himself off the couch. "You're just so... breathtaking."

You giggled, pulling off his jeans and boxers. His cock sat against his stomach, tall and erect. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, and the veins pulsed.

You climbed back on top of him, and angled his cock to your entrance. You looked at him, waiting for some sort of permission to continue. He nodded, slowly guiding your hips down onto him.

You would never get sick of the feeling of him pushing into you. He slid into you with such ease, it was as if he truly was made for you. Both of you softly moaned when Jungkook was all the way in, savouring the moment. You looked at him, a smile evident.

"I love you," you whispered.

Jungkook looked at you with wide eyes, not expecting those words from you at such an intimate time. Your smile faltered at his expression, and you grew shy.

"I'm sorry- I just-"

Your words were cut short when Jungkook pulled you close, planting kisses all over your face. The action made you giggle.

"Don't ever apologise for saying that, baby," Jungkook spoke between kisses. "I love you, too."

Slowly, you began to move, in circular motions that had him hitting against your sweet spot immediately. You moaned his name, keeping a steady rhythm. Jungkook's hands stayed on your hips, guiding you when you flinched from sensitivity.

"You want me to move, baby?" Jungkook asked when he felt your legs begin to shake.

"N-no," you replied. "Wanna make you feel good."

"Baby," Jungkook whispered, halting your movements. "I can't feel good if you're feeling discomfort. Let me, please."

Slowly, you nodded, slightly embarrassed. Jungkook kissed you softly and sat forward slightly. He manoeuvred your legs so they wrapped around his waist, continuing to plant small kisses against your lips, then moving to your jaw.

"Kook," you breathed, letting your head fall back as he kissed your neck.

Jungkook slowly began to thrust into you, the feeling of him pushing into you, having you both moan in unison. His rhythm stayed the same, not wanting the romantic moment to be ruined by lust.

"I love you so fucking much," you said in between breaths, your breasts bouncing lightly as Jungkook moved.

"I love you too, baby," Jungkook responded, kneading the flesh of your hips.

You hummed, feeling your high approach with each thrust. Jungkook could feel you were beginning to tighten around him, and he took the opportunity to lock his lips onto yours.

"Come with me," he begged between the kiss, struggling to keep pace.

Now moving along with him to keep the rhythm, you both came together, feeling Jungkook's seed spill into you while you milked him. You gently rocked your hips, helping you both ride out your highs. You only stopped when Jungkook gripped your waist, growing sensitive at the movements.

"That might have been the best sex we've had," Jungkook laughed breathily.

"Maybe because you weren't trying to fuck me into the counter or bed," you joked.

"Hey!" Jungkook protested, but smiled. "You love it when I do that."

"Yeah, you're right. I do," you giggled, resting your forehead against his.

There was silence, pure and peaceful, as if nothing in the world could ruin it.

"So, same time next week?"

"Oh for fuck sake Kook."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

finally! it is done! thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I am so sorry for taking so long to upload anything! I've been focused af to get this done and posted so I hope you enjoyed!

if you enjoyed it please take a look at my other works or if you're interested in requesting an idea/or have a prompt click the links below!

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tranquilreign~

[eyelessfaces]

if anything

bob reynolds x reader

summary: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

tags: some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, yearning, light descriptions of violence, reader is held at gunpoint during a mission, mentions of wounds and bruises, tiny bleed, shame room, everyone in the watchtower knows you and bob are in love, bob has a cat (he gets her in this one shot that absolutely does not require to be read to enjoy this!)

word count: 2k

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It’s unusually quiet when you step in and join the room, so quiet that you would have first guessed no one is actually here, so it comes as a shock when you hear the faint sizzling of the pan over the stove and see Walker and Ava cooking in a peaceful, unusual, almost unsettling silence considering they usually can’t stop bickering and picking at each other.

Yelena is sitting at the table lazily filing her nails, Bob is tucked away in his reading nook, and you glance around but Bucky and Alexei are nowhere to be seen, so you assume they’re down at the training floor.

You pull a chair and sit across from Yelena, making her glance up at you with a compassionate, gentle smile before she resumes her business. “You okay?” she asks simply, polishing her nails back and forth.

You hum softly and nod, repressing anything more. The truth is you’re exhausted and your limbs ache more than the painkillers can handle, and you’ve developed an awful headache from the pressure of it all, but you would rather leave today behind.

You know the reason everyone is so uptight and quiet, you know why the air feels so heavy. You’re painfully aware of the tension you have brought into the group after what happened during the mission, and you know how everyone feels despite no one really talking about it or letting it seep through except for that cold, weighing silence and the gentle motion as if everyone is afraid it will break the space around you. 

The overwhelming quiet after the storm.

“I filed the report and got it sent to Valentina” you announce in a mutter.

Yelena’s eyes are back on you in a second. “Did you make it true to what happened?”

You nervously play with your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails, giving her a shake of the head. You can see Walker and Ava closely listening from the corner of your eye, exchanging a look before they resume their task when you look in their direction. 

You sink back into your chair, wincing in discomfort when the shift in position painfully jabs at your side and steals your breath. “We didn’t tell Bob,” Yelena declares, setting her nail file down. “We figured we would save him the worry. We know how much he cares about you” she says, prompting you to look over your shoulder at Bob reading, earbuds in, blissfully unaware of the heavy atmosphere of the room. 

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage but you are convinced it doesn’t have anything to do with the nagging pain of your wounded body. “Yeah, we should move on” you agree, turning back to Yelena. “Let’s not talk about that again,” you offer.

“We got to thank you one last time though” she grins with a slight tilt of her head. “You really put yourself out there for us. I doubt we would have made it if you didn’t offer yourself and put your life on the line for us. As stupid as it was”

You chuckle softly. “Come on, what’s a few broken ribs and a bet that could have easily gotten me killed?” you joke with a grin, the ache at your temple strangely familiar and similar to the feeling of the gun barrel pointed at it hours ago. 

Despite the joke, you try to shake the feeling and memory away, grounding yourself with the thought that you’re here, you’re home, you’re safe, and there will only be bad dreams to catch up on you, nothing real.

You turn and lightly clear your throat when you hear Bob shift across the room, removing his wired earbuds, Yelena quietly quickly dismissing the conversation by not adding onto it, looking at you with a knowing glance. 

“Bob, buddy, train your cat not to jump over the fucking counter when we’re cooking” Ava points at the evidence, the black cat meowing in response. 

“Sorry, I’ll work on that” Bob says with an apologetic quirk of his lips as he gets Missy off the kitchen counter and puts her down on the floor. “She’s just hungry, it’s feeding time. C’mon Missy,” Bob calls, and the cat follows his every step as he grabs the box containing her food, needing to push her head aside when she already has it in the bowl even before he gets to pour her food. 

“You can also work on those fangs of hers,” Walker remarks. “She bit me this morning.” 

“Oh I’m sure you deserved it” Yelena casually mutters. Bob tilts his head in silent agreement, a small smirk threatening to grow on his face, and you can’t help but silently snort, the tension finally beginning to lift. 

You feel safe here. It all feels warmer. 

—

Missy is curled onto your bed, slowly blinking her sleepy yellowish eyes at you, not moving even as much as a millimeter when you sit down at the edge, not far from her. 

A painful sigh escapes you, hand instinctively coming to clutch onto your badly wounded side in naive hope that the heat of your hand would make the pain subside just for a moment, but even the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe makes it hurt.

Your hand leaves your side and you try to compose yourself when you hear a soft knock at the door, Bob’s head peeking in the slight opening. “Hi– just checking in, have you seen– oh” he pinches his lips into a smile when you lean to the side – painfully, but you try your best for it not to show – and reveal Missy sleeping behind you.

“I didn’t close the door all the way so she made her way in,” you turn to look at the cat now peacefully sleeping.

“Sorry for that–”

“What are you apologizing for? I don’t mind. At all” you shrug. 

Bob pinches a smile again, repressing another apology like you all have been teaching him, having been working on making him stop apologizing for everything and anything. 

“Okay, I’ll–” he starts to back away, but suddenly stops, a worried frown forming over his face as he points a finger at you. “You– You’re bleeding”

You look down at yourself and see the spot of blood seeping through your shirt, a curse escaping under your breath. Bob quickly comes to your side, sitting down next to you. 

Then, the second his hand rests over your arm, you’re sucked in.

Back there. 

Your breath falls short again as you're standing in front of yourself, the version of yourself a few hours ago, gun kissing your temple. You watch as the civilian you willingly replaced breaks down in sobs, two other people clutching his side, leading him away from the scene.

When you turn around, the whole team is in front of you, just the way they were earlier, only this time, Bob is also there.

That's when you get it. His touch triggered this.

The scene unfolds, excruciatingly slowly for the second time today, and Bob watches intently, mouth slightly agape as Walker points his gun, as Yelena tries to reason with the man holding the gun to your head, as Alexei gets ready to charge onto him at any opening that could be offered.

You and Bob both remain silent as it goes on, flinching when the man threatening you readjusts and grips harder onto his gun, but you both know for a reason he eventually won’t go through with it.

Bucky steps forward and offers the man a deal, and everything seems to accelerate again as the man eventually gives up and kicks a knee onto your side before he violently drops you to the ground like a marionette with cut strings, your body crashing onto the same side you have been kicked. The man runs away while you groan and clutch the ground in pain, Alexei and Bucky rushing to you while the rest of them go after the man, Ava shifting through to stop him in his run and Walker giving him a hit of his folded shield, knocking him out. 

Then, like you just blinked, you’re back in your bedroom, sitting next to Bob. Your eyes widen over him like you have seen a ghost, and he seems equally distraught, if not more.

“I’m sorry– You know I can’t control it” he pulls away, visibly shaken by what just happened.

“I know.”

You swallow, hard. The room remains heavy with silence until Bob speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me? Any of you?” 

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “It was easier that way”

He nods and hums. “So much for trying to make me feel included” he smiles bitterly, hurt.

You close your eyes for a second, suddenly aware of how wrong it sounded. “Bob” you reach for him and pull him back when he tries to leave. This time, you remain here, and your hand stays over his arm. “I didn’t mean it that way” you nod seriously. He readjusts his position over the bed. “We decided to just put it under the rug and not talk about it anymore. I even lied in the report. Valentina won’t hear about that but it wasn’t meant for the same reasons as you”

He frowns softly, listening intently. His gaze is focused on you, like your face could speak hidden facts directly.

“If we decided not to tell you it’s not because we don’t trust you or something” you explain with a small shake of your head, looking at him earnestly. “It was probably wrong that we tried to hide something like this from you, but we just didn’t want you to worry.” you nod. Your throat feels tight from the pressure, invisible hands grasping at you, suffocating you. “Because we know you care.”

“You’re damn right I do” he mutters, his dark blue eyes slightly flickering. 

You can't exactly read his expression; it sits between frustration and something else that translates into the softness of his gaze but that you couldn't really pinpoint.

But you don't ask yourself any more questions. You have grown tired of it, and today might as well have been the last straw, so you do this the exact same way you did on the mission; you rush into it. 

You rush into taking his face into your hands, pressing your lips against his without even questioning yourself. 

A soft sound escapes his mouth as you do, but before you can even begin to wonder if you’ve startled him, he reaches for you with hesitant hands, as if he’s afraid to touch you, before they eventually come to rest at your neck for good. 

When you pull back, your foreheads are still pressed together, his lips still lightly grazing yours before a contented smile lights up his face, his knuckles brushing against your face with more confidence he suspected he could have. 

It feels like behind pulled back to the surface when you hear Missy’s high pitched meowing, making you both turn in her direction, making her desire for attention obvious when she sits right in the tight space between the both of you; it’s tricky, but she still manages to adopt a strange position that makes it fit.

Bob huffs out a laugh, petting her back, looking back up at you and watching the amused smile over your face when Missy stretches her lithe body under his scratches, asking for more. 

You hiss softly when a fresh shot of pain courses through you, reminding you of the current state of your body, and Bob’s expression instantly shifts into a more serious one. “You gotta let me help,” 

“That’s fine” you dismiss, trying to convince yourself that not giving importance to your pain will make it lessen; everything would be so much easier if it worked that way.

Bob’s head tilts slightly. “Trust me,” he mutters. “I know a thing or two about bruises”

You give him a bittersweet, compassionate smile before eventually surrendering, letting him take a look, assessing the situation before he takes it as his personal mission to look after you the way he wished he could have been looked after when he needed it.

—

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[vunblr]

Terms of Attraction

Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Some fluff. Slight Angst. Mutual Pinning. Mention of sexual activities.

Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.

Word Count: 13.2k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "CEO AU".

Also, this piece is to participate in Grem's 20 Characters with 20 Questions for 20 Tropes Challenge by @gremlin-girly Using Bucky Barnes' character, "When were you going to tell me about this?" question, and mutual pining trope.

Bucky Barnes never wanted to be here.

He never wanted to be in this office, suit, or life. But fate had a funny way of forcing people into the things they swore they’d never become.

The room was dim since the heavy curtains were drawn shut to block out the midday sun. The only light came from the glow of his monitor, casting long shadows over the polished surface of his desk. He sat hunched over it, resting his forehead against his crossed arms.

A soft sigh broke the silence.

“Again?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He already knew who it was.

“This is the fourth migraine this week,” she continued, with an edge of exasperation. “I’m making you an appointment with a neurologist. You like it or not.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, mixing a scoff and a tired chuckle. “You’re overstepping.”

“Oh, it is not in your best interest to start talking about overstepping,” she shot back, arching a brow. “Want me to make a list? Ten years under you, since you were a manager, mind you. It will take a couple of pages.”

Bucky grunted in response, looking for the right words, but she was already moving, pushing the coffee table aside and clearing a space on the plush carpet.

“Come on,” she said, glancing at the clock. “You have the meeting with Schwarz in forty minutes. You know, the one I had to postpone twice already?”

Yeah. He knew. He just didn’t care.

He stayed put for a second longer, staring at the dark wood of his desk. His head throbbed, and the pressure behind his eyes seemed to crush everything. He could still hear his father’s voice in the back of his head “Headaches? You think I got to where I am by whining about a fucking headache?” but right now, George Barnes could go to hell.

With a slow, resigned sigh, Bucky pushed himself to his feet. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to the open space she’d cleared. Lowering himself onto the rug, he sprawled out on his back, letting his arms rest loosely at his sides. As the exhaustion dragged him down like quicksand, he closed his heavy-lidded eyes for a moment.

She knelt behind him, pressing her cool fingers into the pressure points at the base of his skull. He tensed on instinct, prepared to anticipate pain, even from something meant to help.

“Jesus,” she muttered, working her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his neck. “You’re tense as concrete again.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, letting her hands do their work. The pain sharpened for a moment before it started to dull, releasing the pressure just enough to make his migraine a little more bearable.

“Speaking of overstepping,” she continued, “you should really hire a professional masseuse, Bucky. Have them come in three times a week and-”

“I don’t want a stranger rubbing me up and down while I’m ass-up and vulnerable on a pansy cot.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t bother correcting her. If she was talking, it meant she wasn’t hovering with that worried look in her eyes.

She worked his knots, kneading the tension from his neck and shoulders before her fingers traveled upward. With a gentler touch, she started rubbing slow circles into his temples, easing the pressure that had settled deep in his skull.

“Rebecca called, again.” She said casually, but he could hear the warning under her words. “Says you had her bloc-”

“Not now,” he groaned.

She sighed but didn’t stop. “I know you don’t want to, but just meet with the guy for ten minutes, and you’ll get her off your back.”

“I won’t waste even five minutes listening to her new fucktoy ramble about some ‘revolutionary’ idea for industrial inputs,” Bucky muttered. “I know it’s going to be some half-baked high school powerpoint with stock photos and shit. That’s the kind of man she likes to have around.”

She scoffed, still working her fingers against his scalp. “He is cute, though.”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t move or say anything right away, but his gaze was locked on her now, sharp, unreadable, and just a little too intense. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way she said it.

“Is he, now?” His voice came out pretty even, but there was something underneath it. Something edged.

She smirked, unbothered. “Not my type, but I can see why she’s… fond of him.”

His jaw ticked, and he exhaled slowly through his nose before letting his eyes fall shut again, but the tension in his body didn’t relent in the way it had before.

Yeah. The headache wasn’t going anywhere.

Just as he was starting to relax again, the door creaked open without so much as a knock, and a head popped inside: the new intern. The kid was his father’s friend’s grandson or something, which meant he had about three functioning brain cells and the audacity to use them in the worst ways.

“Sorry to interrupt your… erm-”

“Get out,” Bucky muttered, not even opening his eyes.

“But I just wanted to know-”

Bucky sat up so fast that the guy flinched. “Get the fuck out and close that door before I send you to count staple hooks in a basement, kid.”

The intern squeaked, stumbling back before the door shut behind him in a not-very-subtle way.

"Moody, aren’t we?” she sighed, shifting her weight as she sat back on her heels. “You’re still a Sarge at heart, it seems. Poor kid almost pissed his pants.”

His jaw worked slightly at the title, but he ignored it.

“The door is there for a reason. Besides…” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, shifting his gaze away.

He didn’t say what else he was thinking, but didn’t have to. She already knew. The way the intern had found them -he sprawled out on the floor, and she knelt behind him, hands on his body- it was enough to set off the office rumor mill.

“Don’t worry. Even if you don’t get out of your dungeon very often,” she mused, stretching her arms over her head, “you do know there’ve been rumors for a couple of years now, don’t you?”

Bucky turned fully toward her, narrowing his gaze. “What?”

“Come on, like the one where I was sucking your cock on that video call with that Japanese exec from the thermoplastics deal? With the guy watching it all because the camera was badly angled?”

His face twisted, and he waved his hands. “You weren’t even there that-”

“Or, my personal favorite” she continued, “that a window cleaner saw us on full display as you rammed my ass against the glass one afternoon?”

Bucky’s expression darkened into something truly menacing. “Bullshit. The cleaning crew comes on fucking weekends-”

She snorted. “People who gossip don’t care much about facts, Bucky. That’s just how things are.”

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” he asked with irritation.

She smirked, unfazed. “What for? It’s not like it was going to change anything. And you firing people left and right over some rumor no one even knows where it started… Not a good look.”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek, ready to argue with her, but before he could, she glanced at the clock.

“Ten more minutes, and Schwarz will be here.” Her tone was all business now, but then her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and assessing. “How’s your arm?”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line.

She sighed. “That bad, huh? Lemme see.”

“You don’t-”

“I do,” she cut him off, already shifting. “It’s probably one of the things that’s got you so moody lately. And the reason I’ll probably have to send the Germans a very nice basket of goodies after you mistreat their guy.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, but when she just stood there on her knees, arms crossed, waiting, he reluctantly popped open a few buttons of his expensive shirt. As he slid it off his shoulders, the scent of his cologne -warm, woodsy, with an edge of spice- assaulted her senses.

Beneath, he wore a pristine white tank top. And, his bad arm.

Irregular scars marred the skin in a twisted canvas that sprawled up to his shoulder, a reminder of the Syrian shrapnel that had nearly cost him the limb entirely. Inside, a lattice of titanium plates and screws that held together shattered bones and torn muscle.

Bucky exhaled sharply as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the familiar grind of metal and bone, and the fucking pain. Most days, he could push past it. Ignore it. But some days, like today, it devoured him, made everything sharper, his patience thinner, and his temper shorter.

She reached out. He could see the way her gaze softened slightly as she took in the limb, hovering her fingers just above the scars. She was softer, yes, but never pitied him.

He let his head tip back against the edge of the couch, closing his eyes as her hands worked their magic over the worst knots of his upper arm, easing some of the strain. He hated how easy it was for her to do this, to get him. To handle him. It should piss him off. Maybe it did.

But he didn’t tell her to stop.

As she gently rubbed on the offending limb, his mind drifted to the hospital bed, to his suspended arm buried in a mix of cast, pipes, and pulleys.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. The sharp sting of antiseptic, the cold bite of metal restraining his ruined arm, the dull pain buried beneath layers of medication. His mother crumpled at the foot of his hospital bed, clasping her hands in silent prayer. And his father… standing rigid, arms crossed, and a voice edged with finality.

"Well, now that you’ve had your share of independence and adventure, I assume you understand that you are meant to be with us. To serve the family the way we prepared you to."

Not a “You’ll be ok”. Not a “We’re glad you made it home alive”. Just “You’ve learned your lesson.” A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched as he stared at the ceiling, willing the memory away.

Her fingers pressed into a tight knot near his bicep, bringing him back to the present. He exhaled through his nose.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, softly.

His lips parted, with the instinctive lie ready on them -Nowhere-. But when he turned his head to look at her, he caught the way she was watching him, with that usual awareness, so he let out a breath and closed his eyes again. “Nowhere important.”

She hummed and started pulling his shirt back into place, her touch lingering a second too long on him as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.

“Well, master,” she teased, the title laced with mockery, “it’s almost time to see the Germans.”

Bucky huffed, dragging his hands down his face before starting to button his shirt. She moved to stand, but before she could, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Firm, warm, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She swallowed, willing her face to stay neutral, to ignore the way warmth curled in her stomach at the roughness in his tone.

“You know there’s no need,” she said, carefully measured, as if saying anything more might give too much away.

His grip loosened, and she pulled back, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. If he noticed the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers, he didn’t say a word. Once she finished straightening her clothes, she turned on her heel and strode toward the office door.

“I’ll let them in in ten, okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulder once more before nodding. “Yeah.”

----

She had suspected it wouldn’t go smoothly, but even so, when the heavy wooden door finally clicked open, the Germans’ expressions were unreadable, stern and tense.

She cursed inwardly.

Even if the meeting had been rocky, she hoped they’d at least reached an agreement. Otherwise, in ten minutes, her phone would be ringing with George Barnes on the other end, barking at her because Bucky refused to pick up. And, as always, she’d have to endure his tirade until he inevitably demanded she put his son on the line.

With a sigh, she pulled open a drawer, curling her fingers around a blister pack of Tylenol.

Then, smoothing her expression, she knocked gently on his office door.

A low, muffled groan was the only response she got before she stepped inside.

The sight wasn’t unfamiliar. Bucky sprawled on the couch with his shoes off, covering his face with a cushion like it could somehow block out the world. She knew how this went. If the headache was bad enough, it wouldn’t be long before he was hunched over the bathroom sink, pale and nauseous, cursing under his breath. And, as she suspected, he hadn’t brought anything to help.

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Should I expect a call from Barnes Senior in the next few minutes, or can I focus on other chores?”

Another groan. “I think he won’t call, but who the fuck knows? Nothing’s ever enough for him. Maybe he has a few things to say about the deal, things even a fresh graduate should know.” His voice was thick with irritation, but there was something else underneath. Resignation.

She tsked. “Good thing you don’t listen to him. Much.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped forward, holding up the blister pack between two fingers. “Here. I bring an offering that might change your mood.”

“Whatever it is, leave it on the desk. And don’t give me any calls.”

“Are you really rejecting Tylenol?”

A single half-lidded eye peeked out from behind the cushion, scrutinizing her like she’d just asked him to sign over the company. Then, he muttered, “Fuck, what would I do without you?”

She smirked. “Probably chomp the heads off the few people who still have the balls to speak to you.” She leaned against his desk, watching him sprawl across the couch, with the cushion still covering his face. “Speaking of your stellar social skills,” she said, The signing for the Research & Development Collaboration deal with Prescott got moved from Tuesday to Friday. You still haven’t told me which day you want your plane ticket booked.”

Silence.

She frowned. “Bucky?”

He exhaled sharply against the cushion before finally shifting it just enough to mutter, “About that.”

That tone set off a flicker of suspicion in her chest.

“I know a couple of the board members are going just to play court jesters,” he continued, voice still thick with exhaustion. “But…I want you there.”

Her brows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

He let the cushion fall away just enough to glance at her. “I want you there.” A beat. “I need you there.”

Something in her stomach twisted. Not at his words -no, she was used to being indispensable- but at the tone he used.

“I need to see-”

“You handle logistics, and you filter out unnecessary conversations. I'd rather not waste my time listening to a bunch of suits trying to kiss my ass. You keep people in check.” He sighed, tilting his head back onto the couch.

She raised a brow. “So you need me as a buffer?”

He shot her a dry look. "I need you to make sure I don’t tell the wrong person to go fuck themselves."

A flicker of something -something warm- stirred in her chest before she pushed it aside.

“Fine. I’ll book my ticket too.” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “But I want juicy compensation for being away from home in non-working hours. And, I won't babysit you the whole trip".

Bucky huffed a laugh, still sprawled on the couch, with the cushion resting against his temple instead of covering his face. “You’ll do it anyway, even when it’s not part of your job.” He gestured vaguely toward the blister of Tylenol still sitting in her hand. “You’re like a mother hen.”

And fuck, how did he like that? How much did he like her, always two steps ahead of him, anticipating his worst moods and dealing with them before they could ruin his day completely? It should drive him insane, how easily she handled him, read him, but instead, he was perfectly fine with it. He craved it.

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Well, this time mama is getting a compensation, James,” she shot back, drawing out his name like a warning. “Because I had plans for Friday night.”

He schooled his expression, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah? With who?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant.”

Just like that, something in his chest twisted, sharp and possessive.

“Must I remind you that you signed an availability clause two years ago?” His voice was measured, but there was an edge beneath it. “You agreed to be available if the firm needed you.”

If I need you. His eyes seemed to say it, even if he didn’t.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. This is the first time you’ve ever thrown that in my face. But don’t worry, I don’t need the reminder.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m pretty sure availability doesn’t mean ownership, Bucky. But it’s fine, I’ll see my godson another day.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the cushion.

Her godson.

He exhaled through his nose, and his voice came out controlled. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know, you could’ve just asked nicely instead of throwing corporate fine print at me.”

He pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the dull ache still throbbing behind his eyes. “I know.” A pause. His fingers dragged over his temple. “Sorry, I… this is killing me.”

She hesitated for a beat, caught off guard by the unusual admission.

“I’ll approve the extra compensation,” he muttered, reaching for the Tylenol she still hadn’t handed over.

“Nah,” she waved him off. “As you said, it’s already covered in the clause. That’s why my salary was increased in the first place. I was just messing with you.”

Bucky quirked a brow. “Not many people can get away with that, you know.”

“Oh, but this mother hen knows she can.” She smirked. “Just a little.”

He huffed, watching as she poured a glass of water and handed him the blister pack.

“None of that scotch after taking these, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, amused despite himself.

She squeezed his good shoulder before heading for the door, and the warmth of her touch persisted where her fingers had pressed against him.

----

The lobby was a mess of tired travelers and frazzled staff, as the storm outside cast long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The wind howled, rattling the glass as Bucky ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “A place with this many stars and a price tag that could feed a small country, and they can’t even keep track of reservations?”

She sighed, rubbing at her temple. “It’s just one night, Bucky.”

He shot her a look. “That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is that we’re exhausted, it’s almost midnight, and I’d rather not spend the next hour arguing with the poor guy at the front desk when we both know they’re fully booked because of the storm.” She gestured toward the rain hammering against the glass. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the lobby, in which case, be my guest.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the key card off the counter with a glare, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the elevator.

She sighed again, following. This was going to be a long night.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching as she took in the room with wide eyes. The Renaissance-style decor, the heavy carved furniture, the ridiculous four-poster bed with actual curtains… it was over the top, even for a place like this.

“Well, this is… something,” she murmured, slowly turning in place before making a beeline for the bathroom.

He heard her sharp inhale, then -God help him- a pleased little hum that was dangerously close to a moan.

His bad mood tempered just a little.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stepped further inside, glancing at the coffee table stacked with neatly packaged luxury treats. He had no doubt they came with a price tag steep enough to make even him scoff.

She poked her head out from the bathroom, grinning. “You think they’d notice if I just sat in the tub and refused to leave?”

For the first time since the airport delays, he almost smiled. Almost. Then he sat in an oversized armchair. The long flight, the delays, and the cold air outside had worsened the stiffness in his arm.

She eyed him knowingly, arms crossing. “Speaking of the tub, why don’t you take a shower? Or an immersive bath? Heat those bones a little. You’re tensing the arm a lot, you know.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, rolling his shoulder slightly. But then he shook his head. “After you. You’re cold too. Ladies first.”

She arched a brow. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you need it more-”

“All I hear right now is a hen clucking.” He cut her off, smirking as he kicked off his shoes and sank deeper into the chair.

Her eyes narrowed. “Endearing.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, since you offered,” she huffed, “I’m going to test the tub. And don’t expect me to be out in less than thirty minutes because I won’t. If you need the bathroom, I don’t know, use a vase or something.” She said as she started to rummage on her suitcase, looking for her nightgown.

Bucky snorted, “So regal, just what this place needs.”

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, she let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped as she finally dropped the facade. Out there, she had to keep up the usual push and pull, the teasing deflections, the confidence that made it seem like sharing a room with him -sharing space with him- was just another minor inconvenience.

But alone in here, she could let herself feel the weight of the situation.

She set her nightgown on the counter, running her hands over the silky fabric before reaching for the faucet. The deep tub groaned as steaming water rushed in, the sound filling the room as she braced herself against the edge of the sink.

This shouldn’t be affecting her so much. It wasn’t the first time they’d traveled together, and it wasn’t even the first time she’d seen him this exhausted, this raw from the day. But something about tonight, about his request for her to be here, about the way his voice softened when he said he needed her there -it’s killing me- stirred something deep and restless inside her.

She swallowed hard and reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly. He didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. He never did.

She reminded herself of that fact as she slipped the blouse from her shoulders, shivering slightly at the rush of cooler air against her skin. Bucky was… Bucky. Intense. Guarded. Possessive, sometimes, in ways he didn’t even realize.

But never hers.

She sighed, pushing down the stupid, persisting ache in her chest as she reached for the zipper of her skirt. This wasn’t new. She’d spent years training herself not to hope for something that wasn’t there. And yet, every now and then, he’d let something slip -a look, a word, a need- and it would take everything in her not to lean into it.

The tub was nearly full now, and the steam curled in soft ribbons toward the mirror. She inhaled deeply, letting the warmth settle over her body, soothing and distracting all at once.

Bucky wasn’t doing any better.

He sat in the oversized armchair, socked feet planted firmly on the carpet,  drumming his fingers idly against his knee. The tension in his shoulder hadn’t eased, not even a little. He rolled it again, flinching at the dull throb radiating from his arm.

Maybe he should’ve taken the damn bath first. Maybe the heat would’ve helped more than sitting here, stewing, staring at the closed bathroom door like some lovesick idiot.

Not that it mattered. She wasn’t into him.

He knew that much.

Women who wanted something more -who wanted him- they left hints, like breadcrumbs leading straight to their intentions. He’d seen it a thousand times in the circles he frequented. The way they gravitated toward him, playing coy with soft laughs and lingering looks. Subtle touches under the table, fingers tracing patterns on his thigh. The way they’d beam at the expensive gifts, their smiles slipping the second he showed more interest in his bed than in whatever designer bag they were parading around.

And then there was her.

She didn’t play coy. She didn’t bat her lashes or leave accidental touches to test the waters. Instead, she petted him. Nursed him. Brought him Tylenol like it was her goddamn job -which, technically, it was-. And he liked it. At first, it had been enough, her dependable presence that kept him from losing his mind when everything else was chaos.

But eventually, it wasn’t.

Eventually, he started watching for the crumbs, the hints, waiting for something, anything, that told him she saw him as more than just her boss or her friend.

And he found nothing.

Because a woman who wanted something more wouldn’t massage the knots from his arm like it was second nature, without hesitating, without blinking. Wouldn’t press her fingers into the scarred muscles like she wasn’t touching the part of him that made most people flinch.

He huffed, rubbing his palm over his face.

She was comfortable with him. Too comfortable.

And fuck, it was funny, in a twisted way, how every other woman he’d been with tried not to look at his arm -careful not to let their revulsion show- but she touched it like it was just another part of him.

Because that’s all he was to her. Just another favor.

Nothing more.

----

After exiting the bathroom in her red silk nightgown -a gift from her friends- she thanked her past self for not just throwing in an old cotton camisole.

“Well, I emptied the tub and started filling it again,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Maybe you should go check the temperature. It’s one of the last things I don’t know about you.” She tried to keep it light, casual.

Bucky stared at her longer than necessary. He had seen her in professional clothes, casual clothes, even bundled up in thick sweaters during late nights at the office, but never in something like this. It wasn’t even that revealing, but the way the silk fell against her body, catching the dim light, made his thoughts go places they shouldn’t.

He forced his gaze away, scoffing.

“Bucky, don’t tell me you didn’t even unpack pajamas.”

“Don’t use ’em,” he said, watching her expression shift.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

His smirk deepened. “Nope. I’m more of a… natural type of guy.”

She pressed her lips together, visibly trying to suppress a reaction. Interesting.

“Well, I hope you at least brought sweatpants or-”

“Wasn’t supposed to be sharing a room, remember?” He shrugged, stretching out in his chair. “Didn’t think about it. But don’t worry, I still have underwear. Are boxers still scandalous to you?”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I can manage a slutty pair of boxers, thank you very much”

Bucky huffed a chuckle, turning to his suitcase. He rifled through his things, pulling out the garment in question. “Relax. I was planning on wearing a robe -there are always robes in these places- to protect your maidenhood.” He smirked, but his fingers tightened around the fabric.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.

“Take the bed. You’ll probably be dead asleep by the time I get out.” He suggested.

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand in a dismissive tome. “That couch is too damn small for you. You take the bed.”

Bucky frowned, standing up straight. “How the fuck could I send you to the couch? It’s irritating that you could even consider me capable of that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t be stubborn, your body-”

His expression darkened, and his voice cut in sharp. “I’m not crippled, doll. I let you play mama all you want, but at the end of the day, I’m a grown man who can sleep on a damn couch without whining like a bitch.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He saw her expression shift. Surprise, hurt, and something more guarded sliding into place. He had sounded exactly like his father just now, and the realization made his stomach churn. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Just… don’t be stubborn, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

And as soon as he was alone, he cursed himself.

----

As she slipped under the covers, feeling the crisp hotel sheets' cool against her skin, her mind replayed the moment over and over.

The sharpness in his tone. The way his eyes darkened, his jaw set tight like he was bracing for a fight that wasn’t even there. She had only meant to be practical; his body did take more strain, whether he liked it or not. And yet, the way he snapped felt like she had crossed some invisible line she hadn’t even known existed.

She stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. I’m not crippled, doll. Had she made him feel like that? She had never pitied him, and he knew it. Bucky was the strongest person she knew, even when he was constantly grumpy and in pain.

Maybe that was why she did it. The taking care of him. Because no one else did. No one else noticed the stiffness in his shoulder after long days hunched on his desk or the way he rubbed at his temple when a migraine was creeping in. People either feared him, admired him, or wanted something from him. But who was actually in his corner, making sure he was okay without expecting anything in return?

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe, to him, she was just another person putting him in a box he didn’t want to be in. She had assumed he liked it, the way she doted him, the way she noticed him. But what if, in his mind, it only confirmed that she didn’t see him the way he wanted to be seen?

----

The water lapped at his collarbones as he sank deeper into the tub, letting the heat work through the persistent tension in his muscles. His head tipped back against the cool porcelain, and he closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have snapped at her. She hadn’t meant anything by it; she never did. She was just looking out for him, the way she always did, and he’d thrown it back in her face like an ungrateful asshole.

With a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, water dripping from his fingertips and wetting his scruffed face. He wasn’t mad at her, had never been mad at her. He was mad at himself. Mad at the way the frustration curled in his gut over things that weren’t her fault. She didn’t deserve that. He’d make it up to her in the morning. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would.

----

At 3 a.m., she stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. Her gaze landed on his silhouette, sitting rigid on the couch, outlined by the streetlights below.

She frowned, pushing the covers aside and padding toward him. “Hey.”

He startled slightly as if he hadn’t heard her coming, too lost in his thoughts. “Hey.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Rough night?” she asked, quirking a brow, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glanced at her, then quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah.” A beat passed before he exhaled heavily. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Normally, she would’ve brushed it off, waved away his apology like she always did. But this time, she stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my tantrums,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “Seems like it’s becoming a habit lately, having to apologize for them. But really, doll, I’m sorry.”

Something in her chest softened. It was unfair how easily those simple words soothed the discomfort that had been eating her since their argument. She wanted to reach for him, reassure him. “I know you’re nervou-”

“No.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “I’m nervous and frustrated by this deal, yeah, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole. At least not with you.” He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face. “So don’t do that. Don’t… justify me the way my mother did with my father when he beat her up on a weekly basis.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, you were kind of an asshole, if that’s what you want to hear.”

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head, but she wasn’t done.

“But you also know we have the kind of relationship where I call you out when that happens. How many times have I told you to fuck off?”

His lips twitched. “Never.”

“Okay, not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. Don’t be a smartass now.”

Bucky bit his lip, letting her continue.

“I know you’ve been working on this deal for over a year. I also know your father’s been breathing down your neck about it, just waiting for you to slip up so he can shove his twisted version of ‘tough love’ down your throat. And on top of that, I know this damn weather is making your arm and shoulder miserable. So, I’m letting it pass. You already apologized; why wouldn’t I accept it?”

His face was unreadable now, all traces of amusement gone as he nursed his glass of scotch.

She quirked a brow, aiming for levity. “Or what? You got some kind of kink? Want to be punished for being a bad boy?”

Bucky choked mid-sip, coughing as the liquor went straight up his nose.

“Oh my God, you do!” she gasped, grinning like she’d just uncovered some deep, dark secret.

“No!” Bucky spluttered, still coughing, his face red as a beet. He barely managed to set his glass down without spilling it.

She knew he was probably telling the truth, but she also knew how easily he embarrassed over certain things, and there was no way she was letting this pass.

“You couldn’t sleep because you were craving a spanking? A little pinching, maybe?” she cooed.

His head snapped toward her, eyes wide with horror. “My God, woman, stop it.”

She smirked. “Tell you what: I’ll stop if you take the bed.”

“I told you I-”

“I’m still taking it too.”

That shut him up. He blinked at her, clearly thrown back.

“It’s so big my whole damn living room could fit on it,” she pointed out. “We can share, so you don’t have to hurt your masculine pride, and mother hen here gets to be happy knowing you’re not miserable on that fancy couch.”

Bucky exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know…”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Tell me one good reason why this is a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and there’s enough space on that mattress to fit two more people between us.” She raised a brow. “I promise I won’t steal your virtue.” She winked, and he nearly groaned.

Oh, but he wanted her to take it, not his damn virtue, but something else. And that was the problem.

He couldn’t even use the excuse of propriety, he was already sitting there in just his boxers, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before. Hell, she’d been massaging his arm and back for years without batting an eye.

So, really, what was he holding onto?

“Will you shut it if I say yes?” he muttered.

“Just for tonight.” She grinned.

----

She climbed into bed, doing her best to act casual, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like she wasn’t hyperaware of the fact that Bucky was standing just a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, no robe in sight.

“We have to be there at nine,” she said, adjusting the blankets around her. “So we’ve got, what… maybe four hours of sleep?”

The mattress dipped as he sat down, and she felt the shift beneath her. She told herself not to look. But when he moved to lie down, she turned her head, catching his gaze, and ended up on her side.

He hesitated for a moment before mirroring her, rolling onto his side so they were facing each other in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Even with the shadows softening his features, she could still see it, the stress in his brow, the weight pressing down on him. The doubt.

So she leaped.

Hesitating, she reached across the space between them, palm up. “You’ve got this, Bucky,” she said, in a soft but firm tone. “You’re going to do great.”

His eyes flicked to her hand, and surprise flashed across his face, but it only lasted a second. Without hesitation, he reached out with his scarred hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, and gave a small squeeze. “Thanks.”

----

The deal with Prescott went just as expected, some rough patches here and there, but overall, both sides walked away satisfied.

As requested, she had sorted through the attendees beforehand, making sure Bucky knew exactly who he could afford to ignore and who required his attention. Not that he always followed her lead, but to her surprise, he was in a much better mood than the night before.

Maybe it was the decent night’s sleep. Maybe it was the fact that, despite his nerves, he had handled the negotiations flawlessly. Or maybe it was just that he finally let himself lean on someone for just a little.

Bucky stepped out of the conference room, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension from the negotiations. His gaze landed on her instantly, curled up in one of the lounge chairs, with a coffee cup in her hands, looking perfectly calm. She raised a brow when she noticed him watching her.

“We have a cocktail party tonight,” he announced, coming to stand beside her chair.

She took a sip before answering. “We?”

“Me. The board jesters. A bunch of industrial guys.”

“Right. So, you,” she corrected, setting her cup down.

He huffed. “I want you to come.”

She frowned, caught off guard. “Are you sure it’s not just for you and the board members?”

“I’m sure.”

She leaned back, studying him. “Bucky, I don’t exactly have cocktail-party-appropriate clothes lying around.”

He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

That made her snort. “Yeah, somehow, I doubt that.”

“No, really,” he said. “I didn’t pack for this, which means I gotta go get something to impress a bunch of snobs. You might as well come with me.” He caught the hesitation in her body language instantly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “That’s your only reason for doubting, right?”

She exhaled, knowing there was no way to wiggle out of it. “Yeah, that’s the only reason. But…” She opened her mouth, then hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that their budgets were galaxies apart? That the tie he’d pick out probably would cost as much as her monthly groceries?

“But what?” he pressed.

Fuck it.

“But, we are almost at month’s end, and I still have to pay the-”

“Wait. No, no,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I’m not expecting you to buy a fucking dress, doll. The company will.”

She frowned. “Bucky, I don’t think that’s appropriate-”

“I, the director, am the one making you attend this shitty event,” he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously, it’s a company expense that my secretary looks good there, because if she doesn’t, the company image looks bad too.”

She gave him a flat look. “Did you just say I dress poorly in a roundabout way?”

His jaw dropped. “That is not what I said.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Mmhmm.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you just let me do something nice without fighting me on it?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Great,” he said, already dialing a number. “We leave in an hour.”

----

The last thing she expected when he said they were going shopping was to find herself standing inside a Prada store. She had anticipated something fancy, sure, but Prada? This was a whole different level. She was almost afraid to breathe too hard, worried she’d somehow stain or break something just by existing.

A perfectly dressed clerk approached them, and the moment the woman’s eyes landed on Bucky, her posture shifted: poised, interested, appreciative. She on the other hand, might as well have been invisible.

“What can I do for you?” the clerk asked, with a voice all smooth with professionalism and something more.

Bucky barely glanced at her. “We need a cocktail dress for her and a suit for me.”

Immediately, the woman waved over a co-worker, passing her off while keeping Bucky’s attention firmly on herself.

“Were you looking for something specific?” the second clerk asked her while signaling her to follow.

“Uh, yeah. I was thinking an empire dress with a V neckline.”

“Let me show you what we have.”

----

After trying on two options that didn’t feel quite right, she slipped into the third dress. The fabric hugged her in all the right places, elegant but not over-the-top, and when she pulled the curtain open, she froze.

Bucky was standing there, dressed in a black suit so well-fitted it might as well have been tailored for him on the spot. His ivory dress shirt contrasted against his sharp features, and there was something about the way he wore the suit -confident and powerful- that made her stare.

What she didn’t realize was that he was staring right back, caught off guard as he discreetly bit at his bottom lip.

“Guess that’s the dress,” he said, his voice just a little rough.

“You think so?” She did a slow spin, letting the fabric swirl around her.

“Definitely.” He managed to say.

She grinned. “Guess that’s the suit?”

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a pleased half-smile that sent warmth curling into her chest.

After purchasing the medium heels and the purse that she tried hard not to think about the cost of, they had lunch at an upscale restaurant.

----

By the time they reached the hotel, she was still reeling a little from the whole shopping trip. The Prada bags felt almost radioactive in her hands, she could barely process the fact that she now owned something so expensive, let alone the fact that Bucky had made the entire thing seem as casual as buying a cup of coffee.

As they approached the front desk, the receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. We have the second room available now if the lady would like to move in.”

Before Bucky could respond, she beat him to it. “Good. Can I take it now?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the receptionist said, eyes flickering to Bucky for a moment, then back to her. “I’ll send someone up to move your belongings.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” she replied quickly, trying to play it off with a small smile. “It’s just a small suitcase and is already upstairs.”

“Very well, ma’am. Please enjoy your stay,” the woman said, giving her the magnetic card.

As the elevator ascended, Bucky crossed his arms and shot her a dry look. "That was fast."

"Huh?" she blinked, shifting the shopping bags in her grip.

"You practically threw yourself over the door card." He chuckled, but there was something almost edgy beneath it.

"Well," she shrugged, "I was supposed to be there from the start, Bucky. Now you won’t have to miss my… how do you call it? Clucking?" She winked.

Bucky scoffed, but his jaw worked like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. And maybe he was. Because the truth was, he would miss it.

He had no business getting used to her presence, to the way she looked after him. But those few hours they’d shared in the same bed? Dreamless. The first time in a long time his mind had given him peace. And now, standing here, the thought of losing that -even just the simple comfort of her being near- felt… wrong.

He glanced at her and found her watching him with an amused tilt of her head. He swallowed down whatever mess of thoughts he was having and shrugged instead. "I’ll survive."

----

The message came through: "Ready?"

She took a breath, smoothing her hands down the dress that still didn’t feel entirely real. "Yeah, coming out now."

Stepping into the hallway, she turned and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky stood there, waiting, a few doors down. The same suit from earlier, yes, but now fully put together. His hair was neatly combed back, his scruff freshly trimmed, and the addition of a sleek watch and cufflinks only added to the devastating effect. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a high-end catalog, the kind of man people turned to look at the moment he entered a room.

Her pulse stuttered.

He caught her staring, but he didn’t call her out for it, probably because he was doing the exact same thing.

She looked stunning. That dress had already been perfect in the store, but now, with her makeup done, her hair styled just so, and the soft glow of the hotel lighting catching on her skin? He was fucking dying to close the space between them, to inhale and find out which perfume she’d chosen tonight. Would it be the one he liked the most?

His eyes briefly dipped to her neckline before he could stop himself, and his traitorous cock twitched in interest. Damn it. He forced his gaze back up, schooling his face into something composed just as she started toward him.

"You look good, sweetheart," he managed to say.

She smirked, sliding her hand into the arm he offered. "You cleaned up good yourself, boss."

----

The ride in the limo was... interesting.

The board members who had come along were in high spirits, congratulating themselves and Bucky on the deal, clinking their glasses of expensive whiskey as they rehashed key moments from the negotiation.

And yet, somehow, she was left out of the conversation entirely.

Not just the business talk, that she understood. She wasn’t part of the board. But even the petty, circumstantial chatter, the kind of polite small talk that people filled silence with, never once included her. It was as if she were just there, a piece of decoration beside Bucky, an accessory rather than a person.

Of course, to them, that’s exactly what she was.

Just his secretary. The one everybody knew he was fucking.

Now, he’d simply taken it a step further and brought her to the cocktail party, dressed up in Prada and heels, just like a good mistress should be.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He was fully engaged in conversation with the others, discussing projections, potential expansions, and other things that weren’t meant for her ears.

She knew this would happen. The moment he asked her to come, she’d known she’d feel out of place. And yet, some naïve part of her had thought -hoped- it wouldn’t be this bad.

She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way the man across from her kept glancing up from his phone, barely acknowledging her except for those quick, assessing looks, made her stomach turn. His fingers moved smoothly over the screen, typing something, then pausing -another glance, another smirk- before resuming.

She forced herself to sit still, to smooth her dress over her lap, to ignore the creeping feeling at the back of her mind that something about this moment would come back to haunt her.

----

As they stepped into the reception, they blended seamlessly into the elegant crowd. The board members exchanged greetings with familiar faces, shaking hands and making small talk. A few acquaintances took notice of her, flickering their gazes between her and Bucky before curiosity got the better of them.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” one of them asked with a polite smile.

Bucky barely hesitated. “My dutiful secretary.”

There was always a beat after that -just a split second of realization- before the inevitable, knowing oh followed.

If he noticed the shift in people’s expressions, he didn’t show it. Either he was oblivious to it or, more likely, he just didn’t care. He was too used to these circles, to their assumptions, to their judgments. But she felt it. Every curious glance, every subtle flick of the eyes that said, so, he finally brought her along.

At some point, he made a passing joke “Ten years dealing with me, just for that, someone should give her an award,” which earned a few chuckles from the men around him. She mustered a polite smile, but inside, she could already feel the exhaustion creeping in.

She needed a drink. Or a few.

Slipping away, she made her way toward the bar and ordered a Gancia cocktail, sitting in one of the fancy stools.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still deep in conversation when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. His brows furrowed immediately -he wasn’t fond of being touched- but as he turned, his irritation sharpened into something heavier.

His father.

George Barnes stood there, exuding effortless charm as always, but he knew better. He braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Good job, son.”

For a moment, it almost sounded… honest, proud. But then, just as predictably as the sun rising, he leaned in ever so slightly, voice lowering so only Bucky could hear the next part. “You managed not to ruin it.”

Bucky's jaw ticked. But he exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his expression neutral.

George straightened, turning back to the small group with a practiced smile. “Gentlemen, if you don’t oppose, I’d like to steal my son for a moment.” The group murmured their good-natured agreements, stepping aside as the older man clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder again, making his muscles coil with irritation.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked, words laced with aggression but softened enough to avoid drawing attention.

His father’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a corporate party. Why wouldn’t I be here?"

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and his tone grew colder. "Because it's three states away, and you have no business here."

George chuckled lightly, as if this conversation was little more than a minor inconvenience. "Oh, but you are wrong, I do have business here. I have shares in Prescot & Co. Surprised?"

"In the bare minimum," Bucky replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took a flute of champagne from a passing waitress, keeping his expression carefully neutral, tightening his grip around the delicate glass as his eyes remained fixed on his father.

George’s lips quirked into something like a smirk, clearly unfazed by the tension. "I know I gave you the industrial input branch to play with, James. And you’ve been doing a decent job. But it’s never bad to be aware of what’s going on there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered momentarily to the crowd around them, trying to gauge how much of this was being overheard. He wasn’t sure if his father’s presence here was meant to make some kind of point or just another round of his usual subtle power moves. Either way, he hated the feeling that his every step was being watched and scrutinized.

"Well, I’m doing just fine without your input," Bucky said, taking a sip of his champagne, trying to sound controlled.

His father’s eyes never left him, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "Hm, and speaking of knowing what’s going on the firm..." George drawled, glancing toward the bar where she sat. "When were you going to tell me about this?" he asked, with a casual tone but loaded with implication.

Bucky’s body went rigid at the mention of her. His eyes shot toward her, but he quickly masked the tension creeping through his body. "What is it to tell?" he shot back, trying to downplay the situation.

George sighed, like he was explaining something to a child. "Some little birds keep me informed about your affairs on the firm, son. And they’ve been signing songs about you two for years now." His gaze flickered over to her, still perched at the bar, before he looked back at his son with a smug expression.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He could feel the familiar sting of being patronized, and it fueled his growing irritation. He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice calm but laced with the growing sharpness of his frustration. "It’s all bullshit, Dad. Maybe you’ll need to pick better your little spies." He hated the insinuations, the familiar condescension that George always slipped into conversations like these. The man always had a way of making his son feel small, of making everything seem like some petty game.

George didn’t flinch. His smirk only deepened. “Oh, I know about your escapades, James. Those bimbos you dated, the ones you dared to bring home. That last one, Mandy, or Marney...” he waved a hand. “But always, always, the songs about you and that ‘secretary’ of yours remained.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he fought to keep his composure. “Jesus, Dad. It’s my fucking secretary. At this level, it’s like having a work-wife. We never asked or told you anything about Esther in what, forty years working with her?” his voice was tight, defensive.

The old man quirked a brow, looking almost amused. “Exactly.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ve been fucking Esther on my desk for the last thirty of those forty years, and no one had said a word or suspected anything. Why? Because I have brains, son.” His expression hardened. “It seems I keep overestimating you, thinking you could mask an office affair as it should be.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted.

“You don’t know shit about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

His father smiled. “I know more than you think.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Then you’d know that if we were a thing, I wouldn’t hide her,” he stated in a low but firm tone. “I’d parade her at every opportunity, make damn sure everyone knew she was mine.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, more like a warning. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you one day.”

George scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be the talk-”

Bucky cut him off with a sharp smile. “Your last name would be the talk. And that’s what concerns you, isn’t it, Father?” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “But since you know me so well, you already know that I couldn’t care less about the tabloids, your social circle, and, lastly, your opinion on this matter.”

His father’s expression flickered, and something dark flashed in his eyes, but Bucky didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he drew on that well-practiced smile, the kind that could fool any onlooker into thinking this was just a polite conversation between father and son. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the crowd, leaving George standing alone in the wake of his words.

----

As she nursed her drink at the bar, she became aware of someone approaching. A tall man with a confident, almost cocky stance settled beside her.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, flagging down the bartender without even glancing at her.

She turned slightly, taking in the sharp suit, the perfectly styled blond hair, the smug air about him. John Walker. She recognized him from a few previous company functions, one of George Barnes’s people. He wasn’t part of Bucky’s branch of the company, but he had enough pull to be a nuisance when he wanted to be.

“Well, here I am,” she replied coolly, lifting her glass to her lips.

John smirked. “Must be nice. Traveling in style, all expenses paid…” His gaze flicked briefly to her dress, then the Prada bag she’d set down by her feet. “Guess it pays to be the boss’s favorite.”

Before she could respond, another voice cut in.

“There you are.”

Bucky.

His presence was commanding. He stepped between them, close enough that John had to shift back, barely masking his irritation. Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes were only on her.

“I need you to reschedule the Montgomery call for next week, now.” he said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue easily. A perfect excuse, a simple reason to pull her away.

She blinked, catching on quickly. “Of course, boss.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, Barnes. You really don’t let her out of your sight, huh?” He took a slow sip of his drink, then added, “You should loosen the leash a little.”

Bucky went still.

It was subtle, the tic on his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides but she could feel the shift in the air.

John had no idea how close he was to getting his teeth knocked in.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking about tightening yours.” His voice was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it.

John’s smirk faltered, but before he could respond, Bucky turned to her and offered his elbow. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t hesitate.

He barely spared Walker another glance as he guided her toward one of the balcony doors. The noise of the party dulled as they stepped outside, and the cool night air contrasted with the heat simmering beneath his skin.

"What did he tell you?" His voice was low and measured, but she knew better. He was seething.

She let out a small sigh. "Ah, just some silly banter we usually have," she tried to deflect, stepping closer to the railing.

Bucky stayed near, and his gaze flicked to hers. “Which consists of…?” he pressed, his voice quieter now but no less sharp.

She sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to let it go. “God, Bucky, it’s just stupid.”

“If it’s stupid, you can tell me.” He pushed.

She hesitated, but under the weight of his stare, she relented. “Some stupid thing about being the boss’s favorite.”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair, and the muscle in his jaw ticked again. "That fucking bastard," he muttered. He started to turn back toward the party, and she recognized the intent in his posture. He was going to find Walker and probably, without subtlety, give him a piece of his mind.

She reached out instinctively, wrapping her fingers around his inner elbow. "Don’t you dare cause a scene over some juvenile taunt."

"He disrespected you," Bucky bit out with restrained anger.

She exhaled, trying for humor. "Did he lie? Am I not your favorite employee?"

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “You know what he meant by that.”

She smiled a little. "I do. But I just don’t care, Bucky." Her fingers lightly curled against his arm. "I know who I am and the place I occupy. John Walker’s opinions are not relevant to me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The place you occupy?"

“Yes. As your secretary, as a friend.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest truth. “You and I both know there’s nothing between us. It’s just so stupid. He’s seen the women you associate with; how could he even presume-”

Bucky’s chest did something stupid. He wasn’t sure what, only that it felt tight and hot and made him irrationally irritated. “What kind of women?”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, come on, Bucky. The Vogue cover type.”

Bucky stared at her. “The Vogue cover type?” he echoed, like he was tasting the words and finding them bitter.

She let out a small laugh. “You know what I mean. The ones with the perfect hair, the designer wardrobes, the endless legs-” She gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. “The ones people expect a man like you to be with.”

Bucky scoffed. “A man like me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re rich, successful, powerful, and on top of that, handsome. It’s not exactly shocking that you’d go for-”

Bucky let out a sharp breath. “For what?” he interrupted, voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. “A goddamn mannequin?”

She blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Bucky, that’s the only kind of woman I’ve ever seen enter or exit your office in ten years. The only kind you arrange dates with. The only kind you send flowers to,” she pointed out, her tone laced with incredulity. “Did you never notice a pattern in your partners?”

He said nothing. Because she wasn’t wrong.

He couldn't deny it. Couldn’t, because that was the kind of woman that always approached him. The kind of woman that fit neatly into the world he operated in. The kind of woman he was expected to have perched on his arm. The kind of woman who made sense.

And the kind of woman who was so different from her.

Because he couldn’t dare to be with someone who even resembled her. To be what? A cheap replacement for the luscious body and sharp tongue he really wanted in his bed? No. That would’ve been pathetic. Even for him.

And maybe he was delusional, but he could’ve sworn there was something there, an edge in her voice when she spoke about his so-called type, as if she had already decided for the both of them that they could never be a thing.

And God, he was tired.

So tired of this stupid dance that had lasted years of what-ifs, blurred lines, untold truths, and all the office gossip that never seemed to die.

His patience snapped.

“What, do you think it’s so impossible for us to be something more?”

She froze, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Well, I never perceived anything resembling -um- interest from you,” she stammered.

Bucky let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you think I would let anyone touch me the way you do if I didn’t feel something?”

She went speechless for a second, parting her lips, scrambling for an answer. “Well, maybe-”

“No,” he cut her off, low and heated. “And you know it. Tell me one person you’ve seen me with who has that level of intimacy with me. One person who can approach me, who can touch me, who can nurse me like a fucking child and I let them.” His chest rose and fell with the force of his words, the frustration thick in every syllable. “You won’t find anyone.”

Because there was no one else. Only her.

Bucky moved in, crowding her against the cool balcony railing, his body was a wall of heat and tension. His hands weren’t on her -yet- but he was close enough that she could feel his breath, the scent of his cologne mixed with champagne, wrapping around her like a slow burn.

His voice was low, almost rough. “The question here is… do you feel anything else besides ‘friendly’ empathy when you touch me?” His blue eyes were searching, desperate for something he wasn’t sure she could give. “Have you ever wanted this to be something more?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “Am I the only one who thinks that- fuck.” His head dipped for half a second, as if frustrated with himself, before he looked at her again, with a dark, unreadable gaze. “The only one of us that feels like us could be a thing?”

His words were a shock to her system, leaving the air thick, charged between them. His hands found the railing on either side of her body, bracketing her in without touching her.

And she was also tired, so goddamn tired.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of thinking about what was proper.

Tired of believing she could be nothing more to him than his dutiful secretary.

Tired of swimming through dates and relationships that, even with effort, never felt fulfilling.

She looked up at him, the man she had spent endless hours working for, hours that seemed to pass in a blink. The man marked by scars, both physical and psychological. The ruthless wolf who ruled a company he never truly wanted, yet refused to let go of. The man who, in the deepest corner of his mind -even if he never admitted it- wanted to be seen by his father.

The man she had learned to read so many years ago, whose moods, silences, and tells she knew by heart.

The man she couldn’t stop caring for because no one else did. Not even himself.

The man she was in love with.

And she couldn’t deny him.

"You are not the only one who feels all of those things," she heard herself say, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She averted her gaze quickly, suddenly aware of the distant noise of voices and clinking glasses behind them. But before she could step away, he leaned in, still caging her against the balcony railing.

Bucky turned his head slightly, scanning their surroundings. There was no one. And fuck if he cared if there was.

His intense gaze snapped back to hers. "Do you mean it?" His voice was low, almost rough. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply and took a fraction of a step back, and his hands ghosted over her arms as if forcing himself to give her space. "Aren’t you feeling pressured right now? By my position? By our… dynamic?"

She scoffed, shaking her head, "You know me well enough to know I don’t let myself be pressured. I think my first week under you made that clear."

A dry chuckle left his lips. "God. You dared to lecture me about not being a servant just for asking for a coffee."

Her lips parted in disbelief. "Oh, don’t you dare play the victim here," she shot back, jabbing a finger lightly against his chest. "You barked at me to walk eight blocks in those fucking heels just because you wanted that petroleum filth they called gourmet espresso. You had five excellent coffee shops between here and there, but no, you had to have that one, which charged you double for dirty water."

Bucky let out a low, amused hum, catching her hand before she could retreat. His grip was firm but soft, and his thumb glided absentmindedly over her knuckles. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

"I thought of firing you on the spot," he admitted, almost reflectively.

Her brows lifted. "Oh, how gracious of you not to."

His smirk deepened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his other hand, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb.

"But then I realized," he murmured, tilting his head, "I got so fucking turned on when you didn’t cower and spoke your mind."

Her breath caught as his fingers slid back, cupping lightly the base of her neck.

"It’s so goddamn rare," he continued, dipping his voice into something huskier, "to find someone in these circles who actually says what they mean. Who doesn’t just… bend."

His grip tightened at the back of her head, and his fingers fisted in her hair, undoing part of her hairstyle as he tugged just enough to tilt her face up toward his. His pupils were blown wide, dark and consuming, the pale blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the heat behind them.

"But I'd be lying," he murmured, as his breath brushed against her lips, "if I said I haven’t thought about bending you in other… more pleasurable ways."

A tingle ran down her spine, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The heat rushed to her face, completely unaccustomed to this side of him, this raw, unveiled hunger. The daily life they shared, the comfort they had built over years of working side by side, had nothing to do with the way he looked at her now.

Like a predator.

A handsome, fucked-up predator, ready to consume her whole.

And she was going to let him.

Far in the back of her mind, the worries of what this would mean, of the implications of crossing this line, of the scandal and gossip if anyone found them like this, all of it faded into irrelevance. The only thing that mattered was the way his fingers tightened in her hair, the way his body crowded hers against the railing, and the way his gaze locked her in place like she was something he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers.

She tried to feign a little nonchalance. "Is this your pickup line for fancy cocktail parties? Telling a lady you want to bend her?"

His low chuckle rumbled against her, his amusement laced with something far more dangerous. He didn’t pull away when she tried to call him out. No, he attacked.

"Oh, I think this lady enjoyed it very much," he murmured, brushing the shell of her ear with his lips, his voice thick with satisfaction. "The way she squirms under my gaze tells me everything I need to know."

The warmth of his breath made her shiver as his manicured stubble grazed her cheek, rough against the softness of her skin. Strands of his loosened hair tickled under her chin as he slowly turned his face, skimming his lips over hers, just the ghost of a touch, but it set her entire body on fire. Without thinking, she pressed the softest peck to the corner of his mouth.

And that was all it took.

He let go.

To hell with the party. To hell with his father, the endless charade of appearances, and whoever might walk through those balcony doors.

His other hand fisted the fabric at her lower back, yanking her against him as his lips crashed onto hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, deep, possessive, and unrelenting. His expensive suit wrinkled under her desperate grasp as her fingers clawed at his lapels.

Her purse tumbled from her shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when Bucky was pressing her against the railing, caging her in, one large hand tightening its grip on her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted.

He kissed her like he was trying to ruin her for anyone else. Like he was sealing something between them, something untold but inevitable. His tongue parted her lips and swallowed the soft gasp that escaped her own.

Her knees weakened, but he was there, securing his grip as if daring gravity to try and take her from him. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated against her mouth as she arched into him, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Without even thinking, he pressed a thick thigh between hers, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips.

Bucky felt it, her body’s reaction, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers tightened their hold on him. His grip on her waist grew firmer, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to make sure she felt him everywhere.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, his lips barely leaving hers as he spoke. "I can feel how much you want this."

His thigh flexed, pressing up against her just right, and she bit down a whimper, tilting back her head against the railing. Bucky took advantage, latching his mouth onto her exposed throat, scraping over the delicate skin with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

Her hands fisted his suit, wrinkling the pristine fabric even further, but he couldn’t care less. Not when she was trembling against him, not when she was letting him take control, letting him push, pull, and claim in ways neither of them had dared to acknowledge before tonight.

His breath was uneven when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide, hunger and something far more dangerous swirling in that stormy blue. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he growled, his grip constricting on her waist as if he might just drag her away.

For a moment, she teetered on the edge of saying yes, of letting him whisk her away and finish what they started. But then reality seeped in: the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation just beyond the balcony doors, the weight of eyes that could turn at any moment.

She swallowed hard, forcing her hands to press against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. “We… we can’t.”

“Like hell we don’t,” he countered, as he dragged his thigh between hers again. The friction made her bite her lip, shifting her hips instinctively toward him, betraying her resolve.

“Don’t be a brat,” she murmured. “You’re here to make connections, to pretend you give a damn about these people. Not to mention your father’s just waiting for you to slip.”

“I don’t give a fuck-”

“Bucky.” She exhaled, calming herself. “This is good for you. A couple of hours, and then we can go.”

His exhalation was sharp, and his grip faltered for just a second before his forehead came to rest against hers. He felt dejected. She let her fingers trail down his lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles she had put there.

“Honey,” she murmured, softer now, “I want this as much as you do.”

His lips parted, ready to argue, but she pressed a finger to them, shaking her head. “No. You told me you wanted me on this trip as a buffer, to help figure out who you can be a dick to and who you can’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Maybe I just wanted you close.”

Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. Instead, she dragged her hands down his arms, squeezing his wrists before stepping back just enough to force some distance. “Shush. I’m doing what I’m supposed to.” She smirked, playful now, tilting her head. “Don’t be stubborn. Be a good boy and talk to those people. We have plenty of time for ourselves once this ends.”

His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought he might argue. But then, with one last lingering touch along her waist, he huffed a quiet curse and pulled away.

She was right. He knew she was right. But seeing her all disheveled against the railing, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in uneven little gasps, none of it helped his restraint.

Which was exactly why, instead of stepping back into the party like a man with self-control, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward a darker corner of the balcony.

“Bucky! What-”

She barely had time to protest before her back met the cool stone wall, and his body caged hers in, shielding her from view.

“I’m being a good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You failed to perceive how you -and probably I- look right now.” His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, tilting her chin up, and his eyes swept over her face and down her neck, to where her dress was slightly askew from his hands. “We can’t walk back in there looking like two horny teenagers who made out while the adults were talking,” he said, ghosting his lips over her temple, in a teasing but firm tone.

She swallowed, barely suppressing a shiver as his hands roamed her body, smoothing over the wrinkles in her dress and fixing his own tie with a frustrated sigh.

“And whose fault is that?” she muttered, smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket before reaching lower to straighten the part of his shirt that had somehow come untucked during their little ordeal.

Bucky chuckled, watching her fuss over him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare throw this on me when we both know you were pretty damn excited a minute ago,” he teased.

Her hands stilled, lips parting in protest, only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as one of his hands abandoned its pretense of decorum and slid down to cup her ass, squeezing with deliberate firmness.

She yelped, smacking his chest, but his smirk only widened.

“Now stop being so bossy and help us look mildly demure,” he murmured, all mock innocence, though the way his hand rubbed slowly at her rear said otherwise.

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she batted his hand away, not that it did much, considering he was still crowding her against the wall like he had every intention of misbehaving again, and his scent clung to her like a second skin.

“Demure? After what you just pulled?” she scoffed, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles on her dress. “The nerve you have,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair, trying futilely to regain some composure.

Bucky chuckled, slow and smug, brushing a thumb across his lower lip as he watched her. “And yet, you let me and enjoyed it. And… you’re still here,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

She exhaled, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “For now.”

His eyes darkened, and his amusement flickered into something deeper as he leaned in, fanning his warm breath against her temple. “For good.”

Taglist: @civilbucky

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[marvelstoriesepic]

Five days, Five bouquets

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talk of a fake marriage for the sake of a mission; fluffff

Author’s Note: This is written for the writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I wasn’t planning on writing something so soon because I’ve still got a project going on right now, but your prompts and everything were just so alluring, I couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this, my dearest. And I am almost entirely certain that this won’t be my only entry to your writing challenge, because I've got some more ideas lol. Here is a small continuation to this story: A Home for Now

Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡

Masterlist

“Again, Bucky?”

You don’t even try to mask your breathless laughter, the warmth of it slipping through as you rise from your seat.

The front door clicks shut behind Bucky and he scuffs off his boots half-heartedly on the door mat. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. And an even larger grin on his face.

The table before you is still cluttered with the remnants of your cover - documents, notes, a meticulously crafted facade of a life together.

A life that isn’t real, except for moments like these, when the borders become smudged just enough to make you wonder.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling so wide, but his tone does not hold a trace of irony. “What kinda guy d’you think I am? Four days in a row and I just stop?” He scoffs as if the mere thought offends him. His voice is honeyed.

He stalks over to you standing at the table and holds the bouquet out for you. It is an understatedly beautiful arrangement of dusky pink roses, fluffy ruffled carnations, ivory lilies with petals curling slightly at the edges. Wisps of silvery foliage peek through, adding a breath of frost to the warmth. And then there are the deep inky leaves interwoven among the blooms, like something divine pulled from the shadows.

You take them with fingers that begin to tremble just slightly. His hand brushes over yours. A blush makes its way up your face just like every time.

You have been undercover for five days, posing as a married couple by orders from Nick Fury. And every day, even though it’s not at all necessary for you both to keep your cover, Bucky brings you a bouquet when he gets ‘home’ from his fake job.

He is embedded in a high-profile consulting firm, shadowing a suspect deeply tangled in covert operations, while you take a closer look at his wife. She’s not at all innocent. She manages high-stakes charity galas, the kind that funnel money into places they shouldn’t be. You play the devoted wife, hosting brunches, attending yoga classes she goes to, letting cautious friendships lead you to the information you need.

Five days. Five bouquets.

Each one different, but all of them hold some unspoken thing. Something that makes you shiver.

The choking in your throat is disguised with a roll of your eyes. “You do know we’re supposed to be laying low, right? Kinda hard when you’re single-handedly funding the local florist,” you tease rather lightly.

Bucky chuckles, low but bright, and you swear you feel the sound more than you hear it. “Oh c’mon, doll. Long as we’re playin’ house, I gotta keep my wife happy.”

This is a joke. It is all a joke. But your pulse is not laughing, only speeding up, tripping at the way he puts emphasis on wife. As if the word fits too well in his mouth, as if he could get used to it.

Bucky has always been a gentleman to you. Even outside of missions. But since you started this one, moving into the same house on the outskirts of town for the sake of your cover, the grumpiness and stoicism that usually surround his aura at the compound are completely lost here with you. You’ve never seen him smile as much as you have in the last five days.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter, take a closer look, and take in the many appealing colors and scents. “Thank you, Bucky. I love those,” you say warmly.

His expression falters just a fraction like it does every time, not quite knowing what to do with genuine gratitude when it’s meant for him. Although you show it to him all the time. A flicker of something unguarded passes over his features before he covers it with a scoff that only makes it out halfway. He looks off to the side, shifting his weight. “Well, can’t have my wife thinkin’ I'm slipping already now, can I?” he laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears just the slightest bit of pink.

You turn with a huffed laugh and perform the task of putting away the flowers. Shaking your head, you start to get highly aware of the wedding band around your finger, a piece of fiction Tony gave you to wear. It looks so real, yet it is a lie. And you hate it.

“Do I need to remind you that we’re not actually married?” The words fall with amusement but they sit heavier in the air than they should.

The ring fits perfectly, Tony made sure of that. But it still somehow presses against your skin. As if to remind you that Bucky is not truly yours.

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat. You see him tilting his head from your peripherals as you reach for a vase. His smile is softened. “Don’t matter, sweetheart. Might as well treat you like my wife.” His voice is quieter now, less teasing. But sure.

The kitchen and living room are already brimming with the past four days of his affections.

One arrangement graces the coffee table, another stands by the window, and two more are carefully nestled between books on the shelf at the wall to your left. A home suffused with color, with life, with something neither of you dares to call by name.

You feel the warmth of his gaze on you. He doesn’t say anything, standing there relaxed, still with that proud and fond smile on his face, watching you as if he is engraving in his memory the way you fuss over where to place this latest offering.

And maybe you take just a little longer than necessary because if you turn too soon, you’ll have to meet his eyes.

And you don’t know if you can right now.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to look away.

But you know you should. Because this is not real.

But maybe - and this is the hope speaking - it could be someday.

“Imagine someone thinking of you and buying you flowers.”

- sleepyurl

[hyunjincanraptoo]

hi baby ;)

prompt 10 pretty please 🥺

(guess who is iiiiiit)

Hi, baby!! I knew it was you just by the 'baby' haha. Lemme tell you, skz made something to me, cause after I saw that damn video of Chan and Lixie taking care of babies, I can't stop thinking about kids and look, I never wanted to be a mother 🤡 (why do they have to be so husband material 😭)

10. Baby, I'm late

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: smut, breeding kink

Alexa, play Scorsese Baby Daddy by SZA

You were quiet for most of the morning.

Chan had noticed. You picked at your breakfast, stared off into space, laughed at the wrong times during your drama. When he reached for your hand on the couch, you laced your fingers through his, but your grip was too loose like your thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

He waited. He always did.

But around lunchtime as he was folding his clothes and humming some song in the bedroom, you finally said it.

“Baby, I’m late”

He looked up.

“Late for what?”

You turned to face with the lips parted like you were unsure if it was a joke or not

“You know what”

He stared. Then the air in the room changed, his blood pressure dropped straight to his feet.

“H-how late?”

“Five days”

“Fuck”, he whispered, then rubbed his face so hard his skin turned red.

“Five days is… well, that’s not like you!”

You nodded. Silent.

He stood there in the middle of the room like the walls were closing in.

“Did you… did you take a test?”

“Not yet. I wanted to tell you first”

“For God's sake, Yn”

The tone of his voice caught you off guard. It sounded like a mixture of disbelief, anger and regret.

“I didn’t do this on purpose, Chan”

“I know, I know. It’s just… this is a lot, okay? We’re not even… fuck, we never talked about this!”

A lump formed in your throat.

“So what? You regret sleeping with me?”

“No! Damn, I didn't say…”

He took a breath, lowering his voice, “I just… I need to think. I need to breathe”

And just like that, he grabbed his duffle bag, mumbled something about the studio, and left.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ

Chan was bent over his desk, stuck on a chord progression that didn’t even match the track. His leg bounced uncontrollably. He hadn’t written a word. All he could think about was tiny shoes, baby formula prices, whether you’d even want to see him again after he just left you there alone.

“Hyung”

He looked up to see Felix in the doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed in concern.

“You okay?”

Chan didn’t answer. Felix walked in, took one look at the empty snack wrappers and his half-finished lyrics

“Did someone die or…?”

Chan looked like he wanted to.

“It’s Yn. She’s late”

Felix processes it in half a second.

“Oh”

He leaned against Chan's desk, “Breathe, hyung. You like her. You love her. It’s not a death sentence*

Chan groans, burying his face in his hands, “I’m not ready to be a dad”

“You weren’t ready to lead a group either, but here we are with the best leader we could ever imagine”

Felix’s voice was warm, real, like he meant every word.

“Also you already act like a dad to seven grown men every day. You think you’d suck at raising one tiny version of someone you love?”

Chan exhaled

“I freaked out, okay?. I didn’t want her to think I didn’t want… us, you know?”

Felix placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Then go tell her that. Before she decides to raise that kid without you and your dramatic ass”

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ

Chan returned home around 6 pm.You didn’t even look up when he opened the door. Just kept sitting at the kitchen table, staring at an empty pregnancy test wrapper.

“It was a false alarm”, you said softly.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I took the test an hour ago. Not pregnant. Try not to be too excited”.

You finally looked at him and saw the guilt all over his face.

He stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, I freaked out”

“I know. I was scared too”

He dropped to his knees beside your chair, resting his head on your lap.

“It… it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, though. Raising a little us with you”

Your fingers tangled in his hair.

“You’re lucky I can't resist when you beg for forgiveness”

He looked up at you, eyes softer and sure.

“Do you…. maybe want to try? For real?”

“You mean… have a baby?”

“Only if it’s with you”

You smiled.

“Do you want to try for real?”

“Let’s try it. Right now”

Your heart pounded hard against your ribcage

“Chan…”

He leaned in close, voice tender like velvet but his eyes locked on yours with fire.

“Let me put a baby in you”

That heat in your chest dropped straight between your thighs.

You didn’t answer. Just stood and took his hand, leading him to the bedroom quietly. The moment the door closed, his lips were on you, hungry as ever.

Chan kissed you like he meant every word. Like the apology was in his tongue. Like the promise was in his hands, smoothing under your shirt and down your spine.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and he followed you down immediately, hungry hands roaming your body. His lips dragged a line of heat down your stomach as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding it down your legs slowly, savoring the way you shivered beneath him.

When he pushed inside, it wasn’t rough— it was sure and deep. Like he wanted to carve himself into you.

He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip to keep you steady as he moved inside you, unrelenting.

“You feel so fucking perfect", he panted, voice shaking against your ear, “like you were made to carry my baby"

You gasped his name, back arching off the bed, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper.

The words wrecked you more than they should’ve, but hearing them in a rasp tone, charged with love and need, sent heat straight between your legs.

“You want that?”, he whispered, teeth grazing your jaw, “Want to feel me dripping out after? Laying here, stuffed full of me?”

You whimpered, nodding frantically, every muscle in your body tightening around him.

“Say it, baby. Need to hear you say it", he urged, voice broken.

“I want it", you cried out, clinging to him, “Chan, please... give it to me…”

He groaned like he was falling apart, rhythm faltering as he started driving into you harder, deeper, chasing the edge for both of you.

“I’m close", he gasped into your mouth, forehead pressed to yours, “Gonna fill you up, babe. Every last drop"

His hand tightened in yours, anchoring you to him as you shattered around him, muscles spasming so hard it ripped a broken moan from his chest.

He followed with a shuddering cry, burying himself as deep as he could, spilling inside you with a heat that made your whole body tremble.

He stayed there, panting, forehead still pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Later, he curled around you, chest pressed to your back, arms locking protectively around your waist with his softening cock still buried inside you.

"False alarm or not", he whispered against the shell of your ear, voice rough but still affectionate, "I think I wanna practice every night until it’s not"

His hand slid down, resting over your lower belly, fingers splaying wide like he was already protecting something precious.

And you knew, without a doubt, that he meant it

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[indecisivemuch]

Apples

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You tossed an apple to Luke without knowing the meaning of it in Greek Mythology (fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: Just wanted to write something lighthearted and funny. Since I saw somewhere that apparently throwing an apple at someone means something in Greek Mythology, thought I should use it as a prompt.

Word count: 3.1k

You have been at Camp Half-Blood for a year. Within that time, you’ve been claimed by your Godly parent, learned so many things about Greek mythology, and, best of all, made friends who understood exactly what you were going through and all whom you loved dearly. 

One of them was Luke Castellan. You two were relatively close friends, though you swore he treated you differently than he would with others at camp. But you didn’t want to be foolish and assumed it was something. That didn’t mean you don’t treat him differently than you would with other campers though. You have always had a soft spot for Luke in your heart. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but you found yourself thinking about him too often.

“Anyway, Percy. Don’t worry too much, honestly. We all have been through what you’re currently going through. You’ll fit right in, yeah?” the younger boy offered you a lope-sided smile as you patted his back and stood up. 

“Alright, boys, I have to go now, but I’ll see you later,” you said before grabbing your plate, which would have been empty if it wasn’t for the apple you hadn’t eaten. The rest of the table - which included Chris, Luke, and Percy - said their goodbyes before chattering again as you walked away. However, you halted as you changed your mind about wasting the apple.

You turned back to look at the group before calling out, “Hey, Castellan.” However, you were slightly caught off guard to see Luke already having his eyes on you.

Luke swore that you have always had him mesmerized. If he even heard a whisper of your voice, his head would immediately try to locate you. To make matters worse, Chris even started calling Luke a “lost puppy” when he realized how your departure would always leave Luke like one. 

“Catch,” you tossed your apple at Luke. 

Multiple heads turned in your direction as the red apple hurled through the air before landing neatly in Luke’s hands. The Hermes cabin counselor had his eyes glued onto the fruit that was in his palms. You almost halted in your steps from his and other camper’s reactions. Some started whispering to their friends, pointing at you. You even heard one gasp. But you ignored them, finding it strange that people cared so much about such a small interaction.

“You can have it. I don’t think I’ll have time to eat it,” with that, you vanished from the scene, leaving at least half of the camp agape, including Luke and your friends. 

Then, the strangest of things happened for the next few days. It started with Luke already stationed outside when you exited your cabin the morning after. He cheekily presented you with one singular flower in his hand, and you took it with playful words, “Ooh, what did I do to deserve this special treatment today?”

“Nothing, just thought I should show how much I appreciate you,” Luke put his arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to the dining pavilion. You could feel your cheeks flushing at his action. He has never done this before. With his arms around you, the sides of your bodies brushed as the two of you walked. You noticed almost immediately how every other person would have their eyes on the two of you. But you ignored the attention and focused on Luke instead.

The sweet actions didn’t stop at flowers or more physical touches. For the next three days, Luke was stuck to your hip. So it was quite strange that you have not spotted the Hermes cabin counselor in the last two hours. Hence why you were spending some time with Clarisse, another close friend of yours. However, you felt an arm swinging around your shoulders, and you instantly recognized who it was from the familiar touch.

“Hey, Clarisse, can I borrow Y/N real quick?” Luke asked, quickly muttering a “thank you” when your friend nodded. “So, I have something to give you…” your face must have shown how surprised you were because he chuckled at your reaction. However, when the boy pulled his gift out from his cargo pocket, your mouth fell slightly agape at the reveal. 

Luke must have misinterpreted your reaction because he started nervously rambling, his voice a few octaves higher, “It’s not much, but honestly, this is all I can do with my arts and crafts skills. I’m just not really good with that y-”

“It’s perfect, Luke. Thank you so much!” you gave him a brief hug, but it was enough to stun him for a second. Luke felt this urgent sense of craving from how your bodies fit for a second. It’s as if he was made to hold you. He almost pulled you back into another hug but had to force himself to regain composure. Nevertheless, that didn’t last long because his eyes softened again at the sight of you trying on the bracelet he made. The beads in your favorite color, crafted with care, wrapped around your wrist perfectly, and you wonder how he knew just the right size to make it.

The truth was Luke had to ask Clarisse to steal one of your bracelets just so he could make a bracelet of the correct size. But you didn't need to know that, though - according to him.

The next night, there was a social gathering near the campfire. Luke reapproached the location with a hoodie in hand. Earlier, Luke excused himself to fetch the clothing item that was now in his hand that was meant for you. However, his brows scrunched as he spotted another figure next to you, sitting in the spot that he previously occupied. You were laughing at something they said. The way your laugh echoed in his head usually sounded like a lullaby or the enchanting voice of a siren. But right now, the idea that someone else elicited the same laugh made him want to hurl behind the bush he was standing next to.

Little did he know you were zoning out from whatever the other boy was speaking about, thus the fake laugh to not blow your cover. You were distracted just thinking about Luke and everything he has done so far - offering his portion of dessert to you because he knew it was your favorite; him winning Capture the Flag and ignoring everybody else to go hug you first, then having his eyes on you and only you afterwards; sneaking out of camp to go buy the items you mentioned once that you wish you had at camp and so on. 

Your mind quickly reminded you that the boy sitting next to you was still talking to you. However, when you snapped out of your thoughts again, you realized now he was looking at you expectantly and you scrambled your mind for a reply.

Thank Gods Luke plopped down on your other side, saving you from having to admit to the other boy that you were not listening to him. “Hey, you’re back,” you commented. Luke’s arm automatically threw itself around your shoulder and tugged you to him slightly. Your body leaned on the Hermes cabin counselor ever so naturally at this before you turned to him. Luke quickly set his clothing on your lap, and you stared at it questioningly.

“You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” your cheeks flushed again at how he knew without you telling him. You shivered maybe once or twice earlier due to the night air lowering the temperature, but it was so brief you were sure nobody had noticed. As you put on the hoodie, Luke averted his gaze from you to the guy on your other side. 

The Hermes cabin counselor arched one of his eyebrows in a challenging manner. Almost immediately, his ‘opponent’ slightly raised both of his hands. Luke internally snickered at the quick motion of surrender. 

“My bad, man,” you heard the other boy say as you managed to put your head through the clothing item and pull it down. Luke was physically preening at the other boy’s words and departure. Meanwhile, you were distracted by how you were engulfed by the smell of Luke from his hoodie. Your height difference also meant you were swimming in it, but it felt so comfortable.

“What was that?” you asked once the other boy was gone. 

“Nothing…” even the most oblivious person could see that Luke was lying. But, once again, you did not question his actions and carried on with the gathering. You could also feel other campers staring at the two of you, but you ignored that as well. 

That night - like every other night since four days ago - he walked you back to your cabin. You were honestly completely smitten by the attention he has given you, not that you would admit that to him. You were still not sure what caused the change, but you were still elated about it. Maybe he did return your feelings? Either way, everything felt perfect lately, and you went to sleep that night feeling like the stars aligned for you.

“I guess congratulations are in order?” Percy spoke up as you lined up for food the following day. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, taking the plate of food. Today’s meal consisted of mac n’ cheese, steak, and an apple. 

“You’re engaged?” you almost dropped your plate at that and gave the son of Poseidon a questioning look. “You proposed to Luke like a week ago?”

“What? When?”

“When you threw him the apple? That is considered a marriage proposal.”

“Since when?”

“Uh, in Ancient Greek culture, it’s considered a marriage proposal if a man throws an apple at a lady. But, I mean, it’s the 21st century, so I guess it can work both ways.” Percy finally took a plate of food for himself. “And if the recipient catches it, it’s considered an acceptance.”

“You saw this and knew this whole time without telling me?!?” 

“I thought you knew! And you two seem so smitten already, so I thought you did it on purpose.”

“Percy, no! Is this a well-known thing? Do you think other people who saw it too thought I proposed to Luke as well?” Seeing Percy’s look and how he was fumbling with his words, you quickly requested, “Actually, no, don’t answer that.” 

The two of you walked over to Luke and Chris with plates in hand. You picked up the apple on your plate and placed it on the table. 

“Luke, we need to talk,” You deliberately placed the fruit there, hoping the boy would get a hint about the topic you wanted to discuss. Luke’s eyes flicked from the fruit to you. Though the hint of amusement in his eyes and a sheepish grin made you realize he knew all along. Luke stood up and followed you out of sight and hearing distance from other campers whose eyes were trailing after the two of you.

“You knew what it meant, and you didn’t tell me?” You broke the silence as soon as you two were far away enough. 

“Listen, I appreciate your proposal. But, it’s a little bit fast, don’t you think?” Luke teased, and you instantly hit his arm at that, causing the boy to flinch slightly, but the smile on his face told you he was anything but mad at your action.

“But you caught it. So, technically, you said yes,” you rebutted, sighing as you rubbed your face, “My Gods, does everybody at camp think we’re engaged? Wait, is this a substitute for an engagement ring? Did you give this to me because of that?” you pointed to the bracelet Luke gave you, your mind now understanding Clarisse’s teasing and her implications. You could see the way Luke was stifling a laugh. He settled with saying something else when he saw the pure panic on your face.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” the nickname successfully silenced you. You hated how it made you feel, but you would not mind hearing that daily. “No, it’s not an engagement ring.”

“Oh, so were you doing all of these romantic gestures and gifts on purpose to make fun of me and the situation?” you asked, though it was more with a lighthearted tone than one of temper. However, something shifted because the expression on Luke’s face changed from one of humor to earnestness.

“No, I didn’t do all this to make fun of the situation or you…” Luke’s voice fell off as tried to find the right words to say next. In that split second, Luke took a deep breath, and you could see how nervous he suddenly became, though he still kept a light tone. “I did it because I took it as a chance to maybe…win you over, and it also gives me an advantage because it fended off many other guys.” 

Undoubtedly, you were frozen in place, unable to register the words he was saying and the implications they bear. Neither did the boy in front of you act like the Luke you usually know - somebody who was usually confident, outgoing, always having his way with words. No, the person in front of you could not even hold eye contact, the pink hue on his cheeks now spreading to the tip of his ears as he shifted left and right. Luke broke the silence first, giving away the nerves that were gnawing him away from your lack of response.

“How about this? I’ll say ‘no’ to your mind-blowing marriage proposal for now,” you lightheartedly hit him again, rolling your eyes playfully. Seeing a positive reaction from you, Luke let out a small breath of relief, but the nerves quickly overtook again as he mustered up all the courage to utter his counter proposal: “But maybe we could start with something slower like going on a date? — Or I’ll even settle with you allowing me to try and ‘woo’ you.” Luke added the last bit as insurance, in case you didn’t want to take up on the date. Part of his mind wanted to scowl at himself for seeming so desperate - but Gods, he has always been a desperate man when it comes to you. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yet you still proposed to me.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” Luke only shook his head in response. Once again, you haven’t responded to his offer. Luke could see that you were in deep thought, the cogs turning in your head as you digested what he just said.

“You mean it? That you wanna go on a date? That you wanna “woo” me and sweep me off my feet?” you questioned. Despite the humor in your voice, there was also a hint of vulnerability and cautiousness. “Does this mean what you’ve been doing for the past few days…they are all genuine?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I like you? I don’t think you even fully understand the feelings I have for you. I’ve had my eyes on you for a year now, which is the entire time I know you, and I’m afraid I can’t see that changing any time soon.” Luke had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying more because he was sure he would never stop talking about you if he could. Maybe those unspoken words ought to be things Luke would disclose in the future. If you give him the chance, he will ensure you hear everything he adored about you.

“Well, that’s good then, ‘cause I happen to like you too,” your words made Luke’s eyes snap to yours, almost in disbelief. 

Luke felt as if his heart was blocking his airway by the way it was thumping so hard in his chest to the point he could feel the vibration in his neck. He held his breath over your confession and the way you were looking at him. Oh, Luke was convinced he was utterly doomed because how could he be so affected by one single look. He was suddenly unsure whether he would be able to handle your affections or ever live without it if it was taken from him. He’d spend the rest of eternity like a deprived man.

“Aw, look who is nervous now,” you teased, deciding to somewhat torture him and get him back for teasing you earlier. “I did not think I had this kind of effect on you, Castellan,” you approached him slowly, keeping eye contact with his now dilated pupils. 

“I mean…all I did was say a couple of words and you’re all tongue tied. What would happen to you if I do this?” you swiftly grabbed Luke’s camp beads and pulled him down, eliminating a significant amount of space between your faces, though not completely. To steady himself during your action, Luke’s hands steadied on your hips and stumbled slightly, though you did not mind the touch.

You never knew it was possible for his face to flush even more, but it did. Luke gulped and your eyes casted down on the way his Adam’s apple moved when he did so. The way he reacted to you only intoxicated you with power even more. You glanced upwards a bit, eyes observing his lips for a split second before looking back up at his eyes. You smirked when you caught his eyes flickering back to yours from your lips as well. 

Just as you were about to close the distance, Luke pulled back just a bit, finally able to speak, though his words were heavy warnings, “If this happens—” Luke stopped, unsure he should let you know. Luke shook his head lightly as his eyes traced over your features before continuing, “If we kiss, there is no going back for me. I don’t think I could just…forget about it. So, please, just be sure before you do it.” Your eyes softened at his words.

“I promise, Luke. I am sure,” you muttered, though Luke knew you meant the words by heart from the way you were looking at him. 

You finally pulled the boy down again using his camp necklace. 

As your lips touched Luke’s, he let out a content sigh. His hands clung onto your hips, pulling you flush against his own body while you caressed both sides of his face in your hands. Luke felt like the world was swallowing him whole. The boy now knew what your lips tasted like, and it felt like an addiction. He could feel his heart waving white flags at that moment, completely surrendering to you. He was right before. There was no going back from this. 

But oh, if Luke knew an apple was all it took, he would have tossed one to you himself.

----------------------

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[smutoperator]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Yu Jimin (Karina) x Male Reader

Tags: ball sucking, big tits worship, body bang, creampie, dirty talk, footjob, lube, married man, riding and grinding, snow, titfucking

Word count: 4820

It was a very cold day as the winter got harsher. You definitely didn't want to go outside today. However, you started hearing some unusual noises in your backyard, finding a pretty girl playing in the snow.

"What are you doing outside in this cold weather? You're going to freeze," you said to the girl. "Sorry, my manager's car broke down, and I can't go back to my dorm, so I decided to kill some time playing in the snow," Karina answered. "Come inside; you must be freezing," you said to her. "Thank you," Karina replied.

"I'm going to prepare some hot drinks for you," you said to Karina. "You're so kind," she said, taking some of her heavy gear out as she went inside. You went to the kitchen to make a hot chocolate for Karina, wondering how such a pretty girl ended up right by your house.

Karina drank the hot chocolate you offered her. "Thank you once again," she said. "How can I pay you?" she asked. "There is no need to; I decided to protect you from the cold; it's all on me," you answered her. "Okay, fine, but what if I want to pay you anyway?" Karina asked. "What do you mean?" you asked her.

"I mean this," Karina started taking off her clothing until she was just wearing her bra and then flashed you her big and saggy tits. "I think you're going to like them; everybody seems to," she said, very confident of her assets.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you asked her, very confused by the scene but deep in your head agreeing with her; she indeed got such perfect tits. "Come on, do you wanna taste them?" Karina asked, getting up from the table and putting them right beside your mouth. You hesitated at first, but those milky melons are like magnets; you can't resist them for long.

You rested your face in Karina's left boob, much to her enjoyment. But it didn't take long for you to start sucking them like a newborn baby getting fed by his mother. Karina looked down and enjoyed the way you worshipped them, pushing her right boob as well. You closed your eyes and felt them hit you softly. "Nice and slow," she said as you felt the texture and smell of it while putting your face right between her big tits.

You softly kissed Karina's nipples. "Calm down, you're moving too fast," she said, prompting you to open your eyes. She then slowly drove them to your mouth, grabbing both her boobs and rubbing them in your face. You sniffed them, amazed by how good she smelled. You started kissing them right by their areola. "There you go," Karina said, approving it and bringing her tits together so you could play with both. Your kisses got louder and louder, and soon you were tonguing her nipples too.

"Slow down," Karina said as you tried to grope her boobs. "Just let me guide you," she continued, moving her boobs up and down your face before burying it right in the middle of her melons and using them to suffocate you, hitting the side of your face with them. "You're doing well," she said, kissing you as she tried to take it slow again, but this time, you jumped over her and grabbed her massive milkers, sucking them and slapping her nipples with your tongue, making her moan for the first time. you moved from tit to tit, leading to more moans and laughs as you slapped them together and then sucked them using no hands, making her saggy boobs stretch and then popping them out of your mouth, making sounds resembling a ballon.

"Yes," Karina approved of your moves as you kept worshipping her big tits; you slapped them against your face and then motorboated her boobs. Karina decided to pump the brakes a bit and pushed away from you, but you just kept going, stretching her arms and hitting her boobs, making her smile while doing so. She started taking her bottom clothes off one by one until she showed you her sexy ass, which you spanked as soon as it got in your sight and then slowly took her panties down while you slapped her tits.

You stared at Karina's naked body from top to bottom, amazed by how hot it was. She truly felt like a specimen from another planet, a superhuman. Pretty face, big tits, a perfect slim waist, and honey thighs, she got everything.

Karina guided you to the living room, sitting on your couch and spreading her legs for you, showing off her pink pussy in full display, massaging it and teasing you. "Hmmm, I can't wait for you to smash it. I knew the moment I saw you in the snow that you got a big cock, you were already hard for me in that freezing cold weather," she said. "I won't be going home until you put every inch of that thick cock in me, and fill me up" she continued.

Damn, you wondered how she noticed that. But Karina quickly got up and closed her legs. "Now, you're gonna tell me where your bedroom is, and I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," she said.

You loved Karina's boldness, quickly driving her to your bedroom. As soon as you two got there, she shoved you in your bed and quickly stripped you of any clothing. You were wearing a lot of them, but Karina was so fast they were all gone in less than 30 seconds. She crawled on top of the bed and kissed you while already grabbing your massive, throbbing erection. You two stayed sharing kisses for a bit, but you quickly tried to move down her body, licking her tits and grabbing her ass, to which she countered by grabbing your shaft even harder.

"I can feel it getting harder and harder for me," Karina talked dirty to you. "Your balls are so nice to touch; I hope they are full of cum; my pussy needs it," she continued as she massaged them and touched the tip of your cock with her nipples. As she did it, you dove into them and gave them a little bit. "Fucking bite that nipple," she said as you worshipped her tits again and spanked her ass. "Hmmm baby, yes, put your hands all over me," Karina said with a big smile on her face.

Karina quickly regained control, climbing on top of you and rubbing your shaft against her big tits, You spanked her ass as she kissed you, but it was difficult to contain her appetite. "Oh my God, you're so fucking hard," she said, spitting on your cock and touching the tip of it in her tits. "Fuckkkk, is it all for me?" she asked, looking at your massive cock. "Yes, all yours," you confirmed.

"Oh my gosh," Karina said as she stroked your cock, very impressed with its size; she played with your cock. "I just love feeling every inch in my hands, squeezing and stroking it," she said as she played with your foreskin. "I just want to put it in my mouth so bad," she continued, spitting on your cock again.

"Hmmm, I love feeling it on my chest," Karina said as she moved your shaft between her tits, quickly unveiling her best weapon as she started titfucking it. "I just love the way it slides up and down my big tits, nice and slow," she says. "You like the way it fucks those pretty tits too?" you asked her. "Of course," she answered.

"Oh my God, the way my tits press, it is so good," Karina says as she kisses you and then starts moving very fast. "I just love that feeling; let me rub it right on my nipple," she says as she keeps teasing your shaft with her big tits. You pour some lube on them to help her slide them better, which she approves. "Oh perfect, cover them in that," she says.

"Sensitive right there?" Karina asks as she finds different ways to move your cock between her tits each time. "Fuck, I just love playing with them," she says. "Oh shit, keep moving like that," you say as your foreskin keeps popping in and out as Karina bounces her tits and kisses you. "So good, right? Those big, fat tits wrapped around that cock," she asks, moving her tits faster and paying special attention to the tip.

"Let me rub it on my nipple," Karina says. Then she lets you grab her tits as she keeps moving them. "That cock feels so good between my tits, but I have other ways to tease it," she says, licking the tip of your cock and coughing on it. "My mouth wants to taste that cock so bad, oh yeah," she says, deepthroating your cock. "Oh, it feels so good when it touches the back of my throat. I love worshipping that cock," she says, taking it deeper in her mouth and spitting all over it.

"My mouth is watering for that cock; I can't wait for you to use it to fuck the shit out of me," Karina says. You push her head further down your shaft as she gags on it before moving to worshipping your balls. "Keep going, keep that dick wet," you say. "Yes, I will, baby," she replies. "Come here and fuck my face," she continues.

You grab Karina's pretty face and start thrusting hard against it, making her cough all over your dick. After that, she goes back to jerking your cock off and rubs her feet on your body before moving them around your cock and starting a footjob alongside a handjob. "Hmmm, my spit made that cock so slippery," she says with a big smile on her face.

Karina uses her feet to worship your cock. "That's so fucking hot; I can feel your cock enjoying it," she says, increasing the speed of her footjob and touching her toes to your balls before you grab them and keep them moving. "Perfect, keep stroking yourself with my feet," she says.

"Oh, this cock is gonna stretch me out so well," Karina says as she prepares to finally climb on top of it. "Nice and slow, yeah, ahhhh," she says as she puts it deep in her pussy from the start. "I wanna feel that whole cock in me," she says as you spread her ass, and she moves really slowly on that dick, getting herself acclimated with every inch of it. "Nice and deep in that pussy, I want every inch," Karina says.

Slowly, Karina picks up the pace, her big tits starting to bounce in front of you. "Oh God, your cock feels amazing," she says. "I love those hands in my ass," she continues as you grab them for extra grip. "You like it when I bounce on that cock?" she asks as she finally moves fast. "Yes," you answer.

"Fuck, it's so big in my pussy," Karina says as she starts shaking her ass faster, before coming to a sudden stop after a few squats. "I love grinding on that big cock," she says. "My pussy is feeling so stretched out," she continues.

Karina squats on your cock as you just watch her big tits bounce faster and faster and her moan harder and harder. "Oh yes, please," she says. You push your dick up her cunt. "Just like that, stretch my little pussy," she begs. "Perfect, I love how your balls hit my asshole," she says.

Truly, very few girls can spice things up in bed the way Karina does. You love the way she just bounces on your cock with hard squats and creams all over your cock. "That big cock makes me cum so hard; let me grind on it a bit," Karina says as she pauses her bouncing for a perfectly timed slowdown that allows her to feel every inch for longer. "My pussy is so fucking wet with this cock all the way deep inside me," she says.

"You like how I bounce on that big cock?" Karina asks. She can tell you do by the way you spank her ass as soon as she asks it. Her pussy starts queefing as she feels over the moon with your cock shaping her walls all the way deep into her cervix. She lets you pump it up a bit. "Harder, harder, right there, don't stop, don't stop," she says as your balls hit her ass cheeks.

"I need to taste it," Karina says as she climbs out of your cock to suck it. "Oh my God, that cock is so fucking hard," she continues as you feel exhausted already just by her little ride, and she keeps going with all the energy in the world, licking the tip of it like crazy and bobbing her head on it. "Oh shit," you say, trying to match her sucking with a couple of lazy thrusts that soon get fast enough to make her gag. But Karina is relentless and stays choking on your cock even with your hard pushes.

"Hey, baby, do you want to worship that pussy you just fucked?" Karina asks. "Come here," she says, lying on the bed and spreading her legs. You promptly attend to her request, diving hard inside her queefing cunt while massaging her big tits. "Such a good view of that pink pussy and amazing body, ahhhhh," Karina says as she moans. "Just fucking suck that clit, rub your face on me," she says, grabbing it as she grinds her cunt on it and squirts a bit. You quickly go crazy, moving faster and faster over her folds to match her grinding. "OH MY GOD, FUCK, OH YEAH, suck that pussy," Karina screams and moans as you only increase your speed.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna cum in your face," Karina announces as her legs shake and she squirts a fountain on your face. "Oh baby, you make me cum so hard," Karina says. "You know what? you should get a reward for that. I need that dick so fucking bad in me, put it back in my pussy as your reward," she commands.

You fuck Karina in missionary position, her spreading more lube to make it easier for you to hit deep in her pussy. "OH MY GOD, IT'S SO DEEP," she screams as your cock bulges under her belly and you muffle her moans with your thumb while she massages that clit. "Stretch my fucking cunt like that," she says just as you grope her tits. Karina spreads her pussy lips open, her legs trembling again over her head.

"MAKE ME CUM, MAKE ME CUM, MAKE ME CUM AGAIN, KEEP GOING, AHHHHH," Karina says as she creams all over your cock. Your body gets. "Just spread my fucking pussy open like that, oh yeah," Karina moans like crazy as you massage her pussy and tits at the same time. You increase your speed, pinning Karina's left leg against her left tit while letting her right boob freely bounce. "FUCK. FUCK. FUCK, GIVE ME MORE; THAT'S SO MUCH COCK FOR ME. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she moans like a good slut, smiling as she gets pounded harder and harder at each minute. "OH YEAH, RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, FUCK YEAH, FUCK YEAH, AHHHHHH, MAKE ME CUM RIGHT NOW, AHHHHHH," Karina keeps moaning as your thursts keep speeding up, her big tits completely pinned to her long and thicc legs, her cunt completely spread out as you bang her body the way it should be fuck. "Bottom out inside of me," Karina moans as you hit her cervix and orgasms again.

Karina lies on her side as she lets you slide into her pussy in a spooning position, you teasing her entrance before going in. "Ohhh, work that cock in there," she begs as you stretch her pussy out slowly and suck her tits up top, pouring some lube in her still-tight hole even after all that pounding. "Spread the shit out of me, please," she demands as the lube keeps pouring on your slippery cock.

"Perfect, I can feel every inch; that's so good," she says as you take a slower, more passionate approach to digging deeper in her pussy while also paying lots of attention to kissing her neck and sucking and groping her boobs. "Nice and deep," Karina commands as she gets herself over the moon. "I love the way you suck my tits while going super deep," she says.

"Holy shit, I'm so fucking wet; I want you to fuck me harder. please, don't fucking stop," Karina commands as you increase the pace and grope her boobs harder. "Keep going, fuck me harder, AHHHHHH," Karina begs and gets it as you hit her cunt at full speed. "SPREAD MY PUSSY OPEN HOLY FUCK," she screams as you pound her and make her boobs bounce like pinballs. "FASTER, FASTER," she keeps asking and you oblige, just destroying that sexy pink pussy at will while she moans and screams. "AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, PLEASE DON'T STOP" she keeps screaming.

"I love the way you fuck my brains out," Karina says, putting her legs up and massaging your shoulders while you keep pounding her. "Turn around; I want to see that sexy ass and make those big tits bounce," you tell her. "Oh yeah," she says, immediately following as she gets herself on all fours, you massage her ass before grabbing her waist and pounding her pussy again. Karina turns around. "Let me see that big fucking dick going inside me," she says, spreading her pussy once again.

"Look how I spread my little fucking hole for you, baby," Karina says. You react and spank her ass, only making her happier. "Keep going, baby, hit that sexy ass," she says, flaunting it while her massive udders freely bounce now. She covers her ass with your lube, making it very slippery. "Rub that shit in my ass, make me shine even more than I already do," she orders. You increase the speed, making Karina moan sexily. "Take that whole fucking dick in my—oh my god, make my ass bounce, yes," she says as you grab her even harder than before. "Keep going, make those big fat tits bounce, AHHHHH," she orders, getting interrupted by another hit in her ass that makes her scream. This slut is truly untamed as she starts bouncing her ass on all fours on your cock. "I just love being fucked like that," she says.

Karina reaches to massage her clit as your cock keeps pounding her pink pussy from behind, her tits getting bouncier than ever. "Oh yeah, just fucking drill my pussy, hit me like that, oh yeah, make me cum, please, fucking destroy me, put that whole dick in me, fuck me like a slut, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK." She keeps talking even as you tie her arms behind her back in a futile attempt to tame this big tit bitch. You try to show your strength by fucking Karina as hard as you can, but that only makes the smile in her face bigger and bigger, she's truly a superhuman creature, more explosive than a supernova, capable of causing whiplash even to the strongest guy. She burns it up, spices it up and leaves nothing behind, a next level force of nature.

"Fuck, just destroy me, work that cock in there, don't be shy, baby, hit me hard and deep, spread me wide open, ohhhh, I love that cock," Karina says in the middle of a lot of smiling. You spank her ass, but it's just futile. "You keep spanking me because that sexy ass can't stop bouncing hard on your cock, poor baby," she answers. She may be the one taking the pounding, but she's the one toying with you. "Look at those fucking balls; I can feel all that cum building up, ready to explode in my perfect pussy," she says.

"You like how that big cock slides in and out of me?" Karina asks. "You like how it stretches my little pussy? Oh fuck," she continues. "Keep going, stretch me out, please, take it deep, put every inch in there, just like that, keep spreading my ass, don't take your hands off me," she keeps saying with a huge smile on her face.

"Damn it, you're such a fucking slut. I should have never let you inside my house, you big tit bitch," you say to her as Karins starts shaking her ass up and down your cock while it stays deep in her pussy. "Oh baby, come on, it was very cold out there, but as soon as I got inside I lit up the entire house, you knew from the beginning, you always wanted me, I saw the way you looked at my big tits when I was laying in the snow, guys stare at them like you did every time I enter any room," she answers, smiling once again to you.

"Oh my God, I love being stuffed by that fucking dick," Karina says as you two have been fucking in the same position for a while now. Maybe it's time to switch it up. You slow down, enjoying a last few thrusts in her cunt from behind while you spread her ass and she fingers her clit. "Fuck, my clit is so sensitive; you hit it so hard. I wanna cum again so fucking bad, make me do it, please, FUCKKKKKK", Karina says. "KEEP IN THERE, DON'T PULL IT OUT UNTIL I CUM,," Karina says, covering your cock full of her juices and laughing like a mad girl while her already very red asscheeks shake.

"Put that cock back in my mouth," Karina orders as she spits all over your dick and tastes her juices. You look at her amazing body while she slurps your shaft in her mouth. "Your cock tastes so good, hmmm," she says. "Soon you're gonna put this back inside me, make me cum again and again because I want it," she says, licking your balls and allowing you to have a perfect view of her ass. No matter how much you see of her body, it always amazes you how perfect it is from head to toe. If you were one of those mythological authors, you would definitely say Karina is the goddess of fertility with those big, saggy tits and hot body.

"Let me put that pussy in your face," Karina says as she facesits you and gives you a 69 while grinding her cunt on your mouth and covering your cock full of spit as she chokes on it without using her hands, and your tongue massages her throbbing pussy. "Ohhh yeah, let me shake my fucking pussy on you," she says as she moves her body sideways, now in a standing-up position that makes her saggy boobs drop down quite a lot while she reaches to stroke your cock.

"Tell me you want to put your cock back in me," Karina says. "I do," you promptly answer as she sits back on top of you, allowing you to suck her tits like a baby while she grinds her asscheeks on your shaft. "Hmmm, look at the way your cock likes being wrapped around my ass, just like it does to my big tits," she says. "You know, I was gonna let you fuck my ass too, but you were a bad boy, called me a slut, which I know I am, but you can't say it," she says while pouring more lube on your cock for an easier rubdown. "Because of that you're going to be facing more punishment, I'll sit that pussy on that big dick and bounce on it until your balls explode," she continues as she jerks your cock off and then inserts it back in her pussy.

"HOLY FUCK, it stretches me out so good; it feels so good in me," Karina says as she puts every single inch of that dick inside her pussy, the hood of her clit landing right where your balls are positioned. "Work that cock in there, please," she commands as you start pushing your shaft up her pussy. "I want every inch; go nice and deep," Karina says as she spreads. "Oh God, I feel so full," Karina says as you pump it up and down her pussy. "Go deep, go deep, please, ahhhhh, yesss, hmmm," she moans as your balls now hit her clit nonstop and you grope her tits, making her smile a lot.

"OH MY GOD, THAT COCK IS SO BIG," Karina screams. "HARDER, HARDER, AHHHHH, JUST GO FUCKING CRAZY IN THAT PUSSY!" she keeps pushing, trying to bounce a bit herself as it gets deeper and deeper in her cunt. "I love how it hits all the way in the back of my pussy, yes, yes, AHHHHH, PLEASSE, FUCKKK, GO DEEPER AND DEEPER IN ME, FUCK YEAH, USE THAT FUCKING SLUTTY PUSSY" she keeps moaning and rubbing her clit as you keep pounding. "I love watching my titties bounce while you fuck me," she continues as she pinches her clit while your cock piunds her and you grope her saggy bouncy tits.

"Spank my ass and let me take that fucking dick," Karina says as you clap her cheeks with your hips hitting it nonstop. "Oh, it's so fucking slippery," Karina says as your big cock keeps sliding in and out of her pussy with ease. "Give me all that fucking dick, oh God," Karina moans as you pound her harder and harder and suck her big bouncy tits, before slowing down and letting her bounce on your cock by herself as she does her squats on your cock. "Ohhh, look at my pussy just gripping the whole fucking thing," she says.

Karina clings on to your body, pressing her big chest against yours while her pussy is queefing. "Oh, I love to ride that big fucking dick, deeper and deeper each time in my pussy," she says. Her squatting only gets faster the more you spank her butt, her pussy completely obliterating your cock at each bounce. Now she's the one spanking her own ass, getting crazier and crazier and smiling each time your cock reaches the furthest depths of her pussy. "I love the way you stretch my little fucking hole; you stretch me so nice, I want to keep this dick in me all day, make my pussy sore as it pounds me like a good slut," she says.

You pull out your cock a bit and slap your tip on Karina's clit, but she's so needy at this point she can't stay a single second. Karina now bounces like a mad girl. "YES, YES, YES, GIVE ME THAT FUCKING DICK RIGHT NOW, OH YEAH, FUCK ME REALLY HARD," she screams. She's ready to make you cum at any second as her bounces get faster and faster. "I want to get this dick so fucking hard it can't stop cumming all over my pussy," she bluntly shows her intentions.

"I want you to cum in me; I want you to put your load in me, please," Karina commands. "Oh, that big cock just stretches my pussy perfectly, oh god," she says. "I want to feel that hot cum in me, my pussy is gonna make that big cock cum soon," she continues as she grinds on your cock and you suck her big tits. "You want me to grind on that cock until you cum?" Karina asks. "Yes," you answer. "Then put every last drop in me," she says.

As soon as she says these words, you promptly unload in her pussy, spreading her pussy as your cum leaks out of her pink hole. "Let me taste some of this yummy cum," Karina says as it falls on your body and she licks it, while also licking your shaft. "Hmmm, still sensitive?" she asks as your balls are completely drained and you collapse on the bed, but Karina keeps going, slurping all that cum that fell into your abs. "Hmmm, it tastes so good," she says, giving a little kiss and lick to the tip of your cock as a way to thank you. "I can never get enough of this cock," she says.

Karina leaves the room as you remain on the bed completely naked. The next thing you see when waking up is your wife. Karina had put all her clothes back, except one, which she left on the kitchen table and gave the evidence your wife needed.

"Whose bra is this?" your wife asks.

"It's yours; I bought it for Christmas," you lie to her.

"Cut the crap; my tits are not that big," she answers.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

something in return

a/n: tbh i didn't intend for all of the moments in this instalment to fit into the same pattern, but hey, i won't complain when my geniusness unintentionally slips out... sometimes my big beautiful brain just can't help it lol

summary: “if you want them back so badly, then I think you’d have to work for it,” Steve cockily crossed his brawny arms. 

warnings: frat!bucky barnes x innocent!reader x stepbro!steve rogers, professor!peter parker, professor!reed richards, smut, dark content, college au, polyamory, kissing, virgin!reader, corruption kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, size kink, pain kink, spit kink, masturbation, fingering, anal, squirting, impact play, dry humping, thighjob, pussyjob, cumplay

word count: 5606

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take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

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You didn’t recognise the room that you woke up in. All you could hope for was that you were still in the frat house after the previous night’s rager. 

Though when you blinked around the unfamiliar space from your horizontal position, your eyes soon landed on the inked arm draped over your waist. Heartbeat promptly picking up, you slowly glanced back over your shoulder to discover Bucky sprawled out behind you and still fast asleep. 

Carefully, you tried to twist out from under his burly arm and slip out of bed, but though your movement was cautious, it still managed to stir him. 

“Morning,” he hummed groggily, his sleepy voice deeper than you’d ever heard before. 

Sucking in a breath as you sat balanced on the edge of the mattress, you refused to whirl around to meet his eye, “uhm, hi… how–, uh,” you coughed, “why am I in your bed?” 

“How the hell should I know,” he uttered through a yawn, “you were already here when I eventually went to bed.” 

“Oh…” you breathed, and as you then shifted slightly, you noticed the lack of fabric beneath your skirt as nothing seemed to cling around your core, “uh–, did anything–,” you finally glanced back at him in alarm, “nothing happened, right?” 

And as he stared back at you, his head cocked against the plush pillow, a smirk slowly began to bloom on his lips, “are you asking if we fucked last night?” he teased, “I am hurt that your brain would even dare to block such a magical night of lovemaking out of your memory.”

“What?” your eyes grew. 

“Kidding! Nothing happened, I promise,” both of his palms promptly floated up, “or, nothing happened between us,” he pointed out with a tilt of his head as he lowered his hands once more, “from what I heard you and Steve had quite the night…”

“I-I–,” you averted your gaze, swiftly scrambling to get up, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he uttered smugly, “but just so you know, there isn’t much he and I don’t share, secrets or otherwise…”

Glancing around the room for your phone, you soon spotted it on the windowsill, “…I gotta go, I’ve got freshman orientation to get to,” you grabbed the device. Crisp morning air caressed your bare core with every shy step and prompted you to briefly sputter, “you wouldn’t happen to know where my–, never mind…” utterly mortified, you swiftly dropped the subject once more. 

“Oh, you’ve still got some time,” Bucky glanced to the ticking clock on his bedside table, “why don’t you hang around here a bit longer?”

“I really should be going–” 

But your words then ceased as the door abruptly swung open and in waltzed none other than your stepbrother. 

“Hey, dude, do you know where–, oh,” as Steve’s eyes landed upon you, his feet swiftly came to a stop, “well,” and a grin lit up his features, “good morning.” 

“Steve, will you please help me out here?” Bucky looked to his friend, “your stepsister is being a boring little brat.” 

“I’m sorry, but I do really need to go.”

“What, to freshman orientation? You’ve still got plenty of time before it begins,” Steve used the mass of his body to slyly block your passage as he kicked the door shut behind him. 

“That’s what I said!” Bucky pointed out with a short chuckle. 

“Well, I wanna get there extra early,” you tilted your head. 

“For what?” your stepbrother furrowed his brow, “so that you can get a seat in the very front row?” 

“Steve, just stop, just let me do it my way, okay?” you groaned, “I don’t wanna be anymore stressed this morning than I already am, so yeah, I’m going there early and you’re not gonna stop me.” 

Staring back at you, a slow exhale seeped from his lungs before he eventually muttered, “…alright.”

“Great!” you then pushed past him, but just as your fingers grasped the door handle, your frame froze up, “…hey,” your words then came out as barely a whisper, “you wouldn’t happen to know where my–”

“Where your panties are?” he swiftly cut in, “yeah, I do.” 

Twisting around, you met his smug features with a gentle furrow to your brow, “okay, where are they?” 

“Hmm…” a smirk began to tug at his lips before he uttered, “I–, uh… I don’t think you deserve to know that.” 

“Seriously?” you exclaimed, “Steve, just give them back, what use could you even have with them?”

“Oh, I could think of a few,” Bucky murmured from the bed, his arms comfortably curled back behind his head. 

“If you want them back so badly, then I think you’d have to work for it,” Steve cockily crossed his brawny arms. 

Melting with a sigh, you gave in, “alright, fine, what do you want?” fully expecting him to suggest that you should clean his room or something along those lines. 

But instead, you heard him utter, “I wanna stretch that little virgin pussy out,” his tone casually smooth as his gaze drifted down your frame, “see how many fingers she can take.”

Glancing nervously to Bucky behind him, you coughed, “you wanna–, w-what?”

“Come on,” he took a step closer to you, “just let me pick the lessons back up from last night,” before he briefly cast his vision over his broad shoulder to the man still in bed, “you wanna join in? Help show her the ropes?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Bucky sat up more. 

“You can’t be serious,” your chest heaved with every laboured breath, “are you still drunk?” 

“No,” he simply shook his head as his feet continued to shuffle closer to where you stood. 

“But Steve–”

“Shh, it’s okay,” his hands then grabbed each side of your face before he bent down and kissed you in an attempt to snuff out your worries. 

And when he slowly retracted, the simple peck had managed to make your knees go wobbly as you now hazily blinked back at him, “…you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled as his thumb caressed your cheekbone. 

Crawling out of bed, Bucky then asked one finally time, “so, you want your panties back or not?”

And as your eyes drifted to him as he slowly stalked closer to the both of you, a faint nod found your head, “…alright,” before a shiver ran down your spin at the deal you’d just made, “but just–, fuck…”

“We’ll be gentle,” Steve uttered before Bucky’s head tilted at his vow. 

“Will we?” he knowingly scoffed at his friend. 

“Well, we’ll try, let’s just promise that,” Steve chuckled as he corrected himself. 

Slowly cascading down your inner thighs was not only the wet and sticky remnant of last night, but also the embarrassing reaction that fused with the terrifying nerves that now buzzed in your belly. 

“H-how–,” you fumbled, faintly gesturing before trailing off, “uh…”

Still keeping his eye locked upon you, Steve murmured, “sit down on the bed,” as his head nodded back in that direction.  

And slowly, you did so, all the while with your wild eyes trained on the pair of them.  

“Lean back,” Bucky urged as he stepped closer, and you tilted further back against the pillows piled up against the wall that the bed stood against. 

Firmly, you tried to keep your legs clambered shut as you watched them both kneel down on the floor at your feet, though as they pried your thighs apart, a shaky gasp rippled through your body. 

“Fuck, look at that little pussy…” Bucky groaned as he reached out to be the first to graze his touch against your folds, still all messy as it glistened back at him, “how is she even better than you described? 

“No fucking clue,” Steve chuckled as his own fingers slithered up to tickle at your clit. 

They went on teasing your puffy pearl for much longer than you’d thought, as they kept going and didn’t change their maddening pattern till you were close to cumming. And as your cunt clenched around nothing, winking up at them, it was finally filled up by one of Steve’s thick fingers as he gradually pressed it inside, though barely past the first knuckle.

“O-oh my god,” you gasped shakily at the unfamiliar sensation and cast your glance down at the digit your pussy slowly swallowed. 

“Shit…” your stepbrother’s mouth hung agape as he felt your tight hole struggle to stretch around him, “I really thought getting you close would have relaxed you more than this, but damn, baby…” he then retracked his finger only to nudge his friend beside him, “feel her, dude.”

“Wow,” Bucky chuckled darkly as he pressed in much deeper than Steve had, “we really gotta loosen you up before you have any chance of taking something real up here.”

You tried to keep your eyes open, tried to keep your gaze locked upon their overwhelming actions, though as the digit inside of you then carefully slide against your velvety walls and another’s touch reunited with your clit, you had no choice but to tumble over the edge, eyes screwing shut as your pussy clambered down around Bucky’s finger. 

“Oh fuck, I can’t wait to feel that around my cock,” Bucky’s voice barely managed to seep through your haze as he stilled his shallow motions. 

“Patience,” Steve’s words too sounded far away, like you were underwater as you came down from the high, barely registering as they both rapidly stripped you of your clothing, “if you try now, then you’ll just break her in two.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bucky shot back as they both smiled. 

A part of you thought that they were done, that they’d had their fill, but little did you know it was only the very beginning. 

The finger still within you once again began to move, ripping a whimper out of your lungs as it slowly dragged back out, “wait, it’s too much–”

“What, are you sensitive?” Bucky’s steely gaze found yours as his touch made you squirm, “does it maybe hurt a little bit?” 

“Hey,” Steve then tapped his friend’s wrist as he stared up at you, “hold her still,” before Bucky’s touch faded and traded in with Steve’s, gently circling your entrance as the other man bent up your legs, caught both of your wrists in one broad palm, before he locked the same inked arm over your folded frame and squished you further down into the mattress.

It took some effort, but eventually Steve managed to sink not only one, but two of his thick fingers into your dripping core, making you wiggle beneath Bucky’s hold as you felt your poor pussy be stretched. 

“Oh, there you go,” your stepbrother chuckled as your tiny hole clung around his digits, forcing his pace to slow as you hugged onto him too tightly for him to fuck you at the pace he desired.

“H-how much is that?” you whimpered as your legs now obscured your view. 

“Just two fingers,” Bucky pressed a peck to your inner thigh before elbowing his friend gently, “dude, you can go deeper than that.” 

And as Steve sank his digits so deep that his palm rutted against you with each rock, you gasped, “seriously? It feels like it’s your whole fucking hand.” 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Steve grinned as he kept up his ruthless pattern, “might be a bit unrealistic for today, but we could certainly work you up to that.” 

“No, I didn’t–, oh fuck–,” you tried to counter, though swiftly began to tremble once again, all of your vigour flying out of the window at the anticipation of yet another orgasm. 

With Bucky’s free hand, it floated up to trace your stretched entrance clinging around his friend’s digits, only for Steve to then slip one of his fingers out to make room for one of Bucky’s to press in and plug you up beside the one remaining. 

And as you tried to stifle your moans, Steve’s palm swatted down over your ass, “don’t you dare hold back those filthy noises.”

“Yeah,” Bucky’s finger rocked in tandem inside of you as you felt yourself tumble over the edge, “be a good girl and wake up the entire house,” his filthy commands urged you in your foggy state to let go even further and comply to their wish, “be loud enough for everyone to discover just exactly what a little slut Steve’s innocent little stepsister is.” 

And as the intense wave of ecstasy washed over you, the pace of their fingers didn’t slow in the slightest, but grew rougher as their caresses began to overstimulate you. Squirming and whimpering beneath his touch, Steve continued in a gravelly tone, “yeah, they’re probably jerking it with their ears pressed up against the walls,” he tried to force a third digit inside, though both his and his friend’s attempts failed, try as they might, “wishing it was their fingers getting soaked by your sweet pussy.” 

“What do you think,” Bucky’s pinkie then traced the cream that had leaked down from your stuffed pussy, south over your little rosebud, till it dripped onto the mattress below. Tracing your other little hole, glistening from the way they had you leaking, he simply couldn’t help himself and slipped just the very tip inside, “maybe that could happen one day…” 

“If she’s good, sure,” Steve quit trying to work another finger inside, “can you do that, baby?” he asked as the rocking motion the two separate fingers in your cunt kept up and conjured a sloppy melody to slosh throughout the room, “can you be good for me, and then maybe one day I’ll open up the invitation to more than just my best friend?” 

“Pass you around like a fucking joint, keeping us all warm and happy…” Bucky smirked as he gazed down at how they each greedily played with both of your holes, “yeah, look at her, she’d fucking love that…” 

If it wasn’t for the loud curses both men then let out as they once more shoved you over the edge, you wouldn’t have noticed how your pussy began to cry around their digits, gushing fiercely as they then withdrew their touch, only to land a vicious row of smacks against your puffy petals, causing your overly sensitive pussy to squirt even further. 

They kept on occasionally tapping their broad palms over your swollen cunt as you forgot what your own name was, their lips twisting up into a grin each time your frame jumped at the light impacts. 

It took a long while for you to realise what the low grunts and the slick sounds were, though even when you finally heard them, you still didn’t have any clue just how long the two men had been stroking themselves, kneeled before your tempting haven. Perhaps it was a new development or maybe they had stopped resisting the second they began to play with you, reliving themselves to the front row seat they gave themselves. 

And as they slowly rose up to stand before you, like towering boulders at the foot of the bed you layed melted against, all of the air escaped your lungs as your hazy gaze landed upon the cocks in their hands. 

First, your eyes landed upon Steve, his throbbing girth enveloped in the missing panties he’d promised to return to you, as he squeezed them tighter around his dick with every stroke. But then when your stare drifted to Bucky, a smirk swiftly bloomed on his face at the way your jaw hit the floor. To say that he was large was the understatement of the century as the frat boy himself knew that if he wanted to have an easy career, then he could just become a pornstar and skyrocket to a legendary status overnight, simply because of his monstrously blessed equipment. 

“So,” Bucky grunted as Steve beside him adjusted his grip and began to slip your messy panties back on and up your quivering legs, “who are you gonna pick to pop your cherry?” he briefly reached down to aid his friend before the cotton snapped back into place over your sensitive cunt. 

“That’s not even a question,” Steve scoffed as he only let the underwear stay in its place for a second before his grip caught the waistband and yanked it down to flash your pussy once more, “it will be me.”

And as they both soon unravelled before you, each of them purposefully aimed at the exposed inner side of your underwear, their cum painting the soft cotton white, before Steve let go and it snapped back into place against your skin. 

“There,” Steve smiled as he caught his breath, “now you can go to freshman orientation.”

As you scurried down the gothic halls of the university’s science building, your eyes drifted from door to door as you passed dozens of lecture halls, labs and offices. You weren’t even really sure if you were in the right building for what you were on the hunt for. 

“You lost?” a voice then suddenly found you as you peeked your head into an empty classroom. 

Spinning around, you saw an older man, surely a faculty member, paused in his leisurely stride and glancing up from the papers in his hand to gaze at you. 

“I–, uhm, maybe,” you admitted, suddenly overcome with the fear that you had accidentally wandered into a restricted area, “you wouldn’t happen to know where Professor Parker’s office is–, unless of course, that’s you.”

Shaking his head, he said, “no, I’m Dr. Richards.” 

“As in Dr. Reed Richards?” your eyes began to grow in admiration as you blinked back at the doctor, “the neurosurgeon who worked on that famous Alzheimer’s clinical trial a few years back?” 

“Guilty as charged,” he smiled, shifting the papers in his hand to slot them under his arm. 

“Oh wow,” you giggled, “I mean, I knew that you started teaching a course here, that’s actually part of the reason why I chose this school, but I just didn’t expect to–, I’m sorry, I’m just a big fan. I mean, you’re a rockstar,” you timidly gestured to him, “I hope to get into your class next semester, I’ve heard it fills up quite quickly.” 

“Well,” he tilted his head, “maybe you could swing by my office one day and perhaps we could figure out a way for one of the spots to be reserved for you.”

“Seriously?” his obvious flirting flew straight over your head as you didn’t yet know of his rakish reputation, “that would be amazing.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” the professor then turned to walk away, “and it’s the last office at the end of the hall, by the way.”

“What?”

“You were looking for Parker?” he reminded your starstruck mind, “end of the hall.” 

“Oh, right,” you breathed and glanced in the direction his finger briefly pointed, “thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiled before disappearing around a corner. 

As you neared the door, it stood slightly ajar, lending you to hear a deep voice quietly talking on the other side. Softly, you landed a few knocks before you carefully pushed it open. 

Standing behind the desk in the middle of the room and illuminated by the tall window behind him, stood the bespectacled professor you searched for, with a phone pressed up against his ear as he murmured into it. 

“Mhm, but it would just be Friday night,” he twisted around as he heard the threshold creak beneath your shoe. Briefly raising up a hand, he momentarily tilted the phone away from his lips to utter, “one moment, you can just have a seat,” he gestured to the chair on your side of the table before he then returned to the call, “are you sure? Okay, well, I’ll figure something else out… no, it’s alright, I get it,” he exhaled, “yeah, talk soon, bye,” before he hung up and sank down into his seat with a sigh, “sorry about that. Babysitter just cancelled on me.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” you waved a hand, “I’m sorry for just barging in, Professor Parker–, I mean doctor–, I mean–, uh…”

“Professor is fine,” he offered you a gentle smile to sooth your nerves, “what can I do for you?” 

“Well, it’s about your class…” you slowly began, “I know that I’m technically too late to sign up, but I just wanted to see if there was any possible way there might be one last slot left that I could fill.” 

“Oh,” he breathed in response. 

“Really, I’d do anything,” you stated before then detouring to a different tactic, “you said something about needing a babysitter? Maybe I could help,” you offered your services, “I used to do it for many years, all the way through my teens till I started here, so maybe I could lend a hand.” 

“I, uh…” his eyes narrowed as he thought it over. 

“Please?” your lips couldn’t help but press together in a pout, “I’ve dreamt about taking your class on medical history for years and years. You’d be like a genie granting me a wish.”

And as he blinked back at you, the luck that evidently was on your side shocked you to your very core as he unexpectedly uttered, “…alright.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he slowly nodded, “but if there aren’t any seats left–”

“Then I’ll happily sit on the floor or stand in the very back,” you beamed, “thank you so much, sir.”

“Of course,” he exhaled before opening up a drawer in his desk and plucking out a piece of paper, “this is the list of the required books,” he pushed it across the table before your eyes began to scan the titles, “I’m not sure if there are any copies left at the library, but maybe you can talk to some students, who has previously taken the course, if they bought a copy that you could borrow.” 

“I’ll make sure I have them, even if I’d have to steal them,” you jested. 

“Well, I don’t think I should sit here and encourage you to commit a felony, but I guess if you do get arrested, I can be your one phone-call,” he chuckled and went along with your joke, “so, about the other thing.”

“Yes,” you exhaled, both of your palms floating down to rest atop your thighs, “the kid–, kids?” 

“Just one, Benjamin, he’s six.” 

“Oh, that’s a fun age,” you smiled, “so, was it Friday?”

“Yeah, I have to attend this thing that I can’t get out of and it’s my turn to have him this week, but my ex is also busy that day, so yeah,” he sighed, “how about you just come over here after your classes that day and then we’ll hash out the rest?” 

“I will be there.”

“What are you doing here?” you grumbled as you opened the door to your dorm room. 

“Well hello to you too, sunshine,” Bucky scoffed through a smile. 

“What do you want?” you held your grip on the edge of the door. 

“A thank you would suffice,” he tilted his head. 

Squinting your eyes at the lack of context, you muttered, “what?” 

“A little birdy told me you were looking for this?” he held up the book in his hand for you to spot, which just so happened to be the exact one you hadn’t been able to track down for Professor Parker’s class. 

“Blood, Phlegm, Yellow and Black Bile: A Brief History of the Four Humors by Helen Grey?” you swiftly snatch it from his fingers with a gasp, “where did you find it? I thought there weren’t any copies left at the library!” 

“There wasn’t,” he tilted his head, “I had a short stint back in my freshman year where I flirted with the fantasy of becoming a doctor, that was until I fell madly and deeply in love with journalism.” 

Glancing down at the cover, you uttered, “can I borrow it?”

But instead, to your surprise, Bucky countered, “you can have it. It’s yours, I don’t have any use for it, except if I suddenly got a burning desire to press some flowers,” he jested about the thickness of the tome.  

“Thank you, Bucky,” you blinked up at him with a smile before throwing your arms around his broad frame. Though as you hugged him, it didn’t take long before you pushed back to utter, “wait, this isn’t just some weird trick like last time, is it? Are you gonna make me do something dirty in return for the book?”

“I thought about it,” he admitted with a smirk, his gaze briefly dipping down your form, “but then I decided to just be nice.”

“What a foreign concept that must be for you…” you teased with the faint shake of your head, “glad you’re finally trying it out.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m terrified I’ll break out into hives,” he chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, “don’t tell anyone else, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” 

And as you smiled back at him, you noticed how gratitude wasn’t the only sensation stirring in your soul, as a warm and fuzzy feeling began to flicker throughout your frame from the genuine gesture.

“So…” his eyes briefly trailed around the room behind you, “where’s your roommate at?” 

“At Delta Phi, hanging out with her girlfriend,” you murmured, “why?” 

And as his glance landed on you once again and the corners of his lips twitched, you heard him ask, “can I come in?” 

Sucking in a breath, you felt lightheaded as you uttered, “sure,” before stepping aside for him to enter. 

And that was how your stepbrother’s best friend ended up sitting on your tiny bed, his back pressed up against the wall, as he drew you further down in his lap and let his tongue dance against your own in a heated kiss. 

“I’m sorry, what?” you foggily tilted back as his muffled words flew over your head. 

“Move your hips,” he repeated, both of his palms denting your sides, “Steve said you have a habit of humping your cute little teddy bears and pillows and such,” his eyes briefly flickered to the plushies on the mattress beside him, “so just pretend that I am one, use me to make yourself feel good.” 

Blinking back at him a moment, it took you a while before you actually managed to make your pelvis move as the flabbergasted trance was harder to snap out of than you’d expected. Though as your hips cautiously rolled against his lap, a shaky breath slipped from your lungs as the friction of his palpable hardness nudging against your core caused you to shiver. It surely didn’t help matters either that the only thing shielding you from the sensation was the panties beneath your dress, which was quickly becoming so embarrassingly soaked that your want slowly began to stain the tent in his trousers. 

“That’s it,” he groaned as he leaned back to watch your timid efforts, “fuck…” 

At first, he let you steer the ship, carefully rocking down against him for an ounce of relief, but then when you tilted forward to capture his ravenous lips once again, his wide hands on your hips flexed before they took over your movements, instead rendering you just a puppet in his grasp as he grinded you down much more roughly than you’d dared to do on your own. 

“Shit, I don’t get you… how could this be enough for you?” he grunted as he grew impatient, “isn’t every molecule in your body screaming for you to get railed right now? Doesn’t this little pussy finally wanna get used?” 

“Buck, I–,” you panted as he nibbled against your neck, “I don’t know…” 

“Oh, you don’t know?” he couldn’t help but mock. 

“This feels r-really good to me,” your eyes fluttered as he kept on rocking you in his lap. 

“Well, it’s not good enough for me,” he growled before finally snapping and flipping you onto your back. Hovering above you as you collapsed on the small bed, he began to unbuckle his belt.

“I-I–, Bucky, I don’t think I’m ready for that–,” your eyes went wide as you watched him free his intimidatingly giant cock. 

“You sure? Not even a little bit?” he slowly began to twist his fist up and down the fat length, “it could just be the tip.”

Blinking down at the bulbous head, glistening with precum, you hazily shook your head, “n-no, it’s too big…” 

“Oh, I know it is,” he then reached out to shift your legs, slotting his dick in between your soft thighs before he paused to let a dollop of spit drop down from his lips and add some slickness before he slowly began to move, “is it because of Steve? Because I can keep a secret… I won’t tell if you don’t…”

Your eyes flickered down to his fat girth as he slid it between your thighs that he pressed together, “I thought you two told each other everything.”

“Well,” he smirked as he ripped his stare away to glance to your fuzzy expression, “I’m willing to make an exception…” 

Reaching down, he greedily squeezed your tits through the thin fabric of your dress, even catching your pebbly nipples in a pinch that caused you to gasp, before he slid his touch back down to either side of your legs. 

“What are you doing Friday night?” 

“Huh?” you panted as you were unable to tear your eyes away from his cock, slick between your trembling thighs. 

“Come over, the frat’s throwing another party,” he uttered from above you, “maybe we could sneak away when everyone else is hammered enough…” 

“I can’t, I have to babysit.” 

“Really?” he chuckled as his efforts migrated so far south that the heavy weight of him came to rest against your covered core, each greedy thrust now sliding against the soaked cotton and making you whimper, “I didn’t know you were into daddies…” 

“What?” you fought to comprehend his words as his fat girth skimmed across your clit, throbbing beneath the thin fabric of your underwear. 

“Never mind, sweetie,” he gave up with a slight laugh. 

Though as he stared down at your quivering form beneath him, his grip on the outside of your thighs tightened before he suddenly began to part them like the pages of a book.

“Oh, would you look at this…” he groaned as he revealed your sodden panties beneath his big cock, “you’ve fucking ruined these, haven’t you?” a teasing finger crept down to snap the waistband back against your skin, “you wanna feel me, huh? You wanna feel me right here?” he peered down at you as he tapped the heavy weight of himself against your covered centre. 

“I–…”

Hooking his thumb in the side of the gusset, he peeled your panties to the side, “do you?” shiny strings clung to the fabric as he kept it trapped in his grasp. 

“Yes,” you then uttered, surprising yourself as the only thing you could feel in this moment was your thumping heartbeat between your thighs. 

“Atta girl,” he grinned before lowering the length in his grip down against your glistening pussy. 

Trailing the bulbous tip through your wetness, he repeatedly parted your petals with his thick girth, the jarring comparison of his size directly against you making you dizzy. Though when his sweeping motion suddenly strayed further than before and he briefly held the entire length of him against, not only your cunt, but also your belly, then you feared you might actually faint beneath him. 

“See that?” he smirked as his heavy sack nuzzled against your quivering entrance while the tip of him reached all the way up to cover your bellybutton, “that’s how deep I’m gonna get when you finally let me inside…” groaning as he finally swept back down to flick his hardness through your sobbing petals, he cocked his head, “might break you, rearranging your guts like that, but fuck will it feel good…” 

And as you felt the world around you threaten to melt away in that blissful eruption you were slowly becoming more acquainted with, Bucky abruptly tore the intoxicating contact of his cock away from you. Though before you could part your lips in a complaint, your body instead quaked as he then tapped the hefty weight of himself repeatedly down against your puffy pearl, keeping the bullying up till you were writhing in pleasure beneath him. 

You thought you’d only blinked your eyes shut for a moment in the fog of it all, but when they fluttered back open, Bucky’s hot load decorated your messy pussy as he kneeled by you, panting as he offered his length one last squeeze. 

But just as you thought he’d let your panties snap back into place as a closing curtain to the show, he instead reached down to bully your tender core even further, smearing his cum against your aching clit before he swept his coated fingers down to tickle your leaky entrance in an attempt at stuffing as much of his load into your little hole as possible, though his greedy efforts eventually derailed when his fingers were stuffed so deep inside of you that you could barely breath at all, your nails digging into his forearm as he made you squirt all over your bed and the adorable teddy bears that layed scattered. 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[adragonprinceswhore]

One Whore Is As Good As Another

Aemond x Brothel worker x (drunk) Aegon

Summary: Desperate to prove he's no mere boy, Prince Aemond leaves his taunting brother and seeks out another conquest. Momentarily, he feels back in control, until his brother reappears.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, reader is a brothel worker and has Valyrian features, targcest, rough sex, oral (m. receiving), face fuccin', P in V, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, titty slapping, humiliation, degradation, dysfunctional brothers

Word Count: 2000

A/N: I had this idea when I read the leaks for episode 3, and let's just say Aegon's awfulness worked great as inspiration. Filthy drabble ahead!

You've seen Prince Aemond's long, silver hair flash by in the corner of your eye countless times in the past weeks.

You never get the chance to observe the prince up close. He only appears fleetingly, confidently striding through the Blue Pearl towards the room where Madame Sylvie awaits him.

She seems to be his favourite; the only one allowed to touch the imposing young man. Sometimes he spends hours with her, though you are not privy to the details. All you know is that most men entering your place of employment conduct much shorter visits.

You do not envy your madame. Entertaining a Targaryen prince is no easy feat, from what you've heard.

Still, you do wonder what it would be like to catch his eye. For him to choose you, like he had chosen the madame.

Had he ever caught sight of you, like you did him? Had he ever seen the shimmer of your silver hair reflect in the corner of his eye?

Does you Valyrian heritage look as alluring as that of the statuesque prince, despite being born a bastard?

These thoughts had merely been fugitive, indulgent fantasies.

Until tonight.

Prince Aemond stands naked in the middle of the vast space in the heart of the Blue Pearl, seeing eye gazing out over the intertwined bodies moving in differing rhythms.

No one had asked for your services as of yet, and you'd therefore been tasked with refilling chalices and plates for the patrons.

The prince's gaze settles on you as you pour wine into a few cups scattered around, ensuring no one chases pleasure parched.

He walks towards you in slow, confident steps, seemingly uncaring that he is fully nude.

'Tis a brothel after all.

Placing the decanter back on the table, you curtsey as he draws near; trembling fingers fumbling with the thin material of your gown,

"Wine, your grace?"

"Do you work here?"

'Tis not the wine that caught his attention.

"Yes. How may I be of service?"

His eye scans the place, searching for a more secluded spot. He gestures towards a plush settee tucked away in a corner with a nod, prompting you to follow him there.

Walking next to the prince, you can truly admire the sharp features of his face. His hair is as fetching up close, and his skin resembles milk; so clear and smooth.

Clean.

Not fit for the filthy surroundings you'd been brought up in.

"Are you my uncle's bastard?"

His query catches you off guard,

"I-, I do not know, your grace. Mayhaps"

You could be his cousin.

Or his sister.

It matters little here; the gods had decided both of your fates when they ruled it fair he be born a prince and you a bastard to a whore in Flea Bottom.

Despite the evident uncertainty, your answer seems to please him.

Prince Aemond's hums, seeing eye narrowing and the right corner of his mouth twitching briefly, perhaps nearly breaking into a smile.

The possibility of you being his uncle's daughter excites him.

"Lay down"

You do as told, reclining on the settee. The corner the two of you occupy is fairly out of sight, yet there is no curtain hindering wandering eyes from seeing your act. It surprises you that the otherwise secretive prince would chose such an exposed place for your coupling, yet you say nothing.

The choice is his.

He inspects your form as you lie down; gaze traveling from the round softness of your breasts to the smooth skin of your inner thighs. The gown you wear leaves little hidden, and the prince's searing stare causes your heart to drum quicker in your chest.

The unpredictability of what he'll do next; of what he wants from you, causes as much unease within you as the determined look in his eye elicits.

He hums, head nodding faintly to himself, before he moves towards you, lifting one long, lean leg so he may straddle your chest.

His cock is right by your mouth, already growing larger as he gazes down at your face underneath him.

Perhaps 'tis the gaining of control that arouses the prince so; seeing you laid out for him with nothing but obedience to offer.

He feeds you his half-hard cock; not too brutish to force it all in your mouth at once. A prince still keeps his manners, you suppose.

Taking him in, you feel the skin of his member; hot and with a taste like salt. It's heavy in your mouth, and the awkward position the prince has you in does not allow you much movement.

He looks down at you; one eye stoney and unmoving, with shadows and light dancing in it. The other expressive and fierce.

Hungry.

Both his hands grab the back of the seat as he leans forward, forcing more of his cock down your throat. It prevents you from breathing, yet you do your best to appease him, sucking and swallowing him to the best of your ability.

You feel his balls slap your chin as he rocks into your mouth, pleased grunts escaping his lips.

A few more thrusts and you start to feel dizzy, not receiving enough air with the prince's manhood in your mouth and his lower belly pressed up against your nose.

You gently tap his leg and he abruptly pulls away from you, hurriedly moving off of you to stand next to the settee.

You cough as you inhale air once again, looking up at him with glassy eyes and wet lips, shining with spit.

His face is still harsh and demanding, and your gaze flickers down to his cock.

Decorated in your spit, it has grown double in size and is now red; like vexed skin after a beating.

You lay still, breathing rapidly to regain your senses. After giving you a moment to calm, Prince Aemond gestures for you to stand, and sits down on the settee.

He grabs your hips, dragging you towards his lap, and so 'tis your time to straddle him, take his cock in hand and sink down on it.

You know how to play these games. You know how to appease the men seeking your touch. Still, the moan you emit as you take in the prince is not solely performative; the stretch of his member fills you to the point of pain.

You bite your lip in a vain effort to concentrate, set on pleasing and serving your prince. Moving up and down in a slow pace, you grow wetter and more accustomed to his intrusion, and soon, your own pleasure follows.

"A-, ah, Prince Aemond", you call out, hoping the flattery will make him favour you even more. Mayhaps as much as he favours your madame.

He grunts and places his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him so he may rest his face against your scarcely clad bosom. He's enjoying you; reveling in your cunt, and it feels like the highest of praise.

You continue to call his title, his name, moving faster and harsher up and down his length, until,

"Brother!"

You catch the flash of a figure stumbling towards you in the corner of your eye, certain you know who it is before looking up;

King Aegon.

His lips are curved into a lazy smile, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled,

"I knew you had it in ya!"

The king ends his exclamation with a slur, clearly far too drunk to be staggering around Flea Bottom unattended.

You'd never been eye to eye with the king before; word around the street was that he found the Blue Pearl far too dull. He requires more to quench his thirst for depravity.

And yet, seeing you ride his brother's cock seems to be to his liking,

"Come on, girl, ride the dragon!", King Aegon shouts before falling into a fit of laughter. His hand smacks your arse as if you were a mare, urging you to go faster.

You search the prince's face for approval, but he's not looking at you anymore. His dark gaze is trained on his brother; still harsh and determined. You take his silence for compliance and move faster; quick breaths of exhaustion and moans of pleasure slipping out from your still wet lips.

"Making her do all the work-",

Aegon's still laughing between the words he slurs out. Standing behind you, one of his hands move to cup your left breast, and he squeezes it roughly; too drunk to appreciate tenderness,

"-I can see why"

Prince Aemond is still silent; still staring at his amused brother.

"No, no, no, this won't do", the king mumbles as he releases the harsh grip he'd had on your breast,

"Remove your gown, bastard"

Again, you seek Prince Aemond's eye for instruction, but he does not grant it. So, you grab the hem of your thin attire and pull it off over your head, exposing yourself to the Targaryen brothers.

'Tis not like you've never been naked before; you entertain most guests nude. Still, there's something about the royals' presence, their ongoing, silent battle, that leaves you feeling more exposed than ever before.

King Aegon hums in appreciation at the sight of your bare teats, the same rough hand coming up to slap the side of one of them, chuckling as they knock together.

You pick up the pace to ride your prince again, yet the king does not leave you be. His voice is still amused, though tinted with something darker, as he commands his brother,

"I want to see you fuck her like a hound, Aemond"

The prince does not reply, and your pace does not falter. You were tasked with pleasuring the prince, and if he did not reply to his brother's orders, neither would you.

Though he is your king.

"Fuck her like a hound! Come on!"

King Aegon sounds more agitated now; impatient. He does not like that his brother does not obey him instantaneously; that he would refuse an order.

The prince is as stubborn as his elder, and in between the brothers, is you;

Caught between two dragons waging a war of wills.

"Get up", Prince Aemond grits through clenched teeth.

You comply, standing swiftly only to be turned and roughly placed back on the settee on your knees.

The prince places a hand on your lower back, pushing you to arch, and enters you in one stroke, reaching far deeper than your previous position had allowed.

He quickly sets a brutal pace; fucking your squelching cunt harsh and quick.

You desperately hold on to the back of the seat, vainly searching for some control as the prince takes his pleasure from you.

Behind you, you hear his laboured breaths and grunts, and the entertained cackle of the king,

"That's more like it!"

He walks around the settee to face you; watching your body as it sways back and forward with the prince's rough thrusts.

Leaning in closely, so closely that his wine-soaked breath is right by your cheek, King Aegon inquires, "How does royal cock feel?"

You know how to play these games.

"Heavenly, your grace"

He hums and touches a strand of your hair, twirling it around his finger, "Is that what your mother thought as well?"

He does not bother with waiting for an answer from you; truly, he's not interested in knowing. Instead, he circles the settee yet again to stand next to his brother, mesmerised by the sight of his cock driving in and out of you,

"Where on her will you spill?"

Prince Aemond stays silent, pace never faltering.

“Face, teats or arse?”, his brother asks, but before his stoic sibling answers, he decides for him,

"Spill on her face. You got to appreciate those, uh, familiar features"

A few more rough strokes and the prince pulls out, grabs your waist, and turns you around so that you face them both. He pushes on your shoulder in a silent order for you to get on the floor, once again with his member in your face.

With a quick hand he strokes his slick cock, seed shooting out like arrows, landing on your cheeks, in your hair, on your lips.

He's breathing heavily, yet does not say anything, nor does he moan or grunt. He simply decorates your face in pearly luminescence, matching your silver hair and lilac eyes.

When he's done, he turns, and you see his older brother lay a comradery hand on his shoulder, commending him for "a good fuck".

As the brothers walk away together, you see the tension in Prince Aemond's shoulders ease ever so slightly.

The burdens of being a royal.

A/N: If the HotD writers want Aemond to be obsessed with his uncle, I'll comply! I like to write these little drabbles as a fun way to practice writing without much pressure, so please be kind, it's all just for fun!