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artficlly · 1 month ago

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show me again [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x mutant!reader

you were born a mutant, gifted with the power to manipulate bodily sensations. until now, you've only ever used it to cause pain. but now, stuck in a remote safehouse with bucky for the next few months, tension crackles between you. when you finally confess that your ability can also bring pleasure, he looks at you differently, more than a little curious to experience it first-hand.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, magical smut??, fingering, edging!!, praise kink, so much sexual tension, vague enemies to lovers, forced proximity, lowkey brat reader at times??, soft dom! bucky (at times), kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), protective!bucky, grumpy!bucky, bodyguard!bucky, mention of torture, wound description, injuries, mention of human trafficking, hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, reader has survivors guilt, reader is horny lol, use of the pet name sweetheart, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 17k (jesus fucking christ)

A/N: hi this is a fucking monster of a fic. i've been working on this for weeks now. if it flops i might cry and go die in a hole. pls like/reblog/comment etc <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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In the short time you had been acquainted with Bucky Barnes, you had quickly learnt three things.

One, he didn’t talk much, if at all. Most of your conversations consisted of little more than grunts, terse glances, or unimpressed scowls. He didn’t ask questions, nor did he answer them. At one point, you suspected he might have had his tongue cut out. That changed when you began to hear him muttering under his breath as he stomped past, his heavy boots reverberating through the safehouse. ‘Securing the perimeter’. Always the same phrase, always delivered in the same grim tone.

Two, he was paranoid. He never turned his back on you. Always kept you in his line of sight. There was always a weapon within arm’s reach. He checked every door and window twice. His movements were systematic, almost compulsive. He prowled the safehouse like an animal on the hunt, slipping into view when you least expected him. More than once, he’d startled you so badly you’d dropped something. A shattered coffee mug still lay in the trash as proof. And each time you flinched, his eyes would narrow slightly, suspicious, as if trying to decide what exactly you were hiding, why someone like you could be so easily spooked. You didn’t know what his employers had told him, but obviously it was not the whole story.

And three, he didn’t want to be here.

He made no effort to hide that fact.

You bit your tongue more often than not, swallowing every snide remark that burned its way up your throat. Surprise, I don’t want to be here either, assshole. But you knew better than to lash out at the only person you'd be stuck with for the next few months. The only person standing between you and whatever might come crawling out of the woods. Protection wasn’t something you could afford to alienate.

The officials who dumped you here had been full of promises. They said you’d be safe, hidden, far from the reach of the Menagerie. They told you to wait. This storm would pass, and when it did, you could return to your everyday life.

But after two years under the Menagerie’s thumb, normal didn’t exist anymore.

What even was normal?

This safehouse felt like the eye of a hurricane, but you could sense the storm circling just beyond, the pressure building in the air, the wind pressing at the windows. It was only a matter of time before it rolled over and consumed you whole. And maybe that was the truth of it, that you were already in the belly of the beast, already chewed up and digested. There was no normality to return to.

There never would be again.

The safehouse sat on a stretch of farmland, tucked far enough from the world that it felt like the end of it. No internet, no cell service, not even a TV. Just enough power to keep the lights on and the water running. It was midsummer, and the air was thick and syrupy, heavy with the scent of clover and sun-warmed hay. At night, the frogs and cicadas sang in overlapping rhythms, insects tapping softly against the mesh of the window screens. Rolling meadows stretched in nearly every direction, grass tall and wispy, swaying lazily in the breeze, cattle grazing along the fence line. Beyond the weather-worn red barn, the woods waited. You could sometimes hear deer calling in the dusk, birds chattering high in the canopy.

You’d tiptoed downstairs about a week after your arrival, barefoot on the old wood planks, a floral sundress brushing your shins as you crept through the lounge. The sky outside was streaked with soft orange and watercolour pink, the quiet hush of dawn holding everything still. Bucky was asleep on the couch again, arms folded across his chest, his boots still on. He rarely slept, and when he did, it was always here, not in the bedroom just across the landing from yours.

You hadn’t asked why.

Maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t hear someone break in. Maybe he didn’t trust doors. You were half convinced he’d sleep on the porch if you hadn’t caught him doing it once and given him a look harsh enough to make him reconsider. Not that it mattered, he seemed to wake at the slightest shift in the air. Twice already, you'd startled him by just breathing too loudly on your way to make morning tea, trying to be as quiet as possible as you filled the kettle and set it to boil.

This time, he didn’t stir. Or maybe pretended not to, just so that he could avoid your regular awkward morning exchange. You slipped past him, easing open the front door, wincing as the screen squeaked. The sun hit you square in the face, gold and blinding, warm even this early. You stepped out into the grass with a long breath and crouched, brushing your fingers through the delicate strands as the world slowly began to stir.

The farmhouse had a few animals, just enough to feel lived-in. A small coop of chickens, a handful of cattle, and a scraggly white barn cat who seemed to claim the place as her own. You called her Alpine, after the word etched into one of the barn beams above the old hayloft she slept in. Whoever carved it there had long since disappeared, but the name remained, half-claimed and half-given.

“It’s not safe out here alone.” The gruff voice shattered your moment of peace, and you jumped, heart lurching in your chest.

Bucky stood behind you, all shadows and hard edges.

He filled the doorway without trying to, broad shoulders bracketed by the frame, thick arms folded across a chest that strained the seams of his faded henley. He was massive in a way that made rooms feel smaller, as though the very architecture had to shift to accommodate him.

Even when still, he gave the impression of movement barely restrained, like some great machine idling under the surface. His frame was built like something forged rather than born, towering over you with muscle carved deep into every inch of him, from his sculpted chest to the veined forearms visible beneath pushed-up sleeves.

His stance was always solid, unmoving, as if the earth itself would sooner shift than he would. The glint of his vibranium arm caught in the low morning light, brushed in gold from the rising sun, each plate moving in smooth precision as he adjusted his stance.

His face sported an unimpressed scowl, his jaw shadowed by stubble, brows drawn low over stormy blue eyes that swept the fields behind you with disinterest. And though he said nothing, you could sense his irritation as clearly as the heat rising off the sun-touched grass.

He had a particular hatred for you being outside alone. Most days, he’d trail after you reluctantly, watching with narrowed eyes as you wandered the fields for an hour or two. When his patience wore thin, he’d herd you back inside like a sheepdog. He preferred enclosed spaces. Contained. Controlled.

Places where he could see you—track you—where your every movement could be accounted for.

You were beginning to feel like you escaped one prison just to enter the next.

“You gonna roll around in it next, sweetheart?” he called, voice stern with impatience.

Sweetheart. That damn condescending nickname. It wouldn’t have got under your skin so much if it didn’t make your stomach twist and flutter every time it rolled off his tongue.

You didn’t answer, but you could feel his gaze like a weight between your shoulder blades. Any second now, you wouldn’t put it past him to stomp into the grass and haul you inside himself, fingers fisted in the back of your dress like he was pulling a wayward stray by the scruff of its neck.

“Come on. Inside,” he barked again. “I haven’t checked the perimeter yet.”

Ah. Of course. The perimeter. God forbid a tree shifted in the wind without his knowing.

Suppressing an eye roll, you finally pushed to your feet, brushing bits of grass from your palms. The porch creaked under your steps as you ascended, pausing as he stepped aside with his usual stern silence.

You gave him a sugar-sweet smile as you gripped the handle of the screen door.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” you said, voice light but laced with venom. “Go check your precious perimeter.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn’t answer, but the scowl that crept across his face said enough. He caught the bite in your tone, felt the edge beneath your pleasantry.

You didn’t wait for a response. The door snapped shut behind you, a little harder than necessary, rattling the frame.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was early afternoon. You’d been irritated enough to barricade yourself in your tiny room, thumbing through the stacks of old paperbacks until you finally landed on something vaguely interesting. It was some tacky romance novel that was amusing enough not to let your mind wander, but not quite good enough to engulf you completely.

Though, eventually, it was hunger that won your imagined standoff, your stomach growling so loudly you were half-convinced it had gained sentience and was protesting its conditions.

Bucky was still on the couch, right where you’d left him hours ago. You couldn’t make out what he was doing from the doorway, his broad shoulders alone blocked most of your view, but he appeared to be fiddling with something in his hands. You didn’t ask. You weren’t in the mood for another grunt in place of conversation. Instead, you turned sharply into the kitchen without a word.

The safehouse was well-stocked, rows of canned goods crammed into the cupboards, their faded, illegible labels boasting things like beef stew, baked beans, and mystery meat in gloopy gravy. There were jars of peanut butter with oil slicking the top, stale crackers sealed in military-grade packaging, and boxes of instant mashed potatoes that looked more like powdered chalk than food.

On better days, you had the garden out back, knobbly carrots, bitter greens, the occasional undergrown zucchini, and the chickens, who begrudgingly gifted you eggs when they felt generous. You found yourself wishing for a dairy cow, not that you had any idea how to milk one, just to be free of the powdered imposter you stirred into your coffee every morning. Whatever it was, it tasted like plaster.

You could feel Bucky’s gaze flick toward you through the doorway. You didn’t look up, instead pretending to study the cans as if they held the answers to life’s greater mysteries, silently tossing up between which mystery soup you would try today.

Before the Menagerie, you’d loved to cook, baking especially. Anything stuffed with chocolate chips or drowned in frosting had your full attention. But you dabbled in savoury dishes too, the kind your mother used to call ‘real people food’. The two of you would stand shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, elbows knocking as you bickered over seasoning or whether the onions were truly caramelised. Your father and brother would crowd around the TV, shouting and drinking cold beers while watching the big game.

You swallowed hard at the thought of it. You wondered where their headstones lay, if they had even been buried at all. Who would’ve organised their funeral? That thought soured quickly, festering as your eyes dropped to the stove. The idea of putting time and care into a meal now felt wrong. Hollow. Maybe two years ago, you would’ve tried, scavenged herbs from the garden, scrubbed the vegetables clean, dared to open one of the suspiciously labelled cans of meat. But today, it felt like a step too far.

Bucky didn’t cook for you. It was clear from the start that you were on your own in that regard. A true fend-for-yourself arrangement. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him eat a single bite since your arrival. You weren’t even sure the man had taste buds.

Mystery soup it was.

Your curiosity got the better of you. You stole a glance over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes. He was still planted on the couch, and for the briefest second, his gaze met yours before flicking away again. He turned toward the empty fireplace, posture drawn tight like he was trying to fold himself out of sight, which, of course, failed rather comically since he was a beast of a man.

You sighed and pulled two cans from the shelf, the metal clinking dully as you set them on the counter. You’d heat the soup for both of you, maybe as a peace offering, maybe just an effort at civility. Either way, it felt a little ridiculous. But at least you could say you tried.

—

You dropped one of the bowls onto the coffee table with a soft clack, Bucky blinked, slightly startled, his eyes flicking from the bowl to you as you sank down cross-legged on the floor across from him, the wood grain sticky against your thighs.

“Food. For you,” you said simply.

He didn’t answer at first, still hunched over the thing in his hands, something metal and half-disassembled, probably a weapon. His shoulders shifted, just barely. Like the faintest show of surprise, or maybe gratitude he didn’t know how to express.

“Bit hot for soup,” he muttered, glancing toward the window. He wasn’t wrong. The sun had been relentless all day, and the old farmhouse was holding the heat like a kiln. The single desk fan that you’d claimed did little more than hum uselessly upstairs. You were sure it was a fire hazard from the sheer amount of dust it had collected on its plastic blades.

You shot him a look.

“Fine. Suit yourself. Make your own damn food—” You’d barely started uncrossing your legs when his hand lifted, palm open in a wordless command.

“Sit down.”

You did, settling back into place with a muted huff. He set the metal part aside, definitely part of a gun, now that you were looking. He picked up the spoon beside the bowl, eyeing it like it might bite him, and you watched as he took a mouthful, wincing slightly at the heat.

“Bland.” He commented.

You rolled your eyes. So, he did have taste buds after all.

“It’s from a can, god knows we’ve got enough of those to last the next ten years, let alone a few months.” You replied dryly, and you could’ve sworn the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You both ate in silence for a while. The soup was as terrible as you had anticipated, watery broth, sad carrot chunks, and what might have once been chicken. It was bland, just as Bucky had stated, but you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of admitting it.

It was only as you were halfway through your bowl, the sound of spoons scraping against the ceramic, the occasional creak of the old farmhouse settling while the cicadas droned outside, that you finally found the words to speak up.

“Your employers,” you began, eyes still on your soup, “did they tell you much?”

Through your lashes, you saw Bucky’s head lift slightly.

“No.” He stated. Simple. Gruff. Then he hesitated, leaning back on the couch, eyeing you in that analytical, quiet way of his. You could practically hear the thoughts ticking behind his silence. You, small—in comparison to him, at least—unassuming, wrapped in a floral sundress, hardly looking like a threat. How dangerous could you be? How much danger could you truly be in to warrant exile in the middle of nowhere, locked away like a state secret? “Just said you were mixed up in that mess with the Menagerie raid. That someone might be looking to hurt you.”

“Right…” You stuffed another spoonful of soup into your mouth to keep from saying something foolish, letting the heat sting your tongue.

Silence stretched. He’d already emptied his bowl, positively licked it clean—so much for being too hot and bland. Meanwhile, while you pushed a discoloured chunk of carrot in slow, grinding circles, the handle of your spoon tracing the rim of your bowl. His eyes hadn’t left you.

You inhaled deeply, then blurted it out before you could stop yourself. “Do you know how long I have to stay here?”

He hesitated, just long enough to tell you he didn’t know either. “As long as it takes to eliminate the threat.”

You finally looked up, catching the shift in his gaze. Less neutral now, more calculated… Suspicious. You recognised that look, it said I’m piecing something together. Like the soup had been some sort of tactic. A quiet kindness with strings attached. That you were slowly manipulating him with every gentle smile and soft word.

Like he was finally seeing you clearly, and not liking the picture.

“If you’re being this well hidden,” he said slowly, “you must’ve been real deep in it. What were you, a mole? Scared they’re gonna hunt you down for revenge, sweetheart? You don’t look like the usual type they send out for infiltration.”

You froze, soup curdling in your stomach, your appetite gone before he even got the last syllable out. You placed your half-eaten bowl on the coffee table before you, refusing to meet his eye.

“I wasn’t a mole.” You clarified, though your tone did not sound anywhere near convincing.

It was like he could smell the guilt and shame you reeked of. His mouth curled slightly. Not a smile. Not quite.

“An informant, then?” He pressed. There it was, the snide bite you were waiting for. He thought this was some glorified babysitting gig for a rat. “Too scared to put you in prison in case you are killed before a court date?”

“No, I—” The words jammed in your throat like splinters, and all you could do was stare down at the coffee table. Coffee rings. Cigarette burns. Ghosts of the past.

Bucky leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice lower now.

“So what was it that made you finally turn on the Menagerie, huh? A guilty conscience, fear?” He asked, a disgusted sneer joining his words. “Or did your morals only click after they started trafficking mutants, caging them and tagging them like inventory?”

Your throat closed up.

He thought you were part of it.

He thought you were one of them.

“Or was it just about self-preservation?” He continued.

You hadn’t said it aloud. Not properly. Not in a way that made it real. The interviews after the raid had scraped the words out of you, hour after hour, voice raw, eyes dry. Endless questions. Demands. ‘Be specific’, ‘Start from the beginning’, ‘What did they do next?’. They made you relive it again and again until your memories felt like ash in your mouth, so many retellings that they stopped sounding like your own.

Some mornings, you still woke to the phantom scent of damp stone and bleach. Still braced for cold concrete beneath your palms, for the echo of distant footsteps clattering through narrow halls. You could see it all too clearly in the dark, that stone labyrinth, windowless and humming with distant electricity

You’d think of the auctions. The buyers. Their laughter. The way the air thickened with rot and perfume. The casual smiles of men who knew they wouldn’t be stopped. The shouting.

The cages.

The screaming—

Still, sometimes, you thought you could hear it, just beneath silence. Not memory, not quite. Like something still screamed through you.

“You don’t know shit about what I went through.” You spat out finally.

“No,” he admitted, coldly. “I don’t. But from where I’m sitting, you’re not exactly making yourself look innocent, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, stunned for a heartbeat.

Part of you wanted to cling to that flicker of delusion, that at least he cared. That the horrors of the Menagerie upset him, that he hadn’t brushed it off the way so many others might. There was something almost noble in his anger, in how deeply the injustice of it all seemed to affect him.

But the moment cracked and fury surged up like bile, but it caught in your throat before it could be spoken. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, useless. The words wouldn’t come. They never did. Not the right ones.

Because how could you explain it? How could you possibly untangle the last two years into something coherent, something clean, when nothing about it was? You wanted to scream that it hadn’t been your fault. That they’d taken everything from you. That you’d been a victim.

But the voice in your head always whispered something else.

You’d done what you had to do. Survived the only way you could. But survival had never come without cost. Not in that place. And even if you knew that you hadn’t chosen any of it… there were still stains on your hands. Still moments when you looked in the mirror and didn’t see someone worth saving.

You couldn’t find the words to defend yourself.

Because maybe, just maybe, you didn’t deserve to defend yourself.

“Fuck you.” You seethed.

You shot to your feet so fast your knee clipped the coffee table, rattling your half-eaten bowl. The room tilted slightly, breath caught between rage and something dangerously close to grief. Your legs carried you before you could think, before you could cry. You crossed the room in quick strides, soup abandoned, the sting of unshed tears heating your face.

—

A week of silence had followed your argument with Bucky.

You moved around each other like ghosts, haunting the same space but never touching, orbiting in sullen, silent patterns. You ate meals in silence on opposite ends of the house. Dishes piled beside your bed. Books stacked on the floor. You let yourself be swallowed by the mattress, the weight of silence slowly pulling you under.

When you did venture downstairs, it was only for chores. The division of labour had happened wordlessly. He’d take the barn, the treeline, his perimeter. You’d feed the chickens and cattle and refill the water troughs. Alpine was the only creature who seemed to move freely between you, accepting a can of tuna from Bucky one day, curling up against your legs the next when she wasn’t out prowling for field mice.

You’d stopped asking him anything. Stopped trying to close the gap with awkward, tense conversation. And he seemed relieved, like silence was some kind of reward. At least now he didn’t have to pretend to care. His silent judgment was not something you were blind to. It followed him like a cloud of smoke, obscuring his vision as he regarded you as something malicious rather than wounded. So you started wearing your own bitterness like armour. Met every cold glance with a glare of your own.

If he wanted to hate you, you could make it easy.

You already hated yourself enough.

The heat had been unbearable all afternoon, the worst it had been since you arrived. It was the type of heat that made the air feel thick and heavy, clinging to your skin no matter what you did to cool down. You opened every window in the house, splashed cool water on your face, tied back your hair, and even stood with the fridge door wide open, ignoring the quiet huff of disapproval from behind you. Still, it wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that you were boiling alive in your own body with every passing hour.

Bucky, of course, was perfectly composed. During your second attempt to fold yourself into the fridge, he sat at the kitchen table like a statue, sharpening a knife with slow, meditative strokes. Not a bead of sweat on his brow. Like the fact that you were both slowly roasting to death didn’t bother him at all.

You wanted to scream.

It wasn’t just the heat. It was him. His silence. His stillness. His looming, suffocating presence, like he was pressing the full weight of himself onto your chest without ever touching you.

You needed air. Space. Anything that didn’t feel like breathing your own recycled breath. You were going to lose your mind in this goddamn house. And if it came down to who’d walk out of here alive, it wasn’t going to be you. Not at this rate.

You had laced up your boots and stormed down the stairs before the thought had even fully formed, impulse overriding reason. Bucky didn’t look up at first. From his silence, you could guess he thought you were just being dramatic again, stomping around like a sulking child.

It wasn’t until your fingers curled around the doorknob that you heard the scrape of his chair against the kitchen tiles. ��Where are you going?”

You didn’t look at him. You shoved the screen door open and muttered flatly, “The woods.”

He paused. You could feel it, the change in pressure, like the atmosphere thickened just from him standing up. The summer heat already clung to your skin like syrup, yet somehow it had become one step closer to suffocating.

“No.”

You turned, one foot already on the porch. Bucky was rounding the corner from the kitchen fast, eyes sharp, shoulders tense, like he was bracing to grab you by the arm if you took another step.

“I need air,” you snapped, backing away slightly. “It’s like five thousand degrees in here. It’ll be cooler under the trees.”

He didn’t flinch, just stared at you with that wolfish intensity, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. You could see the twitch of frustration behind them. Not anger exactly, but something more primal. Protective, maybe. Possessive. Something you didn’t have a name for.

His nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not safe,” he said, stepping closer like a warning. A hunt was unfolding between the two of you. You took a step back. He mirrored it forward.

Your eyes flicked down. He wasn’t wearing shoes.

Interesting.

You glanced at the couch, his boots tossed haphazardly at the base, probably kicked off after his last perimeter sweep. A grin tugged at your lips, sharp and cunning. You released the screen door with deliberate calm.

“Don’t you dare—” he growled, voice already rising, warning.

The door slammed shut behind you as you took off, boots hammering down the steps, sundress flying around your legs as you sprinted into the field.

You could already hear him swearing behind you, scrambling for his boots, but you didn’t look back. The grass was tall and wild, slapping against your calves as you tore through it, laughing breathlessly as you darted toward the barn like a madwoman. The sun beat down mercilessly, warming your skin, but you didn’t stop. Not when you heard your name shouted, not even when the chickens exploded into squawking chaos as you shot past the coop.

The fence loomed just ahead, waist-height, made of metal wire and wood posts. You’d never gotten close enough to inspect it properly before now. The top was wrapped in barbed wire, coiled like a snake. Of course it was.

“Shit,” you hissed, skidding to a halt and eyeing the fence with frantic calculation.

Behind you, Bucky’s footsteps thundered across the clearing. You glanced back once, just once. Your breath caught.

He was a storm.

Boots only half on, shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, barreling toward you with terrifying speed. Determined. His eyes on you like a target.

This was your only shot.

“Fuck it,” you spat, grabbing the fence and hoisting yourself up. The metal rattled under your weight, one foot jammed between as you swung a leg over. You hissed as your dress caught, barbs slicing the fabric and catching the tender skin of your thigh. Pain spiked up your leg, but you didn’t stop.

You heard him yell your name just as you dropped down the other side, hitting the dirt hard, knees skidding through dry grass. You shoved yourself upright, wiping your hands on your dress as Bucky skidded to a halt on the other side of the fence, face wild with disbelief.

“What the fuck are you—”

But you were already gone, vanishing into the trees.

The woods swallowed you whole. The world shifted the moment you passed beneath the canopy, sunlight shattered across the leaves, scattering gold and green over your skin as branches closed above you like cathedral arches. You ran until the burn in your thighs twisted into fire, until the pounding of your heart drowned out everything else. Behind you, his voice grew distant, swallowed by underbrush, bark and birdsong.

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you needed to be gone before he caught up.

And for a fleeting moment, you thought you’d done it, lost him in the thick underbrush, outpaced him through the tangles of low-hanging branches and bramble. The heat had begun to slip from the air, replaced by the cool breath of the woods and the low, rhythmic drone of cicadas. A sea of green unfurled before you, layered in moss and leaf-shadow, still and quiet now that your footsteps had slowed—

The world tilted.

You hit the ground hard, air knocked from your lungs, before your mind even registered that he had caught up to you. A blur of limbs and gritted teeth, the two of you rolled through the dirt and fallen leaves, snapping twigs and kicking up soil as you struggled against each other in a mess of instinct and fury.

You twisted, tried to scramble away, but his body was too heavy. His arm caught your leg as you kicked, his weight pressing you down, pinning you like prey.

When the momentum stopped, he was already on top of you, straddling your hips, shoving you deep into the damp forest floor. His hands pinned your wrists above your head with effortless control. His face loomed close, his eyes dark and glittering, and his breath harsh from the chase.

“Are you done?” he growled, voice low and raw, every syllable biting.

You glared up at him, chest heaving. “Get off me—”

Your voice caught as he laughed, a low, humourless sound, breathless but amused. There was dirt smeared across his cheek, a leaf tangled in his hair, and his shirt clung to him with sweat and blood. He looked wild. Feral. Alive in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered.

And then he was moving, the sudden loss of his weight a brief mercy, but it didn’t last. Before you could twist away and draw in a proper breath, his arm was around your waist, and you were tugged up, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Your stomach hit the edge of his metal shoulder blade with a thud that knocked the wind from you again.

“Hey, put me down, you asshole—!” you protested, breathless, your voice muffled slightly by the sway of his shirt against your cheek.

But he was already moving, circling back toward the house with slow, deliberate strides like he hadn’t just chased you through half a mile of forest. His arm was iron around your thighs, locking you in place against the solid plane of his shoulder. You bounced with every step, your ribs pressing painfully against the hard ridge of his collarbone and the metal edge of his arm.

“No,” he barked, tone clipped. “You’ll just bolt again.”

Your stomach was twisted sideways over his shoulder, blood rushing to your head until your vision pulsed at the edges. It was dizzying, the world tipping and tilting with his gait, trees, sky and earth passing upside down in a blur. His shirt clung damply to his back beneath your arms, soaked through with sweat and forest humidity. Every inhale brought the scent of dirt, pine, and something distinctly him into your lungs.

“I won’t! I swear, just—” you tried, squirming, but he adjusted his grip and hoisted you higher with a grunt, one hand sliding firmly up the back of your thigh to keep you from slipping.

“You lost any of my trust when you decided to hop that fence, sweetheart,” he said coldly.

His hand stayed there, splayed wide and strong, fingers flexing against the curve of your leg in a way that made something flutter low in your stomach. You writhed, trying to ignore the way your skin heated under his palm, how aware you suddenly were of every place his body touched yours, his forearm hooked tightly around your knees, his breath steady and close.

“Put me the fuck down!”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll find something to gag you with.” His voice turned harsh, and the end of his patience showed. “I’m sick of your whining. This is your own fault.”

“My fault?” you choked out, exasperated, pushing at the small of his back, which did absolutely nothing. “You’re the one keeping me locked up!”

“It’s for your safety, or did that little detail slip your mind?” he bit back, unbothered by your wriggling.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!” you snapped. “Who the hell is going to find me out here if I go for a goddamn walk to cool down?”

“I’m not worried about people.” His grip on your thighs tightened again, just enough to send another shock of awareness through your core. “I’m worried about animals. Do you know how many bears, cougars, and other shit that can rip you in half live out here?”

You froze, the fire in your chest faltering. “…There are bears out here?!”

“Yes,” he snapped, voice rough. “Now would you shut the hell up? Every living creature within a hundred miles already knows where we are thanks to your squealing.”

You clamped your mouth shut, heat prickling at your ears, though whether it was from embarrassment, exertion, or the lingering burn of his hand against your thigh, you weren’t sure. Upside-down, half-breathless, and bruised with indignity, you told yourself it was just the blood rushing to your head that made your heart beat like that.

He reached the fence a few seconds later, barely slowing his pace before tossing you over it with an unceremonious grunt. You yelped as you hit the ground with a solid thump, your knees scraping against the packed dirt and scattered stones. Pain bloomed across your palms as you caught yourself, your breath stuttering.

You looked up at him just in time to see him plant his boot on the middle rung and vault the fence with practised ease. He landed beside you, his chest rising and falling with the exertion, his expression furious.

Your eyes caught on his shirt, the fabric torn open across the side of his ribs. Blood welled from a sharp gash beneath it, slow and dark, soaking into the material. He must’ve hit the barbed wire trying to chase you down.

The fence: two. You and Bucky: zero.

You shifted uncomfortably, your own thigh still stinging, a warm line of blood trickling down your leg. The barbs had bitten deep. It felt like the forest had left its mark on both of you.

Bucky stared down at you with a scowl.

“Now…” he said slowly, “do I need to carry you all the way to the house, or are you going to be a good girl and walk by yourself?”

You blinked up at him, heart hammering, pulse still roaring in your ears and gulped. “I’ll walk.”

—

Bucky didn’t seem to care that he was smeared in a mixture of dried blood and dirt as he slumped heavily onto the couch with a grunt, his broad shoulders sinking into the cushions. He kicked off his boots with a purposeful carelessness, one of the pair nearly smacking you in the shin as you shied out of its path.

He’d practically herded you back into the house, his gaze never leaving you as you limped your way up the porch steps. His scowl never wavered, only deepened with irritation as he finally realised the state you were in, hair tangled and sticking to your damp forehead, your dress torn and stained with streaks of mud and blood.

You stopped in front of the empty fireplace across from him, arms crossing tightly over your chest, jaw clenched. You leaned slightly on your right leg, the pain flaring hot in your thigh. The cut burned like it had been licked by flame, no doubt packed with dirt and whatever else you'd rolled through during your messy scuffle. But your eyes drifted from your leg, caught instead by the quiet rustle of fabric. Bucky peeled off his shredded shirt with little fanfare, exposing the sheer, ridiculous expanse of muscle beneath. His torso looked sculpted from stone, every line and shadow painfully defined. And yet, infuriatingly, even in all his dishevelment, he looked good. Unfairly so. It was almost nauseating how perfect he looked.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tapped your fingers against your arm, gaze snagged for a beat too long as he examined the fresh gash slashed across his abdomen. He winced slightly, dragging a finger through the blood and grime that caked the wound. It was a deep cut, raw and filthy, and the dirt clinging to it made you pause. You knew that kind of wound, the kind that festered fast if left unchecked.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” you asked, stepping forward despite yourself. “I’ll get it for you—”

“No.” His voice cut through the air, low as a growl, stopping you cold. “You’ve done enough. I’ll get it.”

You blinked, the words catching in your throat. “Hold on—”

But then he looked at you. Really looked at you. And whatever flicker of protest had been building inside you died right there.

“Sit. Down.”

You sank onto the couch without another word, the tension knotting in your shoulders as he disappeared up the stairs. You ran a hand through your tangled hair, wincing as your fingers snagged on leaves and twigs embedded in the strands. Somewhere above, you could hear him rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, drawers slamming and clattering as he searched.

Your attention dropped to your leg. You hesitated, then slowly hiked up your skirt, trying not to wince as you exposed the wound. The barbed wire had torn a lash up your inner thigh, the skin swollen and angry. Blood had dried in thick, flaking streaks down your leg. You hissed as you prodded the edges, trying to gauge the depth through the grit and grime. It stung like hell, sharp, hot, and pulsing, and the thought of cleaning it out made your stomach churn.

Bucky thundered down the stairs behind you, dumping the first aid kit on the coffee table. A few medical supplies spilt out from the jolt. He barely looked at you before muttering, “Stop fussing. You’ll make it worse.”

Your hands stilled instantly, retreating to your lap. You didn’t dare test his patience again, not when he was like this, all bruises and blood and stormclouds behind the eyes.

He sank to his knees in front of the couch, wedged between your legs and the coffee table, and reached for you without hesitation. His grip was firm as he caught your leg, fingers wrapping around your calf and sliding upward, tilting your thigh to get a better look at the damage.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening. The cut stung, but it wasn’t the pain that made you tense, it was him. The heat of his skin against yours, the way his rough palms guided your leg, thumb grazing perilously close to the seam of your underwear. Your dress had ridden high, bunched around your hips, leaving you far too exposed. And his face, god, it was right there, inches away from the softest, most private part of you—

You let out a small yelp, the sharp sting of antiseptic dragging you back to reality as he pressed a wipe over the wound with no warning, scrubbing away dried blood and filth like it was nothing. You squirmed on instinct, gasping.

He tutted with annoyance, locking your leg in place with his forearm like you were nothing more than a twitchy animal.

“Stop squirming.”

“It’s kind of hard when you’re manhandling me—”

“I’m not in the mood for babying you, sweetheart,” he shot back, glaring up at you briefly, his voice low and cool.

That shut you up.

You swallowed hard and stared past him, fixing your gaze on the constellation of scars across his chest and shoulders. Old wounds. Some shallow, others deep. Your heart thudded against your ribs, the silence between you prickling with static.

He dipped his fingers into a small tin of ointment and began slowly and deliberately, working it into the wound. His touch was firm, steady, maddening, his hand creeping higher with each pass, inching up your inner thigh until his knuckles grazed dangerously close to the pulsing heat between your legs. Your entire body shuddered lightly, a tingling up your spine, and for one wild moment, you were sure he was savouring this. You could feel his every breath against your thigh, every callused inch of his palm.

Your breath hitched audibly. Embarrassingly.

“There you go,” he murmured, almost to himself, patting your knee. “Good girl.”

A whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Then, he was gone. Peeling off some large sticky bandages and slapping them on hard enough to make you jolt in surprise.

You jerked your leg back, retreating into yourself. Your fingertips hovered at the edge of the bandages, trailing the sticky outline. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did and didn’t care—as he climbed up off the floor and took a seat beside you on the couch, the cushion dipping under his weight.

You sat there with your mouth slightly agape, still recovering, still too aware of how much of you had just been laid bare.

He stared at you.

“Are you even listening?” he barked.

You jumped. “Sorry—what?”

“I said,” he gestured toward the gash slicing across his torso, “I need you to help me clean this cut, repeat the steps I just did for your leg.”

You floundered uselessly like a fish for a second.

“Did you hit your head?” he asked, voice laced with irritation. “Do I need to check you for a concussion—?”

“No!” you blurted, too fast. “No. I’m fine. I can do it.”

Without waiting for permission, you slid to the floor, knees brushing against his shins as you settled between his legs. Your fingers fumbled through the mess of gauze, scissors, and ointments strewn across the coffee table, deliberately avoiding his gaze. When you found the antiseptic wipes, you cleared your throat, peeled one open, and hesitantly pressed it to the wound carved deep into his side.

The muscles under your hand were corded tight, heat and tension rising from him like steam. You dabbed lightly at first, uncertain.

“You’re gonna need to press harder than that, sweetheart,” Bucky muttered, voice rough. “You’re not picking up all the—”

You shot him a look flared with annoyance and dug the wipe in harder than necessary.

He hissed, breath catching between gritted teeth, and his abdomen flinched beneath your hand. The skin twitched as you worked, dragging out a stubborn patch of grit and dried blood. You grimaced, wiping again, watching the red bloom spread.

The gash was far worse than yours. Red, angry, and deep. The kind of wound that would’ve sent someone else into shock. When you pulled the wipe back, it was streaked with fresh blood, revealing a glimpse of raw muscle beneath.

“This is going to need stitches, it’s too deep—”

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, his breath uneven as you reached for a fresh wipe. “It’ll heal faster than a normal person.”

You paused, cloth hovering just above the end of the slash curving around his ribs. “You’re a mutant?”

That stopped him cold.

His body stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it. His jaw ticked, and the muscle beneath your touch turned to granite.

“No, uh—” He began, and the words faltered. For the first time since you’d met him, his voice wavered. This voice was uncertain. Defensive. It didn’t match the sharp-edged man who barked orders and silenced you with just a glower. You looked up in time to catch the flicker of frustration in his expression, the way his brow furrowed, not in pain, but regret. Like he’d just given away something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Super soldier,” he muttered finally, quieter like the words tasted bitter.

You frowned, forcing yourself to keep your fingers moving as you continued to clean the lash.

“Super solider… like serums?” You dared to mumble in question.

“...Yeah.”

You nodded. You were familiar with the rise of serums and super soldiers, they had been a hot commodity, just as coveted as mutants. Weapons given flesh. The perfect stock for the Menagerie to peddle. Easier to control, more predictable than the mutants among their inventory.

“There were a few of those at the Menage—” The words slipped out before you could catch them. As soon as they crossed your lips, your stomach dropped. “I—Nevermind.”

You didn’t need to look up to feel it, the shift in his posture, the way his presence recoiled. Not from pain. From you.

He was flinching from you.

Shame roared up your throat like bile. You didn’t have to ask what he was thinking. You could feel it. The disgust. The assumptions. You could almost hear his thoughts shaping you into a creature of cruelty. A collaborator. A willing participant.

Did he think revealing this information would illicit a perverse curiosity within you? That you’d start viewing him in the same way the Menagerie had viewed you?

And for once, there was a sadness that lingered. A sadness that you couldn’t tell him, couldn’t explain. You let him believe you were complicit, that you were broken in a way that was your own fault. Would it have been better to tell him? To offer up the whole, rotting truth and see what he did with it? Not one clouded by the lies and falseities you used to punish yourself?

When you had stumbled free of that place, you had sworn never to use your powers again. Never be a weapon again. Never let anyone twist your gift into something cruel and unrecognisable.

What if this was different?

What if you could use it for good this time? Not to tear someone apart from the inside out, not to entertain monsters, but to soothe. To help.

Would that balance the scales, even a little? Would that scrub the blood from your conscience, the memory from your skin? Would it make you more than what they turned you into?

Would it make you… better?

Your hands had stilled. The wound was only half-cleaned, blood still trickling sluggishly along his side. You looked up.

His expression was unreadable, like a wall had been placed between you.

Your voice came quiet and uncertain. “Can I… can I show you something?” you asked. “I think it’ll help.”

He tensed. His jaw was tight, the suspicion in his gaze sharp and waiting, as if he expected you to pull a knife, like your soft-spoken words were nothing but bait in a trap he hadn’t seen yet. But you didn’t wait for a reply. For once, you wait for a command. You balled up the bloodied wipe in your fist and tossed it aside, the fabric landing with a wet slap on the cluttered table behind you. Then, without ceremony, you raised your hand above the wound stretching across his ribs.

His mouth parted, breath catching, ready to protest, but you were already committed, brows drawn in concentration as your palm began to glow. The light bloomed, like dawn bleeding through morning mist. A ball of pale, gold light that cast long beams between your fingers, casting his skin in a haze.

You didn’t dare look up at him.

Instead, you pressed your focus into the magic pooling in your hand, letting it spill like silk across the jagged tear in his flesh. As you touched your fingers to him, you hovered a moment longer than necessary, and a soft, invisible pulse of heat radiated from your palm to his abdomen.

He didn’t flinch.

That was the point.

The knot in his abdomen uncoiled. His muscles slackened, his body loosening inch by cautious inch beneath your touch. Your fingertips hovered over the torn skin, skimming the edges. When you finally dared to glance up, his face had slackened in sudden, jarring relief.

He stared at you like you weren’t real. Disgust turned to horror and then to shock.

You didn’t stop. Your palm pressed lightly to the curve of his ribs, the glow now flickering as your focus thinned and the pain siphoned away. The magic never hurt, not directly, but it drained you all the same. You could feel it in the weight of your limbs, in the tremble behind your knees. Your breath had turned shallow. Sweat prickled along your hairline.

“You’re a—”

“A mutant,” you interrupted quietly, light fading as you squeezed your hand into a fist. “I know.”

The silence was thick as you reached behind you, grabbing a clean antiseptic wipe from the dwindling supplies. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink as you swept it gently through the remaining dirt and grit, revealing clean, ragged flesh beneath. Crimson welled at the edges like dew.

“I took the pain away,” you clarified as you blindly searched the table for the small tin he’d used earlier. You couldn’t meet his eye, couldn’t deal with any guilt he was likely feeling. “My powers… I can change how the body perceives sensations. I can nullify nerves or amplify them. Make you feel things that aren’t there, or take away feeling entirely.”

You found the tin at last, fingers fumbling slightly as you pried it open with a soft metallic click. A faint herbal scent rose as you scooped a generous, pearlescent smear of ointment onto your fingertip. It clung thickly, catching the light like a melted pearl.

“You were a victim,” Bucky said, voice breathless and stunned, like he’d received a punch right to the gut. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were a victim?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you pressed your fingers to his skin, spreading the salve along the length of the wound in slow, deliberate strokes. The half-translucent mixture turned pink as it blended with the fresh blood that beaded the surface.

“It’s complicated,” you muttered, eyes fixed on your hands instead of his.

But he didn’t let it go.

Of course, he didn’t.

Bucky Barnes, ever the soldier, ever the protector of the broken and bruised. That part of him, the part that saw pain and didn’t look away, that part that burned with justice, that was maybe the only thing you’d truly admired from the start.

Not the cold commands, not the steel-blue stares, not the way he could make your breath hitch with just a word.

It was that he cared.

Beneath the hard edges and combat scars, he gave a damn. About the ones who couldn’t fight for themselves yet. About the ones others would write off. When he looked at something shattered, his instinct wasn’t to discard it—it was to fix it.

“You’re a victim. When they pulled you out of there, why didn’t they send you back home? Back to your family?”

You swallowed hard. “Like I said... It’s complicated.”

When you dared to look up, he was looking down at you like he was expecting an answer. You sighed.

“My powers, it’s a gift and a curse. They can be used for good, like this.” You nodded toward his side, where the blood had begun to clot under the thin sheen of ointment. Withdrawing your hands from him, you tucked them into your lap, fingers curled inwards, guilt weighing heavily in your chest. “Or it can be used… used to create pain.”

His brow creased. “Pain?”

“You think the Menagerie were above torture?” you asked, sharper than you meant to. Then your face twisted apologetically, and you looked away quickly. “Sorry. I just—”

You drew in a breath, steadying yourself.

“When they captured enemies, or anyone who defied them, they interrogated them. Asked their questions. And if they didn’t get what they wanted…” You paused, voice tight. “They brought me in.”

His face changed, eyes sharpening, expression folding inward.

“They made me hurt people,” you explained. “Amplify their pain, make them feel things that weren’t even real. The body doesn’t know the difference. It responds anyway.”

You rubbed your wrist with your other hand, as if scrubbing the memory away. “Sometimes… sometimes they made me do it for fun. For their entertainment. Just because they knew how much it broke me—” Your voice broke on the last word, the sound caught between a sob and a gasp.

Turning away, you reached for the coffee table with trembling hands, shoving through the disordered supplies until you found the large, sticky bandages. Only as you felt confident that your voice wouldn’t tremble, you spoke up again.

“I was their prisoner, their weapon for two years. Decided I was to be kept, too valuable to be sold like the rest of the product,” You mumbled, the plastic crinkling as you tore one free, fingers fumbling with the edges.

“That’s why you’re here,” Bucky said at last.

His voice was quiet, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. You watched the gears turn behind his eyes, watched the truth slot into place piece by piece.

“You know too much,” he murmured, breath catching in his throat. “The Menagerie... they’re not hunting you because you ran.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

“They want you dead because you know. You know too much.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, the initial shock gone. Something had shifted. The realisation landed like a crack of thunder as anger reared its head, hot and bitter.

“And the officials…” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “They don’t care what it costs you. They just want you on that stand. They want a witness.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, a tremor running through his arm.

“God,” he muttered. “They used you. All of them. They’re still using you. They’re all just passing you around like you're fucking evidence.”

You nodded, blinking hard as you peeled back the adhesive strip. “Not a rat, you see?” you said with a brittle sort of humour, trying to cover the tremor in your voice.

He looked down at you sharply, eyes dark, nostrils flared, coiled tightly enough you were half-convinced he was going to march out there and tear them apart himself. “I’m sorry.”

That startled you more than it should have.

“Shit, sweetheart. I was wrong about you, very wrong,” he added. “From the start. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I should’ve… I should’ve just told you. I just—”

Your fingers splayed out as you smoothed the bandage carefully across his ribs, palms gentle as you coaxed it into place. “It’s hard. To defend my actions. To relive it over and over again, to think of what I could have done differently, what I could’ve done to stop it. And I’m sick of people telling me it wasn’t my fault, sick of the nightmares and the memories I—”

The warmth of his skin still lingered under your touch. You were about to pull away when he caught your wrist. You jolted, breath stuttering. His grip wasn’t tight, just enough to hold you there. His thumb circled slowly over the inside of your wrist, right over the soft thrum of your pulse.

“No, I… I get it.”

Your lungs stalled, breath coming out in a sharp wheeze as you looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s hard sometimes,” he said, gaze haunted, “to justify defending yourself when you feel like a monster. Even when you weren’t the one who chose the violence.”

He glanced away, then back, not with judgment, but understanding. Maybe even shame.

“But you’re not that,” he affirmed. “You never really were.”

You got the sense he wasn’t just saying it for your sake. Not entirely. That maybe he was saying it for himself, too.

—

Bucky had been truthful. Within a few short days, his wound had knit itself into a pink, raised scar, the kind that would fade in time.

Yours, however, wasn’t healing nearly as well.

It wasn’t an infection, you knew that much. Bucky’s borderline militant efforts to clean and dress your wound had paid off. No, the problem was its intimate placement. Too high on your inner thigh, too close to where the skin was soft and constantly moving. Every step rubbed it raw. Every shift of your legs, every twitch or stretch, irritated it further. The adhesive bandages clung stubbornly, chafing the tender flesh surrounding.

And the weather wasn’t helping.

The dry heat had broken sometime during the night, replaced by a soupy humidity that clung to everything. It made your clothes stick to your back, your sheets damp, your skin slick with a sheen of sweat you couldn’t seem to shake. That morning, as you fed the cows, Bucky had tilted his face to the sky, eyes narrowed.

“Storm’s coming,” he muttered, gaze fixed on the horizon where dark clouds had begun to crawl over the hills like an advancing army.

You’d followed his eyes and silently agreed.

It was the third day since your reckless dash through the woods, and you could feel every inch of it. Your body ached with dull protest, knees bruised, but it was the wound that made you grit your teeth every time you moved. Bucky had noticed, of course, he noticed everything. He’d watched you hobble halfway down the stairs that morning, frowning in that deeply displeased way of his, jaw set like he was at war with the world.

Ever since your reluctant confession, something in him had shifted. The hostility had bled out of him, replaced by an overwhelming guilt. You felt sorry for your dejected bodyguard. You both knew it wasn’t his fault, that he had acted true to his nature with the information given, yet he still reeked of regret.

His protectiveness had turned soft at the edges. Where once he’d shadowed you out of suspicion, now he hovered like a sheepdog with a wounded charge, not willing to leave your side for a moment.

He gave up his place on the couch without a word, fetched things before you asked, and adjusted pillows behind your back with silent focus. When you’d had enough of being babied and escaped upstairs to your room, he’d only watched you go with those impossibly blue eyes, gaze desperate and stricken.

But today… Today, he took it further, determined to take his coddling the extra mile.

You only made it to the corner of the stairs before you saw him coming up with purpose written in every line of his body.

“Wait—Bucky, I can walk—!”

Your protest was cut short by a startled gasp as he swept you effortlessly into his arms, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing at all.

Your breath caught, not just from the motion, but from the sudden, intimate closeness. His body radiated heat, even through his shirt. You could feel the curve of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I can walk myself down the stairs,” you tried again, more weakly.

“You keep aggravating it,” he said simply, descending with slow, sure steps.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, he placed you down on the couch. He crouched in front of you, one knee pressed into the floor, his eyes scanning your face with quiet intensity before dropping to your thighs.

You opened your mouth to argue—too late.

The hem of your dress was already lifted.

“Hey—!” You flinched, hands moving to cover yourself, but he was faster. His fingers curled gently around your knee, not forceful, but firm enough to stop you from snapping your legs shut.

“It’s irritated. Look.” His voice was low, focused, the pad of his thumb brushing dangerously close to tender skin as he inspected the wound.

You inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the heat that jolted through you at the contact, the way your body betrayed you with the pulse that bloomed low in your belly. His breath ghosted across your inner thigh as he leaned closer, and it was all you could do to hold still.

He pointed, fingertips skimming just above the angry, raw skin. “See that? It's from friction. The humidity is not helping. The bandage is rubbing it raw.”

You tried to speak, but he was already speaking over you.

“I’ll change it over,” he said, already rising to grab the supplies. “Stay here.”

“It’s fine, really—” you began, trying to wave off the concern in your voice, but Bucky hit you with a look so sharp it cut your words clean in half.

His brow dipped, jaw tight. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” you shot back with a whine, already shifting upright from where you’d been slumped between the couch cushions. The movement made your thigh throb.

Before you could get far, his hand shot out—broad, calloused, and unbothered—pressing gently but firmly against your middle. The ease with which he pinned you back made you blink.

“I said stay,” he said, with exasperated authority. “What is it with you and always making things difficult?”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief. “I don’t want to be babied.”

“I’m not babying you.”

“I feel like dead weight.”

His brows shot up, incredulous. “If I were to describe you as anything, it would not be dead weight, sweetheart.”

“Oh?” you challenged, folding your arms, eyes narrowing. “Then what would you describe me as?”

That made him pause.

His hand fell away slowly, drifting up to rub along his jaw. He turned his gaze downward and away, suddenly studying the floorboards like they held some grand revelation. You could see the calculation flickering behind his eyes, like he was deciding if his true answer was worth whatever calamity he was anticipating or not.

Your heart kicked in your chest.

You held your breath, shamefully hopeful. Like some stupid, soft part of you, some battered, longing part, was enamoured with him. Even when he’d been cruel, cold, dismissive... you'd wanted him to see you. Wanted him to like you. And now, beneath all the banter, you were hanging on the edge of a confession you weren’t even sure you wanted to hear.

He finally looked up. His eyes, storm-dark and unreadable, met yours.

“If this is some ploy to distract me,” he said, voice rough, “it’s not working.”

You deflated, oddly disappointed and sank back into the cushions with a huff. “Fine. I’ll play along. Just get one of the books from my room, would you? If I’m stuck on this damn couch, I’d rather not die of boredom.”

His expression broke into a crooked, lazy grin. “Sure thing.”

And before you could blink, he was halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

You let out a breath through your nose, dragging a hand down your face. The house was suffocating you. The stillness, the isolation, the tension that bloomed every time he entered the room. Maybe it was the ridiculous number of romance novels you’d burned through. Maybe it was the heat. Or maybe it was just him—Bucky, with his quiet protectiveness, so noble with his brooding silences, and the way his hands had felt against your bare skin in the forest.

You bit your lip, cursing yourself.

His rough palms. The way his body had pinned you down, heavy and solid, the way his breath had ghosted across your cheek, your thigh. It was a memory you couldn’t scrub out, no matter how hard you tried.

And now, you were wondering… wondering how it would feel if he pinned you to this couch—

You jolted upright as Bucky returned, slapping the first aid kit and one of your smuttiest romance novels onto the coffee table like a dealer laying down a hand of cards.

He didn’t say a word, but his lips twitched at the corners. His poker face was cracking.

Your face burned.

You reached for the book, praying he wouldn’t comment on the shirtless man with windswept hair on the cover, but of course, he didn’t have to. That stupid, knowing smirk was already doing the talking.

So much for subtle.

You swallowed thickly as he settled between your legs again, his weight pressing into the couch, his broad shoulders framed by the curve of your thighs. There was something maddeningly composed about him, like none of this fazed him in the slightest. If anything, he almost seemed amused by your discomfort, eyes flicking upward just enough to catch the squirm in your hips, the shallow hitch in your breath.

He looked far too comfortable for someone in such a compromising position, like he knew the effect he had on you, and maybe even enjoyed drawing it out.

He gave your knee a light pat, a silent signal to open up. You obeyed hesitantly, and he brushed back the hem of your skirt. Your underwear, thin and barely holding modesty, was now fully on display. You bit down a wince as he took hold of a loose corner of the bandage. He tugged gently, slowly peeling the adhesive away from the inflamed skin. Pain flared sharp and immediate, white-hot beneath the stretch of gauze.

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your throat before you could muffle it. Your hand shot out, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you gripped his shoulder for stability, or maybe just to anchor yourself against the sudden wave of discomfort.

Still, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. His voice came low and steady, a rumbling murmur as his free hand drew calming circles into the uninjured thigh. “Nearly there, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

Your nails dug into him as your head lolled back, breath ragged. Every muscle was taut, braced against the conflicting signals. Pain prickled your nerves, comfort stirring from his voice and touch. You weren’t sure whether to pull away or lean in.

“You’re doing so well,” he continued. “Just hang in there for me, won’t you?”

The bandage continued its slow ascent, dragging higher and higher up your thigh, until his knuckles were brushing the very edge of your underwear. The skin there was more sensitive, flushed, overheated, and the gentle pull of the adhesive felt too much, too raw, too close. You hissed through your teeth, muttering a broken string of half-coherent words.

“Shit—ah—”

A particularly harsh sting made your hips buck. Your legs tried to snap closed on instinct, but Bucky was faster. He caught your knee with his forearm and pressed it down, holding you open, firm and immovable.

“Easy,” he murmured, steady as a rock. “Don’t tense up. You’ll just make it worse.”

You squirmed beneath his touch, back arching slightly, breath caught between agony and embarrassment. Finally, he peeled the last sticky corner away, and your skin gave a soft snap as it sprang free from the bandage’s grip. The rush of fresh air was immediate, and with it came a strange kind of relief, tinged with something dangerously close to arousal.

“See?” His voice dipped into something almost indulgent. “Good girl. It’s all done now.”

You nearly passed out on the spot. Your head swam, vision dancing at the edges. A ragged exhale wheezed out of you. “God... Sorry. You probably think I’m being dramatic—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, smoothing a hand briefly down your thigh. “That’s a nasty spot. Fence got you good.”

You finally dared to look down at him, cheeks flushed, heart a mess in your chest. You were almost certain there was a wet patch on your underwear now. You prayed to whatever higher being was listening that he hadn’t noticed, but when you chanced a look at him, down between your legs, a wave of heat coursed through you. You could see it now. The slight flare in his nostrils. The way his jaw tightened. He knew. And he wasn’t saying a damn thing.

His attention drifted only briefly from your wound as he balled up the used bandage and tossed it somewhere behind him with little care.

“Why don’t you ever use your powers?” he asked, casually. “To stop your own pain?”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“Doesn’t work that way,” you muttered. “I can use it on others, sure. But not myself. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a mental block or something... I just... can’t read my own body the same way I can read others. Or maybe the universe just hates me.”

He didn’t reply immediately, just nodded slightly in understanding as he cleaned the area with another antiseptic wipe. You winced, hissing through clenched teeth as the sting bit into your already flayed nerves.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “One more second.”

You braced yourself again as he smoothed a fresh bandage over the wound. You could feel the ghost of his fingers lingering there, just for a moment longer than necessary, just enough to make you question it.

—

Outside, the sky had deepened from moody grey to near-black, the clouds rolling like smoke across the heavens. The wind picked up, rattling the windows. Somewhere far off, the first crack of thunder rumbled.

You had expected Bucky to drift off somewhere once he had finished tending your wound, the kitchen maybe, or the porch to watch the storm roll in, or even just to sit on the floor nearby. Anywhere that wasn’t with you. You’d stretched yourself out across the length of the couch, limbs heavy and warm, your upper body propped up by a mess of pillows and the armrest as you lost yourself in the pages of your book. It was a position meant for solitude.

So when Bucky returned from putting the first aid kit away, he didn’t hesitate. With casual ease, he lifted your outstretched legs and sat down, settling your feet squarely in his lap, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But the moment his hands touched you, your entire system short-circuited.

He did it so easily, like it was a habit. Like it was his right.

Your breath caught mid-page.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t speak. Your fingers hovered over the paper, your eyes glazed across the lines, but your brain refused to register a single word. Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to break free. It took twenty agonising minutes, maybe more, before you could even pretend to read again.

And what didn’t help, what made the entire ordeal a million times worse, was that your book had finally reached the scene, the one everyone waited for. The part where the tension cracked wide open, and the protagonist was getting thoroughly ravished against a wall in some expensive villa by the kind of dark, brooding man that only existed in fiction... or maybe sat next to you.

You swallowed dryly, heart lurching again as the male lead slid his hand up the heroine’s thigh, just like Bucky’s had earlier when he’d peeled off your bandage. Only… you’d imagined it going further. Higher.

Maybe you were delusional, but every time he’d touched you, even under the guise of first aid, you’d felt it—the maddening restraint.

You bit your tongue hard, forcing yourself not to let your thoughts spiral, even as arousal simmered low in your belly and pooled with heat between your thighs. You were already flushed and aching and halfway to combusting, and now he had the audacity to sit there, thigh under yours, body close enough to feel his warmth, like he wasn’t slowly unravelling you.

You were seconds away from imploding, from throwing your shitty romance novel across the room and throwing yourself at the goddamn furniture—

“Did you know,” Bucky drawled suddenly, voice low and casual and way too close, “that super soldiers have enhanced senses?”

You practically jumped out of your skin. “What?”

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he continued, that smug glint in his voice unmistakable. “It’s pretty fast. Erratic.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Your cheeks went up in flames.

He added, far too pleased with himself, “That’s actually how I found you in the forest. I followed your footsteps and your pulse.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you hissed, snapping your book shut with a hard thwack, trying—and failing—to sit up with any grace.

Outside, rain hit the house in a violent curtain, a sudden hisssssh as the skies split open and water poured down in thick, slanted sheets. It rattled on the roof like pebbles hurled from the sky. Wind clawed at the windows, moaning through the seams.

He chuckled, one hand sliding over your shin, fingers curling around your ankle as he held you in place. “Couch rest,” he reminded you, voice dipped in that annoyingly firm tone.

You struggled half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged gently until you sank back into the cushions, his hand still wrapped securely around your leg.

“No,” he scolded, like he was denying more than just your movement.

Your blush deepened, spreading to your chest. You let out a breath, half-frustrated, half-flustered, and melted into the cushions like you wished they’d just absorb you whole.

His thumb brushed a soft, slow arc along your calf—

Then, with a sharp pop, the power snapped off.

The lamps blinked out. The steady hum of the fridge died mid-breath. Silence swallowed the room for a single heartbeat before a thunderclap shattered it, a crackling whip of lightning illuminating the windows in a brief, unnatural white.

You jolted in fright.

Bucky didn’t move right away. He remained seated, your legs still draped across his lap. You squinted into the darkness, instincts already urging you to move, to rush and shut the open windows before the rain crept in.

Bucky’s grip on your shin tightened, silently reminding you to stay put.

“I’ll get them,” he said quietly, voice calm as thunder rumbled loudly overhead once more. “The windows. And some candles.”

You nodded, throat dry, unsure if he could even see the gesture. He moved slowly, easing your legs off his lap and lowering them onto a pillow with tenderness. Then he vanished into the gloom.

You tracked him by sound, the soft thud of his feet on the floorboards, the swift click of windows shutting, one after the other. Each flash of lightning lit the farmhouse like a shuttered camera flash, brief glimpses of movement, shadow, and form. You caught sight of him once, silhouetted in the doorway, jaw set.

When he returned, he carried a bundle of stubby candles and a matchbox. He set them on the table in front of you, crouching low as he arranged them.

He struck a match, the flare hissing into life, and held it up to one of the candles.

You watched, horrified, as he held it aloft for too long. Far too long. The flame crept toward his fingers, the wood blackening, curling with heat. It licked the vibranium tips, skimming the grooves like the metal had been soaked in fuel.

“Bucky—!” you gasped, lurching forward. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

He blinked up at you, brow furrowed in quiet confusion.

“The vibranium?” he asked, glancing at his hand like it was some borrowed object. “It doesn’t feel pain. The tech…there are no nerves.”

You stared at the charred ends of the matchsticks and the still-glowing candlelight flickering against his dark silhouette. The flames cast golden halos along his jaw, his cheekbone, glinting off the grooves of his metal fingers.

“You looked terrified, sweetheart,” he murmured, amusement warming the edge of his voice. “You okay?”

“I just—you let it burn you.”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “It’s not me. It’s metal.”

But you didn’t agree. Not really. Because it was him. That arm, the weight of it, the precision and restraint in it. It was as much a part of him as the careful way he spoke, or the way he touched your leg like it might bruise.

You swallowed again, watching as he struck the final match. It flared to life with a dry rasp, briefly lighting his face in warm gold before he tipped it to the last candle. The wick caught with a soft sputter, the flame settling into a steady flicker. He sat back on his heels, eyes lifting to meet yours. Smoke curled faintly in the air, mingling with the subtle sweetness of melting wax.

Your voice was small. “It is you. All of it.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you, something in his gaze softened. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out again, resting one calloused palm on your shin. His thumb moved in an easy rhythm

“Explain it to me,” you breathed. “How it works.”

Bucky seemed to turn that over in his mind. A low rumble of thunder murmured outside as he eased himself up, returning to the couch beside you. His hand lingered on your leg, tracing up the curve of your shin in thought, pausing lightly over your knee.

“The technology…it simulates nerves, mimics what touch feels like,” he said quietly. “I can touch an object and understand I’m holding it. Feel its weight. Its texture. But I can’t feel temperature… not heat, not cold. I can’t feel pain. I could sink my hand into a fire or take a bullet straight through the palm and feel nothing.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, you reached out, your touch featherlight as your fingertips skimmed the metal of his wrist. There was precision in the construction, elegant, engineered, but it was still him. You traced along the inside of his forearm, up to the sharp line of his palm, feeling the grooves, the seams, the impossibly subtle notches between each plate. Then you curled your fingers gently around his, lifting his hand.

You turned it upward. Candlelight caught along the joints of his fingers, gleaming in liquid amber.

And then, deliberately, intimately, you ran your hand down the back of his vibranium hand. Knuckles to wrist.

“Can you feel that?” you breathed.

He inhaled quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Yes.”

You traced your thumb across a seam in his palm, a soft circular motion like brushing the edge of a scar. “Not temperature. But touch?”

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was rougher now. “I can feel the pressure. The motion. Just not... the heat of your skin.”

You didn’t speak. Just guided his hand upward, toward your face, your breath catching as the cool pads of his vibranium fingers grazed your cheekbone and rested there. You could’ve sworn he shuddered. A thrill passed through you at the sensation, not for you, but for him, a quiet hope that maybe this gesture still meant something, even if he couldn’t feel the warmth.

“And now?” you asked, voice barely audible over the rain.

His gaze dipped to your lips, then back up. The flickering darkness had devoured the familiar stormy blue of his eyes, leaving only a hungry void in its place.

“I feel your skin,” he said, low. “It’s soft. Smooth.”

His fingers flexed gently, tracing the line of your jaw in a slow descent. “But I can’t feel the warmth. Just… the shape.”

A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips, bittersweet. A silent war was waged behind his expression, trapped between desire and duty. Between what he wanted and what he was allowed to reach for.

“I used to have another arm,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, like the admission cost him something. “A silver one. I couldn’t feel anything with it. Not even this.”

Your brows furrowed.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he murmured. “Feeling everything… or feeling nothing at all.”

You leaned into his touch, your cheek pressing fully against the metal. Even if it didn’t give him warmth, maybe it gave him presence.

“I think,” you mumbled, “that feeling is the most natural thing of all. It’s the experience of living. Of life.”

His hand stilled against your face.

“People who try to push aside feeling,” you said, softer now, “to cut it off and pretend it doesn’t exist… they’re the ones who are suffering the most. Not the ones who feel everything.”

His breath left him in a slow exhale. A subtle release, like he hadn’t even realised he was holding onto something tight in his chest until now. The candlelight caught the faintest tremble in his throat as he swallowed, as though your words had struck a nerve.

“I feel everything now,” he said at last, voice barely above a breath, like a truth he hadn’t meant to say aloud, like it had just dawned on him. His fingers twitched, then slowly withdrew, curling into a loose fist in his lap.

Silence settled between you, and you watched as the plates in his metal arm shifted with a subtle hiss, the faint whir of unseen mechanics clicking into place as he flexed his fist open, then closed again. The movement was restless, almost unconscious, like his body was speaking the turmoil he wouldn’t voice. You could feel the heat where his hand had just been, the ghost of his touch clinging to your skin.

For a second, you worried he was retreating inward again, lost to whatever troubles consumed him, but then his voice, low and quiet, cut through the static.

“Come here.”

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him right. “What?”

“Just... closer.”

You moved without thinking. Slowly, cautiously, you slid forward on the couch, knees grazing his, breath shallow in your throat. The space between you disappeared. You could feel his warmth, his stillness, the quiet restraint in the way he held himself.

When he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you didn’t flinch. His fingers lingered against your cheek, almost like he was afraid you might vanish if he wasn’t gentle.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he murmured, his voice barely audible beneath the rain. “You’re killin’ me here.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I thought you didn’t notice.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice rough and honest. “I notice everything about you.”

Your breath caught, lips parting on instinct, but no sound came.

God, was this really happening? You could feel it, his gaze, the pull of something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for a spark. But was this wise? You were holed up here, alone together for who knew how long. If you were wrong and misread this current thread between you, it would ruin everything. There’d be no slipping away, no easy out, just long days and longer nights of awkward silence and sidestepped glances.

You didn’t know if you were ready to be seen like that. To be touched like that. To fall headfirst into something that might not let you come back the same. You swallowed hard, unsure if you wanted to lean in or away.

And then you took the plunge.

“Let me… let me show you something.”

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t pull away. “Yeah?”

You focused, just a small pulse of energy through your fingertips, a delicate twist of sensation sent skimming through his nerves like a shiver. It bloomed slowly at first, a gentle, spiralling warmth that coiled from where you touched and then unfolded, spreading like ripples in water.

He inhaled sharply. Eyes fluttering closed. A tremor ran through him, his spine arching ever so slightly as the feeling expanded, not sharp or overwhelming, but deep. A full-body shudder, unforced and unguarded.

You squeezed your fist shut just as his eyes opened in shock. “What was that?”

“Pleasure.” You muttered, almost sheepishly, as heat crawled up your neck. “It’s just another way I can manipulate the senses. Pain, pleasure, hot, cold—”

“Show me again.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard right. Momentarily stunned as your nervous ramble melted to nothing on your tongue. “What?”

His eyes met yours. There was no teasing in them, no bravado. Just raw honesty. Curiosity. Need.

“The feeling,” he said. “The pleasure.”

You hesitantly pressed your fingertips gently to the curve of his throat this time, just under his jaw. A warmer spot, closer to where his pulse thrummed, let the sensation unfurl more slowly this time. Syrupy and coaxing, a velvet ribbon of warmth that traced along his neck, over his chest, down his sides.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, body caught somewhere between a shudder and a squirm.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You bit your lip, focusing, and let it continue, sliding up through his arms, his back, the curve of his stomach. A steady rise and fall of sweetness and shimmer, like goosebumps made of sunlight.

“Tell me,” you said. “What’s it like? How does it feel?”

His voice was strained, breath catching. “It’s—fuck—it’s like… some is pouring honey down my spine. Like every nerve’s waking up. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s… good. So good.”

You swallowed hard, your own fingers trembling slightly now. The intimacy of it, watching him react, watching the pleasure ripple through him, watching him feel, it was dizzying. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected how much it would undo you.

You hadn’t meant for it to turn you on. But there was something so dangerously intoxicating about the control, not over him, but over what he felt. To give something gentle. Something sweet. To offer pleasure instead of pain.

And God, he took it like he’d been starving for it.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, barely recognising your own voice—breathy, tight, trembling with restraint.

“No,” he said immediately. “Please. Don’t.”

Your fingers drifted lower, brushing the soft fabric just above his chest. His eyes locked with yours, dark and dilated, his pupils swallowing the colour. Every inch of him was taut, vibrating beneath your touch. His thighs twitched from the phantom of sensation, his breath ragged. You held still, the thrum of your own pulse deafening. Your underwear clung uncomfortably to your skin, soaked through with want. You shifted instinctively, a slow grind against nothing, desperate for friction.

A wicked thought slid through you. Before you could talk yourself out of it, the magic spilt from your fingers, liquid light snaking down his torso, following the line of muscle, dipping lower, lower….straight into the heat of his groin.

His hips jerked up in response, a shocked, broken moan ripping from his throat.

Both of you froze, eyes locked, stunned. The golden glow in your palm flickered, fading, the magic receding like a tide.

And then something snapped.

Your lips crashed into his, sudden and sure. He kissed you back instantly, almost desperately, his hands coming up to cradle your face. You barely registered the storm outside anymore, the flicker of lightning on the windows, the hush of rain. He shifted, and suddenly he was between your thighs, pressing you back into the couch cushions. His weight blanketed you, but it only made your need ache sharper.

One hand cradled your jaw, thumb swiping across your cheek as his lips moved against yours, needy and desperate. You fumbled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward and over, your palms dragging over heated skin and hard muscle. His stomach flexed beneath your touch, and you traced along his ribs, up the carved lines of his back, just to feel how he moved.

He groaned into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that went straight to your core. His hips ground down against you, bandage and gash completely forgotten, lost beneath the press of flesh and want.

Your wrap dress loosened under his hands, fingers slipping beneath the knot and unravelling the fabric with an urgency that made your breath stutter. The fabric parted, cool air brushing your skin as he exposed your chest.

Your head tipped back as his mouth left yours, trailing lower in a feverish line, across your jaw, down your throat, over the arch of your collarbone. His head dipped beneath your chin, kissing his way down your sternum like he was worshipping every inch of you.

Then you sent another slow pulse of magic through your fingers and into him, this time directly into his skull.

His kisses faltered, breath catching. Teeth scraped gently across your skin as he let out a sound that was half growl, half groan.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he rasped against your chest, breath hot and trembling. Goosebumps rippled over your skin in waves, the warmth of his voice sinking straight into your bones.

You only laughed, breathless. “Good.”

You sent another wave of pleasure, molten and slow, slithering down his spine.

He stiffened, body arching slightly as he rode the feeling. You used the moment to shift, rolling him carefully onto his back. He let you, too lost in sensation to resist. You knelt beside him, half draped off the couch, hair hanging wild around your face as you gazed down at him.

He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Lost. His eyes unfocused, lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You watched the way his muscles jumped and twitched under his skin, the way his mouth struggled to form words.

When he blinked back into awareness, the first thing he did was reach down, hands fumbling at his belt with shaking fingers. You helped him, breath caught in your throat, both of you working together to strip him down.

And when his pants came off—

You stopped, just for a second.

Your breath hitched.

He was huge, hard and flushed, resting against his belly. Your mouth went dry.

“You have to tell me how it feels,” you murmured.

Your hand flattened against his stomach, fingers splayed wide. A deep, pulsing bloom of heat channelled through your palm, arcing downward into the thick, aching weight of him.

His reaction was immediate.

A sharp cry tore from his chest as his hips bucked up off the couch, hands flying to your thighs, fingers digging in as if he needed something to anchor him.

The pleasure took him like a tide.

And you could only watch, trembling, as he unravelled beneath your hands.

“I—I… fuck, sweetheart.” He stuttered, breathless, mouth slack as your magic surged through him, pushed to its limits. The strain already throbbed in your arms and back, a dull, familiar ache blooming beneath your skin, but you didn’t let up. Not yet.

He was beautiful like this, utterly undone. His cock flushed at the tip, slick with precum that beaded from the slit, catching the golden shimmer of your magic. His chest heaved, muscles tensing and quivering as pleasure rolled over him. His eyes were clenched shut, brows knit tight as he rode every pulse of sensation.

Then, just as he trembled on the edge, you withdrew, your magic vanishing abruptly.

He choked out a curse, hips jerking uselessly toward the absence, left hard and aching.

“Holy fuck—” he muttered hoarsely, blinking up at you with dazed eyes. “You’ve been holding that back, sweetheart?”

You giggled, warm and wicked, delight blooming in your chest as his vibranium hand slid up your belly and cupped your breast through your bra. His grip was firm, thumb brushing slow circles that had your spine arching.

“I didn’t think you wanted me,” you whispered, almost shy despite the heat between you.

He stared at you like you’d just told him the sky wasn’t real.

“Didn’t want you?” He looked stricken. “Shit, I thought you didn’t want me. If I had known… if I’d known you didn’t hate me, after everything, I would’ve had you pinned to this damn couch days ago.”

Your head spun. The words lodged in your throat. You couldn’t speak, not when your body was buzzing, not when your heart was hammering like the thunder overhead.

So you showed him.

Your palm lit once more, gold heat pulsing from your fingers like molten thread, weaving into the core of him. His face crumpled beautifully, a groan tearing loose as he squeezed your breast harder, his body lurching with the force of it. Precum spilt onto his stomach in a slippery trail, his hips trembling with the need to move, to finish.

You watched as his right hand dropped, trailing down his stomach in desperation, fingers clumsy, desperate for friction.

You caught his wrist before he could touch himself, eyes narrowing as your breath came in sharp pants. His gaze shot up to meet yours, pupils blown wide.

“I… you fucking minx—”

His voice caught, and then his eyes rolled back. His chest rose and fell rapidly, wrist twitching in your grip as he fought for release. His hips rocked into the air, helpless, caught between your magic and your mercy.

He was close. You could feel it in the way his muscles trembled, in the sounds he made. You wanted to see him fall apart. To come undone under your power, not in pain, not in fear, but in ecstasy.

For once, you wanted someone to reap the rewards of your magic—

But just as your focus began to flicker, just as your grip faltered, Bucky struck.

With a growl, he surged upward. His weight hit you like a wave, knocking the air from your lungs as he flipped you beneath him. Your magic sputtered out, lost in the sudden jolt. You gasped, blinking in surprise as he pinned you with his body, his hips snug between your thighs.

He grinned down at you, smug and breathless, as he locked your legs around his waist.

“You wanna say it?” he murmured, voice rough with lust and teasing threat as he rolled his hips with one testing thrust. “Or do you want me to make you?”

You arched up into him instinctively, a cry caught in your throat, the space between your thighs pulsing with need. Every nerve ending felt electrified, begging for contact, for friction, for him.

“Touch me, please,” you whispered, voice raw and aching.

That was all it took to break him.

“Good girl.” He purred, and then he surged forward, crashing into you with a kiss that was all teeth, tongue, and hunger. Your gasp was swallowed by him, your hands fisting in his hair as he kissed you like he was trying to devour you, like he'd starve without you. His hand slid beneath your skirt in one bold motion, cupping the heat of your soaked underwear.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice cracking with disbelief and lust. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers press into you through the fabric. “You’re dripping for me.”

You whimpered, head falling back against the cushions as his thumb found your clit, rubbing maddeningly slow circles through the damp cotton. Every movement sent a jolt up your spine. You couldn’t help the way your hips bucked, chasing after every scrap of friction he offered.

“God, Bucky—”

He latched onto the underside of your jaw, kissing and nipping, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered against your throat. “Sitting here all sweet and pretty, thighs clenching, practically vibrating with it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Your only answer was a breathless moan as he hooked his fingers under your underwear and tugged them down your legs. The fabric clung to your slick folds before peeling away, leaving you bare and glistening, trembling beneath him.

Cool air hit your wetness, and you jerked, but he held you in place, palm braced firmly against your thigh.

“You’ve been so fucking patient,” he murmured like a promise, and then, finally, his vibranium fingers found you again, brushing through your folds, gathering your wetness before teasing at your entrance. “Such a good girl. Let me take care of you.”

Then he pushed inside, one thick finger curling into you with devastating control. You cried out, hips lifting from the couch as your walls fluttered around him, greedy and clenching. Then another finger followed, stretching you, filling you, and the stretch burned just right.

“Christ,” he groaned, voice ragged, his lips dragging over your collarbone. “You’re so tight… gonna squeeze the life outta me, sweetheart.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, his back, anywhere you could find purchase as he fucked you slow and deep with his fingers. His thumb circled your clit in time, the rhythm perfectly matched.

But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Without thinking, your magic stirred, wild and hot and instinctual. It bloomed at your fingertips, golden light flickering like flame across your skin. You pressed your palm to his back, right between his shoulder blades, and poured it into him.

Bucky gasped, his body convulsing above you as the magic hit him, raw pleasure cascading down his spine. His fingers faltered inside you, but you grabbed his wrist and pushed him deeper.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Let me…let me feel you feel it.”

His mouth dropped open, a strangled moan escaping him as the heat of your power flowed down his nerves, threading through his blood like lightning. His arm flexed beside your head, trying to hold himself up as your magic made him quake.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, voice nearly unrecognisable, jaw slack as he rocked his fingers harder into you, magic fueling his every movement. “You—fuck, sweetheart—”

“I know,” you cooed, hips stuttering.

You pressed another surge into him, palm glowing like molten gold. His body shuddered against yours, and this time, he groaned your name. And God, with his fingers driving into you, his mouth on your skin, and your magic wrapped around his soul like silk, you were close. So close.

“Fuck—what are you doing to me?” he groaned, voice cracking as your magic threaded through his chest like silk. “Feels like—feels like I’m burning—”

“You are,” you gasped, your back arching, thighs shaking. “Burning for me.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, drawing him in as if your body was desperate to keep him there, to never let him go. Every drag of his fingers, every stroke of his thumb over your clit, sent a new wave crashing through you, building like a storm on the horizon.

“Bucky, I—” Your voice broke on a moan as pleasure threatened to spill over. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “You’re gonna be a good girl and fall apart for me. Right here.”

Your magic surged in answer to his voice, responding to the ragged way he spoke, to the desperation in his touch. You reached for him again, palm pressed flat to his chest this time, and pushed, magic pouring from your body into his, sparks dancing where your skin met his. It hit him like a shockwave.

His breath caught, a strangled gasp punching out of his lungs. “Oh fuck—”

His entire body shuddered. His hips jerked forward reflexively, grinding against your thigh as his body buckled under the pleasure, his orgasm taking him by force, torn from him by the sheer intensity of your power. A guttural, broken sound ripped from his throat, and you felt the warmth of him spill across your stomach, hot and thick as his cock twitched against you.

That was all it took.

Your climax slammed into you with brutal force, your body seizing around his fingers as the pleasure snapped through you. Your legs trembled, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and you cried out. Your back arched off the couch as your magic exploded outward in golden waves. You clung to him, trembling, your body pulsing around his hand as the orgasm rippled through you, again and again.

Bucky felt it all, every tremor, every pulse, every wave. He grunted, his eyes fluttering closed, mouth open in pure awe as you came around his fingers, your walls fluttering and spasming, slick dripping down his wrist.

Bucky groaned against your throat, his lips open and gasping against your skin, voice gone to gravel. “Jesus Christ.”

He collapsed half on top of you, arm catching his weight as his vibranium hand slowly slipped free, fingers drenched in your juices. You were both breathless, wrecked, his cum smeared across your stomach. You crumpled beneath him, limbs shaking, still tingling from the aftershocks.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your damp hair from your face with trembling fingers.

You managed a breathless laugh. “Are you?”

He chuckled, dropping a kiss to your collarbone. “You just hijacked every nerve in my body and made me see God. So yeah. I’m fucking great.”

You winced sheepishly, heart fluttering. “Sorry. Lost control a little there.”

“Don’t apologise,” he insisted, voice low and reverent. “If that’s you losing control... I want it. Again. And again…”

He kissed your temple, then pulled back slightly to look at you, eyes half-lidded and hungry even in the aftermath. “But next time, sweetheart… I get to make you lose it first.”

You grinned, your pulse still fluttering. “Deal.”

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madamechrissy · 2 months ago

Text

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!?

Warnings- This has a LOT going on, heed the warnings - filming porn, oral (f receiving) spit kink, creampie, cum swallowing, multiple rounds, biting, back shots, SO MUCH jealousy especially from Satoru, honestly this situation is toxic be warned, say hi to Nanami and maybe kiss him? Obsessed whipped ass Gojo, he's becoming a little yandere, this chap is ANGSTY asf, mutual pining, idiots clearly in love but stupid asf, MESSY WC this chap- 13.8k (Monster chap my god)

A/N- Taglist closed- Happy Mother's day to me and all the moms have some smut and angst lol - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3

<<<Chapter Three - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Five>>>

Chapter Four

How could you get it off your mind?

Sitting at your desk in a lull at work, your fingertips trail down the side of your neck, lashes fluttering as you remember Satoru planting firm kisses across it, the memory itself makes your tummy clench with hot desire, goosebumps rising as your fingers dance along it. Remembering his teeth sinking in as he shoved his thick cock so deep, burying it inside you.

Remembering how he cleaned you up, kissing your breasts where he’d sucked and bitten like little apologies, his boyish smile as he whispered his little ‘sorry’ murmurs along your skin. The thorough way he’d lavished your body in his shower that night, how he washed and conditioned your hair, rinsing it until it was as silky as your hair has ever been with whatever fancy products he had.

He’d made sure you had breakfast, taken you down the elevator and made sure you got in the car okay - fuck he called and texted later that night just to check on you. There was no mistaking Satoru was perfect when it came to fucking, but also above and beyond with the aftercare, but that made it all even worse for you.

Cumming with him was intoxicating, it was fucking insane, but moreso the sweetness of him, the thoughtfulness, that’s what sunk deep into your veins, in an unmistakable rhythm just whispering over and over in your mind. The days without him have only shoved the reality further down your throat - that you think you’re falling in love with him.

Are you just foolish?

You’re always led by these deep fucking feelings, you don’t think before you plunge or follow them, either. Yet, there was no other explanation for it, for what you feel when you’re under him, from what you feel when he kisses you, far beyond your cunt drooling - god, it squirted - down his cock, or his mouth, or his fingers. Far beyond being appreciative of his aftercare.

It was all too much.

So much, you’ve turned down coming back over for days, as you’re still so fucking disoriented and confused, you can’t separate sex like Satoru does, like Jenna does. You wish you had the ability, to let go and have fun - and not full of a fucking inner turmoil while your cervix is being kissed by the prettiest pink tip. You wish you could take it for what it is, and not crave more.

Selfish, maybe you were selfish?

Foolish and selfish for carrying on knowing better.

You hadn’t texted him back yet today, you don’t know how to be casual in your messages, not when you remember his arms around you in your sleep, not when you crave their warmth. You have a life and a career to focus on, you can’t let him consume all your waking thoughts, fantasies of him wanting more, of him asking you to be with him flitting like day dreams.

“Miss…” Your attention is drawn as a colleague says your name, knocking on your open door then. “A potential client is here, are you available?”

“Oh, yes. Sure!” You shake yourself out of it, smiling and then faltering as you see him, right in your office, and the secretary walks off, whispering about the handsome, tall white haired man to her friend, earning giggles as Satoru stands there, drop dead fucking gorgeous in front of you.

“No greeting, kinda rude pookie.” He says with a little playful smile, stepping further inside your office now, as you try to gather any of your wits.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?” You ask softly, curious how he knows exactly where you work, aside from maybe seeing it on your socials.

Satoru Gojo is standing right in front of your desk with a grin on his face, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, white dress shirt unbuttoned just two little rows, revealing some of his well muscled chest, where that necklace he always wears lays flat. He’s got on black, round shades, blue eyes glinting as the floor to ceiling window shines light in your office, filtering around his frame.

The man looks unfairly good.

“Well, sweets, I really need a good OF banner and some promo pictures all done for me, thought I’d come here. Support your hustle, since you support mine.” He smirks a bit as he speaks, sauntering closer, hands now resting on either side of your desk, the veins popping out of his forearms and drawing your attention. “You’re the best at it, aren’t you?”

“Oh I doubt all that, but I can definitely help you.” You stand up now too, and Satoru sees your cute little work outfit, a pretty blouse he’d like to rip off you, a pencil skirt that he’s aching to see from the back, and a little belt to cinch it. Your glasses match your blouse today, he has to wonder how many pairs you have, these have this cute little cat eye shape to them.

You bend over in front of him, giving his eyes just the view he was dying for, before pulling one of the gray office chairs over next to you, patting it with a soft smile at him. “I get to see it in action?”

“You do, come on.” He sits next to you, arms resting casually, while you cross one leg over the other and start typing away on your keyboard, clicking that mouse and pulling up your program, trying to ignore how good he smells, his cologne so familiar and intoxicating, filling your little office then.

“Look at you, so professional. So cute.” He teases softly, a hand brushing against your bare thigh then, making you clench them together and shift, biting on that lower lip at the sensations.

It’s been a few days since you were under him, but the thoughts wrack through your fucking mind every night before bed, several times throughout the day, cunt responding right along with your nipples pressing against your bra. Just one brush of his fingers and you come undone, you can’t stand how deeply little things affect you from him.

You have to focus.

“What all were you thinking?” You murmur softly, he hums to himself a bit, looking at his phone now, still not removing his hand, burning your skin casually while he scrolls, leaning back in the seat.

“You did the one for Jenna, right?” You nod, and he pulls it up, it’s all brightly lit with a neon glow, Jenna’s in the sexiest little outfit, little kisses covering around her body. “It’s really cute.”

“Thanks, I loved doing that one. So we will need a somewhat safe photo, they do have banner guidelines.”

“Yeah, I think I have some, help me pick?” You nod, leaning close as he scrolls, your shoulders brushing together, he can feel your heat even mid thigh, thumb running in tantalizing little circles as he scrolls through his photos.

You blush furiously at some of them, some are his cock, covered in cum, some are of him fully nude, others he’s precariously got something barely covering his cock. “You have a lot of photos, Satoru.”

“Part of the job I guess.” You sigh, as he keeps scrolling, pulling up a couple photos where he’s laying on the bed.

“Those are really good, email a couple to me?” You hand him the business card with your personal email, he types it in, removing his hand and allowing you a breath, as you pull up your email on one of your monitors, you catch Nanami talking to one of your coworkers and eyeing you with a smile, which you return with a wave.

Satoru glares at you as you do, he’s showing you him half naked and you wanna wave your cute little fingers at the boring business guy? Who is smirking at you again, and boy does Satoru wanna wipe that smirk off his face. He clears his throat then, earning your attention finally, you look at him curiously, blinking a bit, letting your hand fall.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, and he goes to just say it - he wants all your attention, just like he can’t help but give you all of his - but that’s fucking nuts.

You’re friends.

You’re his friend, a friend he wants to bend over this desk right now and fuck your insides up, have your pussy only know his shape and no one else’s. A friend who he jerks off too rather than focus on his career, who he has to picture to do anything, a friend he just had his cock deep inside the other day. A friend he wanted to bust inside and fill up till she couldn’t walk.

Maybe if he filled you with cum now, you wouldn’t giggle and smile at the blond dude giving Satoru a fucking side eye across your office, maybe you’d be so fucked out you wouldn’t give him the time of day. He throbs behind his boxers thinking of it, of cum drooling from your pretty little hole, all while you blink at him curiously, so fucking innocent and not knowing how you’re killing him.

“Satoru, you good?” You tease, as his jaw clenches, a thin blue vein popping out under his thin pale skin.

“Great, sweets, sorry. Want any of these?” He scrolls through the rest slowly, until you see pictures of Satoru with women, making you tense as he casually moves through. “They’re from a while ago,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t make you feel any better, seeing videos unplayed of certain shoots he’s done. “I usually post clips for the paid members and then charge them for the full vid.”

“Right, no that makes sense.” You look away now, the sight of Satoru with someone makes you far too uncomfortable, and it shouldn’t. “Um, these in the email will do great.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you, feeling how tense you are next to him. “I’m sorry, did that make you… uncomfortable?”

“What!? No way. It’s so cool with me.” You smile brightly, but it doesn’t hit your eyes, even behind the glass where he can see his own reflection. “You know I’m still a little um… shy about that stuff. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” He repeats softly, and you give a quick nod.

“I’ll get more used to it helping you out, plus Suguru’s um… I think she’s his friend or co-star? She asked me to do a shoot and a design too.”

“Oh shit, look at you.” You smile again, relaxing a little. “You’re just diving into the industry.”

“I wouldn’t say all that,” you start expanding the photo on the computer, flustered at just how sexy he was, shirtless and glistening with sweat, vivid images smacking you of the other night. “I guess I am getting a little involved, though.”

“Yeah you are, oh, we made more money by the way.” He transfers it to your app then, and your eyes widen.

“That much!?”

He leans close, too fucking close, lips right against your ear, which are pounding with the rate your pulse is racing. “I told you, that pretty body is made for porn.”

You tremble just a bit, trying to focus, pulling away and taking a breath - you are at work. You can’t just be soaking wet next to a pornstar you have stupid feelings for, who’s eyeing you like you’re already naked, the way only he can ever. You try to gather yourself, clearing your throat and swiping away the screen, to think you made more in ten minutes with Satoru than a month at your job was ridiculous.

“I see why you enjoy the perks I guess of your business.” You say softly, still remembering those girls on his phone and hating how you feel. “Any shoots coming up for you?”

His jaw tenses once more, eyes bright as they study you. “You wanna do another shoot?”

“What!? No… I mean, no. I just meant… with someone else.” You stare at the screen, clacking away on your mouse as you start to add colors and overlays to the pretty banner.

“I got my manager to calm down a bit finally, so none currently, but… of course I will have shoots coming up eventually.” You hate how the thoughts rush, and he eyes you carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation while I do this.” You’re lying, through your fucking teeth, but you don’t want to fuck it up, being around him, being near him, with your feelings.

Your whole life is that - feeling so much, too much, for friends, family, strangers even. You were prone to donate even when you were broke because someone got your feelings, some people took advantage over the years of that kindness, but you never could guard yourself properly, not when it was a core part of who you were. Not when there was no other option for you but to care, and care deeply.

Does Satoru Gojo care?

Were you just a co-star to him now? A co-star and a friend?

What did you expect from this?

Too much.

“You’re very quiet, sweetheart, what’s on that smart mind of yours?” You look back over, his hand is back on your knee, he’s tilting his head just a bit, a heartbreakingly handsome face watching you.

“Sorry just a lot of thoughts in my head today, also I am a pretty quiet person at work especially,” you put a hand on his, squeezing gently and earning a quirk of his pouty lips. “With you I’m a little more open than usual.”

“I like that, you opening for me,” his murmur is too fucking seductive, and you’re sure he knows it as he studies the color dancing across your cheeks. “You open up so good for me too.”

“Do I?” His words are met with fingers slipping up between your thighs, you bite back a gasp as he touches you over the already damp cotton of your panties, thighs trapping his hand there involuntarily.

“Mmhmm, you’re a good girl, look at you,” his words are like silky, snowy lashes low over dilated eyes as he sighs just a bit, feeling your slick coat his fingertips. “Did she miss me already?”

“Did you miss me?” Your counter question makes him pause because fuck he missed you - but it terrifies him that it’s not just the sexual need, the desire, it’s so much more than that.

He did miss you in just a few days, your smile and your scent, your sweet little giggle and the way you pressed your glasses up your nose. The very energy near him that emanates from you, the way you look up at him like that, the way he feels near you. He craves it like no drug he’s ever tried, your taste and the way your skin feels, the cute little sighs you make.

He’s fighting the inevitable fact that you’ve already sunk deep, that he’s becoming obsessed with you, and he’s not sure you feel the same. Clearly you enjoy him too, but you’re no where near his level, you’re not looking his workplace up and finding him like he just did, no Satoru doesn’t even know what the fuck in possessing him lately.

All he knows is he needs you around him, near him, on him…

Wants to bury inside you but that’s not even enough.

A quiet knock sounds on the door as Nanami walks in with a silver tablet, smiling as he walks inside, barely acknowledging Satoru then. “Hey darling,"- Hey Darling - he's gonna hey darling his fucking face - "Could you check this one for me, I’d love your opinion.”

“Of course I can.” Satoru’s hand falls and his fists clench at his sides, as you lean over the desk, and your breasts spill just a bit from your neckline, he sees the hazel eyes darting down and up quickly, wanting to smack him for even looking at you. “Oh Kento, it's so good!”

“Kento?” Satoru asks softly, and Nanami clears his throat, smiling over at him like an annoyance.

“That’s my first name,” he says, Satoru glares over at you now, and you tilt your head curiously. “Something wrong?”

You call him Kento.

He does not like it.

“No, no, sorry, go ahead sweetheart, I’ll wait.” He purrs those words, winking up at you, scrolling back through his phone, zooming right in on the picture he took, his favorite, where you have cum painted all over your ass and pussy.

Kento would never fucking have that from his darling.

“Your designs are so good,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you now as the two of you peer at some of your work. “You need to give me a little advice.”

“What, no you’re so good at everything! You’re just being sweet,” your teasing giggle infuriates him, he wants to snatch you up and show who the fuck you are under, who gets to be inside you - but he holds it in.

It’s absurd.

He’s being so stupid and the worst part is he knows, but when Nanami’s big hand brushes against your back, leaning closer and murmuring something, it takes everything in him not to crash the fuck out. He tries to remember what you two are - but what the fuck even are you both?

You’d probably want someone like this Kento dude, wouldn’t you? You’d want someone with a career like yours, who clearly wants something serious, some ‘gentleman’ or so he seems. Even though Satoru is pretty fucking sure dude is not a gentleman, judging by the way his fingertips slip down your spine before his hand falls finally.

That’s when Satoru realizes he’s been holding his fucking breath.

“Are we still on for tonight?” He asks then, and Satoru’s stomach twists in knots as he watches you, shifting a bit, your weight on one foot, you look at him for a moment, eyes unreadable.

Say something, Satoru.

You want him to, fuck you want him to, but you wonder if you’re delusional when his lips turn up at the corners, and you turn back to Kento now, clearing your throat. “Um of course, dinner at eight right?”

“Mmhmm, also thought maybe go grab drinks somewhere after? If you’re still up for that.”

“We’ll see, I do get sleepy.”

You weren’t sleepy at four in the morning riding his cock the other night.

“No worries love, sounds good.” He presses a little kiss on your knuckles, walking out now and shutting the door behind him with a resounding click, leaving you both in the now quiet of your office, no noise but the shuffling of seats as you sit back down next to him.

“Where ya going?” Satoru asks, feigning ease and putting down his phone, you tense a bit, flustered.

It feels wrong to go on a date with Nanami when you just were getting Satoru’s cum spurted all over your body, doesn’t it?

But you and Satoru are not together, and he’s made it fairly clear when he has turned down two opportunities to stop you from it, that perhaps he doesn’t care. You still plan to be open with Nanami about this, because you don’t think it’s right not to share that sort of thing, but to close yourself off completely to a potential match in life for just sex wasn’t something you think was good to do either.

It’s a mess. Your mind, your feelings, your heart.

“I don’t know where we’re going, he is picking me up.” Your answer makes Satoru’s jaw tense, eyes flashing for just a moment over the sunglasses that have slipped down his nose just a bit.

“Oh?” His question just lingers in the air between you both, while you bite on your lip, clicking a little more.

“Yes, somewhere nice he said but I guess it’s a surprise. Do you have any plans tonight?”

“We’re all supposed to go to a party, maybe you should swing by after your date with Kento.”

“I guess I could.” You wonder if you’re imagining the inflection in his voice and in his tone. “Does he rub you the wrong way or something?”

“Just… no, I just…” Satoru never stutters, he never falters, but he can’t think of any good fucking reason he is so upset, so angry about it. He clears his throat and settles back in the chair a bit. “Be careful, though, you know?”

“Are you so worried about me?” You peek at him, hair falling across your face, Satoru brushes it back for a moment, lips parting, aching to say it.

Don’t go.

But he has no right to do that to you, to ask you to come with him instead, to have you so weak and fucked out you wouldn’t make it to your stupid date. In fact he’d love to have cum pouring from your pretty pussy, just in case Nanami touched you at all, which he very much doubts. But if he did, the thought of him just fingering Satoru’s cum gives him a sick and possessive thrill.

“Maybe I do worry a bit.” But you should be most worried about him, he’s the one that is truly not good for you, and he knows it. But how the fuck does he stay away when you’re pulling him in like gravity?

“He seems to be a gentleman. I think I’ll be perfectly safe, but it’s nice to know you care a little.” Your soft voice breaks off, he glares now at you.

“Think I don’t at all?”

“I don’t know your feelings, Satoru. You don’t… say anything really about them.” He looks away again, because before all of this, Satoru was once ‘in love’ and that girl destroyed him.

She was a pornstar herself.

It’s why he got in the industry, but her games and lies had left their mark, he knew then he didn’t wanna feel that way - to be hurt like that. But what he feels for you is different, it’s too much to explain, the obsessive nature of his thoughts were just burning up his brain. But he doesn’t need to spill it all, to explain it all - especially when he doesn’t even know what to say.

You just sigh a bit at his silence, tilting your head this way and that, fingers clicking the mouse as you adjust everything, trying to avoid the tension. “Look, what do you think so far?”

“It looks great, sweetheart.”

“Yay!” Your cute little smile and how you push up those glasses almost end him then and there. “I’ll make a couple different so you can alternate them. Want me to send them to your email later?”

“That would be amazing, how much?”

“Oh please, don’t ask me that. It’s nothing.” He frowns a bit at you.

“It’s your job.”

“Still, you’re my…” You trail off, the tension so palpable in the room as he stares at you it’s difficult to breathe. “Friend. Um, friend and family rate applies.”

“I’ll pay full price, sweets.” He pats your head affectionately, standing then and sending you far too much money.

“Satoru!”

“What? I looked up your rates online.” You roll your eyes at him, then frown as you stand as well, and his hand drifts down your arm slowly, achingly slow, in a ‘friendly gesture if anyone could see, but it felt far more than friendly.

“How did you find my work by the way?”

“Socials showed the company, I figured it was the one closest to where you said you lived.” He shrugs, as if he didn’t do a deep dive into you, and found that fucking Kento guy on the company site too, he was apparently your ‘superior’ so it’s odd he’s asking you for help, too.

He can’t reveal just how much he cares, how upset you haven’t come back over, how your replies were a little too short, even if they were sweet. Because if he said all of that he’d look like a whole fucking idiot, if he said casually ‘hey, think I’m absolutely obsessed with you and my dick is otherwise broken’ what would your response be, to a guy you still barely knew?

He needed to try to keep some of his obsession shoved down.

“Oh of course, you are probably on IG huh?” You peek then, looking him up, eyes popping out. “Oh damn, you’re IG famous too.”

“They’re thirsty is all.” You smile a bit, scrolling and seeing his sexy photos with millions of fucking hearts and thousands of comments.

“I’ll follow you, I don’t know why I didn’t think of looking you up. I’m social media clueless I’m afraid. I have like three selfies, the rest is just all the things I bake.”

Your three pictures at awkward angles are the prettiest things Satoru has ever fucking seen.

Your manager walks in then, smiling over at you. “Meeting in thirty.”

“Oh, thanks!” Satoru sighs now, realizing he needed to leave, and you put a hand on his shoulder softly. “Thank you for coming in, I’ll have the rest of these done later.”

“No rush, and of course,” he leans down, pressing a kiss on your cheek, feeling it heat under his lips, sighing as his hand presses against the small of your back, where Nanami had touched, splaying the expanse of it and hearing your catch of breath. “If you want, come to the party after, hmm?”

“I might be too tired,” tired from what!? Satoru pulls you so tightly you wince, and he loosens his hold when he realizes. “But if not I’ll for sure come.”

“Be careful tonight, though will you… just tell me when you get home?” You pull back curiously, looking up into his unreadable blue gaze, nodding then, earning a more casual smile that seems forced. “Good. Have a good… day then.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You press a kiss of your own on his cheek, on your tiptoes, that contact alone sends him, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he pulls back, slipping his sunglasses back up.

“Bye sweetheart.” He walks out, glaring as Nanami clacks away at his own keyboard, pressing his dark green shades down and smirking over at Satoru again, and he is even more firm in his opinion - he thinks he hates that man, even if he doesn’t know shit about him.

Just having touched you is too much. When he’s in the back seat of the black car and his driver closes the partition, he can’t help but suck on his thumb, which has just the hint of your taste. He brushes it along his lower lip like a gloss, sighing at how good you taste. It takes him moments to try to calm his racing heart, palming his hardness and wincing.

All he can think of is you, constantly. It’s not getting any better since he had you cumming on his cock - it’s just gotten worse, the thoughts maddening, making anything else impossible to focus on. He peers at your photo in his phone, not just the one where he’s coated you in his cum, no it’s the one that’s just your pretty face when you’d been knocked out that morning.

He’s now a creep who takes photos of sleeping girls.

But you were so precious and peaceful, he had to capture it, craving you in his arms every night was even more palpable, as his thumb brushes down the cool glass of his phone, as if to trace that cheek. He can’t picture not having you again, but he also can’t picture how the fuck to be selfish enough to ruin your life with him.

******

The date with Nanami is perfect, as dates go.

He’s surprisingly so funny, he’s an avid listener, the two of you get along so well it’s easy being out together, taking nibbles of each other’s plates and sips of each other’s glasses of wine. His hand is on your thigh under the table cloth, he murmurs sweet little things in your ear, the two of you tease and gossip about the crazy people at your job.

It’s perfect, really. Nanami Kento is perfect, handsome and sweet, gentlemanly but he’s also not too gentlemanly, hazel eyes darting across your collarbones, where a pretty glittery necklace decorates it. His fingers brush up high on your inner thigh, his lips press against the shell of your ear, he’s too perfect. It’s too easy, the time just flies as you two spend time together.

Satoru texts you as Nanami goes to the bathroom, and you curse him internally, since he’s been in the back of your mind the whole fucking date. He’s texted you three times during the date, one is just a selfie, one is a little meme, and one is asking how it was going. You assumed he’d be busy with women all over him at the party, not texting you.

You get another asking for you to tell him when you’re home safe.

You like it too much, the attention, the messages, the fact that he thinks about you - but then you hate it, because all it was doing was forcing the obsession you so clearly have. Jenna told you not to lose yourself, she warned you, but you’re fearing you’re far, far past it all.

All you can think of is kissing him again.

His teases in the office left their mark, you found yourself aching in your shower after work, caving in and touching your puffy clit and sensitive cunt, whining out and leaning against those tiles, picturing his fingers instead. You’d been more frustrated than anything, unable to capture whatever it was he does to you.

You were never like this before you met him.

Satoru awakened a part of you, but if it was just a part of you and nothing else, then why weren’t you turned on by Nanami? He’s made you comfortable, you enjoy him, all the reasons you asked Satoru are right here, yet the thoughts don’t cross your mind, the feverish ones that consume you with Satoru - the filthy ones that make you blush as they dance across your mind.

You don’t write him back, you can’t focus if you do and it’s not fair to give Nanami a chance if you have that white-haired sex demon blurring your mind.

When the dinner is done, Nanami is driving you back home, a hand over yours, it’s nice and warm, as the two of you drive through the night, your hand grips his right back, entwining your fingers together. “Nanami, that was so fun!”

“I had a lot of fun too, doesn’t hurt you’re looking that gorgeous.” You giggle a bit, flustered now, as he pulls into your driveway and parks the car, still gently humming in the night.

“You look handsome too,” your little whisper is met with him unsnapping your seat belt for you, his cologne in your senses, musky and heady, you can’t help but inhale it. “And you smell so good.”

“Do I now?” You nod and he chuckles, cupping your face with his warm palm, a huge hand taking over the entirety of your face, your heart quickens at the contact as his hazel eyes dart to your lips.

You’d explained it all, the ‘friends with benefits’ thing that you suppose Satoru and you were. Nanami also has a similar situation, which instantly eased any sense of guilt, and his open mind surprised you, a lot of him surprised you, just how open he is when he seemed so ‘straight laced’ along with his touches, bold yet respectful.

You should be open to this.

What was the future with Satoru? More shoots in secret? Sneaking around and fucking in his penthouse and getting pampered after? Where was more - where were the dates where you weren’t ‘friends’ where you were his date. Where if a co star came up he ignored her politely, and if a man came up to you he firmly said ‘she is mine’.

It’s all a fucking fantasy is what it was.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning forward and feeling Nanami’s exhale, as he presses his lips to yours, and it feels good, they’re firm and delicate in how they move across yours. Your lips part and his tongue sweeps inside, while your fingers grip his suit jacket, earning him dragging you closer against him, so big and overpowering yet so gentle.

It does feel good, tongues dancing against each other, his hand wrapping to your nape, entangling softly under where your hair is elegantly done up, drinking up your little sighs as you kiss. You feel delicate butterflies arise at it, but what you don’t feel is the insanity, the ridiculous need, the obsession you felt when Satoru had kissed you, touched you, fuck just that night when he blew smoke into your mouth.

You keep trying to explain it away, so you’re not hurt, so you won’t be so fucking hurt when he gets tired of you, but how can you get over this? When he was just at your office, fucking your mind up, making you soaked from his touch? How can you keep denying it, the irrevocable truth that you wish was not true.

Nanami’s hand trails down your waist now, and you moan softly, it feels good, when you’re overheated already, when the man clearly knows what he’s doing, breaking apart a bit to sigh, looking at you, his hand trailing down your thigh. “You taste so sweet, darling,” he whispers, making you flush even more. “And you’re so cute, you know that?”

“Oh, stop,” Yyu giggle again, gasping as he kisses down your neck, his hand slipping between your thighs. “Nanami…”

“You’re so hot there, fuck,” he’s moaning now, thumb toying with the elastic of your panties, making your thighs tense.

“Um, this is too fast, I’m sorry.” You whisper, easing back, seeing his lidded gaze now.

“I wasn’t going to… I was just going to please you.” He murmurs softly, sexy handsome face even sexier when he bites his lip. “I wasn’t going to do more than make you cum.”

“Oh… oh… I…” you trail off now, gently taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm, he tenses a bit, clearing his throat.

“I was way too forward, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You ease his hand down, leaning forward and kissing the cleft on his chin.

If it was Satoru you’d have spread wide for him.

The frustration builds at this, your heart is hammering in your chest, it wasn’t just being comfortable with Satoru, it wasn’t just being his friend - there was no fucking way that was it. Now you have the proof in front of you, your body is reacting to Nanami, your nipples are pressing hard against your dress, your cunt is clenching at his touch, it wasn’t physically you wouldn’t enjoy it.

It was the case you’d always had - without more you couldn’t go through with it.

Nothing’s changed in how you feel or think of sex, like you thought, the only thing was the fucking feelings for Satoru.

Deep feelings.

You can’t even think of it right now, smiling and cupping Nanami’s face now, as your lips dance across his. “I loved tonight.”

“Thank god, I was worried I just ruined it.” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“Not at all.”

It wasn’t his fault you’re obsessed with a goddamn pornstar.

******

Parties aren’t fun when the girl you can’t get off your mind is with some boring ass business guy named Kento.

Satoru can hardly focus, sipping on his drink and sighing while Suguru kisses all over his favorite co-star. Sartoru is pretty sure at this point they’re together, considering the only time she’s not over at the penthouse is when Suguru is at her house, and she’s all Suguru talks about. He’s envious of the way the two freely do just that, be together, do shoots together more than not.

His other co-stars and friends are drinking, smoking, Sukuna is over there snorting a line off his favorite girl, leaving Satoru…

Alone.

He ignores anyone who comes up to him, how can he pay anyone attention when he knows you exist? When he wants you on his lap, your lips against his for everyone to fucking see, he wouldn’t even care if rumors went flying, he’s dealt with them before for lesser things, for little flings and favorite costars.

He just wants you here.

He checks his phone for the millionth time when Toji comes up, smirking over at him. “What do you want?” Satoru asks, pouting and looking at his phone.

“Saw that co-star of yours going viral, shit, why are you keeping her a secret?” Satoru’s jaw locks at Toji’s question, and Sukuna strolls up with his girl in tow, throwing back a drink.

“Wonder if she got your dick to work though, or you still need the viagra?” Sukuna asks, his girl gasps, smacking at him.

“That’s so mean!”

“What, he couldn’t get hard for you? That’s a problem,” Sukuna’s murmuring, and Satoru sighs, throwing back the rest of his drink.

“That why you’re just eating her out, then, but fuck that pussy is pretty,” Satoru almost punches Toji in the face as the black haired man grins. “I’m way older than you and don’t need viagra.”

“You are old as fuck.” Satoru says, standing and shoving at Toji then, who just chuckles, people are all looking, Suguru comes over, putting a hand on Satoru’s shoulder now.

“What’s going on, you all are always running your mouths.” Suguru glares over at Toji and Sukuna now, who snort in laughter.

“Well, well, it’s your girlfriend.” Sukuna earns Suguru raising a brow, cracking his knuckles. “Girlfriend is angry.”

“I’m about over you two running it.”

“We were just talking about his mysterious co-star.” Suguru frowns a bit, he’d seen the stream and put two and two together, and hasn’t spoken about it. “Wondering if his dick will work.”

“You’re really obsessed with my dick, Toji, you want it that bad?” Satoru’s blue eyes are glinting when Toji scowls and Suguru chuckles.

“It’s the ongoing joke of the industry- the biggest star and his broken dick. We should thank you though, making room for us to take the spot.” Sukuna says, Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you wish.”

“I’d say that title would go to me, anyway.” Suguru’s co-star comes over, and he wraps an arm around her, looking over at Satoru. “Wanna go home with us?”

Satoru pauses, staring at his phone again and sighing in relief when he sees you typing, three dots moving. “Um… wait a sec…”

Sukuna and Toji finally leave, and Suguru is watching Satoru curiously. “Is she coming to the party?”

“No, guess she’s tired.” Satoru’s face falls, he catches his best friend’s all too knowing gaze. “She had a date.”

“Why don’t you ask her on one?” Suguru’s co-star asks curiously, Satoru frowns again.

“How could I?”

“We can still date, Gojo. Can’t we, Suguru?” She asks, and Satoru looks to see his friend’s blush then, eyeing the two of them, blue gaze narrowing with his white lashes lowering.

“It’s easier when you’re both in the industry I guess.” Suguru admits, sighing. “I was fully against it, but we still deserve to be happy, even if our career is a little out of the norm.”

“That’s a quick change.” Satoru says, Suguru shrugs a bit.

“I know it is. Satoru, nothing's changing in our friendship because of it.” Satoru’s seething with jealousy, now. Suguru and him began this together, and something about him having a girl and them looking so happy makes him long for you.

Toji’s comment made Satoru want to kill him.

In fact he doesn’t even want to know what anyone thinks, all the comments had gotten to him as he scrolled through - the men in there, saying how badly they wanted to lick your pretty pussy. But he’s the one who did this, who put you in that position, who the fuck was he to get upset that people commented? That’s what porn was, but at the same time, it was you.

Was he changing you? The shy, sweet girl he feels such a pull toward, was Satoru Gojo changing that? The thoughts make him dizzy, suddenly the entire party just feels like the worst place to be, people he used to enjoy and have fun with, now he wants to disappear, he doesn’t want to see them, hear them. He swallows down the nausea as he peers around yet another mansion.

What was the point of it all?

“Satoru, let’s go. You look like you’ve had too much.” Suguru murmurs, a hand on his shoulder, he finally looks at your messages.

Good Girl🫦 - Sorry Satoru, I am really tired and don’t think I have any more social battery for a party. I hope you’re having fun though! I am home and safe.

Satoru hovers over the screen now, contemplating.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Do you want me to come over to your place?

You nervously look at the phone then, finishing slipping off your heels and hanging up your purse.

Satoru at your place?

Good Girl🫦 - You probably want to stay there I’m sure. Maybe we can do lunch or something tomorrow? I don’t want to ruin your party.

🌽🌟 Satoru - You don’t ruin anything. Ever.

He feels sick even typing it, being vulnerable, fuck he wants to see you, just you, not in an office or at a party or even with a friend. He just wants to see you.

Are you not alone, he wonders then, sicker and sicker, thinking of that man around you, he knows you’re a good girl, but did you invite him back for a drink? The thoughts won’t stop, he can clearly see him kissing you, touching you, maybe he’d make love to you where Satoru fucked you, maybe that’s what you deserved over him, but he’s too selfish to admit it.

Satoru wants to just worship you.

Maybe he should show you.

Maybe you’re already over him.

Maybe-

“Satoru, you’re just standing there, dude. Are you good?” He blinks into realization that he’s having an entire existential crisis mid party, blinking a bit as he waits for your response.

Good Girl🫦 - I don’t mind if you want to come over, if you’re not too far away you’re more than welcome to.

You send it after deleting three messages.

Satoru, will you ever… want more than sex?

I want you to come over so bad, I do, but I’m afraid of my feelings…

Are you sure you want to come over to see me or just have…

You had deleted them immediately, you can’t fucking say all that. You sit down now on your living room couch, tucking your feet under yourself and sighing, hair falling softly as you unclip it, setting the pretty gold butterfly pins attached on your little black table. What would Satoru think of your place?

It’s tiny, it’s neat and homey surely, but it’s nothing like his luxurious penthouse, LA was expensive and you were doing good enough to afford it. You frown a bit, wondering what he’s going to say.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Shoot me your address.

You nervously nibble on your thumb, doing just that, when Nanami texts you, the feelings of guilt come clawing. Though you were very open with Nanami about the situation, you’re not sure you can even be open to anything with Satoru fucking up your brain and heart.

Nanami - Thank you again for such a good night, I hope you had fun.

You smile at that, touching your lips carefully, remembering his kiss, passionate and surprising in its intensity. He is handsome, funny, he’s sweet, and the kisses felt nice, you were comfortable with him, all the things you tried to explain why you were so open being intimate with Satoru. It was just that, right?

Wrong.

If it was, then what was stopping you from letting Nanami please you earlier, when if Satoru touched you, you melted, you let him do anything he wanted. You’d let him do whatever, you’re not even sure he himself knows the power he has. How can you explain it all, how can you tie it in a neat bow, knowing the underlying reason is brimming to the surface?

Knowing the pain that was soon to come from it, from being in love with someone that will never see you as more than a friend or someone to fuck. To him, this is some physical connection - surely it’s enough that he only wants to sleep with you, but would that really be enough, when you can’t stop remembering how it felt to wake up in his embrace, to watch him asleep?

You- I had so much fun, thank you for tonight. I would love to spend time again with you.

It was the truth, you couldn’t completely close yourself off, that was what Jenna was warning you about. You had to still keep your ideas and options open, to learn from Satoru and enjoy him, this was ultimately your idea, and to have more expectations of Satoru, or to change him? It wasn’t fair to ask or want, you have to shove it all deep, deep inside instead.

Nanami - Good night then, I can’t say I won’t think about that kiss tonight.

You feel your cheeks heat up at that, giggling alone in your quiet townhome, sighing now.

You - Good night.

The doorbell rings, it’s far too fast from anywhere in LA to be Satoru, you tense a bit as you walk over barefoot to your door, over your soft carpet onto the little tile of the entryway, hand on the knob. You unlock it and swing it open, to see a serious Satoru right in your doorway, bathed in moonlight, his eyes looking right at yours, like he’s looking for something, anything.

“Satoru, that was stupidly quick, how?” His eyes flit down your pretty silver dress, glittering like the stars themselves, looking far too fucking pretty on you, clinging to your curves.

“Fuck you look beautiful,” you heat up, looking down nervously, you don’t have your glasses on, you are wearing some pretty silver eyeshadow too, glittering as the light reflects along your skin.

“Thank you, Satoru, you’re always being too sweet to me,” he wants to laugh at that, how is he sweet to you? He’s probably not shit, if he’s being honest, his hands sweating just slightly at the rush job he’d done to get here. “Come in.”

“That okay?” He looks around a bit, and you smile, nodding, shutting the door behind him and clicking the lock, when you feel him right against you, his hands sliding down your bare arms, making you tremble. Just a touch and you fall apart, you wish you weren’t so pathetic for him. “Your skin, it’s so soft,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder now.

“Is it?” You look back, he cups your chin, a thumb brushing against where your pulse races for him.

“Very, it always is. The softest, like your lips.” You swallow nervously as he speaks, as his thumb rushes across it, and you can’t hold back your fears.

“Did you come to fuck me?” He exhales at that, blinking then, the words feel so foreign from your lips. “I want you to, so you don’t have to… act like you want to hang out. We can just do it.”

“What?” His word cuts through the air, and you reach around, tugging on the little bow around your dress, letting it fall, looking up at him under your lashes.

“Unzip me, Satoru. If you want to.” This was what he ‘wanted’ right? To fuck you, to be inside you, but to hear you say it…

Like that…

He…

“You think I don’t enjoy spending time with you?” He turns you around instead, huge hands on your delicate shoulders, pressing tightly. You look away, shaking your head. “You just said that.”

“It’s clear you wanted to fuck me at work, so… I just figured you came over to do that. It’s what we do, and I enjoy it, I’m not complaining.” He doesn’t like a single fucking word from your mouth, especially the next ones. “Or did you want to do another shoot? I do have a ring light.”

Is that all you think he wants?

He’s sputtering now, when your hands slip down his front, over his soft black shirt, his strong abdomen tenses as you do, as one slips under, fingers touching his hot skin. “I will do another one if you want to.”

“Yeah, why?” He’s leaning so low, lips hovering. “Are you all horned up from the date?”

“Would you care if I was?” Your whisper almost ends him, he’s pressing you against the hard, cool wood of your door, his soft white hair falling over a brow, jaw so tense you can see it. “Don’t you get excited from your co-stars?”

No he sure the fuck doesn’t.

“How’d that date go?” His whisper dances across your lips, hands slipping to your waist now, thumbs pressing against the swell of your breasts over satin. “Have fun huh?”

“I did have fun,” you look right at him as you whisper. “He was sweet.”

“Was he?” He presses his forehead against yours, breaths mingling as they come out in little exhales. “Did he kiss you?”

“Yes, he did.” He glares now, leaning back up, a hand slipping up your back and entangling in your hair, making it fall back.

He has no right to be jealous, his job was to fuck women.

He has no right to be jealous, you’re not his.

He has no right to feel this way.

“Did you like it, his kisses?” Satoru’s words are met with him tugging harder at the nape of your neck, and your heart hammers in your chest, body aching for him, but it’s more, and you can’t let it be more.

“He was a good kisser, yes.”

“Oh, that so?” You nod, and he traces your lips with his thumb, seeing they’re soft and glossy. “Huh, when we kiss, they get swollen, red, they look so perfect.”

“Do they?” You raise a brow, acting like you’re not dying for him, like you don’t need him, with a longing that is frightening. He is so close you can taste the mints on his breath, mixed with the faint taste of liquor. “Need a drink, Satoru?”

“I do, I’m thirsty.” You go to move when he shoves you back against the door once more, sinking to his knees, you gasp at the action, when he shoves up your dress and glares at you. “Hold it up, now.”

You do just that, with shaky hands, when he looks at your white lace panties, moaning at the dark wet spot forming before his eyes, fingers brushing across it. “Satoru…”

“Need a drink, you’ll be a good host to your guest, won’t you?” His whisper is met with his tongue lapping over lace and silk, and your hands drop the dress, clinging to him instead. “I said hold up the dress.”

“Satoru, we- ah!” He grips your hands, shoving up the silver dress again, then slowly slipping those panties down your thighs, blue eyes almost black with desire, while you can hardly function or form a thought.

It’s all need, deep and hot.

Satoru bares your pretty cunt to his face, groaning at the sight, breath hitting your clit as he spreads your plump lips, eyeing your twitchy little clit and flicking his finger across it in slow circles, making you pour out of your little hole. “Is all this wetness from that hot date, sweetheart?” He asks, knowing it’s toxic, petty, stupid, but he can’t stop himself from it.

What the fuck do you do to him?

“No, it’s not.” Your answer is what he needed, latching his mouth on your clit and sucking it into his mouth, humming on it and sending vibrations of pleasure, you scream out at it, head thwacking the door while he hoists a thigh over his shoulder, one hand gripping your ass while the other holds your hood up. “Satoru!”

He moans as you cry out his name, slurping you up as you go boneless in his fucking hold, hips bucking up as the pleasure is blinding, you’re gasping out as the dress is bunched up in one hand, the other clinging to his other shoulder. You’re rolling your eyes back in your skull, pleasure so fucking exquisite you can hardly stand, can hardly see, while Satoru worships you on his knees.

It’s what it felt like.

How he looks at you, how he drinks you, tongue lapping at the juices that pour down his face, and you can’t form a word or a thought, just how much you love it, how much you love-

Fuck.

You tried, you tried to pull back, to make it just sex, but how the fuck can you when you’re lost in those blue and black storms of eyes, when he’s got you in a bruising grip, working your body like he’s always known it? You’re cursing internally as you rock against his face, earning his moan of pleasure as he works you into an orgasm, hitting you so hard your head smacks the door hard.

“Fuck, fuck! Mnh!”

“You’re a good girl, where’s that mouth coming from?” He yanks you down then, you almost fall on him as you lose balance, cunt pulsing from aftershocks as his eyes are unreadable, and he’s gripping your face tightly.

“Satoru…” Your words are cut off with his kiss, his deep, brutal kiss, not teasing and playful, or passionate and intense, no he’s bruising your lips with his, flipping you on your back right onto your carpet, now hovering on top of you. “We… I have a bed, Satoru!”

“We’ll get there,” his voice is hoarse as you sink into the carpet under him, and he’s yanking down your top, seeing where his marks still litter your pretty breasts, making him fucking feral as he sucks one peak into his mouth. Your hands entangle in his hair, hips arching up for more. “Look, sweetheart, your tits are so bruised, I’m sorry I left so many…”

“You’re… I…” He’s sinking his teeth into your nipple, the pain making you cry out, cunt gushing wetter and wetter when his fingers find you, two sinking right in down to the knuckle, and your cunt greedily sucks him in, despite the stretch, the burn. “Mnh!”

He presses sloppy kisses to your other breast, before biting and sucking in more places, knowing what the fuck he’s doing, the thoughts of if that man got to see your breasts, they’d be marked by him, filling his addled mind. The thoughts of marking you fucking everywhere driving him insane while he slots his fingers in your gummy, drenched walls, hearing the squishing in the room.

“Kiss me, please,” your sweet plea ends him, he’s kissing lips he wished didn’t kiss anyone else, tongue slipping into your mouth in a mess, knowing you need it, fuck he just knows you, all of you, where to curl those fingers so you cum again, as he’s curling them against your spot. “Ah! Satoru!”

“Fuck,” the way you say his name, your moans, your cries, he’s lost in them all, in your scent in his nostrils, in the taste coating his lips and tongue. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart, use your words.”

“Ngh!” How do you find the words, desperately shoving up his shirt, knowing you’re falling deeper for him, all him, he’s all you can fucking think about.

You’re going to get hurt.

Worse if you fuck him again.

He pulls his fingers out, sucking you off him and making you weak, before pulling the shirt off, his necklaces brushing against your collarbones as he leans over you, grinding his clothed cock against your heated cunt. “Please!”

“Please what, baby?” Satoru is calling you baby, and your thighs are shaking as he presses again, making you grind desperately for friction. “Use your words.”

“In me, please, in me.” You manage to spit those words out, in between gasps and moans, he has his heavy cock against you in moments with quick, precise tugs on his buttons and belt, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his cock against your inner thigh. “P-please…”

“I’ll give you anything when you ask like that,” his vulnerability spills out before he can swallow it, looking at your heartbreakingly beautiful face, at the way the soft lights overhead glitter on your skin, while his cock presses on your entrance. “Want all of me, baby?”

“All of it - f-fuck!” He’s slid in one stroke to the fucking hilt, stuffing you so full you’re twitching under him, gasping for breath as he moans at the feeling, of your cervix kissing his tip that’s already leaking pre, watching the way your eyes go black from desire, how your nostrils flare, how you bite that lip.

“Can you even take me? Tiny little cunt, is she able to?” He’s taunting you, but all you can do is nod weakly, when he slides out, then fully back in with a loud, squelching smack of his hips, your screams are hoarse and weak after three thrusts, nails digging into his back and making him hiss as you mark him yourself.

A petty fucking part of you hopes if he does a shoot a girl will see them.

See your nails that press again, into his biceps this time, and you just urge him on, fucking into your cunt harder, faster, leaning up on a hand while his other grips your chin. “Look at me when I fuck your perfect little pussy, huh?”

You barely find the ability to open your eyes, knowing your done for, knowing when you look into those pretty eyes you’re fucked worse. But you obey, earning his moan, his plump lips parted as he slams hard, now releasing your face and holding a thigh up, slamming even harder, while you fall apart under him, cunt spasming around his length as he works you.

“Fucking feel you, god you’re perfect,” he loses his control then, how can he keep any semblance of it up when he feels you, when he looks into your pretty eyes, glittering with tears as he presses so deep and rolls, and he brings you to another orgasm, one so intense you grip him like a vise, crying out as it works over you. “Good girl, god you’re so good for me huh?”

You weakly acknowledge him, but you’re already fucked out, he drags his canines along your collarbone, leaving imprints of his teeth, all while you’re helpless under him, shattering with every stroke of his huge cock stretching you. “Mnh, S-Satoru… fuck…”

“She’s taking me so well, she’s already learned my shape, hasn't she?” His whisper confuses your overheated mind, but your nod makes him go harder, faster, leaning up to watch what the silver dress has done, scrunched and wrinkled, giving him a sick satisfaction.

Nanami shouldn’t have seen you like that.

He is furious he kissed your perfect lips, but he can’t say it out loud, he can just make sure you forget that kiss, replacing his lips with yours as he lays over you, hands now on your ass, shoving in and bottoming out as much as he can. “Satoru!”

God, the way you moan his name.

“Cum again, for me, you can again baby, huh?” You answer by convulsing, all while he holds back from busting inside your cunt, images flitting through his mind, when he finally pulls back, jerking his cock slick from your drooling cunt and cumming all over your pretty pussy. “Oh f-fuck… oh my god…”

You watch Satoru fall apart, trying to collect your breaths, as you watch his cum shoot all over, hot messy white ropes, even some on your pretty dress, while he’s all pink cheeked, his lips pursed as he whimpers and looks down at you. The way he looks at you, before kissing you again, letting you drink in his breathy whines, it all feels too intimate, too much.

This can’t fucking be normal.

You can’t let it go, though.

He’s kissing you desperately, pinning your wrists to the soft carpet, as he takes lips hostage, they’re sore, tingling and swollen, just making you want more, as his cum dries sticky on your slick cunt. “Fuck you’re perfect, god, every part of you, so perfect for me,” he’s whispering, kissing you in between insane fucking words. “So perfect.”

“No,” you shake your head and he laughs, without humor, cupping your face with one hand, swiping tears that fell from pleasure. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you fucking are, it’s all I can think about, looking at that pretty face like this again.” You shake your head and he kisses you again, luring you to lose yourself, it’s all you can do to stay tethered. “I don’t just want to fuck you, I love spending time with you, and we never have to do another shoot.”

“Don’t say all of that.” You whisper, he sighs now, shaking his head.

“Say what, you’re the best I’ve had?”

“There’s no fucking way, you’ve had how many women?”

He blinks then, hearing the tone of your voice. “That makes me know even more.”

“It’s just… maybe different because… it’s not business.” Your insecurities scream out without you wanting them too, and he frowns, looking down and cursing then. “What’s wrong?”

“Your dress, this material, fuck…” He curses at how inconsiderate he’s already been, this is clearly expensive and he’s bunched it up and came all over it. “I need to clean it now or it’ll be ruined.”

“Oh… it’s fine I’ll toss it in a washer.”

“You dry clean this material, sweetheart.” He helps you up carefully, you get whiplash from him then, all sweet and caring like he didn’t just fuck your insides up, like he didn’t fuck your brains out. “Let me try?”

“Sure… just help me…” You turn around, and he eases that zipper down, fingers touching the marks left from it carefully.

“Was I too rough with you?” He asks hoarsely, seeing the marks from the door and carpet indented in your skin.

“No, I… loved it.” Your answer earns an exhale of relief, but you curse softly in your mind, knowing what you were about to say.

“You’re inexperienced, and I was really...”

“I’m good, Satoru.” You turn, dress slipping down your body, leaving him to eye you naked, and his cock damn near gets hard again under the hastily half zipped pants. “You can be rougher with me.”

“Rougher?” His brow raises, as he takes your dress, pressing little kisses across your thighs as he picks up the material. “You like it rough, sweetheart?”

“I like anything you do,” you curse then, shaking your head. “I need a drink. Here, I’ll show you over to the sink to rinse this out.” He blinks as he follows you, sighing now, and you show him the neat stainless steel sink. “It’s not a big deal, it was a dress I bought forever ago.”

“It’s still really beautiful, I bet he was dumb from how pretty you looked.” His words are hoarse, your eyes meet again. “You looked beautiful when we went out too, fuck you always do.”

“Thank you, Satoru. You always look… gorgeous too.” You expect a playful agreement, a smirk, but he’s quiet now, cleaning the white cum while you realize you’re still naked, so comfortable it was like you hardly noticed. “I’ll grab some pajamas real quick. I have nothing that would fit you I’m afraid.”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?” Your eyes lock again across the kitchen.

“It’s late, you should stay. If you want.”

“Yeah?” You just nod again, so much left unspoken, both of you aching to say things, both of you unsure of your worlds anymore.

“I meant it, about a shoot, if you want.” You say then, and he exhales, looking back at the wet silver material in his hands.

“Don’t do it just for me, don’t just… change for me. I’ll be fine if we don’t do one, okay?” You hate the feeling then - he’ll be fine.

With other girls. His career. His job, his life.

How would it ever include you?

“I didn’t do it just for you, it was hot, okay? It was sexy when we watched it together…” You trail off again, and he turns off the sink, gripping your naked body with wet hands, making you squeak as he does, when he slowly walks you back, until your back is against the counter.

“You didn’t hate doing it?” His words confuse you now.

“What, no. I wouldn’t have if I hated it.”

“Would you have… for anyone else?” His next question is met with a shake of your head as your answer, eyes darting to his lips. “No one else?”

“No one else. It was for you. But I enjoyed it all. I promise you didn’t pressure me into it, okay?” He sighs in relief, kissing you again, hands all over your body until he picks you up, and you cling to his neck, thighs around his waist while your dress hangs across the sink.

“Know how bad I wanna cum inside your pussy?” He says softly, you swallow as he pulls back to look at you, your breaths coming faster.

“Do you do that?”

“No.”

You bite your lip again, taking a breath for courage.

You want him, any of him, all of him, until you can’t have him.

“Thinking of cum pouring from your pussy? God you know how much we’d make, baby? But it’s… that’s a lot to ask…”

“You want to cum inside me?” He moans, nodding desperately, and you cup his face, pressing a kiss where his cheek is burning. “I’m on the pill, if you want to.”

“Are you… sure?” You nod, letting him carry you to the bed, he’s cleaning you all up with his tongue, lapping all his cum off you, off your tummy, thorough as he feels you shaking under him.

“Favorite co-star then, huh?” You tease softly, he nods weakly, words stuck in his throat when you sit up. “What position, Satoru?”

Fuck… he doesn’t deserve to have you like this, bent over as he adjusts his phone on your light, hitting record. He’s got it angled just so it’s your ass and pussy showing, the arch just so, your face buried into your pillows, which he’s covered up with a black sheet so nothing personal shows.

“You sure, baby?”

“Yes,” is your soft whisper when he’s leaned over you, your eyes meet his, away from the camera’s view, locking. “I want to do this for you.”

“Fuck, baby…” He kisses you before he pulls back, tip brushing between your folds, before sinking in, hearing your gasp, feeling your grip. “God, you’re so tight, so pretty, look at you…”

You wonder how much is for camera, but the way he fucks you is desperate, his rhythm is off as his fingers press into the dimples on your back, as his hands slap and grip your ass, and he rocks inside you. You’re gripping the black sheet and arching for more, his balls slapping your clit with wet smacks that echo, mingling with his husky breaths and moans.

“Gonna fill you up, you want that, huh baby?” Satoru forgets he is on camera then, he forgets he’s just fucking, he can’t help but whisper how good your cunt is, how you’re the best he’s fucking had, just hoping those whispers don’t get caught, that they’re drowned out by your screams of pleasure.

He’s pulsing inside your walls, as you bury your face further, getting pumped full of his thick cock over and over in a maddening pace, the way his tip drags then ends you, your orgasm leaving you weak and breathless, and he pauses at it, whining out, something he did not do on camera. He’s hesitating, he’s never cum in someone, and he’s not sure he’s deserving of it.

Not of you at all.

You’re so perfect, so fucking pretty, so tight - and he doesn’t deserve it, any of it, having you bend over for him, spread wide, taking back shots like you were fucking made for it, for him. He’s lost as he presses your head down with one hand, muffling your breathy cries while you arch more, taking his mean strokes as he falls apart, his other hand trembling as he clings to your hip tightly.

Satoru has never felt this, losing himself, uncaring how the fuck he looked on the camera or even that there was a camera, all he can think of is filling your perfect pussy with him, of doing the one thing he has avoided all these years, but that he can’t imagine not doing. Undeserving or not, he’s closer and closer, when you’re pulsing around him from another orgasm, and your cunt is dripping more and more.

He takes a breath, feeling his cock thickening inside you, leaning back over you again, mouth whispering in your ear as he delicately brushes damp strands of hair from your forehead. “Sweetheart, are you still sure?” His soft question just sinks it further, when he looks at you like that, and you feel his cock thickening more.

You’d do anything for him.

Plus you want him to.

“I want you to cum inside me, Satoru,” your whisper ends him, he kisses your cheek, your temple, nodding as his snowy lashes lower. “Please.”

Your plea destroys Satoru, as he pulls back and grips your ass, fucking into you hard for just a few more strokes before moaning so loud, his head falling forward as he cums inside your perfect cunt. He’s never felt anything like it, like your gummy walls fluttering and milking his cock, like cumming inside you, fuck he knows then he couldn’t ever do this with anyone.

Creampies on set were notorious, but he never felt okay with it, but now he fills you so fucking much, while you’re cumming from that, the warmth of his white hot cum coating your walls, shooting against your sore, bruised cervix. You’re sobbing into the pillow, pussy pulsing as if she’s sucking up all he’s got, hearing his whine, so sexy as he slows his strokes.

“God, you took it all too, you’re such a good girl, pussy so hungry for all my fucking cum, huh?” You nod desperately, thighs shivering as he pulls out, squelching sound so filthy as his cock pulls out, swirled with your gossamer slick and his white ropes spilling already. “Oh fuck, let’s see how much you took, hmm?”

“Mnh…” you’re delirious, unable to even focus, as you feel his cum start oozing out of your hole when he spreads it, you’re sure to get the shot. You can’t even feel embarrassed, not when he has you feeling so desired, so full of him, all you can do is arch that ass more for him, lost in your high. “Y-yes,” your soft words only hit his ears just barely.

He spreads your puffy lips, groaning at the sight of his own cum pouring slowly in drips from your tiny hole. “Look how much she took, she’s so full of all my cum,” Satoru angles the camera now, catching the sight of your perfect cunt leaking his white seed slowly, his fingers drifting down to collect some of it, shoving it back inside and watching your greedy cunt suck his fingers up. “Keep it in there, sweetheart.”

“Ngh…” Your thighs shake as he shuts off the camera, flipping you now, cupping your face delicately, eyes drifting across your face, sighing as he looks at you, the imprints of the sheets against your cheek. He gently touches it.

“You sure about sharing this? I want you to make sure you know, none of this is for the fucking camera,” his words are husky, devoted, as he hands you the phone, hands you the control, all while he’s slowly leaking from your cunt.

You look at the video then, blushing as you watch it, hips shifting as you see the sight of him pounding your cunt from the back, hearing your cries and the smacks, but mostly when you see the look on his face, it halts you. The lost, mad fucking look written all over his handsome face, the way he whimpers for you, the trembling of his hands you didn’t notice.

Satoru looks as lost in you as you were in him, and you’re addicted to it.

He’s pressing kisses delicately along your breasts, your tummy, where he’d left marks along your ribs, he kisses your hips where his fingers already have left bruises from your grip. He’s spreading your thighs, eyeing your face, as your thighs shake from his kisses getting higher, he worships you, every inch like he’s wanted to, wondering what you’ll say.

A part of him wants you to say no, to say it’s just for you two.

But a part of him wants to show you how perfect you are, how sexy you are, let you fucking see it.

He’s so torn, so lost in you, in the sight of that cum still leaking from your hole.

“Creampie, that’s what you titled it? What is that?”

He chuckles now, shaking his head at you as he leans up a but, and your fucked out eyes glance at him. “It means I came inside you, sweetheart. You’re cute. You really don’t know what that means?”

“No… I didn’t.” You’re all blushing again, leaning up on your elbows now as his grin is white and brilliant, again all sweet like he didn’t just fuck you twice, and bust inside you. “Is it popular?”

“Very, very popular. Just never… something I wanted to do, until you.” The more words are left unspoken, while he presses a kiss on your soft tummy, fingers dancing across your thighs. “What do you think?”

“It’s… really hot. You look so good, it’s crazy to see this angle,” he nods a little, kissing your inner thigh, as you brush a hand along his hair. “You think it’ll please your manager?”

“Oh god, baby that is the best shot I’ve done,” you bite that lip now, before pressing share, and covering your face with a breathless giggle. “Fuck, look at you, gonna be a pro.”

“Oh god,” your hands are gently pulled off your face now, while he leans over you, kissing your lips softly. “Am I like a whole pornstar now?” You ask nervously, he sighs then, he gently brushes your hair back.

“Baby you’re a star already, didn’t you know?” Your lips are taken over, while the video goes insane on the bed next to the two of you, and Satoru’s fingers are shoved in your cunt again, already so sore, but you’re fucked up off it, the pain and pleasure, the need for him in every fucking way.

He’s sucking the mix of the two of you off his fingers, he’s sharing that cum and spit in your open mouth, moaning and eyeing the comments.

“I wish I was cumming inside her… excuse me?” You giggle a bit at his glare.

“What do you care about the comments, haven’t you read yours?”

“Yes but… bet her pussy is so tight - yeah it is but…” he’s pausing, scowling at the numerous comments, and you’re blinking at him, a bit confused. “I don’t want to read them, actually.”

The dollar signs wrack up, insane amounts - way more than before, as he shakes his head, back between your thighs, tongue hitting your overstimulated cunt, making you cry out for him, when his phone rings. “You know, Satoru, I hate your phone.”

“I hate my phone.” He picks it up, while still lapping at your cunt, drinking up the taste of his cum and yours like an insane man as he answers the phone casually on speaker. “What?”

“Gojo, that girl… she’s made for porn, what the fuck? Where have you been hiding her!?”

He glares at the phone, as you cover your mouth, hiding a giggle, his blue eyes narrow when he flicks his tongue up your milky slit again, grinning as you can’t hold back your moan. “She’s my secret star.”

His words bring out too much pleasure, the way his hands grip you, the possessive way he fucking speaks. “Well, if she wants a manager, please tell her about me. You two could make so much money on a real set.”

“She wants to keep a low profile, and she’ll only do it with me.” Satoru says, the thought of you on set with a camera crew makes him unreasonably annoyed.

“All right, that works for now, but talk to her about it.”

“Sure, whatever.” He hangs up then, and eyes you carefully, lapping more of you up as he does, you’re hissing at the sensation, whining out softly. “Don’t worry or listen to him, mmkay?”

“Would I um… not be ideal on set?” He scowls now, pulling back, strings of his cum and yours falling off his lips.

“What?”

“I’m not LA hot.”

“You’re right, you’re fucking beautiful, hot doesn’t describe you.” He is kissing you again, cupping your face as he does. “You want to be anonymous.”

“I do.” But what if he still was with other girls?

The thoughts eat at you.

“Baby we could never do another shoot, and I’ll cum inside you any hour of the fucking day, yeah?” His words mean too much, you nod shyly, before gasping as he’s back at your entrance. “I’m always hard for you, you’re always soaked for me, pussy she’s made to take me, say it.”

“Satoru…”

“Say it,” he desperately pleas, and you nod, knowing it’s fucking foolish. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Made for you, ah!” He’s back inside you, gentle and slow, knowing you’re sore, and it’s all making the lines blur more and more, his kisses, his slow fucks into your cunt, the way he looks at you, all while the money racks up.

But he couldn’t care less about it.

He wants to make sure you’re so sore and full of him that man has no chance of touching you, he wants to tell every commenter he gets to cum inside you, he’s selfish, he’s stupid. He doesn’t deserve you, he knows he doesn’t, yet he wants to drink up every moment before you realize he’s not good enough.

Meanwhile your heart breaks, as you’re in his arms later, wondering how long until he will realize you’re not enough for his career, how long until he’s inside another woman, and you know you won’t be able to take it. Kissing him softly as he tugs you closer, too intimate, too much.

You’ve fallen too deep.

*****

Jenna frowns as she studies you the next afternoon, you’re disheveled and your hair is a wreck, you’re covered in marks, and she just saw Satoru leaving in the back of his limo. You’re nervously trying to fix yourself, and avoid her knowing gaze, when she peeks at her phone, with a stream of Satoru, and puts it all together, shaking her head now.

“Jenna…”

“You’re letting him change you, for what?” You blink back tears at her harsh words, glaring now.

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not baby, fuck I’m worried!? This isn’t who you are, and I don’t want you to lose yourself because of him. What’s he giving you, besides backshots?”

“You know what, you can go.” You blink more tears now, and she sighs, coming up to you and cupping your face.

“I’m sorry, I just have known you since we were kids. Is this what you want to be, a… pornstar? Like me?”

“No, I don’t want to be that. I just… want to be enough for him.” She blinks back her own tears now, swiping at yours.

“That’s my worry, you are enough for anyone. The way you are… the way you were, more than enough!”

“Jenna I need to be with him, however I can be.” She sighs now, as you tug your hair into a hasty ponytail, grabbing a drink from the fridge and throwing the coolness down your throat. “I know you just care.”

“I do. Can I ask, has he changed one bit for you?” You pause, shutting the fridge and looking at your best friend, who has her arms crossed.

“Why should he? It was my idea to… join his world. I can’t ask him to change, how is that fair?”

“But you change yourself, lose yourself, for him?” You hate how the words sink in, how you grip your glass and lean against the counter, feeling every word she’s saying, but knowing you’re too far gone. “Men like him don’t change.”

“You don’t know him, Jenna. You don’t.”

“Don’t I? Baby that’s all I know. You’re… you’re still a good girl, okay? I’m not gonna continue, I don’t want our friendship strained. But please just think for a moment, is he going to change, commit, anything?” You sigh now, you have been so obsessed with him, with how you feel, you can’t think of anything else.

“I don’t know.” Is your answer, when she pulls you into her arms, and you feel the tears falling. “I’m in love with him, Jenna. I am so in love and it hurts.”

“Shit,” she holds you as you sob against her, letting the words finally fall from your lips. “Honey…”

“I’m fine losing myself if it means I’m with him.”

“You can’t lose yourself for anyone.” You know she’s right, deep down, you know her words are dead on, but there’s no hope for it, there’s no denying it.

You’re in love with Satoru Gojo, the pornstar, the unattainable bachelor, and you’re losing yourself in him.

And the angst is actually more ahead as these two dummies make my hands hurt with how much they force me to write :') I can't believe in 4 parts I'm already at 46k and they're as dumb as before. More mess to ensue, I am glad you all love this one and look forward as ALWAYS to your comments!!!

Taglist 1 - @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay @iluvjjkmennn @nutellajade

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pellucid-constellations · 16 days ago

Text

Checks and Balances

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your boss was an ass—you knew it, the office knew it, the entire country knew it. Working for Senator Brown was never easy, but you had managed it for the better part of three years and didn’t want to see your career go up in flames. Unfortunately for you, Bucky was slowly falling in love with you, and Congressman Barnes didn’t think managing it was enough.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Injury (kinda), hospitals, angst, an abusive boss, protective Bucky!!

a/n: Ahh a Bucky fic that's not an AU (that's also one million words)! Idk how the government works tbh so sorry if things are a little inaccurate there lol. This takes place right before Thunderbolts! Thank you for reading, I love you!! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

“Congressman Barnes,” you greeted, a slight nod of your head the only acknowledgement you could afford. Senator Brown was only a moment away from screaming at you again, and you could only take so much screaming in one day.

Bucky, unfortunately, did not care about being screamed at by Senator Brown. He took your upper arm in a light grip and shot you a confused smile. “What, you avoiding me? Can’t be seen in the halls talking to me?”

A fairer assessment of Bucky’s interruption was that he didn’t know of the wrath Senator Brown could incite upon you. Sure, Bucky knew that Brown was a hardass, and by association, his executive assistant would have to put up with it, but he had no way of knowing just how terrible the man was.

When you met Bucky a few weeks ago, you had been alone in a hotel lobby. The heels accompanying your freshly pressed pantsuit had been killing you, and you needed a moment for your feet to breathe. Bucky, apparently, also needed a moment away from the conference, and you had gotten to talking when he plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside you.

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

In the weeks that followed, you had texted with him, met for coffee twice because he was “in the area”, and had maybe even considered the fact that you were friends with Congressman Barnes. Friends were invaluable to have in D.C., but they were also something to be wary of. Bucky didn’t feel the type to be wary of.

As you stood halfway frozen in the hallway, his comment began to make sense. He was calling back to your initial hotel conversation, making a joke about biases and stuck-up politicians, but this was not the time. Not that he could have known.

Senator Brown barked out your name when he noticed you were no longer beside him, surely trying to get you to jot down some thought banging around in his head. You whipped your head to the side, almost missing the affronted expression on Bucky’s face as he registered the tone that your name was spoken in, and shook your arm from his hold.

“Sorry, Congressman,” you murmured, turning on your heel and making quick strides in Brown’s direction. “I apologize. What can I do for you, Senator?”

Your boss barely hid a scoff. “You can start by being where I need you to be. And write this down—I do not believe that the House takes the proper—”

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky.

Your heels hurriedly clicking against polished marble, you took a fleeting glance over your shoulder. Bucky remained there, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest, metal from his hand glinting against the gentle fluorescence of the hall.

Three days later, he brought it up.

You thought you’d found a private spot to scarf down your lunch in your allotted fifteen-minute break, but with a sandwich only half finished and your mouth full, the call of your name reminded you that there is never any privacy for you at this job. The sound of Bucky’s voice softened the blow a bit.

“He always treat you like that?” Bucky asked, swinging his leg over the bench on the other side of the table. He watched as you tried to chew quickly, some of the hardness he’d sat down with melting from his expression.

You covered your mouth with your hand and swallowed hard. “What?” you finally got out, reaching for your water bottle.

Bucky raised a brow. “Brown. Does he always yell at you?”

After a few sips and swallows, you gave up on being able to finish your lunch. You had to plan out your meals very meticulously to finish, and Bucky had already taken up 30 precious seconds.

“Oh,” you began. You swiped a hand through the air. “It’s fine. He just gets a little intense sometimes. It’s just his personality.”

“You’ve been working for him for three years.”

“Right.”

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.”

“How do you know that?”

Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.”

You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” you said, reaching for the fruit in your bag. “I meant to. I’ve just been working late since the meeting on Monday.”

“It’s alright.” A pause as you continued to eat your food. You had maybe four minutes left. “How late?”

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.”

You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears.

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?”

Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.”

“To check on me?”

“After Monday, I wanted to make sure—”

Your phone started going off, the “Senator Brown” contact making your blood run cold. You brought your watch up and let out a gasp that made Bucky jump.

“What?” he rushed, standing from the table as you started to pack your things in a panic. He went to help you, but after two brushes of his hands, he realized he was only in the way.

“My break was over two minutes ago. I have to go right now.”

“Two minutes? What—y/n, that isn’t—”

He was here to check on you. Right. That was really sweet.

Your brain tried to catch up with your panic as you reached over and squeezed his arm gratefully. “I’m really fine, Bucky. It was nice to see you. We should get coffee again.” You were sliding through the double doors and back into the building as you called, “I’ll text you. I promise this time.”

And you did. In the seven minutes of free time you got around 9 pm, you sent him a quick follow-up text. The bubble went right below his text from two days ago, and you felt a small pinch of guilt for not answering him until now.

You: Free Saturday morning?

He answered you almost instantly.

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone.

You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are

You: …maybe

And then, your seven minutes of silence were up. When Brown’s footsteps could be heard by the door, you tucked your phone into your desk and went to work on the stack of papers he assigned you. He so graciously let you know that he was going home now, and you could leave once you were finished.

That was perfect.

It took you an hour and a half, but when you sorted the final paper and checked his schedule for tomorrow for the last time, a sense of relief flooded you. You didn’t even care that it would take another 30 minutes for an Uber to arrive. All you could think about was your shower and your bed and taking these shoes off your feet.

You gathered your belongings and swiped your phone from the desk, clicking to the rideshare app and somewhat dreading the small talk to come. It would be extremely convenient to have a car, but that wasn’t something in the cards for you. Your tiny apartment had barely any parking, and everything else was within walking distance.

As you continued to ponder the pros and cons of taking the bus home, a honk from the curb made you jump. You lowered your phone and squinted into the distance of the now barren road.

“Someone order an Uber?”

Disbelief was your first emotion, and then shock and then confusion. “Buck—Congressman Barnes?” you asked, correcting yourself when the memory of the building at your back resurfaced.

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today.

“I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?”

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. You shook your phone by your face and leaned down towards the window. “Haven’t even ordered it yet. I’m not supposed to get in the car unless they can put in the code verifying my identity.”

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.”

Your next laugh was more of a scoff as he reached through the window to take it back. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

Bucky paused, looking you up and down for a moment before his jaw ticked to the side in a smile. “I’m taking you home. You live close, it won’t take very long.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.”

You went to argue again, but Bucky only raised a brow and unlocked the doors.

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear.

You turned to look at him instantly, but the man only gave you a closed-lip smile and shifted the gear of his car, pulling away from the building of your nightmares. You blinked back towards the dashboard, needing a few more seconds to settle yourself.

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.”

Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.”

“I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke.

Not the best joke, it seemed, with Bucky’s fist clutching the steering wheel a hair tighter, the sound of leather meeting your ears. He shook his head. “Where’s Brown? He doesn’t let you take work home?”

“Oh, he does sometimes,” you chipperly replied, trying to sound awake and get Bucky un-pissed off. “He just checks my timesheets when we work overtime, so I have to make sure I stay late enough so that he won’t say anything. I still have this to take care of once I get home.”

You tapped the manila file in your lap and looked over to Bucky as he drove. He was wearing jeans and a pullover crewneck, his hair tied back and casual, and even though you’d seen him outside of work before, he looked different this way. Something about the night and him driving you home made him look different.

Bucky didn’t make a comment about your work or the system you had to avoid criticism from the Senator. Silence lapsed in the car, you lightly drumming your fingers on your thigh as the D.C. night swept past along the car windows.

“I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.”

“Of course it stands.”

You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel.

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it.

Both answers left the other person less than satisfied.

“What about you?” Bucky asked, tilting his cup up. “Why have you been an executive assistant for so long?”

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.”

“I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Trying to get rid of me, Congressman?”

Bucky leaned forward, placing a hand on the small table that only separated you a few inches. He answered you earnestly, but a small amount of humor lightened his eyes, made him look less serious. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

Your lips parted to quip something back, but then he was raising his hand again, the heat of his skin lingering at the corner of your mouth. He swiped his thumb there, and you were frozen, a replica of when he brushed your hair back a few nights ago, but the car had been a distraction then. You had been flustered and trying to sort out your belongings, so you didn’t think about it for longer than a few seconds.

“Whipped cream,” he explained, holding you in his gaze for a moment longer than you should have been. Even as the barista from behind the counter was now standing at your table and speaking.

“Hi! Would the two of you like to try our new coffee cake? Free samples since it’s new.”

Bucky was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from yours to smile politely at the barista. You shook from your stupor and quickly reached for a napkin, brushing it against your lips even though nothing remained.

You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was.

It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant.

“What about you, ma’am?” You blinked several times and looked up to read the small ‘coffee cake’ sign lying next to the treats, the barista’s blinding smile expecting and very retail.

“I’m allergic to cinnamon, but thank you.”

“Allergic to cinnamon?” Bucky asked as the barista left.

“Yeah, anaphylaxis and everything. I carry an epipen with me, but I’ve only had to use it once when I was 10. Did you know that some bakeries add cinnamon to buttercream birthday cakes?” you chuckled, reorienting yourself to the present. “Are you allergic to anything? Or, I guess you probably aren’t. Isn’t that a serum thing?”

“Not allergic to anything, but if I had been, it would’ve been wiped out by the serum. We didn’t really have a lot of food variety in the 30s. Could have been allergic to shellfish—didn’t try that until after.”

You had to pause the cup at your lips. “Oh my god, I forgot you’re like 100 years old.”

Bucky’s expression morphed into an offended wince. “Alright, I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t exactly lived 100 years.”

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?”

You knocked your head back in a laugh, holding your stomach with your forearm. “How did I forget this?”

“You know what? I’m not driving you home anymore.”

With lingering giggles, you righted yourself in your chair, a smile still clear in your voice. Contrasting his words, Bucky’s smile was just as wide as yours, a slight redness to his cheeks making him look softer. You brought a hand to cover his arm on the table.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Bucky. You aren’t old. I take it back.”

“Yeah, you better,” he taunted, though his arm flipped over and he gave your wrist a soft squeeze as he said it.

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you.

You didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or if this was something he commonly did with his friends, but he was going to get you in trouble.

Outside of work, it was fine—distracting and disorienting, but fine. A brush of his hand helping you into the car, fixing your bag on your shoulder, a hand on your back when you left the coffee shop; over the past few weeks, it had all begun to feel commonplace.

It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult.

Because, again, Congressman Barnes could not be dating an assistant. His credibility among the rest of Congress was already being questioned almost daily, and he did not need the court of public opinion breathing down his neck on top of that. It was a fortunate truth that while the internal part of his job was tricky, most of the public favored him.

So, as much as your chest hurt and your stomach flipped whenever you were around him, you settled for friendship. A touchy friendship.

At work, things felt heightened in the worst way possible.

You couldn’t even understand why he was coming to the top floor so often, seemingly lingering there so he could scare the crap out of you when you’d turn a corner. And then it would be a smile and another hand at your back when he was passing you—a hand that was not necessary. Or he would find you at the tail-end of your lunch break and move your hair away from your eyes, distracting you to the point of no return.

It was the worst because you were getting distracted, and when you were distracted, you got yelled at.

Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head.

You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought.

“You should go to human resources,” Bucky commented one Sunday, the two of you sitting along a lake by the Capitol building.

You almost snorted. “Right. And what do you think old Mrs. Martha is going to be able to do for me? Brown has been in office for over a decade. If anything, that would just get me fired.”

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.”

“If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness.

But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—”

“Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.”

“Right now, maybe.”

You sighed, searching his eyes and trying to discern when this became such an intense conversation. Trying to figure out when the two of you had discussions like this and not just lax coffee hangouts. Against your better judgment, you placed a hand over his thigh and relented.

“Okay, fine. I’ll work on it, but I’ll be the one working on it, okay? It definitely can’t be you—he would freak out if a representative started ordering him around. Even if you could totally knock him out.”

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, a smile begrudgingly sneaking onto his face. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.”

“You can definitely believe that.”

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest.

You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way.

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.”

“Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.”

You pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why? Afraid your only friend will bite it?”

“Hey, I have other friends.”

“I haven’t seen ‘em.”

“Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.”

“Okay, sure, Bucky,” you sang out, tapping his chest. “But if we need to reschedule this meeting with your 'friends,’ I would understand.”

As Bucky went on to refute your insinuations in a grumpy tone, you tried to pretend that this felt like that—just a friendship.

Approximately four days later, everything went to shit.

Senator Brown was on a tirade, screaming at everyone and everything in his path. When he got like this, the admin staff usually locked the doors to his office and the entire floor if they could, but today, they weren’t ready for how angry he was.

It was a bill, or a speech, or maybe even the press catching wind that he was cheating on his wife—it didn’t matter. He was pissed and you were going to have to answer for it.

You stood in his office with a clear view of the glass wall connecting to the hallway, hands behind your back and fighting off a wince with every curse and insult the Senator threw at you.

“I hired you to take care of this bullshit! Why the hell am I dealing with this when I’m supposed to have an entire staff? This is fucked!”

“You’re too worried about going home early, you can’t even assemble a reply to an email correctly! A fucking email!”

“I should’ve fired you weeks ago. When you started fucking off to wherever you take too long for your lunch break and stopped doing your job. I swear to god, this country has—”

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers.

Affairs and divorce were always messy for politicians.

“Of course, Senator. I will do better. I apologize,” you offered, unsure what you were apologizing for at the present. It wouldn’t matter; he would just start up again about another topic.

“Damn right you will or I’ll send you out on the streets. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in D.C when a Senator blacklists you?”

Did you ever.

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on.

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more.

You greatly regretted setting that up for him.

You braced yourself for further yelling as his face began to turn red, but were alarmed as the Senator reached for the wooden pencil case on his desk and threw it. Pens flew, and you knew he wasn’t aiming for you, but the cup hit a vase on a high bookshelf to your right, which then toppled over and shook loose the framed art hanging above your head.

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you.

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening.

The glass door to the office swung open.

“What the hell?” A hand was on your elbow. A colder one felt around the top of your head. It was Bucky, obviously it was Bucky, but you were too afraid to look, keeping your gaze locked on Senator Brown. “Hey, you okay?”

The hand on your head moved down to your jaw, forcing your gaze to Bucky. He searched every inch of your face as you blinked at him, mind blank. “Um, I’m fine.”

Your brows furrowed, trying to connect the chain of events that led to this. You brought your hand up to replace where Bucky had placed his, the action seemingly spurring him into action.

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?”

Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips.

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Congressman. It was a simple accident. You weren’t even in the room to see it happen.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need to be. You’re screaming at her when you’re not throwing. What kinda grown man does that?”

“Bucky—” you cautioned, glued to the floor still.

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?”

You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest.

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.”

“Wait, I—”

“Maybe if you spent time picking on someone your own size instead of acting like a coward—”

“Bucky, don’t—”

“A coward? A coward? Who’s the one who cannot speak for himself on the board? Tell me, Barnes, is that part of some unresolved trauma from some nondescript decade?”

“You shut your mouth before I—”

“Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably.

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt.

Bucky looked at the wall behind your head and then tracked his gaze to the forming lump on your crown. “But—”

“I am fine,” you repeated slowly. Having risen from the floor before calling his name, you walked to the door and held it open. “We’re very busy. Please excuse us.”

Bucky licked his lips as he looked to the floor, shaking his head in abject disbelief and following your direction. When he met the entryway, he tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking against it. His hand twitched at his side, and then he left, taking long, purposeful strides away from the office.

You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so.

Bucky’s POV

Bucky was losing his mind.

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed.

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things. You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt.

He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough.

Bucky swiped a hand over his mouth.

When had you started to matter to him so much? That was a stupid question, and apparently, he was full of stupidity today.

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage.

“Shit,” he breathed out, knocking his head back and falling back into his office chair.

He’d messed up. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew you were not happy with him. What did “taking care of it” even mean? And why were you so dead set on keeping that awful job? Bucky could think of at least a dozen other jobs in D.C. that would not involve you being verbally and physically abused.

Fuck, he wished he had more pull, but as a Congressman of only a few months, there was little he could do against a Senator. And he had a meeting in five minutes.

Bucky pulled his phone out and sent you a quick text about talking after work, let out the longest sigh of his life, and then readjusted his tie.

That had been three days ago.

You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours.

Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you.

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay.

Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that.

Bucky brought his turmoil to the barbecue Sam was holding that weekend. The one you were supposed to be at.

Nursing his fifth beer that wouldn’t do anything, Bucky leaned back against the fence of Sam’s yard and sulked. He’d talked to a few people when he got there, but sulking was on his agenda for the afternoon.

“What’s up with the stank face?” Sam asked, entering Bucky’s orbit of solitude and despair. “It’s gonna get stuck like that if you keep it up.”

“I don’t have a stank face,” Bucky argued.

“Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Oh, you don’t? Then it’s that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking back more of his beer as the sizzle of burgers juxtaposed with his somberness. “Alright, fine. It’s that. But it’s stupid. We weren’t even…”

“Dating?”

“Yeah. That.”

“You told me you went out for coffee and all that. That you would go on long walks at the lake and canoodle at work.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared out at the merriment of the barbecue, remembering the scene more vividly than he would have liked. He tried to find an exact moment that would have led to you avoiding him, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was the entire thing?

“I think she’s mad at me. I kinda went off on her boss and she told me she wanted to take care of it.”

“What do you mean ‘went off’? And isn’t she working under a Senator?”

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.”

“And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed.

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked.

He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.”

“What, you mean like blackmail?”

“Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.”

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before wading back into the party in the yard. Bucky, feeling somewhat lighter but also still at peril, kicked off the fence and made his own attempts at being sociable.

“As soon as I can actually find her,” he grumbled to himself.

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend.

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician.

That was not the case for this gala.

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it.

You had apologized profusely, swore up and down that you didn’t know Congressman Barnes, and practically pledged your life to Brown in every way you knew how. You never left the office, never took a lunch break—you were pretty sure your eyes were permanently dry from how long you stared at a screen all day.

Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that.

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.”

You offered him a tight smile and felt the ache in your shoulders begin to fester. You were more uptight this week than ever, but that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. Nothing.

It was just this job and your future in D.C. hanging in the balance.

Obviously.

You meandered over to the coat check, taking longer than you needed to and dragging your feet along the way. Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your bag—most likely some PR fire you’d need to put out before more people realized Brown was cheating on his wife—and you had absolutely no inclination to drag it out.

“Just these two,” you offered, pressing the coats into the attendant's hands and taking the ticket in return.

“Actually, can you add this one to that ticket?”

As if this night couldn’t get any more uncomfortable.

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in repressed… something and spun on your heel.

He was just as close as you were expecting and also far too close for comfort. You knocked your head back to catch his gaze, trying to appear unamused and angry.

“Why would you do that?” you asked.

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.”

“You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?”

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. You clutched the coat check number in your hand and began to storm off, not in the headspace to have this conversation at this gala. Bucky, however, did not seem to mind.

The hand on your arm was soft but firm as you were tugged into a closet and subsequently shoved into a rack of hanging coats. It was too dim to see beyond your hands out in front of you, but Bucky solved that predicament as he entered your space.

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away.

“I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.”

“I was not stomping off,” you scoffed.

“You were.”

“Was not!”

“I could hear your heels. You were stomping.”

You groaned, pushing into his chest to try and create distance that wasn’t available. Your back only hit the wall.

“Fine. What do you want?”

Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest.

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed.

Your phone vibrated in your bag, and that warmth turned to ice.

“I don’t have time for this,” you determined, wiggling your way towards the door.

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.”

“Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes.

“I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.”

All you could get out was, “Why?”

Bucky’s next words were spoken as he stared down at your lips. “I think you know why.”

Breaths began to fail you, each exhale more ragged than the last. You had been expecting this, in a way, and that was why you always made excuses. He couldn’t be with you because he was a Congressman. You were only an assistant. You couldn’t date him because you were too busy. He wouldn’t want to date you, anyway. Senator Brown would never be okay with it.

All of those excuses evaporated within the shared space of the closet, and then you got scared. So, you blurted out what he wanted.

“He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.”

Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?”

“I’d be blacklisted.”

“He can’t do that.”

“He can.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak again as the air in the closet became breathable and light peeked in from the cracking door. You sprang back from the Congressman, pushing his hand away from your cheek and slamming your back into the wall. It didn’t help much; the fifteen-year-old with the shawl in her hand was already making her own assumptions as you rushed past her and left Bucky to his own devices in the closet.

Amazing.

Just amazing.

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it. You prayed that Brown was already drinking and wouldn’t catch on.

Thankfully, your prayers were answered.

While he was not happy to see you, his raised brow and side-eye deadly as you sat down, he didn’t say anything. And that was how dinner went—quiet and uncomfortable for you, but otherwise par for the course for Senator Brown.

Bucky was staring at you from across the table. The room was backlit by dull candles and expensive chandeliers, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face like an unprecedented heat. He often flickered that gaze to Brown, but it would harden, become angry.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

You either stuck it out with Brown or tossed your political science degree in the trash can on your way out.

When dinner passed and dessert was served, you eyed the lemon tart mocking you from your plate. Dessert, when your life felt so out of control and confusing, couldn’t hurt, you figured, so you picked up your fork and ignored the knots taking up space in your stomach.

“Yours looks better.” Senator Brown picked up the lip of your plate and slid his in its place. “Here.”

“But—”

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you.

Was D.C. even worth it?

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty.

You took three bites before it started to sink in.

You vaguely registered that Bucky had pushed out from the table, a clink of silverware preceding the motion. It was too late for him, however, because as your own fork clattered down, you could no longer breathe.

Your tongue felt ten times too big in your mouth and your throat was glued shut, air tunneling through any openings it could find. You pushed out from the table and stood. The extra space didn’t do anything. You clawed at your throat until your legs became unsteady and failed from the lack of oxygen.

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know!”

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!”

“Brown, what is she allergic to?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, do something!”

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything.

“Move.”

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief.

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy.

“You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.”

Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind.

“I got you, okay?”

“F-f-feels—”

“I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register. And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”

The chaos of the room went silent. Within your shaking hands clutched in Bucky’s suit jacket, your fingers spasmed out of fear.

“Excuse me?” Brown scoffed. You were honestly surprised he was still in the room.

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?”

“B-bucky—”

“Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?”

“I have no idea,” Brown spat out. He jutted his hand out towards you on the floor. “He never knows what he’s talking about. We’ve established that.”

“Right,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling you closer to his chest as you gasped for breath. “So what do you call this?”

“An accident, obviously.”

Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now.

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.”

Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone.

“What? No,” Brown refuted, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, either. She’s barely even a secretary. She’s—”

The eyes around the room made his words trail off. “Barely even a secretary” was certainly a degrading title for his mistress, and everyone in the room knew it. If you were to look at your phone, you’d have seen that the newest story of their relationship had been blowing up all night. You guessed she was fed up with him denying it.

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head.

After being monitored in the emergency room for approximately six hours, the night shift staff sent you off with a horde of medication to take for the next month and, of course, a new epipen. You trudged out past the waiting room, prepared to wait in the parking lot for an Uber, when a certain man sitting in a chair far too small for him caught your eye.

He was half asleep, his face held in his metal hand as he nodded off and woke up just as quickly. His suit looked stiff and uncomfortable as he twisted his wrists, dragging the sleeves up to his elbows. He’d discarded the jacket somewhere, probably lost to the world now. And then he spotted you, your dress awkwardly draped over your body in your haphazard attempt to re-dress, your hair completely out of place, and your hands filled with paper bags of medication.

He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest.

“Scared the shit out of me,” he murmured into your hair. He pressed another kiss there, reminding you that the first one hadn’t been your imagination.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, clutching his button-up in your hands.

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?”

It only took you a moment to make a decision.

You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected.

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman.

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #thunderbolts bucky #bucky barnes

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scarletmika · 1 month ago

Text

Four Weeks : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Thunderbolts!Reader

Summary: When a four-week mission keeps you and Bob separated, with no contact whatsoever, there's nothing either of you wants more than to simply be in each other's arms.

Warnings: SO much fluff, SPOILERS kinda for Thunderbolts*, female reader description, established relationship, language, tiniest bit suggestive but nothing steamy

Word Count: 3,749 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

Four weeks.

You’d been away from the tower, from the team, for four weeks now, and you couldn’t have been happier to be coming back to the place you were slowly beginning to call home. Well, it helped that one specific person in that tower had become home to you.

Valentina had sent you and John Walker on a ‘deep shadow conditions’ mission in the Amazon Rainforest, miles to the west of Manacapuru. There were rumors of an organization dealing illegal weapons somewhere in the area along the Manacapuru River, and somehow, Valentina’s friends at O.X.E. ended up tied up in the dealings. Putting her faith in the two of you, it was your job to survey the area, infiltrate, and get the O.X.E. personnel out before things got nasty (not that either you or Walker wanted to play Valentina’s clean-up personnel anymore, but you were out of options). Unfortunately, the mission's ‘deep shadow conditions’ meant no contact with the rest of the team from the second you left the tower until the second you were back on U.S. soil.

That meant you’d gone four weeks without Bob, the longest the pair of you had been apart from one another since the day you’d met in Valentina’s vault.

“You should’ve let me check out that injury on the jet ride back,”

You couldn’t help yet another eyeroll at John’s comment, wincing as he attempted to help you out of the car as it dropped you both off in front of the New York City tower. A hiss left your lips as John’s hand even touched your waist, pain shooting through you as he tried to help you stand straight.

“I’ll take a look at it myself when we get upstairs,” you’d told him as he let you grab onto his arm, using him as a crutch in order to get into the building and make your way past security toward the elevator. He didn’t miss the small glare you shot up at him. “This injury is your fault, don’t forget it.”

“How could I? You made sure to remind me the entire ride back here…”

The elevator to the top floors of the tower, occupied by The New Avengers themselves, was the slowest elevator ride of your entire life. Deep shadow conditions meant you and John were surely NOT living a life of luxury. The safe house you’d been put up in wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but when two Avengers would surely stick out like a sore thumb in their gear, you couldn’t exactly stay right in the middle of civilization without fear of the mission being blown before it had even begun.

It had been a small house, far enough away from the main town to not draw suspicion, but it had its downsides because of it. The water pressure was far from what either of you were used to. Options for breakfast, lunch, and dinner were much slimmer than the endless options the always-stocked fridge in the Tower provided, and you certainly weren’t sleeping on the expensive, memory foam mattresses your rooms in the Tower provided you with.

Plus, the safe house didn’t have Bob.

“OUR FRIENDS! YOU HAVE RETURNED IN ONE PIECE!”

Alright, maybe Alexei’s inability to use an ‘inside voice’ was something you hadn’t missed these last four weeks.

Since John had alerted the team the second that you’d landed in U.S. airspace and were in your protective detail vehicle on your way back to the tower, the team must’ve been anxiously waiting in the common room space of the tower for your return.

Yelena was on you both in a second, helping take your bags from John as he still was helping keep you upright, the pain evident on your face no matter how much you tried to hide it. Bucky and Ava were trying to tell Alexei that he needed to use his ‘inside voice’ that he clearly didn’t know how to use, and then there was Bob.

Your sweet Bob, the man who’d stolen your heart so easily, just as you’d stolen his own. 4 weeks was too long to be away from him, not that it had been easy for you to leave him in general that day.

“Y-You’ll be safe?”

Bob had stumbled over his words as you stood in what used to be your bedroom, but had quickly, in the course of a few months, become your shared room. He’d gotten better at stumbling through words and had seemed more comfortable and sure of himself the past few months since beginning his mandated therapy by Valentina, and since finding medication that worked for him. But his nerves were clear when he was standing in front of you as you adjusted the straps across your gear, bag packed for the trip slung over your shoulder as you prepared to leave…prepared to leave him behind.

“I’ll be as safe as I can be. There’s always risks,” you tried to gently remind him. There had been multiple missions since you’d all been forced into this life as The New Avengers, but nothing to this level. Only a team of two, deep in the Amazon Rainforest, and cut off from contact with the rest of the team. It was no wonder that Bob’s anxiety was taking control of him. Your hands quickly found his, and he accepted them without hesitation, squeezing them tightly in his own. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“A whole month,” Bob mumbled, unable to look away from you. His eyes flickered around your face, as if trying to commit every moment of you to memory in case the worst-case scenario came true, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him do so. “I…I’ll miss you.”

He didn’t let you speak before tugging your body into his, but you gladly accepted. Arms wound around his shoulders, hands carding into the hard nipping at the nape of his neck. Bob’s head buried itself into your shoulder, most likely inhaling the vanilla and cinnamon scent of your perfume he’d mentioned a thousand times that he adored. His arms found their familiar place around your waist, securing you to him as if to keep you from leaving.

“Hey-” you’d looked over to the doorway of the room to see John standing there, bag slung across his shoulder. His gaze drifted from you to Bob, who was still buried in your embrace, and a sarcastic comment seemed to die on his tongue as the usual teasing tone in his voice dissipated, instead replaced by something soft and genuine. “Car is out front, we’re shipping out in ten.”

“Thanks, Walker. I’ll meet you there in a bit,” the second your teammate had left the doorway, you were leaning your head back to get a look at Bob, hands tugging ever so slightly on his hair. “Bob, baby, look at me.”

He’d just barely pulled back enough to look at you before you’d pulled him into a kiss, hands weaving into his hair fully now. Bob didn’t hesitate, his grip around your waist tightening, as you both poured every ounce of love and adoration possible into that kiss, knowing it would be all you had to hold onto for weeks to come.

“I-I love you,” Bob mumbled against your lips, such a familiar phrase shared so often between the pair of you since it had been said no even a month prior, and your lips curled up into a smile.

“I love you, too. I’ll be back soon, I promise,”

He looked the same, not that you’d expected him to look much different in just four short weeks. His hair had grown out slightly, as he only trusted you to cut it. But other than the obvious change in hair length, signalling time had passed since you’d seen him, he looked just like he did the day you’d left. That familiar blue sweatshirt you’d gotten him two months ago, those grey sweatpants he always gravitated toward whenever he was reading in his nook by the window, and that tiny, shy smile on his face that was full of affection and adoration for you and only you.

“You look like hell,” Yelena said, drawing your attention back to her. Her hand shot out to grab your side the second that Walker let it go, and you hissed audibly, causing her hand to shoot out to your arm instead to hold you steady. “Jesus, the fuck happened to you?”

“Ask that dipshit over there,” John rolled his eyes at the glare you shot his way as Yelena helped you move away from the elevator and into the common room slowly. “Finally intercepted the drop point for the sale and almost had those O.X.E. employees out of there without a single incident, until Walker over here got trigger happy and shot the man behind me-”

“He was pulling a knife on you! You couldn’t see it because he was behind you!” John was exasperated, unloading the weapons on his belt onto the table as the team watched the conversation play out. “Did you want a knife in your side?”

“I took a gunshot to the side instead because you started a war, essentially, so maybe!” seeing the incredulous look on Yelena’s face, you quickly waved her off. “I wasn’t actually shot, it was just a graze, I’m fine.”

“Graze is just as bad-”

“How was the weather in beautiful, beautiful South America, huh?”

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to Alexei, a mix of confusion and pure wonder about how he always managed to ask the completely wrong questions at the completely wrong time.

Your eyes found Bob again, though, and he was already looking at you, hands fidgeting at his sides. You’d waited long enough to see him again, you didn’t want to wait another second to just be back in his embrace.

“Warm, Alexei. Very, very warm and very humid,” Yelena didn’t fight you as you left her side as you spoke to her father, hobbling across the room and instantly slotting yourself against Bob.

It felt like a homecoming in and of itself, just simply holding him again. From the second Bob had grown comfortable being around you, with simply touching you, there was never a time when either of you didn’t seem to be clinging to one another. Hand holding under the table, sharing blankets on the couch pressed into one another's sides, your bedroom becoming a shared space. Four weeks without the usual feel of his body that managed to run incredibly warm, of inhaling that fresh scent of his laundry detergent that he loves that you’d grown accustomed to being surrounded by, was far too long.

Bob didn’t hesitate to open his arms and bring you in, head resting on your own as you buried yourself into his chest, desperate to just have him close. Being in his arms again was like a breath of fresh air, a weight finally lifted off your shoulders. His arms held you tightly to him, just as desperate to feel you as well, careful not to aggravate the side of your body as the team droned on around them in conversation.

“Hi,” you mumbled into the fabric of his sweatshirt, feeling the small rumble of his chest as he let out a short laugh.

“Hi,” he’d mumbled back into your hair, taking a deep breath in. “I…I missed you.”

“We still need to finish off the mission report for Valentina, she said she wants it on her desk by the end of the day-”

“Walker, the love birds are back together again. I think you can handle that report yourself,”

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself from Bob’s arms, sending Bucky a thankful smile that he gave a short nod to, before turning your attention back to Walker.

“John, you know I love you, but I just spent four weeks with you and practically got shot because of you. You can handle the report…I’m going to relax on a mattress that I took for granted before this mission,”

There was small laughter from the rest of the team, and short call outs of ‘sleep well’ and ‘glad you're okay’ from your friends before they turned their attention back to Walker. Bob’s hand was wound tightly in yours before you were both off toward the privacy of your bedroom.

You know for a fact you’d left the bedroom in a state of disarray when you’d left for the mission. Clothes had been strewn about, the blankets and comforter on the bed unmade, as you’d rushed to pack what you needed for the mission. It was perfect, now. The bed was made, and all of your clothes had been put back into your dresser or hung up in the closet, even the contents of your desk had been organized. There was even a new frame sitting on your bedside table, holding a photostrip of you and Bob taken months ago on an impromptu team trip to Coney Island (that Valentina had complained about).

“Thanks for taking care of the mess I left behind,” you said quietly to Bob, leaning against his shoulder as you both barely stood in the room together. He shut the door behind you both, turning so that you were facing him, and the tiny smile that adorned his lips.

“Didn’t want you to come home to a mess,” there was something about the way Bob looked at you when he said the word home that sent a flutter through your chest. He wasn’t talking about the tower; he meant home with him. “Plus uh, I kind of hated sleeping in the mess.”

You’d barely let yourself laugh at his little comment before your hand cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that you’d been craving since the moment you and John had left the tower a month prior. The instant tension release in your body the second your lips met his was noticeable, to both you and to Bob.

The kiss in itself was sweet, fueled on your end by the tiredness you’d been feeling for days and the ache in every bone and muscle of your body. But Bob’s kisses back were fueled by need, by the desperate need to simply feel you and know that this wasn’t a dream, that you were back and you were okay and he could stop worrying his pretty little head off for weeks on end.

The moment was broken the second his hands found your waist, injury forgotten for a moment as his hand gripped your side. Another hiss of pain shot out of you, and you visibly flinched in his hands, backing just an inch away to cup at your side.

“Jesus fucking christ, that shit hurts,”

“I’m sorry,” Bob was immediately apologizing, hands hovering over your arms like he was afraid to touch you again and make it worse. “I-I forgot, I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“You didn’t, I promise,” you were quick to reassure him with a shake of your head and a smile, even if the pain was visible in your smile. “Just probably needs disinfected and wrapped, is all. Kind of had to immediately jump on a jet back to the country right after it happened.”

Bob’s hand drifted down to your side again, fingers almost hesitantly ghosting over your side, before he looked back up to you.

“Lie down, let me see it…y-you always take care of me, let me take care of you. Please,”

Well, you never were able to say no to those gorgeous blue eyes you loved so much.

It wasn’t long later that you were sprawled out on your shared bed, head lifted up on a mountain of pillows. The worn-in suit you’d been wearing for weeks was strewn across the room in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your undergarments that, after all this time, still brought a red flush to Bob’s skin. It wasn’t the first time you’d been practically naked in front of him, but it still managed to fluster Bob in a way that always made you smile.

The love of your life himself knelt next to the bed at your side, carefully looking over the area at your waist now that it could be fully seen, the medkit from your bathroom lying at his side. Thankfully, it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but that didn’t mean it was a pretty sight. Your entire side was bruised in a deep purple, brought on by the hand-to-hand combat that had ensued after Walker had taken that shot. The shot had managed to take off a layer of skin, leaving behind a bloody, red strip across your skin that throbbed now that clean air was hitting it.

Bob was gentle with every movement, a sight that made your heart melt. You’d been by his side for everything, from The Void to things as simple as attending his first therapy session or waking him up from a nightmare, so now to be on the receiving end of his gentle and loving care had love practically bursting out of your chest at the sight. He disinfected the area, mumbling apologies every time you winced at the pain it caused, but your eyes never left the side of his face, and the smile on your lips never left either.

“So, how was the last month here in the tower?”

“Uneventful, for the most part,” Bob paused for a moment before shyly shaking his head with a laugh. “Well uh, there was one night w-where Alexei thinks Ava admitted to having a crush on John, but they couldn’t get her to admit it.”

“Funny, since John spent the last four weeks bringing up Ava any chance he got, even if he disguised it as making fun of her,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment before the room fell into silence again as Bob generously applied the healing ointment across the graze. “And you? How were you?”

“Missing you like crazy,” he didn’t hesitate to say it, looking up at you with another shy smile as he covered your entire side with one of the large, waterproof wraps from the kit. “Yelena made fun of me for it. Bucky, he uh…he tried to train me to take my mind off you. I-I may have…broken a window.”

You didn’t care that laughter made your side ache more; you couldn’t help it at the simple thought of Bucky attempting to help Bob train. It seemed he thought it was funny, too, laughing with you at the memory. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, and you melted at the way Bob immediately leaned into you, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. So much more confident, so much more sure of himself than he had been months prior. You adored it.

“I would’ve paid to see that,”

“T-The window is still broken, so you could,” he commented back. “When I grabbed the medkit, I uh, I ran a hot bath for you, if you wanted to take one?”

“Only if you join me,”

Intimacy on a level such as that was something the pair of you had only breached once, just days prior to leaving for your mission. It had taken a while to understand Bob’s comfort levels with intimacy as a whole after he’d managed to tell you the stories he did remember from his drug-haze-filled past, tangles of limbs that he could barely remember now. He’d been scared to cross that bridge with you, scared to touch intimacy on levels such as that, because you were different. He loved you, he needed and wanted those moments to feel different, for him to feel fully present in those moments, to give you everything he knew you both wanted and deserved.

In turn, you’d taught him that intimacy was so much more than sex, that sex was only the smallest part of it. Intimacy is about vulnerability, about allowing yourself to show someone the best and the worst parts of you, knowing they’ll love you anyway. Every hand hold, every hug, every kiss, and every late night spent looking out at the city skyline and never running out of something to talk about was intimacy in its purest form. And when you taught him that, it all became so much easier for Bob. That’s why he nodded yes to you the second you’d asked him, not a moment of hesitation in him.

The hot water felt like a soothing balm to your aching bones and muscles the second you sank into the water, scented vanilla with the bodywash you typically used that Bob had dumped in. The best medicine, though, was simply the feel of Bob against you, skin on skin as his superhuman warmth seemed to heat the water more than it already was. You were barely submerged within the water when Bob pulled you into his lap, slinging your legs across his lap as his arms wound around your waist, holding you to him while still careful to put pressure around your wound.

You didn’t hesitate, arms finding their place around his shoulders and wet, soapy hand winding into his hair. He leaned in, his nose brushing with yours before he simply pressed his forehead to your own, eyes closed as he savored the intimacy of the moment.

“I love you,” Bob didn’t always sound sure when he spoke, his insecurities still shining through in moments. But whenever he uttered those three simple words, he never sounded more sure of himself. “No more month-long missions.”

“I love you, too,” you breathed out through a laugh, pressing the softest of kisses to his lips, laughing again as he chased after the feeling. “Can’t promise anything about the missions, though. You know how Valentina is.”

“Y-Yeah, well, I’m personally telling her you can’t leave me again,”

There was simply another shared laugh between you both before you settled into comfortable silence with one another, simply basking in the moment in one another’s arms, finally back together again. And while you both knew Bob himself wouldn’t be storming into Valentina’s office and demanding anything of her, you mirrored his sentiment.

Bob Reynolds was your home, just as you were his, and you never wanted to be away from home for that long again.

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moondustbaby · 1 month ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/moondustbaby/783927420765044736/hi-girly-can-i-please-request-for-a-rafe-fic

i love thissss!!! pls do one based on the tiktok of leah trying to show her outfit, but can’t lift her leg to show her shoes, so miguel picks her up

All for the Fit Check

what starts as a fit check turns into boyfriend-of-the-year behavior.

⸻

“Okay,” you say, stepping back from your phone as the timer blinks red. “Fit check! Top’s from a little boutique in Charleston—”

Rafe’s sprawled across the bed behind you, one arm under his head, half-watching you through the mirror with that familiar amused grin.

“Jeans are Zara,” you continue, turning to the side and giving a little spin. “And boots are…”

You trail off, trying to lift your leg to show them off, but it’s not working. You wobble a bit, lifting your foot again with less success, and let out a defeated huff. “Ugh, I can’t get them in the frame.”

You hear the soft creak of the bed as Rafe stands behind you. “You tryna show off those boots?”

You nod, distracted, already mid-third attempt to lift your leg.

Before you can try again, his arms wrap around your waist—one around your ribs, the other under your thigh—and he lifts you clean off the floor like it’s nothing.

“Rafe!” you laugh, startled but instantly grinning as your boots swing perfectly into frame.

“There,” he says, holding you effortlessly while you steady yourself against his chest. “Now show ‘em off, superstar.”

You throw up peace signs toward the phone and can’t stop giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You were the one flailing around like a baby giraffe,” he teases, his mouth brushing your ear.

“But I was cute,” you shoot back, letting your head fall back on his shoulder.

“Always cute,” he says, quieter now, like it’s just for you.

He sets you down slowly, like he’s reluctant to let go, hands lingering on your waist before dropping away. You immediately reach for your phone to check the video—and sure enough, it captured everything. Your struggling, the smooth way Rafe swooped in, your bright laugh as he lifted you, the boots perfectly framed in the shot. You immediately post.

And the comments?

“THE WAY HE JUST PICKED HER UP NO QUESTIONS ASKED???”

“Okay but he’s obsessed with her and I’m obsessed with that.”

“This is what love looks like I’m gonna go cry now.”

You scroll through them with a grin, cheeks warm, already knowing what everyone else can see: He doesn’t just love you—he adores you.

a/n: thank you lovie! it took me a bit to find the tiktok you were referring to but i finally found it! i hope you like my take on it 🫶🏻 i love writing these short little blurbs so send me your ideassss

♥️ lani

masterlist

#lani yaps ☾⋆⁺₊✧#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe imagine #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron fluff #rafe x you #bf!rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction

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ofstarsandvibranium · 2 months ago

Text

Mr. Oblivious

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x F!Reader

Summary: Bob is sometimes oblivious to the fact that people find him attractive and/or like him. One of those people includes you.

Warning: a little bit of angst

Marvel Masterlist

You thought you were being obvious, but, turns out, Bob is just oblivious. You're not sure how else you can show him that you like him, other than spell it out in big, bold letters "I LIKE YOU!"

Even then, there's a chance he might interpret that as you liking him as a friend. So, you just kind of settle in your puddle of frustration.

But you can't be mad at Bob. No way. It seems like he's not used to garnering any positive attention to himself. You can tell from the way he blushes and shies away from any compliment you give him, or how he brushes off nice comments about him and counteracts with a self-deprecating comment.

It kind of pains you that he feels unworthy of such adoration and attention, like it seems ridiculous for someone to genuinely like him.

But you try your best. You give him well-meaning and thought out compliments, ones you know to be true in your heart.

And how does he responds, with a shrug and a blush.

It is sometimes cute how oblivious he can be.

You and he ran errands together while the others were on a mission. John wasn't assigned on the mission, but he wanted to stay at the tower and sulk. So it was just you and Bob.

You were checking out at the grocery store when the cashier looked at Bob and said, "Your hair looks so soft. Can I touch it?"

Bob was like a deer in headlights for a moment until he responded with, "Oh, um, sure."

He awkwardly leaned in and the girl ran her fingers through his hair. She giggled and proceeded to ask Bob his hair care routine. You weren't a jealous person, but also Bob wasn't technically yours so you had no right to be jealous in the first place. But also, you found the interaction a little amusing. The girl clearly found Bob attractive and, honestly, you couldn't fault her for her forwardness.

"I don't know, I just shampoo and dry it with a towel." He gave a shrug and a polite smile.

"What kind of shampoo?" the girl leaned in and batted her eyes at Bob.

He leaned back, confused why she was getting closer, "Oh, uh, I forget. Y/N?" he asked.

"Head and shoulders, I think," you answered with a smirk.

"Yeah. Head and shoulders." Bob replied back with a nod.

"Guess I'll try it out sometime," she gave Bob a wink as you paid, trying to hold back a laugh.

After grabbing the receipt and your groceries, you both exited the store. Bob smiled, "She was nice."

You chuckled, "She was flirting with you."

He paused in his step and looked at you confused, "She was?"

You nodded and hummed, "Mhm. It was cute though. She was cute. Did..you wanna ask for her number?"

Bob looked back into the store and looked back at you, "I'm okay." He continued his trek back to your car.

"Not your type?" you asked jokingly, but also you were curious.

"Ah, I'm-I don't know if I have a type. When I was younger, I sorta just dated anyone who was interested in me...don't know if anyone would be interested in me now."

You pursed your lips at the last bit and you wanted to shake him and yell in his face, "I'M INTERESTED YOU, DUMMY!" But you didn't want to overwhelm him, so you continued to keep your feelings to yourself.

It all came to a head when it was post a successful mission. Alexei ordered pizzas and you all were lounging around the living room of the residential floor. People sipping on their respective alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks.

The random conversations and constant bickering and bantering eventually led to a conversation about each other's love lives.

Seemingly, the only one as close to a love life was John, but it's still iffy.

"What about you, Bob?" Yelena asks. Everyone's eyes turn to him and he's frozen for a moment.

"Uh, what about me?" he asks.

"What are your views on love?" Ava asks before taking a swig from her beer bottle.

"Oh, uh, I don't think I've ever been in love or truly experienced it. Never found anyone who, uh, really loved me, I guess."

"Well, we love you," Yelena says, patting his knee, "In a familial sense."

John snorts, "All of us, but one."

You glare at John and he shrugs, "What? It's not like he knows!"

"Knows what?" Bob looks at you, to John, and back to you.

"Walker," Bucky says his name in a warning tone, "Don't."

"The kid's oblivious! He obviously doesn't know that Y/N is in love with him!"

The world seemed to pause in that moment. People held their breaths as they all turned to you. Seething, you stand up and dump the rest of your drink on John's head.

"What the fuck!"

"Deserved," Ava said.

Yelena shakes her head, "Always have to be such an asshole."

You place your glass onto the coffee table and, without another word, headed upstairs.

Once you're gone, everyone turns their heads back to Bob. He gulps, "Y/N's in love with me?" He starts fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, "I-" he looks at his found family, "What do I do?"

"Confess your love."

"Give her some space."

"Fuck, if I care."

"Talk to her."

"Walker, shut the hell up!"

Bob abruptly stands, overwhelmed with the various answers he's receiving. That's when they all go quiet.

Bucky clears his throats, "Do you have feelings for her?"

"I-Yeah. I do."

"Then tell her."

"Okay," he replies and then heads upstairs to find you.

He checks your room, which is across from his, but you're not there. Then he hears a curse from John's room. He pushes the door open to find you kneeling at John's bedside table.

"Y/N?" you freeze and look over your should.

"Uh...hi?"

Bob can't help but smile. He crosses his arms over his chest, leans against the doorframe, and asks, "What're you doing?"

"John's a dick so I left his tv on to play Cocomelon videos on repeat and I'm gluing his tv remote to the bedside facing down so he can't turn it off."

Bob chuckles, "That's...fun."

"Yup," you murmur and go back to adding more glue onto John's remote, "You don't have to say anything to me. We can just pretend that never happened."

Bob walks further into the room, "Why?"

"Don't want it to ruin our friendship, so we'll just pretend it's not true."

"But is it?" You stay silent and Bob continues, "Is it true you're in love with me?"

You shrug, avoiding his gaze, "Does it matter?"

"Well...yeah. The one person who means the most to me, loves me back. So yeah, it matters."

You take in what he's just said and your heart beat quickens. You slowly stand and look at him, "You feel the same way?"

He shrugs so nonchalantly, "How could I not?"

You can't help but laugh in disbelief, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Probably the same reason you didn't. Scared and didn't want things to change. Also...I don't feel like I deserve you. I mean, I'm not the best person. I have a shitty past and still kind of a mess and-" his words get stuck as you rush forward and press your lips to his.

He's taken by surprise so by the time he starts to kiss you back, you pull away, "Please don't talk about yourself like that. You're not a bad person, Robby. It's okay if you have a shitty pass, because, newflash, we all do and now we're all fucking Avengers! Also, it's okay if you're a mess. You're working on yourself and that's a good thing." you swoop away a curl that got into his face, "I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if I didn't see something in you that's worth loving."

He nods, "Okay."

"I love you."

"I..I love you too."

You lean in and he rests his forehead against yours, "I do have something to request of you."

"Yeah? What?"

"You need to be more situationally more aware because I was so obvious I had feelings for you."

He pulls back with furrowed brows, "What? No, you weren't."

"I was! So painfully obvious!"

"She was," John says as he appears in the doorway, "Also, why're you in my room?"

You pull away from Bob and shrug, "Thought I saw a mouse go into your room. Good night!" you tug on Bob's arm, leading him out of John's room.

You two go into yours, locking the door behind you.

Down the hall, you hear John yell, "DID YOU GLUE MY REMOTE TO THE TABLE?!"

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine #robert “bob” reynolds #robert “bob” reynolds imagine #robert “bob” reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts imagine

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illyrianbitch · 5 months ago

Text

Are We Still Friends? — Part Three

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Azriel’s attempts at an apology fall short, Cassian’s advice backfires, and confrontations force both you and Azriel to face uncomfortable truths—though not the same ones.

Warnings: angst. a heavy grudge, a male incapable of owning up to his mistakes, a well-meaning but wrong-steering best friend, verbal fighting, physical fighting, brief mentions of blood

Word Count: 8.5k

this was going to be two parts but... for the drama, ive decided to offer a feast and not just a meal

Part Two ┃ Series Masterlist ┃ Part Four

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel hadn’t meant to let it sit for this long.

His shadows had been needling him for days, hissing reminders at the edge of his mind: Fix this. He intended to. He just didn’t know how. There were too many eyes on him now, too many people that expected his great, grand apology.

It was hard to focus on anything else. Even when he was with Selene, her words barely touched him. His mind was consumed by the unease that gnawed at him, the constant pull of you, somewhere, still angry over what had happened.

Azriel wanted to ask Selene about her words. Why they’d taken root in his mind, why he’d echoed them back to you. But he didn’t. He let Selene talk, smiled when she asked for his opinion, and tried to let the softness of her lips on his drown out the unease.

He didn’t know exactly why it felt so much harder with you— felt harder to argue, felt even harder to apologize. Everything else in his life, every delicate situation, every broken, jagged thing, he could attempt to handle with steady hands. But you—every time he stepped near you lately, it felt like stepping onto unstable ground. One wrong move, and everything shifted beneath him.

His shadows had made sure to remind him, trailing after you through the house, feeding him fragments of your clipped words to Mor, the slam of a cabinet door when you thought no one was paying attention. They weren’t even subtle about it anymore, curling around his ears like smoke, whispering your whereabouts.

He’d tried small things—leaving you treats, a smoothie for breakfast, or a croissant on a plate with your name carefully written on a napkin. But every time he returned to check, they were untouched. Once, he found the croissant flattened and crumpled, as if you’d squeezed it with a tight fist before tossing it back onto the plate. His shadows confirmed you were angry that night, their murmurs suggesting no coincidence in your evening spent with Mor.

Since then, every instinct told him to stay away and retreat, to wait until he’d figured out the right thing to say instead of stumbling through this mess. But waiting had gotten him here, hadn’t it? And now he was scrambling to undo weeks of silence. He thought, maybe, he should have something written out. Something properly planned, so that he knew what he wanted to tell you. But every time he thought about what to say, his mind came up blank. After hours of failure, he’d convinced himself that, with you, it would come naturally. It always had.

Or, at least, that’s what he kept repeating as he made his way downstairs, finding you in the kitchen.

You didn’t look up right away, but you knew he was there.

“Are you sure you want to be in here without a chaperone?” you said, slicing into an apple slowly. “What if something happens?”

Shadows swirled around his shoulders. Angry, they whispered. As if he didn’t already know.

“Stop,” Azriel said. “Can we just... stop with the comments. Please.”

“Why?” You said, finally tossing a glance his way. “Is it bothering you?”

The look on your face was nothing like he expected. It wasn’t just anger. It was exhaustion, too. He didn’t like it, the way the shadows under your eyes and the stiffness in your shoulders spoke louder than anything you’d said to him in days. Didn’t like that he’d probably been the one to put that exhaustion there.

“Yes,” Azriel finally responded. “It is bothering me.”

You let out a laugh, something low and humorless, and it twisted in his chest. Should he apologize for making you lose sleep, too? He’d already failed at the rest of it—what was one more thing to add to the pile?

Azriel cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”

“Now you want to talk?”

His fists clenched at his sides. The familiar burn of frustration, the heat of guilt, rose up his throat. “How was I supposed to talk to you before when you’d just ignore me or say something snarky and leave?”

You stilled at his words and Azriel was almost tempted to embrace the small flicker of relief he felt. He should have apologized sooner, yes, but you had been avoiding him fervently. He convinced himself he wouldn’t have been able to apologize before now, anyways.

“Okay,” you said, setting the knife down and leaning against the counter. “Well, I’m here now. So what do you want to say?”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to the knife instinctively. It was far enough from your hand that he probably didn’t need to worry. Probably. Not that he thought you’d do anything—though there was that one time Cassian had nearly stabbed him with a butter knife. He’d been significantly less angry than you were now. The memory did nothing to ease Azriel’s nerves. He pushed the image away.

This was it—his chance to fix things. To say all the things he’d been rehearsing in his head. But the words didn’t come. Instead, he found himself saying, “How was the meeting with Keir?”

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back down his throat. He could see it in the way your expression shifted—something sharp and disbelieving cutting across your face. Azriel didn’t need his shadows to tell him he’d screwed up again. The words had barely landed, and already he was bracing for the fallout.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

Azriel froze. His shadows curled tighter around him. Stupid, stupid. He swallowed, desperately trying to correct it. There was no going back. “Rhys said I should expect some tension at the next meeting. I wanted the full picture.”

“The full picture?” You repeated darkly. “Well the full picture wasn’t great, Azriel. Because you weren’t there. And because I was pissed—because of you.”

Azriel nodded, swallowing hard. Idiot. “Right. I shouldn’t have asked that. I should’ve—” He stopped himself. No, he couldn’t fix that now. He needed to focus on what mattered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, the words leaving his mouth like rocks tumbling down a hill. He hated the way it sounded—weak, like he didn’t mean it. But he did. He just didn’t know how to make you believe it. Azriel continued, the apology already unraveling in his head. “For how you feel.”

“Oh,” you said softly, but there was a thick sarcasm in your voice. “You’re sorry for how I feel?”

Azriel rushed to correct himself. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” You shook your head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Do you even know what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you sorry for?”

Azriel cursed himself for the hundredth time. Why was this so hard?

Because it was you, he heard his own voice reply, because he couldn’t bear the thought of failing you again. He knew he was failing—knew it in the sharp edge of your voice and the way your eyes narrowed every time he opened his mouth. And still, the right thing to say stayed maddeningly out of reach.

“I’m sorry that your feelings got hurt.”

His shadows slowly loosened, trailing down his body like they didn’t want to be associated with him anymore. He didn’t blame them. You blinked slowly at him, that look of exhaustion softening your features.

“That’s not an apology, Azriel. That’s—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “You know what? Nevermind.”

Azriel was transported back to the night of the fight, remembering how you’d said similar words then, too. He tried to salvage it again, but you were already moving, wiping the cutting board with a hurried motion. You didn’t notice as your apple, barely sliced, rolled off the counter’s edge. His shadows were there almost instantly, catching the fruit before it fell.

You reached out, and for a brief moment, your shoulders softened as you grabbed it from their hold.

“Where are you going?” Azriel asked. He wondered if his voice sounded as desperate as he felt. As frustrated.

“To train with Cassian,” you replied, still not looking at him. Your hand paused on the counter, and you glanced over your shoulder. “Do you think I should stop by Nesta first? Make sure she’s okay with me being around her mate? I wouldn’t want to ruin their relationship too.”

Azriel’s chest tightened. “Can we stop this?”

“No,” you replied swiftly, and Az could have sworn he heard a crack in your voice.

And then the silence stretched. You ate the small slices of apple as you put things away, the quiet dragging on as he stood there, still unable to speak. Finally, you stopped and looked at him. He tried to offer a smile, something to soften the weight in the air. But you just frowned.

“Did you expect to wait this out? Wait until I got over it?”

Azriel shook his head, his voice low. “No. I never thought that. I just—”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You stared at him for a long moment, like you were seeing him for the first time, and the disappointment in your gaze made his chest feel tight. He should have been able to find the right words. But it didn’t matter anymore, not in this moment, not as you let out a small, bitter laugh, nodding as if something inside you had finally broken.

“Always so afraid of saying the wrong thing that you never say the right one.”

Azriel opened his mouth, desperate to correct himself, to make it right, but the words just wouldn’t come. He had never considered that before—at least, not with you. He’d never thought he needed to say the right things, never cared enough to learn how.

“I never realized how much of an asshole you could be,” you said, with a final, almost dismissive glance. “I guess some females are into that.”

And then you were gone.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Training couldn’t have come at a better time.

You needed to hit something—needed to feel that release. Not in a petty, frustrated way, like slamming your fist into a wall, but in the desperate, raw way that left you aching. It was the only way to escape your frustration and, maybe, remind yourself that you were still you, despite how Azriel made you feel.

And for a while, it worked.

Cassian had spent centuries mastering the language of battle, the unspoken rhythm of war. He could read the tension in a stance, spot when someone's body didn’t follow through with the mind’s intentions. He didn’t get enough credit for it, you thought, his ability to read someone without words. He was looking at you now, with that critical eye, head tilted slightly, like he was waiting for you to crack.

“Alright,” Cassian grunted as he parried another strike. “What’s on your mind?”

You ducked beneath his swing. “Nothing,” you said, deflecting the question with a swipe of your sword. Too fast, too aggressive.

Cassian dodged it easily, raising a brow. “Right. Because ‘nothing’ is exactly what makes you swing like you’re trying to decapitate me.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but you didn’t laugh. You weren’t in the mood for his teasing, no matter how good-natured it was.

“It’s nothing. Seriously.”

He rested the flat of his blade against his shoulder. “Come on, spit it out before you take my head off for real. I’ll pester you all day.”

You sighed, pacing a few steps away. He’d wait. He definitely would. And there wasn’t much point in pretending anymore—he clearly knew you weren’t fine. Continuing to train like this was useless when your head was so unfocused. Avoiding the topic wasn’t helping either. At this point, everyone knew what was going on. Hell, they all seemed more bothered by it than Azriel.

Still, you’d been dodging these conversations. Talking about it felt...stupid. Saying it out loud would make it real—all the messy, painful feelings you’d been shoving down would be out there, staring back at you like some pitiful mirror. Your conversation with Azriel this morning had only made your bitterness stronger.

But Cassian was watching you, expecting, and it was nice, in a way. Having someone care this much. Maybe it would be easier to talk to him. Mor had helped, sure, but her comfort recently came in the form of dragging Azriel through the dirt. It didn’t actually solve anything.

"It’s this stupid thing with Az," you muttered finally. "I’m starting to feel like he doesn’t actually care about me."

Cassian leaned on the hilt of his sword. “Well, that’s not true.”

You leveled him with a stare, your body tensing as a surge of frustration ran through you, hot and heavy. “It isn’t? He talked to me for the first time today and didn’t even apologize. Not properly. Just asked about Keir.”

Cassian’s expression softened. “He gets wrapped up in his own head about things. Probably just embarrassed, you know? Doesn’t know how to approach the situation.”

You’d run that possibility through your mind a hundred times. Mor had even said it herself. But it didn’t help with the ache, the anger. It was hard to believe your spymaster—so fearless, so eager to throw himself into the fire—was struggling to talk to a friend. Out of all the hard things Azriel had done, surely a simple apology wasn’t beyond him. You’d forgiven him for so much, had let things go because he was your friend. But you were tired of letting it go. He had the perfect opportunity to apologize, to properly acknowledge how he’d hurt you, and he hadn’t taken it.

“Embarrassed by what? Accusing his friend of something so absurd?”

Cassian tilted his head in subtle agreement, like he too thought the word absurd was right for the situation. “I think Az doesn’t want to be seen as...whatever he thinks people see him as. Like he’s incompetent in love. Or that he can’t handle his shit.” He rolled his shoulders, sighing. “He’s defensive. When he’s cornered, he reacts badly. It’s not about you, Y/n. You know that, right?”

You knew that. Of course you did. But it didn’t feel like a proper explanation this time. It didn’t feel like enough.

“But it feels like it is about me. He listened to her. He took her word, over mine." Your fists clenched involuntarily. "And the way he acted—like I wasn’t worth considering, like my opinion doesn’t matter. I’ve known him for centuries. She—" You paused, taking a breath, "She’s barely been in his life. And he immediately assumes that my care for him is because I just want something from him. That it’s some selfish, self-serving thing. His whole job is to see through lies, Cass. He didn’t even second-guess her.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t actually see it like that. He probably just reacted out of instinct. It’s Azriel, Y/n, he’s complicated. "

“Shit, Cass, way to play sides.”

Cassian sighed, stepping closer. “I’m not playing sides. I’m trying to help. Az makes stupid decisions. Half the time, I don’t think he even understands why. I don’t want you driving yourself crazy trying to figure it out. It’s not worth it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” you snapped. “Just wait it out? Move on? That’s not happening.”

The words came out sharper than you intended, and guilt pricked at the edges of your conscience. This wasn’t Cassian’s fault—he didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to care. But lately, your anger over everything—over Az—felt like a thorn lodged so deeply under your skin that the irritation seeped into everything. You were struggling to control it.

It was a small blessing there weren’t any court matters to handle for the time being. Rhys was likely still preoccupied with Keir’s incessant whining about your last outburst.

Still, it felt like acid rising in your throat, a bitter burn you couldn’t swallow down, even as Cassian opened his mouth to respond. The words were spilling out of you before he could say anything.

“I’m not even mad about this one fight anymore,” you started, the grip on your sword slipping as your fingers unfurled. The blade clattered to the ground, the sound loud enough to make Cassian flinch. “It’s everything. All of it. He never apologizes for anything—have you noticed that? Like, ever. And I’ve let it slide because that’s just Azriel, right? Quiet, brooding Azriel, who’s somehow above—”

Cassian raised a palm out. “Alright, alright, stop,” he said. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy. It’s not worth it.”

You exhaled sharply, realizing you were halfway to a full-blown rant.

He stepped closer, giving you a knowing look. “Listen, you can’t force him to apologize properly. You just...can’t. You have to let him come to it on his own.”

Your teeth clenched. “I shouldn’t have to.”

Cassian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I agree. Believe me, I agree. But until he figures his shit out, maybe we focus on what you can change.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. What else is bothering you?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “It would be easier to list what isn’t bothering me right now.”

Cassian tilted his head again, considering. “Does it bother you that Selene sees you as competition?”

You blew a strand of hair out of your face. Did it bother you?

Azriel had believed her instantly—disregarded you with a swiftness that stung. He’d accused you of selfishness, of something you’d never been with him. But Selene’s opinion of you, the thoughts she’d planted in his mind, those bothered you too. You hadn’t realized it until now.

She didn’t know you.

And yet, her words had curled under your skin, sitting heavy and raw, making you ache in a quiet, tired way. Worse, they’d made you overthink every interaction with Azriel since. You’d spent so much of your life trying to be the diplomat, choosing empathy even when it sucked—when it drained you. You wanted to like Selene—gods, you wanted to like the people Azriel cared for, even when it felt impossible. But she hadn’t even given you the time of day.

“I don’t like that I’ve been vilified somehow,” you admitted with a frown. “I don’t want to feel like I’m fighting for his attention or validation. It’s not like that.”

Cassian gave a small, knowing smile. “I know it’s not.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

He paused, clearly mulling something over, then asked, “Do you want to hear what I think?”

You gave him a wary look. “I feel like you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Correct,” he said, grinning. Then he sobered. “Az aside...I think Selene’s reaction makes sense.”

You blinked at him, incredulous. Was he serious right now? A sharp heat rose in your chest. “Okay, well, that’s clearly choosing sides—”

“Hear me out,” Cassian said quickly. “I mean, look at you, Y/n. I’d be jealous of you too if I were her. You’re beautiful, smart, someone Azriel deeply cares for. Hell, I’d probably be a mess.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “So, because I’m so wonderful, I’m responsible for her insecurities?” you asked dryly, arching a brow.

Cassian shook his head. “No. What I’m saying is that this might be the one aspect of the situation you can change. The one thing you have control over. Maybe talking to her would help. Clear the air.”

You mulled over his suggestion. Maybe he had a point. Maybe talking to Selene would help. Not just to ease the tension, but to give Azriel room to come to you—to clear the air between you both. If you did this—if you took the first step—maybe he’d finally take you seriously. Apologize for dismissing you so easily, so carelessly. You could find a way to move on, comfortably, with Selene in his life. Right?

It wasn’t like the situation could get any worse.

"Okay," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "Yeah. Maybe I’ll talk to her."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Cassian was waiting for Azriel as he stepped out of the townhome, his massive frame leaning against the railing. One glance at the general was enough to confirm it: Cassian wasn’t there to exchange pleasantries. No—Cassian stood with his arms crossed, his wings partially flared, exuding the barely-contained anger Azriel recognized all too well.

“We need to talk,” Cassian said.

Azriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He tightened his fists, shadows curling around them instinctively, obscuring his hands from view. Not now. Not tonight. He had no energy for this—not for Cassian’s righteousness or whatever lecture he’d come prepared to deliver.

“I’m not in the mood, Cass,” he said flatly, brushing past him.

“Too bad.” Cassian stepped into his path, blocking him with ease. “I didn’t endure an hour of Mor yelling at me for you to decide you can’t have a conversation.”

Azriel paused, his brow furrowing. “Why was Mor yelling at you?”

Cassian crossed his arms. “Because of you.”

“Great,” Az muttered. “What have I done now?”

“I gave Y/n some advice that, in hindsight, wasn’t great. Mor made the situation a lot clearer for me. Now I’m here to make sure you clean up your mess before anyone else slips.”

The mention of your name made Azriel’s chest ache in a way that felt too raw. He’d told himself he wouldn’t think about you tonight—not your voice, not your expression when he’d spoken to you this morning. But here was Cassian, dragging it all to the surface like a wound being forced open.

“I don’t think this is any of your concern,” Azriel said coldly, stepping around Cassian in a last-ditch effort to leave.

Cassian didn’t budge, spinning on his heel and following. “It is my concern because you’re my friend. And Y/n is my friend.”

Azriel could feel his shadows tighten their hold, whispering, urging him to end this. He wasn’t sure if they meant the conversation with Cassian or the situation entirely. Azriel could only control one of those.

“Cass, leave it alone,” he said, his voice low, barely masking the warning there.

“No,” Cassian responded immediately. “You did something shitty and you need to own up to it, Az.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes friends fight,” he ground out. “Sometimes we get on each other’s nerves, like you’re getting on mine now. It’ll settle.”

“This isn’t going to ‘settle.’” Cassian’s voice rose. “You didn’t just get on her nerves—you offended her.”

The words hit harder than Azriel had anticipated.

“Because the idea of having feelings for me is so offensive? Am I that repulsive?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, the question jagged, biting. He hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t sure where it had come from.

Cassian blinked, his anger giving way to confusion for a moment before his brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t twist this into something it isn’t.”

Azriel’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of heat creeping up his neck. His outburst had come from nowhere, and now, Cassian’s eyes were full of confusion and something else—something close to pity. Azriel felt small under it, a flush of embarrassment prickling down his body. He wanted to look away, to escape.

He needed to leave.

Think later. Process later. Just get out of here.

Azriel squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet Cassian’s gaze with as much indifference as he could muster. “Are you done now? Selene is waiting for me.”

Cassian stepped closer, his wings flaring in frustration. “Selene can deal with a few lost minutes of Azriel time. We’re talking.”

“No,” Azriel said, voice flat, his gaze turning icy. “You’re talking. I’m leaving.”

He moved to step past Cassian, but the larger male blocked him again.

“Is this some weird self-pity thing?” Cassian demanded, his tone growing sharper. “Thinking you’re not worth being forgiven so you don’t even try?”

Those words hit a nerve.

Azriel’s anger sparked instantly, snapping through his ribs like a whip. He couldn’t decide if it was directed at Cassian or himself. But Cassian didn’t understand. None of them did.

“Cass, just let it go.”

“No,” Cassian shot back. “You always do this. You make decisions that are selfish. You push people away because you think it’s easier, and it’s not. It’s bullshit.”

It wasn’t easier—it was never easier. But what was Azriel supposed to say? That it was better than risking more damage? That every decision he made, no matter how distant or cold, was the only way he knew how to protect the people he cared about?

“Cassian—”

The slap came out of nowhere.

Azriel’s head snapped to the side, his shadows scattering in shock before reforming around him. Slowly, he turned back to Cassian, his eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?”

“Sorry,” Cassian said flatly. “Must’ve been the wind.”

Azriel’s lip curled. He opened his mouth to respond, but a second slap landed, harder this time.

“Would you stop that?” Azriel growled, his wings flaring slightly, the shadows around him vibrating with his tone. “Don’t touch me.”

Cassian stepped closer. “Why?” he asked, mockingly. “This is what you deserve, right? If you’re so terrible.”

The third slap was the breaking point.

Azriel’s fist flew, connecting with Cassian’s jaw in a blur of movement. The force sent Cassian stumbling back a step, but he recovered quickly, his retaliation swift—a sharp uppercut to Azriel’s ribs.

They fought like brothers—wild, messy. Not about technique, but about something else. Azriel wasn’t sure why Cassian needed this release, but he could feel it—the desperate need behind every punch. And Azriel… Azriel didn’t realize it at first, but he needed it too.

He was an Illyrian, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise. Fighting cleared his mind. Whatever Cassian was trying to achieve, whatever he needed to prove, it was working.

Azriel barely registered the sting of each hit. The ache in his ribs, the burn in his muscles—it all blurred into the same tight, unrelenting pressure in his chest. Like there was no room left for air, for thought, for the gnawing guilt that had dug its claws into him and refused to let go. Cassian tackled him to the ground, pinning him, both of them struggling for breath.

“This is stupid!”

“I agree,” Azriel spat, shoving him off. “Get off me.”

“No, you!” Cassian said, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re stupid.”

Azriel sat up slowly, chest heaving as his shadows curled protectively around him.

Cassian shook his head, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re better than this, Az. So be better and properly fuckin’ apologize. If not for you, for me—so my mate will stop glaring at me every time I say your name.”

Azriel’s gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of Cassian’s words sinking into him like a slow burn. His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. Offered nothing.

Cassian didn’t stop. “Gods know Y/n has done enough for you. Put up with enough. We’ve all done shitty things. But you know what? You take the hit, you own it, and you try to be better. You can’t lead with self-loathing forever.”

Azriel sat there longer than necessary, long after Cassian had walked away. People passed by—some casting glances his way, most not bothering to look at all—but he didn’t move. Didn’t feel the flicker of shame he might’ve once felt at sitting there, bloodied and bruised, shadows curling restlessly around him.

The sting in his cheekbone from Cassian’s knuckles pulsed dully, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the gnawing thoughts taking root.

Maybe it wasn’t the fear of you rejecting his apology that held him back. Maybe it was the fear that you wouldn’t.

That you’d accept it.

That somehow, he’d manage to make it up to you. That things would settle for a while, until he inevitably did something worse. Something irreparable.

He was terrified of succeeding—of pulling you back in, of you continuing to see something in him that he wasn’t. That you’d keep believing in this illusion, this version of him he’d somehow convinced you existed.

For centuries, it felt like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable—waiting for you to see him as he truly was. And if he made this right, if you forgave him, it would only give him more time to fail you again.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You were walking without a proper destination in mind.

You’d never been to it, but Azriel had once mentioned that Selene worked at a flower shop near the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He’d first run into her on one of his free days, when he’d stopped by a few of his favorite parts in the city.

This area made sense. It was near his usual route, tucked away in a cozy corner of the city. As the scent of flowers suddenly enveloped you, you heard Selene’s unmistakable voice. Relief surged through you; you’d found the right place.

You thought back to your conversation with Cassian. You knew you weren’t in the wrong, that this current visit wasn’t expected of you. But it was something you could control. You’d wanted to get to know Selene better anyway. You prepared yourself, putting on a smile and stepping towards the door, but then—

“I mean, is he really worth all that effort?”

This was a voice you didn’t recognize. It curled around you, something about it making your stomach clench.

A small sigh. “Azriel?”

This time, the voice belonged to Selene. You froze, rooted to the spot. Any inclination to quit eavesdropping washed away at the sound of his name. You felt a tightness in your chest—an almost primal urge to run in there, to stop the conversation before it even began.

“Yeah,” the second voice pressed, “He’s a freak, Sel. Hot, sure, but a total freak. And so intense all the time.”

For a moment, there was silence. And then, Selene’s voice, almost reluctant, like she was holding back. “Well—”

Her friend interrupted. “And those shadows? Don’t they freak you out?”

A sound of disgust, maybe a shiver, followed her words. Something cold rushed through you, crawling beneath your skin, and for a moment, you didn’t know whether you wanted to shout or run. Or maybe both. Anger churned in your gut, and the calm, composed facade you’d been carefully maintaining on the walk here began to crack, slipping away piece by piece.

“Hey, knock it off,” Selene replied, her voice soft. “He surprises you. He’s sweet. He makes me happy.”

Her friend snorted. “Has it been an ego boost for you, then?”

“I mean, yeah,” Selene admitted quietly. “But that’s not all of it. Things with him actually aren’t… great right now. He canceled on me again tonight. I think it’s because he had some kind of fight with Y/n.”

The mention of your name stole the breath from your chest, and your body constricted almost involuntarily.

Her friend’s voice was full of disbelief as she asked, “He actually told you?”

“No,” Selene said softly, “I—I heard them. I feel really bad, but…”

The next sound was unmistakable—the sharp intake of breath from her friend, a squeal of sorts.

“Did you actually use the listening charm I gave you? You little min—”

Something snapped in you as the words registered. A listening charm. A strange, gross invasion of privacy. And to think you had felt bad standing here, eavesdropping on their conversation in a public store, of all places. You’d been this close to giving her the benefit of the doubt.

You stormed into the shop, the door slamming behind you, and both voices froze. You barely registered Selene’s friend’s wide-eyed realization, the quiet “Oh shit” leaving her lips as she turned toward Selene.

Your focus was on Selene—on her and no one else. She stood there, an image of calm beauty that twisted something deep inside you—a type of beauty that felt somehow wrong, as if it were too polished, too perfect, for the situation. Her dark hair framed her face, her delicate features still and pale as she stared at you. The color drained from her face the moment your gaze locked with hers.

“Do you want to explain what I just heard?” you asked, your voice tight, sharp, biting. “Or should I just tell you what I’ve gathered?”

Silence.

Her friend opened her mouth to protest, “I don’t think you have any right coming in here and—”

“I think this is a conversation for me and Selene,” you said coldly, not bothering to spare her a glance.

Selene blinked a few times before she turned her head and offered her friend a small, almost reluctant nod.

“You should go,” she told her quietly. “And put the closed sign on the door, please.”

Her friend hesitated, but with a final glance in your direction, she walked out, the soft click of the door behind her leaving the two of you alone. You didn’t miss the way she’d muttered under her breath as she left, a quiet but very clear “Bitch.”

“Y/n,” Selene said after another moment of silence, her voice tentative, like she was trying to find the right words. “I didn’t know that you were here.”

“Clearly.”

Selene’s movements were stiff, awkward as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands now that she was trapped in this uncomfortable moment. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t think that matters anymore,” you replied. “I asked you a question. I’d like to know what I just overheard.”

Selene’s ears flushed pink, a deep red that spread across her neck, as she took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You could feel your patience unraveling. Of course she didn’t know what to say. She’d been caught in the act. There was no excuse for this.

“You listened to us,” you snapped, the words bitter in your mouth. “You spied on Azriel. Do you just want to skip ahead to how you justify it?”

Her face paled, and for a moment, she looked younger—small, almost fragile. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh please.” The frustration boiled over, flooding your veins with anger you hadn’t realized was possible. Anything you’d felt before this moment paled in comparison. You shouldn’t have asked her to explain. You already knew whatever she said would only make things worse, would only add fuel to the fire that was your growing irritation.

This is stupid. This is ridiculous. How did you get roped into this?

“I know it was wrong!” she said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I know, okay? I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let Runa convince me it was a good idea. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

That had to be the worst excuse you’d ever heard. It wasn’t just the stupidity of it that pissed you off—it was the weakness of it, the desperation in her voice that made you want to scream. Azriel must be blind. Had he really been so wrapped up in whatever bubble he’d built around her that he couldn’t see the cracks? Was he so fucking love-blind that this—this—was what he was left with?

“What else to do? About what? Surely any other solution would have been better.”

She let out a deep sigh and her shoulders sagged with the motion. “I really like him, Y/n.”

You snorted, a sound of genuine amusement—more out of sheer disbelief than anything else. You couldn’t help it. “Alright,” you said, dismissing her with a wave of your hand, not buying it for a second. “Don’t start.”

“I do,” Selene said, her voice more insistent now. “I think I might even love him. But it’s hard.”

You shot her an unimpressed look.

Her voice was louder, more frantic, as she continued. “Azriel doesn’t talk about anything—anything real.”

You didn’t bother hiding the scoff. “Bullshit. Az talks. You just have to be patient. Communicate like a normal fucking partner.”

Her frustration flashed across her face, the defensive crossing of her arms only making her look more like a child. “Do you think I didn’t try that? He doesn’t tell me anything. Not really. He keeps everything locked up so tight—he barely even looks at me sometimes. What was I supposed to do?”

“Maybe not violate his privacy?”

“You don’t get it.” Her hands trembled as she gestured at you. “He doesn’t talk to me like he talks to you. Do you know what it’s like to be the one he’s supposed to care about but feel like you’re always on the outside? Like there’s this wall between us that I can’t get through, but somehow you can?”

You should’ve walked away then. The urge to just let her talk herself into a hole was strong. But you didn’t.

“You’ve been dating him for a few months,” you said, crossing your arms, your stance slightly defensive. “We’ve been friends for centuries. You can’t expect him to open up to you completely overnight.”

“That’s not the point!” she snapped, her voice rising, a crack of desperation leaking through. For a fleeting second, you almost felt bad for her. A tug of sympathy.

“Then what the hell is the point?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just looking for someone to blame. And for some reason, that someone is me. Are you seriously trying to imply I'm somehow responsible for you spying on him?”

Selene flinched, but she didn’t back down. You had to give her credit for that. “No. I—I don’t know,” she mumbled, her hand tugging at her hair in jerky movements, like she was trying to yank the thoughts from her mind. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t think—I just… I didn’t want to lose him. I thought if I could figure out what was going on, maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could stop feeling like…”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m always on the outside. Like I’m never going to be enough.”

A part of you wanted to snap back at her, to remind her that this wasn’t a justification, that none of this made it okay. But something about her voice—broken, raw, like a crack that had been growing for too long—slowed your response. Your anger faltered.

“I know it’s insane,” she added, “I know it was wrong, and I feel awful about it. But I didn’t know what else to do. It feels like i’m competing with someone who’s known him longer, who gets to see parts of him I never will. How am I supposed to make space for myself?”

“Still not a good enough excuse,” you bit out. “You can’t just violate his privacy because you’re insecure.”

Selene took a deep breath and met your gaze. There was no fight in them anymore. “Please, just go. Run off and tell Azriel everything. I know you’re probably excited to.”

Her words stung more than they should have.

“Why do you say it like that?” you asked, “Like I’m thrilled to ruin your relationship?”

Selene’s eyes flickered with something sharp. “Aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost wished you could be. Almost.

“No,” you said firmly. “I would never do that to Azriel. I’m not your competition. I’m his friend. I came here to give you the benefit of the doubt because I wanted you two to be happy. But this? This is…” You trailed off, unable to even finish the thought, because it was too much—everything about it felt wrong.

“Crazy?” Selene finished bitterly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know how it looks. But like I said, you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to care about someone so much that you start losing sight of yourself. I think about him, about how much I care about him, and all my instincts go out the window. ”

Selene had always existed a certain way in your mind.

Azriel had seemed lighter when he first mentioned her, a softness in his voice that you hadn’t heard in years. And you’d been happy for him—thrilled, even, at the idea of someone bringing him a bit of joy. You’d wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, wanted to believe that she could be good for him. You were excited to meet her.

But then Az started to change.

The more he changed, the more Selene shifted in your mind, too. She became untouchable, an image conjured more from your worry than from anything real. You imagined her as someone clingy, someone who demanded all of his attention and made him forget the people who loved him first. Someone full of herself, reveling in the power she had over him.

And then you’d met her.

She wasn’t what you’d expected—though not in the way that might have changed your mind. She wasn’t warm or open, wasn’t eager to charm or connect with Azriel’s family. Instead, she’d clung to him like a second skin, her hands always on his arm, her smile reserved only for him. And maybe it was unfair, but you hadn’t liked the way she’d looked at you, hadn’t liked the guarded, wary edge to her voice when she spoke.

You’d trusted your gut, let it guide you through the uncertainty. And when things fell apart—when the argument between you and Az finally erupted—Selene’s image had shifted again.

She became a villain in your mind, a figure painted in sharp, unforgiving lines. It was easier that way. Easier to picture her whispering in Azriel’s ear, twisting his thoughts, pulling him further away from you. You’d built her into someone cruel, someone who reveled in the divide she’d caused.

But now, standing before her, you saw something else entirely.

Selene didn’t look cruel. She didn’t look smug or victorious. If anything, she looked fragile. There was an unease in her posture, a vulnerability in the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. The guardedness was still there, but it felt more like armor than arrogance.

And for the first time, you questioned how much of the image you’d built of her was real—and how much of it was your own fear, your own concern for Azriel, projected onto her.

“Why did you tell Azriel that I had feelings for him?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you weren’t sure where they came from—but somehow, they lifted a deep weight off your chest.

Her brows furrowed, genuine confusion crossing her face. "What?"

“Why did you tell him that you thought I had feelings for him?”

“I wanted to see what he’d do,” she admitted.

Disbelief tightened in your chest. “So you lied to him for fun?”

She shook her head. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes,” you said, the word bitten out, “You told him I had feelings for him.”

“Because you do,” she answered, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, like she understood your feelings better than you did. And for a second—a stupid, fleeting second—you almost believed her.

Selene’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know what a female in love with him looks like,” she said quietly, her voice soft in a way it wasn’t before. “I see it every day when I look in the mirror.”

Something inside you twisted painfully, a knot of emotions you couldn’t untangle fast enough. You focused on the irritation.

“Am I wrong?” she continued. “Is he the best part of your day? Do you look forward to talking to him? Can you tell him things you’d never tell anyone else? Do you save bits of good food just so he can try it?”

Your throat felt tight, the words stuck somewhere between anger and disbelief. How had this conversation managed to spin so completely?

The breath you took felt jagged, like your lungs couldn’t quite expand all the way. “That’s not true,” you said. “Azriel and I… We’re friends. That’s all. We’ve been friends for centuries. That’s just—what happens when you’ve known someone that long.”

For a moment, you thought she might apologize, or at least reconsider. Her expression faltered, but instead, she just stared at you.

“Do you really believe that?”

When you didn’t reply, Selene blinked, cleared her throat, and turned away from you, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “This is so pathetic,” she muttered, her voice tinged with bitter amusement. “I’m standing here, basically pushing you to him.”

A sigh slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You hesitated, torn between frustration and a strange sympathy. Against every instinct telling you to be petty, a part of you felt bad for her. She cared about Azriel. Deeply. You were certain of it— unsure of how you knew, but you were certain nonetheless. There was no malice in her voice, just insecurity and raw, unspoken fear.

You hated that you could sense it, but you couldn't ignore it either. You could almost hear Amren in your ear, urging you to walk away, and Mor's voice reminding you that Selene didn’t deserve your kindness. But somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to leave. If Azriel saw something worth loving in Selene, maybe you did too.

“Okay, well, don’t do that,” you muttered, taking a step closer. The urge to comfort her was almost overwhelming—to show her that maybe she could learn and grow from this. “You need to talk to Az, Selene. Just sit down, be open—”

“Stop. Don’t be nice to me,” she snapped, spinning to face you. Her voice was sharp.

She moved as if to push you away, but hadn’t realized how close you’d stepped. The edge of her bracelet caught your cheek, and the sharp sting of metal cut straight through it.

Selene froze, her eyes widening as she took in the line of blood blooming on your cheek. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her hands hovering uselessly. “I—I didn’t mean—”

You stepped back further, your hand still on your cheek, blood warm against your fingertips.

This seemed about right, you thought bitterly to yourself. This is what happens when you try to be the bigger person. You were gonna kill Cassian. You were going to wring his godsdamned neck.

Selene’s voice became a rush of apologies, each one more frantic than the last, but your attention was already slipping away. Your gaze fell to the bracelet on her wrist. The metal gleamed, twisting slightly with every motion of her hand. You recognized it instantly.

Azriel had a similar one in his room. On his dresser.

“Is that how you did it?” you asked, pointing to her wrist.

Selene’s face drained of color, guilt flooding her expression. She nodded slowly, her hands shaking as she removed the bracelet and held it out to you, eyes wide and full of regret.

You took it from her fingers and, just for a moment, you almost let yourself fall back into the anger, the hurt. But you didn’t. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself before shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” Selene whispered, voice breaking. “I really am. I was— I was just desperate. And Runa kept pushing, and—”

You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, locking eyes with her. Her voice faded, but it didn’t matter anymore. “You’re not terrible, Selene. But you have terrible friends.”

You turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over your shoulder. “I suggest you find new ones.”

You tried to steady yourself as you stepped into the bustling streets of Velaris. The bracelet in your hand was cold against your palm, and the sting of the cut on your cheek throbbed with each beat of your pulse. Everything inside you felt scrambled—emotions tangled, confusion still clouding your mind.

The shuffle of footsteps broke through your fog. You looked up, just in time to hear a sharp voice.

“Ouch, that looks like it stung.” A small chuckle. “Although I’m sure you’re excited to have a reason for the Shadowsinger to tend to you.”

You scanned her. “Runa, right?”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that's me.”

Without hesitation, you found yourself saying, “You gave your friend some hurtful advice.”

Runa shrugged nonchalantly, almost amused. “Oops.”

You held your tongue for a moment, your irritation intensifying the longer you looked at her. Unlike Selene, who had managed to evoke some sympathy, Runa didn’t even come close. She shifted, as if waiting for you to bite.

The silence stretched before she finally broke it with a snide laugh. “Honestly, Selene’s better off without that freak of a boyfriend. She doesn’t need to be wrapped up with shitty court politicians.”

Something in you snapped. Maybe it was the words, maybe it was the whirlwind of emotions from the last half hour, but your patience with her was gone. You inhaled sharply, trying to steady your temper, and placed the bracelet in your pocket.

“Do you know who I am?”

Runa raised an eyebrow, the slightest trace of mockery in her smile. “Uh, yeah. You're an emissary or something, right?” She waved her hand dismissively, as if it didn’t matter.

You closed the distance between you in a few long strides. “Good,” you said, letting the word settle in the air. “I want you to remember that when you report.”

Runa looked confused, her smug attitude faltering. “Report what?”

You smiled. And then you punched her in the face.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: fun fact, this was the 6th draft of this!! and this felt like the way to go with the story....gives me some options to exploree. its also so long bc i wanted to keep all the fun scenes together tehehe sorry yall i got carried away

but selene....selene...selene... how i thought about her for a bit. i wanted to avoid making selene a caricature of a soulless mean jealous girl, i think it makes it somehow worse and even better to write knowing she was just incredibly insecure and misguided by people she trusted...doesn’t make anythinggg she did okay but

we out here rly testing our reader with a selene like villain rn. tehehe

also....time to imagine rhys holding nyx on his lap as he tells reader that shes in trouble for fighting a citizen in the open mf streets. rhys was so smug and now he’s like damn…wait a min… our public imagine SUCKSS

thank you for reading!!<3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

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@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

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tangerineastronaut · 5 months ago

Text

bibliophile ⟡ j. yunho

part two

you're stressed...your study buddy has an idea.

Pairing: Yunho x Fem!Student!Reader Genre: Smut - dark twist Requested: Yes/No w.c. 5.8k Warnings: heavy on the smut, semi public sex (ish), mutual pining, food? - THE SUCKER - he does...things with it. Yunho is a FREAK. Reader is desperate for yunho dick (yes YOU, reader) Spoiler warnings are in comments if you need them. A/N: So, this is sort of two requests in one, however I don't want to disappoint anyone so I'll post it solo. I hope it's okay! <3 god deleted my ticket to heaven with this one. Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

Taglist: @baby-stay92 If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please DM me or click here.

You release a tired sigh and rub your eyes, throwing your pen down. It bounces off of your ridiculously thick textbook and lands on the papers scattered around your study partner.

“Ah ah. No crashing yet, we’ve got three more chapters,” Yunho says with a laugh, tapping you on the end of the nose with his own pen. You pout, making a face at him before dramatically collapsing on the table.

“I give up. You can become a lawyer, I’ll go back to making sandwiches,” you groan, muffled against pages of your future.

“I thought you liked working at the sandwich shop?”

“I did,” you reply, tilting your head to look at him. “But sandwich shops don’t pay me six figures.”

“Then stop whining,” Yunho shrugs. You grumble words unintelligible even to yourself and sit up, fixing your hair. You stretched, yawned, checked your phone for the thousandth time that evening. Finals were next week. Then there was the Bar exam. You were so close to being y/n l/n, attorney at law…but you were beginning to feel nauseous at the mere sight of words on a page.

“Wanna take a break?” Yunho suggests, leaning back to stretch. You avoid looking at the way his sweater rides up, revealing inches of what appears to be a toned belly.

“No,” you mumble, forcing yourself to look away. “If I leave this library…I think I may never return.”

Yunho chuckles and nods, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index fingers. For a few minutes, you both just sit there, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Usually the library is filled with students, exactly like you—stressed, depressed, drowning in student debt and reading assignments.

“Yunho?” you mumble. He hums a response, looking over at you. You swallow. “If I start to cry, will you judge me?”

“Not at all,” he responds. You nod once, feeling tears burning in your eyes.

For the next hour or so, you take turns reading passages and summarizing them, going through various laws and statutes that you could barely comprehend. Your brain felt as if it might explode, and you considered calling it a night, but it was only 10 p.m. and you’d be damned if you gave out before midnight.

“What the hell are these ‘title 16 provisions?’” you scoff, crinkling your nose. “Were these even part of our assignment?”

“Let me see,” Yunho says. He scoots his chair over to your side of the table rather than just moving seats, and you feel your heart leap into your throat. And god, his arm slides over the back of your chair as he leans in to look at the tiny words on your page.

He smells like coffee and the peanut butter granola bar you shared earlier, and this close you can see that he has very light freckles on his cheeks. You kind of want him to never move.

“Ah, no this isn’t part of this assignment but we will have to know it for finals,” he says, words going in one of your ears and out the other. He begins talking about these provisions, but you must be numb to all forms of communication other than Jeong Yunho’s body heat.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” you mumble, shaking your head. Yunho has a funny look on his face, one brow raised. Oh god. Oh god. He caught you staring like a fucking creep.

“...You good?” he chuckles. You swallow and quickly nod, brushing your hair back so fast you nearly hit him in the face.

“Yep, uh huh,” you mumble. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Oh,” he says as though relieved. “Good. Well, if you need to take a break, let me know.”

He begins to move; you panic and grab his wrist.

“Wait! You didn’t explain this part to me,” you say, pointing at a random section on the page. Yunho sits down again and tilts his head.

“You need me to explain…marital property to you?” he asks, sounding both amused and disbelieving.

Well, if you’re gonna be a bad liar, at least you’ll be persistent.

“Yes,” you nod. “Just like a refresher, you know? My brain is cooked.”

Yunho stares at you for a few seconds, and you feel your cheeks heat up. It feels like he knows something you don’t know, and you don’t like that. So you yank him back into his seat and let go of his wrist, pretending to be very interested in one of the most basic aspects of your degree.

Marital property is boring, even when the hottest guy in your class is explaining it to you. And what’s worse—he knows. You know he knows. He’s explaining basic concepts to you, and then explaining the basics of those basic concepts, all the while keeping a little smirk on his handsome face. You consider caving, thinking of any possible excuse for your behavior. You’re delirious from lack of sleep, that’s actually true. But you were too deep in this to give up now.

“That’s most of it,” Yunho finally says, long fingers splayed over the textbook. They nearly reach from one end of the open book to the other. You shiver. “I guess we should move into parental rights—”

“Yunho,” you begin with a sigh, ready to admit defeat. He smiles innocently, resting his chin in his hand.

“Yeah?”

“I—”

You freeze, having forgotten how to form sentences. Yunho’s still smiling at you, but his free hand is now resting on your thigh. You thanked the gods you’d decided to wear a skirt today.

His palm is large, warm, spanning much of the plush skin there. He’s not gripping it, but it’s still very obviously intentional. You feel your cheeks burn hot; you’re determined to remain unaffected.

“Nevermind,” you mumble. He chuckles and turns back to the page, though he doesn’t move his hand.

You don’t ask him to.

You go back to your respective chapters, thankfully far beyond the basics, but his hand stays right where it is. He even reaches over his other arm to sip his coffee, refusing to move it. Your skin burns in the shape of his fingers; you almost want to push him away simply because your body is reacting to his touch in a way that’s making you feel crazy. You’re practically feverish, just because he’s near you. Pathetic, honestly.

When you sigh and rub your eyes, those long fingers twitch, making you jump. You try to play it off, though you know he’s aware of your reaction, because he does it again. When you don’t react as dramatically, he squeezes gently.

Your knee jerks up so fast it hits the table, causing your belongings to rattle, and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. Yunho chuckles, though doesn’t move his hand. You clear your throat as though everything is normal. As though he’s not currently squeezing your upper thigh.

“Yunho,” you say quietly.

“Hm?” He doesn't bother looking up from his textbook.

“What are we doing?”

He does look up this time.

“Studying,” he says, giving you a sweet smile. You narrow your eyes.

If he was going to do this, then so were you. You were sleep deprived, numb to the world, and horny as hell. So you parted your knees.

Not much, just an inch or so, but very obvious. You didn’t miss the way Yunho’s throat worked as he swallowed, clearly not expecting the reciprocation. You go back to your textbook, but your victory is short lived, however, as his large hand slides further inward.

You’re flustered. But you’re also stubborn. So you drop your pen and look him in the eyes as you open your knees. Yunho’s gaze is steady as he slowly moves his hand, as though expecting you to stop him. You don’t.

Yunho went back to reading and you did the same, just as his pinky brushed the crease of your inner thigh. You knew you were wet, knew he could probably feel the moist heat radiating from your body behind your pink panties, but you chose to be nonchalant. Until he rubbed the back of his knuckle against your panties, over your clit.

The soft moan that escapes you is mortifying.

Yunho quickly clamps a hand over your mouth, laughing breathily as your brows pull together and you shudder. He looks as shocked as you are, though now you’re hazy, focused only on how good it felt, and wanting more.

“Shh,” he chuckles nervously, glancing around despite the fact that you’re the only ones here. “No wonder you act like you’re walking around on thin ice. You’re frustrated as hell, huh?”

“P-Please,” you whimper pitifully against his palm, though it’s muffled. He moves his hand and you grip his wrist, looking up at him. You silently communicate your needs, praying he has mercy and doesn’t force you to say it out loud. Yunho glances around one more time, licking his lips before looking down at you like a fucking steak on a platter.

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta be quiet for me,” he murmurs. You nod quickly, gasping when he effortlessly yanks your chair closer to him. He adjusts his glasses before lowering his hand to your thighs, gently stroking them.

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly. You open your mouth, but he presses a finger to your lips. “Quietly.”

“Yes, yes,” you whine. “T-Touch me.”

Yunho bites his lower lip, as though imagining doing much, much more than that. When he rubs your thighs again, your knees fall open and you stifle a moan behind your sleeves. Yunho smiles at the sight of you, slipping his hand between your legs again.

This time, he’s more careful, though it’s much more frustrating for you. You squirm when he strokes either side of your cunt, making a ‘v’ and squeezing your plush pussy lips between them. You moan again, loudly, and Yunho scrambles to cover your mouth.

“Baby, you’ve gotta be—”

“Quiet, I know,” you pout, gripping his wrist. “C-can’t help it…feels good.”

Yunho swallows, letting his fingers brush against you again. You manage to stay quiet this time, but your mouth opens in a silent scream.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmurs, drawing his hand back. You nearly protest, but he presses his index finger to your clit like a button and you jolt, covering your mouth just in time. Yunho smirks.

“H-Haven’t had sex,” you say, fisting the sleeve of his sweater as he pushes again. “In m-months.”

“Why?” he asks, beginning to rub slow circles against your panties. You feel your wetness spreading beneath them, but you don’t care. You grip the edge of the table and swallow.

“Busy,” you breathe, licking your lips. Yunho’s eyes follow your tongue. You don’t notice.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes,” you nod frantically.

Yunho uses the hand between your legs to turn your entire body toward him. You want to mention how attractive that is, but he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours.

His kiss is nothing like his touch; there’s nothing dirty or hurried about it. His nose brushes the crease of yours as he tilts your heads to the side, his free hand moving up to cup your cheek. It’s a sweet kiss that makes no sense when his fingers are currently resting against your panties beneath your skirt.

He seems to have forgotten what he was doing amidst your soft kisses, as you break away from his lips to impatiently bounce and whine. Yunho smirks and begins rubbing his middle finger directly over your clit, applying very little pressure. He kisses you again, and you throw your arms around his neck, trying to push your body into his. His knee prevents you from doing so.

“Nng…what are you doing?” you whine, fisting his sweater. “Wanna…wanna be in your lap.”

Your own admission makes your cheeks flush red, but you don’t care. You’re horny and your crush’s hand is between your thighs.

“Not yet, baby,” he mumbles, stealing another lazy kiss. “Wanna keep you like this. I like how desperate you are.”

“I…I’m not desperate,” you mumble. Yunho bites his lower lip and applies more pressure to your clit, you buck your hips and grip his sleeve. He’s laughing, but you don’t care, aching for more of him.

“Desperate,” he hums, pulling you in for another kiss. You don’t understand his obsession with kissing you; wasn’t he as horny as you were? But you kissed him back anyway, because you’ve had a crush on this guy since your freshman year and even the slut hormones clouding your brain couldn’t block that much out. He was a damn good kisser too, taking the lead and hardly giving you time to breathe.

In contrast to his soft mouth, Yunho’s index finger hooks your soaked panties, tugging them to the side. His finger brushes your bare cunt, though he knowingly silences your moans with a kiss.

“What can I do?” he asks once you finally break apart. You’re unwilling to let him go, however, pulling his lips back to yours..

“Don’t care,” you mumble between kisses, body buzzing with need. “Whatever you want.”

“Can I go in here?”

He prods at the needy hole between your folds and you fucking purr, clutching his sweater and pulling him close with a whine.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs. He waits for you to eagerly nod, then brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. “Open.”

You do as he says and he slips his fingers inside. You nearly moan around them as you instinctively suck and lick his digits; they’re long and thick, two of them practically as big as a few hookups you’ve had in the past. Yunho watches, pupils wide as you act like an obedient doll a little too eager to be fingered in a library at midnight.

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re slick and shiny with your drool, and you see him suck in air. You blush, a little embarrassed at how thorough of a job you’ve done. You expect Yunho to go beneath your skirt, but he slides his wet fingers in his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

It’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever seen, next to the look of pure bliss in his eyes as he sucks your saliva off of his fingers and replaces it with his own. You decide then that you do not want him to finger you.

“Fuck me,” you blurt out.

You barely register what you’ve said, but you’re damn near ready to jump his bones. Yunho blinks in surprise, obviously not having expected that. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

“Really?” he asks. He sounds surprised for reasons you don’t understand, but you nod.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling him in for another kiss. “Want you inside me. All of you.”

“Fuck,” Yunho groans. He grabs your face in his hands and kisses you back, harder. Your hands are shaky as they go for his jeans, but then he freezes like you’ve just slapped him.

“What?” you ask, breaking the kiss. Yunho curses and rubs his face with both hands, tilting back in his chair. “What is it, yu?”

“I don’t…fuck. I don’t have a condom.”

He runs a hand through his hair like this is the biggest mistake of the century. You bite your lower lip—the idea of leaving tonight and not getting fucked by him makes you genuinely want to cry.

“We could…you know?” you mumble, face hot. “I mean, I-I’m clean. Obviously, haven’t had sex in god knows when—”

“No,” Yunho says, shaking his head. “I don’t trust myself.”

“Don’t trust yourself to what?” you frown. Yunho looks at you,

“There’s no way I’m gonna be able to make myself pull out once I’m in you,” he murmurs. “We need a condom.”

You swallow. You really shouldn’t push; but you need to hear more.

“How do you know?” you breathe, licking your lips.

“C’mere.”

“What?”

Yunho reaches over, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you into his lap and you gasp, able to feel the rigid line of his cock beneath you. But he grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss again.

“I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he hums, and you mewl in response, grinding down against him. He kisses you again to stifle what was no doubt a moan.

“Y-Yeah?” you manage to squeak out. Yunho nods.

“Yeah. Not gonna be able to pull out if I’m balls deep in that little cunt with you fucking crying for it like this.”

Fuck. You needed him. To be honest, with or without the condom, but if he felt it was necessary.

“Let’s go get one,” you mumble dizzily. “A c-condom. There’s a convenience store down the street.”

Yunho frowns, looking at the clock on the wall.

“The library will be locked, won’t it? Don’t we have to lock up?”

You lean back in his lap, smiling.

“Yes. But I’ve got a key,” you chime.

The moment you stepped into the store, you immediately regretted it and felt all the horny escape you. Not really, but it was embarrassing as hell, and painfully obvious as to what you were doing here. Yunho didn’t seem to mind, his hand tightly clasping yours as he guided you toward the back.

You had a little trouble finding the condoms—it made you inexplicably happy when Yunho suggested asking the clerk as he didn’t know either, even though your answer was a firm NO—but eventually found the rack next to the sex pills and cold sore cream.

Hot.

Yunho squints, and you cross your arms impatiently. You grab a box and shake it.

“It’s not a shoe store, here,” you mumble, pushing the box into his hand. Yunho glances over the label and smirks, tossing it back on the shelf. You want to ask what the hell is so funny when you’re so fucking wet your panties are sticking to your thighs, but then he finally makes a choice and puts the box in your hands. Oh.

Oh.

XXL. Makes sense.

You make him grab a few more things as though that makes the purchase less shameful. When you go to check out, you look everywhere but at the clerk—until he has the audacity to speak to the man holding your hand, very obviously purchasing condoms so the two of you can go fuck in a library.

“Finals week?” the guy says. Yunho slides his card across the counter and squeezes your hand.

“Finals week,” he nods.

“I just realized we could’ve gone to my apartment,” you say, unlocking the library door. Yunho leaned against the wall, unwrapping the candy he’d apparently decided on last minute. A red round sucker. “It’s only a few minutes away.”

You’d been given a key to the library your second year here, as you were a trusted student who often pulled all nighters—and you lived in the shitty part of campus where the power often went out. You were aware this was a total abuse of that power, but you figured if you showed Yunho to Ms. Lin, she’d understand.

“Yeah, well, my fantasies during puberty weren’t at apartments,” Yunho shrugs, holding the door for you. You head inside and find your table, where you drop the bag of your purchased items. Yunho grabs it, immediately fishing out the box.

“Very boy of you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Let me guess, the hot librarian offers to help you find your dick? Is that part of the dewey decimal system?”

Yunho smiles. “Can we get back to you whining for me to fuck you? I liked that.”

“I was not—”

Your freakishly tall study partner grabs your wrist, tugging you against him. You swallow and look up, lips parted at the sudden contact.

“Not what?” he asks. You blink, but something is suddenly pushing at your lips. You open dumbly, feeling too obedient as you take whatever he’s putting in your mouth apparently. The taste of artificial cherry makes you grimace.

Yunho backs you up to the table, crowding you against it. He cups your face in his hands and kisses your cheek, thumbs brushing below your ears. You realize you’ve been staring at him wordlessly, sucker in your mouth.

“How’s it taste?” he asks.

“Good,” you mumble. It doesn’t taste good, you hate cherry, but if Jeong Yunho puts something in your mouth, you love it, you decide. Cherry is your new favorite flavor.

“I doubted if they sold gags, so,” he chuckles. “This’ll do.”

You frown, but he takes the stick of the sucker before you can respond.

“Open,” he says. You open.

You see his eyes twinkle, almost like he can’t believe how well you’re listening to him. If only he knew you’d do anything he asked.

Rather than pull it out, Yunho rubs the sucker around your mouth. He coats your tongue with the sticky flavor, then the inside of your cheek. By the time he pulls it out, you don’t realize you’re drooling, mouth open for him.

He pops the sucker in his own mouth, just like his fingers, and you shudder. Then he’s slipping his hands beneath your skirt, pushing your panties down your thighs.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, more curious than concerned. Yunho takes the sucker out and kisses your cheek, then your lips. You can taste it on his tongue, just like yours.

Something sticky and wet prods at your clit and you gasp, but Yunho wraps an arm around your waist and keeps you from pulling away. You squeak helplessly in shock, caught between mind numbing bliss and disbelief. He’s rubbing the bulbous head of the sucker against your clit.

“Shh…figure it’s too risky to eat you out properly,” he hums in your ear, crushing you to his chest. You squirm, though not out of discomfort.

You have no idea how to react, hands gripping his sweater as he holds you in place. The candy feels warm and sticky, sliding through your cunt juices as he teases you with it.

“I wasn’t going to,” he says, voice strained as though he’s doing all he can to hold back. “But I saw it and…well fuck, baby, if I’m honest, I just wanted to see if you were desperate enough to try and fuck yourself on a piece of candy.”

You whine and bury your head against his shoulder, because you fucking are. You are desperate enough to try, because he slides the candy between your lips and you jolt when it brushes your hole.

“F-Fuck, Yunho,” you gasp, nails digging into fabric. You hear him laugh, and it sounds so fucking cocky, like he knew you’d end up like this, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you work yourself to ruin on a piece of candy.

He slides it beneath the hood of your clit, twisting the stick in his fingers. Your knees buckle, but he’s gripping you tight. He works it like a toy, rubbing up and down, focusing on your clit until you’re nearly there before he moves it again. It didn’t feel this big when it was in your mouth, but you’ve never wanted something inside you so bad.

“Oh my god,” you moan, thighs clamping together. It doesn’t stop his hand, or the candy, the rounded tip pushing against your hole. He starts rolling it again, and you gasp as you feel yourself snapping inside, the hot neediness spilling over the edges. You try to warn him, but only manage to squeak.

“Are you…are you cumming on a fucking lollipop?” Yunho asks, voice filled with awe. You nod.

Your ears ring, your vision blurs, and you feel something pushing against your mouth. It’s Yunho’s hand you realize, but you can’t stop, can’t stop shaking and screaming and there’s something wet on your cheeks.

You haven’t had a proper orgasm in months, maybe even a year, and were it not for Yunho holding you up, you’re pretty damn sure you would’ve fainted.

When you open your eyes, Yunho is laughing quietly and hugging you tight, rubbing your back.

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned and impressed. You sniff and nod, using the back of your hand to wipe your cheeks. Yunho cups your face and uses his thumbs to clean you up. You were crying.

“I’m sorry, jesus, I didn’t think it was that bad,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You realize then that the damn sucker is in his mouth.

You whine, yanking him forward until you’re kissing him. It’s clumsy, but he takes the sucker out and tosses it on the table behind you. You begin working desperately at his jeans, and hear him release a cherry flavored groan.

“Still gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, keeping his lips against yours.

“God yes,” you say in a shaky voice. “P-Please.”

“I can do that,” Yunho breathes. He places a large hand on the softness of your belly, gently pushing you back.

Yunho towers over you, one hand moving to cup your thigh and open you up so he can stand between them. The other goes to his jeans, and you find yourself biting your lip and digging your nails into your palms.

XXL?

“Since you look like you’re about to fucking eat me,” Yunho says with a laugh, “why don’t you do it? Hm? When’s the last time you put a condom on?”

You feel yourself blush at having been caught, but sit up to snatch the box near you.

“Asshole,” you mutter, refusing to give him a proper answer.

Your hands are too shaky to open the box, so you end up ripping it down the side, condoms spilling out. You sigh anyway and grab one, slipping the foil packet between your teeth. You move your hands to his jeans, and realize that for the first time…you’re nervous.

Until now your brain had been sex focused; it still was, but your post orgasm clarity made you realize how fucking desperate you looked. You roughly popped open the button of his jeans.

Yunho was so damn tall that his hips were practically level with your face whilst you were on the short table. This meant that, as soon as you’d tugged his boxers down, you suddenly found yourself face to face with the biggest cock you’ve ever seen.

XXL.

For a moment you were too dumbstruck—why did they bother sculpting the soft dicks when the hard ones could look like…this? All veins and smooth skin and a pink mushroom head that looked perfectly designed for…use. You wanted it in your mouth. But he hadn’t technically put his mouth on you, and you were both in a library, and right now you were starting to get a little shaky at the idea of this thing going anywhere near your neglected pussy, so you swallowed your resolve and took the condom from between your teeth.

Yunho watched as you struggled to tear open the packet, biting your lower lip in frustration. You finally got it open, sighing as you placed the rubber at the tip. He grabbed your hands then, and you paused. Shit. Were you doing this wrong?

“We don’t have to do anything,” he mumbles softly, cupping your chin. “You wanna stop right now? We stop. Not trying to ruin the mood, just want you to know it’s okay.”

You shake your head.

“I’m okay, thanks,” you say quietly. “It’s just…fuck, Yunho.”

He laughs, his little ego having returned just a bit, you wanted to roll your eyes and kiss him at the same time. He bites his lower lip and strokes his thumb over yours.

“I’ll be gentle,” he hums. “You can take it for me.”

Fuck. Yes, you absolutely can.

Yunho guides you onto your back, though you settle on your elbows, propped up for him. You watch as he squeezes the rest of the lube from the packet onto his cock, giving a few tugs before nodding at you. You weren’t sure if you were excited or scared, but there were two heartbeats and one was between your legs.

He pushes your legs apart and guides his cock forward. You lick your lips and let your knees fall open, bunching your skirt around your waist, offering yourself to him. Yunho sucks in air through his teeth and curses.

“So fucking pretty,” he hums, supporting his weight on one palm as he brushes his cock against you. You shiver as the cold lube is smeared around your sensitive cunt. “Knew it from the day I saw you freshman year in a skirt just like this one. Thought I was gonna die when you smiled at me.”

“I didn’t know you remembered,” you mumbled. You were so nervous your first day, which wasn’t helped by the hot guy who approached you and asked if you were lost. Apparently you could stop feeling ashamed for having mind fucked him back then.

“Of course I do,” Yunho chuckles, teasing the head of his cock up and down your slit. “So cute, how you blushed when I talked to you. You still do that, you know.”

“Shut up,” you mutter. Yunho laughs, then licks his lips.

“Gonna put it in now. Tell me if it’s too much,” he says. You nod.

The swollen head of his cock catches on your hole, and Yunho uses his weight to lean forward and urge himself inside. It aches a bit, not just from the size but fuck it’s been so long since you’ve had something more than your own fingers in you. Your thoughts go from not so bad to okay damn to holy fuck there’s more? Because he keeps pushing and you keep taking, and you feel every inch of him filling your insides while his body offers more.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck,” Yunho whines, still gripping the base of his cock as he guides it into you. Your head falls back and you curse at nothing; his cock is somehow too big but perfectly sized at the same time and you’ve never felt so god damn full. “Look at you, that needy little cunt is swallowing me babygirl. Keep fucking taking it.”

His words make you dizzy, and you whine when he’s finally fully seated. You feel heavy, pinned to the table, as though you can’t move. You reach down and feel the rigid sides of his cock, shocked to feel just how much is inside you.

“How’s that, beautiful?” Yunho asks. He places both palms on the table, either side of your body, and you tense. If he started thrusting, it would fuck you up.

“Good,” you say, nodding. “Big, but good.”

“Knew you could take it. 'm gonna fuck you now. Stop me if you need to," he murmurs. You can take it.

"I can take it," you nod. He smiles, kissing you once, then twice.

You squeak as Yunho begins fucking you properly, ploughing into you hard and fast, moving with need and instinct rather than reason.

The table shakes with his heavy thrusts, pistoning into you so hard it makes you dizzy. You’re surprised you can take him like this, able to feel every inch of him when he’s seated inside, pressing deliciously on your walls.

Yunho ruts into you like an animal, unfortunately one with a very big cock as he struggles to keep every inch buried inside you. He wasn’t lying about not pulling out, as he refused to do so even when thrusting. You had no room to breathe, no chance for air, as he fucked into you repeatedly while trying to go deeper.

You’re at a loss for words, lips parted, eyes following his expression and movements. He’s desperate in his own way, obviously holding back, though you don’t know from what. You consider encouraging him to let go—until he groans loudly and snaps his hips, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby. So fucking…need you to hold still for me and take it,” he breathes. "Hold still. A-Almost done, fuck, keep taking it so good for me."

You do as he asks without question, clinging to his shoulders, nose to nose with Jeong Yunho as he forces his cock as far as it can go in your body and begins to pump a thin condom full of cum that should be you.

Yunho takes a few moments to breathe, arms shaking where he holds himself up on the table. You run a hand through his damp hair, watching as he moans softly and leans into your touch.

“You okay?” you giggle. He nods, tilting his head to kiss your palm.

“Just…You’re so fucking perfect. Want more of you if you’ll let me, wanna make you feel good every day," he says.

You blink at the surprising tenderness of his words, feeling they were more than sex related. You wanted to ask questions, but right now, you were both sticky with sweat and fucked out on a library table that would need to be wiped down with holy water.

You separated, which left you shuddering from the sudden cold emptiness inside of you. Yunho exhaled sharply, waiting a few moments before removing the condom and tying it off.

You both cleaned up and fixed your clothes as best you could—though you stuffed your panties in your bag because the sticky wetness was a little much.

“Do you want to come over?” you ask, making sure your skirt is covering your ass. “You know. To clean up.”

Yunho smiles, which makes you smile, and then you’re blushing and cursing at yourself. He nods and brushes your cheek with his knuckle.

“Sounds good,” he hums. You beam and gesture for him to follow you. Yunho watches as you collect your things with shaky legs, smiling to himself.

You were so damn pretty. Intelligent. He’d noticed right away that you were someone he was going to want.

He grabbed his own bag and walked past the table, pausing as he stepped on something.

The sucker.

You crinkle your nose when you notice it, too.

“Guess we need to throw that away,” you mumble. He nods, bending down and picking it up. He holds it in his hand for a few seconds.

What a good idea it had been.

He slips it into his pocket, for the memories.

Memories like, your name. Your favorite color. That skirt you wore on your first day. Apartment 2B, where you lived. You like the right side of the bed, don’t you? Yunho likes the left side.

The last man you slept with—11 months, 1 week, and 4 days ago.

Yunho hated that one.

You had waffles for breakfast this morning. You usually have oatmeal. You sleep with a nightlight on.

You’re afraid of the dark.

“You coming?” you ask with a shy smile, pausing at the door. Yunho looks up. You didn’t see him slip the sucker in his pocket. You never notice things like that.

“Yeah,” he says. He follows you out the door and waits for you to lock up. Then, without thinking too much of it, he takes your hand. You don’t pull away. Your hand is small compared to his, and he squeezes it. You squeeze back.

You like hot showers.

You sound so pretty when you moan, especially when you think you’re alone.

Your bathroom window is never locked.

You're never alone.

Yunho has a good memory when it comes to you.

3K notes · View notes

cherrynpink · 2 months ago

Text

just "friends"

pairing: situationship!dokyeom x f!reader

genre: situationship to lovers, slight angst, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: cursing, oc is a bit mean to him in the start but it's ok, soft dom!dk, jealous oc, fingering, oral (f. receiving), mentions of giving head, multiple orgasms, a bit of overstimulation, down bad dk, needy oc, praise, ass smacking, protected sex but oc doesn't want to use a condom initially, hair pulling, mentions of creampie (wrap it before u tap it), doggy style, mention of hair pulling, big dick!dk, he is literally too big, slight strength kink, he is an idiot, dirty talk, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 4.2k

playlist: just "friends"

for more of my work, check out my masterlist!

Note: aaah this is the first fic i'm writing on here so pls bear with me. if u find any mistakes, pls lmk! this was loosely inspired from the situationship i was in last year, except mine didn't end well unlike oc's. hope u like it n pls give me wtv feedback u feel so that i get better at this! hehe anyways go on

also u can comment or message me if u wanna be added to my taglist!

dokyeomie:3 : are u mad at me???

Your phone buzzes. It's 2 a.m. and your phone buzzes. You know there is only one person whose texts you would receive this time at night. You didn’t want to ignore dokyeom, you really do like him after all. You’ve been in, what you would call- a situationship? You’re not very sure. You met him through you mutual friends during a trip you all went to together. It’s funny how during your first year you never noticed him in campus despite him being in the same year as you, but as soon as you returned from the trip, he was everywhere. It was like a dokyeom plague all around.

Initially, you weren’t interested in him beyond being friends but fuck- how can a guy be this sweet? And this nice? And this hot. You can’t blame a girl for wanting more. When he texted you first right after returning from the trip asking for the pictures you had taken, you knew this was your chance to lock it DOWN. Only a fool would miss a chance to let a guy like him pass by. After that it was nonstop texting. All day. 24/7. Point of no return.

You’d give him random updates of your day, he would call you when he went to Sephora with his sister and ask which lip gloss you wanted to feed your manic lip gloss obsession, he would send you pictures of cats he saw on campus and say “us”, coffee dates, study dates (even though you had different majors), teaching him to play DTI at 3 a.m. while you laughed at him dates, but not an official “date” yet. Not a label beyond “friends” yet.

You wondered how can two people do all this and still be called friends. This is not what friends do, right? Or is it? Fuck- this is ruining you. It didn’t help seeing him get coffee with some other girl from his class while she laughed like he was the funniest guy ever. And like he probably was. But she’s not allowed to laugh. Only you. He does NOT need to be this funny with some other girl when he hasn’t even labelled what you are yet.

Leading you to ghosting him for the past 2 days. And trust, it was truly torture. How do you suddenly stop talking to the person you’ve shared everything about you to for the past 3 months? Everything reminded you of him no matter where you went. This is the most down bad you’ve ever been for a MAN. Your prime man hater era would be ashamed.

dokyeomie:3 : im really worried, im coming over, okay? I’m almost there >.< bringing some ice cream too!!! i know ur not asleep yet so pls let’s just talk okay :)

You hear your bell ring and thank god for the fact your roommate was at her parents’ place this weekend- well, not like anything’s going to happen anyway, what would it matter. He didn’t even give you time to change as you open the door in your short pyjama set, and what do you see but crinkly eyed dokyeom with his heart smile which almost makes you want to forget the hell he’s put you through the past 3 months and just kiss him.

“Hi” he says, coming in and setting the ice cream on the table, “let’s eat now before it melts.”

“I don’t feel like eating right now.” You take the plastic bag from his hands and put it in the freezer.

He steps closer to you, and closer, and closer, until there doesn’t seem to be any distance between you and you feel your surroundings closing in, as he towers over you, his sandalwood musk encapsulating you making your heart race, your breath turning erratic and your cheeks a crimson shade like a blushing bride. It truly is so easy for him.

He tucks your hair behind your ear- “y/n what happened, are you mad at me? Whatever it is you can tell me. Just please, talk to me.”

“I was just busy, it’s really nothing. Anyway, you had that girl from your class to keep you from getting bored.”

“Is that what this is about? I got assigned a project with her so we grabbed coffee to discuss how to go about it, it wasn’t anything more I swear.”

“That’s not it.” You turn your face away and head to the couch. Talking about what you feel has always been harder for you, which is why you’ve never had any proper relationships- only casual no strings attached arrangements or situationships.

“What is it then? Please y/n, you can’t just go radio silent for two days. I was so worried about you, talk to me, okay?” he says as he sits beside you on the couch.

“You never asked me out.” You blurt it out so fast its barely comprehensible to him.

“What?”

“You never asked me out. You flirt with me all the time, we text literally all day, and when we don’t its because we’re together at the coffee shop or the library or whatever. My friends call me an idiot, that you’re just toying with me, until you’re bored with me. You’ve never even defined what we are yet, because we sure as hell aren’t friends. Friends don’t act like this- right dokyeomie?”

You looked up to him, doe eyed on the brink of tears as you felt a lump in your throat, a heaviness on your shoulders. He felt horrible.

How was he supposed to know you liked him? He just thought you were being really friendly with him- just like you would be with anyone else, right? Here he was thinking he was the idiot being so hopelessly obsessed with you. He was literally so down bad for you it was kind of pathetic. Once when you had just started talking to him you mentioned you liked glasses, low and behold, he wore glasses every time you saw him. You can’t find the lip gloss you want anywhere? He’s dragging his poor sister with him to every makeup store in the city, trying to find that goddamn lip gloss that seems to be sold out everywhere. And now he feels like shit for making you think that he would just lead you on and leave you when he’s tired of you or something. Fuck. He’s messed up BIG time. And he does the only thing he can think of to make it up to you, FAST.

He leans into you, one hand gripping your jaw while the other brushes against your waist, his face so close you can feel his breathe as your eyes flicker down to his lips as he wets them. Your breath hitches and he can practically hear his heart racing the speed of a bullet train. And just like that, the next thing you know, his lips are against yours engulfing you in a whirlwind of a kiss. Your hand reaches for his chest as he holds you. He kisses you softly yet so messy and passionate it sweeps you off your feet. As you deepen your kiss, he slips his tongue in and a soft whimper leaves your throat. Impatient to gain control he pushes against you in an attempt for dominance and his quick shift in demeanor has you flooding in your pajama shorts. Good thing you sleep without your panties on.

As your make out session continues to grow more aggressive, you feel him manhandle you over his lap onto his hardening length. Fuck. He feels big, you think as your hips give an experimental grind. He seems impatient as you make out, like he’s trying to make up for the lost time as he tightens his grip on your waist to get you closer to him, and you’re no different- tugging at the collar of his shirt so desperate to be with him.

“I really like you” he whispers between soft open-mouthed kisses. “I really like you I just wasn’t sure you felt the same about me, I’m sorry for making you wait so long baby, let me make it up to you?”

Oh. Your pussy likes the sound of that. It comes out of his mouth in a whisper, as he tries to catch his breath because you might not see it, but he is doing gymnastics to keep up with you and you’re driving him absolutely crazy. Its actually a little unbelievable for him to be making out with the girl he’s been in love with for the past year. He can feel a wet spot forming on his jeans as you leak onto him through your shorts.

“So needy baby, can feel you getting wet just from kissing a bit. You want it that bad?” he chuckles. God, you must look desperate to him but you need him right now because his hands gripping your thighs and yours in his hair drive you insane.

“You made me wait so so long kyeomie, need you, please. Need you to fuck me.” It leaves your throat like a whine making him twitch under you. You don’t care how desperate your pleas sound, because truth be told its all you’ve been picturing for the past 3 months. His hand makes its way to your tits as he cups them from over your thin top. From where he's sitting, you look pathetic and so pliant under his gaze, even though you’re sitting on him. If he knew you were this into him, he would’ve done this much sooner.

“Fuck, don’t worry baby I’ll take good care of you. Lift your arms for me.” He says as he takes off your top and god, he can’t take his eyes off your tits sitting right in front of him. He kisses down your neck and you just smell so fucking good he doesn't want to stop. He recognizes the scent, that vanilla bakery cupcake scent that always lingers on him after you hang out with him, the one he's just so obsessed with. He takes your hardened nipple into his mouth as his hand plays with the other. You moan softly as dokyeom focuses all his attention on your chest. Nibbling and biting and licking, as you keep grinding your hips on him, feeling him getting harder.

“So pretty baby, so pretty just for me.”

“I- I need- need you dokyeom, please? Please I’ll do whatever- whatever you want. Wanna suck you off. Make you feel good. Can I?” you say as you get down on your knees. And oh, it is a sight for him. Something in your eyes changes, he sees them full of lust and desperation, so drunk. This was new for him. Before this, you would always be so shy around him, or anyone for that matter. Never laughing fully at the suggestive jokes your friends made when you all hung out together, just giving a coy smile. Even when you and dokyeom talked, you never reacted to his advances, innocent or suggestive, never reacted to the innuendoes he made, just avoiding eye contact with him. But this new you, he liked her for sure. He would’ve teased you more, but fuck, some other time.

You unbutton his jeans as your hands flutter impatiently and fumble with his zipper, because you quite literally cannot wait a second more.

“Slow down y/n, wait.”

He groans as he lifts his hips to let you lower his jeans. He’s already half hard in his boxers and oh. You have no idea how he’s ever going to fit inside you. You mouth at his boxers and lick at him through them. But he knows, if he lets you do this, he'll come in your mouth in an instant, and he is but a gentleman, and would rather die than to not make you cum first.

“Y/n as much as I would love that, I’ll cum in my pants if you do that, and I’m not gonna let that happen.” He says as he tugs you by your hair to get you up. You pout at him, disappointed he won’t let his dick in your mouth.

“Don’t make that face princess, you can do it next time.” he says as he lifts you in his arms. You gasp as he begins to carry you to your room and throws you on your bed as you rebound on it.

“You like that? Like it when I pick you up and throw you around. I see you staring at my arms all the time baby, don’t think you’re subtle.”

He kisses you again as he pins your hands over your head as makes his way down your body, marking you as he goes along. He reaches you thighs and begins to kiss them softly as he drags his tongue to your tiny shorts and begins to pull them down. And imagine his surprise as he comes face to face with your glistening pretty pussy. He sucks his breath in as he seems to be stuck in a trance.

You’re obsessed with the way his eyes follow your cunt. He looks like a child seeing candy for the first time, and you’re totally here for it. His big hands hold your thighs apart as he lays down between them and looks at your pussy like it has the moon and stars hung in it for him.

“No panties y/n? Fuck didn’t know you were a slut baby, you always act so shy and naïve in front of me, no?” he says as his fingers run against your slit experimentally, circling your entrance teasingly, taking you by surprise causing you to let out a desperate moan.

“I’m- I’m not!” you whine but you sound like even you don’t believe your own words. He’s right after all, isn’t he? You are a slut for him. Why would you be ashamed of it.

“You’re not? Then why are you dripping over all your sheets y/n. Haven’t even done anything yet and you’re trying to hump the air. If you needed me that bad could’ve just asked. Would’ve given you everything. But you wanted to give me the silent treatment. So, I’ll have to punish you baby.”

He smirks as one hand tweaks your nipple while the other dips inside you barely before he pulls it out in an instant. He traces soft patterns on your inner thighs, but every time you buck your hips up, he just moves his hand further away from your center.

“Please kyeomie, touch me.”

“I’m already touching you y/n. You need to be more specific.”

This is torture. You’re literally about to cry.

“In- in me. Your hand- your finger, need it in me.” you say with your face in your hand red with embarrassment.

“No please this time? Where are your manners?”

“Please dokyeom, need your fingers in me!"

Finally, he puts you out of your misery. The finger that was teasing you enters you in one instant. And oh. You are so tight. You feel so full, and its just one finger yet. You don’t know how you’re going to take him in.

“Gripping me like crazy y/n fuck, so fucking tight.”

He slowly moves his hand in and out, curling it and watching it squeeze him, barely fitting him in you. You grip the sheets tightly as he curls his finger and hits your g-spot right where you need it.

“You can barely fit one baby, how are you going to take my cock? Maybe I should just eat you out and make you cum on your fingers and leave it at that.” he says mocking you.

He knows he’s being really cruel, but only because you can take it. Also, you did make him wait so long too, so he deserves to have fun with it.

“No! No, I can take it I- I- promise!”

He chuckles and inserts another finger in, increasing the pace until you’re left gasping for air, a moaning mess. He feels your body tensing up, and leans down to kiss your thighs and whilst driving his fingers in you, making you moan his name over and over again like a prayer. Finally, he presses his thumb against your clit, and makes 8 figures over and over again, agonizing you as the pit in your stomach grows bigger every time you feel his fingers hit your spot.

Suddenly he takes his finger out, making you whine at the loss of contact and your eyes fill with tears because you were just so, so close.

He dives in between your legs licking a long strip up your entrance, the moan you let out is music to his ears, and the way you taste is better than anything he’s ever had. His tongue enters you as he pushes it in and out, and oh the way his nose keeps hitting your clit repeatedly with each motion has you seeing stars. You entangle your hand into his hair pushing yourself into his mouth as he moans.

He makes out with your cunt like a man starved as you feel yourself getting closer and closer. And at this point you have no idea about the words coming out of your mouth, a combination of broken moans and desperate pleas. Your legs are trembling as his big hands hold them apart, tightening his grip on them like he’s chasing his own high because you keep trying to close them with every brush of his nose against your clit.

“Please dokyeom, please I- I’m gonna- oh my god, I need to cum!”

“Yeah? Can feel you clenching baby. It’s okay, you’ve been so good, you can cum.”

And that’s all it takes. You feel the pressure in your stomach building up and the knot finally snaps as he hums against you and you break with a loud cry, your back arching and your hands pulling his hair. A euphoric feeling takes over your body as your legs going numb, and your mind in a hazy state with your eyes going dark, your back covered in sweat and your face so hot. There is only pleasure running throughout you but dokyeom doesn’t stop even as your cum covers his mouth dragging his tongue against your core as you come down from your high, until you’re gasping his name like it’s the only thing you remember.

When he looks up, it’s a sight to see; hair all messy, lips glossy, chin dripping with you and a hunger in his eyes like you’ve never seen before. He comes up and captures you in a kiss so deep you taste yourself on him. You never thought a someone eating you out would be this hot, but dokyeom has a way to keep you guessing.

“You’ve made such a mess baby, and you say you’re not a slut. What will I do with you hmm?”

There is something so demeaning about you being completely bare and vulnerable, withering under him, while he stays clothed. It’s like a fucking power trip for him, makes him feel fully in control of you, and oh does that make him so hard. Now that he’s gotten a taste, he doesn’t think he can stop.

“Take off- take- take it off” you say tugging on the collar of his shirt. Even you have no idea what incomprehensible nonsense is coming out of your mouth at this point, you’re just so drunk on him. He sits up taking off shirt and pants and you keep yourself from moaning out loud when you look at him. He looks so big. Not just beneath his boxers but him entirely, he looks so big. He notices your eyes travelling from his chest to his arms, trying to take it all in at once as if you would never have this chance again.

He finally takes off his boxers and you think you’re in love. His dick looks so pretty, his tip a slightly dark shade of pink curved a bit and veiny, you just don’t know how to explain it. He spits on his hand and pumps it in his hand and now that he’s fully hard, you have no idea how he’s going to fit in you.

“Like what you see baby? But your pussy is so tiny, how’s is going to fit?” he says as he brings his hands to your sides, running his hands all over your body. He pouts but you know he’s talking shit to tease you.

You reach up desperate for a kiss but he just kisses your cheek instead, “please, I need you to fuck me so bad kyeom, I can take it! I promise, just give it to me.”

He chuckles darkly, and this is so embarrassing for you but fuck it, who cares. “You beg so well baby, makes me wanna give you everything you ask for.”

He grabs your waist and turns you on your stomach in an instant, raising your hips to meet his, and smacks your ass hard, making you almost jump in surprise. Him manoeuvring you into being on your arms and knees was honestly such a turn on, but you know if you let him know that, you’ll let go of the tiny piece of dignity that you hopefully have left, so you settle for pushing your ass back into him making him groan.

“Condom baby?”

“In my drawer but no! no condom just, want to feel you.” you beg.

Fuck. You’re going to be the death of him. You were going to let him hit raw? Now he truly regrets not doing this earlier, but you’re not thinking clearly and he can’t take the risk no matter how much you make him want to.

“Sorry princess, but we can’t take the risk, some other time, okay?”

You groan, you hate him actually. Who gives us the opportunity to get in raw, you think to yourself as you hand him the condom.

You hear him slide it on and pump himself, “you’re so wet y/n, I might just slide in.” he says as he taps his dick on your clit making you moan. He runs his tip up and down your slit collecting your wetness, and pushes it in just so he's barely stretching you.

“I’ll take it slow okay, I promise.” He says as he grabs you by your hair and pulls you near him to kiss you on your cheek. His hands find home on your hips as he grabs them tightly, pushing himself in one inch at a time, easing you on, making you almost scream. As he bottoms out, he lets out a moan and so do you, feeling so full of him, because oh my god the stretch is like you've never felt before.

“So warm baby, so soft, cunt gripping me so good it doesn’t want me to leave I think.”

“Fuck dokyeom feel so full, I love it, please move.” You say as you beg him for the hundredth time for the night. And apparently that was all he needed to hear as he begins to drill into you sliding in and out mercilessly, slapping your ass every now and then. He fills you so good because its such a tight fit, and god does he love it. You are now left a mess under him, no thoughts in your head, just a chant leaving your mouth as you scream his name over and over.

“It’s that good baby? Or are you just too cockdrunk to think? Fuck, pussy so good it’s gonna milk the fuck outta me.” He moans as he tries to keep up with the unbelievable pace he’s set. His hand moves down your stomach as he toys with your clit from behind, making you see stars.

“You look so good like this y/n, all spread out for me. Makes me want to remember this forever, you’re gonna let me record this ass next time baby?”

All you can do is nod since you have no energy left in you to respond to him.

“Such a pillow princess, can’t even answer a simple question, need me to do all the work for you, hmm? It’s okay though, you don’t have to do anything, just sit pretty for me and I’ll take care of you.”

His grip on your ass tightens and his hand’s movement at your clit fastens as you feel him approaching his high, his strokes getting deeper yet sloppier and you wish he wasn’t wearing a condom so that he could fill you to the brim. At this point he too, like you- was an incoherent mess, because your pussy just feels like heaven to him, and he doesn’t think he can hold out any longer.

“Fuck! I’m so close dokyeom! I- i- fuck right there! Right there! Wanna cum so bad, can I- can I cum? Please, oh!” you scream with all the strength you have left.

“Ah, me too baby, fuck good girl, always such a good girl, asking for permission. You can cum princess, cum for me.”

And that’s all it takes for you to crash into the bed with a loud moan as your arms give out, your pussy clenching around him as he fills the condom. Your chest heaving and a buzzing sound in your ear, you have no idea of your surroundings as dokyeom continues to twitch inside you, finally taking his dick out after what feels like eternity. You whine at the feeling of emptiness, feeling yourself gape due to the lack of him as he crashes besides you out of breath. You turn your face to him as he softly kisses your forehead and wraps his arms around you.

After you both clean up, you lay on your new clean sheets wrapped around him as he caresses your hair.

“I’m sorry I was an idiot for not making it clear I like you sooner, I’ll take you out on a proper date later this week, okay?”

“mhm okay, but just so you know kyeomie, I don’t put out on first dates.”

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onepieceisreeeeaaalll · 3 months ago

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You’re a Yapper | One Piece HC

As a fellow yapper, this felt necessary. Ive been thinking about expanding this to include a few additional characters, but for now, here's what I've got!

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Kidd

Tags: GN!Reader, no specific relationship mention, could be prerelationship

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this!

LUFFY

Luffy didn’t even really notice it at first. Honestly, he’s a bit of a yapper himself.

If you get excited and start yapping about something, he’ll match you almost every step of the way.

It’s the passion in your voice that really gets him.

When he starts to really realize how yappy you are, though, is when it’s topics that don’t interest him.

He’ll still listen. Well, mostly. Kind of. Not really. This is Luffy we’re talking about.

But you’ll just keep droning on and on and on.

Luffy will just stand there, picking his nose, unsure of what’s even happening right now.

One time, he just outright laughed.

”You’re funny. Why do ya talk so much, anyway?”

You’re floored. Face, beat red. Eyes, wide. Before you can open your mouth to say anything else, he grins at you.

”It’s fine, let’s just talk about somethin’ else!”

You didn't even have time to be mad. Because, right away, a boisterous laugh left Luffy at the expression on your face.

From that point on, you took any of those comments in stride and made sure to talk about things that excited Luffy, too.

And for Luffy’s part? He’s content to just tease you and watch the way your face scrunches. For totally platonic reasons, of course.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

ZORO

At first, Zoro didn't know what to think about it.

He’s used to people just talking to him. He swears he doesn’t have one of those faces - he’s made himself relatively unapproachable.

When you’re stoic and quiet like he is, though, people just seem to talk to you.

Luffy, Nami, Usopp - the whole ship is full of yappers.

And it's not like he really minds it. Sometimes it's interesting, and when he's in the mood for it, he has a good time engaging or making jokes.

It’s when he notices how you just don’t stop that he realizes this might be a problem.

He doesn’t always hate it. Quite honestly, he’ll easily fall asleep to it, and you don’t seem to mind.

It’s just sometimes when he’s already feeling exhausted from a workout that it can be a bit…grating.

”You just don’t shut up, do you?”

You were babbling about something - some kind of story, Zoro wasn't paying attention. He was trying to take a nap on the deck when you had just started, so the words slipped out of him faster than he meant.

That shut you right up, leaving Zoro feeling way more guilty than he anticipated it would.

He was expecting some sort of snappy comment, some sort of argument, which wouldn’t be completely unexpected of you. But you just went silent. And walked away.

Yeah, he was regretting it almost immediately.

Why would it matter, though? He’d get what he wanted - some peace and quiet, a chance to finally take a real nap on the deck again without any interruptions. No more training sessions interrupted with constant blabbering. Being left alone to his saké while the rest of the crew yapped and he could listen in.

But he found himself missing the way you’d sit next to him and how excited your voice would sound the few times he’d actually listen. He missed the way your eyes lit up when he’d give you a small nod of acknowledgment, and the way you beamed in delight whenever he’d follow it up with a hum or a question.

He eventually, very reluctantly, apologized.

“Yeah, you still talk too much, but it’s fine. Kinda missed hearing it.”

The moment you forgave him for snapping on you, he was more relieved than he thought he’d be to hear you rambling to him again.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

SANJI

Sanji was floored when you first started rambling to him. One - because you chose to rant to him. Two - because you just talk so much.

It wasn’t an issue. Not at all. In fact, it helped break up the day when he’d be busy around the kitchen.

He’d love if you just sat in a chair peeling potatoes while talking to him all day long. About anything and everything, really.

The sound of your voice is like a chime to him, as pretty as you are, and he’s happy to be given the privilege to listen to it.

He’s happy to engage. He’ll ask questions, add comments of his own.

Even if he wasn’t already completely enamored with your presence, he had already decided that having you here talking about whatever inane crap came to your head was better than him being alone.

He smokes a cigarette, taking small breaks to lean against the counter and just listen to you. Honestly, sometimes in amazement. It was impressive how long you could talk.

One time, after a particularly long rant about how stupid one character of a book you were reading was, you offered him an apology for going on a rant.

“Sorry for talking so much, just had to get that out.” You said, and Sanji immediately shook his head and laughed.

”Are you kidding? I could listen to you talk all day, gorgeous.”

It was such an easy answer for Sanji, and after that, it stuck with you every time you decided to waltz into his kitchen for another yap session.

He'd always have your favorite drink and snack at the ready!

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

LAW

When you first joined the crew, Law wasn’t worried about everyone getting along with you.

You seemed friendly enough. Chatty, maybe, but that just meant you’d fit right in with everyone else on the sub. Their personalities were far more vibrant than Law considered his own to be, and that’s how he preferred it.

It’s in the few first times that he was cornered by you that he fully realized just how relentlessly chatty you were. And you had selected him to be your regular target.

You were rambling. Ranting. Droning on and on about something that he was listening to and absorbing, but wasn’t necessarily interested in.

He replied politely, though, for the most part. Nodding, humming, giving small comments occasionally. He didn’t have a reason not to, and he was in a good enough mood.

For a while, he was okay with being mostly quiet just to let you get it out of your system.

It was only the fourth or fifth time that you were yapping to him over dinner that he finally interrupted.

“You always talk this much?”

He really didn’t mean it as an insult. Granted, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about having you talk his ear off while he’s eating, but he wasn’t necessarily bothered by it. It was just…regular annoying.

Yes, he’s ranked how annoying something is on a scale before. It helps him when dealing with people.

When he realized he messed up, he didn’t really know how to recover it from there.

You’d still talk, of course, but you stopped cornering him. You droned on to Bepo or Ikkaku instead. For some reason, that didn't sit right with the surgeon.

So, the next time you were alone together, he just kind of started talking to you. About something random he remembered you talking about. He still didn’t fully get it.

That started you up again, and if you weren’t so busy gesticulating with your hands and explaining whatever the hell you were explaining, you might have been able to see him smirk.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

KIDD

The Victoria Punk was no stranger to loud, booming voices. It goes without saying that some of the most boastful remarks came from the Captain himself.

When you joined the crew, it seemed nearly seamless. Some growing pains here and there, but overall, you'd proven to be a strong and capable crewmate.

The only thing, Kidd learned, is that you never shut the fuck up.

Whether it was excitedly recalling a battle you'd been a part of, showing off your weapons or abilities, or even just talking about the damn news.

You always had input, and it had slowly begun to grate on the Captain's nerves.

It was during one particular day at port where you were rambling about - oh, who knows? It was incessant. And Kidd was wanting to address the crew.

“Would you shut the hell up?”

He noticed the way you bristled, your face scrunched, but you said…nothing.

Thank god, you finally seemed to stop.

But you didn't start back up. At all.

This went on for a few days, and somehow the silence was as annoying for Kidd as the talking. Maybe even more.

Where the hell did that sweet voice go? The nonstop chatter about the new island or the mission? The bragging about how you'd taken down a Marine, something he noticed and nearly pointed out himself?

He cornered you on the deck the morning before you set sail, finally having had enough. Again.

“The silent treatment, you damn brat? You'd better start being a chatterbox again before I kick your ass.”

Yeah, you rub it in his face from that day on.

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rafesangelita · 3 months ago

Text

♡ standing in front of rafe’s door after everything that transpired was the last thing you thought you’d do.. yet here you were. luckily for you, rafe has no intentions of ever letting you leave him again.

warnings: enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, rough sex, marathon sex (these two have a lot to catch up on), oral (m. and f. receiving), fingering, choking, face fucking, cum eating, cum play (they are sooo gross), multiple orgasms, rough handling, hair pulling, biting, slapping, overstimulation, crying, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation kink (?), praise, fluff, soft aftercare

a/n: aaaand this is the end ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ this series was something i thought of on a whim, and i couldn’t be any more happier with the way everything came out. to everyone who showed sm love and gave me your thoughts and feedback, thank you so much!! reading your comments and your theories made me smile <3 wrote this while listening to ‘hotel’ by montell fish, i highly recommend listening to it, it’s what inspired this chapter!!

links: previous | mini series masterlist

wc: 3.8k

it’s been four days since rafe’s been blowing up your phone with every second he could spare, all of his calls and messages being either dismissed or ignored. you had fabricated a lie the next morning and told chanel that you and rafe just weren’t compatible with each other, and even though she could see the solemn look on your face, she knew not to dig any further. “you call me if you need anything, okay?” she hugged you tightly before leaving, using her own key to lock the door to your house as you stayed laying in bed.

as much as you wanted to give in to rafe, you just couldn’t find it in you to overlook the fact that he held back from telling you what he knew. sure, now that you look back on it, it was obvious, but to continue feeding into your fantasies, receiving your pictures, and talking to you on the phone as if he didn’t know who you were made you feel like you had been played in a way. since that night, you went to your tumblr and deleted everything, along with deactivating your account and uninstalling the app as a whole.

once rafe saw that your blog was gone, he went ahead and decided to delete his as well. it was pointless for him to be active if you were no longer on there anymore. he had been checking his phone religiously, hoping for any kind of reply, but each time his phone screen illuminated with a notification that wasn’t from you it was just a blow to his chest. he hated not hearing from you, especially because he had grown so used to listening to your voice everyday. now that was all gone. he no longer had that balance that he needed to keep him from going insane.

rafe didn’t view you any differently once he found out his dream girl behind the screen was you. if anything, it just made him want you even more. to know that the same girl that never put up with anyone’s shit was the same girl that wanted to be told what to do was nothing short of gratifying. he loved being the man that did that for you. both of you needed each other, and that was something you were slowly starting to realize as the days went on. finally folding, you had turned your read receipts off so rafe wouldn’t know that you opened up the plethora of paragraphs he had been sending you.

you scrolled down from the very top, only reading the messages that stuck out to you the most.

[Sunday - 10:11 AM] rafe: i just checked into my room, please text me back.

[Sunday - 11:00 AM] rafe: i don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me but we’re gonna have to settle this now or when i get home. either way, you’re still mine. whether you like it or not.

[Sunday - 11:09 AM] rafe: has it ever occurred to you that you know things about me that nobody else knows either? i knew who you were and i still didn’t hold back from being vulnerable with you. i care about you y/n, i think about you all the fucking time. after opening up to me last night, i really just want to make sure that you never feel alone again. let me be there. please.

[Sunday - 10:17 PM] rafe: this is the first night in months that i’m going to bed without hearing your voice. please consider talking to me again.

[Monday - 8:20 PM] rafe: not that it matters anymore but for the entire time that we were texting each other, i never saw anyone else. i wasn’t interested in anybody and then once i found out that you were closer than i thought, you’re the only thing that i could think about. phone sex aside, i truly believe that we see each other and understand one another— at least for me, you do. this isn’t a sunken ship, and i won’t let you turn it into one.

[Monday - 8:27 PM] rafe: i’ll do whatever it takes to be back in your good graces, but leaving you alone isn’t an option. i don’t think it ever was.

[Tuesday - 3:55 PM] rafe: well i finished up all the deals i needed to make, but i want to give you the time that you need, so i’ll be staying here for the rest of the week. i’ve put your name on the visitor’s list for my room number, i know it’s far fetched to think you’ll show up, but i’ll be here.

and then the most recent ones from this afternoon..

[Today - 1:09 PM] rafe: #501

[Today - 1:10 PM] rafe: that’s my room number.

you bit your lip. you couldn’t believe you were really considering going over there. you spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the halls, trying to come up with excuses as to why you shouldn’t pack a bag and give in to the man that undeniably has you in a chokehold. by the sounds of his texts, it’s not like you can just get out of not communicating with him, he has made that abundantly clear. by the time it was seven o’clock you were cursing under your breath as your car parked onto the ferry headed towards the mainland. “you better not embarrass me, asshole..” you whispered, swallowing your pride as the minutes counted down to your destination.

you were hesitant when it came time to go into the lobby, your chest rising and falling as you got off the car on shaky legs. you knew that coming over here meant more than just ‘talking it out’, this was you allowing rafe to prove himself worthy enough for something to grow out of this; something serious. “good evening! are you a guest or a visitor?” the receptionist smiled at you brightly as you answered. “visitor. for rafe cameron.” she clicked away on her computer for a few moments before humming pleasantly. “y/n?” she confirmed. with a curt nod, she motioned towards the elevators, “enjoy your night.”

adjusting the pink bag on your shoulder, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once the elevator dinged on rafe’s floor. no matter how much you were trying to downplay the situation, you couldn’t help the violent thumping of your heart with every step you took towards the end of the long hallway. standing in front of his door made everything feel like it was closing in on you, like suddenly you couldn’t get out of this and you hated the feeling of losing control. before you could successfully talk yourself out of facing him and running away, you knocked and waited with a bated breath for rafe to answer.

the man on the other side of the door was sitting at the edge of his bed in deep thought when he heard the small sound against the thick hardwood. eyebrows twisting in confusion, rafe got up and looked through the peep hole. he felt relief wash over him as soon as he saw you standing there with your arms crossed over your chest without a word, he opened the door, your eyes finding his. his gaze said just as much as your own, both of you sharing a mutual understanding without having to say anything.

pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe nodded understandingly before dragging you inside, your heart fluttering in your chest at his display of strength. “rafe—” you didn’t even get a chance to say anything before he grabbed your bag and tossed it to the side, his hands cupping your face before he backed you into the wall. “just shut up.” he whispered, both of you moaning once you felt each other’s lips finally press into your own. he tasted like mint with a hint of alcohol and you knew right then and there that you’d never be able to get enough of it.

snaking your hands underneath his shirt, you raked your nails down his toned stomach before tugging at the waistline of his jeans, a small gasp leaving your lips once he inserted a thigh between your legs and pressed into where you needed him most. “fuck,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck, “please, i need you.” hearing you say that you needed him made rafe’s head spin in the best possible way. “yeah? i’m not really convinced..” he leaned in, licking a stripe across your bottom lip. rolling your eyes, you dug your nails into his neck until he groaned, pushing you into the wall with a thud.

narrowing your gaze at him, rafe smiled once he saw what looked like a hint of a challenge dancing in your orbs. picking you up off of your feet, you yelped when rafe slammed you onto his bed, wasting no time in slotting himself between your thighs. “it’s gonna take a lot more than some pathetic begging to get me inside you.” he said through gritted teeth. you refrained from saying something smart, your stare faltering as you swallowed thickly. he was going to make this difficult for you. stroking the back of his neck, you pulled him down so your lips were next to his ear.

he shuddered at the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin, a sigh falling from his lips as you trailed your foot along the side of his hip up to his torso. “please, rafe? i might cry if i have to my own fingers again..it’s been too long,” you whispered, “what will it take for you to fill me up with your cock instead?” rafe cursed under his breath as soon as he heard your lewd words, his hands working to get you out of your clothes so he could give both of you some kind of relief. you shivered once you were left in your bra and panties, your eyes beaming up at the man in front of you as you slowly removed the lacey material.

maybe it was because rafe was still fully dressed, but you couldn’t help but feel overexposed as he ogled your chest, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down as he took your tits in the palms of his hands. “holy fuck,” he laid you back, letting his touch roam your body as you squirmed with anticipation, “the camera doesn’t do you justice, baby, you’re fucking gorgeous.” your stomach erupted in a fit of butterflies at the nickname. “and these..” he tugged at your underwears, his jaw clenching once he caught a glimpse of your glossy folds.

in no time, rafe had your thighs shaking around his head, your back arching off of the plush mattress as you clawed at his hands in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from the pure, white hot pleasure coursing through your tummy. “rafe!” you squealed, your entire body buzzing with need as you felt his fingers prod at your entrance. “you taste so good, ‘pretty, m’gonna have to keep you on your back for me all fucking day from now on.” he cursed, flicking his tongue against your overstimulated clit. you felt like a puddle of nothing once he had his digits curled inside of you, his fingertips continuously hitting that sweet spot that made you jolt with each stroke.

“t-too much!” you shook your head, your hips drawing away from his mouth. he chuckled, his strong grip on the curves of your waist making you hiss in pain. “this can’t be too much for you already, i’m just getting started..” you whined helplessly, feeling the band in your stomach snap for the second time already, the motions of his digits eliciting wet squelches from your cunt as you writhed uncontrollably beneath him.

with your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, rafe removed the hand he had inbetween your thighs and slipped his fingers inside your mouth, his tongue still working skillfully on your sensitive bud as he forced you to taste yourself. you moaned, sucking on his digits without a second thought. “you’re so fucking hot, i love it.” he grumbled, grinding his clothed erection into the sheets, desperate for any kind of friction he could get as he leaked precum from merely giving you pleasure.

he brought you down from your high until your breathing slowed and you were dragging him up to kiss you once again. rafe’s lips molded to yours so perfectly, you cupped his chin and pecked the tip of his nose before slipping out from under his body. rafe didn’t ask any questions as you grabbed his hand and guided him back up to his feet. how you managed to stand up after being overstimulated into oblivion? you don’t know, but you were determined to get rafe out of his clothes one way or another.

rafe watched as you lifted his shirt above his head, the thin material of his t-shirt getting lost on the floor somewhere as you stared at his glorious build. “as much i hated you, i always thought you were stupidly hot.” rafe snorted at your words, his eyes following the way your fingertips trailed down his pecs to his v-line. “hated?” he repeated, noting the past-tense of your statement. meeting his eyes, you blinked softly before pressing another kiss to the corner of his lips. “yeah, hated.”

within seconds, you had dropped to your knees, biting your lip at the sight of rafe bulging out of the denim material of his jeans. looking up at him with sultry eyes, you palmed him through his pants, his nostrils flaring slightly as you took your time getting him out of his boxers. oh and once you did, you were gobsmacked. you’ve spent so much time daydreaming about this cock, just wishing it was the one thing putting you to sleep instead of your fingers, and now that it was standing in front of you, you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together at the sight.

you smiled sweetly before placing your hands on the back of his knees, the man above you already fisting your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, his hips bucking at the pleasure shooting into his core. “o-oh, fuck..” he swallowed thickly, watching as your sparkly lips enveloped the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around his aching tip with ease. you moaned around his length, taking him inch by inch until your nose nudged his pubic bone.

blinking up at him through your eyelashes, you slowly pulled off of him, holding him at the base as he watched you trace your lips with a mix of spit and precum. “you’re gonna get it.” was the last thing rafe said before he pulled your head back down on his cock, a muffled whine sounding from your mouth before you felt his tip hit the back of your throat. rafe’s head rolled to the side, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. your grip tightened around his legs, your eyebrows pinching together as rafe groaned, his muscles constricting underneath his skin.

“i imagined this for so long..” he said through gritted teeth, “..since way before we even started texting.” you moaned at the revelation, grateful that he took the hint and let you slide off of him for a moment so you could breathe. gasping once you were able to get a full breath, rafe cursed when his eyes landed on the thick string of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. “why didn’t you do something about it, then?” rafe shook his head, letting go of your hair before landing a playful smack across your cheek. “you know what? that’s a really good question, ‘think you would’ve been okay with me stuffing your mouth back then?”

you giggled, licking your lips before getting up and pushing him down on the bed. rafe brought you down with him, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you kissed him sloppily. feeling him like this, skin to skin, made a weight that you didn’t even know was there lift from your heart, your soft hands stroking his chest as he held you in his big arms. snaking down his torso, you pressed a trail of kisses down his stomach until you reached his length, wrapping a hand around his base.

“tell me, rafe,” you scooted down so you were straddling his thighs, “would you have even had the balls to take me the way you wanted?” rafe’s chest rose and fell as you stroked him languidly, his eyes struggling to stay open as you watched him with that dark gaze of yours. “nah, i didn’t think you’d be able to take it.” you smiled, taking your bottom lip between your teeth before you picked up your pace, the action making rafe’s hips buck. “ah, fuck!” he heaved, his jaw falling slack as he felt himself teetering the edge of euphoria.

“already gonna cum?” you teased, “so fucking pathetic.” rafe blinked, his jaw tightening at your words. he couldn’t let you win this easily. despite it feeling impossible, he mustered up the strength to stop your ministrations, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you down beneath him. “you might be royalty out there, but in here? with me? you don’t get to have your fucking way. you’re nothing.” you gasped, your heart beating in your ears as he threw your legs over his shoulders.

suddenly you didn’t have the same confidence from earlier now that rafe had you right where he wanted you, his cock sitting snuggly between your folds. your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of him teasing your clit, a shaky breath leaving your lips as he entered you slowly. rafe buried his face in your neck, his teeth nipping the sensitive flesh there. your eyes watered at the stretch, a small cry emitting from your throat. rafe looked down at you and made sure you were okay before thrusting into you, both of you moaning in unison.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he praised you, “better than what i could’ve ever imagined.” he pressed a kiss to your calf, pressing a large palm over your lower stomach. you squeaked at the pressure, your toes curling as he fucked into you with vigor. “i wonder what people would think of you if they knew you were a cock hungry slut,” he started thumbing your clit, your hands shooting up to dig crescents into his biceps, “i should mark you up, ‘show everyone who the fuck you belong to when they see us out.”

you don’t know why, but the idea of walking around with rafe, everyone’s eyes falling on you two in every room you enter, turned you on beyond belief, especially at the prospect of being littered with bruises and hickeys from none other than the man on top of you. “i want that,” you whimpered, “want’ everyone to know you’re mine too.” rafe groaned. all he’s wanted to hear since you two started this whole thing. that he was yours.. that you wanted him the way he wanted you.

rafe wished so badly that he didn’t refrain from letting himself cum over the course of these last few months, because then maybe he wouldn’t be close to blowing his load this soon. “still think i’m pathetic if i cum right now?” rafe trailed his lips across your collarbone, his forehead nudging your chin as you nodded breathlessly. “oh, totally.” you laughed, the smile from your face being wiped off as soon as rafe picked up his speed on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“i guess that’s gonna make two of us then..” you had heavy tears rolling down your cheeks when your high washed over you in waves of pure ecstasy, your legs trembling as you thrashed against him. you lost all ability to speak or think, rafe’s hips coming to a stop as he pulled out, still stroking his length as he emptied himself over your drenched folds. rafe shuddered, watching the way his cum painted your pretty cunt. you were left clenching around nothing, a pout forming on your lips.

“w-why didn’t you just cum inside me?” you stuttered, rafe’s eyes widening at your display of offense. “well i wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that—” you cut him off, clamping a hand over his mouth before reaching down and guided his tip over the mess he made. “put it in me.” your had seen plenty of gazes turn dark before, but rafe’s was just incomparable. he was distraught, the look on your face sending him into overdrive. he did as you said, his mind churning with a thousand thoughts at once.

you took every drop like a champ, his eyes hanging low as he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his side. cradling his head to your chest, you reveled in the feeling of his arms being wrapped around you, both of you panting softly in an attempt to catch your breaths. staying in this position for what seemed like forever, you blinked once rafe’s voice broke you out of your post-sex bliss. “what made you change your mind?” he asked, running his fingertips up and down the column of your spine.

“my mind was already made up..” you whispered, “i just needed to put my ego away and finally choose something for myself.”

at your words, rafe pulled you into a heated kiss, which only then lead to round two and three and so on until you were barely able to hold yourself up in the shower. you and rafe slept in the next morning, both of you spending the rest of the week seemingly catching up with all of the pent up sexual frustration you two shared until it was time to go back home and do it all overs again. your phone had been blowing up with unanswered calls and texts from chanel, your best friend worried sick about you and your sudden disappearance. “where the fuck have you been?! i was starting to think i should file a missing persons report!” she shouted.

“i promise i’m going to explain everything. meet me at our brunch spot in ten minutes.. and feel free to bring topper..”

“how did this happen?!” chanel squealed excitedly, looking between you and rafe as he draped an arm across your shoulders, your lips finding his. oh, god, where could you even start? “it’s a really interesting story, but trust me when i say you’ll thank me for sparing the details.” you laughed. topper was also mildly confused at his best friend’s sudden attitude change towards you. “blink twice if you need help, bro.” he chuckled nervously, both you and chanel shooting him a glare. “nah, no cries for help over here. i’m right where i wanna be..”

taglist: @meallan01 @sf1738 @emeloyy @hmmshhhh @chelzaa @starkeycore @liyah4evaaaa @hnybitches @urbimom @kittenjujusblog @femaholicc @lil-sparklqueen @yktayy9669 @matthewswifeyy @icaqttt @jjasmiineee @lilithblackkk @rafecameronswhoore @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @ditzyzombiesblog @i-love-gvf @blondrafe @wolf-2005 @brianquinnlvr @lightbluebaby @jkrafe @lovemaybankk @sweetstrawberrianne @drewstarkeysbabe @issues4him @dahliaparton @slut-4-gojo @luvagirlsworld @nemesyaaa @jwdiaries @midsoulz @drewstarkeyzwhore @urmotherlvr @chillgal135 @wtfisastiles @dollyfiles @annaconscience @rafesluvr @locallyhateddoll @acidfeens @cherubfille @whathechickenstrip @my-name-is-baby @wtfdudesblog @atjlovverr

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5sospenguinqueen · 11 months ago

Text

I'm Thirsty, Refreshing | Charles Leclerc x Gasly! Reader

Summary: Pierre is horrified by his sister's public attempts to catch his Monegasque friend's attention

Warnings: Suggestive. Thirsty comments. Swearing. Down bad reader.

Gasly reader. Pinterest pics

F1 Masterlist

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gasly_yn just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and others

gasly_yn forza ferrari sempre

4,309 comments

pierregasly what the fuck

pierregasly wrong team

pierregasly when did this become a whore house

→ gasly_yn that’s not very hot girl summer of you

user1 pierre going through the seven stages of grief

francisca.cgomes serving body

→ gasly_yn thank you for looking through 100s of pics for the right ones

→ pierregasly @/francisca.cgomes don’t encourage this!

→ fransisca.cgomes but she looks hot liked by charles_leclerc

alpinef1team well, we all know who you’ll be supporting this weekend

→ gasly_yn yeah, your other driver

→ pierregasly you take that back! that's worse

→ user2 i love when the gasly’s are messy on main

lilymhe and whose attention would we be trying to catch today?

→ gasly_yn only yours

→ alex_albon no

→ gasly_yn these drivers never let me have any fun

carlossainz55 looking good, female gasly

→ pierregasly back off 🤺

→ user3 c’mon carlos, we all know she’s only here for charles liked by charles_leclerc

landonorris i’m definitely looking at the shirt 👀

→ gasly_yn uh huh, what colour is it?

→ landonorris papaya

→ arthur_leclerc she doesn’t do british, mate

charles_leclerc *gulp*

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pierregasly just posted

liked by gasly_yn, francisca.cgomes and others

pierregasly people were asking for more piarles (?) content tagged: charles_leclerc

5,558 comments

gasly_yn oh wow. i am stunned

gasly_yn and not because of you. we all know i’m the better looking gasly anyway

gasly_yn why don’t you bring him home anymore

→ pierregasly because you wouldn’t stop trying to steal him

→ gasly_yn kiks, leave him

charles_leclerc i am flattered

→ user4 omg just respond to her instead of acting like you’re responding to pierre

→ user5 give the girl a chance

francisca.cgomes i can hear her barking from here

→ lilymhe she’s actually salivating

→ gasly_yn where’s the girl code

→ user6 not the girlies exposing her

danielricciardo mate, who’s managing to make you look good in photos

→ gasly_yn hi, me again. i actually claim photo credits but he didn’t tag me

→ pierregasly i was kind of hoping you wouldn’t see this post. it was hard enough wiping the drool off your mouth when you were there

→ gasly_yn don’t expose me

→ gasly_yn plus, i have his notifs on so i don't miss a thing

→ pierregasly i half expected you to lick him after that basketball match

→ gasly_yn says the one trying to go for a cock shot

georgerussell63 didn’t i see that ferrari hoodie in your suitcase last weekend, yn? (this comment has been deleted)

user6 xoxo gossip george

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by gasly_yn, oscarpiastri and others

charles_leclerc summer break ☀️

7.440 comments

user8 here before yn

→ gasly_yn think again babe

gasly_yn miss rabbit has fainted

gasly_yn okay but the hands, the pecs, the bandana

gasly_yn in the market for a new necklace

pierregasly why are we thirst trapping

pierregasly whose attention are you trying to grab

pierregasly oi, answer me

user7 yn and pierre match each other’s freak in the best sibling way possible

carlossainz55 are you trying to kill her

alex_albon i’ve sent lily to check that she’s still alive after these

user8 who is taking the most boyfriend coded pics of Charles tho

→ user9 asking the real questions

georgerussell63 i don’t think ferrari would like you offing the competition’s sister

gasly_yn the sun isn’t the only thing that’s hot in these pictures

→ pierregasly you’re embarrassing me

→ gasly_yn my friends know you call yourself tripod, i’m not the embarrassment

→ charles_leclerc she’s got you there, mate

lilymhe i watched her drop her phone after opening insta

→ francisca.cgomes and then walk into a doorframe

user10 not the grid and wags exposing my poor girl

→ user11 she’s so down bad. i can’t even defend her anymore

→ lilymhe neither can we

user12 anyone else think yn is freaking out because charles finally replied to her comment

→ user13 not all of you taking this seriously like she hasn’t known charles since they were kids

→ user14 literally. they’ve been friends for years. i’m pretty sure she knows how to control herself around him

→ gasly_yn um, babe. have you seen him? would YOU be able to control yourself? liked by charles_leclerc

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gasly_yn just posted a new story x2

charles_leclerc just posted a new story

pierregasly replied to yn's story you tell him to keep his hands to himself → i know where he lives gasly_yn i didn’t know you liked me that much pierregasly biologically i’m obliged to

pierregasly replied to charles' story stop touching her → release her hand charles_leclerc you’re the one who told me to finally ask her out! → you said you were happy that i would stop pining pierregasly yes but when you told me months ago that you were dating and keeping it under wraps → i believed that meant i wouldn’t actually have to see you with her → a heads up that you changed that would’ve been nice charles_leclerc drama queen pierregasly that’s it, i take back my approval charles_leclerc piss off, pois

pierregasly replied to yn's story yn, what the fuck → that better not be → i’m going to throw something gasly_yn stop stalking me pierregasly how could you not tell me first! gasly_yn you wanted me to tell you that i was going to fuck your friend? pierregasly i knew it was date night but i never thought gasly_yn you didn’t imagine your sister and your friend in bed together? i think that’s considered normal, pois pierregasly i hope he wrapped it. don't need more of you in the world gasly_yn go away!

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pierregasly just posted

liked by scuderiaferrari, arthur_leclerc and others

pierregasly i actually miss when they were just messaging me about each other. now they make out in front of me. much worse tagged: gasly_yn, charles_leclerc

10,199 comments

user13 not pierre hard launching them

gasly_yn he used to talk about me?

→ charles_leclerc all the time <3

→ pierregasly all. the. time

alex_albon does this mean we can stop acting like we haven’t seen them making out around the paddock for the past few months?

→ georgerussell63 and in his car

→ landonorris and in the back of clubs

→ gasly_yn 2019 rookies were the worst thing to happen to f1

→ charles_leclerc i thought we were discreet?

→ pierregasly mate, you drool over her as much as she does you. neither of you have ever been discreet

arthur_leclerc at least they dial it down in front of you

user14 wait, you’re telling me they’ve been together for months. what about all of yn’s thirsty comments??

→ charles_leclerc i was sat next to her as she was writing them

→ gasly_yn can confirm those had him giggling

maxverstappen1 wait, does this mean he’s replaced me as his padel partner?

→ pierregasly he said he actually wanted to win

→ gasly_yn plus if he does lose, i give better consolation prizes ;)

→ pierregasly ew! dirty!

→ francisca.cgomes querido you have said worse to me in front of her

carlossainz55 the worst day was when she wore the ferrari vest under her alpine shirt. should’ve learned to knock before entering his driver’s room

→ pierregasly NO! In public!

scuderiaferrari ha stole your girl

→ alpinef1team how dare you

→ pierregasly yeah, you tell them. you can’t have her

→ charles_leclerc MY girl

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Requests welcome

I am currently working on a written Lando fic about him and driver! reader being fwb with angst so bare with me lol

Tag list

@rosecentury @peachiicherries

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harrysfolklore · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! Can you pls pls pls do a fic with Lisa (from Blackpink) as the face claim????

mystery man

summary: yn is dating someone from the f1 grid, but fans are having a hard time guessing which driver he is

folkie radio: last smau before the 2025 season kicks in!! honestly this is a weird concept but i hope you like it i had fun doing it !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by tchalamet, arianagrande and 2,947,360 others

yourinstagram just living my best life 🌊

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username1 MOTHER

username2 did she just soft launch ???

taylorswift The way I already know who this is 👀 happy for you bestie!

sabrinacarpenter Finally!!! 💕

username3 WAIT IS SHE DATING SOMEONE??? After that heartbreak album she released last month??

username4 the height matches jacob elordi who she was seen with at the grammy's after party!

username5 GIRL YOU CAN'T JUST DROP THIS AND NOT TELL US MORE

username6 detective mode: activated. he's tall and athletic build

username7 was this taken in Monaco??? The coastline looks familiar...

username8 TIMOTHEE LIKED!!! ITS HIM

shawnmendes 😍

username9 WHAT IF ITS AN ATHLETE ???? LIKE AN NFL PLAYER

username10 we need to solve this mystery asap

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 10,836 others

ynupdates YN HAS ARRIVED AT THE MIAMI FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX!!!

view all comments

username1 PAUSEEE

username2 THE MOTORSPORT GIRLIES WERE RIGHT!!!!

username3 so the mystery man she’s dating could be a FORMULA 1 DRIVER

username4 quick somebody check which garage is she at

username5 we might know who her boyfriend is soon OMFG

username6 i KNEW she was dating someone from f1 since she started posting from monaco

username7 CARLOS??? IS IT CARLOS???

username8 yn and max would be THEEE couple

username9 charles has been liking her posts for the last 3 months 👀👀

username10 WAIT remember that lando posted stories with her songs !!

username11 y’all she’s been to mclaren and redbull so far 😭 how are we going to guess which one she’s with

username12 ITS MAX IM TELLING YALL

username13 plot twist: she’s with ocon

username14 followed by most of the drivers, visiting redbull and mclaren, wearing a mercedes cap last week, she’s really making sure we don’t figure out which team

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 1,837,944 others

maxverstappen1 Good to have you in the garage today @/yourinstagram 🏎️

view all comments

username1 MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN

username2 ITS MAAAAX SHES DATING MAX

yourinstagram thanks for teaching me how to drive the sim! still can't believe i crashed 10 times 🙈

↳ username2 GIRL ARE YOU DATING HIM OR NOT

↳ username3 the way she’s trying to play it cool 😭

username4 COUPLE OF THE CENTURY

redbullracing Our favorite garage guest 💙

tmz CONFIRMED: Max Verstappen and pop sensation YN are dating

username5 everyone thinking it was Ferrari meanwhile... 🤡

username6 IS THIS THE WAY MAX SOFT LAUNCHES ???

username7 plot twist she’s not dating max

username8 their face cards side by side thooooo

username9 she was trying to be smooth and max just posted this

username10 UM I DONT THINK ITS MAX STILL

liked by yourinstagram, oscarpiastri and 1,987,468 others

landonorris MIAMI BABY!!! 🏆 First win we did it! Thank you team, thank you fans, and special thanks to the one waving that flag 😉

view all comments

username1 HUUUUUHHH

username2 HOW THE TABLES HAVE TURNED 😭

username3 wait… i thought she was dating max

danielricciardo CONGRATS CHAMP

oscarpiastri Well done mate 👏👏

yourinstagram congrats lan 🧡 best flag waving of my career tbh

↳ username1 GIRL WTF WHICH ONE ARE YOU DATING

↳ username2 ADRESS THE RUMORS

↳ username3 the way she’s making it impossible to guess which one she’s dating

username4 HOLD UP... EVERYONE THOUGHT IT WAS MAX???

mclaren Our favorite flag waver 🏁💕

username5 plot twist: she’s not even dating a formula 1 driver

username6 WHO is trolling us

username7 y’all it’s lando.. she posted a pic OF HER

username8 IM STILL A MAX X YN TRUTHER

georgerussell63 😂😂😂

username9 am i a fool for believing there’s still a possibility for yn and charles ??

username10 hear me out… they’re actually a throuple

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 2,936,378 others

yourinstagram living my best F1 life 🏎️✨ thank you miami gp!

view all comments

username1 GIRL BE FOR REAL

username2 SHES SO ANNOYING

maxverstappen1 Best garage guest 👌

↳ username1 IS IT YOU?? ARE YOU HER BOYFRIEND

↳ username2 he marked his territory in the comment section it’s him

charles_leclerc ❤️

↳ username3 WHERE ARE THE CHARLES AND YN THRUTHERS AT?

↳ username4 guys it’s charles, lando and max posting about her rules them out because they usually gatekeep their relationships

landonorris Best flag waver in the business 🏁

↳ username1 IM SO CONFUSED RN

↳ username4 i give up trying to guess which one is it

username5 THE WAY SHE’S PURPOSELY FEEDING ALL THREE THEORIES IM CRYING

username6 GIRL WHO IS IT 😭

dualipa STUNNING ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

gigihadid queenieeee ily

username7 is no one going to talk about the possibility of lewis?? he’s also single and she was wearing a mercedes cap last week AND he has been to her concerts

username8 everyone: "Which driver are you dating?" YN: "Yes"

username9 what if it's been Charles this whole time? 👀 she keeps posting from monaco

username10 this woman is a menace. she woke up and chose violence.

username11 DIDN’T CARLOS SAINZ RECENTLY TAKE A BREAK WITH HIS GF?? WHY IS ONE ONE TALKING ABOUT HIM (it would make sense that she’s giving hints about everyone but him)

liked by username1, username2 and 10,386 others

f1gossip BREAKING: Charles Leclerc spotted kissing mystery woman on a yacht! 🚨

view all comments

username1 WAIT... that hair length... IS THAT YN???

username2 WE FUCKING WON. IT WAS CHARLES ALL ALONG

username3 So the Red Bull stuff was just friendship? 😭

username4 what about the lando connections though?? we're so confused

tmz Sources confirm Charles Leclerc's mystery woman is NOT YN. Story developing...

username5 charles and YN would be such a power couple though 😩

username6 y’all yn is with max give it up

username7 he way this whole fandom is having a meltdown over a blurry photo 💀

username8 watch this be someone from monaco and not yn

username9 THE WAY YN HAS BEEN MIA THO

username10 YN's location right now: Los Angeles Charles' mystery girl location: Monaco. Math's not mathing besties...

username11 this is getting better than drive to survive

username12 the way we all jumped to conclusions... again 😭

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 3,823,099 others

yourinstagram red era? maybe so 🌹

view all comments

username1 SHES SO MESSY

username2 MOTHER LITERALLY MOTHERING IN FERRARI RED THE SIGNS WERE THERE ALL ALONG

arianagrande my sissy 🤍🤍

username3 NAH BECAUSE WHY IS IT THE EXACT SHADE OF FERRARI RED?? CHARLES COME GET YOUR GIRL

username4 so it’s really charles huh

mtv i’ve died dead

username5 stand up if you've been personally victimized by yn's ‘guess which formula 1 driver im dating’ game

username6 we were all fighting about max vs lando meanwhile charles and yn were the real deal... mother is SNEAKY

sabrinacarpenter 😍😍😍

username7 no because the way she's been collecting all three of them like infinity stones... max's garage pics, lando's flag moment, and now serving charles' team color... queen behavior methinks

maxverstappen1 When can I come to a show?

↳ yourinstagram anytime maxie!

↳ username1 max x yn LIVESSSS

↳ username2 IM SO CONFUSED RN

landonorris Looking 😍

↳ yourinstagram ☺️

↳ username3 LANDO THATS YOUR FRIEND’S GIRL

↳ username4 she’s dating all of them that’s it

carlossainz55 Amazing color 👏

↳ username1 EVERYONE SAYING CHARLES BUT WHAT IF ITS CARLOS

↳ username2 carlos and rebecca just announced their breakup… i’m seeing something

username7 CHARLES LIKED

username8 she’s so messy i respect her for that

username9 listen… what if she’s with CARLOS

username10 i want yn to come out and say surprise i’m actually not dating any driver

liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram and 2,033,749 others

maxverstappen1 Pre 🇲🇨 @/yourinstagram

view all comments

username1 NOT MAX POSTING HER AGAIN

username2 MOTHER??? WE WERE JUST CELEBRATING YOUR FERRARI ERA LIKE TWO HOURS AGO???

username3 the whiplash i just got... WASNT SHE JUST WEARING FERRARI RED?? MAX EXPLAIN??

redbullracing The best supporter 💙👌

username4 no because we were literally making charles wedding edits and now she's back in red bull gear... this woman is SICK

username5 THE WAY I NEVER LOST FAITH... THATS MY POWER COUPLE

username6 crying throwing up sliding down the wall she fooled us AGAIN

username7 i give up trying to guess who she’s with

username8 our dating theory timeline is in shambles. SHAMBLES.

danielricciardo 😂😂😂😂

username9 WHATS THE TRUTH

yourinstagram ☺️☺️☺️☺️

↳ username1 GIRLIE STOP

↳ username2 she’s messy and i respect her

username10 i told y’all she’s with max, he never posts ANYONE and he has posted her twice

username11 not me deleting all my charles theory threads...

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 2,986,048 others

yourinstagram monaco pit stop 🏁 built half of a mclaren lego (we’ll finish it next race) and this special helmet joins my collection

view all comments

username1 GIRL COME ON

username2 the fits eat thooooo

landonorris you definitely cheated btw

↳ username1 YN AND LANDO SUPREMACY

↳ username3 this is my power couple

↳ yourinstagram you wish lannnn😌

maxverstappen1 The helmet looks better in your collection anyway 🤝

↳ username4 MAX AND YN. THATS IT

↳ username2 max is the bf come on !!!! why would the mighty max verstappen post something other than racing

↳ yourinstagram i’ll send you pictures so you don’t miss it

charles_leclerc Best country in the world, right?

↳ yourinstagram damn riiiiight

↳ username3 i cannot do this

zendaya we have some catch-up to do 👀👀

username4 dating the entire grid and i'm here for it tbh

username5 trying to keep up with her love life: 📉📈📉📈📉📈

username6 I STILL THINK IT COULD BE CARLOS SMH

mclaren That lego car better be finished by Silverstone 👀

redbullracing Our helmet game: 📈

username7 not even the social media admins know what’s going onnnn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 13,049 others

ln4updates LANDO SPOTTED IN VIP AT YN'S LONDON SHOW !!!

view all comments

username1 OMFFFFGGG LANDO

username2 i'm team lando now that charles is out of the race

username3 THE WAY HE KNOWS ALL THE WORDS?? HELLO???

username4 not him wearing the unreleased merch (the cap) boyfriend behavior methinks 🤨

username5 max was busy doing community service and lando said lemme take my shot

username6 everyone calm down he probably just supporting his friend… right? RIGHT?? MAX X YN IS STILL REAL

username7 I'M STILL HURT ITS NOT CHARLES

username8 i've been a lando and yn truther since day one

username9 max wya we need you to clear something up real quick

username10 WE WON

liked by maxverstappen1, yourinstagram and 1,022,389 others

lando.jpg thats my life baby i'm a rockstar 🎶

view all comments

username1 LANDO WTFFFF

username2 HE REMEMBERED THE PASSWORD OF THIS ACCOUNT JUST TO POST HER FFS

daniel3.jpg 👀👀👀

username3 lando nation WE WON

username4 someone explain why max keeps posting her if she's with lando??

oscarpiastri Tell them about how you've been practicing your dance moves in the garage for weeks

↳ username1 DRAG HIM OSCAR

↳ username2 OSCAR JUST CONFIRMED LANDO X YN

username5 the fact he never posts this much about ANYONE..

username6 friendly reminder that max gave her his monaco helmet xx

username7 remember when she said her type was spanish… just saying

username8 HER FACE CARD THOOO

yourinstagram 🤩🤩

↳ username1 GIRL STOP THIS MADNESS

↳ username2 JUST SAY WHO IT IS

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,985,328 others

carlossainz55 Now playing: Moonlit floor by @/yourinstagram 😍 Perfect song for an evening drive 🎵

view all comments

username1 NOT THISSSS

username2 CARLOS JUST ENTERED THE CHAT

username3 remember when yn changed the lyrics to "kiss me under the madrid twilight" WHAT IF IT WAS FOR CARLOS AND NOT JUST BC SHE WAS PERFORMING IN MADRID

scuderiaferrari Always the best tunes ❤️

username4 i would say it's him but he recently got out of a relationship

landonorris good taste in music 👌

↳ username5 LANDO NATION WE UP

↳ username6 i'm a lando x believer forever. it has to be HIM

↳ username7 marking his territory

username8 everyone fighting over max vs lando while carlos has been quietly winning

username9 the ferrari red was always for CARLOS not charles

username10 plot twist of the century if carlos ends up being the one

username11 lando literally went to her show last week and posted her don't push this carlos agenda now

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, landonorris and 3,099,584 others

yourinstagram grazie mille 🏎️❤️

view all comments

username1 GIRL STOP THIS MADNESS

username2 IS THIS HOW SHE SOFT LAUNCHES CARLOS IS THE ONE

username3 the way the ferrari signs were always there but we thought it was carlos

sabrinacarpenter teach me your ways sister 😂

carlossainz55 Smooth operator in training 😉

↳ username1 STOP THIS

↳ username2 I'VE JUST DIED DEAD

↳ username3 i was team lando but LOOK AT THIS MATERIAL

maxverstappen1 Traitor.

↳ username4 IM SO CONFUSED RN

↳ username5 ITS SUPPOSED TO BE YOUUUU

scuderiaferrari ❤️

charles_leclerc Smooooth

↳ username1 still devastated cause it's not charles tbh

username4 max's comment 💀 someone's jealous

username5 everyone: must be dating max or lando carlos: quietly gets her in a ferrari

username6 BUT WHAT ABOUT LANDO GOING TO HER CONCERT

username7 plot twist: she's been with carlos this whole time while we've been theorizing about max and lando

dualipa ferrari girl 😍😍😍

liked by maxverstappen1, yourinstagram and 1,984,398 others

f1 Our favorite paddock regular 🏎️ @/yourinstagram

view all comments

username1 f1 admin woke up and chose violence with this photo selection

username2 admin really said "let's cause chaos"

username3 the way this post just reset all our theories to zero 😭

username4 everyone: we finally figured out who she's dating f1 admin: hold my beer

username5 notice how comfortable she looks in mclaren colors just saying…

username6 NOT F1 ACCOUNT DROPPING THAT CARLOS X YN PIC HOLD ON

username7 max doesn't laugh like that with just anyone… just pointing that out

username8 TEAM LANDO WYA

username9 that first pic… there's history there and we all know it

username10 admin dropping these pics then turning off notifications probably

username11 the way we'll never know who it actually is 😭

landonorris still haven't forgiven her for beating my sim racing time

↳ username1 LANDOOOOO COME ON

↳ username2 he’s the one

carlossainz55 The real smooth operator

↳ username3 i’ve never been more convinced that it’s carlos

yourinstagram just doing my job keeping everyone guessing 💅

↳ username4 THE WAY SHE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT SHE'S DOING

↳ username5 not her adding fuel to the fire with that reply 😭

↳ username6 SHE KNOWS ABOUT THE THEORIES

liked by username1, username2 and 11,976 others

f1gossip Lando Norris spotted driving a Ferrari in Monaco this morning... wait isn't this YN's car? 👀

view all comments:

username1 HELLO??? THIS IS LITERALLY YN'S CAR FROM HER INSTAGRAM LAST WEEK

username2 ok but why is he driving HER car at 7am...

username3 plot twist: carlos gave her the car but lando's the boyfriend 💀

username4 everyone thinking it was carlos when lando's been the one all along

username5 max unfollowing lando in 3...2...1...

username6 carlos giving her the car just for lando to drive it is wild

username7 YN NEVER SAID CARLOS GAVE HER THE CAR THOOOOOO

username8 the way this fandom switches teams every 2 hours 😭

username9 remember when charles was part of this theory

username10 imagine being carlos watching your car being driven by lando who's dating the girl everyone thought you were dating

username11 to be fair everyone just ASSUMED carlos gave her the car just bc it’s a ferrari

username12 MAX FIGHT BACK??

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,846 others

ynupdates YN has arrived at Las Vegas paddock ahead of the title-deciding race.

view all comments

username1 wearing neither orange nor blue… diplomatic queen

username2 WHO ARE YOU SUPPORTING

username3 imagine if your (maybe) boyfriend needs p4 to win WDC while your (maybe) other boyfriend needs a win to stay in the fight 💀

username4 the way she's probably ghosting both of them rn to stay neutral

username5 notice how she's not in either garage yet… switzerland staying neutral

username6 max about to win his 4th title while everyone's focused on her outfit choice

username7 if lando wins we're analyzing every reaction clip of her

username8 las vegas script writers really said "let's make it spicy"

username9 SHES WITH CARLOS GIVE IT UPPPP

username10 remember when we thought the dating drama was complicated and now we have CHAMPIONSHIP drama too

username11 carlos watching everyone stress while he's secured p5 in standings and got the girl

username12 istg i’m the only lewis believer

liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 3,022,937 others

yourinstagram Thank you scuderiaferrari family for letting me watch this historic race from your garage. Grazie mille for always making me feel at home in red ❤️

view all comments

username1 EVERYONE: analyzing max vs lando YN: anyway here's me in ferrari red

username2 THE WAY WE WERE ALL WRONG… IT WAS CARLOS ALL ALONG

username3 she watched max become 4x WDC from… carlos's garage? 🤔

taylorswift 😍😍😍

username4 LANDO FIGHT BACK

username5 i miss when charles was part of the theory (love you alex)

troyesivan she’s an icon she’s a legend and she is the moment

username6 not her switching teams AGAIN when we finally thought we had it figured out

username7 the real winner today was carlos and we all know why

landonorris Papaya rules anyway

↳ yourinstagram 🤫

↳ username1 STOP THIS MADNESS

↳ username2 she’s dating carlando and max is her side chick

carlossainz55 Mi familia ❤️

↳ username3 i don’t know what to think anymore

username8 UM MAX NOT COMMENTING HELLO????

username9 plot twist she’s dating fred vasseur

scuderiaferarri Our favorite guest forever ❤️

username10 everyone playing chess while carlos was playing smooth operator

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 3,985,587 others

yourinstagram 2 HANDS - out this friday at midnight 🏁

view all comments

username1 NO FUCKING WAAAYY

username2 guys all the dating drama was just promo for this...

dualipa THEY'RE NOT READY 🤩🤩🤩

username3 ORANGE?? LANDO NATION WAKE UP

username4 one is carlos and the other is lando SHES DATING CARLANDO

username5 not her dropping this right after watching max's title from carlos's garage… the CHAOS

sza song of the year already

username6 sooooo it was all a pr strategy

username7 carlos watching his 2 week relationship era end: 🧍‍♂️

charles_leclerc Already on repeat

↳ username1 SPILL THE BEANS YOU KNOW WHO'S THE BF

↳ username2 remember when he whas the front-runner 😭

username8 the way she had us theorizing about ferrari just to hit us with mclaren colors… she's evil for this

username9 best pre single campaign ever

maxverstappen1 😉

↳ username3 STAND TF UP AND FIGHT BACKKK

landonorris finally 🧡

↳ username4 HUUHHHHH

↳ username5 ITS LANDO ITS LANDOOOOO

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 2,096,465 others

landonorris 2 hands on me all times

view all comments

username1 CASE CLOSED

username2 LANDO WTFFFF

yourinstagram player 2 has entered the game 🎮

↳ username1 YOU SNEAKY LITTLE SHIIIT

↳ username2 end this madness now

username3 the way this isn't even subtle anymore

mclaren 👀

username4 remember when we thought it was carlos last week? 😭

username5 WHAT ABOUT MAX???? I STILL BELIEVE IT COULD BE MAX

username6 max winning WDC while these two are doing… whatever this is

oscarpiastri FINALLY THANKS

↳ username1 OSCAR MUST BE TIRED OF KEEPING THE SECRET

↳ username3 IM DYING

username7 guys don't get too confident we always end up chanfging theories lol

maxverstappen1 In my defense...

↳ username5 WHATT

↳ username6 JUST SPILL

username8 the way carlos just stopped trying lol

yourinstagram 😉

liked by username1, username2 and 14,749 others

gossiphub YN's "2 HANDS" music video premieres tomorrow. Youtube thumbnail reveals "filmed with professional racing drivers" 👀

view all comments

username1 BOYFRIEND REVEAL IN 24 HOURS WE'RE NOT READY

username2 wake up babe yn is about to break the internet again

username3 MY FINAL BET IS CARLOS

username4 plot twist: it's all of them in the video and she's just enjoying the chaos and she's not dating anyone

username5 sources say multiple f1 drivers were involved in filming… THIS IS NOT A DRILL

username6 CARLANDOYN THROUPLE REVEAL

username7 the car is orange like come one

username8 betting sites already taking "which driver appears" bets 💀

username9 imagine if after all this it's just alex albon in the video

username10 MAX I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU

username11 this might be the biggest marketing campaign i've ever seen

liked by arianagrande, landonorris and 3,986,499 others

yourinstagram 2 HANDS - official video out now. Starring the reason behind this song @/landonorris 🧡

view all comments

username1 I JUST FELL TO THE FLOOR

username2 this cover art EATS

username3 WE ACTUALLY WON??? THIS ISN'T A DRILL???

sabrinacarpenter ate and left no crumbs 🤩

username4 THE WAY SHE JUST DROPPED IT LIKE THAT NO WARNING

troyesivan I KNEW IT!!!

username5 carlos and max stans in the mud rn but respectfully

username6 carlos watching this after that ferrari garage pic: 🥲 (but happy for them fr)

username7 MAX NATION WHO ELSE IS CRYING

dualipa 🔥🔥🔥

username8 we really theorized for months just for it to be minecraft boy 😭

carlossainz55 Felicidades amigos! Also thanks for using my garage for the plot twist 😂

↳ username1 NO WAY THEY WERE ALL JUST PART OF THE GAME

↳ username2 THE WAY ITS CONFIRMED THAT THE DRIVERS JUST PLAYED ALONG

maxverstappen1 About time you two announced it. Now everyone can stop asking me in interviews 😅

↳ username3 NO FREAKING WAY

↳ landonorris sorry max we had to steal some attention from your 4th wdc ↳ yourinstagram thanks for keeping our secret max 🤫

georgerussell63 Called it since Australia! Pay up alex_albon ↳ alex_albon I was sure it was the ferrari garage thing 😫

landonorris Love you babe 😘

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 2,298,993 others

landonorris my girlfriend let me drive my car in the 2 HANDS video (yes she's my gf mystery solved xx) 🏎️🧡

view all comments

username1 I'VE DIED DEAD

username2 NOT HIM DROPPING IT LIKE THAT IM LITERALLYYYY 💀💀

username3 carlos nation we lost but at least we lost to lando

username4 everyone analyzing ferrari garage pics while these two were playing minecraft im gonna scream 😭

oscarpiastri FINALLY 🙌

mclaren We love to see it 🧡

username5 I STILL CANT BELIEVE THEY FOOLED EVERYONE

username6 carlos watching his two week relationship theory die: 👁️👄👁️

username7 how did lando noRIZZ pull her

username8 IM DEVASTATED. IT WAS MAX THE SIGNS WERE THERE

maxverstappen1 Finally I can stop pretending I don't know what theories everyone is talking about

↳ yourinstagram max you're literally the worst actor ever 😭

↳ landonorris that interview stutter was oscar worthy mate

↳ username4 so they watched us suffer and didn't do anything about it

carlossainz55 Operation distraction success 😎

↳ landonorris might've worked too well mate i got scared for a sec

↳ username1 IM DYING

username9 I KNEW IT FROM DAY ONE

georgerussell63 The paddock's worst kept secret finally out

username10 okay but can we talk about the video?? SLAYS

yourinstagram my boyfriend (yes he's the one from the theories) letting me use his car for the video 🧡 stream 2 HANDS besties xx

↳ username1 SHES A MENACE

↳ username2 the fact that she saw the theories for months and just ran with them

↳ username3 WE'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS

↳ landonorris thanks to everyone who bet on me 😘😘

2K notes · View notes

gyuswhore · 1 year ago

Text

Sit Down

anniversary event [closed]

kim mingyu x reader

prompt(s): getting aroused by the other's jealousy/obsession with them, "Could he/she/they do it like this?”, “you're sexy when you're angry”

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), fluff, potter!mingyu, they're married, reader discovers jealousy, oral (m.rec), penetration (unprotected!!!), kissing, breast play, clit stimulation, they're nasty as hell idk what to tell you

synopsis: It isn't your fault that you feel this way, especially as you watch her hands trace over your husband's own.

It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

And it certainly isn't your fault that you find yourself completely naked on your husband's lap while his clay-clad hands cannot touch you.

[a/n]: @highvern at the scene of the crime as always, we all have to thank her for her service as she betas for me and encourages my tomfoolery. enjoy this and let me know your thoughts in the rbs, comments or send me an ask!!!!!

masterlist

The grip you have on the file is proving to be detrimental to the cheap plastic covering. Not that you could blame yourself as you watch your husband through the window of his pottery studio, leaning over to help a student with her discombobulated salad bowl.

It was a beautiful morning, the beach across from the boardwalk sparingly occupied with delighted tanners and swimmers, the low buzz of waves reaching the shore sending a calming draft across the area. Envious as you were of Mingyu and his impeccable real estate choices, especially right now as your heel clad feet ache to take a dip in the waters, you couldn’t help but feel all the more irked that this was the background the image inside the studio was sitting against.

Through the large glass windows, Mingyu is pressing his foot over top of his very pretty student’s on the pedal to force the pottery wheel to spin, hands over her own as he guides her fingers to put pressure on the wet clay. A spiteful part of you pushes a thought in your mind, that your husband was attempting to fix a lost cause, especially when his student seemed quite insistent in her soft smiles and keeping her gaze on the fingers that cover her own, rather than actually fixing the abomination on the pottery wheel.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there by the time he’s done, straightening his back to turn his attention to the other students that make their attempts at their half done projects. Mingyu catches your figure through the window and immediately breaks into a big smile, clay covered hand coming to wave at you.

Taking it as your cue to walk into the studio, you return neither his gorgeous smile or his occupied wave as you strut through the glass doors. Your husband meets you on the other side of the open space, hands now washed clean as he leans over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting, hands drying on a towel.

All you can think about is if that salad bowl girl can see you, and you thank goodness you wore your nice top today.

“Here.” You merely push the slightly crumpled file of documents to his chest, jaw set and lips tight.

“Oh, thanks,” he comments as he grabs the papers pushed towards him, smile dropping a little at your abrupt attitude. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm? ‘Course,” you answer, adjust the strap of your bag. “I have to get back to work. Be careful about your paperwork next time, I can’t keep making trips across town for this.”

You bite your tongue as soon as you say it, the words tumbling out before you can help it. Can’t keep making trips across town for this? Last time you checked, you were looking for passive excuses to make the trip to your husband’s studio just to see him during the day.

“Oh.” His brows are furrowed, the frown apparent on his face. “I–I didn’t think you’d be too busy today, you said you’d be done early so—I—nevermind. I’m sorry I pulled you out of work for this, I’ll be careful next time.”

There’s a pang in your heart as you hear him apologise, immediately mad at yourself for going on and ruining his mood. What were you annoyed at? That he was doing his job?

Your gaze lands behind him where most of his students are occupied with their projects, but just one whose eyes dart between you and Mingyu.

Taking a step back, you’re about to walk out before you feel him grab your wrist. “D’you wanna have dinner at the new restaurant down the pier after work? We can watch the sunset too, haven’t done that in a while.”

You want to scream yes. Of course you want to watch a beach sunset with your husband. Of course you want to eat at the restaurant you’ve been waiting eagerly for with your husband. And you aren’t entirely sure if this reaction is simply because you’ve been stressed lately, but the sticky feeling is pushing you to make your claim in some way, somehow.

Biting back another strangely snarky reply, you make an attempt to fix your stoic face and walk back to Mingyu. Leaning up, you kiss the corner of his mouth in what you hope is slightly reassuring.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kicking off your heels is the first thing you do once you make it back to your desk, taking no time to punch the power on button on your computer. You pull a file from the stack next to you, one that sits at the bottom, with a harder than necessary yank. Bad idea, because as you scramble to stop the pile from tipping over entirely, you can only think of other ways your day could get worse.

Before the worst of it can hit the floor, you find a second set of hands catching the strewing papers.

“Thanks, Han,” you say as you attempt to reorganise the documents, taking the extra ones off his hands.

“Have the laws of physics forsaken you? Or do you just like reorganising paperwork?” Hansol asks, sipping on something from the stupid horse mug Mingyu had made for him in light of his promotion.

Huffing, you only haphazardly stuff the files to the corner to be done with it, opening the file you need as your computer finally boots up. “Don’t you have manager stuff to do?”

“Being a manager means I can put off doing manager stuff,” he states. “Besides, I’m taking care of my peers, can you imagine the catastrophe that could’ve been if I didn’t swoop in to save you?”

“Papers on the floor? How catastrophic indeed,” you monotone as you click away at trying to find a particular excel sheet.

“How was Mingyu?”

Stiffening, you want to curse Hansol at reminding you of the very thing you did not want to think of right now.

“He was fine.”

“You were back earlier than usual, thought you would’ve had lunch with him.”

That was your plan, but clearly the universe had other ways for you to go about your day. Like thinking about an overly flirty student and her all too oblivious teacher.

“He…he had a workshop today,” you simply comment.

“Okay, Elsa, who shoved an ice cube up your ass?” You can hear the sneer in his voice, the judgmental stare.

Groaning loudly, you can only slam your forehead onto your desk in an all too dramatic fashion. “Can you drop it? Please?”

“Ah,” he drags. “Trouble in paradise. Understood. I will be at my desk if you want to complain about your husband like Margaret from Finance.”

Margaret from Finance. The woman who’s entire catalogue of marital issues would be solved if she and her husband simply spoke to each other once in a while. Perhaps even held hands on occasion.

You wince as you envision yourself becoming as stuck up and miserable as that, Hansol’s harmless comparison sending you into yet another spiral. It wasn’t that serious, this was all because your brain was stressed, horny and in love. The fact that your husband looked like how he did wasn’t really helping either.

With a little more aggression than you usually would’ve done with, you attempt to skim through the files as quickly as humanly possible, flicking through the useless filler pages to get to the ones that actually required your attention.

You send a passive aggressive email to Hansol entailing his job to keep things precise.

Shoving forkfuls of salad into your mouth, your mouse clicks louder than anyone else in the area, having gone back to change your cursor speed about thrice since you turned your computer on.

Your phone dings. Closing your eyes, you count to ten before turning to look at the illuminated screen beside you.

[Gyu <3]: did u have lunch?

[Gyu <3]: i wanted us to get sum together but u zoomed off : (((

[Gyu <3]: im done with my classes for the day. The students were asking ab you earlier when u came in heh

[Gyu <3]: cant wait to see u tonight i looooooveee u <333

God, he makes it hard to stay mad at him.

Snapping your head back to your monitor, you close your eyes once again as you question the war in your head and chest. Why were you mad at him? There was nothing to be mad about. Did you expect him to go about his day covered in plastic wrap and a neon ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign all day? The ring on his finger was supposed to do the job just fine.

You sigh as you force yourself to text him back something that wasn’t entirely passive aggressive. Typing and erasing, and typing again and erasing again. A smiley face to seal it into something you were not feeling, and send.

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you’re done, the sun less blaring as it pours through the office windows. You flick the last file shut, power off your computer and spring up to your feet, immediately gathering your things. Phone, ID, keys, and the last plastic file in your hands, you stalk towards Hansol’s desk and slam the papers next to his computer.

He nearly chokes on his pocky stick as you spit out your final notes in rapid fire, not caring if you were indecipherable in the slightest. Hansol’s eyebrows remain in the air by the time you’re done, spinning on your heels and walking straight towards the elevators.

“See you, Monday!” you finally hear him call out and you don’t turn to return his goodbye. Something that might have given you a strike but you could threaten him to take it off all the same.

Besides, you had somewhere to be, and the idea churning in your brain didn’t seem like it wanted to wait.

The sun is setting by the time you get to the beach boardwalk, climbing the steps to the line of establishments that overlook the significantly more occupied shore. Everything is perfect. Warm just the right amount, the sunlight forcing everything in its path into an incandescent glow.

What you would’ve given for a nice lie on one of the beach chairs to release an entire day’s worth of tense muscles. But alas, you trudge straight down the boardwalk and walk the way to Mingyu’s studio. When you’re nearly there, you see the glass door of the studio open from a distance, immediately recognising the part timer leaving for the day.

You cross paths as he walks towards you in the opposite direction, lighting up as he recognises you through your work attire.

“Oh, hi!” Chan chirps, arm raised in a half wave.

“Hi! Clocking out?” you ask as you stop to greet him.

“Uh—yeah, Mingyu let me go early.” He’s grinning.

“Good to hear. You enjoy the rest of your night, alright?”

“Yeah–uh, you too!” he stutters once again as he continues to smile wide. You think nothing of it and continue your short walk to where the studio doors were.

Coming round, you find the large glass door and walls have been blocked out with the blinds, the blaring CLOSED sign right at the entrance.

You stand there in front of the door like a fool, taking a deep breath, eyes closed as you gain your bearings. Grabbing the shiny handle, you push the unlocked glass open.

The bell at the top jingles, signalling a customer, and you watch your husband sitting at one of the turntables, clearly occupied. The studio is completely empty except for him, the whirr of the spinning table coming to a halt as he turns to tell whoever came in that they were closed for the day.

It’s revolting. He’s wearing his usual black tee, stained with months of splattered clay, his hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it before he started his project. The sun seeps in through the neglected edges of the top of the glass walls, past the blinds that cover most of them, casting him in an unbelievable light. It’s revolting, he’s done nothing and it’s making your head reel; revolting.

“We’re—oh, you’re early!” There it is, that stupid smile he can’t help but flash at every last person he sees, directed straight at you laced with nothing but love.

Reaching behind you, you push the metal lock on the door to click it shut, locking the both of you inside, and the rest of the beach and boardwalk out. Right after, you begin to kick off your heels.

“I already made the reservations for an hour from now, let me change and wash up so we can go to the beach till—”

“Sit down.”

He was halfway out of his seat as he was talking, ready to leave his half done work on the turntable to leave with you. Your words come out firm, a strange tone like you were giving him a command.

It works, and the shock has him immediately falling back into his chair. The force pushes the chair away from the turn tables, now half facing you.

Dropping your bag, you shuck your long coat off and leave it on the floor. Eyeing his hands, they’re covered in wet clay, suspended away from his body so as to not ruin his clothes more than they already are, speckled with dried clay and paint.

He recovers quickly, confused as he watches you fiddle with the buttons on your bottoms, rising out of his chair once again.

“What are you—”

“I said,'' you grunt as you finally push your bottoms down so they hit the floor. “Sit down.”

The shift in his face makes it obvious it has clicked in his head, staring at you as you walk towards him in just your blouse as the situation escalates faster than he can keep up with.

“Right now? Can you at least let me—”

Through his blabbering you’ve reached him and swung a leg over his lap, seating yourself on his clothed thighs as he moves his hands away, making sure not to get clay all over your blouse.

His hands may be occupied in a different sense, but you choose to busy yours in other ways. Taking his face in your hands, you lock your mouths in an open mouthed kiss, rendering him speechless.

Taking no time to think, nor to let him think, you push your hips down to meet his own in a deep grind, panty clad pussy making contact with the rough of his jeans right over his bulge. The feeling is so sudden, spiking throughout your system as you hear him take a sharp inhale still pressed into your mouth.

That was you. That was you getting that reaction out of him, no matter how small it was. The thought has you gripping the back of his head, fingers making home in the short strands of his hair as you let go from the kiss.

Wasting no time, you push his head back and stick your tongue out, licking a stripe from the base of his throat right up to his jaw. He shivers beneath you, and it only muddles your mind even more.

You can feel his bulge beneath you growing larger and larger by the second, pressing into your inner thigh as his breathing grows exponentially heavier in your ear. Locking eyes with him, you trail your other hand down to graze over the front of his shirt, pressing into the bumps and ridges that lie beneath.

Reaching his buckle, you hook your finger underneath the gap and pull at the metal. As you let go, it snaps back into place with a resounding cling! Keeping the eye contact, you drift even lower, your fingers find the growing tent in his jeans as you cup the bulge. Moving your hands in the way you know he likes it, you curb your speed to drag out the feeling for him.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse lowly.

It’s becoming impossible for him to keep his composure, especially to keep his hands away from your body that sits on him. He gets close, fingers brushing the white of your blouse in a moment of confusion, instant brown on the surface as his wet, clay hands ruin your shirt.

“If you really can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you say, halting your movements on his crotch. “I guess this’ll have to go too.”

Not bothering to undo all the buttons, you tug the first couple ones unfastened and pull your blouse over your head, throwing it somewhere behind his head. Quickly, you reach behind and unclasp your bra, flinging it away in the same general area. You’re now almost entirely naked while he remains clothed head to toe.

Your nipples harden as they meet the air in the studio, Mingyu’s eyes set on your mounds as he takes them in.

Before he has the opportunity to do anything, you slip off of your seat in his lap, knees slamming the floors in your haste as you kneel before him. Hands flying, you tug at the buckle of his belt, undoing it despite your hurried motions.

“You’ve been off today, are you sure everything’s alright?” Mingyu asks from, still wide eyed as he watches helplessly as you yank his jeans enough to reveal the final layer of his underwear. It doesn’t take you long to take his entire length out of there too, needing him in front of you.

“Do not ask me about my feelings when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“What on earth–shit!”

You’ve taken his now fully hard length into your hand, licking a strip from the base of his cock up to the bulbous head. The tip of your tongue teases the head ever so lightly, and Mingyu watches as his head and your tongue match in their reds. He watches the way your tongue dips into the pooling white of his precum, pushing into his slit as the tip of your tongue wiggles slightly.

The fact that he cannot touch only heightens the effects of your teasing, clayed hands balling into fists just to feel something on his fingertips.

Soon, your lips have wrapped around the head of cock as you let it rub against the beginnings of the inside of your soft mouth. Letting go, you take him in again, this time running your tongue over his slit, feeling his hips twitch beneath you as you continue to take him in and out, only to take him back in again.

In one motion, you sink your mouth lower onto his dick, feeling the head of his cock run against the roof of your mouth. Mingyu hisses audibly amidst his very loud and heavy breathing.

When you feel him hit the beginnings of your throat, you pull back, bringing your hand to curve around the base to cover what you couldn’t fit, pumping him up and down as you continue to pull his member in and out of your mouth.

He’s moaning loud, the echoes resonating off the walls as you hear your name slip from his mouth over, and over, and over again. It only encourages you as you move down deeper, his cock touching the back of your throat in more familiarity than before.

Everything is wet; the spit and precum turning into a shiny gleam on his cock and on the lower half of your face, the heat between your legs that makes you feel oh so empty. Clenching around nothing, you resist the urge to bring a hand down to relieve yourself.

“Are you ovulating or something, why are you suddenly…suddenly, fucking hell I don’t know.”

Releasing him from your mouth with a loud pop, you rear your head to look up at him, the lower half of your face covered in a wet glisten. Your hand continues to pump him as you watch his face remain contorted in pleasure.

In a daze, you don’t realise what you’re saying as you blab. “Could she do it like this?”

“What?”

“Could she do it like this?” you repeat like a mantra, needing to hear his answer. “Could she make you feel like this?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s taking Mingyu every bit of his soul to form coherent words.

In one swift motion, you’ve hoisted yourself back on your feet, nails digging into his thighs through his pants.

Hovering over his lap, you take his shaft once again, but this time you push your panties aside with your hand and bring it close to your heat, brushing the head of his cock over your wet folds, using him to feel the pleasure that builds.

“God, you’re so wet,” he blabs as he throws his head back at the feeling. “I wanna touch you, fuck I need to get this clay off, I need to touch you.”

He’s brought his mouth to latch onto your nipple, evoking a loud gasp from you as feel him circle your nub with his tongue before sucking. Letting go, he sticks his tongue out as his only weapon, flicking it repeatedly as you continue to rub his wet cock over your equally wet cunt.

Lining him up with your entrance, you sink onto his head as you let out a loud moan, feeling the tip stretch you out in the familiar way you’ve been craving all day. It’s like your brain is buffering as you recover from the bout of pleasure, barely registering that he’s continued to assault your other nipple now.

Your free hand comes to toy with your relieved tit, twisting your spit covered nipple between your fingers as his dick pushes further and further inside you.

Fully sheathed, you pull your husband’s face away from your breast as you bring his lips to your own, kissing him deep as you clench around his hard cock.

“Don’t. Do that,” he hisses against your lips, hands suddenly closing in your waist, so close before he realises he can’t. “‘M gonna fucking come, I’m so serious.”

The news is enlightening, especially as it encourages you to lift your hips ever so slightly, and curl back back down in an initial thrust. Again, and again, and again till you’re moving your hips at a swift pace, striking down on his length as you both moan into each other's mouths.

The feeling is electrifying, and the borderline pornographic noises your husband is making is only making it all the more easier to gush around his member, to move your hips faster as you feel the knot in your abdomen tighten and loosen.

“You feel amazing, so fucking good,” he grunts as he mouths the column of your throat. “My baby, my darling, my wife.”

And when the burn in your thighs becomes more than just a mental battle, your hips slowing despite the mind boggling feeling and the choked sobs that come out of you, you feel Mingyu’s hips lift from the chair he’d been trapped in, pushing into you instead.

His still dirty hands have taken hold of the top of the back legs of the chair, helping himself push off his seat to thrust into you rapidly.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he says. “Rub your clit for me.”

Who are you to deny him, one hand on one of his broad shoulders while the other flies down to the mess that’s becoming of your cunt. Rubbing two fingers over your clit, you throw your head back in a loud moan as you feel yourself beginning to close in.

Mingyu is watching the apex of your thighs; the way your fingers work against your swollen clit, the way his dick disappears inside you, a ring of sinful white foaming at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, a clear indication that he was also close.

Your breasts are a sight to behold, and the scene before him is enough to make him bust entirely. Bouncing tits that he cannot touch, perfectly red, puffed pussy he cannot touch, the beautiful curves and dips of your waist and thigh, barely illuminated by the setting sun, that he cannot touch. He curses the wretched idea to make a last minute thing on the turntable before you arrived, curses the fact that he should be able to feel all of you.

He might lose his mind, and he does when your walls clamp down on him like a trap, your moans so loud he’s sure he’ll be hearing them in his ears for weeks.

“G–Gyu, I’m cumming,” you whimper through the pure brain fog.

Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finally letting himself release his own load into you when he simply can’t take it anymore, dick spasming as he shoots white hot cum into your hole. The added slick makes it easier to slip in and out faster as his orgasm holds out far longer than it usually does, both of your hips twitching like you’d been zapped as you come down from your highs.

It’s become near impossible to hold up your own weight, slumping against his large frame as you unclench every pinched muscle and joint. Forehead on his shoulder, you take pleasure in the afterglow, breathing in his scent with your nose pressed into the sliver of skin that reveals past his shirt. Sweat, the earthy odour of clay, and the calm familiarity of him.

“I don’t know what I did to have you acting like this,” he breathes into your ear. “But whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Sluggishly, you lift your head to look at him. His head is leaned back on the chair, face glowing as you stare into the eyes you fell in love with so long ago.

“You haven’t done anything,” you sigh. “It was…stupid.”

“That’s the worst thing you could say to me right now.”

You whine, rolling your neck. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He stares. “Who do I need to thank for creating this monster?”

It was a joke, clearly, but you couldn’t help but feel the little pool of pride swell within you anyway.

“Salad bowl girl.”

“And I’m supposed to know what that means? Do you want a salad bowl? I can make you one.”

“No. The girl in your class this morning with that god awful salad bowl,” you huff. “It looked offensive, she was too busy burning holes into you.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes wide, mouth turning it the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “My pretty little wife is jealous.”

“If you’re gonna rub it in, I'm getting off.” You try to remove yourself from his lap, slipping his now soft member out of you.

You’re stopped when you feel the two points of his elbows locking you at the waist, pushing you down. He’s grinning like a fool. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—”

“Your hello was my dick in your mouth.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I’d fire myself in the kiln before I ever say that.” He locks his elbows harder, pulling you closer. “Besides, I think this means I’ve won.”

“Won what?”

“Like you’ve never noticed Chan looking at you like…like he’s got some puppy dog crush on you. I’ve won the battle of composure.”

You guffaw, “What are you—stop it, he does not!”

He merely leans forward and kisses you, “I don’t blame him. My wife is the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever see.”

Grabbing him by the elbows, you break free of his hold and get off of his lap, attempting to gather the clothes you’ve scattered across the studio.

“Can you at least help me put my dick back inside my pants, these are my cleaner jeans!”

Snapping the elastic of your bra back on, pantied adjusted, you walk back to him. He’s looking at you with those stupid stars in his eyes and it makes it hard to focus on readjusting his jeans for him.

Leaning down, you take in your hands his still wet cock, smothered in your spit and arousal, complete with his own release. You can’t help it when you dip further to take his head into your mouth, the groan coming from above you near automatic.

“Oh, you’re evil.”

You grin as you wrap your mouth in a harsher suck, feeling him harden slowly, still quicker than you’d thought. Giving him a few more generous sucks, you run your tongue over his slit before moving back.

He’s breathing heavily, leaning close as you pull his waistband up. “You know, they say you should lay down afterwards if you want to be successful. I think we might have to go again later on a real bed to do the trick.”

“You can stay horny, I’m getting dressed for some real food.”

“I think we kinda need to be horny to do what we’re trying to do,” he lowtones, moving his face back and forth to meet your drifting eyes.

You sigh once again, “Why can’t just getting off birth control be enough?”

“Are you not having fun?”

“I’m literally buttoning your pants for you, it was fun until now.”

Mingyu raises his hands in both surrender and pointed regard, the clay now dried and cracking over his hands and forearms. “I digress.”

It annoys you that he’s right, so you lean in to give him a kiss as a distraction. It works.

“It’s alright,” he smiles into your kiss. “This is the one thing I won’t mind breaking my back for.”

The giggle escapes you before you can help it, and you feel him kiss at your cheeks, placing one last one on the tip of your nose.

“Now, if my lovely wife will let me wash my hands…?”

“Go,” you chuckle.

“We should name our baby Salad Bowl in this honour.” He’s way at the handwash station by now, water running as he scrubs off all the dried up clay.

“So sad our baby will have to grow up without a father.”

“I love you,” he yells.

“I’ll be sure to tell our child.”

“You’re insufferable,” he says, suddenly behind you as you pull on your blouse. Wet hands grasp your waist and you squeal at the feeling.

“Mingyu!”

“I love you,” he drags, spinning you around to face him.

“I thought I was insufferable.”

Your husband groans, simply pulling you into him with his own two hands to kiss you.

“I think we’re late for our reservation.”

“You’d better hurry then.” You eye his clay speckled shirt.

“Don’t miss me.” He turns around to find his cleaner shirt, all while you drift over to see the incomplete project still on his table.

A mug still clay-brown and half done, but one that looks suspiciously similar to your favourite one you broke last week.

5K notes · View notes

aemondsbabe · 1 year ago

Text

Deliverance

summary: following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. as his older sister, who are you to deny him?

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon death, infidelity technically but reader's husband is cool with it and understands that she comes from a weirdo family cough cough incest cough, lactation kink, hurt/comfort, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, titty sucking, angst but happy ending, otto cameo ew, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 7.4k

a/n: *slams fist on table* i need for him to suck on my boobie

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky

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“Shall I fetch Maester Orwyle once we return to your chambers, Princess?” Your handmaiden, Edyth, questions as the two of you make your way up one of the many winding staircases in the Red Keep – each step making you wince.

“Yes, please,” you sigh, ever grateful that she had always seemed to have a knack for predicting your requests before you had the chance to voice them, “Perhaps tell him to prepare some of the same soothing balm he gave to Helaena?”

“Of course, Princess,” Edyth nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, ever the optimist, “I believe it should help with your aches, I remember it seemed to help the Queen after…” She trails off, breath hitching in her throat.

A heavy silence seems to fall over the two of you, the same that had been blanketing the entirety of the palace for the past few days. You swallow thickly, battling against the lump suddenly growing at the back of your throat and merely nod your head in simple understanding, offering her a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sure it will be of great help, Edyth, thank you.”

Ever since… it had happened, the Red Keep feels as if it’s made of eggshells, like one small gust of wind could knock it right over. Everyone’s so on edge, terrified of saying too much or too little, the wrong thing at the wrong time. The stress of it all seems nearly suffocating, though you still have a feeling the worst was yet to come.

Suddenly, someone calls your name from behind you and you turn, smiling once you see your grandsire striding toward you.

“A raven arrived earlier from Gwayne,” Otto explains, deep voice carrying down the empty hallway, “He’s reached Oldtown safely, everything seems to be well there.”

“Oh, wonderful,” you nod, grateful for news of your husband.

“Indeed,” he continues, “Daeron seems to be in good spirits, happy to come home; they’re to depart tomorrow, as scheduled… forgive me, I meant to tell you before supper but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Everything has been so hectic of late, please don’t trouble yourself. He arrived safely and will be back all the sooner for it, that is what matters.”

“Of course,” Otto nods, glancing out a nearby window, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been ordered to attend to His Grace,” he says gruffly, a wry smile on his lips, nodding in the direction of Aegon’s chambers.

You nod at the mention of your twin, brows pinching together with worry. “Be… patient with him, grandsire, please,” you beseech, chest heaving with a soft sigh, “I spoke with him earlier this morning, he’s… well, he’s not himself.”

“Are any of us anymore, I wonder,” Otto mutters, fixing you with a tight smile before taking his leave, striding quickly down the hallway. Your brows furrow at that, you can’t help but throw Edyth a questioning look before the two of you continue toward your chambers.

“Seven Hells,” you grumble, quickly bringing a hand to your breast as you climb another, blessedly shorter, set of stairs, “Perhaps check the nursery first, yes? Daena may be stirring still…” You know better, even as the words leave your lips.

Your daughter has finally begun sleeping soundly through the night recently and while that is cause for celebration, you certainly won’t miss the past eight moons of late night feedings, your poor breasts are paying the price – your body not yet caught up with the lessened need for milk.

“Yes, Princess,” Edyth replies with a little nod, walking alongside you.

The two of you are almost at your chambers, finally turning onto the hallway where the family apartments are housed, when you hear it – a muffled, barely there cry. The sound makes you pause in your tracks, head swiveling, unsure of exactly where it came from and it’s then you notice that the door to Aemond’s chambers is ajar.

That in and of itself is strange indeed, your little brother valued privacy above all else, so you stride over only to pause at the entrance, hand poised midair as you reach for the door handle. Your heart clenches when another soft sob pierces the quiet of the hallway – a mournful little noise, one you’d expect more from Aegon.

Turning back to Edyth, you lead her a few feet from the door, knowing Aemond would hate it if he knew someone, anyone aside from you, had overheard him. “Go to the nursery,” you instruct, making sure to keep your voice low, “Make sure Daena is well, then you’re free for the evening.”

“But, princess, what about –”

“Nevermind it,” you murmur with a shake of your head, “I’ll send for the maester later myself.”

With a nod, she scampers off further down the hallway, leaving you alone by your brother’s door. Stepping back over toward the threshold, you bite at your bottom lip, wondering if you should go in at all – if it would be more merciful to simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything at all.

But then it happens again, another pitiful sob sounds from beyond the cracked door and you’re unable to help yourself – Aemond had always come to you with his troubles when he was younger, surely now would be no different. With a little breath, you push the door open just enough to slip through it and thank whichever Gods may be listening when you’re able to press it closed with hardly a sound.

Peeking around the screen your brother has beside the door, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest. He looks so… small, so fragile, the complete opposite of the towering, formidable man he’d become in recent years. It’s clear he didn’t hear you come in as he stays seated in a chair near the door, his back to you; his shoulders shake with gentle cries while he hunches over, head cradled in his hands.

The disarray of his normally spotless chambers startles you once you let your eyes flit over the space – papers are strewn about all across the low table he keeps in the little sitting area, some scattered across the floor, crumpled up, or ripped to pieces. His bedsheets are halfway ripped from the bed and lie in a pool at its foot, along with the remnants of a candle, now merely a translucent puddle on the dark stone floor.

Taking a step forward, you softly call his name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as low and soft as possible, though you’re hardly able to get the first syllable out before he bolts up from the chair with a strangled gasp and spins toward you.

“Oh, Aem,” the words fall past your lips in a soft sigh, pulled from you by the startled expression on his face – eyes wide with the fear of being caught so vulnerable. His sapphire eye seems to sparkle with just as much emotion as his pale purple one.

“Sister, I –” He starts, hastily wiping his hands over his cheeks, chest heaving while he tries to calm his harsh breaths, but you’ll have none of that.

“Shh, whatever excuses you have, I’ll not hear them,” you murmur, quickly walking the few feet over to him and enveloping him in a tight embrace, just as you used to do when he would come crying to you about the tortures Aegon or your nephews put him through in their youth.

Your brother stays stiff in your arms for a moment, tense and wary, though he slowly relaxes as you rub a hand over his back, smoothing out his long hair. You yourself relax once he finally winds his long arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder with a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing.

“Tell me what distresses you so?”

“I… Jae– the boy,” he stammers, stumbling over his name. You understand, just saying your little nephew’s name seems to somehow make the pain of the loss even worse. Yet, something in your gut tells you there’s something else going on, that Jaehaerys’s death is not the only thing causing your brother such anguish.

“Aemond…” you gently press, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, “I cannot help if you won’t tell me–”

“Tell you what?” He counters, tone growing too defensive too quickly, “My nephew’s death brings me sorrow, sister. The loss of a young child is a… distressing thing.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You counter, trying desperately to keep your voice calm, even when Aemond backs away from you with an exasperated sigh. You’re no stranger to this game – ever since he lost his eye, your brother has guarded his emotions carefully. Getting him to speak honestly about them was about as hard as keeping a bottle of Dornish wine from Aegon’s grasp.

He gives you a sidelong glance as he paces about the room, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched. Worry only blooms brighter in your chest the longer you watch him; so agitated and so guarded, closed off like an abused animal.

“It… it’s nothing,” he mumbles finally, voice short and clipped, “Nothing important, sister, I assure you.”

Unconsciously, you wring your hands worriedly, heart clenching; you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, yet you know from experience that it was better to let Aemond come to you.

“Well, surely it cannot be nothing if it has upset you so, sweetling.”

His nervous pacing comes to a screeching halt at that and he squeezes his eye shut, fists clenched at his side – his whole body tense like he’s trying desperately to keep some invisible dam within himself closed.

You reach a hand up instinctively when he bites at his bottom lip and turns his head away from you, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I–,” he croaks, the tightness in his voice makes your breath hitch in your throat; every maternal cell in your body is screaming at you, pleading with you to hold him, “I don’t w-wish to burden you.”

“Baby brother,” you sigh, finally going to him, practically running the few feet over to where he stands. Your arms encircle him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace – one hand rubs over his back while the other cups the back of his head, holding his face against the crook of your neck, “You could never be a burden to me, never.”

That seems to break him and he gasps, breathing warm against your neck, before he finally lets go and his shoulders heave with sobs while his hands cling to you desperately, fisting into the fabric of your gown like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. A tightness grows at the back of your own throat, not used to seeing him be this raw, this open, in what feels like lifetimes. It breaks your heart to think he’d been holding all of this in, determined to be the strong, silent soldier like everyone expected, while he dealt with such sadness all alone.

“Shh, shh, Aemond, you’re okay,” you murmur gently, eyes widening when he sags against you, his knees giving way only for a second. “Here, come,” you instruct, taking one of his hands in yours and leading him to the small seating area in his chambers. You urge him to sit on the sofa he has there before joining him yourself, a bit surprised when he all but throws himself against you again – practically laying his head in your lap as he sobs, cheek pressed against your chest in a way that makes you wince from the tenderness still there, not that you’d ever scold him for it.

“There, that’s much better, hm? Comfortable?” You ask, simply trying to draw him back to the surface.

He doesn’t reply, something that doesn’t really come as a shock to you given how harsh his cries are, leaving him breathless against you. Deciding to let him get it out, you stay quiet, merely shushing him every so often as you run your fingers through his pearlescent hair.

After a long while, he seems to settle some and tears begin running down his cheeks silently rather than racking his body with savage cries; he lifts his head from your lap and rests it instead against your shoulder, gazing up at you as if you’re an angel sent from the heavens themselves. The intense tenderness with which he looks at you makes you blush, yet your brows furrow slightly at the darkness still there – lingering in the lilac of his eye.

“I have… I have done something terrible.”

Your brother's murmured confession only serves to confuse you further and you shake your head slightly, heart clenching in your chest as you silently wonder what in all the Seven Kingdoms he could possibly mean by that.

“Aemond,” you start, knowing not to pry – to let him tell you, “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me think any less of you.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, eye flicking across your face like he’s checking for even the barest hint of deception, yet he finds none – your words are true.

“You… promise me you will not hate me.”

“I promise, sweet brother,” your brows pinch together at his words, wondering what could possibly be bad enough for all this, yet you can’t stop the corners of your lips from quirking into a sad smile at his request; that uncertain lilt in his voice reminds you so much of when he was younger, “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”

“I…” He starts, pulling away from you as he sits up, sparing you one last glance before staring off into the fireplace, “I am the… the reason Jaehaerys is dead.”

“What?” The word is pressed from you, leaving your lips as little more than a breath. You stare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, utterly perplexed. How in the Seven Hells could he have ever arrived at that conclusion? Taking one of his hands in yours, you lean a little closer, “Sweetling, what in the world do you mean?”

“They were here for me,” Aemond rasps, wincing as if the words themselves are painful, clawing at his throat on their way out, “They were… Gods, they were sent for me and – and when they couldn’t find me, they… H-He died because I was not here, because they could not f-find me…”

“Oh, my love,” you sigh, the backs of your eyes stinging as he presses himself against you again, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Aemond, you couldn’t have known, none of us did. You couldn’t have known…” You repeat, like saying the words again and again will make him believe them.

“I s-should have,” he whimpers, voice breaking over a sob, “I should’ve k-known, I sh–should’ve been here…”

You hold him tightly, practically hauling him onto your lap as his tears leak over your skin, running into the valley of your cleavage like a river, though you pay it no mind. “Shh, sweetling, shh,” you murmur and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “It’s not your fault, dear one, it’s no one’s fault but the vile men who took him and our… our coward of a sister who ordered it done.”

He stays silent for a moment and you can feel the gears in his brain turning, working furiously as he tries to internalize your words, wanting desperately to believe them but unable to let himself. You sigh softly when you feel him shake his head against you, so determined to cling to guilt.

“If… if I had n-not been at the…”

“At the where, brother?” You press, clinging to anything you may be able to use to shift the conversation.

“...The brothel…” he mumbles after a long pause, the words so muffled against the column of your neck that you have to strain to hear them. His words shock you, the complete opposite of anything you’d been expecting. You try your hardest not to let that show, even as a strange sense of jealousy wells up within you – a sense of possessiveness you’ve always felt for your little brother.

“Well, you… you are a man grown, my love,” you heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you wonder if he can hear it, “If you wish to lay with–”

“I didn’t… I–” He stammers, clinging to you tightly as he shakes his head, an urgency in his voice you can’t quite place, “That’s not what, I… I mean, I–”

“No matter,” you cut him off, aching to see him so distressed, “Whatever you do there, sweet brother, it’s your… right to do it.” You struggle to get the words out, the sense of protectiveness rising viciously in your chest makes your throat feel tight.

He lifts his head from your shoulder again and eyes you for a long moment – for what, you aren’t sure. It’s almost like he’s surprised not to be meant with disgust or contempt; you wish you knew why.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally mumbles, glancing away from you, ashamed, “I should’ve been home… I should’ve been here to protect my family.”

“Aemond, please,” you sigh and sit up slightly, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, wiping at his tears with your thumb, “It is not your job to protect us, we have guards for a reason… if anything, this atrocity is their fault but it is not yours, do you understand?” Your eyes bore into his as you speak, desperate to make him understand, to rid him of this misplaced guilt.

“Do… do you still love me?” He asks after a long moment, voice so timid, so meek like he’s already preparing himself for your rejection, that it makes your heart twist horribly in your chest.

Still, you cannot help but huff out a little laugh, lips lifting into a sad smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You are my dearest brother,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a second, “Of course, I still love you, Aemond. I have loved you from the moment you came into this world and I shall never, never stop – the Gods themselves could not make me.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, save for a small hum from your brother as he nods. His arms encircle you again and selfishly, you enjoy it – being this close to him again, like he was a little boy once more. He’d been all but attached to you at the hip before that dreadful night, following you about the Keep and telling you all sorts of tales about various histories of the Realm in that sweet voice of his.

All of that had stopped that night and, at first, you had assumed that he merely thought himself a man grown afterwards – a man who had finally claimed a dragon, a man who no longer needed comfort from an older sibling. The sadness in his voice when he speaks again, muffled against your shoulder, tells you otherwise.

“Mother doesn’t love me anymore,” his voice is flat and detached as he breathes out the words, like he’s informing you of some tragic, unavoidable accident.

“Aem, of course she does. She loves you very–”

“No,” he cuts you off, sitting up once more and shaking his head, “Ever since that business with Luke, I… she can hardly bring herself to look at me. She won’t speak to me outside of Small Council meetings and even then she tries not to, ‘tis plain to see.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, leaving you to swallow around the lump that grows at the back of your throat once again. What are you to say? He’s… Gods, bless him, he’s right, you’ve seen as much to know.

“You are the only one who has never abandoned me,” he starts, eye sparkling in the candlelight as tears begin welling up within it once more, “Everyone else has left.”

“That’s not…” Your voice fades as you sigh, knowing that arguing with him now will do no good. Instead, you simply hold him tighter and brush a few stray locks of hair from his face. “I can promise that I shall never leave you, sweet brother.”

He grows quiet for a moment, slumping down against you until his head rests in your lap and his body curls up onto the sofa. Silently, you resist the urge to cradle him, to hold him against you as you do Daena when she wakes from a nap with a start, crying out from her cradle.

He is a grown man, you remind yourself, yet it does nothing to stop the strange ache in your heart.

“They all used to taunt me, surely you remember, when we were younger,” he mumbles, eye fixated on the fire crackling in the hearth, even as he clings to you, “First for not having a dragon, then for not having an eye.”

You hum in affirmation – you do remember it, sadly. You remember it all very well; he had slept in your chambers for a week after the incident with the pig, not wanting to be left alone at night with the memories of it. You remember having to hold him back at the table when Aegon had poked fun at his eyepatch during supper, about a month after his eye had been gouged out.

You remember that night too, when he’d come to you with tearful apologies, murmuring sorries again and again for accidentally nicking your hand while trying to brandish a knife against his brother.

“I have always been an outcast.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite the circumstances and you sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his long strands of hair, “I quite like you being different… perhaps if you weren’t, we wouldn’t be as close, hm?”

Aemond goes quiet at that, stills in your lap with a little sigh before simply burrowing against you even more, curling in on himself tighter.

A soft coo leaves your lips, strands of his long hair passing between your fingers like silk. “What say you stay with me tonight, yes?” You offer, the thought of him in the dark carrying all this alone grief makes you feel ill, “We could even cuddle, if you like? Just as we did when you were younger.”

A short beat of silence later, all you get is a little, “Yes, please,” mumbled against your abdomen.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs later, the two of you finally lying together atop your bed, cuddled closely against one another just as you’d promised. You’d each taken time to get ready for bed and Aemond seems a little better for it, no longer as distressed and teary now that he’s had the time to collect himself.

Your hand carefully cups the side of his face that isn’t pressed against your pillow, that isn’t buried in the crook of your neck, as an astonished huff of laughter escapes your lips as they curve into a sad smile, your brows furrowed. “Why in the world would you think such things?” Even as the question is whispered into the quiet of your chambers, you know the answer – Aemond has always been this way, always one to reject comfort, even when it is so freely given, even when he himself seeks it out.

If only he could see himself as you do.

“I… I have done so many shameful things, sister, I…” His voice breaks when he cuts himself off and you can feel him tense in your hold, “‘Tis the simple truth, I don’t deserve you.”

You hum softly, combing your fingers through his hair while you mull over his words, silently wondering why he has always been like this – why you have always felt so unworthy of softness and kindness and love.

“Well, it is not my truth,” you murmur after a moment, eyes flicking over the long line of his body, hidden by your silken bedsheets. In the time each of you had taken to ready yourselves for bed, you had changed into a nightgown and he into a simple nightshirt, leaving your bare legs to tangle together, “Would you like to know what I think, my love?”

You feel him inhale against the crook of your neck, sucking in air like he’s steeling himself for disappointment, yet he still lifts his head and peers up at you. His lilac eye searches your face for a long moment, looking for even the smallest indication of displeasure in your features, only to find none.

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, assured that surely whatever you were to say would not hurt him too badly, he nods.

Sitting up just enough to better see his face, you look at him with nothing but adoration as the two of you rest shoulder to shoulder, backs against the headboard. “I believe you deserve every kindness in the world, Aemond. And I believe even that would be too little,” your voice is hardly a whisper when you speak, like this is the deepest of secrets meant only for his ears, “You deserve nothing but happiness, sweet baby brother.”

He stares at you for a long moment, eye wide and glassy while his chest aches as your words seep into him like a soothing balm. You can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, eye squeezing shut for a moment while he processes your words – so sweet they nearly stung.

A soft coo bubbles from your lips when you see his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath the linen of his nightshirt, and you lean into him all the more when one of his hands reaches out and grabs one of your own, squeezing it like it’s a lifeline.

“Shh,” you soothe, giving him a sad smile when his eye finally opens again, gaze immediately finding yours, “Sweet boy.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before looking away from you once again, mind reeling. Not knowing what to do, overcome with so much emotion his heart feels as if it’s adrift at sea, he brings your hand up and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles before holding it to his cheek and sucking in another little breath as his bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispers finally, voice tight and hoarse.

Cupping his face, you caress your thumb over the scar beneath his eye softly and lean over just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I will never leave you, Aemond, I swear it.”

He shudders once more before letting out a shaky breath, eye filled with a wild desperation. Before you can register the movement, his hands are suddenly gripping at your waist and hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, apologies already muffled against your skin. “I-I’m sorry, I – Gwayne will… will hate me but –”

“Shh, sh, sh, sweetling,” you murmur, despite the small, barely audible gasp that leaves you at the sudden movement, so wholly unused to this as half of you tries desperately to comfort you while the other half wonders if you should put a stop to this, “Gwayne knows, my love, he… it’s okay, he knows.”

A sob is wrenched from Aemond’s lips, warm against your neck, but he nods nonetheless, sighing when you begin carding your fingers through his hair once more, smoothing out the long, pale strands. Slowly, he relaxes again, arms wound securely around your waist while his breath evens out.

You’re about to say something else, though your breath hitches in your throat when he begins peppering your neck with soft, chaste little kisses – feather-light down the column of your neck. He stops after a second, noticing you tense up on his lap, eyes wide as a million thoughts swirl in your mind: Is this okay? Should you stop this? This is your precious baby brother, the one who used to cling to your skirts when he was sad, who used to come to you in the night when he woke from a nightmare…

He leans forward once more and nips at your earlobe, making your heart stutter in your chest, “Can… can I try something?”

Your head reels at the sudden change in his touches, needier now, though for an entirely different reason, yet still your mind reels – piqued with curiosity. “What is it you wish to try?” You question after a moment, voice scratchy from the sudden dryness at the back of your throat.

Silently, Aemond relishes this; something about you, you his normally strong and carefree older sister, being this flustered because of him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Dipping his head, he resumes pressing soft kisses against your skin, though they linger now – teeth nipping before he soothes the small bites with a swipe of his tongue, drawing ever closer to the pulse point in your neck that beats so wildly he can feel it beneath your skin.

“Aemond!” You all but wheeze when he suddenly grabs at your hips, his own firmly bucking up against you. A shock goes down your spine at the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, two thin layers of fabric doing precious little to mask the feel of it. Again, you tense up, practically jumping out of your skin as you pull back just enough to gaze down at him, your eyes wide, blinking rapidly, as they search his.

This was the last thing you expected tonight, the last thing you’d expect from him at all. “Wha – I…” You stammer, dumbstruck while worry and uncertainty cloud your mind.

Aemond shushes you now, long fingers squeezing at your bare thighs now that your nightgown has ridden up enough to reveal them. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against your skin, “Do you trust me…?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest. You should be the one comforting him… what in the Seven Hells has happened? Is… is this the comfort he needs now?

Even still, you nod your head at his question; of course you trust him, you’d trust him with anything… even this.

A smile grows on his lips when you acquiesce, a pleased glimmer in his eye when he lifts his hands to your hips again, his grip firmer this time. “Good… good, sweet sister,” he hums lowly, rutting his hips up against you once more, lilac eye watching you with keen interest.

“A-Aem…” You gasp once more, the feel of him against you so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, even when your brows furrow as your eyes flutter, threatening to slip shut. His movements press a small whimper from your lips and you can feel the sting in your cheeks as they flush, chest heaving while your hands grab tightly at his shoulders.

The smug look on his face slowly morphs into one of wonder and his eye flits over your face greedily, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of seeing you like this – already so strung out over him.

He moves again, the feeling of your soft core pressing against his growing length through the thin linen only serving to drive his urges further. “Gods, you look so beautiful like this…” He murmurs, in awe at having you like this, and all to himself. Unable to help himself, he leans forward yet again and pulls you closer as his lips settle once more against your neck.

Instinctually, your head tilts to the side, giving him room to kiss over your skin. His movements against you cause you to shiver in his grasp, even if a small part of you was still uncertain, hoping this wouldn’t change your relationship with him for the worse.

The slow grind of his hips causes his nightshirt to eventually ride up his legs as well, and you gasp anew, jumping once more when his length suddenly presses against your center, unhindered by fabric.

“Feel what you do to me?” He purrs, letting out a low groan of his own.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly while your chest heaves, silently wondering if this is truly happening. Almost imperceptibly, you nod your head, shuddering at the feeling of his cock pressed against you, already twitching.

“L-Little brother,” you gasp, breathless already.

Aemond smirks at your response, your whimpers and soft gasps going right to his head. He grabs at your waist still, bucking against you in slow, almost teasing movements. A low, pleased hum vibrates him in his chest when he feels how wet you are against him – the heat radiating from your center nearly stifling.

The longer this goes on, the more you can feel your resolve crumbling, any small bits left of you that wanted to put a stop to this slowly fading away. Distantly, you can’t help wondering if this is how it’s always been meant to be, if this was the only logical conclusion your paths could reach, the outcome of such a close bond. Perhaps, you have always been made for this.

“Aemond,” his name falls from your lips in a soft sigh and you finally lean against him heavily, pressing your chest against his unthinkingly. “Shit!” You gasp only a second later, jolting as if stung by a bee, brought back to reality by the ache in your breasts.

“Sister?” Aemond questions, freezing beneath you while he looks over your face, his hands rising to cup your cheeks protectively.

You start to answer, to explain, when you feel a sudden tingling sensation at your chest and, judging from the look on your brother’s face, an explanation would be a moot point by now anyway.

“Gods grant me mercy,” he sighs, eye wider than you’ve ever seen it as he stares, near open-mouthed, at your chest. Glancing down, your cheeks flush at the sight of milk dampening the linen at your breasts, leaving it all but translucent.

Again, you go to explain, only to stop yourself in your tracks when his tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip. Your head spins when you notice his chest heaving as he stares at you with a nearly savage hunger, eyes fixed on your breasts like his universe has been narrowed down to a pinpoint.

“Aemond?”

“Please,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking over his lips once more, practically salivating. His eye flicks up to yours for only the briefest of seconds before zeroing in on your chest once more, “Sweet… sweet sister, please.”

Again, the energy in the room seems to shift, Aemond once again begging you for comfort, bowing to your whims. Quickly, you shush him while one hand threads into his hair once more as you bring his head back against the crook of your neck, settling him there while he groans against your skin, rough hands slowly trailing up your waist before halting at your ribs.

Your other hand busies itself with snaking between the two of you and impatiently batting your clothes away before your fingers finally curl around his length, causing the both of you to let out soft cries.

“Shh, sweetling,” you coo, chest heaving while you position him at your entrance, sighing as he desperately mouths at your neck, “I know what you need, I’ve got you.”

Again, twin moans fill your dimly lit chambers when you slowly sink down on him. Whimpers are punched from your lungs at the feel of him steadily filling you, his chest rumbling against yours as he groans deeply, hips jolting beneath you.

“Gods,” you sigh when your hips are finally pressed tightly against his once more, panting and letting your eyes fall shut while you give yourself a moment to adjust.

The feel of him borders on overwhelming – pressed so tightly inside of you, around you, the very air in your room filled with the heady, herbaceous scent of the bath oils you know he favors. You imagine he must feel the same as he trembles beneath you, fingers and hips twitching with barely contained desire.

Finally, your need to comfort him, to protect him even from himself, rears its head again and you relish the breathy sigh that leaves him as you begin to move your hips. It’s a grinding motion, soft and gentle – what he needs now, to be treated with care. Still, the movements send shockwaves up your spine as the pale hairs at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your pearl, creating a delicious friction to spur you on.

“So good,” he breathes, warm against your shoulder as he leans forward, kissing at your neck, “You feel so good, sister, you… you are s-so good to me…”

“Just as you deserve,” you murmur, combing your fingers through his long hair once more before your hands travel down to the hem of his nightshirt and you begin impatiently tugging at it, pulling it over his head and grinning at the soft, nearly petulant, whine he gives at having to separate from you even for a second.

Still, some instinctual force seems to drive you, a need to feel his skin against your own, and you waste no time before pulling your own nightgown up and over your head as well, leaving nothing to separate the two of you.

The groan that leaves him when your chest presses back against his own once more is like nothing you’ve heard before – a sound of the purest relief, like he’s found some oasis in the desert. His eye opens again and the rhythm of your hips stutters only for a second once it finds yours. The lilac is almost completely overtaken by black and yet, he still regards you as if you are an angel sent from the heavens themselves, stares at you with such reverence that your heart flutters in your chest.

Something clicks for you then as he whimpers beneath you, his own hips beginning to buck up against your own as the lazy tempo you’ve settled into slowly starts to pick up. You understand, now, that this is merely another step, an added turn, in the so carefully balanced dance the two of you have constructed.

And if this is what he needs to be comforted, then you’re more than happy to give it.

“My good boy,” sigh, moving against him with renewed vigor, grinning when he lets out a hitched moan, “Is this what you needed?”

“Yes, y-yes,” he nods, his eye never leaving your own as he ruts beneath you, the choppy movements only adding to the fire slowly building within your veins, “Please, sweet sister, please…”

You don’t need to ask to know what it is he means, nodding before he has time to stutter out another word, “Take what you need, my love.”

Another breathy groan sounds from him as he quickly descends onto your chest, tilting his head down and immediately capturing your sensitive nipple between his lips, one hand coming up to gently cup your breast, holding it steady. The feeling of relief that flows through you when he starts suckling is nearly disorienting, the dull ache in your breast slowly fading away with each mouthful of milk he pulls from you, greedily taking a few mouthfuls from one breast before switching to the other.

Your fingers stay anchored in his hair while your hips work against him, your high building more steadily within you now that your breasts no longer feel ready to burst. You pant as you gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded while you watch his lips move against you, lilac eye still fixated on you.

Below you, Aemond is halfway convinced he’s died and somehow the Gods have seen fit to spare him the Seven Hells. His head spins as he drinks from you, the taste of you by far the sweetest, most decadent thing he could fathom. As the knot in his belly grows ever-tighter, his suckles become more greedy, frantic, not knowing whether you’ll allow him this pleasure ever again.

“Please, f-fuck,” he sighs, the words punched from his lips as he pulls away from you just enough to speak, uncaring as dribbles of milk leak from the corners of his lips, staining your skin. His hips practically move on their own accord as he mindlessly grinds up into you, seeking out the warmth and safety he knows he shall only ever feel within you.

Above him, you nod, swallowing thickly against the dryness at the back of your throat, cheeks flushed while you watch him unravel. Snaking a hand between your bodies once more, your fingers quickly find your sensitive, aching bud and rubbing at it with a practiced precision.

“Gods, sweet little brother,” you breathe out, pleasure zapping down your spine. You frantically nod again, frantic this time, just as your high washes over you, “Come, Aemond… Gods, let go, little one.”

His suckles turn more into little biting nips while he gasps against you, trembling beneath you when he finally lets pleasure overtake him – eye squeezing shut at the feel of your walls clenching tightly around his cock.

The warmth of him filling you only spurs you on more, your breaths ragged against his forehead while you feel yourself tense and relax again and again, grabbing at whatever parts of him you can reach.

You each go still after a few moments, panting against each other. Aemond is practically limp beneath you, lazily nuzzling his face against your chest, satiated smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. Chuckling softly, you pepper his forehead in sweet kisses, relishing the contented hum he gives in return.

When you go to get up however, intent on fetching a cloth to clean you both up with, he reaches for you with a small whine as he grabs at your thighs.

“Don’t, please,” he murmurs, brows furrowed when your eyes meet, “Stay…”

“You… you want to stay like this?” You question, your heartbeat quickening as he quickly nods, “You wish to stay –”

“Inside,” he finishes quickly, Adam��s apple bobbing when he swallows bashfully, cheeks flushed, “I… I feel safe like… like this.”

“Then you can stay, silly boy,” you answer with a grin, kissing at his forehead once more, “Here, let’s just…” You murmur, tilting your hips to the side ever so slightly, attempting to pull him with you.

Blessedly, he seems to understand and follows you willingly, allowing you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides. After a moment, you’re comfortable once more, each of you lying on your side and facing the other, one of your legs slung over his narrow hips to keep him pressed tightly within you.

“Good boy,” you sigh softly, smiling when he shivers against you.

The two of you stay like that for a while, your hands gently caressing his soft skin or running through his hair while you hold him against you. After a while, his lilac eye finally flutters closed and you can’t help but marvel at how much younger he looks like this – relaxed and spent while he lies against you, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

After a while, he seems to grow restless again, nosing at your chest until he finds what he desires. You sigh softly as he pulls a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling at it contentedly while he peers up at you sleepily.

“There you go,” you murmur soothingly, coaxing him to lift his head just enough for you to lay an arm beneath it, allowing you to caress his shoulders while your other hand cups gently at the side of his face, thumb sweeping over his soft skin. “Take what you need, sweet one,” you coo, smiling as he quickly returns his lips to your breast, “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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