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cherrygublersworld · 1 month ago

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what a girl wants

pairing: spencer reid x gf!reader category: smut (18+) words: 1.6k summary: you and spencer are taking things slowly, but when he’s wearing glasses and grey sweatpants you have a hard time remembering it. a/n: soo this is my first ever fic, hope you like it!!

spencer had been rambling for twenty minutes now, you were watching one of your favourite movie “what a girl wants” and had to pause after 10 minutes because spencer had, of course, something to say about the population of the bedouin, that somehow got to the invention of the agriculture. you lost it after he started listing the risk of iron deficiency anemia.

your problem with spencer yapping was just that you got lost every five minutes. first you notice the way the sun hits his jawline. then it’s the way he moves those hands of his, and you really can’t not get lost looking at his pretty lips.

you have been dating spencer for two months now, and yes it’s a short amount of time to say you’re in love with someone. but truth be told you fell in love with spencer reid the moment you saw him.

you met in a small coffee shop, right next to your new workplace, and he was just so incredibly gorgeous that you really had to shoot your shot.

now he’s yapping about arab tribes in your sofa, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants (that had you foaming in your mouth since he entered the door), a simple cardigan that looks as soft as clouds. and just because that wasn’t enough he even wore glasses, like real fucking glasses, that stands so heavenly on that pretty nose of his.

you nearly died on the spot, barely heard him when he greeted you, all soft smiles and heart eyes, you were too busy trying not to kneel down and beg him to fuck you dumb.

cause yes, you didn’t had sex yet, you’re taking things slow, which is as sweet as frustrating, and of course you end up every night feeling guilty for not appreciating the first man in your life that actually respects you and wants to court you like a gentleman fresh out of bridgerton.

point is if you were bridgerton you would most definitely be kate sharma. and you’re definitely tired of using a toy when you have the prettiest man in the world gushing over you.

when did you end up so desperate for a man you really don’t know, but to your defence things escalated the last time you saw each other.

four days ago, he took you out on a date that ended in a make out session on his couch.

and god you were so addicted to the taste of his lips, his hands on your waist, just his thumb under your shirt drawing slow circles that nearly made you moan.

you didn’t even noticed you started moving your hips till you felt it, right under your core, but what’s even worse is that he whined. he fucking whined.

you started serious doubt you would survive.

not with the way he tightened his grip on your waist, or the way he kissed you next, hot and passionate, and you surely died when his hands gently guided your hips faster on him.

you straddled him till you both came in your pants, moaning in each other’s mouth, laughing softly like teenagers. and then a call from work came and he was straight on a jet.

the next three days, while he was in some lost town in Luisiana, all you could think about was the way he felt under you, his moans and whines, how he get even prettier after an orgasm.

god you needed him so badly.

that’s basically why when he arrived at your house today, you’re distracted, can’t take your eyes off of him and your hand hurts.

you know he knows something is up with you by the looks he keeps giving you, but you keep pretending as best as you can that everything is fine.

it’s not like you need to fuck him so bad you’re literally about to explode if you don’t taste him. no nothing like that. you’re fine. everything’s fine.

expect that he starts yapping, eyes wide, pretty lips and hands in the air.

you don’t know if you wanna cry or cum.

so you try, really really try, try to be a good and respectful girlfriend. taking a deep breath, you try to focus on his words instead of how his glasses would fog up with his moans.

dr spencer reid, three phds and a master, proud profiler of the most elite team of the fbi, the man who can catch the tiniest micro expression and hidden meaning behind the most trained liars of the states.

apparently the only thing his brilliant mind can’t tell is when his girlfriend is horny.

so he just keeps rambling and you keep trying to behave yourself, for exactly seven minutes, then you break. without even realising it your hands are behind his neck and your lips on his, and he gasps, surprised but oh so sweet.

you pull back slightly, barely an inch between the two of you, just to whisper to him. “i’m sorry baby, it’s just that you’re so sexy i can’t-“ and then you’re kissing him again, as if you need to prove your words.

and spencer is basically gone, his mind blank since your lips touched his, his body tingling everywhere.

to think he was so nervous to see you today, paranoid about possible remorse of your last date, he had been so anxious during the last three days he didn’t even had a moment to really think about how good you felt.

but now you had interrupted his rambling because he was so sexy you had to kiss him, his brain couldn’t even start to comprehend your words, not that he could ever get a thought straight when you’re kissing him.

and definitely not when you quickly move to his laps, straddling him. feeling your body perfectly sitting on him spencer moans and you take the opportunity to push your tongue inside his mouth.

same scene as four days ago but this time spencer’s not stressing over doing the right thing, he shut his brain off and really feel you.

oh and another big difference from last time is that spencer’s not wearing any jeans. he’s wearing sweatpants.

sweatpants that let you really sense him under you. it’s almost mandatory that you swing your hips with more force than you ever had, just cause you have to feel him as best as you can.

and fuck it feels so good you’re both moaning, and fuck he’s so beautiful you have to kiss him again, but he seems out of breath (as you are but too horny to care it seems) so you opts for his neck. leaving open mouth kisses all along, mumbling in between.

“god spencer you’re so pretty”

“missed you so much baby”

“need you so bad”

your voice is low and sultry like he never heard and he’s so overstimulated in the best way possible. he can’t shut up either, little moans keeps spilling out his mouth and when you start sucking his soft spot on the neck (he doesn’t even know how or when you figured it out) he can already feel the pleasure building

it takes just a light pull of his hair and one of your sweet moan direct to his ear when you angle your hips, and he’s cumming in his pants.

and it’s actually embarrassing how fast he was, not even his first time did he came so quickly.

you realise after a couple of seconds, when you feel a wet sensation under you, his moan lasting a few seconds longer, his hands gripping tighter your waist, his body tensing.

you would’ve realised earlier if it hadn’t been just 5 minutes since you started.

after spencer is completely still, the embarrassment eating him alive as his face slowly becomes red. you pull back to look at him in the eyes, which he avoids.

“baby look at me” you whisper softly, a small smile on your face as your hands play with his hair. he shakes his head before covering it with his hands.

“this is so embarrassing” he whines dramatically. you chuckles softly, taking his hands off his face, he fights for a few seconds before surrendering.

he looks up at you with big puppies eyes, red and ashamed, you can see his fear of judgement in the way he fidgets with his fingers.

you cradle his face with your hands, forcing the eye contact as you smile sweetly at him. “oh honey you have nothing to be embarrassed about”

and just as sweetly you lean in to kiss his face, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead and then a speck on his lips. a little but nonetheless shining smile comes back on his pretty face.

“just so you know i actually found you coming so quickly one of the biggest compliments you could ever give me” you say, voice like honey, staring directly into his eyes.

spencer gasps softly at your words, eyes widening and jaw slightly dropping.

“w-what?”

you chuckle under your breath, a tender smile on your face as your hands play with his hair, earning a soft sigh from him.

“baby the fact that i’m able to make you come in five minutes is so fucking hot, you have nothing to be embarrassed about”

for a minute spencer just stares at you, studying you in that profiler way of his, trying to detect any signs of a lie, finding none a slow smile creeps on his face.

and just like that, you’re back at watching the movie, well for a total of twelve minutes before spencer realises you didn’t come and repay the favour.

cc dividers: @uzmacchiato

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #dr spencer reid #fanfic #self insert #criminal minds fic #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #for you #criminal minds fanfiction

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bi-writes · 1 year ago

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mmmm ;) simon has got a special eye on single-mom!reader, doesn't he? (18+, lactation kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, dark content !!!!)

it's your first day back after maternity leave. you already look different, simon notices this immediately. the way you fill out your cargo pants--fuck, there's no way your arse has ever looked so fat. no way your thighs have ever been so plush--ngghhh...

fuck, you've never been prettier. motherhood suits you. your hair is longer. your eyes are a little brighter. and fuck, your tits look so heavy, can't keep his eyes off of them, can't fucking focus, fuck, fuck, fuck--

you look so cute patching him up. pouty bottom lip between your teeth as you string his lacerated skin back together with a practiced stitch, standing between his spread legs as he sits in a chair in your office. he nicked his shoulder real well in training today, and fuck, is he grateful for johnny's heavy hand because you're standing over him, and he has a front-row seat to the greatest view of his fucking life.

christ, they practically jiggle with every movement you make. you pop the cap off some disinfectant, and the little bounce of your chest makes him chub up immediately, and he doesn't trust the buckle of his belt anymore because you're so fucking hot. and god, it isn't fair, this isn't fair, you must be teasing him--because as he's staring shamelessly at your pretty, perky nipples, he notices the fabric of your shirt beginning to grow damp.

you notice his line of sight after you tie off his wound. you look down, gasping, your hands dropping your supplies to come up and cup your breasts and cover the wetness of your shirt.

"god--dammit," you breathe. you haven't gotten a chance to pump today, it's been so busy in the clinic, and god, they ache.

you're his sergeant. his pretty little soldier. he just wants to help you. he's just helping you, isn't he? that's what this is when he draws his big hands up, shifting your shirt until it nestles below your nursing bra. he's just helping you when he unlatches the strap with ease, drawing down the soft material and baring your tits for him, his eyes bulging when he sees how wet the skin is, how they glisten.

his mouth is so warm. it's the perfect relief after such a long day. his tongue is soft and careful, swirling in heated circles as he soothes the ache in the throbbing fat there. you're so wet--soaking your panties, you know you are, your hormones firing wildly as he pulls back, opening his mouth and catching just a dribble of the warm essence that leaks from one breast. finally, finally--fuck, he's so good at this, his mouth latching onto you again as he groans loudly. he's so sick, it's so fucking lewd, but god dammit, it's just what you need, you need this, you need this.

he likes you like this. he likes you fat around the hips and leaking from your tits and spilling sweetness into your panties. he needs to keep you this way. he needs to keep you pretty and aching and starving for the relief that he knows he can give you.

he doesn't care whose kid it is, he wants to keep you this way. he'd let johnny or gaz fuck you stupid after this if it meant plugging you up and making you full and beautiful and round again. he's never wanted kids anyway, he knows he probably shoots blanks, it's why you got pregnant so fast after he shut the door on your relationship and refused to open it again, isn't it?

nnghghhgh...

fuck, his pants are already shoved low, just enough that he can pull himself out. he's so heavy, balls so full and aching so badly, he's hardly slapping against his stomach. you slip your own trousers off, eager to get back into his lap, practiced pretty girl sinking down onto him and riding him for her life in the dark of her office.

he buries his face into your chest. they're bouncing every time you smack your hips back down against his, and he can't stop the noises he's making as he suckles your tits in his mouth and uses a firm grip on your ass to meet your thrusts with force. fuck, he'd forgotten what a nice cunt you had--he'd forgotten how nice and soft you are, how messy and wet you get, how whenever he fucks you, his entire pelvis is always soaked with the slick of you because you can never stop creaming on his cock.

"so big," you babble, just like you used to, and he grunts as he aims for that little spot inside of you that makes you cry. he wants to see those pretty tears falling down your face, but all it took this time was his tongue sucking on your achy nipples to make you pouty and sobbing.

fuck, you've always been good at taking him, you always were such a good girl, but now he's overwhelmed. your body is so different and yet the same, and he likes it so much more--fuck, there's so much to grab onto now, the smacking of your skin is loud, and you've always been such a wet girl, but now you're positively dripping. he grits his teeth as he looks down finally, watching the way you've wet his trousers, his boxers, your thighs, the goddamn chair. he can't wait to lay you down after this and put his head between your thighs, can't wait to get those tits back in his mouth and make you cry again and again and again and again--

yeah, yeah, yeah--fuck, fuck, fuck--

you collapse after he cums. whimpering, taking two of his fingers and fitting them into your mouth so you have something to suck on, something you always used to do for comfort. he hisses a little as he pulls out just a little, globs of cum dribbling onto the seat before he eases you back down again. you whine, clinging onto him, your eyes shutting as he shoves his cum practically into your stomach.

yeah, fuck--he's gonna make his little sergeants take you nice after this. he needs you to stay like this, needs to keep you fat and pretty and swollen. don't mind the chunky babies you'll have, he'll take care of you, sweetheart, he'll be the daddy that son of a bitch never gave you, yeah?

he grabs the phone nearest to him to check the time as you settle on wobbly legs into the seat next to him. it must be your phone, because there's a picture of a smiling baby as the background. his eyes flicker to yours, and when you catch his gaze, you swallow hard. there's a giant chubby baby you're holding in that picture.

with blond hair and dark eyes (;

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verstappenverse · 9 days ago

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In Every City, It’s Still You

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After weeks of hiding your fears that Max cheats on the road, your confession leaves him heartbroken that you think so little of his love. (Requested)

2.2k words / Masterlist

Max's texts come in at 2:13 a.m.

Landed. In the hotel now. I miss you.

Try to sleep.

Talk tomorrow. Love you.

You stare at your phone for a while, the bluish light casting sharp shadows over your face in the dark room. The words are sweet, comforting even, but they don’t settle the unease coiling low in your stomach. Your thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating.

You type, Miss you too. Sleep well, and hit send. But it feels... hollow.

It’s not him. Not really. Max hasn’t changed, he still texts you every time he lands, still calls you baby in that low, tired voice that makes your heart ache. But something around him has shifted, and you feel it all the way from home. The messages feel like a thread stretched too thin, too tight, trembling, like it might snap if you pull just a little harder.

Because it isn’t the distance anymore. It’s everything else.

It’s the way girls throw themselves at him in the paddock every day, effortlessly pretty, sun-kissed, always laughing too loudly when he’s around. The influencers in the hospitality suites who watch him like they already belong to him, cameras flashing like they have something to prove. The blonde in Canada who sat on the pit wall like it was her throne, perfectly poised and knowing exactly where the lenses were. The brunette in Imola who wore Max's number on her cheek like it meant something personal.

And you were... here. Alone in bed, scrolling through tagged photos with a growing ache in your chest and a nauseating swirl of insecurity you couldn't quite explain.

You know Max loves you. He told you. He shows you. But some nights, like tonight, you can’t stop the slow, creeping doubt. The fear that love isn’t always enough when you aren’t there. When someone prettier or bolder or more his world is.

You turn your phone face-down and blink hard into the ceiling, trying not to cry, because it isn’t him.

It’s you. Spiralling.

And you hate that you can’t stop.

It isn’t like Max has ever given you a reason to doubt him. He doesn’t flirt. He isn’t sneaky. He never makes you feel small or uncertain. He makes time for you, even when he’s exhausted and halfway across the world. He calls when he says he will. He texts when he’s landed. He checks in between meetings, between media, between practice sessions.

But even the most reassuring routines begin to feel fragile when you spend your nights alone, scrolling through social media feeds that turn love into a ticking time bomb.

On Twitter or TikTok it’s like cheating wasn’t just a possibility, it was a guarantee. People talk like it’s an open secret. Like all of them do it. Like staying faithful is a joke, not the norm.

And you hate how easily those posts get under your skin.

One comment in particular has lodged itself somewhere deep in your brain, rotting quietly.

You think any of them are faithful on the road? They’ve got girls in every city babes. You’re just the one they come home to.

You remember reading it in bed, the words hitting harder than you ever wanted to admit. You’d stared at it for too long, re-reading it like it was some kind of warning meant specifically for you.

Maybe it isn’t about Max. Maybe it’s just a bitter stranger talking from experience. But what if it wasn’t?

What if Max is different without you, surrounded by constant temptation and girls who don’t hesitate?

What if all the love you give to each other at home isn’t enough to hold his attention in Singapore, or Brazil, or Vegas?

What if you’re stupid for thinking you’re the exception?

The thought makes your stomach twist, hot and cold at the same time. You hate yourself for even questioning him, but the doubt creeps in anyway, quiet and venomous. Because love isn’t always louder than fear. And lately, fear has found a voice you can’t ignore.

It comes out on a random Wednesday.

Max has a few days off and is finally back in Monaco with you, curled up on the couch, wearing sweatpants and eating cereal out of the box like he’s a college student and not a multiple world champion.

You’re quiet, distracted, picking at the hem of your sleep shorts while some Netflix show runs in the background.

“Babe?” he says, nudging your leg with his knee. “You okay?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’ve been weird since I got back from Canada.”

“Have I?”

Max sits up a little straighter, the playfulness gone. “Don’t do that.”

You swallow, staring at the bowl in your hands. You don’t meant to say it, but maybe you need to.

“I just…” you start, voice quieter than you expected. “I sometimes wonder what really happens when you're away.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

You feel your heart begin to race. There was no easy way to explain it, no version of this that wouldn’t hurt him. But keeping it inside had only made it worse. You take a shaky breath and force yourself to look at him, to see the confusion on his face.

“Okay… just don’t take this the wrong way,” you say, voice trembling. “You’re surrounded by beautiful girls. All the time. At afterparties, on boats, in clubs. They throw themselves at you. And I know you say you love me, I do, I hear you, but…”

You pause, eyes searching his. “Max, people like you… you have options.”

Silence.

You keep going, even though your throat feels like it’s closing. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m not. I just, I’ve seen what people say online. About how no driver, no athlete stays loyal. That it’s just how it is. That they all cheat. That it comes with the territory.”

You glance up again, and what you see in Max’s eyes feels like a punch to the stomach. Hurt. Pure, disbelieving hurt.

He stares at you like you’d just slapped him.

“You think I cheat on you?” he asks, voice low, almost stunned.

You flinch. “I don’t know. I think… I think maybe you could. One day. And I wouldn’t even know.”

He stands up so fast the phone on his lap clatters to the floor.

“Jesus Christ, how could I not take that the wrong way?” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. “You really think that little of me? You really think I’m capable of looking you in the eye and lying to you like that? Of touching someone else and then coming home to you like nothing happened?”

Your heart drops. “No, Max, that’s not—”

“You think I’m out there fucking around in every city I go to?” His accent thickens, voice rising with disbelief. “That I land and what? Just start looking for a warm body?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You didn’t have to,” he snaps, pacing now. “You just implied that for all this time what, you’ve been sitting here imagining me cheating on you and not telling me?”

Your eyes sting. “I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to seem insecure.”

“You’d rather just assume I’m a liar?”

“No, Max, fuck—no. It’s not like that. It’s not even about you, it’s... God, it’s not even logical, okay?” You were scrambling now, words tumbling faster than your brain could sort them. “It’s just there’s this stigma, okay? That athletes are cheaters. That they all are. And I guess some part of me thought that was just… part of the deal.”

Max stares at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “So because other people fuck up their relationships, I’m guilty by association?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“You are, though,” he snaps, stepping back like your words burn. “You’re saying you don’t think I’ve done anything, yet, but you’ve already decided I probably will.”

“I’m saying I’ve seen it happen!” you cry. “To people who swore they’d never do it. Who looked just as in love as we are.”

Max stares at you for a long time, chest rising and falling.

Then, quietly, “You think I’d put you through that?”

Tears well up in your eyes. “No. But I’m scared that you could. That one day I won’t be enough.”

“You think I’d just wake up one day and decide you weren’t enough?” he asks, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “That I’d throw us away for what, something easy? Something empty?”

“I don’t want to think that,” you whisper. “But it’s like this constant voice in the back of my head saying, don’t get too comfortable. Saying people like me don’t keep people like you.”

Max looks like he wants to yell or be sick. His fists are clenched, jaw tight, frustration radiating off him.

Then, just as suddenly, his face crumples.

He sits back down.

And says, more softly than you expected, “I love you.”

You sniffle. “I know.”

“Clearly you don’t.” His voice cracks ever so slightly, a barely-there fracture that makes your heart squeeze. He swallows hard, throat bobbing, like the words were caught on something sharp on their way out. He looks down for a second, just a flick of his eyes, then back at you.

“I love you,” he says again, more deliberately this time. Slower. Like he wants you to feel every syllable. “I love you.”

His hands ran over his thighs before curling into loose fists again.

“Like… when I’m away, I go to bed early because I miss you,” he says, voice soft but firm. “And I mean physically miss you. Like my chest fucking aches and everything feels too quiet and I stare at the ceiling hoping you’ll call even though I know you’re asleep.”

You blink, stunned by the rawness in his tone.

“I check my phone like an idiot,” he goes on, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. “Every five minutes. Just to see if you sent a stupid meme or said goodnight again. And if you didn’t, I reread the last thing you said. Because it makes me feel closer to you.”

You feel your eyes start to burn again, but he isn’t finished.

“When I come home and you’re here? It’s like—” He breaks off, searching for the right words, his brows knitting together. “It’s like I can breathe again. Like I stop being whatever version of me the rest of the world expects and I just… exist. As me. As yours.”

He let’s out a breath, slower this time. Measured.

“I don’t care what people say. I don’t care what some idiot online thinks is ‘normal’ for a driver or a man or anyone in this life. I don’t care what the stereotype is. I don’t need a club full of models or some yacht party to feel important.”

His gaze locks onto yours, eyes fierce but tender.

“I don’t want options. I want you. You’re it for me. You always have been. And I need you to know that. Not just hear it, not just nod and say okay know it. Because I don’t have a backup plan. I don’t want one.”

He exhales, like saying all of it left him exposed in the best and worst way.

You wipe at your cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice hoarse. “Do you have any idea what it does to me to think you’ve been carrying that around? That you’ve been hurting because you’re afraid I’ll leave or stray or whatever the fuck people think drivers do?”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair to you. I know that.”

He exhales slowly, nodding. “No. It’s not. But I get it. I do.”

You look up.

“I’ve seen what fame does to people,” he says. “I’ve seen guys ruin good things for a pretty face and some attention. And I hate that you’ve had to wonder if I would do that to you.”

You feel like the smallest person alive. “Max, I’m so sorry.”

He reaches for your hand.

“I need you to trust me,” he says, fingers tightening around yours. “Not the version of me that strangers make up. Me. The guy who texts you at 2 a.m. because I can’t fall asleep without hearing from you. The guy who thinks about you twenty-four seven even when I’ve got a million other things to focus on. The guy who looks at other girls and doesn't feel a damn thing and only thinks, ‘none of them are you’.

You let out a shaky breath.

“I do trust you, I’m just terrified of losing you and—” you whisper, “I just let the noise get in my head.”

He pulls you into his chest.

“Next time it gets loud in there,” he murmurs against your hair, “you come to me. Let me be louder.”

You nod, arms wrapping around him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I love you so much.”

Max presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re mine. You hear me? I don’t want anyone else. Never have. Never will.”

You let the truth of that settle into your bones like warmth.

Maybe people will always talk. Maybe they’ll always be stories and rumours. Maybe they’ll always be stereotypes and assumptions and endless temptations.

But you aren’t dating a stereotype.

You’re dating Max.

And Max? He only ever wants you.

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leo-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds

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madamechrissy · 1 month ago

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Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - p in v sex, car sex, multiple positions, Satoru being possessive, oral (f! receiving) fingering, cum drinking, obsessive love, confessions of past love, EMOTIONAL, so many feelingsss, angsty in places - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙 Comments/rbs appreciated <3

<<<Part Five - Masterlist - Playlist- Part Seven>>>

Part Six

It’s completely dark outside, aside from the brilliant stars shining overhead, and the glimmering moon. Satoru looks up at the sky then, such a far cry from the LA fog, it’s clearer here, it’s prettier. He has your hand in his, you’re both bundled up in your jackets and gloves, rushing over to the car, where he quickly starts the heat, as the two of you see your breaths.

You giggle then, and the sound melts him, he can’t help but have a million images flit through his mind.

Elementary school you, middle school you, high school you.

He never knew you in college, he had left you behind - you haven’t changed much since he last saw you physically, maybe a little more hips, a little maturity in your features, but mostly identical to that girl. The girl he fell in love with on sight, that day way back - the first day he’d gone to a new school, shy and hopelessly awkward. You had instantly befriended him.

You were just like that, too sweet for the world, fuck you’d be eaten alive in his world actually - not that he’d let it happen - but the differences are setting in. As badly as he wants every part of you, of this opportunity that seemed fated in its synchronicity, he also just as badly was afraid. Where did it all lead?

“You’re quiet, Satoru.” You murmur, giggles subsided, a serious expression on a face so pretty to him it makes him ache.

“I got a message,” he is quiet as he lets the heat warm you up, pulling your hands closer to the warmth and rubbing them when he takes your gloves off. “I have to go back after tomorrow night.”

“Oh. That soon?” Your brows knit together, he nods then, he has to be honest with you - he can never just leave like that day again.

“Yeah, I want to spend all the time I can with you.” He feels so vulnerable saying it then and there, but you lean closer, cool hand on his cheek, stinging from the frosty air outside.

“You really do?” He nods then, a hand gripping your wrist in the quiet of the humming sports car, a little oasis where it’s just him and you.

He wishes it would stay that way.

“All I can think about right now is how badly I don’t want to leave you, how fucking scared I am to, like you won’t…” He’s blinking back unexpected tears, you feel your own welling up then, swallowing nervously as you swipe one off a perfect cheekbone. “Like this is some dream.”

“It’s real, Satoru, I’m real.” You take his hand, placing it on your chest now, he feels your heart beat erratically under his palm then, as you grip his wrist, thumb brushing across it. “I’m scared too.”

“That I’ll disappear?” He finishes, feeling the weight of just some of the pain he put you through in your look.

“That, or you’ll get back to those models, and realize I’m nothing.”

“What!?”

“It’s my feelings, okay?” He scowls at you, jaw clenched as he grips your chin, your eyes are glimmering with unshed tears, lip trembling.

“Stop forgetting who the fuck you are.” He whispers, you look down for a moment.

“A failed teacher? Someone at home with her parents at twenty six? A girl who works at a bar and-”

“You’re so much more than that.” He cuts you off with a desperate kiss, which you lean into, when he pulls back his snowy lashes are lowered, darting side to side as if to catch every image of you to memory. “You chased your dreams teaching. You still do teach. You’re helping your fucking family, how is any of that not worthy of admiration?”

“Satoru-”

“No. No, I won't hear any more of it. You were the best friend I ever had, since that day… I’ve felt so empty inside.” Your tears fall rapidly, as he pulls you close against his chest, sighing and stroking your back, a hand up and down your spine over your pretty dress. “I wouldn’t admit what it was, how could I?”

“You were made fun of, you were hurt. I don’t blame you for running away, I just miss you for it.”

“Stop excusing it all.”

“But I don’t blame you.”

Satoru sighs now, breath against your lips, shaking his head. “You are the sweetest person I’ve ever known, and I hurt you. Maybe I don’t forgive myself for that, maybe I just realized what I did. I never knew you’d… miss me.”

“How could I not miss you!?” You pull back, the emotions overwhelming, the car so warm, mixing with the heat of your bodies in the night, in front of an empty movie theater parking lot from long ago, as you look into his brilliant blue eyes, eyes you missed, thought of so often. “You never let me answer how I felt.”

His heart stops then, because if you did feel more than friendship, that knife would bury deeper in his chest. But there was surely no way you…

“I didn’t cross the boundaries because you never, ever tried, even when I gave you so many hints.” You swipe at your cheeks now, sticky with your tears, as he watches with his breath caught in his throat.

“Hints?” His voice is hoarse.

“How many times did I claim my ‘feet were cold’ and needed to put them on you? You’d throw a pillow on them. And how many times did I get undressed right in front of you, but you’d hide like I was scary?” Satoru’s mind whirls with memories, as you continue, painting vivid images of you. “How many times when we cuddled, did I back right on you?”

“Shit…” He’s remembering it all now. “But you… no way that…”

“I dated other people because I wanted to push those feelings back, god Satoru I wanted you to be my first kiss. I asked you, don’t you remember?”

“You… what?!” You sigh now, shaking your head.

“I couldn’t have been more obvious. I asked if we could practice, when we got shoved in that closet for seven minutes. But you just… played your Nintendo DS, remember?” He grimaces now.

“I thought you were kidding. And I thought your feet were really cold! I thought you just enjoyed cuddling and…”

“So my hints all sucked.” You laugh then, like you’re losing it, and maybe you really fucking are, sighing now. “Prom, I tried to kiss you.”

“I thought you were drunk?”

“No. You seemed like you never, ever wanted to try more. So I decided to give you that, to be the best friend I could. I never, ever wanted to hurt you.” Satoru can’t even look at you for a moment, burying his head against his hand as the tears continue to fall right with you.

He hasn’t cried once since he left that night.

Not once.

Your trembling hand brushes his hair back, and he looks at you, vision swimming as the full truth is set upon him. As all those little moments start coming back - times you would blush being close, clinging to him on the pool a little too tightly, falling asleep in his arms and snuggling closer when he pulled back. At prom, you’d shut your eyes and leaned up, and he’d panicked, thinking someone spiked your punch.

He remembers it all, through a different light now.

“I didn’t have a crush on you,” you whisper, shaking your head now. “I loved you, as a best friend and I wanted more, but I thought you didn’t want me.”

“How could you not know? How badly I did want you?” He whispers, heads touching as your breaths mingle, as his hands press you closer, feeling your body tense and then relax, as you lean back, hair falling against his fingers.

“You never told me.”

“I thought you’d laugh or-”

“I would have never. Satoru I was hopelessly in love, okay? I just had to move on, because I didn’t think you felt the same.”

Love.

In love.

“In love with me?” His voice breaks, and you smile sadly, nodding.

“Your cute glasses, the silly jokes you made, the way you always made me feel so beautiful. How smart you were, how thoughtful and kind, when your smile lit up your face. When you got excited about some new insect, some new theory, some star that you discovered.” He whispers your name, as if asking you to stop, but you’re not sure your heart can stop anymore.

“You’re telling me, all those years, you loved me? More than…” You nod now, exhaling nervously, you’d been too scared to ever say those words out loud.

“I still have the letter, in a box of letters from you.”

Satoru’s heart hammers now.

Everything he thought he knew was wrong, he’d never noticed your signs, so wrapped up in his own thoughts - in his own infatuation, like you were some otherworldly being, how highly he did think of you. He never stopped to think you were just a girl, like he was just a boy back then. A girl he left behind for such stupid reasons.

What would life have been if he let you answer?

“It’s all in the past, okay? I get it, we’re not the same exactly anymore, I am okay with whatever this might be. If it’s just us… getting together, I don’t expect a white picket fence and three kids from you. I just want to be with you for now.” Satoru exhales, shaking his head then.

“That is your dream.”

“It is. But you’re here, and I don’t think I can let it slip by me.” He kisses you, his own tears swiped by your now warmed fingers gently.

“I was obsessed with you, it was beyond all of that. It was… so embarrassing.” He blushes even now, and you see the sweet boy you loved in that moment. “You were all I thought about then. All the ways I would give you your dreams, and what did I end up doing?”

“You’re here now.” He moans, kissing you deeper and deeper, it’s desperate and messy, poured with every feeling the two of you ever had. Tongues slipping together, teeth clicking, when he pulls back for a gasp of air, his eyes so dilated they’re black in the night.

“If we don’t stop now, I can’t stop. I want to bury my fucking self inside you,” he whispers, hands slipping down each side of your waist. “I’ll always fucking want you, as bad as then, worse. I’ll always think you’re the most beautiful girl that walks the fucking earth.”

“Satoru…”

“I will, I do. I always have. Don’t you know no one has compared to the girl whose picture is in my pocket?” His words end any resolve, and care for getting hurt then, how can you not be with him in this moment?

“Promise you won’t forget me.” You whisper, he sighs then, shaking his head.

“I never, ever forgot you. How could I forget you?” He yanks you on his lap then, you’re grinding against him, hungry and messy in the front of the car, hands enwrapping in his silken white locks as he pulls back, looking up at you, thumbs brushing against your nipples, making you moan. “You really liked me back?”

“Like wasn’t the word, Toru.” The old nickname melts him completely, as the girl he left behind gives him chances he doesn’t deserve.

“You shouldn’t even talk to me.”

“Toru-”

“You shouldn’t. But I can’t help but be greedy with every moment,” he’s kissing down your neck, mouth sucking at the base of it, moaning as he feels your heat against his cock over the layers. “I could never forget you.”

“Y-you’ll keep in touch?” He hates the fear in your voice, lips pulling back, angry you’re insecure when you look and feel like this.

Everything he’s ever had is just a blur now.

“I want more than this, I don’t know how the fuck it works, okay? I don’t know how we… make it happen. But I will never leave you like that. I will never hurt you like that again.”

You lean close, sighing now. “Then show me how badly you wanted me all those years.”

Satoru whimpers at that, hungry and desperate and needy when he slips your dress up your hips, you yank off your coat, tossing it in the chair, as he slips two fingers under your panties, finding you soaked. “God, you think I don’t still want you as bad as I ever did?”

“Show me, mnh!” Satoru’s sunk two fingers and curled them up, moaning as you grip him so tightly.

“Never felt anything like you, god I want you wrapped around me,” he’s looking right up at you as he curls his fingers, your back arches, head falling back, you feel the cool steering wheel against you, feel that gearshift shoving against your thigh, but all you can focus on are his eyes. “Want that, sweetheart? Me stretching her out?”

“Please, please - ngh!” Satoru’s curling them up just right in your gummy walls that grip him so good, hitting that spot his long fingers already know, when you eagerly reach down, unbuckling him, shoving his jacket.

“Cum first, then I’ll take it off.” He teases with a little smirk, and you throw your head back, whining and rolling on his hand. “Look at you.”

His husky words of devotion and his fingers hitting that spot again destroy you, you’re weak and whining, a pathetic mess as the orgasm runs through your body. You’re throbbing around nothing when he pulls them out, sucking you off him and moaning before he yanks off his jacket, and the engine hums under you both when you find his cock, biting your lip at the sight of it.

He’s pretty everywhere, of course, tip blushing pink and oozing milky beads of liquid out of it, his veins wrapping, so long, you’re stroking it slowly, from the base to the tip, watching his eyes flutter shut, hearing his whimpers for you. Supermodel, LA manwhore supreme, who’s been with actresses, models, singers, he is just your Satoru right now though.

You lap at his precum off your thumb, the action wrecking him, he’s ripped your panties now, they’re torn from his fervent grip, the sound echoing in the car, that’s when you really feel his strength, as your hands rest on his shoulders, broad and strong under your touch. You look down at the ruined material as he drags your cunt back against him, and you whine out at it.

“Condoms are in the back in a bag,” he murmurs softly, but you’re too lost now. “Sweetheart…”

“Are you good?”

“Squeaky,” he answers softly. “Are you on…”

“Yes.”

He laughs then, softly. “You know how hard it was to get them, now you’re good me fucking raw?”

“Well now I… hush. Just fuck me - ah!” Satoru needs no further urging, he’s picked you up, and slammed you down on his cock in one mean fucking stroke, making you gasp out at it, so full you can’t take it, eyes rolling back.

“God, fuck…. You’re so tight…” he moans, lifting you up and dragging you back down by your hips, your head smacks the roof and he curses, leaning his seat back to recline more, pulling you down with him. “Hang on to me.”

You do just that, clinging to him in the cramped car, when he holds your hips up and slips down in the seat, fucking up into you. “Ah! S-Satoru!” You’re screaming out, thanking god no one was in this parking lot, as he holds you up with those strong hands, pressing kisses to your neck, your cheek, anywhere he can reach, fucking more of his length up in your hole.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans now, flipping you before you can blink, lifting a thigh up high and sliding his length back in your cunt, eager and greedy she swallows him, as he stuffs her more and more full. The sounds are filthy, your mind whirling, tummy tensing as he slams his cock deeper, harder. “Never felt anything like you, fuck you take me so well.”

“T-Toru…” You can’t form a proper thought any longer, you’re writhing under him, struggling to take his cock, when his tip kisses your cervix you’re shattering, cumming so hard you can’t see.

“That’s it, cum for me. Just me.” He huffs, feeling you grip and spasm around his thick cock, groaning as he pauses, rolling his hips, letting you ride your orgasm out until you have pretty tears falling from your eyes. “That’s it, you’re so good for me.”

“Toru…” It’s all you can keep murmuring, he lets your thigh fall just a bit as your aftershocks pulse around him, moaning as he leans down, kissing you, drinking in the mix of your tears and your sweet saliva.

Mine.

The thoughts keep swirling in his mind.

Mine, mine, mine. He wants you to be only his.

He doesn’t think he can ever leave, he doesn’t know if he can get on that fucking plane, wait weeks in between seeing you. He’s brushing back your hair as your thighs grip his hips, and you’re clinging to him while he slows his strokes, hands running down your body slowly, lips pressing against yours again, drinking all your moans in. You’re so warm, so wet, so perfect.

You are perfect.

Satoru leans over as he yanks you further up in that laid back leather seat, slamming his cock inside you in a brutal stroke, so good you can’t take it, losing yourself in his ardent kisses, his desperate strokes of his huge cock, stretching your cunt out just for him. Your hands slip under his sweater, nails pressing into his skin and earning a husky groan as he pulls back, tip leaking against your cervix.

“Wanna know how many times I stroked my cock, picturing this?” His words are against your ear, making you tremble as images fill your head, him in his glasses stroking it to you.

“How m-many times?” He groans softly, burying his head against your neck, silky white locks brushing against your cheek, you whine out when you feel him thicken inside of you, so full of him, so much pressure it’s unbearably sweet.

“Every day since I knew how to,” you giggle a bit, breathless, but your cunt is just soaking him more as he pulls back, snowy lashes low over his beautiful eyes as they study you, so bright it’s intense. “I thought of it - ah - so many times. Having you.”

“Live up t-to your… mnh… expec-” He cuts you off with a hard stroke, one that has your mouth open in a slutty O, as you gasp out and he drinks in the sight of you, stroking his thick, veiny cock in you again.

“Couldn’t have imagined how good you feel,” he whispers, your eyes are rolled back in your skull, sweat dripping on your brow from the heat of the car and his body over you. “Nothing feels this good.”

“Toru…” You drag his face down for a kiss, it’s so full of everything you’ve always wanted to say, the fear of losing him and the longing for him, while Satoru’s tongue sweeps inside your mouth, a hand cupping your face.

“Wanna cum inside you, fuck,” he’s whispering, mind short circuiting at having the girl of his teenage dreams under him, but it’s so much more than that. “Fill you up, huh? Bring you back with me?”

“Shh, crazy.” He just whines out when you kiss across his neck, teeth nipping an earlobe, his hand entangles hard at the nape of your neck, the other leaving bruises on your thigh as he fucks so deep. “C-can’t just go.”

“I’ll shove you - ah - in the luggage.” You giggle, as he does, breathless, slowing those strokes and eyeing you with a serious expression then, unreadable. “Can’t just be once.”

You nod nervously, too fucked out to really comprehend the future- unwilling to actually, dragging him back down for his kisses, ones you can’t get enough of, ones you dreamt of. How many days did you look at those plump, glossy lips? How many times did you look at those long, elegant fingers and picture them inside you? That body on top of you?

“T-touched myself to you,” your whisper earns his look of shock, he shakes his head just a bit. A supermodel, still just a little insecure, did he not realize how hot he was then, too?

He feels more human like this, when you brush his cheek, biting your lower lip as he rolls his hips achingly slow, crying out as your walls clench him. “You d-didn’t.”

“Y-yes I did, mnh!” Satoru exhales now, leaning up, so tall his head is right against the hood of the car, when he slips your fingers down between the two of you, right where he’s engulfed in your messy, slick cunt. “Ah!”

“Show me, sweetheart. Wanna see.” You blush so cute he can’t stand it, and he watches your little fingers swirl on your clit, moaning at the sight, making you clench around his cock so tight. Your eyes dilate, lids heavy as you look up at him, crying out as he lifts your hood up, pressing your fingers against your clit more firmly. “Like that, for me?”

“Y-yes, for you. You were hot then, too okay- mmm!” You’re jerking under him, hips bucking up.

“Cum one more time, lemme feel her.” You are already pushed over the edge, when he fucks a mean stroke, his tip slipping against your walls, hitting just that spot as your fingers hit your clit just so, and you’re falling apart. “Beautiful, fuck,” his words barely register, you’re lost in your pleasure, hand falling weakly, only for him to grab your fingers, sucking it into his pouty mouth.

“Please,” you’re whispering, watching him suck your juices off you like he’s starved for you, with eyes that are feral and so bright they’re blinding in the dark little car. “Cum in me.”

He pauses then, and you should question yourself, but all you can think of is how bad you want it inside you. “Y-you sure?” His soft, vulnerable words bring together the two Satorus you know, as he nuzzles your palm, whining out as your walls are pulsing around him.

“I want it, please.” He moans now, slamming his lips against yours, hands gripping your hips and lifting you up, arching your hips so he can hit deeper, bottoming out and stuffing your hole. “Toru!”

“Gonna fill you up so fucking good,” he whispers through his teeth, cock pulsing inside your slutty little hole, balls smacking on your ass, while he holds you pinned like that, thumbs pressing into your pelvis. “Ready, can you take it?”

Your answer is a little nod - how are you expected to talk, head shoved back, neck at the weirdest angle in the car, and Satoru is fucking you so hard you can’t see or think, everything is blurry, swirling. He’s sweating, it makes his pale skin glow with a shimmery sheen as it drips onto you, and you just cling to his waist desperately, gasping as he finally busts.

He’s crying out, whimpering as he cums so deep, filling you - no flooding you - with so much cum it’s ridiculous, you feel the hot spurts of it just gushing, as he finally slows, exhaling and looking right at you. His expression is one of utter devotion, when he eases his hold, slowing and looking down at the twitchy mess your thighs are, while you push cum down his length in swirls of white.

“Fuck, sweetheart, my god…” He’s shaking his head, trying to form a word, while his heart pounds, at the sight of filling you up - something he’s never done, but that he couldn’t imagine not doing with you.

He’d give you three kids and a mansion on the fucking beach if he could just look at you like this again, fucked out and so pretty, whining when he eases his cock out, still mostly hard, squelching sound filling the space. He pushes it back in your slick, tight entrance, groaning at the sight, while you’re fluttering your eyes shut.

“Sore.”

“Shit, sorry,” he pulls out and you wince.

“More sore.” He frowns, inspecting your puffy cunt now, opening your lips to watch his cum pouring out in a creamy white string, making him want to shove it right back inside you, fuck three more loads in, it does something insane to him.

“Was I too rough?” You shake your head, he brushes kisses along your brow as he eases you down just a bit. “You sure? Not enough prep?”

“No I wanted it, just it’s been a long time. I think I have bats in there.” He laughs then, so hard he snorts, bringing you back to your little nerd you loved, and you giggle with him.

“Pussy is elite, bats and cobwebs aside.”

“Hey!” You smack at his chest and he laughs again, cupping your face sweetly. “You were eating those cobwebs last night.”

“They’re yummy cobwebs.”

“Really!” He’s laughing again, and it all hits him suddenly, making him falter, lips pressing together then frowning. You look at him with concern now. “Toru?”

He hasn’t been happy.

He didn’t realize it - laughing and acting a fool, joking around with his colleagues and ‘friends’. Has he ever been happy without you, a free moment, a silly moment? Not comfortable enough with anyone, to do more than make conceited, mocking little comments for shits and giggles, when the girl who loved him all along was left here, the missing piece of him.

You’re what’s always been missing, and he caused it.

“Toru,” you’re murmuring that name, the one only you and his mom call him, it’s how deeply you’re ingrained with his life. How deep a part you are, that he set aside for eight years. “Are you okay? Is it… was this too soon?”

“Too soon?” He laughs without humor, resting his head against yours, sensing your confusion. “Waited my whole life for this moment.”

“Don’t say that, please, it’ll hurt more.” He sighs, eyes shutting, drunk and fucked up off you as he was, the self loathing was eating at him.

“I mean it.” Satoru helps you up, adjusting you carefully, and soon you’re in the passenger seat, a flustered mess.

“You don’t have-”

“I’ve never wanted anyone like you.” You look away nervously, slipping back on your jacket, his cum is hot and sticky and dripping, a feeling you’ve never had before, so intimate you can hardly think properly as he says your name, earning your look, he leans over the center console, long fingers fixing your hair carefully. “Where do we go to sleep tonight? I want to hold you.”

“You do?” He nods, swallowing nervously.

“I can get us a suite, or we can go to my room and snuggle in the twin.” You giggle, shaking your head.

“My room, you haven’t been there in years.” He nods then, and soon the two of you are sneaking in your house, tiptoeing like a couple teenagers, it reminds you of all the nights he used to come sleep over, or when you did, those nights you’d try to drop your hints to your oblivious bestie.

“Will your parents get mad?” He teases, earning your shush as you two head up the stairs, your fingers on your lips.

“They might get very mad, bringing a boy home,” your whisper almost ends him, your fingers now entwined as he follows you, feeling like he’s in a dream again, especially when you open your door, and he sees your room. “It’s the same, too.”

“Shit…” He takes it all in, the Sailor Moon posters all over, pictures decorating a corkboard with little fairy lights, the same white daybed and dresser he always remembers you having. A fluffy rainbow rug that screams you back in high school, little Hello Kitty plushies all along your mattress. “God, nothing changed.”

“No, it’s temporary living here, so. I just got rid of my old clothes though, this ass isn’t getting in those jeans.” He snorts at you, gripping your ass then and making you gasp.

“Yeah, no one is complaining about that, though it was always nice. I know, I studied it carefully.”

“Oh, did you?” You look back at him, while he eyes your reflection in your mirror, and then sees his pictures in the corners, swallowing nervously as he reaches over, brushing his fingers against them.

“You had these on your mirror? You didn’t… take them down when you moved back home?” His voice is hoarse, but you shake your head, leaning over to take off your earrings, feeling the tension in him behind you as you bend over, slipping off your bracelets now, they clink as they hit your little glass tray.

“Why would I? I always missed you.” You hate the emotion in your voice, you try to hide it but fail, as he walks to the corkboard, seeing the endless pictures of the two of you together.

He notices you had other pictures of friends, but Satoru was front and center, braces and glasses next to you - a fucking bombshell in a cheerleader outfit. “You wanted that, huh?” He tenses when you smack his arm, hard.

“Don’t talk shit about him.”

“Him?”

You sigh, walking back over to the dresser now, hands brushing the vintage chalk painted wood softly. “It’s hard to connect you two, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he touches that cheerleader picture of you now, smiling. “You were always such a perky little thing.”

“Perky huh? I don’t feel perky lately.” You mumble a bit, taking off your heels now, when he walks back toward you.

“You’ve been through a lot.” His voice is a husky caress, brushing your hair to the side now, his hands slipping across your bare skin. “And I wasn’t here.”

“You didn’t even know.” Your eyes catch his reflection of him towering over you, so different from the lanky boy you took selfies with in this very mirror, throwing peace signs and laughing. Now he is grown, buff and so huge behind you, self sure hands dancing across your shoulder blades.

“I should have known. I don’t know how you forgive it all,” he sighs, arm wrapping around your waist now, resting his chin on top of your head. “I am sorry you went through it alone.”

You swipe away tears, it feels so perfect in his arms, you want to forget anything that’s coming when tomorrow is the last night with him. “Unzip me?”

He pauses at your whisper, swallowing nervously. At this point he’s seen most of your body, just not fully, the full picture of you. He unzips you slowly, exposing the smooth expanse of your back inch by inch, sighing as more and more of your skin is revealed, down to those dimples on your back. The backs of his fingers brush against your spine, raising goosebumps as they do.

Your eyes lock again, as you let the dress fall to your feet, and Satoru sees your breasts bounce just slightly as the dress falls, and you step out of it, naked for his hungry gaze. He moans softly, slipping his hands up the curves of your body, the sides of your breasts, squishing them in his huge hands in the mirror, making you gasp, your head falling back against his chest.

“God you’re beautiful,” his words have you flustered, his devoted touches, the way his eyes devour you. “Always have been.”

“Toru…”

“Shh.” He steps back, slipping up his sweater, revealing the thick, corded muscles of his arms, the cuts and lines of his perfect abdomen, the lines of his ribs in your softly lit room, reflecting warm light across the planes of it. You have seen most of him, but when he’s down to his boxers, and you’re about to turn, he halts you. “Keep looking at your pretty face.”

You’re overheated again, when he’s on his knees suddenly, grabbing your ass and yanking it to his face. “Ah!”

“Gonna wake your parents, shh.” He teases, chuckling as he laps at your slit, tip of his tongue sliding from your little clit along your slit, up to your ass, filthy licks and sucks, drinking all his cum out of your hole. You can hardly stand it, arching back against him, seeing your flushed, fucked out face in the mirror as he fucking hums against you.

“Mmm!” You cover your mouth with one hand, leaning over the dresser while he worships your cunt far too thoroughly, slurping sounds as he laps up all the remnants of the load he’d busted, mixing with your sweet arousal gushing. You can’t help but move against his face, feeling his chin press against your clit as his tongue fucks your hole deliciously.

His sounds are ridiculous, only making you wetter, reaching around to grip his hair, eyes rolling back at how good his face feels gliding against your cunt. “Mmm, fuck my face, yes baby,” he’s whispering, hands wrapping your thighs as you arch for him. “Keep looking.”

“C-can’t see… mnh…” You’re done for, vision blackening as he curls that wet muscle up in your walls, which quiver as he drags you further on his face, having you cum, screaming your orgasm into your palm weakly. “T-Toru!”

“Mmm,” he’s sucking each lip with a suctioned pop, coated all over his face in your slick, pressing little kisses as he watches you quiver, feels your legs giving out damn near. He finally stands, lifting one of your knees up over your dresser, the other is dangling hopelessly. “I got you.”

“You’re insane!” He’s just chuckling softly, reaching around to wrap one arm under your breasts, the other around your neck, turning your chin to face the reflection once more.

“Look at yourself,” his whisper tickles your ear, his cock slipping inside you, your eyes threaten to flutter shut, so he squeezes your throat. “Look, baby, look at your beautiful fucking face, how good you’re taking me.”

“Toru…”

“Look,” he orders again, shoving his cock up inside you, your eyes catch sight of your blurry reflection, whining out softly and bracing a hand on the mirror, touching the cool glass as you see your fucked out face. “Beautiful, say it.”

“Mmm…” you’re too lost in pleasure to speak, back arching for more of his cock, when he stretches you back out, moaning behind you, slamming up inside you so hard you fucking fall, but he’s just holding you there, arms wrapped, slamming his cock inside again as your hands grip the dresser for some sense of balance. “Satoru!? You can’t just hold me in the air!”

“Sure can, what you scared baby? I got you.” He grins like a psycho now, burying his face against your neck as he fucks into you from the back, your thighs pressing together as you lose yourself completely.

“Put me down, shit,” you’re freaking out being manhandled by this huge man, he laughs softly, placing you down on your bed, it creaks under his heavy weight, he leans over you then, lifting your thigh and laughing again. “You’re so psycho, Hollywood has you insane!?”

“Not used to being tossed around?” He murmurs now, all conceited, but he’s also sweet as he lifts your thigh again, pressing his cock into you as you catch your breath, arms wrapping his neck, fingers carding through his hair.

“Cobwebs and bats.” You whisper teasingly, he moans then, pressing a kiss along your cheek, forehead, your eyes that flutter shut, watching you whine out, back arching up.

“Feel okay, too sore?” He murmurs softly, attentive in his study as you hiss just a bit.

“I’m good, I want this,” he exhales as your words reassure him, and the two of you lose yourself in the bed. He's slow and gentle this time, so the bed doesn’t make the most obnoxious noises. “I want you.”

“I want you.” His fingers entwine, and your eyes lock together when he brings you there again, the intimacy of the moment is so much it’s beautiful then, a mix of filthy and wanton but also beautiful. He’s beautiful, over you, sinking so deep, his lips and fingers anywhere they can reach. “Wanna fill you again.”

“Want you to fill me.” He moans, filling your cunt to the brim again, pulsing so deep inside you as your walls spasm around him, like she’s milking him for all he’s got, while he loses himself in you.

Your scent, your taste, the feel of you, all his senses consumed - your beauty, your sounds, your pulse thudding quickly under his thumb as he pins your wrists up over your head, continuing to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You’re sobbing quietly from your orgasms, your mouth quivering as it meets his every kiss, in the quiet of your room scattered with memories of you both.

When he finally pulls out he’s littering your body with kisses, little apologies whispered everywhere he sees a mark, as if he’s not more than happy to leave marks, little bites all over your collarbone, finger marks bruising your thighs. He hates how good it makes him feel, that if someone came near you they would know you’re his.

Are you his?

The reality is trying to crash into his mind, to sober the beautiful moment, you’re brushing his hair back and he looks up to see they’re fucking with you too.

“I still have the yearbook,” you say softly, he sighs now, sitting up and pulling you to sit with him. “What you wrote? It was beautiful.”

“I remember every word,” he says softly, pulling you against his chest. “I want to be in our own little world, just me and you.”

“Y-yes.” Your tears brush against his neck as the fan overhead tries to cool you both down unsuccessfully. “You said you loved me.”

“I know.”

“Then you said… you didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” He sighs, cupping your face, swallowing with a dry throat, seeing your eyes that night in his head. “I was so embarrassed, I was so scared, but I never let you know - I meant them all. Every word then.”

Was it high school love? Puppy love? - Your mind races, wondering where the two of you stand.

Was this just a beautiful night? Was this another snow globe of you two, about to get shaken up with reality?

There is a knock at the door then, and you quickly dress, Satoru laughs softly as you shove a blanket over him when he throws on his boxers. You walk over to the door, and it’s your mom. “Mom… hey?”

“Oh, Satoru is…” She clears her throat now, when Satoru awkwardly waves, then looks back at you, and you blush furiously. “I thought you were… upset?”

“No, no. Not upset.”

“Well this is awkward.”

“Yep!” Your mom laughs softly, concern lacing her gaze with equal amounts of awkwardness, brushing a lock of your hair back.

“We didn’t know he came to stay too. Satoru, you need some clothes?”

“Yes please?” She heads out and you exhale, covering your face when Satoru chuckles. “You’re twenty six.”

“I know!? But still!” You soon bring him a pair of your dad’s clothes, luckily he’s pretty tall so they decently fit, though the shirt is almost a crop top, making you giggle as you see it. “Now this would be hot as a magazine cover.”

The words are lighthearted, but the deeper reality sets in. He takes the shirt off, smiling a bit. “The pants work.”

“Perfect.” Soon you’re in his arms, the second night in a row.

Was this a beautiful memory?

If you could, you’d stay there forever.

“What time do you leave?” You ask softly, looking back now, his eyes glint in the dark, moonlight streaming in gently.

“I won’t know yet, but it will not be forever. My schedule is super flexible, and I have plenty of money. It's not like I can’t get right on a plane.” Your lips falter a bit. You teach part time, work at the bar part time, in search of a better opportunity for now.

But how would you fit in his life, and would he really want you to when he goes back home?

“Sweetheart, I swear I won’t just disappear.” You put on a smile, kissing him and letting him hold you.

“My feet are cold,” you tease, he chuckles then, tugging you against him, wrapping a leg around you and letting you put your feet on his legs then. “That was what I was going for.”

“You really do have cold feet, ah.” You giggle again, the feeling far, far too perfect, but the gnawing ache in your heart won’t go away.

Would he want you when he went back to the glamour?

You drift to sleep, and Satoru hears your heavy breaths, dreading the moment he had to remove himself from this day bed too damn small for him, the peace and perfection of holding you in his arms. He gently recites the words he wrote all those years ago in your yearbook, stroking your hair like it’s a little bedtime story, until he drifts next to you.

The room is peaceful and quiet as different versions of Satoru and you coexist, smiling pictures of your childhood, awkward middle school photos, high school ones where you can clearly see the changes, and now the two of you - adults. Different worlds, holding each other in the night, not wanting to let go.

I got so into this one I rly hope you all enjoyed it :')

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swordgrace · 1 month ago

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❝ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐩. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: spending a gentle morning with your boyfriend, bucky barnes.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bucky barnes x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), established relationship, post-thunderbolts bucky, lots of fluff, soft!bucky, making out, thigh-grabbing, bucky is a little flirt, morning sex, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, female orgasm.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: so this is my first time writing for bucky despite being obsessed with him for 10+ years (please be gentle & feedback would be really appreciated!) I typically write him as more soft & a service top instead of rough, so hopefully this doesn’t turn people off. anyway, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Before the sun splits through a violet twilight, cresting over darkness and into dawn, Bucky is wide awake, smoothing one palm over his grizzled countenance.

It’s too early; though, it’s become something of a normality for him, waking up before the first light of daybreak. Muscles ache with the heaviness of sleep, coiled into knots, still echoing with soreness from a mission days ago.

A five o’clock shadow clings to his jaw, brunette tresses longer, bedraggled by slumber. A shallow exhale simpers from his lungs, slow and steady, something that grounds him to his surroundings.

Save for the pale glow of the light glittering above the headboard, his room is shrouded by an inky black, bathroom door left ajar.

Peering through the dim illumination, his gaze searches for you, back turned to him, swaddled in the comforter; leaving only a sliver for him. A soft huff splits past his lips, knowing that you can’t sleep unless you’ve got a blanket.

Even when the temperature gets sweltering and summertime swings through with a vicious humidity, you’re typically bundled in the sheets, covered, unwilling to go without it. He’s conceded to sleeping with a fourth of the blanket.

A low noise reverberates through your body, swallowed whole by the pillow as you turn, comforter tucked to your collar, now facing him.

Scrunched with slumber, you’re still sound asleep, curled comfortably beside the pillow. You’re huddled tightly beneath the blanket, a tangle of limbs, warm to the touch.

Ritualistic, Bucky’s often ogling you each morning, mapping out every detail that rests within your countenance, finding beauty in everything. Every time the sun comes up, he’s searching for you, drinking you in again and again.

You’re the first thing he sees when dawn splits dusk — the best thing he sees.

You only get prettier with each passing morning, with every sunrise, prompting his heart to gallop beneath his sternum, unable to smother his smile.

If someone told him years ago that he would’ve ended up with you, he would’ve scoffed at the notion; unlovable, unworthy — he’d changed his outlook drastically.

There’s something inherently soft about your relationship — pure, clean, built on a foundation of mutual trust and protection. Bucky never experienced soft, save for the forties; now, he was able to rest.

Unconsciously, you stir, crawling closer until your body wedges into his arm, flesh and blood, bicep firm as he adjusts, bringing you against his side. Still muddled by the haze of sleep, you exhale, cheek pressed into his shoulder.

He smooths a feather-light kiss to your crown, gaze drifting toward the ceiling; nondescript, too modern. The massive undertaking of renovating the former Avengers Tower was met with mild resistance from the team — plenty of needless additions, too.

The training room is entirely too large for how many people live in the tower — a meager seven, unless Valentina intended on recruiting. There’s buttons on the sofa in the common lounge, and he’s still uncertain of what they do.

Sometimes, it all feels too new, too sprawling — he’s always enjoyed the simpler things in life, the rustic and the unappealing.

Hushed, Bucky steals another glance, gaze fluttering over your visage, over the strands of loose tresses that stick to your temples. He sweeps them aside, vibranium arm a kiss of ice to your warm skin.

Slowly, he begins to shuffle, gently easing you aside and into the pillow, muscles stiff as he rolls to perch along the edge of your bed.

Dawn unfurls somewhere beyond the horizon, tendrils of muted orange whispering through the eventide. A soft groan slips from his lips, body still recuperating from a mission days ago, bruises bone-deep.

Early to rise before anyone else, he stretches, reaching for a black undershirt, dog tags sparkling through slivers of light. Tugging the fabric over his head, he trails toward your bathroom, making for the sink.

Palms splay flat over smooth granite, mirror revealing a rugged countenance, tresses disheveled. A tangle of scars lay where vibranium kissed flesh — old wounds, old memories interlaced into his skin.

Formed by him attempting to claw at the metal, they were a remnant of a ghost, a spectre he’d left behind. It was the piece of him that had healed entirely, leaving behind mere wisps — Bucky wasn’t him anymore.

The Winter Soldier was no more, only present in a name, a stranger left within the recesses of his mind; lingering still, no longer important.

Nightmares still nipped at his heels, less intense than they used to be, but still prevalent. There’s brighter days ahead when you’re around, presence comforting, able to soothe him without effort.

Screwing the knob of the sink, a rush of cold water tumbles from the spout, filling the basin with icy liquid. Dipping his vibranium hand beneath, he splashes a barrage of water against his face, a brief shock to the system, cooling over warm skin.

Droplets of water rolled over his chin as he scooped another handful into his mouth, allowing it to soothe his dry throat. A comfortable hush echoes through his room; it’s tranquil.

In the mirror’s reflection, he spots your writhing body, adjusting again, but this time, you’re awake. Through furrowed brows and mild confusion, you’re humming, limbs uncoiling, searching for Bucky.

“Bucky?” Through a barely-audible murmur, you notice the empty space beside you, indent still warm where a body once lay. With a low groan, you sit up, groggy as you blink to try and rid yourself of the sleep-induced haze.

Lingering in the doorway, Bucky makes himself known, bathed in blanched light from the bathroom, as if he’s caught in some glow. “Morning.” He drawls, his smile lilting into something lopsided, warm.

With a smile, you rub at your eyes, peering toward your phone, the time flashing up at you. It’s only ten-past-six, typically too early for you, but not for him. “Hi,” Wiping the blur from your sight, you shuffle beneath the comforter. “You okay?”

Bucky nods, reassuring as he dries off his metallic hand with a towel, watching you as if you’re the center of everything; you are. “Early riser,” He muses, head tilting to one side. “You can go back to bed.” He assures.

“I’m awake now,” You protest, squinting as you allow yourself a moment to adjust. Sleep’s thick fog still clouds your mind like a haze of steam, prompting you to stretch out your arms. “I might as well stay up.”

Through a half-sleepy smile, you comb your fingers over your crown, hand dropping to your side as you lay back down. Knowing that Bucky is up and will continue to stay awake prompts you to do the same, hands folding over your abdomen.

With a soft chuckle, he turns, tossing the towel back onto the rungs before crossing the threshold to your bed, sinking back down beside you. The black undershirt and silvery gleam of his dog tags is a good look for him — he’s handsome.

Swiveling around, you turn to face him, tucking one arm beneath your head, a smile still curling at the corners of your mouth. Instead of saying anything, you’re gawking, ogling him as if he’s the center of your universe.

Bucky can feel your gaze on him, and he turns, brows slightly furrowed, a half-smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What’s wrong?” He rumbles, softening at the sight of you.

You’re breathtaking, exhilarating; he still can’t believe that you’re with him after all this time, steadfastly by his side. He feels your hand trace over his bicep, leaving fire in your wake, prompting him to inhale.

“Nothing, just … You’re pretty,” The tender cadence of your remark evokes a chuckle from him, nose briefly wrinkling, brows furrowing. “I’m being serious.” You assert, cheek nudging over his shoulder.

“I know,” Bucky counters, rolling over on his side to mimic your position, cool vibranium brushing over the exposed flesh of your hip. A metal thumb caresses circles over your hipbone, enough to make your breath catch. “Supposed to be telling you that.”

Ardor oozes from his gaze, cerulean hues traveling over the delicate slope of your jaw, across your body, which happens to be clad in one of his shirts. After being The Winter Soldier for a lifetime, Bucky has become exceedingly gentle.

Being callous, cruel, rough; it isn’t ingrained into his codex anymore, he doesn’t want it to be. Your presence evokes the gentler feelings, ones that he prefers to let guide him over anything else.

“We can tell each other,” You level with him, fingertips snaring over his dog-tags, nail tracing over the indents on the metal. “Did you sleep well, at least?” A tender hush wraps around your cadence, a soothing lull.

Bucky huffs, a light smile toying at the corners of his mouth, metallic digits still circling your skin. Gooseflesh spawns in the wake of his touch, spreading like wildfire across your spine.

“Yeah,” He muses, unable to peel his eyes away from you, gaze softening whenever you smile. Rest is better with you around — he feels safe, more aware of his surroundings. “Did you? Sorry for waking you up.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you’re dismissive of his apology, digits gliding toward the collar of his undershirt. The constant touching is assuring to Bucky, something grounding. “Don’t be sorry. This is nice, being up together.”

Optimism has always been your strongest attribute, and he concedes, finding contentment in the smaller moments like these. “It is,” He hums in agreement, metal fingers smoothing over your waist. “You’re so beautiful.”

A scoff erupts from your mouth, as if he’s said something outlandish. “I think you’re still asleep or something,” You tease, feeling rather disheveled, undeserving of his compliment. “Like this, all messy from sleeping?”

Bucky’s brows momentarily furrow, mouth agape to make room for a quizzical chuckle. “Exactly like this,” Insistent, he takes a swipe at your brief moment of self-deprecation, dismantling it with ease. “You’re always beautiful.”

A droning groan slips past your mouth as you descend against the mattress, sprawling out, limbs somewhat untangled from the comforter. “Thank you.” Through a soft mumble, you feel your skin crawl with a constant warmth.

Biting back a grin, he shifts closer, propped up on his side, vibranium palm kissing your thigh, a burst of lce to your flesh. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” He murmurs, tone droning at a husky octave. “Getting shy on me?” He’s teasing you, now.

“Bucky,” In a feeble attempt to counteract him, your knee nudges against his abdomen, but he isn’t going anywhere. “No, just … You’re really sweet.” You mumble, staving off the bite of embarrassment.

“Hm,” Bucky clicks his tongue, a hint of amusement swirling within his eyes. “Sweet, huh?” The pitch of his voice is disarmingly gentle, stirring embers within the pit of your stomach.

Adjusting your leg, your knee sits over his waist, brushing against the fabric of his undershirt. “Very,” You muse, and the flustered feeling begins to dissipate, replaced by elation. “You can’t keep up the tough act with me.”

A ribbing scoff escapes him, faux disbelief creeping over his countenance. He’s so handsome that it hurts, stinging your chest, rousing butterflies within your belly. “Who says that I am?” He remarks, inching closer to you, the distance growing slim.

With a wrinkled nose, your mouth grows into a beam, melting beneath his gaze. He oozes with an effortless charm, one that’s drastically improved since the beginning of your relationship.

Warm fingertips card over your temples, stretching into your hairline as he partially hovers above you, head cocked to one side. You’re mesmerizing, he’s mesmerizing; you’re both awestruck.

He’s gazing at you, hues shamelessly flickering between your doe-eyed stare and the soft curve of your lips. Bucky finds a purpose, a semblance of tranquility within your heart.

The sensation of your palm pressing against his chest barely registers, lost within a labyrinth of you, fingertips roaming over your crown. Your hand sits soundly above his collar, over an old, steady heartbeat — he’s at peace.

Digits climb toward his collar, tracing the metallic chain of his dog-tags, higher still, until you reach the shadowed scruff that covers his jaw.

Bucky exhales, a contented noise that drags through his chest, steady and sure, throat bobbing as he swallows. The quiet is kind — it’s one that he allows himself to settle into, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Words aren’t exchanged, bleeding into the kiss he plants against your lips, nose brushing against yours. A hitch forms within the bottom of your throat, hand splaying over his jaw, involuntarily keening into his touch.

Vibranium tenses over your thigh, cradling, thumb drawing slow circles over the pliant muscle. The sensation is enough to make you quiver with exhilaration, lost within the labyrinth of his lips.

Something incendiary lingers within his kiss, a subdued restraint that he clings to, and you can feel it, too. He savors the feeling, fingertips ghosting along your cheek until he’s cupping your jaw.

With a soft sigh, you’re turning into him, chest brushing against his, other hand drifting to grasp at his bicep. Through a momentary gap, you exhale, warm breath pluming over his lips before you resume the kiss.

Mouths tangle into one another, deepening when he presses closer, slotting a muscled thigh between your legs. Another shiver rolls down your spine, digits tensing over his arm, heart hammering beneath your breast.

He’s deliberate, attentive; Bucky kisses you as if you’re the center of everything, tender as it stretches on for several moments. Kisses edge with something desirous, and you withdraw to catch your breath, visibly smitten.

Your head descends against the pillow, fingers flexing near the nape of his neck, toying with the brunette tresses there. “Could you wake me up like this every morning?” You mumble, lips curling into a smile.

Bucky huffs, mirroring your countenance as his hand still caresses over your leg, beginning to slip towards your hip. “All you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.” He affirms, still close to you.

The affectionate nickname fills you with a thinly-veiled delight, eyelashes kissing the skin beneath your eyes. “Noted.” With a gentle hum, you’re wanting to kiss him again.

“I have something else in-mind, if you’re willing.” Bucky chimes, cadence husky, curling around you like some pleasant haze. He kisses your jaw as if to hint at what he wants; you’re more than willing.

“Enlighten me.” Breathless, you’re attempting to pass as collected, calm, but when icy metal begins to tease the waistband of your shorts, your resolve wavers. His lips travel over the slope of your jaw, sluggish, as if he’s exploring.

Slivers of orange crest the horizon, fracturing dusk with pooling light. It’s still early, early enough for the both of you to hide within the shadows for a little while longer, before everyone else stirs.

Bucky shifts, now positioned between your legs, musculature taking up a decent amount of space. A sigh bubbles within your throat, hands clamoring to perch atop his shoulders.

His mouth works at you still, drifting from your jaw to the silky expanse of your throat, scruffy beard scratching pleasantly against your skin. A delighted half-whine splits your diaphragm, flesh burning with a newfound heat.

“Bucky …” A throaty moan floats from your lips, feeling his fingers curl into the hem of your shirt, gently easing it up towards your chest. Brisk air drifts over your exposed skin, gooseflesh erupting in its wake.

Each kiss makes you feel weightless, as if your bones have turned to molten liquid, stomach churning with anticipation.

After another string of kisses brand your throat, he descends, mouth ghosting below your breasts. His visage prickled over your ribs, sending a brief shiver of anticipation through you.

Cerulean hues flicker toward your face, vibranium hand pressed firm to the mattress, hovering beside your waist. Lips peppered themselves across your stomach, traveling to your hipbones before ascending again, a lackadaisical pattern.

Every kiss possessed meaning, a fervent love for you, etched into your skin as his mouth feathered across your lower stomach. He only came to a crawl when he found your waistband, stealing a glance at you.

“This okay?” Bucky inquired, tone a mere purr, husky as warm breath fanned over your abdomen. “It’s been awhile.” He wanted to taste you again, have you writhing against his tongue; he couldn’t help himself.

With an eager nod, you kept your legs parted, shivering when cool metal toyed with the elastic of your undergarments. “Yes,” You huffed, feeling his lips twitch into a smile. “Bucky, please.”

Unwilling to deny you, he nodded, hands curling into the soft cotton of your shorts and panties, easing them down your legs. Knuckles brush over your thighs, calves, until he’s discarding them near the foot of your bed.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Bucky sighs, reverent as he plants a kiss against the inside of your knee. Your breath hitches, words dissolving to ash in your mouth as he kisses a trail toward your thigh.

A familiar heat pools within your belly, arousal coalescing between your legs, thighs shifting together to relieve a sliver of tension. He continues, hunger stirring within him, ravenous.

Careworn palms caressed circles into your thighs, dragging from your haunches toward your knees, and then back again. Sweet kisses buried themselves along soft skin, inching closer toward the slick warmth of your cunt.

He’s methodical, intimate; there isn’t a need to rush into anything, which you’re thankful for. Instead, you savor his lips as they plume over the inside of your thigh, visage marked by a rugged scruff.

Bucky lowers, prone atop the mattress, threading your legs over his broad shoulders. Metal graces the swell of your hip, holding steadfastly as his other hand caresses your thigh.

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he raked hot embers over your core, hands steadying you, eager to please without an ounce of hesitation.

The unexpected surge of pleasure washed over you in an instant, stomach coiled into a knot of tension, mouth slack to make room for a moan. One hand flew to his crown, carding through brunette waves, urging him closer.

“Bucky,” A blissful whine flutters from your lips, goosebumps traveling over your body. He’s too good at pleasing you, and if you let him, he would’ve stayed buried between your thighs for an eternity. “Feels so good.”

A ripple of satisfaction blisters through him, coupled with his own want, but he’s able to put it aside, content to focus on you. He presses a string of kisses to your cunt before alternating with flat strokes of his tongue.

Lurching forward, your hips jolted, urging yourself onto his mouth with a twinge of desperation. His tongue continued to greedily lap at your slit, briefly teasing your entrance.

The tip of his nose brushes along your petals, tongue splitting deeper still, until he vigorously laps at your core. Your taste permeates his mouth, a bittersweet ambrosia that draws him into some wanton haze.

Thighs twitch, tense on either side of his head, not that he minds. Bucky is exceedingly tender with you, savoring your body, vibranium hand soothingly rubbing along your hip.

He can’t get enough, akin to a man drinking greedily from a desert oasis, chin steeped in your arousal. The shadow of his beard scratched against your supple flesh, leaving behind a prickling burn in its wake.

That taut heat within your stomach had been wound so tight, like a coil threatening to snap in two. His mouth was voracious, lapping and kissing wherever he pleased, pinning your hips down whenever you squirmed.

Fingertips perused through his tresses, gripping snugly near the base of his skull, back arched from the mattress. “B—Bucky, please!” A delighted moan rippled through your diaphragm, sending pleasant shivers through his spine.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. A sharp groan blossoms throughout his sternum as you incessantly tug upon his dark locks, urging him closer.

Bucky turns, mouth sealing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh, metal palm kneading into your hip, drawing circles near your pelvis. Through a shadowed stare, he watches your face as it contorts with bliss.

His mouth hotly returns to your cunt, tongue stroking over your core, splitting past your folds. Oozing heat, he trails his lips toward your clit, pressing a lingering kiss over the sensitive clutch of nerves.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly exploded, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Hips surge forward, jolting into the greedy heat of his mouth, and he happily treats you to incessant barrages of his tongue. Shockwaves of pleasure strike at your belly with each stroke.

Absentmindedly, your hand darts to clasp over his vibranium one, chest tight with a flurry of excitement. The gesture is enough to make him shudder, and he continues, ministrations wrought with vigor.

Slurred cries of ecstasy slip past your lips, back arched, keening into any sliver of friction he offers. Your body was wound into knots, and you felt yourself being pushed towards the precipice of your release.

As his lips rolled over your clit again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, content to lap at your core, the sweetest agony of all.

“Close,” You huff, doing little to mask your cacophony of pleasure, moaning his name as if it’s all you know. Bucky indulges you without any hesitation, mouth pursing around your clit. “T—There, right there.”

A low groan stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about teasing your clit, suckling on the bundle of nerves. A spasm passed through you, mouth slack, desperate moans leaving you in droves.

He doesn’t stop nor change pace, metal thumb stroking beside your wrist, the other hand clutching at your haunch. Bucky drags you close, flush, mouth buried against your cunt with such rapture.

Bucky gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his brunette locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

“Come on, sweetheart,” His voice emerges as a husky lull from between your legs, pulling a whimper from your diaphragm. “I’ve got you.” He soothes, tone wrought with a warming tenderness.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Another cry of his name falls from your mouth, affectionate.

Without relenting, Bucky continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth. Pleasure washed over you in feverish ripples.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. Another drawn-out moan crescendoed from your lips, visage contorted into sheer bliss, hand loosing from his hair.

Bucky slowed, lavishing kisses to your cunt as you shivered, body awash with a burning ecstasy. Spots still floated behind your eyes, heart hammering within your chest, blissed-out.

Withdrawing, he pressed a string of kisses over your inner thighs, which still twitched from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Planting another kiss to the crook of your knee, he sat back, chin glistening with your slick.

Left to recuperate, you were hot, as if you were bitten by a fever. Smitten, you searched for your panties, rubbing at the back of your neck. “That was amazing.” You sighed, as if it were the first time all over again.

Dragging his tongue over his bottom lip, Bucky ran a hand over his chin, a charming smile molding to his features. “I’d be worried if it was anything but.” He remarks, a hint of confident charm creeping in.

Before the ice, before the fall, Bucky was renowned for having a suave, gallant demeanor. He had it still, relearning what it all meant, and he enjoyed making you flustered.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Barnes.” You mumble, lashes fluttering as he wordlessly slips your panties back on, letting you tug them the rest of the way.

Daybreak slips through the windows, an ember-orange that slivers over your shared bed, painting him in some euphoric glow.

Bucky slinks forward again, wedged between your legs, vibranium hand firm atop the pillow. “Am I?” His smile warms your insides, and he exhales when your fingers find his face, cradling his jaw within your hands.

Hushed, he bends to kiss you, a gentle action threaded with heat. The kiss is clean, passionate — he handles you with care, and you make sure to do the same; it’s what he deserves.

“A little bit,” Mesmerized, you reciprocate his kiss, clinging to him like an anchor, foreheads dipping to brush against one another. When dawn strikes you both, your nose wrinkles. “Good morning, Bucky.”

“Morning.” He murmurs, lips stilling as he plants a kiss over your jaw. He gazes at you with ardor, and he knows that with every sunrise, he loves you just a little more.

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