#how to clean inside windows
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How to Clean Inside Windows and Avoid Streaks
Cleaning the windows inside your home, office, medical centre or business is a crucial task that not only enhances the appearance of your site but also improves natural light and maintains a healthy indoor environment. By following these detailed step-by-step instructions, you can achieve sparkling clean windows inside your home, ensuring a brighter, more inviting atmosphere for you and your…
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i tought i had bipolar but it might've actually genuinely have been the mold that had coated my windows without me knowing for months on end
#spacie spoinks#bruh#i have blinds so i dont look at my windows that often#and i also had tinfoil on them from when it was summer#and lets just say my windows get very wet when it rains and the moisture comes inside and doesnt#properly....dissipate#so boom. mold covering my windows#i cleaned it all up awhile ago and then mysteriously my symptoms of mental illness vanished#so either#i dont haev bipolar or im in a neutral/hypomanic episode idk its one of them#we'll see how my mental is a few weeks from now lulz
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trying to trip myself into writing so i can get back into the groove i had the other day by just repeating 'steam steam steam steam steam steam steam' to myself and i am unsure that it is working lmao
#just me hi#ykno cuz. uh#i'm.. no it can't be running on steam#i'm on a roll?? which is like. train = steam engine = just steam ??#OH PICK UP STEAM. i need to pick up steam that was it JFkshfjvhsfh#it might be working idk...#i think i just need to have my brain realize that when i pick something back up i am Going to need to delete the 'transitional' paragraphs#ykno like the ones that turn out kind of weird/wonky cuz you couldn't find your exact footing so they gotta be fixed later to smooth em out#those things ! ! sometimes they can be really cool but they Do usually need to be Insanely edited jfjfhjfshf#like one of my faaaavorite wips (which is now lore-inaccurate and has been a wip for over a year now but is still categorized as Active in#my labeling system for the Reasons) has like 2-4 'transitional' paragraphs that are Roughhhhh to Readdddddd but i adore everything after em#so it's totally worth it but blah. blahblahblah. bloo pfbhsf#idk i just gotta figure where the hell i'm going rn.. i have this [holds it up (you can't see it clearly the sun is strategically in the#way)] but i don't know where exactly i want to roll it. we have returned to the train somehow gkfshf#my stories are like a train when you don't know anything about trains actually if you think about it..#like You don't know if they're actually real/still operating You don't know how old they actually are They might be an inconceivable mess#You don't know what/how they're actually fueled (with) You don't know where they are They have these signs but you don't know what for You#can't figure out what might actually be inside The government may be more or less involved than you think There's steam#It's near-impossible to stop them once they get really going Nobody knows who's driving Their system is much more intricate than you think#The building/funding plans are actually insane/nonexistent There's gay people You don't actually know if those tracks are abandoned or just#neglected More to do with detroit somehow than you would think Sometimes people stand outside and just stare at em and these people have th#Secret Knowledge lmfjsvh And they're really inconvenient at Really stupid times (this one's just for me) Jkfshfjs#yea though. i need to write more [turns to stare out window]#i'm also like maybe a 4th done w/ the worldbuilding doc i just get stuck on the Souls part of it every time but i've been cleaning up in#that section a bit so i might work on that some later too :>>#okay i'm gonna sidle off now. wwwoOoeeeoooooooo#:3 !!!
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Baby You're a Star
Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!
Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader
Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC this chap- 11.5k (longestt)
Warnings- WOW this chap has it all, heed the warnings - filming porn masturbation ( m) oral (m and f receiving) spit kink HIGH KEY, mentions of cum, multiple rounds, switching positions, size kink, swallowing (M and F) explicit sex, feral Gojo, squirting, mating press, tummy bulges, lots of fucking goddamn- Gojo is whipped mutual pining, obsessive Gojo. Angsty asf in places, lots of jealousy
A/N- Taglist closed- This was so smut filled I took MULTIPLE breaks aha, maybe my most smut filled one ever? don't read in public actually - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3
<<<Chapter Two - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Four>>>
Chapter Three
You can’t escape the desire you have, even in your dreams.
Waking up cumming was not just new, it was ridiculous, and you didn’t even know that happened until this morning. Waking up with your cunt throbbing around nothing, and gushing arousal, as your dream was filled with Satoru kissing you, fucking into you with that thick, huge cock, hitting spots deep inside that felt real even in your dreams.
That’s it, sweetheart, cum all around my cock, hmm? Lemme feel her- there you go, baby.
That had done too much to your sleeping brain apparently, because you couldn’t stop cumming either, crying out and whining when you’d touched your cunt and felt the slick coating everything. After shaking violently from it, you’d peeked and seen a good morning text from him, all while you had to go get cleaned up, trying to compose yourself before you texted back.
Jenna calls now, shaking you out of your reverie, and the two of you plan lunch the next day. “You’re having dinner with him?”
“Yeah, but as a… friend?”
“Oh baby, you’re too cute.” You sigh, leaning back as you stir up some dough for cookies you were baking later, the sunlight filtering in through the little kitchen window you have open wide. You peer out into the sky, thinking it’s not as pretty as Satoru’s eyes.
“I do really feel things, but Jenna I can’t not be near him, if it’s as a friend, then it’s as a friend.” Jenna sighs louder than you did. “Are we having a sighing contest?”
“I’ll win any loud moan contest, but your sighs are cuter.”
“Jenna!”
You both laugh then, and a beep sounds on your phones. “Ah, looks like he’s going to stream. Gonna go watch your friend?”
“You’re an instigator. Maybe.” She giggles again, as you finish preheating the oven, scooping the dough onto the parchment paper.
“Be careful, you’re a grown woman, and things change, but don’t forget yourself, okay?” You pause then, emotions catching in your throat at her words. “I’m not trying to be the ‘mom’ I swear.”
“I know, Jenna. I love you, see you soon?” You end the call after she says goodbye, popping the cookies in the oven and turning them on. You set up your laptop, deciding to do some work for the weekend on a project your friend hired you for, but the temptation of seeing Satoru keeps nagging at your mind.
The man certainly has a pretty cock, but you think it’s the way he looks at the camera that fucks you up, it’s probably why he’s so good at it, his job. And he clearly enjoyed it, even though you know he was having a little difficulty with the last shoot, perhaps he prefers solo lately? To think you had anything to do with that was foolish, so you wouldn’t allow the thought.
The timer beeps, you stand up and stretch, turning off the timer and oven then, grabbing a bright red oven mitt and pulling out the sheet pan, smelling delectable, the steam hot and rising, scent filling your nostrils. You loved to bake, especially when you were stressed, and you suppose you were, having feelings for a man currently stroking his cock for the camera was conflicting at best.
You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s not feelings, that you’re inexperienced and confused, but you know you’re lying to yourself. You eye that silver laptop again, remembering the last time, the image of him sucking his own cum off his fingers is burned deep, a core memory at this fucking point. You shake it off, then sigh, giving into temptation.
You’d just tip him a hundred again to be supportive, you tip Jenna all the time, it’s fine, it’s something a friend can do.
Right?
You log in to the onlyfans platform, the black and blue OF making you just a bit nervous, clicking on the stream then, taking several breaths as you click on it. Fully prepared to be soaking wet, the sight that greets you is not Satoru stroking his cock, it’s another woman, her thighs spread, while Satoru runs circles on her clit. She’s propped on his lap, her head against his bare collarbones, moaning.
Your heart shatters then, and it shouldn’t, no you’re so stupid!
You are Satoru’s friend, and it was your choice to check his stream, to tip and be supportive but ultimately you know what you potentially signed up for. You saw him with Jenna, and for whatever reason that had not bothered you- maybe because it was before he touched you, looked at you like that.
The girl in front of him has two of his fingers shoved deep as he has her feet propped up on his thighs while you blink away stupid tears that shouldn’t exist, there’s no anger but there’s so much jealousy you shock yourself. You’re a girl’s girl, you’re supportive, what is this!? You’d like to rip her right off his lap, and you hate yourself for it right now.
You shake it off, looking away as the cookies fill your home with the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate. It should be a cheery morning, but you can’t even focus on anything but the conflict in your heart. You stare back again, hearing Satoru’s soft, husky voice, watching all the comments in the chat while he grips one of her breasts in his big hand.
Her head falls forward, and the way you vividly imagine it being you instead has you heating up, in more ways than excitement, embarrassment - you’d never be that girl for him, you wish you could be that way. But Satoru and you together felt too special, especially to share, how could you fall when this was your idea!?
You can’t be upset.
You take a breath, shutting your eyes and looking away as his voice resonates through the laptop’s speakers, echoicing in the quiet. If you were crazy enough you’d say it sounded different than with you, that he let go more, that you were even wetter when he touched you, but you’re starting to think you’re delusional.
“So, we wanna hit this spot right here, for any men watching, you’re gonna curl up here, that spot feels good, doesn’t it honey?” Your jaw sets, swiping tears from under your glasses now.
“Ah, y-yes Gojo!” Her moan echoes too much, he pauses then, the squelching of her cunt stops, it’s all quiet as he just stares at the camera like he’s staring at you, his lips parted, eyes widening just a bit, but there’s no way.
You’ve lost it.
You tip him the hundred as you’d intended to, quickly shutting your laptop and damn near hyperventilating. What’s wrong with you!? His job is to fuck women, so you saw him touching one, what do you expect? The man had a gang bang scene just yesterday, and dinner with you tonight. You have to shove it all down then, you have to remember what he does.
It didn’t mean it wasn’t special though, for you.
Did he do things off camera with-
Stop it!
The phone rings a few minutes later and you just stare at it, lost in your own head, wishing you could compartmentalize it so much better, that you could separate the two. You were so stupid for engaging and knowing, but at the same time, to not have Satoru seems like something you can’t compute, even if it is just as a friend, even if you can’t be sexual.
Maybe you read it all wrong, that night.
Satoru calls again, shaking out his hand as his co star is now fucking herself quite expertly on a dildo, since Satoru can’t get hard for anything - it’s worse today than yesterday - he decided to turn it into a guided masturbation video. At least his fucking fingers still work, despite jerking off to you so much his cock is raw, remembering your lips surrounding it.
Even fingering her he’s picturing your pussy, fuck he wants to just bury his face in it again, he knows the two of you are ‘friends’ or whatever the fuck this was, but it’s exceedingly difficult when it’s affecting him like this. He keeps wondering if you all sleep together, will it make it worse or better? Was he all in his head, as if you would go for someone like him if he did date.
What was he thinking lately?
He saw your name in the stream and his stomach had dropped - and why, you’re just a friend, it was fine if you wanted to see a bit of a stream and tip, he knows it is to be supportive. You’re supportive and sweet, so sweet, god your taste and scent still haunt him, he’s been dying to see you tonight, in any capacity, but when he saw the name he felt awful.
He only wants to fuck you, touch you, but he has a career and commitments, to get her to agree to this instead of fucking was already difficult and he was slowly losing it as his cock kept refusing to work. Even if he could get it up, he didn’t like the idea of fucking someone else at all, after the debacle of a gang bang yesterday. But even touching someone was doing nothing for him.
Now he saw you leave so quickly, and decided to gently smack his co star’s ass, smiling as he bent her over, murmuring he needs a break. She eagerly took over the spotlight, the opportunity was a huge one for her anyway as a smaller star. Satoru keeps staring at your picture, sighing as he notices the little reflections in your glasses, touching the screen softly.
You saw him touching someone, did you care, did it bother you-
Why is he thinking like this!?
He calls again, and you answer, much to his relief, as his hands let go of the bathroom counter he’d gripped too tightly. “Hey Satoru, sorry I popped in, I thought it was um… you…”
“Jerking off?” He finishes the sentence, leaning back against his wall and shutting his eyes.
“Yeah, I didn’t know you did um… shoots at home. You should get back to it, why are you calling me, silly? Looks like um… you were, ah… doing… good.” You’re breaking out every voice, cursing yourself quietly, why can’t you just speak? You’re shoving it all down, trying not to cry - there’s no reason to!
“Ah, yeah I thought I’d try to teach people how to make women cum, they fail often you know.” He tries to make it light, as his stomach clenches, a sick feeling when he hears your forced laugh.
“That’s very true. Someone should give you a Nobel prize for this work.” He snorts then, as the laughter becomes a little more genuine. “No you’re amazing at that. Why not show them how?”
“You thought I was amazing, hmm?” His tone changes, cock throbbing when he just hears your sigh, picturing you vividly in his mind, while the sounds of his co-star echo, moans and squelching wetness that does nothing for him.
Didn’t he used to enjoy all of this?
“You know I thought that.” Your heart pounds, you have to remember, Satoru is amazing and just because you’re hurt, you can’t be mad or upset at him. He’s not yours in any way, even if you’re starting to wish he was. “Isn’t your co-star waiting?”
“She’s occupying herself fine. It’s not… sex…” Because I can’t get hard unless it’s you. “It’s just a tutorial.”
“Oh,” your relief shouldn’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but to hear that does make you slump over just a bit, before taking a breath. “Do you want to do dinner another day, it’s already four-”
“No, no!” Satoru panics then, since when does smooth pornstar Satoru freak the fuck out and act desperate? “I mean, no. I want to see you tonight. I have time to shower and get there.”
He wants to wash any of this girl off, frantically actually, he wants you all over him, even if it’s just him pleasing you more. But moreso, even if you just wanted to have dinner and that was it, he’d be happy, though the thought of fucking you with his fingers while you eat dessert is insanely tempting, making his tip drool precum quite annoyingly as he glares in the mirror.
“Okay good, I was looking forward to it.” Your whisper is soft and genuine, as he sees the red on his cheeks, the black pupils, just thinking of you shifts his entire face.
Fuck.
“I’ll start getting ready, I think it’s time you see I can get dressed up.” You tease softly, swiping stupid tears and trying to plaster a bright smile on your face as you stare in your mirror. Your eyes are puffy, the color drained from your face, lips trembling - just seeing that has affected your entire face, taking off your glasses so you don’t even have to look at yourself for a moment.
“I bet you’re gonna kill me, you look so pretty any time I see you,” his voice is hoarse, as he spills the vulnerable truth, and the two of you shut your eyes, leaning against your bathroom counters. “But I’m excited to see you dolled up.”
“Are you, Satoru?” You try to hide the insecurities haunting you, hearing his sexy, heavy sigh on the other line.
“Very excited. I’ll see you soon, sweets.”
The two of you hang up and you sigh, eyeing the clock now - you have about two hours to get ready, and you’re so nervous your palms are sweaty and numb. It may just be two ‘friends’ having dinner, but you want to shove that image back you just saw, and focus, and try to look beautiful tonight.
Satoru’s own hands are numb, as he curses, slamming a hand on his forehead, unable to think of anything but you, barely able to pull himself together. When he walks out, Suguru is there, nibbling in the kitchen, raising a brow at him. “You good, Satoru?”
“Fine, I… you wanna finish that for me?” He gestures to the room, while Suguru sips down water. “I think I have a kind of date or something.”
“A date!? Huh?” Satoru just looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I don’t think it’s a date, it’s friends or something? Maybe... I don’t know. Is dinner a date if it's not with a costar?” Suguru rolls his violet eyes, sighing as he washes his hands now, patting them dry with a paper towel.
“You’re acting weird as fuck lately, that cute little good girl got you simping?” Satoru scoffs, rolling his blue eyes now.
“Suguru, just do me a solid.” Satoru pouts, earning Suguru’s scoff.
“Fine, fine, but you owe me one.” Suguru and Satoru enter the room, as Satoru eases the transition, the notes in the chat are going insane, he can’t help but exhale in relief, before pausing at the thought.
Was there some way to save his malfunctioning dick?
*****
Satoru whistles when he meets you at the restaurant that evening, running just a little late, you're sitting there nibbling on your thumb, peering at the menu when he arrives. Your eyes light up behind a different pair of glasses, these have cute red rims, matching the red dress you're wearing that's making him ache.
He hasn't seen you in something like this, not that you weren't always pretty, but when you stand up and he sees how it fits your body it almost takes him everything to hold back. Vividly picturing bending you right over that table and fucking you in front of the entire restaurant, gripping the red shimmery fabric that drapes across every line and curve of that body.
He can't form a word, notoriously known for never shutting up, but he can't think of anything to say, when you shyly look down, hands fidgeting in front of your lap, and he’s standing there sputtering. It’s awkward even, until the waitress comes up and smiles over at Satoru, gesturing to a seat, saying - ‘This must be the friend you were waiting for!’
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, you look beautiful.” He says finally, pressing a kiss to your cheek, feeling it heat up against his lips. You shake your head with a sweet turn of your lips, kissing his cheek in turn.
“You’re fine, Satoru, I still haven’t learned LA time.” He chuckles at that just a bit, sitting across from you now, before deciding to sit next to you instead, shoulders brushing together.
“This feels more comfy? It feels all formal the other way.”
“Does it feel too… date like?” He falters then, because that was not it, but the doubt has crept in on your face, when the waitress asks you all for your order, and he has to blink back the confusion. “What do you suggest?”
“Want me to order for you?” You nod shyly, god the submissive nature of you makes him ache in way too many ways, knowing how perfect of a girl you’d be for him in every aspect. “We’ll have this,” he says, pointing to the menu now. “And bring two glasses of champagne please.”
“Are we celebrating?” You tease, handing the waitress the menu, Satoru chuckles a bit, shaking his head while you take in how handsome he looks, brushing your fingers against his suit jacket. “You look so good, Satoru.”
“Thank you, sweets.” He holds your hand then, fuck it feels too good, pressing it against the dark red suit jacket that truly only he could pull off, black button down shirt left open, showing enough of his chest to make anyone die over. Your eyes look at it now, a few of the chains he wears resting along the strong muscles, settling between his collarbones. “You’re making me look bad, wearing in that dress.”’
“No way!”
“Absolutely, you are. You’re so pretty, fuck…” He’s brushing back a tendril, as you eye him, that look that drives him insane, the look that’s ruined him since he met you. He tries to smirk, to act calm, teasing, “I look that good?”
“Yes, shit. Sorry.” He laughs softly, shaking his head when you pull your hand back gently.
“We match, great minds you know.”
“Indeed, we clearly coordinated telepathically!” He laughs then, and it's just like that first night, when you and him just hit it the fuck off. It’s comfortable, it’s fun - so fun - that people smile at the two of you, as you laugh like friends for years. It’s how it feels, like you’ve known him, a way you can’t explain.
But you wished it was just the friendliness, not the heat in your tummy when he wipes a droplet of clear, bubbly champagne from his plump lips, if every time his thigh brushed yours you didn’t melt. Someone comes up then, a really pretty girl, and you feel Satoru stiffen a bit, making you tense, sipping on the tart champagne and averting your eyes a bit.
“Gojo, it's been what, a year?!” He smiles with ease, standing and kissing her cheek, hugging her tightly.
“It has been, shit, how you been?” It’s all very Hollywood, their exchange, you feel you’ll never figure it out, the two years you’ve been here after relocating and you still couldn’t get being kissy on everyone.
It makes you think of him earlier, his fingers in that-
Stop that!
He’s saying your name you errantly realize, you plaster on a smile as she looks at you curiously, eyeing you up and down. “Co-star?”
“No, no, she’s my friend. She’s a good girl.” He winks down at you, and she giggles then, holding her hand out.
“It’s awesome to meet you!”
“You too. Are you um…”
“A former co-star, yeah. Satoru is the best in the industry.” Ah, so she fucked him, too. You want to be petty and scowl and you hate yourself for it more.
You never, ever are like this.
You never have been.
She’s touching his shoulder and making you sick, when your eyes catch a familiar face, a man standing with a group of other men, smiling over at you, he’s one of your co-workers that is always working. You wave at him while Satoru finishes his conversation, and he adjusts his tan jacket, touching the arm of one of the men, letting them go as he walks to you.
You tense just a bit, while the girl finally leaves, and Satoru’s sitting next to you once more, as his phone rings. He turns it off, jaw tensing when a blond man takes your hand and bends down at the waist, like some old school gentleman, pressing a kiss to the back of your delicate wrist, the pretty bracelet slides down your arm as he does it, and he watches your blush.
The fuck.
He was trying his best to get that girl to go on, so he could get back to talking to you, but now some random guy has your attention, and Satoru doesn’t like it, not one fucking bit. “Nanami, this is Satoru.”
“Nanami, huh?” He leans back, flipping off his phone again, you look at him curiously.
“Need to grab that?” You ask, and he shakes his head, swiping it off once more, ignoring his manager while this Nanami guy eyes you behind green glasses.
“You look stunning, is that alright to say?” You giggle again, Satoru glares at you, how dare you giggle at him!?
He told you that you looked beautiful. Did you giggle?
He wants to punch this smirking man in the face.
What’s wrong with him!?
“Thank you, Nanami, I guess you don’t see me too dressed up at work, huh? You always dress so well.”
“Oh stop, you’re flattering me. And this is your…” He trails off, looking at Gojo, who has to wipe the glare off his face for a moment.
Say it, Satoru.
More than a friend.
You look at him then, as if you’re waiting for him to say that, to say something, while Nanami’s lips quirk up just a bit, making Satoru want to smack him again. He takes a breath, smiling then instead of glaring, but his hand is on the small of your back. “We’ve become close friends, very quickly.”
“Oh? I’ve known her for a long time,” Nanami says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. You look at Satoru, whose phone starts ringing again, and he curses, rolling his blue eyes. “Need to take that?”
“It’s my manager, they have horrible timing. I’ll be right back.” He murmurs, you smile understandingly, while his manager trips on him about earlier.
He knows his dick doesn’t work, and now he knows he hates touching anyone, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone when he has no fucking clue why this is happening. He’s obsessed with a sweet, shy little thing that is currently getting hit on by a dude buffer than him.
Maybe he’d be good for you.
Satoru is too petty to admit it though, glaring instead while his manager goes on and on. “Listen, I get it, you need content.”
“We need you with women, a lot of your viewers are men, they’re not gonna tune in to watch you solo. Find someone that works for you, I don’t care who at this point, but we’re just not gonna make profit if you keep turning down roles. Or, I heard, you shoved a girl off on Geto.”
“I didn’t… shove her off, I just…” Satoru frowns again, the blond man is sitting next to you in the other seat, your eyes are on Satoru however they turn away when he catches your gaze.
He just wants to fuck you right in front of that fucking man now. God, if you would be interested in starring in something, you’d make bank, it’s not just his obsession, your pussy is the prettiest one he’s seen. Your tits, your body, they’re all so sexy, and your pretty face with those glasses? You’d kill any sexy nerd shoot there was.
“Satoru!”
Shit.
He can’t get the vision of you in some slutty ass librarian outfit from running through his head.
“Yeah, I got it. I’ll try to get something going, I mean I was gonna do a solo tonight anyway.”
“That’s fine, but remember you’re a lot more than just Onlyfans. You’re a star, Satoru, that comes with a certain level of appearances. So whatever is going on, you gotta get it together, or we’re both not making shit.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall now, eyes going back to you, giggling at something he’s said.
He’s too close to you.
Why does he mind so much?
“I’ll get a shoot done.” The words feel horrible, the thought of fucking anyone else just seems like an impossibility, and he doesn’t know how to compute it in his mind.
What did you do?
“Alright, I expect some video with a woman - not with Suguru. Though…”
“I’m not fucking Suguru.” He chuckles as people look at him a bit, running a hand through his white locks. “He is pretty but not my type.”
“He’s gonna be your type if you turn down every other actress.”
“Ugh.”
“Mmhmm, talk to you later.” He hangs up, frowning at his phone, trying to gather himself before he does something so stupid, jealousy filling him and for what?
You’re talking. You’re not his. He had his fingers buried in a girl this morning, why does he care if you did anything? He knows you’re not that girl, though, but you choose to be with him. It makes him feel far, far more special than he’d admit, the fact that you want him, that you trust him. Was he mistaking the look in your eyes, was it just desire there?
“If you are single, would you mind a date sometime? I haven’t had so much fun talking in a long time.” Nanami says softly, making you look down shyly, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks from the soft lights hanging above you in the dimly lit, pretty restaurant. “Am I too bold?”
“No, no. I just haven’t been on a date in forever.” Satoru feels like he’s been punched in the chest as he hears, nearing the table and acting like he didn’t wanna yank you to him and kiss you then and there.
But he chose to tell him you’re friends, that’s what you were, a friend he wants to fuck all night in every position imaginable. Then lick his own cum out of your cunt, abused from his cock, and fuck you all morning. God he can’t stop thinking about them all, have you dragged on his face, his hands on your waist, let you ride his mouth till he couldn’t breathe.
Real fucking friendly.
Satoru’s hands grip and release while he hears your answer, “I will think about it, Mr. Nanami, it may be fun.”
That’s almost a yes.
Fuck.
“Think about what?” He asks with a smile, leaned back in the booth, a hand brushing your bare thigh under the table, where your dress had slid up from you sitting, he feels it tense while he drags his fingertips across it, eyeing you then.
Was Satoru trying to confuse you more? You look at him again, some toxic part of you that you don’t recognize wants him to claim you, what the fuck was that!? You have never been that way, you’ve never been a lot of things until you met this blue-eyed man, however, and even with a handsome Nanami flirting, you can’t get Satoru’s moans out of your mind.
Snap out of it!
“A date with your lovely friend. You two are just friends?” He looks between the two of you now, and Satoru opens his mouth, but what can he say?
It’s what you ‘are’.
Would he be worthy of dating you if he wanted to, when his job was fucking other women? You didn’t deserve that, you deserved to be the only one, fuck you literally had become his one singular, consuming thought. He smiles good naturedly, eyeing you now, watching you bite your lower lip, teeth digging into the plush of it, while your thighs tremble just a bit.
“We just met at a party a few weeks ago, but we are really close. Quickly.” He murmurs.
“Can’t see you partying.” Nanami’s hand comes to touch your other thigh, and for a girl who hasn’t had any in forever, the sensation of two big hands on your thighs is addling your mind. “No offense, darling you seem a little straight laced…” his words are trailed off with his hand squeezing gently.
Satoru scowls at him.
Is he touching you!?
Do you like it?
“I don’t party, it’s true.” You smile now, a hand over his, thumbs brushing his knuckles, while Satoru’s squeezing so hard you wince before he realizes it, letting go of his grip, but the hand staying on your knee. “I think we could go on a date sometime, as long as it doesn’t make work weird.”
“Not at all, all right I’ll leave you two to hang out then,” he stands, holding out a hand for Satoru, he squeezes the shit out of Nanami’s hand with a forced smile, only for Nanami to squeeze tighter. And fuck he’s strong. Then, he takes your hand, murmuring a - “I’ll see you at work, then,” and kissing the back of your hand. “Darling.”
Darling.
Satoru will show him darling.
You giggle, only pissing him off more, nodding shyly, fuck you’re cute even when you’ve made him furious. He’s shared women so many times he can’t count, even girls he got closer to, regular girls that you could almost say he ‘dated’ he’d still regularly bang out with his friends. He’s not possessive in general, he’s open minded and a free spirit.
Or he was!?
“Sounds good, Mr. Nanami.” He hates how you say his name, when the man in the khaki suit and dumbass cheetah tie leaves, finally. “He’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, so sweet.” You look at him then, narrowing your eyes curiously.
“You don’t like him?”
“I don’t know him. Seems boring, pretentious.” You blink in confusion, eyeing the retreating figure walking out, he even waves at you, which you return.
“He doesn’t seem like either to me. Satoru, you said we are just friends, are you worried that we won’t… do all that we do if I date someone?” Your words drop to a quiet murmur, and he sighs.
“Yes I would be very upset if I didn’t get to taste you again, why wouldn’t I be? It’d be a fuckin’ tragedy, sweetheart.” His words are too husky, when he leans against you, turning just so, his fingers slipping up your inner thigh, a side of sweet, nice Satoru you hadn’t seen yet, you almost think he looks…
He can’t be jealous.
Right?
You're delusional.
“I don’t just sleep around, so if we went on a date I wouldn’t do that. But, if I hit it off, and got serious, I wouldn’t continue our… lessons. I can only be with one person at one time.” He tenses then, is he going to lose you before he even gets you? “I don’t care if you do the same, I know it’s your job, but I couldn’t.”
“I’m not fucking anyone right now. My manager is bitching at me about it.” You tilt your head curiously, the chandelier earrings dancing in glittering prisms along your neck as you study him. “I’m having issues on set.”
“Is everything okay?” You ask, concern in your voice now, as he shakes his head. “Satoru, what's wrong?”
“I’m not in a good headspace it seems, the gang bang I failed, and I pushed the girl this morning on Suguru. So if I don’t give my manager something, they’re gonna be pissed. And no money for us if I can’t show up.”
“What’s wrong though, you seemed fine with Jenna in what I watched? Is this a new problem?” God you’re clueless to your effects, aren’t you? You touch his thigh too, instantly making his cock hard, looking down and getting flustered, he feels your heat, just making him harder. “You seem to work fine to me. Are the cameras getting too stressful?”
“I don’t know, but it really is a problem. Do you think… you could help your very handsome, amazing friend out?” You look up at him, curious.
“Help how?”
“Your good video skills, film a hot jerk off stream, good angles? Maybe that will get enough money he’ll chill some until I get over this.” You look away, the images of Satoru stroking his cock are burned in your brain. “Too much?”
“No, no. I can help, I feel I am taking up your time-”
“You’re not.” He cups your face then, turning it to him. “You’re never taking up my time, I enjoy being here. Okay?” You exhale, fuck had you been worried about that!?
How could you not know how badly he craves your presence?
“I feel bad that you’re going through this, is it the lesson?”
“The lesson did bring your taste into my mouth, and maybe no one tastes as sweet, it’s true,” his thumb brushes across your jaw line, smiling at how embarrassed you get then. “I think your taste would help me out.”
“Then, I’ll film you, but I can’t guarantee the quality.”
“It’ll be impeccable.” He raises two fingers, making your mind go to places it shouldn’t, you know another ‘lesson’ or session, or any time at all with Satoru was dangerous.
You’re teetering on the edge of feelings constantly, but you can do this, right, separate the two? He seems so good at it, at being your friend and then doing more, and you almost failed completely. You almost couldn’t say yes to Nanami because you are currently so delusional you think this star is so interested in you for more.
You have to accept him for who he is, no matter what, this was your choice to join his life at all. You take a breath now, trying to flip that switch off, the one that can’t stop thinking how much you’d love to kiss him, every minute of every day. The side that’s upset his fingers were inside someone, you have to throw her aside, and enjoy what’s here while it’s here.
He makes you question so much constantly, like every minute spent under that cerulean gaze brings out a side of you that you never knew of, some inner sexual side that only he can ignite. It’s so beautiful and special, his breath against your lips, you want to press them to yours, but so unsure, was he not about to be affectionate in public with you?
Was this just left for home?
He changes your thoughts when he kisses your forehead, far too sweet, then your cheeks, hot to the touch, down to your nose, making you giggle, relax. “You never ever waste any time.”
“I needed that.” You exhale, kissing his lips quickly as he smiles against your lips, and you pull back quickly. “I’d love to help you out.”
“I’ll make it worth your while, pretty.” His thumb brushes the slick on your upper thigh, right by your panties, watching your lashes flutter shut, as you take a shaky breath. “Come back to my place?”
“For the night or…”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure-”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Satoru’s paying the bill, signing a signature and leaving a hefty tip, then, holding out a hand for you.
“Did you drive here?” You shake your head, and he smiles, snatching up his phone now. “Perfect, I’ll have my driver take us over.”
*****
The second time coming to Satoru’s home was a little different, you were more comfortable, slipping off your heels now, he bends down to help you again, kissing your knees as he does, hands slipping up your thighs. Your hand brushes a lock of his white hair back, the unreal way you feel this comfortable, this drawn to him, makes your heart ache.
You’re so scared you’ll get hurt more, but you can’t stop yourself from being near him, from him looking at you like you’re the only fucking girl there is, are you so delusional?
Just enjoy it.
You close your eyes, sighing as he stands, kissing your lips again, easing your hand bag off your shoulder, brushing his thumbs across the mark it’s left on your shoulder. “Want another drink?”
“Yes please, if I’m going to be a porn director.” He laughs softly, shaking his head and taking off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of a chair when he pulls out the same bottle you’d sipped last time.
“You liked this one, hmm?” You nod, surprised he’d remember, taking the sweet liquid in the crystal glass, fingers brushing now. “Don’t get drunk though, I can’t have a shaky ass camera.”
“So demanding already, you really gonna make it worth my while you say?” You’re trying to tease back, like you can breathe or function in his presence, he just sighs, brushing back your hair behind your ear.
“That and more, sweetheart. We have hardly started doing things together, there is so much I can think of,” his hands slip lower, down the side of your neck, watching the goosebumps raise as he does, sighing at how perfect you look in his kitchen. “So many positions.”
“How many are there!?” He laughs now, at your embarrassed little look, pressing a boop to your nose.
“You’re endlessly adorable. Corruptible.”
“Oh!” He’s taking his own glass now, guiding you by your hand.
“Suguru’s out for the night, so we won’t get interrupted.” He’s leading you to his room, yanking off that black top, pausing as he sets up the ring light and grabs the camera, handing it to you, fingers brushing against each other. “You ready?”
“Ready,” your squeak of an answer makes him pause, taking your free hand, putting it on his bare chest as your heart hammers, trailing the hand lower to his belt and swallowing. “Need help?”
“Yes, I do.”
He needs you.
He’s desperate for you, fuck.
You’ve helped him undress, on your knees on the soft, plush carpet, when you start the stream, and he starts stroking that long, thick length right in front of you, he keeps looking at you, even when you gesture to the camera. He’s moaning, spitting on his tip, making it slicker for his big hand which still can’t come close to covering it, twisting and moving it all for you.
For his fans.
It’s hard to remember them when your cunt throbs, when you’re so overheated you can hardly stand it, and Satoru’s talking, low and hoarse. “Gonna cum so much, fuck…”
When he’s cumming you damn near do just looking, thighs pressing together for that friction, mouth fucking dry when your shaky legs nearly give out, while you come from a lower angle, reading the comments of his spurting cum, shooting up against his silvery happy trail, sticking all over, making you ache to drink it up.
“Fuck, I’ve made a mess, need someone to clean me all up.” Satoru whispers, while you barely are able to hold up the camera any longer, the livestream is avid with questions, namely - who is filming Satoru Gojo? And offers from many viewers to lick every bit of him up.
Satoru should stare at the camera, but he’s looking up into your eyes instead, stroking his cum soaked length slowly, just pumping more cum out of his tip, so much it’s ridiculous, dripped down to his balls and inner thighs. You swallow nervously, tummy clenched with desire, knowing you needed to stay quiet for the stream of curious viewers.
Satoru murmurs cut then, and you do just that, shutting off the feed, and setting down the phone with a shaky hand, clearing your throat. “They loved it I think.”
“C’mere.” He crooks two fingers, and you eagerly obey, walking up to him now, tempting him to no end with the way your eyes drink him in. “On your knees, sweetheart.”
You obey again, eagerly in fact, looking up at him under lowered lashes as his clean hand slips up the side of your pretty neck, then around to the nape of it, entangling in your locks. Your soft whine and shift of your hips are all he needs to know you’re enjoying it, your hands obediently on your thighs, as if waiting for his every order, so sexy he feels his cock twitch back to life.
“Do you want to clean me up?” He asks softly, but the command in his tone is there, you nod and he exhales, tugging you towards him then. “Then do a really good job, sweets. Lick every bit clean like a good girl, and I’ll reward you.”
“I’ll do a good job.” Your whisper wrecks him, as he guides your head down, and you suck him, still hard, into your hot, eager mouth. Your soft whine vibrates around him, his head falling back as your mouth moves.
He can’t help but think of earlier.
A date, you were gonna go on a date, and he hates the idea, no, he fucking detests the idea in fact, the rage alone making him fuck your throat deeper, harder, feeling you gag and choke on him instead of anyone else. He shouldn’t feel possessive over his friend, a friend who’s sucking his cum, who’s swallowing him up, all he can think is his, his, his.
But you weren’t his.
How could you ever be?
Satoru’s never felt anything better than your throat, except he’s a million percent sure your cunt is better, he knows it would suck him up so greedy. When tears fall from your pretty eyes, it’s hotter than any blow job he’s had on set, the eagerness and desperate need to please far surpasses experience, your glasses fogging up when you pull back to take a breath then.
Satoru looks at his slick, spit covered cock, to thin trails of saliva disintegrating between your lips as you pull back, swiping at your lower lip. “How did I do?”
“Perfect.” His whisper is genuine, the words feel too good, you know you should stop, that you already wish he was yours, but you’re too addicted to how those blue eyes make you feel like you’re the only girl there is.
Even if it’s an illusion, a trick of your brain, or a practiced look.
The feeling is too euphoric not to be corrupted by it.
“You did such a good job, look at it, not any cum left. You sucked it all down, so greedy huh?” His hand comes under your chin, squeezing your neck gently yet so possessive, he wants to say it - his - but he knows he can’t. But it’s too easy to teeter off the edge, when your breaths come faster, breasts pressed up in that dress, rising and falling with each one.
“Satoru… I can keep going.” Your soft voice nearly ends him, little hand stroking his cock again.
“I was thinking of something, but if you don’t want to, it's okay.” You blink a bit then, tilting your head, tendrils falling against your bare shoulders.
“What is it?”
“A scene with me, but not showing your face at all,” your gasp and pull back makes him sigh. “It’d be like me eating your pussy, we could have it zoomed so no one sees your face.”
The thought, along with Satoru's sweet cum down your throat makes your tummy clench, while he brings out more and more of you that you didn't know existed. Your hands tense on his thighs now, taking a shaky breath, fingers along the downy hair on his thighs. “I don’t… Satoru you have a million options for costars-”
“I want yours. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever fucking seen.”
“Satoru…”
“It is. Wanna argue about my expertise here?” You just get more flustered and flushed, looking down nervously, but he tilts your chin with his big hand, angling your gaze upward. “I’ll split all the pay, you get eaten out, and anonymously. I’d never tell anyone, I’d never risk your career or anything. But I do need to do one, and I hate the thought of it not…” Satoru trails off now, the words sinking in.
“You like eating me out that much?” Your whisper makes him chuckle then, nodding and swallowing nervously.
“That pussy is perfect. How about we film it, and you watch it, and if you don’t want to, I just keep it to jerk off to…” Shit, he said that.
He’s so desperate and pathetic.
But you flush again, surprising him with your nod.
“Shit really!?”
“We can film it for us to watch, and… I doubt I’ll be okay sharing it, but we can see if you- ah!” Satoru’s got you lifted so fast you barely can blink, unzipped and turned in moments, leaving you in the prettiest red lace lingerie that makes him groan, his fingertips trembling on your skin. “I said probably not, don’t get excited.”
“I’m excited to bury my face between your thighs again, sweetheart.” You cry out when he’s pressed you on the bed, spreading your thighs and groaning, fingers tugging at your panties.
“How can you make sure my face isn’t there?” You ask softly, he grabs the camera and the stand then, cock just swinging around, balls smacking his thighs, so used to being naked he doesn’t realize his effects. You can’t stop staring when he gets it at the perfect angle, clicking his tongue.
“Just like that,” he murmurs, viewfinder showing your pretty cunt up close, he’s almost furious to think anyone could see it like him, but his career is teetering on the brink of nothing, and if you truly were okay with it, he only sees it as a win.
You broke his dick and now he’s begging to just lick you, and split pay with you, he never thought he’d be so pathetic, but it’s no wonder, thumbing your pussy and spreading it, sighing. “Mnh!”
“So, to keep it anonymous if you decide to show this, don’t speak too personally, okay sweets?” You nod shyly, gasping as he shoves your thighs up. “Also, hold them up high, so all we’re getting is a view of your pussy.”
“Yes, sir.” You tease, but his cock starts leaking again, earning his moan.
“Don’t speak too much, to be safe, I don’t ever want you to feel like anyone would know it’s you. Speak when we’re done, though, you can absolutely moan.” You nod, so nervous, what are you doing!?
It’s as if Satoru Gojo brings something insane and wild out, because there is a thrill of your pussy on camera suddenly, and knowing he is about to worship you, potentially in front of people has your cunt drooling for him. He hits record then, angling his face so his tongue was in perfect view lapping up the arousal, exhaling now as he shoves your thighs up higher.
Perfect, you’re perfect.
“God, look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs into the camera, parting your folds so all that syrupy arousal can pool out, he hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your red nails pressing into the plush of your thighs. His cock is already back hard, he has to stroke it and whines out as he laps you up, making you gasp.
He's slurping you then, head tilted just so the camera can see, smacking your clit gently, watching you jerk, pressing your thighs up higher and tilting the camera so it's higher, right over his head, looking at it and the reflection of your perfect cunt while he slips the tip of his tongue up. You're moaning at the sensations, twitching hips bringing your cunt more in his face.
Satoru can't stand it, how good you taste, he wondered if it was an illusion but no, you are the sweetest thing he's ever had. “You're so wet, god, take a look…” he's fingering you now, and you hear it while he watches it, glimmering from the soft ring light glowing on your perfect pussy. Making him so dumb he's just burying his face then, forgetting he's filming.
“Mnh!” You're trying not to call out his name, thighs still so high you can't see his face, to protect you from getting seen, until he adjusts it, spreading your thighs further, leaning up to look down at you under lidded eyes, chin coated in your slick. “Satoru…”
“You okay sweets?” His whisper touches you, his concern for you even during this, making sure you're okay. You nod and he exhales in relief, kissing you for a moment, knowing it's what you need, brushing your hair back, sighing as he looks down at you. “You're doing so good. Can you cum for me, baby?”
You nod again eagerly, and he’s dived back down, fingering you with two curled right in your cunt, hitting that spot that blinds you every time, his moans so filthy, guttural while he watches, angling his wrist and hitting something then, you feel so much pressure you panic, gasping, writhing under him.
“Oh my - ngh! Fuck!” You’re struggling to keep your voice a whisper, palming your mouth while you shatter.
“That’s it, right there, cum for me, lemme drink it up. Let everyone see how much you love my fucking tongue.” Pornstar Satoru was ridiculous to handle, hitting you with his fingers and the tip of his tongue on your clit, when the pressure releases, and your orgasm hits so hard you can’t help but scream, twitching as he pulls back in surprise. “Fuck, you’re squirting f’me?”
You have no clue what he means, you don’t see it as it starts pouring all over, making a mess, wet spot under you even as Satoru grabs you by the fat of your ass, licking up as much as he can. You’re a twitching, soaked little mess, your hands gripping his hair now, screams echoing in the room while he eases off you just a bit now, ready to fuck your slick, messy cunt.
He trembles as he pulls back and does one more shot, pressing a sweet kiss to your pussy before shutting off the camera, and leaning up, kissing you, so desperate, while your slick thighs rub together, and you feel the mess. He pulls up and takes a breath, flipping you then, making you gasp, handing you the camera while he kisses the backs of your shoulders, hands on your ass, spreading it wide.
“Watch it, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing across your shoulder blades, brushing your hair to one side while you barely have the strength to press play, and that’s when you see it. “Look how perfect you are.”
Your pussy right on camera, and him eyeing it like he’s worshipping it, like you’re his fucking altar and his mouth is that offering. Your cunt starts throbbing while he works you, kissing every inch of your body as you fall more and more into the abyss of sin, of lust, of desire- of Satoru Gojo.
“You love it, don’t you baby?” His words are hot against your ear, while you watch him on the screen licking your cunt, watch your thighs tremble, all while he’s behind you, sinking his two fingers so deep in your quivering hole again. You arch your back, moaning now, it feels so good you can’t stand it, so erotic watching this video you two took, while he’s fucking you with his thick fingers.
“I do, but it’s insane… ah! Satoru…” He sighs now, taking his fingers out, pressing them into your mouth for you to suck, which you quickly obey, eyes fluttering shut, the image of his tongue fucking you reflecting in the darkness.
“Keep it for us, or share? It’s all up to you. I’ll never pressure you either way,” he’s soft then, turning your chin as he lays heavy weight over you, and you eye the phone now, hand shaking just a bit, to close it out or to share, he takes your hand, steadying it. “It’s fine to be how you are, you’re perfect, okay?”
“It’s fine to be how you are, Satoru Gojo. A… question, though.” He sighs, leaning close, while he keeps holding your hand, hovering just so.
“Mmhmm?”
“Would I be your favorite co-star?” Your teasing question makes him laugh at the ridiculous nature.
You’re the only one he can even get hard for.
“You’re the prettiest, yummiest, sweetest co star I could have,” his words are just a little broken, as he almost says more. That he hopes your date sucks with that Nanami guy, that he’s planning to show up at your work tomorrow to glare at that man, that he’s become fucking obsessed, but instead - “How could you think you’re not?”
“And we’re… still friends…” You ache for him to say - no, it’s more - but he nods, against your neck, pressing kisses against it. “Even if we fuck?”
God.
He’s dying.
“You think I wouldn’t be your friend anymore? I’m not the guy to get what he wants and go. I promise.” You nod then, smiling just a bit, and tap the share button then, surprising both of you.
“Holy fuck, I did that…” Your whisper is met with Satoru’s kisses now, as your video plays for all to see, your moans on camera mixing with the ones induced from his play, one arm wrapping your body as his cock presses insistently against your ass, hot and heavy.
“Stop me now, because I can’t think of anything but fucking your pretty pussy raw right now,” his desperate words and dilated eyes just serve to ruin you, when you arch your ass up. “Fuck, you sure?”
“I want you inside me, please,” he eagerly leans back, gripping his cock and lifting your thigh, pressing into your tight ring of muscles, almost cumming from the fucking tip. “Ah!”
“You’re so tight, relax I don’t want to hurt you, please.” Satoru whispers it as he grips your chin.
You nod, as he is slipping a little deeper from the back, the stretch burning so deliciously, you’re convulsing while the viewers are going wild over Satoru’s devoted pussy eating skills with his mysterious, faceless co-star. His silk hair brushes your cheek as he exhales heavy in your ear, whispering your name.
You eye the video, the comments, vision blurry, while he sinks his cock deeper, and he moans as he reads the comments to you, filling your cunt so full of his cock, inch by inch - and there are so many, each thrust deeper while you cling to his wrists, his arms wrapping you. He keeps reading them, even as he shoves in all the way, making you jerk and gasp.
“Perfect pussy, look at Satoru go, god she’s so wet for him, she’s cumming so much - is she squirting? Look at that, you’re a regular star, huh? F-fuck…”
“Mnh!” Your eyes roll back in your fucking skull now, lost in him, lost completely. So deeply unraveled under him you can’t remember what this is, that it’s a friend, that it was a scene, that you’re now the girl who did that, anonymous but to know it’s you on that screen with Satoru devouring you does something, fuck it does too much.
He’s murmuring more comments, and his huge cock is stretching your slick, tight heat beyond its means. “That’s it, you love it, huh? They all want to be in your place, or they want to lick you instead, but it’s me, isn’t it baby?” He shouldn’t be possessive, he tries to tell himself it over and over, but how can he not be, when he’s shoved in so deep, he feels the bulge of your tummy, groaning. “Feel me, sweetheart?”
You can’t speak, just nodding desperately, while the feed goes insane, watching your cunt squirt on Satoru’s face while he’s buried inside you, filling you to the hilt, stretching you out so good you forget to breathe. “Toru!”
He pauses at the nickname, your slurred words and pulsing cunt ending him, he could almost cum then and there and he has amazing stamina, but he has to hold back, wrapping a hand around your throat and leaning up on an elbow while you gush down his cock. Satoru kisses up your neck hungrily, eyeing your pussy on the video and then your face, your eyes almost black with pleasure.
“Only I can hit that spot, hmm?” His tip drags along your spongy spot now, and you’re twitching, nodding, so consumed as he surrounds you, breath against your neck, moans in your ear, hand squeezing your throat just so under your chin. His cock twitches as he shoves deeper, impossibly deeper, while you helplessly grip the blankets beneath you. “Answer me, like a good girl.”
“Y-yes.” Your whisper drives him insane, feral, the way your walls quiver around his cock is exquisite, that grip unreal, but more than anything it feels perfect.
“Made for this cock, aren’t you pretty?” The words fall out before he can stop them, and your eyes rolling back, drool spilling out of your mouth while your cunt is pulsing is his answer. “Perfect, fuck…”
“Mnh!” You can’t take it, his words urging you when he shoves his cock so deep, the tip bruising your cervix, making you scream as his guttural moan fills the room, his hand squeezing just enough pressure to make your orgasm blinding, white hot.
“Cumming all over me, so good, listening f’me, hmm?” You just nod weakly, gasping when he flips you to your back, lifting your thighs and shoving them wide, slapping the tip on your slick cunt and groaning. “Wanna watch me fill you up?”
You nervously nod, swallowing now, and he sees it, you’re overwhelmed, he leans down, kissing you, and you’re desperately clinging to his back, eagerly kissing him despite being damn near slack jawed. You exhale nervously, eyeing him is even more intimate, impossibly more, his plush lips still tasting like your honeyed arousal from earlier.
“If it’s too much, tell me, I want you comfortable.” It’s hard for him to speak, but he does, making sure to reassure you, kissing your forehead before he leans back.
“It’s intense, Satoru but… I want it.” He moans at that, sliding his cock back inside, sucking in a breath when you’re gripping him fucking tighter this time, slipping in slowly, inch by inch. “Ah! Satoru, so d-deep!”
“I am, huh? I can get deeper, baby.” You cry out when he shoves his cock in deep with a sharp thrust, and then pauses, eyeing that bulge in your stomach. “Look.”
“Look at… oh.” You’re heating up at the image, and he’s all about angles, he makes sure your eyes catch every bit of his slow thrusts, filling your tummy full of his enormous cock, too much to take, but your cunt is willing and eager, struggling to take his size.
“Fucking you so deep, see it? Your body is so small compared to my cock, pussy stretched too much, f-fuck… god look at you…” He’s losing it, he was trying to talk sexy to you, which comes naturally, but now he’s just obsessed with the image, thin white brows lowering over his eyes, while he slams inside you, your thighs trembling as they wrap his slutty waist. “Oh my god…”
“Satoru… ah!” He’s done, he’s fucking lost in you, in your eyes when he shoves your thighs up, gripping your face with his huge hands while he’s got you bent in half, slamming so hard you scream. “Too much!”
“I need all of you, fuck… can you take more?” His eyes are so bright blue they burn to look at, but you can’t stop yourself, nodding and cupping his face in return.
“Kiss me please.” He moans at that, slamming his lips down when he rocks his hips, cock filling you so deeply you scream into his mouth, hands slipping to his hair while he’s got his heavy weight over you.
“I can’t control it anymore, baby, if it’s too much just fucking hit me at this point,” he’s nonsensical, leaning up now, hands on the back of your thighs in a mating press, fucking you hard now, powerful strokes that take you the fuck out, cumming in moments with a few strokes, making him whimper.
That’s a sound you know he’s never made.
You may be delusional, but you’re sure you’ve only heard him whimper for you, you’ve never seen that look in his eyes on any video or stream, not when he’s staring right into your fucking soul and slamming his cock deep over and over. You’re barely able to cling to the earth, so much pleasure rushing through your body, you feel every vein and ridge of that huge cock as it fucks into you.
“Perfect, pussy is perfect, fucking knew it but god. God… fucking feel her,” he slams into you again, head falling back, giving you a view of his throat before he eyes you once more, shaking his head and slamming his cock harder. “Can she take it?”
You just nod, you’d take anything, the way it feels to be ruined by Satoru Gojo is far beyond his balls slapping your ass, his cock stretching your cunt, his hands bruising your fucking thighs, no it was more. You want to be filled by him, folded under him, you want every bit of it, losing yourself in him, in his bright blue eyes, in his filthy fucking words, in his cock slamming your cervix.
You were ruined, and you knew it.
You feel too much, far too much, when he’s leaned back, holding your thighs high and watching his cock pull out and enter, slowing and rubbing your abused clit. “F-fuck, cum one more time, I’m close… your cunt is so fucking perfect, shit… c’mon, like a good girl, there you go baby…”
It’s like that goddamn dream.
Word for word.
You cum harder than you have, when he shoves into the hilt, stuffing your slutty little hole, blinded and dizzy, hardly able to breathe, while he watches you shatter under him, so fucking beautiful he can’t take it. Your brows drawn together, that sweat making your skin glisten, your mouth open in the sluttiest O, he can hardly stand what the image does to him.
He knows it then, he’s fucking beyond destroyed, and terrified at that fact, at the power you’re oblivious to over him. He almost busts inside you, something he has never done - he doesn’t even go without condoms - the thoughts of filling your cunt full are far, far too tempting. He stops himself, cursing and holding his slick cock at the base while you’re spasming around him, back arching.
“Where do you want all this cum, sweetheart?” He manages to ask, you’re so fucked out you’re dizzy, blinking Satoru’s white hair and pretty face into view as he pulses inside you, just thickening and making you whimper.
“W-what… where… you want, I… mnh!” You’re still cumming, aftershocks rocking you, making your skin so sensitive when he eases your sore thighs down, parting them and pulling out finally, stroking himself as you catch your breath, watching him spurt thick white ropes all over your cunt. “Oh! Oh…”
“Fuck, fuck… god… oh my…” He’s moaning as he’s desperately jerking his slick cock, so much cum it seems impossible, since he just busted so much, and you watch him, enthralled as the hot sticky sperm is coating your cunt. “God, look at it, fucking look at us baby.”
He’s too much, he’s too much.
You thought him eating you out fucked you up mentally, what is he, his insane ass eyes bright as he trembles, strong muscles bunching and tensing, a work of fucking art pouring his cum on you. You’re stuck, at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing, brain not even functional as you look up at this man, knowing this isn’t just sex, it fucking couldn’t be.
It can’t be like this with someone.
You almost spill every feeling then and there, lost in him, in his desperation when he rests his head on yours, moaning against your lips, tip brushing your engorged clit and making you whine out. “God, your pussy is too perfect, it’s… you’re too perfect, feel too good, look too good…”
“Satoru, are you okay?” You whisper softly, he’s slurring his words, almost hard to understand in their hushed whispers in between his pants.
He can’t even answer, pulling back and looking at your pretty cunt, all abused from his cock and puffy, covered in his white ropes. “Can I have a picture? Please, just for me.”
“Y-you want one?” He laughs softly, breathless, nodding, and you heat up at it, looking down shyly.
“Only you can be adorable with your pussy beat up and coated in cum, huh?”
“Oh god!” He can’t take it, how cute you are, the affection eating at him, as he takes a deep breath, leaning back. “Just one.”
“Fuck…” He takes the phone, eyeing the amount of comments and tips while your breasts heave, trying to catch your breath, sticky cum dripping across your folds when you shift your hips.
“What is it?” You ask softly, he shows you the number, and your eyes nearly bulge out. “Holy fuck!?”
“This is good even for me, shit. Pussy is made for porn.” You’re blushing harder, biting your lower lip when he angles the camera, taking several photos and exhaling at how pretty it looks. “God, look at you.”
“Are you talking to me or my pussy?” He grins then, so boyish and charming it’s as if he wasn’t just fucking you into a mating press and filming your cunt. “Also I said one!”
“Sorry. I’ll make it up.” He’s kissing your thighs then, lapping some of his own cum off your slit, you gasp at the sensation, his tongue on your sore, overstimulated pussy now. Your hands entangle in his hair as he groans. “Fucking taste us.”
“Satoru you’re in-insane and- mnh! Fuck!” You’re shaking when he laps more off of you, desperately lapping at every inch of your cunt now. “Satoru!”
“Gotta clean my pretty costar up, she’s only my costar you know, only one I’ve ever-” He pauses, stopping himself, when you eye him, breasts still gently moving up and down as you eye him.
“Only one you’ve… ngh! Satoru!”
“Taste us.” He’s lapped more of his cum and yours, murmuring for you to open, which you eagerly do, letting him spit his cum and yours in your throat. “Swallow, there you go, see it’s perfect, huh?”
You’re lost then, in the filthy string of words, when he’s back down cleaning you up with a tongue that’s lethal in its precision, rocking his cock on the bed, hard for the third time with you as he moans desperately against you. He’s latched onto your clit, sucking, while you can’t stop cumming, pushed past overstimulation, but not once do you tell him to stop.
You want it.
You need it.
In tears from how much you’ve cum, desperate for more, swapping his cum and yours mixing, against your tongues as he talks you through it, as you lose yourself, Jenna told you not to, she told you not to forget. You are trying to keep it separated, but how the fuck can you?
It felt worth losing yourself, for him, under him, him inside you - around you - taking over everything, while he’s back inside you, his lips murmuring desperate, dirty words into your sweet mouth. When you’re so fucked out you actually pass out blissfully in his arms, you can’t even remember the girl you were a few weeks ago, waking up just to be filled by him again from behind.
Being in his arms, you hope it’ll counteract the pain when he moves on, when he’s kissing you while fucking you from the back, sweet little nothings against your lips filling the room along with the squelching of his cock filling your cunt again. Every inch of your body kissed by him, licked by him, head to your fucking toes, shifting you to some other dimension as you drink each other in, exhausted and desperate.
You’ll think about that pain later, for now it’s all pleasure, aside from the ache in your heart for more, endlessly more.
The love on this story is so sweet, it's FAR from over. Please be patient as these are long chaps and I have other projects, if you're not on the tags you can subscribe to me on ao3 or turn on notifs <3 Can't wait to hear your thoughts
Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay
#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader#satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#satoru gojo x female reader#gojo x f!reader#divider by anitalenia#satoru x you#satoru smut#jujustu kaisen#jjk gojo
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I was putting the rest of the tape on the window and one of the birds tried to fly in 😭😭😭
#the windows fold inside so you can clean the outside so i had them down like that#and wasnt standing right in front of them#and a finch came up and kinda hovered in front of the open space#and landed on the window sill 😭 and just sat there#and i was like no!! not now!! sorry!! and kinda had to swat her away 😭#and she landed in the tree branch and watched me for a minute skdhsj#i just closed it and put the feeder back up we'll see how long it takes for her to come back lol
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Give Me Tough Love
Synopsis. What happens when your boyfriend just so happens to be mad at you? Well, your poor pússy might just know the answer.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Geto x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, brat-taming, angry séx, oral (male + female receiving), víbrators (Nanami’s), manhandling, unprotected, spanking (Sukuna’s), thigh-riding, intercrural, mentions of Higuruma and Shiu, cúmplay, bunch of heinous stuff idek, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 4.2k
A/N. Smh I’m sick, try not to catch my virtual cold.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Dirty mouth? He’ll fix it.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” he spits, Toji’s hand tightening around your throat, pathetic little gurgles going straight to his cock. “Because I know you aren’t talking back to me like a lil’ slut unless you want to be treated like one.”
“T-Toji m’sorry- mpfh-” Greedily taking in the way your your mouth drops into a soft little oh! as he grazes his fat tip across your lips, glossing your lips so fucking filthily with his precum, all pretty and dripping down to your chin. Hot and angry, and at perfect eye-level for you.
Hand moving up to pry your swollen mouth open, “You’re only sorry cuz yer gonna get what you’ve been askin’ for, doll.”
You’d been extra mouthy with him today, all sass and snipey comments like you just wanted this to happen. And it only took one offhand remark about how Shiu probably lasts longer in bed before Toji’s pushing you onto your knees, hand at your throat, breath hot against your ear. And, well, that smart mouth can do nothing but beg for mercy now.
Toji scoffs, snapping you out of your daze, “Nothin’ to say now, huh?” edging his hips closer “Open wide f’me now, yeah- jus’ like that- m’gonna clean out this dirty lil’ mouth of yours. Hngh-”
And with that Toji’s stuffing himself into your mouth. A raw little grunt leaving the back of his throat as your lips stretch so sinfully around his thick cock, and if he angled his head just right he could see the way your throat was bulging and full of him. “Shit, doll. Look at you struggling to take me.”
And Toji’s so mean - not even easing you into it before he’s thrusting in harsh, quick little strokes into your heavenly mouth. “Hah- Hard to take me all?” he taunts, loving the way you’re choking and gagging all around him.
Pulling you down on his swollen cock till your nose is pressed against those tufts of black hair at his base. So wet with precum and spit. “Shouldn’t be, no? Ngh- A lil’ slut with such a fucking filthy mouth like you should take me s’easily.”
All he gets in response is a low, wet moan, muffled around his cock. One that goes straight to his twitching balls. Smacking your chin with each thrust, so hard he’s sure it hurts. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, chuckling, “Heh, forgot you can’t speak with m’dick lodged in your throat, huh?”
And oh Toji almost considers going easy on you at the messy state of your mascara, and the way you bat your lashes tearily up at him. It’s only when you flick your tongue so sluttily underneath his sensitive tip in a way you knew would drive him wild that all thoughts of that go out the window. “So you like this, huh?”
Voice so low and dangerous it makes your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? You don’t even know because Toji has his hand wrapped around your throat again, hip stuttering filthily.
And then it’s like something snaps because Toji’s ruining your pretty face. Abs flexing as he drags your head up and down up and down up and- like some toy. God, he thinks, it’s fucking hard to look at you too - so sloppy with the way precum and spit was dribbling down the corner of your mouth, his dick bulging in and out of your throat. In and out in and out in and-
“Might let out a few tears, but I know that slutty lil’ cunt of yours has never been wetter.”
Reaching blindly to feel for his phone, he punches in that familiar contact. Cock twitching inside your plushy mouth at the way your eyes widen in surprise. Sputtering around his dick - but you can’t run away, because Toji has a hand firm on your head, pushing you down. Still fucking your pretty lil’ mouth while the line rings once. Twice.
“Don’t act so suprised, doll. All Shiu and I are gonna do is fuck some manners into you.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Karma’s a bitch
“Mhm, yes, Higuruma. I’ve told the supervisor to email me the documents. Oh? In the background?”
His darkened eyes sweep your figure - wrists tied, soaking through your panties, swollen lips falling into a little oh! at the bullet vibrator buzzing maddeningly in your dripping cunt. All controlled by the man himself, watching you like a hawk from the corner of the bedroom. “Must be the wind.”
Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-
“Kento- please, wan’ cum. Ngh-” you whine pathetically. But it all falls on deaf ears, because Nanami only manspreads further on the armchair, a long finger unhurriedly coming up to signal you to be quiet as he continues on his business call.
Intensity setting 1.
Oh you could just cry. How did you even get here?
All you did was send him a few photos in his favorite lingerie while he was at work - who knew that Nanami would end up clocking early, coming straight home to absolutely fucking ruin you for that little stunt that had him sporting a rock-hard boner all through an important meeting.
“A voice? Ah, yes.” and that snaps you out of your little reverie. You blink at the flash of amusement in Nanami’s eyes as he continues the call. “Yes, a little fight as all couples have. Y’know how it is.”
Intensity setting 2.
You jolt at the stimulation, body jerking up for some - any - friction. “Kento~” you choke, tears clinging to your eyes now.
But oh where Nanami was usually gentle touches and sweet, sweet love - he was so fucking mean now. Licking his lips at the slick dribbling down your legs so sloppilly, spreading in such an obscene pool on the sheets below. Frustrated tears cling to your lashes - you just wanted to fucking cum.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say she’s mad at me.”
Intensity setting 3.
No, you were fucking losing your mind.
Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt- Blinking tearily at Nanami as his thumb draws quick, relentless little circles on the intensity. The vibrator throbbing against your walls in time with your quivering walls, just grazing that one spot. But purposefully avoiding it so that he could see you fall apart and all desperate.
He sighs, “I know, I have to make it up to her, right?”
Intensity setting 4.
“You have any ideas, Higuruma? Flowers?”
“Hngh- Kento- Please, wan’ your cock.” Gritting your teeth so that you won’t just scream or outright demand that Nanami ends the call and makes you cum right now, you settling for low, needy little whimpers of his name. Whiney in just the way you knew he liked. And by the looks of the painfully hard cock straining against his trousers, you knew it was working.
“Or, chocolates?”
Maybe it was working too well because Nanami’s amping up his abuse on your cunt. Devouring the way you’re reacting so sensitively to the way he was turning the vibrations up and down. Swollen cock twitching at the wet gasps leaving your mouth, thighs twitching and squeezing together so sluttily to get yourself off.
“Yeah, you’re right.” you blink away the tears in your eyes to risk a glimpse at the man currently driving you wild. Irritation spiking at the way he was huffing out a laugh, “I could just make her cum hard enough to see stars. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Intensity setting 5.
Your orgasm takes you by surprise - violent and fast. The last thing you see is the cruel little smirk curling Nanami’s lips before he’s setting the phone down with a quick goodbye. And then it’s all stars behind your eyelids as you finally cum, not even caring if whoever’s on the phone hears the strangled yelp of “Ah! Kento, m’cumming m’- hah-”
And it’s all you can do to ride your high out on the vibrations still stimulating your sore cunt. So sensitive and maddening that you almost miss the metallic clinking of a belt.
Ringing in the heady air, the complete opposite of the voice to suddenly very close against your ear, low and hoarse with desire, “Now, think it’s time for me to make it up to you. Hm, sweetheart?”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Work for it!
“Get off on m’thigh, or you’re not getting off at all.”
Geto’s had enough of the cold shoulder today before he decides you’re getting one too - even when you’re needy and sat so prettily on his lap. It was only fair, right? Which is why he swats away the hand reaching for his aching cock, angry and throbbing in his fist. Twitching in his hand at the adorable little pout playing on your lips, “Nuh uh, bad girls don’t get what they ask for.”
“But Sugu~” you whine, slightly whiny yet not desperate - at least, not yet. “Already said I was sorry-”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it for that attitude you were givin’ me earlier, gorgeous.” he cuts you off, leaning back comfortably on the chair. Smirk only widening at the way your eyes were so deliriously locked on the way his fist starts moving in slow, languid little strokes up and down his swollen cock. “Now, y’gonna fuck that pretty lil’ cunt on my thigh or just watch? S’fine f’me either way.”
You huff at the way he was being so mean - letting a beat of silent staredown pass. One. Two. Cunt so achingly wet and dripping all over where you straddled Geto’s muscular thigh.
“Fine.”
You feel so dirty dragging your pussy all over his thigh like some bitch in heat. Your clit pressing down on his skin hard. “Sugu!” you yelp, hands reaching up to play with your sensitive nipples, still rocking your hips sloppily.
Fuck does he love your little show - and you can see it too. Catching the way his balls squeeze painfully, brows furrowing and locked on the way your folds were spread apart so sluttily.
“All that talk but look at y’now.” he hums. And Geto knows he’s supposed to be punishing you, but he can’t stop the way he starts bouncing his leg to meet your grinds. “What’ve ya gotta say for yourself now, my lil’ slut?”
“M’sorry!” you whine, nails digging into his shoulders to steady yourself as he fucks you on his thigh. So hot and messy. His skin glistening in the dim light with all your sweet sweet juices, trailing down to the cushion below and pooling at his heavy balls. And Geto was such a fucking picture - hair falling over his shoulders, bottom lip bitten, cock so long and mouthwateringly hard, flushed your favorite shade of pink at the tip.
Only bouncing his leg faster at your cute lil’ whines, like he was turning you into his slut - hit stupid lil’ slut. And all you can sputter out are strained little “M’sorry m’sorry jus’ lemme touch you. Wanna touch you-”
He cuts you off with a desperate, desperate kiss. A permission. A surrender. And you taste the sin and the satisfied little grin on his lips as you reach for his heavy cock. Drinking in the low hiss at the back of Geto’s throat as you start stroking him in quick, desperate tugs.
And he lets you.
Hips bucking to chase the feeling of your soft hand wrapped so deliciously around his throbbing cock. Faster. Your nails delicately tracing the pulsing veins along the side, swirling under his slit because shit you might act like it’s a punishment but you’ve never been wetter. “Fuck this hand was made f’me, you were made f’me.”
Previous anger forgotten - perhaps in some miraculous act of mercy - Geto couldn’t even care less if it was all sloppy, mindless little tugs and grinds, high off of your desperation. In fact, Geto wasn’t any better with the way he was snaking a hand down to draw steady, lazy little circles on your swollen lips.
Whispering against your lips, “Make us cum within the next five seconds or you’re going back to getting off on my thigh and nothing else.” Oh. Not an act of mercy.
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Evil twin
“Sorry-” he’s murmuring into your neck, lifting your leg just a little bit higher to slide his cock messily between your swollen folds. “Ngh- sorry, baby. Fuck.”
Choso can’t even remember why he’s pissed off - or that useless little argument that led to this - but when Choso’s angry, it’s like he flips a switch. Such a silent tease where he’s usually all lingering kisses and everything you could ever want.
Which is why he’s got you splayed out on your side, angry, red tip kissing your entrance in a way that was so filthy.
“Cho, jus’ gimme your cock.” You arch your back, rubbing so deliciously against his abs, flexing with the strain to not just plunge into your pretty lil’ cunt right now. “Jus’ want you inside me. Please?” And shit Choso must be really pissed off because he doesn’t waver even at the way you bat your lashes at him, instead resorting to leaning down and kissing that adorable pout off your lips.
He bites down on your bottom lip, tugging ever-so-slightly as he starts sliding his cock inbetween your pretty thighs. Creating such a sticky mess as he moves in slow, shallow little thrusts - Choso was always so sloppy. And such a fucking tease as he angles his hips to just graze your swollen clit.
You gasp into his open mouth, mewling out a strained lil’ “Ah! W-wait what’re you doi-”
“Fucking getting myself off, what does it look like doll?”
Fuck, he was really mad. But that doesn’t stop you from craning your neck to glare at him - eyes traitorously drinking in his flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes, stray strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead while he meets your gaze head-on. Unwavering.
“Bit rude to get off by yourself, huh?” you scoff, raising a brow at the slow smirk curling his lips.
“You’d know a lot about being rude, huh?”
You don’t even have the time to react to his sheer audacity because Choso’s snaking down a hand to toy with your swollen clit. Still rocking his hips between your thighs. Loving the way all you can do is buck into his touch and whine so prettily as he rolls the sensitive bud between two long fingers. “But since I’m so fuckin’ nice, you better thank me, baby.”
“Y’like this?” he hums hoarsely, playing with your needy clit. Index circling your hole, just barely dipping in before he’s swiftly moving back to rub delicate patterns on the bud. “Could’ve gotten more if you hadn’t run that pretty lil’ mouth earlier.”
“B-but I want more.” you’re babbling deliriously, trying to meet his relentless little rhythm on your cunt. Just wishing that he would fuck you like you wanted him to. But no - not yet.
“More? You think you deserve more?”
“Yes!” and it sounds like a sob that goes straight to his cock. “Wan’ more please. Was wrong- ah- I was wrong-”
Choso isn’t even sure if you remember what you two were fighting about, but that doesn’t stop him from having such fun bullying you - high off the power and the way your cunt tries to clench around his fingers. And especially your little surrender.
“Exactly what I was waitin’ for.”
It’s like something snapped because Choso’s bullying his fingers in between your folds, curling deftly against that one gummy spot he knows will have you letting out such cute lil’ whines. Hitting that spot over and over as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt. Letting you soak him in all your sweet juices.
And you’re so sensitive and needy that all that spills from your lips are mewls of, “Oh- hngh- Choso Choso- yes, jus’ like that. Faster.”
Maybe for the first time tonight, Choso listens. Movements getting so sloppy and frantic as he chases your high. And occasionally you get such a delicious taste of his throbbing cock as his hips get erratic, fucking himself on your thighs.
You cum with a strangled gasp of Choso’s name, hips bucking wildly. White-hot pleasure running down your spine, and your blood roaring in your ears. It’s all you can do to milk his fingers the way you would with his cock as you ride out your high.
But luckily for you, you feel his weeping tip nudging your quivering hole. So heavy, precum mixing with your slick in such a sinful combination. Breath hot against your ear as he whispers a quiet little, “Actually, m’really fucking not sorry.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Plaything!
“Fuckin’” he kisses his teeth, hand raising up, up, up - coming down swiftly- Smack! “Brat.”
“Oh- Hngh p-please.” you gasp, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Nails digging into his shoulders for some - any - mercy from where you’re sat prettily on his lap, throbbing cock stuffed in your cunt. Hard and aching. Yet still unmoving.
Thumb drawing lazy little circles on your clit, fast enough to have your thighs quivering on his lap, but slow enough to not give you exactly what you want - he’s been teasing you for hours now.
“P-pleeease.” he mocks, voice so dramatically whiny, swatting your ass again. Sukuna doesn’t even know why he’s fucking pissed off, he just likes seeing you all teary and letting out such cute lil’ whines, trying to eagerly to please him. Is he being a bully? Yeah. Does it make it cock so painfully hard watching you try to grind your pretty pussy down on his cock? Fuck yeah.
Which is why he watches you desperately try to fuck yourself on his cock, and oh how he loves taking in this heavenly sight. Your cunt spread so shamefully, sloppy and wet enough that you’re dripping all over him.
His messy girl. It almost makes him want to play nice.
Smack! And that has you keening, pressing your sensitive tits harder against his front. “What do you want, brat?”
Your breath hitches, words shaky, “Want your cock, ‘Kuna-”
But the only response you get is a huffed out dark chuckle. Strong arms spreading your legs even further as Sukuna leans leisurely against the headboard. He scoffs, loving the way you were always the cutest when he played mean. “You already have it in your pretty lil’ cunt, want more could you want?”
“W-wan’ you to fuck me,” a hand trailing down to massage his heavy balls, moving your hips in slutty circles to meet his, milking him inside you. “Wan’ you to fill me up with your cum till m’dumb. Till everyone’s gonna know- Ah- ple-”
Oh how he loved all your dirty little tricks. “Hm, ya really were desperate for my cock, huh?” he grits out, jaw clenched and eyes locked on the way your dripping cunt was swallowing him up so deliciously. Like you were trying to milk something delicious out of him. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. Ya really that cock-hungry, brat?”
Smack! Speeding up his movements on your clit, your pathetic little sob rings in Sukuna’s ears and goes all the way down to his twitching dick. Massaging your plushy walls just right.
That makes you mewl and buck wildly, slurring out, “Yes! Wan’ed so bad. Wanted to be split a-apart hngh- on yer cock n’ filled to the brim.”
Fuck, Sukuna bites his lower lip, do you even have any idea what you’re saying?
He doubts it - and he doesn’t give a fuck because before you know it, your hands are pinned behind your back, and Sukuna’s fucking up into you in one, harsh thrust.
“Said you wan’ my cock, n’ you’re gonna get it brat.”
Messy and desperate as you’re being split apart by his massive cock, starting to ram into you with wreckless abandon. And you can do nothing but take it because Sukuna’s holding you still, arching you impossibly deeper into him.
“Kuna- mm ngh-”
“So cockdrunk that you can’t even speak, huh?” he’s high off of the way your words are a strangled mess. Such a pity you couldn’t do anything else either - with the way he was holding you still. Like some fucktoy from the depths of his treasury. Grip bruising on your arms, only being able to let out such pathetic lil’ ah! ah! ah! against his ear each time his cock hits your bruised cervix.
“This what my little slut wanted?” His hips are erratic now, fucking any and every thought out of your mind. Hungry gaze appreciatively taking in the way your head was lolling against his shoulder, so cock-drunk and delirious already. “Now, don’t act so fucked out, brat. We’re only getting started.”
Well, he didn’t say he was going to be nice. Now, did he?
♡ GOJO SATORU - Candy for a bad day
“Had a bad day.” It’s all that announces Gojo’s arrival.
Startled, you whirl his head to catch that an uncharacteristic little sigh, he’s pulling his blindfold down haphazardly, raising his eyes to meet yours and oh-
Fuck, you weren’t going to make it out alive.
And Gojo wasn’t sure whether he would either with the way he was immediately slamming the front door shut, lips searing on yours as he shoves you against the adjacent wall with a soft thud!
“S-Satoru, what the fuck?” you sputter, head spinning because he was here and then kneeling in front of you so fast you think he might’ve teleported there. Hand groping every inch of you he could reach, thumbing over your hardened nipples. Drawing little circles on your hips as he looks at you through heavy, half-lidded eyes.
You try to talk back some semblance of sanity into him, “Satoru, what happ-”
“Shut up. Those annoying old fuckers always fuckin’ piss me off. Dunno why you fuckin’ made me attend that meeting.”
Oh. That’s what happened.
Heaving in a shaky gasp, you let him all but rip off your skirt. Flinging them to God-knows-where with the audacity of a man that would buy you ten new ones to replace it. Gojo’s mouth falls into a soft little oh! at the heavenly sight of your already-soaked panties.
“Swear m’gonna purple hollow them all one day.” he murmurs into your pretty pussy, tongue darting out to draw lazy patterns along your slit. “Gonna have ‘em begging for their lives.”
Words muffled around the flimsy fabric - ones he rips clean off your hips with one hand. Not even letting you flinch at the cool air before Gojo’s pooling your sweet juices on his fingertips. Staring right in your eyes while he pops them into your mouth, sucking them clean and glistening with saliva in the dim light.
“Oh.” Eyes rolling to the back of his at the taste of your sweet lil’ cunt. “You always taste s’fucking perfect f’me. Can’t believe you’ve been fucking holdin’ out on me.”
And maybe Gojo loses his patience - maybe his sanity - because one taste, and he’s hooked. Diving face-first into your clothed cunt, breathing in your scent so fucking lewdly.
“F-fuck, Toru-” you whisper breathlessly, gripping those soft white locks for some stability. The only reply you get is Gojo licking long, languid stripes up your swollen folds. Your slick glossing his ruby lips, trailing down his chin. “It feels s’good.”
And he’s so uncharacteristically messy - making out with your sloppy pussy like it’s his last meal. All pure desperation, lips puckering so prettily around your swollen clit as he sucks on it harshly. Rolling his tongue over and over and-
“Hate that you made me go. They drive me crazy, y’know.” he slurs lowly into your sensitive cunt. Vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running up your spine. “Makes me wanna wish I could stay home with you, eating this cute lil’ cunt out all day.”
“Wha- what nonsense, Toru.”
“Your cunt is addictive, pretty.”
You barely even notice the way that he’s the one holding you up, throwing a leg over his shoulder, looping and arm around your waist to pull you deeper onto this tongue. Close. So close. “Hngh- Toru-”
“Close?” he murmurs, muffled. “Can feel y’clenching around m’tongue, y’know. How am I supposed to tonguefuck my pretty girl if she’s sucking the soul outta me?”
He was such a little tease. Becoming as frantic and sloppy as you - dripping all over the hardwood floor with a maddening tap! tap! tap!
And despite the way he was devouring you - licking all over your pussy, tongue dipping in and out of your slutty hole - Gojo still finds it in himself to run his mouth. Babbling about how he’s gonna destroy the elders all while you’re in shambles above him.
“Hah- Toru, shit I’m close. M’gonna-”
“Give it to me, my girl. Wanna taste y’on my tongue.”
And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes and Gojo’s tongue fucking you through your high as you grind down on his pretty face. Dragging your dripping cunt all over till it’s so messy that it makes your cheeks burn.
But Gojo doesn’t mind - of course, he doesn’t. In fact, his glossy lips only turn up into a slow, sly smirk as he stands up slowly from the ground.
“C’mon, gotta punish you proper now, princess.”
A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.
#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#gojo x reader#geto x reader#sukuna x reader#nanami x reader#gojo smut#geto smut#sukuna smut#nanami smut#tonywrites#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#choso x reader#choso smut#toji x reader#toji smut#jjk x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#gojo x reader smut#toji x reader smut#satoru gojo x reader#toji fushiguro smut#nanami x reader smut#choso x reader smut#geto x reader smut
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Carry The Zero
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry (or The Void) x Avengers!Fem!Reader
Summary: You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.
Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess because Bob is in here. Other than that there is nothing too extreme happening in here, it’s a bit emotional, but there is fluff in here, I would kind of describe this as a Hurt/Comfort fic than anything. There are mentions of abuse and there is also some heavy petting maybe? I mean, I’ll put that in here to cover my booty lol.
Authors Note: My second viewing of Thunderbolts truly got my mind racing for what to write in regard to Bob. Thought I would put out this lil blurb and probably add more to it later in another segment or something! Anyways! Enjoy y’all and happy premiere weekend!!! :)
Word Count: 6,784
The room wasn’t built for two people, that’s what you knew for sure. It used to be a storage space, at least that is what you assumed judging by the various filing cabinets that lined the area, the dented lockers that were near the door, and the strewn papers that nobody decided to throw away in preparation for the move-in. The only thing that was the saving grace was the fact that the place had a window that let you look out onto the city. But it still didn’t truly make up for the cramped space, even though they were able to shove two twin sized beds inside it and call it a room–which showed how effective their planning was throughout all the chaos.
The Avengers Compound was still under renovations after a security breach took out part of the living space, meaning everyone needed to be shuffled like cards in a losing deck. Room assignments were given unwillingly to everyone, and you had been paired with Bob.
It was weird to be rooming with someone who had the power of a million exploding suns as people liked to say, because even though he carried that on his sleeve sheepishly, his personality certainly didn’t match that of a person who could take down the entire world. He was shy, quiet, and careful, tip-toeing around you like you were going to snap at him at any second–which was not the case at all.
Compared to the other options you had you actually preferred to be rooming with him.
The first few days had passed in near silence. You didn’t talk much, you’d only go into your room to sleep or change, and when you would do something outside of those two things Bob would rush out pretty quickly, apologizing nervously under his breath, like he thought you were obligated to time alone.
He’d go to bed early, and you’d catch him reading beneath the awful buzzing lamp that was left in the room from before the two of you moved in. You never really asked him what he was reading because the title was always changing, like he couldn’t finish anything, or he had so much time to himself he was finishing books like they were snacks.
Then there were little things you began to notice.
He’d pace a lot, wring his hands in his lap, or pick at the skin on his fingers. He was clean, he never left shoes in the middle of the room, and always lined them up neatly under his bed frame, even yours. He would flinch at loud noises, like if there was a childish argument happening in the communal kitchen and things got too high in volume he would get a little twitchy. He was observant, and paid attention to everything around him–sometimes you would hear him talking to himself, repeating fragments of conversations from earlier in the day, like it grounded him in some way.
He had his routine and you respected it as much as possible, but tonight was entirely different.
You were coming in late from training, and a med bay visit.
The scrape on your shoulder wasn’t serious, but it was bad enough to have Bucky send you down to get checked out. It was standard–some antiseptic, a lecture from one of the nurses about being more careful and aware of your surroundings, and then you were released with a warning, and a fresh bandage. You were exhausted, sore, and annoyed with yourself for not paying attention and letting your guard down during a simulation, especially because the past few nights had been like that.
By the time you reached your floor, the halls were quiet. There wasn’t any bickering or discussions happening in the kitchen, nobody was lingering in the living room with post-mission jitters, it was just peace, for once.
You stopped at the fridge to pick yourself up a bottle of electrolytes, then paused, eyeing the row of them. You bit your inner cheek, and after a second of hesitation you grabbed another one for Bob, tucking it against you.
You figured he would be awake like he always was when you were on your training nights. You weren’t sure if he was just waiting for you or if he was just incapable of resting when you weren’t accounted for, but you never asked.
Slowly, you moved down the hall, twisting the cap off your drink with a wince when you strained just a little too much, causing the bandage to sting beneath your shirt. You gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated grunt.
“Gotta take it easy on yourself.” You heard Bucky say from behind you. You turned on your heel, seeing he was still in his training gear, also holding a bottle of electrolytes as well, “You’re gonna burn out if you don’t take breaks.” You shifted under his gaze.
”I want to be better, that’s why I’m training. If you got your ass handed to you on the field you would be doing the same.” He shook his head.
”No. I would be resting and seeing what I could do better the next time. Don’t come to training for the rest of the week, just relax and recoup, we’ll revisit your regimen when you’re better.” Before you could say anything he typed his code in for his room, and was out of your sight. You could feel your body seething as you turned back around to continue making your way down the hall. You’d seen it coming from a mile away just by the way he was watching you during the simulation but you never thought he would say anything to you like that. It just added another layer of annoyance as you reached your room.
You pushed the door open gently, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The room was dark, which was unexpected, Bob’s light wasn’t even on. The only thing that was illuminating the room was the shimmer of city lights, casting silver-blue shadows across the floor.
Bob was in bed, lying on his side facing you, with his blanket tugged up to his neck. His face was soft in the low light–features relaxed, eyes closed. Sleeping, or at least you thought he was. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, squinting in the dimness of the room to see him a bit better.
His light brown hair looked a little messy, like he’d been shifting around for a while before finally settling on the position he was in now. You wondered how long he was lying like that, or if he had been waiting for your return but fell asleep in the process, and now you felt even worse than before.
You let the door close softly behind you with a gentle click, removing your shoes slowly, one at a time. Every motion felt heavier than it should have–dull with fatigue, and edged in frustration. You padded across the narrow space, keeping your steps quiet, with the extra bottle of electrolytes tucked against you, the condensation seeping through your training jacket.
You crouched slowly beside Bob’s bed, biting back a wince as your muscles tensed in protest, while you placed the bottle down on the floor, angling it so he’d see it when he woke up. It was a small, quiet offering, just something kind, a consideration in a way. You took your next moves slowly as you stood up and turned to your own bed with a tired exhale, putting the cap back on your drink and throwing it onto your bed. One hand rose to the zipper of your training jacket, pulling it down in a swift movement, teeth grinding while you pushed the fabric off your shoulders, feeling pain erupt from your ribs and shoulder now, the muscles pulsing with burning heat.
The cool air of the room hit your skin instantly, and your tank top didn’t do much to hide any of your injuries from the environment. Your back arched with the grating sting that came through you, and one hand came up to press against the bandage, making sure it was still on properly and not tugging at your skin. The ache was sharp and pulsing, and when your fingers came away damp, you already knew there was blood seeping through the gauze. You grimaced but didn’t consider making another trip to the med bay. You were too tired to care at this point, and it wasn’t something that would cause you to bleed out, so it was a morning issue to deal with.
You turned toward your dresser, collecting a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of sage, throwing both articles of clothing down onto your bed with a soft plop. You rolled your shoulder gently, testing the range of motion in it with a quiet wince before reaching for the hem of your tank top, peeling the rough fabric up your skin carefully, trying to avoid the worst of the sting, though even at your slowest pace you could feel the movement pulling at the wound.
The cotton clung briefly to the tape of the gauze and the dried sweat that coated your skin before finally giving way, and coming off completely. You let out a sigh of relief, as you let the fabric fall to the floor, reaching for your sweater next. The bandage on your shoulder throbbed with every shift you made, but it was the deeper bruises scattered across your body–ghosts of impacts from the past few days–that ached beneath your skin like an echoing thunder. You glanced down at yourself, taking in the way they bloomed across your ribs, stomach, and hips, at this point you could see more bruises than your actual flesh at this point, and they were tender, dark and swollen. Maybe Bucky was right, maybe you really did need a break…
Your fingers curled loosely into the hem of your sweater, but you didn’t think to pull it on yet, you just continued to look down at the wreck that was your body, and the longer you stared, the more numb you became. It was easy to take a break but it wasn’t deserved, you couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes during missions, and you knew you weren’t going to listen to Bucky, you would keep training until your body gave out.
You closed your eyes for a moment, before lifting the sweater towards you, ready to retreat into its softness, ready to disappear and call it a night, but then you heard it.
A breath. Sharp and quick. You froze in your spot.
Then came the sound of movement, the shuffling of the blanket, the mattress creaking under the shifting weight.
Your eyes darted toward Bob’s bed instantly, seeing that his back was now turned towards you. His blanket was pulled up around his shoulders, almost covering his whole head, but there was tension in his posture now, like he was more alert, and less relaxed.
Another breath was inhaled, only it was thinner this time, and wet, followed by a muffled sniffle. Your brows furrowed, and you worked quickly to throw your sweater on without hurting yourself so you were covered up completely, before making your way to his bed, crouching down on the floor, keeping your attention fixated on him. His shoulders were rising and falling now in uneven motions, and now you were piecing together that he was actually crying.
”…Bob?” You whispered, voice soft and low, like if you made it any louder than the volume you were at now it might shatter him. You could see the shuddering in his shoulders halt at the way you said his name, and he pulled the blanket higher over his head, like he was trying to shield himself from your eyes.
”I’m sorry…” Your brows pulled together in confusion as you leaned against the bed a little more, watching the outline of his frame beneath the covers, seeing the small tremors still running through his shoulders. You bit the inside of your cheek as you reached out, your hand hovering for a breath before resting gently against the curve of his back. He was radiating heat through the blanket, but he was stiff beneath your touch, like he didn’t know what to do with the comfort you were offering.
“Bob…Why are you apologizing?” You asked softly. He took in another shaky breath, but didn’t answer. You let out a sigh, rubbing your hand up and down his back like your mother used to when you cried, trying to soothe him, to calm him as much as you could.
”I…I saw the bruises.” He said, barely a whisper. Your hand on his back froze for a moment, “I-I didn’t mean to look, I swear, I just-“ His breath hitched, realizing that you were probably throwing daggers into his back with your eyes, “I just woke up…And saw them, and I couldn’t…Couldn’t stop remembering…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, it was just too much, as another set of sobs escaped his throat. You could feel your gaze soften at the noise, almost like a piece of your heart was breaking for him, continuing your movements along his back, pressing just a little harder into the muscle.
“Is there anything I can do? Do you want some electrolytes or something?” He shook his head.
”No…P-Please just stay…” His voice was hoarse, cracking under the thickness that coated his throat from the tears. You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, staring at his shoulders as he continued to cry, curling in on himself beneath his blanket.
You continued rubbing his back, keeping a steady and consistent rhythm. The heat of him radiated through the blanket like a furnace on the verge of burning itself out. Every time your hand passed over his spine, his shoulders seemed to loosen by a fraction.
“C-Can I ask something…Kind of w-weird?” His voice broke through the quiet again, in such a timid whisper that you barely heard it.
“Sure.” You replied, hearing him sniffle again. There was a long pause, and you could feel the hesitation, like he was trying to put his words together properly so whatever he was going to say didn’t come off creepy. You continued to run your hand over his back, waiting patiently for him, watching his figure rising and falling beneath the blanket, still seeing it shaking. In your mind, you were worried, you hadn’t seen him like this before, and there was a moment where you considered calling Bucky or Yelena to come help you, but then his voice broke through the thoughts.
”…Could you…” He took another breath, “Could you…Please hold me?” The question came out strangled, like it had clawed its way out of his throat before he could second-guess it again. You blinked slowly at the request, not because you were unsure of your answer, but because the way he said it was so gentle, and embarrassed it caught you off guard in a way.
You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, you thought maybe he was going to ask you for a tissue, but this was something far more vulnerable, something you never thought would come from Bob of all people, even though you knew he was sensitive. Inside you hesitated only because you didn’t want to hurt him by possibly doing the wrong thing, yet your heart ached watching him break down beneath his blanket which at this point was drowning him because of how much he had curled up beneath it.
“Of course…Just let me change out of these training pants first okay? It’ll just take a second.” There was no response to that, just movement. He shifted towards the wall so he was giving you enough space to get in, still hunched over like he felt guilty for the area that he occupied. You quickly stood up, and made quick work of shimmying out of your training pants and putting on your cotton sleep shorts, which was probably the best idea since you felt him burning through the blanket he was wrapped in. You brought your attention back to him soon after, returning to the side of the bed, your eyes roaming over the lump that resembled his body.
With a gentle hand, you tugged the edge of the blanket down just enough to uncover the top of his head, revealing his light brown hair again which looked dampened with sweat beneath the illuminating city lights that shined through the window. He didn’t say anything, or protest being exposed to you, so you took that as a good sign to continue.
You slid into the space he made for you, careful not to jostle the cocoon he made for himself too much, and eased your bad arm underneath his pillow so your scraped shoulder could rest in a neutral position where your bandage wouldn’t rip off your skin completely. You pulled up the blanket slightly, getting in behind him, scooting closer until your chest met his damp back.
His navy blue t-shirt was soaked through completely, and it wasn’t helping that he was wearing long pants to bed either. There was a fear he was gonna pass out from heat stroke or something, but he had mentioned it several times that he ran hot in general, you just didn’t see it to this extreme. He smelled like a salty rain storm, or like ozone, it was something indescribable to you in those moments, but it was what he typically radiated, it was familiar.
Slowly, you brought your arm over his torso, placing your hand onto the hard plane of his sternum, the muscles beneath his shirt twitching against the unfamiliar touch that you introduced to him.
Neither of you spoke, you just laid against each other in pure silence, listening to each other's breathing–his trembling, yours steady. He could feel your hot breaths against his neck and tried to pay attention to it, as you pushed down the blanket a bit with your elbow to shed the makeshift shield from his body. It took him a while to compose himself enough to speak again, but when he did, you were hanging off of every word.
”…When I saw the bruises…” He rasped, “All I could think about was me. When I was a kid…” The mentioning of his childhood immediately felt like a blow to your stomach. He had said something about how he was raised in passing, but it was an off handed remark that nobody really paid attention to. You figured it was something he didn’t want to talk about, but hearing him say this only made you dread what he was going to continue with.
”After he’d hit me…I’d go over to the mirror, just to see how bad it was. I’d tell myself it didn’t hurt, even if it did, I’d just lie to myself, because I knew if I cried, he’d just get angrier. He was always in the mood to beat me up so when he had a reason I think it made him feel justified in some…Messed up way.” Your chest tightened at his words, thinking about how scary it must’ve been for him, and how terrified he must’ve felt not knowing when his own father would strike. You didn’t speak right away, but you did shift, sliding your hand up higher on his chest, so you could press your palm flat over his heart. His shirt was soaked there too, yet beneath it all you could feel the frantic fluttering of his pulse, like a bird rattling against its cage.
“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your breath tickling his neck again. He didn’t respond, though he didn’t recoil either.
“None of that should’ve ever happened to you,” You continued softly, brushing your thumb along the fabric against his heart, “You were a child, and you didn’t deserve that.” He let out a breath like he was trying not to begin sobbing again.
”You don’t have to say that.” You raised your head a bit, almost in disbelief that he truly thought that what happened to him was somehow okay or justified.
”I do, Bob.” You murmured, inching just a little closer, feeling your body screaming in protest as your injured shoulder moved the wrong way, causing you to hiss through your teeth. Bob noticed instantly.
”You’re hurting,” He said quietly with guilt sinking into every syllable.
”I really couldn’t give a crap about that right now Bob, trust me I’ve been through worse. You’re hurting right now too and I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?” You replied back, your voice low, but lacking bite, not that you intended to have it sound stern or anything.
Bob shifted beneath your touch, slowly rolling onto his back like the weight of your words cracked something loose inside him. You adjusted carefully to give him space, keeping your injured shoulder angled away from the impact of his back pressing against your arm, even though the ache felt like white noise beneath the tension that was beginning to rise in the room. When he settled on his back you adjusted yourself so your chin rested against his chest, keeping your hand splayed in the same position over his heart.
His eyes didn’t find yours at first, they stared blankly at the ceiling, the soft glow of the city lights catching the shimmer of the tears that were still pooling in his eyes. Now that you could see him fully, you realized how bad things really were. His skin was blotchy, and flushed from how hot he was. His cheeks were stained with fresh tears, mixing with sweat that created this overall sheen on his skin in general, which made his hair cling to his forehead. A long, old kind of hurt settled over his face, the kind that hid quietly within the corners of a person.
He inhaled shakily, and every exhale got caught somewhere between exhaustion and restraint. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your chin, and it made you ache in a way that put a hole deep in your chest.
”Bob…” You murmured, barely louder than the sound of the city humming outside the window, “Look at me.” At first he didn’t move, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling, distant and confused, still taking in those short bursts of air. Your hand left his chest, bringing them up to his jaw, coaxing his attention with the lightest touch you could give him.
“Look at me Bob,” You whispered again.
Then slowly, his eyes shifted downward until they found yours. The moment his gaze landed on you, something cracked open between you both–it was quiet, and delicate, but present and grounded in the center of it all. His expression was drawn, and his lashes were clumpy and wet with tears, framing his shimmering blue irises.
The skin surrounding his eyes were raw, almost a blood red, like someone had scratched it and left their marks streaking down his flesh. You didn’t flinch away from it though, you just looked at him with such focus, like your gaze could settle the storm that was in him. You could see his lip tremble slightly under your gaze as he tried to hold himself still, tears brimming in his eyes again, threatening to spill.
”I hate remembering…I can’t stand it. I don’t want to remember this stuff…I don’t want to think about it anymore, and I don’t want you to associate me with being weak.” You raised your eyebrows, now raising your head up to you were looking at him a little better, resting your hand against his chin now.
”I don’t, ” You stated, watching a set of tears flow out of the corners of his eyes, swallowing loudly, “I don’t associate you with weakness.” You whispered, brushing your thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek.
”I associate you with patience…With overwhelming kindness, and with strength so deep it doesn’t even have to be displayed. You could burn the sky down…You could use all the pain inside you to destroy the planet…Yet you help, you listen, and you keep going. That’s not a weak person Bob.” You wiped one of the tears away with your thumb, feeling him hesitate before leaning into your touch.
“Y/N…I’m not right in the head…You don’t understand…You’ll never understand.” You shook your head, and sighed.
”I don’t have to understand everything to care about you,” Bob’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, like the words that you said hit him like a truck. You could feel the tension in his jaw, as he clenched it tightly, trying to contain himself a bit.
“I used to think that if I could just bury everything deep enough maybe it wouldn’t make me feel so contaminated…But then when I got the serum…And The Void came…And that awfulness manifested into something bigger…I realized that it just wouldn’t go away. I’m dangerous Y/N…I’m not someone that can be fixed. I know you care, but I can’t risk hurting you.” You shifted closer to him, moving up slowly, dragging your chest along his. His eyes followed your movements, turning his head when you settled near his shoulder, feeling your hand leave his cheek.
“You don’t scare me Bob. You’re just saying this stuff because you think it’ll make me give up on you, but I’m not that easy to sway.” You whispered, reaching down to touch one of his hands, which caused him to flinch. He was already bracing himself, preparing to be pulled into one of your memories, but it didn’t happen…It was like…Things were quiet. Just pure emptiness, and the only thing he could see was you. He stared at you as you wrapped your fingers around his hand, seeing his brows draw together.
“H-How are you…Doing this?” He asked quietly, like he was afraid he was going to disturb the peace and get thrown into your mind out of nowhere.
”I locked it out.” He shook his head at you quickly.
”That’s impossible…It always gets in…” A small smile came up on your lips, hearing the disbelief in his voice, the way he was almost entirely taken aback by what you had just said. You leaned in a little closer to him, like you were going to tell him a secret, feeling his breath fanning over your face.
“Before I was recruited, I was part of a different team. Black-ops, kind of like what the X-Men used to be, but very much under the radar. It was just…Constant missions, we were a clean up crew basically, picking up the scraps that nobody else wanted…” You smiled faintly, the corner of your mouth twitching with the memories of your team, how close you all were, how none of you took crap from anyone…Similar to what you had now, just a little better because of the tether you all had between each other.
“We ran into a lot of people with gifts. Telepaths. Empaths…Stuff like that. Some didn’t even know they were projecting until it was too late. Others weaponized it. Pulled secrets out like stitches and drove people insane without ever touching them.”
Bob was still staring at you, eyes wide and brimming with tears, his chest rising beneath you in short bursts.
“It was mandatory,” You continued. “To train in mental shielding. Neural control. The discipline to lock down your own mind so tight it’s like a vault. We trained until our thoughts didn’t even echo. You learn to breathe around psychic pressure, to mask trauma with static, to reroute memories into dead space. You learn to feel someone reaching for you…And then cut the line.”
Bob swallowed hard, hearing the way you explained everything to him step by step, while still holding his hand, running your thumb over the back of it.
“I wasn’t trained to stop the Void,” You said gently, “But I was trained to stop something similar to it. And apparently, it’s just close enough.” You watched his lashes flutter like he didn’t know whether he was going to cry again or if he was just going to sink into the mattress and disappear entirely.
“…That’s why the mental noise isn’t so loud when we're alone in a room together…” He whispered under his breath, almost like everything was clicking in his mind, as his hand began to tighten around yours now, matching the same hold you had, “…Mental shielding…Who knew that would be the thing that makes everything go quiet.” You smirked at his comment, already hearing the tension in his voice wavering, feeling his breath sticking to your cheeks, shifting in front of him so your noses bumped slightly.
“Technically it’s still quite an experimental thing, but…It works when needed I think.” You can see his lip twitch slightly, drawing into his mouth just a little bit, as if he wanted to get a taste of your breath that coated it.
“It’s…Amazing.” Was all he could muster up to say, continuing to hold onto your hand tightly, like it was anchoring him to this quiet space in his head that he had not been able to reach since taking the serum. “…All I hear, and all I feel…Is you and I had no clue until now…” The sound of his voice made your spine tingle, and goosebumps raise on your skin.
It was shocking that moments ago he was this wreck, then suddenly it was like he was on top of the world. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been touched like this in so long, or maybe it was because he finally had a break from all the noise that kept draining him, you had no clue…But what you did know is how soft his eyes had become, and how deep his breaths were now that he was a little calmer, and not being treated like a threat of some kind.
You shifted again, getting almost unbearably close to him now, the fabric of the blanket sliding down slowly, exposing your clothed bodies to the silvery-blue light just a little more. Bob didn’t move, but his eyes never left yours, he kept every ounce of attention on you, waiting for your next action, hanging on every moment. His breath hitched when your knees bumped gently against his thigh, as the warmth of your bodies radiated like twin heartbeats pressed just barely apart.
Your noses were brushing against one another, and if you tilted your chin up by just a little bit, you’d be kissing.
”I’m glad I’ve been able to make it go quiet for you…Even if it’s not permanent.” A faint smile slowly appeared on his face–crooked, and trembling, but so genuine.
“It’s more peace than I thought I’d ever get…So thank you.” He replied back, his hand squeezing yours, not in desperation, but with something closer to awe, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the situation that was happening in front of him. His breath brushed across your face as he watched your eyes roaming over his. You couldn’t help but stare at him, to take him in now that he wasn’t crying, to admire the person who was in front of you. It was hard not to lose track of time studying his features, and how they were just…Him.
There was a long pause between the both of you, a snippet of time suspended into the universe where nothing else existed beyond the narrow bed and the hum of the city beyond the window. His chest rose slowly, puffing out warm shallow breaths against your lips, and for a second it felt like he was hesitating on something…But then, he leaned in.
It wasn’t fast, or sweeping like he was trying to catch you off guard. It was careful, like every little millimeter he closed between the both of you was an offer for you to pull back, but you didn’t take it.
When his lips met yours, it was a soft, trembling brush of mouths that lingered more in intent than execution. He kissed like he was afraid you were somehow going to disappear, but you could feel how much he truly wanted this. His lips were warm, and slightly parted, and you could taste the faintness of tears and salt, still hesitating to go the full mile.
There was a moment where he was about to pull back, and that’s when you took the opportunity to fully lean into the kiss and throw logic out the window, just for this one cut of time
Your lips moved against his, answering the softness of his approach with something more certain and grounded. The taste of him was still there, but now it was amplified tenfold from how much more pressure you were placing on the kiss now.
He was stiff at first, the tension in his jaw made it evident, like he was unsure of what he was allowed to do, what he was okay to give back, or like he was bracing himself for the possibility of you pulling back before he could even try to meet you where you were at. But then your hand let go of his, and slid up to cup the side of his face, and he let out the smallest gasp of disbelief against your mouth. Your thumb brushed gently beneath his eye as your lips molded to the shape of his mouth with a tenderness that shattered whatever restrain he’d been holding onto.
Your arm shifted beneath the pillow, bending just enough so you could lace your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him in more with such grace that it made him groan. His hand moved to your neck then–his shaky fingers pressing softly just below your ear, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw as he located your pulse instantly. His touch wasn’t possessive, it was filled with care, and curiosity. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin, the steady–or not so steady–rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his fingers, he craved to be closer to you, and every moment that passed was giving him the signal that you wanted that too.
He shifted gently, slowly turning onto his side without breaking the kiss, being cautious not to put anymore unwanted pressure on your arm beneath him as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in until your bodies were flush against one another. You could feel the dampness on your sweater from his shirt, and your bare legs brushing against the cotton of his sleep pants, which only overwhelmed you more, knowing it was going to be a challenge to stop this from going too far.
His hand splayed out on your back, twitching against the fabric that covered it as you parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to brush against yours with the softest flicker of hesitation, tasting you like he was drinking something sacred. The breath he let out against your mouth made your skin prickle beneath your sweater, and it only encouraged your response.
You angled your mouth to his, encouraging him to continue, feeling him follow suit in an instant, matching your energy bit by bit, syncing with the way you moved against him. When your hand slid further into his hair, and curled within the damp strands, gently tugging, he let out the smallest, softest moan–it was so quiet and desperate it sounded like it had been buried within him for years. It made your head spin hearing it, and it only made you shift yourself towards him even more, feeling his thigh nudging between your legs so the both of you can completely mesh together. It was such a subtle move, but it lit up every nerve ending in your body like it was nothing.
Bob’s hand slid beneath the hem of your sweater, craving the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. His fingers traced the small of your spine, barely putting enough pressure on it, yet he still managed to send shivers through your body. He was getting bolder, but kept his awareness at the forefront, like he was cataloging every reaction you gave him, terrified that he might cross an invisible line and ruin the moment.
You felt the muscles in his arm shift as he pulled you even closer, putting more pressure between your bodies until you felt every rise and fall of his chest, and his heartbeat pulsed through you. His knee shifted again, nudging further between your thighs, pressing it gently into the thin cotton fabric that covered your most sensitive area, eliciting a gasp from you now. You could feel yourself falter control for a moment, moving your hips just a little to test the friction that you wanted, and that’s when you both realized just how far this could go–and how close you already were to getting there.
His hand tensed against your back, and the kiss slowed down, until he found the correct moment to pull back, just a few inches. His lips were still parted, only now they were swollen and wet with saliva. He was out of breath, and you mirrored the same sentiment, as the both of you tried to even your racing hearts before they exploded. His pupils were dilated, and in the dimmed lighting you could only see a faint glisten of blue that rimmed the darkness that took over, the burn was there, the want was there, but there was the looming fear that you both were going from zero to one hundred really quickly, and that’s when regrets could be made, and neither of you wanted that.
”…We can’t do this…” He whispered, his voice cracking from being the first one to speak. You nodded faintly, your fingers still toying with his hair, reluctant to let go completely, but understanding him.
”I know,” You murmured, “Not like this…Not tonight.” You clarified. He closed his eyes, a soft exhale brushing your lips as his fingers twitched against your pulse point on your neck again.
”It’s not that I don’t want to,” He added quietly, “God I do…You have no idea.”
“I know,” You said again, running your thumb along his cheek, soothing the skin there, “Me too…I want to as well…But we’re not ready. Especially after being in the headspace that you were in a few minutes ago.” He nodded slowly.
”I don’t want it to be something that will be confused for a moment of distraction.” You stared at him, hearing how serious he was about it, “And I don’t want to ruin anything.” He added softly, opening his eyes again to look at you.
”You’re not ruining anything, we’re just pressing pause…And that’s completely fine, and it’s the best decision to make for right now.” He gave a small, nervous smile at that and leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, “We’ll talk more about it later…But for now how about we just relax hmm?” He let out a shaky breath, the heat from it hitting your lips and invading your mouth for just a split second.
”Yeah…I’d like that.” You smiled faintly, as your bodies untangled just a bit from one another, removing the both of you from the intimate position you had found yourself in moments before. His knee shifted out from between your legs, and rested against them instead, letting the tension unravel and disappear slowly.
He wrapped both arms around you now, carefully noting your injury, and you folded yourself into his chest, letting your hand rest on his ribs as he pulled the blanket up to shield the both of you.
You both stayed there, nose to nose, breath to breath, hearts beating unevenly against one another until sleep came over you like a harsh wave.
#robert reynolds#robert reynolds x reader#bob reynolds#bob reynolds x reader#sentry#the void#thunderbolts#the avengers#avengers#bob x reader#bob reynolds fluff#fluff#Robert reynolds fanfic#the hot hot heat of my steamy mind#thunderbolts fanfic#thunderbolts fan fiction#lewis pullman#imagine#marvel fanfiction#bob reynolds imagines#close quarters#sentry fanfiction#marvel#thunderbolts*#my entire body is literally on fire from writing this thing for too long lol#bring back making out lol#Spotify
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Behind the Screen
Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up
Part 2 -> Here
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
—
You post it as a joke. Kind of.
It’s late, and you’re curled up in bed with your fanfic draft open and half a Twix in your mouth. Your followers are going wild in the replies, and you’re riding the high of being the “unofficial Dynamight smut queen” of the timeline. You’ve been known for your over-the-top thirst tweets, but this one? This one’s feral.
—
@/blastyourbackout
“Dynamight wouldn’t even take the suit off. He’d fuck you with the gauntlets still on, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, all ‘Shut up and take it—this is what you wanted, right?’”
—
You toss your phone. That’s enough unhinged behavior for the night. Until the morning comes—and you wake up to hell.
Your tweet is trending. His name is trending. People are tagging him.
—
“this is NASTY and i love it.”
“@Dynamightofficial please read this and confirm or deny.”
“If Dynamight didn’t do this, I’d be shocked.”
“SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM”
“@Dynamightofficial thoughts??”
Then it happens.
—
@Dynamightofficial :
“Who tf is behind this account.”
“If you’re gonna talk like that, be brave enough to show your face.”
You nearly throw up. Your DMs? Melted. And sitting right at the top.
[Private Message – @Dynamightofficial]
“You write a lotta shit for someone who hides behind a screen.”
“You really think I’d leave the fuckin’ suit on?”
“Show me your face if you’re gonna say it like you know me.”
Your heart is pounding. And you shouldn’t. But you do. You send a selfie. Just a soft one. T-shirt, messy hair, bare face. You look like someone who absolutely shouldn’t be writing the filth he just read.
There’s a long pause.
He starts to finally type:
“…fuck.”
“You’re cute.”
“like super fuckin’ cute”
“You don’t look like someone who says I’d blow your back out against a fuckin’ window.”
You:
“I mean… would you?”
Him:
“You really wanna know?”
“You clearly think you know it all, writing the way you do.”
“So what—wanna let me show you what it’s really like?”
You pause. Breathless. Fingers trembling.
“Yes.”
⸻
A few days later, the meet-up actually happened.
You gave him your address—half-joking, half-panicking when he immediately replied with a thumbs up and a “Bet.”
You spent the next two days spiraling.
Cleaned every inch of your apartment. Shaved, exfoliated, moisturized places you didn’t even know needed it. Practiced how you’d open the door without looking like you were seconds from passing out. Told yourself it was just casual, just fun, just… whatever. you totally weren’t about to get fucked dumb by your fav pro that you write smut about.
Except it wasn’t. Because now. He’s at your door.
And he’s in the fucking suit.
Mask off. Jaw set. Gloves still on. That big, broad chest rising and falling.
Black and orange, thick with tension and sweat and that sharp smoky scent that clings to him after a patrol. His hair’s a mess. One gauntlet is attached, the other dangling from his hip. And he’s just standing there—broad, massive, silent—like he owns the whole building.
You freeze. Your heart slams.
“…Hi,” you manage to say.
His eyes drag over you—down your legs, over the shorts you probably could’ve made smaller and the tank top that wasn’t technically meant to be seductive, but absolutely became that under stress.
“Damn,” he mutters. “You look even better when you’re nervous.”
You try to laugh but it comes out breathless. “You really wore the suit?”
“uuuh yeah? did you think I was gonna show up here in a hoodie after all the shit you wrote about this thing?” He steps closer. “Thought I’d let you see it up close before I ruined your sheets.”
Your knees go weak.
You try to respond—something witty, something smug—but your words get caught somewhere between your throat and the fact that he’s already inside. Pushing the door shut behind him. Glancing around like he’s checking for cameras, or exits, or maybe just where he’s gonna lay you out first.
“You ready?” he asks, voice low. Rough. Already undoing the gauntlet from his wrist with one hand, tossing it aside.
You nod, dazed. “Yeah.”
He smirks—steps in closer until you’re backed up against the nearest wall, breath catching.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing sleep over the way you said I’d fuck you in this suit.”
You stare up at him, completely wrecked just by his presence, and whisper, “Was I right about some of this stuff I wrote?”
He dips his head down, lips brushing yours—barely.
“I’m here to fact check it.” he growls.
You shudder.
He pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dragging down your body like he’s mentally ripping off every layer.
He hasn’t even touched you properly yet—but your back’s against your door, your legs are trembling, and Bakugou’s towering over you like he’s already won.
“That tweet got me thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ day, baby. Let’s see if you write better when you’re sore.”
His hero suit creaks with every breath. Heavy-duty gauntlets still locked around his wrists. His undersuit clings to him, black and orange and unforgiving across his chest, his thighs—everything.
“You scared?” he asks, voice low. His hand comes up—gloved fingers trailing under your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Or just nervous I’m actually gonna live up to that filthy little imagination of yours?”
Your breath catches.
“…both.”
He smirks. Then his mouth is on yours.
It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything you wrote about—demanding, rough, obsessed. He kisses like a man starved. Like he’s been reading your tweets on loop.
And god, when his hand slides down your waist—those big gloved fingers gripping your ass, hoisting you up—your back hits the wall and you let out a soft, stunned whimper.
“That the sound you make when you’re not behind a screen?” he growls, lips dragging along your neck. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re even better in person.”
You try to answer, but he’s already slipping one hand between your thighs, dragging his knuckles over your heat—still covered by your shorts.
“Wrote that I’d be mean with it,” he murmurs. “That I’d tease you. Make you beg.”
His gloved finger presses just right over the damp spot in your underwear.
“So beg.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel insane.
“P-Please.”
He groans. “That all I get after all those filthy paragraphs?”
“Dynamight—”
His eyes flash. “Katsuki.”
You pant, skin burning.
“Please, Katsuki.”
“Atta fuckin’ girl.”
He carries you to your room practically kicking the damn door down. Your back hits the mattress, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, gaze dark and hungry.
His suit’s half-unzipped now—exposing his chest, glistening with sweat and tension—but everything else stays on. That thick black material clings to his arms and thighs like sin. The gauntlets drop to the floor with a heavy thud, but the gloves? Still on. And he flexes his fingers slow—just to watch you squirm.
“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “Sittin’ there on your little blog, makin’ people think you’ve got me figured out.”
Your thighs squeeze together. He notices. Smirks. “Lemme show you how right you were.”
He crawls over you like a storm. Muscles shifting under his suit, voice dipping low, filthy, as he shoves your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach.
You arch when his teeth graze your hip. “Katsuki—”
“That’s right, baby,” he mutters, pulling your shorts off slow. “Say my name when you write about this later too.”
He pushes your thighs open, and he goes down. Tongue eager. Desperate. He eats you out like he’s proving a point—like he’s got something to prove to every single tweet you’ve ever posted. Groaning into you, gripping your thighs tight like he wants to leave handprints. You’re moaning, shaking, gripping the sheets, and he’s just eating it up—literally.
He comes up with his mouth slick and eyes wild. “Not even close to done with you.” And he isn’t.
He flips you. Presses you into the mattress. One hand on your hip, the other grabbing your wrist and dragging it up the bed.
“Hold that headboard, princess.” You feel him line up—still in the damn suit—and your breath catches as he sinks in.
Slow. Deep. Bruising.
“Fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched. “You feel like I imagined. So fuckin’ tight, so wet—shit.”
You cry out. He starts moving. Harder. Deeper.
Every stroke is a claim. His hand slides down your back, then back up to wrap around your throat—not choking, just holding. Just letting you feel it.
“Write about this next time” he growls into your ear. “Write about about me makin’ you cum multiple fuckin’ times.”
You whimper—high, breathy, wrecked.
“That’s right. Take it. You wanted this.”
“I did,” you gasp. “I wanted you—”
“You fuckin’ got me now.”
When you fall apart—completely, wildly, back-arching and moaning his name like a prayer—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.
Because he’s obsessed now. Addicted.
Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is hoarse. Your sheets are a mess—twisted, damp, clinging to your skin like the heat of him isn’t already enough.
He’s still going.
“One more,” he grits out, thrusts snapping into you slow and deep. “C’mon, baby—just one more for me.”
You’re barely hanging on—nails dragging helplessly down his back, vision blurry with overstimulation, body trembling under him as he rocks into you, all tight grunts and low, broken groans.
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Takin’ me so good—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”
You moan, shattered.
He growls, fucks you harder, chasing his release like a wildfire. And when he finally gets there—when you clench around him, gasping out his name in a breathless sob— He snaps.
“Knew it,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Knew I’d fill this pussy the second I saw you.” oh, and he does. Deep. Warm. Heavy. Flooding you.
He keeps moving—shallow, deep rolls—just to push it in. Just to feel it drip. Just to make it last. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.
You barely register him pulling out until you feel it—messy, hot, dripping down your thighs.
“fuuuck you’re beautiful” he murmurs smirking down at you. Wrecked, ruined, glowing. He lays down beside you, just looking at you like you were a fucking trophy.
He then reaches for his phone.
—
[New Tweet – @Dynamightofficial]
“Just fact-checked one of your little fantasy tweets. 11/10 accuracy. Would reread. Would re-enact.”
—
You see what’s he doing and it snaps you out your daze, your eyes go wide. “You didn’t—!”
“Too late,” he shrugs. “Let ‘em guess which one it was.”
You grabbed your phone just as quick to quote it.
—
[New Tweet – @blastyourbackout]
“Just know the gloves stayed on.”
—
The internet breaks.
You can barely feel your legs.
And Katsuki Bakugou? THE pro hero Dynamight?
He’s already rolling over, tugging you to his chest, muttering in your ear, “Hope you’re not tired, princess. I’ve got a lot more tweets to prove right.”
#mha#my hero academia#bnha x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bakugou katuski x reader#boku no hero academia#botanicwrites#katsuki bakugou smut#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou smut#bnha katsuki#katsuki smut#bnha bakugou#katsuki bakugou#bakugou x you#katsuki x you#katsuki bakugou x female reader#katsuki bakugou x reader
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clark kent core, nsfw ! mdni.
clark kent who, warms your side of the bed for you when you stay up late, lying on your pillow just so the sheets smell like him when you climb in.
clark kent who, leaves his reading glasses on the nightstand crooked and forgotten, too busy spooning you under the covers with his fingers lazily tracing the dip of your waist.
clark kent who, hums while doing the dishes, arms soaked up to the elbows, sleeves rolled, wedding ring gleaming, hips swaying while you wrap your arms around him from behind.
clark kent who, slips his hand under your shirt while you’re brushing your teeth, palm pressed to your stomach, lips against your shoulder, breath warm and quiet like, “i missed you today.”
clark kent who, doesn’t ask for sex. he just kisses you like he needs it, slow and full of heat, until you’re tugging him toward the bedroom with your toothbrush still foaming in your mouth.
clark kent who, groans softly when you slide into his lap during a movie night, tugging the blanket up like it’ll hide how much he loves the way your body molds to his.
clark kent who, can hear your heartbeat spike the moment his thumb brushes just a little too low while helping zip up your dress.
clark kent who, presses you into the kitchen counter with a lazy grind of his hips, breath catching like it surprises even him, voice soft in your ear: “you really gonna wear this and expect me to behave?”
clark kent who, lets you wear his flannel while making pancakes, quietly tugging it off your shoulders when the batter’s done and replacing it with kisses along your spine.
clark kent who, picks you up with one arm while you’re folding laundry just because he can, setting you down on the washer and standing between your thighs, eyes soft and slow-burning.
clark kent who, fingers you under the table at sunday brunch, slow and hidden, like it’s nothing, like he’s just keeping your hand warm and then kisses your cheek like an apology.
clark kent who, lets you tug on his tie when you want him close, fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt like he’s just come home from war.
clark kent who, likes you best in the morning, half-asleep, hair messy, thighs warm around his hips and kisses your wrist when you touch him there, slow and careful and still sleepy.
clark kent who, gets so soft when you’re in his lap, whispering how pretty you are between kisses to your jaw while your fingers tangle in his curls and your hips roll, slow and unhurried.
clark kent who, will spend the whole day fixing a squeaky door, putting up shelves, organizing the garage and the moment he sees you in the doorway with nothing but one of his t-shirts on, he drops the wrench and follows you inside.
clark kent who, touches you like he’s still amazed you let him. reverent, patient, hands roaming under your clothes while he breathes out your name like prayer.
clark kent who, always makes love to you with the windows cracked open, so the sunlight can touch your skin too. he’s not selfish!
clark kent who, gets lost under you, flushed and helpless when you kiss him like you mean it, hands trembling where they hold your hips, voice cracking: “you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”
clark kent who, holds your face in his hands after, both of you breathless, whispering “i love you” over and over like he forgot the world existed until now.
clark kent who, tucks the blankets around you afterward, kisses your forehead, and says, “go to sleep, i’ll clean up.” and he does. the towels, the sheets, the dishes, everything. because that’s just the kind of man he is.
#sadgirlily.#clark kent#clark kent fluff#clark kent smut#clark kent x reader#clark smut#clark x reader#superman x reader#clark kento x you#clark kent x y/n#x y/n#smut#fanfiction#clark kent fanfiction#clark kent x you#superman#superman 2025#superman smut#superman fluff#fluff#clark kent superman
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Sukuna x f!Reader
In which Sukuna brings home child Uraume — 1
next —>
You rubbed your eyes in disbelief as you stared at the child hiding behind your husband's legs and peaking at you.
Sukuna didn't pay attention to your questioning stare, he simply sauntered in to your shared home and tossed the meat he had hunted on the table. As if it was just an average day for the two of you.
Except it wasn't because there was a child right next to him.
"Um... Love?" You questioned softly.
"What?" He grunted.
"Mind telling me who... that is?"
Sukuna crossed his upper arms while resting his lower on his hips. He shrugged. "Our ice house is no more. This child can create ice so I brought them home."
Of course he did. Leave it to your husband to replace an actual functioning cooler with a literal child.
Speaking of a cooler...
"The icehouse is broken? I swear it was perfectly fine when I went there this morning..." You mused.
But a quick glance outside the window confirmed that it was indeed broken. Crushed by a tree and blood splattered everywhere from the meat stored inside of it.
And just one look at the fallen tree, you can tell what—no, who was responsible for this destruction. There was a large, clean cut right at its base.
You turned to your husband with an accusing frown but he opted to not look at you. He knows that the moment he locked eyes with you, he'll have to face your wrath and.... He'd rather not.
You sighed and shook your head before walking over to the child who stepped away from you the moment you got closer.
You stopped, keeping your distance and smiled kindly. "It's okay. Don't be afraid, little one. I won't hurt you."
Your voice was soft, your eyes were kind so when the child looked up at Sukuna and saw the way he was looking at you, they knew you were trustworthy.
And yet...
"You won't harm me but... I can harm you." Was what the child spoke.
Your heart sank at their words and the way they looked away. Their gaze was an empty and distant void. This poor child...
But the King of Curses scoffed at their words. "Go to her. As long as I am here you cannot harm her."
You were surprised at how this child had came to trust Sukuna that they took his word and slowly stepped over to you. Besides you, no one else in this land would ever dare trust him. Then again, your husband never gave them a reason to.
You went down on your knees to be at the child's level. A small, loving smile graced your features as you reached over to brush your fingers against their cheek.
Ice cold.
But that didn't stop you as you brushed their hair in comfort. "You poor thing... Just what have you been through?" You asked softly.
The child kept quiet, their eyes gathered with unshed tears. They closed it to stop them from flowing down. And then, very very tentatively they leaned into your touch.
"...You're warm." They mumbled.
Your heart warmed at those soft words. You were happy that this child had found comfort in you.
Despite being the King of Curses' wife, you loved children. You always wanted one of your own. You had even managed to convince your husband to have a child together.
But those dreams were far gone when you found out you were infertile.
It took a while but you had gotten over it. Though part of you still wished that you can have that. A small family with your husband.
So when you looked up at Sukuna, that's when you noticed his gaze. A look that was only reserved for you. Tender, soft and... loving. But there was another meaning behind it...
This is my gift to you.
Your heart leaped and you felt tears gathering in your eyes. The smile you gave him was nothing short of radiant that had him looking away from you. But you knew he was flustered just from the red tint on the tip of his ears.
You laughed softly and got on your feet, gently pulling the child close to you. "What's your name, little one?"
"Uraume."
You hummed. "Uraume... What a beautiful name. Are you hungry, Uraume?"
Uraume felt their stomach grumble just then so they softly nodded.
"Very well, then I'll get started on dinner."
Uraume looked up at you, their pinkish eyes staring at you with a curious glint. "Can I help?" They asked.
You smiled, running a gentle hand through their white hair.
"Of course."
next —>
#sukuna#uraume#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#jjk sukuna#sukuna x y/n#mine#idk why I wrote this sorry if it's weird but epilogue gave me brain rot ahsjskdkd
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mdni under the cut •
best friend! sukuna who sneaks into your room through your window uninvited as you’re watching some random comedy show in the middle of the night to “hang out”.
(well.. actually, he isn’t your best friend. he’s really your boyfriend, but your parents don’t approve of your relationship with him, so you have to keep things secret.)
best friend! sukuna who scares you by slamming your window open and jumping in with a “what’s up idiot” as you jolted in your bed and gave him a piercing glare.
“sukuna! what on earth are you doing!!” exasperating and clutching your chest as if you were about to have a heart attack. “if my parents hear or see you here, its game over for the both of us.”
best friend! sukuna who honestly does not care because you’re his girlfriend so he will simply come see you whenever he pleases. and in this time of the night, he needs you right now. “oh nothing too crazy” he looks at his nails with a teasing smirk, “just wanted to see how my little brat is doing that’s all.” as he walks over to your plushie filled, silk, comfy bed and takes a seat.
best friend! sukuna who pretends to be interested in whatever show you’re currently watching as he slides his huge and veiny hands up your thighs and into your pajama shorts.
you began protesting, “kuna, we could be caught this isn’t a good i-“ your breath hitched as he starts rubbing circles with his thumb over your clit.
“lock the door then girl.” rolling his eyes.
best friend! sukuna who pushes your shorts to the side, revealing your pretty puffy folds to his enamored eyes and licks a long stripe down your slit, making you slightly whimper— teasing you with his tongue and middle finger until he softly grabs you by the ankles and tells you to get face down ass up for him.
best friend! sukuna who pumps his thick cock a few times before slowly pushing himself into your sopping wet cunt and letting out a low groan. he’s thrusting in and out of you being careful at first, so that your parents don’t suspect anything, but the way you were gripping around his monstrous dick had him going insane and began fucking into you deeper, teasing your g-spot.
“su- mmph fuck!” becoming cock drunk off of him, tongue lolling out, eyes rolling into the back of your head. and your sly little boyfriend — best friend knowing what exactly you like and how to make you feel good, kept thrusting all the way into you to make you moan as loud as you can on purpose then taunting you, “shhh, you wouldn’t your father to know his sweet little girl is getting her guts rearranged by the boy she’s not supposed to be messing around with, now would you?” devilish grin creeping onto his lips.
best friend! sukuna who’s favorite thing is fucking you dumb on his cock to the point you’re seeing white and can’t conjecture a single thought, but still littering sweet praises in your ear such as, “you’re such a good girl, taking this dick mhm”, “fuck! you’re so tight for me.” “you feel so good gripping around me like that.”
best friend! sukuna who shoots ropes of hot cum into you just as you come undone on him still inside of you, legs beginning to shake. “oh hoho, silly girl… i’m not done with you just yet.” laying you down on your back to stuff his mess back into you with his still hardened length.
best friend! sukuna who loves fucking you full of his seed as he looks into your eyes while he’s on top and cupping your cheeks as lewd noises come from beneath you both.
best friend! sukuna who milks you of everything you got, on the brink of crying from overstimulation and how hard you were about to orgasm. “c- i’m gonna cummmm ‘kuna!”
best friend! sukuna who licks the shell of your ear and leave open mouthed kisses on your jaw as he tells you to let go and cum all over his cock like the filthy slut good girl that you are.
best friend! sukuna who cleans you up with a towel he got from your closet and leaves sweet, loving kisses on your temples as you two cuddle and fall asleep together in each other’s arms in your bed.
best friend! sukuna who wakes up at 6am to leave before your parents wake up and gives you a goodbye/good morning kiss before he exits through your window.
best friend! sukuna and you who thought you two were slick and pretty sure that your parents wouldn’t suspect anything ever happened the previous night.
until you walk into the kitchen for breakfast to your parents asking what all the noise was coming from your room last night and asking where the marks on your neck came from.
oops…

likes + reblogs appreciated <3 please don't steal/copy/modify my works!
#gojoscinnamonroll ᡣ𐭩₊˚.⋆⁺₊#i’ve been having WAY too many sukuna brainworms lately#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk sukuna smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#sukuna x you#sukuna smut#sukuna jjk#jjk sukuna#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna#jjk ryomen#ryomen x reader#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#sukuna ryomen smut#sukuna x female reader#jjk x reader smut#jjk x fem!reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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best part
synopsis: using the key Zayne gave you, the state of his apartment gives you an idea warnings: this is just fluff, mentions of cooking and eating pairing: Zayne x fem! reader wc: 2.2k
When Zayne gave you a key to his apartment, it wasn’t a test. Or a symbol. Or anything dramatic at all, really.
It was just a key, nestled in his palm like something simple. He’d handed it to you without preamble, voice low and even as he said, “This isn’t just for emergencies. I want you to come over. Whenever. Even if I’m not here.”
And maybe that was what startled you most, how casual the words were, how easily they slid into the world like they hadn’t rearranged your entire interior. A soft intimacy, not loud or showy, but felt everywhere. Like sunlight on the back of your neck.
Of course it was just like Zayne. Of course he’d express his feelings with something so simple, so functional. The man had a whole emotional language built out of gestures like that: hand-delivered coffee, a knit brow when you yawned too early, a charger in his bag just in case.
The key clicks into the lock, and you step inside. The quiet hits you first. A different kind of quiet, one that doesn’t hum with Zayne’s presence in the next room, or the familiar weight of his footfall on tile.
You’ve been here dozens of times. But never like this.
The lights are off. The windows cast the pale sheen of a cloudy afternoon across the living room. His coat is draped across the back of a chair, a half-empty mug on the coffee table. And the rest…
The rest is chaos.
Not dirty, not really. But cluttered in a way that feels deeply un-Zayne. Books scattered across the couch like they fell mid-thought. A handful of glass cups, each with varying degrees of forgotten water. Candy wrappers twisted into quiet spirals. A stethoscope hanging off the edge of a dining chair.
You set your bag down gently, almost afraid to disturb the mess.
Zayne was organized in the way architect's dream about, meticulous, methodical, even in the way he folded his laundry. He had once explained the arrangement of his bookshelf to you with a near-religious reverence, tracing spines with his fingers while your head lay in his lap, his other hand trailing slowly through your hair.
You hadn’t been able to keep your eyes open that night, lulled to the edge of sleep by his soft cadence, but you remembered the way his voice warmed as he spoke. The way he always lit up over order.
And so the disarray here doesn’t feel careless. It feels…tired.
Like something gave way inside him and never had time to settle back into place.
You hover awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure if this counts as trespassing or love. Probably both.
But after a few moments, your hands start to itch. And besides, if Zayne were here, you’d be tidying beside him without a second thought.
You find his cleaning supplies tucked away in the immaculate cabinet he keeps beneath the sink. You queue up your playlist on his speaker, start with the dishes, and let the rhythm carry you.
It’s meant to be quick. Just a sweep here, a wipe-down there. But you end up singing into the broom, dancing in socked feet over the tile. You linger over his books, reading the margins he’s scrawled in mechanical pencil, each note like a whispered thought left behind.
By the time you’ve returned them all to their places, according to Zayne’s preferred genre-then-author-then-title system, you feel like you’ve restored something sacred.
You scrub the countertops until they gleam. Stack dishes in the drying rack with care. Sweep crumbs into a neat pile and hum to yourself as you rinse out the sink.
By the time it’s all done, you’re glowing a little. Not just with exertion, but with pride. The kind that comes from loving someone in the language they understand best.
The kitchen is quiet when you check the time. It’s edging toward dinner. And Zayne’s fridge, unsurprisingly, is empty except for half a lemon, a bottle of hot sauce, and a single, forlorn cucumber.
You laugh softly and slip your shoes back on.
The grocery store down the street is still open. You shop deliberately, fresh vegetables for dinner, noodles, stock, a bulb of garlic because you remember how he always forgets to buy one. You skip the carrots that he had once told you, half-asleep, were his culinary nemesis.
You throw brownie mix into the cart without thinking too hard about it. And then you add chocolate chips. And a pack of microwave meals for the nights he’s too tired to boil water.
Back at the apartment, the grocery bags thump gently onto the counter. You start unpacking, switching the playlist to something softer.
The soup bubbles quietly. The scent of onions, miso, and ginger fills the space. You taste as you go, adjust, stir again. You let the brownies bake while you clean up the splatters and lean against the counter, eyes flicking to the door every few minutes.
He should be home soon.
But exhaustion creeps into your limbs before he gets there, and eventually you let yourself fold into the couch, the smell of chocolate clinging to your sleeves, your hair, your skin. Just a minute, you think. I’ll rest my eyes.
When Zayne reaches his front door, fatigue clings to him like a second skin, dense and inescapable. The ache behind his eyes is dull but insistent, the kind that seeps in after hours of standing still and thinking too hard. He’s just come from witnessing something remarkable, a cutting-edge transplant, the kind of surgery that makes all the sleepless nights worth it. But now, standing in the quiet hush of his hallway, he braces himself for the chaos he left behind. Dishes in the sink. Papers in soft piles on the floor. That chair with the jacket he never remembers to hang up.
Except...when the door creaks open, what greets him is not disarray, but the gentle gleam of light bouncing off clean countertops. The air is warm with the scent of something rich and homey, garlic, maybe, and fresh herbs. A slow-cooked comfort.
He stills in the doorway, blinking like he’s unsure he’s stepped into the right apartment. The transformation is startling.
And then he sees you.
Curled up on the couch in the low lamplight, one hand tucked beneath your cheek, the other slack on your stomach. The domesticity of it, the peace, hits him in the sternum. He lets his bag slide gently to the floor, shrugs off his coat, and crosses the room like he’s afraid to break the spell.
You stir at the weight of the couch shifting beneath him, eyes fluttering open. Your gaze softens when it finds him.
"Hi," you whisper, still drowsy, like the word costs you something.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek. It's feather-light, reverent. A silent thank you.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs, though there’s the faintest smile in his voice, like he’s secretly glad to see you awake.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” you say, blinking up at him. “Just…resting my eyes.”
His brow furrows, the beginnings of a scold he doesn’t quite commit to. You can see the protest behind his eyes, the part of him that wants to argue you should’ve gone to bed. But instead, he squeezes your hand, his thumb stroking slow over your knuckles.
“It’s late,” he says, voice quieter now, almost shy. “You should get some sleep.”
But your nap has left you refreshed, and the anticipation of seeing him like this, worn down but glowing with presence, makes you shake your head and stand.
“I made you dinner,” you say gently, tugging his hand. “Come on.”
He follows without resistance, a step behind you as you lead him to the kitchen. His arms slip around your waist the moment you stop moving, his chin settling atop your head like it’s the most natural place in the world to rest. His fingers tangle with yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you.
You can feel the weight of his day in the way he holds you, like if he lets go, the exhaustion might win.
As you move to warm up the food, he stays close, always touching, his fingers tracing lazy shapes on your hip bone, his breath ghosting over your shoulder.
When dinner is plated, he takes the dishes from you before you can insist, setting them carefully on the table and fetching cutlery without a word. You sit across from him, watching the way the tension in his shoulders loosens as he finally allows himself to be taken care of.
“Thank you,” he says, not even looking at the food yet. His eyes are on you.
You lift an eyebrow. “It’s nothing. Just dinner.”
His smile is faint but full of feeling. “Not just for dinner. You didn’t have to clean.”
“I wanted to. You’ve been working so hard lately. I figured…I’d lighten the load.”
For a moment, he just looks at you. Really looks, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you under this soft kitchen light, the gentle tone of your voice. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real.
Your foot nudges his under the table.
“Eat, Doctor,” you tease. “Shouldn’t have to remind you of the importance of proper nutrition.”
That finally pulls a laugh from him, quiet and precious. He reaches for his spoon with a fond shake of his head, and keeps smiling even as he chews.
You try to argue when he gathers your empty plates later, but he silences you with a single look, soft but firm, the way he is with stubborn patients. You follow him anyway, settling on the counter while he washes up, recounting the odd details of your day: the cat that tried to follow you home from the store, the old lady who complimented your scarf, the podcast episode that made you tear up in public.
He listens like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the world, asking quiet questions, chuckling when appropriate, nodding at the right moments.
When he finishes the last dish, you shift to hop down from the counter, but his hands find you first, gentle yet grounding, resting just above your knees as he steps between your legs.
“Hi, doctor,” you murmur, and the nickname falls from your lips like a secret. Your voice is soft, a little breathless, caught under the quiet weight of his gaze.
He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just a quiet, lingering brush of lips that feels more like a promise than a greeting, tender and full of meaning.
“Thank you,” he says again, low and sincere. His voice sounds different in this hush between you. Unarmored. “For everything.”
You shake your head, a small smile blooming as your arms circle around his neck, drawing him a little closer. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy to do it. Always.”
He kisses you then. Really kisses you. It’s slow and steady, a kind of coming home. His hands slide up to your waist, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt. There’s nothing hurried about it. Just the warmth of him anchoring you, like he’s trying to speak in the language of closeness, of breath and skin and unspoken things.
When he finally pulls back, it’s with a soft sigh against your lips and a tired, crooked smile that still makes your heart stutter.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, the fatigue threading back into his voice, pulling at the edges of his body.
You trail your hand down his arm, fingertips skimming the inside of his wrist in a soothing touch. “Alright,” you say gently. “Though…I guess the brownies will have to wait till tomorrow.”
He stills at that, blinking once. “Brownies?”
You try to bite back your smile, feigning innocence as your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt. “They should still be warm from the oven.”
He makes a low, needy sound that you feel more than hear, and the way he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek sends heat blooming in your chest. His voice is a whisper against your skin.
“You’re the best.”
“I know,” you tease, lips brushing his jaw.
And even as he lets out a quiet laugh, you feel it, the love steeped in the way he looks at you like you're the one miracle he's been waiting all day to come home to.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace zayne#zayne x reader#love and deepspace fluff#zayne fluff#lads#lads x reader#lads zayne#lads fluff#lnds#lnds x reader#lnds zayne#lnds fluff#zayne#zayne li#zayne love and deepspace#l&ds#l&ds zayne#writing✒️#zaynie❄️
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Dead End Diner
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The neon sign above the little corner diner buzzed faintly, its flickering letters spelling out The Dead End. Rain drizzled from the Gotham sky, casting reflections of sickly green and crimson across the slick asphalt. Crime, chaos, and capes ruled the night—but inside the warm diner, a world of sizzling grills, greasy coffee, and ghost-proof walls thrived in peace.
Danny Fenton wiped down the countertop, ghost core humming gently with contentment.
Leaving Amity Park had been easy once his parents screamed the word “monster.” The lab accident that gave him ghost powers had changed everything, and not everyone could handle the truth. Especially Jack and Maddie Fenton.
Vlad Masters hadn’t taken rejection well either. Maddie still wanted nothing to do with him—half ghost or not. In a final, dramatic end, Vlad destroyed his ghost half and drank himself into the grave. The only note he left behind was a signed will, bequeathing everything to Daniel Fenton.
So now Danny was wealthy.
And utterly, devastatingly bored.
Money didn’t thrill him. Mansions made him feel lonely. Charity galas were stiff and full of liars. So he’d packed up and moved to the most chaotic, unpredictable, high-stakes city he could think of: Gotham.
He bought a crumbling building right in the Narrows, cleaned it out, reinforced it with ghost tech and some stolen WayneTech from Vlad’s stash, and opened a 24/7 diner.
He called it The Dead End.
It was a hit almost instantly. Not because of the food, though it was great (Danny had a mean hand with greasy spoons), but because of the way he ran it.
“Pay if you can, eat if you’re hungry, and don’t be a jerk.”
Word spread. The homeless knew they’d get warm soup and hot fries. Night-shift nurses sat next to henchmen on break. Cops blinked awkwardly at villains scarfing pancakes. No fights, no weapons, no questions. If a rogue battle broke out outside, people flooded in for shelter. Danny never locked the doors.
He sat behind the counter and watched the madness through the windows, eating his waffles in peace. If he had to step out and go invisible to redirect a missile away from his roof, well, that was his business.
Gotham’s vigilantes didn’t see it that way.
Nightwing was the first to break in.
Danny caught him perched on the rafters like an oversized, very broody bat.
“You want eggs or pancakes?” Danny asked, not looking up from his crossword puzzle.
“…I’m not here to eat.”
“Then you broke into my diner for nothing? That’s kinda rude.” Danny gestured to the stools. “Sit. I’m not feeding a potential burglar unless he’s sitting.”
Grumbling, Nightwing slid down and took a seat.
A week later, Red Hood tripped the back alarm. He got a grilled cheese shoved into his hands before he could say a word.
Tim Drake hacked the registers. Danny dumped a milkshake in his lap and gave him a free slice of pie “as an apology.”
Spoiler got caught trying to blend in by wearing a hoodie. She got extra whipped cream and a “next time just ask for a table.”
They kept coming. Not even Batman himself was immune. One evening, the lights flickered and dimmed as a familiar voice echoed behind him.
“You’re not what you seem.”
Danny, utterly unbothered, slid a coffee mug across the counter.
“And you look like you need caffeine and a therapist.”
The cowl’s frown deepened. “How is your building still standing after Joker launched a rocket at this block?”
“I reinforced it,” Danny said, sipping his soda. “Ghost-proof, explosion-dampening, and built with spite. That helps.”
“You let known criminals hide here.”
“I let everyone hide here. I’m not a cop, Bats. I’m a fry cook.”
“You’re not just a fry cook.”
Danny’s eyes shimmered green.
“No,” he said. “I’m also a ghost. Now sit your haunted butt down and let me feed you before you faint from low blood sugar.”
Eventually, the Bats gave up trying to prove he was a villain.
Instead, they started… showing up.
Red Robin brought his laptop and camped at a booth during patrol. He claimed it was “recon,” but Danny always brought him extra hash browns.
Red Hood “accidentally” forgot his helmet once and got his favorite booth permanently labeled “Angry Soup Guy.”
Nightwing flirted with the waitress, annoyed Danny to no end, and somehow ended up helping wash dishes on busy nights.
Even Batman… tolerated the place. He’d never admit it, but he once grunted “thanks” after Danny saved Batgirl from getting crushed by falling debris—without revealing her identity or asking questions.
The Rogues started calling Danny “Ghost Chef.”
The vigilantes? “Spook Fry.”
He’d been called worse.
One night, just before closing, Danny flipped the sign to CLOSED and leaned against the window. Outside, Scarecrow and Batwoman were having a rooftop showdown. The sky was full of smoke and red light. He yawned.
Behind him, Damian Wayne sat sipping a very serious cup of cocoa and glared at the sugar skull art on the wall.
“You’re suspicious,” Damian said. “You let Joker’s goons eat here last week.”
“They paid in stolen casino chips. I took it. Better than nothing.”
“You don’t fear us.”
“I don’t fear much.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”
Danny winked. “Aren’t we all?”
The Dead End became legend.
A safe zone. A neutral ground. A place where Penguin’s thugs might sit next to Batgirl and silently agree not to wreck the place.
Danny never asked questions, and he always served the best damn pancakes in Gotham.
He’d been disowned. Betrayed. Abandoned. But in Gotham, the city of masks and monsters, he found peace in chaos, purpose in pancakes, and power in doing what no one else dared: building something kind in a world built on fear.
And honestly?
That was way more fun than being rich.
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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ what did you expect?
# pairings: yandere sugar daddy harem x sugar baby reader
# synopsis: eight obsessive lovers think they’re the only one—until their secrets collide. now, you’re trapped between devotion, danger, and the illusion of choice.
# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI
# notes: reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!
# parts: part 1 𖤓 part 2 𖤓 part 3
# tags: @hopingtoclearmedschool , @yawnzzx, @hasty-desert, @enchantingarcadecreation, @cannyyyyy, @lianobody, @bokkito, @lordkhrisangel, @kiyo123456789, @iris-arcadia, @sleepycow21, @agustdxjiminx, @theangxz, @plus-ultra-girl, @slowlyswimmingmoon, @whiteoakoak
you don’t move.
you don’t breathe.
you just listen.
the front door handle jiggles. the back one, too. your apartment is small—too small for this. for two men who shouldn’t know each other to be reaching for you at once, calling you baby like it means something different on their tongues.
you back into the wall, calculating. the money. the gifts. the lies. the men. you’ve always kept it separate—clean, compartmentalized. eight lives. eight masks. never crossing. never slipping.
but something’s cracking.
“just open the door,” says one—closer now, coaxing. elijah? no—lucas? they blur together in the panic.
“i saw the light on,” the other murmurs through the rear entrance. “you home, sweetheart?”
you inch toward the hallway. your mind races through excuses, through escape plans. one of them is going to see the other. one of them is going to know.
and then what?
the front door knocks again. harder. louder. not a request, now—a warning.
your phone lights up on the counter.
eight missed messages.
three voicemails.
your name repeated like a prayer and a threat.
they’re closing in, and they still think they’re the only one. still think you belong only to them.
but if this is the night the truth comes out—
you might not get to leave.
your phone lights up again.
another message:
“i know you’re in there. don’t make me wait.”
you don’t recognize the number. but the tone is familiar. possessive. low. someone who thinks waiting is beneath him.
your throat tightens.
the front door handle clicks. the back one rattles. your apartment feels like it’s shrinking, the walls pressing in with every second.
you don’t even have time to figure out which one is standing where.
all you can think about is the second bedroom elijah wanted to fill. the silk robe nathan said you’d grow into. the prenatal vitamins matthew left like it was the most natural thing. the way kai stares too long at your stomach. how xavier whispers to it like there’s already something growing inside.
your stomach twists.
you never agreed to anything. never promised forever. you gave them smiles and touches, laughter and attention—and they gave you gifts. trips. jewelry. money. enough to live comfortably, to stay just out of reach.
but now they’re all reaching.
the back door knob jolts violently. a voice, clearer this time: “you’re not answering. why aren’t you answering me?”
your fingers dig into the edge of the counter. your heart is racing. this isn’t normal. this isn’t love.
this is a trap.
a cage lined with velvet and diamond-studded handcuffs.
another message buzzes through.
“i saw him. who was he?”
your blood runs cold.
they’re watching. maybe more than one. maybe all of them.
you inch toward your bathroom, silently lock the door behind you. your fingers fumble for the window. it’s too narrow to crawl out of, but you crack it anyway—for air. for escape. for the illusion of safety.
your phone vibrates again.
“we were supposed to be forever.” “you lied to me.” “i’m outside. don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”
you slide to the floor, curling against the tub, breath shaking in your chest.
you’ve played this game so well.
smiled through dinners. laughed at their jokes. let them believe they were the only one. and maybe, for a while, it was fun.
but now?
now the game is over.
you’ve always known how to lie. how to perform.
but tonight, you’ll have to survive.
because one of them has found out.
and maybe—just maybe—they’ve told the others.
your knees press into cold tile.
somewhere outside, voices blur into one another—soft at first, like murmurs carried by wind, then louder. firm. insistent.
you don’t breathe.
two voices. not yelling. not yet. but the fury simmers beneath every word, masked only by the fact that they think they’re alone with you.
they don’t know about each other.
not yet.
and that window—the sliver you thought was escape—is now the perfect peephole. one of them paces by it, a familiar silhouette cloaked in tailored wool. you recognize the glint of his watch in the moonlight. lucas.
composed. deliberate. terrifying.
he’s not supposed to be here.
none of them are.
your phone buzzes again. and again. and again.
a dozen names. a dozen new messages.
where are you? are you avoiding me? i saw your lights on. i’ll wait all night if i have to. come outside, baby. please. i miss you. don’t make me come in.
a shiver rips down your spine.
you open your texts, hands trembling. a photo loads. grainy. zoomed in. taken from across the street.
it’s you. earlier today. unlocking your front door.
you never saw him.
another one loads. this time, through your bedroom window. you’re changing. your back to the glass.
you slam your phone face down.
this is spiraling.
they’ve been watching. waiting. marking time.
and now, they’re slipping. losing patience. showing teeth behind velvet smiles.
a soft knock—again. back door.
“i brought dinner,” someone says. sweet. calm. too calm.
matthew.
he always brings food. always watches you eat, like he’s studying your habits, waiting for signs. now, you wonder if he’s been dosing it.
your stomach flips.
you think of the vitamins. the tests. the new toothbrush that just appeared one morning in your bathroom—same brand as his. the silk sheets that mysteriously matched the ones in leo’s house. the second toothbrush. the tracking app you didn’t install.
your name echoes from the hallway.
not a question. a command.
“open. the. door.”
you flinch.
they don’t know they’re all here. yet.
but if they find out—if they see each other—what happens next won’t be about love. or even possession.
it’ll be war.
and you?
you’re the trophy they’ve all convinced themselves belongs to them.
you inch toward the closet. pull back the false panel you had installed months ago—just in case. it’s small, meant for shoes. cash. secrets. but it might buy you time.
you crawl inside the space.
the sound of a door opening echoes through your apartment.
but you never opened it.
you never said a word.
someone just let themselves in.
you press yourself into the farthest corner of the crawlspace, knees to chest, breath held so tight your lungs ache. the door creaks open—slowly. deliberately. like whoever entered doesn’t need to hurry.
your phone vibrates once more against your thigh.
you don’t look.
you already know.
footsteps now. one pair. deliberate. heavy. someone confident.
they don’t call out.
don’t ask for you.
they already know where you are.
floorboards groan. the closet is close.
you clamp a hand over your mouth. heart jackhammering. one wrong move and they’ll hear you breathing.
and then—
a pause.
no movement. no voice. just silence so thick it buzzes.
until another sound slices through it.
“they’re not answering you either, huh?”
a second voice.
your stomach drops.
they’re both inside.
“maybe they’re out.”
“they’re not.”
silence again.
“how do you know?”
“because their phone’s still here. and the lights are on.”
lucas. that calculating edge in his voice.
and elijah. smoother, but colder. too calm for someone this angry.
“who the fuck are you?” lucas asks, voice low, sharp.
“funny. i was about to ask you the same thing.”
you hold your breath.
“you’ve been watching them.”
“so have you.”
“don’t play dumb—why are you here?”
“same reason as you. they belongs to me.”
something slams. hard. a chair? a table?
you flinch.
“you don’t even know them.”
“i know everything i need to. and i know you’re in my way.”
they’re circling each other. measuring. two wolves in the same cage.
you stay frozen.
silent.
until—
another voice.
“both of you need to shut the hell up.”
matthew.
“they’re not a fucking toy you get to bicker over. they’re ours.”
the temperature in the apartment drops.
“ours?” lucas repeats, cold.
“you think they belongs to us?”
a pause.
“no,” matthew says. “i know they do.”
another voice. softer. hesitant.
nathan.
“…what’s going on?”
four.
four of them now.
you bite down on your knuckles to keep from making a sound.
the walls are closing in.
“they’ve been lying to all of us,” lucas says, sharp and sure. “don’t you get that?”
“and yet you’re still here,” elijah snaps. “so are you really mad? or just jealous?”
“jealous?” matthew scoffs. “i’ve already planned our future.”
more footsteps.
another knock.
“hey,” kai says from the hallway. “is something wrong?”
“you too?” lucas hisses.
you hear a breath hitch. kai.
“…wait. you’re all here?”
“no one invited you, kid,” elijah says, voice like steel.
“they didn’t invite any of us,” lucas snaps.
the air goes still.
“they’ve been playing all of us,” someone whispers. maybe nathan. maybe damien. maybe someone new.
“you shut your mouth,” leo growls. sudden. vicious. “don’t talk about her like that.”
“why?”
“because they’re still ours.”
“you really think they wants any of us?”
“they don’t need to want us,” damien finally speaks. “they need to understand.”
“understand what?”
“that this ends tonight.”
your blood turns to ice.
they’ve stopped talking.
and now?
now they’re moving.
together.
you hear the footsteps draw closer. eight sets. slow. united.
no longer fighting each other.
they’ve made a choice.
and you’re the one they’ve chosen.
your phone lights up one more time.
you should’ve picked one of us. but now we’ve picked you. all of us.
your breath catches.
you can hear them in your room now. feet shuffling. drawers opening. your closet door creaks.
you press yourself deeper into the hideaway, heart slamming against your ribs.
then—
a hand brushes the panel from the other side. gently.
and a voice.
“there you are.”
you don’t scream.
you don’t move.
you just stare as the panel starts to shift open—slow, deliberate.
but it’s not just one hand.
another one grips the edge from the other side.
and another.
and another.
different sets of fingers. different grips.
they’ve all found you. at once.
and for the first time all night, they’re not fighting each other.
they’re working together.
the last thing you hear—before the panel gives way completely—is a chorus of voices, soft and smiling, overlapping in perfect, practiced harmony:
“we forgive you.”
darkness falls as the panel opens.
and they reach in.
#yandere#male yandere#yandere x darling#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yancore#yandere headcanons#yandere oc#yandere scenarios#yandere harem#yandere sugar daddy harem#fem reader
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bent and bruised (1) 𐙚 b.b
pairing: new avengers!bucky barnes x fem!ex-hydra!reader
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, dark themes, winter soldier!bucky, coercion, dub-con/non-con themes (flashback), HYDRA abuse, unprotected sex, creampie, ptsd, a whole, whole lot of angst (tw: sexual violence)
summary: you were built by HYDRA to please the soldier—then left for dead. years later, bucky sees your face again. but no amount of time can erase the way you once whispered his name through tears. inspired by this request
word count: 4.4k
author's note: hi my loves! i am finally back with another series! it took me a whole day to get this up and i hope you guys will love it as much as i do! i am so excited to do up this series and i would love to hear your thoughts! i love ya guys and please stay safe out there! ❤️
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The room hummed with stale tension and recycled air, the kind that clung to your skin no matter how long you’d been inside.
It was too clean, too sterile—like the whole place had been scrubbed raw of personality. No windows. Just steel, flickering monitors, and the faint tang of ozone bleeding from exposed wires somewhere in the walls.
Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed in that maddening, uneven way, stuttering against the matte black of the long conference table. Weapons were laid out in clinical precision—pistols, serrated knives, a few modified explosives lined up like surgical instruments.
The projection screen threw ghostly glows across their polished surfaces, and somewhere in the corner, a feed flickered with static before cutting back to drone footage of the mission site.
Unnerving silence settled between Valentina’s clipped sentences, the kind of silence that had weight behind it. Anticipation. Or maybe dread.
The compound was quieter than usual, Yelena wasn’t talking. Ava wasn’t pacing. Walker hadn’t cracked a joke in at least five minutes, which was practically a record. Even the air felt heavy, like it knew something the rest of them didn’t.
Bucky sat at the far end of the table, half-shadowed, arms folded tight across his chest.
He looked relaxed. He wasn’t.
The leather of his jacket creaked faintly every time the fingers of his vibranium hand twitched—just enough to betray the restlessness he didn’t bother to show.
He hadn’t spoken yet. Didn’t need to. He could feel it—like static crawling beneath his skin. Whatever Val was leading up to, it wasn’t just about the mission.
It was something else. He never liked waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Infiltration’s scheduled for 0400,” Val said finally, breaking the silence with a sharp tap of her pointer against the digital display. A red dot blinked, pulsing like a heartbeat on the map.
“You’ll drop half a click from the perimeter, make entry through the north access shaft here. It’s still mostly underground—remnants of an old HYDRA stronghold, retrofitted for black market manufacturing. Radiation cloaking, signal dampeners, camo tech. Nothing simple about it, but manageable.”
The map shifted, highlighting the tunnel system in pale blue.
“You go in quiet, plant charges along the assembly line, tag the shipments, get out clean before the buyers show up.”
“And what exactly are they shipping?” Ava asked, her tone clipped. Her fingers tapped against the armrest, but not out of nerves—calculated.
Val lifted a brow, pleased by the question. With a click of her remote, the schematic changed. A plasma rifle rotated slowly in high-definition detail—sleek, brutal, and unmistakably advanced.
“Reverse-engineered Stark tech,” she said, voice razor-edged. “Plasma rifles, miniaturized arc pulse grenades, destabilizers. It’s genius work, honestly. Someone in there knows what they’re doing. These prototypes could down a jet with a single discharge. They’re selling to buyers who make AIM look like a fucking Etsy page.”
Yelena let out a low whistle. “And here I thought tuesdays were boring.”
John leaned back, tossing a small knife between his hands with lazy disinterest. “So we blow it to hell. Make it loud.”
Val shot him a pointed look, all warning and no warmth. “Clean,” she said again. “Surgical. No mess, no headlines. We’re not making a scene.”
That was when it happened.
Her mouth curled, just slightly. A new edge slipped into her voice.
“And,” Val continued, drawing the word out just enough to shift the air in the room, “you’ll be joined by a new agent.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Yelena arched a brow and leaned forward on her elbows. “Oh god, Don’t tell me it’s Walker’s twin.”
Walker snorted. Didn’t even glance at her. Just flipped her off mid-spin of the blade.
Val chuckled. “No. She’s one of mine. Freelance up till now. Ex-mercenary. Former ghost. One of the best I’ve ever worked with, she's efficient, lethal, tactical as hell. I’d say she rivals even you, Barnes.”
The room tilted—just a little.
Bucky didn’t move at first. Barely a reaction. Just a subtle shift in the line of his shoulders. His jaw ticked. Nothing more. But his eyes locked on Val’s, a flicker of something unreadable burning deep beneath the surface.
“Okay, now I curious,” Alexei said, reaching for a protein bar from his jacket pocket like the team wasn’t just a fucking step from a horror movie.
Val didn’t say anything.
The screen changed. And time fractured.
Name: (Y/N) (L/N) Gender: F Born: 1941 Recruited: 1963 (HYDRA OPERATIVE) Status: Cryo Recovery — Completed Subjected to: Experimental Super Soldier Serum (1963, Switzerland, Geneva Facility) Current Role: Active Operative
Your file blinked across the screen in clean, bureaucratic lines. But it was the photo that struck like a bullet to the ribs.
You. Alive.
Not the way Bucky remembered you—not exactly. You looked older now, as you should’ve. But it wasn’t the years that aged you. It was something else. Something far worse. Your expression was empty—neutral, professional, cold.
But your eyes… Fuck. Your eyes.
They were still the same shape, glassy, still the same damn colour, still framed by lashes he remembered fluttering closed against his jaw, his throat, the cold table beneath you as you had locked your legs around him.
But they were different too.
Sharper now. Harder.
Like glass that had been shattered, then put back together without the intention of being whole. A reconstruction, a warning.
You’d seen the worst of humanity. He knew you had.
Because you’d seen him. You had seen the soldier.
Bucky’s throat dried, his pulse thudded loud in his ears. For a second, the rest of the room faded. No Val. No briefing. No mission.
Just your face, twenty feet tall on a screen that didn’t understand the weight of what it displayed.
His vibranium fingers clenched into a fist against his thigh.
Because before the blood, before the years, before everything—
He remembered you being shoved into his cell. He remembered what they made you for. Him.
Geneva, 1963
The restraints clicked loose with a mechanical hiss.
The sound echoed like a countdown, bouncing off the concrete walls of the cell—sterile and dim, soaked in shadow and the sharp tang of metal. The air in the room was cold, almost painfully so. It reeked of antiseptic, dried blood, rusted bolts, and fear.
It was always cold, always humming, always watching.
He sat motionless in the center of the room, body lit by the faint glow of overhead lights buried in steel mesh. His breathing was even. Controlled. Programmed. Like the rest of him.
There were voices still murmuring in the back of his mind—Russian syllables sharp and precise like scalpel cuts. Orders etched into the bone.
The Soldier didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.
Not until the door opened.
It wasn’t loud—just a low, hydraulic groan—but it might as well have been an earthquake. The room shifted with it. Tensed. And then you stumbled in.
Barefoot.
A paper-thin robe hung off your shoulders, barely tied, the cheap fabric fluttering like the wings of something dying. Your skin was pale beneath the harsh light. Translucent and cold.
You had been trembling—not dramatically, not childishly, but with a quiet, contained sort of fear. The kind that sat behind your eyes like a scream you weren’t allowed to voice.
Your breathing was shallow. Your arms wrapped tight around your middle like maybe you could still keep something for yourself. Dignity, perhaps. Sanity.
He could hear your heart skipping.
Thud. Thud. Skip. Thud.
The Soldier's head tilted slightly.
You didn’t speak. You weren’t supposed to. He of all people knew that.
Another set of footsteps followed behind you. Louder. Confident. Casual in that way only men who enjoyed this part could be.
Your handler stepped in, gloved hands tucked behind his back, expression amused—like this was just another thursday night for him. He smelled of aftershave and smoke and arrogance.
“She’s new Soldier,” he said, like he was introducing a piece of meat. “Fresh out of the chair. ты полюбишь ее (you'll love her)."
The Soldier’s eyes tracked him, no reaction. Just coiled stillness. The quiet before a storm—or before something breaks.
The man stepped behind you, took a fistful of your hair, tilted your head back with casual cruelty. His other hand held a gun. Not raised yet—just dangling. Just there.
He pressed the barrel to your chin.
“You were modified, my dear,” he said, voice slick, smiling like this was a joke between old friends. “Tailored just for him”
You blinked back a tear and Bucky remembered how you tried not to move, tried to not let the tears slip.
But he saw it, god, he always saw it.
“Our Soldier here,” the handler continued, “is very effective when he’s satisfied. But lately—” he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, “—he’s been a little… what do you say? wound up.”
He dragged the pistol slowly down the column of your throat.
“Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine,” he whispered, then slapped your cheek—not hard, but just enough to make your teeth clack. Just enough to remind you that your body didn’t belong to you anymore.
It belonged to him.
Your lip trembled. You flinched. But you didn’t cry out.
The handler smirked, pleased with himself. Then he shoved you forward. Hard. You stumbled toward the metal table in the center of the room, hands catching on the edge. It was freezing beneath your fingertips.
“Strip,” he said.
You froze.
There was a pause—barely two seconds—before he raised the gun again, pressing the muzzle to your throat.
“Я сказал, черт возьми, разденься.” (i said fucking strip)
Your hands moved without your permission. Wooden. Shaking.
The knot on the robe came loose in one tug. The fabric slipped from your shoulders like it had been waiting to betray you. It crumpled around your feet.
The cold hit instantly. Like knives.
You stood there—naked, spine taut as a wire—while the handler looked you over like you were nothing. Just skin. Just parts. A means to an end.
Behind you, the Soldier stood.
The restraints had fallen from his wrists minutes ago. He hadn’t moved until now.
But he did now.
Silently. Predatory. Like a tiger stalking its prey—measured, patient, deadly in its grace. There was no urgency in the way he moved. No rush. Just inevitability.
Each step echoed, booted and deliberate, closing the space between you until the scent of steel and gun oil and winter settled over your skin like a second prison.
You turned, barely.
Your eyes met his—wide, glistening, pleading. A silent cry for mercy, for recognition, for something human. But what stared back at you wasn’t mercy.
His eyes were cerulean—stunning, almost unnaturally bright. A shade of blue that might have once held the sky, the sea. But now, they were stripped bare. Cold and hollow. Like frost on glass, beautiful only because of how dead they looked beneath the surface.
There was no spark behind them. No flicker of recognition. No trace of the man he’d once been almost twenty years ago before HYDRA wiped him clean.
As if the color remained only to mock you—brilliant, vivid, human—in a face that had long since forgotten how to be.
You made a sound. Soft. Fractured.
“I-I… please—”
The door behind you slammed shut.
The locks engaged. One by one. Click. Click. Click.
You were alone.
No—worse. You were with him.
The Soldier said nothing. Not a grunt, not a breath—just a slow, deliberate advance. Each step was measured, silent, lethal. Until his chest hovered a hair’s breadth from yours, the heat of him a violent contrast to the chill in the room.
Up close, you could see it—the constellation of scars across his chest, old and precise, carved into him like tally marks. Not injuries. Not history. Inventory.
His metal hand rose, unhurried, as if pre-programmed, the plates catching the light in glinting, surgical flashes. It wasn’t a caress—it was an assessment. He gripped your jaw with cold, steady fingers, tilting your face as if cataloguing you.
Not a woman. A directive.
Then, without a word, he shoved you back.
Your spine struck the edge of the table with a dull, metallic thud. The bite of cold steel sank into the soft flesh of your thighs, shocking enough to draw a gasp from your lips.
His hands were on you in the next breath—both of them now. Flesh and metal. One rough, the other unfeeling. They clamped around your hips, dragging you into place with bruising force.
His hand moved with the cold precision of routine—sliding down your waist, between your thighs, parting you like it was nothing more than protocol. A function, a command.
There was no softness in the touch, no pretence of seduction. Just the calloused drag of flesh and steel against trembling skin, searching for an opening, finding it.
He didn’t pause. Didn’t kiss. Didn’t whisper.
He just pushed inside.
No warning, no mercy.
You gasped—loud, broken—your back arching sharply as the brutal stretch hit you all at once. He was thick, unforgiving, too deep in a single thrust that tore a cry from your throat before you could swallow it down.
It had hurt, not in the way pain was supposed to make you feel alive. In the way it emptied you. In the way it made your eyes burn.
The air left your lungs in a ragged choke as your hands scrambled along the table, trying to hold onto something, anything solid.
But there was nothing to brace against. Just cold steel and the shuddering rhythm of your body being rocked by a man who wasn’t a man anymore.
He groaned low, a sound scraped from the chest of something feral. Not passion. Not need. Just release. His hips snapped forward, brutal and mechanical, burying himself deeper with every thrust—hard, fast, relentless.
The table beneath you scraped against the concrete floor, metal screaming in protest, matching the ache building between your legs where he kept driving into you without care.
You clenched around him without meaning to—instinct, panic, maybe some misplaced hope that it would ease the burn.
It didn’t. If anything, it made him move faster, more ragged, like your body’s reaction was fuel. His pace stayed wild, uncalibrated. There was no rhythm, no escalation. Just motion, just violence, just function.
Your nails dug into his back. Deep. You clawed without thinking, dragging jagged lines down skin that didn’t bruise, didn’t bleed. You needed to feel something. Needed him to feel something. But he didn’t even flinch.
Still, he didn’t look at you, he didn’t speak, he didn’t stop.
He took you like he was built to, like this was your only purpose. His grip bruised your thighs. His hips slammed into yours over and over, until your sobs bled into the sound of flesh hitting flesh, too soft to echo, too raw to ignore.
Your body had given up on resisting—it simply endured. And the worst part was that he never lost control. Not once. Every movement was calculated. Efficient.
When he came, it was with a final, forceful thrust, burying himself as deep as you could take him, hips stuttering with brutal impact.
His breath flared hot against your neck—shallow, sharp—but he didn’t make a sound beyond that low, choked groan. His release filled you in waves, thick and unforgiving, and he stayed there, seated inside you, unmoving.
You expected him to pull out.
He didn’t. Instead, he just stayed.
You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, your body aching in too many places to name. And then, something shifted.
He moved—barely.
The fingers of his metal hand rose, brushing your hair back from your damp, tear-streaked face. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t deliberate. It felt… automatic. Like some trace echo of the man he’d been, long before all of this, had flinched to the surface. A reflex. A ghost of care where none should have existed.
You didn’t think. You just leaned forward, lips trembling, and kissed him.
Soft. Desperate. Human.
It wasn’t about affection. It wasn’t about desire. It was survival. The kind of kiss you gave a weapon in the hopes it might remember it once had a heart.
He didn’t kiss you back. But he didn’t pull away, either.
Bucky jerked back to the present like he’d been shocked.
A breath caught in his throat, too late, too loud. His fists were clenched beneath the table—metal fingers biting into flesh, the cool of vibranium digging into his palm.
For a second, he couldn’t remember where he was. Not really. Everything around him had gone flat. Colourless. The voices around the room blurred into a low, warbling hum, like sound underwater. Just static and noise. White walls and ghosts.
His jaw was locked so tight it ached. Sweat beaded along the nape of his neck, cold against the collar of his shirt. He could feel it rolling down his spine in thin, uncomfortable rivulets. His skin itched like memory.
No one had noticed. Not yet.
Val’s voice kept going, sharp and indifferent. She was pacing in front of the screen now, still debriefing. Her heels clicked against the floor, a rhythmic metronome against the pulse pounding in Bucky’s ears.
“She went off-grid for years,” Val was saying, her tone too casual, like she wasn’t talking about someone’s stolen life. “Cryo-freeze probably scrambled most of her memory—hell, we barely know what happened to her during that period. The files are a fucking jigsaw puzzle. But she’s clean. She’s loyal.”
Loyal.
He nearly laughed. Bit down on it so hard his tongue pressed into his molars.
She didn’t know. None of them knew.
Val tapped her remote again. The screen dimmed, your face fading into black. The mission map reappeared. But he could still see you—burned into the back of his eyes like an afterimage.
Every line of your face. That expression. The way your mouth had been pressed flat, neutral, like you hadn’t been torn from time. Like you weren’t a bleeding wound in his memory.
Val turned back toward the table.
“And she’ll be joining your team,” she said smoothly, “starting tonight.”
Silence.
Then her gaze found him—pinning, expectant.
“You okay, Barnes?”
He forced himself to move.
Just a blink. A breath. He straightened his spine with mechanical precision, muscles flexing against the weight in his chest. His lips parted, but the words didn’t come right away. They stalled. Caught. Died somewhere in the back of his throat like smoke.
He swallowed it down.
“I…” he cleared his throat, low and quiet. “Yeah. No issue.”
No issue.
The lie settled bitter on his tongue. Metallic. Like blood.
There was every issue.
Because the girl he had once touched without mercy—the one who had gasped beneath him, shaking, cold, silenced by fear and force—was alive. Real. Breathing in the same air he was. Walking somewhere above their heads in this building.
And if the universe had any cruelty left in it—and it always did—you remembered.
God, maybe you remembered everything.
Maybe you remembered the cold metal table. The way he’d gripped your hips like you were something disposable. Maybe you remembered the weight of his body bearing down on yours with no tenderness, no humanity.
Maybe you remembered the sharp sting of the floor against your knees. The sound of your own breathing hitching against his shoulder. Your name reduced to nothing. Your voice swallowed by silence. The tears that had trailed down your cheeks when you thought no one was looking—except he had been. He always had been.
Maybe you remembered the way he hadn’t stopped.
The way he hadn’t spoken.
The way he hadn’t cared—because HYDRA had taken that part of him and burned it until only the weapon remained.
He’d fucked you like you were a tool to be used, like you were part of the mission. And when it was done, when his seed was leaking from between your thighs and your fingers had gone limp against his skin, he hadn’t pulled away.
He had just stared. Like he couldn’t understand what had just happened. Like part of him—some distant, buried part—could.
And maybe that was the worst part of all.
But… there had been one night.
One fucking night.
Late, in the middle of another mission cycle. He wasn’t fully reset. Not yet triggered. Just… quiet. Breathing. Blinking. Human, for a few stolen hours.
And you had touched him—not because you were forced to, but because you chose to.
Your fingers slid into his hair like you were anchoring yourself to something real—something still breathing beneath all that silence.
The strands were damp with sweat, thick and soft between your fingers, and you clutched them not with control, but with need. Gentle, but trembling. A desperate touch dressed up as tenderness.
You pulled him closer. Not rough, not forced—just certain. Like your body knew something your mind didn’t have the courage to say aloud.
His face hovered just above yours, his breath hot against your cheek, uneven now. Slower. Like for one stolen moment, the programming had fractured and something human was leaking through the cracks.
You tilted your head, lips barely brushing his ear—featherlight, sacred. Like a prayer.
And you whispered it.
Not Soldier. Not Asset. Not the name HYDRA had soldered into him like metal to bone.
You whispered, “James.”
Soft. Breaking. Yours.
Like you knew him. Like you remembered. Like some piece of the man still buried inside him might crawl toward the sound of it and stay.
He had cum that night too. But not because HYDRA told him to.
Because he wanted to.
Because you were soft, and you had kissed him, and for one second, the world had felt quiet. Real.
And fuck—
Some part of him wanted to believe that you remembered that.
That buried beneath all the violence, beneath all the tears and orders and years of cryo and blood, you remembered that there was one moment—just one—when he wasn’t a monster.
When you had invoked that one emotion he thought was long gone. Love.
Even if he didn’t know what the hell love was supposed to feel like anymore.
The meeting dissolved slowly.
Chairs scraped against the floor in discordant, screeching notes as the team stood. Screens powered down with mechanical hums, one by one, the mission data fading into darkness.
Someone cracked a joke—probably Alexei—but Bucky didn’t hear it. The sound passed through him like wind through a ruined building. His gaze lingered on the now-empty monitor, as if your photo might flicker back to life one last time.
But it didn’t.
You were gone again. Until you weren’t.
Val was already talking to Ava, pulling her aside, issuing last-minute adjustments. Walker yawned and stretched like they were heading to a sparring match instead of a black ops infiltration.
Yelena glanced over her shoulder at Bucky, something in her look almost—almost—curious. But she didn’t press. No one did.
He hadn’t moved.
He waited until the room cleared out.
Until the buzz of the briefing dulled into silence and the last bootsteps disappeared down the hallway.
Only then did he breathe.
It came out shaky. Shallow. Wrong.
His now vibranium hand flexed at his side, joints creaking softly in the cold air.
The adrenaline had faded, but the weight in his chest hadn’t. It was heavier now. Anchored deep. He rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand, dragging his fingers through his hair like maybe he could dig out the thoughts still looping in his mind.
But they stayed. They always did.
He finally stood.
The chair groaned beneath him, echoing in the empty room like a warning.
Bucky moved on autopilot, one boot in front of the other, out the door and into the corridor. The halls were narrow, dimly lit, the walls humming faintly with the energy of the facility.
Security cameras tracked his movement, but he didn’t care. He knew these halls well. Too well. They never changed—no matter the country, no matter the decade. Metal walls, low ceilings, air that smelled like oil and old wiring.
It reminded him of HYDRA. Everything did tonight.
He walked past the tech lab, the weapons vault, the intel room—every step tightening something behind his ribs. And then he reached the gear room.
Inside, it was quiet. Cold. The lockers were lined in rows, half-open, half-forgotten, each one a sealed little coffin of someone's war.
He opened the locker slowly. The door creaked on its hinges. Inside: his gear. Gloves. Boots. Custom tactical vest. The knives he preferred—weighted, balanced, perfect for close-quarters.
The gloves were folded carefully on the top shelf. Next to them was a file folder someone had left—probably more mission data. Or maybe your file again. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t touch it.
Instead, he sat down on the bench beside the locker, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed forward like he could hold himself together with posture alone.
And for a moment, just one moment, he allowed it to crack.
His eyes fell shut. His hands trembled. Not violently. Just enough that he had to lace his fingers together to keep them still.
You were alive.
After all these years. After all that pain. After cryo, after war, after HYDRA, after everything—they’d kept you frozen, tucked away in some forgotten chamber while the world moved on without you.
He wondered if it had hurt you to know what year it was. He wondered if it would hurt more to see him again.
Because what was he now?
Just a reminder of everything that had ever gone wrong. Of every scar on your body you hadn’t deserved. Of every night you’d cried into a concrete floor, trying to convince yourself that the Soldier wasn’t a real person. That he didn’t feel it. That he didn’t want it.
But he had.
He had wanted you. Not in the way HYDRA demanded. In the way that made his hands softer, just once. In the way that made him linger too long inside you, not because he was ordered to—but because he couldn’t bear to leave.
That was the part he never forgave himself for.
That flicker of love that bloomed in the middle of a crime scene.
It wasn’t pure. It wasn’t good. But it was his. It was the only real thing he’d felt in decades that he was tortured. And it was with you.
He opened his eyes. Swallowed hard.
Somewhere upstairs, you were being debriefed. Checked. Cleared. Suited up in your new uniform, maybe. Maybe Val was smiling that smug little smile of hers as she handed you your new orders.
Maybe you were asking about the team. Maybe you’d asked who was leading it.
And maybe, just maybe, Val had said his name.
James Buchanan Barnes.
And maybe that name meant something to you.
Or maybe it didn’t.
Maybe you’d look him in the eye tonight and feel nothing. Maybe you wouldn’t recognise him at all.
But Bucky had the feeling—deep, raw, gut-level—that when your eyes met his again, something would break. In you. In him. In both of you.
And whatever broke… it wouldn’t be fixable.
Not this time.
He stood. Slowly. Gathered his gear without ceremony. Buckled his knives to his thigh holster. Pulled on the gloves.
Every movement felt heavier than the last.
The next time he saw you, it would be face-to-face. On mission. Under pressure. With blood in the air and history in the room like a second skin.
He didn’t know what would happen. He just knew it had already started.
a/n: i am starting on chapter 2! and gosh, i am so excited already! i hope you love it and if you do, please drop a comment or a reblog, i am forever grateful for your support <3333
#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky smut#bucky x you#bucky angst#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes smut#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes angst#bucky fluff#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#sebastian stan#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan angst#sebastian stan fluff#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan fanfiction#marvel#thunderbolts*#thunderbolts!bucky#mcu
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Red Is The Color Of Want

pairing | civil!war!bucky x widow!reader & winter!soldier x widow!reader
word count | 4.8k words
summary | in a crumbling safehouse far from the fights you both escaped, you—a former black widow—unravel the man beneath the metal as the winter soldier comes undone in your arms. but when a page of trigger words drags bucky back into the shadows of who he used to be, the only thing more dangerous than his programming… is how much he needs you.
tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f!receiving), fingering, rough sex, desperate sex, emotional hurt/comfort, dubious consent (due to Winter Soldier programming), ptsd and trauma responses, emotional angst, mutual longing, slow burn that explodes, comfort after breakdown
a/n | YALLL, this is not the a sequel to Сетка, this is a complete different widow!reader, Сетка Pt 2 is still on its way, anyway this is based on this request
taglist | ALSOOO I've created a tag list for this, so if you wanna be tagged whenever I release a new bucky fic, just fill your username to this taglist
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @cafekitsune
Romania, Bucharest — 2016
The café was falling apart in the charming way only Eastern European buildings could get away with. A crooked sign hung above the door like it was waiting to fall. Inside, it smelled like cheap coffee and something burnt a few days ago.
You were sitting by the window, hunched over a chipped porcelain cup, one foot tucked under you. The table rocked slightly every time you leaned on it. You’d already emptied two packets of sugar into the bitter brew, and now you were on your fourth.
Across from you, he watched with that quiet intensity of his—chin in hand, blue eyes barely blinking, like every movement you made held the key to unlocking some part of him. He said nothing until the fifth sugar packet disappeared into your cup.
“Going for diabetes or just hoping to dissolve the pain?”
You didn't even look up as you stirred. “Why stop at diabetes? If I keep going, maybe I’ll reach enlightenment.”
His lip twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. The most you ever got from him on a good day.
“Doesn’t matter how much you sweeten it,” he said finally, nodding toward your cup. “Still tastes like shit.”
You leaned back, cradling the mug in both hands like it was precious. “Good. So it matches you.”
He blinked, and you almost regretted the jab—until you saw the way the corner of his mouth lifted, barely, like a secret between you.
“Dark and bitter,” he murmured. “Just like me.”
You took a sip. It was terrible. Burnt and sour with an aftertaste like regret. You looked him straight in the eyes.
“Speak for yourself. I’m fucking delightful.”
You were slouched back now, one leg kicked over the other, sipping your sugar-soaked coffee like it was actually palatable. Outside, the gray streets of Bucharest moved on—slow, indifferent, same as always.
Bucky’s eyes drifted down from your face to the red leather jacket slung over your shoulders. It was too bright, too clean for a place like this. Too loud for someone like you.
“That’s a lot of jacket for someone trying to stay low,” he muttered, eyeing it like it offended him.
You scoffed, as you smoothed your hand over the sleeve. “I love this jacket. You have no taste.”
He huffed a breath. “I’ve got taste. That just ain’t it.”
You gasped, setting your cup down with a clink. “Excuse me. This jacket is iconic.”
His brow lifted. “It’s loud. You look like a traffic light.”
“I look fabulous,” you corrected, smoothing a hand down the sleeve. “And this is the first thing I ever bought for myself, okay?”
He blinked at that. “That?”
“Да,” you said, chin up. “You don’t like it?” [Yes]
“I didn’t say that,” he mumbled, but the twitch in his lips gave him away.
You narrowed your eyes. “You did not not say it.”
Bucky leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him. “You still look ridiculous.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your mouth. “That is rich, coming from man who wears the same three Henleys on rotation.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “They’re comfortable.”
“And this is freedom,” you said simply. “The point is… I’ve never had control over my own life before. I want to do things now. Stupid things. Selfish things. Bright red jacket things. And I think you should want that too.”
That shut him up for a beat.
You didn’t push it. Just looked down at your drink, tracing the rim of the cup with your finger. When you glanced up again, his expression had softened—those sad eyes of his lit with something quieter. Warmer.
“I think your jacket’s cool,” he said, voice low.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
You grinned again, slower this time. “I get you matching one.”
His face immediately scrunched. “I’m good, thanks.”
You leaned back smugly. “I get you one anyway.”
He shook his head, but there was no bite to it. Just the faintest quirk of a smile he didn’t bother hiding this time.
────────────────────────
His Apartment
The apartment was barely a place. The walls were cracked in some places and water-stained in others. The furniture was sparse—just a torn couch, a table that wobbled if you leaned on it wrong, and a mattress on the floor in the next room. But it was safe. Or safe enough.
The stereo in the corner played something modern and vaguely electronic. It fuzzed in and out, like even it didn’t want to be here. You lay sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over your eyes, foot tapping out of rhythm to the beat.
Bucky sat nearby in a folding chair, arms resting on his knees, watching you like he didn’t quite understand how someone like you ended up in his space.
How you, with your loud voice, bright jacket, and endless sarcasm, had carved yourself into the quiet corners of his life.
He hadn’t gotten used to the music you liked—shrill, repetitive, too fast. He’d told you as much. “It’s noise,” he’d said.
“I am noise,” you’d replied with a grin. “Get used to it.”
And somehow, he had.
Around you, the silence didn’t ache the way it used to. You filled it, even when you weren’t speaking. It was your presence—commanding and unbothered, like you were meant to be anywhere you sat.
He didn’t know how it happened. One day he’d just found you, or maybe you'd found him. In an alley in Warsaw, bleeding from a gunshot wound, muttering in Russian as you crouched beside him and said, “I’m not saving you because I care, I’m saving you because you owe me now.”
You’d been by his side ever since.
He reached into the drawer of the flimsy side table, pulled out the small, black notebook, and held it out to you wordlessly.
You shifted, eyeing it with some suspicion before sitting up just enough to take it from him.
“What’s this?” you asked, flipping it open.
“Things I remember,” he said, voice rough. “Bits. Fragments. I write them down before I forget again.”
You flipped through it slowly, eyes scanning a list of names, dates, odd phrases.
“‘Red sock in a white wash’? This a code?”
“Laundry accident. Brooklyn, 1936.”
You snorted, and he swore you smiled just a little softer than usual.
“‘Train smell. Winter. Steve’s mittens.’ That one sounds like the setup to a bad poem.”
“Smelled like coal and metal. He used to take his gloves off to share with me.” His voice drifted a bit, like the memory was speaking through him more than he was choosing to share.
You leaned your head back against the couch again, notebook open on your stomach. “You are sentimental old man,” you muttered.
He looked at you like you were sunlight through a window—something warm he never quite thought he deserved.
“And you're loud,” he said quietly. “Even when you’re not talking. I can’t hear the silence when you’re around.”
You cracked one eye open and smirked. “Good. It’s an annoying silence. Brooding and sad. Very you.”
He huffed a laugh, eyes still on you.
You flipped to another page, still lounging back on his couch, one leg dangling off the side. The paper was creased and worn, filled with a list in neat Cyrillic script. Your eyes narrowed.
“What’s this?” you asked, tapping the page lightly with your finger.
Bucky glanced over absently from the table where he’d been cleaning a disassembled pistol. “What?”
You didn’t wait. The words slid easily off your tongue, your Russian fluent and unthinking.
“Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет—”
[Desire, Rusty, Seventeen, Dawn]
His head snapped up, the rag in his hand falling to the floor with a soft thud.
“Stop.”
You didn’t hear him—too caught up in your mockery, still thinking this was another relic from his past you could tease him about. Your voice took on a theatrical lilt as you continued.
“Печь, Девять, Добросердечный, Возвращение, Один—”
[Oven, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One]
“Stop.”
But you were already at the last word.
“Товарный вагон.” [Freight Car.]
The silence after was suffocating.
You looked up, still grinning—ready to make another snarky remark.
But he was staring at you.
Not in that usual, quietly fascinated way. Not the soft, storm-swept gaze that always felt like it saw more than you were willing to show.
No, this stare was hollow. Still. Too still.
The warmth was gone.
“Bucky?”
He didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, posture rigid, jaw locked, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to calculate something. Or waiting for something.
Your pulse quickened.
You sat up fully, the notebook slipping from your hands and falling to the floor with a soft flutter.
“Bucky, what—” Your voice faltered.
You stood slowly, movements careful, like approaching a wild animal. His breathing was steady, mechanical. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but there was something wrong in the way they hung—too precise. Like they belonged to someone else.
You took a hesitant step toward him.
“What’s wrong with you?” you asked quietly, tilting your head.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t even twitch.
His silence pressed in on you, heavier than the broken ceiling above, thicker than the smoke that sometimes drifted through the window from the street.
Then it hit you.
The page.
The words.
Your stomach dropped.
“Bucky…” You whispered his name like a lifeline, like saying it softer might bring him back.
Still nothing.
Just those empty, soldat's eyes staring through you.
You swallowed hard. “Come on. Say something.”
But he didn’t.
Your mouth became dry.
You took a step back, eyes locked on his. They didn’t follow your movement—not in the human way, not in his way. They tracked you like a target. The realization settled cold in your gut.
You licked your lips, heart hammering in your chest.
“Солдат…” you said softly, reluctantly. A test. A plea. [Soldat]
His posture shifted instantly, his chin lifting just slightly, shoulders drawn tight.
“Готов подчиняться,” he replied without hesitation, voice flat. Hollow. Obedient.
[Ready to comply.]
The breath left your lungs.
Shit.
No no no.
This couldn’t be happening.
You felt your stomach twist violently, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.
“Блядь…” you muttered, horrified, under your breath. “Чёрт, трахни меня—” [Oh, Fuck me]
“Понял.” [Understood.]
Your eyes snapped up, wide, just as he moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Before you could take another breath, his hand was at the back of your neck, the other on your waist, and then his mouth was on yours—rough, forceful, devouring. There was no hesitation, no question. Just action.
His lips crushed into yours like a command being executed.
And the worst part? Your body didn’t pull away.
It froze.
Caught in shock, in the wrongness, in the heat of it.
You barely registered the wall against your back before you felt his hands—strong, unrelenting—gripping your thighs. The torn leather of the couch creaked beneath you as he lifted you like you weighed nothing, pressing your body flush against his without pause, without question.
Your breath hitched.
“Bucky—no—” you gasped, palms against his chest. It was solid, unmoving. “Wait—this isn’t—”
But he wasn’t listening.
His lips moved from yours to your jaw, to your throat. Rough, possessive. He kissed like he was claiming you, like he’d waited too long and now he was making up for lost time. His mouth found the soft skin beneath your ear, sucked hard enough to bruise.
A broken sound slipped from your lips before you could stop it.
You hated that part of yourself—the one that’d thought about this. That had looked at him too long, too often, wondered what his hands would feel like wrapped around your hips. What his mouth would taste like.
But this wasn’t him.
Not really.
“Soldat,” you tried again, voice cracking, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt. “Stop—”
But even as you spoke, his grip didn’t falter. His hands roamed with precision, with purpose. Like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.
And somewhere inside those glacier-blue eyes was something burning.
Not cold. Not mechanical.
Hunger.
Longing.
Bucky had wanted this. Wanted you. Maybe not like this. Maybe not so brutally, so suddenly. But it had been there—in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, in the weight of his silences, in how he never pulled away when your shoulders brushed.
And now all that want had been uncaged.
The Soldat was moving like he’d been given orders.
But the man you knew—he was still in there.
You could feel it in the way his fingers trembled for just a second at your waist.
His breath was harsh against your skin, uneven—like he hadn’t drawn a real one in years until now. Like you were the first breath of air after a long, dark silence.
His hands moved fast. Too fast.
Fabric tore.
The sound of your top splitting down the middle echoed like a gunshot in the small room, the cotton giving way in his fists like it was paper. You gasped, chest exposed to the cool air, to his burning stare.
“Wait—Bucky—” you started, but your voice was swallowed beneath the weight of his body pushing you back onto the couch.
He didn’t say a word. Just hovered over you, braced on his elbows, eyes devouring every inch of bare skin like it was the only thing that existed. His pupils were blown wide, mouth parted like he was starving.
And maybe he was.
Maybe the Soldat was hunger without outlet. Maybe Bucky had been starving too—silently, patiently.
And now?
Now that leash had snapped.
His mouth was on your collarbone, open and hot, teeth dragging roughly. He kissed you like he didn’t care if it left marks—like he wanted it to.
One hand slid beneath your thigh, lifting it over his hip. The movement ground his body closer to yours, and you choked on a breath, caught off guard by how right it felt—how wrong it should’ve felt.
“Soldat—” you tried again, but this time your voice was barely a whisper, barely a protest.
His body was shaking, barely controlled. Like if he let go of even one thread, he’d tear through everything between you. Like he wasn’t following an order now—he was answering a need.
Your need.
His need.
He lowered himself further, breath hot against your breast as he dragged his mouth across your skin, reverent and brutal all at once.
And all you could do was clutch at his shoulders, your mind screaming that this wasn’t him—
But your body? Your body didn’t care.
And so you didn’t resist.
Not really.
Maybe it was the way his hands gripped your hips—tight, trembling like restraint was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Maybe it was the way his breath caught when your nails dug into his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline even as he pushed you deeper into the cushions.
Maybe it was that part of you that wanted to be taken.
By him. The man. The weapon. Both.
His weight settled over you, all muscle and heat and presence, like he needed to feel every inch of you against him to believe you were real. His hips rutted against yours, rough, desperate, like he was trying to bury himself in your very existence.
“Скажи мне нет,” he rasped against your throat, voice fraying at the edges. [Tell me no]
But you didn’t.
Your legs wrapped around him tighter, drawing him in, anchoring him.
He groaned—a real sound, a human sound—and it rattled through his chest as he ground down harder, clutching at your body like it was the only thing keeping him from shattering.
You let him. You let him take you.
Because you’d seen the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. You’d heard the longing buried beneath his silence. This wasn’t just the programming.
It was him.
It was all of him.
And when his mouth crashed down onto yours again—rougher this time, teeth catching your lip—you moaned into it, fingers twisting in his shirt, holding on as he moved with a desperate rhythm, like he didn’t just want you—
Like he needed you to keep from disappearing.
You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands were on his own shirt, fists bunching in the fabric. One violent pull, and it was gone—ripped at the seams, flung aside without a second thought.
And then it was skin.
Hot, scarred, solid.
His chest pressed against yours, the rough drag of his skin over yours sending a shiver down your spine. You arched into him instinctively, needing the contact just as much as he did.
He growled—low and broken, more animal than man—as his hand found your bra and shredded it in one sharp tug. The snap of elastic was lost in the haze as his mouth dropped immediately to your chest, lips latching around one nipple, tongue circling with fervent, uncoordinated hunger.
“Ебать—” you gasped, head tilting back as your nails raked down his back, leaving angry trails in their wake. [Fuck]
He groaned against your breast, the sound vibrating through you. His hands were everywhere—one gripping your waist like a lifeline, the other palming your other breast, thumb swiping over the peak with desperate precision.
There was no rhythm to him. No practiced seduction. Just need.
Raw and overwhelming and real.
Every kiss, every scrape of teeth, every press of his body screamed a single truth: he didn't want to just fuck you—he wanted to feel you. Carving the memory of you into his skin, into his blood, like he didn’t trust the world not to take you away too.
You clung to him harder.
Not because you were afraid he’d hurt you.
But because, in that moment, you were terrified he’d stop.
You didn’t notice the shift at first—just the sudden absence of weight, the cold hit of air against your skin.
Then your eyes opened.
He was between your legs.
Kneeling, eyes burning, chest heaving. His fingers worked fast at the waistband of your pants, yanking them down along with your underwear in one swift, impatient motion. Your legs twitched involuntarily as the fabric slid past your ankles, discarded without care.
He stared at you like he was starving.
“Боже, посмотри на тебя,” he muttered under his breath, reverent and ragged. [God, look at you.]
His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open, dragging you to the edge of the couch like he owned the space between your legs.
You opened your mouth to say something—his name, a protest, a prayer—but the words died as his head dipped low.
“Моя...моя вдова,” he breathed, just before his mouth touched you. [My widow.]
And then—
Heat. Tongue. Pressure.
You gasped, hand flying to the back of the couch for balance as his mouth found you, tongue moving like he’d been trained for this too—like even in this, he wanted to master it.
He groaned against you, low and helpless, like your taste ruined him.
“Так хорошо...” he mumbled, voice muffled, worshipful. [So good…]
Your fingers buried in his hair instinctively, hips jerking against his mouth.
There was no finesse. No teasing. Just hunger.
And he was drowning in you.
His tongue was relentless—broad strokes, then sharp flicks, lips sealing around you with a precision that shouldn’t have been possible from someone this desperate. But he was intent, focused like a man on a mission, like your body was the only thing grounding him in reality.
Your thighs clenched around his head, back arching off the couch, and still he didn’t stop—if anything, he held you tighter, dragging you impossibly closer to his mouth, like he needed more of you, like you were slipping away and he couldn’t bear it.
You gasped his name—not Soldat, not a command—just Bucky, soft and raw.
And maybe he heard it.
Or maybe he just needed more.
He pulled back just enough to murmur something, the words lost under his breath, hoarse and reverent—“Я хочу внутри, я хочу чувствовать тебя, мне нужно чувствовать тебя...” [I want inside, I want to feel you, I need to feel you…]
Then you felt the cool press of metal.
Your breath caught.
His metal hand, fingers thick and gleaming in the low light, slid slowly between your thighs. He spread you with one, then pushed a finger in—slow at first, but with no hesitation. The contrast was electric: heat and steel, your body slick and pulsing around him.
Then another finger.
You whimpered, nails scraping across his bare shoulders as he curled them just right, just so, his mouth returning to your clit like he couldn’t stand being away from it.
The stretch, the weight of him inside you, was almost too much—but your body sang with it. Welcomed it.
“Ты сделана для меня…” he whispered against you. [You were made for me.]
You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
All you could do was hold on as he devoured you—mouth and metal working in brutal rhythm, dragging you higher, deeper, closer to a place you couldn’t come back from.
Your moan cracked in your throat—raw, strangled—as he thrust his fingers deeper, curling them just right, just perfect, while his mouth locked onto you with maddening precision. The heat in your belly coiled tight, then tighter, your body trembling beneath him, straining toward the edge with every wet, ruthless stroke of his tongue.
And then—
You shattered.
Everything broke.
You cried out, head thrown back against the cushions, legs shaking violently as you came hard against his mouth, his hand, his name barely a whisper in your lips—“Bucky—”
He didn’t stop.
Not until you were gasping, twitching, until your hands gripped his hair and pushed gently, weakly, needing space, needing air.
He pulled back—just barely—and looked up at you.
Hair a mess, face slick with your release, eyes blown wide with hunger.
“Я не могу больше ждать,” he whispered, voice ruined. [I can’t wait anymore.]
Then he was moving.
Fast.
Rising up, his fingers leaving you with a wet sound that made your hips buck involuntarily. He fumbled with his jeans—his hands weren’t shaking, but you were. He shoved them down, not even bothering to take them off completely—just far enough to free himself, and then he was on you again.
Hard thighs between yours.
Heavy, hot, bare against your soaked skin.
You felt the press of him—thick and already pulsing—at your entrance.
He hovered for a breathless second.
“Я должен быть в тебе,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. [I need to be inside you.]
And then he pushed in—deep, with a groan so guttural it punched through your chest and made you moan again, your nails clawing into his shoulders, into the scars and the skin that was all his, all real.
He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust.
And he didn’t move.
Not right away.
Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, shaking with the effort to hold back, to not come from the sheer feel of you wrapped around him.
You breathed his name again, softer this time. And he looked down at you like he’d been lost for years and just now found his way home.
His hips snapped forward again, dragging a rough moan from your throat as he filled you to the hilt, then pulled back only to slam into you harder, deeper. Over and over—no rhythm, no finesse—just a brutal grind of body on body, like he needed to feel every inch, every pulse, every contraction of your body around him.
Your thighs locked around his waist instinctively, heels digging into the small of his back, holding him there, in you, as if you could stop the world from spinning with just that grip.
His mouth was at your shoulder, his breath ragged and hot as he snarled half-broken curses against your skin—words you didn’t need to understand to feel. They bled need. They bled ownership.
“Твоя... моя... так туго... так тепло...”
[Yours. Mine. So tight. So warm…]
He rutted into you like an animal, like something had come loose inside him and now there was no going back. The couch creaked beneath you, the frame groaning under the force of his thrusts. The slap of skin echoed off the walls—loud, wet, constant.
You clawed at his back, nails digging in deep, dragging over muscle and scar tissue. He hissed but didn’t stop—only fucked you harder, faster, sweat dripping from his brow, jaw clenched like he was trying not to fall apart right there inside you.
You were moaning—raw, helpless, your head thrown back as he pounded into you, each thrust sending fire up your spine. Your hands gripped him like he’d vanish if you let go.
And beneath all of it—his breath, your cries, the obscene sounds of your bodies crashing together—was that undeniable truth:
You didn’t want him to stop.
His thrusts grew more erratic—less controlled, more desperate.
He was fucking you like a man coming undone, like if he stopped, even for a breath, he’d fall apart completely. Every snap of his hips was rougher than the last, the slap of skin on skin filling the air, raw and unrelenting. Your body rocked beneath him, pinned under the full weight of him, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he drove deeper, harder.
“Чёрт, не могу—” he gasped into your neck. [Fuck, I can't—]
You could feel it—the way he was trembling now, not just from the force, but from everything else. From what he was feeling. From what he didn’t know how to process.
And still, he thrust.
Over and over, burying himself so deep it felt like you’d never be empty of him again. Like he needed to put something inside you just to prove he was still real, still alive, still human.
“Ты… ты заставляешь меня чувствовать,” he choked out, voice breaking.
[You… you make me feel.]
You held him tighter, nails raking across his back, hips rolling up to meet him every time, matching him, grounding him, even as you felt his rhythm falling apart.
His breath hitched—once, twice—then turned into a sob.
A real, broken sound torn from somewhere deep inside.
He pressed his forehead to yours, still thrusting, still moving, but now he was shaking. Eyes clenched shut, jaw tight with everything he couldn't say.
“I can’t—” he whispered, in English this time. “I can’t—you—”
But he didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
Not until he’d buried himself in you one more time—so deep, so hard—and everything inside him shattered.
He came with a strangled, guttural cry, hips jerking violently, arms locking around you like if he let go you’d disappear.
And even as his body trembled and spilled into you, his face was buried in your shoulder, hot tears slipping silently onto your skin.
Because he was feeling. And it hurt.
But he was with you.
His breathing was still ragged. His body still trembling.
But slowly—slowly—the rhythm of the moment faded. The rush of adrenaline, of heat and friction and need, drained from his limbs like a dying storm.
And the silence that followed?
It was deafening.
He froze.
Still buried deep inside you, still wrapped in your warmth, your scent, your body—but everything about him changed in an instant.
His arms, once tight around you, loosened.
His breath caught. Not from exertion.
From realization.
“No,” he rasped. The word cracked, sharp and breathless, like he didn’t believe he’d said it aloud. “No, no—fuck—”
He started to pull back. Away from you. Out of you. Like his body had committed some crime his mind was only just registering.
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—” His voice shattered as he tried to extract himself from your grip, shaking his head like it would rewind the clock. “I hurt you—I—I used you—I didn’t want—”
You grabbed his face before he could escape.
“Нет,” you whispered, firm. [No.]
He froze again, caught in your hands, his eyes wild and wet and full of something you’d never seen in him before.
Fear.
Disgust.
Shame.
“Look at me,” you said, voice low. “Посмотри на меня, Джеймс.” [Look at me, James]
He did. Barely.
“I let you in,” you whispered. “I wanted you.”
“But I—I wasn’t—me,” he stammered, throat thick. “I was him.”
“You were you, too,” you murmured. “And I knew it was you. Even if you didn’t.”
His face crumpled, the last of his defenses giving way as he collapsed against you, burying his head in your neck, his body still shaking—not from pleasure now, but from the weight of the world crashing down on him all at once.
Your fingers slid into his hair as he clung to you.
You murmured soft in his ear—like prayer, like song.
“Тише… всё хорошо… я с тобой… ты безопасный…”
[Easy… it’s alright… I’m with you… you’re safe.]
He didn’t answer.
Just held on tighter. And you let him.
Because you weren’t going anywhere.
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