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satorena · 9 months ago

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( P*SSY GOT ) P☆WER !?

bad ☆ summary. converting a loser into a munch wasn’t on your yearly bingo card ( or was it ? )

content ★ warnings. explicit content. mdni. foul language. situationship!gojo. college au. cunningulus. frōtting. premature ejaculātion. fīngering. eventual smut. gojo pines for like 99% of the fic. he also studies in pornology. reader is kinda bratty. mention of death lightheartedly. a lot of italicized words. lowkey gojo centric? 6.4k words (bye).

rena’s ☆ note. SATORENA COMEBACK … sorta (・・?)

“gimme a kiss.”

your face scrunches before the words can express your distaste. with your hand on the handle of his car’s door, your fingers tighten around the metal bar, half tempted to leave the man at your left— rosy lips puckered into an obnoxious smooch.

his eyelids are shut tight as his brows furrow to the centre of his forehead, face leaned in. you chuckle at his theatrics, lifting your free hand to press your digits at his pucker. his eyelids open as his brows now loosen, “gojo, bye.”

you feel his hands wrap around your wrist, gently lifting your hand off his mouth, though your fingers hover over his lips still, “girl.” he tilts his head to the side, emitting an aura of sass you’ve yet to understand, “it’s satoru to you— i can’t even have a little one? haven’t i been good all day?”

you click your tongue, “you been runnin’ your mouth all day long actually,” and before your mind can even process your following words, you focus on the way his plump lips fall into another one of his childish pouts. cute. however he chooses to take your invitation is all up to him. your eyes dart to the rosy flesh as you hum, “mhm, if only you ate pussy as good as you talk shit.”

you feel the hold on your wrist drop, as his frown switches to a blank stare. you cock a brow, watching as the hand his steering wheel tightens.

he gulps, eyes narrowing before glancing over to the leather wheel, “i, uh, don’t eat pussy.”

oh. . . oh.

the slam of the car door speaks the rest for you.

“woah— hey!” gojo yells after you, though your figure seems to get smaller with the steps you take. in your hold is your purse, bouquet of flowers he’d bought earlier and house keys. “baby, hold on— this damn window,” he cusses, removing the barrier between you and him angrily. you hadn’t even hesitated to exit the car, as if he’d said the world’s most vile comment.

you’re not listening, and for some reason gojo feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. what the fuck had he said that made you all upset with him?

he watches helplessly as you insert your key into the hole. the chiming sounds of your keys serve as a reminder that he was definitely in trouble. that and he wasn’t getting his damn goodbye kiss.

he sighs instead, albeit defeatedly. “am i at least gonna see you soon?”

the front door opens and you look back over your shoulder, and god— he really thought he had it. his lips threaten to pull into a smile, ready for your little mood to be over with.

you grin and as does he. you even give him a cute wave, thank fuck, “have yourself a nice life, baby.”

and the front door closes. damn.

☆ ☆

“you said what?!”

gojo groans into the phone, sprawling himself on his king sized mattress that suddenly feels way to big for him alone. where were you when he needed you? oh that’s right, “she ghosted me! i’m blocked on all socials— can you believe that?”

he tried reaching out to you through texts to make sure you were feeling okay, but the shade of green told him everything he needed to know— especially as an apple user. he then proceeded to go through your social media, to double check his suspicions and there it was, user not found.

“uh, duh?” geto is as judgemental as ever, and gojo doesn’t try to suppress the roll of his eyes. “bro, you just told the girl you’re talkin’ to that you don’t give head. the fuck d’you think was gonna happen?”

“it’s not even a big deal!” he argues because his pride in on the line, and he ignores the groan geto gives him across the phone. rude. his fingers pinch at the top of his nose bridge, “was it really necessary to block me? literally just tell me to kill myself at this point.”

“pretty sure that’s what she blocked you for.” geto snickers, and gojo realizes he’s lucky they aren’t in person because he would have blocked him. instead he whines, pressing the speaker button before stuffing his face in his pillow. he’s probably insane but he swears there’s a hint of your scent there, and now he’s whining louder.

“quit bitchin’. you brought this upon yourself,” and out of spite, gojo whines louder. if his legs kick against his mattress childishly, it’s nobody’s business but his own. the love of his life just walked out of his life— give him a break. “and dude, no shade but do you really not eat pussy? are you gay or somethin’?”

“i am not—” he cuts himself off once the sound of his own voice echoes loudly in his lonely room. geto winces and gojo bites down on his tongue before sighing. “i’m not gay. i love women only. seriously. how does not eating pussy make me gay?”

the line goes quiet, and gojo can tell geto’s making that face he makes whenever he’s finding the right words to say without offending gojo. it ticks him off. “alright, lemme counter that question with one of my own. why don’t you eat pussy?”

gojo pauses. he tightens his fingers around his pillow as the question ponders. he thinks about having received head in the back of his car once, the other time in the bathroom of some frat party, and another in some girl’s bedroom. from all memories, he draws a similar conclusion— they always come onto him first.

“i dunno.” his lips fall into a pout, tracing patterns into his pillowcase with his index. “they never really ask, so i never bothered. that can’t be weird, right? all of my hookups have consisted of them pulling my pants down. why would i refuse? i get my nut and that’s that.”

and because geto is genuinely never on his side, “satoru . . . eugh.” some kind of best friend is he.

“what?!” he hisses in retaliation, glaring at his phone as if it would solve his issues. there’s nothing he hates more than feeling judged. “you fucking asked!”

“calm the fuck down,” he hears geto rolling his eyes. the white haired man huffs, the blow of air pushing his bangs up before they fall back down. okay, maybe he should calm down. whatever. “so essentially what you’re saying is you’ve never been put in a position where you could eat pussy?”

something like that, “sure.” gojo nods, and he doesn’t understand why geto sighs.

“why do i even bother?” though the answer is clear, he’s pretty sure geto was talking to himself. gojo clicks his tongue, ready to bark back but geto beats him to it. “so tell her just that— it’s not that you won’t give head, it’s just that you haven’t given head. which still blows me, but whatever.”

“how? remember she blocked me on everything?” the thought makes gojo whine again, throwing his limbs all over his bed. he hits his phone, then opts to grab it. “is that not entitlement? i have to bend my back all over the damn place just to get her to talk to me again?”

“satoru, you’ve literally done the same thing. don’t act like you’re above it,” geto chuckles and gojo hears shuffling in the background. the ravenette sighs in relief, and he assumes he’s now in his own bed. “besides, you fuckin’ love women who give you challenges.”

and fuck, he’s really not wrong. “yeahhh, you know me so well.” he wipes a fake tear from his eye. he rolls over onto his back, “welp, i’m gonna log into your insta to stalk her account. i miss her so much i’m literally gonna die.”

“satoru.” geto warns him, but gojo is quicker than that. he’s already typing your name into the search bar, username memorized as if it were his cellphone number.“i swear to god if you accidentally like her shit—”

“thanks bestie, love ya lots!” and he hangs up the phone. and with a shit eating grin, he giggles, “time to start lurking.”

☆ ☆

so it’s been months (read: four days) since he last seen you. he’s thankful you’re at least in two of his courses, so he has some sort of opportunity to reach you. he’d spent the last months (hours) stalking your page, viewing your stories to see if there’d been any indicator that you missed him as badly as he missed you.

and all he’s gotten so far is that you spent friday out to dinner (with him) (it was just a mirror pic of your outfit but an outfit you wore on a date with him) (you love him so bad), you had a girls’ night on saturday with shoko and utahime (he barely registered they were in the selfie) and sunday was a study sesh you had at the cafe across the college. he had to screenshot and zoom in to ensure there were no signs of living souls in the same booth as you.

he was still in the clear. whew.

and so monday morning falls, and he’s actually rushing to get to class for once (late but as expected). the one of two classes he shares with you. he hopes he’ll find you sitting in your habitual seat, not too far up close yet not too far back, and he might pull the fire alarm if he spots anybody next to you.

he’s a man on a mission— he’s going to talk to you today. he needs to be back in your good graces. there were many things he wanted to yap to you about, many places he thought of taking you over the weekend, many moments he wanted your soft lips back on his and your gentle hand back in his own.

he misses you, damn it.

there you sit, in all your glory, shining so bright in the middle of this depressing ass psychology course in the early hours of the butt fuck morning. he sees you twirling your pen in between your fingers, your cheek leaned into the palm of your hand— and nobody by your side.

if he rushes and trips over his feet momentarily to get to you in time, it’s nobody’s business but his own (and the girl who’s backpack laid useless on the floor. hazard much.)

he so much as plops into the seat as he does actually sit in it, and he watches as you jerk in surprise. though, the look of surprise is quickly replaced by aloofness. you feel different— not entirely closed off but not as welcoming as you usually are. you’re probably still done with him.

well it’s too damn bad he’s not done with you, “good morning, princess.”

you blink at him, before nodding your head curtly. “morning, gojo.” and you turn your focus back onto the professor. just like that, you shut down another conversation.

he doesn’t like that, and so he pokes at your side and chews at his strawberry gum. “you blocked me on everything.”

“i did.” you answer shortly, though your eyes never leave the professor. he cannot be that interesting, who actually gives a fuck about cognitive dissonance?

“seen this new bakery shop down the street.” he tries again. “wanted to take you but that was impossible because somebody blocked me.”

“i mean, you know where i live.” you shrug, writing whatever the fuck the professor had mentioned in your notebook. wait, what? you turn your head to see him gaping at you in confusion, and you smirk at his silence.

“cat got your tongue?” you quip, amused by his stillness. your eyes sparkle mischievously, though your smile isn’t entirely full. don’t tell him, you’ve been— “too bad it’s not mine, though.”

ohhh, you cheeky brat.

“so. . . you were never really mad at me?” gojo blinks, his mind running miles a second. nothing was adding up, he was positively certain you were cutting ties with him. “this whole time. you weren’t mad about the pussy eating comment?”

“don’t get it twisted,” you raise a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. you lift a finger in the air before pointing at him, “you,” and then pointing at yourself “and i are done. we can still be cool but i’m not wasting my time with no bitch—respectfully.”

“so you are mad?” he asks again, disregarding the bitch comment. he knows what he’s supposed to say— to clarify the situation, to make it known that it’s not like he’s repulsed by the idea of giving head— but you make it so hard to stay on track when you’re acting defiant.

suguru was right— he does love a challenge.

“mad?” you giggle, and gojo leans back in his seat. damn, you’re confusing. stone cold one minute but all giggly the next. it’s cool, he’ll figure you out. “i ain’t trippin’ baby— if you don’t wanna eat it then don’t. another man definitely will.”

huh, “oh?” his eyes narrow just slightly, though the smirk on his lips never falter. he ignores the way his stomach just dropped to his ass at your implication— there is no way in hell is he letting another man have you. not when he’s still alive and breathing. “if you think i’m letting that happen, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“everything seems to be coming but me,” you bat your lashes, and damn he fell right into that one. you drop your pen down, giving him one last smile before redirecting your focus to the professor before you. “the real question is what do you plan on doing ‘bout that?”

you give him no time to respond, and it’s not like he thinks he would be able to, as you begin to pack your belongings into your tote bag. you’re leaving and he barely got to say what he’d been memorizing all weekend. oh well, at least he now knows you haven’t entirely cut him off.

if he doesn’t knows better, it feels like you want him to chase after you.

god, he thinks he’s in love.

☆ ☆

gojo satoru is amazing at everything. there truly isn’t something he can do that won’t come out spectacular. he’s gifted, that he knows much, and it’s difficult to stay humble when he’s constantly reminded of so.

“i can easily do this shit.” he mumbles to himself, cerulean eyes narrowing into focus at the bright lit screen of his ipad. his airpods are in, and he’s gonna be completely honest— the pornstar’s screaming is starting to get on his nerve. however, he’s always been an exceptional student and when it’s time to lock in, it’s time to lock in.

his legs feel as though they’ve fallen asleep in the criss-cross position he’s been sat in on his bed for the past two hours. irrelevant, he decides as he picks at his bottom lip with his fingers. his device is running hot with how long it’s been since it last caught a break, but he had bigger issues to worry about. so, basically all he has to do is spread open her lips and go to town until she squirts? sounds simple enough.

he watches as the guy begins motorboating into the girl’s pussy and— “damn, that looks like it hurts.” a grimace creeps onto his face as the guy repeatedly goes ham on swollen red lips. he’s got half a mind telling him that the moans the girl’s letting out are entirely out of agony and not pleasure.

“aaaalrighty,” gojo speaks up, though to himself. “next video, that shit was ass. pussy hurts just thinkin’ bout it, eugh.”

he finds an amateur video, and the thumbnail seemed intimate enough. after an agonizing ad of ‘want a quick break from the ads?’, the video begins. the upper half of the woman’s body is cut out of frame, but she’s laid onto her side, her backside in view. her top leg lifted just slightly, the man lays on his stomach and spreads them apart further and begins to lick.

he dives his tongue inside her cunt, not too sloppy, and gently works his way in. his thumb is caressing at her puckered forbidden zone, always gently, as his tongue glides up and down her labia.

gojo gulps. the girl makes soft sounds, hand coming down to play her the man’s hair, and he proceeds eat her out skillfully. her back arches, she whines and begs for more, and he never loses control. at some point, the hand that focused on her asshole moves up to grip at her cheeks, thus spreading her pussy lips further. she’s already wet from a mixture of fluids, and the sound it creates is so damn obscene.

gojo gulps again, and his sweats feel tight.

before his mind can even allow it, he’s thinking of you. he thinks of you on your side, legs spread open for his disposition as he brings you this same pleasure. as he lays himself on his stomach, munching at your pussy in ways that’ll have you squirming all over his bed, squeezing your plush thighs around his head and begging for him to give you more.

he thinks of how good you’d smell— how good you’d taste. he thinks of how nice you smell whenever you wrap your arms around his neck and he follows suit around your waist. he thinks of how sweet your lips taste when you’re straddling his thighs and slipping your tongue in his mouth.

pheromones are a crazy thing. your scent lingering in his car alone drives him insane. he’s so prone to boners around you, it’s like he’s a dog you’ve trained.

and now he’s thinking he wants you in this very bed at this very instance, ipad be damned, pussy spread open so he can feast. so he can relish the sounds you make as you call out his name, enamoured by the way his tongue would flick at your clit and break open that dam of water right onto his face.

“shit.” he chucks his ipad onto the floor, cradling his head into the palms of his hands. how had he not ever wanted to do this before?

☆ ☆

he doesn’t expect you to pick up. it’s far past two in the morning on a thursday night, and he’s missing you. badly. he misses you and your sweet smile. he misses you and your smart mouth. he misses you and the way your lips move so fluidly against his own, as if they were made for one another.

he really doesn’t expect you to pick up.

it’s around the fifth ring that he hears your honeyed voice, “hi.” his eyes widen as he sits up from his bed in a hurry. talk about a damn surprise.

“hey.” he says back lamely, because of course he does. he feels the corner of his lips tugging into a smile and his heart is beating wildly against his rib cage. “didn’t think you’d answer.”

“mhm. so what’d you call me for?” you sound tired, and he wonders if you’d been sleeping when he called. somehow, the thought makes his stomach churn at the implication you cut off hours of sleep for him.

“just wanted to hear your voice.” gojo answers as honestly as he can, leaning down to rest his back back into the mattress of his bed. he shuts his eyes and imagines his arm falling asleep underneath your head, using him as a pillow. “been missin’ you.”

“you literally see me every other day at school,” he’s graced with the harmonious sounds of your giggles, and he can already picture the way your shoulders shake as dimples curve into your cheeks. “y’re so fuckin’ clingy.”

he supposes he is, can’t even find it in him to disagree. you’ve been plaguing his mind since you cut him off (question mark) last week. he wasn’t sure what kind of ban you were putting on him, but he’s been tiptoeing around his relationship with you for too long. the absence of your presence in the way he craves is driving him nuts. he misses you, damn it.

a longing sigh rips from his throat, “can’t help that i miss that ass,” he jokes instead because talking about feelings and vulnerability is wrong. “you still owe me a goodbye kiss, y’know? just left a poor guy hangin’, rude.”

“hmm,” you hum lazily and he isn’t sure what to expect. he’s just talking out of his ass, wants to restore that playful banter you guys had prior to this whole pussy eating mess— which he’d gladly now get on his knees and rock your fucking world. “like i said already, you know where i live.”

“you got one more time to say that before i show up at your doorstep for real,” gojo tests the waters, and swings his legs off his bed. he’s waiting for a sign, confirmation, anything to ensure you were being serious. late night be damned, he will show up to your door and flip your shit right then and there.

“the fuck i gotta repeat myself for?” you sigh, and gojo’s slipping his shoes on. he’s wasting no more time, he wants you right now. “if you really missed me you would have been come see me. you’re all talk.”

“so when i yell at your doorstep to lemme eat it, don’t start lookin’ at me crazy—i’m warning ya.” and with that he hangs up. he’s not leaving any more room for debates, enough’s enough. and shit, when the fuck had he gotten bricked?

he grabs his keys and slams his door close.

☆ ☆

you’re looking at him like he grew an extra head on his shoulders overnight. he’s looking at you like the tee you have on your body decimated his entire bloodline. there’s a heavy silence between you both, as if either one of you are expecting the other to make the first move.

“you actually came.” you blink in mild shock, neck craning up to look him dead in the eye. he’s panting heavily, he might’ve ran here the second he could, but how could he not have?

“enough games, baby.” gojo answers instead and takes a step into your apartment. you back up in retaliation, and he takes another close step. you stay still this time. his hands sneak below the hem of your shirt and slide up to your bare waist, grabbing onto the plush flesh. you feel jolts of electricity imbedded into your skin with every lingering touch. “lemme eat it, come on. please?”

“oh?” you cock an eyebrow, raising a hand to press your palm flat against the plane of his chest. you feel his heartbeat thudding wildly. “and here i thought you were too good to stoop as low as giving women head.”

gojo clicks his tongue and tightens his hold on you. “i never said that.”

“you basically did.” you bite back, tilting your head to the side. you see his nostrils flare a bit, “or does that rule apply with just me?”

“if it did, would i be here at three in the morning begging to eat your pussy?” gojo rolls his eyes. you open your mouth but snap it back shut and gojo decides you conceded. he lifts you from the ground and places you on his shoulder, ignoring your ‘put me down!’ and opts to shut you up with a firm slap on your ass.

your cheeks jiggle from the impact, and his dick twitches in his briefs. as he suspected, you’ve got no bottoms on— just a cute pair of pink lace panties he wants to tear apart with his teeth. animalistic is what you make him.

“so. . . which one is your room?” he finds himself in the corridor, arm wrapped around the back of your knees. you fall limp in his hold, defeatedly as your arm lifts to point at the door at the end of the hall. he smirks and rubs at your booty, “atta girl. look at ya bein’ all obedient and shit.”

“shut up.” you huff, and he would bet a million dollars you’ve got that adorable pout on your lips. the one you make whenever you don’t get something done the way you planned.

your bedroom is everything he expected from you, fits your personality just about right. but—respectfully, fuck your bedroom. he’s got bigger issues to address, and that can only be done with your panties on the floor and a mouth full of your cunt. his dick is twitching uncontrollably at the thought of it alone.

“if you drop me on this bed, i swear i’m gonna kill you.” tilting your head, you warn him once he stands next to the edge of your bed frame. though a moot point, because if you know gojo as well as you think you do, you’re about to meet your duvets face first.

“mhm, what was that?” cupping a hand behind his ear, he pretends innocence then proceeds to do exactly what you warned him not to do. him and his long ass limbs, manhandling you all over the damn place as if its in his birthright. and no, it does not make your cunt clench, despite your thighs rubbing one against another. “sorry shortie, think i missed what you said.”

when you’re finally able to gain composure, you sit up on your elbows and furrow your brows in the nastiest scowl you can muster. he stands right above you, his frame so large it both annoys and turns you on. “gojo, you stupid fucking—”

you want to slap the smile off his face. “yeah, yeah.” he cuts you off, before leaning down to hover over you. his arms are pinned at your side, upper body pressing against yours. you feel the weight of his hips pressing into your legs, and so you widen the space. he fits in just as perfectly as you’d imagined he would. the tip of his nose brushes yours, biceps flexing in your peripherals. you feel his breath fanning at your cupid’s bow, warm yet it leaves shivers creeping at your spine.

“think you owe me somethin’, princess.” his voice comes out in a low growl, from the depths of his chest. his presence is so dominating— his bulge pressed right up against your aching cunt, the feel of his heartbeat right against yours. it all feels dizzying, the scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils and clouding any better sense of judgement.

he’s teasing you— leans in, brushes his soft lips against yours and watches as you lean forward to capture them but pulls away just in nick of time. he loves every one of your facial expressions, especially that adorable scowl of yours. he can’t wait to see the faces you make when you’re in absolute bliss.

he tilts his head just slightly, practically mouthing the words into your parted mouth. and with a low chuckle, he speaks, “if you want it, take it.”

you might’ve folded first, but he kisses you back just as eagerly, lips moulding into one another. you feel him sigh into your mouth, as if you’d relieved him of all stresses weighing on his shoulders. you lift a hand to cup at the back of his neck, fingernails scratching at the undercut at his nape.

gojo shudders beneath your touch, rolling his hips deeper into yours and relishes in the way you moan softly into his mouth. he wants to drink up every single sound you make, wants to discover your body’s sensitive spots and maneuver them into making a mess out of you.

your neck soon begins to ache, and almost as if he can read your mind, pushing deeper into you as you fall back onto your bed. he never takes his lips off of yours— not when the hold in his hair lowers in favour to grip at his biceps or stroke his back, not even when your legs wrap tightly at his waist. at a particular grind, you moan louder than any other sound you’d made all night, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“gojo,” you whine into his mouth, fingers clawing at his compression tee. he continues to roll his bulge into your clothed cunt, aiming at that spot that has you arching your back off the bed and into him. he grips a hand tightly at your plush thigh, his hold so hard you’re certain he’ll leave bruises. “you said y-you’d eat it. be a man of your, ngh, word.”

“yeah, that’s right,” he pulls away finally, a thin string of saliva connecting both your lips. he pecks at your kiss bitten lips, the dazed look in your eyes igniting a fire deep in his gut. “gotta keep my promise— can’t keep my baby waitin’ too long,” you feel his lips trail from the corner of your lips to the slope of your jaw, “she gets all cranky an’ pissy.” from the column on your neck to your collarbone, “starts gettin’ all mean with me.”

“oh my gosh, shut up!” you complain, though your hold on him tightens. you feel the vibrations of his chuckles at your jugular, followed by a deep plunge on his teeth at the thin layer of skin and another agonizingly slow grind against your clit. “fuckin’— shit— hurry up already!”

“tsk, see what i mean?” gojo tuts, hands sliding down the curves at your torso. you feel his large fingers play with the material of your panties, rolling the lace between forefingers. the contrast of the coolness of his rings against your heated skin adds a strange stimulation to your senses. “so mouthy, ‘m gonna have to do somethin’ about that.”

“i’m mouthy?” you squawk, watching as he lifts your tee up from your body. he taps wordlessly at your waist and you understand to remove the article of clothing. you chuck the tee across the room, before redirecting your focus on the man peppering wet kisses all over your stomach. it leaves butterflies rattling inside. “you literally cannot shut the fuck up— what’s the hold up? awe, don’t tell me you can’t walk the talk?”

he pauses for a bit. he doesn’t let himself fall bait for your words. you’re just being bratty— all hot and bothered and can’t properly ask for what you need. you don’t have to worry, he’s here entirely for your pleasure. he isn’t even thinking about the way his cock throbs painfully in his boxers, doesn’t even attempt to relieve it at all.

and so, he kneels at the edge of the bed. with two large hands cupping at your hips, he pulls you closer to him and rests your thighs on his shoulders. he watches as your chest rises up and down, and you prop yourself back onto your elbows.

your eyes are misty, your lips swollen and wet, your hair a mess and your neck littered in marks that scream gojo. you already look fucked out and he hadn’t done shit. god, he can’t wait to stuff his face between your thighs.

“i got you baby,” he drags his index finger right in the center of your cunt. he can both feel and see the material dampen with your arousal, your hips squirming as you chase for more. he licks his lips as he narrows in on the treasure, he swears he hears his stomach growling. “promise i do. just relax for me, yeah?”

“whatever.” you mumble, and comply to his order. he calls you a good girl, before stroking at your clit some more. the reactions you give will forever be imprinted in his mind, fleeting touches already granting him the opportunity to hear your delicate voice once more. you may be impatient but gojo is worse, and he decides that he wants to see your cunt now. he pushes your panties to the side, and the sight he’s rewarded with nearly— nearly, had him cumming right on two knees.

gojo gulps. “holy shit,” he feels his voice waver in excitement, eyes widened as he stares dead on. your cunt clenches around nothing from the switch of temperature, oozing more of your arousal down to your sheets. your pussy lips are puffy, clit sitting atop so prettily and damn, he wants to hump something.

he isn’t sure why but you try to close your thighs together, rude much, though gojo is much stronger. he keeps them spread wide, and shoots you a look. “do not.”

“tsk.” you click your tongue, looking away. and, oh, are you shy? “stop staring, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

he’s too far enamoured by the slick dribbling from your tiny hole down the crack of your ass. it trickles so tauntingly, that he finds himself nearly jealous. he wishes he could be there— oh wait, “just appreciatin’ my meal before i eat, sue me.”

the pad of his thumb collects your juices before popping it into his mouth. “wow,” he mumbles, more so to himself, at your taste bursting onto his taste buds. it’s so undoubtedly you, a raw and truthful you, and he gives you no warning before diving right in.

“fuckkk,” you throw your head back, hand flying to grab at the nearest thing in your vicinity— which so happens to be tousled, fluffy hair.

so, first time for everything right? but gojo maneuvers his way into your pussy as if he’d done this before. he starts off with kitten licks, teasing you some more before flattening his tongue and dragging it up and down your lips. he swallows and moans into your cunt, fingers digging deep into the back of your thighs.

he’s practically making out with your pussy. he doesn’t neglect any area, not even the clit surprisingly, as he latches his lips to the bundle of nerves and lightly nibbles. now that has your back arching and pushing his head deeper into you. if there was a way to go in life, he’d gladly take this death.

he’s so painfully hard it hurts, unable to control the way his hips grind against the bed frame. your scent is driving him feral, the way you tug on his hair harshly has his balls tightening and the way you cry out his name makes him want to imprint his name inside of you.

“s-satoru!” oh god, you’ve done it. you finally said his first name and he’s this close to painting his briefs white in shame. he continues to flick his tongue inside your hole and similar strokes to his humping. “you’re doin’ s’gooddd baby, shit!”

keep praising him and he’s gonna bust. he lifts himself away from your pussy, eyeing the gooey center almost offensively, “why the fuck do you taste so good?” he lands a wad of spit down, as he brings two digits to properly rub his saliva into your essence. the sounds it produces are so wet, it’s damn near filthy. he clicks his tongue, “seriously. ‘s makin’ me mad almost.” he slaps at your cunt twice, watching how your spray down his wrist.

“you s-sure this is your first, hnng, time?” you accuse, to the best of your abilities, as you feel him slip a finger in. you’re so lubricated, the slip inside was easy. pushing past that first ring of muscle, he’s pumping in and out of your cunt with precision, curling his digit as if he’s aiming to find a specific area. “y’know too much— mmph, fuckin’ liar.”

when he thrusts into a specific angle, your thighs tremble terribly around his head. he smirks, found it. “watched a lotta porn.” and he isn’t lying, he thinks back to how he studied the arts of cunningulus, and recalls the double combo. he has to try it, so he’s back to sucking and nibbling at your clit while adding an extra finger inside.

“oh my goddd,” you whine, feeling your limbs liquify in heat from every extremity. he pushes your knee further into your chest, and so you grab ahold of both your thighs. he hums approvingly, dragging his free hand along the soft skin of your legs. “don’t— don’t stop, please don’t stop,”

your toes are curled, back off the mattress and the pain in his scalp is shooting straight down to his cock. he’s rutting and rutting into the wooden frame, the flat surface painfully teasing though it does do the job. or maybe he has you to blame.

he feels saliva dripping down his chin, the way his tongue slides into your folds and feels his knuckles in there. his fingers move in scissoring motions, rotating circles, in and out— all the while repeatedly attacking your golden spot.

you severely underestimated him, and can barely process the orgasm that rips through you when he presses a hand onto your lower belly, “‘m cumming, fuck, ngh, don’t stop—” and you wail, fingernails clawing intensely into his tresses, torn between pushing him away and pulling him in closer. he decides to make that decision for you, stuffing himself as deep as possible to not miss a single drop, and your thighs clench against his ears.

so, gojo satoru is a shameless man. as you flood into his mouth and onto his face, grinding out your orgasm and using him as nothing but a toy for your own high— somewhere along the lines, he feels his briefs are sticky. he moans sluttily into your pussy, hips twitching incessantly as his cock shoots loads of nut into his boxers.

it feels like an eternity yet simultaneously a second when you’ve come down from your high, body twitching as gojo slows down his movements, his finger pumps gradually lessening in intensity and the kitten licks on your abused clit coming to a halt.

his face is soaked. his skin feels moist and damp, a thick air of humidity beginning to grow in the room, but he genuinely couldn’t care less. his eyes are stuck on you, limbs sprawled out limply against your bed, your chest heaving, tiny breaths coming out of your mouth.

he slides out his aching fingers, and pops them back in his mouth, tongue wrapping around his digits so eagerly, basking in your taste once more. absolutely divine,

“christ, i’d make a nasty pornstar.”

gojo won the poll. . . everybody act surprised (°_°)

#rena☆star.#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x you #gojo x you #x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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81pastrys · 2 months ago

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He’s Married?!

Summary— Oscar brings a baby to track and hides the fact it’s his while his wife deems they should tell the world about them

Warnings— secret relationship ; secret baby

A/N— I started writing this and went off-topic but I kept going and couldn’t stop myself 😭 (streamer is sort of like this as well just Lando based)

Oscar One Shots

Request— hihi, if possible could you do a oscar piatri fic, in which he married young and forgot to mention it, and the grid finds out (ive read a few fics with this plotline and im in love) -🤍 @fctnllvrs

Oscar was very closed off, meaning absolutely no one expected him to arrive at the paddock with a baby carrier. He doesn’t even have a girlfriend or hookups or even a wife?!

“Mate who got you baby sitting on media day?” Lando joked lightheartedly. Oscar flushed a pink color and laughed it off.

“Not too good of an idea, huh?” He joined Lando’s banter hoping to ward off the ‘it’s actually my kid and I’ve been married since F2’ conversation.

Oscar went about his day, holding the little boy and doing his duties while simultaneously keeping up with the infants needs.

His wife insisted he take the boy for the day, she needed to catch up at home and it was the Australian Grand Prix. Oscar’s mum insisted she stay behind and help with organizing and cleaning up the house with Oscar’s wife.

The reporters were intrigued and asked him questions as well. “Who’s this little one?” Lawrence Baretto asked. Oscar smiled and held his baby boy to show the camera.

“This is Arlo.” Oscar said before returning his son to his chest where the baby sighed contentedly into him. No more questions followed but media had their suspicions.

Socials were no help at all to any fans or media stalkers, Oscar and his wife kept a low private social life. They never officially announced their wedding nor first born anywhere other than texts between families.

Oscar returned to his driver room and started getting Arlo ready for a nap, meaning changing the little boys diaper. If there was one thing the baby absolutely despised, it was getting changed.

There were loud cries and screams as Oscar did so, trying to keep the boy calm. “Such big feelings little man, it’s okay.” He soothed, rubbing the boys tummy when he was done. “Shhh daddy’s got you, it’s alright.” Now that Arlo was dressed and back on Oscar chest, he was calm and no longer a screaming, crying mess.

Oscar did slip up and call himself daddy though, hoping the scream died that out. Until Lando walked in quietly, shutting the door behind him. His face of pure shock and disbelief.

“Sorry, just trying to get him to sleep for a little.” Oscar said quietly with a few nods. Lando’s face softened at the little boy droopy eyed on Oscar’s chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” Lando whisper yelled, stirring the little one. “I’m sorry little man.” He apologized looking to Arlo after he flinched at Lando’s little shouting.

“Tell you what?” Oscar asked, puzzled. He didn’t realize Lando walked in on him saying ‘daddy’s got you’ so he’s left out of the loop.

“That Arlo is yours! Mate do you even have a girlfriend?” Lando asked, still quiet as for no one else to hear. “Oscar this is fucking huge! You’ve been flaunting him all day too.”

“Language and no I don’t have a girlfriend.” Oscar said to build suspense. Lando looked stressed at that comment. “I have a wife, who was overwhelmed at the mess from looking over him 24/7.” He smiled watching Lando relax.

“God mate you’re insane, how long?” Lando chuckled. He looked to Arlo as a nephew now, the sweet little boy sleeping on Oscar’s chest now a part of the McLaren family.

“4 years next month.” Oscar said looking as if he had to think about it. “Yes, I know. I don’t regret marrying her though.” Lando softened, why had Oscar kept this all a secret for so long?

“Secrets safe with me, but media is going to start speculating little Arlo here.” Lando reminded. Oscar nodded. He knew the risks and felt there wasn’t much need to hide it all anymore.

The day was done and Oscar went home to his wife and mum, a tidy home with barely any evidence that a newborn had taken over.

“How was track today? Was Arlo good?” His wife asked, scooping the newborn from his carrier. Arlo immediately relaxed in his mums hold.

“Good, I mean media is on my ass and Lando knows about us.” Oscar said casually. She hadn’t cared much about keeping it all a secret but she also didn’t want to push Oscar into it. “I was getting Arlo ready for a nap, you know how he is and when I went to calm him down Lando heard me call myself daddy so.” He laughed.

“He won’t tell anyone?” She asked, curious on Lando’s secrecy on things. “I know you trust him.”

“Yeah I mean I don’t see any threats of him just blatantly saying it or anything, it’s only a matter time people find out.” Oscar shrugged.

“Well if you want to do it before he accidentally does, we have hospital or maternity photos you could post.” She smiled, slightly joking. Oscar smiled with her and kissed her head.

“The house looks amazing by the way, you and mum did a good job tidying up.” He praised the cleanliness of the house that was once a mess. “I’ll send some pictures over to my media manager to post tomorrow before practice.”

She was going to be present for the race, but not the extras before. Arlo would not fare well with the long hours of sitting around in an unfamiliar place with loud noises.

Like Oscar said, scheduled posts from the hospital were posted the next day before he arrived at track. Him, his wife, and baby Arlo in their arms while cozied in a hospital bed widespread like wild fire.

Questions galore from reporters, congratulations from other drivers and shock from finding out the last 5 years were kept secret. Headliners read ‘Find out which McLaren driver kept wife and child under wraps for nearly 5 years’ or ‘Papaya driver released surprising post of family’ insanity flooded his phone.

The race day was even more overwhelming, fans and reporters hounding on his wife and Arlo now. Oscar was not having that. “Give them space, back up!” He said annoyed at the proximity of the people. His wife found a comfortable place in the garage where no one would bother her too much and Oscar checked in on her.

“We’re fine Osc, go do your McLaren stuff!” His wife insisted. She knew he had lots to do before a race, but he only seemed concerned on her and Arlo.

“Can I hold him before I have to go out?” Oscar asked. It was 30 minutes until he had to be in his car. She nodded and handed the boy over. “Such a sweet, loving boy.” He cooed. “I’m going to win my home race, just for you and Mama.” He whispered. He kissed the baby’s forehead and handed him back. He gave his wife a kiss as well and headed to his car on the grid.

I’m just getting over a sinus infection so apologies for being inactive.

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @kallanfiona @chertik-007vvv (its Kinda dad Oscar)

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helaintoloki · 3 months ago

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Across the Hall

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings/notes: kind of a slow burn with fluff, angst, themes of insecurity, violence, reader has an abusive ex, eventual happy ending

a/n: this took me forever to write but hopefully you guys like it! and also friendly reminder that my requests are open so feel free to send in your ideas :)

summary: Bucky’s quiet life is disrupted when a new neighbor seeks his help

It starts with three knocks to his door.

Bucky had only been home for five minutes since returning from his workout when the noise startled him out of his contemplative state. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the interruption considering he wasn’t expecting company so late into the evening, but he felt obligated to throw on a sweater to cover his arm and answer the door for whoever stood on the other side.

The man is taken aback when he finds you standing there before him nervously wringing your hands together with a timid smile. He doesn’t quite recognize you, but he vaguely recalls hearing word of a new tenant in the building and assumes that must be you. He notes the way your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him and shifts uncomfortably in response, unsure as to what exactly it is you’re here for.

“Hi,” you promptly greet after regaining your composure. He’s much more handsome up close, and you hadn’t been prepared for that. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I kind of have a bookshelf that’s a bit too heavy for me to move on my own and I was hoping you could help me? I just moved in across the hall so I’m trying to get settled in, but it’s proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.”

The stoic man can’t help but to let out an amused chuckle at your predicament; you appear so jumpy and nervous after asking such a mundane request, but he oddly finds it endearing. Bucky was known to keep to himself and avoid interactions with other tenants, but he figured he could make an exception for a new neighbor.

“Sure,” he offers with a friendly smile, feeling oddly proud at the look of relief that washes over your features in response. He didn’t exactly have any exciting plans for the evening, so he could spare some time to help you move your heavy shelf.

“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver!” You exclaim before offering your hand for him to shake. “I’m y/n, by the way.”

“James,” he replies before cautiously taking your hand in his left one, thankful for the fact he’d left his leather gloves on when returning home. You don’t seem to notice his abnormality as you pull your hand away and lead the man into your apartment.

Unsurprisingly, it’s sparsely decorated and overflowing with boxes that have yet to be unpacked, but there are hints of personal touches spread throughout. The bookshelf in question sits in the center of the room, and by the scratches in the floor Bucky can tell you’d fruitlessly attempted to move it yourself before seeking his help.

“Just tell me where you want it,” he prompts you before grabbing the edges of the shelf.

“I was thinking of having it up against this wall next to the couch,” you explain while wildly gesturing with your hands towards the empty space. “At least, it will be against the couch once I buy one…”

“I take it you didn’t bring a lot of furniture with you,” he jokes lightheartedly despite how awkward he feels being in the apartment of a woman he’s only known for about three minutes. He moves the shelf with minimal effort, though he plays up the amount of strain he experiences so that you don’t become suspicious of how incredibly strong he is compared to the average man.

“I was kind of in a rush to leave the last place I was staying so I brought what I could,” you explain with a sheepish smile. “Thank you again for this, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies easily before stepping back to admire his work. “This good?”

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Anything else you need?” He offers, but you simply shake your head in response.

“I think that should be it for now, but if something comes up you’ll be the first to know,” you joke with a smile, appearing more at ease now with the man. Your face brightens before you wordlessly disappear into the kitchen, leaving Bucky alone and unsure if he should make his exit or not. However, before he can make a decision you quickly return with a Tupperware full of muffins. “Here, I just baked these an hour ago so they’re still pretty fresh.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” he tries to deflect with a bashful smile, but you’re insistent he take the container from your grasp and practically shove it into his hands.

“Really, take them. Consider them thank you muffins for allowing me to briefly inconvenience you.”

Letting out a small huff of amusement, Bucky finally relents with a nod and accepts your offering. “Thank you.”

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” you proclaim with a sigh before walking him out the door. “Have a good rest of your night, and don’t be a stranger.”

You part with a friendly wave before gently shutting the door behind him, leaving Bucky to stand aimlessly in the hallway with the container of muffins in his hands. He feels oddly warm and content inside, emotions that rarely follow interactions with strangers, but he figures you’re not really a stranger now.

However, you have interrupted his evening, for Bucky spends the rest of the night thinking about your smile.

~~~

Three days pass before Bucky decides to seek you out.

He isn’t sure what compels him to become so bold, but he knows that he has to see you again. You haven’t left his mind in days despite how hard he tries to push the thoughts down, so he figures he might as well get it over with and attempt to start another conversation. He can’t exactly recall any of his old moves back from his own time or know if they’re still reliable, so he approaches the situation the only way he knows how.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greets with a timid smile when you finally open your door. You look surprised to see him, but he doesn’t miss the way your eyes brighten at his presence. You thought the man charming but quiet and assumed his reserved nature meant he liked to keep to himself, so you’re pleased to see him again after the bookshelf fiasco.

“Hi, James,” you say with a pleasant smile. “What brings you here?”

“I was hoping I could trouble you for a cup of sugar?” He asks, face immediately heating with embarrassment at the insanely cliche request. James had a perfectly good container of sugar in his own apartment, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Of course! I actually just went grocery shopping, come in.”

Your apartment looks vastly different from the last time he’d been here, more personal touches spread throughout and only a handful of unpacked boxes still remaining. It feels warm and inviting, and Bucky swallows nervously as he processes the fact that this is only his second time in your space. Maybe he should leave you alone before he gets in too deep, before he has to ruin your camaraderie by coming clean about the person he really is and you decide that you don’t want an ex-assassin in your apartment anymore. Instead, he chooses to make small talk.

“How are you liking it here so far?”

“It’s nice,” you hum thoughtfully as you reach for the sugar up on the shelf. Bucky quickly looks away when your shirt starts to ride up with your reach, but he can’t ignore the way his stomach flips at the sight of a little skin. “Everyone I’ve met so far is friendly and it seems really peaceful. I like having my own place again.”

“Were you living with someone before?” Bucky prods, hoping he’s not asking too many questions. You smile faintly as you begin to pour the sugar into a small jar, but he notes the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Yeah, uh, my fiancé. Or, ex-fiancé now, I guess,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle. “It didn’t work out.”

Your usually cheerful demeanor has now dulled, and Bucky feels guilty for having brought it up in the first place. He isn’t exactly sure what to say or do to make it better, but thankfully you choose to save the conversation for him.

“What are you using the sugar for, by the way?”

Bucky stiffens, eyes widening slightly as he realizes he didn’t rehearse a script to go along with his lie. He wasn’t making anything, but he didn’t think he could flat out tell you that the sugar was just an excuse to see you again.

“Apple pie,” he quickly replies, wincing at the abruptness of his tone while you smile and carefully slide the jar of sugar across the counter his way.

“Sounds good. I’m more of a pumpkin pie girl, myself,” you hum thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’m not really a pie person at all. Just thought I’d try something new,” Bucky offers with a sheepish grin, eyes glancing around the apartment only to notice the empty space next to the bookshelf. “Still haven’t found a couch?”

“Nope,” you relent with a tired sigh. “I’ve been meaning to go couch shopping, but I’m kind of worried about how I’m gonna even get it up the stairs and into the apartment by myself.”

“I can help you with that,” Bucky blurts before he can stop himself. You appear taken aback at first, but a look of relief soon washes over your features at his words.

“Oh my god, would you really?” You exclaim with delight, and before Bucky can even process what’s happening you’re quickly throwing your arms around the man in an appreciative hug. He stiffens immediately upon contact, not used to such acts of affection and especially not from a woman as pretty as yourself. You, however, don’t seem to notice his awkward demeanor in the slightest. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he offers bashfully as he tries not to let you see how much of an impact your touch has on him.

“Does tomorrow around one sound good?”

“It sounds perfect,” he replies earnestly.

It isn’t until later in the evening that he realizes he’s never been couch shopping before.

~~~

As Bucky promised, he accompanies you in your search for a couch and helps you carry it into your living room. It nestles in perfectly next to your shelf, and you couldn’t be more thrilled.

You invite him to stay for a movie in celebration of finally having a spot to sit, and though he promised Sam he’d meet him for dinner he doesn’t have the heart to say no to you. That’s how Bucky ends up nestled next to you on the couch enjoying his first ever viewing of Silence of the Lambs.

“So you’re telling me you’ve really never seen this movie before?”

“I guess you could say it’s been on my bucket list,” he admits with a diffident laugh, grateful you’re none the wiser to the truth his words hold.

“It’s one of my favorites!” You gush enthusiastically before passing him the bowl of untouched popcorn. “But I think that might make me sound crazy to admit out loud.”

“Crazy is good,” Bucky assures you with a tender smile, chest tightening at the way your eyes light up in response to his words. “I like crazy.”

You settle into the movie together with ease, enjoying snacks and answering any questions Bucky has about the film. It amazes him how naturally he can fall into spending time with you, almost as if you were merely long lost friends and not strangers who lived across the hall from one another. He hadn’t felt this way since Steve, but even then, what he felt with you was different. Special. You existed outside of his life as a Sargent or the Winter Soldier, and he enjoyed having you help him fulfill his need for normalcy.

A random sitcom now plays to provide background noise as you and Bucky continue to converse way past the movie’s end. You long to know more about the handsome stranger who has slowly become a normal part of your routine, and you hang onto every word he says no matter how heavy your eyelids feel.

“I’m not sure if I have a favorite song, but I definitely think I won’t be able to get ‘Goodbye, Horses’ out of my head for the next few days after watching that movie,” he confesses with a wry grin that has you quietly giggling into your hand.

“You seem like the type of guy who listens to oldies,” you note with a thoughtful hum, prompting him to shift uncomfortably from his place on the couch. “Would you say you have an old soul?”

“Something like that,” Bucky notes with a wince. He wants nothing more than to be completely honest with you, but he fears it may be too soon to unload his history on you. He’s not sure he could handle the hurt that would come from you pushing him away if you didn’t like the truth. “Do you like that type of music?”

“I did at one point, but I kind of fell out of it once I started dating my ex-fiancé. He hated it,” you note while scrunching your nose in distaste at the mere mention of the man. “He hated everything, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that why you called it off and moved here?” Bucky asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t mean to pry or be invasive of your past, but he wants to understand how any man could fumble an absolute gem like yourself.

“Well, that, and the fact that he had a habit of getting physical with me,” you confess casually with a despondent smile that fails to reach your eyes. Bucky rears back in shock at your confession, prompting you to quickly interject, “But I got out of there as fast as possible, and now I’m much happier on my own.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Bucky offers gently. “I hope you know how incredibly strong you are.”

Smiling, you carefully reach across and take his gloved hand in your own. Despite not being able to feel the touch of your skin, the warmth you emit is enough to have his heart racing in his chest when you tightly clasp his hand.

“You’re unlike any guy I’ve ever met, James.”

“Bucky,” he corrects you gently. Your brows furrow slightly in response, prompting him to let out a small chuckle at your puzzlement. He gently gives your hand a squeeze before continuing, “My friends just call me Bucky.”

Realization sets as your brows lower and lips pull into a delighted smile at his clarification. You gently return the squeeze before nodding in understanding, thrilled at the idea of having your first official friend in the city.

“Okay,” you agree softly, “Bucky it is.”

~~~

You knock on Bucky’s door with the hopes of having him over for dinner, but it isn’t your neighbor that greets you on the other side.

“Can I help you, little lady?” The man says with a playful smile. His stature is intimidating but his features are kind, and for a moment you find yourself forgetting what you even came for in the first place.

“Is Bucky home by chance?” You ask with a bashful smile, hoping your eagerness to see the man in question isn’t too obvious to his guest.

“He should be on his way back with some takeout,” the man explains. “You like Chinese?”

He doesn’t allow you to answer before opening the door wider and allowing you entry into the apartment. It feels wrong to do so without Bucky being present, but you don’t want to be rude by rejecting the kind man’s offer. You swallow nervously when stepping foot into his home for the first time; the apartment is tidy but scarcely furnished, though you’re not one to judge considering you went four days without a couch.

“You a friend of Bucky’s?” The man asks while pulling out a chair from the island counter for you to sit. You nod.

“I just moved in across the hall, and Bucky’s been helping me get settled in. I’m y/n, by the way.”

“Oh, so you’re y/n,” he says with a knowing smile before offering a hand for you to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Name’s Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile politely before freezing as his words finally settle in your mind. “Wait, really?”

“Of course, Bucky speaks very highly of you,” Sam affirms with a wink.

“What do I speak highly about?” A voice interrupts, prompting you both to turn your heads towards the man juggling boxes of takeout in the doorway. His eyes widen in surprise at your presence before a careful smile settles on his face. “Y/n, what brings you here?”

“I came to see if you wanted to join me for dinner, but I guess I’m jointing you and Sam instead. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Sam answers for him, heartily clapping the man on the back. “A friend of Bucky’s is a friend of mine.”

You hide your laughter behind your hand at Bucky’s obvious annoyance towards his friend and decide to make yourself useful by setting the table for dinner. Despite this being your first time in his apartment, you’re easily able to find your way around his kitchen. It amazes him how quickly you’re able to make yourself comfortable in his space and how well you mesh into his life as if you’d always been a part of it.

“You never told me she was cute,” Sam murmurs under his breath with a playful nudge to Bucky’s side. The Sargent merely scowls in response before elbowing him back with more strength than necessary. However, the two immediately act inconspicuous when you turn your attention back to them and sit down to enjoy dinner.

“So how do you two know each other?” You ask before taking a bite of broccoli. Bucky gives Sam a pleading glance and attempts to convey his want for you to be kept in the dark about his true identity, and thankfully the Captain is able to pick up on his signals.

“We met through a mutual friend,” Sam answers with ease. “We actually hated each other at first.”

“Hate is a strong word,” Bucky tries to defend only to deflate at the pointed look Sam gives him.

“I don’t know how you can stand living across the hall from him,” Sam quips much to his friend’s chagrin.

“I’m actually really glad to be neighbors,” you confess with a sheepish smile, face heating with embarrassment while you try to avoid Bucky’s gaze. “I didn’t think I’d be able to make any friends when I first moved here, but he’s made it so much easier on me.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky offers with a careful smile before finally meeting your gaze. The room is charged with romantic tension as you two take in the other’s presence, and Sam makes sure to point this out to Bucky hours later when you finally return to your own apartment.

“I’m telling you, dude, she’s into you!” Sam exclaims from his place behind the sink. “You should go for it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky rebuffs with a scoff while taking a freshly washed plate from Sam and placing it on the drying rack.

“You’re kidding, right? You think I didn’t notice the eyes you were giving her?”

“What eyes?”

“You know, the eyes,” Sam emphasizes, immediately imitating the look of longing Bucky had worn earlier in your presence. The soldier’s face scrunches in bewilderment before he quickly shakes his head in displeasure.

“Don’t do that, that’s not what I look like.”

“That’s exactly what you look like,” his friend defends before handing him another plate. “Look, all I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to maybe tell the girl how you feel and invite her out for something nicer than Chinese takeout.”

“Alright, let’s say I ask her out. I pull out all the stops, and it goes perfect. She decides I’m the guy she wants to be with, and I decide that I need to come clean about who I really am in order for that to happen? What happens when I tell her she’s dating the Winter Soldier? When I tell her about the blood on my hands? She doesn’t even know about the arm.”

Sam is silent after Bucky’s line of questioning, and unsurprisingly, he doesn’t have an answer. The super soldier sighs before slumping against the island counter and allowing his head to hang in shame and regret.

“I’ve already lost one good friend. I don’t know if I can handle losing another,” he admits quietly, almost afraid to voice the thought aloud.

Sam rests a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder but remains silent, contemplating his next words before finally giving him a reassuring pat on the back.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” he reminds him gently. “And you and I both know this girl is worth the risk.”

Bucky smiles faintly at Sam’s words, thoughts already straying to you and the light you’ve managed to bring to his life. He knows his friend is right, but he still can’t bring himself to make a move, at least not yet.

All he can do is hope you won’t mind having an ex-assassin super soldier for a boyfriend.

~~~

A harsh thunderstorm plagues New York and cuts off the power to your building. Your apartment is shrouded in candlelight as you make the best of what you have, and you’re grateful for the fact that Bucky so graciously offered to come over and keep you company until the electricity is restored.

“I hate thunderstorms,” you shudder after lighting another candle to set on the coffee table. “They weren’t very common where I was from.”

“They’re a little loud,” Bucky agrees pensively. Each clap reminds him of his foggy past in the war, and he finds himself fighting to keep the unwelcome memories at bay.

You seat yourself on the couch across from the man and drape your throw over your legs to keep you warm. The living room is freezing now that the heater is out, and despite the amount of layers you throw on nothing seems to help.

“I don’t think I ever asked this, but what do you do for work?” You prompt him after a moment’s silence. Bucky shifts uncomfortably on the couch.

“I, uh, I’m retired,” he replies lamely while offering you a meager smile. “Army veteran.”

“You served in the army?” You ask with piqued interest, shifting a bit closer to the man. “What did you do?”

“I was a Sargent.”

“I never would have guessed,” you say thoughtfully.

“It was so long ago, I don’t… really like to talk about it,” Bucky confesses, refusing to meet your gaze. He knows he’s not technically lying to you, but he’s also aware of the fact that he’s not giving you the entire truth. He doesn’t know how to be straightforward with you, too petrified of risking you becoming afraid of him and withdrawing yourself, but he can only hide his true identity for so long before you find out.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize only for Bucky to assure you it’s fine. “We can talk about something else. How’s Sam?”

“That topic actually might be worse,” he grimaces, but his lighthearted smile that follows signals he’s only kidding. “Sam is good, just busy.”

“Being Captain America?” You finish for him with a raised brow much to Bucky’s surprise.

“You know?”

“I don’t think it’s exactly a secret,” you reply with a sheepish smile while wrapping the throw tighter around yourself. “He looked so familiar when I first met him, and a quick internet search helped me put it together pretty quickly.”

Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat at your words. If you’d done your due diligence on Sam, who’s to say you hadn’t done the same for him? Knowing you, he feels it’s safe to assume you would have brought it up by now if you had found any real information about his past, and he tries to remind himself of this as he attempts to quell the panic bubbling inside him.

“I won’t tell anyone that I met him personally or that he visits this apartment building,” you assure him, incorrectly assuming the reason for his panic is a need to protect Sam’s privacy. “Not that I really have anyone to tell considering you’re my only friend here.”

“Thank you for that,” Bucky breathes out in relief, anxious to move on from the conversation. “But what about your friends back home?”

“I didn’t really have any,” you quietly admit. You look away almost shamefully and take a moment to collect yourself before you can meet his eyes again. “My friends were my fiancé’s friends, and I knew they would never pick my side over his if I told anyone the type of man he really was. I knew if I wanted to get away I had to cut them off too or they’d just tell him where I’d run off to.”

Bucky knows he has no right, but every time you mention your ex-fiancé he can almost feel the anger boiling inside him. He can’t comprehend how anyone could ever mistreat someone as wonderful and kind as you, and he knew if he ever got the chance to meet the man he’d make him pay for all the hurt and anguish he’d caused you. Bucky almost felt like your protector in a sense, like it was his responsibility to look after you now that you were alone in such a big city, and he hoped you didn’t mind the fact.

A sudden clap of thunder has you nearly jumping into the air as you immediately throw yourself at Bucky’s side and anxiously grip onto his arm. He’s grateful for the fact that it’s his right arm you hold onto, but he still finds himself stiffening at the sudden closeness. It’s been years since a beautiful dame has thrown herself at him like this, and his brain feels like it’s overloading as he tries to process the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you offer meekly, clearly embarrassed at your frightened outburst. You start to move away only for Bucky to pull you back, prompting you to look up at him in surprise.

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you with a comforting smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You find yourself slowly relaxing at his benevolent demeanor, and with his permission you slowly ease yourself back into his side and allow him to wrap an arm around your trembling figure.

The rain continues to pour outside your modest apartment, but you find yourself able to fall asleep in the comfort of Bucky’s embrace. The man never makes an attempt to move, not even when the power returns and the lights finally turn on. Instead, he allows himself to enjoy the warmth your closeness brings and admires your relaxed features as you sleep soundly with your head resting comfortably against his shoulder.

He could get used to this.

~~~

You scored a job as a waitress at a nearby diner to help pay your bills now that you’re completely on your own and your savings are beginning to run low, and Bucky notices that you’re gone from your apartment more often than not. His knocks go unanswered, and he finds himself feeling sullen in response to your sudden absence. You’ve invited him multiple times to come visit you at work and enjoy a free slice of pie, and on this particular day he decides to take you up on your offer.

It isn’t a long walk from the building, and he appreciates having an excuse to leave his apartment for once. His stomach is twisted in nervous knots at the thought of finally getting to see you again while he rehearses what he plans to say. Bucky’s boyish charm isn’t what it used to be, and his romantic moves are rusty from years of inaction. However, he is able to remember one move in particular that always went over well with the girls back in his day, and for that reason he stops at a local flower stand to buy you the nicest bouquet of roses he can find.

Bucky is a man in love, and if his gift goes over well, he plans to finally come clean and tell you everything about his past so that he can have a chance at being with you. No more beating around the bush.

The diner is empty save for a few occupied booths, and this makes it easier to spot you when he sets foot through the front doors. Though the sight of you immediately brings a smile to his face, it quickly fades when he notes the distress on your features. Your eyes are wide with fear, hands moving frantically as you speak to a man Bucky doesn’t recognize, and he doesn’t miss the relief that seems to wash over you when you meet his eyes from across the room and silently plead for help.

“Bucky!” You call with a nervous smile, anxiously wringing your apron in your trembling hands. “Perfect timing.”

“Who’s this?” He asks with a raised brow, eyeing the stranger up and down methodically. Bucky could easily take the man without question, but he still didn’t like the look of him. The man’s eyes were shifty and calculating, and his demeanor was one of arrogance and callousness.

“Bucky, this is Michael-“

“Her fiancé,” Michael boasts proudly with a braggart smile.

“Ex-fiancé,” you correct him through gritted teeth, “and he was just leaving.”

“Fine, fine,” Michael offers before raising his hands in surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted, but don’t think this is over.”

Bucky grunts in irritation when Michael goes out of his way to harshly bump his shoulder against your friend as he pushes his way out of the diner, leaving you a terrified mess as you stand trembling in the middle of the walkway. You swallow thickly and meet Bucky’s gaze with an apologetic smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m sorry about that,” you offer quietly, hands still nervously wringing your apron. Bucky notes the subtle quiver of your bottom lip and the way your lashes flutter quickly to hold back tears. You look terrified, and he hates to see you so wound up.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky assures you gently as he sets the bouquet aside and takes your unsteady hands in his gloved ones. “Maybe you should sit down a minute and take a breath, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you murmur quietly before allowing him to gently ease you into the nearest booth. In your panic you hadn’t even noticed the flowers he’d brought, and despite your frenzied state you’re still able to offer him a bashful smile for his efforts. “Are these… are they for me?”

Nodding, Bucky grins before handing you the bouquet. “They’re for you, pretty girl. I thought they’d look nice in your apartment.”

“Thank you… for these, and for saving me back there. I can’t believe I froze like that.”

“What happened?” Bucky presses gently, wanting to know every detail possible so he can better protect you moving forward. You let out a shaky breath and absently fidget with the ribbon tying the flowers together as you begin to relay the events to your friend.

“I did everything I could to cover my tracks and start over, but he still managed to find me,” you murmur in defeat. “He wants me to come back home with him, and he says he won’t take no for answer. I don’t know what to do- he knows where I work, and it will only be a matter of time before he figures out where I live-“

“Hey,” Bucky urges gently, affectively stopping you from spiraling. “Nothing is going to happen to you under my watch. I’ll have Sam look into the guy, and in the meantime I’ll do whatever you need to feel safe, whether that’s walking you to work or crashing on your couch so you can sleep at night.”

You give him a watery smile and immediately rush to his side of the booth so you can throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He returns the embrace immediately, taking extra care not to use too much force with his vibranium arm while he holds you tightly to his chest. You don’t know when he’d managed to steal your heart, but you know that you’re falling in love with your neighbor from across the hall. He makes it so easy and has fallen into your life like a puzzle piece you hadn’t realized was missing from the picture. Unlike the men in your past, Bucky treats you with the utmost care and respect, and you adore him more than anything.

Bucky will keep good on his promise, and you trust him with your entire being to keep you safe.

~~~

As promised, Bucky has made it his own personal mission to be your bodyguard during your time of need. He drops you off and picks you up from work, accompanies you when you have to run out for groceries, and spends his nights sleeping on your couch. You feel guilty over the fact that the man is hardly ever in his own apartment anymore, so after some convincing you’re able to talk him into letting you cook him dinner at his place.

“Any word from Sam?” You prompt quietly while stirring a pot of marinara sauce on the stove. Life has been uneventful since Michael’s appearance at the diner, but you hate having to constantly look over your shoulder wherever you go. You don’t enjoy being on edge every waking moment and not being able to get a good night’s sleep, and you just want this whole situation to be over with.

“He hasn’t been able to find anything about your ex or his whereabouts. The man knows how to stay hidden,” Bucky replies with a scoff. The mere mention of him has the super soldier’s blood boiling, but he tries to remain composed for your sake. “But don’t worry. He can’t hide forever.”

Dinner is a quiet affair, and Bucky is disheartened to see how dejected and small you’ve become in the past few days. You aren’t yourself, not that he can blame you, but he just wishes there was something he could do to help you.

Nightfall comes soon after, and Bucky helps you get settled into bed. Despite being in his own apartment, he’s adamant that you take the mattress while he resumes his position on the couch. He thinks it will be safer that way, and he’ll be able to hear any threats before they make their way into the apartment.

“Try to get some sleep, doll,” Bucky utters softly, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheek before making his exit.

“Will you stay?” You blurt without thinking, surprising both you and Bucky as he stops in his tracks.

“Y/n, I… I don’t know,” he starts to say only for you to gently take hold of his hand and carefully tug him back towards you.

“I haven’t been able to sleep, and I’d feel better if you were here next to me,” you plead meekly, the exhaustion clear in your features. Bucky finds it hard to say no to you when you stare up at him with doe eyes and a trembling bottom lip; the sight pulls at his heartstrings, and so he finds himself carefully crawling into bed with you.

“Thank you,” you whisper gratefully as you shift onto your side to face him. Your noses are mere inches apart as you stare into each other’s eyes and enjoy the comfort of being together in bed.

“You’ll never have to thank me for wanting to take care of you,” Bucky whispers back while carefully pulling the blankets up higher over your shoulders. You feel the leather of his gloves brush against your bare skin and shudder before peering over at him.

“You sleep in those?” You voice curiously, prompting him to immediately stiffen in response. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without those gloves on.”

“I… have a prosthetic arm,” he confesses quietly, figuring now is as good a time as ever to tell you the truth. He refuses to meet your gaze as his lips pull tightly together into a frown, waiting for you to say something.

“Oh,” you hum softly. His heart pounds in his chest as he waits for judgement or disgust, but instead he feels your hand gently rest upon his left bicep. His entire body tenses, and he watches with bated breath as you run your fingers along the fabric of his long-sleeve shirt. You can’t feel the coolness of the metal, but you can sense the lack of flesh and muscle. He’s not sure how you’d never noticed before, but you weren’t exactly one for details.

“If it makes you uncomfortable I can sleep on the couch-“

“I think it’s cool,” you interrupt with a careful smile, no hint of insincerity or judgement in your tone. “You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, but I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of.”

Bucky lets out an embarrassed huff of laughter and grapples with himself over your naivety. Would your opinion change if you knew what he’d done with his prosthetic arm as the Winter Soldier? He feels conflicted, but overall at ease with the fact that you seem receptive to his artificial appendage.

“You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever met,” Bucky compliments you before leaning forward to press his lips against your forehead. You find yourself moving closer so that you’re pressed against his chest, and it almost feels natural to him when he wraps his arms around your frame and pulls you tightly against him.

Nestled in Bucky’s warm embrace, you’re able to enjoy your first peaceful night of sleep since Michael’s return.

~~~

Bucky leaves your sleeping form behind the next morning to pick up breakfast sandwiches from the nearby bodega for you both. He doesn’t exactly have the supplies necessary to make a homemade breakfast, but he knows you’ll never say no to a coffee and your favorite sandwich. When he returns, he finds that his apartment is empty and you’re missing from the bedroom. Initially he figures you must have gone across the hall to your own place to freshen up for the morning, so he’s not worried.

Bucky decides it best to bring the food over to your apartment, but before he can even knock on your door he’s met with the sound of commotion coming from the other side. He hears your muffled voice frantically speaking to someone followed by the sound of shattered glass, your screams prompting him to break down the door and barge his way into the room.

You sit cowering against your bookshelf while Michael menacingly towers over you. A fresh bruise blooms along your cheek while hot tears make their way down your face, and you look to Bucky pathetically for help while curling in on yourself. The roses he’d bought for you now lay scattered on the ground with shards of glass accompanying them, allowing the man to easily piece together what had occurred in his absence.

“You again,” Michael scoffs before slowly making his approach towards the super soldier. He flashes a snide smile as he condescendingly speaks, “Thanks for looking after my fiancé while I was away, but I got it from here.”

Bucky is unmoving, his eyes cold and unrelenting as his hardened gaze stares down at the intruder. Through your tears you can note the enraged tick of his jaw and the way his hands are tightly clenched at his sides as he holds himself back from doing something he’ll regret.

“She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want you here,” he nearly growls through clenched teeth. “You need to leave.”

“Or what?” Your fiancé provokes with a disbelieving laugh. “You think just because she bats her lashes at you and spends the night in your bed that makes you special? She’s a little attention whore, and you’re an idiot if you think otherwise.”

“You can’t talk about a woman like that,” Bucky utters lowly. His body is vibrating with rage, his ears beginning to ring while the tension continues to build within him. He notes the way you watch on helplessly from your place on the floor, and the last thing he wants to do is scare you by becoming aggressive, but Michael was making this feat more difficult with each second that passed.

“I can talk however I want about my own fiancé, pal,” Michael speaks before giving Bucky a harsh shove. The man remains unmoving, and your attacker momentarily falters when realizing how sturdy his opponent is. “Now do yourself a favor and mind your business.”

“Bucky,” you softly cry out, shoulders trembling and eyes pleading for him not to leave you.

James finds himself taking a deep breath in while allowing his body to relax. Michael’s antagonistic voice drones on, and he knows there’s only one way to remove this man from your apartment and out of your life for good. He just hopes you won’t hate him after what is to come.

His hand immediately shoots out and catches Michael’s throat, effectively cutting off his air supply and his ability to speak. Your startled gasp fills the room as Bucky lifts the man before throwing him through your doorway. He slams against the opposite wall with a deafening thud before landing on the floor, and despite the excruciating pain he feels in his body he still desperately tries to crawl away as Bucky takes slow steps towards him.

“Not so fun when you��re on the receiving end, is it?” Bucky taunts before kneeling down next to him. “You’re lucky I’m letting you leave here while you’re still breathing. But if you ever come here again, if you ever put your hands on her again, if you ever even think about her again, I’ll make sure you leave in a body bag. Is that understood?”

Bucky doesn’t receive an answer, but he knows he’s made his point clear when your ex pathetically scrambles onto his feet and books it down the hallway. Resting his hands on his hips, Bucky lets his head hang with a sigh. He didn’t enjoy having to berate the man in front of you, but he can at least take pride in the fact that your ex-fiancé will never bother you again thanks to him.

Bucky quietly makes his way back into your apartment and finds you carefully picking up the scattered shards of glass. You remain silent, even when he kneels down to help you, and he begins to worry that maybe he had gone too far.

“You okay?” He asks you in the softest tone he can manage. Your tired eyes peer up at him through wet lashes, and it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts before you can reply.

“Your glove came off,” you murmur quietly, and Bucky almost isn’t able to catch it.

“What?” He repeats before slowly turning his gaze to his left hand. Sure enough, his usual leather glove is missing and his metal hand is on full display. He swallows down the lump in his throat despite the building anxiety he feels, clenching and unclenching his fingers before looking back up at you. He must have lost it in the scuffle, and he’d been too engrossed in making his point clear to notice.

“That’s not a normal prosthetic arm… is it?” You feebly prompt him. Bucky refuses to meet your gaze and quickly stands himself upright before slowly backing away from you. He feels suffocated by his shame and his guilt, and as he takes in his surroundings he realizes that his worst fear is manifesting itself into reality right before his very own eyes.

He wordlessly leaves your apartment and swiftly locks himself back into his own living space. The walls are closing in around him, and Bucky can do nothing but let his anguish consume him.

He’d ruined everything.

~~~

You haven’t heard from Bucky in over a week and your knocks to his door go unanswered. You’re all alone again, and the isolation is suffocating.

You miss the man who had became a part of your daily routine and infiltrated your space with his kindness and warmth. You had fallen in love with him, your heart aching for him every time he was away, and now only a tightness in your chest remained in his absence. You hadn’t meant to embarrass him when pointing out his arm, and you meant what you said when you told him he had nothing to be ashamed of. Everything had happened so quickly you hadn’t had a chance to explain yourself, to explain that despite the fact that you knew everything, your opinion hadn’t changed of him.

Your meeting with Sam had led to a deep dive into the history of Captain America, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that your search had led you to a plethora of information on the hero’s close friend James Buchanan Barnes. You knew you should have stopped yourself from reading further and instead asked Bucky to explain everything to you instead, but once you started reading you couldn’t stop. You were overloaded with information about his time in the war, his relationship with Steve Rogers, his affiliation with Hydra as the Winter Soldier, and his role in the fight against Thanos. It overwhelmed you, but it did not deter you from the man or prompt you to end your friendship with him. You weren’t afraid of him, and you worked desperately to get him to see that.

You hold a freshly baked batch of cookies in one hand while the other relentlessly knocks on his front door. You’ve been at this for about a good five minutes, and though it has earned you annoyed looks from neighbors that pass by you in the hallway, you’re determined not to give up until he sees you.

“Bucky, please,” you beg in exasperation, knuckles beginning to turn red from the constant impact against the wood of the door. “I know you’re in there so please come out. I can’t take this anymore.”

You’re met with silence, but this doesn’t deter you in the slightest; you know he’s in there and can hear your pathetic pleas. What you don’t know, however, is that he’s leaned right against the door on the other side watching you through the peephole. His mind is filled with turmoil as one part of him screams to open the door and let you in while the other insists this is for the best. What good does he have to offer you as an ex-assassin? What kind of life can you live tied down to the Winter Soldier? Bucky can’t bring himself to put you through the torment and the danger that comes with being his partner, and he curses himself for ever letting you get close to him in the first place.

“I miss you,” he hears you relent, voice wavering as you fight back tears. “You’re my best friend.”

Bucky can physically feel his chest tighten at your confession, and it takes everything in him to not open the door. He doesn’t think he can stand the torture any longer, and he begins to move towards his bedroom only for your voice to stop him in his tracks.

“I know everything,” you utter gently, prompting his heart to leap anxiously in his chest at your confession. “I know that you were a Sargent in World War ll, and your best friend was Steve Rogers. I know you’re the Winter Soldier. I know… I know that in spite of all of that, you’re the kindhearted man who befriended the complete stranger that knocked on your door and asked for help to move a bookshelf. You’re more than your past, and it doesn’t scare me like you think it does. I… I love you.”

You let your forehead fall against the door and shut your eyes, waiting with bated breath for any sort of response or movement from the other side of the door. You’re given nothing, and it’s now that you start to realize your friendship with Bucky is most likely over. You slowly back away from the door and set the plate of cookies beside it before taking one last longing look at his apartment.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bother you anymore,” you finally sigh, turning to make your way back to your own apartment. However, the click of the lock turning causes you to freeze in your tracks, and you hesitantly turn around to face the man whose door you’ve been assaulting for the past ten minutes.

His blue eyes are glossy with tears that threaten to fall, and his tired features display the torment he’s endured while isolating himself from you. He looks at you almost in astonishment, and for a moment neither of you dares to move or speak. You don’t know what to say or how much he’d heard.

“You…” he starts to say before taking a nervous swallow. “You said you loved me?”

You manage to flash him a meager smile while anxiously stuffing your hands in your pockets and casting your sheepish gaze to the floor. “I thought that was obvious. Why else would I be showing up at your door all the time?”

A quiet laugh of disbelief leaves him at your words, and Bucky feels confident enough now to leave the doorway of his apartment and take a step closer towards you.

“So this,” he says while raising his left hand and flexing his fingers, “doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it when that very arm kept me safe?” You utter gently, taking another step closer so that the space between you grows smaller. You hesitantly bite the inside of your cheek before slowly raising your hand and offering it to Bucky. A pregnant pause fills the air as he stares down at your outstretched fingers, his brows furrowing with uncertainty while he hesitantly clasps your hand in his artificial one.

The metal is cool against your palm and brings an instant sense of comfort as you lock your fingers together. You fit together perfectly as if your hand had been made for him, and a funny feeling tingles within his chest as Bucky comes to this realization.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out,” he professes earnestly, gently pulling you against his chest so that he can wrap his arms around your figure. “Everything felt too real, and I was terrified of the possibility that you might not want to be around me anymore.”

“You could never do anything to scare me away,” you assure him gently, your eyes full of sincerity as you peer up at him. “I meant what I said, Bucky. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”

“I love you too, doll,” he murmurs with an adoring smile. Using the tips of his metal fingers, Bucky gently angles your face so that he can meet your lips in a kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut as you melt against him and savor the feeling of being so close to the man you’d missed so dearly while you were apart.

It’s as if the rest of the world fades away while you share your tender embrace in the middle of the hallway where you’d first met months ago. You came to the city for a new start, but Bucky never would have guessed that your arrival would signal the start of his own new beginning.

A bookshelf brought you into each other’s worlds, and a kiss in the hallway would keep you together for the rest of your lives.

#mel writes #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #mcu x reader #mcu imagine

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majestyeverlasting · 3 months ago

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the trust and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well.

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine.

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are.

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.

“No help today?” you ask.

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.”

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days.

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?”

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip.

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all.

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?”

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?”

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.”

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue.

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—”

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in.

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.”

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead.

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?”

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.”

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.”

“Imagine that,” you murmur.

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears.

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart.

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor.

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon.

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside.

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table.

“Special delivery.”

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful.

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder.

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table.

“Everything alright?”

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?”

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.”

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.”

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.”

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind.

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks.

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered.

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms.

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks.

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone.

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye.

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart.

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place.

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle.

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light.

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared.

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin.

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room.

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock.

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand.

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening.

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.”

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché.

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?”

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you.

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart.

You finally look over at him.

“Please talk to me,” he says.

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask.

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?”

“At Quick Mart,” you say.

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway.

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.”

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence.

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—”

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand.

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?”

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry.

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.”

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.”

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest. “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.”

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.

“No more secrets,” he promises.

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward.

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips.

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch.

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?”

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.”

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug.

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you.

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t.

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades.

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer.

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room.

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.”

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read.

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.”

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?”

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.”

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.”

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed.

“That means we let each other in,” you continue.

“You’re in, baby.”

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.”

“I sketch you all the time.”

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.”

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb.

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow.

“They caught me off guard,” you admit.

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration.

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?”

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—”

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction.

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.”

You nod for him to continue.

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.”

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.”

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.

“So help me understand,” you insist.

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax.

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.”

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.”

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are.

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.”

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours.

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.”

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured.

•••

Just relax.

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him.

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath.

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base.

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut.

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft.

A selfish part of him wants more.

“Angel…” he sighs.

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter.

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs.

“That’s so hot,” he grouses.

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly.

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power.

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself.

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.”

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?”

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter.

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves.

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge.

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away.

“Easy,” he coos.

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too.

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks.

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.”

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely.

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory.

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused.

“But I need you,” you murmur.

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out.

As it turns out, life imitates art too.

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel.

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.”

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?”

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him.

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—”

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears.

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.”

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur.

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies.

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?”

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything.

And with him, you wanted it all.

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn

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halcyon-writings · 20 days ago

Text

nav.

Zayne had a certain habit. You observed him enough times to make note of it. Whether it was just the two of you or when you were out with a group of friends.

You would sit on a bench or chair, your bag on your lap. Zayne stands behind you, his hands on the back of wherever you were seated. You’d type at your phone, most likely to see what sort of meal you both wanted or a new spot you wanted to check out.

Your friend notices as well, when it is the group of you all around the city. She gives you a secretive smile when Zayne stands behind you as you sit, like a routine. His eyes are sharp and focused, yet when you show him your screen so that he can look at the cafe’s menu, they soften.

“It’s sweet,” Your friend comments, the corner of her eyes crinkle. Zayne had gone to grab the order, volunteering since the place looked busy.

“What is?” You ask, still not getting it just yet.

“How he does that little protective thing,” Another friend explains for her, mentioning what she’s also noticed. You can’t help but flush a little, the back of your neck getting warm. “And how he easily makes sure you’re able to keep space in the more crowded spots.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, your heart skipping a beat. Now that she pointed it out, you can’t deny it. Not that you wanted to, but it was just something you could add to the long list you loved about Zayne.

“I guess it just happens so much when we’re out that I didn’t realize it was so novel,” You admit.

Your friend simply grins cheekily, the other giggling lightheartedly, but both say no more as Zayne returns with the order. He pulls out your chair at one of the nearby tables outside, pushing it in for you once you sit. As well as taking his seat dutifully at your side.

It was beautiful out, so it was no surprise for the city to be a little crowded today. With the recent rainy days, the sun and gentle breeze were a welcome surprise.

Even so, as you all walk, Zayne’s palm rests gently against the small of your back, still giving you the freedom of movement, but also helping you balance on the sidewalk in between the other groups of people or kids playing around the park.

Your friends notice, but they don’t tease you about it… not too much anyway.

Zayne’s own eyes crinkle slightly in amusement. When you send him a curious glance, Zayne only takes one of your hands, giving it a gentle squeeze as he entwines your fingers together. In between, when he thinks no one is looking, he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You smile in return.

#halcyon writings.#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #l&ds x you #li shen x reader #li shen x you

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sealovinq · 5 months ago

Text

me when ARIFER IS GETTING MARRIED 💥💥💥‼️‼️‼️

day one.

↳ takahara × lucifer (around s5 and post canon area)

↳ 1.4k words

↳ several months before the actual wedding takes place, takahara and lucifer figure out how exactly they're going to make that happen. this is just the first two days of the preparation, and it's just. Fluff. so much plotless fluff with arifer-typical undertones of violence (they're flirting) oh my god they're actually getting married holy shit guys ft mentions of kazuo ishikawa and her son zaiden ( thank you @sealovinq ) <33

↳ LOWKEY IMPORTANT NOTE: there are a few text messages littered around the end half of the fic. to help differentiate texts: lucifer always texts with Capitalization and punctuation. takahara,,,, well. does not! :T he texts like me. just wanted to clarify in case it gets confusing to look at

↳ one / two / three

"Just relax. I'll handle it."

Arion crossed his arms, glancing away.

"Now you're doubting me. You wound me, lover. Truly." Lucifer placed a hand on his chest in mock offense.

Arion snorted and rolled his eyes. He flicked the hand on Lucifer's chest as he walked past.

Venue decorations had begun being set up, which was a.. process, one could say. Arion leaned back against a table, running his hand over the dark blue tablecloth. Setting up with magic was quick and efficient. Unfortunately, the decision-making involved of such.. mundanity, like themes and color palettes, were not. Not to the likes of these two anyway. And especially not when the entire wedding would be under the scrutiny of the House of Lords.

They would've been perfectly content with the way they were before— married by their word alone— if not for the lack of official acknowledgement. Unfortunately, they found that they couldn't intimidate everyone into agreement.

Arion fiddled with the thorny black centerpiece of the table. Flowers that hadn't grown yet. He wasn't sure of what kind they were.

He sighed, half of his face sinking behind his scarf.

"I just don't want you to work on it alone. It's not just.. your.. wedding."

"I can't exactly get married to myself now, can I?" Lucifer said, lightly poking Arion's cheek.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. You know what I mean."

"It's just that.. You proposed, so—"

Arion groaned, covering his face with his hands at the reminder.

"I told you not to make me remember that.."

"Hmph. I thought you were being rather sweet."

"Because you're a weirdo. I was barely even awake."

"So are you taking it back?"

Arion's hands partially uncovered his face to reveal an exhausted glare, as if he'd already been faced with this question a number of times before.

"No."

Lucifer grinned triumphantly. "Just checking."

Before Arion could scold him any further, he offered his arm, nodding towards the door.

"Let's call it a day for now. I doubt we'll be getting any further with the decorations today. And we have ample time to leave it be for now."

"Right, right." Arion sighed, looping his arm with Lucifer's. As they began on their way out of the ballroom, he pondered, "Should we call in Asmodeus?"

"If you're keen on dealing with a second round of his bridal rampage."

"Kazuo then? She's good at this."

"A calmer alternative for sure." He nodded. "Perhaps."

"I'll ask her to come with us tomorrow then. Are you sure the angels won't drown themselves with the cake?"

"Simeon won't take no for an answer. I couldn't dissuade him if I tried. He told me to refer to it as his wedding gift for us."

"That's sweet of them."

"That's one way to put it." Lucifer muttered. "Anyway, you're switching topics. I was being serious. Just let me take care of things. I never knew someone could get so stressed from choosing tables."

"Stop making fun of me."

"I am not." He put his free hand over Arion's, making him turn to meet his eyes. "You're always going out of your way and giving me things, doing things for me. You're always trying to spoil me."

"Well—"

Lucifer unwinded their arms, squishing Arion's face between his palms to quiet him.

"Let me handle this."

"It's my wedding too.."

"Let me handle this."

"It's not like you're not doing things for me too!"

"True. However," Arion felt one of Lucifer's fingers tap up and down against his face, the subtle indent of the ring under his glove more apparent. Arion's face grew warm. "Do you mind reminding me who went out of his way to make this?"

Arion grumbled.

"Just relax and handle your other affairs." Lucifer said, releasing his face with a soft sigh. "I will ask you for assistance if I need it."

He crossed his arms. "You promise?"

Lucifer nodded. He prodded his hand under Arion's elbow until their arms were linked once more. "I promise. You have my permission to murder me in cold blood if I do otherwise."

"I'll take you up on that."

True to his word, the next day, Lucifer did go back to the venue to reorganize things. Arion sent Kazuo after him, likely with instructions to inform him on how Lucifer was handling things. It was amusing how much Arion tried to look after him, of all people— quite literally one of the most powerful beings in the universe. The only thing more laughable was how much Lucifer found himself enjoying it. He supposed it couldn't be helped then if Arion wanted to spy on him. The fact that he stepped back at all was a miracle in itself. And, as a bonus, Lucifer happened to find his little sister-in-law to be delightful company. At least.

Eventually, as their discussions unfolded and their tea got cold, Kazuo had to be called back to the House of Lamentation to help with Zaiden. So he let her go ahead without him, pondering on the decorations for himself.

As he stepped back, narrowed his eyes, trying to take everything in as a whole, he grimaced. It was.. quite bad. He suddenly found himself thankful that there were a few more months to work on this (what Arion would ever so affectionately refer to as a) hot mess. Although blue was designated pride's color, the brightness of that and the splashes of white reminded him too much of a certain.. acquaintance of theirs. That observation alone made him want to burn the entire building down.

As Lucifer was beginning to consider fighting the House of Lords to let them allow the wedding to be red, he sensed the eyes of someone new entering the room.

"Barbatos." He greeted.

The royal steward nodded in return, pristine smile plastered on his face as usual. He carried a tray of piping hot tea with him. "Lucifer."

"What brings you here?" He paused. "Lord Diavolo isn't here, is he?"

"No," A threadbare lilt of amusement bled into Barbatos's tone as he set down the tea. "The young master is doing his own share of work." He gave a brief sideways glance to the altar area. Anyone who didn't know him well enough wouldn't notice the laugh he stifled.

"I suggest you take this down before he sees. Or before anyone else sees, for that matter. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you were to be wed to Solomon."

"Do not." Lucifer hissed. "Do not. I'm already tempted to walk right into Purgatory Hall just to put his head on a pike."

Barbatos merely chuckled. He handed Lucifer a cup of tea and a small plate of scones.

"Arion asked me to deliver these to you."

Lucifer blinked in surprise.

"Oh. Thank you, Barbatos."

"It was no problem." He folded his hands behind his back. "Arion also asked me if you were capable of telling the time, or if you were simply 'being stupid', as he put it."

"Excuse me?"

"The question was rhetorical, of course."

Lucifer huffed. "Ah. I see."

"He also lamented about how slow you are at responding to him on your D.D.D. He sounded quite miffed, really—"

"Thank you, Barbatos, for the tea. I suppose you'll be taking your leave now."

Barbatos sighed lightly. "It would seem so. Do head on home as soon as you are able. The young master was also rather concerned this morning about you pushing yourself so early into the planning stage."

Lucifer didn't respond. Likewise, Barbatos didn't wait for one. As soon as he was gone, Lucifer rushed to open his D.D.D.

11:28pm. He cursed under his breath.

"Have I really been here that long..?"

06:51pm

Mine. ♡: ill be home late i think. target went into a cursed maze. annoying

Mine. ♡: so don't wait for me. save me dinner if you can

Mine. ♡: wish me luck 🫶

09:24pm

Mine. ♡: hoy puta why aren't you home yet :T you were supposed to save my dinner not the other way around

09:39pm

Mine. ♡: leaving home again. diavolo needs me to do something for him. im not being kidnapped i promise

Mine. ♡: i asked barbatos to get you a snack, so you better be nice to him. also if you don't respond by the time im done im divorcing you :T btw. just so you know

Lucifer snorted. He took a sip of the tea, its warmth flowing through his body like a soothing balm. He hadn't realized how cold he was until the feeling melted away, leaving the warm feeling to linger between his ribs.

11:29pm

mine. <3: Don't get too excited now.

He was surprised by the little amount of time it took for the little typing... bar to appear on top of his keyboard.

Mine. ♡: aw. so close :(

Mine. ♡: freedom :((( out of reach once more :((

Though no one was there to witness, Lucifer hid a laugh behind his hand. His shoulders felt a little lighter.

mine. <3: You're not getting rid of me yet, dear.

mine. <3: You're not getting rid of me at all, for that matter.

Mine. ♡: boo

Mine. ♡: anyway i bet i can get home faster than you :)

mine. <3: You're on.

#LAWDDDD the way i was smiling so widely while reading HSHSHEUEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEH #i really love how assuring lucifer was to you. like. he's so calmly teasing about it too... 🥺#“let me handle it.” WHAT IF I CRY 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏💥💥💥 HE JUST WANTS YOU TO RELAX. HIS FUTURE HUSBAND. ACKKKKK #i'm honored! to be mentioned in this wonderful event. and to help out. picture me lightheartedly questioning lucifer's decoration choices /j #the countdown... is so exciting... HEHEHEH #CAN'T WAITTTTT #i love you arifer you're the backbone of every arion ship out there /hj #other's art: ships #friend: arion

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