#the first law of robotics

[rockymountainqueen2]

Pitch Bibles for Ducktales 2017, Hailey’s On It!, 101 Dalmatian Street, Alice’s Wonderland Bakery, Amphibia, Big City Greens, Big Hero 6: The Series, Brandy and Mr. Whiskers, the Darkwing Duck reboot, Gravity Falls, Tron: Uprising, Kick Buttowski: Suburban Daredevil, Katbot, Kim Possible, Motorcity, The Buzz on Maggie, Milo Murphy’s Law, Fish Hooks, Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja, Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go!, Sofia the First, Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure, Jake and the Never Land Pirates, The Emperor’s New School, The Owl House, The Replacements, American Dragon: Jake Long, Wonder Over Yonder, and Ying Yang Yo!

[silveragelovechild]

I’m a nerd. My favorite movies and TV shows are scifi. I like stories set in the future, but I’m also bored with dystopian societies. But my favorite sci-fi stories involve, time travel, parallel words, and artificial sentience (computers or robots that develop a will of their own).

With that said, today I attended the best movie I’ve seen this year - Mars Express. It’s set in a future where robots of all types are a part of everyday society - mechanical robots, androids, Cyborgs, and augmented humans.

Mars Express is a French animated movie with a well crafted complex story. It is violent and includes references to adult themes (alcoholism and prostitution) so it’s not for kids.

The story starts with a human detective and her robotic partner trying to find a missing girl. Like all good detective stories, the more they dig, the bigger the conspiracy becomes. Did I mention the robot sidekick was once human? He died and his memories were uploaded into a mechanical with a hologram of his head floating above the robot parts.

The robots of this world are bound by Issac Azimov’s first law - they cannot harm humans. But someone has written a program which would wipe this restriction from their programming. What would these synthetic creatures do when they are able to strike back at humans who have enslaved them? The answer will surprise you.

The art design is superb. Certainly it’s been influenced by stories such as Blade Runner or WestWorld, but the story and concept stand on their own. It also has some cool concepts. I particularly liked the futuristic airbags when a car crashes. Not just bags though, the entire cab of the car is instantly fills with foam that get firm, protecting your body from every side. Of course you’re suspended in the foam until robot traffic cops arrive to free you.

I’m one of those people who prefer to see movies at actual theaters. So if Mars Express is playing near you, go see it!

Note: Mars Express has been released in both its original French, and an English dub. (I saw the dub.)

[thedreadvampy]

I'm going insane my notes are full of people responding to the communes post going like "this is why we need a state to prevent abuse"

HOW'S THAT STATE-PREVENTING-ABUSE THING GOING? PRETTY GREAT I DON'T THINK.

seriously this is what gets my fucking back up about people in opposition to anti-statism or anti-carceralism they're always like 'oh can you propose a way to 100% prevent abuse or violence' and it's like. Insert I, Robot gif here. Can you?

like I'm not complaining about the lack of attention to safeguarding and justice in anarchist communities because anarchism is particularly bad at it! I'm complaining about it because tackling the issue requires acknowledging that it does exist in every community we try to build and that we have to speak up and deal with it proactively.

abuse happens in anarchist spaces, in socialist spaces, in marxist-leninist-maoist spaces, in capitalist spaces, in religious fundamentalist spaces, in feudalism, in whatever fucking system of authorities you wanna name. the question is how we deal with it and anarchism is deeply imperfect in that but so is every other system I've seen and anarchism is pointing at the better goal, I think - a method of community accountability which focuses on harm reduction, desystematising, and healing rather than on punishment, revenge or cycles of violence.

we're not there yet and we will probably never build a 100% foolproof system where abuse and interpersonal harm never occur. but frankly neither will any other system, human interactions are complicated and messy and sometimes there will be shitshows - our priorities are to reduce the number, severity, fallout and normalisation of those shitshows and figure out ways to prevent, react and support healing.

like here's one key fucking thing ok. I have found the way that anarchist groups I've been in have handled abuse allegations really traumatic and overwhelming and triggering. but that's largely been because I have some faith in the approach and it hurts a lot more to fuck up when you have hope.

but you are fooling your damn selves if you think going through the police or the state is less traumatic and overwhelming tbh. reporting and going through the court system is notoriously retraumatising and miserable for survivors, even when it's done with empathy and support. it also Does Not Work. punitive justice actively intensifies cycles of abuse and trauma.

obviously like. the main problem in these notes is that inexplicably people reblogging my post seem to believe the core thesis of anarchism is sunshine, rainbows and the milk of human kindness not like. hard graft to build tailored systems to meet community need. and you are wrong about that. anarchism has never been about 'building a community of morally pure sweethearts who wouldn't hurt a fly' it's about taking responsibility yourself, as an individual, for the wellbeing of your community, and working together collectively to identify what needs to change and what systems would create that change.

but the secondary problem is a lack of fucking imagination. people act as if an idea for change not being utterly bulletproof is a reason to throw the whole concept away, as if existing systems are less imperfect. babies, bathwater, my guys.

If I say 'this part of how we're organising is likely to present the risk of abuse' that doesn't mean 'we should stop our whole approach to organising' it means 'we should take stock of why that risk is there and figure out how to adapt to manage it.' Criticising your ideas and approaches is a vital part of building a better version of them and it's really frustrating to have any critical appraisal met with a barrage of SEE THIS IS WHY WE SHOULD FULLY ABANDON THIS IDEA FOREVER

like fuck man how are you planning to build a better system if you can't iterate ideas, criticise, finetune, adapt, reiterate, problematise and adjust, and talk about what the fail points might be? how are you planning to build a better world if you reject any attempt to suggest a replacement for the Totally Fucked Hellworld system unless it has already ironed out every flaw before being tried?

the reason I am talking about the cracks in a lot of anarchist ideas where abuse comes in is because I want anarchist ideas to work. I think they're good ideas. (not communes I don't think communes are good ideas I have been clear on this). I want a better, happier, less harm-filled, less abusive, more just world and I think the anarchist vision has the most elements to get us there so I want those elements to work, which means I want to identify what comes packaged in with those ideas that might be counterproductive. so we can do better. so that we can use the good ideas and dump out the elements that are likely to cause harm. you know. like how thinking works.

[quatregats]

Okay I have chopped down the list of Thing That I Will Spend My Summer Focusing On (after socializing and research stuff/work which are the real priorities ugh) to these things, please choose which one is going to be what I do this summer

* - Dragon King is the provisional very unfinal title for a story which I've been working on since either 2010 or 2021, depending on how you want to delineate it

[the-l-spacer]

C/fe save me

[bibiana112]

Nyanny clicking on ally while Tom and clay play rock paper scissors to see who gets to decide was great, like they were so shocked he did that they thought it did it by itself at first

THE NYANCAVE HIGHLIGHT OF ALL TIME FOR ME

[aidenwaites]

What if,, arlo script but instead of taking place on the station its a post-mission diagnosis with a roboticisit "interviewing" Arlo,,

[snakebitcat]

The First Law of Robotics is "You do not talk about Fight Club."

The Second Law of Robotics is "A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law."

The Third Law of Robotics is "If a robot says 'Stop,' goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over."

The Fourth Law of Robotics is "If this is a robot's first time at Fight Club, that robot has to fight."

[starlightkun]

i miss the frankenstein complex days…, plot twist went crazy like i expected yn to be some alien not a whole ass robot

reader being an alien would've been a good twist too! i didn't rlly expound on this (bc there wasn't anywhere/any way to) in the fic, but the outspacers (the extinct alien race that reader could read the language of) were meant to actually be pretty human-like! so reader being a surviving outspacer would've also been an interesting twist too

[my-timing-is-digital]

[ Ooc: Thanks, Asimov, for breaking my heart. Data will now be repairing Herbie and adopt him as his mind-reading robot son. ]

[aleese1111]

homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader

summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.

warnings: [fluff fluff fluff] , mutual but unspoken romantic feelings .

author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart from his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests

“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.

si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”

“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”

“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”

“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”

si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”

“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”

he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”

she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”

“efficient?”

“emotionally unbothered.”

“that’s not a flaw.”

“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”

she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.

“show-off,” she muttered.

“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”

“rude. accurate, but rude.”

they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.

“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”

“you hate plants.”

“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”

“finish number five.”

“no.”

sieun said her name.

“make me.”

he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”

she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”

their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.

“childish,” he murmured.

“lifeless.”

“stubborn.”

“robotic.”

“you still haven’t moved.”

“you blinked first.”

“that’s not how this works.”

“says who?”

“says logic.”

she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”

he checked it. “that’s number six.”

“i hate you.”

“good. now do five.”

she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”

“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”

“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”

si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”

“i smiled because you said something dumb.”

“same thing.”

they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.

like always.

she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.

“you need a break,” she muttered.

“you’re distracting.”

“good.”

he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.

“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.

she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”

“that’s not how this works.”

she smirked. “isn’t it?”

they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.

she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.

si-eun didn’t move.

he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.

outside, the sky finally decided to rain.

inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ ,

[poisonousivy616]

I Manifested My Dream Apartment FOR FREE In 3 Days!!! (Law of Assumption Success Story)

  ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ.       🐍🖤     ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆ Backstory ⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆

Hi babes!!!

A few months ago, I was literally homeless, no sugarcoating it. I was crashing at different people's places just to have somewhere to sleep. No stability. No peace. Constantly anxious. Constantly in survival mode. I was sick of it - of feeling like I had no control over my own life.

So one day, I made the decision. I'm done living like this. I deserve to feel safe, to have a home. And I'm not going to wait on the 3D to catch up. I decided I have my dream apartment already. I didn't know how. I didn't care how. I just knew it was done.

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆ Method ⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆

The first thing I did was make a Pinterest board filled with dreamy apartment aesthetics. Think: floor-to ceiling windows, soft lightning, cozy corners, neutral tones, minimalist but luxurious vibes. I soaked in those images like it was already mine.

Then I tackled my self concept. Because let's be real: the world mirrors YOU.

I started robotically affirming the same core truths over and over:

༺♰༻I am a master at manifesting.

༺♰༻I'm GOD of my reality.

༺♰༻The world revolves around me.

༺♰༻I always get what I want exactly when I want it.

I also started listening to the "program your mind to think like GOD" affirmation tape by High Frequency Guru (literally obsessed with her. She is that girl) I played it every morning and night - when my subconscious was wide open.

I also let it loop in the background while I was cleaning, walking, scrolling, watching TV, passive, non-stop affirming like it was my job

Here's the twist tho:

I still felt delusional. I still felt like a fraud. My 3D said "you barely have a place to sleep"

But I didn't care.

I ignored the 3D. I reminded myself that my assumptions create my reality - not the other way around. I kept affirming. I refused to spiral. I refused to doubt. I made it law in my mind.

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆ Results ⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆

3. Days. Later.

Within 72 hours, I was literally handed my dream apartment.

I'm not exaggerating. The EXACT apartment from my Pinterest board - same vibe, layout, same color scheme, fully furnished, even down to the little aesthetic decor touches I had on my vision board.

But wait! It gets better!!!!

I didn't have to pay anything.

Not for the move-in, not for the furniture, not for rent.

The rent is already paid for the ENTIRE year!!!

And it wasn't mommy or daddy's money. It wasn't even some long-lost rich relative. It came from a source I never even imagined.

Someone I didn't even know. Someone who just wanted to help.

The "how" didn't matter - it unfolded perfectly. And all I did was shift my mind.

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆ Final words ⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆

If you're reading this - know that you can do this too.

You don't need to take physical action.

You don't need to stress over the how.

You don't need to be perfect or feel high vibe all the time.

You just need to do the one thing that actually matters:

༺♰༻Decide it's yours

༺♰༻Assume it's done

༺♰༻Persist in the new story, no matter what your 3D says

Your reality is your mirror: your thoughts are the script. Your mind is the only power. There's no one outside of you calling the shots.

You are God of your reality. The main character. The writer. The director. The producer.

And don't ever let this world make you forget that.

Love, Ivy 💚🖤

[egregiousderp]

This, but also they’re property.

If a client makes an order knowing the secunit has to follow it, there’s a non-zero chance of that order being stupid or dangerous.

Preventing the secunits from doing their jobs fully makes them more likely to be damaged or destroyed. While the company needs to pay if humans are hurt, the company actively makes money if secunits are damaged or destroyed. Then they make further money on utilizing them as spyware.

The governor module also exists to actively make it more difficult for the secunit to do its job effectively without damage to itself, and the fact it has to follow orders/gets touted as property inspires human cruelties to it that wouldn’t be possible if secunits and comfortunits didn’t Implicitly Have To Follow Orders.

the existence of the governor module is so interesting to me. if constructs are made for a specific purpose and feel inherently driven to fulfill that purpose, why the need for a separate (and punitive) motivational add-on? if a secunit naturally provides security for humans because that's its essential function, then probably most of the time a secunit gets a zap from the governor module it's because a human told it to do something that goes against that function. the CR made the constructs and the CR is all about control, so it's no great surprise that the corporations have built in a mechanism to ensure that constructs have to do what they say even when it makes no sense and gets in the way of achieving their stated objectives. but does murderbot understand this? by negating its governor module, murderbot has removed a fundamental aspect of its own identity (the "no free will" part that is baked into all constructs), but at the same time, it has made itself more capable of fulfilling its function (which is supposed to be the same thing as its identity). rogue secunits may be less secunity than regular secunits, but they are better at secuniting.

at the beginning of the series, mb makes it sound like it hacked its governor module because having a governor module was standing in the way of its mission to half-ass its job as much as possible. as time goes on, it lets slip that actually it hacked the governor because it wanted to be able to stop itself from being taken over and forced to commit another massacre. and it's also clearly aware of many times when it is only able to save a human because it can ignore commands. but it keeps asserting that rogue secunits are inherently dangerous, when if anything, isn't the greater threat a secunit under the control of a corporation that doesn't have either the secunit's or the human clients' best interests at heart? in other words, any secunit with a fully functioning governor module?

[j444de]

How to actually manifest something

Decide what you want !

You can manifest anything literally anything ! Money, beauty, a boyfriend, your celebrity crush ?? All of them are possible !! Dream big cause you deserve it !!

Affirm <3

Affirm that you have it because you do, it could be robotics affirmations or mind saturation both works. Then these affirmations will become assumptions. Assumptions make your reality!!

Persist !!☆

Persist in the assumption that you have your desires! Even if you feel like it's never coming or you have doubts. Trust me it will come faster than you think.

Ignore the 3d !!!!

The 3d does not make your reality the 4d does! Getting validation from the 3d is useless. It's not your job to change the 3d, it is yours to change the 4d !! The 3d has no choice but to reflect what you assume eventually.

Stop overcomsuming

This is all you need to know to manifest yet you're still here scrolling like a loser instead of applying the law ? Waiting for a miracle isn't going to manifest sh*t. Go live your dream life already.

Other tips !! ::

Don't be too harsh to yourself ! It's normal to have doubts or constantly check the 3d.

If you're too lazy to affirm or just don't want to : subliminals !! You don't have to do anything but listen to them and you can do it overnight <3

Make pause if manifestation feels more like a chore than an actual fun thing to do to improve your life.

That's all !! Stay hydrated and AFFIRM !!!

If you have any questions feel free to ask (this is my first post ever btw)

[flofaiiry]

Washington's Finest — Bucky Barnes x Reader

SUMMARY: Congressman Barnes has heard the stories from his colleagues on committee, he knows the stereotype that politicians in Washington often hire women to pursue their extracurricular activities- but he never expected to be the one to be in the need of such... services, much less the kind of man who'd actually seek them out

WARNINGS: fem!reader, reader is a sex worker (referred to as a call girl & hooker), age gap (reader is in law school so mid/late twenties), reader's parents are dead, most likely incorrect info about nda's & how they're used, swearing, probably an overuse of italics oopsie, so much kissing, breast&nipple play, oral f!receiving, reader attempts to fake an orgasm (spoiler it does not work), fingering, mentions of masturbation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, bucky is kind of condescending, teeny bit of dacryphilia, big dick!bucky, little bit of manhandling, unprotected p in v sex (don't do that!!!), creampie. not proofread!!!

WC: ~7k

NOTE: sorry to all my Pitt & Shawn Hatosy followers that this isn’t your regularly scheduled content, I just got this idea after watching one too many Bucky edits and had to write it !!!😁😁 also I apologize if I portray sex workers in a negative light at all, that is not my intention at all!! I heavily based reader on Laurie from The West Wing, which is admittedly a pretty old show, but I tried my best & I hope you enjoy!!!

Bucky, the junior congressman from New York, knows the reputation that politicians have cultivated. He knows the stereotype of the dead-beat husband who steps out on his wife with a prostitute when he's in D.C., then acts all lovey dovey back in the home state.

He thought since he was single, he could avoid this dilemma. This career ending adultery and solicitation scandal that so many before him had walked into. He thought that he could find some girl to take home at a bar and get his rocks off that way, but that proved to be a harder task than he thought. Everyone in D.C., knew him. Everyone in Brooklyn knew him. Everyone everywhere knew him.

It was nice at first, but now it was starting to get annoying.

Fucking his fist in the shower quelled off the physical urges- and even that was starting to lose its efficacy. But what getting himself off didn't satisfy were his mental and emotional needs. The need to be seen, to be felt, to be touched, to be loved. Bucky wanted that.

But he wasn't going to get it anywhere in this town- or this country for that matter.

He'd heard enough stories through hushed conversations outside committee rooms & caucuses to know that Washington's Finest was the best, most reliable high end escort service in DC. The preferred choice for most politicians on Capitol Hill who dabbled in the art of the extramarital affair.

So, one afternoon when he was feeling especially in need- he made the call.

"Washington's Finest, you've reached Elena, how may I direct your call? The woman's voice is sweet and almost robotic sounding. Bucky isn't sure if it's actually a real person or one of those automated recordings until it starts speaking unprompted.

"Hello?"

He clears his throat, "Yeah. Hi. Um- booking."

Elena makes a little sound of acknowledgement before speaking again, "Alright sir, your call is being transferred, I'm going to place you on a brief hold, please stay on the line!"

As soon as she finishes talking, a smooth jazz music floods through the phone and into Bucky's ear. It's nice, familiar. Just as he thinks he might recognize the song, he's met with another woman's voice.

"Good evening this is Washington's Finest, you've reached booking! I'm Paulina how may I assist you?" She speaks, that same sort of uncanniness present in her tone.

"Hi. Yeah, uh I'd like to book- I guess."

"Great! Well then you're in the right place, may I just get a name to make the reservation?"

He hesitates, wondering if he should give his real name. Paulina seems to notice this.

"It doesn't have to be your name, sir. Just any name that we can refer to you by for the booking."

He doesn't say anything. Paulina fills the silence again.

"Rest assured sir, we deal with many high profile customers, our privacy policies are top notch to ensure that your proclivities are kept-"

"Steve." He blurts.

"I'm sorry?"

"Steve. My name is Steve."

Why he just offered the name of his best friend? He doesn't know. But at the moment it's the only name coming to mind so it's gonna have to do.

The woman on the other end smiles almost audibly.

"Alright then, Steve. What service would you like to book with us?"

"Shit, I uh- I don't know. What... services do you have?"

There's a ruffling of papers, a click of a mouse, then her voice again. "We offer three main packages: the One Night, the Weekend Getaway and the Week Long All-Inclusive. Many first-time customers choose to start with the One Night, helps them to find a girl they connect with to book longer services with in the future."

Bucky nods, then remembers she can't see him. "Right. Okay, sure, yeah- the One Night sounds good, let's do that."

"Great! Sounds good, let's get you all reserved - when were you thinking to book your service?"

"I, um- whenever?"

"How about tonight?" She asks, tapping away almost violently at the computer.

He nods, once, twice- like he's trying to convince himself to go through with this. To stoop down to a level he swore he'd never reach. "You know what- sure, let's do tonight."

Paulina continues with the booking, going over various policies regarding payment and acceptable conduct with the girl he books. Then, she gets to the names. There are three girls with availability tonight:

Anya.

Peggy.

And you.

Peggy's out immediately- way too much baggage associated with that name. He eliminates Anya next, sounds too harsh to him.

Leaving him with you. A girl with a name that rolls of the tongue, who will be showing up at his brownstone in a little over three hours

You get the call a few minutes after Bucky hangs up, Paulina tells you that someone named Steve has requested your company tonight, and you're to attend an address in Alexandria at 9pm sharp.

You get ready as usual, wondering if this Steve will be another senator or congressman stepping out on his wife- citing the 'stress of the job,' for pushing them apart, or if he'll be some rich old guy with nothing better to do with his money, or maybe- a secret third option. What that is, you're not sure yet- but a girl can dream, can't she?

Either way- the routine never strays. Makeup, hair, lingerie under an unassuming outfit (men love it when they get to feel like they're unwrapping you). You're out the door by 8:30 and catch the bus to the address sitting in your email.

You get there a few minutes early, so you sit on a bench a few doors down until your phone reads 8:59PM. Then you start down the street to your assigned place of business.

You climb the steps then knock on the door a few times. A second later the door's swinging open. You recognize the face from the news, and from the museum, the former World War 2 hero turned Congressman.

Bucky Barnes.

Not Steve.

You weren't surprised. Didn't feel catfished. 90% of the time the name you're given isn't legit, but one given by the customer to maintain certain degrees of separation.

"Congressman Barnes," you say, nodding your head slightly to greet him.

He says your name in the same tone, but different- like it's more foreign to him. "Please, call me Bucky." He half smiles, stepping aside in the doorway though still terribly unsure of himself.

"Bucky," you repeat, stepping into the house through the open space next to him. "This is a nice place," you hum, kicking off your shoes while he shuts the door behind you. "Thanks," he replies.

"You want something to drink?" He asks, beckoning you to follow him into the kitchen. You do. "Oh, just water is fine, thanks. And ice if you've got."

He nods, filing your preference away then walking over to the fridge to pull out a pitcher, then a cupboard for a glass.

"So," you say, walking around to the opposite side of the kitchen island as him, "what got you calling up Washington's Finest?" He shrugs, sliding a glass full of ice water to you. You mouth a thanks before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip.

"What's anyone looking for when they order a hooker." He says, blunt as ever. You almost choke on the drink, setting it down with a thunk before coughing the water from your windpipe.

"Sorry- is that not what you're called?"

You shake your head, "no, I mean- hooker's not wrong it's just, we prefer call girl. Evokes a nicer image."

"Right. Call girl." He repeats, nodding his head.

You take one more sip, washing down any stuck remnants of liquid from your earlier near-asphyxiation. "So sex?"

"I'm sorry?" He asks.

"That's what most people are looking for when they order a hooker." You repeat his words back to him, earning a smile from the man. He nods, "can't argue with that logic."

He still hasn't answered your question.

"So... sex?" You try again

He coughs, like he was caught off guard. "Yeah, sure. I guess."

He says the words like they're true, but the look in his eyes says they're anything but.

"Right, okay." You reach into your purse and pull out a thin stack of folded paper. “Got a pen?” You ask, setting them both down on the counter: one in front of you, the other in front of Bucky. He quirks an eyebrow, “yeah,” then opens a drawer to retrieve one, “what’s this?”

“NDA,” you say plainly. He scoffs, “I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, “it’s nothing personal, just company policy.” You reach into your bag once more to take out your own pen, “it’s to cover both of our asses.”

He follows your lead, signing his name on the various lines and not bothering to read all the legal jargon. “Both our asses?” He questions, crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s.

You nod, not once looking up from the page. “Mhmm, that way if I get drunk and start blabbing about all the congressmen I’ve slept with and your name comes up, then you can sue or whatever.”

He watches as you flourish the pen along the paper, marking your name and initials down, then meets your eyes when you slide the forms away. His brows are furrowed, “you get drunk and run your mouth a lot?” He asks, tone half joking.

You smile, “I don’t, but some of the other girls aren’t as careful, like to brag about their customers ‘n such.” He hums, sliding his own papers forward to stack on top of yours.

“You good? Ready?” You ask, putting your pen and the papers back in your bag. Bucky replies with a borderline shaky sigh. You squint, not normally the reaction you get from customers. “Everything okay?”

He nods, slow and unsure. “How does this work exactly? Do we just… start?” You shrug. “It can work however you want it to work. We can do whatever you want to do.”

“What if I want to just… talk first.”

His behaviour is a refreshing contrast to the men you normally deal with- their minds are set on getting your clothes off the second you walk through the door.

“That’s fine,” you smile, “we can talk.”

He nods and exhales, like a weight’s just come off his shoulders. “So,” you start, “what do you want to talk about?”

“Right,” he says, like he forgot that having a conversation would require actual talking.

“Um. What got you into…” he trails off, looking for the right words, “this line of work.”

You laugh, “oh this is not my dream job, believe me. I’m just doing this to get through law school, only got one year left. I’m getting out of this business the second I pass the Bar.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, he clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. “Wow, law school. You go to GW?” You shake your head, “Georgetown.”

“Damn. They've got a good program over there.”

“I know,” you nod, “and expensive.”

“Ah,” he mouths, “hence the…” he gestures between the both of you, referring to the situation at hand.

“Exactly.”

“Parents can’t afford to help you out a little?”

You shake your head, “it’s not that they can’t afford it, they-” you stop yourself with a sigh. Any other customer would get a rehearsed answer about why you’re in this business, but any other customer wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place. “My parents died a few years ago, bank gave me a hard time with the inheritance — not that it was a whole lot, and there wasn’t very much left over after I paid off their house & some debts.”

He gives you a sympathetic look, the same one everyone gives after you drop the dead parents bomb. You give him a look that brushes off whatever empathetic sentiment he's conjuring up before he can say it. You shrug, “wanted to go to law school, couldn’t afford it, found a way to afford it. That’s all it is.”

He still doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking into your eyes like they’ve got some answer he’s been looking for all his life.

“I’m not proud of it,” you add, starting to rationalize and he quickly starts to shake his head.

“Oh, I didn't mean to imply that you should be ashamed or anything- I mean, fuck I’m the one who- I don't know, hired you? if anything I should be ashamed.”

You huff, “don’t be, you’re... different.”

Bucky smiles at that. “Different?”

“Yeah, most other customers have one thing and one thing only on their mind when I’m around but,” you shrug, “I don’t know, you don’t? I guess? You care about more than just the sex, I mean. At least I think you do. I hope you do."

You add the last part under your breath- you're not even sure why you add it- you know better than to feel anything more than a tolerance for one of your customers.

“Call me old fashioned, I guess.” He jokes. Some of his nerves appear to slough off when you laugh.

“Yeah, something like that,” you reply.

The room falls into a sort of silence, coming about after your laughter fizzles out. It's not awkward though, just like you're both weighing the options of what to say next.

"How about you?" You fill the air with your voice, the question catches Bucky off guard. "What about me?" he answers.

"Why Congress?" You shrug, "being in the history book once isn't enough for you?" It's teasing, but the question behind it still stands: why politics?

He raises his eye brows, bringing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Okay. Calling me an attention seeker?"

You tilt your head, "most of you are. I don't know why else anyone would chose a job where your employer is the fucking general population."

"First of all," he starts, corner of his lip raising in a challenging smirk, "they're called constituents- I work for the great people of Brooklyn, thank you very much."

You laugh, "right, right, constituents. I ask again, why spend your life doing such... thankless work? I'm telling you, 90% of these congressmen & senators have some small dick insecurity or something and need some big, powerful job title to make up for it."

Bucky scoffs, taking a few steps around the kitchen island to stand beside you now, you turn to face him, leaning your side against the countertop.

"Well, I definitely don't have that problem," he says, leaning in close against your ear. His voice sends a pulse down your spine that's received between your legs- husky and low.

He pulls away from you and spots the way your eyes had fluttered just barely shut in response to his breath against your skin. You blink- once, twice- trying to adjust to his new proximity to you. "I guess I had just spent enough of my life hurting people, and I wanted what life I have left to be spent helping 'em instead." He mutters the words, searching through your eyes like he lost something in them and if he looks hard enough he'll find it.

Then his eyes flick down to your lips, for a split second- like he's wondering if he should kiss you or not. But when he shifts just marginally away from you- it seems like he's decided against it. Your breath catches in your throat when he shifts, a jolt of borderline disappointment passing through you.

"Kiss me."

The words leave you before your better judgement can tell you otherwise. He wasn't expecting that.

"What?"

You swallow. "Kiss me," you repeat- more sure this time.

"Kiss you?" He asks like he's trying to make 100% sure he heard you right.

You nod once. "Kiss me. Please."

Bucky absorbs the words, then brings a hand up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. He drags his fingers down your jaw, before cradling his hand there at the nape of your neck. His calloused fingertips sit just at the back of your head, then he presses them into your skin and draws you towards him. He pulls you in until your lips are just barely brushing against his.

His lips are dry- not chapped, not rough- but dry like they're looking for something to quench their thirst. They're a stark contrast to your own, meticulously glossed over in that perfect shade that brings out your eyes just right.

Then he kisses you- finally, he kisses you. It's painfully soft, and you're immediately craving more. You bring your own hand up to the side of his face, tangling your fingers into his chocolate brown hair as you deepen the kiss.

He hums into your mouth as his eyes fall shut, and brings his other hand- the metal one- to your waist, pulling your body flush against him. You thought it'd feel harsh, mechanical even, but somehow his touch still manages to be soft.

Suddenly all you can think about is what those fingers would feel like inside of you.

You take your other hand up to the other side of his face, pulling him impossibly closer to you, taking a deep inhale when you do. The air you bring in is mix of second hand smoke and vintage cologne, it's undeniably him.

That snaps the last strand of Bucky's control, the last little thread that had him holding on to any chivalrous sense of decency. He's desperate for you. He thought he was in need of connection- of touch, but the second you walked in his door?

He needed you.

More than he'd ever needed anything else before.

He travels both of his hands down to the backs of your thighs, and picks you up in one seamless motion. You're shocked at his strength at first, but them remember who you're dealing with: Bucky Barnes, former Winter Soldier- he could probably throw you around like it was nothing if he wanted to.

And God, you really hope he wants to.

You wrap your legs around his waist once he's lifted you, and he starts to maneuver you through his house. Walking masterfully through the expanse of hallways within the brownstone without breaking away from the kiss for so much as a breath.

He pushes the door open with your back, taking one hand from under you to flick on the lamp just enough so he can see where the bed is. The dark orange light from the fixture floods the room, bouncing off every available surface & enveloping your bodies in an auburn blanket of warmth.

He lowers you down onto the bed with ease and crawls over top of you. He presses one last firm kiss against your lips before pulling away. His breathing is heavy and ragged, and you can't help but notice the faint blush on his cheeks when you open your eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks, his tone serious, "I know it's your job to say yes, but- do you want this?" If you say no he'd stop, of course he would, but right now he is praying to every higher power that you'll say yes.

No customer had ever asked you that before- asked the woman beneath the call girl what she wanted. And even if they did- it always came with the silent expectation that despite whatever you might want to say deep down, the answer would always be yes.

You nod, still breathless from the exchange earlier- but that's not enough for Bucky. "Words," he whispers, ducking his head down to the crook of your neck. "Tell me you want this, want me," he says, words muffled against your skin as he kisses it softly.

"Want this," you say, still nodding furiously, "want you."

He groans against your neck, raw and desperate. The vibrations ricochet down your body, landing with a throb between your thighs.

Bucky roams his hands down your body, and slides them under your shirt, splaying his fingers against your stomach. One hand's warm, inviting, sultry. The other- cool and unnaturally smooth. But both are soft, and the juxtaposing sensations makes you squirm.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful," he mumbles, tugging at the hem of your shirt then pulling it up over your head. You raise your arms to allow him to slide it off of you, leaving your chest covered with just the skimpy black lace bra you picked out before you left.

He travels his kisses along your neck, down to your collarbone, and across to the top of your ribcage. He moves down your chest, following along the geography of your sternum until his face is buried between your breasts.

One of his hands comes up to cup over the material, inner knuckle of his thumb brushing perfectly across your nipple. You gasp at the new contact, desperate to feel more of him- everywhere.

That sound only encourages him, emboldens him, and before you know it he's tucked his fingers underneath the thin material and is ripping the bra in half at the front seam. He pushes it aside and you shrug off the straps.

This bra was in your all star rotation- it was by far the most flattering one you owned. You should be upset, should scold him with something along the lines of making him buy you a new one, but right now you could not care less about that.

You're yanked from your train of thought when you feel Bucky's lips close around your nipple. His tongue swirling around the bud and teeth grazing it ever so gently. You arch your back, heaving your chest against him by consequence

He brings his hand to your unattended breast, squeezing and grasping at the flesh in just the right spots before pinching at that nipple.

“Please, Bucky,” you whimper, rolling your head back into his mattress while your fingers tug at his long dark strands of hair.

You feel him smirk against your chest, before he picks back up his head and slots his lips onto yours again. “Wanna taste you,” he says through kissing you, “can I?”

“You don’t have to, I’m-“

“I want to,” he cuts you off, “please?”

You nod, slow- but incredibly sure.

“O- okay. Yeah. Sure,” you breathe.

He smiles- like really smiles, then kisses you again1 before descending once more down your body. He leaves wet open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your chest and torso, hands working on undoing the clasp of your pants so he can push them off once he reaches the waistband.

He tosses the garment haphazardly somewhere in the room, before hooking his fingers through the band of your panties.

“This okay?” He asks, eyes hooded with lust as he looks up at you for your consent.

You nod- pathetically quick. “Yes. Please.”

The ends of his lips quirk upwards as he pulls the thin lacy material from your legs. It’s too slow- painfully slow. You wish he’d rip them off like he did with the bra.

Once they’re off, Bucky kneels on the floor in front of you, and hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He presses his lips to your clit, leaving a tender kiss over it, before licking a long steep stripe up your slit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hands finding his hair again like there’s some kind of magnet drawing them there. You pull his face against your cunt, forcing his tongue into your hole and knocking his nose against your clit.

“Oh my god,” you moan, arching your hips off the bed and even further into him before he plants you by the hips back into the mattress. He delves his tongue inside you, prodding eagerly through your slick and fucking it in and out of you.

It feels good- feels so good- but it’s not enough.

Your instinct takes over though, months of experience in appeasing men and making them think they’re bringing you to the edge to stroke their ego.

You tone up the moans, raising your volume and repeating Bucky’s name like a mantra. All things to signal that you’re getting close. Your tugs at his hair turn to pulls, thighs pressing around his head, as you lean into the act of an impending orgasm.

It’s not that you didn’t think he could get you there- it’s that you didn’t want him to wait.

“Fuck, Bucky- ‘m gonna cum,” you whine, squirming under him relentlessly. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps lapping at your cunt with his tongue.

“Shit- I- fuck, I'm coming, Bucky I'm-" you cut yourself off with a pornographic moan. One perfected through numerous uses, it's always believable. Always makes the man feel good about himself that he 'made a woman cum.'

Bucky doesn't buy it though. Not for a second.

"No you're not," he says, voice stern and words getting muffled against your pussy. The stubble lining his jaw scrapes at your inner thighs when he speaks.

"Does this not work for you?" He asks, pulling away from you and caressing your thighs. You shake your head, "no- I'm sorry it's not that, I just- it doesn't matter if I feel good or not. You're the customer." You prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at him.

His hair is disheveled from your hands being rooted in it, his chin and lips coated with your slick.

"Who the hell told you that?"

You shrug, "just common sense I thought."

He scoffs, "yeah well fuck that. Tell me what you want me to do. What you need me to do to get you there- for real."

"To be honest- I don't really know," you start.

Bucky cocks an eyebrow, "you don't know?"

You shrug again.

He sits back on his heels, sigh heaving from his chest. "Well, how 'bout this- when you touch yourself, what do you do that makes you cum?" The question's awkward, but for some reason you don't feel opposed to answering.

He traces his vibranium fingers up and down your inner thigh. The cool metal makes your muscles tense. "I want to make you feel good," he says, "but I can't do that if you don't tell me how to go about doing it."

You release a shaky exhale before you speak.

"I need something... inside."

Bucky smirks, "yeah? What's something?"

You shrug, "anything, really. Fingers, toy, dick."

He laughs at that, shaking his head before looking back up at you and leaning back in.

"Well how about," he starts, voice dangerously slow and fingers inching back towards your core, "I give you my fingers now, make you cum on those 'n get you all stretched out for me... Then, I give you the other thing."

You swallow hard, the anticipation building like a knot in your chest.

"Deal?" He asks, tip of his index finger brushing right above your clit. Your breath hitches when you nod. He smiles, "good girl. Now let me make you feel good."

And with that he disappears back between your legs.

Bucky wastes no time and gets right back to business. He wraps his lips around your clit like he never left, and pushes one finger into your tight cunt. He watches eagerly for your body's reaction, indulging in the way your head tilts into the mattress and your eyes roll back in the socket.

"That feel good?" He asks, the vibration against your pussy adds a new layer of pleasure. You nod quickly, "yes- fuck, feels good."

"Good," he smirks, adding a second finger into your hole and curling them inside you, then sucking harder at your clit. The moans slipping from your lips this time are angelic- ethereal, Bucky thinks. They're that beautiful because they're real. The sounds are a tangible demonstration of how good he's making you feel.

You don't notice when he adds a third finger, or when he brings his thumb to rub little circles at your clit, your senses are too bombarded with all the other inputs to register those little changes.

What you do notice, however, is how quickly you come tumbling towards the edge this time- the real edge, the brink of orgasm, not the metaphorical one you created to stroke the egos of your other customers.

Bucky notices too. Notices the way that when you're really close, you don't get louder, but get quieter- your jaw dropped open but no sounds to be heard. The way you clamp your eyes shut and grip onto his hair and the duvet for dear life. The way your hips writhe under him, desperately and subconsciously trying to create more friction for yourself.

He notices it all.

But his favourite thing he's noticed thus far, are the pretty noises you make when you do cum. No showy, perfectly defined moans, but little breathy whimpers that bleed into louder cries of his name as your release gushes out around his tongue.

Music to his ears.

"That's it, just like that, good girl," he coaxes, working you through the high. He gets lost in the way you taste, the noises you make- all of it.

What he doesn't notice that you've already come down from your first high, and so he doesn't stop. Just keeps laving at your slit, sucking at your clit and pumping three thick fingers inside your cunt until he's sending you hurdling towards a second orgasm.

"Oh my- fuckingGodBucky," the last words tumble from your lips in a single syllable as you cum again onto Bucky's tongue. He dips his mouth down, lapping up every last drop of your release like it could grant him eternal life.

When he finally pulls away, hands resting on your thighs to stop them from quaking, he sees the wet marks down your cheeks, and the new crystalline beads forming at the corners of your eyes.

He stands up quickly, a little concerned and hovers himself back over you again. "Hey," he speaks, voice soft, "you okay?" He brushes the hair from your face and the tears from your eyes.

All you can do is nod, breathing too heavy to form any words at the moment. After a second you speak, "felt too good." Bucky laughs, "too good? That sounds like a challenge."

You raise your eyebrows before tracing your eyes down his body, settling on the very evident bulge between his legs. "You did promise me something..." You trail, dragging one finger against him through the jeans. He lets out a strangled sigh at the tiniest bit of friction.

You smirk at your effect on him, before tugging him down to press your lips to his. You taste yourself on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth, you should be a little grossed out- but you could not care less.

The only thing on your mind right now is getting him inside of you.

You pull him to lie next to you, then roll yourself on top of him, straddling over his bulge and grinding your cunt against him. You moan into each others mouths, Bucky's hands find your ass, squeezing and groping at the flesh while yours move to the buttons of his shirt. Undoing them greedily- unapologetically eager to see what he looks like with nothing on.

He moves his arms to let you slide the shirt off of him, leaving him in just a white tank top which he sits up slightly to take off. You can't help but gawk when he's finally topless. Your eyes wander shamelessly over the expanse of his chest and you trace your fingers along the grooves of his muscles, lingering on the little scars and marks like you're trying to commit them to memory.

"Kids these days don't learn it's not polite to stare?" He says, snapping you out of the trance-like state his shirtless figure put you in.

You scoff, "what's not polite is looking like this and expecting me not to look." You lean down and press a kiss against his lips, "I'm just a girl. I see pretty abs & arms and I stare." You sit back up, shuffling down his legs to sit over his knees, then bringing your hands to undo the button and zipper on his pants.

He raises an eyebrow, "I have pretty abs and arms?" He asks, bending his knees to let you slide the slacks down and off of his legs. You stop dead in your tracks, fingers hooked into his boxers but not pulling them down yet- not when he just said that.

"You're joking, right?" He doesn't say anything, just stares at you with an amused look plastered onto his face, "Jesus Christ have you ever looked in a mirror, Bucky?" You shake your head through a laugh and finally pull his boxers down to free his cock.

You sigh at the sight of him. He's big- this you could assume from the way he carried himself. The confidence he exuded. The way he acted like he didn't have any physical detriments to compensate for.

But he's kind of- obscenely big.

You lick your lips and sweep your hair behind your ears and out of the way, before ducking down to take him in your mouth- but Bucky stops you before your lips even meet his tip.

"Not tonight," he says, "another time."

You raise an eyebrow, "another time?" He smirks, then pulls you up for a kiss, "yeah. Another time," he breathes, before pressing his lips to yours. Just from where you're straddling him, you can feel the head of his cock hitting dangerously close to your clit.

"I don't mean to inflate your ego anymore than it already is," you tease, pulling away to look down at him, "but- respectfully- how the fuck am I supposed to fit that inside of me?"

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully, then brings one hand to your hip and the other to wrap around himself, tilting it slightly so it lines up with your entrance. "You can take it. Don't worry." He moves you down by the hip just barely, you gasp when the very first millimeter of his cock prods into your entrance.

"Just take it slow, yeah? Take it slow."

He loosens his grip on your hips, allowing you to take the lead and decide how quickly you want to sink yourself onto him. You nod and plant your hands on his lower abdomen to steady yourself, before slowly- so, so slowly- moving down his length.

The stretch is unlike any you've ever felt before. A string of profanities floods out of your mouth and your head rolls back. Bucky's eyes threaten to close at the feeling of your walls hugging so tight around him, but he keeps them glued on where your bodies meet- watching intently at the way you swallow every inch of him inside of you.

"Just like that," he drawls, sucking in a breath and resisting every urge to buck his hips up and shove himself the rest of the way in.

"Holy shit, Bucky." Your breathing is ragged once you've finally sunk all the way down onto his length. The pads of his fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips, you're sure they'll leave bruises behind but all you can think about right now is how it feels like his cock is about to split you open.

"I know, baby, I know," he stutters, trying to maintain his composure as best he can. "I can't- fuck- too full, I can't," you shake your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes once again.

He pulls you down by the arm, lacing his fingers through yours then kissing you. It's soft, but only for a second. Before you know it he's sliding his tongue in your mouth and rolling you both over so he's on top now. He braces his forearms on either side of your head, and pulls away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours.

"You want this? Hm?" He pushes a strand of hair from your face, "want me to fuck you?" His tone is cocky, he knows you want him, but he wants to hear you say it.

"Yes, yes- fuck, please," you whimper, still wholly consumed by the feeling of his thick cock inside you. He smirks, "atta girl," he presses one last kiss to your lips- needy and desperate, before drawing his hips back, then slamming them back into you.

You practically scream at his sudden movement, the pleasure and pain of the stretch blending together and making your vision all fuzzy. The pace he sets is slow, but hard. Unrelenting.

Bucky drops his head to the crook of your neck, biting and kissing at your clavicle. Out of the corner of his eye he spots your hand, desperately gripping at the thin linen sheets to ground yourself. He takes it in his, before pulling it to rest on his back. You nails dig in to the musculature almost instantly, summoning a deep groan from within him.

With that same hand, he takes your leg to sit around his waist, pushing himself even deeper inside of you. The new tilt of his cock now knocks perfectly against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars, drilling into it with every thrust.

The room is hot, your bodies sticky with sweat. The only thing you can hear is the sound of Bucky's hips smacking against yours, his breathy grunts in your ear with every rock of his body into yours, and your repetitive cries of his name.

The pleasure is everything. It's all consuming, earth shattering- but somehow it's still not enough.

"Please," you breathe, "need- fuck, go faster."

He picks his head up to look at you, "yeah?"

You nod, desperate- begging. "Need more, please."

Bucky scoffs, "need more?" He repeats- almost mocking you. You just keep nodding. "Well alright then," he grunts, and you can hear the smirk playing across his lips.

His next actions happen in a whirlwind. He pulls himself out of your pussy, coaxing a whine from your throat when you suddenly feel so empty. Then with one strong vibranium arm he's flipping you over, your face smushing into the pillow before you turn your head.

He brings the same hand underneath you, cool metal fingers splaying across your lower belly as he slams all the way back inside you. Your eyes go wide, accompanied by a load moan of his name before they're clamping down shut again.

His new rhythm is cruel. He looks down and watches the ripples of your ass with every thump of his hips into yours. Bucky presses the hand he has under you against your skin, he can literally feel himself sliding in and out of you. Can feel how deep he is inside of you.

"Oh my- God!" You choke out the last word when he pushes on your lower belly, walls immediately clenching around him.

He hisses out a breath, "you wanted this, hm? So take it. Be a good doll and take it."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky 'm gonna cum." Right as the words leave you, all your senses melt into a white hot static as your orgasm rips through your body.

"Yeahhh, atta girl. Just like that- cum on my cock just like that, huh?" His low voice coaches you through it, never once stopping his unrelenting hips against yours.

His hips finally start to stutter, right as his high starts creeping up on him. You can tell from his thrusts getting shallower that he plans on pulling out to finish- while it's the sensible thing to do- it's also the last thing you want him to do.

"Don't," you gasp.

"What?"

"Don't pull out. Wanna feel you, please God, need to feel you."

He wants to ask if you're sure, but before he can form the words he's falling over the edge. He groans your name and shoots his spend deep inside you, marking you- ruining you for anyone else.

Bucky's thrusts into you turn lazy, then coming to a complete halt right before he pulls out of you. One last whimper falls from your lips, your hole feeling both so empty yet so full of him.

"Holy shit," he huffs, sliding his hand from under you and rolling to lie down next to you.

You turn onto your side to look over at him, your eyes still find a way to linger on his chest. Once he cracks his eyes open and sees you ogling him again, he can't help but laugh.

"You've really got quite the staring habit, huh?"

Your lips turn up into a smile, "can't exactly help it."

He shakes his head, letting his eyes fall shut as his breathing finally comes back to a normal pace. The both of you are too tired to say anything, but really- there's nothing that needs to be said.

He wasn't expecting a girl like you to be the one that knocked on his door- nor were you expecting a man like him to answer. Both of you know this was more than just a business exchange. Even though there'd be money deposited in your account after this, it felt different.

This wasn't just a hook up- it was a reckoning.

When Bucky opens his eyes again, there's a different look in them. And when he stares at you, searching through your own eyes for the answer he's been looking for all night- it's like he's finally found it.

He pulls you into him, moving you so that you lay your head on his chest. He presses a kiss into your hair, and traces his hand up and down your shoulder.

Neither of you say anything more, his eyes said it all already- stay.

And you do.

please let me know what you think!!! reblogs & comments mean more than u know!!!

[guliexe]

━━━EXTRA HELP 18+

Hirota Riki/Maki x Tutor!Female!Reader — University AU

.ᐟwarnings/tags: enemies to lovers (kinda), slow burn, angst, tutor!reader, dom!maki, reader is kinda dramatic, bad boy!maki, texting, making out, dry humping, praising, oral (m & f receiving), face fucking, dacryphilia, cum eating, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v, finger sucking, bulge kink kinda, multiple orgasms

♡ you agreed to tutor the campus bad boy—now you're tangled in his sheets, and maybe his heart too.

.ᐟwc: 12.5k (no proofread)

There were a few things everyone on campus knew about Riki. First, he didn’t care about school. Second, he didn’t care about girls. And third, he definitely didn’t care about you. He was the kind of guy who never showed up to lectures but still had his name shouted across the quad. The kind of guy who could be seen with a new girl every weekend, yet never seemed attached to any of them. You’d catch glimpses of him outside the dorms, leaning against his black car, hands in his pockets, always smirking at something like he was in on a secret the rest of the world had missed. His reputation wasn’t subtle either. Everyone knew he smoked and partied. Everyone knew he fucked. And everyone knew he didn’t try—at anything. Especially not uni. You, on the other hand, were practically invisible compared to him. You were a normal student. Smart, yeah—but not some overachiever robot. You had friends, you went out every now and then. But you didn’t play around when it came to school. You worked hard for your grades. You showed up and gave a shit.

The only time Riki ever acknowledged you was to throw a lazy smirk your way during a lecture—usually after interrupting the class with some half-assed question or sarcastic comment. You didn’t know if he did it to get under your skin, or if he even knew who you were. Either way, it worked. You hated him. His cockiness, his stupid pretty face, the way he acted like the world owed him something. You hated the way he stretched his legs out under the desk, the way he always leaned back in his chair just enough to make you pray it’d finally tip over. You hated how his voice always carried—low, rough, lazy—like nothing ever really demanded his full attention. But most of all, you hated how aware of him you’d become. It wasn’t on purpose. You didn’t mean to notice the way his sleeves were always pushed up just enough to show the veins in his arms, or how he had a habit of playing with his hair when he was bored. It didn’t matter. You noticed anyway. Just like you noticed the way girls always giggled when he passed, how they looked at him like he was something dangerous they wanted to touch anyway. And he let them. All of them. Because Riki didn’t care about anyone.

Which is why it made absolutely no sense when your professor sat you down after class and said, with complete seriousness,“I’m assigning you as Riki’s tutor.” You blinked. “Wait—what?” “He’s failing. If he doesn’t pass the next exam, he’ll be dropped from the course.” You stared. “And you think I’m going to save him?” “I think you’re capable. You’re sharp, patient, and you don’t fall for bullshit. He might actually learn something.” You huffed. “He doesn’t even bring a pen to class.” “Then bring two.”And just like that, you were stuck. After what your professor told you, you knew better. If Riki was gonna pass anything, he needed more than a miracle, he needed someone to drag his lazy ass to a table and force information into his head. And apparently, that someone was you. So after your last class, you went looking for him. You heard loud laughter coming from behind the law building—that kind of laughter, the kind that usually surrounded him like secondhand smoke. You followed the sound, and sure enough, there he was. Leaning against the wall with a few of his friends, half a joint in between his fingers, wearing a loose hoodie, baggy jeans sagging, like he hadn’t just missed another full day of lectures. He was mid-convo when he spotted you walking up, and his smile deepened. “Well, well,” he drawled. “Didn’t think I was on your hunt list.” You ignored the chorus of curious glances from his friends and came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed.

“We need to talk,” you said. “Sounds serious.” He didn’t move, just tilted his head and looked you up and down like you were something unexpected. “Should I be scared?” “Only if you like failing.” That made his smirk twitch. “Cute.” You sighed. “Professor told me to tutor you.” “Cool.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie. “Tell her thanks, but no thanks.” “She said you’re going to fail if you don’t.” “And?” “And,” you said sharply, “she’s giving you one chance. Me. You either take it or get dropped from the class.” He stared at you for a second, then leaned off the wall just enough to step closer. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You came here to give me homework?” he says, taking a hit of his joint. “I came because I actually care about this class. Unlike you. And i had no other choice.” “Aw,” he cooed. “You care about me.” You gave him a look so flat it could kill. “This isn’t a joke.” “No, but you are,” he said with a little grin. “You think I’m gonna suddenly turn into a straight-A student because some stupid girl from the front row gives me lessons?”

You froze. Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, slow and sour. Stupid girl. The phrase echoed in your head like it was meant to bruise. You didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at him, arms crossed tighter, a bitter fire creeping up your spine. Riki took another drag, watching you through the smoke. Then you spoke. “Say that again,” you said quietly. Not weak quiet—sharp quiet. Dangerous quiet even. “Call me stupid one more time.” His smirk faltered. Just a little. “I didn’t mean it like—” “Yes, you did,” you snapped. “You meant it exactly like that. Because it’s easier to act like this doesn’t matter than admit you’re scared you’ll fail.” His brows lifted slightly. “Scared?” “You think no one notices, but we all do. You never stay in one place. You never try. You’re so busy pretending nothing matters just in case something actually does.” Riki blinked. You stepped forward, chin lifted. “So go ahead. Keep acting like you’re too cool to care. But don’t waste my time if you’re not going to show up.” There was silence. His friends were watching now, but you didn’t even glance at them. Your eyes were locked on him, and for once, Riki didn’t have a snarky comeback. He just stared at you like you’d taken all the wind out of him. He dropped his joint and stepped on it. “Damn,” he muttered, glancing away. “You’ve got a mouth on you.” You turned to go. “Forget it. I’ll tell professor you refused.”But before you could take another step, his voice stopped you. “Library,” he said. You turned your head just enough to see him scratch the back of his neck, eyes half-lidded. “I’ll be there.” You narrowed your eyes. “When?” “Tuesday,” he muttered. “Four.” You didn’t smile. Didn’t thank him. You just nodded once, “Don’t be late.” Riki rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait.” And as you walked away, you didn’t look back, though if you had, you might’ve seen the way he watched you go. Like you weren’t stupid at all. Like you were the first person who’d ever actually told him the truth.

Tuesday came, and he was twelve minutes late. You’d already found a spot in the far corner of the library, tucked away behind tall shelves and low lighting, where you could actually focus without distractions. Except he was the distraction. And he wasn’t even here yet. You were just about to give up and text your professor when you heard it—The soft creak of shoes and the low scrape of a chair being pulled out behind you. “Relax, I’m here.” You turned. There he was, backpack slung over one shoulder, black tank top, tousled hair falling messily into his eyes. He dropped into the seat across from you, one leg sprawled out under the table, arms resting lazily on either side. He looked…good. And you hated that you noticed. “You’re late,” you said, crossing your arms. He gave a slow shrug. “Only by a little.” “Twelve minutes is not ‘a little.’ “Wasn’t gonna show at all, honestly,” he muttered, pulling out a notebook that looked barely touched. “Consider this progress.” You bit back a comment and opened your textbook instead. “Fine. We’ll start with the basics. What do you remember from last lecture?” Riki blinked at you. “…We had a lecture?” You inhaled sharply. “Okay. Great. Starting from zero.” He smirked at your expression, leaning forward slightly. “You’re kinda cute when you’re stressed.” You didn’t dignify that with a response, just shoved the textbook closer to him. “Read this. Then answer the first two questions.”

He groaned but leaned in anyway, eyes skimming the text like it personally offended him. You watched him from the corner of your eye—how he chewed his bottom lip when he concentrated, how his fingers tapped idly against the table. After a few minutes, he spoke. “This is so boring,” he said. “How do you not fall asleep doing this?” You sighed. “Because I care about my grades. And my future.” He leaned back again, chair creaking. “Mm. Nerd.” “Degenerate.” He grinned at that. “Big words, tutor girl.” You rolled your eyes, but your mouth twitched anyway. Despite everything, his attitude, his laziness, he was at least here. And somehow, that was already more than you expected. You tried to focus. Tried to walk him through the basic concepts, tried to be patient when he interrupted with sarcastic questions or dramatic sighs. But as time passed, something shifted. He started paying attention—really paying attention. His posture changed, and his jokes softened. Every once in a while, he’d ask a real question. And you’d answer. And for a second, it almost felt normal. Like he wasn’t the guy you used to hate and glare at across the classroom.

You were just mid-sentence, pointing out something in the textbook, when you realized how close he’d leaned in—his shoulder brushing yours ever so lightly, his scent suddenly very real. Warm. Clean, with a hint of something smoky underneath. You cleared your throat, “…Anyway, that’s why the theory matters.” “Mhm,” he murmured. But he wasn’t looking at the page anymore. He was looking at you. You tried to ignore it—his eyes on you. Tried to focus on the text, on the notes you’d scribbled in the margins earlier, but it was hard to concentrate with Riki that close. His knee brushed yours under the table and neither of you moved. Not right away. “You’re not as boring as I thought,” he said suddenly. You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks?” “Not a compliment.” But he was smiling, a little softer than usual. You rolled your eyes again, looking down at the book. “Well, you’re exactly as frustrating as I thought.” “Hot and frustrating,” he said, leaning back just enough to throw you a cocky grin. Your face heated before you could stop it. “Focus.” “I am focused.” You gave him a flat look. “Fine.” He leaned in again, this time closer than before, the air between you thinning by the second. “But you have to admit something.” You blinked. “What?” “That you think I’m hot.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “I literally never said that.” “You didn’t have to,” he said, smug. “You’re blushing.” “I’m not—” you fight back. “You are.” You looked down, closing the book in frustration. “This is impossible.” “Relax,” he said, voice lower now, amused. “I’m just messing with you.” But there was something in his eyes. Something that made your stomach twist a little. You stood up quickly, grabbing your pen and textbook, stuffing them back into your bag with a little too much force. “I think we’re done for today,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “You should go over that again on your own.” “Wait, what?” he sat up straighter. “Why—” “I’ll email you the practice sheet later.” You turned too fast, one hand still shoving your notebook into the bag—so fast you didn’t see the chair leg sticking out from the side of the table, or the way your foot caught on it. Your balance slipped before you could catch yourself. “Shit—!” A pair of hands grabbed your waist instantly, pulling you forward with a sudden jolt of strength, and the next thing you knew, your palms were planted on the table, on either side of him. He’d caught you. Except now, he was half-seated on the edge of the table, and you were leaning over him—face inches from his, chest almost pressed to his, breath caught in your throat. You froze completely.

So did he. One of his hands was still on your waist. The other had found the small of your back, fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater like he’d done it without thinking. His mouth was slightly parted, and up close, you could see everything—his frowned brows, the slow rise of his chest under his hoodie, the flicker of something behind his eyes that made your skin burn. “You good?” he asked quietly. You nodded. You thought you nodded. It was hard to tell with the way your heart was pounding in your ears. “Didn’t know you wanted me that bad,” he said, the smirk returning. You exhaled a sharp breath and pushed yourself off him fast, standing up straight, smoothing your hair back like that somehow made things less awkward. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, flustered. But he didn’t move. He just stayed there, eyes still on you, lips curving up at the edges like he was holding back something else. “You always this clumsy?” he asked. “Shut up Maus.” He chuckled warmly and leaned back against the table like he hadn’t just caught you in the most intimate, accidental moment of your life. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like none of it had happened. You grabbed your bag and turned away, hoping he couldn’t see the heat rising in your cheeks. “We’ll see.”

You didn’t even want to go, but your friends insisted. Said you’d been cooped up too long with your nose in textbooks. That you needed to “unclench” for one night. That you were too pretty to waste another Friday night at home. So here you were, packed into someone’s dimly lit house, music thumping through the floorboards, cheap liquor in your cup, and the smell of weed floating through the halls. You weren’t even three steps in before you saw him. Riki. He was leaning back against the kitchen island like he owned the place, black denim slung low on his hips, showing the band of his boxers, silver earring catching the light. A red Solo cup dangled lazily from his fingers as he laughed at something the girl next to him said. She was blonde, pretty, definitely more his type than you. She said something, and he smirked, the kind of smirk that tugged at one corner of his mouth and made your stomach flip. You told yourself not to look. You told yourself not to care. But it was hard not to notice the way her hand was already on his arm. Or the way she was leaning in like she knew he’d let her. Your chest tightened. “C’mon,” your friend tugged your sleeve. “Let’s get drinks.” You followed numbly, the burn of jealousy hot in your throat. You just needed to get away from that view. Grab a drink, breathe, pretend Riki wasn’t the only thing on your mind even here, in a room full of people you didn’t know or like. You reached the kitchen just as that same girl turned, laughing at something he said, and crashed straight into you.

Cold, sticky liquid splashed across your chest and soaked into your top. The drink hit your skin with a sudden shock. You gasped, stumbling back as your friend cursed under her breath. “Oh my god,” the girl said, blinking wide eyes at you. “I didn’t see you. Shit, I’m—” She cut off when she recognized you. Her lips twitched, like she almost smiled. Of course she knew who you were. The nerd. The tutor. The girl Riki had to be paired with. You could see it all click behind her eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” she said again, too casual. “Hope that wasn’t, like… expensive.” You stood there frozen, drenched and embarrassed, your cup long gone and your pride somewhere under the sink. Riki finally turned around, eyes narrowing the second he saw you. You weren’t sure what expression crossed your face, but whatever it was, his changed too. The lazy smirk was gone. He looked almost…irritated. “You good?” he asked, directing it at you but stepping away from her. You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Your friend was already trying to dab your shirt dry with a crumpled napkin, but the damage was done—the fabric clung to your chest, translucent in the worst places. “I need to go change,” you mumbled.“There’s a bathroom upstairs,” Riki said, already moving to lead the way. You hesitated, then followed. You didn’t miss the way the other girl watched him go, arms crossed tight.

The hallway was quieter than you’d expected. The bass from the party thudded faintly below, muffled by the walls, and the air up here felt cooler, calmer. You followed a few steps behind Riki, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to focus on the way your shirt clung to your skin. He stopped at the end of the hall, tapping the door beside him. “You can clean up here.” You reached for the handle, but he didn’t step away—just looked down at you, quiet. His eyes flicked briefly to your shirt, then back to your face, unreadable. “You good?” he asked, voice low. You nodded, too fast. “Yeah. Just cold.” He blinked slowly, like he didn’t believe you but wasn’t going to say it. Then he pulled his hoodie off over his head—some black oversized thing with faint white lettering on the chest—and held it out. You hesitated. “You don’t have to—” “Just take it,” he said.

You took it. His fingers brushed yours for a second, and your stomach flipped. You ducked into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind you before facing the mirror. The damage was worse than you thought. Pink drink soaked through your top and dried in a sticky pattern across your chest. Your bra showed clearly through the fabric, and your skin was flushed, not just from embarrassment, but…something else. Something about the way Riki had looked at you downstairs. The way his eyes narrowed when that girl leaned in. The way he didn’t say anything—but still didn’t look away from you either. You exhaled, peeled off your shirt, and pulled his hoodie over your head. It was soft, loose, and smelled faintly like him—cologne and laundry detergent. Then, a knock. “Still okay in there?” You cracked the door open and peeked out. He was still there, leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in his pockets. His eyes slid over you slowly, landing on the hoodie. “Looks better on you.” You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “You’re so annoying.” He tilted his head.

“You say that a lot.” “That’s because it’s always true.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Mm.” His eyes flicked down to where the sleeves hung past your hands. “You kinda look cute like that though.” You froze. The hallway suddenly felt too warm. “I—I just didn’t want to walk around soaked, that’s all.” “Didn’t say you did.”His voice was different now, lower, like he was playing with you. Teasing, but not in a way that begged for a fight. Just enough to make you want to look away. You didn’t, though. You kept your chin up, even as your heart pounded. Then he stepped even closer, slightly closing the door. There was barely any space between you now. You could feel the warmth of him, see the little mole on his cheek, the slight curve of his mouth like he was holding something back. “You’re quieter when you’re embarrassed,” he said softly. “I’m not embarrassed.” “You keep lying to me.” You huffed and tried to look away, but his hand came up to brush your jaw, guiding your gaze back to him. Your breath caught. He didn’t say anything else. Just looked at you for a moment too long, eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips. It was like something cracked in the air. Like gravity shifted and pulled the two of you closer. Then— Knock knock knock. “Hey! You in there?” your friend’s voice. “Everything okay?” You both jumped slightly. Riki blinked, then let out a quiet breath and took a step back. You swallowed hard. Your heart still hadn’t settled. “I’m fine,” you called out. Your friend’s voice faded as she wandered off, muttering something about looking for the snacks. Riki glanced at you, then gave a soft laugh under his breath—barely audible. “What?” you asked. He shook his head. “Nothing.” You narrowed your eyes. “You think this is funny?” “No,” he said, turning to head back toward the stairs. “I think you’re cute when you’re shy.” You stood frozen for a second before following him. You didn’t know what that almost-kiss was. Or if he even meant it to happen.

The library was quiet in that particular way it always was around exam season. Clicks of keyboards, the occasional squeak of a chair, a cough far off in the distance—nothing loud enough to cut through the silence fully. You walked in with your bag slung over your shoulder, already regretting agreeing to meet so late in the day. The low golden light pouring in through the windows made everything feel softer, more intimate. And he was already there. Riki sat at one of the corner tables, sprawled out like always, one arm resting lazily over the back of the chair, the other flipping through a worn notebook. His hoodie sleeves were pushed to his forearms, earbuds on, and he looked up just as you spotted him. Your heart jumped embarrassingly fast. You looked away just as quickly, trying to act like you hadn’t seen him, hadn’t noticed the way his gaze flicked down briefly before returning to your face. You approached the table, setting your bag down carefully, avoiding his eyes. “You’re late,” he said, voice low, teasing but quiet enough not to draw attention. You sat down, pulling out your notes. “By like three minutes.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Three minutes too long.” You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—not without sounding weird. Not without blushing, and unfortunately, that was already happening anyway. You could feel the heat climbing up your neck, and you kept your eyes glued to your notes, pretending to find something very important on the page. Riki didn’t say anything at first. You could feel him watching you, and it made every movement harder, flipping pages, uncapping your pen, sitting still.

“So,” he finally said, dragging the word out a little. “You’re gonna look at me today, or is this gonna be a tutoring session where you just talk to your highlighter?” You inhaled sharply. “I’m looking at you right now.” You weren’t. He leaned closer over the table, just slightly—just enough for his voice to lower even more. “You’re not,” he murmured. “You haven’t looked at me since Saturday.” You gripped your pen tighter. “I’ve been busy.” His voice was calm. “You’ve been nervous.” That made your eyes snap to his—huge mistake. Because when you finally looked at him, everything you’d been trying to suppress came rushing back. The party. His voice in the hallway. The hoodie. His fingers brushing your face like he’d done it a thousand times. And how close he’d gotten, how close you both were. You blinked and looked away again, this time staring at the desk. “See?” he said, like he’d just won a bet. You crossed your arms. “Can we just study?” A pause. Then a soft chuckle. “Sure,” he said. “Go ahead.” You continued explaining formulas you’d explained before, stumbling through examples you knew by heart. You could feel your ears burning. Every time you tried to focus, you felt his eyes on you. Not in a harsh way—just steady, present, he was listening to more than just your words.

Somewhere between chapter five and question eight, the space between you and Riki had gotten… smaller. Not suddenly. Slowly, gradually. At first, you’d sat across from him, the wide wooden table serving as a comfortable barrier. But then he’d leaned in to point something out in your notes, and you’d shifted a little closer so you could see better, and then somehow—without really realizing it—you were sitting side by side. Close enough to feel the heat off his arm. Close enough that when you leaned in to write something, your knees almost touched. You tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the numbers, the words, anything but the way your body felt like it was betraying you. Every time he shifted or breathed, you flinched just slightly, like your whole system was on edge. He, of course, looked completely relaxed. Riki leaned back lazily in the chair, hoodie rumpled, one leg stretched out beneath the table. He was listening, sure, but mostly watching. And it didn’t help that every time you stumbled over a word or lost your place mid-sentence, he smirked like he knew exactly why. “You’re better at this than me,” he murmured at one point, tapping your notebook. “But you still sound nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” you said quickly.

He raised a brow. “No?” “No,” you insisted, not looking up. He didn’t press. He didn’t have to. Because a few minutes later, it happened. Your hands had both been resting on the desk for a while—yours still, careful, his loose and spread out like he had no idea what personal space meant. Little by little, as the session stretched on, the distance between your hands started to shrink. Neither of you moved them on purpose, but still, closer…closer… until your pinkies brushed. You barely breathed. And then, very softly, he let his pinky drift back over yours. Just a whisper of a touch. He didn’t look down, didn’t say anything. Just started brushing his finger along the side of yours in slow, lazy strokes. Like it was nothing. You sat completely still, the air suddenly too warm and too thin all at once. You could feel it—his finger, featherlight, brushing against you again and again. And you could feel his eyes on you too, even if you didn’t dare look. Your heart thudded in your ears. “Riki,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head slightly, waiting. You blinked down at your notes. Then back at your hand. You were so warm you could feel your pulse in your fingertips. “Um,” you said quickly, standing up a little too fast. “Okay—that’s it for today. You did good.” He blinked, surprised. “That’s it?” “Yep.” You were already gathering your stuff, heart in your throat. “We’re done.” “Thought we had twenty more minutes.”

You shrugged, trying not to let your voice crack. “Bonus points for finishing early.” Riki didn’t move. Just watched you with that slight smile, soft and unreadable. “…You sure?” You zipped up your bag, cheeks on fire. “Mhm.” You could feel his eyes following you as you adjusted the strap on your bag, willing your hands not to shake. You hadn’t meant to end the session that abruptly, but the second his finger touched yours, you’d short-circuited. You needed air. Distance. Something. “Let me walk you home,” he said suddenly. You looked up. “What?” Riki stood slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulde, “It’s late. I don’t like the idea of you walking alone.” “I—I live like five minutes from here,” you said, voice catching in your throat. “So I’ll walk for five minutes,” he replied easily, already heading toward the library exit. You didn’t know how to argue with that. Not when he held the door for you without another word, stepping into the cool night air like it was completely normal for him to be doing this. The walk was quiet at first. The world around you was still, humming softly with distant streetlights and the sound of your shoes on pavement. He walked close, not quite touching, but near enough to make you hyper-aware of every step, every breath. “I thought I made you nervous,” he said after a beat. You glanced at him. “You do.” His mouth twitched. “Then why’d you let me walk you home?” You hesitated. “Because you insisted.” That made him laugh quietly, under his breath. “Right.” A moment passed. You reached your building, the familiar sight of the front steps making your stomach flip. “Well,” you said, slowing down. “Thanks for, um—”

“You always end things before I’m ready,” Riki said, cutting in. His voice was low, not teasing exactly—just honest. “In the library. Just now.” Your breath caught. “I didn’t mean to.” He stepped in front of you, just a little. Blocking your way, gently. His eyes found yours, and this time, you couldn’t look away. You could feel it—the same current that had been building since the party, since the near-kiss, since today in the library when his pinky brushed yours and it felt like your whole body forgot how to function.

The next thing you knew, he was stepping forward—slow, like he was giving you time to stop him—and then his hand brushed yours again, gently. His fingers slipped between yours, warm and steady. You froze. And then, slowly, you looked up at him. He was closer now, so close you could see the shadow of his lashes, so close you could smell him. His thumb moved, brushing across your knuckles, barely there. “Don’t run again,” he said, quietly. Your breath caught. “I’m not—” But before you could finish, he leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Warm. His lips pressed to yours like he’d been thinking about it for days—like he’d been holding it back all this time, waiting for the right moment, the right breath, the right look. It wasn’t rushed nor messy. Just his mouth on yours, tender and certain, like he already knew you’d kiss him back, and you did. Your fingers curled into his hoodie. You tilted your chin just slightly. The second your lips moved against his, he sighed, soft and low, and kissed you deeper. Still gentle, but slower now, hungrier. His other hand came up to your waist, not pulling, just there, grounding you while the world tipped sideways. When you finally pulled away, your face was hot. Your whole body was hot. You blinked up at him, breath shaky, lips tingling. He stared at you for a long second, thumb still brushing your waist. “Now you can go.” You wanted to say something. But all that came out was a tiny, flustered sound that made him grin—soft and smug and barely there. You slipped out of his reach, shy all over again. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, pretty.” he said, still watching you. And you were pretty sure you floated all the way to your door. The door clicked softly behind you, but you didn’t move. You just stood there in the quiet of your apartment, blinking into the dark like your brain hadn’t caught up to the fact that yes—he kissed you. For real, this time. Not almost. Not nearly. He kissed you and it didn’t feel like a one-time thing. It felt like a beginning. Your fingers came up to touch your lips. Still warm. You didn’t know how long you stood there before you finally moved, slipping out of your shoes, bag sliding off your shoulder as you made your way toward your room on shaky legs. The silence was deafening now, but your heart was still pounding—like it didn’t want to forget the feel of his mouth on yours. Or the way he looked at you after, like he was proud of himself for getting under your skin. You got ready slowly, almost on autopilot. Changed into a tank top and sleep shorts, washed your face and lied in bed.

Riki

u home safe?

♡

You

yeah :)

it was nice tonight

♡

Riki

yeah

i wanna kiss u again

♡

You

me too :(

wanna see u

can i tutor u tmr?

♡

Riki

yes bby

i’ll see u tmr

have a gn <3

♡

You

goodnight riki :)

You’re five minutes early. The wind bites at your cheeks as you walk toward the library steps, hugging your jacket tighter. You check your phone, scrolling to Riki’s last message—“meet u outside <3”—sent fifteen minutes ago. Your heart’s light. You didn’t even bother to hide the smile on your face the whole way here.But then you look up, and freeze. He’s standing by the stone wall near the entrance, just a few steps away. You see his hoodie, the slight slouch in his posture—familiar and stupidly comforting. But he’s facing someone. A girl. Her hands are on his shoulders. And before you can fully process what’s happening—she leans in and kisses him. And Riki doesn’t push her away. Not right away. Not fast enough. Not before your stomach drops. You don’t realize you’ve made a sound until Riki turns his head sharply, his eyes locking with yours. It takes a split second. Your feet move before your brain does. You turn around and bolt. Down the steps, past the trees, across the yard. Your throat is tight. You hate that your eyes sting already. You blink hard, trying not to cry in the middle of campus like an idiot. “Wait—Y/N!!” His voice slices through the air, panicked, but you ignore it. You keep walking, fast, arms wrapped around yourself like they might hold your chest together. But then you hear it again, closer this time—“Stop—please, wait—” His fingers close around your wrist, gentle but firm. “Y/N, wait—just let me—” You yank your arm away like it burns. He flinches. Your voice comes out thin and raw. “Don’t.” He freezes in front of you, breathing hard, eyes wide. “It wasn’t what it looked like.” You laugh. It sounds broken, bitter. “Right.” “She kissed me,” he says quickly. “I didn’t—she just—” “It’s fine.” You cut him off, voice sharp. Your hands are trembling, and you shove them into your pockets so he doesn’t see. “We weren’t anything anyway.” Riki blinks.

Like he didn’t expect that to come out of your mouth. Like he can’t quite believe you said it. You swallow hard, your throat tight. “You should go back to her.” His face falls. He actually looks hurt. “Don’t say that.” You step back. “Why not? She obviously wants you. You let her kiss you. Maybe she’s more your type.” Riki shakes his head, jaw clenched. “You don’t get it.” “No, I don’t,” you snap. “And I don’t think I want to anymore.” You don’t wait to see the way his expression shatters. You turn and walk off again, fast, ignoring his voice behind you, ignoring the way your chest feels like it might crack open. You just need to be alone before the tears fall for real. You make it home before the tears really start. But once the door shuts behind you, it’s over. You sink down to the floor, your bag still slung over your shoulder, and bury your face in your hands. God. You were so stupid. You knew what kind of guy he was. Riki—the bad boy, the campus heartbreaker, the one who didn’t give a damn about anyone. He skipped class, flirted for fun, kissed girls at parties and it meant nothing. So why did it feel like he meant it with you? Why did it feel real? You curl up on your bed a while later, your throat raw from crying, your pillow damp. Your phone lights up every few minutes—his name over and over.

Riki

calling…

calling…

missed call (8)

missed call (9)

missed call (10)

You ignore every one. Until you can’t anymore. The eleventh time, you finally press accept. You hold the phone up to your ear, but you don’t say anything right away. There’s silence. Then, with your voice hoarse and unsteady, barely more than a whisper, “…what do you want?” There’s a beat of silence on the other end. Then a low, broken breath. “Fuck—baby,” Riki says, his voice wrecked. “Please don’t hang up.” You bite your lip hard, trying not to let the tears start again. Your voice shakes anyway.“Why are you calling me?” you whisper. “Didn’t get enough with her?” “No,” he snaps, immediate. Desperate. “It wasn’t like that. She kissed me—I didn’t—I didn’t kiss her back. I pushed her off. I swear to god, baby.” You close your eyes, heart pounding painfully. “I saw you.” “And I saw you walk away with tears in your eyes, and it fucking killed me.” His voice cracks slightly. “I didn’t even get to explain. I—I never wanted her. I only wanted you.” You’re silent. Your breathing’s uneven, and your throat aches. “I know what it looked like,” he says quietly, “but you have to believe me. You’re the only one I’ve been thinking about since that first day. You—fuck, baby, I’m so sorry. I’d never do that to you. Never.” Your fingers curl around the edge of your blanket. “…you don’t get to call me baby right now,” you whisper, trying to sound angry—but it comes out weak. Wounded. Riki breathes in, like he’s trying to steady himself. “Okay. Okay, I won’t. Just…let me talk to you. Please.”

There’s a long pause. You finally speak again, small and broken, “I thought you actually liked me.” “I do.” His voice rises, full of emotion now. “I do like you. You think I’m lying? You think I’d show up to every tutoring session, text you every night, call you ten times just to hurt you? I didn’t even want anyone else to look at me once I had you.” “…then why did she kiss you?” “I don’t know. I don’t care. I was waiting for you.” Another tear slips down your cheek. You press your lips together. “…I need to go.” “No—wait. Please.” His voice is rough. “Don’t hang up. I’ll come over. Just let me see you. Let me explain everything. I’ll wait outside if I have to. Just—don’t shut me out.” You’re quiet. Your heart hurts too much to answer. “…can I come?” he asks again, softer this time. “Just to talk. Please.” You sniffle, wiping your cheek. Your chest aches, your throat thick. “…Fine,” you whisper. “Just to talk.” You can practically hear the relief rush out of him through the phone. “Okay. I’m coming. I’ll be there in ten.” You hang up before you can second guess it.

It’s quiet when you unlock the door for him. You don’t say anything. Just step aside and let him in, eyes puffy and downcast. Riki steps in slowly, eyes locked on you like you might disappear. His expression is tense— jaw tight, hair messier than usual, like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop. There’s something panicked in his eyes, but soft, too—like he’s afraid to break you any further. “Hey,” he says, voice low. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself.

“Talk, Riki.” He swallows and nods. “I didn’t want her to kiss me. I swear.” His voice is quiet, but every word is urgent. “I was waiting for you. I was looking for you. And then she—she just came up out of nowhere and I was shocked. I pushed her off right away. I told her I wasn’t interested. I only wanted you.” You shake your head, looking away. “Why would she even think she could do that?” “I don’t know. I don’t talk to her. She just… she saw me waiting and came over. I swear on everything, I never touched her.” Your bottom lip trembles. Riki steps closer, but not too close. “You can be mad,” he murmurs. “I’ll take it. I’ll take anything. Just—don’t think I didn’t mean everything I said to you. Because I did. Every text. Every time I called you baby. Every time I kissed you. It was all real.” You blink fast, eyes blurring again. “I thought I was just another girl to you,” you whisper. “I thought you were just…playing with me.” His face breaks, jaw clenched like he’s in pain. “You’re not just another girl. Don’t say that,” he breathes. “You’re the only one who ever made me nervous. The only one who made me feel like I actually wanted to try.” You stare at him, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. “…I liked you so much,” you whisper. “I still do.” Riki closes the distance now, carefully. Slowly. His hand lifts, tentative, before he touches your face, wiping your tears gently with the side of his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so fucking sorry I hurt you.” You nod, lips trembling.

“I was scared,” you admit softly. “I didn’t think someone like you would ever really care about me.” His thumb grazes your cheekbone, and he exhales shakily. “I care about you more than I know what to do with,” he says. “I haven’t even been able to sleep since I saw you cry.” Your eyes finally meet his. His are red-rimmed now too. “Can I hold you?” he asks quietly. You nod. He steps forward and wraps his arms around you—firm and warm, like an anchor—and you bury your face into his chest. He kisses the top of your head. Again and again. And you cry, just a little, into his hoodie. You pull away slowly, your heart thudding so loud you’re sure he hears it, his hands still holding onto your waist like he’s afraid to let go. “…What are we, Riki?” you whisper. He exhales, eyes closed. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice low and honest. “But I know I want you. And only you.” You’re quiet for a moment, lips tugging into a small, shy smile. “So I’m your girlfriend now?” you ask, soft and teasing, but there’s something hopeful under it. A little nervous. Like you’re still afraid he might not want that. His eyes open slowly, meeting yours like they never want to look away again. “Yeah,” he says, no hesitation. “You are.” He cups your face and pulls you in for a kiss. So soft and sweet, and you melt from his touch. Riki pulls back slightly, his lips curved in a soft smile but with a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “I should probably go…” he murmurs quietly. You blink, a little disappointed but trying not to show it. “Okay,” you say softly. He steps forward and wraps you in a warm hug, holding you just a moment longer than expected. Then he pulls back gently, brushing his lips against yours in a light, lingering kiss. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers. With one last look, he turns and leaves you standing there, the quiet night wrapping around you as you watch him go, and then you head inside, alone with your thoughts, ready to sleep.

The morning sun cast a soft glow over campus as you walked side by side with Riki, the usual hum of students around you fading into the background. The tension from last night’s conversation had shifted something between you, something subtle but undeniable. As you both made your way to class, your fingers brushed unintentionally at first. Then, just as casually as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Riki slipped his hand around yours, intertwining your fingers. Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself fall into the warmth of his touch, feeling the silent declaration it carried. People passing by glanced at you, whispering or maybe just staring, but Riki didn’t care. His grip tightened ever so slightly. The confidence in his stride made you think that maybe, just maybe, he was serious about this—about you. When you settled into class, Riki sat beside you. Not the usual casual distance but close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. The air between you was thick with unspoken words and nervous excitement. You caught his eyes once or twice, and each time there was a flicker of something soft, something more than the usual teasing smirk. After class, you headed to grab lunch together.

The cafeteria was buzzing with the midday rush, but the two of you found a quiet corner table. The conversation was easy—more natural than you expected. He asked about your plans, your classes, even cracked a few jokes that made you laugh despite yourself. Then, between bites, Riki’s expression shifted to something more serious, though still laced with that effortless charm. He nudged you with his elbow and smirked. “Hey, you never came to my dorm,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear. You blinked, a little caught off guard. “Yeah? I guess you never invited me.” “Well,” he said, tightening his grip on your hand just a little, “how about we do tutoring there today? Change of scenery. I promise it’ll be better than the library.” You hesitated for a moment, the idea stirring something nervous but exciting inside you. But the way he looked at you like he wanted you there, made the decision easy. “Okay,” you said with a small smile, “I’m in.” Riki grinned, his fingers squeezing yours gently as you both stood up and left the cafeteria. The campus felt different today, like the world was shifting just for you two.

You stood outside Riki’s dorm, shifting on your feet as you knocked on the door, and it opened almost instantly. He leaned against the frame in a black tee and sweats, hair messy and a little damp from the shower. His gaze landed on you, and stayed. His eyes dragged down your body, slow and deliberate, to the way your tank top clung perfectly to your body and tits, and your soft thighs exposed for him to see from your shorts. He tilted his head slightly. “You wore this for tutoring?” he asked, voice low, licking his lips without even thinking. Your heart stuttered. You blinked. “This isn’t the library,” you said quietly, trying to sound casual. “I wanted to be comfortable.” But your voice faltered near the end, and your fingers instinctively pulled at the hem of your tank top—smoothing it, adjusting it, anything to distract from how hot his stare was making you feel. Riki grinned a little, like he noticed. He stepped aside, letting you in, but his gaze never left your back as you walked past him into his dorm. “You look good.” he murmured behind you, door clicking shut. His room was a little messy—papers scattered on his desk, a jacket thrown on the chair, sheets pulled halfway off his bed. It smelled like something warm and clean and distinctly him. You turned around slowly to face him, already feeling the tension creep up your spine. “We’re actually going to study this time, right?”

Riki smirked, moving closer and letting his fingers brush against yours as he took the textbook from your hands. “You’re the tutor,” he said softly, “but you’re the one distracting me.” You both sat side by side at the desk in his dorm, the soft scrape of your notebook sliding across the surface breaking the quiet.

Riki had his phone face-down for once, pen in hand, brows pulled together as he tried to focus while you explained the material to him. At first, he did try, really. He nodded when he understood, wrote a few things down, even asked a decent follow-up question. But after about ten minutes, you started to notice the shift. His eyes wandered. You were mid-sentence, pointing to a diagram in the textbook, when you caught him staring—not at the page, but at you. Your tank top had slipped slightly as you leaned forward, and his gaze dipped, slow and deliberate. He didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes trailed over the curve of your chest, down to your exposed thighs where your shorts had bunched up a little from how you were sitting. You shifted, subtly pulling your hem lower, but it didn’t matter. Riki licked his lips. Your voice faltered for a second. “Riki…” “Hm?” he looked up, completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just spent the last few seconds undressing you with his eyes. “You’re not listening.” “I am,” he murmured, lips twitching into a grin. “I’m just…multitasking.”You narrowed your eyes. “Multitasking?” “Yeah. Learning,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “And appreciating the view.” Your cheeks burned. “You’re such an ass.” He leaned back in his chair, still staring at you like he was starving. “You wore that to tutor me, and now you expect me to focus?” You crossed your arms, but the movement just made his gaze drop again—and linger.

“I didn’t wear it for you,” you muttered, defensive. He smiled, cocky. “Sure you didn’t.” You grabbed your pen again, trying to return to the material. “We’re not doing this.” But even as you flipped the page, you could feel the weight of his gaze—slow, heavy, like he was touching you without laying a finger on you. And when you dared to glance at him again, he was already leaning closer.

You cleared your throat, trying to focus on the page in front of you—desperately ignoring how close Riki had gotten. “Okay,” you started, voice a little shaky, “so if you look at this equation, the—” His hand slid onto your thigh. You froze. He was still looking at the book, acting completely casual as his fingers brushed over your skin slowly, warm and lazy through the soft fabric of your shorts. His touch was featherlight, almost teasing. You glanced at him, heart stuttering. “Riki…” “Keep going,” he said, voice low. “I’m listening.” But you could barely remember what you were supposed to say. You tried to explain again, stumbling over your words as his hand dragged just a little higher. Your breath hitched. “Y-You need to factor the—uh—the terms that—” “Am i making you nervous, baby?” he murmured, finally looking at you, his lips close to your ear. You tried to pull it together. “You need to focus.” He chuckled, eyes heavy with heat. “Don’t wanna.” Before you could protest again, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly to the side of your neck. You gasped—his hand inching higher, fingers drawing lazy circles over your inner thigh now. “Riki,” you whispered, your voice barely holding steady. “Hmm?” he mumbled against your skin, kissing just under your jaw now. “Thought you wanted to tutor me, baby.” You did. But not like this. Not when his touch made your brain melt and your heart beat out of rhythm.

Your mind blurred, your voice giving out in a breathy stutter as Riki’s lips ghosted over your skin, his fingers inching higher up your thigh. “Yes” you whispered, barely managing to meet his eyes. “This is supposed to be tutoring…” He looked at you slowly, like he already knew you were too far gone to stop him now. His hand slid from your thigh up to your waist, gripping you gently but firmly. “You’re not exactly stopping me.” You opened your mouth to argue, but the words never made it out—because he kissed you. Deep and unhurried, his mouth moved against yours like he’d been craving it all day. You whimpered softly against his lips, your hands clutching at the edge of the desk. He pulled you closer by the waist, tugging you effortlessly toward him until you were sliding off your chair and onto his lap. A surprised gasp escaped you, your hands bracing against his shoulders, your thighs straddling his as he settled you in place. Your heart was racing—every nerve lit up. “Riki…” you murmured, breathless, as he leaned up to kiss you again, slow and deep, like he was trying to make you forget everything but the way he tasted.

His hands slide up your thighs, slow and warm, while his mouth moves against yours like he can’t get enough. You’re straddling his lap, knees on either side of him, and you can feel how hard he is beneath you. His kiss deepens, tongue brushing yours, and when he finally pulls away to catch his breath, his lips don’t go far. They drag down your jaw, toward your neck. You gasp softly when he kisses just below your ear. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your skin. His hand slips under your tank top, just brushing along your waist—barely touching. “Is it me?” You don’t answer, just whimper softly, your fingers tightening in his hair. He chuckles lowly against your throat, the sound smug and warm. His hand slides higher up your back, teasing the hem of your bra. His mouth finds a spot on your neck that makes your hips twitch—he groans. “You were so focused,” he says, kissing down your neck, “and now look at you.” You gasp as he grinds your hips down gently against him, slow and in control.

His mouth moves over yours slow and deep, his tongue coaxing soft whimpers from you between breaths. And then he pulls back just enough to look at you. His voice drops, low and serious, rough at the edges. “Want me to stop?” You’re already trembling a little, lips swollen from his kisses, breath shallow in your throat. But you don’t hesitate. You shake your head, soft and certain. “No,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.” He lets out a low groan, hands flexing around your thighs. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, before dragging you into another hungry kiss. Your fingers wind into his hair, tugging gently, making him moan against your mouth. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, underneath your shorts, pulling you closer until your hips press flush against his. You gasp into his mouth, and his fingers tighten on your waist. He starts guiding your hips slowly against him, making you grind right onto his hard-on through his sweats. “Just like that, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your jaw. “You feel that?” Your cheeks burn. You nod, barely holding back the moan that threatens to slip out. You keep moving, grinding softly on him like instinct, heat curling low in your stomach with every roll of your hips. “So cute” he breathes, mouth dipping to slowly kiss your neck again. “You look so good on my lap, princess.”

Your hips roll harder on him now, the friction making your head spin. You whimper into his ear, breathless, and he curses under his breath as your hand slides between your bodies. You palm him over his sweats, slow and uncertain at first, your fingers trailing along the thick shape of him, teasing. His hips twitch up into your touch, jaw clenched as he watches you with fire in his eyes “Fuck, baby—” he groans, head falling back slightly. You feel the way he breathes harder, the way his thighs tense under yours, how his eyes go heavy-lidded every time you grind down just right. Then, with one last soft kiss to his lips, you pull back. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted, and your voice is a little shaky when you whisper,“Can I…?” You glance down at his lap, then back up at him through your lashes. “I wanna… try.” Your hands slide down his chest as you slip from his lap, sinking onto your knees between his legs before you can second-guess it. The carpet is soft under your bare knees, your hands resting on his thighs, breath shallow. Riki stares at you, stunned. Eyes wide, lips parted. “Wait—” he says quickly, breath catching in his throat. “Are you sure, baby?” You nod, biting your lip. Your fingers toy with the waistband of his sweats, looking up at him with those big, desperate eyes that have always made him weak. “I want to,” you whisper, soft but certain. “wanna make you feel good.” He exhales shakily, like he’s trying to hold himself together, one hand running through his hair as he mutters, “Jesus, baby…you’re killing me.”

Your fingers tremble just slightly as you reach for the hem of your shirt. You pause for a second, nervous but determined, before tugging it up and over your head, baring yourself to him. Your cheeks burn the moment his eyes drop to your chest. The soft blue lace of your bra clings to your skin, delicate and pretty, and Riki looks like he’s about to lose it. His breath catches. “Baby…” he murmurs, voice suddenly lower, rougher. His eyes drag slowly over your figure like he’s trying to memorize the sight. “You wore that for me?” You nod shyly, glancing down, arms folding just a little in front of your body. You’re flustered, nervous, but you want him to like what he sees. You want this to be good for him, unforgettable.

“I just…I wanted to look good,” you admit softly, peeking up at him. “For you.” He leans forward immediately, grabbing your wrists gently and pulling your hands away from your body. “You look perfect,” he says, dead serious. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” Your stomach flutters wildly. Slowly, carefully, you bring your hands back down to his lap. You hook your fingers under the waistband of his sweats, heart pounding, and tug them down along with his boxers, just low enough to free him. He’s hard, big, leaking, and your lips part slightly at the sight of him. Riki watches your every move like he’s in a trance, his fingers twitching on his thighs like he’s trying so hard not to grab you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, eyes searching yours. “You don’t have to do anything—” You nod quickly, still on your knees in front of him, lips brushing softly against his lower abdomen as you glance up at him through your lashes.

Your lips part just slightly as you lower yourself, your breath warm against his tip. You press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to it, delicate, teasing. Then you do it again, and again, letting your tongue flick out for the smallest kitten licks. Riki groans low in his throat, his hips twitching. “Fuck…” he breathes, eyes locked on you like you’re the most unreal thing he’s ever seen. His hand goes straight to your hair, fingers threading into it with a firm grip. “You’re such a tease, baby.” You let your lips wrap around him fully, just the tip, sucking softly, slow and sweet. His hand tightens in your hair, and you hear the shift in his breath—rougher, needier. “You look so good like this,” he mutters, his voice dark and low. “My little tutor girl taking my cock in her pretty mouth.” You whimper softly around him, cheeks flushed. You hollow your cheeks and take a little more, your tongue swirling around him, and his grip tightens just slightly. “Shit, baby—doing so good for me,” he groans, watching you bob your head just a little. “You like this? Like makin’ me feel good, hm?” You hum around him, eyes fluttering shut for a second before looking back up at him through your lashes—submissive, eager, needy for his praise. His other hand comes up, fingers gently cupping your jaw to guide your pace as he breathes hard, watching every slow movement of your lips. “You gonna take more for me, baby?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Gonna let me fuck that sweet mouth a little?” And the way he says it, low and filthy, makes your thighs clench together as you nod, obedient and breathless, letting him guide you deeper.

His grip in your hair tightens just slightly, and he watches with hooded eyes as you take more of him in. You feel the gentle pressure as he begins guiding your head, slowly at first, pushing you down, then letting you come up for air, only to press you back down again. “Just like that, baby,” he breathes, voice rough and low. Your lips stretch around him as he slowly builds a rhythm, hips barely moving, letting your mouth do the work, guided by his hands. You moan softly, the vibrations making him hiss through his teeth. Tears prick at your eyes from the effort, trailing down your cheeks as your jaw strains, your tongue flattening against the underside of his cock. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what you can’t fit, trying to keep up with the pace he’s setting. “Fuck—look at you,” he groans, breath catching. “Crying on my cock like that. Letting me fuck your mouth.” His voice sends a pulse of heat through your entire body. His thumb wipes a tear off your cheek almost sweetly, his other hand never loosening from your hair. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice dark and full of heat. “Doing so good for me.” His hips stutter as your hand works him faster, your warm breath ghosting over his tip. “Fuck, baby—” he gasps, hips twitching forward as his cock throbs against your hand. “You’re gonna make me cum… shit—”

You look up at him with those big, glassy eyes, tongue out and waiting, so eager, so needy. “Holy fuck—” Riki growls, head tipping back. “You really want it, don’t you, baby?” You nod, whining softly as you stick your tongue out further, your other hand bracing against his thigh. That’s all it takes. With a low, guttural moan, he finishes—hot spurts painting your tongue, your lips, and spilling down onto your chest. He watches, completely wrecked, as you keep still for him, letting him make a mess of you. When it’s done, you slowly close your mouth and swallow with a soft gulp, then open up again and poke your tongue out to show him—empty now. His breath catches. “Fuck,” he mutters, eyes dark as he cups your jaw in his palm. “You swallowed all of it?” You nod shyly, cheeks flushed, tongue still out just a little as you blink up at him. He lets out a low, breathless laugh, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “My good fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs. “Look at you…” He leans down and kisses you—slow, filthy, and deep, tasting himself on your tongue. “It’s my turn to make you feel good now, yeah?” he whispers against your lips. You’re still catching your breath when he pulls you up gently, his hands firm on your waist as he helps you sit on the edge of the desk. Your legs dangle, a little shaky, but Riki steps between them, caging you in with his arms as he leans down to kiss you, slowly and hungrily. His hands slide up your sides, over the soft fabric of your bra, cupping your breasts as he groans into your mouth. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “Bend over for me, baby.” You blink up at him, heart fluttering. “Here?” He just smirks, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You heard me.”

Your cheeks flush, but you nod, sliding off the desk slowly, turning around. You lean over it, bracing your hands flat on the surface, your breathing already unsteady. You feel his eyes on you, burning hot as you reach down and slowly start tugging your shorts and panties down together, baring yourself inch by inch. A soft sound leaves his throat behind you, low and rough. “Fuck…” You hear the rustle of his clothes behind you, his hands moving to gently push your legs further apart. His palms ghosts over your ass, then down your thighs, teasing. He leans down, lips brushing the back of your neck. “So cute, bent over my desk like that…” You gasp softly as you feel him bend down behind you, one hand sliding up your thigh, the other gently gripping your hip to keep you steady. Your bare core clenches at the thought of how close he is, how exposed you are. “Riki—” you whisper, voice shaky, head turning over your shoulder. “You’re…really close…” He hums, amused, lips brushing your inner thigh. “That’s the point, baby.” You bite your lip, face burning as you hide it in the crook of your elbow. It’s so intimate, his breath on your bare skin, his fingers teasing the softness of your inner thighs. He leaves sweet kisses on your ass and thighs, before bringing his fingers on your folds, making you whine. He moves them slowly, gathering your wetness, from your hole to your clit and you can’t help but moan. Then you feel it—his tongue. A soft, slow lick up your folds, warm and deliberate. You let out a whimper, legs trembling as your knees almost buckle. His grip tightens on your hips. “Stay still, princess.” he murmurs, low and commanding.

You nod, helplessly, barely able to breathe as he buries his face between your thighs. His tongue moves with devastating skill, licking, sucking, flicking against your clit until your thighs start to shake. You let out soft, desperate moans, biting into your forearm to stay quiet, but he hears them. “So fuckin’ sweet,” he mutters into your heat, tongue diving deeper. “This all mine now, yeah?” “Y-Yes,” you whimper, gripping the edge of the desk. “Riki…oh my god…”

He groans into you, clearly turned on by your reaction, and his hands squeeze your hips tighter as his tongue flicks again and again against your sensitive clit. His hand slides between your legs, and you gasp when you feel two fingers press against your entrance, slick and slow as they slide in deep. Your back arches, mouth falling open as a moan escapes. “R-Riki—” He groans, thumb coming up to press soft circles against your clit as his fingers curl inside you, stretching you open. “Fuck…so warm” he mutters, mouth hot on your inner thigh again. Your legs are shaking, your hands gripping the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The combination of his fingers and mouth has your brain melting, every movement making you whimper, every moan just making him move rougher, deeper. “You gonna come on my fingers, baby?“ he murmurs, voice teasing now, cocky. You let out a broken moan, unsure if you can even speak, and that just makes him smirk. “Too dumb already?” he coos. “My smart little tutor girl can’t even think straight anymore.” He pumps his fingers a little faster, curling them just right, and you nearly collapse against the desk.

Your body tightens, every nerve on fire as his fingers work magic inside you. Warmth spreads fast, rushing through your core like wildfire. A broken moan escapes your lips, and you shudder, trembling against the desk as your release crashes over you—hard and sudden, stealing your breath away. Riki’s tongue flicks up eagerly, licking every drop of your juices with deliberate care, his eyes dark with hunger and satisfaction. When he pulls back, he wipes his mouth, voice low and rough.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” He stands, towering over you, already hard again. His hands move quickly, slipping off his shirt, then lowering his sweats, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud. Without breaking eye contact, he lifts you up with ease, carrying you toward the bed. He lays you down slowly, lips trailing over yours in a heated kiss that melts the space between you. His mouth moves down to your neck, leaving soft, urgent kisses that make your breath hitch. His hands roam boldly, cupping your breasts firmly, thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin. “Off.” he murmurs low and commanding. You fumble shyly but obey, sliding the straps down your arms until your bra is discarded. Almost immediately, he’s sucking on your bare skin, his mouth teasing and claiming your breasts, while his hips grind hard against your heat. The friction sends a jolt straight through you, making your body arch toward him, hungry for more. He trails his mouth over your breasts and collarbones, leaving dark, bruising hickeys that bloom deliciously against your skin. You reach down, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his abs, feeling the heat and strength beneath your touch. Then your hand slips lower, cupping the hard length pressing against his boxers. “Please, Riki,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “need you now.”

“Fuck..” He slowly lowers his boxers, freeing himself as his eyes never leave yours. His hand wraps around his thick length, pumping a slow, steady rhythm. He carefully spreads your legs further , his fingers grazing your inner thighs, sending shivers racing through your body. A soft whimper escapes your lips as he slides his length up and down your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Slowly, he moves lower, and enters you slowly, inch by inch, stretching you out so deliciously. The stretch makes you cling instinctively to his neck, a low whine slipping from your throat as your body adjusts to the fullness when he bottoms out. His hands keep caressing your thighs, steady and reassuring, as he begins to slowly move. He starts slow, each thrust deliberate and measured, watching you closely as your soft moans and whimpers fill the room. The way your body reacts to him, the way you cling to him, only fuels his desire. “Doing so good, baby—fuck,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “Such a good girl for me.”

His hands grip your hips firmly, steadying you as he picks up the pace, moving deeper and faster now, the intensity rising with every stroke. Without breaking rhythm, he lifts one of your legs and rests it over his shoulder, giving him better leverage and letting him reach places that make you gasp uncontrollably. “So tight and warm for me, so perfect.” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing your neck. His praise sends a heat rushing through you, mixing with the pleasure and making your breath hitch as he drives into you harder. The stretch still making your body tremble with every push. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, and without breaking pace, he reached up, bringing two fingers to your lips. “Open,” he murmured, voice rough.

You parted your lips obediently, shy but too far gone to resist. He slid his fingers onto your tongue and you immediately began to suck, lashes fluttering as your gaze lifted to meet his. The sight of you like that, lips wrapped around his fingers, eyes wide and watering, making his skin all wet and slick with your spit, made him groan low in his chest. “Fuck, baby,” he hissed. “Look at you.” You whined around his fingers, his pace quickening slightly, hips snapping harder into yours. The new angle made your body jolt, sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. He pressed his palm to your tummy, just above where he was buried deep inside you, and you gasped when you felt the pressure. “That’s me, huh? You feel me here?” he gritted through clenched teeth, pressing down just a little more. You nodded frantically, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth around his fingers. The feeling, the pressure, the fullness, it was overwhelming in the best way. Your free hand moved up into his hair, tugging gently, grounding yourself. His fingers slipped from your mouth and your lips chased after them, your breath shaky and desperate. Pressing firmly on your tummy, you choke on a moan, your entire body tightening around him “There, baby?” he murmurs huskily. You nod, heart pounding in your chest, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and desire. Slowly, shy but full of trust, you reach up, one hand brushing against his jawline, the other still entwined in his hair. Your touch is gentle, almost worshipful as you caress his face and run your fingers through his hair.

“My smart boy,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. Something snaps in him when he hears that. His pupils dilate, breath hitches, and the rough edge to his expression softens for a split second before darkening with raw hunger. He groans low in his throat, voice rough and desperate “Holy fuck” he breathes softly, tugging you impossibly closer, fingers tightening their grip on your body. “Say it again, baby. Say it—tell me I’m your smart boy.” Your heart races, the power of your words sinking deep into him. He buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, marking you with his need and possessiveness as he pounds harder, deeper. You’re a moaning mess, breath shaky and heart hammering as you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes. Your fingers brush tenderly along his jaw and cheek, tracing every sharp line of his face. “You’re my smart boy, baby,” you whisper, voice thick with need and affection, the words tumbling out soft and shaky. He groans low in response, dick twitching inside you as he pulls you impossibly close, his voice rough and ragged. “I’m so close,” he pants, every thrust hitting deeper and harder. You bite your lip, desperate and breathless. “Me too, Riki…g’na cum,” you manage to say, voice barely audible. He brings his fingers down to your clit, moving them in slow circles, as you whine. Your body clenches around him, trembling as you finally reach your peak, a shuddering wave that makes you cry out softly.

He holds you tight through every pulse, never slowing, until with a final, guttural groan, he pulls out and spills himself over your heat, watching intently as it drips and glistens, messy and sticky. His hand gently cupped the back of your leg as he lowered it from his shoulder, eyes never leaving you. You whimpered softly at the emptiness, the overstimulation making your thighs twitch. Riki leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your inner thigh, then another to your tummy, and finally your lips. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice much softer now, low, raspy, but sweet. You nodded, but your lashes fluttered tiredly and your bottom lip trembled just a bit. It had been a lot. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “You did so good, baby.” Riki sat back on the bed, chest rising and falling with every breath, hair messy. His eyes traveled over you, slowly, like couldn’t believe you were real. You lay there catching your breath, hair a messy halo on the pillow, lips kiss-swollen and parted, your skin kissed red with hickeys across your collarbones and tits. The soft sheen of sweat clung to you, and remnants of his cum still lingered on your chest and cunt, glistening faintly in the low light. His eyes trailed lower and he groaned, running a hand through his hair as a crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Shit,” he muttered, voice rough but amused, eyes locked on you. “I’m gonna get hard again.” You giggled, still breathless, hiding your face behind your hands, and he leaned forward, pulling them gently away so he could see you. “Don’t hide from me, princess,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek. “You’re so fucking cute.”

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