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artficlly · 5 months ago

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lessons in lovemaking

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of emotional control, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: hey guys, i'm a woman possessed. i've had so much motivation to write recently, so here is a quick one-shot. i'm sure this concept has been done before but i just couldn't stop thinking about touch starved bucky :( ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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You never would’ve agreed to this mission had you known Barnes was going to be this squeamish. You’d seen the man slit throats without a sound, drop bodies with cold efficiency, and unload an entire chamber of bullets without so much as flinching. He hadn’t even blinked when aliens from outer-fucking-space rained hell upon Earth. But holding your hand? Letting his fingers brush your waist? Anything a devoted ‘husband’ ought to do? The super soldier looked like he’d rather swallow glass. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, for god’s sake.

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

You had to yank him away before anyone noticed the strained—Help me, I’m being held hostage by this incredibly attractive, incredibly capable woman who, might I add, is supposedly my wife—look on his face.

This gala, a weeklong jerkfest for the wealthy and villainous, was meant to be a stroll in the park. Your bread and butter, even if the Red Room had been... regrettable and against your consent, it had taught you an array of useful skills. Yet Barnes was ruining it, turning what should have been a simple infiltration into a goddamn babysitting job. The plan was airtight: pose as a glamorous Russian couple, collect incriminating evidence, and dip at the end of the week. Except Barnes wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. Instead of charming your way through the crowd, you were covering for his stiff, awkward pauses and the fact that he looked less like a besotted husband and more like a man being forced at gunpoint to stand beside you.

By some miracle, you managed to drag him away to one of the empty floors, a tucked-away space littered with stacks of unused tables and chairs. He was wound tight—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the dimly lit room like he was expecting death itself to emerge from the shadows. You didn’t bother with subtlety. Tearing the small recording device from between your tits, you fumbled with the button until the tiny red light blinked off. Whoever ended up reviewing the footage later wouldn’t need to hear the verbal onslaught you were about to unleash.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, keeping your voice low, though the sheer force of your frustration was enough to strip paint off the walls.

Barnes clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he refused to meet your eye. It reminded you of a scolded dog, all pouty and pathetic. You might’ve found it cute under different circumstances. “You’re making this incredibly fucking difficult.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal—”

“Because it’s our cover, Barnes.” you snapped, incredulous. “We’re supposed to be married, not some fucking timid virgin couple. PDA makes people uncomfortable; they look away, and we have less eye on us to, I don’t know—do our fucking job?”

Barnes looked down at his clenched fists, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The dangling diamond earrings you had hanging from each lobe tinkled slightly, and you ran a hand through your perfectly styled hair, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“You’re unbelievable. Fury should’ve just sent me alone—” you muttered, but the words barely left your lips before your eyes caught movement.

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

With haste, you tucked the small recording device back into your cleavage. Barnes noticed immediately, clocking your distress. His brows knit together, hand twitched toward the hidden knife tucked into his suit jacket.

“No.” You scolded. Catching his wrist, you guided it elsewhere—your hips. He stiffened instantly, making a noise of protest, but you kept him locked in place, pressing in until your chests brushed. Too close. Not close enough.

“Play along,” you murmured. “Kiss me. Now.”

“Wha—” His breath hitched, barely enough time to form a response before you rose onto your toes and sealed your mouth over his.

Barnes froze. Stiff beneath your touch, lips rigid like you’d just planted one on a slab of granite. He still tasted like toothpaste—spearmint—and the faint trace of his aftershave clung to his skin. If you’d been trying to salvage some believability, some small thread of natural chemistry, it was impossible now. It was like kissing a statue.

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

The passing group chuckled, one of them murmuring, amused, “Ah, young love.”

Maybe it was the murmured chuckles of the passing guests, or maybe Barnes had finally remembered how to act, because his grip on your hips suddenly tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with unexpected force. The silk pulled taut against your skin, trapping heat between you, and then—

A sound.

Low. Strangled. A rasping, utterly pathetic groan against your lips.

You barely had time to register it before something else stole your attention. In the tight press of your bodies, you felt it—hard, insistent, pressing against your pelvis.

Oh.

The realisation sent a flicker of shock through you, but you schooled your expression, keeping your face composed as you lingered just a second longer—just enough to ensure your audience was convinced. Then, finally, you pulled back.

Barnes didn’t move.

For a moment, he just stared, pupils wide and unfocused, a blissed-out haze dulling the sharp blue of his eyes. But then, like a lightning strike, awareness snapped back into him. Horror overtook his dazed expression, his breath hitching as he seemed to realise—

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

The medium grey of his suit pants betrayed him entirely, darkening at the crotch with an unmistakable wet patch.

You gaped, lips parting in stunned silence. No fucking way.

Barnes didn’t wait for a reaction. With the sheer force of a man fleeing for his life, he ripped himself from your grasp and marched away, stiff-backed and utterly silent, leaving you standing there, speechless.

—

It had been twenty minutes, and Barnes still hadn’t left the goddamn bathroom.

It had taken you all of thirty seconds to track him down, but the moment you found the door, it was locked. Of course it was. You twisted the handle, rattling it in frustration, then resorted to pounding your fist against the heavy wood—subtly, of course, but with enough force that he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“Barnes.” You hissed his name through gritted teeth, pressing closer to the door. Nothing. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. Absolute fucking silence.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as a pair of guests passed by, casting you a curious glance. Yeah, you knew exactly how this looked—lipstick smudged, breath uneven, standing outside a locked men’s bathroom like a woman scorned. You must’ve looked thoroughly debauched.

Your pulse hammered in your throat. This was insane. A simple, fake kiss had made him short-circuit so hard that he fucking came in his pants? Twenty minutes ago, he looked repulsed by the mere idea of touching you, and now he was hiding away like some panicked virgin?

You let out a long, slow groan, dropping your forehead against the door.

“Barnes,” you muttered, knocking again—your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Open the damn door.”

Silence.

You straightened, glaring at the wood as if you could will it into splintering apart.

“Barnes, I have been patient.” You gritted your teeth, knocking harder. “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I will break in.”

Silence.

Motherfucker.

"Alright, I’m coming in," you announced, your voice low but firm.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one was watching, before slipping a bobby pin from your hair. Years of practice made the process effortless; your fingers worked quickly, blindly, jamming the pin into the lock and feeling for the mechanism. A few precise twists, a satisfying click, and—

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

The words were halfway out of your mouth when you pushed the door open, but whatever half-hearted joke you'd meant to make withered before it even reached your tongue.

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

He sat hunched on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands, his entire body drawn in tight like he was trying to fold in on himself. His knee bounced erratically, the rapid motion almost violent in its rhythm. He had ripped off his suit pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, his bare thighs tense, twitching. His fingers dug into his hair, gripping at the strands like he wanted to rip them out, and when his bloodshot eyes flicked up to you—

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

Tears welled along his lash line, his chest rising and falling in uneven, barely contained pants. He looked like a man caught in a cage, seconds from tearing himself apart just to escape it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you before flipping the lock.

"Hey, Barnes…” Your voice was hesitant, softer than before.

He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hands trembling as he dragged them down his face.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, breaking on the words. "I don’t want you in—"

You moved before he could finish, lowering yourself to the cool bathroom tiles in front of him, as if making yourself smaller would make you any less intimidating.

"Hey," you murmured, tone careful but steady. "Look at me."

“No.” It came out sharp, like a whip, a defence mechanism honed over decades. His entire body went rigid, his breathing ragged.

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

Your voice was steady, firm without being harsh, each syllable carefully measured as you crept forward on the cold tile floor. The dress, the dirt—none of it mattered. It wasn’t your dress, anyway. Tony Stark could foot the bill for a replacement if this one got ruined, all this fancy wear was on his dime.

“In through the nose,” you instructed, voice softer now. “Out through the mouth.”

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

He sucked in a ragged breath, chest expanding beneath his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and then exhaled through parted lips. It was shaky, uneven, but it was something. You watched in silence, waiting. His limbs still trembled, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, but the worst of the violent, full-body tremors had eased.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Slowly, you inched forward, shifting across the tiles until you sat in front of his knees. His skin was warm, radiating heat even through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Barnes,” you hesitated, watching his face carefully. “Can I touch you?”

His whole body tensed.

“What?” His eyes darted up, sharp and startled, as if the very question had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Is it okay,” you rephrased, slower this time, gentler, “if I touch you?”

Barnes hesitated. His gaze flickered away, jaw clenching like he was at war with himself. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a small, stiff nod.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then, with slow, deliberate care, you reached out and cradled his face between your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

Not violently. Not like he was afraid of you. But enough that you felt it—felt the way his muscles coiled beneath your fingertips, the way his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. The cool metal of your fake wedding ring grazed his cheek, and his breath hitched, like he had just been burned.

“Keep breathing,” you reminded him, voice low and steady. “Nice and slow.”

Barnes obeyed, dragging in another breath, and you felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The hard lines of his face softened just slightly as he leaned into your touch, nuzzling—actually nuzzling—against your palms.

“There you go,” you murmured, your thumb stroking in slow circles over his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyelids flickered, resisting for a moment, but then those storm-blue eyes finally met yours. He looked exhausted. Frayed at the edges. But grounded, at least. Present.

“Tell me one thing you can smell right now.”

Barnes blinked. A hint of confusion crossed his face. “Smell?”

“Yes, smell.” You nodded, keeping your voice soft, coaxing. “Just one thing. Keep breathing and tell me.”

He hesitated but then took a deliberate inhale through his nose, his bouncing knee slowing. “I guess… whatever shitty fucking chemicals they use to clean this place.”

A quiet laugh left you, your thumb tracing a swirling pattern along his cheekbone. “Good. You’re doing good, Barnes. Now, tell me two things you can feel.”

His breathing had steadied, his inhales and exhales falling into rhythm with yours. For the first time since you’d walked in, he wasn’t shaking as badly.

“This suit jacket,” he muttered after a pause. His metal fingers twitched against the fabric at his arm. “It’s too fuckin’ tight. They always are with my arm—”

His breath stuttered, his body tensing again. Immediately, you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “Just breathe, remember? You’re doing so well. One more thing you can feel.”

Barnes swallowed thickly. His gaze flickered down, just briefly, before settling back on your face.

“You,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I can feel you. Touching my face.”

“Good.” You nodded, thumb gliding over his cheek again. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, and for the first time, it wasn’t shaky. “It feels… it feels nice.”

Something in your chest clenched at the confession, but you pushed it aside. You smiled at him, soft and small, and kept going. “Now, three things you can see.”

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

“You,” he said, still quiet, still certain. His gaze lingered on your mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

"Two more," you breathed, keeping your voice calm and steady, resisting the urge to comment on why your lipstick was smudged in the first place. No need to remind him of that right now.

Barnes' gaze flickered across the small, dimly lit restroom. His body had almost fully relaxed now, his mind preoccupied with the task you'd given him.

"Uh…" He scanned the space, brows furrowing in concentration. "The awful wallpaper… and the sink, I guess?"

You nodded approvingly, finally withdrawing your hands as you eased back onto your knees. The cold tiles bit through the fabric of your dress, but you barely noticed.

"Well done," you murmured. "Now, how about we keep breathing and get you sorted, huh?"

At that, Barnes stiffened slightly. The panic that had been receding just moments ago flickered in his eyes again, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs.

You reached out, grounding him with a gentle touch to his knee. Your voice softened even further. "I’m going to turn around and face the door. I need you to clean yourself up—use the sink, use the soap."

His throat bobbed. "But my—my boxers, they’ll get all wet—"

"There’s a dryer on the wall, see it?" You tilted your head toward the small, dingy dryer meant for hands. "Use it to dry them. Then get dressed, and we’ll head back to the hotel early, okay? Order some shitty takeaway, watch bad TV. Just forget about all this for tonight. How does that sound?"

Barnes blinked as if thrown by the simplicity of the offer. His mouth parted, closed, then opened again, his voice small. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good." You flashed him a reassuring smile before pressing your palms against the sink, pushing yourself to your feet with a small wobble in your heels. "I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything. Keep breathing, alright? Everything’s okay."

Turning, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced the door, giving him the privacy he needed. You tried not to listen too closely. Tried not to glance at the mirror reflecting the scene behind you.

The rustle of clothing filled the quiet, then the tap sputtered to life. You leant your forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes as you focused on the steady stream of water, the faint squeak of the soap pump, and then the soft sloshing and scrubbing of fabric.

The sound of fabric wringing out echoed softly against the tiled walls, followed by the steady hum of the hand dryer sputtering to life. You kept your forehead against the door, listening as Barnes manoeuvred through the motions, drying his boxers first, then his suit pants. The wet fabric slapped lightly against the metal dryer as he held it up, shifting awkwardly as he worked.

You didn’t rush him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stayed where you were, giving him time.

Eventually, the rustling stopped. A sharp inhale, then the familiar slide of fabric as he pulled his clothes back on. The quiet click of a belt buckle being fastened. The creak of leather shoes shifting against tile.

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

He stood stiffly, suit now back in place, though the fabric still carried faint traces of dampness. His jacket was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to be noticeable. You took a slow step toward him, scanning him up and down with a careful eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just stood there, watching you warily, as if expecting a comment.

You didn’t give him one.

Instead, you reached up, grasping the edges of his tie. He stiffened but let you work, your fingers smoothing the silk fabric, tightening it properly against his collar. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips as you brushed against his throat, and though he remained still, you caught the way his breath hitched slightly at the contact.

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

You turned towards the mirror, angling yourself slightly to the side. Your reflection was a mess—lipstick smudged, hair slightly dishevelled. You sighed, wetting your thumb with your tongue before dabbing at the edges of the stain, then reached into your clutch to pull out a small tube of lipstick.

Barnes hadn’t moved.

You could feel him behind you, his body heat pressing against your back in the cramped space. His gaze was heavy, following your movements as you leaned closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the pigment to your lips. You didn’t look at him. You just smoothed the colour in place, pressed your lips together, then capped the tube and tucked it back into your bag.

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

There was a pause. A hesitation. His jaw clenched for half a second before he gave the smallest of nods. “…Yeah.”

You turned fully, flashing him a small, knowing smile before reaching for his arm. He didn’t resist when you looped yours through his, guiding him towards the door. With an easy tug, you led him forward, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. His arm remained tense beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go.

You glanced at him briefly, lips twitching into a small smirk. “C’mon, sergeant. Let’s get out of here.”

Barnes exhaled through his nose, shaking his head ever so slightly. But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, he followed without question, letting you steer him towards the exit, away from the crowded room—away from prying eyes.

—

A small, muffled whine stirred you from sleep. You blinked groggily, rolling onto your side as the cool sheets tangled around your legs. The plush hotel mattress dipped beneath you as you buried your face into the pillow, willing yourself back into slumber.

A low, panting groan cut through the silence, soft at first, then growing in volume. Your brows knit together, heart thrumming uneasily. Something about the sound was… strange. It wasn’t just a groan—it was strained, needy. Erotic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim red dot of the fire alarm and the faint reflection of the turned-off TV. You remained frozen for a few beats, your ears straining to catch the noise again. It came, louder this time—a choked whimper thick with desperation.

Was someone in the room? Adrenaline slammed into your veins as you rolled off the bed in one swift motion, bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. You had heard stories of creeps breaking into hotel rooms, preying on women while they slept. Had one made the mistake of picking yours?

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

Your hand darted to the bedside table, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife, its leather grip smooth beneath your palm. Not even yours, Barnes’—

Barnes.

Your breath caught as your gaze snapped towards the couch, knife slipping from your grip and landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

There, bathed in shadows, was the writhing mass of the super soldier. His blankets lay discarded on the floor as though he’d tossed them off in his sleep. The two of you had agreed to take turns—one in the bed, the other on the couch—to keep up appearances. A stupid arrangement, courtesy of Fury and Stark’s meddling.

You flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light spilt over the room, casting soft amber hues onto Barnes’ form. His face was twisted in torment, and his lips parted around quiet, breathless whimpers. Sweat clung to his skin, catching the glow of the lamp and highlighting the sharp lines of his body. His metal arm whirred faintly as he twitched, fingers flexing against the cushions.

Your stomach dropped when your eyes drifted lower. He was shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling erratically. The thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide the evidence of his dream—more than half-hard beneath the cotton. Was he really that big?

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You should’ve looked away, should’ve given him privacy. But then his hand twitched, drifting downward—

“Barnes.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the haze like a blade.

He jolted awake, body seizing as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he was utterly lost, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with confusion. Then his gaze landed on you—standing there in your thin nightgown, face unreadable.

His eyes flickered downward.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, panic flickering across his face as he yanked a pillow over his lap, shifting awkwardly as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. A string of curses left his lips, voice still wrecked with sleep.

You tilted your head, studying him. His expression wavered, part shame, part something else, something raw and vulnerable. You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers into your temples. There was a pattern here. A man whose body wasn’t his own, whose skin felt foreign, whose touch-starved existence had left him unravelling at the seams.

What in God's name was Fury thinking sending him on a mission like this—or did Fury not know? How could he not? That one-eyed bastard had a habit of knowing everything. Hell, he probably knew the colour of your underwear before you even picked it out for the day, the all-seeing prick.

“H.Y.D.R.A really did a number on you, didn’t they?” you muttered.

Bucky flinched. The words struck deep, sinking into something fragile beneath the surface. He didn’t say a word, just recoiled, fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he was scrambling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Barnes, we’re not doing this again. Let’s just talk—”

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the wooden barrier now separating you. Asshole. You knew you should’ve been more sympathetic. Should’ve handled it differently. But after a long, exhausting day, dealing with Bucky Barnes’ second puberty was not on your list of priorities.

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against the door; your voice quieter now. “I know how you’re feeling.”

Silence.

You could picture him inside, hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I understand what it’s like to be in a body that doesn’t feel like your own.”

A pause. No response.

“It must be hard,” you continued softly. “Not knowing who you are. Not recognising yourself anymore. And then... feeling things you don’t understand.”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to navigate that.” The silence that followed was heavier than before. You didn’t push, didn’t say anything else. Just rested your forehead against the doorframe, waiting.

You had spent the better part of your life under the Red Room’s control, under Dreykov’s control. Every breath you took, every move you made, had been dictated by someone else. Orders given. Orders followed. It was all you had ever known. And then, one day, it was gone. Just like that.

You remembered the moment with eerie clarity: standing in the open air, staring out at the horizon, the sunset bleeding colour into a sky that suddenly felt too vast. The question had gnawed at you, quiet but insistent. What comes next? Who comes next? Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were beyond a weapon, beyond a machine engineered for death and seduction. Two decades of programming, of conditioning, of being nothing more than an asset to be wielded and discarded at will. And then, without warning, you were handed something you were told was freedom.

But what did freedom mean when you didn’t exist?

There were no real records of your birth, no true identity to reclaim. The Red Room had scrubbed that away long ago, erasing every trace of the girl you had once been. No family. No home. No belongings that weren’t issued to you by those who had owned you. And yet, you were expected to smile—to accept this newfound autonomy without question, to embrace the illusion of a life you had no blueprint for.

But how could you, when you weren’t sure if the body you inhabited was even your own?

So even if Barnes thought you were bluffing and just trying to relate for the sake of kindness, he was wrong. Because you understood.

Terrifyingly well.

The difference was that you had refused to let it consume you. You had forced those feelings into the farthest corners of your mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch you. Because if you let yourself linger on them for too long.

“Go back to sleep.” Bucky’s voice finally broke the silence, muffled through the bathroom door.

You sucked on your teeth, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I know the others give you crap about not dating, but you don’t have to let them pressure you,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “You don’t have to force yourself into a role that makes you uncomfortable. It takes time.”

“Back in the day..." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I used to be a real flirt.”

A humourless smirk ghosted across your lips. You could picture it, all smooth charm and effortless confidence. The kind of man who could wink at a girl across a dance floor and have her swooning in seconds. But that wasn’t the man behind this door. That man had been stripped away, piece by piece.

“I just don’t know anymore,” he admitted, voice raw. Your chest tightened. You could almost hear him weighing his words, picking them apart, and deciding how much of himself he was willing to give away.

“When I was the Winter Soldier... they made me do things.”

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

“It’s all… fractured in my mind,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Scattered. Broken.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I understand that. More than anyone. The Red Room… they didn’t just use us for assassinations and espionage.”

There. You had said it. Pulled a piece of yourself from the grave and placed it between you.

For the first time, the door cracked open.

Bucky stood there, dishevelled and breathless, still only in his boxers. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the dim hotel light, while his metal arm twitched slightly at his side. His hair was a mess—damp and curling at the ends, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath, muscles taut beneath the weight of exhaustion.

“Why are you being kind to me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was rough, tinged with suspicion, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Because you’re hurting,” you said simply. “And obviously, you haven’t fully processed any of this.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without another word, he turned and stalked past you, out of the cramped bathroom and into the main space of the hotel room. You followed at a slower pace, arms crossed as you watched him sink onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his metal fingers tapping restless patterns against his flesh palm. His body had settled now, no longer betraying him with signs of arousal. That part of the moment had passed, but the turmoil in his head remained.

With a quiet sigh, you slid down to the floor, settling against the base of the bed across from him. Your legs stretched out in front of you, arms loose at your sides as you let the silence settle between you.

“Have you spoken to Steve about this?” you asked after a moment, voice soft but firm. “Sam?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “God, no.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, fingers threading through his damp hair. “It’s just... awkward. I feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped to you, wary. “What?”

“I could teach you,” you repeated, voice steady. “How to make love. Fuck. How to gain control over your life again. You’re just sensitive; you need a bit of exposure therapy.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, jaw clenching. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the patterned carpet beneath you. “Do you know how many men I’ve fucked and not felt a thing?” you said quietly, barely above a whisper.

“I wasn’t just an assassin or a spy. Not like Natasha or Yelena. I was a swallow, Barnes. A honeytrap.” His expression flickered, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something, some hint of insincerity.

You swallowed, pushing forward. “It’s why Fury sent me on this mission with you. This is all I’ve ever known.”

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Fury knows what they did to you, and he still continues to—”

“I agreed to it,” you cut in, your tone clipped, controlled. “He just wanted our sham marriage to be believable. He wasn’t asking me to fuck you, just to perform. That’s what I do. Perform.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Look, I don’t know you,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “I don’t want your baggage, or for you to fuck me out of pity or... I don’t know, self-sabotage.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than you expected. You recoiled—actually flinched—before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the venom in it, the way he threw it at you like a blade meant to wound. And damn it, it did.

Bucky saw it, too. The way your shoulders stiffened, the flicker of something raw crossing your face before you forced it away. His breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching at his side, but he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften the blow. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, the damage was done.

Your expression hardened like cooling steel, every crack that had formed between you quickly sealing shut, any semblance of vulnerability buried beneath layers of carefully placed armour. It was instinct—second nature, really. You’d spent years perfecting the art of locking yourself away, of making sure no one could reach the parts of you that still bled. You’d built it, brick by fucking brick, until you were fully encased, isolated from anything that might harm you.

Bucky wasn’t the first to speak to you like that. Wouldn’t be the last.

You swallowed down the sting, inhaled slow and deep through your nose, and then let it out in a steady breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, devoid of emotion, a perfect imitation of indifference. “It was just an offer.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You held his gaze for a second longer, searching for something, anything, that might suggest he regretted it. But Bucky just stared back, face unreadable, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turned away, stretching out on the couch with his back to you.

Fine. Message received.

—

The rest of the week had been nothing short of torturous. After the argument, the air between you and Bucky had turned to ice. The two of you barely spoke. Not outside of necessity, not outside of the roles you had to play. At the gala, he did what was required—he held you close, leant into your touch when needed, murmured sweet nothings in your ear to sell the lie. But you felt the restraint in him, the hesitance in the way he brushed a thumb over your knuckles, the barely-there tremors in his fingers when he smoothed a hand over your waist. It wasn’t as if he was walking on hot coals anymore, but there was still that same, underlying hesitation.

Back at the hotel, the silence stretched long and unbearable. Shower, eat, sleep—repeat. Conversations were reduced to one-word exchanges, curt and impersonal. At least by morning, this miserable charade would be over. You’d gathered the intel you needed at the gala, and in a few hours, you’d be free of this place. Free of this suffocating, awkward tension. Free from Bucky’s constant, looming presence.

God, the man had a staring problem.

You had noticed it before, how he always seemed lost in thought, his gaze heavy with some unreachable burden. You had assumed it was just brooding, the kind of silent, empty-headed angst that men like him fell victim to. But now you realised—he wasn’t staring through you. He was staring at you.

You saw it when you dressed for the gala, slipping into silken dresses and heels, when you pinned your hair into elegant styles, when you traced the lines of your lips with lipstick, perfecting the illusion. You’d catch his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Once, he had been so caught up in his daze that he nearly left without putting on his suit jacket. You had to press it into his hands, dragging him out of whatever spell he was under. He had taken it stiffly, mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ but the heat in his face was unmistakable.

And now, as you sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose nightgown, the fabric riding high on your thighs, the same damn stare was drilling into the side of your face.

The TV flickered before you, an incoherent blur of colours and sound. You weren’t even sure it was in English. It didn’t matter. You weren’t watching it anyway. You were too focused on not focusing on Bucky, who stared at the side of your face like he intended to burn a hole through the flesh.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, running your thumb over your knee. The sheets were soft, the mattress more forgiving than the couch you’d been forced to sleep on last night. At least tonight was your turn back on the bed, though ideally, you’d be back in your own apartment by now, wrapped in high-thread-count luxury courtesy of Tony Stark’s absurd wealth.

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

Bucky was still staring at you. You couldn’t help it, annoyance, filthy and venomous came pouring out of your mouth before you could stop it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Bucky startled, his whole body tensing as if you had physically struck him.

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

“No. There’s obviously something you want to say.” You shifted on the bed, your frustration mounting. “Go on, spit it out.”

He hesitated, his jaw working like he was biting down on whatever words were lodged in his throat.

You didn’t let up. “You sure had a lot to say earlier in the week. What, do you want to dig the knife in further? You might as well just call me a whore while you’re at it—”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky cut over you, his head dipping. You paused, momentarily stunned. He was doing that thing again, where he looked like a scolded dog. Adorable, but not the fucking time.“I shouldn’t have said that, it was inconsiderate of me, especially after... after all you’ve done.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Barnes.” The words left your lips quieter this time, but still firm.

“I snapped at you. And I shouldn’t have.” he admitted. His voice was low, restrained.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said, a little softer. “I haven’t exactly been… the kindest either.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay. Like it’s normal.” His voice was strained, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed in what he was asking.

You let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about this—”

“But you get it, right?” He looked at you now, something almost desperate in his gaze. “To not know… who or what you are? Sometimes I… I just want to be normal again.”

You frown deeply, weighing his words carefully. You understood his sentiment, but you knew it was futile. There had never been anything normal about your life—not anything you could remember, at least. The Red Room had seen to that. Your earliest memories were of drills, of ballet, of suffocating discipline, and of the erasure of self. Even now, you weren’t normal; you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for fucks sake, a woman barely pardoned of her crimes, existing in a liminal space. The world's governments couldn’t quite confirm you existed. You were a ghost, a fucking shadow of a person.

“I don’t think people like us get to be normal,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully.

His expression twisted slightly, like he had already known that answer but had hoped for something different.

“But I think,” you continued, “it would serve you a world of good if you let people in. Steve… Sam. You don’t have to face this all alone—Natasha, Yelena, and I look to each other all the time to process it all and patch together the missing pieces. There’s no shame in it.”

Bucky’s face creased, his body drawing in on itself slightly. You moved before he could shrink further, slipping off the bed and kneeling before him.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, voice steady. “Just tell me... what is it you need right now?”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. He fidgeted, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if struggling to force out something that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue all week.

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes flickering to the floor before darting back to you. His voice was hesitant, low—like he was worried some invisible presence might have overheard. “Lessons. Lessons in… love-making. I want to be able to look at a girl without... you know. This fucking week has been torture seeing you—”

He cut himself off, warmth flooding to his cheeks. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it—light, amused, genuine.

Bucky stiffened, eyes widening slightly, horror flashing across his face as if he thought you were mocking him.

You shook your head quickly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.

“Of course,” you murmured, smiling. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

“Is this okay?” you asked softly as you swung your leg over, settling onto Bucky’s lap. The mattress dipped beneath you both, the quiet creak of the hotel bed the only sound between you for a moment. He sat beneath you, legs slightly spread, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You dug your knees into the bed on either side of his thighs, anchoring yourself against him.

His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Yes,” he murmured, though there was a noticeable tremor in his voice, like he was still convincing himself.

“Just breathe,” you encouraged, smoothing your hands over his broad shoulders. His muscles were tense beneath your fingertips, wound tight like coiled steel. He swallowed hard.

“What’s worrying you?” You asked gently. “Is there something I can do to make this more comfortable for you?”

Bucky shook his head, a shuddering breath leaving him as his hands finally found purchase on your hips. His grip was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you. “No,” he said, his voice rough.

“This is great, I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together in frustration.

You tilted your head, studying him, before offering a reassuring smile. Your fingers kneaded into his shoulders in slow, soothing motions, attempting to melt away some of the tension knotted there. “Talk to me,” you coaxed.

His gaze flickered downward, shame creeping into his expression. “I just… don’t want to embarrass myself. Again.”

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, but you refused to let him linger in self-doubt. Instead, you leant in, your lips curling in a playful smile.

“You’re cute when you say things like that,” you teased, running your tongue over your lower lip before continuing. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stay here, in this moment, with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he obeyed, focusing on the warmth of your body pressed against his. Slowly, his grip tightened on your hips, fingers kneading into the flesh more firmly this time. His thumbs traced cautious circles against the fabric of your clothing, testing. You let your hands drift from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Now,” you murmured, keeping your tone soft but steady, “if you get overwhelmed, or if you need to stop, what do you say?”

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

“Good,” you praised, smiling warmly. “And if you can’t speak? If the words won’t come?”

His fingers flexed on your hip before he squeezed in a deliberate rhythm—three distinct beats. You nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching.

“What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “If you want to stop?”

You demonstrated by tapping three times against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ll do the same thing,” you assured him. “Just like we discussed.”

For a moment, he just breathed. His lashes fluttered as he exhaled a slow, measured breath, his hands steadying against you. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’m… I’m ready. I think.”

You smiled, fingers tracing a soft, reassuring path along his jaw.

“Okay. I thought we’d start with kissing, since you seem worried about it. Nice and simple, no pressure,” you murmured, your voice low and reassuring as your fingertips ghosted along his jawline. Bucky swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leaned into your palm without thinking, nuzzling it like a touch-starved thing. His blue eyes, dark as the ocean in a brewing storm, flickered with something hesitant, something fragile.

“I’m sure you kissed plenty of girls back in the day,” you teased, lips curling as you brushed your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Oh yeah,” he exhaled, the words dipped in self-deprecation, “until Steve became… well, the Steve he is now. None of the girls spared me a second glance after that.”

You let out a soft laugh, breathy and genuine, and felt the way his body tensed beneath you at the sensation. It was funny how a man who could tear through steel and strike terror into the hearts of the world’s deadliest enemies could turn so shy at something as simple as your laughter.

“You know…” he hesitated, voice quieter now. “You were my first kiss since… well, everything.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly. You tilted your head, gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, close enough now that you could feel the steady heat radiating from his skin.

“Well,” you murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling your lips as you shifted closer, “now I’ll be your second too.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, a testing press of your lips against his, feather-light and coaxing. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath hitching as though he was bracing for impact. But when you didn’t pull away, when you lingered just a little longer, he melted into you—hesitant at first, but eager.

His hands, large and trembling slightly, hesitated at your waist before gripping your thighs as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you slip away. The warmth of his palms bled through the thin fabric of your nightgown, spreading across your skin like wildfire.

You deepened your kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips more firmly against his, and a quiet sound rumbled in his chest—halfway between a sigh and a groan. Encouraged, you shifted, rocking your hips, the new position pressing your bodies flush together.

Bucky tensed beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh instinctively as you settled against him. His own hips bucked in response, and you could already feel him growing hard against your inner thigh. He pulled back slightly, panting, his lips swollen.

“Am I doing… okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You smiled, smoothing a hand through his dark hair, tugging him gently forward again.

“More than okay,” you whispered against his lips before capturing them once more.

This time, he kissed you back without hesitation. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring himself to you as he parted his lips, following your lead. You swept your tongue into his mouth, slow and purposeful, teasing along his lower lip before deepening it. A groan rumbled in his chest, muffled against your mouth.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the way his breath hitched and stuttered beneath you. Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel him—hard, straining, likely aching for more. His fingers dug into your skin, a bruising grip that only added to the heat blooming in your core.

You pulled away from his lips, shifting your attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, quick and erratic. He tipped his head back, surrendering himself to your touch, a quiet curse slipping from his mouth as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” you hummed against his skin, your voice warm and indulgent, laced with soft praise. His body trembled beneath you as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more of you. You rewarded him with a soft, breathy moan, letting him know just how much you enjoyed this too.

“I—” He tried to form words, but they crumbled before they left his lips.

The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. His hands clutched at you, grounding himself in the sensation, like the overwhelming pleasure was building too fast for him to control. His breath came in short, needy gasps, his hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke, his head tilting forward as his entire body tensed beneath you. A strangled moan escaped him, deep and wrecked, as he came undone. His grip on your hips tightened, his thighs trembling slightly beneath yours as his climax overtook him. His body fell back against the sheets, a soft exhale leaving his lips as the last waves of pleasure wracked through him.

You perched above him, still straddling his hips. For a moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and his lips parted as if he had more to say but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I didn’t mean to finish so early—” he started, his voice hoarse, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Leaning over, you flipped your hair to one side as your face hovered over his. You silenced him with a lingering kiss, slow and reassuring. He groaned softly into your mouth, still sensitive but already melting into the warmth of your lips. When you pulled away, his shoulders had loosened, the rigid tension gone from his body.

“You did so well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good.”

You grinned, sliding off him and stretching languidly before settling back onto the bed. You exhaled, content. Bucky turned his head to look at you, still slightly frozen in place, as if unsure what to do next. His brows furrowed slightly. “What… what about you? Don’t you want to…?”

You snorted. “That doesn’t matter. This was about you, not me.”

He hesitated, clearly still unused to receiving something without feeling obligated to return it. “But I feel bad leaving you—”

“I’m fine, trust me.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you nestled into the warmth of his arm. “We have a long way to go before you need to be thinking about that.”

Bucky went quiet. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, unreadable.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he would say anything at all. But then, after a beat of silence, you felt him shift beside you. A hesitant hand—warm and slightly calloused—ghosted over your arm before settling on your waist, drawing you in closer.

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.

PART TWO

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #beefy bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel

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ggukivrse · 2 months ago

Text

JUST THIS ONCE | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff (?)

word count: 5.1k

warnings: you’re gonna get sick of the title loll, brief alcohol consumption, this is lowkey pwp (there will be more plot soon i promise) swearing, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, fingering, oral (m. receiving), he’s very cocky but also pathetic, multiple orgasms, lots of banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk calls oc a brat x2, multiple positions, insinuated aftercare, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: you guys built this fic!! this was supposed to be out on thursday but i realised i was being wayy to ambitious cuz i definitely needed more than two days to write this loll. but alas, it’s here :3 as always, likes, comments, reblogs, feedback and asks are very appreciated! enjoy reading angels <33

ps. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You fumble with your keys, swaying just slightly as you try to jab the right one into the lock. Behind you, Jungkook’s laughing under his breath, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck.

“Need help?” he asks, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

“I’ve got it,” you say, jabbing the key with exaggerated precision. The door finally clicks open, and you push it in with a triumphant, “Ha!”

“You’re so competent,” he deadpans, clapping a mock applause as he follows you in. His shoulder bumps yours as he passes. “It’s honestly inspiring.”

You kick off your shoes, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “And you’re so annoying,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

Jungkook drops onto your couch like it’s his own, sprawling out like he owns the place. Which, in some ways, he kind of does.

A hoodie of his is already slung over the back of a kitchen chair, from some night two weeks ago when he stayed too late and decided not to drive home. There’s an energy drink in your fridge with his name written on the lid in Sharpie. The blanket he’s tugging over his lap? That’s the one he gifted you for Christmas, mostly so he could use it whenever he came over.

It’s always been like this.

He tosses his denim jacket on the couch as you grab two bottles of water from the fridge, chucking one to him without warning. He catches it with the ease.

“You were definitely flirting with that bartender,” he says, unscrewing the cap and looking at you with that maddeningly smug smile.

You scoff. “He had a mullet and called me ‘miss.’ It wasn’t flirting— it was survival.”

“Sure,” he says, nodding like he totally believes you. “That’s why you laughed at everything he said, even when he asked if you liked your tequila neat.”

“It was neat!” you say, defensive and laughing at the same time. “And besides, you flirted with the girl in the fishnets for, like, an hour.”

He shrugs. “Guilty. She had good taste in music. And thighs.”

You groan and flop down beside him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your thigh brushes his, but you don’t move. Neither does he. The buzz from the party is still warm in your blood, and the apartment feels too quiet now — too intimate without the noise and lights and other bodies.

“You ever think we’re just... really bad at dating?” you ask, staring at the ceiling.

“Constantly,” Jungkook says, without hesitation.

You glance at him. “Like, maybe we peaked in college.”

He makes a face. “Don’t say that. I refuse to believe my best years happened while I was still eating instant ramen and failing comp sci.”

You laugh, and he turns his head toward you, watching you with that soft-eyed expression you know too well. There’s something about Jungkook when he’s like this — no bravado, no teasing smirk, just... present. His hair is a mess from the wind, and a dark tank top hugs his figure.

He’s too comfortable here. Too familiar.

“I genuinely think I’ve forgotten what a good kiss feels like,” you say, mostly to the ceiling, like it’s a throwaway thought.

Jungkook hums. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not even bad, it’s just...” You trail off, searching for the word. “Empty. Mechanical. Like everyone’s going through the motions, but nobody’s actually there.”

He shifts slightly, angling his body more toward you. “So no decent kissers at all lately?”

You shake your head. “No decent anything, if I’m honest.”

He raises an eyebrow, curious.

You hesitate, but the alcohol in your system makes it easier to say what you probably wouldn’t sober. “I haven’t slept with anyone in like... almost a year.”

Jungkook blinks, not in judgment, just surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You rub at your temple with a laugh. “I didn’t plan it or anything. It just kind of... kept not happening. And then it became this weird streak, and now here we are.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Well,” he says eventually, “maybe your standards are just too high.”

“Or maybe men are just mid,” you shoot back.

That gets a laugh out of him, loud and bright. He tips his head back, and you watch his throat move as he laughs. Too long. Too hard. When he calms down, he gives you a look — something mischievous that you've grown to know too well over the years.

"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him with a smile.

He shrugs. “I mean... I could help."

“With my standards?”

“With the streak.”

You snort. “What, you offering?”

“Maybe.”

You tilt your head. “So what? You wanna bang it out?”

It’s meant to be funny. You’re grinning when you say it. But when you look at him — really look — he’s not laughing.

His gaze lingers on your mouth for a beat too long. Then his eyes flick up to yours.

“Just this once?” he asks, voice low. Careful. Like he’s giving you an out.

You don’t answer right away. The room goes still. The hum of the fridge feels too loud. His eyes are still on you, and it’s not a look you’ve ever seen from him before.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You swallow. “Wouldn't it be weird?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.

“Only if we let it be.”

You sit there for a second, the weight of it all hitting a little too fast. Your brain’s still catching up to your mouth, to the way your body’s buzzing — not from the alcohol anymore, but from him. From the heat in his eyes, the way he said it — almost like a dare.

And then his expression shifts.

His eyes flick away, and his tongue runs over the silver ring on his bottom lip, like he’s pulling it back, reeling it in.

“Only if you want to, obviously,” he says, quieter this time. “We don’t have to.”

He starts to lean back like he's resetting the mood — like this moment can still be folded back into the safety of your usual teasing — but you stop him.

You move first.

You grab the front of his tank top — not hard, not dramatic, just enough — and you pull him in.

You kiss him.

It’s abrupt. Heat over hesitation. A split-second decision that tastes like tequila and impulse, like comfort and fuck it all wrapped up in the same breath.

At first, he doesn’t move, frozen in surprise. But then he kisses you back — really kisses you back — and suddenly you're not thinking anymore.

His hand slides to your thigh, just enough pressure to ground you, and you shift toward him instinctively, knees brushing his. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of focused laziness, like he’s savouring it. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly how you taste.

You pull back half a second, just to breathe, lips brushing his as you mutter, “Took you long enough.”

He laughs into your mouth, low and smug. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah, well. You looked like you were gonna bail.”

“I was being respectful,” he says, voice muffled against your jaw as he starts kissing along it. “But sure, let’s call it bailing.”

You gasp a little when he nips at your neck, just enough pressure to make you arch toward him. Your hands slide under his top, fingers skimming the warm skin of his back, and he shivers under your touch.

“Jesus,” you murmur. “How are you this built? You eat, like, gas station snacks and leftover noodles.”

“I work out,” he mutters between kisses, grinning as he drags his mouth back to yours. “Also, you’ve seen me shirtless.”

“Yeah, but not like this.”

“Like what?”

You tug him closer until your chest presses to his. “Like I get to touch.”

That shuts him up real quick.

He kisses you again, this time more urgently, and you feel the change in the air — less teasing, more want. Your legs shift to straddle his lap without thinking, your hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just a little.

He groans, deep and rough, biting down on your bottom lip before kissing it better. You rock your hips forward slightly and he bucks up into you with a hiss.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

You smirk against his mouth. “You offered, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’m rapidly realising that was a dangerous choice.”

You laugh, breathless, before kissing him again. He tastes like beer and something sweeter — probably the gum he always chews. You bite his lip and feel him groan into your mouth, hips jerking beneath you.

His fingers slip under your shirt, warm on your skin. Not rushed, just exploring — like he’s been curious for a while and is finally allowed to look.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and his head drops back against the cushion with a low fuck that makes your stomach flip.

“You still sure about this?” you ask, teasing, as your hands drag down his chest, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

His eyes open — dark, focused, amused.

“You gonna stop me if I say no?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Then yeah,” he says, breath hitching as your fingers reach his abdomen. “I’m very sure.”

He catches your fingers before you can finish unbuttoning his jeans.

You raise a brow, breath still uneven. “Seriously?”

He nods, steady, calm in a way that only makes your pulse pound harder. “I said I was helping you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I thought that was like... a mutual helping situation.”

His mouth twitches. “You always gotta argue when I’m trying to do something nice?”

You open your mouth to throw something back — something biting, something stupid — but he leans in and kisses you before you can get the words out. One hand still wrapped around your wrist, the other cupping your jaw.

He pulls back just enough to speak.

“Let me take care of you.”

You stare at him for a beat, heart kicking hard in your chest.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to sound unbothered. “But don't expect any thank yous or shit.”

“I’ll survive,” he says, already smirking as his fingers work at your jeans. “Though, for the record, I think you’re gonna want to.”

You snort — right before he pops the button of your jeans and drags the zipper down, knuckles brushing your skin. You shiver.

“God, you’re cocky.”

He glances up, eyes flicking to yours. “You saying I haven’t earned it?”

You don’t answer. Your breath stutters when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, palm flush against you.

He stills.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “You’re wet already?”

“Shut up.”

He smiles cockily.

You roll your eyes — try to, anyway — but your thighs are already parting, your body moving without conscious thought. His fingers slide into you, testing the waters, and your head tips back with a soft sigh.

He watches your face like he’s waiting for something. When your mouth parts, when your hips twitch toward his hand, that’s when he moves.

His thumb finds your bud and he's gentle at first. Circling, then rubbing just a little firmer. You bite your lip hard, trying not to give him the satisfaction of the noises building in your throat.

“Still not thanking you,” you say through clenched teeth.

“Oh, you will,” he says, low. “Eventually.”

You glare at him. He grins back, fingers dragging lower, slipping in without resistance. You suck in a breath, and he laughs softly under it.

“Okay?” he asks, suddenly serious again.

You nod, maybe too quickly. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He starts moving his fingers — slow at first, too slow. Like he’s enjoying making you wait. You squirm, trying to rock your hips into his hand, but he tightens his grip on your thigh.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, eyes gleaming. “You’re letting me do the work, remember?”

“I hate you.”

“You’re literally grinding on my hand right now.”

You reach out blindly and smack his chest. He doesn’t even flinch — just slips another finger in, and your breath catches so hard it punches the air from your lungs.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

His thumb picks up a rhythm again, and the pressure starts to build fast. He knows it, too. His free hand slides around your waist, steadying you as your body starts to shake. Your fist curls into the soft fabric of his top, needing something to hold onto.

“Still hate me?” he asks, voice rougher now, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Don’t flatter yourself— fuck—”

“Yeah?” His fingers curl just right, and your whole body tenses. “Right there?”

You nod, desperate, eyes squeezed shut. Your thighs are shaking. You’re so close you can’t even keep up the bit.

“Say it,” he says.

“Say what?”

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

You groan. “Jesus, Jungkook—”

He slows down suddenly, barely moving his hand.

You whine. Actually whine.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“God, you’re annoying,” you say, breathless.

He grins. “You're the one being the brat here.”

You drag your eyes open and glare at him, but it’s all heat now. All want. You lean in close, lips pressing against his.

"Fuck— fine. You feel so fucking good, Kook. Please, just don't stop."

He doesn’t.

He kisses you hard and fast, and his fingers start again, slick and firm and relentless. Your body clenches around him and this time, you don’t even try to hold the sounds back. His name leaves your mouth like muscle memory, and he groans into your kiss, like he’s the one coming undone.

When you break the kiss to suck in air, he presses his forehead to yours, voice rough in your ear.

“That’s it. Let go for me.”

You do.

Your body arches, thighs trembling as the orgasm washes over you sharp and fast. Your fingers dig into his back, into his top, into anything that keeps you tethered.

He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, twitching, pushing his hand away because you’re too sensitive now.

He pulls back finally, breath warm against your skin, his fingers wet. He looks at you, gaze heavy, lips parted.

Then, without a word, he brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Open,” he says, low and steady.

You blink at him, your body still humming, brain half-melted. “What—?”

He brushes two slick fingers against your bottom lip, and your mouth parts on instinct.

“You said no thank yous,” he says, smirking. “So this’ll do.”

You glare at him, but your lips close around his fingers anyway. He watches every second — the way your mouth wraps around them, the way your tongue slides against the pads. His expression flickers from cocky to wrecked.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice rough now, the smugness cracking around the edges.

You suck once, slow and purposeful, eyes locked on his, and he jerks slightly under you — hips twitching like your mouth is on him instead. When you pull off with a soft pop, your lips are swollen and wet.

“You said mutual help,” you murmur, breath still catching on the end of every word. “It’s your turn.”

He blinks, like he’s short-circuiting.

You slide off his lap slowly, hands dragging down his chest, and his breath catches when you settle between his legs on your knees. You palm him over his jeans, and he hisses, already hard under your touch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, head tipping back.

“You okay there?” you ask, voice sweet, taunting. “Or do you need me to go slower?”

He looks down at you, pupils blown, jaw clenched. “Don’t be a brat.”

You unbutton his jeans, real slow, enjoying the way he twitches under your hands. “No promises.”

You drag the zipper down, tugging his jeans and boxers low enough to free him. He’s flushed and heavy, tip already glistening, and you swear you see his hips flex at just the sight of your mouth this close.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You look way too good down there.”

You wrap your hand around his cock, giving one slow stroke, and he groans like it surprises him.

You start slow. Just your hand. Thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge under the head, watching his thighs tense beneath your touch. His head drops back against the couch cushion, and you feel the way his hips subtly shift toward you, like his body’s trying to chase more without him even realising it.

You lean in and lick a slow stripe from base to tip, tongue flat, deliberate. His breath catches — then shudders out of him like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.

“Shit,” he mutters again, voice strained.

You hum like you agree, and wrap your lips around the head, just barely. You suck, not hard — just enough to make him twitch. Your hand works in tandem, slow, steady strokes, and your mouth follows, inching lower until the tip presses against the back of your throat.

He moans, raw and wrecked. “Fuck, baby—”

The pet name is barely more than a gasp, almost like it slipped out without permission. Your stomach flips at the sound it.

His voice borders on the line of sounding pathetic, and it makes you want to press your thighs together.

You fall into rhythm — your lips sliding over him, tongue pressed firm underneath, hand twisting where your mouth leaves off. Every now and then, you let yourself get sloppy. Let the sound of it echo between you, let him hear what he’s doing to you.

He’s falling apart above you. You can tell by the way his hand flexes and releases in your hair, the way his thighs tremble every time you sink a little deeper. He’s breathing hard now, jaw slack, eyes barely open. Watching you. Like he still can’t believe this is real.

“God, your mouth—” His voice cuts off into a moan when you swallow around him, deep and slow. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You pull off just long enough to breathe, lips slick, chin wet. “You deserve it.”

He laughs, but it breaks halfway through. Your hand doesn’t stop moving.

“You like watching me fall apart, huh?”

You look up through your lashes, tongue flicking over the head. “More than a little.”

You go back down — deeper this time — and he chokes on a groan. His hips jerk up too sharply and he curses, hands fisting hard in your hair.

“Shit— I’m—” He’s panting now, thighs shaking. “I’m not gonna last if you keep— fuck, don’t—”

You suck harder, then moan around him just to hear the sound he makes. It’s almost a whimper.

“Baby, stop— wait— fuck— please—”

You pull off with a wet pop just before he tips over the edge, lips red and swollen, saliva clinging to your chin. He’s barely keeping it together. Chest heaving, flushed to the neck, cock twitching where it rests against his stomach.

“You were right there,” you say, feigning innocence, voice soft and ruined.

“Exactly," he says, sitting up. "I'm not done with you yet."

He drags the fabric of his top over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. The moment it’s off, your breath catches.

Fuck.

He’s all golden skin and sharp lines, chest heaving, abs flexing with every breath. His tattoos curl over his shoulder and down his arm, black ink stark against flushed skin. His cock’s still hard, flushed dark, resting against his stomach, twitching when he sees the way you’re looking at him.

And you — still kneeling between his legs — can’t look away.

Then you rise, shaky but determined, and pull your top over your head, letting it fall. His eyes snap to your chest, lips parting like he’s just been punched in the gut. You're movements are purposefully slow as you pull down your jeans, then your panties.

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes dragging down your body. “You’re a fucking dream.”

You crawl back into his lap, your bare skin meeting his, and the contact makes both of you gasp. You straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he groans the moment your heat presses against his cock.

He fumbles for a condom, pulling it out from an inner pocket in the jacket he’d draped onto the couch earlier.

You watch as he tears it open and rolls it on, fingers practiced but tense. You reach between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, and the second his tip slides against your soaked folds, his grip tightens on your hips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice shaking.

You sink down slowly, inch by thick inch, and your nails bite into his shoulders as you stretch around him. He’s big — your pussy gripping him tight, wet and pulsing as he fills you up. Every nerve lights up, every breath gets harder to catch.

“Holy fuck—” His head drops to your chest, groaning against your skin. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm. Gonna make me lose it.”

You whimper as you bottom out, walls fluttering around him. You can feel every vein, every twitch. It’s almost too much. Almost.

But not enough.

You start to move — slow, dragging lifts of your hips, circling them on the way back down. He watches, hands clamped on your ass, guiding the grind of your body like he already knows how to make you fall apart again.

You ride him, pace picking up fast, desperate. Every time your hips drop, the base of his cock grinds against your clit, slick sounds filling the room with every slap of skin against skin. His cock hits deep, stretching you wide, and a moan passes your lips.

He groans are low and guttural, eyes locked to where your bodies meet. “Goddamn, baby. Watching you fuck yourself on my cock— shit— never gonna forget this.”

You’re panting now, thighs burning, rhythm faltering. You try to keep going, but your legs are shaking.

He notices.

Without a word, he shifts under you, plants his feet flat on the floor, and grabs your hips tight.

“Let me help you, yeah?”

You nod. “Please.”

He starts thrusting up into you.

You cry out, spine arching, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on as he fucks you from underneath, sharp and deep. His hips snap up into you, cock pressing into your sweet spot over and over again.

The new angle is obscene. Filthy.

“Fuck, Jungkook— holy shit—”

He smirks up at you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “That’s it. Take it, baby. Look at you— so cockdrunk already.”

Your pussy clenches around him, soaked and messy, and the sound of it is downright pornographic. His balls slap against your ass with every brutal thrust, and you can’t even think anymore. Just feel.

Your head falls back, hips rocking with his. “W-we’re still best friends, right, Kook?”

His rhythm stutters, hips slamming up too hard, too deep, and his jaw drops slightly like he’s not sure if he actually heard you right. His pupils are blown, face flushed, and he stares at you like you just kicked the last brain cell out of his skull.

“What the fuck,” he pants. “You can’t say that. Not when I’m— fuck— inside you.”

You whimper, walls clenching around him like your body’s reacting to how wrecked he sounds.

“That’s so fucked up,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Say it again and I might actually come on the spot.”

You huff out a weak laugh at that, hands tangling in his hair, and he groans, fucking you harder, deeper — like he needs to wipe the thought of friendship off your brain with every snap of his hips.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp. “So close, fuck— don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. One hand slips between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit while he pounds into you. You sob his name, hips stuttering, body locking up.

“Come on,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

That’s all it takes.

You break with a cry, body clamping down around him as your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train. Your pussy pulses around his cock, milking him, soaking him, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.

He slows just a little — just enough to let you ride it out — but he doesn’t pull out. He’s still hard inside you, jaw tight, eyes blown wide.

You collapse forward, panting into his neck, spent.

His hands slide down your spine, warm and possessive. “You good?”

You nod, still breathless. “Yeah. Jesus.”

"Good." He swiftly lifts you off him just enough to slip out, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But he doesn’t give you time to think.

He shifts, guiding you onto your back, his body following yours down to the couch. His hands frame your face as he settles between your legs, and when he presses back into you — thick and hard.

His eyes roam over you like he’s never seen anything more obscene or more beautiful. Your lips are swollen, parted in a messy moan. There’s a faint smudge of mascara under one eye from when you’d cried out his name, and your skin’s glowing — sweaty, flushed, wrecked.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he says, voice gone rough. “All fucked out for me.”

You pull him down into a kiss before you can think. It’s open-mouthed, greedy, teeth clashing a little. His hips start to move again, slow at first — long, deep thrusts that make your breath catch every time he bottoms out.

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. His chest brushes yours, sticky skin against sticky skin, and your nails rake down his back.

He gasps into your mouth. “Fuck—”

“More,” you breathe, nails dragging again, leaving angry red lines down the muscle of his back. “Please.”

His hips snap harder, pace picking up again. He braces one hand beside your head and the other slides up your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise. Your body rocks with every thrust, his cock slamming into you, the slap of his hips against yours louder now.

“You feel that?” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “How tight you are around me? Fuck— I’m so deep, baby, you’re taking me so fucking good.”

You moan loud at his words, head falling back against the cushions.

He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast — open-mouthed, wet kisses that make your skin burn. Then he’s back at your mouth, kissing you like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe.

He watches you with the kind of hunger that makes your stomach flip, watching how your brows pinch, how your mouth trembles, how you twitch around him with every stroke like you’re on the edge all over again.

And fuck, you are.

“Touch me,” you gasp, voice raw. “Kook, please—”

His fingers snake down your stomach, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit, synced with the rhythm of his thrusts. You cry out, thighs shaking around his waist, and he just watches — eyes dark and wild, like he can’t believe what he’s doing to you.

You clench hard around him, and he curses, slamming into you deeper, grinding at the end of each stroke.

“Gonna come again?” he pants. “Wanna come on my cock like that, baby? Let me feel you soak me?”

You’re nodding before he finishes, tears prickling in your eyes from how fucking intense it is. “Yes— yes, fuck, don’t stop—”

He kisses you as you fall apart — moaning into your mouth, swallowing every sound. You come again, whole body seizing around him. Your nails dig in, and he hisses at the pain, thrusting through it, fucking you right through the high.

When it ebbs, your body goes limp under him, chest heaving, lips swollen, slick dripping between your thighs.

Jungkook fucks into you again — slow, deep, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you pulsing around him. His breath stutters, muscles drawn tight, every thrust rougher than the last.

“I’m not gonna last,” he pants, voice wrecked.

You bring your hands up to his hair, lightly tugging at his locks as you whisper, “Wanna feel you.”

He chokes on a moan, slamming into you one final time as he comes hard, cock twitching deep inside as he fills the condom.

His arms shake, muscles locked tight, and his face is buried in your neck as he rides it out, breath ragged, skin flushed and burning. You feel every pulse of it, every tremble in his frame, and all you can do is hold him there — legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms tangled around his shoulders, your nails still leaving stinging trails across his skin.

He presses kisses against your neck and jaw, eventually trailing up to your lips before pulling back to just look at you.

"I— you're perfect."

You smile, a familiar warmth enveloping your cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, you can stop with the flattery."

But he doesn’t smile back right away. He just watches you, quiet. Like he’s still catching up to the weight of what just happened. What’s still happening.

His hand drifts to your waist, thumb brushing lazily over your damp skin. “Let me run you a bath.”

You blink. “A bath?”

He nods, lips brushing your temple. “Yeah. You’re shaky. And I kinda wrecked you.”

You snort, catching the smugness in his voice. “What happened to, ‘Shit, baby, if you don’t stop I’m gonna come down your throat’?”

He groans, laughing. “Okay, first of all— rude. Second, I don’t sound like that.”

“Mm, you definitely do.”

He pinches your side lightly. “Keep talking, I’ll re-enact it right now.”

You shut up. But you’re smiling.

He stands a moment later, disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the water running, the soft clatter of bottles, his voice humming something low and familiar.

When he comes back, he tosses you a towel and holds out a hand, that same easy smile on his face. The one you’ve known forever. The one that makes everything feel… normal.

Even now.

You lace your fingers with his, let him pull you up.

Your legs are jelly. His hand doesn’t let go.

And as you follow him into the bathroom, skin still marked by his touch, lips still swollen from his kiss, a quiet thought flickers at the edge of your mind.

You guys were still best friends.

Right?

→ read part two here

taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo @minghaosimp

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chuluoyi · 11 months ago

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my boyfriend will kick your ass !

- fushiguro megumi x reader

it's a date gone wrong when you get into an argument with your aloof boyfriend. but will he save you when it counts?

genre/warnings: tw. street harassment, catcalling. hurt/comfort, arguments and reconciliation, protective!megumi and fluff !

note: i miss my emo boi :(

general masterlist

“Stay back!”

This is an utter plot twist. When you came out of your apartment today, all dolled up and ready to go on a date with your boyfriend, you never imagined you’d end up cornered by two creeps in a deserted alley.

“Easy, girl,” one of the guys in front of you cackled, lips curling into an unsettling sneer. “We’re just trying to get to know you better!”

“Listen— My boyfriend is super scary, you know!” you barked, willing yourself not to shake. “Now you better not come any closer or else—!”

“Or else what?” the other creep mocked with a snort. You gripped your umbrella—now your makeshift weapon—tightly, pointing it at him as a threat.

“Or else my boyfriend will be here in any minute and he’ll kick your ass!”

It was a partly a lie you hoped sounded convincing, because how could Megumi suddenly show up and find you in this dingy alleyway... right after both of you had a petty disagreement in the middle of Shibuya's shopping district?

Oh lord, how you regretted raising your voice and running away from him earlier.

"You are late!" you scolded him heatedly as he yawned, showing up twenty minutes later than your agreed time. "Can't you at least text me beforehand? I'll match your time if you do!"

Megumi sighed, fixing you with a blank stare as he scratched his head. "My bad. I overslept. I rushed here so didn't think of it."

It was so easy for him to say, and you would've understood if it was the first time, but you had noticed this pattern over the past two weeks. Whenever you asked him out for dates, his face always soured, and he didn't bother to be on time. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was reluctantly agreeing.

And by this point, you thought you knew better and that was really it.

Finally, you blurted out the burning accusation: "You never realize it, but it shows, you know? You never seem happy when we go out together."

He exhaled in exasperation, green eyes darkening at you. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly that."

It seemed he had run out of patience. Standing your ground, you braced for his next words. But the glare he sent your way and the words he spat pierced your tender heart more than you thought—

"You're always nagging. Can't you stop being annoying just once? What a pain."

Perhaps he was right, you were annoying him all this time and dealing with you was a pain. You could imagine it if you were in his place, but you couldn't handle the very implication that you had done so, and you screamed at his face:

"So be it then! Fushiguro, you are the worst!"

—and ran off with tears in your eyes, deserting him altogether.

You knew you weren’t exactly a model of maturity, but in your defense, it stung deeply that he saw you as annoying and a pain. What girlfriend wouldn’t be hurt by that?

Anyhow, you loitered near the Shibuya station afterwards, and at first you heard some catcalls you didn't really pay mind to. But when those two guys started whistling and edging closer, it hit you—you were their target.

You quickened your pace, turning down several corners, only to find yourself trapped in a dead end. Just how much worse could your day get?

"Aha, the girl says she has a boyfriend!" Creep #1 snickered, turning to Creep #2 with a smirk, before pretending to scan the area. "But I don’t see him?"

"Miss, I swear we’re not up to any trouble," Creep #2 chimed in, his eyes gleaming with a predatory delight. "Won’t you be our friend? You’re too pretty to be alone—this is Shibuya, after all!" he said, eyeing your legs and whistled. "And ooh, have I told you that skirt suits you well?"

These guys were straight-up perverts!

"Get lost!" you yelled, your fingers trembling as you swung the umbrella at him when he tried to close the distance. "Can’t you just leave me alone?!"

You were at your wits' end, and it was clear this situation wasn’t going to improve with them still blocking your way. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and decided to do the only thing you could.

In hindsight, a stupid move—

You barreled towards the two of them with your umbrella—managing to push past them. For a moment, you thought you had a chance and ran as fast as you could—

"Ack!" —until you tripped and crashed on the ground.

You rose and immediately winced, looking down at the site where it hurt the most. Oh, you had scrapped your knees badly.

"Ahh, miss! Don't be too hasty~!" you heard the second guy's sing-song voice, and you really wanted to cry. Why did this have to happen to you?

"Don't come c-closer!" you stammered, backing away as they approached. Your whole body shook, desperately trying to think of ways to save yourself. "Or— I'll scream!"

"Whoa, whoa, wait just a minute! Why don't you just—"

You really thought you would scream, until suddenly the familiar scent of mint filled your sense and a strong arm pulled you from behind, and a broad back shielded your view from them—

"What do you need from her?" Megumi's voice boomed, his eyes glaring at the two men who had been harassing you. His breathing was ragged, as if he had run all the way here. "Fuck off."

At that moment, you couldn't help clutching his sleeve, hiding behind him further as you kept trembling. Megumi sensed it, and turned over to have a look over you—

You looked disheveled, spooked, and his eyes widened when he saw the blood trailing down both of your knees.

"Hey man, your girlfriend practically asked for it! Just look how she is dressed—"

Before you could process what was happening, Megumi had yanked the man by his collar and thrown a punch at him. You yelped and immediately got a hold of his arm to stop him further. "Megumi!"

The other guy quickly caught his friend, who spat out a string of curses, his lips bloodied from the punch.

"Fuck. Off." Megumi glowered at them, and they finally got the message, scurrying away in hurry. The moment they did, he faced you again and you finally let out a sob, throwing yourself into him. His body was warm, his heart pounding hard— yet it meant reassurance for you.

"Are you okay...?" his voice was noticeably softer as he wrapped his arms around you and returned the hug. "Did they touch you—?"

Megumi froze when he felt his chest dampen with your tears and heard your sniffles, your figure shaking like a leaf in his embrace. A wave of guilt washed over him, realizing how scared you must have been. Instinctively, he held you tighter.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," he muttered, his breath warm against your ear. It was as if there was an invincible knife that twisted his chest when it dawned on him what you just got into. "I'm here now, okay? You're safe now."

If it weren’t for his harsh words earlier, you wouldn’t have run off. He kept shushing you, his own heart breaking at the turn of events.

And when you nodded against him, he knew he had to make it up to you somehow.

Later, Megumi tended to your minor injury while crouching down before you, as you sat on a bench near the convenience store where he had picked up the first aid kit.

Your eyes were swollen, your outfit was dirtied, but you ignored the curious looks from passersby. Still shaken, you kept your gaze fixed on your lap.

You recoiled when the disinfectant touched your torn skin, tears welling up again in your eyes. "Ow..."

"It'll hurt just a bit," Megumi looked up at you worriedly, seeing you struggling to hold back tears. He gently blew air on your wound. "It’ll be over soon."

Megumi noticed how you were uncharacteristically quiet. Between the two of you, you were the chatty one and he was the silent listener. But now, you were completely silent, and he knew it was definitely not a good sign.

And so he thought it was a good time to finally explain himself. With a sigh, he began. "I... was on back-to-back missions last week."

You glanced at him, both surprised and confused.

“I was so burnt out— that’s why I’ve been oversleeping lately. Sorry for not meeting you on time.” Megumi applied the ointment to your knees, and you stiffened from the sting. He blew air on them again to ease the discomfort.

"You never told me," you pointed out.

“Yeah, uh, sorry...” he winced. “It’s so... lame. I’ve been exhausted for a week straight whereas Itadori bounces back so easily. Stupid, I know.”

"You... didn't tell me because you don't want to look uncool?"

As soon as you worded it that way, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Megumi remained silent, looking down, and you knew that his silence was a definite yes.

Totally stupid. But exactly how Fushiguro Megumi was always wired. A part of you was exasperated, but also forgave him for it.

When he met your gaze again, he finally saw the light returning to your eyes. It was a relief to him, so he let out a small sigh and put on a strained smile.

"How did you find me anyway?" you asked quietly.

"You didn't pick up my calls. I was worried. And then I ran around until I heard your voice." His eyes narrowed into a frown. "Did they do anything to you?"

You shook your head, and Megumi let out the breath he had been holding, gripping your right hand in his. "I’m glad."

You brushed away the trace of tears on your cheeks as he finished applying band-aids to your knees, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers.

"Sorry for being annoying," you mumbled softly, not meeting his eyes, feeling yourself so small all of a sudden. "Will totally happen again though."

"You..." Unwittingly, he cracked a smile at your blatant remark. "Just... don’t run off again, dummy. Do it where I can see you."

He ruffled your hair gently, then intertwined your fingers with his. "And sorry... for getting mad at you too."

Your cheeks felt warm, so you looked away, puckering your lips together. "...I'm hurt. You have to make it up to me."

He hummed, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Let's go have that shaved ice you’ve been craving then."

“Huh? You remembered! But you don’t like them?”

“You like that kind of sugar dump, don’t you?”

Hand-in-hand, both of you traversed the Shibuya shopping district together. Your eyes were still puffy, but you were smiling and talking his ears off again just like you always did.

“I told those pricks my boyfriend will definitely kick their asses,” you giggled to yourself, swinging your joined hands in joy. “And you really did~”

“What are you talking about…?”

Sometimes you were beyond his comprehension. Sometimes you were also cute beyond comparison.

And Megumi thought... he liked you the best this way.

#fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk x reader fluff #megumi fushiguro x reader fluff #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader angst #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #fushiguro megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi x y/n #jjk angst #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro

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thecoochiefairy · 1 year ago

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it’s truly sad.

went in the x reader tags and i just want to formally apologize to fic writers. cause so many long fics have nice complex plots and seeing low notes on it…truly i want to crash out for y’all.

#when i see fics that legit only have 500 words and will literally get 10-20k notes. it saddens me #especially those fics that have no story line and it’s just straight smut and they receive more attention than those who put effort into #*into their plots #and idk if it’s bc most of the black community doesn’t get much attention or what but i’m truly tired of it #we’re not getting enough attention #it seems like no one likes to read full fics anymore. nobody likes art #they just want full blown smut #dare i blame it on our society and the lack of education??? maybe #౨ৎ ׅ ۫ . ♡ ⋆#do you guys think fanfiction is dying out on here?

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that-one-girl2020 · 4 days ago

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Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 3

A/N: Wow. Okay this got a lot more attention than I expected it to in three days. Sorry this part took me a little longer to write but it has one-on-one interactions with each member, that’s why it’s longer than the other parts.

Also, sorry but I’ve reached the maximum number of mentions I can have in the tag list so the tag list is closed!

By majority vote, I will be giving the Saja Boys Korean names so depending on the situation and point of view, they’ll either be referred to as their stage names or their Korean names.

If you guys have any ideas for outtakes, leave them in the comments below!

TW: I needed some way for the reader’s stress to manifest, like how Rumi struggles to sing as the pattern progresses. This manifested as a form of self mutilation, mostly just scratching when stressed or anxious. Insecurity and self deprecating thoughts ahead as well!

Word Count: 6,388

Baby: Jum (king)

Romance: Chungae (noble and love)

Mystery: Hyeon (virtuous, worthy, able)

Abby: Kwan (one who is strong)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5

The four boys knew that they had to talk to Jinu about what they found out about (Y/n) and, by default, her sister the hunter. But, they were summoned by Gwi Ma before they had a chance to. They appeared in the middle of a crowd of cheering demons so the boys fell into their idol personas, smiling and pandering to the crowd.

They couldn’t help how their chests clenched when Gwi Ma forced them back into their demon forms.

And then Jinu joined them, standing at the top of the mountain before Gwi Ma’s fire. “One of the Hunters and her sister bears my mark, but I have no control over them.”

The four boys shared looks with each other out of the corners of their eyes. Gwi Ma was in their heads, of course he already knew.

“That’s good. This means that they have shame. We’ll find out what it is and we can use it to destroy the Hunters for good,” Jinu plotted with a sly smirk.

“I’ve taught you well, Jinu.”

Gwi Ma dismissed the five boys back to the human world and they popped to the place they shared. “Hey, boss, we should talk about what we’re gonna do.”

The five spread across the living area, Kwan laying across the couch as Chungae picked up his legs so he could sit before replacing Kwan legs.

Jum sat on the ground, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t care but his eyes kept glancing up and around at the others.

Hyeon sat on the arm of the couch, picking at his lip even though he shouldn’t. It was hard to get used to not having his tusks anymore… It’s kinda become a tick at this point.

Jinu stood in front of them, “We need to find out what shame the Hunter and her sister have. To do that, we need to get close to them, make them comfortable around us.”

“You’ve had the most interaction with the Hunter, right? So she’ll be more open to you I think,” Chungae mused thoughtfully.

“But, there isn’t just one of us that the sister has spent more time with,” Jum pointed out.

None of the boys wanted to admit that they each knew your name, it would mean admitting that you had caught at least a little bit of their attention, enough to remember you.

“Well, I was the one that carried her tonight,” Chungae flipped his hair, smiling smugly.

“Hey hey, I was the one she was flirting with during the fight. And she was eyeing my abs so I should talk to her,” Kwan crossed his arms, nudging Chungae’s stomach with his foot.

“I was the one who won the spicy challenge, I feel like I should be the one to get close to her,” Jum added his own input.

Hyeon wanted to add his own argument but he didn’t think knowing your scent would really go in his favor… But his jaw itched to sink his teeth into your skin. Gently! He just wanted to bite you… affectionately…

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. He could see where the four were coming from and he was a bit disappointed that he already had the role of getting close to the Hunter but he couldn’t do anything about it. You were so cute when you were flustered too…

“You can all take a try at it, it’s four chances of her opening up to one of you so it should be fine. Just don’t overwhelm her or it’ll look sketchy,” Jinu told them. He dug through the stationary they had around, writing out a note for Derpy and his bird friend to deliver to the Hunter.

“I’m heading out.”

~~~

‘Was it bad that you were glad the girls hadn’t caught up to the Saja Boys…?’

You had run back to the Huntr/x tower, looking ridiculous with your arms inside your sweatshirt to cover your arms and very thankful that there weren’t any civilians out then. You tapped your foot impatiently as the elevator took you up and then you sprinted to your room to put on a different sweatshirt with a high neck tank top under to cover the marks spreading up your neck.

The girls were a few minutes behind you. You changed just in time to greet them with your first aid kit.

Rumi burst out of the elevator with a cry of your name, “You’re okay, right?!” She grabbed your arms, scanning you over frantically, checking for bruises or scratches.

“Those dirty playing demons,” Zoey fumed, stomping with her arms crossed childishly. “You are okay though, right, (Y/n)?”

Mira huffed, following the other two out of the elevator, “She’s fine guys, she doesn’t have a scratch.” You didn’t miss how her eyes scanned over you though, making sure that you really were alright.

“What were you thinking?!” Rumi stressed, grabbing your face in her hands to pull you closer to her. “Going after them?! You could’ve been hurt! You could’ve been…!” Rumi trailed off, the words stuck in her throat.

You could’ve been found out. Your pattern could’ve been seen. You’d have to tell Rumi later that the boys had ripped your sleeves.

But for now, you smiled with a light laugh, “I’m fine, Rumi, I promise. Let me patch you guys up, you guys look a little… eesh.” You grimaced as you took a good look at all the scratches on their faces. They were not offended, they completely understood.

The girls relaxed and let you tend to their scratches and bruises before going to change into lounge clothes and then coming back to see the Honmoon.

Thankfully, they bought your explanation that you lost the boys due to Gwi Ma summoning them and had headed back to the tower to wait for them, you had explained while you patched them up.

The girls stood at the window, looking at the red corrupting the Honmoon as you put the first aid supplies away and moved to the kitchen. You glanced at them with furrowed brows as you got out the ingredients for kimbap.

Then the elevator came up with Bobby, “Girls?”

The girls whipped out their compacts to aggressively cover the wounds on their faces and turned to greet him, “Hey Bobby!”

You threw the first aid supplies in one of the cupboards as you shook your head. You couldn’t help but find it amusing how well trained they were by now in covering up scrapes and bruises from their hunting.

You heard Bobby swiping through TikTok, and couldn’t help the way your shoulders bounced as the chorus of Soda Pop played on a loop.

“Zoey!”

“Bobby! Control those shoulders!”

You froze awkwardly. At least they hadn’t caught you… You focused on making the kimbap a little more aggressively, your head ducked down to avoid attention. It was such a catchy song…

You hunched down further when Rumi started plotting an aggressive diss track to perform at the International Idol Awards.

“Zoey, we’re gonna need a new song!”

“I got twenty-three notebooks full of demon insults ready to go.”

“Yeah! Let’s make it thirty notebooks!”

“Mira, the choreography?”

“Yup. Making them hotter.”

“Backup dancers, ready to go.”

“(Y/n),” you gave a strained smile at the sudden call of your name, standing at attention and thankfully not cutting your fingers with the knife in your hand. “Visuals?”

“Already making a mental Pinterest board!”

“Team of designers, ready for your call!”

“We’ll write a brand new song. A diss track to expose those Saja Boys.”

“And send those disgusting demons back to the depths where they belong!”

You bit back a grimace as the girls started raging enthusiastically.

“Yeah!”

“YeaHHH!”

“YeahHHH!”

“…”

“YEAHHH!!”

And then they ran off to their rooms to get started or rest or something… You sighed, carrying the plate of finished kimbap rolls over to stand next to Bobby to stare flatly after them.

Welp. More for you. You held out the plate to Bobby, “Kimbap?”

“Oh, thanks (Y/n)!”

You wrapped up the rest of the rolls except for one, taking it with you. You paused at Rumi’s door, raising your hand to knock. But you hesitated.

You should tell Rumi that the Saja Boys saw your pattern. Them knowing was a threat because then they also knew that Rumi had patterns too. But… maybe they would just think you were the only one with a demon pattern…? You’d have to talk to them.

So you lowered your hand and kept walking to your room. You shut the door behind you, almost screaming in surprise when a hand slapped over your mouth and dragged you out your balcony door and jumped up to the roof of the tower.

When they released you, you took a deep breath and scrambled away to put distance between you and your kidnapper. “You gotta stop doing that!”

Romance couldn’t help but chuckle, waving his hands disarmingly, “Sorry sorry, I just wanted to chat with you.”

You bit your lip. They knew about your pattern. “About what?” You asked, on guard.

“Your pattern.” There it is. “You’re part demon.”

“So what?” You snapped defensively, hugging your arms even though you knew your skin was covered.

“I was curious,” He admitted openly, brushing some hair out of his face as he leaned back against the edge of the small roof balcony. “You don’t hear him, do you?”

“No. W-wait, who?” You backpedaled, you had refused on instinct and then you registered what he said.

He looked at you obviously, “Gwi Ma. You didn’t make a deal with him? All demons hear his voice, constantly reminding them of… their shame.”

You loosened from your defensive pose, surprised by the vulnerable look on his face. He didn’t seem to want to hurt you, so you relaxed and leaned against the edge behind you, keeping your distance for now.

“Shame?” You echoed curiously.

He looked at you, analyzing you, “It’s all demons do, feel their shame and all the emotions that come with it. These patterns,” He held up his arm, his patterns glowing as he did. “They show that each demon carries a deep shame with them…”

Then he was in front of you, taking your hand as you gasped softly. Your own pattern started glowing through your clothes, “You do too, sweetheart…”

Your grip tightened on his hand. You looked down as your heart squeezed painfully. Yeah… you do…

“Romance—“

“Call me Chungae,” He interrupted you softly.

“Chungae. You… you guys won’t tell the others, right? Rumi… Rumi and I aren’t ready yet, but… we want to be the ones to tell them…” You hesitantly asked through stumbling words. They knew. They must know that you and Rumi are part demon…

You couldn’t help but think of all the moments you’ve wanted to share your secret with Mira and Zoey. You want to go to the bathhouse with them. You want to go to the beach. You want to be able to wear your skin comfortably instead of the itching, crawling feeling you get at just the idea of wearing shorts or a tank top.

But it wasn’t your choice whether you told them or not. It wasn’t your secret to tell. It was Rumi’s.

Chungae scanned your face, his look softening as he brushed a bit of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know about the others, but I won’t tell.”

You couldn’t help but relax at the reassurance, your face warmer at his touch. These boys really weren’t evil, they were so… human.

You looked away, “You should go before the other girls come looking for me.”

Chungae couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your shy demeanor. How cute… It’s like the first time you met all over again, how cute and shy you were when the five of them invited you to their debut. “Of course.”

You gasped as he smoothly swept you into his arms and leapt down to your balcony as you bit back a shriek. When you got down from his arms, you couldn’t help but bend over with your hands on your knees, taking deep breaths to settle your heart from the shock of being carried down from one height to another. “Stop doing that!” You whisper shouted at him, disgruntled.

“Sorry sorry, darling, I’ll go now,” Chungae hopped up to the railing of your balcony, stopping to look over his shoulder at you, “Oh. You should know that the others are also interested in seeing you. Just a heads up.”

He smiled slyly before jumping and disappearing in a dramatic poof of demon magic. “Wait, huh!?”

You grabbed a pillow to scream into.

Oh wait. Your kimbap!

~~~

And they did.

The next day, you were out looking at fabrics for the visuals of the diss track the girls were working on. Something like their battle outfits would work good but with sharp color accents to make it pop and fit the stage. Less spikes too, a little less aggressive but fans will probably like the dark look. Maybe in a music video, the girls could use their weapons so then if they pull them out on stage, they just look like props and special effects…?

Oh. There’s a boy walking next to you.

“… Can I help you…?”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, looking around with a disinterested look but a spark of curiosity shone in his eyes underneath the hat hiding his features, “No. I’m good.”

“Okayyy… you do you, Baby” You decided to just keep going about your business as Baby followed at your side.

“Jum,” He corrected you.

“Uhm, okay, Jum…” You kept looking at the maknae out of the corner of your eye as he followed you into fabric shops, looking around curiously or scrolling on his phone as you talked with the owners.

“Hey,” You stopped on the sidewalk when Jum tugged on your sleeve, pointing over to a shop window, “What’s that?”

You looked over, “A cat cafe…?” You looked at him strangely. How old was he again…?

Jum was quiet for a moment. “Let’s go in.” He was already walking in before you could respond. You didn’t have to follow him, he had just decided to follow you after all, but—ughhhh!

You followed him in.

Going in, he looked like a lost kid. He was looking around at the tables and the people. “Welcome! How many people today and for how long?”

“Uhhh…”

You came up behind him, smiling at the host, “Table for two, just for an hour please.”

“Alright, right this way!”

Ah man, why did you follow him again…? Jum trailed after you as you followed the host into the sectioned off area to a booth by a window. “Someone will be by to take your order in a moment. Please feel free to give the cats treats!”

“Thank you!” You called after her as you sat, setting down your work bag as Jum slid into the seat across from you. He was staring. You followed his gaze to see he was in a staring contest with a black cat. You looked between the two of them, back and forth. It was kind of adorable.

“Pick what you want to order and then we can try and tempt some cats over.”

Jum didn’t know what to order. He was one of the few born in the demon realm, he had never been to the human realm before as the prince of a small territory. Not that the title mattered much with Gwi Ma ruling.

“If you wanna start simple, a coffee or hot chocolate would be good hot drinks. Or a vanilla or chocolate milkshake if you want something cold. For food, the sandwiches are good if you want something savory but the strawberry shortcake looks good for something sweet.”

You were almost tempted to recommend a soda pop for him but you’ve seen enough TikToks of fans giving them different sodas.

Jum took in the information you gave him with a hum, scanning over the menu again.

You ordered, Jum ended up getting a coffee and the strawberry shortcake. You almost laughed at the contrasting flavors he would be experiencing. But you pulled over the little container of cat treats, “Alright, let's see if we can get a few kitties over.”

Jum perked up at the same time as some of the cats as the container clinked as you opened it. Three cats hurried over, and you couldn’t help but laugh brightly as they jumped up on the bench to climb in your lap and over your shoulders, nuzzling your face cutely for treats. “Hey, settle down! You’ll get your treats!”

Jum’s face softened at the sight. You laughing so carelessly, smiling brightly as the fluffy creatures swarmed around you while your face flushed with joy. He couldn’t help but sneak a few photos and sent one to the Saja chat smugly. He ignored the chat as it started going off.

The two of you played with the cats for a while. The wondrous look on Jum’s face as he first pet a cat was adorable and you really wanted to take a picture but the girls were always taking selfies on the first phone they could grab. You couldn’t risk them seeing it.

You had the same urge when you saw his face as he first tasted his coffee and then his cake. It was soooo adorable…

Before the two of you went your separate ways, Jum quietly told you that he wouldn’t spill your secret.

~~~

You watched from backstage as the girls politely clapped on screen, the boys awarded as the top artist of the week. They were really starting to make progress on their diss track but you couldn’t help but distance yourself from the project. The lyrics that were unfolding made you uncomfortable in a different way from how Golden did.

Golden had lines about not hiding anymore and being honest but it just felt like a lie whenever Rumi sang it with the girls. But Takedown… was strictly about killing demons because they were evil, unfeeling monsters that didn’t deserve to live. It made your skin crawl and you couldn’t help but itch at your arms and neck from time to time when you heard them discussing it.

You turned to make your way back to the girls’ dressing room to meet them once the awards ended and they left the stage. You could hear clapping again, the awards must have ended. And then you were swept away. Into a closet.

‘What was with these guys?!’ You were pinned against a shelf of cleaning supplies, a thick arm caging you in above you. Another held out a flower to you. “Hey there, babe~”

You crossed your arms, looking up at him unimpressed. Well… there was a little flush on your cheeks. “Hi Abby. What is this, a shoujo manga?”

He tsked, smirking playfully down at you, “Come on, babe, can’t spare a guy a warmer welcome?”

“Not when he and his friends keep sweeping me away for their whims. What did you want?” You plucked the flower from his hand, rolling the stem between your fingers.

Abby chuckled, his arm flexing as he swept his hair out of his face. “Well, our two youngest got to spend some one-on-one time with you and I wanted my turn. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

You hesitated. And not for the reasons you should’ve. “I… I have to get dinner ready for the girls…”

“What are you, their housewife?” He raised a brow down at you.

You grimaced as the words hit a little close to home. Yeah, he hit the nail right on the head. “I guess… they can order take out tonight…”

“Yes! Come on, before the other boys catch up!” Abby cheered, taking your wrist and jogging out of the closet and to the nearest exit.

“Hey!”

“Abby!”

“No fair!” You heard the cries of the other Saja Boys behind you as he dragged you along. You chuckled. The other demon boys could easily catch up if they wanted to. But dang, you dropped your flower back there…

A few streets over, you stopped as Abby slowed down barely out of breath, in contrast to you who was panting like a dog. Oh man, you felt way too gross to be with this man right now.

“So… I actually don’t know any good spots to eat at…”

You laughed at his sheepish expression. “Come on, there are some good food stalls at the night market.”

Without thought, you took his hand and led the way. When you got there, it turned out that Abby wasn’t picky about his food at all and that he could pack away a lot of food. You guys went from stall to stall, you were amazed as Abby charmed the older sellers, chatting with them as if they had known each other for a long time. Whatever food you couldn’t finish, Abby happily did.

“What are you? Some demon trash disposal? Where does it all go?” You asked him as he finished off the last of the chicken skewers you both had been eating.

“Straight to my muscles of course,” He smirked, flexing cheekily with a wink.

You laughed and shoved him jokingly. Then, a curious thought occurred to you, “Hey Abby? Can I… ask what the demon realm is like?”

He blinked, surprised by the question but you just continued looking forward, not meeting his eyes. He copied you, looking ahead as the two of you walked.

“It’s dark and depressing. The sky is red like it’s on fire and the ground is dry and desolate. Nothing grows there. There are two main types of demons: those that formed from souls fed to Gwi Ma and those that lost their souls making deals with Gwi Ma. There are also demons born from other demons but those are rare.”

You frowned in thought, not responding for a long moment. So, demons really could feel emotions. Did that mean… that your dad really did love your mom…?

Abby noticed your expression, lost in deep thought, “What’cha thinking about there, babe?”

You didn’t answer for a moment, too many thoughts trailing in too many different directions… “Nothing important. So, which are you guys, Abby?”

Abby hummed, “Call me Kwan,” he said, letting you change the subject. He couldn’t help but let you in a little closer. He thought if he just kept using his stage name with you, he could keep a little distance between you, keep the mission in mind. But… he wanted to let you close.

“Well, with the exception of Jum, we’re all humans that made deals with Gwi Ma years ago out of desperation. I…” Kwan trailed off and the two of you stopped by the river to sit on a bench in a quiet area. “I was born during an old war. I wasn’t strong enough to protect my family when it counted, so I asked Gwi Ma for strength to protect those I cared about.” He laughed sarcastically, “How well that turned out for me…”

You frowned, taking his hand slowly, hesitantly offering comfort from the obviously dark memories and regrets swimming through his head. He smiled softly at you, squeezing your hand as the two of you looked out over the river. There was nothing for either of you to say at that moment, but you understood each other.

~~~

After that interaction with Kwan, the girls noticed you were lost in thought more often, but they didn’t bring it up, figuring you were just deep in thought about the visuals and clothes for the new song. You often got lost in a new project when it really inspired you.

Except you didn’t like the new song. It was just so hateful towards demons and after you knew most demons come from human souls in some shape or form, you couldn’t fully support it. Especially with your own pattern steadily spreading across your skin. You had to start using a salve to help with the scratching the stress was causing. If they spread too much more, you would have to start wearing a face mask…

Now that you think about it, the only Saja Boys you haven’t really talked to are Jinu and Mystery. Which one would ambush you next? Was it bad that you were looking forward to it?

You needed a break from the girls. As the Honmoon corruption got worse and more demons came through, they got more tense and enthusiastic with the new diss track. So, you went to the park to sit and just breathe for a few minutes. You sat on a bench under the shade of a tree, head back and eyes closed under the sun as you took a deep breath. Someone was playing Soda Pop nearby and you could hear Golden somewhere too…

Your eyes snapped open when arms wrapped around you from behind a nose buried into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath. You flushed deep red, shrieking as you leapt to the other end of the bench. A hand pressed to your chest to settle your racing heart you turned to see it was a sulky Mystery, pouting at you pulling away so quickly.

“It’s just me,” He said.

“Personal space, dude!” You cried vehemently, your face still a dark red. Mystery circled the bench to sit next to you. Like, right next to you. Your thighs were touching. You deadpan at him, “This is not personal space, man.”

Mystery just tilted his head at you. It was nice to see you with the sun shining down on you like this. And your scent was so comforting when it filled his senses, he couldn’t help but burrow his nose in the crook of your neck. It made his teeth itch to bite again.

“How do you guys keep finding me? Do you have some kind of tracker or something…?”

“Nah, it’s mostly by chance,” Mystery told you, casually taking your hand to play with your fingers and the rings you had on. He didn’t tell you how Jinu’s bird was keeping an eye or three on you… He didn’t remember much about social normalities from when he was human, but he could remember that telling someone they were being watched was weird.

You shook your head and let him do as he pleased, taking a deep breath and tilting your head back to enjoy the sun while closing your eyes.

Then there was a tugging on your hand, “Let’s go.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond or ask where you were going before he was tugging you off the bench and away. “Wait, Mystery, where are we going?” You almost slapped a hand over your mouth, hoping no one heard that it was one of the Saja Boys out in public.

“Hyeon. De-stress,” he said simply. Then he was pulling you into an arcade. You didn’t really know how playing some games at an arcade would help you relax

But at least you didn’t have to pay to play because Hyeon was already pulling out his wallet! Don’t get it wrong, you could pay for stuff yourself, but it was refreshing after eating so much food with Jum and Kwan. You refused to let them pay for your food and you didn’t pay for theirs either but it was still money…

When Hyeon had the prepaid wristbands, he turned to hand one to you with a small smile, “Sometimes, you just need to act like a kid.”

You blinked. And then he was pulling you to the first game he saw with that small content smile and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You were pretty sure he also just wanted to go to an arcade…

Hyeon was right though. Playing those games, you couldn’t help but laugh and as you became more competitive with him, you forgot what was bugging you. You laughed louder and became more comfortable treating him like a close friend, pushing him and bickering as he gave you a little smug smirk when he won and a sulky pout when he lost. You had to pull him back when he started barking at a few people that tried to rush the two of you at some games…

It was late by the time you both left, matching ugly keychains in hand from the prize shop.

“… Thanks Hyeon, I really needed that,” You smiled at him as you stopped at the park where you would both be going your own ways.

He smiled, taking your hand in his. “Of course, princess. Anything to see that smile on your face.”

Oh boy. You didn’t think Hyeon would be the cheesy one but he said it so seriously before placing a kiss on your hand.

You shook yourself, your face flushing red as you steeled yourself, “Hey, I am not a princess!” You crossed your arms.

Hyeon smirked a little, “I don’t think you can handle what I really want to call you so princess will do for now.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but drop as your face flushed darker.

“See you soon, princess,” he said, and then he was walking away and you just stared after him, speechless.

‘What did he mean by that?! Ugh, stupid hot demon boys…’

~~~

Another award show passed and Golden won most played song of the week. But tensions were still high as the Saja Boys took over more and more of the billboards, they were all anyone could see on TikTok too, more fans joining the Pride.

Your nervous scratching was getting worse, you had to go out and get another salve. Thankfully, the girls were too focused on Takedown and demon hunting to keep track of when you were in or out of the tower. It hurt you a little though, that you fell to the wayside so easily.

You were mindlessly scratching over your sleeve with the salve safely wrapped in a small paper bag in your arms as you started the walk back to the tower. You needed to talk to the design team about what you had in mind and to the producers about visuals for a possible music video.

“What’cha got there, pretty girl?”

You turned to see him leaning against the wall in the shadows of an alley. You sighed, “Do you plan these dramatic encounters or do they just come naturally to you?”

Jinu chuckled, standing straight but his eyes lingered on the bag in your arms and the arm where you had been scratching. “Being an idol calls for a flare for the dramatic,” He shrugged.

You chuckled at his antics but then his hand snapped out to grab your wrist. Panicked, you tried to pull away as he pushed your sleeve up. You forgot that he knew about your pattern so it wasn’t those marks he was looking at.

No, it was the red scratch marks littering your arm where the pattern was darkest.

He snapped his eyes up to glare at you, pulling you somewhere, “What’s so bad that you scratch yourself to such a degree?”

You had no answer for him besides shame… So you didn’t say anything.

He sighed. Jinu ended up taking you to a small plaza, not many people around as he sat you on the edge of a fountain. He pulled out the small glass container of salve you had gotten, reading the ingredients with narrow eyes before opening it and smelling it.

Jinu tsked before taking your arm to gently apply the salve to each bleeding scratch and red mark, “The herbs used today are so bad, not as effective as the ones grown years ago… too much pollution…” He murmured to himself.

You couldn’t help but smile at his care. “Thanks Jinu…”

He glanced up and faltered, remembering who he was and who he was with as he quickly but carefully finished up, fumbling a little as his cheeks pinked, “Oh, ah, it’s fine, don’t mention it.” He quickly screwed the cap on of the salve and practically shoved it in your hands before awkwardly sitting down next to you.

Wow. Jinu was the most awkward of the group it seemed. Was Baby really the maknae of the group? You giggled at how the tips of his ears were red and he refused to look at you.

“Is it really… that bad living with the patterns…?”

You froze at his hesitant question. You gripped your arm over your sleeve to keep from scratching more at the flare of stress you felt. You couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know… I started scratching when I was a kid. It comes and goes depending on what I’m stressed about…”

“Meaning, when you’re stressed about your pattern,” Jinu summarized thoughtfully. You could feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“Yeah…” You avoided his gaze.

Jinu frowned. This wasn’t like the first interaction he had with your sister. That was filled with him trying to gain her trust, trying to convince her that he was the only one that would understand her. It made his stomach curl uncomfortably how she didn’t even argue that you understood her. Were you two not very close?

He saw something different than your sister in you, “You liked your patterns once, didn’t you?”

Your face slackened then hardened, “…I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He frowned but nodded in acceptance anyway. Pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere. “That’s alright, but I can understand what you’re going through,” It was the same thing he told your sister. But with you he couldn’t help but… genuinely mean it. He looked down at his hand. His pattern was a constant reminder of his shame after all. Sometimes he wanted to scratch until they just peeled away too.

“I know, I just… I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it…” You told him. Rumi should be the first one you talked to about this, right? But, wouldn’t she just recycle Aunt Celine’s words at you? Never show your faults (Y/n), never show your pattern (Y/n), you’d betray Rumi and everyone else if you shared your pattern (Y/n), you’re not enough (Y/n).

You shook your head and stood. “I want ice cream.”

He looked up at you with surprise, “Oh. Okay…?”

“Come on.” The shoe was on the other foot now as you started marching to the nearest ice cream shop, not waiting to see if he would follow.

“Wh-what? Wait, what’s happening?” He scrambled after you, confused but going along with your sudden decision.

Jinu followed you into the ice cream shop, sliding on a pair of glasses and a hat to disguise himself. You were already ordering what you wanted, two big scoops of your favorite flavor.

He almost jumped when you suddenly turned to him expectantly. “Oh, uh,” He stuttered, scanning the flavors before him. It felt like he was sweating with the sudden pressure he felt. There were so many names, why were there so many different ice cream names?! “Uh, two scoops of Chuckle Chunk.” He couldn’t even tell you what was in it.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how stiff Jinu was. You hadn’t meant to make him feel pressured but it was pretty adorkable.

The two of you paid and left the shop to eat your ice cream at the fountain. You watched as he hesitantly tried his ice cream. His face lit up.

You chuckled, starting to eat your own ice cream, “How is it?”

Jinu couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, it’s got these really rich chocolate things and there’s these little white pieces and some salty caramel things too.”

You blinked at how he described it. “How old are you again…?” That was how he described brownie fudge chunks, marshmallow pieces, and sea salt caramel syrup?

He blinked too, “Four hundred…?”

You couldn’t help but balk, “Oh wow, you’re old.”

He deadpanned at you. “And you’re a baby.”

You laughed. Jinu didn’t really know what you were laughing about, maybe just the situation itself but he smiled.

It was easier to be around you than he thought it would be. “Don’t stress too much.”

You looked at him, “It’s kinda hard to avoid stress when Gwi Ma is trying to destroy the Honmoon and feast and the human souls of the whole population. Besides, I’ve got a lot going on: visuals for the girls, keeping our apartment clean, cooking, designing clothes and visuals for them, and then there’s a fan signing event coming up…” You sighed and Jinu grimaced. Wow.

Jinu knew he wasn’t helping with the stress you were going through but he couldn’t help his selfish streak. He wanted his memories gone…

“Just… Cut your nails or wear gloves so you don’t hurt yourself so badly…” Jinu told you.

You smiled. He was… worried for you. It was the first time that someone’s worry didn’t make you feel weak. It wasn’t about your fighting capabilities, it was about your well-being. When was the last time that someone worried about that?

“Thanks Jinu…” You smiled mischievously. “It’s the first time such a pretty boy has shown me such care,” You turned the table on him.

Jinu spontaneously combust. Stuttering as he shoved more ice cream in his mouth to occupy himself but that just made his head hurt.

“Brain freeze!” You laughed.

~~~

The night before the fan signing event, you laid awake in bed. The girls were surely already sleeping so that they could get plenty of rest. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Looking back on the past two weeks, you felt more conflicted than you ever had before.

The voice in your head that sounded like Aunt Celine said that you shouldn’t be letting the Saja Boys so close, getting so comfortable with them. The girls were going to kill them anyway so you were just looking to get your heart broken at this rate.

But a small part of yourself whispered that they made you feel safe, seen, heard in a way that you never had been before.

Outtake(s):

Jum(Baby): “Do they make these cakes…spicier?”

You: “Uh…no. No they do not.”

Jum(Baby): *Sadly* “Aw man…”

…

Hyeon(Mystery): *Sees someone just a little too close to you* “Grrrrr…”

You: *Being dragged along as you try to hold him back* “You can’t- Stop! Bad Saja Boy!”

Hyeon(Mystery): *Feral gremlin barking*

…

You: *sick of all these pretty boys flustering you* “What do you want, pretty boy?”

Jinu: *ERROR ERROR ERROR* “Uhhhh…”

…

Huntr/x: “You know, (Y/n) has been disappearing a lot lately… And she never wants to listen to our song…”

Huntr/x: “Maybe she’s uncomfortable with the lyrics?”

Huntr/x: …

Huntr/x: “Nah. She’s just way too inspired by our violent need to eradicate all demons.”

You: *frantically scratching*

Tag list:

@brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

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paracosmicka · 4 months ago

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Primal Fears AU content but don’t worry it’s still sonadow

That last one is a repost from last year so if you saw the silly drawings but then read the thing in the bottom left corner and went “wait what the fuck”

It’s because it was an AU thing but I literally only had that drawn out and now you get some context at least:

In this universe Sonic is an assassin/bounty hunter/whatever you wanna call a guy that is hired to specifically to kill other Entities. He meets Shadow when they run into each other because they’re both following the same Avatar. Then they do the normal canon sonadow thing where the first interaction they have always ends with them fighting and beating the shit out of each other. And then they kinda calm down but then Shadow has a similar moment from the beginning of the IDW Sonic comics where he gets absolutely pissed that Sonic managed to distract him from catching the bad guy and zooms away before the two have another chance to speak again.

Here Shadow is a GUN field agent except in this universe GUN isn’t really military and it’s more focused on not only investigating (like the Magnus Institute) but also actively dealing with the Entities. Which sounds great except remember how I said they aren’t military well actually they kinda are because “dealing” with Entities and Avatars just means: throw it in the high-security prison that is guarded by other various Avarars that all work for GUN because it means they don’t have to get thrown in prison. So GUN is kinda like The Magnus Institute + Section 31 working together. So actually I guess it’s like the SCP Foundation.

One day Shadow goes into work and Sonic and there and I’m not really sure on what I’m gonna do in the plot to make him end up there (like maybe he’s undercover and just using GUN to get to his next target or maybe GUN does the “hey we’re gonna throw you in jail if you don’t agree to work for us” idk again not sure yet) but now he’s working with Shadow because they still need to catch that Avatar.

So now we’re sorta caught up, they’re at Club Rouge (and I realized I didn’t specify which Entity she serves in my drawing of her but people who guessed the Stranger ding ding ding here have some sonadow) because Sonic and Shadow need to kinda interrogate Surge and Amy, who are associated with the Slaughter. They have a band called Poison Rose and it’s basically just Grifter’s Bone but they perform rock music instead. And are also probably dating.

Anyway the Big Case™️ Sonic and Shadow are working on is investigating a bunch of spooky murders and they’re pretty sure whoever’s behind them is a Slaughter avatar. But not specifically Amy and Surge☝️ They’re kinda “allowed” to perform the Music That Makes You Die because GUN also has like an “informant” group of avatars they can rely on. These avatars don’t work for GUN, but they agree to chill out on the spooky stuff if it means they don’t get arrested for spooky crimes. So for Poison Rose, “chilling out” on the spooky stuff means that they have to force people to wear earplugs while they perform, which wasn’t specifically stated in MAG 42 if that works or not, not really sure of the magic rules of the Music That Makes You Die phenomena but yeah they gotta do that and probably some other stuff so GUN doesn’t arrest them. Like maybe no swearing or something lol.

Okay gonna stop there before this gets even longer explaining my AU because this was supposed to be just a normal sketch post but whoops.

Oh also I made a playlist for the kind of music Poison Rose performs but it was made private because I didn’t want anyone to stumble across it and be like “pshhhh this dumb person who makes public playlists of their AU that no one knows about what a loser” (me when I make up completely unrealistic scenarios in my head) but now here’s a post explaining that part of my AU so that person can’t make fun of me anymore

#primal fears au #sonadow #sonic #the magnus archives #sonic au #sketches #my art #also i think in my sketches from my previous primal fears post i said that amy is an avatar of the corruption but that sketch is old #i decided on making her a slaughter avatar solely for the surgeamy #so yeah #surgeamy #if you want #as a treat #but also i really like the amy!popstar idea so its sorta that too #tma au #ig lol even tho if anyone sees this under the tma tag theyre gonna be like #‘heyyyyy wait a second this isn’t tma this is sonic the hedgehog idiot’#Spotify

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ilikeevilblondes · 21 days ago

Note

GIRL I just read the ex husband! Joel and it's amazing... Can you do a continuation one where Y/N's IUD failed, please... ;)

A continuation to Beck and Call you say? I guess we’re getting more divorced!joel idk i still don’t make the rules

Everybody say thank you to this anon!!

This baby’ll be out in a week and a bit maybe 😼😼😼

EDIT: GUYS just wanted to say, like B&C, this one won’t just be smut, there WILL be plot and sappy shit, i swear to ya!

#joel miller #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #pedrohub #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader

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leclercsaintmleux · 1 month ago

Text

ᥫ᭡. gorgeous — KIMI ANTONELLI [smau]

in which… two rookie f1 drivers soft launch their relationship, and the media goes crazy about it

liked by olliebearman , iamrebeccad and 609.000 others

yourusername sneak peek 🌸

comments

charles_leclerc is there something you’d like to share with us y/n?

yourusername my gelato maybe 😇

user43 charles in overprotective big brother mode hahah we love to see it 🫶🏻

user87 HELLO DID Y/N JUST SOFT LAUNCH WTF?!

user65 I just woke up and y/n suddenly has a boyfriend what 💔💔

user13 streets are saying our favorite rookie is in a relationship!

user76 liked by olliebearman, is this a sign you guys !?

user45 ofc he’s going to like her posts they’re friends it doesn’t mean they’re dating lol people need to chill tf out

alicia_torriani you’re glowing girl next time we’re getting that ice cream together 🥹

yourusername ilysm and WE MUST!! 💘

kimi.antonelli I wonder who’s the guy holding the flowers 🤔

liked by yourusername

user60 ARE WE ALL SEEING THE SAME THING, KIMI AND Y/N

user39 she liked his comment omg

user48 tbh this seems like a very profitable pr move

user13 pr move or not you’ve got to admit they’d be an iconic couple

liked by georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1 and 1.328.000 others

kimi.antonelli good to be home + recharge the batteries 🍕💯

comments

mercedesamgf1 summer break 🔛🔝😎

user90 f1 media having a field day both Kimi AND y/n soft launching in the same week

user33 the second picture he’s so cute omg<3

user42 wait doesn’t y/n have the same necklace and bag as the girl in the picture?

user10 I don’t think so I’m pretty sure it’s just very similar

f1gossipnews coincidence? we think not 👀

user30 oh my shayla (my kimi and y/n ship) neither of them are single anymore 🥀🥀

user28 fr they had so much chemistry 😭

user14 lol you guys need to stop being so invested in their lives it’s weird, can’t they just be good friends?

user28 I’m sorry but have you seen the way Kimi looks at her, there is NO way they are just ‘good friends’

yourusername i’m just as shocked as you are, an actually decent outfit ?!

kimi.antonelli hey that was rude (I got advice from a professional 👌)

liked by user73, user62 and 54.000 others

f1wagnews y/n y/l/n spotted today in Italy riding a bike with mystery man!🫣 some sources say our first female driver may be on a path to becoming a wag herself! follow f1wagnews for more updates

comments

user63 on a path to becoming a wag herself what the helly

user64 not a mystery man… that’s just her cousin guys 😭 let her live

f1wagnews 👀👀👀 sources are saying it’s not a cousin… stay tuned 💅

user17 no because if this man distracts her and she doesn’t finish P1 again i’m throwing hands

user90 girl don’t let a man fumble your podiums pls we beg

user72 how is SHE the driver and STILL giving wag energy?? a queen tbh

user02 what if it’s her physiotherapist??? y’all jump to wag every time she breathes near a man

user12 the way she’s riding that bike… she’s in love. trust me i studied body language in 2014 on tumblr

user80 can’t believe i have to say this but SHE IS THE PRIZE actually

user20 lowkey hope it’s a local italian who doesn’t even know what a grid penalty is, she deserves peace

f1wagnews sources say its a familiar italian 😉

user35 y’all acting shocked like she hasn’t had rizz since F2 days

liked by kimi.antonelli, alexandrasaintmleux and 3.300.000 others

yourusername plot twist ❤️

comments

f1wagnews WE’VE BEEN INVESTED SINCE DAY ONE. CONGRATS TO OUR FAVE SOFT LAUNCHERS 😭👏

gridhoney the driver x driver power couple we were manifesting

sillyseasoncentral BREAKING: paddock collectively loses their minds over this hard launch

olliebearman i knew it and still feel betrayed

yourusername shh you’re literally the first person we told😐

olliebearman correction: I predicted this entire relationship

kimi.antonelli mate you need to stop

arthur_leclerc do i get to be best man or do i have to fight ollie for it

yourusername we’ll see<3

arthur_leclerc RUDE

user16 if they don’t do the kiss through the helmets thing i’m boycotting

user83 never trusting a “mystery man” again. it’s always a fast Italian with dreamy eyes

rookieszneditz someone make a “friends to grid rivals to lovers” edit IMMEDIATELY

alex_albon how did i not know and i see you two like every race weekend??

yourusername lily knew🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

alex_albon WHAT? SHE DID?!

lilymunihe of course 🥰

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 5.439.000 others

kimi.antonelli mi fortuna più grande

comments

georgerussell63 watch them get a 1-2 podium and thank each other instead of their engineers

yourusername LOL , I’m about to go tell Carmen you said this

georgerussell63 I TAKE IT BACK

teamradiochaos radio if they crash into each other: “tell her i still love her 😭”

slowpitstopz kimi posted his gf… and i’ve never felt more single

dtscripttok this better be in the next Drive to Survive with dramatic music and everything

olliebearman i told you not to soft launch in italy, didn’t i. DIDN’T I.

kimi.antonelli you told me a lot of things i ignored 😇

user63 him calling her his greatest luck 🫠🫠

arthur_leclerc you’re so lucky y/n puts up with you

kimi.antonelli I know 🙏I wonder every day how I got so lucky

yourusername ❤️

liked by kimi.antonelli

user98 them sharing earphones is my roman empire 🥹

user32 who would’ve thought your childhood karting rival will become your girlfriend when you both race in f1, Kimi really is living the dream…

user73 there’s no way he didn’t manifest this

kimi.antonelli 🤫🤫

©LECLERCSAINTMLEUX 2025 I DO NOT APPROVE OF THIS OR ANY OF MY WORKS TO BE COPIED OR TRANSLATED ON ANY PLATFORM ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION

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swordgrace · 1 month ago

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤.

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when a mission goes sideways, you and john are forced to hide together in a utility closet.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), porn with little plot, forced proximity, semi-public sex, rough sex, hair pulling, mild dirty talk, lots of banter/arguing, grinding, john wants that cookie so bad, making out, john walker’s praise kink, unprotected p in v sex.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this has been rotting away in my brain so I needed to get it out !! lowkey enjoyed writing this so much and I really hope that you guys like it, too! 🫶

The plan begins to crumble when reinforcements arrive, mercenaries funded by H.Y.D.R.A remnants, a generous benefactor hellbent on weapons acquisitions in Copenhagen.

It’s another mission that tests the cohesiveness of the team, and with each one, you’re all improving. Everything seemed to go sideways, comms were static with silence, and you weren’t sure where everyone else was.

Shadowed corridors flood with foot soldiers, and you narrowly avoid getting pierced with a high-caliber bullet, thanks to Walker’s shield.

“We need to move — now.” He gruffs, roughly grabbing at the back of your shoulder, hauling you further into the bunker’s underground labyrinth. He’s strong, sure, but not enough to take on ten.

“We’re cornered, Walker. If we don’t find somewhere to hide, we’re pinned down.” Insistent, you’re clamoring to find some momentary reprieve from the chaos, chest burning from exertion.

“And we’re pinned down if we hide,” John grits, clearly facing some moral dilemma. He’s typically talented at navigating these high-stress situations — or so he thinks, jaw twitching as he concedes to your idea. “Shit.”

John Walker wasn’t your first choice as a mission partner — he was hotheaded, bullish, and abrasive. His demeanor was a foil to yours; calm, level-headed, optimistic.

He knew what he was doing in a fight, but there was often a risk involved, an impulsivity that he was attempting to curb. You weren’t sworn enemies, but you weren’t exactly the best of friends, either.

Footsteps clash through the hallways, and you’re tugging on his arm, urging him to follow you as you make a mad dash for what appears to be a utility storage closet. It’s a terrible spot to cower in, but you aren’t left with many options.

John seems visibly agitated, but he follows you anyway, jogging after you before slamming the metal door shut behind the both of you. He realizes very quickly that there’s barely any room to fit the both of you.

Wedged into your side, distance becomes nonexistent, but it’s better than being caught out in the open. As if to reinforce your position, he jams the handle of a broom beneath the door latch, labored breathing beginning to steady.

Boots thud outside of the door, footfalls urgent before tapering off into mere echoes. Catching your breath, your body rattles beside his, hands poised against the metal wall, eyes fluttering shut.

“Genius.” John grouses, frustrated with the entire scenario. Something went wrong — they were sloppy and overestimated themselves.

With little patience for his short-fuse and sardonicism, you bite back. “What do you expect?” You huff, brows furrowing together. “Fighting our way out wouldn’t have worked.”

“Beats being locked in here,” He grunts, bracing himself against the wall. The forced proximity he’s now cornered into with you isn’t the worst thing he’s endured, but it’s far from optimal. “You need to move.”

“Move where?” Keeping your voice low, you’re entirely unhappy with him, unwilling to put up with his attitude. The circumstances only enhance the shared irritation that bristles between the both of you, coupled with his smart mouth.

John’s brows furrow together, attempting to navigate through his frustration. “If you face me and stop sprawling, it’ll create more space.” He proposes, but it sounds ridiculous.

“I’m not sprawling,” With an indignant sigh, you shake your head, conceding to him anyway. Shuffling forward, you stand with him, chest to chest, discomforted by the slim amount of space. “I think this is worse.”

“We’re out of options.” John tries to placate your irritation, but it doesn’t seem to work. His countenance is contorted into a look of perpetual grumpiness, mouth turned downward.

It isn’t uncomfortable, this position — it’s awkward. This is the closest you’ve been to him, save during training lessons, where he’s crouched over you or his hands have somehow ended up on your hips.

Admittedly, there is tension present — you’ve never been fully able to discern the reasoning behind it, but it’s there, festering beneath the surface. A muscle in John’s neck strains, taut as he rolls his shoulder.

Annoyance is certainly one feeling to describe John, but it wanes whenever you look at him. Maybe there’s something more, maybe there isn’t. Either way, your current predicament isn’t ideal.

Using the closet’s rigid metal surface as a brace, the unsightly corners dig into your back, prompting you to squirm. Silence lingers between, curling around heavier sighs and fleeting glances.

You don’t want to admit that listening to John and running might’ve been the easier option, knowing that you won’t hear the end of it if you give him that satisfaction.

Through flared nostrils, John exhales, posture coiled and taut, as if he’s a bowstring, prepared to snap in two. Even though his helmet, he’s clenching his jaw, cerulean hues blazing with an amalgamation of emotions.

“What’s our next move?” Broaching the silence, you’re making an attempt at relieving the tension, face angled away from him. One step forward, and you’d be flush against his body.

“I had a next move, if you didn’t lead us in here,” John murmurs, and you’re quick to glare at him, agitation flaring again. “What? This was your idea.” He quips, holding one hand up in faux surrender; it makes you angry.

“You’re kidding me,” With a mirthless laugh, your brows furrow together, chin jutting out in defiance as you glare past him. “We would’ve been ambushed or worse if I didn’t think of hiding, John.” His name tumbles from your mouth like a scornful parent.

It’s exceedingly rare that you ever call him by his first name; some sliver of him likes it, wants to hear you say it again. He doesn’t fully understand why, but he likes you — likes your fire, your kindness.

John scoffs, mouth curling into a smug smirk, eyes rolling as if to dismiss your streak of ire. “Now look at us,” He remarks, pushing the limits, prodding. “Snug together in some closet.”

Aggrieved, your disdain is visible, scrawled onto your features as you stare elsewhere, finding the chipped paint behind his shoulder to be fascinating. “You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that? I wanted to keep us both safe.”

There’s a softer inflection laced into your words, as if you’re upset that he’s mocking your choices. Admittedly, it wasn’t the right move, his unwarranted jabs — you did do the smart thing by hiding.

He’s watching you closely, gaze flickering over the creased brows and downward curve of your mouth, across the wisps of hair that dust your temples. You’re pretty when you’re frustrated with him — more so when you aren’t, too.

John doesn’t want to admit defeat, but it’s getting under your skin; he begrudgingly concedes. “Fine,” He gruffs, tongue wetting his bottom lip. “It wasn’t the worst idea in the book.”

A humorless scoff rips from your throat, followed by a nonplussed expression. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You mumble, still neglecting to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah,” He placates, shoulders jostling in a shrug. “It could’ve been worse.” Leveling with you, his smirk wavers when you scoff, finding some sliver of amusement in the whole situation.

John Walker wasn’t the worst person to be trapped in a utility closet with — the company could’ve been completely sour. Instead, you were forced to endure his scathing banter and smug mouth, two things that you could navigate; mostly.

The discomfort of your current position only seems to grow, metal digging into your spine, enhanced by the uneven junctures of your suit. You wince when you shift, trying to relax whilst simultaneously avoiding bumping into him.

He notices, observant; he might’ve been ogling you for longer than what was deemed appropriate, but he kept that close to the chest. John has an idea, but he knows that you won’t bite.

“You okay?” He inquires, peering down at you with an innocuous expression. It gives you pause, makes you realize how much taller he is than you, his musculature; you try to shut your thoughts off.

“I’m fine, just … This wall is digging into my back. I think you got the comfortable side.” With a grousing huff, you wriggle again, attempting to shift your body enough to make a slight difference.

His jaw clenches, tongue tracing over his teeth, and to his own chagrin, he wants to alleviate whatever discomfort he can. “Why don’t you lean against me?” John suggests, as if it’s something commonplace.

Bewildered, you almost think he’s joking, teasing you to make light of the situation. With a sarcastic laugh, you shake your head, dismissing his idea as preposterous. “That’s a nice joke, John.” You grumble, aggravated.

“I’m serious,” John quips, clipped, mildly offended that you believed him to be insincere. “If we’re going to be stuck here, might as well make sure you’re comfortable.” He shrugs nonchalantly, tone somewhat gritty.

“Since when have you cared about my comfort?” It’s a genuine question, spoken with curiosity instead of something accusatory. You catch him off-guard, gaze finally meeting his own, and he almost seems shy.

John exhales; a long, drawn-out noise that signifies surprise, coupled with understanding. He hasn't exactly given you the impression that he likes you — in the traditional sense, anyway.

He isn’t known for his emotional intelligence or his sense of vulnerability.

“Since now,” He retorts, groveling to himself before shaking his head. “Jesus, do you want to stop being miserable or what?” John gruffs, his cadence seemingly cross with you, but it lacks malice.

Surprised, your jaw loosens, lips agape as you scramble for some halfhearted comeback. Coming up empty-handed, you decide to accept the offer, instead. “Alright.” You sigh, and take one step forward.

Proximity becomes nonexistent, the sliver of distance closed as your body presses firmly against his, and the heat crackles instantaneously. He’s broad-shouldered, firm when the both of you are wedged together.

He’s being nice, you think, which is mildly unexpected. The harsh, metal bite of the wall no longer protrudes into your back, offering you some relief. John is formidable, sturdy; better than the wall, at least.

Warmth spreads like wildfire over the back of your neck, snaking over your throat, causing you to look away again. You’re flush, chest-to-chest, tactical gear intermingling.

Fortunately for you, the discomfort that had gripped your spine dissipates, but it’s cost you your sanity. John unclasps the buckle beneath his chin, offering his jaw some momentary relief.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

It’s as if his own body is actively rebelling against him; from the moment your chest comes into contact with his, he’s fighting against baser instincts. You’re pretty — beautiful beyond compare, even with your curled lip and furrowed brows.

A gap of silence settles between, and he notices the inkling of tension that bleeds from your shoulders, using him as a brace. He’s much more comfortable than the wall, but it doesn’t make things any less awkward.

“Should we try comms?” Your voice is somewhat strained, flustered as you make a feeble attempt at distracting yourself from this. John bites, thankfully, head jostling with a nod.

“Couldn’t hurt.” He utters, clicking his tongue as he reaches for the device strapped to his wrist. The positioning is somewhat clumsy, and he fumbles with you pressed against him.

Static crackles on the other end — nothing, a dead end. Knowing that it’s off the table, he switches it back off, arm dropping back to his side. He shifts his stance, the both of you accidentally grinding over the other.

“Sorry.” You blurt, and he’s nodding to alleviate the potential tension that comes with it. Still, you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact — he’s close enough to kiss, heat of his breath pluming over your crown.

“S’fine.” John mumbles, neck tight with tension when your bodies brush over one another. It’s rousing feelings that feel horribly inappropriate for the time and place, and he can’t help it.

A hush falls over the both of you again, and when he glances away, you’re staring at him, instead. Eyelashes kiss the soft skin beneath your eyes, gaze catching on the shadow of his blonde beard, the scar on his right cheek, cerulean eyes.

He’s stupidly handsome, pleasant to behold despite his temperament, which seems unusually subdued, even now. You swallow the growing lump within your throat, teeth grinding together.

Even with his helmet, you find him attractive — you find John Walker attractive. When you repeat that fact in the back of your mind, it makes you contemplate quite a bit.

“Hanging in there?” Again, you shatter the silence with a droning question, relinquishing the tension and derailing your thoughts. It’s cheeky, but it gets him to laugh, even if the sound is dry.

“I’m not exactly hating this,” John utters, and he happens to look down at you, only to find that you’re staring, too. His heartbeat quickens, muscles tightening as he clears his throat. “You?”

“I’m great,” There’s a drop of sarcasm that lingers within your tone, but it seems to fade away. “You are definitely more comfortable than the wall.” You confirm, mouth twitching into a threadbare smile.

With a huff, John’s mouth curls into a faint smile, teetering along the fringes of sincerity. “Good to know.” He muses, cadence wrought with a twinge of insolence.

Everything goes quiet again, he’s staring — he notices details about your countenance that he never realized before. Your beauty is marrow-deep, and he knows it, knows that he’s screwed.

John becomes attractive to you like this — stripped down of his bravado, the arrogance clipped. You don’t know where to put your hands, but you prop one against his chest; he blushes.

He can’t help himself now, and his feelings are threatening to burst through the surface in more ways than one.

A groan nearly rips through his diaphragm when you writhe again, body pressing into his, your thigh ghosting over his groin. You don’t seem to notice anything, much to his relief.

Uncertain of how long you’ll be glued together for, John moves again, aiming to find better purchase along the wall, hand momentarily hovering over your waist. He steadies you when your balance wavers, causing you to shiver.

This should’ve been off-putting to you — and it wasn’t. Instead, you’re left burning from where he touched you, imagining that hand groping your body or tangled into your hair.

When you adjust again, you feel something firm against your navel, able to hear the subtle hitch in the back of his throat. He inhales — a sharp, poignant sound that seems wrought with stress.

It’s through his tactical pants, and you realize what exactly it is, causing you to bite at the inside of your cheek. Disbelief coupled with shock etched itself onto your features.

There’s a look of brief panic that settles onto his visage; you’re stunned, gaze widening when your eyes lock together. He doesn’t need any further prompting.

“Christ, I’m sorry.” John grovels, embarrassed that he’s gotten hard from having you pressed against him. It’s pathetic that he let himself get riled up from it, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

In the spirit of transparency, you aren’t upset.

In fact, it’s the opposite — you’re left stunned that he’s gotten hard for you. Some depraved sliver within you festers, wanting to torment him further, act on this tension that’s been brewing long before you went into the storage closet.

“Don’t be.” You whisper, hoarse as you attempt to scramble for a scrap of composure. The sensation of his erection bleeding heat into your navel makes you writhe, coiled with excitement.

John shakes his head, clinging to threadbare restraint, wanting nothing more than a sense of relief from it all. “We can switch places.” He offers, a feeble attempt at squashing the coyness.

“No,” The answer you give is too quick, but you don’t want to pretend like you aren’t interested. Instead, your gaze becomes somewhat half-lidded, tempting. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you actually like me.”

Caught, there is little room to refute your claim, and John is left looking increasingly tortured. He wants you so bad that it hurts, cock throbbing beneath his tactical pants, feeling your body shift again.

“Stop it.” John warns, nearly groaning when you sluggishly move against his body, teasing the growing tent in his pants.

Abashed yet enticed, you lean forward, stretching up onto your toes to plant a kiss against his jaw. It’s slow, methodical — John looks as if he’s about to explode. “I want to if you do.” You utter, tone permeated by desire.

Jesus Christ, he’s fucked; he knows he’s fucked, and you aren’t helping anything. He’s thought about this more times than he can count, and with the reality presented to him, he isn’t sure if he can resist.

“I don’t know if I can stop.” John husks, cadence pitched to a half-growl that sends shivers down your spine. He was contemplating going through with it — here, in a storage closet in the underbelly of a warehouse.

“I don’t think I want you to,” Breathy, your confession hits him like an aphrodisiac, spiking his system, striking him into overdrive. The setting isn’t entirely ideal, but you’re desperate. “Are you sure?”

Too late; John’s mouth is crashing into yours with the force of a battering ram, dropping his still-bent shield, hands flying to seize your hips. He’s manhandling you, turning to pin you against the wall, instead.

It’s all teeth, tongue, want — the banter was only a precursor to festering feelings that were now boiling over into an explosion of heat. You kiss him back, kiss him until your lungs are ragged.

The tenacity of his mouth makes your head spin, body screaming, every fiber of your being set aflame when he kisses you. Teeth catch your bottom lip, and he’s needy.

“Don’t care,” John gruffs in-between fervent kisses, grinding against your body, prepared to rip his belt off and sink into you. “I need you.” His breathy confession makes your knees buckle.

John isn’t too boastful to admit to wanting you, needing you; it feels good to be desired in the way he covets you. Lips clash, collide — you’re kissing him as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

Beneath your sternum, your chest grows tight, burning with a stinging neediness, hands flying to clasp at the nape of his neck. He’s still wearing his helmet, but it doesn’t seem to hinder anything at all.

Despite the amount of tactical gear that sits between flesh, he’s eager to make do with what he’s got, hand dropping to grope at your ass through your suit.

“John,” A breathy moan slips from your mouth, intentionally hushed so as to not give away your position. “Need you.” It’s clipped, rushed, but he’s hanging onto those words as if they’re an anchor.

Slotting a thigh between your legs, he brushes it over your clothed core, pulling another whine from your lips. A twinge of satisfaction ripples through him, but he’s driven by instinct now, with you in his crosshairs.

“Gotta make it quick,” John rumbles, even if every fiber of his being wants to fuck you properly, take his time with you. You’re in the middle of a mission — time isn’t a luxury for either of you. “Jesus, you’re so pretty.” He murmurs.

The compliment surprises you, but it isn’t unwelcome, rousing a fire within the pit of your belly. Needy, you rock yourself against his thigh, gaining scraps of friction that blossom between the both of you.

Mouths claw for one another, connecting in a heated frenzy, both ravenous for contact. John can’t recall the last time he’d done something like this, but he’s craving it, craving you.

Each kiss blisters through the both of you, his lips rugged, beard scratching ragged over your skin. The prickling sensation is a pleasant one, something you cling to, hands flying to the nape of his neck.

In a surprising move, your tongue floods into his mouth, and he stifles a groan, tasting you with enthusiasm. Reciprocating your heated kiss, he follows suit, hearing the whine that catches in your throat.

When your lips untether from one another, his mouth drops to your jaw, teeth grazing across sensitive flesh, causing you to moan. A sigh of ecstasy drags through your chest, wanton.

This is John Walker — the same John that you were grousing with earlier, the same John that had a smug mouth and abrasive temper.

John, whose mouth is disarmingly tender when he kisses your jaw. John, whose hands are kneading into your haunches as if it’s something he’s done a thousand times. John, who tastes like metal and something intimately familiar.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, gotten into him, but you’re enjoying yourself — you want him, need him, starving for touch.

Hands relocate to your waist, finding your belt with ease, unclasping it in order to unzip your pants. Your breathing picks up, eager, fingers hooking into his tactical gear to do the very same.

It’s all labored sighs, grunts, moaning — the both of you have become insatiable, frenzied. “John, please.” You mumble, chewing at your bottom lip when his hand brusquely shoves at your pants.

His belt noisily clatters when you’re unbuckling it, and he’s desperate to be inside of you. “You need it that bad?” John grunts beside your ear, hot breath feathering over your jaw.

“Yes,” Unable to withhold your excitement, you’re willing to give him what he wants; but not without consequence. Your palm darts to the swell in his pants, massaging over his erection. “So do you.”

John’s brain hums with static when you touch him, tendrils of ecstasy shooting through his body. A low, husky groan tears through his throat, and he’s huffing like a bull. “Christ, e—easy,” He sighs. “Please.”

Satisfied with his answer, you withdraw your hand, the both of you pushing fabric aside, scrambling together. His hand flies to the spandex of your underwear, pushing it aside as his hips urge forward, flushed head prodding against your cunt.

By no means is John small, either; he’s infuriatingly well-endowed, thick and oozing heat as he ruts himself into you. Using one thigh to keep your legs parted, he’s kissing you again, rough and needy.

Both of your hands find their perch against his shoulders, over kevlar and body armor, attempting to make it work. The positioning is slightly awkward, but neither of you care — it’s all desperation at this point, all desire.

Reciprocating his kiss, you’re clinging to him, using his body as an anchor, back flat against the wall. The space is nonexistent, bodies wedged together, flush and tight; he needs you like he needs air.

John exhales; a drawn-out, sharper sound that releases coils of tension from his shoulders. With a nod of consent, you let yourself get comfortable. He drags his cock over your cunt again, biting back a stifled growl.

His forehead nudges beside your temple, hotly grunting into your ear, sending waves of ecstasy through your belly. “Ready?” He gruffs, still nudging his cock against your folds, restraint threadbare.

With an exaggerated nod, you’re steeling yourself, biting at your bottom lip, faces flush together. His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance.

It’s slow, at first; he’s a dam trying not to splinter and shatter, exuding tension, attempting to let you adjust first before devolving into debauchery.

You make it difficult, sighing his name as if it’s branded on your tongue, kissing his mouth. The both of you are caught in the middle of some lust-ridden haze.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, teeth grazing over your jaw. He’s growling, panting, his sounds mirroring a feral dog instead of a man.

Proximity no longer exists — it’s lost to tangled bodies and groping hands, to teeth and tongue, to baser instincts. As his hips sink into you, a cry splits your mouth, and he fills you up.

Muscles coil around you, and he’s caging you in between his body and the wall, grunting when your cunt clenched around him. A string of breathy expletives escape him, hands firm against your hips.

Everything feels hot — the lack of space in the storage closet closes in around you, leaving just him, bleeding heat into your body. His jaw is locked, brows pinched together, attempting to cling to some composure.

As his cock ruts into you, your throat snares with a gasp, hands wrangled into his shoulders. You can only imagine what it’s like to see him, flesh to flesh, leaving marks against his skin.

A shadow passes over his stare, cerulean hues eclipsed by desire as he shifts his thigh, muscle keeping your legs spread apart. Sluggishness leaves him entirely — he’s fucking you, now.

The pace he sets is quick, needy, desperate; he’s all bite and no bark, manhandling you as each drag of his hips pins you into the wall. It’s rougher, sure, but he’s not hurting you in the slightest.

John shudders at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

“Christ, you’re tight,” John grits, exhaling heat beside your ear, mouth pressing against the side of your face. You turn, your forehead firm against his helmet, nails digging into his nape. “Goddamn perfect.”

Heat prevailed, licking along your spine as his thrusts grew with haste. A low whine rippled through you, countenance screwed up into a look of pleasure, thighs beginning to shake.

“John,” Through a strangled moan, you’re taking each thrust of his hips, the force akin to a battering ram. “So good at this, you’re s—Fuck, so perfect.” Never in your wildest imagination did you think you’d be calling John perfect, but it slips out.

When it does, it’s as if you’ve reached deep inside of him and flipped a switch; a primal glaze settles into his eyes.

His grip upon your thigh had only strengthened, fingertips threatening to leave bruises in the wake of your crass escapades. His cock throbs within you, hitting new depths, nearly kissing your cervix.

“Say it again.” John growls, the noise sharp enough to send goosebumps cascading over your spine. Your body is wracked with ecstasy, a muted buzz soaring through your nerves, now set ablaze.

Some loathsome part of him craves the praise, your validation — when it slips from your mouth, he’s chasing after it like some feral animal.

“Good at this, you’re — Shit, you’re fucking me so well,” The words that clamor from your lips sound foreign; you cringe at yourself despite it, but he seems to preen beneath the praise. “Don’t stop.”

It’s as if a fervor spikes within him, something buried and gnawing. He doubles his efforts, desperate to please you, ripping off his helmet as if it’s gotten too snug.

Blonde tresses sweep over his forehead, perfectly disheveled, messy; your fingers slip from his nape to his hair, grabbing it in fistfuls. The sharp sensation pulls a groan from his chest, a rumble that makes you shiver.

A husky, throaty groan pierces through his chest, the noise making you shiver, arousal slick and warm between your thighs. It makes each snap of his hips easier, cock sinking into you over and over again.

Each snap of his hips drags you further towards the edge, cock spearing into you without an ounce of hesitation. It’s borderline animalistic, all pent-up and shoved down, now boiling over in waves.

He’s handsome like this — handsome when he’s all over your mouth, when he’s pounding away at your cunt, brows pinched together in concentration.

One arm cages you in against him, the other pressed beside your head, palm grinding against metal. It groans in protest, bending to his inhuman strength, and the noise makes your belly churn with molten heat.

Every thrust is sharp, precise — he’s gritty, perspiration glittering along his neck, muscles pulled taut.

A low moan left you as he snapped forward, letting passion and want pour into his actions, cock sheathing itself inside of your aching cunt.

John ruts into you again, again, again — a pattern of rhythmic thrusts that jostle your body. Grunts tear through his chest, spilled beside your ear in warm huffs, pluming across your jaw.

“Walker?”

Bucky’s voice sizzles through the wave of static on the comms, and you don’t want him to stop. While he’s pounding away at you still, his movements begin to stutter at the noise, but you’re pulling him away.

“Don’t answer,” You moan, friction blossoming between the both of you, feverish and scalding. Every fiber of your being feels like it’s set ablaze, cunt clenching around his cock with each drag of his hips. “Please, John.”

John doesn’t relent, subservient to your breathy plea, hips urging forward as he’s bucking up into you with urgency. He’s close too, hand roughing your hip, grasp bruising as he kisses you.

His cock aches, throbbing inside of you, flesh crawling with heat beneath his body armor. Everything feels snug — he imagines what it’d be like to have you somewhere else, naked.

The fantasy ripples at the fringes of his mind, something lascivious and hazy, spurring him on. He fucks you hard, somewhere between rough and worshipful, as if you’re something to covet.

A breathy ‘fuck’ tears through his mouth, cock repeatedly pistoning in and out of you, listening to your pleasured whines and sighs. “Jesus,” John gruffs, feeling your lips press over his jaw. “That’s it, s’good.” He groans.

With another urge of his hips, you’re unraveling around him, driven to the brink by an amalgamation of friction and want. A buzz swarms through your body, legs rattling, shaking from your orgasm.

Grunts continued to spill beside your ear as he reached his peak, but you were already there. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, sobbing with ecstasy.

John fucked you through your release, cock steadily rutting into your cunt, pressing a messy kiss against your mouth. You reciprocate, teeth catching on his bottom lip, sighing into his maw.

Everything is white-hot, dizzying; John offers a strained warning of his encroaching release, cumming inside of you in a half-frenzy. He says your name, and it makes you shiver.

“Walker, what’s your twenty?”

Again, Bucky’s voice is cutting through at the worst possible moment, and John snarls with frustration. His forehead tilts against yours, brow creased, countenance unfurling with half-bliss, half-agitation.

Each breath stings your lungs as you attempt to compose yourself, realizing that you’re still on the job. Cerulean hues burn into yours, and you kiss him slowly, as if to tell him that it’s okay.

Blonde lashes kiss the skin beneath his eyes, sluggish, as if he’s readjusting to his surroundings. As the fog begins to clear, John huffs, tongue sweeping over his teeth.

“You okay?” He asks, cadence hoarse and pitched with a still-lingering desire. He withdraws, untethering himself from you with a strenuous grunt, moving to buckle his pants up.

“Yeah,” Through a soft whisper, your gaze falls across him, smitten when you realize the gravity of what’s happened. “We should answer Bucky and try to regroup.”

With a nod, John concedes, hands gingerly shifting toward your hips, wordless as he helps to clasp your belt back together. “You know, we could try this again, with more space.” He states, matter-of-factly.

Incredulous, you’re making sure your suit is back into place, visibly flustered as you clear your throat. “When we get back to the Watchtower, come and find me.” You reply, attempting to seem disinterested.

John’s mouth twitches into a smug grin, lifting the communicator to his mouth. “Barnes, we copy.”

Suddenly, the door to the utility closet caves in, a metal arm ripping it from the hinges. John is still in the middle of helping you with your belt, digits stilling along your waist.

“Good hiding spot.” Bucky scoffs, doing little to suppress his smirk. The both of you look like deer in the headlights, and you’re quick to step away, brusquely clearing your throat.

You’re never going to hear the end of this.

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